I have hovered, for a little under a decade, around the idea of blogging. Once, I even started a blog and posted the mandatory 'I have started this blog but have nothing of any consequence to say...' post.
Then, things fizzled out.
Now, at age 30, I realise that my inability to keep up with this activity has to do with my rather warped notions of blogs being linked to narcissism and an inflated sense of self-importance. It's time I grew up. Which for me means - Chill Out Yo and Write! So if I want to blog, I will. Even if I have nothing to say. Or even if the things I have to say interest no one. Or even if the language skills I display make me cringe from time to time (no, not all sentences turn the way we'd like them to).
It doesn't have to be anything, it doesn't have to mean anything. I'm coming out of a decade of writing where every sentence had to have meaning and purpose (for the 'masses'). Or else - cut. I'm emerging from a profession where words have images attached and images need words. Baki sab? Cut. I'm coming from a world where everything must have rhythm. Nothing can be bumpy or skip a beat. Or else - cut.
But that is, obviously, not how I think or feel. I scratch around language, I love words but am not always fast enough to catch them. Rhythm? Those things I leave to unforeseen forces. Sometimes it comes, sometimes I can see it stick its tongue out at me and scamper away naughtily.
At least I don't have an evil producer giving me the stink-eye and telling me that what I've written in 'banal'....or worse still - 'yaar, mazaa nahi aa raha hai.' I'm sick of being told that I'm an 'angrezi ki khiladi...do ghante me 30 minutes ki script likh dogi na?' This is a no-entry zone for nincompoops. Go poop your nincoms somewhere else.
And let me take my first dip...