India, Feb. 13 -- The columnist in me is frustrated today. The author in me is despondent. And my creative instinct is at a crossroads. In spite of being in the opinion space for nearly 17 years, I find myself questioning what truly matters. My words feel hesitant and my voice sounds feeble today. The brain is frozen and thoughts don't ferment easily. There is so much noise around that it feels as though even shouting isn't enough to be heard.

My writing has always been gentle - zephyr-like - touching lives and spreading salve on bruised skin. Suddenly, it feels as if that's not what is required of me in the new environment, where howling tornadoes wreck human destinies. I am conflicted, unable to decide what's consequential in an expans...