An old dream, a bit of curiosity, a whiff of nostalgia,
a dash of wonderment, generous doses of bewilderment…
all come together and settle into this little corner of the blogosphere,
they rest somewhat uneasy, unsure of what lies ahead..
Pickup what you will, read what you may, tap a little, take a bite, brush off some bits of these dustyedges..
what happens when all that’s left of a relationship is the memory of good and bad times? times spent together.. they say that when you share a part of your life with someone, you create a bond that lasts forever.
is it time that creates space – in your heart, in your soul? a place to go back to in the rambunctuous old boy reunions, in the comfort of solitary reflection, in the unsuspecting invasion by a haunting nightmare. a single streak of water that runs down a face tempered with time. a pregnant sigh that walks down memory lane………….. a mischievious smile, a naughty twinkle, a warm blush. a stab in the bosom, the sound of trust shattering into a million pieces. a shriek in the night, a crushing of human soul.
sad feelings, joyous feelings, angry feelings, wonderous feelings, bloody feelings, overwhelming feelings, sensuous feelings, numbing feelings, feeling feelings.. strands that weave time into an intricate web of life and love.
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What’s the worth of a piece of writing? How does one arrive at a realistic justifiable measure of remuneration?
Some say it is the value the writer places on it. The price of thought, of creation, of a labour of love – the value of twenty six letters, free space and a bunch of strange looking symbols strung together, speaking thoughts, describing emotions, painting visuals in ways that can only start to give a voice to imagination.
Alas, what does one then do with the pearls, gems, emeralds, rubies, (you get the point..) produced by underestimating wretches especially lacking in the assurance department? A vaguely Emily Dickensonish malaise? Or should we even venture out to think about big bags of hot air, just waiting to unleash themselves on unsuspecting souls?
Some might say that it ought to be the amount that another will pay to read it. Market dynamics, my friend! The law of demand and supply – if no one wants to read it, it ain’t worth a damn dollar! He who shouts the loudest, usually gets the best exchange.
Sigh, need one say much about the Chetan Bhagats of the world or for what could be reminiscent of Van Gogh’s life in the literary world? Can one really put a price on the work of something that might actually be far ahead of its times?
Some say it is complex – it is worth what the writer would earn if he were doing something else – ah yes, opportunity cost!
Of course, we can toil trying to put a cost to what might otherwise be easily discarded as “non remunerative stuff”. Mothers spending times with their children, cooking, cleaning, teaching, playing.. Or imagine a talented member of a society heavily segregated on the basis of super duper specialisation. So much so that they can barely do much else – placed somewhere on the assembly line of skills and talents.
Some bring in the mind boggling parameters that some stiff collars somewhere will consider while valuating intellectual property.
Can someone please begin to explain to me the intricacies of using the GAAP system to discount future economic benefits of ownership at an appropriate discount rate?
And what’s the point of this cynical view of things? Why go through all this?
Well it originates from a question about the worth of this piece of writing. So, what is it worth?
Scratch, scratch.. Think, think.. Ponder and wonder.. Gulp.
2 suleimani chais, 1 bun maska, auto rickshaw fare to and from prithvi cafe – Rs. 92!
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