🖋️ My Blogverse Journey from Chaos to Craft
“Here’s to the misfits. The rebels. The round pegs in the square holes…”
Steve Jobs may have been talking tech, but I’m convinced he was unknowingly describing bloggers.
We don’t fit molds. We don’t wait for permission. We write what stings, what sings, what twitches at the conscience. We are not the influencers in pastel feeds—we’re the gnats. That persistent buzz disrupting your curated scroll. That pebble in your shoe during your walk of self-assured righteousness.
And thank goodness for that.
This Blogger’s Day, paired poetically with “What Is Your Legacy?” month, I reflect not just on blog posts—but on the legacy of unfiltered words. And mine has been messy, heartfelt, sometimes typo-ridden, and always true.
It all began with Sulekha, a warm, chaotic space where I poured thoughts that had no place in polite conversation. I wrote because I needed to. Because I could. From festival rituals to food metaphors, I blogged like a wanderer whispering stories into the ether.
IndiBlogger followed, bringing validation via badges and blog rankings. Suddenly I wasn’t just blogging—I was competing. There were contests, meet-ups, campaigns. I endorsed brands, reviewed books, and poked fun at social norms. With BlogAdda, it got sleeker, more campaign-driven. I even found myself observing NDTV’s Swachh Bharat Abhiyan—me, a blogger, now standing on the sidelines of national cleanliness missions, armed not with a broom but a keyboard.
Eventually, I landed in Blogchatter, a community pulsing with authenticity and rebellion. Here, I found not just an audience but accomplices. Writers who were healers, critics, archivists. I could blend astrology with satire. I could map trauma with mythology. I could speak of erased shrines and symbolic rituals—without having to simplify for mass appeal.
But somewhere between posts and platforms, I realized something deeper:
Blogging isn’t about being liked. It’s about being heard.
And to be heard, one must first be willing to write what others are afraid to name.
That is the role of a blogger. We provoke. We stir memory. We raise uncomfortable questions. We remind people of the truths they scroll past. Sometimes softly. Sometimes with sarcasm. Sometimes like a slap in pixelated form.
Many posts come and go. Some get shared. Some get ignored.
Some—get silenced.
Avijit Roy, the Bangladeshi blogger, was brutally murdered for his secular views. A man whose blog was his protest, his platform of clarity in a sea of fanaticism. His legacy is not just in what he wrote—but that he dared to write at all. His story is the warning and the reminder.
Blogs are blocked. Voices are erased. Truth is inconvenient.
But legacy—that cannot be deleted.
And part of my own legacy has been learning how to sharpen what I write. Which brings me to WeBlog Academy—a space that didn’t just teach me grammar or SEO, but taught me how to craft impact. It was like taking my rebellious pebble-self and polishing the edges without dulling the sting. I learned how to structure narratives, engage ethically, and write as both ritual and rebellion. I came out not just a blogger, but a better one.
So yes, this journey has been beautiful. Not in the manicured-post sense. But in the messy-beautiful way that all real journeys are. I’ve cried over comments, laughed over typos, and wandered through platforms like a nomad with Wi-Fi. I’ve blended heritage with hashtags. I’ve crafted rituals in blog drafts. I’ve used words to heal, to critique, and to remember.
And this month, as we ponder legacy, I say:
- Here’s to the blogger who wrote through grief.
- The one who questioned festive hypocrisy.
- The one who used food to speak of caste, love, and exclusion.
- The one who never learned how to write pretty—but always wrote true.
Your blog is your archive. Your legacy is in every inconvenient post.
So write it.
Write the itch.
Write the irritant.
Write the one thing someone wished you hadn’t—because that’s the one they’ll never forget.
Happy Blogger’s Day.
And if I’ve managed to be a gnat in your perfectly curated picnic—my legacy’s intact.
Parwatisingari's Weblog 
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