The Verso Beings

I gave them names and sex, even assigned them plausible gestures and made them act and behave as inconsistently as was possible. I even made them speak by the use of inverted commas and other punctuations, and I tried every possible trick in the trade to animate their existence in print. They did not come coldly to my mind. Neither were they mere products of a delirious excitement. They were clearly my alterego; a phase of life that I had left behind but occasionally re-visited for an estimate of amelioration.


We believe we can write our own stories, and every time we think “ this ” is the end, life makes us chase some of its glorious vicissitudes. In real life we cannot understand each other, except in a rough and ready way; neither complete clairvoyance nor complete confessional exists. We cannot reveal ourselves, even when we want to. Intimacy, the word spells horror. Period.


In this direction fiction is truer than reality, and homo fictus a lot better than homo sapiens. They become reflections of an inner self; offering instant indemnity to the dimness of certain moments and giving us an illusion of power over our thoughts.


This blog is largely functional because of that illusion and I prefer it that way. Believe me it feels great to pull the strings of somebody else’s life, no matter how fictional they might be. To be able to post people as babies, making them flinch, and making them find happiness amidst ruins is far better than self indulgence and it’s a known fact that there’s enough evidence beyond our experiences.


Such word masses as Stella, Maaya, Woh Chokri, and many other conversations became my verso beings!!


Now Playing:: Cloud 9…………..Bryan Adams