My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.
"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times
"Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine
"A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll
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26 November 2005
If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts would tell. Just like a paperback novel, the kind that drugstores sell
On the whole, I find I quite enjoy being an anonymous blogger. Not that I'm still completely, one hundred per cent anonymous though. Quite a few people know who I "really" am. But, on the whole, as long as you can't get to my blog by Googling my name, I'm okay with it.
People often ask me why I choose to be anonymous. Why don't I just like tell the internet what my name is and what I do and all that and stop being so goddamn mysterious about it? It started off as simply a way to protect myself. I never meant this blog to be somewhere I put down erudite theories on life and politics and all. That's for the real world. The Compulsive Confessor was about ME, essentially, my tiny social circle, my little life, what I do for fun, all that. My personal life.
Sure, it leads people to all sorts of conclusions. Clearly, I must be a very frivolous person, seeing how obsessed I am with living a good life, and good god, why must I obssess about boys so much? To which I say, okay. Ya, so that's the way you see me, that I suppose is the price I have to pay for writing about my personal life online anyway. Sometimes people even ask me in real life, how I handle being so "candid". That's the politer ones. The more frank ones just go, "Uh.. so you have your entire life on display for like the whole world to see?"
Baby dolls, I've said this before, and *sigh* I expect I must say it again. This blog, especially since more and more people know who I am, is barely even ten per cent of what is REALLY going on with me. No really. There's shitloads of stuff actually happening to me, which I don't write about. Why? Because there are some things I can't share, because there are some people I'd rather not write about, because by blogging about something, I'm making it open forum for other people to have opinions about it. And there are some times when I don't want another opinion. I'm good to go with my own.
But enough about me. Let's talk instead about the other breed of anonybloggers who exist in cyberspace. Before, there was just us, us Dear Diary-types, we who spilled all gently and delicately to the www. Now, everywhere I look, for all of the people shyly confessing, there's about a hundred anonymous bloggers saying some very rude things. Nasty things, if it comes down to that. And hiding behind their non-identities.
Oh, the internet is a wonderful thing indeed. It allows you to become from fat chick to swimsuit model, from air hostess to rocket scientist, from someone not very popular to someone with a huge online following.But I fear we may have created something which is just burbling under our fingers, ready to explode in our faces at any second and take over the world. There are no hard and fast internet laws. Therefore, I can have my own little blogspot space and someone who thinks I deserve to die, just for being a woman, can have his own. And we're both allowed to say whatever we want to say. Our only censors are ourselves. And while my conscience or inner wisdom may stop me from telling you exactly what happened to me two Saturdays ago (but, oh, it is a good story), other anonybloggers may feel that commenting on someone's site asking them whether they had sex with anyone besides their husbands was clearly the way to go.
I love being anonymous--even partly so. I love the fact that eM is someone else, someone recognised in her own right, someone who isn't connected at first go, with the real life me. eM has her own scene going on, she can say stuff that Real Me would probably find hard to do in person. eM has some semblance of control, she can even fix what other people are saying to her. And at the risk of sounding schizophrenic, eM certainly seems to have less baggage than Real Me.
And I'm sure the flamers enjoy being anonymous too. Why wouldn't they? Here's a perfect opportunity to bitch slap someone who you probably wouldn't have the balls to say anything to in real life.
Small has been telling me how I don't assert myself enough. How I seem to be lacking in self respect. That, internet, is a from-the-heart confession. Which have been somewhat lacking on this blog lately. What exactly am I scared of? That people will connect the stuff I'm saying here and somehow use it to judge me? Well, there's one thing I've come to realise. People are going to judge you, even if you do nothing and say nothing. It's inevitable. So perhaps I should stop hiding and just own up to being me and be upright about it.
Um.. perhaps not today.