Breaking the Hiatus

It’s been a long, long time, since I have blogged. Primarily because I am lazy. Secondarily because I am a self conscious writer. Tertiarily (no that’s not a real word) because, well, I can’t think of a reason right now. Excuses, excuses, hah! Okay. Hopefully there weren’t too many tears shed or love lost or protests staged to mourn my absence.

From time to time, I face these inane Prufrockian dilemmas. The “Do I dare?” kind. The procrastinating kind. The kind which really have no reason or rhyme to plague my mind to begin with, but do anyhow (it’s called procrastination for a reason). That’s why, I wanted to name my new and improved blog “Prufrockian Lamentations”. But I realized that it sounds too much like an eulogy for a tragic hero. Or a vague, cursory commentary on the tragedy of modernity. That’s not it at all…not really what I want to do. I also thought of “Prometheus Unbound”, but immediately got vivid images of a hapless, semi naked man tied to a rock, with an enthusiastic eagle feasting on his liver. Too much violence for an otherwise benign morning, I say. Nomenclature is important. It’s what we are known as for the rest of our lives. It’s what we are, in more ways than one, even if Shakespeare disagrees. It’s what gives rise to pseudonyms. It causes dissent among agitated youths, if deemed uncool. It gives occasion for heated clannish arguments when there’s a birth in the family. It causes embarrassment. It can strike fear and awe in others if you make something of yourself, something worthwhile. And if you’re unlucky, it can even be an expletive. (“What a Dick!”, “Stop being a Potol,” “Why are you such a Stuti?”) Bengalis tend to face this even more, thanks to the marvelously bizarre and intensely common nicknames that parents bestow on us. We all know a Babu, and a Mamoni and a Shonai. We all laugh. But we all feel a tug of knowing empathy. So yes, names are important.

I thought, why not Shakespeherian Rag? It sounds fancy, maybe even pretentious. Evidently. But you see, it is “The Mysterious Rag.” And as the great Eliot noted, “it’s so eloquent, so intelligent.” Good thing to aspire to then. I like it, and since this is my creation, this is what it shall be known as, forever and ever. Amen.

But no. This is about hitch-hiking. Of transgressions and stumbling upons. What I figured is, too many thoughts, too many stray incidences pass by every day, day after day. And I forget. I try to remember, but I forget. So, this blog shall be all about recollections and observations. Things which fascinate me- randomly, passionately, hazily. It won’t be a well crafted exaltation on the glory of life, or sermons on how to adopt hygienic means for the betterment of the self, it doesn’t aim to inspire or incite. It’s more like a quick scribble on all things fleeting- ideas, experiences, stories chanced upon, recurring thoughts and random musings on all and sundry.

Thank you for being a compassionate and large hearted (and thankfully invisible) audience.

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