Books, Smell of books, Skies, Stars, long
drives with music, food,
Pop songs, instrumentals, Crime thrillers, dressing up, silver,
mountains, summer mornings and late evenings, bread, butter, smell of wet
earth,
windows with a view, walking, old curio shops, Christmas season, winters,
lights,
slow mornings---
Yes, you read that right! This post IS about walking backwards. Literally and not figuratively as we netizens are trained to look at every phrase that hovers in the radius of our vision. My passionate walks and jogs have always been in my Chennai's jogger's park which is located where I live. Today, after many years, I managed to walk and also jog for a bit. But then, I was itching to try out something that I have never done before. And voila! I tried walking backwards.
It was not something that belonged to my comfort zone! Quite obvious. I was afraid that I would trip or perhaps a stone would come in my way and might twist my ankle. It was quite similar to the aspects of life that demand us out of the comfort zone. My life in 2018 and early 2019 is a mixed bag of challenges and situations that I have never remotely anticipated or experienced. I tried walking backwards for a while and then it seemed better. It got better with each step but not without a tiny bit of apprehension. I was also on the lookout for any joggers/walkers who I would scare or even stumble against. Well, I was turning behind from time to time -- a nice-looking guy was a bit startled but I decided to stall my experiment, happy that I had managed quite a bit without much ado. It was indeed a nice sense of achievement.
I thought of all the motivational posts of Facebook and Instagram which nudges you to do at least one thing that scares you everyday. Well, I have just opened my account. I did not think that walking backwards would prove so much of a hassle when I first began but I must admit that the first step was quite scary and caused trepidation. And while I was writing this post, i also decided to check whether walking backwards has any benefit at all - and yes! it is indeed and Japanese folklore says that walking 100 steps backwards is equivalent to walking 1000 steps forward. I would like to walk longer backwards - and try moving forward with the challenge of making my steps steady.
Cheers to the new year and wish you many opportunities to step out of your comfort zone!
A terribly cliched, title, I realise! Over the years, visiting Chennai, time to time, I have grown used to the oscillating emotional scales; The roads, smells and the sound of Tamizh being spoken - Once all these used to evoke a sense of deep melancholy within me but I now seem to have made peace with them. I now no longer gush at the flyovers and the electric trains which were strong reminders of the yellow past. I have not completely lost the sense of nostalgia as I step down from Indigo into the bustling city. I still allow myself to be moved, turn misty-minded (not eye, mind you) and gasp at how different Meenambakkam used to be and smell. Today, I was a tad apprehensive when a good friend asked me to board the Metro and meet him. I have never boarded ANY metro in my life, I quipped. "It's nothing," replied he. How would he know the trepidation. I, of course have moved past the initial moments of apprehension and have decided to be brave enough to get into the metro and experience the joy that I have often seen on Facebook posts of people who have put up pictures of their 'First Metro-ride.' As I get older, experiencing something for the first time does create a small flutter in the pit of the stomach. I try to remember when I first took the electric train - I honestly don't remember that - It was after all a long time ago, say somewhere in 1990 or was it 1992. Let that be!
I think after a point, years blur, memories fade, though not entirely gone. I guess that I have been out of Chennai for a long time now that old memories are being replaced by new ones. It is not a conscious process but something that happens but not without leaving tiny remnants in the back of the mind. On a normal (read relatively younger) day, the sight of jasmine flowers would send me into a dizzy ride which begins with, "Malli poo reminds me of . . ." but now, I just stare at the flowers - blank in the mind devoid of stars in the eyes. I still love their fragrance and texture but don't have the urge to grab them and store their presence in my hand for eternity.
I still think whether I should return and search for a job in Chennai. And then, I think of the traffic, the hard water, the irritation of the heat and stop my thoughts. I know that I cannot return. Returning seems like a sweet respite that is tinged with nostalgia, only beautiful in the crevices of the mind. I am content with dwelling in the tiny state of Goa with all its warts and minus the malli poo and khusboo idlis. Whenever in Chennai, the affection wanes after three days when I begin to get restless with insipid days. The intoxication remains only for a time after which the land of Feni beckons.
