It's been a very old habit - I love to admire my handwriting. I think every person has a tinge of narcissism in her/him. Even I do. I like everything about myself. I love to pretend that I am perfect. And sometimes I feel that my handwriting is indeed perfect. At such times, usually, I have found the perfect pen that enhances the strengths and hides the weaknesses of my handwriting.
Back when I was at an age when I would still love to be picked up by my mom, I used to get a lot of homework from school. I would have to write a lot. I would strive to be consistently impressive in my handwriting. Then I would pretend to be tired, and have my mom pick me up - ostensibly for comfort, but my only intention was to admire my writing from a height.
By this time, my sister learned to write, and I realized that her handwriting was much better than mine. She wrote like an artist, sketched like an artist, and drew like an artist. But the narcissist in me would not let me compare myself to her. Becuase, obviously, my handwriting was perfect. After all, it is impossible to improve perfection.
With college came the rampant use of the ball-pen. I had only used ink-pens in school. The change in pens took a toll on my wirting. But I admired even that. I was of course too academic and intelligent to bother with anything so trivial as my handwriting. I continued my almost illegible journey with my ball-pen right through my post-graduation. All this time, I would be frantically searching for the 'right' pen for my exams. Blue would be an all-time favourite; but sometimes black would win over.
When I started working after my post-graduation, I hardly wrote anything on paper. I was stuck to the computer all the time. It's the same story even today. But nothing excites my creativity like a pen in my hand. Many a times, I just pick up the pen to write long paragraphs just to admire my writing. (Is this one of those instances? - Your call to judge!) All my blogs are first written on a paper, then they are duly admired, and then they are finally put online.
After all, only self-admiration can make us handwriting-narcissists happy.
Tuesday 15 December 2009
Friday 11 December 2009
The Week That Was
I am sitting in a mindless training session right now, and I am thinking of the tasks that I have to finish before I have to leave for the day. I have to finish writing a very important and controversial mail, I have to finish editing a document, and of course, I have to read all news online and check my emails.
I just want this meeting to be over, and get out of this room. I want to get out of this semi-catatonic state, get out, finish my work, and just head home.
Today is Friday. The last day of my work week. Every Friday, I get high hopes about the weekend. Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday seem to be whole stretches of untasted paradise on Friday morning. On Sunday night, they present a whole chain of lost opportunities. It's the same story of every weekend. Monday mornings are perhaps so blue because I keep feeling I missed out a lot of yellow over the weekends.
Nevertheless, this week was much better than some others. Some weeks pass by very quickly, others very slowly. This was amongst the faster ones. It was a remarkable week for me - my son was exceptionally cheerful and happy, my husband came home at a decent time every evening, and I could spend half-an-hour only for myself in the 5 days that were.
Work-wise, it was a very busy week for me. But one interesting thing happened during the past week. My son got admission in a good school. It was such a relief for me and my husband. We had heard such stories about standing in long queues for the form, paying huge amounts for donations, etc., that we still can't believe the phase is over for us. My son starts school in June next year. I am already excited for him!
Thinking of the past week has started me thinking of the weekend - and I want to stop right here. I won't make any plans for the weekend. I will live it as it comes.
I just want this meeting to be over, and get out of this room. I want to get out of this semi-catatonic state, get out, finish my work, and just head home.
Today is Friday. The last day of my work week. Every Friday, I get high hopes about the weekend. Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday seem to be whole stretches of untasted paradise on Friday morning. On Sunday night, they present a whole chain of lost opportunities. It's the same story of every weekend. Monday mornings are perhaps so blue because I keep feeling I missed out a lot of yellow over the weekends.
Nevertheless, this week was much better than some others. Some weeks pass by very quickly, others very slowly. This was amongst the faster ones. It was a remarkable week for me - my son was exceptionally cheerful and happy, my husband came home at a decent time every evening, and I could spend half-an-hour only for myself in the 5 days that were.
Work-wise, it was a very busy week for me. But one interesting thing happened during the past week. My son got admission in a good school. It was such a relief for me and my husband. We had heard such stories about standing in long queues for the form, paying huge amounts for donations, etc., that we still can't believe the phase is over for us. My son starts school in June next year. I am already excited for him!
