To Write Or Not To Write

Hi guys! The fact that you are reading this shows you haven't forgotten me -- and that's very reassuring. Keep coming back, for I haven't finished yet. In fact, this is just the beginning. What has finished is one phase of my life -- the only phase that I have known since childhood, the phase which I kept clinging to for so long that I feared being left out, the phase which made me feel independent at times and insecure at others, the phase in which I lived life kingsize. Bachelorhood.

Life, for me, would be a joint account from now. But wait, that is not going to shorten the space for my own signature: it will still be in bold and in full. No dilution there. So you can expect more of sex, scotch and Pancham. By the way, here's something I discovered for hardcore Kishore Kumar fans: http://songs.kishorekumar.org/. Check it out, it will make your day.

Of late, I have been listening to plenty of Pancham as well. My current favourite is Manna Dey's Deewaron ka jungle jiska aabadi hai naam, andar se chup chup lagta hai baahar hai kohraam (from Deewar). I realised RD has set another song to the same tune, sung very emotionally by Kishore: Hum aur tum thhey saathi, abhi hai kal ki baat; aaj safar mein tumne kyon chhod diya mera saath -- we were partners till yesterday, why have you suddenly left me today? -- from the movie Hamare Tumhare.

Given the transition in life I am going through, I try not listening to the second version: it drives a knife into my chest. A successful relationship is always built on the graveyard of failed ones, and it is particularly painful when you consider yourself as the culprit for the failure. If I had my way, I would kneel and place my head on the ground and weep till the tears had drained me of every drop of guilt. But should I accept responsibility for a crime that has been committed by Mr Circumstances?

Mr Circumstances is the son of a bitch. But then there is also Ms Circumstances, the angel, who helps you ignore him and move on. I met the angel in Rishikesh, and she changed my life. No, no, the angel isn't the one I am going to marry. This angel was the real angel: the kind you read about in fairy tales. One touch by her and my whole Thought Process changed. In fact, in Rishikesh, I had even forgotten the fact that I had a blog, leave alone its title.

As I write this, Manna Dey's Deewaron ka jungle is playing for the 20th -- or 30th -- time on my speakers, and for some reason, I don't feel like stopping either him or my writing. Manna Dey has a kind voice, and I need that kindness now -- especially the kindness which drips in the Deewar song. Really, don't we all live in a deewaron ka jungle -- a jungle of concrete walls -- where we are left to fend for ourselves? We might have parents, siblings, a husband, or a wife -- but at the end of the day, you are alone and you have to hunt for your own happiness. It is only when you are a child that one of your parent will hunt for happiness and will bring it you; otherwise you will have to hunt for it yourself.

I hunted for my happiness; and it eventually came my way. But unlike lions and tigers, humans have emotions. As a human, you can't savour the happiness without thinking of the would-have-been happiness or could-have-been happiness. And would-have-been-happiness = memories. And memories I have in plenty: where is the space to bury them?

The intelligent thing is to reason the memories and not bury them; memories are something that make you wise. Memories are because you move on. And I am moving into future holding the hand of Pancham: Raat banoon main aur chaand bane tu. I broke my back looking for the song, but I only had to bat my eyelid to find someone to share the song with, share my life with. That's life: one moment it is elusive, at another it pampers you.

Amid all the pampering, I might have forgotten to write my blog, but I did not forget to take a look at, or think about, what I have written so far. My posts so far are nothing but outpourings of a hungry soul -- a soul hungry for attention and a little bit of love and care. Whose attention? Whose love? Whose care? I do not know. I don't even know why I wrote them -- whether to really seek attention or just for some effect and fun. But the fact is that I wrote them and I am not going to shy away from the responsibility. And since I love to write, I will keep on writing, love or no love. All I would need is the hunger to write.