Sometimes, I wonder which is the home - where is my heart and what does it mean to be traversing to places which are considered homes. I guess I should thankful that I have not relocated out of the country, otherwise I would constantly be in a restive state of doubt about home(s).
She waits in the car
while he has gone to pick up some kebabs
The glass is half-down,
She looks out while he places the order and glances around.
Windows up
The smell of spice and coriander fill the car
Another day of no cooking dinner!
II
She walks the aisles of the mega-store
She remembers foreign herbs
And fills her shopping cart.
The bottles neatly stacked on the racks
Lie forgotten.
III
She promises herself
"No more online shopping."
She clicks JAYPORE
Just once, let me glance.
With horror and pleasure, she reads:
Your order has been successfully placed.
IV
She yearns for her days of childhood
She arrives at her hometown.
After half-a-day,
She yearns for the place she lives in!
V
She thinks in English
worries in English
swears in English
yet teaches,
"English is after all our second language!"
My Facebook newsfeed is punctuated with different articles and posts condemning the recent censorship of the film with an intriguing title, Lipstick Under My Burkha. Right from the time this film was announced, I was awaiting the release of this one and much to my and my fellow cine-goers' dismay, the news of CFBC hit us hard. It stars some of my favourite actors and of course lipstick as a metaphor for desires, secret dreams and oodles of passion.
I could immediately connect to the title of the film especially the lipstick because lipstick is not just another cosmetic application which makes one feel good and sexy (if you please. Pardon the indulgence). I remember that while growing up, lipstick was something which was used during the annual day programmes. We needed to look our best and a bright pink lipstick which of course, only one used for all, became our most awaited part of dressing up. I used to like those lipsticks and often times annual day became important because of the whole make-up. That time lipstick was reserved for that one special day. Lipsticks were also laced with a quality of the forbidden -- I have heard my relatives mention, "Only women of lose moral character wear lipstick and walk around;" "Lipstick calls for attention when you walk down the road;" "Lipstick makes you stand out in the crowd and hence you become an easy target for men." And of course, lipstick was a forbidden fruit which will ruin me if I apply it on my lips!
Then came College where lipstick was seen as a class-specific item. Rich kids wore lipsticks whereas we middle-class 'simple' students pretended that wearing lipsticks means that the girls were rich, spoilt and usually dumb. Lipstick was never seen a tool for enhancing one's beauty which in turn will make one feel 'good.' My friend who belonged to an upper middle-class family regularly wore lipsticks and as it is usual with friends of that age, I started applying lipsticks whenever I went over to her place. I started experimenting with maroons, browns and the so-called earthy colours and also found my kind of lipstick - Matte and Earthy. I never wore them to College, except when we had some special function but then I did wear them whenever we hung out together. It felt special - the whole application and how it changed the way I looked and how it made me feel within. I admit it was a bit vain keeping in mind the beauty quotient. But mind you, I did not yet own any lipsticks. Once my friend gifted me a bright red lipstick for my birthday and man, was I thrilled. When I look back, it seems so funny to think that owning a lipstick was something that gave me happiness. Since the pocket-money I received was just about sufficient for my basic needs, a lipstick was a luxury.
Switch to my post-graduation days: I wore lipstick regularly and now I had a reasonable collection of browns and maroons. It was a co-education college and all of us in the M. A. class were seen as mature and independent-thinking men and women and the lipstick became an important part of my identity. I wore it every single day until . . . One of my friends with whom I had started spending a lot of time, asked me out of the blue, "Why do you wear lipstick? Why are you so much given to being artificial?" Man, I was stumped. I did not know what to say because no one had asked something like this to me. I was ashamed and apologetic for being vain and costemised instead of being 'natural and beautiful.' Those were the days of heady idealism and questioning everything and my friend was someone who challenged every norm of the society which was taken for granted. Why was I given to artificiality? Why was I engrossed in decking myself up? My friend also remarked, "My sisters don't wear lipstick. They still look beautiful. Why do you need something extra to make you look beautiful?" That was the last straw. I gave up wearing lipstick and threw away all the lipsticks I had owned at that time. My lips were free of artificiality. Oh! My friend also mentioned how lipsticks were made of lead and fish scales and that it poisoned the human body. I was afraid of dying. The lipsticks were now history. My friend was happy and I assumed even I was . . . I further started criticising people for applying lipstick and being artificial.
