My Take ...
Monday, December 20, 2010
'Coz if you didn't know it's Goodbye Again
I blog, today, with what I must admit, is a stab of pain in my heart. My blogs have languished for long without updates, with sporadic updates, few and far removed – I am aware. I don’t write quite as often as I used to, not counting the limericks I send my Mumbaiya friend. My uncertain “writers’ block” has lasted way too long, I guess. I sometimes wonder if I have been in love with the idea of having a writers’ block only for the pleasure of being able to overcome it.
And let’s face it. If I churn out a masterpiece a day, I expect to be appreciated as I otherwise should be. *kidding, duh*
No, really, I haven’t been writing. Scraps and pieces that have not come to much; half written prose (and poetry) that has served only to pique friends’ attentions but have not been completed – ah! aplenty.
But I just did something that as Browning would put it “o’ertops them all”. I signed up to work with an organization last week. And my contract says I shall not write personal blogs or something to that effect. To be told I may not? Till about a couple of years back I’d have said that’s a sure shot way of getting me to do just that. Rebellion. Question, rather the Koschen now is “Is my rebellion dead?” Nope. Very much there. Problem is, every rebel needs an audience. A rebel, like a trapeze artist needs an audience. To awe, to scare, to evoke incredulity. Deprive a rebel of an audience and the rebellion dies a natural death.
This, btw, is one of the profoundest theories of parenting. I do just that with my son. Everything is perfectly acceptable. And hence the fun of doing the unacceptable is absolutely dead. with no anger, no punishment, I shall sigh and resign to the ‘acceptable’. Perhaps age IS catching up.
I digress. But I wonder is that not, nay, was that not my definition of death? How, shall I survive? A possible answer – as the Living Dead do.
And let’s face it. If I churn out a masterpiece a day, I expect to be appreciated as I otherwise should be. *kidding, duh*
No, really, I haven’t been writing. Scraps and pieces that have not come to much; half written prose (and poetry) that has served only to pique friends’ attentions but have not been completed – ah! aplenty.
But I just did something that as Browning would put it “o’ertops them all”. I signed up to work with an organization last week. And my contract says I shall not write personal blogs or something to that effect. To be told I may not? Till about a couple of years back I’d have said that’s a sure shot way of getting me to do just that. Rebellion. Question, rather the Koschen now is “Is my rebellion dead?” Nope. Very much there. Problem is, every rebel needs an audience. A rebel, like a trapeze artist needs an audience. To awe, to scare, to evoke incredulity. Deprive a rebel of an audience and the rebellion dies a natural death.
This, btw, is one of the profoundest theories of parenting. I do just that with my son. Everything is perfectly acceptable. And hence the fun of doing the unacceptable is absolutely dead. with no anger, no punishment, I shall sigh and resign to the ‘acceptable’. Perhaps age IS catching up.
I digress. But I wonder is that not, nay, was that not my definition of death? How, shall I survive? A possible answer – as the Living Dead do.
