So what was I writing for?

I could be in the seventh heaven now (if there is such a place); my blog is being noticed at last, may be for the wrong reasons, but who cares!

Much obliged to you, children, you have regenerated me, I have been idling and thinking of winding it up, and then you came along with your youthful fervor and enthusiasm, tore what I have ever written in the blog to tiny shreds. I was sorry to see my poor words bleed so much, always cared for the them you know, but then what of it, they are nothing but words, and they can’t cry.

I cried for them. They pitied me and came back to me although bloodied and maimed badly, but still loving me dearly, for I have been their lover ever since I first saw them , it was a love at first sight, they spoke another tongue then, a slow and heavy tongue .

It was great then, we were close together for ever so long, we got to know each other intimately, they became like wax in my hands, and I could shape anything out of them. We broke all precedents; we created a new land where the sensual was transformed into the intimately tangible, rising like sweet mist to take bewitching shapes, thrilling us with that which they subtly transmitted. We could even make the inanimate talk in pure ecstasy.

Like what happens in all such great loves perhaps, we are at a plateau now The period of experiments are over, the feverish expectation for something new and exciting has subsided somewhat, there are certain insurmountable obstacles which we can’t cross, even in the lingo you know like the palm of your hand.
Knowing this, a great poet in my tongue despaired:

“Even now, the language is imperfect
A flawed understanding might breed errors.”

If he was so doubtful about it, what could people like me say? He was called a Mahakavi even though he did not compose any Mahakavyams( Great Epics, like that of Bhasa or Kalidasa) So there I was with my darling words at some place high but not rarefied enough for me. I looked around. There were legions there in the same predicament, trying vainly to break the shackles imposed by the form of their medium. It was a losing battle, once you reach there, either you ditch your lover for something higher and mystical or you flow downwards.

I knew the genius of my tongue and was not really a bad writer in it, though I did not do anything in it due to my deplorable apathy and perhaps boredom. I have this strange habit; once I become aware I am comfortable in any thing I usually get fed up with it immediately (ever the egotist you see!)!

This happened with my writing too. Perhaps the words of Umberto Eco may have also dissuaded me further.

He said that any moron could win the Nobel for literature, well if so the Nobel was out for me! So what was I writing for!

And then there were legions as I said roaming on the higher levels of my tongue producing like rabbits. There were also cliques, fraternities and what not. Not a conducive atmosphere to turn out pure world literature!

Well I hope that those who are reading this would take it with pinch of salt. I must admit that I was not great shakes as a writer, I was about there, could write a story or two and get it published. That was all.

It all came back when these kindly kids mauled my words with their subtle innuendos and in their blog.

I am happy that they brought it all back. There were some good memories too, seeing my very first story published (the very first I ever wrote) was one such. (God I could have been an A.J. Cronin perhaps only that my medium was short story. What a miss! ). This happened some twenty years back (don’t guess my age, you’d be wrong!). I don’t even have a copy of that story know.

All very sad!