“To write when one has only himself to talk to has always been my excuse. However, my conversations with the person sitting on top of the hill inside me have ceased. I fleetingly think of him now. He has closed his eyes, choosing to take a sabbatical till I call out for him to return hollow echoes back to me.
Writing has become a fledgling trade. Reading books has made me aware of my rightful position, where anything is equivocal. Edgar Allen Poe died writing. Now things seem tasteless. So, I change every day”.
This is as excerpt from a note that I mindlessly typed down after coming home from a rather asphyxiating Saturday evening at the office.
Dear concerned, I believe that I can do proper justice to your offers.
Introducing myself, having earned a degree in Mechanical Engineering from a college in Assam, India, 11 months ago, and have since been managing to circumvent myself, through the hullabaloo of the entire system of corporate selection, into the state of melancholy that I have found myself to be in.
I now have a job that pays me enough money to keep my mouth glumly shut, so I cannot entertain you on what I do specifically with the role that I have been offered with.
A few minutes ago, my friend sent me a link leading to an advert regarding a company which were willing to pay someone who would travel and write for them. This has made me rummage through this old word file that, a few minutes ago, showcased with pompous animosity, the text of my earlier CV, the one that I have just erased.
I have a writing style that can easily flow between the narrative/visual aspects work and the facets that would also render it the flavour of a strict review.
I have a fair experience in travelling across India. I can survive on limited supplies.
I prefer trains over flights. I choose shady bars over nightclubs. I choose Andrei Tarkovskys: STALKER over any cinema/film, any day.
I have a blog named “The Ebullient Crab”, where I click photos and write. I also do happen to have a passport. If nothing works, I am good company.
Another excerpt from a more recent write:
“I have thought about writing a long piece tonight, while walking out from my office building just an hour ago, to set in motion the wheels that would carry me towards a brief hiatus from a certain feeling. This certain feeling, as i try my best to articulate, has manifested itself before me many a times before in forms of a threat or forbearance. It had always instilled a sense of doubt would that never fail to antagonize my subconscious persistence to reside over a state of reluctant torpor. In short, it wants me to keep moving or rot. I confess that the fear of fading away has always pushed me. I would have liked to know the other story if i would have just let go.
Time grazes our skin, making us wither. We embalm our cracks and pores with fragrances that seep inside our skin to stay.
When will we finally get aboard that jittery train, which could only be seen in documentaries?
Prudence has always been a sin. It withholds the persistence of illusion from us. We were never meant to loiter here, waltzing around with the gossamer strings of stability pulling at our shoulders! We were meant to destruct slowly as we bask in the beauty of our own evanescence, serene and painless”.