Saturday, January 17, 2015

PRETENTIOUS COGNITION




Memories most recent seem to make no sense. While those from the past- is wrapped up in a mature analysis of a wrapper and remains behind. Those that have stayed behind, don't seem to be much fun either.

I think I've lost the pen. The impulse to write- seems to have gone down. Rather- there's nothing much to write about. A family holiday to Gujrat or my experiments with drawing a rangoli for the first time- seem uninteresting and not worth wasting my words upon. What's this phase in life called? I am mostly up-beat about being shut in my room with my books or music or laptop. May be it's the grill on the balcony. That's what is causing the block. If only I could remove the grill, may be I could write again!

There is a vaccum in life for my cat ran off a few months ago. It's tough- going back in life. May be that's the reason for this break from writing. Or just the fact that there are just too many books around. Cleaning my house- pardon me- watching my house getting re-organised and seeing the sheer number of books in my house, makes me guilty. I've read just a few of them. I've bought so many of those books with the intention of reading them- but never did! Then there are my father's books. I remember writing down a list a few years back. A bucket-list! I wrote in it- "I wish to read all the books that my father had read in his life so far and more...". Childish boasts of a wannabe adult! 

I found out a bag with an old sewing kit. Embroidery threads and needles and the hoop. Half done flowers, the cloth all crushed and dirty. And suddenly I feel like completing the design. Only now, I don't remember to sew. It is remarkable that I had actually knitted a woollen cap. Well, that's a half truth! I am finally able to admit that after twelve years! The truth is that I was and am never good with needles and threads. But what's there to write about that? That's not least bit inspiring.

I watched the film "PK" sometime around Christmas. It was a brilliant film. But I could not write anything about that either. I wrote about "Talaash", "Oh my God" and a few other films earlier. But whatever I would write- had already been written! I liked the logic in "Oh my God" better than the emotion and fun-filled "PK"! I thought that there was nothing anti-religious in the film! Of course- the negative publicity is always good for business. But by the time I was planning whether or not to document this piece of thought- the film had grossed 300 Cr in India! 

Amidst all this- I happened to do my second book review- "Thr Krishna Key" by Ashwin Sanghi. Sure I could write about that! Only that- my review came just up to about two pages worth of words. Rest of the review was excerpts from the book. And I had no patience to sit and type down some one else's words.

Ink from my pen had made blotches on the paper. That could not be the reason either. I had a stash of executive bond papers somewhere. They are now nowhere! Also- I miss having black ink in my fountain pen. Blue- reminds me of my days in school. Creative instict is gone. Facts organise and re-organise themselves in alternative patterns. Only the words change. The rabbit and the hole are gone! 

"Analysis paralysis"- a phrase I read somewhere. It may be that. Or I don't write for I just happen to like the beauty of an unwritten page... May be I have come to think that words might disturb the serenity of the page. Or it could be that I don't think that I have words that equal the beauty of the page! 

I hope this passes too. This phase of what they call- a "writer's block". Feels good though. Can't have a writer's block if you're not a writer though- can you...?

2 comments:

Bikram said...

oh i am sure this phase will pass tooo.. all the best :)

although i like the last line cant be a writers block if one is not a writer, True and fits perfect on me :), maybe its my brain then which is blocked and i am unable to write good :)

Bikram's

Amber Light said...

I often write just as a release. No matter that even I myself will not read it again. Or if I do read it, it will seem to be the writing of an unknown person, of an unknown event and an unknown point of the past that I was so eager to record. At the moment of writing, it is an ultimate expression of what that moment presses me to declare to the nothingness that is the internet. Sorrow, pain, happiness, glee, also mostly frivolous funnies and victimless humour that I fail to recognize or understand on second reading myself.

Due to this very nature of my need to write, I rarely see any consequence of my writing. It seems pretentious to any one who may read it (I still write like an angst-ridden teenager) and to be honest, it is quite nonsensical anyway. So I used to be tempted to never write again, and did quit often in the past. But then again, the need for release would return on a rainy day and I would go back and write something shitty and quit again.

These days I do an exercise where I write and write. Just vomit on the pages of my blog. Little or no editing, no intention of being readable or meaningful, no intended audience. (A bit like what I am doing here, hijacking your comments section. Sorry, Matangi).

And that is my release. I am free from judging my own writing. I don't care of what it means, what I want it to mean, what the world will make of it. Of course it means that I don't have readers. People don't have time to read shitty writing. But, it has set me free.

I recognize the feeling that you have expressed in this post. For what it is worth to you, I would like to read about all those memories, ideas, movie reviews that you want to write. Whether I recognize what it is you want to express or not.

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