No Impulse

Anything that you stop doing after a day or two can very easily drift away from you. Is creativity like this? One thing about creating something is that it is not easy. It is like my life: walking in the dark. The ideas come often and then plotting the story line seems relatively an easier option but the primal act of writing...is the toughest to endure. The body has become so accustomed to relaxing, the mind has become so accustomed to drift away that writing a script out of nowhere is a Herculean task. And the less I go at it the more insecure I become. Procrastination can very easily deceive me. 

What a afternoon it is right now: the fan is circling around my head in the room that is cool because of the all night air conditioning; outside, as I stood in the balcony, there is a hot breeze blowing that doesn't make the body comfortable but what kept me standing there, I guess, was the chirping of two birds whose names I don't know and the movement of the plants and trees because of the breeze. The effect of the breeze was soothing but the warm feel of it was uncomfortable. Who stands in a Delhi summer noon in the balcony? I saw that everybody had locked doors and were inside their big boxes doing their mundane chores; wait, I shouldn't judge them, what good am I doing anyway? Creation is the only good that counts, not the good you think, I believe. It is the doing that matters because the doing can be seen and hence valued, but what is being done within you cannot be seen and hence becomes oblivious to eyeballs. Eyes are the most important senses we have. Without them the world would be dark...but not dark from within, maybe. 

Days have passed and what would have been great is i would have had a schedule made to utilize the time in creating something, or at least getting into a routine. But if I had that control over my mind wouldn't my experience of life be drastically different? After I publish this post I don't know what am I going to do. Personally, because I have such a craving to write in the morning and get done with it before afternoon, if I miss that time, the impulse or desire to write goes away. Then it feels like dragging myself to the laptop and type as a compensatory effort. But how will I get to the second step if the first step is wrong? How can I expect myself to wake up at 5 if I sleep at 4! 

Bombardment

I was sitting in front of my laptop with my eyes closed and wondering what should I write about. And what came to my mind the moment I closed my eyes was a blast of the things that have happened to me in the day. I have been home-ridden since a week or more than that and yet there is so much happening in the day that I can't imagine how much does our mind take-in at a time, or how much can it really take-in? I think that is why repetition works: the more you do one thing the more it gets ingrained and has less chances of fading out from the mind, but what about certain incidents that get inked forever?

*

Procrastination has become a friend, I'd say. Plotting out story ideas is still an easier task; where procrastination inhibits me is when the time comes to write down those ideas into stories. It brings in references about itself that how it has been helpful to writers to gestate the ideas in the mind. But on the other hand your gut reminds you of the references that say that writers write in one sitting and finish off drafts in one go. These internal conflicts are eternal. The word conflict is a synonym of eternal, I have started to believe.

*

The mind though full seems empty to throw out thoughts. I guess this brief venting out is enough for the day. Maybe not always one has to vomit monologues.

Uncertainty, my friend

Uncertainty, my friend, where will you lead me to?

Will it by actions that will tread me ahead

Or

Will you pave way for me 

Like a well-wisher in disguise?

That's the first thought that came to my mind when I was momentarily staring at the blank new post. 

Does an artist's life has to be uncertain? 

Is it really thrilling to not know what lies ahead and yet go on? 

I don't know.

Deep down, I don't find it thrilling because it tests my survival instincts which throw me out of comfort zone and that has started to happen quite a lot. So will it become my new comfort zone then, I wonder?

The day passed by quite quickly and right now while I type this I am feeling the kind of uncertainty that comes with doing a new project where you don't know how it will land up, who will end up working, will it even be made, will it ever come out, what happens if does? There are so many tricky questions that are crossing my mind right now, as if I have given a birth to a baby and now I don't know how it will grow up. Though the baby is not mine originally but I am one of the guardians of that baby who has the responsibility to take it ahead and make something great out of it. I have never done something like this and maybe that is why it feels a bit nervy and new and there is a sense of anxiety as well. Also, I am thinking about the kind of money I will eventually make out of it. I can now very slightly imagine the emotional upheaval a writer must be going through while writing a book or a screenplay because it so fucking tricky space - you don't know anything how it is going to turn out until you have really written something and have it with you tangibly. I get reminded of a great line one of the most innovative screenwriters Charlie Kaufman said : The best thing about your first screenplay is that you wrote a screenplay. That comes from sheer experience of struggling to write a story worth telling (actually I believe every story is worth telling, it is the how you tell it that matters). 

