In what language do you think?

In India this is what instructors advice to young people who want to master English: "Think in English." The demure students just nod away as if they understood the very difficult process of being able to think in a language not their own. And I must tell you that like me there are many others who have been exposed to English earlier on in life and thus even the thinking process is in English. I am not a native-speaker of the language but studying in schools whose medium was predominantly English, I never learnt my mother's tongue. I can speak Tamil and also manage to read it but thinking, it is only English. Now whether it is good or bad, I don't negotiate.

Now thinking is a process which is very personal and intricate and out of the blues when an instructor advices to change the language of thinking, it gets a bit stifling. But eager minds who could do anything to learn a language, try that as well. Now if someone asks me to think in Mandarin or Dutch, I might have to undergo a complete transformation of the mind to do so. Now I don't disagree that where there is a will, there is a way. If someone asks me to do that in gun-point, I might try.

Even when students approach me and ask me for advice to speak good English, I always (without any forethought) say: "Think in English." It is better said than done. I guess the language of thinking is something which happens in a very early age and is conditioned in a certain way. Somewhere after thinking for about sixteen years in the mother tongue, and then switching to a new thinking language is a bit difficult, not impossible, I reckon.

Researches say that one can swear only in the language of their thinking. And the word for 'mother' is another example. Despite the fact that I think only in English, I always prefer calling my mother amma, the Tamil word for mother. Strange are the ways of language and the human mind!!

This is the case with all the languages, not only English, I guess. If I may ask, what is the language in which you think. Are you happy with that.

Image courtesy: Internet

Wanting the NOW as FOREVER

Traveling and walking on the beach does this to me. A mad desire to seal time and wish that it was forever. While traveling in trains and buses, the gentle breeze, lulling movement makes me so lazy and comfortable that I start my fantasies. The first one, which would inevitably want entire life in a train/bus. I just don't feel like getting out and walking back home. It seems like a crude jolt of the embryonic delight.

Next, is the time when I walk in the smooth sand. Ah! I just wish that I could walk and walk into tomorrow and invariably want that FOREVER. Coming back home brings me into a different reality and time.

In instances as these, my thoughts flow to Rip Van Winkle and his sleep. How would he have felt after waking up after twenty years and finding everything so very different. Imagine not recognising anyone from his past. Oh! that would have been so cruel. Winkle froze in a particular time and that became FOREVER to him.

I am not only talking about lovely moments which many of us want forever nor I want everything to be hunky-dory like in 'feel good' movies.  All that I am talking about here is getting lost in a moment rather say, the present and feeling that it is FOREVER.

What are your FOREVER moments.

Images courtesy: 1. Government of India
                           2. bbc.co.uk

Pausing to hear your stories

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Shakespeare's Juliet would not have cared for names as she was in love and given that context, names were their greatest shortcoming but not so for us. We love names especially when it comes to our blogs. Many times while browsing through blogs, the first aspect that we subject our eyes and minds to is the blog's name or title. So every blog has a story behind its name.

Mine is not different either. Sometimes it becomes worthwhile in the journey to pause and reminisce about the beginnings. I first wanted my blog to talk something about my writing and me.  I contemplated the names, 'Susan's corner,' 'Susan's place,' 'Thinking,' etc. But somehow they did not seem to fit the bill. A blog with my name seemed a bit narcissistic while 'Thinking' seemed incomplete and vague. Then one day while reading something, the word 'meandering' struck a chord. I held on to that word. 'Meandering' by itself was a bit incomplete and so after a great deal of thinking, the word 'reflection' added itself to the 'meandering.' Thus a name was born.

My story remains incomplete if my fellow travellers do not share their tales of naming their blogs. So, I ask you to rewind and tell me the story of how you arrived at a name for your blog. After all, when it comes to stories, all of us are children: wide-eyed and eager to listen. 

Tell me . . .

"Anne went to Bath . . . "

Years ago when we were doing our masters in Literature, we had a professor who taught us fiction and drama. He was quite good in his knowledge of the subject but was a funny man with an equally funny diction. Once while doing the novel, "Persuasion" by Jane Austen there were these lines which was uttered by him in the most funniest way:

The lines are:

"Anne went to Bath
Wentworth followed her
They had their own ups and downs"

Now to a common English speaking person, the above lines will not seem funny but the boys in our class completely misread the lines. I hope you get what I mean. The place Bath was mistaken to be a place for bathing. And the way our professor rendered these lines made it equally unforgettable. He would start:

Ann went to Baaaaath (looks up and smiles for two seconds)
Weeentworth foollowed her (smiles again with all the teeth shown)
They haaaaad their oooown upssssss and downssssss (smiles for an extra few seconds) and our boys start giggling thinking that Ann and Wentworth had a 'bath' together.