I don't remember exactly when but gradually realised that one dresses up not for anyone else or for the love of showing off but to please one's own self. I guess it was then that I embraced the love of doing something because it gives a smile when I look into the mirror. It was then that I had again started applying lipstick. It made me fee beautiful and confident - ready to take on the day. And this time I had the resources and confidence to buy lipsticks and wear the same everyday. I stopped being bothered by the poison quotient, being artificial or even being called a bourgeois. I guess age and financial independence matters when decisions such as wearing lipsticks should be made. I still get 'those' looks from people who think that wearing lipstick is an undertone for a certain independence, a brashness, a symbol of arrogance and many others. And that is precisely why the film appeals to me because I think the film uses the metaphor of the lipstick to talk about the issues which women face just because they chose to dress up in a certain way -- read as 'going against the fixed and rigid norms of the majority of the patriarchal society.' It is quite startling to think that in spite of living in the 21 C, the lipstick can be seen as a symbol of arrogance and waywardness (only prostitutes wear bright lipsticks and walk around).
The film, I gauge, will also raise questions about the whole notion of dressing up to appeal to our own selves and take control of how and what women would like to portray themselves (dressing, sexuality and others) breaking the delicate shell of the so-called notions of the society. And like many others, I await the film and Konkona Sen Sharma.
Way back in 2010, having bucket lists and ticking off items from that list was something everyone was doing. I am guessing that people still do it. Many blogs I had then followed had these fascinating lists and also encouraged others to have a list. I did make a list and labelled it "101 Things to Do Before I Die." Those days, I was a passionate being, quite restive and found a thirst for many diverse things/activities for me and my family. Later I even ticked off certain items with a smug feeling. For a long time now, I had forgotten that I had a list like that. Today, while rummaging my Google mail folders, I saw a label titled, "101 . . . " and felt nothing; There was no desire to do those things listed there and what I once saw as fascinating, did not evoke any vigour in me. I think somewhere down the line, I just stopped imagining that I needed the urge to experience certain things.
I would not say that I have lost my zest for life and living but I have let go of that hot pursuit of experience that I needed to possess before I die. Perhaps I have learnt the art of acceptance - the acceptance that if something has to absolutely cross my path, it will! In 2010, I was a different person - scarred by certain life-changing episodes and learning to cope with crises and hence I was desperately looking for a purpose, maybe to keep me distracted and busy and the bucket list seemed a fantastic placebo. But then as I began healing within and life started in full force - I forgot the bucket list.
Getting married, finding a job and engaging with every single day with complete focus and concentration has somehow left me with little time for bucket lists. Today, the list makes me smile and wonder about the diverse things that I wanted to do sooner or later. I still want to do some of those things but I have no urgency - I will do it when I do it but never do it for the sake of doing it or striking an item off my list.
That said and done, I am in admiration of people who draw a list, patiently tick the items off and experience new levels of adrenaline rush. They remind me of me when I was down in the dumps and full of energy for something purposeful and fun.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I wish I could have the same gush of excitement as I had when I was eagerly drawing up a list to tick off. Ah, well . . .
The past few months just gushed by giving me more than a bowlful of memories. I am afraid that the bowl is slightly overflowing. It happens almost always - there are so many things happening with us or around us that we fail to stand/sit still and savour one moment. But I managed to savour many such moments. It is June and half a year has already whizzed past giving a glimpse of an international conference, some solid academic contacts, a discovery of beautiful places and monsoon in two of the states closest to me - Goa and Kerala (in that order).
