I wonder why nobody don’t like me
Or is it the fact that I’m ugly?————Harry Belafonte
I wonder why noone ever reads my blog. There isn’t a single comment anywhere. Of course that gives my blog an untrampelled virgin forest look. Which needless to say I don’t much care for. It’s not that I have not tried publicizing my blog—–I have sent the URL to my friends, casually brought it up in conversations, carelessly left the address in my email signature, put it on orkut—-but no matter what I do, the comments section remain as bare as a Somalian granary.
And yet I see other people’s blogs. Chock full of comments —-for inane posts that you would think anyone would find tough commenting on ! And here in my blog I do not usually concern you with boring details of my life , instead concentrating on items culled from the headlines—issues that everyone would , in all probability, have some opinion on. People write about their dreams, what they had for breakfast, how much work they have pending (and yet of course having the time to blog), whether they are afflicted with a bad case of flatulence—things which I cannot conceive would be of any interest to anyone other than yourself. Yet I see that it works—even strangers are interested in your hobby of “having coffee at desolate coffee shops” while noone cares much for my musings on sensational issues.
Is it because people find my blogs offensive? Even then people would flame me–which I am quite happy with. At least I am not getting ignored–getting a bad name implies that you got a name for yourself. Are my blogs poorly written ? Now I cannot comment on that (well yes I can—I think I am Pulitzer material) but some of the blogs that get heavily commented can by no means be called high art. Am I not the right person ? I think the answer lies here—from my exhaustive research into what makes blogs work and what not my conclusion is that I am not the “One”. If I was I would have to be:
1) A few years younger. I am too old to be hep: at 28 becoming 29 in a few days I am becoming a “has-been”. I saw India win the World Cup , Mithun Chakraborty jiggle to “Everybody dance with Papa-pa , everybody dance with Mama” , went for a holiday to Kashmir——-in short I have had experiences which today’s youth cannot empathize with. Blogging and reading blogs is essentially an young man’s activity and it does not help that almost none of my same-aged friends from school/college are bloggers.
2) Be a woman. It’s a fact. Guys (even girls) are so interested in the small details of a woman’s life that any utterance, however inane, acquires the status of profundity.
3) Be a woman who uses men’s words. By that I mean swear a lot albeit in a feminine way. Call yourself a “bitch” , ” a slut for love” , ” attention whore”——-and you got yourself a ready-made audience lapping up every pearl of wisdom from your lips (or as they would call it—“verbal vagina”)
4) Be an intellectual woman who uses men’s words. Nothing attracts and intimidates men for like the chick with brains. Do some namedropping—–and guys will be falling over themselves to show that they appreciate your refined tastes.
5) Be an intellectual woman who uses men’s words and smokes. A picture of a girl smoking a cigarette is always cool. While in the world of Hindi movies this symbolizes the villain’s immoral moll, in the world of blogging it means “Don’t mess with me—I can swallow smoke”. Be prepared for a flood of “May I do friendship with you” postings.
6) Be an intellectual woman who uses men’s words and smokes and professes to be bisexual/bicurious. Yes the definite showstopper. There is something about bisexuality in women that conjures up all kinds of emotions in guys. This is not an “emotion” by my wife’s definition but suffice to say that this is the deepest emotion most guys are likely to feel. Plus a confession of bisexuality is the symbol of ultimate hepness—–with one little word you are now a liberal, a fearless closet-breaker and an honest and upfront humanist . At the very least you are hot. A fan following soon follows.
I suppose I shall have to be content with shouting in a dark room with padded walls.