Sunday, July 19, 2009
“I am blogging”.
I explain it to her and after a few minutes of such question answer session, I hide back behind that eternal answer, “You will know when you grow up”.
That closed the conversation, it always does, it always did. It is a signal, which a child learns to pick up over time. It is a part of their growing up learning.
My final answer was, in response to the question which was on the lines, what prompts me to blog?
She went away and after a few hours she must have forgotten that she had put her father in a spot over blogging.
Generations before me, were writing paper diary, or the hardcopy as we IT guys call it. My parents never had a habit of diary. They were too busy to make two ends meet. However my grand parents from mother’s side had the habit. From them I learnt that diaries are very private property and certainly not for public consumption.
“Grandma, what are you doing?”
“I am writing diary.”
“Can I read it?”
“No, you should not read someone else’ diary.”
“Why are you writing it? Has your teacher asked you to write it?”
“No. No one has asked me to write.”
“Then why do you write at all, if you do not want someone else to read it?”
“I do because it gives me pleasure.”
Wah ! What a bucket load of shit. Why anyone would want to write something when they do not want anyone else to read it, no one has asked for it and most importantly no one you know cares about it? I never liked writing essays, even when my English teacher chased me.
Obviously I was not at a liberty to voice my opinion in such language. I mumbled something and the response was,
“You will know when you grow up”.
I am forty years old, but I do not know, if I am grown up or not.
Only yesterday my yet to be five year old kid asked me to grow up. I was trying to bully him about his favorite toy bike, with an un-expected holiday at hand with Congress calling the Bangla Bandh.
It’s an amazing feeling to have your diary online, for public scrutiny. I do not know about others, but I am writing because I am beginning to enjoy it. I do not care if others care about it or not.
It allows me to express views freely, which otherwise when expressed in a gathering would have met with some eerie silence, suppressed laugh or complete indifference. It allows me to complete my side of story, without being interrupted. It is completely my world, right to entry is restricted.
Even though all that is true, one change I noticed that being online, you actually half expect that someone else will read your stuff.
You will not stop or moderate your way of writing, because others think differently. However if they give you some comment, you get a heady feeling, even when you realize that it is only indulgence.
Does this mean our generations think differently than the hardcopy generation? We love to share our innermost thoughts, generation before didn’t?
I believe that generation too wanted their write-ups to be read, or else why would my grandmother leave her diaries in places where she knew I had access to?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Nowadays I am hooked to Photography. I got in late as like many others I have finally realized that I am no good in front of the camera, hence the decision to go behind it.
I am also listening to Classical Music. You may say what’s the big deal? You see it is a big deal for me. I am doing something, where I know I am not good enough. Listening classical also needs knowledge of music. It took me time to get over the phobia. Lasting memory of my life is to hear that I am not good enough. I was not good enough in studies, not good for music, not skilled enough for sports, not serious enough to be a writer, not a good son, neither a good husband nor a father. In short I am aware I am not good enough. But like many others, I wanted to come first in my class, play sitar in front of an audience, cherished the dream of representing country in sports, write poetries and novels.
I was going through the daily grind, waiting for that perfect moment, when everything else will take a backseat and I will be free to chase wild goose, my dreams.
Last year I purchased a DSLR as a gift for my wife. As luck would have it, I was not good enough to choose that perfect gift. She found it too cumbersome and settled for our old aim and shoot camera. I ended up as proud owner of a DSLR with absolutely no knack for photography. I started with tics and tacs with prime idea of convincing myself that the camera was indeed cumbersome and should be discarded.
Days moved into weeks and weeks into months, I am still debating, waiting to click few more shots before settling the argument. I look back at the snaps taken over this period, I know no one is bothered, but I notice the differences in my clicks. It was encouraging me to chase that dream of being good enough. Even if no one knows, I know that I am better than what I was six months ago. It is good enough progress for me.
I was inclined to include some snaps of clicked, but decided against it. Let them remain as my sweet nothings with me for some more time…