I randomly started to read Andrei Tarkovsky's book Sculpting in Time; just felt like reading it. I found his insight quite tough to understand and whatever I did understand was very very relatable to the kind of things Stanislavski used to say about art: truth of the moment and the characters and the circumstances they are in. I don't know, I just got struck with a sense of relation between the two. 

It is very interesting to read about these legendary filmmakers to know about what they thought about the work they did and what were their POVs and how did they alter with time. It gives a sense of clarity and a direction, and sometimes it just inspires you to create and pursue your work, and sometimes it gets you back on the track of being an artist and finding the truth in the art you are creating. 

Isn't that the biggest question for an artist: to find the truth in what he does? What is truth in art after all? How do you define it? It sounds like an incomprehensible yet a tangible feeling that cannot be conjured in words but only in the gut, but then our task is to conjure it if not in the words then in the visual. That is what I can do: write and act, these are my two mediums of expression which I am going to explore forever in my life hoping that survival does not come across as a hinderance in the work I create. 

Deep work has to begin from tomorrow. 

Big talks and small actions... not a good combination... actions, actions, actions... that is what the world looks upto... what actions you take is what the people see... my actions will decide my fate and it is in my hands only... the sooner I write and spend time with myself in honing myself as an artist - deep work - the better I get at my skills; that is what is in my hands. 

Rest, as I always say: who knows. 

There is so much within

What is within needs words to come out.

There is a lot within: ideas, memories, thoughts, visuals, dreams. They are craving to come out; blast out of me like a volcano that keeps boiling as the Earth grows older day by day.

My medium is words. Yes, acting is another medium but it is not in my control; and moreover, I am yet to crack the method to channelize my depths into my acting every time- sometimes it has come and worked, sometimes I have tried too hard and not been able to work it out and then got stuck and then let go and played. Acting, I have started to realize, is a beautiful discovery that I am going to make each time I play a character (s).

But I have writing - laptop, time and typing is what I need to let it out. But before that I need to play the game of pick-and-choose: pick the idea I want to write about NOW and then ponder over it, play around it and then develop it into a story, and that, needs time, regularly and religiously. Stories are forming inside me: I have these thoughts that what if I tell my own story or the stories that I have seen in my life - they are plenty - in stead of looking out of me for inspiration. Just today I saw this beautiful Japanese film called Shoplifters and the way it has been written I just wished I could reach that level of empathy and understanding of human beings. The mastery of how the writer/director understands and unravels his story through the scenes gives so much about the characters that you just cannot take your eyes off it (though I did not watch it in a single sitting because of some interjections). The writing is so simple and so the film is so visual that the story flows seamlessly and timelessly until the dramatic twists start coming up and that's when you get hooked all the more That's the kind of writing I want to achieve: the one that hooks the audience. I mean, what else do I want as an artist? That people watch the story I am telling, that they let that story sink in and feel something while they are witnessing it. That is art for me and that is the high level of cinema that I believe I can create...just that I need to add that rigor and 'deep work' in my daily routine - though I don't have one.

And what a life I am leading right now: no money in the bank, recovering from typhoid, finished a beautiful novel yesterday, watched a gorgeous film today, have started reading another book that is a professional commitment, having good and healthy food, taking my own time to do things without pressure of anybody, and started to meditate. So much good happening that I did not think about money today and it feels good somewhere. Not that I hate money but I hate the pressure that comes with the lack of it. I bet the world hates that. Who knows.

