थकले रे नंदलाला

फक्त तीन कडवी. पण आयुष्याचा विचार करायला लावणारी. आधी मला वाटलं होतं की या कवितेबद्दल लिहिताना कवी बद्दलच्या माझ्या भावना आड नाही आणायच्या. पण ते केवळ अशक्य आहे. गदिमांच्या कवितां बरोबर मीच मला उमगत जाते. ह्या अश्या कवी बद्दलचे विचार कसे काय अडवणार? त्यांच्या प्रत्येक कवितेत जीवनाच्या वेगवेळ्या पैलूंचं दर्शन घडतं मला; निशब्द होते मी.  

त्यातून गदिमांची कविता आणि बाबूजींचं संगीत असेल तर केवळ स्वर्गसुख. ह्या दोघांचं संगम असलेल्या एका तरी गाण्याचं रोज वेड लागत मला. दिवसभरात काम करताना किंवा गाडी चालवताना ते गाणं ऐकत राहते मी. आणि मग विचार करून सरते शेवटी रात्री मला त्या गाण्यात दडलेला अजून एक अर्थ सापडतो. 

आजचा दिवस होता "थकले रे नंदलाला" ह्या गाण्याचा. गाणं एवढा अध्यात्मिक आहे कि अभंग वाटावा. आज पर्यंत असं वाटत होतं कि मीपण काढून टाकण्याची केलेली धडपड ही त्या गाण्यातून दिसते. पण आज अचानक जाणवलं. 

आध्यात्मिकतेचा विचार थोडा बाजूला ठेऊन बघितला आणि जाणवलं. हे गाणं म्हणजे चक्क depression चं प्रवासवर्णन आहे. 

हल्ली सुशांत सिंघ राजपूत प्रकरणामुळे नैराश्याबद्दल अनेक चर्चा चालू आहेत. त्यामुळे कदाचित हा विषय माझ्या डोक्यात आला असेल. पण पुन्हा ती कविता वाचल्यावर नैराश्याच्या वाटचालीचं वर्णन तिथे इतकं चपखल बसलं कि माझं मलाच आश्चर्य वाटलं. 

नाच नाचुनी अति मी दमले 

थकले रे नंदलाला 

ह्या ओळींवरून कवितेची दिशा लक्षात येते. चित्रपटातील (जगाच्या पाठीवर) गाणं बघितलं असल्यामुळे तो प्रसंग डोळ्यासमोर येतो. पण मग तो प्रसंग थोडा बाजुला ठेऊन विचार केला जातो. कवितेतील व्यक्ति केवळ शरीरानेच नाही, तर मनानं पण थकली आहे असा भास होतो. अर्थात हा भास आशाताईंच्या आवाजातली जादू पण असू शकतो. खरं तर ह्या अनंत अर्थांनी भरलेल्या ओली लिहिल्या आहेत. त्या ओळींना जिवंत केलाय बाबूजींच्या संगीतानी. आणि ओळीतल्या प्रत्येक शब्दाचा अर्थ उमलावलाय आशाताईंच्या आवाजानी. अशा त्रिवेणी संगमा मुळे हे गाणं अजरामर झालंय. असो... 

पहिल्या दोन ओळी आपल्याला कवीच्या मानसिक स्थितीची ओळख करून देतात. कवी का बरं थकला असेल? हा विचार आपल्या मनात येतो. 

निलाजरेपण, कटीस नेसले निसुगपणा चा शेला 

आत्मस्तुतीचे कुंडल कानी,  गर्व जडविला भाला 

उपभोगाच्या शतकमलांची कंठी घातली माला 

हे कडवं म्हणजे आपल्या स्वतःपुरतं जगण्याची पहिली पायरी आहे. आजूबाजूच्या जगाचा विचार ना करता प्रत्येक कार्य आपण निर्लज्जपणे, निसुगपणे करत राहतो. किंबहुना निर्लज्जपणाचे कवचाचा अंगावर ओढून घेतो. आणि हे कवचच अंगावर अगदी शेल्यासारखं मिरवतो. सतत आत्मस्तुती करून, म्हणजे सतत आपलाच कौतुक आपल्याच कानांनीं ऐकून एक प्रकारचे ते आपले कुंडल होऊन बसते. आणि आजूबाजूच्या जगाचा विचार न करता सतत सगळ्याचा उपभोग घेऊन ते माळेसारखे मिरवणं हेच आपला जीवन होऊन जातं.  ह्या कडव्यापासूनच कळत कि कवी स्वतः पुरता विचार करून जगत आहे, आणि या पद्धतीने जगण्यात आणि मिरवण्यात धन्यता मानत आहे. पण अश्या जगण्यामुळे पुढे काय होतं? 

