I was advised by someone to start a blog of my own and I feel like the heroine in the Jeetendra- Rameshwari starrer, when she sings " kya likhoon, kaise likhoon, likhne ke kabil hoon ke nahi......". I feel like Jacope Belbo from Foucault's Pendulum. I cannot write, actually I cannot create anything that has not been created earlier. I can edit others works and it does not provide me satisfaction. If viewed that way, I cannot create anything that's my own. I can copy and I can do that with a panache, but the resulting artwork is not mine, it is someone else's idea and inspiration. It like living in the shadows of a great mountain, you know you will never have a shadow of your own.
But I suppose futile attempts on creation can be done safely on the net, because the creation is no longer subject to approvals. My readers are nameless and faceless and I know I would not be subject to a face to face autopsy of what I write. I am a coward hiding behind a computer and a coward I will remain. That's why all my literary works are half done and I know I will never finish them. I don't think I can take the humiliation of being torn apart publicly or of the market rejecting my work. That would be personal and my bludgeoning ego will not take it. Here it is impersonal. You are welcome to criticize. I might take your opinions or I might not. That's my prerogative. You may quit viewing my page because you find the writing banal, but then I would always write into it as it provides me the outlet I want for my meanderings. My mind wanders and I like it when it wanders. Now it knows that the places it explores and discovers can be documented, may be not for my grandchildren, but for someone's grandchild, some place.
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