A Bowl of Elusive

Children always have a lot to say. So did I. And it is because they feel like whatever is new and exciting for them is also new and exciting for everyone else. I feel like adulthood sets in for a person the moment he realizes that most things he wants to say have already been said, most ideas already discovered and most conversations already had. My uncle used to describe this moment as the death of the child within oneself - when you stop enjoying cartoons and an irreversible cynicism sets in. For me, the cynicism and the realization that I have nothing new to contribute set in pretty early on. When I moved to college, I had had years of knowing that the more I talked, the less seriously people took me - so I became quieter. The quieter I became, the more cynical I got. And very soon, I was known as a jerk by almost everyone who wasn't close enough to me to realize who I really was. Before that, I remember always having stories in my mind, and even poems. I often wrote them and pe...

I remember having quite an imaginative mind as a child. I used to day-dream a lot, often about having powers, super powers, about flying, about aliens. (Sometimes, I still do.) And I used to write about my fantasies. So my characters were inspired from books I used to read, movies I watched or the crazy collection of comic books which my pocket money went into buying. I remember a story I wrote in middle school. It was about an Indian archaeologist excavating a dinosaur fossil in Costa Rica and dreaming about the extinction of dinosaurs. It was called “The Jurassic Dreams“. (I will try to post it here sometime.) I chose my uncle to be the first reader for my story. After all, he was the one who had inspired me to read books. Alas! It was a stupid decision. This is what he said: ” Its a nicely written story, but Ian, you must start writing about things you have experienced, places you have been to, otherwise your stories will never be authentic.” No offense to my uncle, may G...