I had lost the password to my old blog eccentricscribbler quite a while ago. That is, some of you may suppose, not the most flattering comment on the strength or otherwise of my memory. I have a rather diffrent take to offer though. I am no Freud or Kakkar, but I have seen that my memory has this poetic justice kind of a mechanism that makes sure that practically everything that somehow pains me is smoothly forgotten over the medium and long term. Is it then a rather good thing that I had lost the password? By all means, my dear friends. While it is indeed true that I had posted a solitary blog (a solitary brag, to be precise), fact of the matter is that it was follwed by nothing at all. It is no surprise, then, that I lost track of the password just as my forefathers had lost their tails. Good old Charles Darween would have quitely passed off a chuckle, what say?
But then, the desire to hold my own at the cyberspace just refused to go away. After all, the miser in me is smart enough to work out that this is the only way I can ever get to impose myself on your hapless souls, without having to spend a paisa. On top of that, I get to pretend to be an intellectual and all that and pretty much get away with such claims, in these days of post-modern and post-colonial relativity theories. Make no mistake about it, I absolutely adore their theoretical premises and rather enjoy the complexitiy that such exciting new lines of thought bring to bear on some issues that had appeared ,till a few years ago, to be almost settled for good. What I sometimes suspect they lack is a sense of balance, of the kind that questions the older schools of scholarship not only on political but also on scholarly grounds. I hope to have more to say on that aspect in one of the subsequent posts. That apart, expect some freewheeling observations on the books I read and the movies I see, apart from the news and views I come across in the print and electronic media.
Anecdotes are yet another source of much satisfaction. I just love to tell and hear stories-so please send me as many as you like, along with your bouquets and brickbats. Feel free to respond the way you like. Let me wrap up with an anectdote about my father. The gentleman left us a good 20 years ago and flew all the way up to whereever he thought he would find his peace-the doctors said he had meningitis and all that. He was a smart man though and this story I heard from one of his cousins. One day, he said, my father landed up in a doctor's chamber to receive treatment for some ailment. There, he was made to wait for a rather long period of time before his turn was to come. Finally, a nurse in attendence prbably felt kind enough to approach him and enquire whether he was after all a patient. He gave a wry smile and said, " No ma'am, I am just impatient." There you go guys, till we meet agin.
