I havent felt this alone in days. This is different kind of feeling, its not coming from sadness or homesickness. This is because of my desperation. At this moment I am having zillion of thoughts, and I can sound so incoherent that people may think I might very well be suffering from some mental disorder. So, I thought that it is better to write, and as narcissistic as I am, I thought that it will be better to blog about it.
I want to tell a story, and that story is developing faster than I can associate words with it. It is happening in front of me, developing frame by frame, emotions after emotions. All the characters that I have, all of them are evolving, faster than I can write about them. They are currently like some organic culture of microbes growing at exponential rate. It is paralyzing. More so when I am unable to find a person who could hear them developing.
One person whom I want to meet right now is Charlotte Bronte. I wish she were alive. Right now only I know how badly I want her to be alive and talking. In her absence, all I seek is a patient listener, who is in no position to judge me, who is in no position to establish references from my other stories. The second condition pushes my sister and few of my friends out of the list of potential listeners. Invariably this leaves no one in the list. Then the nature of the original source of idea kind of limits me to share it with anyone or everyone around me. Someone has to be truly agnostic towards the source, and ready to act as thought wall for me. Lets see, where am I going to find that person…
Only if this autonomous unfolding wasnt enough, I am also battling few philosophical issues. How fictional can a story be if it is based on real events and how much liberty can one take if those events are not from your life. I have already made my mind, I know what I am thinking but then there are self doubts. Amazing tricks; this mind surely knows its job.
Meanwhile here are few lines that wrote in utter desperation to ease some pressure –
बड़ी देर से,
हम बैठे हैं, कुछ सोच में डूबे है.
पूछ रहे हैं, पर होठ है सिले,
बड़ी देर से.
कुछ देर और,
वोह रुकेंगे, या वोह चलेंगे.
सर पे हाथ फेर, क्या गले लगेंगे,
कुछ देर और.
काश देर से,
सूरज गिरे, और चढ़े फिर चाँद.
झींगुर जागें, और चले हवा सहर की,
काश देर से.