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Ah! Comforting, slow tedium!

I wish I could be in a morning room somewhere arranging white roses in a lilac bowl. Or shopping for cigar clippers in an antique store, running my finger tips on Afghani carvings. Or washing perfectly round plums in tepid tap water.

But no complaints here. I quite like where I am now and what I'm doing. My mind drifts between thousand pinpricks of imagination and I write with poise. In fact, if I had formidable talent and a supportive husband, I could, at this moment, write like Virginia Woolfe. (I like to spell Woolfe with an 'e' - my signature for her.)

I was surfing for material on privacy and demolition for a storyboard that I have to script and I chanced upon this blog that talked of both. Of course, both were discussed in contexts very different from what I was looking for, but made an interesting read nevertheless. This blog, like most others, was peppered with several links and I went clicking on one after the other. Following my sweet little digital stream of consciousness.

At first I kept reading these posts lazily - not thinking too much. But then, some kind of a blurry pattern seemed to emerge - a hazy shape in psychedelic swirls of colours. I then went to the blogs I often visit. And I saw it there too. That slight shift in style. That subtle shift in style. That certain shift in style.

Here's what I did. I went to the very first post that the blogger wrote. You know, that first post that was written with the blogger putting in a toe gingerly to test the waters? That post that didn't have too many comments? That post that was like a whistle on a park bench at dusk - the kind of tune you whistle to yourself? That post. There's a way those posts are written.

Then I moved up. Posts that were written later. I checked out the posts that got, say two comments. These were polite comments. 'Good to see you're blogging.'; 'He he! Blogging, huh? Enjoy yourself.' I think they must have been comments by friends who were told to check out the blog. Posts were still tunes whistled to oneself.

And so, up I went to the posts that got 5 comments. Comments from strangers. Comments from people who had stumbled upon the blog through some crevice somewhere. They checked out a title, read a post and had something to say. Something to add.

'Interesting post', 'Nice one', 'You know, something similar happened to me...'
Somewhere in the park, someone whistles back the tune. Someone else knows that number you were humming. You are startled; but you are pleased. Didn't expect it, didja? How many people are there who could whistle the tune of Karma Chameleon in Joggers Park? But you're surprised and happy.

Hereafter, the style of writing changes. The next time you whistle, the whistle's a little louder. Are you listening? Do you recognize this number? Can you hum a few bars?

The posts thereafter have more comments - many more - sometimes going up to 40 or 50. Someone's singing the second verse of a song you thought most people hadn't heard of. There are those out there who know 'your song!'

It's really interesting - you can't put your finger on it. That shift is so...you know, like a globule of mercury or something. It's wobbly, and slides here and there, but it's there.

Go to those hugely popular blogs. Go to those blogs that you and only five other people know about. Read that first post where the blogger sat on the park bench and whistled a tune. Go to that post where someone whistled back. Go to that post where all the park lights came on and the hills were filled with sound of music.

Tedium - the poisoned sweet woes of tedium. What else is there to do but ‘..put your lips together and blow’?