50 is a celebrated number, a number that is hyped beyond all glory and a number that serves as an excuse to show your joy and celebrate. My 50^th post must mean a big deal to me. In fact, it doesn’t. It is just another number, as good and bad as 49. It is not a landmark event in my life that I’ve written 50 articles. And it certainly doesn’t inspire me to go on and make a hundred. That I most definitely will and I don’t need a 50 to tell me that I will write 100 posts. In the past, I’ve seen people cherish their 50^th posts by sprinkling it with links of their favorite posts, people’s favorites, favorite comments and so on. I shall do nothing of that sort. I cherish each and every post of mine and I appreciate all the criticism, comparison and affection showered on me by people. As an unwritten rule, people starting to blog inevitably make ‘Why do I blog?’ their first post to a large degree. I am thankful I didn’t start my blog off in such an inane manner and let people know what is in store for them, partly because I didn’t know what I would be writing about. All I knew was that I could write and I will.

It started off with a post full of periods and language that could hardly be termed English. That being the first ever time I wrote on cyberspace, I expected a lot from people reading my post. In other words, as I wrote more posts, I began to gauge myself by the number of comments I got. Not the content, but the quantity. I liked a huge number to appear next to my post, signifying the amount of people who have commented. During this phase, I endeavored to satisfy you. I was hugely disappointed with the paltry numbers my posts elicited. The salt rubbed in deeper into that wound when I saw other blogs, where a few disjointed sentences making no sense whatsoever going into double digits. It would suffice to say that I was desperate for comments.

Then began the phase when I began to doubt my pen. ‘Am I that bad,’ I used to ask myself over and over again, ‘or are people plain blind??’ This went on for quite some time when all of a sudden, the lightning bolt struck me and I asked ‘Why am I comparing myself to them?’ ‘Why am I so desperate for comments?’ And just as it had come, it left. I wanted to write because I wanted to write. Not for anyone to peruse my writings and tell me whether I am good or bad. Not for anyone who wished to compare me with authors, well known or otherwise. Not for anyone who cared. Not for anyone who didn’t. Not to impress anyone. Not to intimidate anyone. I stopped caring about the number of comments I got from each post, and wrote whenever I felt like it and whatever I wished to write. And my constant efforts to send you my link after I publish any post are directed toward intimating you that you have something new to read and cherish if possible.

I stopped envying my other writer friends because of the number of comments they got and instead, concentrated my envying on the way they penned. That made all the difference in the world. I now learnt things from each post, good or bad. And I make it a point to comment on every post I read, lest there be people like me who are made of softer stuff and the numbers lead to their giving up the pen. I must give due credit to this world as it is here I met the chump who introduced me to PG Wodehouse who I presently worship. There are many other people I wish to thank, so, Thank You for everything!

I also take this opportunity to salve any hurt sentiments, if any, with the following words – I am not sorry about anything I wrote, I am only sorry that I couldn’t put it in a form in which you could understand and relate to.

I plow on!