Writing...A fresh beginning, or an old compulsion?

People...well meaning souls, that is, tell me to...write. You write well. Err..me? write well...huhhhh??

Ok..maybe i write good mails....and i think i write well when I am conversing with someone. Even if that happens to be a pal on the other side of the mailbox, whom i would not have spoken to in ages.

So what is great? Many people write well. And many make a living out of it, and others make a killing out of it. So what, if I just manage to make not a shilling out of it . Pah...

I gave up writing long ago... writing a diary, that is. That was what i poured myself into. Not poured, but outpoured. The angst of youth and the pain and the uncertainty of finding myself was all poured outside. Those diaries are lost ...in all probability to the raddiwalah, who must have sold them off to the chana wala or the pan thela wala, and those sheets...inked in pen, inked in pencil, inked in love, inked with anger, linked with friends, mixed with tears, sprinkled with smiles, must now be forgotten somewhere.... covered in grime, soot, dust, pan juice, and what else. But somewhere, what was in those diaries is also lost, and happily, willingly forgotten. Some of those thoughts remain, and will continue to linger....till I am. Because somewhere along the way, those thoughts became me.... .

So now, the moot question is ...shall i begin to write, on a new vein? What for? Is it needed? Or begin where I left, and continue with a sizeable blip , and move on towards tomorrow? I think the latter. It feels good to write. Cathartic.

So now i know why there are so many bloggers. They can ramble on and on...and they can write....or rather talk....to the world, to themselves, to favourite people, at random. Who knows you OUT THERE, anyway!! I love this anonymity. There are bloggers, some of them friends, who blog....to overcome that feeling of anonymity. But I love this void..... where there is just me....maybe, someday the exhibitionist in me will have his??/Her?? way and I will like to call others onto this blog and comment on my posts. But now, I am content in my cocoon. Content to just punch in keys and bunch up my steadily falling thoughts, into a posie... hopefully full of some content and some meaning, to be fragrant enough ....sometime.