Mid 'blog' crisis

I cannot believe that it is been so long since I wrote anything. When the first anniversary of my blog came and went, I had to let it go. I could say that life has a way of coming in between, and that I have been quite busy with a lot of personal stuff that I didn't write anything. If I do, there would only be a grain of truth in it. After all, I have always written when life was happening. In fact, some of my best writing (according to me, that is) has happened when life was a beast all by itself. But, to be honest, I have been wondering and worrying over what to write about. The main pitfall when you read too many blogs or books is that, you have this feeling of ambiguity and redundance. I have been off late besieged by this feeling that I am just repeating (for or against) a popular opinion. Until my post on dark/fair issue, I didn't have this feeling. But after that, especially after participating in a discussion about that same topic elsewhere in the online realm, I have been plagued by this feeling of redundancy. I wanted to write about how absurd our cinema treats women, about how living outside India changes our perceptions of ourseleves, about how time expands and contracts with children, about so many other things. But, the more I read, I am figuring out, that there is always someone who has already finished talking about it. It is just that, I always have a different opinion, or a different perception, or sometimes just a shade of a difference over the same opinion.

Then, I would remember one of my mother's aunts telling me that there are only seven stories in the world and that anything and everything is only a variation of it. I think, what we write about also has such limitations. I, after all, write about my experiences and very rarely fiction (even my fiction, I am sure, is one among that seven stories). And experiences are bound to overlap. I can only say about that different perception or that different shade of the same opinion. It might or might not resonate with whoever reads, I can only write, not decide upon what a person infers or even takes home with my writing. It is not that I consider myself the kind of writer who has a vast range of audience, but I do know a regular set of people who read my posts. They have mostly been emotionally blackmailed or held at gun point, to read what I write, in case you were wondering. But, knowing who would end uo reading them, also makes me hesitate to write about certain things. No, I am not worried about causing a controversy, but more about, how those little number of people would have probably heard most of it, if not all of it, already from me.

In between all these musings, I forgot why I wanted to write in the first place. I love writing. It is as simple as that. I love writing about my thoughts. Putting across my feeling in such a permanent fashion is both an exhilarating and a vulnerable experience. It is about recording to posterity what I thought about something at that point of time. Sometime later, I might have a different thought over it. After all, in the past I have held way too many things close and tight to my heart and mind that I feel absurd about now. I also have had some thoughts and opinions which remain the same and even more firmed by my life. But, it is always interesting to revisit what I thought. It is always happiness that I do get by writing. Opinions change, it is a fact of life. But, the core of what we are never does. So, why stop myself from doing what I enjoy? So, to all of you who are threatened regularly to read what I write, *insert villain laugh here*, I would continue to do so for a long time to go.

So, see you soon...