Now this was a couple of years ago. In the beginning of this month after Belfast, I had a chance to go to London. In the three days I had in London, the second day was devoted to Bath and Bath Spa -- both lovely places with a quaint yet modern look. I loved walking the streets and thinking of Ann, Wentworth and Jane Austen. I was even saying aloud the above quoted lines much to the amusement of my two friends who accompanied me. It seems such a wonder to visit places you have read in novels and other works of art. It seems like living a page out of a dream. Some of the pictures you see in my side-bar are from Bath.

Yesterday while reading a book (I forget the name now), the writer was talking about spaces and mentions his visit to an old castle which is supposed to have been the place of Hamlet. He wonders about the castle and thinks whether the castle would have been the same if one did not have the knowledge that Hamlet had lived there. True. Just the knowledge that the place belonged to someone whom we have read and taught, makes a great difference. I know I would have enjoyed Bath nevertheless but the memory of my post-graduate days coupled with the information of Jane Austen made the place extra wonderful.

Image courtesy: Internet

Eccentricities and Oddities

The world revels while labeling an individual as 'eccentric,' inasmuch it even raises their value to great heights. A man or woman of extraordinary talent and genius is applauded and a great deal is given to their oddities. The common things done by all and sundry is not worthy at all but the uncommon and stupid things done by great people gets tagged as 'eccentric.'

I have been contemplating on various people who were labeled so and thus their shortcomings and frivolousness is passed. Minds which have given wonderful additions to make our life beautiful were quite often miserable people. Just because they have contributed many useful things, can their folly in some areas be dismissed as 'eccentricity?'

I admire Van Gogh. He shot himself at 37. He was also mad for sometime rather say eccentric. His works are remembered even today but I feel very sad for him. Why did he shoot himself? Was life so much a burden that he did not have the courage to live through it. I'd rather say he was a loser in life. Now this is a different stand for me as I have always defended Van Gogh's action. Not today.

Plath, Sexton -- both noted poets committed suicide. Their poems stay on but why did they die such gruesome deaths? Can one pass them off as 'eccentric' and stop the discussion. No. The man on the street who is homeless and still carries on should be lauded. Having no home is the highest form of violence but still he manages with life. Why not?

Plath had a good family in Ted Hughes and the children. Now don't think that family is everything. However the contribution of family and home in life is tremendous but being alone with pets also is grounding.

Again when it comes to love and other details, some 'great' men/women were pathetic. Jean Paul Sartre, Einstein -- I shall not go into the nitty-grities here. But we just dismiss their failures as 'eccentric' but hound certain others for the same mistakes. How unfair is this? Maybe there are scientific theories to prove that a genius mind is eccentric.

Maybe I did not make much sense in this post. This is a thinking-out-aloud process that accidentally became a post. Inspite of all this, if you have come this far as to read this, don't leave without saying something. Looking forward to reading what you feel about this issue of 'eccentricities and oddities.'

Gossip . . .

Only after meeting Dr. Graham McFarlane in Queen's University, Belfast, I realised that no matter how much we raise our brows when we hear the word 'gossip,' we all do it eventually. Dr. McFarlane's doctoral research was on gossip. What a nice topic to research upon!!

Everyone irrespective of age and class, gossip. Perhaps the only exceptions are children who are quite innocent to do so. Gossip is not harmful or negative; talking about a person in their absence is gossip. We do it all the time. Earlier I always associated gossip-mongers with people who have lots of time on themselves and so idle talk their time away but NO. A stray remark about someone's hairdo or harmless talk about the food-habits of X is also gossip. 

I remember as kids, we would be fascinated when my aunts and uncles would gather together after dinner and start talking about our relatives and friends. For them it was just an exchange of information (of course with their two bits to it) but technically they were gossiping.

I think the majority of the human race would be quite incomplete without their daily dosage of gossip. One must remember that gossip requires a dash of creativity and thus is prone to a bit of exaggeration. Gossip also should be distinguished from rumours and  back-biting, both which have negative connotations. 


Research reveals that gossip is healthy as it fulfills the need for talking out what is within us; Many conversations comprise of 15% gossip. But what makes talking about others interesting? I have not conducted any research but from my own experience, I can say that there is a certain amount of thrill involved while doing so. If one is talking about someone in the next room, then the whole talk is peppered with side glances to be alert if the person is approaching. And believe me, this involves a lot of multi-tasking: Soft tones, not referring to the person by name, being alert and so on.


