Why oh Why

After years of writing for a living, it's difficult to keep your mouth shut. Even if someone's paying you for it. In despair I turned to the last refuge of those who may write without any hope of being read. Somewhat like Father McKenzie, who I am beginning to resemble in other ways as well. Once the decision was taken, the exhilaration followed. No holds barred, no one to please, no party line to follow and no deadline either. This is writing bliss.
But some self-imposed rules. No baby talk. No food tales. No poems. No travel tales.And no paens to the past. Such horrors have long assailed my senses as friends and strangers force their outpourings down unwilling throats. The 1-month old creature gurgling in delight as it wets its mama's pants, may be the apple of the lady's eye, but to all others it is an eyesore.
So then what will it be? Everything actually, that I see, observe and feel strongly about. The IPL tamasha as much as the Thackerays' shennanigans. And in between I will squeeze in my take on how the credit excesses of the Americans are being aped with much vigor by our demographic dividends.
But no more promises. Let the Outporiad begin!