Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
going solo
Started blogging...feels like I have jumped a four ft high wall...lol...given my current physical status, I don't think I can jump anything even one ft high...so more appropriately, it feels like I just crawled over a four ft high wall, and my lungs are jumping into my throat, with every single breath.
To begin with, why this title? Well, this is all for the sake of history. Not that I see this blog as my claim to fame (would I really mind if this made me famous? I think I rather leave that thought for a different day). All the value, that this piece of electronic paper has for me is same as that of a vent in a room full of smoke. It lets out the noxious gas. This in short, is my little excuse for some pathetic writing, which in case is being read by some misdirected and hapless soul, should be warning enough to retreat and run.
Now back to where I began. My friend, Ananya, bought me a book by Roald Dahl. Now we all know where I leeched the name from. The book is mostly about his days as a RAF pilot. I haven't started reading the book, as I am still stuck on Gerald Durell, but the title of the book had a strange effect on me. The most obvious effect is that of a man who looks like a Greek God, with a sexy British accent, in an even sexier uniform, who I happened to miss by a little more than half a century. The other, slightly more intellectual effect is what the very words imply. Going Solo. Be it amongst the dull clouds of a grey english morning, or within the safe haven of millions of unread fellow bloggers, who churn out absolutely dispensable pieces of literature, every day. C'mon, we are atleast saving paper! Whichever be the road, the essence of the journey is in going solo.
To begin with, why this title? Well, this is all for the sake of history. Not that I see this blog as my claim to fame (would I really mind if this made me famous? I think I rather leave that thought for a different day). All the value, that this piece of electronic paper has for me is same as that of a vent in a room full of smoke. It lets out the noxious gas. This in short, is my little excuse for some pathetic writing, which in case is being read by some misdirected and hapless soul, should be warning enough to retreat and run.
Now back to where I began. My friend, Ananya, bought me a book by Roald Dahl. Now we all know where I leeched the name from. The book is mostly about his days as a RAF pilot. I haven't started reading the book, as I am still stuck on Gerald Durell, but the title of the book had a strange effect on me. The most obvious effect is that of a man who looks like a Greek God, with a sexy British accent, in an even sexier uniform, who I happened to miss by a little more than half a century. The other, slightly more intellectual effect is what the very words imply. Going Solo. Be it amongst the dull clouds of a grey english morning, or within the safe haven of millions of unread fellow bloggers, who churn out absolutely dispensable pieces of literature, every day. C'mon, we are atleast saving paper! Whichever be the road, the essence of the journey is in going solo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)