Why astrological forecast is effective is, it is often written in quite vague language and at the very least it may happen to any one of the readers. For those for whom it had happened becomes a believers of astrology. It is called the Barnum Effect (or Forer Effect), where vague, general statements are perceived as highly personal and accurate. People remember the one line that resonated and forget the twenty that didn’t. It’s a passive, broad net approach to connection.
I write with no plan in my mind. No agenda. No aim. No crafting the message. No worries about the SM algorithm… There are weeks in which I could write 3–4 blogs. Often the trigger is a very ordinary experience in day‑to‑day life, or a sight, or a phone call, or a passage I get to read. And then I got to wake up from my sleep and just complete the writing…
“Ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple ‘I must,’ then build your life in accordance with this necessity.” —Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
That is close to how I experience writing. It is not planned, not crafted for applause, but something that insists on being written. Sometimes it wakes me up from sleep. Sometimes it comes from the most ordinary of sights or conversations.
During the initial days, I used to let whatever gets written be published as it is. As one who had my school education in vernacular medium and in Govt and Govt‑aided schools, my English is often Manglish. Guess, I think in Malayalam and type in English. Core readers remain the same. They are my dear and near and people who know me a bit. But when I tried to put together and publish, I was told I had to get them edited. One established editor, at first, said plainly to me that she was busy with a few more projects and asked me to share a few samples. She may get back. I thought that was a polite and very compassionate way of saying no. And after a few days, she wrote back saying she would edit. And those were the first writings that went under the ikebana scalpel of an Editor. I should complement my Editor, Rasna, for making those passages eminently readable.
After that, initially I used to use Hemington and Mars 21 Editors… When I saw there were too many RED marks, I stopped using them. Nowadays, Copilot editor in MS Word throws up severe grammatical guffaws, and I do spend a bit of time correcting them. Still not much worried about the SM traction and applause. Whenever I think it is complete, I publish. Sometimes in early Monday morning or Sunday afternoon.
My Zen master, Fr. AMA Samy, has written around forty books, given countless teishos, and continues to share his thoughts with students through the Bodhi Sangha Forum. And every time he completes a book, he tells me that it is his last. I took up the responsibility of editing his “last” book. And by the time I finished it, he had another one. That is the way of true expression—it does not end when we think it should. What feels like the last word is only a pause before the next arises.
One thing I notice: every single blog, I get a note from one of the readers saying that the writing is just apt for the current moment in their life. To be honest, that does make me a bit happy. But then I realise, I am not living in another planet. I share this world with them. In fact, all beings are connected. While we have our own uniqueness, there are more things common amongst ourselves. One’s pain, joy, peace, love, compassion etc. are also commonly experienced. I may be seeing the Sun and Moon in Perumalmalai—the same Sun and Moon that appears in Dallas or Bangalore.
And when I published my first book, I had a list of 20 names, my inner circles in Dubar groups, whom I thought would buy the book and make an effort to read. As of today more than 100 copies were sold. Out of those first list of 20 names, only around 10–12 people bought. Maybe the way I see others is not the way others see me. But when someone who was unknown to me personally writes a one‑liner, it touches me deeply. It reminds me that words have their own journey, and they find their readers in unexpected places.
And usually when you seek or look for inspiration and motivation, there is none in the world. The same goes with applause and likes as well. When one starts writing for the sake of writing (at the least writing for oneself), one finds there is a fountain of inspiration or motivation deep within. When one reaches that, one really ceases to look for external motivators such as applause or likes.
While seekers of a moment’s fame and name try to decipher what makes a post viral and how the LinkedIn and FB algorithms are framed, they don’t realise that there is no rhyme or reason for literary fame, name, and wealth. Some of the best names such as Kafka or Thoreau were hardly known during their lifetimes, yet they made a lasting impact after they had left this world. Again, my favourite author O. V. Vijayan became a legend with his first book, and its success was never repeated. Many said he missed a Nobel only because it was too difficult to translate his surreal painting‑like prose from Malayalam to English. Perhaps if those Nobel Committee members had learnt to read Malayalam, he would have won. The same goes for Kamala Das too. And Arundhati Roy, in contrast, struck gold with her very first book.
Buddha had originally just ten core disciples. Christ had twelve, and one of them went rogue — Judas Iscariot. Socrates too had only a handful of students. Their teaching lasted because they focused on the substance. Modern times may be different, but principles are not. Focus on substance: keep the work excellent, curate visibility, share progress in ways that highlight impact, not just effort, and always align with meaning — connect your work to the “why” it matters to you and the world.
It is a bit like the sound of the Zendo bell. The bell itself (performance) must be well‑cast and resonant. But unless it is struck and allowed to reverberate (projection), no one hears its music. The bell is not diminished by being heard; its essence is fulfilled in resonance. Last month, I had to redo the Zendo lead role again. I seemed to have forgotten the way bells were struck. After the early morning Zazen, Fr. AMA called me and spent quite some time teaching me again. The core teaching is: one lets go of the need to project, then the sound of the bell becomes music. It projects itself.
“He who stands on tiptoe does not stand firm. He who rushes ahead does not go far. He who tries to shine dims his own light. If you want to accord with the Tao, just do your job, then let go.” —Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
I was not always like this. For a long time, I too tracked book sales and counted likes on blogs, as if numbers could measure meaning. But then Rishi, my second son — an exceptional painter and sculptor — declined my suggestion to hold a gallery show to showcase his work. He simply told me, “Papa, currently I am doing this for myself. Maybe later… I am in no hurry for those things.” As he left home to pursue his dual degree in Arts and Economics, I realised that at that young age he had already come out as an integrated human being. His words stayed with me, and they continue to remind me that the truest art is born not from the hunger for recognition, but from the fullness of being.
After the last book, I too received a note from a very unexpected quarter. The person wrote that he is not much of a reader—his breaks usually come from watching movies or listening to music. He said he bought the book only because it was written by his friend, which is me. But after the first chapter, he found it interesting and ended up reading it fully. The closing line of his note was: “When are you publishing your next one?”
The answer I did not share with him was: I too am not in a hurry. When it happens, it will happen.
After all, a writer does not really write for others. The best musicians are those who play their music just for their own ears. And the best players are those who don’t play for the gallery. Humans pursue a literary form, an art, or a game not merely for external validation, but to steady the sails within, and to make their inner gold purer by rubbing it against the sandpaper of the world. In a world obsessed with visibility, presence, virality, and traction metrics, it is often forgotten: self‑expression of the soul is the best reward. As Francis Bacon reminded us long ago: “Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man.”
