About blogging and the importance of marriage for bloggers

I have decided to marry. I know it’s not an earth shattering piece of news but I feel obliged to announce it. And explain you the reason for my decision. Let me clarify that this has nothing to do with the fact I was recently called “uncle” by a 14 year old kid nor have the deluge of wedding invitations from classmates and friends affected me to reach this decision. I believe that marriage is the only route left to pep up my blog.

Don’t smirk now, give me some chance to defend my conclusion. The best bloggers in the blogsphere, if you ask me, are people like Narendra Shenoy and Sayesha. I mean, their posts are absolutely hilarious and make for very good repeat reads. And you have fans flooding them with comments and wannabes like me staring open mouthed at their posts. Overall, their’s is less of a blog and more of an online community, mine is a didactic imposition on you, the patient few.

So I donned on my best MBA hats and did some hocus pocus to unveil the secret behind their success. And the secret, I discovered is disarmingly simple, as they say, hidden in front of the eyes. Their humour, and if I can take the liberty of generalizing, all humour sources itself from the institution of matrimony. If not for Mrs Shenoy, I doubt Mr Shenoy would be half as funny. And all you need to do is see the posts o Sayesha to discover the importance of her “worse half” (if wife is called the better half, I guess the husband is the worse half) in her blog, he is like the sun around which the planets of her posts revolve. And so I say to myself, go forth and marry or your blog’s plight would make the tissue paper roll in the toilet also feel good about itself.

Dear Friends, if you know of any beautiful, patient, humourous, understanding and SINGLE girl who is also an amazing chef, can you please con her into marrying me; unless conned, I don’t know think such a desirable female would hitch her destiny to mine.  

Dawn In The Sands

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way" said Charles Dickens in the opening of his classic, The Tale of Two Cities, about the French Revolution. There cannot be a better description; the Egyptian Revolution can be best described in the very same words.

I was privileged to be there in Cairo when the rumblings began, and let me paint a pleonastic picture of my impressions. It was a pleasant Wednesday when after a discussion, one of our Egyptian colleagues said, “We are planning for a protest this Wednesday in Tahrir Square, why don’t you join us.” To be very frank, I was shocked, principally for two reasons. One, this was the first time I heard anyone presenting an invitation to participate in protests, and that too so civilly. And the second reason, well you ought to know Egyptian people to understand that. In a short span of 20 days, I have realized that Egyptians as a nation are courteous, peace loving people who do not lose their cool even in the worst of traffic quagmires. To imagine them in a protest, that was something that was beyond me.

Not anymore though. I know now that even the most placid of seas can generate tsunamis. No amount of blocked web and jammed phone lines could stop the mass of humanity in the various squares across Egypt; can a few fingers contain a dam burst? And although they were angry, there was no misdirection of the anger, you didn’t have buses being burnt (shame on us Indians, Egyptians are teaching us the true meaning of a democratic protest), you didn’t have private establishments targeted.

While the Wednesday (25th Jan) protests were mostly peaceful, Friday woke up to Internet blackout and a death grip on the mobile services. The sleeping lion was being woken; many people who would have otherwise stayed at home went to vent their frustration. And thus started a week plus of protests whose message, even the stone deaf could hear – Go Mubarak Go. Can you imagine random firing on a peaceful crowd of worshippers? Of police trying to run over, with their vehicles, the citizens they pledged to protect? And yet these images were beamed across to the shocked but silent world.

The defining images of this revolution, if you ask me, were images of the protesters, kneeling in prayer at 5:00Pm while the police, in full riot gear stood by; of the burning NDP headquarters; of an APC being overturned over the October Bridge and then being set on fire; of police beating a hasty retreat in face of unarmed but determined masses who outnumbered them 20 to 1. And of kids and young men standing guard outside their houses, arms in hand, ready to protect their homes and people.

It is a sad commentary on the state of governance that the minute the police felt the heat of the movement, they left their arms and left their stations and posts. A huge cache of arms ready for the criminals who had unfortunately (or was it diabolically planned?)escaped the prisons. A spree of looting and Egyptians took matters into their hands. Can you imagine any Indian protest where the protesters form a human barricade to protect national property? It is probable that everyone would form a chain to damage everything in sight as an expression of their sorrow/anger. In the Tahrir Square, you had protestors act as guards and police the National Museum, frisk people and in general ensure that nothing untoward happens to national treasures.

And the local youth, my hats off to those guys. You had them patrolling the streets during the night (and mind you, the threat and danger to life was very real) and protesting during the day. The Neighbourhood Committees, as they called themselves, deserve a post of their own. You had people with swords, machetes, kitchen knives, sticks, rods, bats and a few guns patrolling the street throughout the night. There was one night when a gang of “would be looters” came the side of our street. The way the guys reacted, running towards them with the swords out of the scabbards, sticks and shots in the air, there were no further visits by any “adventurers” from then on.

It is not as though the protests didn’t put you in unease; there were difficulties – to procure water, bread, to go around, to reach the airport, when boarding the plane, there were times when I quailed at the thought of stepping out. The uncertainties were many, but I am a romantic at heart, I love hearing, witnessing and talking revolutions, especially when they are as justified as this is.

Egypt is a lovely place filled with a set of people better than the most. I can only hope and pray that this revolution results in a better system of governance, lasting peace and most importantly, enduring freedom, jobs and affordable life.