First Blog

(originally written in March, 2025)

I have decided to take up writing after a long time. If memory serves me faithfully, without deception, the last time I wrote something simply because I felt like writing was almost a decade ago.

I remember the day in great detail, surprisingly. I am often amazed by my ability to retain the minutest details of rather useless, uneventful days from the distant past, while I readily and shamelessly forget things that happened just last week. I am pretty sure I am not the only one.

Let’s return to my long sabbatical from writing.

It was during the final days of Class 10, just before the final examinations. We used to have something called ‘take-home’ revision, where each subject was taught for two to three days (or was it more?).

It was the take-home revision for Social Studies, a subject I liked despite my primary interest in the basic sciences. One reason for my affinity could have been how little effort I had to make to score good marks! Naturally, I was a little bored in class and decided to indulge in my favourite pastime- daydreaming. Nature was ready to assist me in this activity with all its might; rain clouds had started to roll in! The last showers before spring kicks in over the plains of Northern India, due to the western disturbances, are beautiful by all means. The clouds were dark and heavy, and by 11 a.m., even before we could have recess, the outdoors gave the impression of late evening.

I don’t think any student, in any part of the world, can concentrate on boring class lectures when nature takes such a form. My teacher, a senior and sage lady, understood this and asked us to do ‘silent revision.’

Confident in my ability to score good marks, I decided to take out the poetry book I had been carrying throughout all take-homes and returned to the poem I had been reading during the English Language take-home: That Time of Year by Shakespeare.

The poem is one of my favourites, and I started mine using the same line.

It was about winter and ageing. The poem was unremarkable and mediocre by all means, just like this post. But it was the last time I wrote something simply because it gave my heart joy. It was also the last time I felt that indulging in such hobbies wasn’t a waste of time. Society conditioned me to condemn such passions and cast them away if I were to be worthwhile. And despite finding comfort and happiness in the process of thinking independently and fully, I had to give it up reluctantly. I blame myself, too. I should’ve rebelled against this silent, invisible oppression. I should’ve written more.

It has taken me more than ten years to muster up the courage to pen down something again. A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one, that poem was the best thing in my life in the last ten years.

I’ve moved from failure to failure, betrayed myself and my family, and quite honestly, wasted my potential. I am nowhere near the person I’d imagined I would become in my twenties. If there exists an antithesis to Midas’ Touch, it would be me. Sylvia Plath explains my current emotions in the best possible way: What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age. I fear I’m already slipping away into the dark background.

A recent (another) failure has forced me to take up writing once more. It may not hold much importance for you, the reader, but this is probably one of the bravest decisions I have ever taken.

In no way should these ramblings be considered worthy of any recognition as ‘good writing.’ There’s a lot of improvement to do.

The primary motive behind starting this is to share my ideas and observations of the world around me. Sometimes the ideas may seem hypocritical and at war with each other, or they may be controversial, totally useless, or absurd.

Maybe a poem too? Who knows.

All I know is that I’ll write. That’s the only plan right now. I will write anonymously. It gives me confidence. And a chance to talk about things openly and without the fear of judgment. That’s why I chose the title 'Diary of a Nobody'.

My first post on this platform was supposed to be something magnificent, but it’s a scribbling of thoughts currently constipating my mind. But much like constipation, I am glad I could get some of it out!

Pardon the grammatical inaccuracies and poor sentence structure. This is the original draft, and I wanted it to be as original and raw as possible.

The next post will be much more refined. I promise that. Also, I am trying to figure out the whole blogger thing. I'll have two blogs.
'weight of thought' would be for somewhat serious issues, things I observe and care for. 'diary of a nobody' would be about trivial and bizarre matters of my otherwise boring day-to-day life. Let's see how well it works out.

Before ending this, I must state the name of the person who indirectly inspired me to write and share. Mr Suvro Chaterjee, fondly known as Suvro Sir to his many students, maintains an honest archive of his thoughts, ideas, travels and other things on his blog. He is the favourite teacher of one of my few friends in college.
All those in search of a good thing to read can check out his blog, @Suvro Sir's blog.

If you followed me till the end, thank you. Hope to see you again soon.