Serious Blogging? What do ya think?


Why do you blog?
A: Partly to make Butterflies and Wheels more frequently updated and more interactive (as well as that bit more interesting, I hope), but also because I think the world des-perately needs to hear my opinions, and I like to oblige.”
― Ophelia Benson

Has blogging reduced to meaningless activity? That’s for you to answer. For me my blogs are conversation with unknown person at a chaikhana.

Can bloggers make significant contribution to the society dealing with significant issues seriously?

What is a blog in the first place – a written material published on the web. If it is a verb then the action that creates the blog is also a blog while the person indulging in the activity is a blogger.

Why do most of us blog? Lets be honest we are doling out answers people don’t want to hear to questions they didn’t ask. Most of us advertise our opinion, some of us flaunt our language skills, what ever. Many of us who have voices and concerns that we would like to voice, but are reluctant to approach a publisher for whatever reasons, so blogs come to our rescue. Then are people who want information, then there are exhibitionists.

Each of us as bloggers are only as effective as our reader outreach.  Of course some of them in turn may have a greater range of influence. But as of now we just accept what gives us just in case we are interested. Our readers connect to us depending on what they perceive as our credibility. If we are perceived as sincere despite the fact that people may disagree, our thoughts and our opinions get acknowledged, that in itself is a great achievement. Whether we can bring about a revolution ….I doubt… a change possibly. Just this morning I read Sucheta Dalal’s blog and took an appointment with my bank manager as I needed some answers.

What we write, is our choice, we can do it in all sincerity, with all conviction, its outcome depends on the reader and the attitude of the reader if the person is the kind to take to action they would, if the person is an armchair revolutionary then it would trigger debates, if you make someone uncomfortable, they could pelt stones at you, and if the person is an armchair delinquent then welcome to the world of internet trolling.

There are people who take on video-blogging, or podcasting, there are people who are working with language on the brink of extinction, to revive it they of course opt of Vblog or YouTube. If you are looking at the immediate revolution brewing in the backyard forget it, yes but we do influence people to an extent again instead of. Our arms circle, this time round we don’t know who we are influencing.

Well Tomichan Matheikal, it looks like you are bringing me back to introspection, and questioning. Thank You.

This blog is written for the 162nd Edition of Indispire.

Can I Hide?

Can I Hide?

Curtains went up artists took their place one after the other, each moving to express their agony and ecstasy through movements. Naini sat in the audience watching the performance and noting the errors not in the performance of the artists but in the design she had created for them to perform.

The overwhelming emotion was a need to hide, she knew now people would recognize her for who she was a fraud, as child she used to wear her aunt Meena’s footwear (which was classy unlike anything her mother wore, or her mother allowed her wear.) and pretend to be trendy, so when the campus went a buzz about how Naini was fashionable, (wearing Aunt Meena’s discarded clothes or sister Jyothi’s hand-me-downs, or sister Babli’s rejects) she used to be bewildered. Sometimes looking back Naini felt, for whatever reason when she wore those hand-me-downs, she emotion that they discarded with the clothes got imbibed in her. a sense of being second class, a sense that she was encroaching an actual feeling of being a refuse bin.

She remembered wearing her father’s surgery dress and pretending to perform surgery, the feeling of play acting stayed with Naini through the med-school, even as she practised. She lived with the mortal fear of being discovered for who she is a fake.

The thundering claps jolted Naini out of her cocoon of fear, it was show time she would have to face the audience…

”Ma’m did you do the choreography?” that was Bharati Gaoncar from The Goan, it was amazing I did not want the dancers to stop.

“Phew doctor, that was brilliant”

All Naini could do was to keep the plastic smile on, and look for the nearest exit. Out of the confines of the theatre, she called up her coach and buddy,

This happened in her work place too, each time her patient thanked her profusely for the relief they experienced, she would think what rubbish.

“how can I have low self esteem” she had asked Venugopal her friend and practising life coach, ”You see the work I did this morning with Nachiket, that spirit release was not easy, neither was this movement design, how would I do it if I did not have the confidence to pull it off.”

“Remember the awareness of abundance” asked venugopal.

“Sort of”

“Your self esteem is like that, it is powerful, you did a brilliant job tonight, but what were you telling yourself through the performance…This is not done right, that ought to be done differently, you sat through the performance keeping a watch for that.”

“But I have to improve,”

“That’s not the issue, through the performance did you laud yourself for brilliancy, and even now you do not own your brilliance you are trying to placate yourself.”

Actually it was right,  she had done it to herself each time, the innovative lunch boxes, the clothes stitched for the kids, between patients, ferrying the kids, sweeping, dishwashing and laundry she never acknowledged, she beat herself for the dust-bunnies that refused to leave.

Naini sighed, accomplishments don’t erase shame, by not standing for herself when it was appropriate, she had damaged her self-esteem. She was angry and ashamed of herself for putting up with the unfair behaviour at home, the more she put up the worse she felt. Until somewhere she felt she had no right to complain about receiving hand me down, she had to be thankful for the crumbs she received, she was being greedy and making a big thing out of nothing.

Accomplishments did not erase hatred, cruelty, silence, ignorance, discrimination it only covered it up creating a new version of pride and ego.  She wondered what was the way out… may be forgiving herself and others, maybe compassion, repentance and living with dignity could help.

For the time being she would start her healing journey with writing three things she achieved each day,  maybe she would truly earn her self-respect somewhere.

Muse of the month –Oct.2016

Whaur in th’ warld?

ImageA location?

Do you mean a position or site occupied or available for occupancy or marked by some distinguishing feature?  Its simple minimum energy consumption and great stress busters, the location of my feet from Terra Firma I would plonk it right up on the table. – for a year?

A tract of land designated for a purpose? You mean like a Farm or station in Australian English, relocation? You must be crazy—from the borders of the Jungle I would move right into the jungle, forget the farm or station.

ImageOh! What you meant was placement of baseballs pitches in a particular area of the strike zone? All right and the ability to control placement of pitches—well I never imagined someone could live there for more than a split second let alone a year.

Seriously, If I could relocated it would be country roads take me home years of living by the sea, I realize that there was a part of me that I seriously denied, the girl who was brought up with rural background. The green fields, the sloppy mountain terrain of the western ghats with its winding rivers and tall trees,  I am back in the comforting cradle of the sahayadri.

But relocating without my family, no thanks, I would not want to return after a year and find that my family has moved on, leaving me all alone.