Thinking is Science and writing is Art

Friend Sunil asks “Why are you limiting your blog to smallish commentaries on what others are thinking or writing? Looking forward to forms and structures of how you create your critique.” 

There are two different things in his question which need to be understood properly. Sunil, it is not as simple as you may see it the “smallish commentaries on what others are thinking or writing?” if one wanted to understand the process of social science as an entity in a economy  must try to understand two things one is how these “smallish commentaries” arises and at what situation. Most importantly, how it got formed his or her “thinking or writing?” what were their pushback’s to believe in some time and rubbish in another time but both are in his or her life time. 

Secondly “to forms and structures of how you create your critique” is an important exercise of a persons mind as well as its relationship with the writers or thinkers mind. You can not simply ignore one and look for other one. It is something like this if the child wanted to make sense of any word or letter (mostly merely ‘told’) have to be sure that at what extant that child has thought through and in at what way. 

So don’t ignore or underestimate any sort of opinions unless you are sure that he or she is making deliberately wrong and stupidly. 

If you ignore today, tomorrow its role will be as like the present Indian communists who are terribly ruined people’s mind and still continues. 

Who are responsible for that? It is the question of the leadership that has taken place in the fifties and later period India. 

In this process the ruled socialists created a situation where people believed that there is no alternative for issues like poverty, hunger, unemployment, The State Education etc. 

 Now you look back and honestly think that who was responsible for “creating the great Indian socialist darkness”. 

No more research is needs to answer the above question than the past fifteen or eighteen year period.

I have an innate need to write!

During my school days I was busy with either farming or sports (mainly hokey, food ball and kabaddi). But in college I turned to write what I liked but intended to do. All I wrote was in Tamil (my mother tongue). I wrote essays, poems both for competition and personal likings. I also won few awards for these works. 

Two special things is worthy to mention here: one, for an essay I have received a journal every month in free of cost as a prize, second, for an poem which I wrote on ‘Pongal’ (Tamil Nadu’s harvesting festival) won a award called “Kavi Murasu”. These two things I considered as important in my life as it influenced to learn further on diverse topics. But I always questioned me writings and why I do and the purpose: a couple of questions that I was asking myself were also asked by a literature Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk: 

I wrote an essay which won a prize and the prize distribution function was organized in central Tamil Nadu (Salem). I could not receive this prize because I was travelling for another event in Delhi. 

Pamuk interesting questions are from his Nobel lecture: 

“…..the favourite question, is; why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write! I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write. I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in Istanbul, in Turkey. I write because I love the smell of paper, pen, and ink. 

I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf. 

I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but – just as in a dream – I can't quite get there. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.”