"So you quit blogging, right?" He said
"No! Why would you think so?" Me, bewildered
"Well, you don't write anymore"
"Of course I do!"
Interesting, I have this conversation when this is the 101st post on this blog. A cause for celebration? Maybe! But I have never counted how many posts I wrote. I just found out that this was the 101st post by looking at the dashboard. And now, if one were to measure how many of my posts made any sense, 101 would seem quite a tall number. Right?
Writing for me has always been an unconscious activity. Many times I have written and reread my own work only to ask myself, what the hell did I just write? It has never come by force and, like all other aspects of my life, I utterly lack the discipline in writing.
Many times I have written in the middle of fixing a tough bug, or even during meetings. Just like that, out of nowhere, words float into my mind and form patterns, these patterns then whirl around and acquire meanings and all I do is just jot them down. How many times has this been an act of volition? I can never tell.
I have tried in vain to be a disciplined writer and ended up being a self conscious one. During such writing "sessions" I sit in front of the computer and stare at it for the prescribed duration and then doze off. Not a single word comes at my beckoning but when I least suspect, words come in torrents and continue to come until I pour them out.
Some people in this world actually like my writing and many times I have been told by them that I should take my writing further. They tell me I should try to be a published writer. But honestly, I don't know what this "further" means and I have no clue how and why would anyone publish any of this.
This is who I am. This is the best I can be. Now if someone decides to publish it, be my guest! You call this lack of ambition? I call this freedom, for words will sprout and take root to form a beautiful landscape only when they are allowed to waft free.
So, who should I dedicate this 101st post to?
I dedicate it to you, the patient reader and to her - that silly Arundhati, who lives inside me, and who still chooses to dream...