Meandering thoughts, rains, and a prayer

You know, I am scared to put my own pieces (as in, what you call creative writing) on to this blog. Yeah, I know the my-blog my-personal-space go-take-a-hike yadyaydayada. But ….Why is sinfully pinstripe, this caustic, cynical creature, somehow mired in self-doubt while writing fictional pieces? Because my observations, my arguments, my judgments, my verbosity, my vociferousness in all other cases can be backed up with real data, with facts. For creative literature, it is me vs. the world, where the piece has to stand on its own, and can not be backed by reason. You know, while writing on things that have actually happened is the same as putting my observation of worldly facts under test (whereby I am posing as an analyst, definitely my happiest and most confident avatar, or at the least, as an observer); on the other hand, imagining up an event which has probably never happened, maybe a feeling which I only have encountered, and putting it up for public perusal is akin to baring my creativity, baring myself to the analysis and criticism of the world. Here I am then, subject, not observer. And that is uncomfortable. I would prefer any day my observations, and not me to be the subject of scrutiny.

So, I remain Sinfully Pinstripe. Fearfully Creative.

And so, today, Bangalore was drenched with rain. Torrents. Gushes. And I like rain. I hate traffic. And stopping the motorbike on the wayside soaked to the skin, picking up deep-fried, piping hot chicken kebab down the dirty shop streetside, trying to balance the kabab (onioned, lemoned, on a banana-leaf-and-newspaper plate) in one hand and the wet, crumpled Classic Milds in the other, trying in vain to escape the rain under the miniscule cornice …. It reminded me, if even for a bit, of Asansol. Asansol keeps coming back, through some convoluted path of memory, somehow, to the conscious, to the today. I guess Asansol, still, in bits and pieces, is me, somehow.

And comes also Aadorer nouko. That haunting paean to Calcutta. Calcutta, minibuses, rains, La Martiniere, Minto park, Kalighat metro… few, very few memories. But I can understand. I can identify. Vaguely. But yes.

And yet, Virginia Tech happened. Singapore writes - I know you don’t like (reading) Falstaff, but here, he has put forth a point. Please read.
He has. With clarity. Very poignantly. Please read.

And one of my favorite people in Bangalore, is having a bypass surgery in a few days.. I will be selfish in my fear, in my concern, in my anxiety, in my prayers. In all my prayers. Uncle will be discharged from the hospital in a week or so, but till then, I will have my thoughts and my prayers for him. Please spare a second, you too, and pray for his speedy recovery, could you please?