A friend said after seeing the link to this blog, did you mean to prove that you are ‘not mad’, but missed out the ‘t’ and deleted the spaces between these two words?
He was so right. Living a life that experiences extremes of paradoxes, living a life that makes its own roads to everywhere it wants to reach, and living an oxymoronic life thats happy, sad, cynical, and hopeful at the same time, can only be madness. I only try to cover the madness by calling this life nomadic…
Maybe being born and brought up in India has got something to do with this madness. Maybe being a woman and having the privilege to wear my heart on my sleeve and getting away with it almost all of the time has got something to do with it. And maybe nothing has got anything to do with it. The melody and the method of this madness may have come from anywhere but they are definitely not going anywhere else. They are here to stay.
I am a writer. Not by the virtue of going to school and learning to write, not by the virtue of my job title that says ‘Instructional Designer for so and so IT company’, and definitely not by the virtue of being famous or published. I am a writer by the virtue of some crazy phenomenon by which our nostrils suck air, only to throw it out in the zillionth of a second. I recently found that this crazy phenomenon not only keeps the human race but also humanity alive. For example, this crazy phenomenon made Buddha out of Prince Siddhartha. And its been making a writer out of me since I began to practice it unknowingly.