Expecting all bloggers to come up with staggering prose is actually expecting a little too much. And if you think that those who cannot really write all that well should not start a blog at all, you are wrong again. Basically, blog is not meant for the writers because writers write books and articles. Blogging is like a personal space in public view, an open diary. Blogging is an engagement far more personal than any other kind of writing. It is essentially meant to showcase the outsides of the writer together with the insides of his private being. No novel or autobiography can achieve that feat for a simple reason that in a novel the reader knows that much of it is imagination with the sprinkling of truth a little here and a little there. And there is no way to sieve the truth out of the fiction. An autobiography, on the other hand, is a condensed account of the writer’s life as he sees it. It is loaded with perception of the writer and it is he who chooses as to what he feels is more significant. Naturally, an autobiography of a 60 year old legendary figure simply cannot be a day to day account of all those years. But a blog can be.
Every single day is important in itself and a blog records it all allowing the readers to make their own choices about what to take from the life of the author. The readers become the judges instead of the author. The author becomes more of an author and less of a pre-writing editor of his own writing.
However, a blog that’s excessively self-absorbed interests nobody except for a circle of close friends and acquaintances. The best approach to blogging would be to see and express the person in the backdrop of the larger reality of one’s times.
I am still not sure how to look at Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan’s The Compulsive Confessor because though it is intensely personal, it takes its colour from the fact that the writer is a young girl from urban India with her ‘liberated’ lifestyle on generous display. Therefore, a social background is automatically provided to Meenakshi’s very personal and rather irrelevant life, which is why The Compulsive Confessor clicks with the readers. Meenakshi’s blog simply draws vivid sketches and the reader fill in their own colours. Therefore, some see her as the bold new face of Indian youth, while others consider her the symbol of a decaying civilization; an indication of our misplaced values and withering cultural foundations.
Different people have different ideas about blogging, and equally diverse are the bloggers’ reasons to blog. Some want to simply write and place their writing before all unedited. They simply hate being edited. Others want to share with everyone the gems they find in the vast ocean of the Internet. Yet others write simply because everyone else is doing that. A few bloggers take offence of blogs that do not provide links to other sites.
So far as I understand a blog is an open diary for people to have an insight into the life and ideas of the blogger. Of course, if there are things that are of interest of others that a blogger comes across on the Internet, he or she may provide link and thereby share them, but that cannot be the indispensible prerequisite for a blog.
The most important aspect of blogging is regularity, which is what I primarily lack.
Most of the times, I write only when I have something significant to say (in my opinion, that is), and this is a habit that I need to break free from. Blogging is more about writing regularly more than anything else. And Amitabh Bachchan’s blog can indeed be quite an inspiration in that regard. The megastar has never missed writing his blog even for a day ever since he began blogging. And, of course, I am not as busy as the superstar.
It has been a very long time since I last wrote. I have never used this blog to push a point or even make one. It is simply a comfortable place for me where I mostly talk to myself, where I drive word after word just for the pleasure of stringing together sentence after sentence.
For doing that one needs time and leisure and something – or even nothing – to talk about. For a couple of months I have not found enough time to write this blog. This blog is also a comfortable place because I have no pressure to write or talk because I have so far read absolutely no comment on it. So, I can safely conclude that nearly nobody is reading what I write and even if I have a few of the passerby glance at it, they simply pass by without paying a serious attention. And this is freedom! Real freedom!!
Freedom to think without having to justify your thoughts, freedom to write without anyone to judge your words, freedom to speak without having to say, freedom to throw words without being accountable for them. If there could be any absolute freedom, this is what it would feel like to have it. What more could I ask of a blog. A blog unread gave me more than a well read blog could because when people read, they expect. And there is no burden heavier than the burden of expectation.
I doubt that very, very much. It took me over half an hour to write the last post. That’s because most of the time I was so very unhappy with the way it looked. A little bit of gap between the paragraphs, a capital letter here and a typographical error there were things I was looking at and correcting.
And that’s when I did not read back what I wrote. In fact, you can read my last post simply because I did not read it or it would have already been in the dustbin (the electronic replacement of it).
I do love writing and communicating but reading back what I wrote is not for me. Too many of corrections. I never seem to express anything in the way it should be expressed. And I am still not unhappy with myself. Ask why. Well, because I can’t help it and what you can’t help you should be happy about because the other option is being ‘sad’ about it, which seems a sadder option to me.
Is Pamuk laughing? The joke, Mr. Pamuk, is not mine, it’s me. Now laugh.