Well, for a start, this is not a book, but a blog. So, you might expect me to change that heading. However, I shall let it slide for now, because the text in the following paragraphs were largely penned a month ago with a view of creating an e-Book., and not necessarily a serialized blog. Anyhow, the question is still valid – why write this. The honest answer of it might either be – I don’t know why, or – I write this just because the idea came to my head. There is also an urge, I guess a natural one for an evolved animal such as a human living in the 21st Century, to express himself, and have some of those expressions available for passersby to glance at.

Animals mark the boundary of their territory. Perhaps these musings are similar to territorial markings of a new kind, by an animal that has gotten past urinating at tree trunks. In fact, he is moving into urban jungles where trees might be missing, or real trees are replaced by plastic ones – made in China. Attempt to urinate there might provoke unpleasant reactions, such as getting arrested.
The Freuds of this world might identify this urge to write as a hidden carnal urge, following an oedipus complex or something, perhaps an unfulfilled fantasy that prompts a person not known to be a writer, to start writing something, something that is not even addressed to a specific reader. For whatever reason, non-writers will sometimes pick up a pencil, or in this case, sit before a keyboard and type with eight fingers, producing material for a WordPress blog, or even an iBook, or on a web host, even using free software from Apple or WordPress.

If one is of a kinder disposition, one might see here a very human desire for social recognition, and an exchange that is more than a one-sided silent observation of players on the field, like bing a spectator in a sport event. He plays solo for a while, does his “talking” and gets off the podium. He or she hopes a few others might do the “listening” and perhaps even react to it by leaving a comment, or writing something in return. Its not mass communication, not Pope passing a sermon to millions of listeners and telling them what God wants out of them, and not Obama telling listeners why it is someone else’s fault that the US is having a bit of trouble.

This is a kind of one-to-one communication with a difference. It is initiated without knowing who the other party might be that responds, or if there indeed will be another person.

Most of us like to be appreciated – for our looks, or our deeds, or just because someone loves us. It feels good to be appreciated. This feeling might even be a genetic code linked to an urge to climb social pecking order, inherited from a distant and faded past when we were still attempting to master new modes of locomotion based on crawling around in watery muds of a primordial world.
Think about it – would writers write, if the world had no reader? Would poets exist if poetry was not liked by folks?

But, this is a new world, a new century has not only dawned, but has passed its first decade already. Stories have changed, formats have evolved, and the message is no more the same.

Consider moving picture. Among English movies, two of the very best I have ever seen are ‘To kill a mockingbird’ and ‘Doctor Zivago’, followed by a few more, such as ‘A patch of blue’. But, those movies belonged to a different era. Todays film makers are likely unable to reproduce similar movies even if they could, because the public today might want absurdities such as the Harry Potter, or Star Wars, or Rambo stuff.

Perception of reality has changed. Blood and gore is in. Moral values are in transit, and the shape and color of our culture, spirituality, realization and perception of the planet and its sustainability are very different today among different strata of humanity. The definition of ‘civilization’ can be questioned.

The same goes for regional movies. At least I can make a comment about Indian movies.

And then comes the books, the essays, and the articles. Newspapers have evolved and changed form. Ownership of papers have moved from small town flavor to mega-corporation globalized standards. The transformation is so great that it can hardly be called news any more. Its manufactured factoids that are doled out in measured doses to a global pool of mass patients.
Freedom of expression has turned to represent freedom to own and manipulate what expressions are “expressed” in popular media. The popular media is now a place to make money for savvy investors.

Ohh well.

For many of us non-cave dwellers of this planet, there is also this need to earn this fictitious and almost virtual commodity called money, in order to spend it so we can acquire food to eat and keep body and soul together. So, for some, writing is the means to sustenance – an existential issue.
But not for me. I do not earn a living from such writings. I am not even a good writer, either in English, or in Bengali, as far as I can judge.
Recognition is good, and often catalyses a person’s efforts to create more content that is appreciated. Being born in Santiniketan, West Bengal when I did, and growing up there with the ancestry that I have, an influence by Tagore and his thoughts were unavoidable for me. He was the first ever non-European to have been awarded with a Nobel prize, which he got for literature that was mostly written in Bengali, and a small section of it was translated by Tagore himself, in English.
In my book, if the world was a fair and equitable place, the first non-European to be awarded a Nobel Prize should have been the Bengali scientist J.C. Bose, Tagore’s friend that actually did the most work in inventing Radio. He should have gotten the award in Physics a few years before Tagore did. But, colonial India and racial prejudice being what it was those days, Bose did not get the award, which years later landed in the lap of Marcony from Italy.
So, Tagore, a few years down the line, broke another important glass ceiling – and got the Nobel committee to award him the prize in literature, and Tagore’s fortunes transformed itself, and he became the best Ambassador to explain the spirituality of the east, to the western world. His personality helped open a lot of doors worldwide in most continents of the world. But, as he got more and more famous outside of India, his homeland elites showed a perplexing mix of jealousy and resentment, proving that the Bengali and Indian intelligentsia, or the educated elite, were as small minded as any in the world.
Tagore often felt hurt by the lack or appreciation and even ridicule of the average Bengali intelligentsia (if there ever is such a thing), regarding his writings and efforts. The concept of Santiniketan was ridiculed, the language used by him, the songs, both spiritual and romantic, were misunderstood and/or often criticized by people who probably did not have the mental span to understand him. I personally have often suspected that people in Santiniketan today do not have that span, and do not understand Rabindranath. Even those ex-student community and sworn Santiniketanites that claim to be boiled into ripeness in the Rabindrik broth, rarely show an understanding of anything other than a zeal towards parroting his songs, dances and meaningless preachings in a pristine and almost holy ambience.
So, yes, recognition is a strange and double edged sword. People do not often want to recognize anything, unless it is some sort of a fashion statement, even a statement on cultural-fashion.
So, I do not know if that should be the prime reason for my effort here to write something. I am no Tagore, and have not his endless capacity of shock-absorption and forgiveness. besides, I sometimes question the very need for recognition by my contemporaries – what is the point?
Unlike Ravindranath Tagore, I have not yet cemented any unshaken faith in Man, over and above human institutions. I have a somewhat negative impression of both Man and his institutions, covered in a Darwinian layer of evolution which both attempts to improve a species and same time push it towards an ultimate extinction, to be replaced by something else. The new replacement may not be considered superior in your yardstick, but it would be more fit for survival, the only thing that really counts in the end.
And so – I am not particularly keen on mass recognition.
So the question expands to include my own efforts – why bother writing a book of this kind, even electronically on iBook?

I do not have an answer – except that, perhaps my genes are behind it, somehow.
How is that for a non-writer with an un-planned write up that was done in 20 minutes flat without a plot ?

Tonu