I am sorry, folks. I give up. I am tired of pretending. And it is in best interests of all involved to get it straight: I am neither John Updike nor Steve McCurry.
The declaration takes megatons of load off my heart like a miracle and allows me to extol the virtues of the latest undergarments acquired by me, as also to post photographs of the same. That I can still keep you interested, not being Nicole Kidman, should be less intriguing than black holes.
One of my loyal readers, sick of waiting, called me the other day, “What, man! Tsunami, earthquake, nuclear catastrophe in Japan, India wins the World Cup, blood-curdling violence in Libya, the grand victory of Anna Hazare…. but no new post? Shall I unsubscribe to your blog?”
You may or may not unsubscribe to my blog, my friend. It doesn’t make a serious difference to the sum total of the universe! You will find a hundred posts on the tsunami and the earthquake that pulverized life in Japan. It only reinforces the ultimate truth that visits all living beings. Death will descend upon each, no matter how mighty or destitute one is. And it does not subscribe to a time schedule. Ironically, however, tragedy and true hardships unfold for those spared by the cruel hands of such God-forsaken calamities.
Whoever thought Fukushima will become the third ‘N’ word after Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan? But you know what could be more tragic than that? People in your own motherland turning you away like lepers! Folks in nearby cities like Tsukuba have been asking the hapless evacuees of Fukushima, the new forbidden city, to prove that they have no radioactive substance clinging to their cloths, skin, hair and private parts! Hotels and inns are simply asking those having Fukushima number plates stamped on their backsides to get lost!
And to write of a World Cup that the Men in Blue all but donated to those from immediately down under? What had overtaken that swashbuckling tormentor of the fiercest bowlers of the Earth, Virender Sehwag? And that Demi-God of Cricket, Sachin Tendulkar, whose dream it was to earn the World Cup for Mother India before he could lay his armour to rest? What had possessed him? 18 runs for the dream of your lifetime?
And should I wait for the day when the power of Anna Hazare turns to acrid ash in the mouth of the believers?
But how all this makes life easier for me! When forces of such magnitude fail, I am, after all, just one grain amongst the storm, devoid of substance in my posts and photographs.
I recently crept up that great anthill of humanity called Shimla, seeking tranquility and indulgence in photography, but this was all I could manage…. Please remember, however, before you press that unsubscribe button, I may still write that great post someday that would do Hemingway proud; I may still come up with that landscape shot someday that would make Ansel Adams wince under his epitaph!
Postscript: Anna Hazare is a peace activist, a follower of M. K. Gandhi. He underwent many fasts to oppose rampant corruption in India. He failed. Corruption lives.