As is obvious from the recent posts, that were essentially old photographs, with just three lines (not even sentences) below them – I am not writing much. Apart from the three lines, i.e.

I am excluding all the emails and documents that I write at work, and other small things like search strings in Google Maps on my phone and keywords & tags for articles that I bookmark. Which means that I am writing nothing.

Which is not a bad thing, actually.

Because I am reading. I am reading a few books and a few articles, so I am, in a way, taking time off to read what others have written. Which of course brings another problem: because I now think I am reading, I am buying books (and four were gifted, earlier this month). When I do stop reading and get back to writing, these books will have piled up, like the many which came before them, and I’ll be reading less than what I ought to be reading. Somewhere, I’ll get back to reading all the piled up books, but by then more books will be recommended by friends, bought, and the old books will have to wait.

Reading and Writing is like Yin and Yang.

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So far, of the three books I’ve read this year, one was good, another was interesting and the third was a waste of time. I read it anyway. To be able to finish three books in a month is no mean feat for me. I read slowly and I usually cannot keep a book down if I get into the groove. Which means that I have to read it till I finish it. I don’t like abandoning books midway, but some authors write such books. Even if they are good authors, sometimes they write badly.

For a while now, however, I have been quite addicted to Longform. For one, the collection is eclectic, for another, the curation is impeccable. I have found myself reading about subjects, topics, events and people, hitherto unknown, and I am enjoying it. It’s quite surprising that you can surprise yourself with what you read and find interesting. Of course, I do make it a point to search for familiar topics, but ever so often, and interesting article surfaces and beckons. Here are just two examples: The Disappeared; How the fatwa changed a writer’s life; by Salman Rushdie and America Unhinged, by John J. Mearsheimer. However, unlike books, you can’t add these to a social sharing site like Goodreads, so I have thought about writing reviews of such articles on my review blog (which I’ll admit, I’ve been thinking of merging with this one).

So, while the yin-yang balances itself, you will see many photos, perhaps small excerpts, and links.

I’ll be busy reading.

The Resolute 2014

I made a few resolutions for 2014. General wisdom says that you should make resolutions public; I think that’s stupid. Carry the burden of seeing the resolutions through and invite the burden of guilt if you fail. Not worth it. Yes, it’s a burden. A self-inflicted one, usually for good reason. So, I am not telling you what my resolutions are.

Funnily enough, my blog(s) did not figure in my resolution. Neither did anything related to social networking, or photography. It wasn’t deliberate, but somehow they didn’t make the list. It’s good, I think – I have other things that I’d like to focus on this year. Last year was critical as far as my blog was concerned – a nice round number anniversary of 10, was celebrated without much ado. Perhaps, I felt blogging for ten years is a lot – and it didn’t figure in the list. Social networking has lost its charm, so it was not on the top of mind, I am not surprised, it didn’t make the list. Photography, however, not making the list, surprised me. I have no idea why  it didn’t. It’s not that I have stopped or will stop photography; just that it should have naturally come somewhere on that list.

But a resolution list is not sacrosanct, as most of us know, the list can be modified, added to, or discarded altogether. So, as I am writing this post, I wonder if blogging and photography should figure in that list. I am not sure. It might.

The year has started off very well, wonderful news on Day 1. How it becomes a reality, we’ll see – but that it holds promise, is sure.

On an unrelated note, I am biased towards January.


2013 Schizophrenia

I am like you. I am equally sure; you are like me.


We seldom attempt to see the whole truth. We convince ourselves that we have a broad vision and can deal with the context of all that exists, but in the nature of things, we are myopic. Not because we know less; often, because we know more. We are moderates, or perhaps – broaderates (it’s not a word). We have a large, broad world view. Which essentially means that we are accepting, understanding, and tolerant of all things in the world. That tolerance, we tell ourselves – comes from mutual respect. I may not agree in toto with what you say, but I will understand where you come from. The original purpose is noble – to embrace the world view – but after a while; there’s tempering and that tempering is all about dilution.


Frankly, no one wants to know you – they want to know the idea of you. Not your idea of you – their idea of you. All you have to do is slip once and the curse river will drown you. You didn’t match up to that isolated idea of you which they romanticised about. “He’s an amazing guy, except when he…” or “She is wonderful, but when…” – if you think hard about it – our true character is a sum of the exceptions that we are not allowed.

