I, Me, Myself

A few weeks and a very recent post ago, an observation was brought to my notice. It was on my writing, being self-obsessed. The writer in me, being self-obsessed. Thankfully, the comment came from my favourite critic, and the only one capable of surviving after passing such remarks. I was confused. To the point that I read and re-read everything that I've posted. And the truth was sharply staring me in the face. Yes, my writing revolved around me. But then again, isn't that what it's suppossed to be? The writer in you drawing from the person in you. So, I went back, maimed ego in hand, to the critic and asked- why would you say something like this? The answer came pat- because I've read your diaries, and here, you're writing for people, not for yourself.

After many days of pondering, ego-pampering, self obsessing, and most importantly, thinking, I am back. But the question still remains at large in my head. Do we spend too much time thinking about ourselves and what others will think? Do we draft and re-draft words to convey the desired message? Have we stopped waiting for people to form their own opinions, and have we started forcing our own world-views down other peoples throats? As a writer, I think yes.
As a writer, I think we've stopped writing. In advertising it's easy- sell fairness soap to sec b, sell washing machine to sec a and b, sell superb pre-paid connections to sec c, and let it be known to all that India is a force to reckon with, and that small time India is blooming. In life, it isn't.
In life, it's always about me. What I think. What I believe. What I feel. What I know. But is anyone really interested? It's not like there's a vacant space in some random kitchen waiting for my beliefs to fill it up.

Has the need to prove our intellect, gone beyond the desire to tell a story? Is writing just another form of showing someone, how much of what you know, so that over a random beer, you bask in a shallow halo that screams 'look at me'.