A while ago someone wrote the following:
I have always loved writing but have wondered whether making it public is in alignment with my tastes. After all, what I write is for my pleasure. I decided to blog all that is in my head which I would want to share with the world. There would be matters close to the heart which I will not place before an alien eye...
My disclaimer to all the posts I make is thus:
What I present is my opinion. I do not present it to you for vivisecting. On some matters I do invite your comments, but that would be it. My scribbles do not come forth with an assumption that I am infallibly correct. No Ma'am/Sir, I am but a normal human being who is looking within and without, and trying to learn. I often stumble and I often surmount great peaks. Of neither am I proud and of neither am I ashamed. I am swimming in the fine ocean of this world, trying to understand what few have understood, what many haven't and what many more care least about.
Let's see how the journey is. I have merely started out and expect the least and the most from this, in the garden called Life...
and I still wonder what made him write thus.
Its been two years since I started blogging. I am not sure whether I should have said "TWOOOO years" or "just two years". It was and still is fun. I have enjoyed the sheer bliss in writing which I thought was merely fabulous. It is real. Trust me. When you sit at the desk, cracking your neck and wondering "What should I write today?" and then you see the keyboard in front of you, with every key merrily dancing away, enticing you to tickle them all to tell a story which neither of you knew - you know you are going to write a piece which is going to make you forget the world, even if only for a few minutes. The sheer joy of watching the scene of a story, or the boatman sing the poem which is suddenly, Oh! suddenly on the screen in front of you, or the cleaving of the self over and over again into several Erotemes all sitting with their jaw in the cup of their palms but asking very different questions and taking very unique stances (a friend of mine rolled her eyes when she said that she thought that I could never make sense because I had Rand and Krishnamurthy arguing in my head! Since then, it became a fantasy of mine), the sheer joy of all that is simply immeasurable.
This blog has been kind enough to let me be whacky and serious and deliberate and careless and sensual and devastated. I have cried while I read some posts out here and have had a few friends of mine play tricks on me by quoting lines from this blog only to have me wondering where they ever got to read them. I have lost myself in nearly each and every post that has gone up here. A very dear friend of mine would stick to her belief that each and every post of mine reflected something about me. I would always shake my head and laugh at her statement. I couldn't be all of this, can I? Another friend told me that she likes visiting this blog simply because consecutive posts are usually not of the same tone or on similar matters!
This blog, to me, is not about posts. It's not about what friends say. It's not about anything tangible. It's about losing myself even if only for a few minutes. It's about serendipity. It's about a kind of love which I am cynical enough to claim as extinct. It's about consciously remembering to breathe. It's about washing your face over and over again because you simply don't want to sleep before the writing is done.
A year ago, I had written a similar summary of a year with this blog. This one is about spending two years with this blog and being undecided as to whether it's been a long time or just-like-yesterday. Well, its clear that I haven't had enough of it.
I am glad that this blog helped me create a magazine (which hasn't published the last 2 issues) and introduced me to a whole bunch of wonderful people. Thank you for being with me. The pleasure's all mine.
I would like to collect a few posts from this year and not from earlier (early-year?) as they can be viewed in the summary I mentioned above. Hope you enjoy this selection.
Last year I had celebrated it in a coffee shop. This year too, I shall like to celebrate this on the 24th at India Coffee House (I love that place for its antediluvian look-and-feel) on M.G.Road from 16:30 hrs. Care to join me?
Animal Instinct (Fiction) (This happens to be one of my favourite)
Penne alla Eroteme (Nonfiction)
When he loved (Fiction)
Never marry a writer (Fiction)
Eighteen (Poetry/Philosophy) (This is the post which makes me happiest)
The inevitable (Fiction)
Straight spines tingle me (Nonfiction)
Zen Koan (Philosophy/Fiction)
A duet (Poetry) (Touched by a comment that came towards the end)
From the diary of a cuckold (Fiction)
Gizmos (Nonfiction) (My family loves this)
Excuse me (General)
The curious incident of a bus at night time (Nonfiction)
Silk Butterflies (Fiction)
A divine request (Poetry) (Loved the discussion on this thread)