Thinking of the past week has started me thinking of the weekend - and I want to stop right here. I won't make any plans for the weekend. I will live it as it comes.
Thursday 10 December 2009
Kay lihave?
Aaj baryach divsanni thodi usanta milali. Dokyala phar kashta na deta kahitari lihinyacha prapancha. Pan kay lihave? Ajubajula ghadnarya goshtinbaddal lihave ka? Rajkaran, mahagai, Punyachi rahadari...? Che. Hya baddal pharsa kahi lihinya sarkha urlay kuthe? Ani dokyala kashta na deta hya vishayanvar lihine mhanje...(upama suchat nahi. Mi kahi Pu. La. nave!)
Rojchya jeevana vishayi lihave ka? To tar atishay kantalvana vishay. Mag kay lihave? Hach vichar kartana dokyala phar kashta hot aslyamule lihine ithech thambte, ani kahitari vachat baste.
Rojchya jeevana vishayi lihave ka? To tar atishay kantalvana vishay. Mag kay lihave? Hach vichar kartana dokyala phar kashta hot aslyamule lihine ithech thambte, ani kahitari vachat baste.
Wednesday 18 November 2009
Being Creative
When does creativity flow from an author's pen? I don't really know a universal answer for that question, but I can definitely answer for myself.
I am at my most creative when there is a lot of work on my hands. When I was in school, I would write loads of short stories, poems, essays, letters (to-the-editor, of course) right before my exams. I knew there was a lot of studying to do. I knew I would have to face music later. But I would be totally helpless in trying to curb the words flowing out of my pen. I remember sitting with an open Geography text book, and writing short poems (in pencil) at the end of some chapter. There would even be a lot of Rangoli and Mehendi designs, or some designs which I call as "free-hand" (for the sole reason that they are aimless, nameless, little - or - big things) at the end of my notebooks.
Things are no different today. I am almost 30 (or not!), a "responsible" employee of an IT company, with some aggressive deadlines to be dealt with. And all I can think of is writing something. I am, even now, getting the urge to write, and write some more. It's true - I am avoiding work. But I have a better explanation. I am being creative.
I am at my most creative when there is a lot of work on my hands. When I was in school, I would write loads of short stories, poems, essays, letters (to-the-editor, of course) right before my exams. I knew there was a lot of studying to do. I knew I would have to face music later. But I would be totally helpless in trying to curb the words flowing out of my pen. I remember sitting with an open Geography text book, and writing short poems (in pencil) at the end of some chapter. There would even be a lot of Rangoli and Mehendi designs, or some designs which I call as "free-hand" (for the sole reason that they are aimless, nameless, little - or - big things) at the end of my notebooks.
Things are no different today. I am almost 30 (or not!), a "responsible" employee of an IT company, with some aggressive deadlines to be dealt with. And all I can think of is writing something. I am, even now, getting the urge to write, and write some more. It's true - I am avoiding work. But I have a better explanation. I am being creative.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
Winter Memories
It's rainy, and it's cold today. Very windy. It's raining cold water in the middle of November. One would think I was writing this from Seattle. But no... I am writing this from Pune. A place known for its cold, dry winters. Rain in winter means all Punekars will come out in full force to discuss how bad the weather is, how irritating the rain is, how bad the pollution is, how the climate is changing for the worse, etc., etc., etc.
All that apart...every winter gives me a different set of memories; every winter has a unique place in my heart. I remember the winter of a long, long time ago, when I was just a mite of a child. My family had to attend a wedding reception in Pune. It was a very, very cold winter evening. And we actually forgot to wear any warm clothes while going there. We had travelled in an auto-rickshaw (hardly anyone owned vehicles at the time). It was cold like hell (can't think of any other metaphor...maybe cold like Antartica?) while coming back. Mom, Dad, my sister, and I sat huddled together during the ride back home. Perhaps all of us were thinking of our warm rugs and hot milk/tea at the time. The next day we got to know that the temperature outside at that time was 4 degrees celsius! (Even 10 degrees is considered cold in Pune). An unforgettable experience.
I remember winters after winters of bicycling to school early in the morning with my fingers turning to ice. I remember my unfulfilled wishes for a winter virus, so I could miss school. (I would invariable fall sick during my summer vacations).