I have been thinking about the personal stories and memories that can be made into a cinema. I would like to start by writing a short story script and then step into a feature length film so that I get some confidence to start writing films (screenplays). I am not a trained in the craft of screenwriting but I have read enough about it to write. And I have started to feel that the time has come to dedicate time to it daily and spend some good quality of time in thinking over my ideas and crafting the stories whichever way I like - prose or direct screenplay - so that I can get into the groove of it. After all all writing is rewriting, say a lot of legends. I am yet to get into the stage of rewriting that I could say anything about it. Just that I believe that repetition makes things better so I would like to believe that great writing must be coming from writing the same thing again and again and of course the more you write about it the better it becomes.

It is time to take my meager craft of writing to next level: not to stop myself from writing because I do not know the exact story but just write whatever is there in my mind. At least, I should try that method out and see what works for me.

Excited .
Inspired.

Happy?
Well...

Broke-n

I feel I could curl in my bed and cry for sometime... but would it heal anything, would it provide solutions? No , it won't. Crying has never been a solution but a temporary solace act that has released nerve-calming hormones. My eyes have not been good since the typhoid has struck me; their strenuous nature has returned and they seem to get tired pretty easily again like they behaved in the past.

i have no money right now in my bank. the money from the web series has vanished and those days have returned where I become a liability to my parents...it fucking hurts to ask money from them...it is so agonizing, as if one would snatch a sandwich from a ten day old hungry man.

I am changing my home in Bombay and it was not my decision. My roomies called me telling me that they have found the perfect flat for us that suits our budget and is livable and we should shift in it asap. before i could contemplate my other options, I said yes, was that foolish of me knowing that I had no money but I never will have enough money, will I? How much patience will I show to sustain in that unhygenic room of ours where three people literally sleep together with two feet distance apart from them. dust falling over us 24x7 and the noise of the traffic a constant in our ears leaving us with no peace. we have ten thousand excuses to not live there. the only reason I am apprehensive of shifting to a new place is the first month expenses; right now they seem like a killer blow, an impossible task but I know I will have to turn to my parents to beg for the money. the play will not be paying enough, i fucking wish it did, ii fucking wish it was a production like dur se brothers which pays well to the actors... i would have earned a good 20k with the number of shows i put up and that amount would have done wonders to me financially, though I still would have asked for help to my parents but it would have been way less than what seems now I am going to ask.

the problem is not asking them because they will refuse to pay, the problem is that they are low on budgeting and somehow managing their own bills in between which my bills disrupt their financial stability which makes me feel utterly guilty because only I know how they manage it. they don't say no but there is a slight pause in between my question and their yes and that's where the real answer lies, that is where their fucking predicament lies, that is where my guilt is born out of, that is where the seemingly unending darkness engulfs me in its long fucking arms.

i have got two projects lined up but the money will not come until the next two months because the work is yet to begin. the web series and the writing web series; the money is ok and once it comes i will start surviving on my own but what after that? god, i can't think of it... i dont't want to think of when the web series will begin because i have been locked but now there seems to a big desert of emptiness and waiting for the call for the shoot. until the shoot begins the hopes of getting that money will keep decreasing but somewhere in my heart i am assured of the near future.

i am glad that i could survive the previous four months on my own and it felt great not asking for any financial help from mom and dad. i felt proud of myself but money has such a strong effect on me that the broken days are back and my pensive state has kicked in with the agony, of course.

am i a good son?

or am i a selfish son who takes his parents for granted? who knows that no matter what i will never be broke because i have parents' back...but i don't want to have that feeling at all....i just hope that i could earn enough to pay the bills, that's it. to earn more is a secondary thing in bombay because survival becomes such an uphill task that you just think of fulfilling the bank so much so that you can pay the rent and have some money for basic two meal food. what else do i spend on? drinks and ciggies? it is just a two time a month affair and i do not regret that. smoking became a daily affair and oh fuck yes! it was also one of the damn reasons why i had become physically weak and had lost weight... it all fucking adds up in the end. it does. it does. it does.

again... i stare into emptiness and darkness not knowing where life is going on in spite of the fact that I have work lined up just that i need patience and i need courage and ignorance to ask money for shifting in my new home. there, i have to be strong and fight my guilt. sorry dad sorry mom. i know you have been doing so much for me and all i can do is barely something for myself. i do not know when will your son crack the code of consistency in this harsh and mysterious industry; whether it will come from writing or from acting, i don't know aai and baba... i do know that i am trying and praying a lot and things seem to fall in place though sparsely but i somewhere feel that this is the year when things are going to turn for good and things are going to start becoming smoother... i just feel that... trust me, no?

i love you the most.

you do not know about the agony...sometimes i cannot handle it... i die many nights....

