I'd better clarify things so that some people important to me stop worrying about what is happening to me.
A lot of you guys have been reading my blog posts, and status updates on Facebook and been asking me if everything is alright.
It all alright folks!
I'm like this only and I've always been this way since the day I was born.
Hyper, absurd, loud, crazy, almost insane as they say... but yet its been like totally ok for me to be the way that I am because of the acceptance and understanding of those who have always been closest to me.
I think now, my father must have known that since I was really young, and worried about how I'm going to get along in life being the way I was, which is why he pushed me to read and read and read more till I would fall apart as a child and wonder if all the things which were written in the texts that I was lapping up were going to be of any significance to my life in my later years at all. It was always a problem for my folks to get me to bite into a book, but once I did, I wouldn't stop chewing on it.
This went on for many years until, as a result of it, I started writing.
That, I remember was my dad's most proud moment when I wrote my first play and showed it to him. He loved it and that was enough for me.
Thereafter I continued to write, and couldn't stop, like all writers do. I carried on reading more as time went on and I grew up to devour more complexed literature. I enabled myself with the ability to watch, absorb and observe, and then comment through my writing in a manner that didn't offend anybody, but shook up almost everybody. Once my father was clear that I was a writer, he was confident that I would make a living and also be able to cloak my eccentricities behind the veil of an intellectual aura... because if he hadn't prepared me in such a way, people would have really thought I'm mad. :)
Words consume me and compel me. I live with a constant monologue in my head as I go about the normal things that people usually do in a day. That monologue is a racy assimilation of my observations of what is going on around me. Used to be a chaotic experience at first, but has toned itself into a soothing rendition quite often layered with some interesting background piece of music, to make it more acute and dramatic.
I have lived my entire life so far like this. Making comparisons of people in life, with characters from fiction, and events in the surroundings with mysteries of the deeper mind.
The only people who can hang it there and be my friends for long times to come are those who understand that I am doing bakwas and talking nonsense... the rest get terribly terrified and run away. Its not that I haven't  understood this but whenever I have tried to give others the time to understand me first, before I reveal myself, the fake behavior has boomeranged on my face so badly, that its been even worse. There has been many a time when I've had to explain my actions to others as precociousness or dark humor. But those whom I've hurt have been unforgiving and left me in pain and regret.
I often wonder if I should change. And when I did change once, for a few years in time, I harmed myself so badly that I am still recovering. I became sensible, decent, humble, kind, caring and soft spoken. This destroyed me. I went from pillar to post looking for myself again and finally, having walked through the murkiest and darkest lanes of life, reached here, where I am today. Back to being myself, only surrounded by the people who are either as crazy as I am, or at the least desire to be, therefore understand me.
My family and those few friends with whom I can laugh after having spilled out the sharpest razor edged comment which could have left an unknown to my sense of description and humor, slashed to bits and bleeding profoundity.
Gosh! Had my father been alive, he would've never let me go through the mind altering experience of becoming whom I wasn't. But having said that, I guess he was taken away from me so he could not be there to protect me when I plunged into an abyss of darkness on an impulse to know what else there is to life.
I'm glad I'm back, hurt, but not without the capacity to heal myself.
I also returned having found, what else there was to life.....
To know that, you will have to read my next blog post :)
But I must end this piece by saying, "Guys I'm alright. Don't worry for me because I'm just a writer, playing with words like you do with your tools. While your tools are inanimate, I want you to know that words, however harmless they are, are animated and therefore capable of throwing you off, although you'd wish it was the writer who had lost balance at the edge of the cliff, instead."


Biren Ghose said…
Words, like glass, obscure when they do not aid vision - loved the clarity and personal insights in your piece - keep writing! Biren