A PART OF ME !

I have these spotless white sheets in front of me. Oh! I missed out those thin black lines on them. But, how does it matter whether these sheets are completely white or have the consistent appearance of black lines one below the other, as long as it is plain blank? Without any words on them, are these pages even worth a look? Ofcourse not! So, a page has only two distinct identities. It is either full of value or of no value. A word or two on its clean surface and it can invite hundreds of eyes else, somebody might just use it to erase the remnants of the previous lecture that comfortably rests on the blackboard.

So, what do I do in order to grab the attention of the curious minds towards my paper? I cannot dance on the blank sheet, neither can I croon my favorite song nor crack my best joke. All I can do is WRITE. Now, what do I write when my mind is nothing but a store of surplus absurdities? Random haphazard thoughts have been crowding me for days. The train of thought departs from a particular station in the present and derails to some unwanted destination in the buried past and ultimately arrives at a place, too far from the present. How can I write stuff with the clarity of thought almost invisible to be noticed?

It has been very rightly said that every piece of art always bears a part of its creator. A writer leaves a part of his life in his writing; a director involves some bit of personal experience in his movies and a painter camouflages his thoughts in disguise of the vibrant hues. And, it happens with every individual I believe. Moreover, it is often one of those journals of our lives which do not exist anymore that try to find an outlet through any form of art; be it literature or performing art. Atleast when I think of writing anything, unless it is a factual write up, personal experiences are the only resources I have with me to begin with.

But, is it always feasible to replicate the mirror images of slices from our lives? Aren’t some of the moments better left alone to reside in our hearts than to be publicized? Anyway, when we finally resort to dispersing these out in the open, we either change the names or better, do away with them; followed by inclusion of several other characters into the scene; entrusting them with roles they can carry off well and lastly some cautiously forethought filtration of details. But, no matter how brilliantly one masquerades the memories, the subliminal messages are any day louder than the explicit messages and there’s always that one individual who will impeccably decipher the inside story which better stayed repressed. After all, everybody has an irreversible regret, an irreparable mistake, an unreachable dream and an unspeakable secret. So, why even create the opportunity for an outsider to march into our most personal memories. It is like giving the liberty to those highly interested intruders to gently pry into our very own space.

Alright, so what was this article about? I am still blank and confused about how to start developing a thought into a full-fledged article. Well, even though, I may begin phrasing out my thoughts carefully, there are way too many thoughts in search of those right words which obviously will never succeed in their search. And, what about the much needed ‘END’? Abrupt! That is the only way I can define the endings of anything I write, rather every end seems to be abrupt. Oh! WHY AM I SURPRISED? Who plans the perfect endings? How on Earth is it ever possible for anybody to determine the exact moment, things should expire? And, is it just about things? I mean nobody begins anything in life in order to end it. So, the ending always has to be as brusque as possible and yes! Completely unexpected. Oh! So I can see that this write up has lost its way and I have no road map, rather mind map to bring myself to the point where it all commenced from. So, I guess I shall now board another train of thought from a brand new terminus and travel from one land to another, full of myriad images.