You get the hugs too easily!

Too much of attention spoils us they say. In this case it’s a bit weird though. The receiver and the complainer both are yours truly.

It’s been a while since I have nurtured the ambition to become a screenwriter. But what have I done about it? Apart from appearing for a Film School entrance exam, discussing countless themes with my close buddies over copious amount of alcohol, buying a laptop, downloading a screenplay writing software, sulking, wearing T-shirts that read – Ek gazab ka toofan aaye, hum ko gehri neend se jagaye, making half hearted attempts at writing, scribbling one amateur short film script, showing off my embryonic knowledge about world cinema. I haven’t really moved an inch from my comfort zone. NOT EVEN A SINGLE centimeter! The outings have been the same. The going out on weekends has been the same. The coming home late from work has been the same. What happened to the clap trap of taking the extra effort of going that extra mile, sweating that drop of blood, burning the mid night oil? The bouquets about my initial writing came too easily. 5 years back I was more prolific than I am right now. What the heck, I am having troubles writing this piece coherently. Whenever I cry about the lack of opportunities, I have friends who offer their shoulders and make me feel that everything’s fine. Why don’t they just shake me up and threaten to abandon me? See? Now I have begun to blame them for my failures. What a weakling!

Till now I have believed that I am not like the rest of them. I can do what I aspire to do. But as they say, at the end of the day you get what you deserve. Probably I deserve this. Ah…not probably, I SURELY deserve this. Let’s see how far I can go on like this.

Words

It’s been long since I actually wrote for myself. Felt the pangs of the words struggling to get out one by one. It’s been a while. I wonder how the words were doing without me around for so long. Like a fickle breeze whose soothing touch entices you initially and you fall for it. You think it will come again and it doesn’t.

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Words now flow in torrents like the rain in the month of Ashaadh. With an urgency that makes me feel that they almost have a purpose. They want to humiliate me. Tell me how insensitive I was. How I tricked them into thinking that I cared for them. That I understood their language, shared their pain. But what pains them most now I realize. The fact that I haven’t even bothered to deceive them.

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Where were you when the pain that slashed through me also wiped my tears?

Where were you when I spoke to an empty room that filled my senses with your presence?

Where were you?