Sometimes when beauty happens, there is an urgency to preserve the moment - I somehow want to scribble atleast few lines capturing the moments but I refrain more out of laziness than a stoic vow to etch the moment in the crevices of my mindscape. Alas! How many such moments will I strive to remember. I also realise that I remember only certain happenings; my sister tells me of a time when she was rather pale and sick but me, being me, don't even have an iota of remembrance of that episode. I loathed myself for the loss of that memory. Age is rapidly spreading its tentacles on my once-upon-a-time-sharp-memory. Then I remember that one is only as old as one thinks. Bullshit. One is forced to think of the age only when there are obvious symptoms, such as forgetfulness, in my case.
I guess I should just BE. Thoughts of memories, remembrance, nostalgia and so on and so forth should just happen, not forced out of the person's being. The blog is one such place where I strive to preserve memories but then, did I just say that one should live in the moment and no matter what I do to write what I remember, I am fabricating a story which is romantic and readable. What could be said in a few words, I drag to a post and then gloat over the written crap. Well, I am overfed with so many stories these days that my stories seem jaded to me. Quora, today, jolted me with a line that said that passive entertainment should be cut off from one's life if time and productivity should be improved. I guess that is precisely what I should be doing - limit my online reading of anything and everything ranging from the Stanford rapist to Trump to breast-feeding to yoga poses for a sexy back! I have become a carnivore of the highest order when it came to chewing and swallowing information.
When one is a teacher, there are several nuggets of
experience to chew and internalise and one such nugget is the act of
being kind and free with the students. When it comes to interacting with
students inside and outside the classroom, I make it a point not to be
very strict or reprimand them for every single act of theirs. Even while
teaching, my examples are drawn from everyday aspects of life that the
students can relate and sympathise. And the smile - I almost always have
a smile pasted on my face which tends to make the student comfortable
while in the class and also during our different interactions.
BUT all the aforementioned attributes of mine are almost
always mistaken to be signs of an informal person who has great
tolerance towards anything including malpractice. Well, I have now
started to wonder about the signals that I am sending across to the
naive students.
The smile is always mistaken as a sign of extreme tolerance on my
part and also the green signal to flout certain disciplinary boundaries.
I understand that I cannot expect my students to observe every single
thing that is normally expected of them like sitting quiet in class,
fidgeting with mobiles and trying to do their homework when I am
teaching. But my friendly behaviour and pleasant demeanour makes them
think that they can get away with whatever they are doing.
My angst and dilemma is how I should conduct myself as a
teacher. Should I be kind and compassionate and understand that they are
after all children who pretend to be adults or should I be rigid and
firm and never smile thus forcing them to be like captives of Femme
Fatale Susan or should I learn to balance my thoughts and learn to
ignore certain aspects of student behaviour.
I have taught before and on many occasions I undergo this
sudden rush of meandering thoughts where I question my conduct and role
as a teacher. After all these years of teaching, I still struggle to
resist finding a middle path and stop myself from complaining as to how how my
kindness is mistaken for tolerance by the students.
It's one of those days when my urge to pee is rather urgent and I practically dance and run and make it to the toilet and rush to make myself comfortable when I spot a tail . . . I can understand that I eulogized the house lizard to mean home but the tail sends me into spasms err . . . convulsions of horror. Though the meek lizard does not scare me or sends me freaking out, the thought of sitting on the potty with the fear of the lizard springing up into my . . . is rather scary. Well, thankfully, we have another toilet and I quickly made my way there. I was back twice or thrice to see whether the poor fellow had made it outside the WC but to my utter dismay, he or she was still there almost forlorn (my interpretation) and sad.
