Blog, blogger, blogging, blah. Or rather, blah, blah, blah. What a hideous little sound the tongue creates during its brief journey from ‘bl’ to ‘g’. Snob that I am, avoiding the term blog has become a lexical sport. Writing project, website, essay, article, column, memoir. All these words are fair descriptions of the genres of writing you’ll find on this bl, blo… I’ll get there.
A series of posts arranged by date on the inter-web is called a blog. But it’s the emotive content of those posts that causes the tongue, or finger, to stutter. Blogs are routinely mocked as the endlessly inarticulate, emotional outpourings of people unschooled in restraint, decorum, or spell-check. Not I! Though I joined the free, convenient blog-world, my aims are classical – research topics of import to my readers, then calmly lead them with clear thoughts and clean language to a better understanding of the Indian landscape. Emote in private, with dignity and grace.
But then HUSH went live, and people clicked, and a few food bloggers mentioned it, and thousands more clicked, and dozens pleaded for the wondrous prospect of joining little ol’ me in my kitchen, and then it became clear that my lines were being drawn in sand.
So f—k it. It’s time to talk feelings. I’m awake, alert, wired, giddy, giggly, and filled with a sense of present purpose that has eluded me for an age. The sincerity of this week’s response to HUSH has me radiating happy hopes of happy guests. The coupling of supper and storytelling is almost religious in sacred simplicity. Yet I lacked the audacity to imagine that more than a few minor acquaintances would entrust me as their guide.
But so many of you have said yes, and I am thrilled. Who is this ‘I’? We’ll come to know one another, using stories and spices. Through this blog, and at my table.
Welcome, welcome, welcome. I am honored to meet you.