All your lofty ideas of love and friendship notwithstanding, they are not looking for you. We are not looking for them. I am not looking for you. You are not looking for me. We are all seeking ideas of them. So we expect responses in a certain way. And because people are people and they are more than what you expect, it all goes pear-shaped. There is no acceptance on an as-is basis. We create imagined images and we don’t like what reality presents. We seek the qualities of others to fulfil our own deficiencies. We seldom seek relationships because of them; we mostly seek it for us.


Irrespective, you should never stop being yourself. Because of the multi-dimensional impositions on being who we are, we will lose ourselves if we try to be everything to everybody. Imagine the sheer permutations and combinations. To aim to spread happiness all around is a good aim; but it comes with a prerequisite: you have to be happy yourself, first. if you are in your 20s you will not understand this post. If you are in your 30s, you might consider this post, if you are in your 40s (or more), you will probably know what I am speaking of.


Give people what they want. Not because you can give, but because of what they want. Never, however, part with any part of your self – just because they need it. Give what you can. Nothing more, nothing less. If you disturb that balance – you will not be you.


Things change. Allow them. The value systems you live by is like a Constitution. It should be the highest authority that guides your action. A Constitution is, however, an evolving document. Allow amendments, while abiding by your own philosophical constructs. Like a country that changes its aspirations, you are free to do the same. A romantic notion of a distant past should never cripple a possible future.


Usually, bloggers write, so that someone else will read it. I do not know if you know – we do not always write for you.

Decennial Dilemma

Two months and three days to go.

The deadline looms. I’ll complete ten years of blogging when the clock says zero, and I work towards the 1000th post to coincide with that date, yet, I wonder. Couple of years ago, a decade of my life was all about deadlines. Some of them were real, some false, some self-imposed, some requested. The nature of the deadlines notwithstanding, I lived a life by dates and hours. I do not have to, now. Thankfully, I am at a place where I can decide (mostly) when I want to get things done.

So this 29th December; +1000 posts, is obviously a self-imposed deadline. No one wants it. The very few people who read this blog haven’t asked for it. As I have mentioned earlier, the logic of a thousand posts for ten years doesn’t make sense, either. A post a day would require that there were 3650 posts to celebrate the decennial. A thousand posts in ten years means, that I have averaged a post, every three days, approximately. Which doesn’t make sense, if you come to think of it—in terms of a celebration.

I have been reposting from a couple of other blogs for a while to fill this blog and get to a thousand posts by December.

Part of me is quite excited by this numerically romantic milestone. But I did not start blogging to achieve milestones. Heck, I have no idea why I started. Over time, I have found happiness saying what I want to say, even if what I wanted to say was not a very happy thing.

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Should I really be bothered about the 1000/10 mark? Is one post/three days a decent marker? What will it mean to you, my dear reader, if I do not achieve this milestone? More importantly, what will it mean to you my dear reader, if I just fill in to achieve a 1000/10 number. Say, what you feel, that comment space is available to you and this blog belongs to you, in that sense.

But the real question is for me, the author, what do I want for this blog? Romantic equations of averages? Or mathematically careless statement(s) of what I want to say? Perhaps, I could post my 999th post on the decennial – proving I don’t care for numbers. Some deadlines are real, some are imagined and the rest are false. Either ways, they are in your head (except for tax returns; those are real, I assure you) – because the only thing that a deadline denotes is the end; not the start. 

I do not know what will happen on 29th of December.

But you are free to tell me what you think, will happen. Scroll down and leave a comment.


Theme Change

In between posts, a change of theme helps. Not a very bright idea – since your audience gets used to interacting with your site in a particular way. When you like a theme, however, you cannot help yourself. I hope it is not too disruptive.

Return of the Blogger

Without doubt, On The Ganga Mail has been one of the very few blogs that I have sincerely followed, since I discovered it. The blogger, Bishwanath Ghosh, is now an acclaimed writer, and in that process, the blog has been updated less often than I knew it to be. I stopped commenting on it since the blogger stopped replying to comments a while ago, but the reading didn’t stop.

Yesterday, he had this to say:

Blogging gave a new dimension to that freedom by letting me have my say — on a range of subjects I felt strongly about — without my worrying about how many people would read me or what they would think of me. The whole process of transferring your thoughts onto the computer screen, in an engaging manner, was highly gratifying. The comments were an icing on the cake.


But let me not forget that I belong to Ganga Mail as much it belongs it me, and that I owe my identity to whatever I have written on it so far. The idea, therefore, is to resume writing on it without worrying about what people will have to say. I really don’t give a f*** — so why pretend that I do?

