Why do we need to keep a journal? Why is this irrepressible need to collect and preserve everything that belongs to us? As I look back at my life, it has been a book of unfinished chapters, or rather stories that are, for the most part, disconnect, unrelated, and broken. I have written so many memoirs in the past none of which exist; e-mails, essays, to-do lists, one-liners, poems, and some plain ramblings, some which are fortunate to be retained in my archive. Rest, and its a big ‘Rest’, of my work are lost. Ofcourse, I do presume whatever that comes out of my mind is a work of great art đŸ™‚

I have understood this that a life without this continuous flow is like standing in the middle of a desert with your past wiped out, and future a vast expanse of hopelessly beautiful sand dunes. We need to collect the rain drops; we need to get wet in the shower, and walk ahead leaving the footprints on the wet sand. Ever wondered why prehistoric men left those paintings on the cave walls they dwelled in? To collect and capture this entire life in the frame of a canvas seems to me the most favourite pastime of mankind.

Thats what I call an attempt to write one’s name on the face of a river!

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