In two months, this blog turns six years old. And yes, I’m as surprised as you are.
Until a few days ago, this site was called ‘anonymousindian29’. Now before you laugh, you ought to know that I created this blog when I was fourteen years old. My previous attempts at blogging had their own tragic endings and obviously, this made me very reluctant to put my name out again. Besides, going ‘anonymous’ had its own mysterious ring to it (or at least that’s what I thought). Now why wouldn’t that appeal to a fourteen year old?
My relationship with poetry had always been a magical one. For as long as I can remember, I always loved writing. The first poem I ever wrote was called ‘Cats’ (which is now ironic considering how much I’m terrified of the little creatures). It had about three stanzas written with a very predictable rhyme scheme as finding words that rhymed with ‘cat’ was probably the most entertaining thing I could do back then.
It’s crazy how our mind chooses to hold on to some memories and discard the rest. I can assure you I do not remember more than two lines of the stupid poem I wrote that day. However, the memory that’s still etched into my mind as clear as day, is my teacher’s reaction upon reading it. Despite twelve badly written lines and a horrendous handwriting, she took her time and read that poem with a huge smile on her face. But she didn’t stop there. Before I could realize it, my relationship with poetry had already begun as my class teacher proceeded to give me the greatest honor bestowed in kindergarten – the golden star sticker of ‘excellence’.
Needless to say, I was the envy of my class for an entire week and to be honest, I enjoyed every minute of it. That little piece of star shaped validation which rested on my wrist didn’t just boost a tiny 6 year old ego, rather it showed me that putting a crazy imagination into good use could get me places and for the next ten years, that is exactly what I believed in.
So, what changed?
Honestly, I do not have the answer to this. It’s fair to say that as I grew up, priorities changed. Academics became more important. I didn’t have time. Countless excuses can fill this page up but, looking back now, I realize that what made me stop was not the laziness but rather the absence of will. I stopped being inspired. I wanted to write, but I couldn’t. There were days when I would suddenly get a great idea for a line and note it down hoping to develop it into a decent poem but more often than not, those lines would remain as they were. The screen that I stared at blankly for hours at a stretch would still remain disappointingly empty.
Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. The only thing worse that not being motivated to write at all is the illogical embarrassment you feel when you read something you were once proud of. And I went through that phase for a longer time than I’d like to admit. In fact, whenever I used to tell new friends about my blog I’d always let them know – “Do not go beyond 2016, my poems get really corny and I’m too emotionally attached to delete them!”
So, a few months ago, I sat down and mentally debated against the probability of finally deleting those posts that I was so embarrassed of. But as I scrolled through some of my terribly inconsistent and ’embarrassing’ blog posts, I realized something. Every poem or story that I wrote, was written out of pure emotion and effort. Across six years, 90 posts and 10,000 hits later ‘anonymousindian29’ grew up with her blog and suddenly, I didn’t want to let that go so easily. Going through my old posts made me feel like I was going back in time and that memory lane was a wonderful one indeed.
So my dear readers if you have managed to come this far, thank you for everything and with my blessing, go beyond that 2016 barrier and see how corny I can get. There is an abundance of exaggerated emotions, teenage angst and if I remember correctly, there’s even a poem on the French Revolution I made up to help me study better. (No, I am not joking). This blog watched me grow up and gratitude is long due. And six years later, it’s about time that I thank that 14 year old kid who was stupid enough to have some really crazy ideas but brave enough to never stop believing in them.
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