I have always loved writing: it was my only tool for all situations and moods: boredom, happiness, depression! Whatever I did or felt seemed to make so much more sense when I put it down on paper… and I did it for fun, for myself without any inhibitions. But now for the first time, when I do it on a somewhat professional level, and I am accountable for what I write, it makes me a little constrained…. True I love it that now more people read what I write and I love it when sometimes even strangers whom I haven't bribed to read my blog compliment me, but at the same time I shall probably never be prepared for the kind of unscathed, brutal and unjustified criticism that it evokes!
In my last post I had written about my rendezvous with the horse trader which had left me enraptured and awed. Well, little did I know what was to follow. I had gleefully captured the interview in the form of an article and for a change, I was really satisfied with the output given the mundane nature of most formal interviews. This one was different and actually engaging. However the feedback it invited from the man himself left me completely shattered and numb with shock! It was one thing to be criticized for my writing ( my father is my worst critic and my best teacher) but when it becomes subject to a malicious and vicious attack sprinkled with abusive statements, it becomes really heartbreaking!
As I howled away to glory with vows of quitting the Corpcom team, it was comforting to see so many people stand up for me and for what I wrote. While I know it was the best I could have done and if I was asked to rewrite it I wouldn’t be able to do a better job, it was a bitter lesson in conservatism! Not that it justifies his immature act, it taught me that when you are answerable to people, it’s safer to be politically correct even at the cost of creativity. And I am really not sure I would enjoy it! It’s probably a good thing I didn’t take up journalism- it could have robbed me of my only gift!