विषयवासना वाजे वीणा, अतृप्ती दे ताला

अनय अनीती नूपुर पायी, कुसंगती करताला 

लोभ प्रलोभन नाणी फेकी, मजवर आला गेला 

सततच्या स्वार्थी जगण्याने अतृप्ती जणू आयुष्याचा ताल धरू लागली आहे. ह्या अतृप्तीच्या तालावर नाचताना अन्यायाचे आणि अनीतीचे पायी पैंजण आलेत. अतृप्ती आली कि आपण बाहेर आधार शोधू लागतो. आणि स्वार्थी जीवनशैली मुळे आपल्याला आधार न मिळता कुसंगतीच हाती येते. लोभ मध्ये, प्रलोभनांमध्ये वाहावत जाऊन आपल्या आयुष्याची गाडी रुळांवरून कायमची निसटते. आपल्याला काय घडतंय ते कुठेतरी खोलवर जाणवलेलं असतं. आपल्याला मनोमन खात्री पटते कि ह्या दरीतून आपण बाहेर पडू शकणार नाही. आणि इथूनच खऱ्या नैराश्याची सुरुवात होते. 

(To be continued)

Tiger Mom?

I know a lot of judgemental moms. And most moms that I am introduced to immediately categorize me as the “tiger mom.” They think of me as a mom who pushes her son so much that the poor thing ends up having no life at all. Every time people get to know that my child trains for a sport for 7 hours a day, they pity my son and judge me as the worst mom ever.

I have started ignoring the implications hidden in their tones when they say “बापरे  किती दमत असेल ना तो. त्याला दिवसभर बांधल्या सारखेच होत असेल  - नाही का ग ?" The “नाही का ग?” is meant to show me a mirror of my heartlessness.

I can take these remarks casually because I take one look at my son and see how happy he is. Others see a child who is never home. I see a child who gets to live his passion. I get to see a child who is lucky to recognize his passion so early on in his life. I get to see a child who wants to be in the gym even on holidays. I get to see a child who thinks very less of missing a few birthday parties for his sport – a child who is ready to go to any length to reach his gym on time. I get to see his bliss when he is on the floor, or parallels, or rings, or horizontals, or the vault – egged on by his teammates, eager to perform for his coach. I get to see a child who gets teary-eyed when all the hard hours pay off, and he wins the gold.

That child is precious. I will not let the judgment around us get to the child. He is living his dream. A dream that the world knows nothing about.

8 going on 18

My boy is 8 years old now, soon to become 9. He is busy with his school work, sports, and friends. What should have been a blissful pre-teen period for us has become an anxious anticipation of the next tantrum. He is an angel for a moment, and a sanity-defying monster the next. I have heard horror stories about the teen ages from other parents. But I am definitely not prepared for an 8 year-old behaving like an 18-year old in terms of mood swings and temper tantrums.


I and my husband are at our wit's end on how to deal with this. Our boy is hyper-active (physically and mentally). He way ahead of his peers in his knowledge (in any subject), and constantly challenges us with increasingly complex questions. We are so proud of him. But we are definitely not proud of the dark side that he has started showing us, more and more often.


When I think about the whole picture, I realize that maybe he is not getting a 1-on-1 time with us any more. Because of the increased activities in his life, he has free time only on the weekends. That is when I insist that he spend some time catching up with his school work, and other reading. He also wants to spend some time playing with his neighborhood friends, whom he can meet only over the weekends. And he also wants to spend some time watching TV, which he is denied over the week. The end result is that there is absolutely no time to communicate with us.


I came up with a simple solution for that. Have dinner away from home every Friday evening with a strictly 1-on-1 time for us. Let me explain.


