Whenever I sit down to write I wish to write beautiful words, essential words..not just about everything that's going on in my head. Because the written word is something one can always come back to, and the bitter word always stays with you, especially when it is your own. But life does not work that way.
"There are so many things I want to write down but I cannot seem to, because the reader won't appreciate the little details that are very important to me. What do I do?", one young woman in the audience asked at the Jaipur Literature Festival, to which Howard Jacobson replied, "Edit Edit Edit! If there is doubt, it shouldn't be there in the first place." I don't like to edit, personally. I don't like to go back and re-read and find a new fault each time. But life does not work that way. Mistakes must be mended.
If I said that all the events that I attended at the literature festival were enlightening, that would be a lie. Maybe I am a bit dull, because most discussions couldn't keep my attention right till the end and we were attending sessions one after the other and most authors spoke in such convoluted language and if you really listened to them, they were talking about very simple things and there are too many ands in this sentence.
I've been sitting here in my favorite spot for sometime now. A single branch with deep red bougainvilleas has made its way out of my neighbor's balcony to brave the Delhi winter. Birdy is crooning about her Terrible Love and her quiet company. But no beautiful poem is coming to settle in the palm of my hand tonight. Life does not work that way. Not for half baked snobs like me anyway.
If I said that all the events that I attended at the literature festival were enlightening, that would be a lie. Maybe I am a bit dull, because most discussions couldn't keep my attention right till the end and we were attending sessions one after the other and most authors spoke in such convoluted language and if you really listened to them, they were talking about very simple things and there are too many ands in this sentence.
I've been sitting here in my favorite spot for sometime now. A single branch with deep red bougainvilleas has made its way out of my neighbor's balcony to brave the Delhi winter. Birdy is crooning about her Terrible Love and her quiet company. But no beautiful poem is coming to settle in the palm of my hand tonight. Life does not work that way. Not for half baked snobs like me anyway.