Two Sides

Is life bipolar?

We say that we should see things in grey but do we really things see that way? Do we give scope to ourselves so that we could see things between black and white?

I don't know.

But I believe that there is so much black in me that the white now seems like a facade? I am wondering why am I writing this right now. i had gone to bed, had put a fucking early alarm of 4.30 AM and now here I am typing something that I don't know where it is coming from. I had a strong temptation, a strong compulsion, an obsession to type through the keyboard pages after pages and just let myself feel a bit relaxed, to let me writer, or a budding writer - I would love to call myself a writer though - just blast through the keyboard and let the words flow.

I was contemplating what to write: a short story, an autobiographical write-up, a blog post, a screenplay - well, a screenplay takes a lot of time, man! I am not confident to write a screenplay until I feel I have a sense of clarity, maybe it has become a fear of sorts, I don't know.

I am already wondering what am I going to write in this blog tomorrow? That's bullshit! I should not worry about that tonight. Rather, let me cherish the sound the laptop keypad is making and the way my fingers are dancing as if on fire, as if waiting to be unleashed like Spanish bulls! I could write through night about whatever comes to my mind; this could well be a morning page sort of a writing or a stream of consciousness one, who knows.

I don't want to censor it right now or think about making it dramatic, but let the fucking words flow and have fun beating the shit out of the laptop. I wonder, whether this obsession of hearing the sounds of keyboard dashing under my fingers is a sign of being  a great writer? But then I am reminded of a brilliant quote by Stephen Fry: We artists are not nouns but verbs: today we are acting, tomorrow we are writing. It is such a beautiful thought that I could not agree more!

Coming back to the blackness inside me: I feel that I am great at bearing a facade publicly. I can be a nice guy filled with virtues and not letting my true identity come out or true thoughts - identity... well that is a broader question to understand- come straight out on the platter... I like to wait, like to gauge the feel of the room and then pounce on the right moment very calculatedly. Also because many times I don't like to disagree with my friends because of two things: my view might come as a surprise; second: it would take so much energy to explain and indulge in an argument. I need my mood to get into a debate, and I like to get into one only if I am sure I know what I am going to talk about because I know I am bad at manoeuvring through discussions to save myself. I lose interest if I am losing, I bet many do... and well I know who don't, they keep trying as if it is about life and death.

What is hidden within is so precious as an artist that I have slowly started to realize that it feels satisfactory if it comes out through writing or acting or in any other means except just plainly in a verbal duel.

Sometimes I feel I am a lone warrior and I can be victimized easily because of my petite body and the tendency to be cute. I love being the dumb, naive child in front of people, although my ego inhibits but off-lately I have been winning the battles over the ego and life has been blissful.

But yeah, these society friends who like to corner me and make fun of me... I don't know why and how I have become easy trap for them. No wait! I know: hair, body, color, my work... almost everything... my physicality has been a great attraction of attention and comments here in my social circle in Delhi. These people I feel are uneducated towards humanity and I hate them all the more. I don't like spending time with them... they bore me to death... their conversations are the same and fucking same and they think that it is a sign of them not growing up and being young at heart. It is boring now. yes, mostly because I am the victim but they talk about money and all that shit and they have limited things to talk about and the kind of discussions I like to can never happen with them because they can never match my frequency of thoughts and I have risen above theirs, or have started to realize that I was never meant to be with them - it was all a bound of duty as childhood friend.

But where the emotion goes, I lose interest from that place or the people. And for them I have no emotion because they can't understand me or truth be spoken, they can rarely empathise with people which I find strange. they are not even aware of empathy because of the rigid conditioning they have gone through and sheer of lack of exposure to a different place and kind of people.

I am glad Bombay has changed me, the women in my life have changed me...for good for myself...