And so while I grapple with germ-sized ideas to make up even more BS, and struggle to return to writing fitness (or even real-world fitness), since I am alone again, here are a few stray thoughts, some random sentences and some considered points of view (All my own work)
So it is just another function of my spectacularly schizoid personality that I am a failed writer and a failed businessman. And it is also a considered point of self-realisation that I am no longer the boss's son now.
After actively reviewing all the soap operas that are running valiantly on channels that are still on air, and after watching all currently revered social dramas that are worth mentioning, but are too obscure to be listed, I have reached the conclusion that my family dramas trump them all. And by a fair distance.
That while it is still 11.35 PM in India, people in USA have the privilege of waking up later every day, starting their Sunday when it has ended here, and of living the day exactly the way you wanted to live yours, but regretted it after it was over. They also have the choice of turning forward and/or turning back their clocks twice a year. Almost like Olay Total Effects. No wonder my wife decided to go back in time, do Coke and watch CNN.
Like if you can sell, you can eat. Whether it is video games or a sci-fi fiction franchise or T-Shirts or Flip Flops.
Like I have realised that the writer has infected the businessman. He has made the businessman more nostalgic, has made him a dreamer instead of a doer, and has made him rationalise errors in judgement and has made him accept losses.
Like the businessman has had absolutely no effect on the writer. Except to make him stop. The writer still cannot complete a project, he cannot sell his work for nuts and he sounds like a pathetic abject amateur while describing his work.
I have decided that I shall be naming the Writer Moriarty and the Businessman Khurana. Both quite apt but still no sign of convergence.
Like I have realised that all the artists and the painters of my life are now either rich, successful or materialistic. I am seeking refuge amongst artists who are young, enthusiastic, and are not yet scarred by life. I think Khurana will take that responsibility upon himself to educate these younglings in matters of loss.
Like I am quite sure of my self. I have planned my secret formula for world domination. I have charted out my course of success and I am sure of victory. Unless that idiot, Moriarty doesnt get all wobbly and blurt out my secrets.
And so I have inadvertently slipped into middle age and now pot bellies, and receding hairlines are more acceptable rather than shocking. The time to cover these up with puffs of hair and loose clothes is fast fading. Instead the novelty offered by ready-aim-fire techniques of lipo, tummy-tucks, hair transplants, and vitamin supplements threatens to entrap me in the life of yonder aging film star.
Was it 5 years I promised Khurana or 10? I do not remember which. But it is way too long for me to stand by silently, elegantly as all my dreams are ruthlessly trampled over.
When this is over, My Empire shall strike back and Moriarty will be working for me. In the Corp Comm department.
utekkare,
Pranay
