Most of these people-many are meeting me for the first time-look at me with pity. They are like, "Here's another misguided soul who thinks that writing could feed his expensive lifestyle." Some obviously are kind. Take GK for example. He is the first contributor to my campaign to try and raise money for the book. Thanks GK.
To top the misery of
It was 7 I think when I forced myself to doze off. The sleep was fitful and I woke multiple times at night. Each time I checked my phone, hoping that #sgMS would have reconciled things and would have asked me to come back. No, she did not send any message. She'd never do something like that. Her pride is far too big for it. I did dream of her though. She and I were on some train journey. Very unlike because I detest long train journeys but I am not complaining. It was a dark night and train was passing over a never-ending bridge, erected on top of some ocean somewhere in Europe. Apart from that faint sliver of moon at some distance, it was a pitch black night. I flipped out my phone to take a selfie, both of us bathed in moon light. But I am klutzy when it comes to camera. So she snatched my phone and extended her smallish arms and took a picture. While she clicked, she squeezed in close to me. I could breathe in her perfume, see that tinge of white hiding behind the thick bun that she loves to tie her hair in. She was close to me than she has been in years. And I wanted the moment to last forever. Ok enough. Just because I am reading my first Mills and Boon does not mean I start writing cheesy things on a public blog. And that too about sgMS.
To come back to the afterlife of being a published author, to be honest, it sucks. While I was writing, I had no one to answer to. No one had any expectations. I broke away from all relationships. I was a free fucking bird. I had saved some and seen the world and all I had to do was write 1000 or so word everyday. The 1000 words were a struggle but every word I wrote brought along elation and excitement and satisfaction. I was rowing my own boat in the vast ocean and it did not matter if the boat stayed afloat or drowned. No one would've noticed to be honest. I was truly by myself. I was the master of my time. I could choose what I did.
Now, now that the book is done, I am back to being the chief bread-earner for my family. A side-note on my parents. If not for them, I wouldn't have been able to lead such a nomadic life. Not nomadic but hippy. Thanks Ma and Pa.
But now that I am back, the grind sucks. The ones I listen to, I goto advice for, my mentors, they tell me that that's how life is meant to be lived. I refuse to accept. When God, or whoever else made us, he had to have a plan. And that plan definitely could not be as wasteful as spending hours in a room with other people, trying to give wings to other people's dreams. Damn life. It's so frivolous and wasteful. Something needs to be done. I don't know what.
At times I think the ones who are called mad, they probably weren't mad at all. They were merely taking the world for a ride. That dude Nietzsche said something interesting about such people. He said, "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." I want to believe that he was right. I want to believe that a lot of people around me are dancing to their tunes and I have no clue as to what they are listening to. Wish I had a tune playing in my head. I could've danced to my tune and I could've ignored the world around me. But then, the eternal question. Is it what the life is meant for? To take other for a ride?
There has to a way out. Someone has to have answers. Someone must know the meaning of it all. Someone has to solve the conundrum. There are so so many things that are wrong about the world around us. The unfairness of the world, the hazaar khawahishs, the bonds that prevent us from taking wings, the expectations, sgMS, money. There are so many things that I dont have a clue to. Time to seek help? I don't know. Who'd have answers? Are they easy?
Guess this is what Midlife Crisis is all about?
P.S.: Loved writing this little rant. Oh, the pleasures of venting out. And the pleasures of writing. And the pleasures of a coffee shops. Thanks Starbucks!
P.P.S.: Just updated my bucket list.