Why I write

I’m asked a question often: Why do I write? This is something thrown at me by family and friends. It is difficult to explain “The Writers High”, if I may call it that. As I start to write my screen stares back at me. There’s a blank cursor as well. It will start to fill with ideas if I begin to write something coherent. And then ideas will take shape. But when writing, it is inevitable I see consistencies and inconsistences. The battle in my head will be a silent one. But it will be intense, until all of this is hammered into a cohesive shape—and something I feel convinced about. And one that I believe my editors will be convinced about as well. And eventually, all of this will be transmitted to a larger audience, whose minds I hope to sway and shape. When looked at from that perspective, this piece of writing, to me, is an act of rebellion against silence.

In fact, if I’ll go so far to say, that every creative act, such as painting an image, clicking a good picture, crafting an piece of music, dancing to the sounds of it in a manner that is unique, are all acts of defiance and acts of bravery.

If all of this sounds laughable, let me put it this way: we live in an age called the “consumption economy”. I guess it isn’t difficult to figure why. Every desire is a click away. And there is competition to fulfil our desires faster. I remember this conversation a while ago with TN Hari, co-founder of the Artha School of Entrepreneurship. In an earlier avatar, he co-founded Big Basket. That was when he raised an interesting question: How did people live before 10-minute delivery become a business model in urban India? He was right then. We’ve become passive consumers. What most of us have forgotten on our way here is that a fundamental human joy: the joy of creation, has been eroding, quietly. Our lives are now filled with the products of what other people want it to filled by. This is not to say modern life has its conveniences, there is an opportunity as well—to transition from being shift from silent consumers to becoming the curators of our destinies.

This is why I started with the simple act of beginning to write. When thought about, it is one of the most powerful medium of creation. But how many people can actually engage with it? It’s a decision to crystallize thought into language, to share one’s inner world with the outer.

This thought isn’t an original one. I first came across this while looking up advice to writers when on a particularly lean patch. That’s when I stumbled across this outstanding passage by Ta-Nehisi Caoates, an African American writer. “I strongly believe that writing is an act of courage. It’s almost an act of physical courage. You get up and you have this great idea. Maybe you were hanging out with your friends—you guys were having beers and you were talking about something. You had this idea and they said, ‘Wow, that’s brilliant! Someone should go write it.’”

But, his point was, how many people actually do it? That’s when it occurred, I am among those who go it.  When thought about, this can be extrapolated to so many other domains. We don’t give it much thought. But the seemingly humble act of preparing a meal is pure alchemy. The transformation of raw ingredients into something far greater than the sum of its parts. It's a ritual that nourishes more than the body; it feeds the soul, and offers a canvas for creativity and a bridge to connect with others. I guess this is everyone means when they say, “I miss my home!”

I’ve seen this in technology. Take coding. People think of it as something nerds do. However, my interactions with people who write good code have it they are polymaths. And code offers them the tools to build new worlds, solve complex problems, and bring ideas to life. In coding, they find a language and the means to create and innovate in a world that is otherwise boring.

What I do know basis experience is that the path from consumption to creation is fraught with resistance. All narrative glorifies the end product. But it hides the messy, nonlinear process of creation. The fear of not being good enough, of failure, looms large. But it is in the act of creation itself that we find growth, not merely in the accolades that may follow. Every attempt, every failure, is a step on the journey of self-discovery and mastery. To get on this path requires a conscious choice. It necessitates a reevaluation of how we spend our time, energy, and attention. It asks us to prioritize not what is easy or immediately gratifying but what is meaningful and fulfilling.

And now that I reach the limits of my word count, I see I have created something. Hopefully, it will resonate with my editors. And you. Despite feeling tired, I have rebelled against it. And created something. I found the physical courage to do it. What I now feel is a high that I may otherwise not have.

This is a slightly modified and longer version of what was originally published in Hindustan Times. All copyrights vest with Hindustan Times

The underbelly of fashion

This weekend, my column First Principles, in Hindustan Times, dipped into the world of sustainable fashion. I got to know how even the most expensive, branded clothing have surprisingly short lifespans. And that the term 'sustainable' in the fashion businesss is thrown around loosely. While there is an increase in eco-friendly practices and a growing consumer base for sustainable fashion brands, challenges persist. This includes the high costs of sustainable garments and the significant carbon footprint of India's textile industry.

