... and I just feel I have just started; although the feeling gets interrupted abruptly, as you can see the dropping stats in my frequency in blogging out thoughts. But, guess, that's how life moves into senescence drive from adolescence! Blog too follows the rule as its life, itself!
Since 2006, my romance with this small space had started and I have tried to make it large. My history claims that I have had 1,33,200 hits since 2008, which makes a good 26.6k hits per annum. Only that my adsense doesn't pay up much as my friends only love to read my thoughts rather than search some items or products from my blog! Come-on! i am not Amazon.com! Am I? (but sometimes money also makes me miss it's presence by "selling" my thoughts)
Some simple stats:
Till now I have had posted 450+ articles. Many have had received it's comments and due share of respect, with people liking it and mostly are being channeled by Google Search and many through facebook and previously through orkut and now a days, sometimes, Twitter! I have shared some 1600+ photoes, of which 982 photoes are my own copyrighted snaps! And I flaunt them to the world. And I am not finished yet! Infact, its a long way to go: Miles to walk, before I sleep.
copyright: Somnath Paul | 2012. Bagmundi, Puruliya | WB
But, today I shall be speaking a purpose. A purpose that makes a living. A purpose that creates a living and it makes you wonder, whether you are right with or not.
Back, last week-end, I was in Bagmundi, Puruliya. Having finished my work, I managed to move out into the sun with my lens to collect some memorablia from such a serene beauty; of raw nature. A small girl came to me. In bengali, she asked: Where did I come from? Why was I there? I told her that I went there from Kolkata and I work in IICB. (She looked awed; understandably, she didnot understand what I meant in the latter part.) She asked: Was I a reporter? The reason was obviously hanging from my neck. I smile a No! I asked her why she was asking me so?
I was just dumbstruck with her reply.
In bengali she said: I thought the reporters are here and that there would be trouble between red and green and people from both colours would come into their village to torture them, followed by the men who has camera like mine.
To an adult Bengali, the Red and Green meant to faces of the coin at the Bengal Bidhan Sabha. That small conversation of 5 minutes left me in wonder as to what happened to these people in the past two years; thanks to the tag: Mao-baadi or Maoists!
All are same. But, then...
Life goes on!
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