The
Crusades Of Writing
by: Tushar
Jain
This article does not discuss what
to write or how to write, but merely a favorite – why to
write.
The world appears in its dissatisfactions.
Potential lies in the prospect that desires to change it,
and prosperity lies in the chaotic chase that has already
begun. Writing is barely a provision of the many to choose
from.
Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel
liquid. Any man can write.
Writing becomes a necessity when the
worthier elements of life like love and joy, become pursuits
instead of possessions. Those who like to mouth ‘I love
to write’ might as well have ‘loved to bungee jump’. So
often, writing is an escape rather than a commitment, an
alternative rather than a motive, a hobby rather than an
involvement.
The difference between writing, when
writing is the object of a desire, and writing, when it
is the dearth of one, is similar to the difference between
consuming food through your mouth or your nostrils. One
is precise; the other is either foolhardy or deliberate.
A failure in one’s life is an achievement
in one’s vanities. A hurt pride resorts to dissimilar paths
of self-absorption eluding the one that confronts its vulnerabilities.
Those who fail as intellectuals, rise as diplomats, but
never cede to be individuals – because compliance with circumstances
defeats the purport of the indomitable convictions of man,
so likely, we forge more humane opportunities. Opportunities
that are severely consistent, ripe and simple. Opportunities
like writing.
Once again, take notice – Any man
can breathe. Any man can disembowel liquid. Any man can
write.
The object of scrutiny when two things
are placed in contrasting contest is not spurious triumph,
but progress through aptitude. Sometimes, it is essential
to lose, and sometimes it is downright pivotal; it is forever
substantial to remember that neither is success a construct
of victories, nor is it a servant of one. Success lies deep
in the path of experience and often, unknowingly, people
who disembowel liquid, bungee jumpers, writers - pass it
demurely. It is a fervent moment writhing within several
unnamed others; it cannot be achieved, it has to be a yielding
harvest.
In writing, there are no discoveries,
only inventions – those, that either concoct interest or
intrigue. If anything in the written connotation is a function
of the former, it is languid and specious. If anything,
at all, as it has been a rarity for so long, compromises
with the latter, it is grand, unique, most welcome, and
most awaited.
Uselessness is an innate, inherent
part of writing anything. Futility, you see, is perfect
and the only thing that is so. Those who master it are legends,
those who come across it accidentally are writers, and those
who tend towards it are fools. Those who come closest are
renowned as professionals.
Precision in any sort of writing is
a triviality and a widowed cliché. There is no ‘bull’s eye’
in perspectives, in predilection or in opinion; it is consequential
to generalize. A thing that is meant to socialize with more
than a single existent word should never focus or centralize
acutely. It’ll fail to stand ground, and eventually fail
to impress.
The diversity one writer inures to
delineate himself from another is only in an unrealized,
imperfect conformity of perseverance. Hard work is an unknown
realm, a world within a world, a most secret horizon of
each written syllable – when we expand these realms and
horizons, when we free our worlds, we can hope towards hope…
to be writers. A just and lively hope to be good writers,
and if not, efficient in the least.
There is still a last truth to reckon
with, again and again, until it is defunct and old and as
gray as cement stripping off naked walls –
Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel
liquid. Any man can write.
Learn to survive it.
About The Author
Tushar Jain
Any queries - shoot them at mosaics12@rediffmail.com
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