My boy is out of the house every day from 6.30 AM to 9.00 PM. After he is home, he is just ready to gobble down his dinner and head to sleep. But on Fridays, he looks forward to be able to stay up a little later than usual because he does not have to go anywhere on Saturdays. However, on Fridays, he is so exhausted, that he ends up going to bed a little earlier than usual. I thought to tap on the 'relaxing mood' that he gets into on Fridays. So since a few weeks, I and my husband pick him up from his Gymnastics practice, and go out for dinner on Fridays. Any small place works for us. We have only 3 criteria: decent food, decent place to sit, and ABSOLUTELY NO ELECTRONIC INTERFERENCE. The last bit is really important. We are not supposed to even look at our cell phones/tablets/laptops etc. during this little dinner meet. we ignore all phone calls and just concentrate on talking to each other. About everything and anything. We don't force our boy to talk about his school. We don't even force him to talk. Sometimes he is just content to listen to us discuss bigger things happening around us. For example, the drought-like situation that we are in. Or the budget planning we would have to do before we could start some redecorations at home. He does not participate, but he is always involved. He has no other options - he cannot immerse himself in an electronic game, nor can he poke his nose in a book while we wait for our food. Sometimes he wants to talk about all that's happening in his little world. That's when we really get to understand the little dilemmas he gets into and solves on his own or with his friends. These snippets are precious. They reassure us that no matter how he misbehaves, he does have integrity. His values are enough to make him a good human being. Our little dinner time gets over in an hour. But that hour means everything for us. We have been able to reconnect with our youngster.


Have his temper tantrums reduced? Has his moody behaviour changed? No.
But we seem to understand him more, and seem to accept his behaviour more. Because we are convinced that he has the capacity to become an extremely charming human being. And that gives us faith that his moody behaviour is only a phase.

The Great Laundry Adventure in the USA

There I was - Little Miss Know-it-all - who left early from work to do laundry. I came home...well the hotel, actually, but my home for 10 days...and I painstakingly found a bag to put my used clothes in. I called the front desk and confirmed that I could get quarters there. I went down to purchase quarters, and I realised I had only 2 dollars on me. Well, you need at least 4 dollars for one load of washing and drying and 1 more dollar to buy detergent. So I traipsed back to my room, got the money, went back down, and purchased the quarters. The next step was to find the laundry room. I could see the breakfast counter (with no breakfast served at this time of the day), then there was a door that said "Employees Only", and another mysteriously locked door. I looked helplessly at the front desk assistant, who immediately came out to help me. She took me through the mysterious door, and there I was in the excersize and the laundry room.

Here came the interesting part. I had to use my quarters and buy detergent. Excellent. But how? Having never done this before (yes I was in the USA before, and no, I have never bought detergent from a detergent dispenser, because I have always bought it at the grocers) I was at a loss about how to use the detergent dispenser. I saw a wall-mounted machine that had pictures of a detergent, bleach, and a softener. These pictures had slots for quarters below them. I put in the quarters in the correct slots and waited. Nothing happened. Then I banged the machine. The coins slightly moved. Then I looked for a handle like how I have seen on TV in casinos. Nothing. Then I scratched my head. Again, nothing. I bent down and examined the bottom of the machine. Yep it was clean. And nope nothing happened. Then I took out the quarters. I was going to turn back, disappointed and slightly embarrased, and suddenly I thought of trying to push the slot itself. Bingo! Gleefully I put the quarters back, and pushed the slot. It came right back outside. I pushed harder with full vengeance. And i got my manna!

Next, I put in the clothes in the washer, put in the detergent in the correct slot, put in the quarters in the correct slot and started the machine. Thankfully, I had used this machine before. So I could still think of myself as Miss Know-it-all.

While my clothes were in the washer, I went for a walk, and then did some treadmill. The time had come to put the clothes in the dryer. I took them out of the washer, and put them in the dryer. I put in the quarters in the machine and was about to start the cycle. That's when I realised something was not quite right. Things seemed too easy! Ah there it was...I had put the clothes in one dryer and paid for a drying cycle in another dryer! Sigh. I moved the clothes again to the correct dryer and first prayed. Then I started the dryer. And I said my thanks to Him for giving me the knowlege and insight to wash and dry my clothes.

The good old-fashioned ways

I just sharpened a pencil for my son the old-fashioned way - by using a blade instead of a sharpener. And I realised how I sometimes crave to live life the old-fashioned way. Of course, "old-fashioned"  for me means the way I lived before I brain-washed myself that I couldn't possible exist without certain "comforts".

