Why do I blog?

This is one question I keep asking myself everytime I set forth on the task to group letters and express ideas, especially if the task results in considerable use of time and effort. What do I expect to achieve – or do I expect to achieve anything at all?

Do I believe that through my writing, I can make a difference? I would love to believe so – that the world is hanging on every word I write and that my articles are all the catalyst that this weary world needs. However, I find evidence to the contrary. If the world were to be converted into godliness by a book, post the scripting of Ramayana, the world should have emptied itself of men (metamorphosis of humans into divinity is the event I am hinting at here) and no further word would have been penned on paper. No, I am not looking for converts.

Or is it that I am looking for a bestseller somewhere down the line – something in the likes of “Letters of Vamsi – a compilation from the best of the blogs”? Come on guys, I may be a conceited megalomaniac (you may notice that I do not deny that I write bestseller material) but I am not a total idiot (when anyone can access my blog and read it, why would anyone buy such a book, even if it is published. I think apologies are due to my grandchildren – sorry guys, you lost out on a big chunk of patrimony, all because your dumb grand-dad decided to blog).

So why is it that I blog? On one of the first weekends after I joined my job, I decided to go home. It was a long weekend; a festival in conjuncture with the weekend gave a total of 4 day holiday. As I got off the local and directed myself towards the main station, I realized with a shocking suddenness how utterly indistinctive I was – surrounded on all sides by people in the same age group, with same or similar profile, income and sophistication and in some cases, even the same mobile. I could be replaced in an instant with anyone in those thousand and no one would even notice the change. “What is it in me that I consider unique, that I believe would help me stand out from the crowd?” I asked myself. One, I could claim my pedigree (oh, and I flaunt it with great pride, being with The Master is no banality by any extent of imagination) but that was bestowed rather than earned. And two, I had my voice – I don’t mean I am a singer, not in my wildest dreams would I imagine myself drumming up soulful tunes – I mean I believe I have a way with words. “Meri Awaaz Hi Mera Pehchan” I would say.

Writing the blog indicate those moments when my “excel-agnostic” part of the brain is in ascendance; those moments when the dull grey of pure math succumbs to multitude of colours of language; moments that are few, hard to come by, non remunerative and yet they represent my effort to reach out towards sunshine from the sterile atmosphere that today’s office is.

The blog is independent of me; it doesn’t matter to it whether I post daily or yearly, elation and depression are unknown immeasurables for it. But to me, writing the blog makes me whole; publishing it gives me added joy.

I do not write to exist; I write to prove my existence