Ok. So here this is. The 200th post. I started writing back on the 22nd of July. I was a little sick that day and the weird silence of the hospital rooms made me open the note application and write something on it. It was the first rant. I had never really thought of a blog by then, but it came to me that I will never be a regular diary writer. So I moved to the digital blog. 23rd July was when the first rant was published. One after the other I wrote several blogposts and the responses I received was overwhelming. With every blog post and every rant, there would be a couple or three viewers who would relate with it and be grateful that I wrote it.
From 20 ot 50, from 50 to 75 it gradually reached a height of 100 posts. I remember, the 100th post was quite weak in the sense that it showed signs that the posts might just have come to an end and it did, infact. The 104th post made a sudden quit from writing. With two days of missing posts, it came upon me again that maybe this was much more than an exhaust for me now. It had begun to identify this with myself. With a story that was running parallely in my head.
Stories are fun. The real ones are good but the ones in our heads are wonderful. You are the protagonist, the antagonist, the lead, the villain, the cast, the director, the screenplay, everything. You think of a utopian plot where everything that you pulled back from your real life keeps happening on a daily basis. It is akin to a parallel universe you’ve made for yourself. It really goes a long way in imagination – sometimes to a freak level.
Another aspect to this long journey had been the reluctance to make it anything but a personal account of daily rantings made public.There were several instances where in suggestions from well-wishers to convert this into a monetized model poured in, but somehow the sense of this being a brain-child just keeps that thought away. There are several characters, several stories, several angry rantings and some dreamy accounts. With nearly 1.5 lakh words already typed and surely many more to come, this blog has become a mirror of my personality- in and out!
“Will we ever talk again?” he asked.
“I will miss you”, she said and the taxi started.
We all know things do run past all of us. We do know things, sometimes, really special like the ones we smiled and laughed to once upon a time, will never come back. But we do keep living. Not in a hope of revival of an era, but with the memories of a past. The memories and the sentient expressions that anecdotes carry with themselves, help you keep striving.
I have reinforced it multiple times, that this blog here has never been a mundane writing exercise for an external reader. Yes, people do come across and read it. But it is a silent conversation I have daily with entity I identify myself with. There are creations in my head, the colors, the hair, the voice, the smell, the freshness, the touch and the imaginations, that I relive, every time I type a rant.
Rants are to me, what an oxygen mask is to a dying patient. Gives me a 30-40 minutes of solace and ultra-personal space wherein, I move around and bloat around myself and my imaginations with happiness and adventure. We all come together to curate stories, churn out lessons from them, create memories we would share forever.
He came in and he went straight to the room where her mattress was kept. He sat down on the couch, trying to imagine what he’d lost within a week. An entire kingdom of empathy had crumbled down to the smallest of pieces and clouds of dust. In the distant corner of the room, stood the laundry bin and a small hand-made greeting card, from some recent past lay there. He stood up and picked it up.
“Happy New Year and please wake me up at 8, I got a meeting at 9. When you wake up, look up for the gift for you in the wardrobe”, He smiled as the flashbacks of their first new year celebrations had ended up in a complete chaos 3 years back. Neither of them woke up till 12pm, she missed an important meeting and the gift, ah, forget it! The gift was eaten up by mice. A beautiful safari jungle jacket, which ofcourse, became a wall hanging later on. The meeting she missed made her quit her company and join his and then as you and I both can guess, the story took a beautiful turn.
As he closed the card, smiling on the beautiful memories that had struck him, he saw something scribbled on the back of the card.
“Maybe this was supposed to happen this way. Maybe you came in so I could understand the value of what I had left behind. Maybe you were the one who had to mend things for me. Thanks for all you’ve done and sorry if all of this hurts, I hope it wasn’t meant to end this way. Be happy.”
The card read this.
Rants will continue. Till an uncertain future. Because they say. “Things happen for good”. But they never say, “how long will the good take to happen”. So till all of this becomes good and shining and lovely again, we will let everything flow.
Still Ranting, Rantzaada.