“I disapprove of what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it- Voltaire.”
Pleasant weather in Delhi is a myth.
It just dawned on me, in middle of my sweating session on the road, writing is an art and just like any art, there is an aesthetic appeal to it.
Personal perceptions. My personal preference for what I end up calling art are pen and ink sketches. Socially acceptable definition of an artist is the one who can work with oil paint. I personally hate it, not that I’m very bad at it, but the satisfaction that I get from one of my ink portraits far outweighs the one I get from a painting which took me seven days to make. Every stroke of pen, every line ends up saying so much.
That’s exactly what writing is. Prose written with examples of sensory perception, smell, sight, touch, sound is the prose which is acceptable form of writing. Acceptable form of art. Did you saw what I did there?
I’m standing in metro when I’m typing this, sweating from the humid air. Now I’m pretty sure, you can imagine yourself, on this very moment, travelling to some place, wherever you want to go, on a humid morning with sweat coming from every pore as you stare at your smartphone’s screen. Maybe you are recalling a moment right now. It’s that simple and that difficult. It’s crowded, unnecessarily crowded, and unnecessary because it can be avoided. Now you can imagine there are lot of people around me, around you.
Did I really had to say, the pungent smell of the water, trickling from every tiny pore on my skin, crawling like a little worm before meeting to the ground, from where it initially rose, made me feel suffocated. Couldn’t I just simply say, I’m sweating, it is humid outside, and I hate the fact that metro has become so insufferable now?
Wouldn’t that send my message perfectly clear? When I need to write eloquent metaphors, I write poetry. I do not write prose, I do not want to make my thoughts more convoluted than they already are.
Why is it that the only gratification we find from our creations is through the opinions of others? Couldn’t I simply be satisfied with a sketch because I created it out of graphite and cellulose pulp?
Did you got it? Paper (cellulose pulp).
See, I can show off if I want to but why should I?
I do not care for your opinion if you don’t even know how to hold a pencil, how to write your thoughts, how to hum an original symphony. I do not need your criticism. So often those who can’t create are the ones who pass judgement without thought.
Maybe Franz Kafka said it, I don’t remember the exact words, but the point is good writing is supposed to shake your psych, it’s supposed to make you want to ask questions, it’s supposed to challenge your beliefs. Sadly when you challenge the beliefs of anyone in India, you end up with a criminal case under section 499 of Indian penal code. I’m not joking. I can count you five cases, from top of my head, without even going to internet to check for the answer.
Freedom of speech.
What a big bloated statement. There is no greater cause for democracy, all of it is to feed their over-inflated ego.
Modiji, you know what I’m talking about.
See, those eight words are going to end up causing me so much trouble, a case under section 499 (1, 2, 3).
Ilya, do you know what I’m talking about?
Now that won’t cause me any grief, but the first one will end up with a section 499.
That’s why ostentatious words defining same old feeling of love, same old issues of patriarchy are the norm when it comes to the art of writing.
See even an art form is suffocated and bloated by lack of freedom of speech.
Section 499 states, “Freedom of speech is not an absolute,” then why the fuck is it called freedom (4)? Dark deceptions. That’s section 499 for you, apparently politicians can say your wife is a prostitute and that would be their freedom of speech, but if you say that a politician’s wife is a prostitute, apparently that’s defamation because freedom of speech isn’t applicable for common people. Freedom of speech is not a right and those aren’t my words, it’s written in Indian penal code.
Find me one Delhi boy who doesn’t swears, curse like a sailor. And yet if an Anurag Kashyap movies says, behenchod you’ll end up honking a horn so loud, the theatre ends up being shocked.
We see much worse filth of soup that respected men like you lay on independent women. She is an independent woman, the only thing she ever does is smoke, drink and fuck around. Bollywood adds its own twist to that. I could have said intercourse, maybe I could have used a more poetic word but fuck sounded more in the category respected man like you belong to.
That’s the filth we live in, and that’s the filth which decides what kind of art form is acceptable.
Fuck you and your opinions.
Now there wasn’t much to this story. Or was there?
Check out these links for more information