Friday, August 26, 2011

almost nothing.

I stopped blogging for a while now because of professional hazards. My friend in India gave me a good tongue lashing when he realized I spend more time obsessing over my blog and satiating my verbal rant in creative verse on Mondaydonna rather than writing material that's long over due. And hence a series of sketches were born, some outlining for a few script ideas but mostly, those dreaded unholy cover letters for numerous job applications.

Finally, I could not hold myself back today. In applying for a post online, I was asked to provide a writing sample. A sample? I wrote a dozen script coverage in my last two months and a long list of posts over the last three years on this blog. But did I have a writing sample that shows my knowledge of present developments in the media or what I have to say about the rebels overthrowing Gadaafi in Lybia or sadly for that matter something closer home - Anna's hunger protest in India and the silent turmoil bubbling in my country? No. I do not and I can't possibly pretend to begin articulating my thoughts on the same. Not because I am not interested or concerned but because this space and the larger part of my writing is my venting zone, my safe area for catharsis on things OTHER than those that are tearing the world down right now.

So what did I do about that sample? I didn't send one. Quite the rebel ay given that I need a job more than anything else at this point? Ayyyyy... I think it is weariness on the other hand. I am beginning to slow down rather than rev up any more about how best to approach this seemingly vast expanse of untapped jobs in the US. Don't get me wrong. I've met some of the most respected and engaging industry professionals, had long chats with writers of films back in India that are rocking the box office and India's imagination. So a lot of good things have come about from the process of networking to find a job. And more than anything else I guess you have to trust the process (Note: very relevant to  to other aspects of life as well). But there is this ancillary list of things that are eating away at my enthusiasm of it all:

* Staying up late and wondering if the thousands of dollars I spent studying the film and tv industry are worth over an MBA that I could have landed in the same money

* Wondering if I am kidding myself about sticking to my goals in the entertainment industry or the fact that the MBA route is playing games in my head. Maybe dad was right, make bread to feed yourself and then go make pastry on the side to tickle your palette. Get the analogy?

* Having to move YET AGAIN into another part of Los Angeles. Crashing on couches and feeding off (literally) well wishers is what any film/tv enthusiast does. Just that my back is yearning for one regular solid hard mattress 

* Listening to my sibling's friend advise me that the return to India plan is perhaps more pragmatic and financially viable than hanging onto the hope of getting hired in the present messy US economy

* Fearing that if I don't return to India soon, I just might get a little too used to the idea of the lifestyle that this country affords and India cannot perhaps even in two decades

* Most of all just this looming unsurety about my present exploration of film related jobs in the US and if it actually is going to help me land an interesting position back at home

I am probably making this blog way too personal. But blogging like I said is my only means of letting go, rambling about happy/unhappy turning points and making peace with it all. Making peace.....isn't that the point of all our creative exploits. Writing, painting, making musics, making things to be shared with people outside our immediate reach? I"ll use this space as a crutch in the coming weeks if I haven't managed to shrug off a friend's visit to LA. This time and perhaps the first ever, I couldn't speak all of my mind to someone I've been meaning to for a while. Making peace....yet again. Perhaps I need to indulge in writing some more random cryptic verse to soothe my mind.