CREATURE OF CIRCUMSTANCE

There were times when people wanted to be journalists because they thought they could write. I thought I could be a Somerset Maugham with my detached cynicism and a distinct aloofness. Being an idealist, I thought, could also help. But ten years and seven jobs later I no longer want to change the world. Not that I love it the way it is…perhaps, I have learned to be part of it. A common sparrow in a flamboyance of flamingoes or a crane in a murder of crows, I can see now that we are all birds of a feather.

I’ve written about politics – sometimes cynically, but mostly just the factual; on cinema and on politicians and actors – admiringly or admonishingly.
I’ve supported the Congress party, worshipped communism, backed the BJP and voted for the Dravidian parties – thankfully, all at different times. Hundreds of crushes and countable flings are committed only in memory…I can sense a sense of futility following me like the pug in that Hutch advertisement. Maybe one is supposed to get used to it. Maybe that’s what ageing is all about - a good mix of futility and obscurity!

Would it have been any different if I had chosen to pursue science instead of art?
What would have become of me if I had not been writing?
And why do I even want to write when I know that I’m only mediocre?

Because writing in the first person gives me the independence of being able to scratch where it itches. I’ll sneeze when I have to.

Thou Art Indeed Just Lord!