Blogging journey recompiled.

Though its been written before in bits and pieces in many other posts, I searched and couldn’t find a single post for the history of the blog. So when I saw this blogpost at Vishal’s blog linking to Suzy’s bloghop, I jumped onto to it to recompile the journey of the blog.

Details on how I started blogging.

List of plugins I installed and played with long before

My thoughts on theme mania I had in those days

Some of the posts which I found thought provoking even if they are not the best grammatically.

Why I got the domain name

How did I arrive on the blog title?

When I started the blog, I had no idea that there is something special called “blog title”. I named it the most simplest way, Archana’s blog. The wordpress blog was hosted on a friend’s web hosting website, and I played with themes and plugins and hacks. And then I got the domain name few years ago. I changed the blog title to archanaonline.com because I wanted to get the name popular. Few months ago, when I realized blog title and blog URL are being considered differently in the blogging world, I tried to find a pattern on my blog posts. Mostly I ended up writing some tidbits, random thoughts, totally unrelated. I thought why not name it as potpourri, but I was unsure of the spelling of that pot thing, and wanted a simple word to represent a group of unrelated items. This word, melange came to my mind then, maybe because I also liked the clothing line from Lifestyle under the same name.

PS: Yeah, I am sometimes so lazy enough not to link the words and rather give out the list as such. Its way better, ain’t it? 🙂

Love day updates for 2014

Over the weekend, saw Aashiqui2, to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I know its too late, almost one year after the release, but nevertheless its a romantic movie. The chemistry between Aditya Roy Kapur and Shradha Kapoor, the lead actors were indeed sizzling.

What I loved in it the most is the raw and real feelings, if at all, we were to be believed that there are really such kind hearted persons in the music industry. It indeed had the so-common theme of placing of trust through few words, or based on the intuition, and then losing it, the thin line edge between loving more and being more dependent. Though the love is fulfilled, its not forever. The short lived love story, as in books, which lingers around and leaves you wanting for more of their love sparks.

This was so better than the first Aashiqui, where its just expressionless actors and actresses singing few songs. Heck, I don’t even remember the story. I am largely impressed by this new crop of actors who does fairly well, except for some real dramatic scenes where they faltered like any other inexperienced actors unable to handle both the expressions, and the strength of the words they speak out. The empathetic missing father who keeps talking on the phone, though helps to reveal the talk going on in the actor’s head, would be termed by my definition, not-so-efficient handling of the script.

What I not loved is the way they indirectly promoted suicide. The love story could have been ended on the same note, with say, some disease or accident coming in between. But suicide? Though the actress sums it up in one word, as traitor, it should have been more like fool or stupid. It should have promoted something on a positive note, to show that addiction can be cured. Dependency can be cured. He had became indeed the biggest failure by taking the extreme step, and becomes unworthy of maintaining a good reputation after death. I am not blaming the persons who do suicide in real life, because we can empathize with their mental depressive state. But films having the social influencing capability, and the directors realizing that, I would have preferred a different take, just like bloggers aim to provide a meaningful message or solution to the readers, rather than encourage negativity in their minds.

And in another contrast, I also watched Shudh Desi Romance on Saturday. Parineeti and Sushant were natural and better than I expected, but the script was indeed so awkward and strange that it showed on their faces. The bubbly love story theme is quite a fantasy and completely wrong as per the norms of the society, but the commitment phobia is indeed the theme the film is talking about. There is nothing sensual or erotic and one does not even feel even a pinch of actual love throughout the whole story, everything occurs as whimsical which is so unreal. The script seems so out of place and looks like jigsaw puzzle without giving the big picture in any corner. It belongs to the league of Fukrey and Oye Lucky Lucky Oye, with similar theme of small villages and unrealistic stories.

In the midst of it all, maybe because I was doing more reading on Reiki and the concept of spirit of the universe, I was reminded of soulmates. Stories have been told and still exists of those soul mates who never could be united. It clarifies many queries, as to how we can indeed find love again and again, and each love is unique in its own way, and that there is no right one and wrong one and certainly not the perfect one, but only one of the many we could encounter in our various lives, who helps us to find and be ourselves and also fuels up our personal growth. It also reminds me of the book, Brida, though when I read it early, I could not understand it fully. On the surface, we are so addicted to the physical love, that we tend to forget there is the possibility of divine love too, which can actually bind two people irrespective of whether they are married and not, and it clearly paves way for senseful understanding of live-in relationships.

Free your mind!

Writetribe posted a prompt on Saturday asking you to write freely. I then start thinking, what to write in the blog. About personal events or thoughts? Or post any info on useful topics. The blog should not end up as an online cribbing diary. People will then ask what is the point in writing so personally to unknown readers, if you are not making any money or business out of it. Blogs which are just an outlet to vent off the feelings are meaningless. On this bashing thoughts, mind stops the churning of posts based on its creative communication ability.

