Sajal Choudhary

I tell stories

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Category: everything else (page 1 of 2)

#16 in an year of mornings

Beach morning, Côte d'Azur, France

Why I feel like an impostor at times


I think the problems began the day I paid for a domain, the blog was no longer going to be at “”, I had paid to have the “wordpress” removed. And that changed things. This was not just going to be an interest any more, I was a writer now. I even changed up my bio to reflect the change. I also cooked up a facebook page to reinforce the same. That page incidentally has around hundred likes now, not that I have any clue as to how the people who got there, got there..!

Yesterday, I read a post on Medium. I do not remember exactly what the whole of it was about, nor do I have a link to it, but I remember the end. In essence, the author said, that she’d love to see more bloggers out there, instead of all the essay-writing-writers that she inevitably does. She talked about the progression of the writer, from doing a couple of years of blogging, to an essay a week eventually. She rued the absence of good bloggers. Good, funny bloggers.

The “funny” part stayed. Why? Read on, I guess.

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What does it take to be a writer?


It can be pretty damning, to promise something, and not follow up on it, just a day later.

I did that, yesterday. But maybe, the promise was taking things a little too far.

That was yesterday though. Today, is a new day, and today, I want to talk about what being a writer is all about. Like always, something happened which has prompted this line of thought. And like always there’s a story.

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The hopeful human condition


There are days, when, you question things, not the good things, no… you question yourself, and your doings…

If what you are doing makes any sense?

If you should continue doing what you are doing?

Are you special, or is it just a product of the times that you live in?

One of such days happened to happen, on one of the days, in this past week. I am experienced now, in these things, as I have had several of these bouts in the past, to know that these usually pass, but still, you cannot really do anything during this depression you’re living in. And so you sulk, as I was.

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I’m back… again!

That's supposed to be a hand coming out of the ground. Yeah, I know!

That’s supposed to be a hand coming out of the ground. Yeah, I know!

If I decided to list out all the times I have taken a break from blogging, and started linking them out here, then in addition to it being a pretty long list, it would also be a fairly time-consuming and boring task. And time, and attention are too things, I am fairly a miser of, these days.

So, I’ll just begin.

The break, this time lasting close to a couple of months, was a well-intentioned one. This in stark contrast to all the times I’ve done this before. Times when I had been plain lazy. Lazy, yes, that’s a word I picked up today. A word that describes me, and has been describing me, quietly enough, for all my good years of college, and another one after that.


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All intelligence is subjective. Creation however, does seem more fulfilling than destruction. Why would any non-human intelligence be interested in destruction? Aren’t we painting everything in our insecurities whenever describing any other form of intelligence?


Remember the Benny Benassi song?

I remember going through the foreword/introduction of Malgudi days by R.K. Narayan, wherein he talks about how short stories are easier done, than a novel. Why? I’m not sure if he answers that.

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Michael Christie: Reading and exercise

A balance of things, is almost always what makes things awesome.



I was in love, for even the exhaust from the pipes seemed, incredible and beautiful to me.

How many times has it happened to you that you were so engrossed in something, mostly your thoughts, that life slipped by?

I say how many times, and not has, because, well because I wanted to. And it seems incredibly obvious to me. Something that I can almost pass off as a fact. Almost because, hey I’m still new to the writing about the life stuff, and I’m still uncomfortable with passing beliefs as facts. There is theory I have about self-help books, and why they almost always click, at least while you’re reading them. I think I wrote about this somewhere, but looking for it now, will be, well not possible. So. Yeah.

Getting back at the question then. How many?

If you reach a figure, drop me a mail, or comment, or something.

If, however, you are like me, and your answer is something on the lines of: ‘too many times to give a fuck about!’, read on, and leave a comment, or drop me a mail, or something! Its getting lonely here!

Alright, alright I know, I know.

On my first day home, I actually felt disgusted as I stood outside the railway station, waiting for my people to come pick me up. I was disgusted by the rickshaw driver, who almost pulled me to his auto, as if he was there to pick me up; I was disgusted by the man who came to pick up the person I was standing next to, and the manner in which he talked, too much of kiss-assery in every damn statement out of his mouth; I was disgusted by the dirt, the paan-stained mouth of some fat bastard, almost everything, really. I guess I was sad. Most probably, I was overwhelmed.

And it was weird, for I loved all of this! I loved the people, I mean not really, but I loved looking at the little intricacies, the actions and reactions, the mannerisms, the emotions. I loved that. I loved to look, to see, to observe. I’m not sure when that began, but it has been there since at least my college days.

What is life, if not wonder?

Life becomes long, boring, and tiring, when you don’t look at it. I find it sad to find people, and in troves, who don’t look at it; who get bored by it. Our senses are getting, or have gotten blunted by the information overload so much, or maybe its just a personality trait; that we have stopped looking at it, and getting amazed by it.

Take, for example, the camera. As a kid, I was obsessed with it. ‘How does this thing work?’ was the one question that constantly ran in my head. I remember not being allowed to handle the one we had for a long damn time! And when I did get to hold it, click a picture, that was magical! But then again pictures used to matter back then!

Yesterday I saw two pictures back to back, clicked by my little sister. One of them had my dad’s head off.

I am not a sentimentalist, I get that times are changing, and I’m actually happy about a lot of things. But knowledge has never held that much value to me, experiences however, are a different matter altogether.

Also, I’m hungry.

Too much of boredom, can be well boring, and dangerous. What’s the point of it all, if there is no value to it?

And then, what would you do if there’s no value to it all, and if you find yourself actively bored by it all?

Too many questions. Fun stuff.



What is life?

-A journey.

I understand the vastness of the topic, and the fact that too many great men, have lived, and died, whilst still working on a solution. I’m not even claiming, that this, in fact, is one.

Now that we have the disclaimer out of the way.

Yesterday night, or rather morning, whichever way you choose to look at it, I entered in a conversation with a person regarding decisions, or something else, not sure, it eventually led to the very basic question, the question at the beginning of the post: ‘What is life?’

There were two basic, definitions, which came out, this, is mine. The other one, quite entwined with my definition, was her choice. I have asked her to compose something, and share it with me. If it gets here, I will be posting it too. Till then, my view. Also, for those wondering, her answer was: ‘Life is the decisions you make’

I like travelling. Most of the times I have more fun during, and not after, or before for that matter. The journey has, and perhaps always will, matter more to me than the destination. I guess looking at that analogy, it becomes easier to imagine why the decisions don’t seem that important to me.

I don’t believe in having any regrets. That’s the other thing. And I sincerely do believe, that on my deathbed I would be more concerned with how I spent my time, rather than worrying about why I spent my time the way I did, or wondering how life would have been had I chosen A instead of B.

The choices we make, I believe, don’t even matter in the long run. And as far as choices are concerned, how many times have you really made a choice?

The time spent after the choice has been made, that is during the journey, is another reason I feel Life is a journey, instead of the choices. I mean around eighty percent (just because I’m feeling generous) of our lives are spent in the during part, so, logically it should matter more.

I had initially thought this would be a long one. That was one of the reasons I had stopped midway, I had thought I’d need a lot of time to condense, and present my thoughts. But as it turns out, I had more to say, when I was talking to a person.

P.S. Awaiting your response.