The how’s and whys of my writing(s)

A lotta people have been asking me why I write the way I write...so here's the only answer I have!!!

Alanis Morrisette, the queen of pain, the one singer and writer that I think writes for me. No matter what I am feeling, I am sure I’ll find a Alanis song that totally captures what I feel. And somewhere I feel my writing style is greatly influenced by her.
(Alanis is someone I hope to be, that one day I can write a truly beautiful song like the many she has penned down.)
You know why? Because she is a happy person who writes painful songs. Doesn’t mean she’s sad or depressed but its something that comes naturally to her. Even songs of love are somehow related to sadness. And she derives all of this from her life. On Oprah she said she’s been in some really toxic relationships, and her inspiration to write stems from there. And that’s totally me. A happy person who has had a lot of rejections, and that somewhere she keeps on wondering why, and in a bid to answer them keeps writing about them. Not that I spend my life pondering but every time I sit down to write, its something that would come naturally to me. The words flow, almost oozing out, without me even knowing at times how much vendetta I have let trickle down.
Somehow its important for me to do so. Because if I don’t let it out then it stays within me, which is far worse. Its better to let a little out, now isn’t it?

I have recently realised I write in almost a trance. I write so “in the moment” that sometimes its astounding. If I go back to some songs I wrote (lets say a week ago), I'll surprise myself with certain lines, prose, pain that I have penned down.
But all I write, is in almost knee-jerk way, I have been writing this way since I was 10 or 11 years old…I remember my first song…it was about thunder…it went something like this..

“Sometimes I wonder,
why does rain come, Why does thunder,
Is it almighty’s anger
Or is it his tummy rumbling with hunger?”

I know it isn’t a literary masterpiece but I liked my thought process, the "innocent questions" as Ron says I ask (still asking).
I write because it’s in my DNA…my father is a poet as well. We are a family full of HR-poets who are also LOL’s!!!
My (silly and almost slapstick) sense of humor is from my mum and my writing ability, and if I may be so bold to say, my prose, is from my dad, who like me, writes of love and all things irrational. We don’t do creative writing. And the interesting part is the one parent that should be writing, the master’s degree holder in literature, has never even attempted to write. Neither does the lawyer write. Although he reads a LOT, and has a brilliant command over the language, but he has never penned down a thing. Strange isn’t it?!!

My influences, further are, the few beautiful people I have the good luck of knowing, of loving even. Though many of them I have wronged like no else, and have no right to write of, yet I do dare. And sometimes I realise how blessed I am to have known these souls, for having written things which I am proud to call mine.

So I thank you, Alanis, my inspiration and my friends and my muse(s), and I thank life for giving me this instrument of expression.

:)

Empty

Back by popular demand....A song I wrote when I twenty...Still holds true!

Empty

It all seemed easier, when I was a kid,
They said you should dream, and I did.

I saw a dream and built my life around it,
It seemed enough and thats all that counted.

It feels too soon, too soon to end it here,
I shouldn’t have to live like this, like a failure.

I lose a part of myself, every time I cry,
I lose hope every time my tears run dry.

My heart’s heavy and yet it feels empty,
I have nothing…that’s when I am twenty.

I have nothing, no one it seems,
No I don’t even have a dream,
I don’t even have a chance to make it all better.

I cant talk about it but I can cry,
I cant talk about it but I can die,
I cant talk about it but I can write,
I cant talk about it and its alright.


30th nov,2005
6.45pm
‘I feel like I have lost my soul’

The outsider

okay, so I am pretty sure we all have felt like the outsider once in our life at least (...or even more frequenlty for some poor souls...)...like when ur parents are having the "grown-up" talk or when u meet friends of a friend, whilst they share an insider joke....
And m sure most of them are not on purpose. But it makes me wonder...am i really 'in'? Do i really have friends or a just a bunch of people i hang around with,.. no offenses to any of my existing pals/sons/nemsis...
here's what I feel....at times...

The outsider

I feel like the outsider, who hopes to belong,
I feel like the little kid, who waits to be involved,
I feel left out, on purpose at times,
I feel forgotten, which worsens my wounds,

At times I feel like a horrible person,
With me, nobody wants to be,
Sometimes I wish I was invisible,
And I realise I already am.

I feel inadequate, when he’s around,
I feel unhappy, when I have to sit it all out,
I feel unsure about my demeanour,
Sometimes I feel angry at my sense of humour,

So many times I stayed away,
So that I can be out of his way,
And I see the appreciation when I do so,
And now I know what he wants me to do.

Meghna....
March 3rd, 2008.
A slightly abriged version on my orkut profile...because I use 'he' in a very loaded sense- he is all of you. He is humanity, if it still exists.

Assumptions

I love assumptions. I always did, as I realised today. Only I didn’t/ couldn’t put a finger on it. I used to, when faced by a seemingly silly situation, go into a monologue which sounded something like this, “what exactly is he/she/they thinking?” or “does he/she think I have nothing better to do in my free time than to talk about him/her with XYZ”. And in most probability these questions would be followed by an “As If!!!”.
I think this derives from my interest in psychology- I like to know how, why and what people think; how they reach conclusions which seem logical to them but utterly senseless and even hideous in many-a-situations.
Since I have given the historical framework (yawn!!) for my fascination with assumptions lets get our hands dirty. The assumptions I am rambling about, that happened this morning, were that of a professor. For the sake of creating an utter chaos and dis-clarity in your heads I shall call this professor as A. After having discussed my abysmal performance in class, ‘it’ (continuing with my effort to confuse you!!)…’it’ enquired about my summer placements. Maruti, I replied with great pride only to be met with a self-satisfying smirk and an almost snide remark about if I had landed that through a personal contact.
And the fun part was that there wasn’t even an ‘or’ followed by the question. There was no doubt in A’s head about my inability to score a good company for myself. And yes, it does seem I’m stretching it out of proportion, but let’s consider the case facts. It knows that I am a lacklustre performer. It knows my father can, if needed, can get me a decent enough placement. And the framing of the question itself. Better option after asking ‘where’ could have been ‘how’. Simple, sweet, non-humiliating.
And hence, the assumption was : this gal ain’t one of them HiPo’s, although she is a HIPPO!!! Must have had her dad pull some good strings…who else, why else would someone take her. OUCH!!!!!
Hypothesis interest me. And I interest some peculiar hypothesises.
Meenu sad :(

*Meenu-reference: Innu (taare zameen par blog!!!)

Death of a Dream

Okay, so here is a 'rare' dedication: -this song... I orignally wrote this about a year ago, when my CAT Scorecard came in, which wasnt exactly the best reflection of my talents ;)

But today I dedicate this not to my scorecard, but to me, and to the chosen few who have heard this song, and to the minority who even liked it. And with this I wish to toast "the begining of the end" of a certain hegemony.

Death of a dream

How does it feel when something inside you dies,
Nobody knows when your soul cries.
You live wishing you could be happy for a little while,
You muster up all your strength just to smile.

People want their pain to leave, but I’m different,
You see, pain is my Sheppard,
It’ll take me to my destiny,
I just hope it’s not as painful as the journey.

The death of a dream is a hard fact to face,
But dying dreams are a part of my reality, my space,
I cry a little when I am alone,
I guess everyone has heard me doing so.

I cry the day to end, and I cry for it to begin.
I cry when people look at me,
And I’ll cry if they didn’t.

Oh what a blessed day, oh what a blessed night,
Oh, why this blessed life is such a fucking delight!

5 feb, 2007.
9 pm