This incident led mt to wonder on many similar aspects of life. We take so many things for granted and expect it to be the same always. Come on who thought that a lizard, of all places would land into a WC and shoo me into the neighbouring toilet. I shudder to think what I would have done if there was no alternative to this. I was able to pee because our home had another toilet. If not, would I have used the lizard-in-the-potty toilet? Would I have overcome my fear and let go of the creepy feeling to attend my urgent call of nature? Would I have played brave? It's easy for me to philosophize over a post but still the thought niggles me and I am unable to stop the rush of possibilities. Well, I could have always sat down and let the stream of water flow out. Well, what if I had to shit and there was no other option but to sit on that lizard-inhabited-potty? My mind also thought of the hundreds of people who squat on open spaces with the risk of being bitten by scorpions, snakes and women especially who are prone to many untoward incidents while going out to relieve themselves.
Some questions remain as questions alone. I guess I am chicken to even think of the options. I always play safe, you see.
This evening after many years, I travelled in the route that used to be frequented by me. A corner window seat that was opposite to the direction of the train's journey was waiting for me and I could not be more happier. Feeling the gentle breeze on my face, I resolved to 'just' feel the present moment without resorting to sappy memories of erstwhile train rides. I did succeed albeit for three stops and almost by reflex the breeze whispered about the happy and not-so-happy moments spent in the train.
Sometimes you have so many fond memories that you literally feel them jostling with one another while one smart Charlie tumbles off and takes you on a tangent. I wonder which one it is: The train rides that patched up quarrels over long phone calls or the rides where a nagging junior would want to gossip about teachers and I would want to close my eyes to honour the lazy lull of the languid weather coupled with the slow motion of the train or the dreams of carving a teaching career while doing research or trying to rush to the one empty spot of the compartment before anyone even spots it or getting lost in the smell of food that wafts across the compartment or just trying to inhale the smell of the jasmine that a flower-seller hawks.
I smile and wonder how I cherish those moments but don't miss them. I don't even yearn for them and realise that they were wonderful no doubt, but belonged to a time then. I did fondly inhale the mixed smells of flowers, food and faint perfume and got down with a smile when the train reached my stop. I stood and watched till the train disappeared and knew that it will be a long time before I get to ride in a train again.
Off late I have come to accept the fact that I
find long train journeys boring and that I prefer to sleep rather than
cozy up to a book. Well, a few years ago, even two years ago, I wouldn't
have accepted the fact of boring train journeys but now I realise that I
better burst my self-made bubble. I suppose even age has something to
contribute in this aspect. There was a time I swore by train journeys.
And, sometimes, even now, the appearing of a blue coloured train at a
distance with its smoke and sound makes me nostalgic for leaving to some
place and just the imagination of curling up with a book sends spasms
of excitement through my senses. Alas! the thrill lasts only for a few
minutes when the distant approach of a train creates a frenzied longing -
after the train arrives at the station and stops - I feel a bit
unsettled to leave the comfort zone of my home and take on a journey.
But
mind you, I still enjoy travelling to new places or perhaps I think I
do. Sometimes I wonder whether I allow certain lies to fog my mind and
knowingly I submit myself to these grand illusions. These lies are
always so comforting. They allow us to cheat ourselves and in the
process we are made fools by our own thoughts and emotions.
Coming
back to train journeys, I wonder whether it is the length of time or
perhaps the closed confines of an AC chair that bores me. Maybe long
journeys are better with hoardes of relatives and cousins who
chatter away to glory. No, I have also travelled with many people but
still find myself longing for the journey to come to an end. And books! I
do like them but I prefer sleeping to reading while in a train. The
moment I open a book, my eyes feel heavy and my senses dulled. I think
that my body is weary and I shall sleep a bit and then get back to
reading but that seldom happens. I sleep like there's no tomorrow and
the book/s remain untouched through the rest of the journey and I make a
mental note to not carry any books the next time. But as you suspected,
I forget the promise, carry books in the next journey and continue to
sleep blissfully.
I have come to realise that we carry an
image of our younger self's habits, likings and desires into our
consecutive phase of life. I, atleast, think that my tastes in food,
books and music will continue to remain the same as I advance in years but
sadly that is not the case; probably that is the reason one tends to
grow out of friends who were so very precious during our childhood.
