In a shrewd move of one-upmanship in keeping with the indomitable Indian spirit, I have decided to write a flawsome post, realizing how folks have been writing awesome posts all over the Internet. What is so God-forsakenly flawsome about it, do you ask? Many things, I’d insist.
First, the title sounds so intriguing! I like the magical mist that flows with it. Next, it has not been pilfered from my neighbour’s blog: Mr Google will vouch for that! And last, but not the least, and that is assuming you will carry on till the very end, you will realize how profoundly flawsome this post indeed is! That’s a promise.
You may go ahead, my friend, and accuse me of desperation. Now, that is a feeling I know only too well, don’t I? I wouldn’t say it has been a depravity of sorts with me for it has become too mild a word in today’s lexicon. As I scurried over the railway footbridge the other day on my way to office, I saw this beggar scratching his bum nonchalantly in the middle of the narrow, swarming, milling passage. Shall I just say it was a cathartic moment in my life? The thought that this unkempt man could stand, see, breathe, stink and even take care of the lice in his secret parts, all at the same time, like you and me, like every other human being, was too overwhelming for endurance and I quickly walked away from the scene with a lump surging in my throat. I am sure though, the Steve McCurrys among us would have taken a fetching shot for that awesome post in their journals and having done which, they would have achieved the same results as my hasty flight from the scene.
Back to desperation, I can you tell you it is a trait which has been more like a conjoined twin with me than a tragic flaw. It has naturally remained entwined with me from the very moments of my birth which was again, a desperate affair. A quick trip to the Wayback Machine may be required to establish the fact decisively. Much before the lone taxi driver of the neighbourhood could be summoned to life from his opium induced sleep and my mother could smell the corridors of the maternity ward, I cut short the opera. All that my siblings would remember forever is that one moment they were wafting in sleep and the next they could distinctly hear the croaking voice of a Rana Tigrina in the middle of a dank, dark December!
All along my growing up years, I remained notoriously infamous for deserting all kinds of games and sports way before their natural ends. The pattern manifested itself ad nauseam across countless sessions of carom board, cards, chess, sprints, debates and any gobbledygook you may think of. Acts of incontinence indeed but tell me, where was the wisdom in wading forth in sessions whose fates were foregone conclusions?
I rushed through my junior classes as if in a time warp and I had still not read the Foundation Saga or The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy. Lest you accuse me of affectation, allow me to take you to the concluding years of my education. Let it be known unto all ye who while away the time in this corner of Internet, I am one quarter a Ph.D., one half a management graduate and two thirds a law graduate. And should that sound bizarre to you, I may be allowed to explain concisely that I was not, I repeat, not, booted out of these hallowed courses. It is just that I figured out the futility of going through the entire length of the razzmatazz only to no avail, and I cut short my journey to the conclusion successfully each time. In the end of it all, you would appreciate that I was merely destined to write a blog called One Grain Amongst the Storm and here you are!
Do I mean to insinuate then, that I was born to write a blog? I mean the kind who is born with a silver quill in one hand and a golden tableau in the other? Ha! See how I have you all stumped, wondering what went past you! In fact, I was born to perform much more profound acts than just writing a blog with a weird name borrowed from a verse in an adventure game! In case you are having ideas, I wasn’t born to be a vampire hunter either. The truth be told, dear reader, is that I was born to be a fully published blogger! And is that what I have been driving at all along in this ridiculous piece? But, of course! Instead of battling with a platoon of agents, editors, printers, book-binders and bookstores to land my feeble manuscripts in your hands, I prefer pushing a button at WordPress which simply says, Yes, Publish! My singular contention is that if I remain accessible to folks in places as varied and disparate as Privet Drive and Diagon Alley, who says I am not a published blogger?
Now, please don’t point that index finger at me saying my logic is flawed. Remember, it is a flawsome post!