“No man steps into the same river twice.. for, it is not the same river and it is not the same man.” Similarly, it is almost impossible to step into the memory and reconstruct the past.. ‘the quondam’ into a writing piece. To envision the future; even more. The conception of an event that could have been a subject of exploitation in the process of writing is so uniquely a function of just that ‘singular moment’ in which it occurred, that on revisiting – it hardly tells the same story…
Most of the writing we do is actually a recital of somewhat flummoxed travails. It is a dossier of where we got entangled on a question for an extended period. Then opening up the whole ‘clove hitch’ until the fervency and curiosity that made us want to try to map the unmapped slips into a ‘Gordian knot,’ inhumed, encrypted and aqueous in its own influence. So much so that the risk-taking impetus becomes sealed and abrogated as a defense against thinking any more about it. The cosmos, & the fundamental premise of ‘the thought’ is after all not perennial. Unfortunately, It gets destroyed sooner than it is expected to. The writing at such a juncture’ suffers an orchestral interlude. But then, I am inviting you exclusively to my very personal ‘brown study..’ It is my duty to inform you that my writing won’t make up for a vacant leisure reading..
A literary life is an unremitting dissension in which one gets into an intemperate consuming quarrel with one’s own ideologies, ideologies that though gathered over the years while orbiting in the circadian cycle were mere visionary speculations, especially of an unrealistic or idealistic nature, completely circumstantial, egomaniacal and acquisitive in nature. In the process, one POV attacks another, one tenet stands antagonistic to another and one canon doesn’t stand the sight of another. You must be always on your guard against the gins and snares of ‘less altruistic’ and ‘more communally charged up’ beliefs, of ‘beliefs confined to and function of cultural and geographical boundaries,’ even if they personally appeal to you. It is all against all. Sadly but fortunately; it is. It is this jostling and flexing of thoughts that will bring us to put together a scholarly piece of work and not just another journal entry. As in some forms of fights, anything is allowed.. in the world of writing par excellence; full of conflicts and clashes in the battle ground of mind, less is allowed actually. If at all it is a Donny Brook, It is a dissonant Donny Brook of philosophies and ideologies and nothing less than that. To grant the subject ‘objectivity’ it is worthy of- for becoming the free radicle of any shift in the minds of readers, one must be prepared to wrangle over fundamental credo encrypted in our cultural DNA with a strong perfervid nature. This can leave the writer stupefied – and of course exhausted. At the same time, when the churning process is in progress: we can hardly part with the thought that there is something farcical in taking the art of writing so seriously. Is it even necessary? That the onus of handling this huge responsibility of being society’s soundboard has been taken upon by us? Really? That are we narcissistic? Or egocentrically self-absorbed self-claimed intellectuals- to believe that we are carriers of thoughts that would ride each letter we are going to punch and will bloom into a new way of thinking? Then, after dealing with the self-questioning, self-doubting phase: one can’t ignore that political and religious matters also have a way of getting snarled up in the mess of motives with literature, and an author will see his work vexed, not because it is a questionable or debatable stance that he or she has reflected upon, but also because he/she is a Hindu, a Sikh, a Muslim, a Christian, a nationalist, a communist, a left wing propagator or a right wing propagator or what not. The drag becomes insurmountable. It is important to include here that a writer must think not only about his own work but also about the work of his contemporaries, the works that are in progress and not yet complete; to create a vision of impending impact of one’s own written word.
Coming back to myself, I walked a considerable distance to have arrived here amongst the cultured lot, where what I write would be read with acuity and sense. My soul consumed by wanderlust kept tearing apart the scaffolding it was made to be born with, during all these years. Purdah, gender bias to grotesque limits & female feticide.. to name a few. The quest of having been able to write was to an extent ‘vertical’. I wanted to slip deep into the unknown, I was seeking the core and getting tired at seeing it but not been able to see it clearly. If I were to show you just by a thin incision I would say, that I rested on classics, atypical literature and real life scenarios in equal proportions and with equal keenness. I cross-referenced horizontally with a certain fanaticism in last many years to understand the premise of situations that were making me opinionated about the delicate craft that writing is. Of late, my hunger to dig the written word has consumed me completely, and I am not complaining. I am ‘coming back home’ to say the least.
Writing should have been a natural step ahead of reading. But, somewhere the thought kept losing momentum. The very quest of choosing the ‘topic’ to write on, exhausted me beyond limits. I kept ruminating on various subjects. The better evolved are writing on evolution, the social context is covered by the social scientists or the lack of them. Nature and the coffee table conversations at the table next to mine does not ignite anything inside me! Prophesizing puts me in a very tight spot again.. Have I gathered enough? The paradoxes are convoluted jargons though, but, to talk upon them and to build upon them has been a dream.. and sharing the same is a dream within a dream. Hence, to choose ‘dialetheia’ in Quine’s classification of paradoxes, in my resolve to write looks obliquely fine for now.. So, in a way “John is here” when “John is only halfway.. through the door…!” Those who are smiling after reading this are my readers:) Thank you
Dr Megha Pushpendra is a guest author with LSD, she is based in New Delhi and she invests most of her time in reading; Classical Literature, World History, Events of Geopolitical importance and Technological Advances in Society.