Writing can never be told as a passion or a habit for me. I can only call it a byproduct of my relationship with solitude. Or the relation thus formed when solitude embraces me with all his love can also be called “writing”. I have always enjoyed that. Sometimes I enjoy that with a loud laugh, sometimes with a deep sigh, sometimes with a few drops of tears, or sometimes with wonder. Whatever it may be, making a clean and white MS Word new document dirty with my words and thoughts gives me great pleasure.
More than all that I believe writing as my time machine, it takes me to the precise time and place I belong. And for that to happen I should be accompanied with my friend Mr. Solitude. He narrates me the entire script and I, like an obedient little child, captures those echoes of silence. I simply love it. Thanks a lot to Indonesia for that. Though not up to my Thrissur, she is also beautiful. And “APHORISMS” is a gift. Don’t know if it’s my gift to this land or her gift to me.
And to the subject or the writes I have posted is usually on the incidences that touched me the most or it may be of some souls who have their influence on me. But “Thrissur” and “death” are those two which can be found in watermarks in most of my posts. Some of them who have gone through my posts have criticized me by questioning what is there so much to write about death…don’t make posts so negative and so on. But, when I’m given a chance to speak, write or debate on this Mystery-Man...Death… just a post will never ever is enough to shrink the whole phenomenon into just a few lines or pages.
I recollect what Uncle Zia, my father’s friend and colleague, once wrote to me in reply to my mail in which I told him that I have somehow got struck with a new hobby. He said “This is something I tell everyone. You should have hobbies, at least one. It keeps you going all the time. When you are sad, tensed, busy or even happy. I found your writing interesting and you have future in that. Avoid using words which the average reader finds difficult...” Until he said that, I was totally ignorant of the presence of several moods under the nuances of which each scribbles are made on this sunless sky. But, unfortunately I don’t have habit of reading books.
Mein Kampf of Adolf Hitler and Mario Puzo’s “The Godfather” are the only two books that have my finger prints on all its pages. Adolf Hitler has always been a hero for me. Apart from what was taught in our 9th standard History chapters, I had a different angle to view that personality. His oratory skills and the way he came to power used to motivate me. There is a heavy lesson of determination and will strength that can be sketched out from his life and death. Though for history he was an unpopular chapter, for me he was the most popular leader. My friends often used to say I’m crazy for saying all these. But…what should I say..?? I have no materials to make them think as I do…for I know; I’m not as influential as Hitler.
Even for The Godfather it was somewhat a similar approach for me. The protagonist character of Don Vito Coreleon which was done by Marlon Brando and Al Pacino’s as Michael Coreleon also became one of my favorites when the lines in the book were made into dialogues, scenes and fights on the silver screen.
So that was all what my habit of reading is. But for writing, I have never felt that reading habit act as a backbone. Of course yes, reading is important for having a better way of presentation. Anyone can write anything. All they need for that is a thought to express what they feel. That thought can be their principles or it could be a different essence that they might discover in the world around them. And in all those what makes a piece of writing as beautiful as a level of tulip flowers on the snow covered mountains fed by the clouds is the way he describes his findings or his feelings. Malayalam film directors and script writers Padmarajan and Renjith’s and writer M.T.Vasudevan Nair’s scripts are those which I can use to exemplify what I said. Their works are like a river beautifully signed by their thoughts and imagination. Each work is born from a different gene.
“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia”. Those were not my words… but several times...No, I have felt it each and every time I go through my own words in this Aphorisms. I don’t know how long it may go or when does APHORISMS stop. It may impede when I reach back to my own gorgeous mother land, where I meet my comrade Mr. Solitude only rarely. But there I also demand that acquaintance rarely. I love to be accompanied by Mr. Solitude only when I’m away from them.
“The pages are still blank,
But there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there,
Written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.
I love writing.
I love the swirl and swing of words
As they tangle with human emotions.
Words - so innocent and powerless as they are,
As standing in a dictionary, how potent for good, evil, madness and foolishness
They become in the hands of someone like me.
Writing…Writing…Writing…!!!”