Sometimes even memories are so - one outgrows them and after a point,
there seems to be no much use for those thoughts except that they
defined us once upon a time. Awareness of ourselves through passing
years is a vital aspect of our life and many a times, we like to lie to
ourselves and live under the illusion of seemingly being the same person
through the various stages of our lives.
So, what are your thoughts on living under an illusion?
So, by and by 2014 arrived quietly and stealthily into my life and the euphoria which wasn't there in the first place died down. I had grand plans to write a sweet and fantastic post welcoming the new year but not having a computer to call my own, I postponed the post. Little did I realise that postponing a post is almost like forgetting it. These days when posts do arise, there is no keyboard to tap in and hence I seek refuge in my wee journal. It is quite cathartic to see pages filling up rapidly but the itch to read comments remains unfulfilled. I have forgotten reading and replying to comments. Well, that does not mean I don't have any plans for 2014. I do have. Like everyone, I also vocally and virtually scream that I don't make any resolutions, far from it, I make resolutions every single day consistently. Some infamous ones are:
1. Stopping sugar completely (Wait! Stopping anything white - rice, maida, sugar, milk . . . And so far I have managed it by baby steps)
2. Stop the past from pulling me down (Half the time I'm half-bent by the load!)
3. Stop worrying and analysing details too much (Ah, if wishes were horses)
4. To stop listing my weaknesses in social media (I will not go beyond three)
Well, anything new always excites and makes me savour the joy of living and a new year certainly is one such time.
Hope your year started off well and that you didn't make any resolutions like me.
It's a normal day with everything going on as it ought to be and then all of a sudden the power goes off. Shhhh. The whirring of the fan is gone and the buzzing of the fridge has stopped. Before the sweat and the mosquitoes (if the time is after sunset), one can hear the heart beat softly and a distant train with its siren. The drip-drop of the bathroom tap that always gets lost in the humdrum of the fan, fridge and the exhaust fan, is loudly audible and one, if inclined can set it to rhythm -- drip-drop-drip-drop-drip-drop. The call of an unknown bird strikes the ear and the sound though familiar is at its shrillest. How lovely it sounds!
I have undergone the torture of scheduled power-cuts while living in Tamil Nadu but here there are seldom any power-cuts and so the times the power goes off for few minutes, one is treated to a variety of sounds. Sounds always thrill me and each sound is distinct and speaks to us in different ways. Sounds often synchronize with our own moods and emotional status. If one is angry, then the drip-drop of the water faucet is an irritating and annoying sound but if one is in a lighter bent of mind, then any sound is music to the ear. I hope you agree.
The sound of the distant train always spells journey and the journey is often to places where one finds comfort and joy but on peppier days the sound of the trains reminds one of the unseen and unexplored places that may or may not be seen and felt.
Yesterday, I was quite pumped up with energy and general
feel of goodness after I returned from an early morning visit to the
beach. The beach is almost like a temperamental individual exhibiting
different tempers at different times of the day and be warned, every
beach is distinct and has its own shade of personality. I learned all
this by visiting some beaches in Goa. I was literally in a hazy sea of
thoughts when my domestic walked in for the day. She had her usual smile
and charm and inquired me after the sand that she had spotted in the
entrance. With an excited demeanour, I told her that we had gone to
watch the sunrise in the nearby beach. She nonchalantly replied: "We
have been living here for so many years but have never visited the famed
beaches of Goa till date." Her reply stirred me. It rattled my
thoughts. I wouldn't know how to react to her reply which was a tone
mingled with part regret and part resignation to her life. Implicitly, I
asked her when she came to Goa. "Just after getting married," she
replied. She has been married and living in Goa for about 18 years but
the beaches were lost to her and her family. There was a beach quite
close to where she lived but the time and zest to go and visit that
beach was lost on her family.