After school came the college and university days. I have a treasure trove of memories of the days when I had to attend lectures at 7.00 AM. I still remember the difficulties of waking up so early, and then rushing to college, hoping that I could sneak into the lecture hall without my prof noticing my late arrival. I remember the constant coffee breaks and discussions about winter every where in the world while watching other hapless souls shivering down to catch their early morning classes at the university. Magical days, magical times, magical memories.
I always associated winter with warmth - the warmth of hot coffee, the warmth of my beloved rug, the warmth of the family, of friends, of camaraderie, and of bonhomie. I experienced the first "cold" winter of my life when I went to the US. It was so cold, that it was impossible to even set foot in the balcony of our home. It was rainy, windy, cloudy, bleak, and COLD! I needed that first year to get used to the bone-aching cold. The second year I had a new baby on my hands, and could not really enjoy the winter. The third year I did enjoy. I enjoyed the cold, the rain, and yes...most of all, the snow.
And this year I am back in Pune, eager to create another wonderful winter memory for myself. I hope it gets really cold. And I hope it stops raining.
All that apart...every winter gives me a different set of memories; every winter has a unique place in my heart. I remember the winter of a long, long time ago, when I was just a mite of a child. My family had to attend a wedding reception in Pune. It was a very, very cold winter evening. And we actually forgot to wear any warm clothes while going there. We had travelled in an auto-rickshaw (hardly anyone owned vehicles at the time). It was cold like hell (can't think of any other metaphor...maybe cold like Antartica?) while coming back. Mom, Dad, my sister, and I sat huddled together during the ride back home. Perhaps all of us were thinking of our warm rugs and hot milk/tea at the time. The next day we got to know that the temperature outside at that time was 4 degrees celsius! (Even 10 degrees is considered cold in Pune). An unforgettable experience.
I remember winters after winters of bicycling to school early in the morning with my fingers turning to ice. I remember my unfulfilled wishes for a winter virus, so I could miss school. (I would invariable fall sick during my summer vacations).
After school came the college and university days. I have a treasure trove of memories of the days when I had to attend lectures at 7.00 AM. I still remember the difficulties of waking up so early, and then rushing to college, hoping that I could sneak into the lecture hall without my prof noticing my late arrival. I remember the constant coffee breaks and discussions about winter every where in the world while watching other hapless souls shivering down to catch their early morning classes at the university. Magical days, magical times, magical memories.
I always associated winter with warmth - the warmth of hot coffee, the warmth of my beloved rug, the warmth of the family, of friends, of camaraderie, and of bonhomie. I experienced the first "cold" winter of my life when I went to the US. It was so cold, that it was impossible to even set foot in the balcony of our home. It was rainy, windy, cloudy, bleak, and COLD! I needed that first year to get used to the bone-aching cold. The second year I had a new baby on my hands, and could not really enjoy the winter. The third year I did enjoy. I enjoyed the cold, the rain, and yes...most of all, the snow.
And this year I am back in Pune, eager to create another wonderful winter memory for myself. I hope it gets really cold. And I hope it stops raining.
Wednesday 4 November 2009
The Joy of Anticipation
Looking forward to something brings such analloyed happiness to your soul. You can live your whole life in anticipation of something in the future.
You wait for things to happen, for dreams to come true; and you go on dreaming about the elusive goal. Dreams about sometthing that you will get in the future - these dreams can make your life. Such a simple thing like thinking of getting out of the office early can bring excitement in your heart. The very anticipation of being able to be home early can make you doubly productive.
The joy of waiting for the family outing to happen can brighten weeks of dull routine. The anticipation of getting new furniture can make for glorious weeks, even months. Planning, calculating, dreaming, hoping - it can occupy you for hours on end.
But what happens when you actually reach the summit? When you actually get something that you have been so desperately waiting for? You realise there is no more looking forward to. Your dreams have become realities, and you realise that they will now become realities of the past. And now you must look for something else to look forward to.
Don't worry. As long as there is life, there will be more hopes, more dreams, more aspirations. You will be able to experience the joys of anticipation again and again. I agree that "when Gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers" (-Oscar Wilde). Of course, some prayers need to be answered. But others are best left unanswered.
