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You know what I hate about writing for a paper. It seems to be a cheap form of prostitution. You prostitute your art for a few pennies. Your words instead of bodies.

I mean whatever happened to art for art’s sake. But then people hardly think about art or even love these days. Unless if it is an piece of art that some bored millionaire has brought for an obnoxious amount of money or in case of love, it is laced with large doses unbridled lust. Think about it, half the praise that Dev D got was because the romance between Devdas and Paro was replaced by lust.

When was the last time I wrote for myself. The strange thing is that I remember the exact time I did it. After being copped in my house for three (or was it four) days in the curfews of the summer of revolution. But I must have written hundreds even thousands of words since then, lending my pen to chicken rates, illegal buildings, bad roads, corrupt police men, nauseating politicians.

But my soul is as empty as old parchment that somebody forgot in the sun. My writing is getting rusty. Like a domestic dog, I have forgotten the hunt. The wild desire of chase, the adreline of excitement, In fact I have forgotten the spelling of adreliene.

Ofcourse I have been planning to write since the last year. But everything seems to reek of shit. An idea comes and goes as it is a government building. Random lines seem to appear out of nowhere and disappear.

These lines seem to be brilliant in their isolation. But there are no connecting threads. (One line essays anyone).

Part of the problem is that when ever I want to write my mind turns to politics and the general unfairness of life. Then the next second it al seems to be so paltry like ……..like…I don’t what but seems to be paltry.

There it goes again…someone interrupts and I am lost again. And now I have no idea what I am gonna write about. Of course sex is always a good option. It sells. But it sells like a cheap whore standing on a rickety verandah in a dim lit Delhi lane. And the last thing I want to do is to sell, but at the same time I want to sell as well.

Comments

...atif said…
salay..sex ka pujaari..... kabi to kuch aur soch..thurkey..... u made every attempt to spoil a lovely piece of writing
May 23, 2009 at 7:55 AM
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