Call it Day One

Well, Dear Neglected Diary, here we go again. What never seems to have got properly going on paper is now supposed to work through the mysterious ether. What's with this urge to commit one's mundane experiences and musings to paper or keyboard anyway? In your modest paper avatar, with the confidentiality clause operationalised through your life at the back of a cupboard or under a mattress, at least that layer of honesty that would lie beneath the illusions and self-delusion was guaranteed, but on a blog open to public viewing, is even that assured? As usual you're suspiciously silent, Dear Diary. Well, we'll just have to see how it goes, won't we? And if it doesn't, you can just save yourself that resigned I-knew-it look, okay? I knew it too.

One of these days I must write about the squat little Rana Pratap Singh statue at Camp's Corner. Remind me about that, will you Dear Diary? One of these days - that's probably what I should have called this blog, but let's not go on and on about that now. A Beginning's a Beginning (and why do people love to say fresh beginning, is there such a thing as a stale one?)

Well Dear Diary - (you don't want me to start calling you Dear e-Diary now, do you? Hyphens are a bore to type, you know, so let's just stick with Dear Diary, shall we? It's served generations well enough) - what I was going to say is that it's time to call it a day. Or call it Day One, if you prefer.