Skip to main content

A smoking gun

Personal blogs are generally so boring, I hardly read them, my own being no exception. The trail left behind by the forgotten posts of Deepanjan Nag’s Magnum Opus has sometimes landed me in serious trouble and I’ve been left ruing the fateful moment when I decided to test the murky waters of web logging. To be honest, I’m more grateful than rueful, but that doesn’t discount moments of deep anguish I’ve suffered for being proverbially BIG-mouthed while blogging.

More than the trail, it’s the individual posts that are to blame for heartburns. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes impossible to give the whole picture, often it’s just an aspect that gets projected. When taken out of context, the impression painted is completely misrepresentative of the original thought. The reader isn’t at fault, but the realization that posts come with this innate handicap shouldn’t be lost on him. Some details are deliberately jettisoned to avoid chronicling the immensely painful moments I’ve lived through, which, I’m sad to say, I’ve had more than a fair share of.

Blogging has been a huge solace, especially when Dad passed away and I had no one to turn to. I felt trapped in a dark dungeon with writing being my only way of expression.I shared thought that I needed to and some that I didn’t. When I am referred to posts reflecting nothing but supreme moments of imbecility, I can hardly believe my eyes. Was it really me, I think. Therein lies the beauty of blogging – it’s an entrapment of ephemeral thoughts preserved for later. With time, well written personal blogs end up capturing a whole gamut of emotional upheavals – a treasure trove beyond compare. The hazards, though, are more immediate and come with a heavy price. With my frugal living, I’m not sure how far I can afford it.

This blog will end one day, perhaps long before my own time is up.


Asha said…
Deepanjan Nag's magnum opus is precious for me.I came to know this wonderful man through this blog. It helped me to discover this dignified Deepanjan. I miss my food at times but I never miss your new post. Your blog makes me feel proud that this man is mine.I would hate to see the day when there will be no new post from you. Keep writing. I LOVE YOU
gurdas said…
Deeps, I second Asha (except the part where is she proclaiming her love).

Having said that, I do notice that occassionaly your posts drop in quality. Maybe that is when you are writing for the sake of writing and not because you have a story or thought to share.

All said, keep posts coming.
gurdas said…
Deeps, I second Asha (except the part where she proclaims her love).

Having said that, I have noticed that occasionally your posts drop in quality. Maybe that is when you are writing for the sake of writing and not because you have a story or thought to share.

All said, keep the posts coming.
Deepanjan said…
Very encouraging words! Thanks!
didi said…
I always look forward to reading your blogs.You are actually one of my favorite writers and that's not because you are my brother.Don't stop blogging.

Popular posts from this blog

This is what Bertrand Russell said about religion...

Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown and partly, as I have said, the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes. ... A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men.

The year that was

I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still