Cathy, caffeine, and cosmic sarcasm: a blogger’s Monday meltdown.
By Monday, my “glorious” Sunday post was already old news — like yesterday’s chai left on the stove. Notifications slowed, enthusiasm evaporated, and my literary fame, barely a day old, started creaking like an overused metaphor.
Then came a comment from a nearby reader — one of those new-age saints with a username longer than his patience: “Write your best, or I’ll unsubscribe.” The message was part threat, part encouragement, and completely unnecessary before breakfast. I reread it thrice, just to confirm it wasn’t from my landlord.
I stared at the glowing screen, half laughing, half having an existential breakdown. Here I was, a blogger barely a few months old (since July), already under moral pressure to produce Nobel-worthy prose. My tea turned philosophical.
By evening, I sat under my lemon tree — my only loyal subscriber. It hummed in the wind as if whispering, “Relax, even Buddha got moksha under a tree, not a Wi-Fi router.” Instant enlightenment. Zero buffering.
I imagined a tall Himalayan yogi beside me, silent, serene, radiating calm that made my life choices look like slapstick. He didn’t speak, just smiled — that “you’re overthinking again” smile only sages and old grandmothers have mastered.
Then came an akashvani (translation: divine broadcast):
“What you’re looking for is already coming toward you — twice as fast.”
Einstein would’ve approved; my physics suddenly felt poetic.
Somewhere between sarcasm and stillness, I realised writing is like owning a pet cloud — beautiful when it stays, tragic when it drifts. Readers appear and vanish like monsoon puddles. One day they crown you a philosopher; the next, they chase a new hashtag.
Yet amid this circus of clicks and vanishing acts, gratitude stood quietly in the corner. From the Middle East to Central Asia, unseen readers had tapped those little heart icons, proving kindness travels farther than cables.
So I did the only sane thing: sold my Ferrari of ambition, bought a Lambretta of contentment, and rode off toward inner engineering — perhaps to write another post that will make the world laugh for a moment and forget to scroll.
Now I write not to impress, but to exhale.
And if my nearby reader ever unsubscribes, I’ll assume he reached enlightenment before me.
Further Reading:
The Better India |
The Marginalian (Brain Pickings)
Cathy, caffeine, and cosmic sarcasm: a blogger’s Monday meltdown.
Please Leave a Reply