Sajal Choudhary

I tell stories

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Tag: blog (page 1 of 3)

What is a blog?

What is a blog

Yesterday was the second day in a row, when I was ridiculed for the stuff I had put up on the blog. Okay, maybe ridiculed is not the best word to describe what happened. Let’s see. I had to go through some pretty harsh criticism, for the things I had said, the things that I had written, the things that I had posted here.

It got to me. So much so, that I had to go through my earlier posts, only to look at how I used to do things. The difference. In case you are wondering if I found something, the answer to that is a big resounding: “NO”.

Maybe not as resounding as I’d like you to believe. Anyway.

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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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On writing : the numbers


word count v/s date : courtesy of the infamous sheet, and google

When I had begun here originally, I had imagined this to be a place where I would talk mostly about writing, and then, as an add-on, a little bit of other stuff. I mean all you have to do is hover the mouse pointer over the blog menu, and you see “on writing” and “everything else” as the prominent sub-items displayed there. That also reminds me that I need to revisit the menus, given the times I’m living in, the idea of putting videos out there does not make much sense now. I’m a writer for god’s sake! Or maybe I will do that once I’ve reached the 100 post mark. But getting back to the point of this paragraph, I was supposed to be writing mostly about writing, and it made sense, as the past had shown me, that that’s where I got most of my likes and follows from.

So, when I clicked on the “On writing” sub-item, this Wednesday, after posting my latest article, I realized that my last post on writing was on December sixth, after I had reached fifty posts here. That’s almost a couple of months gone without writing about the thing that I am supposed to be writing about.


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Fifty plus one


I drew that!

I reached a milestone with my last post here. It was my fiftieth post on this blog, and I felt I had to write about that; to commensurate it. It is important after all, to celebrate the big, and the small.

Fifty is not that big a number if you look at it that ways. It’s not a five thousand; or a five hundred thousand. That would be a number!

It is a beginning of sorts.

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The hopeful human condition


There are days, when, you question things, not the good things, no… you question yourself, and your doings…

If what you are doing makes any sense?

If you should continue doing what you are doing?

Are you special, or is it just a product of the times that you live in?

One of such days happened to happen, on one of the days, in this past week. I am experienced now, in these things, as I have had several of these bouts in the past, to know that these usually pass, but still, you cannot really do anything during this depression you’re living in. And so you sulk, as I was.

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Why I decided to set a shipping date for my book

Well, I did say I might decide to explain what this was all about. So, here it goes.


Now, before I begin, I must say this, the paper wasn’t really working for me. So, I tore it off, and made a digital copy. With that out of the  way, I guess we can move forward.

See, here’s the story.

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The whorish aspect of things



You need to feed the body! –Many, many people, including yours truly

I was seeing this video yesterday, and in it, in a particular section, the comics, talk about corporate shows. The view varied, mostly, I mean some took it as a challenge, while the others weren’t too happy, but they all agreed it was something that was required. You had to whore yourself out, because that’s how you got the leeway to do your stuff.

I had a few blogs before this. Actually, just three, if you don’t count the blogger experiment that is. That does not even exist any more. So, three. The first one, called ‘Arcane Acumen‘, was the one I had spent most time on, even though, two or so years were spent with almost no update on it. Still, by virtue of it being there the longest, it still has the maximum number of posts. Apart from the blog, I had a Facebook page for it, still do, used to share content to twitter, even had accounts set up on some other services, services I did not use back then, or even now. Things like Stumbleupon. Nothing against the service. It just did not stick.

Then came ‘First time Novelist‘. It was from the very beginning supposed to be a three month deal. How optimistic of me! It was supposed to chronicle my way through my first novel. God! I’m so afraid of saying ‘novel’ out loud. Novel! Novel! Novel! Novel! There, I said it! Better now. Okay, so, yeah, I decided to go incognito for that, but because I did not want to create another WordPress account just for that purpose, it wasn’t entirely incognito. Sure, it did not have an about page, but you could see who was the author. I could not remove that, not in the free version at least. Naturally, I did not share content from this blog.

Finally, or at least currently, came this blog.  A few days into publishing things here, I disconnected the Facebook account, this one linked to my personal profile, disconnected the twitter, and facebook accounts, because well, I still planned on using twitter for sharing the content. And so on.

I don’t know why I did that. Actually, I do. But.

Well, okay. See, I did not want the facebook people to be the only ones here, and that too, because I was bombarding their feeds. Okay, not bombarding exactly, rather being subtle, and at times, not so subtle directions. Now, it seems weird.

Most of the things these days, stories, or otherwise, start with this idea, which is not a premise. Just this singularity. This, started with ‘the whorish aspect of things’. I wanted to have found the answer, by the time I reached the end. In case you’re still wondering, ‘Should I create a Facebook page?’

I struggle with these things. I haven’t, yet, published anything anywhere. And so, it sounds, or rather seems a little pretentious to have a page, pronouncing yourself as a writer. Because, I might argue, that everybody is a writer, but then, not everybody has a page created by them.

That aside, I feel, it is associated to the so-called ‘whorish’ aspect of things. I need to sell myself. I need to. I can’t expect people to, well, just find me. This is too big a damn place.

Okay, so it seems, I have an answer.



I was in love, for even the exhaust from the pipes seemed, incredible and beautiful to me.

How many times has it happened to you that you were so engrossed in something, mostly your thoughts, that life slipped by?