(Via On The Ganga Mail: The Return Of Ganga Mail.)

I am happy about the announcement.

One because there’ll be more to read from this wonderful blogger, the other – it echoes my sentiments. It becomes easy for us to say that the new tools of communication cause disruption in the way we would ideally like to communicate, but it’s a tool after all – and it is up to us, if we want to use it or not. And it is not the time for nostalgia or being sentimental about a time when personal writing flourished with appreciation and exchanges.

What was and what could be needs to be replaced with what can be.

Honesty is the Best Policy


That’s where I remember this from. There used to be chart papers cello-taped on the walls of our school corridor; from insistent teachers and reluctant students. I’d say bad calligraphy, but I’ll make do with untrained artists. My design curiosity began somewhere there I suppose, when I saw the mix of gothic, serif and sans-serif – but could never articulate what was really wrong about the “font” on those posters that, I now believe, were Macaulay-oriented brainwashing instruments, designed for ensuring loyalty to the socialist-military-industrial complex that would absorb us.

“No Pain, No Gain”

“Winners never quit and quitters never win”

“Rather fail with honour than succeed by fraud”

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Imagine seeing these and similar messages every weekday for 12 years. It’s torture, but there is no way, you will ever feel the pain. At least not for a while. Suddenly you aren’t a student in that school anymore. Life beckons, with its own posters of lure. You are attracted, but the school posters don’t go away.Nothing prepares you for the life that you will ‘actually’ experience. You have to make your own meaning; decipher the advertisement billboards like those badly designed posters in your school’s corridor.

There wasn’t a poster on the corridor that declared:

“When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. [Link]“

And I wonder why. I wouldn’t have taken so long to understand that the world outside was less romantic about values. See, we all got beat up, clobbered and finally when we stood up, we appreciated romance. Romance is a wonderful thing, but it didn’t apply everywhere in this world. It was confined to the small place in your head and to the person who could share it with you.  

“I used to complain I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet”

Our library had that. It wasn’t a poster created by a student who was imposed upon by an insistent teacher, it was print poster with a man walking on crutches and all. It was possibly a standard poster in all Central Schools. We were supposed to give thanks for the fortune of being able to use our legs and feet. I wondered, much later in life, how it made two of my classmates feel. One had polio in his leg, the other in his hand.

Honesty, however, is the best policy.

It may not be easy or simple, but it saves you on memory, this policy. Because if you have to lie, you have to remember what you lied about and how. Which, takes up memory.


I write, because it is cathartic. I have no delusions of becoming a famous bestselling author – though, I’ll admit, I had those delusions once, when I was writing a love story.

My best friend, recently, has often commented offline about how the ‘quality’ of my posts is deteriorating. That’s a strong word, she’ll say – and deny that she ever used that word. Well, she is right. She used a word that was in the vicinity of depressing; but, she did not use that word. She was using the emotion.

Honesty, however, is the best policy.

I’d like my blog to reflect that. I’d like to be honest about how I feel rather than entertain you (my reader) with wonderful writing (which, by now, you have experienced, is wonder-less, if anything). There, is no “wonderful” writing, come to think of it. There’s, really popular writing and then, there’s the rest of it.

And, while I have strayed in recent times, this blog will no more feature popular or likeable writing. I have discovered, I cannot do it. At least as I think, it is supposed to be.

<Start Dialogue>

Me: Good things happened today.

She: I am glad.

Me: It is a relief.

She: It is not ‘relief’ – it’s your instant response to a previous difficult time. It’s a way of reminding you what’s important. Listen and learn what this story is all about. This is not the end of difficult times. Abstract these and apply them later. Difficult times will come again. Even if you don’t deserve them.

<End Dialogue>

Because, “Honesty is the Best Policy”

And hereafter, I’ll be honest about what I write here. How you — my reader — deals with that honesty, I leave it up to you. Not all will be good, not all will be bad; but, it will be true.

Sounds like a manifesto, doesn’t it?

It is.

Dreams of a Long, Really Long Drive

It may not come as a surprise to most of you that Google Maps is one of favourite sites and has a pinned position in my Top Sites. When I upgraded to iOS 6 a few months ago, my biggest fear (and eventual loss) was having Apple Maps instead of  Google Maps. Of course, Google released their independent app soon after, but it does not help, that the default Maps in iOS is still Apple Maps, which is far from a usable product.

But of course, this post is not about that.