I wondered why should one go
to the beach? Does one want to feel a sense of contentment that comes
with living in one of the most sought after tourist spots or does one go
there to marvel at the wonder of nature and take in the beauty that
everyday existence cannot possibly provide? I realised that going to the
beach is a privilege of time and leisure. A chasing after beauty that
allows one's heart to be puffed up with gratitude and warmth. I also
wonder whether by not visiting a beach in Goa, did I miss out on the
essence of the place? Do I visit beaches just because it would be a
shame to have lived in a place filled with beaches and not have visited
them. Some of these questions could niggle me endlessly and chances are
that I might not even arrive at a legitimate answer.
Till my mind rests, let's go to the beach and take pictures that make others yearn and drool simultaneously.
When I was a dreamy teenager, 30 used to be a big number, that was still far far away. Imagination and things around led me to believe that at 30 one had a home, bubbly children plus a car and a fantastic husband! Well, I couldn't have blamed my teenage fanciful mind! And what did I wish for - the same aforementioned things. I was not one of those teenagers who had dreams to have a high-flying career or to explore an untrodden path - all I knew and wished was for a happy family complete with a dog and car! I didn't see beyond the usual. I wasn't even exposed to anything else.
And, today, standing at 34, I realise that life has so much to offer. A family and a dog are also happiness factors but there are other things that one can aspire for. I blame it on education. I was all sane and meek, but engaging minds and wise teachers shook my aspirations and beliefs. I can't be more thankful to them today. My paths slowly started walking in a slightly different trajectory. I learnt that there are other uncharted paths that are more interesting and adventurous and I chose to get lost. I am happy that those paths showed me sights and thoughts that were challenging and offbeat. I explored ideas that were safely hidden from me and was able to flirt with things that were hitherto unaccustomed to my small mind.
I learnt to lose myself in books and tread along the lines of the character in the tomes I read and loved. Thinking with the author, my mind opened to different worldviews. I was weaned out of prejudice, gender fixations, mainstream hogwash and media's appropriation of the mind. Education liberates and forces oneself to leave the comfort zone and walk out and that is what precisely happened to me. Inspite of that, there are some issues which I have not come to terms with!
I am also thankful and grateful to the wonderful virtual and offline friends that Providence enabled me to meet. They have enriched and educated me in ways that I cannot imagine. I have also realised that friends are friends, offline or online - They affect me the same way and teach me important lessons which I otherwise could be deprived of. And along the journey, I have come to know that each age has its own charm and inspite of growing old, I grow richer and bolder in experience.
Here's raising a toast to 34!
Thanks for the company, dear reader. I cherish and treasure you and the lessons that you have willingly imparted.
I am participating in Write Tribe's Festival of Words from 1st to 7th September where nearly 82 bloggers are writing on the theme of Seven for Seven days - a post a day!
In the forthcoming seven days, I
will be writing on the Sevens that make my life and meanderings.
The word Seven has been a fixation in my life as it was
the number that was most favoured by my Sunday school teachers and the pastors
whose sermons I have grown up listening to. As much as the number Seven is
favoured, 6 is dreaded as the number of the Anti-christ. No numerology and all
that mumbo-jumbo but Seven always got a special nod and glow. And strangely, I have
gotten used to the number Seven and almost always end up favouring the number, of
course not out of the fetish for numerology and all that mumbo-jumbo but
because it’s a comfort zone for me and may I add, many Christians who have gone
to Sunday school and heard diligent sermons also give special preference to
this number. So, I must admit that I was excited a wee bit when the Write Tribe
had chosen Seven to be the key word for its Writing Festival! Well, here goes my
first post of the inaugural day of the festival.
I thought that my first Seven would be the Seven
characteristics that are an integral part of me but I choose to conveniently
forget or perhaps pretend that I don’t have them.
