The junk blogger's Literary surfeit...

I will never grace any product of my pen as a ‘literary’ work, in any sense of the term. Although I have always believed in maintaining a certain amount of content matter in whatever I jot down it’s becoming a tad difficult of late.
A few months back I suffered from the worst bout of writer’s block ever(on record), come to think of it I did have a few things bundled up inside my head which I wanted to bring down on paper and eventually up here on Blogger but I just couldn’t get myself to write. The motivation was gone!
Now, that equation has seen an astonishing reversal! I find myself doodling all over my writing-pad at office, inside courtrooms, in the car, in bed, at dinner, all the time and the frustrating part is that I have nothing to write about! I scribble mindless things everywhere because the craving to write is almost crazy but sadly nothing comes to my mind, a strong consequence of which is clearly visible through the increase in the number of junk posts on my blogs of late. Hell, I have an entire blog dedicated to junk writeups....





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My Tree...

It’s frustrating beyond imagination at times, to be called an outcast, to be an outcast. I know, because I am one, in more ways than a hundred. For good or for bad, in ways big or small, I shamelessly disagree with a random bunch of five hundred people picked from any part of this city at any point of time.
It’s a fish market outside your door and no one is who he really is. Not all can put up with my kind, we never pretend. Being who you are comes with a price tag, a proviso, that at some point in life you’ll be shoved aside and called an ‘outsider’, a ‘misfit’.
I have felt this way all my life, I am feeling it this very moment and I know tomorrow, I’ll feel it again.
But I am happy. I am not the usual shades of red, white and yellow. I am Auburn, Cobalt, Gray!
It’s not me who doesn’t fit in with my surroundings, it’s my surroundings that don’t complement me. A famous bard from Bengal had once said, “Bonyera bonete sundor, shishura matrikrore” meaning; ‘wild animals look best when in jungles and children, in their mother’s arms’. It’s as important to be different as it is to know where one belongs.

Every outcast has his home, his tree, his flock. Wheres mine?

Congratulations to me, my little doll is slowly turning into a stereotypical 'chick';
yapping with guys over the phone literally for hours, having her life dictated by brands, cheesy humour, 'dudes', being a hypochondriacal drama queen and being highly insensitive to sentiments. Although I wanted her to be someone different, I suppose I'll have to live with this.
What can I do? I love her as much as I despice her behaviour. I hope and pray she comes out of it someday.

The time has come, the time has come for me to do something drastic about my drunk-calling habits. But you really cant blame me, you know.
Last week I victimised Jeetu and of course my favourite, Bikram way past midnight! Both drawled their 'hello's and all the subsequent talk from their end went above my swirling head. I just wanted to hear those voices. They do strange things to me, like a chemical reaction of some kind or recollections from a past life.
We all have our tools for battling loneliness. This ones mine.

Life is a huge gamble, I finally admit. Either you get lucky and win or your decisions go terribly wrong and you lose, the loss drags you to the gutters. Its justified if you repent then. But, the worst kind of life is that in which there are no decisions and you repent at the end for having taken none.
So standing at the threshold of the current phase in my life is it justified to get carried away by romantic notions and make drastic decisions, real tough decisions or stick to the horizontal straightness of the path that lay before, irrespective of whether that could potentially result in my being unhappy for the rest of my days?
Everyone has the ability to make his/her life less ordinary, all it takes is courage. I need pocketfulls of it cause a decision is on its way.