I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it’- Ernest Hemingway

I may have been a mandarin of sorts for a significant  era of my well regulated and insulated span of existence, the urge and longing to dip into the ‘well of my writing’ and  troll out the ‘refill’ as much as I can, hung on me as a chimera! The imposed fetters fell apart when I gowned an attire of vulnerability and openness and from then on my peregrination embarked towards the ‘well’!  I wrote and continue to especially when I gain momentum through your

Instigations and provocations!

‘My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way’, Hemingway said; me a struggling unknown ametuer penpusher has chosen to confirm with the simplicity in  prose, though the contents do reflect my observations and notions in varying grades of non conformity and deviance.

“Who am I?”  my golfing partner asked me as we were returning in his car from a fairly  pleasant outing at the golf course. The query  was consequent to an earlier discussion  we had engaged in a few days back during our journey from a game of golf. As most of our conversation lingered on abstract and metaphysics I was aware that this too was metaphorical requiring a rather philosophical response.

“Who am I?” I repeated and told him to give me some time to frame a suitable reply. Fortunately the same evening at a friend’s house over dinner I picked up an opportunity to pose the question to a practising psychiatrist sitting across the table. Like a normal shrink does, he befuddled me further.

“Who am  I?” He uttered and pondered for awhile,“Yes psychology relates this very important question to ‘I and Me.”

Observing my perplexed look he elaborated further, “ both are commonly used pronouns, wherein,  I is used for the subject and Me for the object. An example will demonstrate the incongruity.” He articulated a few sentences using these words, which though appropriate were out of context, as the query ‘Who am I?’ remained unanswered.

Since our last outing the weather here in Boston has altered substantially; both of us are patiently praying that the weather charts give us the day when the temperature is around 20 degree C, the sun is shining, the leaves stop rustling and we can  play golf. The interlude so far has conditioned me to prepare myself to submit the rejoinder to  my friend and this will be my reply to his question, ‘who am I’:

  • A flower spreading beauty and fragrance and withering away graciously.

  • A storm furious and wild causing mayhem, destruction, misery and pain wherever it migrates  and dies incrementally.

  • A cloud showering life saving elixir while dissipating into oblivion.

  • A mountain steaming, foaming, burning and melting within and with regular eruptions ,raze, shatter, destroy  everything in its reach.

  • A river meandering through difficult terrain in fury and zest delivering life and sustenance to the animate and inanimate before disappearing into the vast oceans.

  • An instant thunderbolt from dark clouds killing and damaging for no apparent reason.

  • The moonlight to brighten long dark nights to expose the path to the wayward before sunrise.

It is now for my friend to realize who he is; I consider my past, a forgotten story, it is my present that I am looking forward to be ‘who am I’;  what will that be, will be known to you through these columns.