~ A bad procrastinator
~ Not valuing time
~ Wills to change some existing patterns but never
does as a comfort zone has been formed
~ Swears quite a lot while having internal
conversations which is quite alarming
~ Takes for granted that I am the best, which is a
delusional thought
~ An extrovert who likes being alone but never
portrays that
~ An individual whose inner thoughts and outward
actions don’t often match
The above Seven traits are something that need to be broken from my personality and this first post will strive as a remainder towards that goal.
Hope to share more of my Sevens in the days to come. So, what are the Seven traits in you that you wish to change?
I often wonder how long can one get nostalgic over and over the same bit that happened some time ago in our lives. Won't the nostalgia stop? Will one nostalgia replace another? Will we stop getting nostalgic after we have exhausted the emotion so much like the cassette that finally wears out due to overuse.
This is a fairly recent happening and I find it pretty amusing. I think about a beautiful memory and find that I keep returning to it every single day and by the time I've thought about it for some time now that I feel tired to think of it anymore. Succeeding that 'boring nostalgia' phase is an aversion to that memory. It is then I realise that overdoing nostalgia also gets boring. But isn't nostalgia something sweet and beautiful. Maybe when it strikes once a while to refresh the bygone years and moments but feelings of longing that strike very often lose their appeal over time. Well, the etymology of nostalgia is from the word, 'nostos' meaning homecoming. Now, I guess that during the time the word was coined, it was meant for someone who was away from home and was longing for home - the physical home and the emotional security that is often associated with the home. But now the word has evolved and comes to mean memory and longing for something that was once part of our lives, not necessarily the home itself. That's what I love about words - they evolve, wrapping in the mood and the times and mould according to the context. They change but still retain their spirit.
Coming back to nostalgia, I wonder how long will something remain so precious and lovely that each time we are filled with yearning, we feel nostalgia. I guess even nostalgia changes, rather it evolves to something else before going through a few steps: Initially the memory is beautiful and comes to our mind when we yearn for the past. Then we start clinging so much to that specific memory that nostalgia becomes the norm each day. Finally we are done looking at that memory from a trillion angles that we have explored every fine fabric of that particular memory. Then we break forth and no longer relish that memory. The nostalgia of that memory gets boring and we don't feel like returning to that for quite some time. Perhaps after a long time, the cycle will begin again.
Shortly we will be leaving for our vacation. Oh, and before you think exotic locations and sunny climes - STOP and refresh your mind and read on. This is the annual shuttling between the husband's and my mother's homes. It seems rather strange to me as I have become so comfortable and cozy in my new home that the thought of leaving it for a month leaves me a bit listless. Few months ago, this home was just a house - sans curtains, beds, and other household articles but now the house has gradually turned into a home step by step. The curtains make a huge difference, you see. Once you decide that your affairs need to be shielded away from the peering world and the sun and wind needs to be let in only when one desires, the home starts shaping. Waking up and falling asleep in the room that has come to become a cave of one sort forces me to wonder about the soon arriving vacation.
But it wasn't always like this. It was not as difficult when I was in my mom's house. Perhaps that home was a home in a different sense - that home was shaped and contoured by my mother - It was a ready-made home that was always there unlike my home which was lovingly made up by me and my husband. It sounds rather mawkish when I seem to think that I can do better without a vacation after all, my home is my comfort zone where I have done things that are close to me and more than that I dictate the rhythms of my day and chores. Going to another place takes the power of my own rhythms - I have to subscribe to another routine and have to comply no matter what. It's a different matter altogether when we were children - Children adjust quite well to any kind of change. That said and done, I'm not resisting change. I'm just resisting going away from here. Come to think of it, it's only five months in my new home. But isn't five months long enough to establish a deep connection that binds one to the walls, nooks and crannies (cockroaches included) and the doors and windows. It's almost like leaving behind a part of oneself. And, I can't wait to get back into my skin and pet peeves.
Five days to go. Perhaps you will not find me popping out much in your comments and news-feeds on Facebook. Well, you may think that a break is good and I trick myself to think the same when in reality, I can do well without boring breaks. Anyway, I can take deep breaths anywhere I choose. Life goes on . . .
