Let me be a narcissist today.
On days just before when I know something bad will probably hit the fan above me, I like to write these kind of things down, to remind me of those times when I was smiling.
This blog gets its little pile of fan mail, I have to report. 'Fan' is too fancy a word, they are people who are nice enough to write me, telling me what they think. I like to assume they continue to read these pages. These mails mean so much more to me than what I hear from friends, not to say that I don't appreciate that. I do. But hearing from those anonymous strangers who have a nice word to say always makes my day. I have saved all those mails.
I even amuse myself with the slightly bizarre ones. Some want to make 'fraandship' with me. A favourite is one that I still can't make sense of. To this day I am not sure whether it was a brickbat or a bouquet. Another seemed like a description of a date in a faraway place. I save those too.
If you are reading this, I thank you. Do keep writing in. I always reply.
In a series of epiphanies that I have been having off late, today's was, predictably, to do with writing. I got commissioned to write something for a place I have huge respect for. That, and other things in life, other writings, toned down the restlessness, the panic I was in yesterday. For sometimes, it is best to carry Bohemia in your hearts.
And then I and a former colleague, an editor I have good respect for professionally, and is a much loved mad hat friend personally, were chatting this afternoon. Nearly three years after I left, it feels really good to hear my writing is still remembered, and to an extent, missed. Then there was this person I was talking to today, a colleague from some six years ago when I was just starting out as a reporter. Though in the same newspaper, we had never met; he being in a smaller town. As before, again today, he still remembers the stories I wrote back then, the many bylines, the many reports. I admit, when your name, your writing garners instant recognition, it is quite a high.
This is the best reward for the months and nights of questions I have asked myself, to write or not, to answer this call or not. I realize that I don't have a choice here. I am answering it, just by these words that I cannot stop myself from writing.
This was narcissistic. I shall not apologize. For I may soon need to remind myself these words.
On days just before when I know something bad will probably hit the fan above me, I like to write these kind of things down, to remind me of those times when I was smiling.
This blog gets its little pile of fan mail, I have to report. 'Fan' is too fancy a word, they are people who are nice enough to write me, telling me what they think. I like to assume they continue to read these pages. These mails mean so much more to me than what I hear from friends, not to say that I don't appreciate that. I do. But hearing from those anonymous strangers who have a nice word to say always makes my day. I have saved all those mails.
I even amuse myself with the slightly bizarre ones. Some want to make 'fraandship' with me. A favourite is one that I still can't make sense of. To this day I am not sure whether it was a brickbat or a bouquet. Another seemed like a description of a date in a faraway place. I save those too.
If you are reading this, I thank you. Do keep writing in. I always reply.
In a series of epiphanies that I have been having off late, today's was, predictably, to do with writing. I got commissioned to write something for a place I have huge respect for. That, and other things in life, other writings, toned down the restlessness, the panic I was in yesterday. For sometimes, it is best to carry Bohemia in your hearts.
And then I and a former colleague, an editor I have good respect for professionally, and is a much loved mad hat friend personally, were chatting this afternoon. Nearly three years after I left, it feels really good to hear my writing is still remembered, and to an extent, missed. Then there was this person I was talking to today, a colleague from some six years ago when I was just starting out as a reporter. Though in the same newspaper, we had never met; he being in a smaller town. As before, again today, he still remembers the stories I wrote back then, the many bylines, the many reports. I admit, when your name, your writing garners instant recognition, it is quite a high.
This is the best reward for the months and nights of questions I have asked myself, to write or not, to answer this call or not. I realize that I don't have a choice here. I am answering it, just by these words that I cannot stop myself from writing.
This was narcissistic. I shall not apologize. For I may soon need to remind myself these words.
1 comment:
Keep writing, Deepa! I look forward to your posts :-)
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