It always feels good to read people's blogs, the nice personal ones, dripping with sense of belonging and attachment, adorably carefree, nonchalant to what the accidental onlooker might think of it and the person behind those thoughts. They just don't care. I especially like the ones which do not indulge in furnishing intimate details from their private lives nor lose their identity in the now highly popular recreation of 'bitching' but exude a debonair charm which I find mighty attractive.
I only wish I could do the same.
But, to open up to the world as if no opinion mattered is like dancing as if no one is watching. And I, for one, cannot dance. I have often had this argument with myself as to why or why not should a blog be personal, a window to the real 'you' unaware of the public perusal and unconcerned of the ensuing interpretations. Every time I have wanted to sit down and write about the world around me, not the world far away in Delhi or Washington where our futures are decided on the basis of might and Machiavellian polity but the one that is in immediate contact with me, I have felt both vacuous and reluctant. And that is why it feels great to read people who discover that iota of magic every now and then in their lives. Not that I envy them to the point that I may gleefully barter their life for mine. Not that I don't always like what I write. May be it's just the quintessential "what if......."- feeling thats lingers with me to see such posts every now and then.
But then, as I often quote these lines by Ogden Nash, who always had something very vital to impress upon his readers through his seemingly humorous and cavalier verses :
" I am just glad as glad can be
That I am not them, that they are not me. "
That is just me.
That is just me.
