And why you should write too ................
I
do not know why I often tend to view people rather grimly: they usually are not
as benevolent, well-intentioned and capable or strong as they appear to be.
This assumption is founded on my own self-assessment, though I don’t have a
clue as to whether it is justifiable to generalize an observation made in one
individual. This being the fact, my views of writers as ‘capable’ people are
not that encouraging: I tend to see them as people who intend to create really
great and world-changing writings but most of the times end up producing
parochial pieces. Also, given the fact that the society where we grow and learn is
full of dishonesty, treachery, deceit and above else, mundanity, it is rather
unrealistic to expect an entirely reinvigorating work of writing from every
other person who scribbles words in paper.
This
said, I am harshly self-critical in matter of writing and I often pose some
unpalatable questions to myself: what if I had never written a word? Would the
world be a better place or worse without my writing? Have I deluded myself into
believing that my writings do affect the world while the reality being it is as
meaningless for the world as the chatters of a kid? Given the fact that
billions of words and millions of works of writing are already there in the
world, what exactly are my writings adding to them and is that addition meaningful
in any sense? Is satisfying my ego the only real purpose of my writing, and if
that is the case, why does my ego need so profligate use of words to be
satisfied? Am I simply playing with the words all along or does real meaning
generate from such use of words? With my writings, am I bearing some of the
responsibilities as a citizen or have I used the words to precisely avoid
bearing such a responsibility?
This again brings me to the rather awkward position: should I write at all? Well, I do not know why I wrote a decade back and if/why I will write a decade from now. But for now, there is no escaping from the question: why do I write after all?
My rather pessimistic premise before judging people, and myself, related to writing and otherwise; is this: by default, all of us are miserable, vulnerable, passive and pusillanimous beings. The virtues of strength, creativity, adaptability and excellence come only through a protracted process of learning that goes on from the moment of our birth. As expected, not everyone excels equally in the process of learning and those who do well often display their capabilities in one or more fields.
Also, many of us, whose chronological accomplishments - measured in various ways - are below (often far below) the expectations, are afraid of a status in which we are 'nothing' or 'nobody' in the society or merely ordinary beings in the crowd. A peek into the lives of some 'successful' or 'famous' people makes the feeling all the more acute and we long to somehow distinguish us from the crowd. If not plan for or expect, we fancy a life where we would enjoy a distinction, a degree of deference and reverence from people and obviously the fame/prestige that accompany.