A shout-out to KL Mukesh for helping me think this through.

Hope is the thing with feathers...

by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

On Writing

Writing is thinking, distilled.

Everyone has ideas that hit every other second. And ideas are a dime a dozen. But when those ideas are written down, gaps in thinking are exposed and as the idea through emerges on paper, tough questions stare at the writer. There is no running away from it.

A good writer use the many tools of the craft to can fool the world, but not for long. More importantly still, you cannot fool yourself. That is also why, writing is pure meditation as well.

Ernest Hemmingway: 1954 Nobel Acceptance Speech

Having no facility for speech-making and no command of oratory nor any domination of rhetoric, I wish to thank the administrators of the generosity of Alfred Nobel for this Prize.

No writer who knows the great writers who did not receive the Prize can accept it other than with humility. There is no need to list these writers. Everyone here may make his own list according to his knowledge and his conscience.

It would be impossible for me to ask the Ambassador of my country to read a speech in which a writer said all of the things which are in his heart. Things may not be immediately discernible in what a man writes, and in this sometimes he is fortunate; but eventually they are quite clear and by these and the degree of alchemy that he possesses he will endure or be forgotten.

Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.

For a true writer each book should be a new beginning where he tries again for something that is beyond attainment. He should always try for something that has never been done or that others have tried and failed. Then sometimes, with great luck, he will succeed.

How simple the writing of literature would be if it were only necessary to write in another way what has been well written. It is because we have had such great writers in the past that a writer is driven far out past where he can go, out to where no one can help him.

I have spoken too long for a writer. A writer should write what he has to say and not speak it. Again I thank you.

Follow your passion, is rubbish advice

My elder daughter is now a teen and considering her career options. The two of us are at loggerheads. Everyone around her tells her she must “follow her passion”.

I think that’s rubbish advice.

But to inspire her, there’s a cottage industry that thrives off recycling posters of Steve Jobs with “Follow Your Passion” plastered on them. All narratives have it that this is what Steve Jobs told students at Stanford in 2005. The 23,000 people in attendance gave him a standing ovation when he was done talking. The commencement speech went viral and I remember feeling goosebumps when I first saw the video.

How am I to argue against Steve Jobs? Even my kid won’t take me seriously.

May I submit then that the real import of his advice was lost on most people? His official biographer Walter Isaacson pointed out to the irony of it all in a conversation with the writer Cal Newport. Isaacson spent hundreds of hours with Jobs, including during the last year of his life, in 2011.

To cut a long story short, as a young man, Jobs was passionate about the liberal arts, and design. That is why he took courses on these themes when in college. He was passionate about travel and spirituality. That led him to goof off for a while as a backpacker in India.

Very soon though, it became clear to him that if he continued doing only what excited him, he would go nowhere. To get somewhere, he needed to find a purpose. In attempting to explain that to Isaacson, Jobs said, “The important point is to not just follow your passion but something larger than yourself.”

Once this was clear to Jobs, he went back to technology and computing — both of which contained elements of drudgery that he hated. In fact, before his brief stint of doing only what he loved, Jobs had already been fired from a technology start-up for lack of motivation.

But once he had figured out that personal computers could change the world, he wanted to be part of that transformation. That became his purpose. “It ain’t just about you and your damn passion,” Jobs would tell Isaacson years later. After Jobs found his purpose, he poured all of his passion into it. That makes sense.

When I think about it, I am passionate about the biosciences because that is what some very fine teachers at college initiated me into. I am beginning to get passionate about running. I am passionate about writing and would go batty if I couldn’t write.

But here’s the thing. Writing is the only one of those passions that I am willing to invest effort in. It’s one thing to be passionate about the biosciences; I could never actually do the time in the labs. It felt like drudgery. In the same vein, while I enjoy running, I don’t think I will ever run as effortlessly as friends who have dedicated years to the discipline.

In much the same way, every other person I meet claims they are passionate about writing and wants to write a book. I know they won’t. I’ve been writing for over 20 years. And I know the drudgery involved in writing a book. I do it because I find purpose in writing.

Passion is fleeting. Purpose takes time to discover, and even more time to build on. How am I to tell my daughter that? “Don’t just follow your passion.” Maybe it’ll work if I quote Jobs right.

This article was originally published by in the print edition of Hindustan Times on November 15, 2020.