To get lost in a deluge of emotions and to get settled down in a black hole of profound solitude, blessedly oblivious of the multitude of brighter things unfolding around, is a quality that even the angels in the heaven and the beasts in the earth are envious of the humans, for the human mind in such a state of supreme existence is capable of doing greater things, which in its customary state it may not be capable of achieving. I, being a writer, am one of the most emotional human beings to have ever lived in this world, a truth which I am quite proud to declare to this world, for I dare say there is nothing to be ashamed of being emotional, contrary to what this world foolishly believes. When I am emotional, I write.
A writer, who is usually known for his ability to analyse human emotions and to instil such emotions inside those people about whom he writes, real and imaginary, is always almost a man of many emotions himself. Being with a stupidly emotional heart is a matter of great benefit to a writer, for with it he gets umpteen numbers of occasions to prosper in a plethora of human sentiments - good, bad and the ugly - as his heart is prone to many ludicrous numbers of mood swings, which if he is in a mental atmosphere of creativity would result in writings that have the mark of literary brilliance. When I am emotional, I write.
When I am immersed in that finest emotion of happiness, I would float in its mirth and would hear, like many poets in the past, the skylarks sing, the honey bees murmur, the wind whistling and I would see the daffodils and many other flowers of its kind fluttering and dancing in the breeze. When my mind is gay, merry thoughts of the past would come out of the oblivion, as the bright sun would come out of the veil of the dark clouds, and I would sing, Blue skies of yore, In my remembrances, Still, thick and alive, Like my nursery rhymes. When I am emotional, I write.
When I am deeply drenched in despair, perchance the strongest of all emotions, my mind will wander to many queer places, conjure many farcical ideas, imagine things that have escaped the minds of far greater imaginative people than I, think about the many sacrifices I have made, real and presumed, bask in the glory of such assumed sacrifices and sometimes with a bit of moisture in my eyes I would make me convinced that I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. As I despise being swept away in those strong currents of despair, I would amass all the courage I could and would ignite the flame of hope inside me believing If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?; and would write with audacity, Cold winters won’t make me shiver, Am a leaf, floating lonely in the river. When I am emotional, I write.
Moral indignation on an injustice done to me, to those of my own or to the society as a whole brings in the emotion of anger in me and My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break. When my soul gets burnt by the emotion of anger, the vilest of all emotions, I would seethe fire and would pin down the subject of my aversion and anger with sharp words intended to arouse the same feelings in my readers. In a fit of annoyance I would rant and rue on the moral turpitude of those perpetrators of injustice, boast boorishly on my moral supremacy over them and would write, Four years is a long time, For their lewd relationship, To blossom into passionate love, And in these last four years, When they’ve stooped from bad to worse, I’ve risen from bad to great. When I am emotional, I write.
The ability of the human spirit to march ahead of mediocre human existence in a struggle to attain those horizons of exceptional existence is often strengthened by passionate emotions. A human mind is a goldmine of superior abilities, of finer talents and sometimes, of immaculate genius. So be emotional, be proud of it, declare it to the world and make use of your emotional brilliance to fire up your imagination and creativity. When I am emotional, I write.
