Monday, 17. August 2009 23:45
It’s like a wave – the water recedes, seemingly never to return, and yet, the very next instant the deluge rushes forward, callously erasing away any footprints imprinted in the soggy sand.
I had thought I’d almost given up this space (not literally, but definitely figuratively). Perhaps, the biggest sign being I visited London and Scotland this year, and did not even once feel writing about the trip. Yes, I had kept the space ‘artificially alive’, for no other reason than nostalgic value – the way one keeps a momento cleaned and polished atop a showcase. But clearly, I hadn’t meant to keep it a well oiled machinery, the way it was in 2004-2005 and for some parts of 2007.
Many old friends have moved on. Many blogs have slipped into a numbing silence. Many links are invalid. The comments have dried. The visitors have thinned. The thoughts have perished. In short, the wave had retreated. Or, so I thought.
Yet, it never does.
A few days back, like a shocking jolt, out of nowhere and catching me absurdly unaware, the entire deluge came gushing and hurtling and howling down; deafening me in its thunderous roar, sweeping me in its force and hurting me with its impellent impact.
The wave had returned. And how! I spent the entire Independence Day weekend browsing through my own writings – amused at some, ashamed at others, and proud of quite a bulk (especially the stories). And like a wave, it brought back its own residues – twigs and dirt and pearls and seashells…those memories! The posts (both on this site and my previous one) are virtual age-lines on a tree-trunk; through them I could chronologically trace my life’s past five years. The happiness, the sadness, the silliness, the intelligence, the highness, the lowness of all those years are so firmly etched in this supposedly nebulous cyber-space (and what a range! From a routine walk through Kathmandu rains to an oh-so-intelligent discourse on living alone, these pages carry them all). And, it brought back that recurring dream. A dream I knew I had strangulated. A dream I thought I had rested. A dream I believed I had buried.
I read these pages with happiness. I read them with sadness. I read them – and I hate to admit this – with regret. Because, the trace ends two years back, when I shifted to Bombay. Woefully, the past two years are practically lost from these pages (other than a few odd posts here and there).
The wave had also washed off the resolute resolution of keeping creativity in check, and concentrating on life/work in its mundane form, the way the majority do. My imprints in the sand. No longer there.
I should have seen it coming. I should have immediately built a dam around it. After all, I had mentioned this space, not to one, but to two people in a span of few days. That triggered the return. Suddenly, once more, yesterday I was looking at words the way an artiste does his pallette. I saw them dancing impishly, waiting to be created into intelligible sentences. I watched them playfully tickle me to arrange them to form a page of thoughts. I noticed them mirroring my emotions and feelings. As I have often mentioned earlier, It’s that urge to write. That irrepressible bug within me. It’s awakening. It’s alive. It’s not that (in past two years) I haven’t tried to write. Truthfully speaking, there are a few unfinished posts lying on my master word file. However, the fact is, the impulse never exceeded its defined limit, and I always managed to curb and hold it at bay. Till a few days back. Till this wave.
But…but…can I afford to carry on? Can I allow the bug to take control again? Can I permit that dream to be exhumed and still expect it to breathe and provide fragrance?
Questions, to which I have no answers as yet. I will allow them to rest awhile.