I say how many times, and not has, because, well because I wanted to. And it seems incredibly obvious to me. Something that I can almost pass off as a fact. Almost because, hey I’m still new to the writing about the life stuff, and I’m still uncomfortable with passing beliefs as facts. There is theory I have about self-help books, and why they almost always click, at least while you’re reading them. I think I wrote about this somewhere, but looking for it now, will be, well not possible. So. Yeah.

Getting back at the question then. How many?

If you reach a figure, drop me a mail, or comment, or something.

If, however, you are like me, and your answer is something on the lines of: ‘too many times to give a fuck about!’, read on, and leave a comment, or drop me a mail, or something! Its getting lonely here!

Alright, alright I know, I know.

On my first day home, I actually felt disgusted as I stood outside the railway station, waiting for my people to come pick me up. I was disgusted by the rickshaw driver, who almost pulled me to his auto, as if he was there to pick me up; I was disgusted by the man who came to pick up the person I was standing next to, and the manner in which he talked, too much of kiss-assery in every damn statement out of his mouth; I was disgusted by the dirt, the paan-stained mouth of some fat bastard, almost everything, really. I guess I was sad. Most probably, I was overwhelmed.

And it was weird, for I loved all of this! I loved the people, I mean not really, but I loved looking at the little intricacies, the actions and reactions, the mannerisms, the emotions. I loved that. I loved to look, to see, to observe. I’m not sure when that began, but it has been there since at least my college days.

What is life, if not wonder?

Life becomes long, boring, and tiring, when you don’t look at it. I find it sad to find people, and in troves, who don’t look at it; who get bored by it. Our senses are getting, or have gotten blunted by the information overload so much, or maybe its just a personality trait; that we have stopped looking at it, and getting amazed by it.

Take, for example, the camera. As a kid, I was obsessed with it. ‘How does this thing work?’ was the one question that constantly ran in my head. I remember not being allowed to handle the one we had for a long damn time! And when I did get to hold it, click a picture, that was magical! But then again pictures used to matter back then!

Yesterday I saw two pictures back to back, clicked by my little sister. One of them had my dad’s head off.

I am not a sentimentalist, I get that times are changing, and I’m actually happy about a lot of things. But knowledge has never held that much value to me, experiences however, are a different matter altogether.

Also, I’m hungry.

Too much of boredom, can be well boring, and dangerous. What’s the point of it all, if there is no value to it?

And then, what would you do if there’s no value to it all, and if you find yourself actively bored by it all?

Too many questions. Fun stuff.



Why u end abruptly?

She has impeccable grammatical skills, but when she texts, it all sort of goes down the drain. I had sent her the Life piece I had done a few days back. That was her reply, no, not the reply, rather the evaluation of it.  Quick note: these are all different hers, I just don’t want to keep naming them again, and again. So. Yeah.

I feel that’s what describes my work these days. Not just these days. What I write, has evolved in time; from pieces with faltering structures, from pieces with holes as big as, well, you know, as if tanks had just rolled down the streets; to stuff that has some semblance, some structure, some idea about tense. Back then, I was just starting out. I never, never, read what I had written down; if I had, half of the ebbs would have ironed themselves out. Practice. And experience.

I also remember talking to her, about the stuff I wrote. It was all short. Really short stuff. I remember the longest one I did, stretched for around six or seven parts, with each part growing in size, and the whole series being around three thousand odd words. I remember looking at it, and thinking I could have done it better. But that’s always there, isn’t it?

Also remember something that I did as an experiment, an interesting one at that. I had done it in a jumbled up, Memento style. Weird shit. I guess I just did not have the balls back then. To sit down, and work through. To get something polished. They were all first drafts, not that I had any idea about drafts back then!

Now, is a little different. Now, I can’t write in the metro, in transit, or in office. Now I need to get in the zone. The time I get, elsewhere, is just not enough. And once through, there is this hurry, to get the thing completed. Get it up on the blog. Because it has happened, and with enough repetition, to make me believe that picking up these essays, once I’ve stopped is quite hard. And so, at times I don’t soften the edges, at times I let it hang, or end abruptly.

Abrupt endings, though, are something I like.



“X called me yesterday” she said, “he said that he really liked that last day of the year post you did. He also said some other stuff.”

As she said what she said, I realized I’ll have to disconnect the blog and Facebook. Something that I myself was wanting to do for the past few days.

I want to be anonymous. Actually, not really anonymous, I just don’t want the people I know, reading my stuff because its there on their timeline. I want them to be wanting to read what I write not just because it’s on their timeline. So yeah.

I had another blog, titled, ‘First time Novelist’ which was supposed to chronicle my journey through the first project I undertook. One important step was making sure it was not connected to any of the many accounts I owned. I did not want people I knew from outside the virtual world too, to look at it. I hadn’t expected them to find it, and look at it. I wanted nobody to know it was me writing what I wrote. I guess that was one of the reasons why it did not have an about page.

I wanted to blog anonymously because there was a certain freedom associated with that. The fact that I did not have to worry about what I wrote because my father, or folks at work, or from college would be looking at it later. I was free. That is something I find hard to come by when I am blogging. I still find it hard.

Nothing similar exists for the fiction I write though. There’s no room for that there. You can’t as a writer worry about your readers at that point I think. The work just doesn’t remain honest enough if you do that. And honesty is important.

There is something about giving a man a mask, and seeing him go! I guess its about that!

I was thinking about putting something about this on Facebook. Haven’t done that yet.

Even though I get why I need to what I did, the dual nature of this act does not escape me. I want readers. That’s there. And when I disconnect Facebook, I’m effectively alienating quite a few of my readers.

There was a time when things used to be simpler. Nostalgia, you bitch!