“The pathetic renderings were only what could be written,” exclaimed Vincent. He was bequeathing something to write in his blog. He thought of a one-liner or a sentence to start his first and new blog.

“It could have been anything like Vicky or Vinaya or Vinod but, it is going to be Vincent’s blog,” he wrote in his name bearing and entitled “Vincent’s Blog.”

“Was it out of sheer will?” he thought.

Seeming to introduce his ‘self’ and ascribing negation with different names he was nowhere near to stitch the narrative together with what could follow in his blog.

“I will talk about myself, in this Vincent’s blog,” he reiterated the same thing which he had thought before writing that first sentence. It made him calm.

He felt a draught of wind passing with a swish through his ears. “O, these whispering winds,” he exclaimed in all plurality.

“I could have been named anything but Vincent,” he said in despair.

“There goes my identity,” he spoke to himself.

The unseen plurality of identity was hearkening in his ears just like those winds which he assumed to be flowing together, for some reason.

“May be this is so wrong to think of,” he aired low to himself.

He had noticed the gust of wind to be very noisy.

He had proclaimed in writing – “that gust was noisy, and it was whispering something to me.”

“How very eerie,” he thought for a while and typed “here goes my writing about these whispering winds.”

Vincent closes the window because it was too chilly for him to withstand the wind now. What choices does he have? Do you want him to keep the window open? And withstand the wind with a shawl. It is the first dusk of autumn and Vincent is not ready with a shawl to wrap him up. He was enjoying the wind a little while ago and the wind had whispered something to him as it passed by.

“I only want to take the air and breathe a little but, not these whispering winds for now,” Vincent sighed with a relief undertone.

“Just like a silent air, volatile is the name when unuttered,” Vincent reiterated about the names which he has written in the first sentence of his blog.

When we are born and ascribed some name to us, are we not emphasizing with the meaning of the name? We are left with the choices of the name and we choose and make the emphasis livelier by adhering some meaning while choosing. We do not choose names we choose meanings ascribed to it.

“I am uttered as Vincent and not Vinod or Vicky or Vinaya.”

“My meaning of the word is attached with Vincent.”

“Vincent means ‘conquering’.” This was his fourth sentence in the blog after that sentence where the whispering winds whispered something in his ears.

His despair with the name was over. Vincent had found and noted his meaning, the meaning of his name that was ascribed to him. The meaning was very particular. He felt glad for a moment and a faint smile in his face was glowing.

He looked jubilant for a while and after some time he got wearied again remembering that the names that have been ascribed with a meaning are not in tandem with the name bearer’s knowledge. The name bearer does not know the meaning or the name itself when it was ascribed in the beginning. The name was kept on behalf of the bearer and the bearer would be unaware. The meaning of the name is only known to the bearer if one is curious enough to know it later. The curiosity rose out of life, out of absurdity. There is some search for adherence and fixed meaning in life and also some search in name. May be the person can also think about the meaning ascribed to the name and bear the burden of the name through the unknown task assigned to him, after he has known the meaning of his name. How very strange is this? We are called by a particular name and it is related to our identity. Yet, we question, “What’s in a name?”

These thoughts worried Vincent and he found no clarity in them.

The whole onymous process was to undergo a change if one were a writer, when literary or pen-names were ascribed by the writers to themselves.

“Are they not ascribing some meaning to themselves too,” Vincent thought.

What sort of literary writings would one produce if one believed in some name and the nomenclature of it? Is it related to the literature that they produce or in general to what they do in this world?

“It is all existential,” Vincent said to himself at last.

What would his task be? Will it be name keeping or the deeds?

“You have known me by name, you shall know me by deeds” wrote Vincent in his blog.

Those were his final words for Vincent’s Blog. Vincent did not want to write about the whispering winds though he believed that those winds whispered something in his ear. He did not want to write about name keeping and pen-names in literature.

“Vincent’s Blog” made him think about his deeds. May be he will travel somewhere and share his experiences or he will write a poetry. May be Vincent will become anything like Vinod, Vicky or Vinaya and again come back to write his blog. May be he will conquer himself, rather than ‘conquering’ others and be better in deeds than he is today. May be conquering himself was that unknown task of the name and also its meaning. May be he will live his existence and not question it. May be he will find the meaning of his name in deeds and not in words and he will willingly pursue his life without chasing names and its meanings.

Just like the carelessly blowing wind, Vincent hoped to do something and set out for life. May be he will make his life livelier this way and whisper away his name to the silence of the falling dusk and begin a new dawn for tomorrow and find a new meaning in life apart from his name.

By Sushant Thapa

From: Nepal

Website: https://lit-at-sushant.blogspot.com/

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