Always wondered how a story should be. When I was a small kid, a story was always a walk into a wonderland. The castles were then not built in thin air. And reall there were Rapunzels and you did not wonder what Garnier magic that was. Humpty Dumpty really was a simple egg shell fellow who just broke. There were no other connotations.
And then education stepped in. Spitfire questions on a carpet bombing mission. The only anti aircraft battery we had were our memories where formatted answers snuggled in to fetch marks.
Tennyson's Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead was a Class five misadventure. A oxymoronic Noun leading a sentence lost its nuance on a moron trying to figure out why would a mother cry when the ciild is placed in her lap in front of her dead husband.
It's like a chef having a dinner somewhere while trying to figure how the dish was prepared. It resulted in tasting without feeling.
Then we were made to understand appreciation of poetry - a peek a boo into the author's life or rather appreciating the compulsion that compelled him to do so dastardly an act of recording feelings for posterity. Why should we be asked to feel what he had felt. In hindsIght, it somehow exposes the inadequacy of words in expressing such ephemeral things as feelings. A Phantom of Delight would rarely ever evoke the flutter of a heart that the poet ever had felt.
Why not stories be as they are ? A melange of tastes that seduce the reader as the words unfold ? Let the words take their time to tantalize the reader in their understated delicacy as the reader delves into the myriad colors of imagination. And if some meanings are there to be excavated , let that be the residue of the fragrance after you have savored the base smell.
Written on Shatabdi while going to Ranchi.
Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel
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