The Blogger I Never Forgot

Today, I had reason to remember that blogger I forgot.

I checked on this portal if that blogger’s blogs are still there, before I sent a note, after I realized who it is.

I am surprised that I vaguely remember the last blog of that blogger even though I have totally erased the rest from my memory.

It had been a rather abnormally hectic morning. Both my kids are in town and their spouses and kids too. I had to take my spouse for the six-monthly check-up, ‘over-all servicing’ as we call it. I was actually glad to reach my office by ten, though I had taken the morning off. Then, I had three hours of bliss with work and meetings. At one, I grabbed my usual sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate at the cafeteria and relaxed in the lounge.

I flipped through the magazines on the table, munching and drinking without tasting. I chose the newspaper with a literary review in the supplementary pages.

On top of the page, there was an obituary of a famous writer, ‘the son of the soil’, it claimed. The work and life of the dead writer was shrouded within the obituary writer’s opaque scholarship.

On the right, in a box, I went through ‘the best 10 books’ of this month. I had read one out of those ten. Or rather, tried to read; I could not follow the modern English.

In the middle, there was a scholarly essay about modern translations ‘without Victorian prudery’, certainly not my cup of tea.

At the bottom, an article about ‘the elusive Garbo-Salinger of twenty first century literature’, with encomiums such as ‘a style like that of Mishima, Rushdie, Allende and Kerouac all rolled into one, blended but pure’, ‘a truly global voice breaking frontiers and barriers’. A photo, ‘a rare one’, along with a review of the latest book and excerpts from five different novels, and ‘each a new genre of its own’. I had not read those, not even tried. I stay away from that kind.

I went through those brief excerpts. For a moment, I suspected my sense of déjà vu to be wishful thinking. Expressions, word-play, humour, the confusing voice, the play with a reader’s mind – a silhouette I once cherished. But, I doubted myself. After all, when we see someone famous we really like or when we read or see a great work, don’t we try to project ourselves onto them or that work, and don’t we try so very hard to feel that that is about us, too?

But, I know that it is the blogger. The blogger I forgot.

I do remember that I was the first to comment on that blogger’s blogs. I don’t remember what I said. The reply was gracious, a bit stiff as if shy of praise or doubting whether I had actually read the whole blog. I had not, I have to admit. But, that’s how it is. On a blog, ‘to be or not to be’ is wasted tautology.

I commented on those blogs rather frequently, whenever I chanced upon it, maybe once every five or ten blogs or so. I could feel rage in those words and at times, sheer disgust; and a search for something, or someone. Maybe, there was a need for insulting but true criticism; maybe, begging art to touch upon that work; maybe, waiting for a good reader.

We used to send personal notes to each other. We even flirted, knowingly of course. I realized that I did not know whether I was still hetero- or whether I had turned bi-. I still have those notes along with the rest of my virtual memorabilia. That blogger knew a lot about me. I don’t think I really cared. The blogger used to post frequently when we used to exchange notes. Today, I checked; 100 blogs were posted in thirteen months! Well, the notes dwindled, the blogs too got rarer and I had other things in mind.

Then, that blogger disappeared after posting the last blog.

When I read that last blog, I hated it, I felt used. I did not comment. I did not send a note. It didn’t help that I was feeling down and out. It was about us, about what we could have done, about what I meant to that blogger. Of course, it was well-disguised – only I know the truth, thank God.

I read the rest of that newspaper article. The blogger had received his first award, for a short story, and I noted that it was awarded a month after that last blog was posted. Then, a collection of short stories followed, it seems. The first novel came out nine months after the disappearance. I wonder whether that would have happened without disappearing from my blog world. I hope I had helped in some way.

I took that article to my office. The company has blocked most social networking sites but for some reason, this portal has escaped their attention so far. I think the blogger’s account is still active. I logged in and read that last blog. Then, I sent a note to that blogger with the text and subject line having the same content, the blogger’s full name.

I read the blogger’s last blog once again, titled ‘The Blogger I Never Forgot’.


Author’s notes: I believe that there are very few thoughts which have not been thought before in a better way. I plagiarize; therefore I am. What about this? I am sure that there are various sources but the primary one seems to be M.C. Escher’s Drawing Hands (For Escher’s work, the official site seems to be: http://www.mcescher.com/ . The 1948 lithograph Drawing Hands is shown in the Picture Gallery under “Back in Holland 1941 – 1954").