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.

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.

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.

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.