Who do I write for?

I usually am quite guarded before I post something on another website, but sometimes the itch just gets to me and I plunge into it, pushing aside all the thoughts that plague my mind against doing so. I think its my inner insecurity. I have never been a person that needs someone else's stamp of approval. I don't even care. And therein, lies the rub. Because I do care once its out there. I am perfectly happy at my current address posting whatever I want, when I feel and how I feel, I appreciate the comments left behind by passersby and by friends. I would still keep writing here if none of you commented. I did for many a year, before the first person commented.

But where the conundrum sets in is that when I do thrown out somethign into the public sphere, my natural habit to expect some feedback - be it appreciation or derision. Silence, above all else, is the most annying of responses to my writing, to me.

I remember someone asking me once, whom did I write for. And 360 days out of the year, the answer would be 'me'. But on the five days that I do put my writing out there for someone else to read, I write for them. And I guess somewhere deep inside me, I do want to write for others. Its an art, an extremely powerful, languid and piercing force that can change perspectives, alter perceptions of the reader and above all provide fodder for the writer to write again.

Jyoti always tells me that I should write a book, perhaps she is one of the few who appreciate where I write from. But I think I would find it very hard to not simultaneously combust once I wrote any such book. Lets face it, the award winners and reviews of good book we see are far too few of the mass deluge of books that are released every week. We get to focus on the Giller Prize or the pulitzer but thats only 20 books in all even if you do look at the Long-lists. What happens to the rest of the books that came out? did anyonme notice? Did anyone care?

And what about that author? Call me insecure, and you'd be right to a degree, but I would hate to be that author. I write for me, yes. And I love writing for me, more than all else in the world. But, a writer never truly wrote for himself- its a mirage if you believe, not one writer in the world wants to write in his diary and just sleep soundly at night. Not one writer in the world has no ambitions to be something more than a guy that pens stories on the subway, only to have a few friends read it. Its a lie, if someone has told you so. So, my friends, the conclusion is clear- I write for you, whoever you might be, wherever you might be. And that is clear by the 25 times I have clicked on to Kaleidoscope today, only to find one comment to a post that I was so excited about.

Its enough to get a man to stop from throwing his work out there, but combined with my thin layer of insecurity is this insatiable drive to prove myself and become better at what I do, so I shall keep writing, for you and me. Comment sections be damned, I have pages to soil with ink.