You wait for things to happen, for dreams to come true; and you go on dreaming about the elusive goal. Dreams about sometthing that you will get in the future - these dreams can make your life. Such a simple thing like thinking of getting out of the office early can bring excitement in your heart. The very anticipation of being able to be home early can make you doubly productive.
The joy of waiting for the family outing to happen can brighten weeks of dull routine. The anticipation of getting new furniture can make for glorious weeks, even months. Planning, calculating, dreaming, hoping - it can occupy you for hours on end.
But what happens when you actually reach the summit? When you actually get something that you have been so desperately waiting for? You realise there is no more looking forward to. Your dreams have become realities, and you realise that they will now become realities of the past. And now you must look for something else to look forward to.
Don't worry. As long as there is life, there will be more hopes, more dreams, more aspirations. You will be able to experience the joys of anticipation again and again. I agree that "when Gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers" (-Oscar Wilde). Of course, some prayers need to be answered. But others are best left unanswered.
Sunday 1 November 2009
Life as it is
सुंदर, शांत रात्रीची वेळ. जेवण झाले आहे, घरातली काम आटोपलित. बाहेर छान गुलाबी थंडी पडली आहे. हातात गरम coffee चा कप आहे. अंगा भवति मस्त उबदार rug आहे. गच्चीत bean bag वर coffee पीत एक अति-interesting पुस्तक वाचत आहे.
अश्यातच हाक येते: "आई ये ना पटकन. माझे हात धू."
Welcome to motherhood.
अश्यातच हाक येते: "आई ये ना पटकन. माझे हात धू."
Welcome to motherhood.
Saturday 31 October 2009
Stream of consciousness on a Work Afternoon
-I don't want to work.
-I want to read my book.
-Why won't anyone call me?
-Should I blog?
-I'll open my email.
-Why doesn't anyone write to me?
-I don't want to work.
-What's Nanu upto?
-I want to sleep.
-When will the weekend come?
-I want to buy new shoes.
-I don't want to work.
-When will the ink in this pen be over?
-Look how red my phone is!
-I have exhausted all news sites.
-I don't want to work.
-Let me open a doc.
-My eyes are closing.
-I don't want to work.
-Why won't anyone come online?
-I don't want to work.
-I don't want to work.
-I want to read my book.
-Why won't anyone call me?
-Should I blog?
-I'll open my email.
-Why doesn't anyone write to me?
-I don't want to work.
-What's Nanu upto?
-I want to sleep.
-When will the weekend come?
-I want to buy new shoes.
-I don't want to work.
-When will the ink in this pen be over?
-Look how red my phone is!
-I have exhausted all news sites.
-I don't want to work.
-Let me open a doc.
-My eyes are closing.
-I don't want to work.
-Why won't anyone come online?
-I don't want to work.
-I don't want to work.
Thursday 29 October 2009
The Week That Was
It's been a nice, uncomplicated week so far. Touch wood. I was apprehensive about this week as it came after a wagon-load of holidays. My son had got used to not going to daycare, & I was anxious about that. I had got used to lazy, work-free days, & I was anxious about that. Daily routine seemed a challenge to get into.
But my son got used to daycare, and I got used to work. He did it. I did it. We did it. And it's Friday again. Thank God.
But my son got used to daycare, and I got used to work. He did it. I did it. We did it. And it's Friday again. Thank God.
Eternal Questions of the Empty Mind
1. Will Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth live happily ever after?
2. Is Cinderella happy with her Prince?
3. Will Alice be able to get into her Wonderland again?
4. Will Heathcliff and Cathy be able to live happily ever after as ghosts?
5. Would Romeo and Juliet still have maintained their position in the list of most popular lovers had they ended up being married?
2. Is Cinderella happy with her Prince?
3. Will Alice be able to get into her Wonderland again?
4. Will Heathcliff and Cathy be able to live happily ever after as ghosts?
5. Would Romeo and Juliet still have maintained their position in the list of most popular lovers had they ended up being married?
चल ग सई ...कुठ ग बाई? नदीच्या काठावर...गाईच्या गोठ्यात...भुर्क वासरू टुकू टुकू बघतय...तिथे ग बाई चल...
माझ्या लहानपणची कविता. परवाच माझ्या मुलासाठी "बोलकी बालभारती" ही कैसेट लवली होती. त्या वेळी ही कविता ऐकली आणि मन विशन्न झाले.
