I have read a number of your writings. I belong to an age where satisfying the needs of the person at the consuming end matters more than anything else and hence I write to you with a wish list of things I want you to pen down in the work that you take up next. I sincerely hope that you would not take to heart a petulant reader’s intrusion into the world that you alone are and should be the master of. See if you can be accommodating enough and touch upon themes I so want to read about. If you could write a short story dealing with the bane of our times. Yes, I mean privacy. If you could clarify through the wisdom soaked nib, nuances of all the lies we say to each other all the time merely to keep our cupboards with hidden skeletons locked and away from the public view. Would you be interested in painting the portrait of an artist as a young man who does not realize and has no belief in his acumen. It would fascinate me no end reading about his encounter with a real life successful artist who cannot do justice to his oeuvre merely because of the shallowness of his approach and the powerlessness of his style. See if you can talk about vanities that have come to count for distinction. Thackeray is dead and gone. I want to read about a pair of women professionals who live a dying life each day in order to proclaim their status of being alive to the rest of the world. If you could put in a chapter where they cry hoarse about their birth as humans first and as women later. Will it be possible for you to devote a section of your book to overgrown children who look half their age and think along varying shades of grey. Write about a tree that looks at all these people standing silent and firm. Bring in the buffalo chewing its cud and pondering deep over the next big thing that the internet would be able to do for it. I don’t think including all of these requests into a piece of writing would be feasible, but then, yes, at times you must attempt a failed novel, a prosaic poem and an autobiography that is a disaster of all sorts. After all nonsense matters as much.
I hope to hear from you,
Regards!
Personal Concerns 
Wonderful. 🙂
glad!
” . . . An autobiography that is a disaster of all sorts . . . ” – Interesting taste you have 😛
Destination Infinity
🙂
Soliloquy to yourself? 🙂
to everybody else too whose writings I like. Hardy, Thackeray, Uma, Yours…the list goes on!
As always, wonderfully put. I completely agree with you on the value of “nonsense”. The fear of “nonsense” has held back many a writer and deprived the world of a lot of good, albeit unwritten writing.
You put it crisp and clear! Thanks!
You have pointed your finger in your own way on the worms that are munching away at the social fabric, and the ineffectual pseudo-intellects of the times. Perhaps we need an Ibsen too.
Hmm…Thanks for pointing that out. I have been wondering about what was it that I was trying to write about here. You help!
Nice one.
Thanks Ji!
Talking about nonsense, well, I don’t know if I write anything else. But I can count on people to make some sense in all my nonsense. 🙂
he he. You are just being modest! I enjoy reading everything that you post. You write well and you are sincere in your expression and in your assessment of things! Zero pretensions!
I don’t know if I write like that or not?
A lot of my feeling are in the voices of talking animals.
I am rather like the goose in the post that I wrote called “Honking Attitude.” I’m always worrying about something…”what if, what if!” I drive my husband crazy.
Anyone who knows me, realizes that I am the lost butterfly in “Butterfly Apology.” I have absolutely NO sense of direction and many people have called me directionally challenged. And the cat in “Smoke and Mirrors Politics” is, very briefly, voicing my frustration with politicians. I have written about myself directly (without using an animal voice) only a few times.