Impetus: Merriam-Webster describes this word as "a moving force; an impulse that incites response".
But unlike dictionary meanings, impetus works quite differently for me and I think for anybody else. The 'something' that incites response is 'something' that ordinarily shouldn't have elicited a response. An impetus that produces literary marvels from litterateurs, shouldn't have invoked that kind of response under normal circumstances.
What makes me say this? Am I a researcher in this field? No, not at all. Then how do i know all these?
It is because it is easy to guess. If an event touches you to the very core, then you must be emotionally attached to that event and its subject matter; and then it is impossible for someone to take up the pen and write them down. You just cannot. Penning a novel on a touching incident isn't a sensible person's job.
And yet, from time immemorial the most touching of events in the annals of history have always found their way to the pages of a book.
How does this happen?
It is because sometimes it is our only way to let out what we have inside; it is the only way for us to let others know; it lets us share an event about which we cannot do anything except being silent observers.
And sometimes, there is no reason at all. There is absolutely no rationale that justifies the penning of a novel or an essay. And yet we do. And why do we do that?
Let me be very clear on this: a true altruism is a myth except in only one case: parent's love for their children.
In every other case no matter how much love we show, the underpinnings are always blatantly fake. Readers at this point may completely disagree with me and I mean no offense to them and their love. But the more faithfully we realize this, the better for us. Of course I have likened altruism with love which is a massive understatement, but nevertheless it let's out the essential idea. And what has this got to do with justification of a penning a story?
Well, frankly we do so just to let out the guilt we feel about the falseness in our love. The very presence of the story proves a vital point that we are indeed more bothered to let out what we feel than concentrating on the more important aspect: the subject matter itself. This does not mean that what we write is of degraded literary quality, but certainly it highlights the fact that we indeed have the time to think of writing down what we feel rather than spending time on the feelings itself. This selfish act; yes, it is a selfish act I must say, is what drives us to write about something to which we once selflessly dedicated ourselves.
Then, selflessness, as we say it, has actually been false all this time. Is it not? Rather the falseness behind the selflessness is revealed the very moment we start thinking of writing it down; far before we actually write it down.
Yet, despite all the negative connotations associated with it we still take up our pen. And that is what i am going to do too.
Forgive me not for the sin i commit because it IS an unforgivable sin.
Tui onek bodle gechhish. Ami konodin-i expect korini je you'll remain ours forever. But what bugs me the most is that I could never expect something like this from you. From anybody else, I wouldn't care a cent, but from you!!
Kintu ek ek somoy mone hoy ja hoyechhe bhaloi hoyechhe. May be this was destined to happen. In fact, I shouldn't say 'may be'. This indeed was destined to happen. Ami jani keu kichchhu bujhte parchhe na ami ki bolte chaichhi. But ami erokom korei bolbo, karur bojhar dorkar nei. I'm just letting out my pain.
Ami nijei erokom cheyechhilam. You have always wanted someone who would stand by you in the oddest of times and i have always tried to faithfully execute that duty. I dont really know if I have been true to my duty. But I feel have tried. Only time and you can tell truth. But it does not bother me.
What you and I have shared, nobody can take that away from me. The best days of my life.
You have always been my sweetheart and will forever be.
And yet, (there are so many "buts" and 'yets" that have creeped up in my mind now-a-days) why does it feel to me that you are going away from me? Why is it that I feel I'm losing you. Is it any fault from my part? Is it the very fact that I'm being bothered by these thoughts that is taking you away from me? Will a "sorry" from my part suffice?.
No it won't. I know it won't.
Time is cruel. Even a year back things were so very different. Ami tokhono bujhini things are gonna turn up this much grave. But it has. Never in my worst nightmares have i ever dreamt of such an unexpected turn of events.
I'm feeling terrible to write all this down in my blog. Seldom do i write here and now that i'm doing it; it is for the most painful of reasons.
I have gone beyond every rationale, every reason to justify my writing this post. Every word I type, I feel that I'm betraying you. Every now and then I am being faced the question "why?". A question that I'm unable to answer.
Remember those days, those wonderful days when we would spend the hot summer afternoons playing in the backyard? We would so many things. Right now my mind is overflowing with all those memories. Remember how you would long for mom to get to sleep so that you could slyly move to the kitchen and steal the can where mom kept the "spicy salt"!! then you would return back with it and ask me if i would want some share. i would always say "no"; but believe me, i have always wanted to have it. my sweet moon.
