Prashant's Solace

It started with a fantasy! Fantasy to play with the spoken word, just as my parents and grandparents and uncles and aunts seemed to do. But somehow the second I opened my mouth it was funny to everyone. To be entertained by a comedian is one thing; but to laugh at sounds emanating from a little mouth is actually stupid, if you were to ask that kid. It felt strange at times and sometimes delightful.  Thus began my association with vocabulary. A child, trying to articulate something that made sense and everybody around seemed to be enjoying my struggle. The most funny part; its been years down the road, but the story does not seem to end! I am still struggling with the words and my tries seem absurd. Once, during my school days, I was writing a piece about trees visible from my classroom window, in my essay notebook. But somehow, right words seemed to elude my writing.  To make matters worse, the boy sitting next, Ahmad, saw that I was writing someth...

I write to you as a man, a fellow subspecies; with definitely the same organs, hormones and body processes and perhaps same emotions and attitude towards many things. I am an Indian male, maybe living all the frustrations that also surround you; job-wise, relationship-wise and of course 'national state of affairs' wise. What I fail to associate with is, the heinousness that pervades your faculties which makes you commit this act. In fact, I feel there is yet a word to be developed in the English language that could aptly describe your state of mind in those moments of madness. I am a being  just like you, but at the same time very unlike you. You see, human beings have an ability called empathy which makes them stand out from the rest of living pack. But no amount of it can ever make me understand yourself and maybe I am happy for that. People all over the world undergo brutalities. Maybe I am too naive even to begin to understand the sentient...

Hey... I always wanted to do this with an air of convenience. The words should just flow out from my mind to the edit box. I was waiting for the time this happened. The longer I wait the more I realized there is no such time. Things have to come forth in two ways... 1. By perfecting the art after a number of attempts trying to make it better which is actually starting right now. 2. To actually be so convinced, passionate and eager to write and share that a write up is just a fall out of the process of expression. Turns out, I am neither deft at playing with vocabulary nor too passionate and convinced about my opinions and beliefs that I produce a work qualified as worth attention. Thus, lack of a well maintained lexicon was supposed to be compensated by the will to tell a story. A story; comprising fictional creations of my mind, my views, my take on the circus. But when one knows just about as much as to get humbled by the grand scheme of things one turn...

The agony of creation always starts with a disaster. Again, expressed in the limited knowledge that I possess. I most humbly was to submit in my first post the reason I don't indulge in the pleasurable experience of writing.  A well crafted (or so I thought) post was ready to be inflicted maybe on the world. Almost done and it failed to get saved. Entire work lost with an excruciating ease of a person dying in a second with no apparent reason. Now I don't want to relive the pain by elaborating on the matter of the post or recounting the large blog that I had created about how and what of my state of being. So regretfully... I submit; what happened simply best describes my dilemma, confusion and also my tryst with writing. Keep looking for this space if at all words do flow out through a very narrow channel that is my 'mind-hand-platform' course. And of course, the cruel affair that is the scheme of things that matter to get it to the world. Very sorry... ...