Sajal Choudhary

I tell stories

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Category: blog (page 2 of 8)

How I felt when my Jawbone broke

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Broken!

I had bought a Jawbone UP, back in November. Since then, the tracker was on my wrist 24×7 for most of the days. This Wednesday, after roughly six months of careful usage, the straps broke. The device came with a one year warranty, but apparently the warranty did not cover broken straps. I looked it up on Amazon, and there, I found that I was one of the lucky ones. Many had reported broken straps after a month of usage.

Despite the beginnings of this post, this is not a rant.

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Washed lands

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Washed lands, moist soil…

There is on an average one poem that I write each day. That, gives me at least one thing to post each day here. Come to think of it, that’s a good way to manage post a day.

On that note, here’s one I wrote yesterday, as it rained outside, and I sat slaving the day away inside the building, the cubicles.

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Let’s talk!

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The three of us stood on the side of the road, butter soaked burgers in hand, talking sweet nothings. The road was jammed, as it usually is. See, the road was not designed with this much of traffic in mind. I had no difficulty in imagining how things had continued to grow worse, since I had shifted here. Back then, there were not this great many families living here. Back then, it was fairly peaceful. Now, it’s a maze of sounds, and sights, bright and harsh.

I continued looking at a distance. There was a board on the opposite side of the road, announcing the food that was on offer. I was faintly aware of it. I was also aware, faintly, of the things that my friends were saying. And, I remember thinking that this should not be the way thing deserve to be.

I deserve more. They deserve more.

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Thoughts on self-hosting

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I was away for most of this week. Among other things, what kept me busy, was the thought of self-hosting my blog. I was thinking, reading, and researching.

As of now, all that I own is the domain name ‘sajalchoudhary.com’. The blog is hosted upon wordpress.com, the commercial identity, not the free open-source software, it is built upon.

This past week was about that.

I am talking about it, here, now, because among other things, it was the major reason why I was away from the blog. Not being able to actually write anything.

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What does it take to be a writer?

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It can be pretty damning, to promise something, and not follow up on it, just a day later.

I did that, yesterday. But maybe, the promise was taking things a little too far.

That was yesterday though. Today, is a new day, and today, I want to talk about what being a writer is all about. Like always, something happened which has prompted this line of thought. And like always there’s a story.

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Post a day!

For a long time, I held this belief that I could not write each day. I could not get myself to sit in front of a computer, and type. I mean, there was no time. Having a day job meant, not having the time one has by default otherwise. Having a day job meant that I had, in all, hardly an hour to write each day.

I still have that day job.

But, something else happened this past month. There was something else too, but I’ve already written about it, and it wasn’t as much of a force in this case, as the activity of this past month was.

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Are you tired of everything?

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Life’s hard.

It’s one of the greatest truths of life.

Life, is tiring.

That, sort of, derives from the first statement. I mean you are tired when you hike up a mountain, don’t you? You are tired, all the while you are climbing. You might decide to take rest a couple of times, or more, but the tiredness, it remains, all the while. Happiness, is when you get to the peak, and the cold gusts of air wash all over you. When you can look around, and down, and look at the progress you’ve managed to make.

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Are you afraid of dying?

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Are you afraid of dying, my friend?

For the last week, and more, I sat, and stared at the above line, wondering, what would be a good way to follow up the above statement? What can I write after that line?

I could have written, how I feel about it. I could have written about my answer to the question, but then, that is the the object of this post.

And so, for a week, I did not manage to write anything after the last post. Maybe, just maybe, I should not be making any announcements before having written something. Yes.

Death, is the most interesting of topics, almost as interesting as the purpose of life. It’s a topic, on which discussions can be had, without worrying about reaching offending conclusions. It is one of the truths of life, one, which we quite conveniently, and mostly, to our peril, manage to forget. We, are designed to die one day. That’s Biology 101. Cells die.

And still, we behave as if we are invincible.

I think I got carried away a little. This, is a story, not a rant.

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Why standing still is scary

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Standing still

There is this weird state that I am in, right now.

I think, I have overdone, overstayed my welcome rest, respite, from writing, and everything else. I had managed to finish the first draft, a couple of weeks back. I wrote about it. It was after all an event quite unlike another. It was a first. And no matter how bad it is, the first one is the first one. So, I had written about it the next day, and then, in my mind, I had decided that I will take a week long break. Clear my head, so to say. The first week slipped away, like sand through the fingers. The week after that though, was not so fluid. It dragged on.

And now, that I wish to describe it, the only word that comes to my head is ‘uneasy’. That’s how I was feeling. Uneasy.

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How it feels to finally finish that first draft

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If you asked me to describe the week that went by in a single word, I would say, ‘awesome’. But then, I use that word a little more often than oft needed. So, there’s that.

But the week that went by, was pure joy for me, or rather, more precisely the weekend. That was when, after all, I finally managed to finish the first draft of the little something I had been working on since the past couple of years at the very least. When I think of it now, I feel, not that many good things about it, but it’s the first draft, and the reasons first draft exist are to make you feel crappy as a writer, and a proud one as a person.

How did it feel then?

It felt great!

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