Ever had an idea you couldn’t stop thinking about? I’ve had many; this happens to be one of them.
A few days ago, I was scrolling through my long list of incomplete, unpublished drafts. That’s when my eyes rested on an idea I had completely forgotten about: The creative process one goes through while writing an article.
There was a time when the idea seemed too generic. But this time, it struck a chord. It was one of those moments where your subconscious stores information and secretly processes it. …
Many films can make you cry, but this one will make you grieve.
Time and again, we see films where the human spirit triumphs. We read tales of those who defy all odds and somehow overcome adversity. But very rarely, we get to experience the opposite. And why would we? We prefer happy endings over bleak realities, don’t we?
Grave of the Fireflies defies the happy endings trope. It is easily among the bleakest war films out there. But it doesn’t exactly unfold like a typical war film.
Instead, it comes off as a memoir that sheds light on the suffering of those who never reach the public eye. There are no war heroes or patriotic undertones here. Just some plain, simple reality that leaves you weeping long after the credits start rolling. …
From working in cubicles to working from home. From conference rooms to zoom meetings. From Trump to Biden. From wanting everything this year to appreciating everything we already have.
Boy, we’ve come far.
Even so, during these trying times, it’s easy to be short-sighted about everything that has happened. 2020, so far, has felt like a glitch in the matrix where time waited for none.
From what I can foresee, 2021 might have a similar speedy run. We’ll still be fighting the pandemic. But hopefully, we’ll progress even further in this rite of passage.
So before we step into another challenging year, let’s look back and embrace what we’ve learned so far. …
I hate being vulnerable more than anyone else. It probably has something to do with my upbringing. But like we all know, good writing comes with a whole lot of vulnerability. So here’s me being vulnerable:
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been trying to write horror fiction. I’ve got multiple drafts, bits and pieces of potential plot points, and several half-fleshed ideas. All of them are sporadically scattered in my Google Docs storage. I’m sure if I ever tried to compile these ideas together, I would come up with something meaningful. But unfortunately, I can’t.
Not a day goes by when I don’t dream about my book finding its place among other horror classics in a Barnes & Noble bookstore. And that’s probably the only thing that makes me shamelessly return to those incomplete drafts. Drafts which I’m afraid of reading, fearing they’re not good enough. …
Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.
I have a terrible habit. Before watching a movie, I check its average Rotten Tomatoes score. If its score falls anywhere below 60%, then the movie is unwatchable for me. I hate judging a book by its cover and I hate judging movies based on critics' opinions. But I can’t help it; it’s a habit.
There are certain movies, however, which remind me of simpler times. Times when I cared little about movie ratings or those so-called “cinematic events.” I watched anything and everything that appealed to me. Nothing else mattered.
‘The Secret Life of Walter Mitty’ is one of those movies. …
Today I came across the most viewed Ted talk of all time: Do Schools Kill Your Creativity by Sir Ken Robinson. For evidence, Robinson cites several examples and scenarios which suggest that there’s something seriously wrong with the education system.
“If you sit kids down day after day indoors at desks, doing what often amounts to low-grade clerical work, then don’t be surprised if they fidget, don’t achieve a great deal and don’t feel very good about themselves,” he quotes.
His Ted talk got me thinking:
Is it just the education system that prohibits us from reaching our creative potential? Or, are there other hindrances to creativity that we unknowingly face every single day? …
When I look back at the formative years of my late adolescence and early twenties, there isn’t much I can remember. All I can remember are some facts:
Back then, things weren’t close to being the way I wanted them to be. I felt stuck, often bored, and extremely unexcited about the next phase of my life. …
Fresh out of university, I was determined to make something out of my life.
I had my dream job, and all I had to do was stick to it. So I rented a cheap 1BHK in an isolated town and decided to devote the next few months to my work.
But once outside the guilty pleasures of the urban social scape. Once beyond the crowd and noise of the metropolis. I felt a sense of discomfort. Acute unfathomable discomfort.
On the first day itself, I was thrown out of my comfort zone. A potent urge to escape dawned upon me. …
I have faint memories of almost all summer breaks from school. I close my eyes, and the summer-infused breeze of those days still lingers. Even today, it echoes through the chilly winters, often making me immune to the cold.
Endless days of summer. When a day would be huge, a month colossal, and a year never-ending. Time was slower when I was younger.
These days, a day goes by in a heartbeat. A month feels like a week. A year is an escalator to the next. Time is now (as) fast as greased lightning.
Don’t get me wrong. Time, in its technical sense, is still all the same. I get 24 hours a day. 10080 minutes a week. 2592000 seconds a month. In figures, that looks like a lot of time. However, my perception of time has drastically changed — it disappears with the blink of an eye. …
When I turned twenty,
For the first time,
I had no clue who I wanted to be.
I tried too hard
To look around
For answers, I couldn’t see.
I never stood still
To hear the voice within.
Then I turned thirty,
For the first time,
With feelings akin
My past was stone,
The future no bliss,
The present betwixt-and-between.
I’d trade a thousand years of hell
To relive the twenties odyssey
Now I’m forty,
For the first time,
My alarm clock’s ringing
I hit snooze;
Go back to dreaming.
Redeeming what’s lost in time.
Caught in the loop of my primes.