On Art of Writing

“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.

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?

**

via Daily Prompt: Disastrous

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11 Replies to “On Art of Writing”

  1. Freedom of speech, eh?
    …those were the days.
    And that’s what they tell us in their old dusty books, which I tend not to give too much credence to, anyway.

    The whole deal is a racket, any way you look at it. No escaping it. Launching rockets into space, while human beings die of hunger on the streets in broad daylight.
    Slave away, pay taxes, pray lest you should fall from grace, or else the system will pay attention to you and your puny life to make it right. To make everything right for you. Don’t you worry. They got it covered. Their playbooks are exhaustive and stood the trail of time.

    You’re hitting very heavy topics in this post nobody of immense outreach and influence would ever bring up to public discussion. Taboo. Ain’t happening, Jack. Truth doesn’t pay. Truth hurts. Awfully bad.

    With the advent of the internet, it’s getting a tiny weeny harder to keep their shady business as usual.
    Folks access and share information with the speed never seen before, and yet… Cats, YouTube, boobs, what have you. Anything but that which will be conducive to making a sensible change. But do you need change?

    Sadly, all comes down to IQ. Those with IQ less of 83 are barred from enlisting in us army. There’s a reason for that. Too scary to leave these guys alone with brooms, for heavens’ sake. Then what you do is make sure that your livestock is permanently getting well… clueless about the world around them.
    IQ is a vicious concept. Mostly it’s genetics. Folks with higher IQ tend to find their way into places, counties, where IQ is appreciated and financially stimulated along the way. All the while, leaving all the less fortunate fellow countrymen to their sorry fates, the latter never forget to procreate themselves, alas, genetics. IQ will not dawn on them. More than 100 years of research. The spiral of backward nonsense and general injustice.

    What’s an art? A video of farting cats? Screaming deranged Japanese woman in some modern art museum?
    Speaking of which, a guy – walking around a modern art museum – dropped his glasses on the floor. In 5 minutes, it became the top exhibition at the museum, people fainting from cultural enlightenment orgasms.

    Backwards, twisted, wicked world. Just as the people in it, if you can call them that.

    But why the change? Why? Go along to get along. Cats videos are waiting. Someone took a humongous purple piss at some makeshift half annihilated bus stop. Quick, take pics, hash tags, share. Be on top of the game. Be the game. Yes, be the game for the wolves. Oh, look at that! Purple turned into green. Gross, but trendy. Snap!

    But I’m just some random Russian dude writing some silly-duff 17 syllables poetry, which doesn’t even rhyme. Just plain risible, really. So who am I to pontificate on Freedom of Speech, anyway?

    Oh! Three obscenely obese cats came up to that green piss and they farted on it. Really hard and loud. What was pretending to be the bus stop got blown right away. And yes, uploading it on my instagram now! Can smell all these likes incoming. Feels good. What? Where were we? Freedom? What’s a freedom? Dude, you are all over your head. I mean, the cats bro. Just like totally recked the bus stop. Freedom. Nah. Partypooper. Begone. Now, where did the cats go?

    *not my usual writing style, but hey it was my stream of consciousness :-0 apologize in advance if you don’t appreciate such brain… no, not farts, outputs, rather.

    Have a good one there!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I read it somewhere Ilya, when you write, write the way you you would speak, curse as much as you want, swear, blame, throw tantrums because emotional writings can be edited and made to look respectable (not that I’m a huge fan of it) but you cannot add emotions to a plain writing. Stream of conscious is the only thing which is full of emotions, untouched from the influence of the so called majority.
      I’m a PhD student in one of the leading medical institute of India. It’s ranked number one actually. Would you guess what my salary is? it’s less than that of a clerk. I’m not joking. Appreciating science is no longer a norm in India. I do not know about any other country but I’m writing what I’ve seen.
      This post was a simple way of getting out my frustration. It actually ended up being 5000 words and then I had to break it down because it ended up being too political (once a politician, I don’t need to name him, in our country said that people should stop questioning every thing that their government does. Really, you idiotic dumb shit, have you forgotten the meaning of democracy. Oh wait, what did you say? “Everyone in your government has forgotten the meaning of democracy.”)
      Now it makes sense.

      Like

  2. “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.”

    Yes! Controlling the style and means of expression caps the creativity of individuals, perhaps so that they don’t upset the order.

    Okay, so I said the same thing you said but with my own words that were perhaps ostentatious but only because of how hive-mindbogglingly amazing this whole post was!

    Like

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