I just want to live one day in the simple way that I had before I started getting Miss Uppity-Up. How would I live that day then?

After waking up in the morning I wouldn't have any of the 'exotic' breakfast that I have come to expect every day. I would eat a chapati with milk. A bath would mean using half a bucket of hot water mixed with another half of cold water. A running hot shower would not even be the stuff of dreams. I would use only shikakai to wash my hair. No shampoos, no conditioner. After this, I would wear clean clothes that would be folded in a way that no ironing would be required. If I had to step out of the house, I would wear simple slippers, and walk to my destination. I would not need my vehicles. Or if I had to travel far, I would just use my bicycle. If I would feel thirsty on the road, I would just wait till I headed back home or find a coconut-seller. Bottled water would be nowhere in the picture. For lunch, I would eat whatever was made at home. I would then lie down on a chatai for my afternoon siesta or curl down on the floor with my book. Tea time would mean having tea and chivda or ladu made at home. A walk in the evening would never turn into a shopping expedition. Having dinner would mean eating the same food that I ate for lunch. After a nice, simple, uncomplicated day, I would head to sleep on a nice, simple, uncomplicated mattress on the floor.

There was a time when I actually lived like that. In fact, everyone I knew lived like that. That was the way of life about 20 years ago.

Times changed and I never even realised when my necessities changed. Some things came into my life and definitely made my life more comfortable. Some other things came into my life and made my life more complicated. I never understood when this happened.

Ten years from now I might not even remember my life from the stone age. And I might just yearn for the "simplicity" of my life today.

How do I teach him to lose?

My five-year-old...the apple of my eye. How do I teach him to lose? How do I make him understand that winning is not everything? How do I teach him to understand that even if you do your best, it may still not be enough...but it is enough to make you proud of yourself. In a world where your success is judged by your victories, how do I make him understand that the real victories are not visible at all? How do I teach him to lose the battles in life to win the war of life in the end? How do I teach him to trust himself to give his best and not be the best all the time?

I give him unconditional love. How do I  teach him to love himself unconditionally? How do I teach him to respect himself because the world may not respect him? How do I teach him to look at himself through his own eyes, and not through the eyes of the world? How do I help him gain confidence in himself?

My five-year-old...the apple of my eye. How do I save him from the hard path of learning how to lose? How do I save him from learning how to lose too late?

Ghanashyama Sundara

When I returned from work the other day, I went to a cold and lonely home. It was just me and my son to entertain each other that day. And I was not in the best of moods either.


I thought of going online and listening to some old songs. That was probably the best thing I did during the day.

I stumbled upon an old Marathi classic “Ghanashyama Sundara”. Oh what bliss! The supremely melodious notes of Lata Mangeshkar and Pandit Nagarkar…the soft soothing music that was perfect to wake you from deep, sweet slumber…the whole package is just perfect. There is no other word for that.

The most divine part was the whole image of a beautiful rural morning that the song brought before my eyes. I could actually feel the sun rising and casting his warmth on a world that was made sleepy with the night’s cold blanket. I could hear the birds chirping in the dawn, and the cow bells tinkling in the cowsheds. I could smell the cowsheds and hear the cattle mooing. From my chaotic day, I was transferred within a second to a Utopia.

That is when I realised that words have the power to paint beautiful pictures. And the painter (the poet, in this case – Shahir Honaji) can achieve near-perfection in a picture that can be captured in so few words.

No blogs or essays or odes can achieve the perfection of this song. The perfection of lyrics. The perfection of poetry. The perfection of aesthetics. And of course, the perfection of this painting.

Entertainment on the Roads

While driving on the road, there is a lot of entertainment in the name of shops.

At one corner, our dear Lord Pandhari has become a paan merchant. In another lane, He has become a dry-cleaner. Our revered saint Sai Baba has to play multiple roles in the span of a few kilometers. He is an expert hairdresser, an excellent tailor, and can make amazing kulfi. He is an efficient dabbewala, and a world-class istriwalla. Sri Sai Baba owns a fleet of buses, trucks, and lorries. He can ferry you around in vans or small cars.

Now-a-days, hospitals have even mountain ranges as their namesake. We have the Sahyadri Hospital here, and we also have the Himalaya Healthcare. Unfortunately, the height of the hospitals is not proportional to the height of the mountain ranges.

