Ghar Waapsi

It was never this hard. It definitely wasn't hard a decade and a half ago when I first stumbled upon the concept of a web log, and it still wasn't all that hard when, exactly 10 years ago, I took the advice of someone (I forget who - perhaps more than one person told me this) and decided to write only if I get paid (with the odd exception reserved for the notes and, later when the strict character limit was relaxed, statuses of what was by then, as made amply clear by the film about it, the one and only social network). And now, a decade after having dismissed the blog as the platform for the failed writer, here I am, not knowing where or even how to start. Have I forgotten how to write or did I never know how to write at all? I started blogging when I started working, the work being writing for money. But like a colleague and I used to say back then, often self-deprecatingly whenever anyone would refer to either one of us as a writer, anyone who knows how to write is a writer. The implication being, not everyone who knows how to write is a writer. Food for thought, perhaps. Just that, well, that particular colleague has gone on to become a celebrity of sorts on account of what he writes (and often himself performs), so I highly doubt if there are any doubts in his head as to whether or not he is a writer.

This really shouldn't be this hard. As far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a writer (although that's not entirely true, but now is neither the time nor the place for that disclosure). Writing is the only thing I've ever been paid for. More often than not, other people's writing that I had to rewrite, rearrange, reduce, fact-check, spell-check and place on a page for printing, but every once in a while, I did get the chance to play the writer. The then editor in chief of the second largest English language daily in the country (largest in the national capital region by readership but not circulation) said about me after being informed (by me) that I make pages, maybe he can write. Maybe I can. And I did. But I seem to have forgotten how to. Or maybe I never knew. And now I'm just repeating myself. Or perhaps I'm just pretending to do so, buying time with my fingers for my head as it figures out the best way to go about this. Therein lies the rub. A decade, decade and a half ago, it was simpler simply because of my limitations. I could have, for instance, presented this as baring my soul to a shrink I wouldn't go to in real life without having any second thoughts because back then, far from having read Portnoy's Complaint, I did not even know any Philip Roth. I could have gone for an epistolary format, kind of like an online diary, something that I guess a blog was supposed to be in the first place, but without the opening "dear diary" salutation, which now seems tacky and done to death. As does the related "letters to a younger self", even though I cannot exactly recall the precedents right at this moment.

Back when I started blogging, I was obviously not ahead of the curve, but I wasn't too far behind it either. The year I got out of school and into college was the year the world got Orkut and India got broadband, a huge step up from the 56kbps dial-up connections. Unsurprisingly, it was also the year Indians started blogging - two of the three blogs that were well established by the time I joined the party were launched then (the third was only a couple of years older). Like me, there were many who started off in 2006; like me, most seem to have folded up or gone dormant by the end of 2010. What happened? Life, I guess. Most were my age, perhaps a year or two younger, so the active blogging years roughly corresponded with their (our) college years. Perhaps some (like me) decided to write only if they were paid. Can't say with any certainty, though. Haven't stayed in touch with any of them. And while I can't speak for any of them, I for one am back. Which brings me to the title. Those of you (so very presumptuous of me, I must say - for all I know, these words are meant for my eyes only and no one else's) expecting some sort of grand political post straight off the bat would be in for some disappointment. The ghar I'm making a waapsi to is the ghar of the expression "laut ke buddhu ghar ko aaye". Literally (as per Google, albeit after playing with the word order) "fools return home". Or, in this case, fool, singular. I guess one could say I am a kaagaz ka fool. A fool for kaagaz. Kora kaagaz. Blank paper. Paper is passe. Pen is passe. Type writer type. What a cliche. Techie turned writer. Wannabe Ibanov. Vonamor Romanov. Back to square one. Back home.