Google Maps is my favourite site (and app). I’ve helped the map become better with many edits after I’ve been misled by it. (I’d be happy to do the same for Apple Maps, but apparently you cannot.)

So, I was a bit surprised to see that the National Highway markers, on Google Maps, usually seen as NH17 or NH3 etc, were now labelled as AH47 or AH-some other number. First, I thought this was new nomenclature for the Golden Quadrilateral. On closer inspection, I noticed, many of the roads labelled AH were not a part of the Golden Quadrilateral.

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The cat started dying with curiosity, and searching AH in Google, for some reason kept showing Ahmedabad. As the dying and curious cat was breathing its almost last, the answer revealed itself and the cat was saved!

AH stands for Asian Highway. Surprise, surprise! (Well, at least for me, some of you may know about it). Wikipedia has a full article about the Asian Highway Project, also known as the Great Asian Highway – a cooperative effort between 32 countries, including India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, China, Japan, South Korea and Bangladesh. Reading the article made me feel worse, knowing that this project has been going on (and off) since 1959, though for practical reasons, it really started in 2003. I still feel bad, that I wasn’t aware of this project for almost ten years!

After reading the article, there was newfound excitement. There exists a definite possibility of a “very” long drive.

I’m thinking Mumbai – Tashkent – Istanbul – Ulaanbaatar – Tokyo – Bangkok – Dhaka – Mumbai should be a good drive. Exotic places, all of them, and I haven’t been to any of the places, except Tokyo, (where I’ve seen only the inside of Narita International). So I proceeded to map the itinerary on Google Maps, but it was unable to do that; I guess, some roads are yet to be built (huge JPG; display patience); so that gives me time to prepare.

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And no, you do not have to remind me that I still have to complete the Golden Quadrilateral. It’s not that I have not tried; there have been quite a few false starts, but I’ll do it – soon – on my own terms. Folks who can contribute a month or so, are rare.

But a drive is always wonderful whether it is a couple of hundred kms to Alibag or six-thousand-odd kms around the country, or (soon) many more kms around the continent.

Because traveling is like writing; and writing is like traveling – and I love them both. That’s what dreams are made of!

The House Must Mean Something

It is not always necessary that the title of the post has to have significance to the content of the post. At least not when it’s on your own blog. If you are writing for someone else and the success of that post will get measured in some form, then perhaps it’s a good idea to have a title relevant to the post.

Long time ago, there used to be meme’s asking if you write the title of your post before or after writing the post. I don’t remember what I said. Nowadays I don’t bother. I write the title when it comes to me. Sometimes in the middle of writing the post.

This title? I wrote it before the post. I wrote it before I even knew what the post was about. The phrase came to me and I thought it would be a nice title. Actually, the original was, “The House has to mean Something” – I changed it because I was not sure if ‘has’ and ‘mean’ should be capitalised. Anyway.

I now have to retrofit some content for this title. Because the context in which the title came to my mind now eludes me. I was reading the post of a blogger who I used to follow a long time ago. She continues to be prolific and an excellent writer that she always was. A recent post by her resonated strongly. I would write about it – but as has been pointed out by some of the folks who read this blog; the gloom index of this blog has been bullish. I tried defending; what’s being considered gloom is really introspection, but I value my readers’ comments. (when they do choose to comment).

So, perhaps the phrase came to me in the context of blogging. Blogging is like home. Warm and fuzzy, elaborate, elegant and expressive. And her blog reiterated what it feels like being home. But I was not sure what the “mean something” meant, in that context. Also I thought House, not homes.

Maybe it was about homes, literally. In between switching social media sites, I saw a friend post a photograph. She recently shifted homes and experienced enough stress. That feeling is alien to me. I have shifted more homes in my life than I care to remember. But like before, people shift homes, not houses. I thought of a house.

It has been (almost) five years since I shifted homes. Perhaps it’s the itch to move. Perhaps it’s a photograph I saw on Bookshelf Porn (it’s safe) that I wanted for myself. But given that I hardly read nowadays, I wonder what would be the purpose of building a library in my house other than to serve the purpose of decoration.


So here I am, with you my flabbergasted reader, without any useful clue why I thought of the title. My apologies.


The inability to say something in 140 characters or less.

So, unless I am posting a link, it seems that I am unable to tweet. That’s perhaps one of the reasons I am tweeting lesser these days. There are other reasons why I am not on Twitter often, but we shall let those slide for now. As a writer (yes, sometimes I call myself that) though, I believe, I should be able to write on Twitter with equal ease (and make sense).