The Woodlands restaurant is famous for its seafood. It is perhaps the only wood in the world where sea food is abundantly available - for a price, of course.

The Goddess Lakshmi is sometimes forced to supervise hotel management, and the Goddess Saraswati is a very efficient tea-stall manager. Jejuricha Khanderaya makes excellent sweets, and the Lord Krishna provides nutritious and sumptuous breakfast. On the other hand, Krishna's Basuri can conjure up excellent south-Indian food.

You can get good Chinese food in fountain spots, but there will be no fountains around. You can find two chat corners in a single lane that has no corners to speak of.

As I said, driving on the roads can be very entertaining. Shops keep changing, malls keep coming up, roads keep changing directions, and life still goes on.

The Magic of Smells

There is magic in living, and our sense of smell renders this magic possible. Smell can make us happy, smell can make us sad.

I was driving to work the other day. The day had started on a stressful note. I woke up late, had a hell of a time in getting my son ready for school, had no time for breakfast, and got out of the house at a time that was just on this side of respectability. I was tired before starting the day. I was driving to work in the worst possible frame of mind. And I suddenly got a whiff of freshly-made cake. I was instantly transferred to a lazy day in my childhood. I remembered the invaluable time I had when mom had sent me to buy some eggs on a wonderful summer day. My mood just changed; I was suddenly feeling as light as the day of my ancient past.

For me, smells have the power to change my mood. They can make me ride on a huge crest, or sometimes throw me at the bottom of a well. They make me hopeful for my future and nostalgic about my past.

The smell of fallen leaves always reminds me of some of the laziest and happiest days of my childhood. The smell of a wet dog or a horse takes me back to the days that I spent in my mom's office, scampering among the gardens. The smell of a tamarind tree takes me back to my first school. The smell of wooden benches or new notebooks always takes me back to the schooldays.

I feel jittery when I get a whiff of a Camlin eraser - you see, I am still scared of some of my teachers. The smell of mothballs has never failed to make me sad. For some strange reason, this smell reminds me of my dear ones who have now passed away. The smell of books - whether old or new - transfers me to some other plane. I feel happy, nostalgic, and hopeful - all at the same time. My love for books is reinforced. My zest for life is redoubled. (There was a time when life was equivalent to reading books.)

Smells cast a magical spell on all of us. You can smell from afar that there is a new baby in a house. You can understand how welcoming a home is, just from the smell of it.

For me, smells even herald the seasons. I can smell rain in the air a month before the monsoons. Summer has its own lazy smell. The smell of autumn mingles with the smell of the monsoons. It refreshes me and makes me nostalgic at once. Winter steals in with a cozy smell of blankets.

I remember a time when I could not smell the season. I landed in the US for the first time in winter. Winter in my native city in India is vastly different from that in the US. Here there are subtle smells of foliage and winter trees. There is a smell of warm stoves and hot food. In the US, it was as if nature was taking a complete break from life. No smell of any life, not even any whiffs. I felt completely lost. I could not understand the complete absence of smells all around. I started coming back to life at the onset of spring. I could smell the leaves again; I started getting comfortable again.

Smells give colour to my life. They make my life beautiful. my life gets remarkably dull when I get a heavy cold.

A quiet evening

Listening to all my favourite songs after just too long. Feel as if found a part of myself again. Why did I not listen to them earlier? Better late than never. This is just heaven! Am singing along with Babuji and Asha Bhosale. Am imagining myself on a stage with the audience loving my voice!

And suddenly my son goes peep-peep :(.

Having something some of the time is definitely the best part of having nothing most of the time :).

When did I grow up?

I remember my childhood. It seems like yesterday. I remember my fears, my anxieties, my desperation to fit in. I remember the need to make others like me.

I also remember I used to look up to my elders - because they seemed confident. They seemed to know everything in the world. They seemed to have an answer to everything.

I remember looking upto my mom and dad thinking they were the final answer to everything in the world. I remember thinking that no matter what, all my problems will be resolved by them.

I remember this all because I still go through the same emotions. At heart, I am still the small, inconsequential, inconfidant little girl who had to look towards her elders for help. The only difference is that this girl now pretends to be confident. She pretends to know everything, have an answer to everything. She pretends to be the end-all for her own son.

When did I grow up??

My Handwriting

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.