Monday, 5 September 2016

Not Photogenic

Photographs often just don't do any justice to certain folks. The stillness doesn't allow for the capture of the true essence of their appeal and beauty. You can't see, for example, the magnetic gumption in their walk, or hear the sweet whistle of their breath, or sense the velvet of their skin. You can't touch the jawline as it bathes in the shadow of a dying moon, or enjoy the view of a conversation as it leaves that luscious mouth, nor can you smell the musk of their imposing body, or dance with the fluidity of their hands as they gesticulate and emphasize with little bounces of glee.
Some people hide their beauty within motion; like a deceptive little surprise that only the worthy can find, and which a photograph cannot dare to capture.

You cannot restrict such beauty within the two dimensional bounds of a printout because it is like the thunderous waves that crash over the patient shores of the seas- uncontainable and untameable.

Break On Through To The Other Side

Running out of the patience (or perhaps the intelligence?) to construct sentences which adequately describe your mental framework at a point in time ought to be treated with a lot of tender loving care from those who live with and around the writer.
It isn't a petty matter to be laughed at or waved off with a casual nonchalance. This feels, to the writer, like mental constipation. However disgusting and smelly that might sound, it is the stark ugly truth and there is no better word to describe the feeling. I, for one, have been bearing the brunt of this horrid condition for what seems like too long to be true. My brain is burdened with the immense possibilities carried by the hundreds of ideas that float through my head all day long. And yet, when I put pen to paper, they seem to evaporate with a smirk, as if merely to tease me and put me down, and within a split second, my ideas don't seem worthy of another human's readership to me anymore. It becomes a matter of self confidence over time, until finally, like I am doing today, you must just break through these walls that are throttling your imagination and share your mad brain with the rest of this world.
Life is always going to be a great flood of emotions and voices, but I would hate it if my voice wasn't loud enough to make a difference and affect lives. Unless I touch some homes with a ray of sunshine, hope and the power to spark an imaginative fire in the minds of those who read my words, this life will have been in vain, and it shall turn into a burden I'll carry on into my next life.
My parents and my fiance have been doing their best and egging me on, trying to get me to write, because apparently, that's the one thing I'm supposed to do well. They don't know how this adds about a metric tonne of pressure on my dainty shoulders and I, being the legendary lightweight, nearly succumb to the weight every time my ideas fail to turn into respectable literature. 
It doesn't help when you criticize yourself more than is considered humanly healthy, and create delusions in your mind about having peaked too early. 
No, this has not been me rotting in some kind of decadent complacency, or hiding behind the excuses of career, traffic, lack of time, or my upcoming wedding. This is me accepting, wholeheartedly, that life changes; it evolves and remodels itself with newer places and newer people. There are tectonic shifts that have been happening in my mind and heart since the past few months, paving the way for a newer phase that holds the promise of love, travel and adventure- all things that I depend on to fuel my neurons and fire me up. 
So here, with this candid confession and intimation, I hope that the words that I churn out henceforth will arrive at shorter intervals and with an impressively regular frequency. I need to polish my art until I reach that glorious day when I can spend my days being true to myself, immersing myself in that delightful world of literature: being my own boss, making my own rules, and telling people- with genuine pride- that I am, indeed, a writer.