It has been two years since the conception of this blog and over the years it has grown like a potato shrub would even when watered and manured religiously. Well, the religious part is an exaggeration because this blog has been as regular as a std VII spoilt brat doing his social science homework. I agree. But beginning the third year with such an enviable record of hits (I did once have a sincere list of well wishers who took pride in their friend’s endeavour), I feel as contended and applauded as a Shakti Kapoor would have doing a write up on India’s Nuclear Policy or an Arjun Rampal speaking to a packed audience on child labour.
Looking back, I wonder what could have gone better to give this site a decent number of hits as would a lady’s of the age of 19 penning her day to day activities (today my earring got locked in my bf’s eyebrow piercing when we embraced each other for the 119th time; I woke up at 11:15 in the morning only to find my cutie little pie Bruzo peeing on my Ritu Kumar) and getting a 67 comments on the masterpiece in an hour with 27 ‘can we be friends’ messages. Alright, the reason is clear but hey, am I entitled to justice?
Okay, the topics aren’t as researched as the analysis of the balance of body weight on a cover drive by Sachin, or as popular as a review of the latest flick of SRK, or as sensitive as a Nandigram and as thought provoking and worthy of debate as the Gujarat riots. I have however tried and succeeded to keep my writings away from personal mumbles(I loooooove my vanilla ice with a kiss of hot choclate), accusations (today as always my boss dug his nose and emptied the contents beneath the conference table while I was on the projector), and daily chores (Ooiee ma, today I managed to add salt to the tea instead of sugar and my MIL turned into a gas balloon). The point is, if the the same is written by a lady (irrespective of age) the response is understandable. But even an acquaintence would be as interested in reading a languidbeckonings by a 29 year old asinine onh how he spent last weekend, as he would be in watching a Krishi Darshan on a Friday evening.
Over the years I have tried several gimmicks aka marketing strategy. As innocent as sneaking it beneath my e-mail signatures, as blatant as sending links of my latest writes through mail with addresses in the bcc so that recipients do not comment on reply all’s but on the official comments page, as brazen as picking up a topic on the lunch table only to end it with - I have put my thoughts on my blog that I think you should check out, as desperate as leaving comments on unknown blogs and as creative as changing the background and font of the page every other day to keep readers enthused.
But sometimes I contemplate, what is it that keeps one to writing, despite the meager response? Is it the desire again to see readers appreciate a good write and feel encouraged, or a 67 comments on your post in an hour, or is it the sense of accomplishment when given oneself the gift of a good and humourous write. I think it is safe to pick up the last one and contend myself.
This blog is close to dying a premature death, but I shall give it one more chance in its third (but nascent year) to live, see the light of eminence and Die Another Day.
Looking back, I wonder what could have gone better to give this site a decent number of hits as would a lady’s of the age of 19 penning her day to day activities (today my earring got locked in my bf’s eyebrow piercing when we embraced each other for the 119th time; I woke up at 11:15 in the morning only to find my cutie little pie Bruzo peeing on my Ritu Kumar) and getting a 67 comments on the masterpiece in an hour with 27 ‘can we be friends’ messages. Alright, the reason is clear but hey, am I entitled to justice?
Okay, the topics aren’t as researched as the analysis of the balance of body weight on a cover drive by Sachin, or as popular as a review of the latest flick of SRK, or as sensitive as a Nandigram and as thought provoking and worthy of debate as the Gujarat riots. I have however tried and succeeded to keep my writings away from personal mumbles(I loooooove my vanilla ice with a kiss of hot choclate), accusations (today as always my boss dug his nose and emptied the contents beneath the conference table while I was on the projector), and daily chores (Ooiee ma, today I managed to add salt to the tea instead of sugar and my MIL turned into a gas balloon). The point is, if the the same is written by a lady (irrespective of age) the response is understandable. But even an acquaintence would be as interested in reading a languidbeckonings by a 29 year old asinine onh how he spent last weekend, as he would be in watching a Krishi Darshan on a Friday evening.
Over the years I have tried several gimmicks aka marketing strategy. As innocent as sneaking it beneath my e-mail signatures, as blatant as sending links of my latest writes through mail with addresses in the bcc so that recipients do not comment on reply all’s but on the official comments page, as brazen as picking up a topic on the lunch table only to end it with - I have put my thoughts on my blog that I think you should check out, as desperate as leaving comments on unknown blogs and as creative as changing the background and font of the page every other day to keep readers enthused.
But sometimes I contemplate, what is it that keeps one to writing, despite the meager response? Is it the desire again to see readers appreciate a good write and feel encouraged, or a 67 comments on your post in an hour, or is it the sense of accomplishment when given oneself the gift of a good and humourous write. I think it is safe to pick up the last one and contend myself.
This blog is close to dying a premature death, but I shall give it one more chance in its third (but nascent year) to live, see the light of eminence and Die Another Day.
