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Something in the Way

I’ve written other blogs before. And written them easierly. Mostly ‘coz they were the exhibitionist sort. Sometimes, it’s easier to do stuff which others will appreciate. That’s incredible, you may say. Incredible, that you already have the key to the pandora’s box. Incredible that you know how to attract people. Incredible that you have guys falling for you, newspapers lashing into your cozy bedrooms, intellectuals smouldering you with their cigarette butts at resplendant cafes across this curious planet.

That’s how the calculation goes. That’s how it goddamn should be. But for some, it’s not. The very fact that you have the means and power to have it all, bothers people. Like me. I was speaking of blogs I wrote before. Of poetry contests I participated. And every mercilessly crafted perfect word, shot an axle of pain through my gut. What the hell are you doing? This isn’t you.

I’m still trying to be me. Through this blog. For those who’ve unfortunately stumbled over this, and scoffed at the ‘easierly’ in the second entence, well, that’s me. I marched into my work space today, trying to keep to the words of the great ad guru, who says coming early settles you with the spirit of creativity. And the closer to sleep you are, the closer to clarity you’ll get. Next, I stumbled into this amazing blog called, Was Jack Kerrouc a Punjabi? which goofed me up back to my easierlies. Then I checked out my inbox, and lo and behold! a twinkle and a belly o’ laughter tipped me over with Uncle Shelby himself!

I’m in the mood. Exactly the mood where I should be hallucinating the horses of death as in J.M. Synge’s Rider’s to The Sea. In the mood for delectable madness that often cringes out a hoarse wild free anger outta my gut. In the mood for bloodshot eyes and roving abuses which my dear mother fears and pesters about. But I gotta work. Like you. I gotta sit down and concentrate on a research document on how inflation has modified spending behaviour in my city.

It’s not bad per se. As long as I can do it my way. Which believe me, doesn’t happen. It didn’t happen with Kurt Cobain either.

I had this wonderful stroke of luck to have a phone conversation with Kabir Suman, one of bengal’s foremost musicians. He told me known things, things I’ve felt on many a lonely night when the whole city is drowned in meaningless carousing and wild numbers and lunging at artificially enhanced female assets. “Do you know there’s a human sub species, just like in other mammals? We’re that. We’re not human. We’re outsiders.” He said it with a gentlemanly vengeance which passed like a fire stoke through my body in the neon lit darkness. You’ll understand him a little in his songs here.

Ho hum, let’s get back to saleable promotions, and false pretences to get me through another day in this meaninglessness.

It’s not easy out here. There’s Something In The Way.

Yours, Joblessly       The Jobless Ideator

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