THE day Art Buchwald died, I decided to do my own blog. I’d earlier had one but it wasn’t nourished well and as a result the visits to the blog thinned so much so that even the only one who was visiting it ever stopped going there. No prizes for guessing it was yours sincerely who was giving the earlier blog all its clickthroughs.
Now, the Buchwald connection. I’ve been reading him since I was 12. That’s when The Hindu started making sense to me. My dad, who swears by the daily, would generously give me pages of the newspaper to read. The only thing I liked in it was the smell of the newsprint and ink. And, of course, Art Buchwald‘s weekly ramblings. The great American humourist did not make you roll down in laughter. But he had a quaint way of subtle humour that would make you smile. Most of the issues he touched upon in his columns – US politics, Vietnam war, Nixon’s mostly folly-ridden policies, snooty Americans – were strange to me. But his humour was like a faint breeze. You didn’t realise it until it went past you. It had the magical quality of making you wanting for more and left you with a sense that you know this guy well, very well indeed.
But that’s not the reason why one wanted to start the blog. The day he died, one had the strong urge to do something – like pick up from where he left. But don’t despair, dear reader. Am no Buchwald and so you won’t get to read any great vignettes of political satire. So, do I tell you what it will be about? Perhaps, you should find that yourself. It’s about life and what lies beyond.
