Blogging for 15 years

 

I recently completed 15 years on Blogger. 15 years ago, one fine morning, I suddenly had a brainwave. I wanted to have a blog of my own. I have no idea how such a thought corrupted my mind, or maybe, I do.

The world was a different place then. We were young, still coming to terms with the immense potential of the World Wide Web. I had been stringing together words to form sentences of value for a while, but the audience was a limited few. When you create something, no matter how miniscule, no matter how insignificant it might be to the cause of the society, you often tend to be overprotective of it. So was I, writing in last pages of notebooks or on small diaries with black covers that were shielded from prying eyes. Verses, mostly, and occasional stories that usually ended up in crumpled papers in the dustbin at the corner of the room.

15 years ago, I shed my inhibitions and decided to open up to a wider audience. I forayed into blogging on a whim, simply to unleash my voice on to the world. My words. My thoughts. My passion. Why not add to an already tensed planet? Distinctiveness was born, with an idea to be distinct, if anything. Unfortunately, there’s nothing distinctively distinct about this blog so far, but that will be dealt with in a different post, maybe a few hundred years later.

Anyway, at the end of January 2009, I wrote my first blog post - What makes Manchester United so special. The emotions are very raw, the writing flawed. Yet it comes across as exactly what it was meant to be - a young man's undying love for his football team. It is also an ode to my long friendship with Anirban and Sandeep, fellow Manchester United supporters. What would life be without football and friendship? Dull. Bland. Incomplete.

I recently revisited the post that started it all, 15 years on, and found myself peeking through the window at a picture of myself from years ago.

Reading your first post from a decade-and-a-half ago is a little different from opening a 15-year-old diary. If you love the first-raindrop-on-earth fragrance as you turn the pages of your old diary, you will be disappointed. There’s no such aroma in the air as you surf through blog and reach the point where it all began. It is also considerably less enchanting than turning the yellow-coloured pages of the past. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find that this little trip down the memory lane was just as enticing.

Words written on paper wither away, get lost, torn, burnt, but Distinctiveness survived, and I am glad that it did.

Because penning your emotions is a lot like supporting a club for more than two decades. You can hardly recall the exact day that the madness started, but does it really matter? Yet I do remember one of the very first verses I wrote as a teenager, ages ago. I remember proudly showing it to a few of my select friends at school. I remember getting it corrected from the established poet and lyricist in the house, who suggested the word ‘culmination’ and helped complete my verse.

It’s these small memories dotted in my writings that give them a special place in my life. This is why I hope Distinctiveness carries on. It is a common knowledge that art lasts longer than the artist. Although Distinctiveness is no art and I am no artist, I still hope that this blog survives simply to get my words across, long after I become dust in the wind. Maybe help the ones who seek solace, give hope to ones who need them. Perhaps lend a few spare smiles too? Maybe that’s too much to ask. Or too little.

I also hope that one fine morning, years later, when my son stumbles upon this URL – probably though an anonymous letter – he can get a little peek into the life, and thoughts, of his old man.

15 years. 49 blog posts. Pathetic average, but countless memories. Now let’s hope it doesn’t take another 15 years for the next one. Or the next 50.

Book Review: Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

 

It's not always that you find a book that mixes sadness and humor to good effect. However, Gail Honeyman's work - 'Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine' is that rare exception that fits the mold. It's has a very unglamorous take on depression, but that is what makes it so real.

Sadness isn't fashionable, despite what the movies might suggest. It's not beautiful, it's not charming. Its bittersweet image is a fraud; sadness is entirely bitter and not even remotely sweet.

Eleanor Oliphant, as you might have guessed, is not at all fine, even though that is what she claims to be. Isn't that how we all face sadness? We completely deny its existence, we fight the tears when they need to be shed. We often refuse to deal with the darkness, seeking momentary distraction instead. We often fight a lonely battle in the confines of our hearts, gasping for air even as we sink deeper and deeper.

Sadly, the journey from sadness to normal isn't a simple affair. It takes time, days, months, years even, before you can actually be fine. It takes massive efforts, from yourself and from people who hold you close. It takes courage, belief, and also the ability to forgive yourself.

In the end, this is what Miss Oliphant learns and shows us, in her own, unique way. She stumbles and falls, goes on a detour, and wades through a range of emotions before it dawns on her that she might not be fine. That she is not remotely fine. That it is okay to not be fine, to be broken, to be damaged. It is this realization, more than anything else, that perhaps helps her see things a lot clearer.

Her journey, full of ups and downs and false dawns, has a lot of resemblance with life. Life is never a straight road, never a perfect journey. Life is miserable. Life is rude. But life is also the hope of dawn at the end of a melancholy night.

Gail Honeyman expertly manages to mix emotions and comedy, which makes this journey so enjoyable. Despite its raw take on depression, ‘Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine’ comes across as a terrific read, refreshingly funny yet hauntingly sad. 

It also correctly points out that depression is best dealt with not by drugs or alcohol, but in the company of compassionate friends. 

Marriage Anniversaries, Time and Tide

 

Match made in heaven, but perfected on Earth.

Those who say Time and Tide wait for none are probably bachelors.

Because married people will know that Mr. Time and Mr. Tide have to wait for their Mrs.

Mr. Time will have to wait while the missus chooses a dress. Mr. Tide will have to sit solemnly with his wife and wait while she shops for new clothes.

The bachelors of the world are unlikely to be abreast of such wisdom. It is only the married masses who have been enlightened with this resourceful information. I'm sure my married pals will agree. In private, of course.

Interestingly, on this day, ten years ago, I registered my name among the enlightened bunch, the patient waiters. Sumita was officially promoted to the position of my better half. We were locked in wedlock, all set to face the world hand in hand.

I used to imagine that sharing a house with me would be fun, but have, over time, realized that such a statement might not be entirely true. I do have a penchant for sarcastic humor, a tendency to irritate people, and a proclivity for pranks. Needless to say, my wife has been my favorite subject in the past decade. A full-time, walking, talking, occasionally complaining candidate at my disposal.

One of the perks of being married I must add.

However, marriage isn't all fun and games, and it's not plain sailing either. It's a forest of emotions. It has more flavors than a ten-course meal, all the colors of a rainbow. Marriage has ups and downs and highs and lows. Yet, it is also a journey powered by love.

When Mr. Time and Mr. Tide agree to wait on their better halves, it is perhaps simply because of love.

Love. The essence of life. So hard to find that one person who matches your wavelength, and withstands your bad humour. Who is willing to be the butt of your jokes, but also hold your hands when you cry. Be that shoulder when you need one, but also knock some sense in you when required.

I found this love of a lifetime more than a decade ago, and then bound her in wedlock, just to be sure.

So, I am willing to join my learned friends Time and Tide at their table. We wait on our better halves, although, in truth, our wait was already over the day they walked into our lives.

Ten years have been a delight, Sumita, here's to many, many more. However, I also have to warn you that things are about to get serious now. There’s a young prankster in the house, picking up the tricks of the day by the minute. The best – of everything – is yet to come.