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There was a time, a long time ago, when I used to feel everything was bloggable. Facebook came along and everything felt worth putting up on Facebook. Twitter came along and I felt everything was tweetable. Now I am not sure what I feel. Actually, I think I know what I feel, but I am not sure where to put it. The though itself, unfortunately does not come pre-packaged for a medium or in a particular format or character length.

Enough has been said about attention spans and how mediums are affecting how we think, communicate, and interact. And while all that has been said is probably rooted in proper scientific research, the onus really falls upon us to express whatever we feel or think. The medium is just that — a medium. And the medium has a method — it may or may not suit your style of expression. If it does not make sense, just choose another medium. Saying that the medium doesn’t make sense is fallacy.

In recent months, I have been trying to recall how and why I used to feel about things that were bloggable. The medium of choice now seems obvious to me; having flirted for long with other mediums, however, is now hampering my recollection of why blogging made sense, once upon a time.

Now, that, seems bloggable.

Message of Silence

Some messages are very easy to expect: festival greetings or other congratulatory messages, for example. Convention and empirical evidence inform us of the promise of their occurrence. There is calculated taking-for-granted in such messages. Some other messages are different: especially if they are a response to questions. There is not much in terms of surety that can be said of the content of the response; for that matter, there is no surety whether there will be a response.


Now, that’s a form of response that is the most difficult for us to make sense of. Even more so if a festive or congratulatory promise exists. If you think hard enough, however, silence is easy to decode. You can make meaning of silence through the context and the circumstance. The onus of interpretation is now on you – that’s the implicit message of silence. The explicit, in this case, are just forms of excuses.

And of all possible meanings that we may discover, we learn that when we see beyond the excuses, the message is loud and clear.

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Wishing you all a very Happy New Year, full of meaning, conversations, and great times with friends and family!

Nine Years, I Wonder

An adventurer always starts out as an ordinary person. That day, you cannot call that person an adventurer. The first step across the threshold is tentative and heavy with excitement and dread. The next step is fueled by intrigue and curiosity. Then the next step and then the fourth. The feet become ever so light with every step as the long walk continues. As you walk along you recall the wonders that you read about, when you were immersed in the chronicles of other adventurers. You wonder, when you will face your first wonder. Events define an adventurer; not the intent. Not all adventures are made up of dragons, long walks along the ridges of mountains and fighting unknown beasts. Some are. And dragons, tall mountains and deep valleys have a way of manifesting themselves.

Time passes, you have taken many steps already but the canvas of adventure is a summer mountain-scape in the mountains of the Deccan. Sameness pervades and you wonder if it may be worthwhile to imagine a wonder that would be the first chapter of your chronicle. Stay true, you tell yourself; they will come, you assure yourself and plod along. You recall the long journeys of ancient adventurers across seven seas and seven mountains that were completed in a couple of pages – you remind yourself that the number of words or pages is hardly ever the measure of the extent, the breadth or the depth of content.

A tall mountain looms.

It’s filled with wonder, but you fail to recognise it as such. You make a note of it and it strikes you: this is indeed the wonder of my adventure. Without warning you have met with your first wonder. Does that make me an adventurer? You hope it does, but do not say it loud, lest you jinx it.

I wonder what lies beyond that mountain.

A long time and fewer pages later, you meet others like you. Some have set off on the adventure before you, some after you. You exchange chronicles and barter myths. Some seek to discover wonders together, some choose their own adventure. Not all wonders amaze everyone. From a seeker of wonders, you never realise when you have become an adventurer; till that day – when someone calls you that: an adventurer. Uncertainty and euphoria grips you on either side.

Am I?

But there is no time for you to debate and evaluate. You seek the wonders, and you walk along. You celebrate the wonders with fellow-adventurers; you speak of how long you have been a seeker. Sometimes it is not so wonderful. You do not move because you are laden with disgust and disappointment. You question the purpose and the value of what you seek. You question the authenticity of the initiative. There comes a time when you are trying very hard to stay true and you fall in a quicksand. You don’t drown because the Archangel of wonder-seekers watches over you; pulls you out. Scarred though you may be, slow though your walk may become, distress though may run in your veins, you pick yourself up. You walk. And though your eyes refuse to see clearly, the wonders don’t cease. Distracted though you may become, you keep to your path.

In the league of wonder-seekers, if you have been seeking for a long nine years, you are known as an adventurer. But, what they know you as, matters less, because after nine years you are inherently aware that the adventure is the biggest wonder of all.

