When it comes to comments, I am increasingly getting used to monosyllables. Not that I mind it. For one thing, I am extremely grateful that YOU – read me. I know how quick I am to flip to another tab when I get even mildly bored online. I realize that commenting takes time and effort. Even if it’s just one word. While we make fun of one-word comments, in many ways – one finds it draining to explain why something finds resonance. Or why something is found brilliant. Seriously, I am glad that you just choose to even say “ah” in the comments.
At the same time, it also provides a certain luxury.
Over at Crazyfinger, the author (I cannot figure out if it’s male or female) – has very generously decided to take a closer look at some of the pieces on this blog. I have to admit that it is mildly scary.
At first I thought I would simply comment on her blog, but didn’t like that idea. My comments tend to be long, and for a good reason. They have many points crammed in them. I have a vague feeling that when long comments show up on blogs, it sort of discourages the traffic to that blog. I feel a strange silence and looks that say, “We were having fun and then you had to piss all over this…”
More important, a series of blog posts with personal impressions on my own blog seems like a better way to create a space for like-minded readers of Neha’s poetry and fragments, those who like to see a bit more meat in comments, to share, with no restrictions on length and direction.
But I am grateful at the same time. Crazyfinger for instance reads between the lines on a piece I wrote titled “His Mother’s Sarees”.
Someday I hope to do more than blog. Someday I hope to actually spill my soul out and have it out in print like a book. In my mind, a story has been brewing for some time. Perhaps it just isn’t a matter of time or commitment. It’s also that the process of writing is necessarily a reality check. In a way reading Crazyfinger’s “criticism” of that piece made me examine it very carefully. In response to the point being made about the varying perspective – this is what I have to say.
Somebody told me once that the only reason I write remotely decent stuff is because I have gotten over my autobiography. It’s the other way round actually. I become many people. I have many autobiographies.
When I say “she walks like a penguin”, I say it with great empathy. Without judgment or malice. There is a certain tenderness in me that rises when I compare a person to an animal. I love animals. That woman – she waddles. Like children cling – I call them monkeys. When I flop tired on the floor after a long day, I think of myself as a Baby Elephant – flipped out after a day of play and knotting my own trunk. To me, to be animal like, is to be in one’s element.
But I suddenly realize that to many people, comparing someone to a penguin may be “cruel”. It ceases to be a description – it may de-humanize? Thank you for the lightbulb moment. If I do make that sort of a statement – I need to justify it – not leave it dangling in the air.
Update – The links won’t work anymore!