मी स्वतः ह्या कवितांवर आणि गाण्यांवर वाढले. तेवा "गाईचा गोठा" म्हणजे काय, हा प्रष्न कधीच नाही पडला. भुर्क वासरू हे शब्द ऐकल्यावर तो गोंडस आणि निरागस चेहरा लगेच डोळ्या समोर यायचा. तो स्वप्नातला नदीचा काठ कित्येक कणटालवाण्या क्षणांना रसभरीत करून जायचा. त्या शब्दांनी रेखाटलेल्या चित्रांनी त्या कवितांना मानत कायम एक घर दिले आहे.
पण आज अस चित्र कुठल्या मुलाच्या डोळ्या समोर उभे राहिल? तो दिवस दूर नाही जेव्हा माझा मुलगा माला विचारेल - "आई, गोठा म्हणजे काय ग? वासरू कस असत?" The realities of one generation have become the curiosities of the next.
माझा मुलगा कोणत्या कवितांवर मोठा होइल? तो कशा प्रकारचे स्वप्न जगेल? आणि ते स्वप्न मला समजू शकेल?
त्या कविता ऐकून जाणीव झाली ती कधी न परत येणारया कालाची. अवती-भवति होत असलेल्या प्रचंड बदलाची. संपूर्ण जीवनपध्दती बदलून जगणारया माझ्या generation ची.
Am I blessed or cursed to be a part of this generation?
माझ्या लहानपणची कविता. परवाच माझ्या मुलासाठी "बोलकी बालभारती" ही कैसेट लवली होती. त्या वेळी ही कविता ऐकली आणि मन विशन्न झाले.
मी स्वतः ह्या कवितांवर आणि गाण्यांवर वाढले. तेवा "गाईचा गोठा" म्हणजे काय, हा प्रष्न कधीच नाही पडला. भुर्क वासरू हे शब्द ऐकल्यावर तो गोंडस आणि निरागस चेहरा लगेच डोळ्या समोर यायचा. तो स्वप्नातला नदीचा काठ कित्येक कणटालवाण्या क्षणांना रसभरीत करून जायचा. त्या शब्दांनी रेखाटलेल्या चित्रांनी त्या कवितांना मानत कायम एक घर दिले आहे.
पण आज अस चित्र कुठल्या मुलाच्या डोळ्या समोर उभे राहिल? तो दिवस दूर नाही जेव्हा माझा मुलगा माला विचारेल - "आई, गोठा म्हणजे काय ग? वासरू कस असत?" The realities of one generation have become the curiosities of the next.
माझा मुलगा कोणत्या कवितांवर मोठा होइल? तो कशा प्रकारचे स्वप्न जगेल? आणि ते स्वप्न मला समजू शकेल?
त्या कविता ऐकून जाणीव झाली ती कधी न परत येणारया कालाची. अवती-भवति होत असलेल्या प्रचंड बदलाची. संपूर्ण जीवनपध्दती बदलून जगणारया माझ्या generation ची.
Am I blessed or cursed to be a part of this generation?
Wednesday 28 October 2009
Remains to be Seen
I have a sister who blogs, blogs, blogs all the way. I have a friend who - well - blogs. I have a father who wants to learn about blogging. What about me? Where's the writer in me disappeared?
Gone are the days of writing poetry in German. Forgotten are the days of English poems, short stories, essays, critiques, articles. Different days are here. Days of employment and daily struggle. Days of wifehood and motherhood. Days of extreme activities and little enthusiasm.
I have taken up the pen today to pen down my thoughts. I hope this is a new beginning, not just a pause. I have inspirations enough. But can I shake off the laziness? Can I hoard off the cynicism? Can I start feeling the novelty again?
Remains to be seen.
Gone are the days of writing poetry in German. Forgotten are the days of English poems, short stories, essays, critiques, articles. Different days are here. Days of employment and daily struggle. Days of wifehood and motherhood. Days of extreme activities and little enthusiasm.
I have taken up the pen today to pen down my thoughts. I hope this is a new beginning, not just a pause. I have inspirations enough. But can I shake off the laziness? Can I hoard off the cynicism? Can I start feeling the novelty again?
Remains to be seen.
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