I’m a blog, 100 posts old. An uncompromising, sometimes radical, often ranting, supposedly satirical, barely humorous, BLOG. Born out of the deepest desires to do something useful and, many things useless, a getaway, a place of solace, a test of sanity, bearing the burden of the unexplainable. The writer likes to make people laugh, he has made people cry too, and some have literally wept over his laziness and oversight of poor choice of words, punctuation; grammar, shpelling mishteks and topics, like this one.
He thought he made people laugh, little did he know, they laughed at his inability to be funny. They thought he made people cry; little did they know, he cried with them. Some thought he scared them, that was his worst fear, worst fears do come true and you live through them, somehow.
Joy and Sorrow, sadness and laughter, tears of either kind. Words queuing up, tripping over, long and short sentences, good and bad paragraphs, as random as tears of either kind in a lifetime. Sometimes making sense, other times making sense only to the writer, rarely saying something, while indicating something else.
There have been metaphors and smilies used, without knowing the proper distinction or caring about them. This is my personal diary. Metaphor.
This is like a spiritual diary. Bad Simile.
Worser example.
See.
I’m as clueless about the readers as I’m about the writer. A recently written film review generated 174 page views a single day, none commented. Readers come in randomly from all over the world, the power of the internet rather than the skill (if any) of the writer. Hardly a purposeful blog, but in the hope, a skill is being developed. A log of interesting things happening in the world, happening in the writer’s life and sometimes in his heart.
Past, present, future and, stark reality. This moment. A part of the present that’s finished before you have seen it, or known it. You have just lived it, and it’s over. There, it went by again. And you are still looking at me, it won’t be long before you close this page.
The unpredictability and the stuff being written about it. Sometimes direction less, sometimes too complicated to reveal the direction, most of the times, lost in translation from the idea to the keyboard.
In spite of this, THANK YOU. I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for you. And for the writer’s friends and their families. And some really special people who do check it out regularly.
In the next post however, I won’t be a blog that is 100 posts old. I’ll be a blogger, 26 years young, who thinks he wants to be a writer. One who writes with mediocrity because of the need, rather than one who wrote with the same mediocrity, but was once inspired.
, finally started making a purchase, from what I saw earlier today, purchases can be made only during specific hrs according to IST( I wonder why?), that translates to nightish-owly hours for me. Perfect. Indian railways helps five billion passengers annually, so I”m guessing there are thousands of users trying to get thru its meagre bandwidth somehow, buying tickets or checking status or checking timings.
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