Monday, March 24, 2008
Prologue: The Unwritten Autobiography
I would like to fantasize the idea of someone writing the tale of my life. Fantasizing is a simple act, but also immensely powerful. One dull and effortless spark from an unassuming corner of the brain can provide an enormous feast for the idle, but unceasingly hungry mind that goes on relentlessly pampering the greedy self with huge visions of success and fame. Yes, as the watchful amongst you would have noticed, that would be four of the seven deadly sins already – sloth, pride, greed and lust, and if you were not obese enough and belonged to the excessively food loving folk, then that could be five in your case, not a bad score for accomplished sinners like us, all with a simple unassuming effortless act. Indeed, it is a powerful act, and one that is the resultant of a weakly founded psychological system subject to intense feeds of temptation, the kind, to which, I have submitted myself to, countless times now. You get so used to sinning soon, and do not give it too much of a damn anymore, and go on fantasizing. So, let me push back all my doubts around the correctness of the formulation of the seven deadly sins and the kind of pain that burning in hell could supposedly cause to unclean souls, such as mine, when eventually, it is ripped off the body. Let me push them back, to the remotest and most inaccessible regions of my brain and for a brief while bask in my fantasy. Let me attempt to imagine myself to be this fictitious and thoroughly skilled writer whose life happened to interfere with mine, and let us say, I, also happened to find my life fascinating enough for me, being the writer, to sit down and expend, say, a few hundred hours of my time, to write a book around.