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Hi
I keep reading your blogs. I actually dont understand much. Not to say that you dont write well......I think you really are a good or even a great writer. because when i read what ever you write i get the same feeling which i got when i read great people's work. maybe all great people have a similar style. or a different explanation could be becasue of my poor english. I guess the former is right.
While reading your blog i started thinking if writing makes me happy or sad. was wondering if these are your personal thoughs/feelings why would you want to share it with others. again, not to say you shouldn't but i wouldn't do that. i dont share much, unlike you. probably beacuse i think that people would only look to enjoy my misery and feel extremely sad when i express happiness. thats the way people are. they hate to see others happy. i just dont share anything with them. especially to strangers. i wanted to post comments on your stories....will do it sometime.
i think you are just too good. you are esentially a very good human being. someone whom the wind of emotions just sweep you off your feet. you suffer because you think the world's a fair place. both of us know it aint.
i feel so happy to have spent those 6 months with you. i must tell you that i was the same sensitive guy like you were. i had faith in god, had some values, laid premium on words like "character", "morals" etc. and i changed and am still changing, to be just one among this ocean of people who i call losers. they must have accumulated wealth, friends, fame but they are all losers cause they traded their values to achieve all this.
i want to refrain myself to be one among this mob. its not too difficlut either. or i feel maybe that i am better off being in the majority than minority cause the minority never get the fair deal.
your blogs touch me cause i can see what you are going thru, what you feel and the child in you. shall i say - "grow up and be a man" or shall i let this child think the way he does and fell the way he does. I really do not know.
`nameundisclosed...
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Long back, long long back, when i first wrote my smallest poem in a dilapidated diary, an old LIC one, with yellow pages, i never knew, writing would ever bless me with so many friends.
Having travelled and stayed in quite a few places, have met and mixed and got drenched or have been juggled around, as i shared walks and strides with men and women. If anyone asks me, why i still have persevered in continuing to write, it seems to me, that it is only writing, in this world, who still, despite it all, knows my original me and is my BEST friend.
The me who trotted or cycled to school, the me who exulted at exams, or despaired at not getting a 100 in mathematics, the me who shied away from girls in school even if one or two of them felt like ladies whom i could aspire for, the me, who saw the first X-rated movie much to the internal horror and self-guilt of having seen one, the me, who travelled vulnerably and apprehensively out of home more than 9 years back, the me who waded through the principles of engineering college orientation - call them 'ragging' in India, the me who slapped a close friend for coming drunk and smoking in my hostel room, and the same me, who made a volte face with his first beer, and first smoke and first dope soon after, the me, who feared nothing to reveal he smokes to his parents, the me who stood devastated at sister's tears, the me, who saw women come and go by in life, and risen up and fallen again and again and again.....:)
Sometimes, i know, i am no longer the same 'me' and perhaps i would have died, physically, had not writing kept that 'me' of 'Me' alive...
While just a few posts away i was contemplating, giving up blogging, this email from a friend i know, and at the same time, somehow i thought i didnt know, affects me. Maybe it is the Force's gift trying to say me, to continue to write.
Let me not know anybody. But as long as my writing knows everybody else, and forms the bridge between the unknown me, and the known not-me, others, and make them write such lines to me, i will bow to technology and stuff like internet and blogs and all of the entire chain for what else, but dear old, beloved writing!
A song, soulful Hariharan in Khamoshi singing, Baahon Ki Darmiyaan, and a poem written sometime back to end with...
~amflushedwithtears, thank god there is nobody around! :)
Maybe--
The child who saw you
with your eyes is lost
where do you search for him
maybe here, maybe nowhere
The child who bowed before you
wants now a bow from
others, a role reversal,
they the children, he the grown up
The child who stole a glance
from you, now has forgotten
to steal, looks straight,
wanting back, no less straighter stares
So are you the child, who
wants to see me with my eyes,
where do you search for me,
maybe here, maybe nowhere.
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