To all the seekers of wonder out there, whether we still share the same wonders or not, whether our paths crossed for a moment or for years, whether you are still seeking or not – thank you – my adventure has prospered because of you.

It has been a wondrous nine years with you all.

Thank you, WordPress!

A craftsman is only as good as his ability to use his tools. Else, all he is, is a person with ideas.

I said that a while go, here

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Thank you very much, WordPress! You have been an inspiration and a wonderful partner in this journey. And if I have lagged behind in blogging, that’s only because of me. You have been the most amazing – since we met. Let’s celebrate this together – as a seven-year itch – to write!

And while there’s yet another anniversary to come soon, this one is special!

Maintenance Complete

So, we’ve completed blog maintenance – after a few theme changes and some category clean-up we are back with a simpler (and what we think is a more readable) theme, with a new menu, so that you can read other great posts, when the latest post isn’t all that interesting (or long enough). Do let us know what you think!

As I was, for the Future

All the drafts have been either refined and posted or ruthlessly deleted. The emptiness of the drafts folder is scary. When the mind was blank there was always this folder to turn to and you could always pick out a draft and make tiny changes and entertain yourself in the false comfort that you were writing something. I never used to save drafts. If I did not complete writing something, I used to trash it. Recently, I have been saving drafts – for those times when I would come here empty-handed and gloomy.

The drafts were a faint reminder of a bygone inspiration and were reluctantly agreeable to being remixed like the re-hashed work of an outmoded music director. Now, even that thin thread has disappeared.


But, not the need to write. That has not disappeared. It nags. And even though the tinsel of readership statistics and social influence has long been discarded as worthless, the need to write is strong as it was, if not stronger. Its character has changed slightly, though. The urge is not to write more, but to write better. And the better seeks a dive deeper than the words that are written.

My birthday is coming, says my blog. Give me the gift of being myself, once again, for ever.

In Favour of Magic

To fill up your blog with posts from your other blogs that folks do not read is a way to populate your blog. It is not a way to write a post. It is way, I think, to trick your audience into thinking that you continue to be the prolific writer that you were; the trouble with that tactic is is that you will always know the truth – even if they don’t realise it.

You know that painful paralysing feeling of helplessness you get when you feel betrayed? It’s the same feeling – it doesn’t change based on who has cheated. It continues to be equally disgusting.

And you have to ask yourself why you cheated to start with. The answer is not usually obvious. It requires you to shut down your computer and take to paper and pencil, like I am doing, now.

Then comes that long pause just as you write that sentence; your pen hanging a few millimetres above the paper risking dried ink. In that long pause you wonder if you should go back to your blog editor instead of repeating the task, which you will have to do anyway – because what you have been writing is definitely a blog post – even if your original intentions were not to share it. It takes some determination to continue with the pen, instead of the keyboard.

And you come back to your question about cheating.

A few answers, superficial in nature, peek out of the darkness, seek your attention as potential candidates for your post’s conclusion. A couple of them seem promising and interesting enough – and will allow you to finish this post quickly. Once more, you resist the temptation. After a few more long pauses and doodles later, you see it lurking in the background; trying to hide, as if avoiding attention. You look closer and examine it.

Could this be it?

There is no certainty but something about its constitution makes you want to examine it further.

You are not entirely sure, but you get the feeling its called “The Currency of Appreciation.” And what you see on closer inspection is its devalued self. Once ten units would fill you with joy, but now you need thousands just to feel satisfied. Time and changing paradigms of interaction have eroded its value and divided its format. It is essentially the same thing that you knew – it has changed structure – it feels familiar, but it is not. We now seek more of it and we find ways to earn more of it.

It has to stop soon. Else this pursuit of collection and amassing will destroy the sanctity of my actions. And this currency is bound devalue further as more formats and methods are developed for its distribution. And we will need more units because our attention will be divided even further. It will, however, never be the question of right or wrong but of our personal choice and how many of those units we will need to carry on. More units may motivate us to do more, but choose we must between the pursuit of the units or the pursuit of our action. We  cannot allow ourselves to take a path that will disturb us every time we act, question our action or doubt the creative authenticity of our actions.

The eternal struggle between the means and the magic and their interdependence will continue and continue to bother us: the means to create magic and the magic to obtain the means.

And, if we are unable to choose, we will have to find the balance between the two, perhaps with a bias to magic.

For we can live with a deficit of the means, but we need an abundance of magic.