As some of you might be aware, I have been in the process of writing my memoirs for the past few years (?!) now. (Wow, it has actually been over a year!) and quite frankly, though I expected it to be good, it has actually turned out to be a drab read. Although, I still think I should get back to writing it again. Nonetheless, yesterday I sat down with my index of chapters that I thought I should include in the book and I realized that as is with the rest of my existence, the book really wasn’t turning out to be about me. It’s been more about all the people in my life. It’s been about the experiences we have shared, the whack and stupid decisions we have taken and more often than not, about all the misadventures we did partake. Nothing about me!
I wonder if that is a good or a bad thing when your autobiography hardly deals with your own life but with the rest of the world! Weird coming from me because not so long ago I had propounded a theory about the centre of the universe! Mine, it would seem, is centered around everybody else but me! Bah! I really am weird!
By the way, anybody out there think I should put the chapters up as a separate blog cause I really don’t see it getting published ever. Moreover, I need something to spur me on… these days I am facing a boredom crisis… surrounded by grand old men! I tell you, it’s so difficult to get these guys to do anything. Playing cricket seems a humongous task to them, a walk on the beach seems like a scaling of Everest…I really dunno what these guys could be gotten to do. I am contemplating hiding away in books again. And to think I was told that the world out there was a wonderful place… sadly though, it is…and I have no one to share it with!
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