I was enjoying a long vacation and an internet-less one at that. There was nothing much that happened and lesser still would interest anyone if I were to describe it. I suffered from a reaction and got all itchy but that is something even I wouldn’t dwell upon lest it should consider this attention a sign of invitation and should come back to displease me further. I am sorry for this sudden change in my language – and consistency isn’t something I would boast about – but it is very often influenced by the book that I may be reading at that time.
I didn’t blog for a month, nor could I reply to the comments until a day or two ago, and the few entries before this one had all been scheduled in advance. Now this was a difficult thing for me to do since I had to think all that matter up in a week which, I believe, could be offered as a reason if you find that the quality has deteriorated. It’s not that writing all of it and managing this online space has ever been a burden but that the very idea of scheduling has been despised by me since as long as I can remember.
I have never planned my day or made schedules of any kind – or it would be more accurate to say that I don’t adhere to them. I can never restrict the dynamic functions and capacities of my body and the thoughts I produce to predetermined time-slots. Hence, even during my examinations, I let my whims govern my study pattern. This has worked for me and not the most prudential of advices which promote time management (my mum would surely have contradicted me here, providing a vast number of truths which we shall overlook since: 1. They haven’t been mentioned, and 2. I retain the power to control exactly what appears on this blog).
But it isn’t my time alone that has undergone such atrocities. It has never been in my nature to plan things, not even my birthday. It goes without saying, therefore, that all blog entries have been penned down spontaneously when they occur to me in much the same way as they appear on the blog. I have never resorted to jotting down in advance the points I may wish to include and then referring to them as I write. It becomes tedious to write then, because all the fun and excitement of the unknown have been sucked out.
Whenever I get an idea, I write it down in its raw form; I write down every possible thought about the subject in precisely the same order as the one it appears in inside my mind. Or, if I am too sleepy or too lazy to grab paper and pen, I will think about the subject so much so that it will be a long time before it is driven out of my mind. Yes, there are times when I am bombarded with ideas, and it would be prudent to note them down in short, to be reserved for an often recurring period of stagnation of thoughts. No doubt a few golden ideas would be lost if they are let to remain on my mind but what is the value of few thoughts preserved if the passion for them itself is lost?
The mind is a precious organ and I can’t risk demeaning any of its components, the principle of which are my thoughts. All my thoughts, for as long as they reside in my mind, are precious. I can’t dare consider putting any of them in the trash. There are thousands of things which enter my mind but only a few make their way out. All those thoughts which are released are either the very best or the worst of the worst, and it is this binary view which destroys ideas.
Once something has been penned down, it ceases to be as vague as when it was on your mind. Once you write something down, you remove the burden of that thought from your mind. It helps you to examine your thoughts from the outside and to criticise yourself and improve. But writing something down (except for study materials) reduces its importance in your mind’s perception (don’t consider me an expert: I am only generalising here on the basis of my thoughts ). My mind, at least, doesn’t believe in attending to that which has been written down earlier, even though I may not have expressed my thoughts in the best possible way. It seems as if that part of my mind which had catered to that thought (now written down) has been shut, locked and the key lost. I can force my mind to consider a thought again but it will be in a whole new light. I will never be able to recreate the atmosphere that had been around at the time of conception of the thought. Thus I believe in exhausting all thoughts about a subject before leaving it off.
On a sadder note though, if what I wrote hold true then I may never be able to write a big book…..
Or, I may go on to hold the world record of writing the longest book in one sitting!