The Visiting Blog

I had resisted it for the longest possible time. Instead of having a blog like this, I mailed posts to people I wanted to for almost 13 years. Whoa, 13 years is a long time. I gave excuses. I am shy, I said. I love my privacy. I love choosing who I share my thoughts with. Well, not all of them were excuses. I am shy and I love my bubble. But there was also the vanity that I was different from countless bloggers. Unlike them, I personally mailed people. My posts were collective letters, really. I didn't wait for people to come to my blog, my blog reached those I wanted. Personal. Sweet. Different. But the snug bubble burst when a phone call came from Delhi. And the voice on the other end said people were forwarding my blog posts — basically mails — without giving me credit. Ouch, said my cherished privacy. Not funny, growled my vanity. And I've dived in here at a time writing blogs, with an account and all, is something definitely dated, something you did earnestly in the...

One of those rare times that I am giving in to change. Change feels strange. That's why the two rhyme so well. Change does not rhyme with surviving. But change is essential to surviving. Dreary homilies. But when you change after being a certain way since December 25, 2004, when the first Visiting Blog was mailed to a handful of people from a small cyber cafe in Santoshpur, Calcutta, you feel a tad unsettled. But feeling unsettled can be a good thing. Shakes one up. Clears one's head. Off go the mothballs and musty ways of thinking and being. Here's to change then. Hello, me. Hello, you.