  Hello. A subtle mix of excitement and apprehension have kept me away from my blog for the past few days. Now, work meets pleasure in Malhar, and while I doodle during breaks in lectures or as the moon kisses the rim of my diamond-grilled window, I realize how I cannot devote this time to the online machinations that tick away in a million homes the world over. There is very little left for me here, apart from work. However, I guess blogging will allow me to keep in touch with my prose, which faces long periods of forced sanyas. The monsoon has achieved an enormous new significance since last year: Malhar. I hope this excitement and industriousness last for another three years, though if my parents were to have their way, my path would lead away from the dusky corridors and high archways that define my present temple of learning.
At Malhar, the written word assumes maximum significance with me, and I am part of the Intellectual front (as is Q) under LA and Raga, the newspaper(my dept). Therefore, much of my present work is dedicated to that front, and my blog is rendered richer for the absence of my nonsense. Poetry, as I realized, I don’t intend to place on something like the Blog. As the days go by, I realize once more my joy alone, on how there is no disagreement as to the type of music to be played, and no issues on what to read or what to watch on television. In a moment of a prayer of strength, to what force I know not, I wrote “May I see potential in emptiness/ And adorn solitude by the fitting”. Of course, the first line is rather clichéd, you will find it in any quote book on optimism (which is what makes it a rarity in my writing) but the second to me is important.
For solitude, when adorned by the fitting, becomes this extremely precious commodity. It is like prayer, like limitless dedication that leaves one fulfilled. “He built his own world around him” is how certain individuals are described. I would be proud to earn that upadhi some time. There were a number of concepts I wanted to bring up, in time. Perhaps they are best left to sordid and half-wasted evenings among the like minded, who will tear my thought process apart far more effectively than a benumbed target audience bombarded by lit-up pixels.
For now, I have to struggle to take my poetry away from myself into more general streams. Let us see how well I succeed. I am hoping that this Malhar, as last year, will loosen my word pothi and allow a new cascade to descend from the frail end of my pen pencil tip. Oh, if any of you are interesting in sharing poetry on a personal basis, my e-mail address remains dropdedman@hotmail.com. I’d love to read up all your stuff, and provide feedback as well as I can. Of course, I will beg you to return the favour. Please put in something of consequence in your subject (sharing poems… or such like ) else I will ignore your message. S’long 
