It's quite unfair. There are just too many things I want to write about and too little time. Whenever I psych myself up to fill in a post in this blog of mine, I am confronted by a dizzying array of choices. Do I rant against fundamentalism (be it Ayn Rand's or Osama's or Mao's) or do I write my long overdue post on my sister's marriage? Do I plead the case for keeping caste based reservations (not increasing it, mind it) or should I record some pleasant childhood memory? Does my frustation at the stagnant nature of office life merit a post or should another college day tale inhabit this corner of cyberspace. Should the footloose globe trotting soul that inhabits me be given an outlet or shall I just fawn over books/movies/personalities that I worship?
It is a gross over-estimation of my writing capabilities that I'd be able to do justice to all of these and more of the sifting thoughts that pause in my mind. Yet that is the only thing I want to do. But paradoxically simply writing about all the experiences of my past doesn't leave me enough time to enjoy the present and plan the future. Memories are dead leaves that are sometimes best blown away. Trap them in a book and you can look upon them for years. But you feel sorry that they aren't where they were supposed to be. My blog is a cage where these memories are trapped, exposed to everyone's critical view and never again worthy of the beauty and sanctity they had inside my head.
If you are accusing me of being unnecessarily complex about a simple point (i.e the blog is not enough), then I accept the charges! A blog is a limited canvas restricted to a palette of words and pictures. When faced with the daunting task of lending a ear to the chaos of introspection inside me, I feel that a life is not enough, let alone a blog!