Social Commentary I: Who Can Comment

If I were ever to read such a title, I would initially stalk the pedigree of the opinion-holder and then question the merit of the writer. And were I were to read my name beside such a title, I would laugh in a dismissive manner, one that underplays "grapes are sour." It would mean something like Twinkle Khanna writing something on Poverty. I mean, I would generally feel and go on to believe, what would she know anything about it anyway. But then, I realized, she, like everyone else, if entitled to an opinion, or, a sense of her own understanding, whether or not from any attachment, or detachment.

To return to my title. Since I began this bout of blogging, the second semester of 2016 has been filled with drought. More than anyone else, I have not quite been able to look myself in the eye and there has been no reasoning I can rightly say is correct to my not writing as much. I have a trunk full of ideas for each beginning of the month. Couple of days back, I had a fresh idea for December, especially with the last December being such a fulfilling one. Since morning, one thing or the other has been responsible in delaying this post (not one greater than my not sitting with it though). I was really looking forward to my plan, yet, when I sat and opened last December, the Love-Letters had aged. I could do nothing to revive the lost charm. The plan is pushed back for a later month. For now, I wish to pen my opinions -- something I have been very judicial about -- especially because I am too lazy for such a strong stance.

And hence, my first post is a social commentary on the relation between the personal and the social. The evolution of the personal into the social and how, one inevitably affects the other. Who am I kidding? It is a piece which is an excuse or an apology to be one. Which will humbly, and sometimes funnily, try to say, try me. I am not a loud-mouth, nor a go-getter, but hey, everyone else is entitled to a sense of understanding, right? It is a commentary on how things around us look to me, how I percieve them, and what they eventually make of me.

In the process, you -- social element reading me, will also, may be, think some, reject some, approve much and find a voice that who knows, you too are too lazy to express with.

Allow me.