***

I closed my eyes. The in-numerous questions and the saddening thoughts revolved around me giving a headache. I try to break free from them as told, and try concentrating on the breathing. I notice that it’s struggling to find its rhythm. The devil bashes me on again for the breathing too. Unable to hold even the simple pleasures? And then the angel appears with the smile showering the warmth of loving hugs. Love yourself. Say good bye to the past. Smile. Don’t hide behind the smile, the devil retorted. Torn between devil and the sea of love. The crazy universe!!

***

Happiness. Satisfaction. Humanity. Companionship. Understanding. Sharing. Networking. Connections. The words which we think most of our time. The search for friends of the soul. The hope that some spirit of the universe would hear my inner voice, what I actually feel, which I cannot express verbally or through actions. The prayers to the universe to find and involve me in the group where I belong to. The feeling of contentment on seeing few comments expressing empathy, left on the blog by visitors. The reason for why I feel like blogging, sometimes to the extent of revealing the bare personal emotions.

100 Words on Saturday - Write Tribe

55 words on Humanity

The whole day she kept on approaching people in the hope someone would actually understand her. She counted the coins received, each one reflecting the selfishness in their eyes expecting some good to happen to them in return. They never understood that it’s not the money she wanted. At night, she lied down on the bench with the dog.

So strange that humans are sometimes considered as dogs, and raised only when needed. Humanity is offered seldom to the ones on the street, but to the ones living in slums or minority. Barking dogs then end up biting each other.

***
Prompt from 1hundredWorks.

Life!

Life is a jigsaw puzzle

This photo was taken at home, when photography was on a high, with a black cloth on floor and few pieces from her toy box, arranged randomly. When Writetribe posted a prompt on Wednesday, this photo which I took few months ago, immediately came to my mind, and I had to post it here.

Did you get the philosophical phrase?

Paintings of earliest memories

My first set of paintings consist of two images.

A double storeyed house in a large compound. Two or three children are playing “catch-me” game running around each other. Another image is of I being asked to lie down and close my eyes along with other young children, in which I later knew was my kindergarten.

This is the earliest memory I have in my mind about my childhood. I do not remember the house (supposed to be at Pallimukku,near Pettah, Trivandrum), neither the children. I am not sure whether the event really happened or is it a fantasy painted with the inputs provided by my family of the house where I was born and raised as a toddler.

***

The next set of paintings are that of the house from where I went to school, at Kunnukuzhy, Trivandrum

I remember the tantrum I put on for the first standard (grade 1). I am not sure whether it was the first day, but I was crying like anything while my mom, desperate on being late on a working day with her colleague (not sure why she was there) tried putting on uniform over me. I don’t remember when I stopped crying or the images of she leaving me at school, but I still remember that particular school class.

Most of the visions of class rooms, be it the first or the last, are those like that in the films.. At first the empty room, with the benches and black board, the sunlight streaming through the windows, and then flashes of me, some girls and boys running here and there, making it lively, and then being ordered by the teachers. The sweat and smell filling the air by lunch time, and then the washing hands, having lunch, back to the classes in the hot weather, feeling sleepy and waiting for the evening bell to go home. The only additions in the later class rooms, are that of the friendly faces and the groups we hanged out.

One day, while waiting at the school gate for some one to pick me up(either of the parents, not remember exactly), I ran out of patience, and for reasons I still don’t know, started walking slowly in the direction of the house. By the time I reached home (maybe 15-20 minutes), my parents had came and searched frantically at school, for their younger daughter who made the first lonely walk back home.

And then there are the partial sketches of few people, like the house maid nicknamed Kaduvachi who tended over me and my sister in the evenings along with the household chores, and the Aachi(grandmother) and Thatha(grandfather), neighbours and owners of the house, where we stayed on rent. Their two sons, the elder daughter in law with the nose ring, akin to a typical Tamil household family. After returning from school, I was scared to go to the bathroom which was few feet away from the main house as they would release the chicks(the real ones!) with their parents in the evening to graze the backyard, and I would end up getting few unwanted pecks on my feet while I scurried to my destination. That’s the same household where I was given a lick of fish curry gravy (the first and last taste), the same fish which I had seen them cleaning (only cleaning) earlier under the tap in the back kitchen.

And the first set of people who later became our family friends. The visits to the houses of school friends who stayed nearby, the climbing over of walls and trees in her backyard, the games of jumping down from the staircase to the terrace. I do remember these flight of stairs without railing, as they were steep and I was afraid of climbing it at the top. I suppose I did had minor acrophobia! I guess I still have traces of it.

There are many more paintings of memories of the growing childhood. But like every other person, the first ones are always special. Ain’t it?

***
Penned down on the prompts from my new found on the Internet, the Write Tribe community of bloggers, who got along in a discussion to write down their earliest memories.