If I had a dollar every time I am asked this question I would be a millionaire by now in dollars, not after conversion. Yet I am responding to the blog.
One evening I had to wait for my daughter, it began raining; the nearest shelter was an internet café, with steaming coffee I sat in front of this PC. And Google popped up, I was computer novice and the helpful girl running the café told me, I could type any word and I would get information on it.
Guess what I typed an old friends name, and I landed on Sulekha, someone with her name identical had blogged and the blog was about Indian software engineer guys in states not wanting to marry Indian software engineer girls, or first generation NRI girls, I found the whole thing ridiculous so I wanted to comment.
To comment I had to register,
I did not want to disclose my name, to the day, I am not sure when my true identity got revealed. Anyway since Parwati and Singari my two grandmothers have contributed to my biological and psychological make up I am but their descendent. The faint footprint left behind by the two fiery feisty ladies I accepted the mantle of ParwatiSingari.
Here I was empowered with a sense of unfettered expression. A sense of regaining my lost self. Sometimes as read others blogs I feel, the blogs have become personal letters, where we share, grow and become part of a community where appearances don’t matter.
Lord Byron claimed that Letter writing was the only device for combining solitude with good company; of course he has not lived in the Blogsphere. Strat from Plinky prompts for example is a valuable friend someone I want to share my thoughts whose world I voyeur into, yet we never met. Liz Carpenter can bemoan that we lost a lot when we stopped writing, but for me the Blogsphere is phoenix, just as I reread a friends blog like I read a letter hope you deal with my blogs in the same way.
The Blogsphere assures us we are not alone, as I write I hope to establish I am not alone, like the blogs that I read, I hope to leave you with some experience, a little exhaustion and allow you to enter a different life, I do when I read another’s blog.
As to why do I write or blog? because there is no greater agony than a story untold inside you, what happens to that story is beautifully brought out by Nagamandala a play written my Girish Karnad. Mary Angelou had something to say about it too. I can start out to tell you, instruct or share with you, but I land up writing the blog that wants to be written.
Sometimes I wonder if I write to taste life twice once during the moment it and a second time in retrospect. If you ever wonder where I get the ideas to write from, well everything in life is writable, as long as you have the guts to do it, and the imagination to improve. My worst enemy is self-doubt.
I wish I could say I write to move mountains and influence readers, inspire leaders satisfy my auditor but the bottom line is I write to me more myself. But do you know how helpless you feel if you have full cup of coffee in your hand and you start to sneeze? That’s how I feel when there is an idea to be shared and I have not got down to it.
Please forgive my paradoxes as I reflect, and whatever the world and his wife may say I prefer being a person of paradox than a person with prejudice...”
Hence I see, observe and chronicle a spectator to the journey we call life.