It is often assumed that a vigorous stirring of the intellect and emotions is a possible precondition for the best of an author to emerge. The saddest of thoughts for instance give rise to the sweetest of thoughts, so someone believed. Could not he think of better ways to fool himself and the listeners? This intellect can only be pitied upon. What consideration can be had for the depths of such gloom. Turbulence which is incapable of blocking all orifices through which expression of whatever kind may ooze out is no turbulence at all. It is only energy of some kind. It wasn’t blood if it did not drip from the eyes! Thanks Ghalib!
Is extreme joy or excitement or for that matter a state of extreme sullenness expressible. Should it even be a subject matter that the entire paraphernalia of our expressive faculties even consider bargaining with? The height or the depth of intellectual and emotional upheaval can only be lived through. The tunnels I consider one to be passing through is only a far-fetched imagination. It is a tunnel oo an ocean one plunges in, I cannot say. Liars are those who spoke and believed that they had said. The universe seems the most mysterious when we live through, plunge in or get hit by the extremes. Any possibility of the feeling of passing through these dark tunnels, drowning in these troubled waters or seething in pain of these wounds being communicable does not exist.
What do we then know of things like joy and grief, love and betrayal? Nothing. When the moment comes roaring, none of us even know or can know what happens. Songs of love and adulation, the ones that talk of the ‘saddest thoughts’ are only ways to tell the world that all is fine with me. Had I been a lover, had I been a winner or had I been a loser, I would not have ever succeeded in telling you even a bit about whatever I went through. The music and songs around love and separation we listen to and sing along or the ones we are creators of are things meant to deceive. Life takes a break and we realise all is well. These permutations and combinations just entertain. We feel in control of our senses and feel in control of our worlds. These tidbits refer to the world is what we believe every time we sit for a show. Take my word for it. Things I know that I know about are not what I know about them. These permutations crack very very soon and the pleasure game never lasts forever. There is no such thing of beauty that may be talked about because I do not know of anything which is a joy forever!
It is a pity then to not know of anything about things that matter the most! Sorry…to wind up this one I wrongly said that I know if they matter or not. No one knows. I am going to take those tunnel routes, drown in those waters and cry at some wounds. Nothing much I can do. Suggestions are not invited!