I have no strength to write after a strenuous day, the first after a debilitating back problem. The first day after the pain was like freedom, deliverance, and whatever. I feel light and painless, the usual concerns are back, also the general ennui, laziness and déjà vu. I rest my case.
But then getting back to work, blogging, a blogger’s life, the wretchedness of it all, having to write and write and write. I have gotten to that point in a blogger’s life when he/she wonders if it is worth it, after all. Ho hum, I must be this foggy old man, who lives in eternal optimism, even when the mustard-sized optimism has vanished from the horizon. I mean I am not moving up in the blogging ratings. I crib, I crib. The past two days have been bad. Stuck in a rut, sort of. And that doesn’t make me a frontline blogger of India, which I want to be with Amit and Dilip and who else? I guess, we bloggers are a couple of people who struggle and hold on to our dream of making it as novelists because we know blogging will not support us.
The futility of being a writer struck twice in the past two days. One was when an agency trampled on an individual’s rights as a client and wanted him/her to do something that is quite unethical. I know the world is corrupt and full of sleaze. But this corrupt? Then who is ethical in this world? We all bend our ethics to a greater or lower extent to serve our purposes. No doubt we are an unforgiving nation of excuse givers and shirkers. Another came when a request came to lower myself in my estimation and value, which I certainly will not.
Ethical questions. No answers.