Many social anthropologists have conducted many researches on this topic and they are quite interesting to read. One worthwhile observation is many people when charged with gossip bluntly deny the fact claiming that they are quite busy to be gossiping but incidentally the truth is something else. Every individual gossips. 


So did you hear . . .


Photo courtesy: Internet

Perceived preceptions

I must say that the title is a bit exaggerated. This post is about the many perceptions people have about India. Traveling first time to a place outside of India, I managed to become target of some perceived perceptions about India.


One: Do you guys have Facebook? Do you know what I mean by Facebook, the social . . . 
Well, Facebook is not something great and it is certainly not every one should be part of but imagining that India would not have heard of Facebook is preposterous.

Two: Do you know Beatles, and the others?
Well, George Harrison was so bugged with life there that he chose to visit India and took refuge in an ashram while also learning to jam with Pandit Ravishankar. Now, will not India have heard about the Beatles. But there are people who do not know about the Beatles but then that's okay. We need not know about things outside of India without knowing the things surrounding us locally!

Three: Have you heard of Starbucks, McDonald's and Subway joints?
As if globalisation spared us! India welcomes all these joints with open arms and after a while has even developed its own version of the big Mac! So much so . . .

Now this has to be the most famous one:
Four: Do snakes always slither in the streets?
Yes and they are so many that they could actually be sleeping next to you while you are out on a holiday in one of the many National reserve forests.

I very well understand that every country has an image of itself. But sometimes these images are quite jaded and lost in time. The India of yore is not the present one. The last thirty years have been quite influenced by change. Many companies setting up shop in India and the spreading tentacles of education has tremendously changed her left, right and centre. In fact, India is often seen as a potential market for many industries and is no longer referred to as 'third-world' as it used to be known as before.

Its time people read a bit about India before making naive comments and silly remarks.

Redundant

When meeting many new people and being fed with information, one realises that being redundant in expression is unconscious: A few involuntary standard responses from me:

Wow!!

That's amazing!!!

It's the same in India!!

Really? How interesting.

Splendid!

How lovely!!!

Hmmmm

Okay

Yes

Yes

Oh, I don't believe this!

Ah!

A rich history!

How similar!!

Wow!!

Nice!!

Wonderful!!

Bored already? I did an analysis of my expressions and arrived at this post. Another experience of a foreigner!

Performing the 'home'

Today while UK is gearing up for it's historic elections and the results becoming quite hard to predict, three students from Chennai in India performed 'home' by cooking food with spices and condiments just the way it was done back home.

We had heard many people referring to the Asian market which was 'somewhere' behind Queen's University but we had never been there. Today after a post-graduate seminar, we decided to go and take a look. Wonder of wonders!!! We found coriander, green-chillies, pickles and an assortment of stuff like it is in India. But the shop was owned by Chinese. We were like excited kids exploring the shelves and exclaiming: 'Hey, look, there is this and there is that!' I even began smelling things and taking in the familiar aromas much to the bemusement of the fellow-shoppers.

Hmmm. We bought to our heart's content and decided the menu: beef fry, sambar, rice, appalam and pickle. Since we were three, we split the dishes amongst us and started the grand performance. We reveled in the parts and played our roles to the T. Adding spices just like it was done at home.

When the smells wafted, we almost cried: 'Doesn't it smell just like home?'

The dinner was lovely. Our performance was complete. We were perfect.

Now we are students again. The performance is over. Home is a memory. When we burped, we thought of our 'performance' but not the home.

What is home then? A performance? Sometimes.

Tuning into the details

Whilst in a new country, it is quite easy to get involved in the big picture often missing out intricasies. Like today I observed that my foot usually has shades of two colours; wherever the footwear covers, it is the original colour whereas the uncovered places of the foot are darkened by the sun. This colouration has disappeared in Belfast. My foot is even coloured and nice to behold.

There are not many crows here whereas in India there is an abundance of noisy crows that make their presence felt. In Belfast when one opens the windows, there are sometimes magpies but most of the times, there are no birds in the vicinity which is rare in India. Gradually I have adjusted to seeing magpies instead of crows.

The sugar in Belfast is not as sweet as that in India. I always get stared at by people as I empty five-to-six sachets of sugar into my tea or coffee. Even that seems inadequate!!! Moreover no one here prefers sugar in their teas and coffees. India also has another synonym here: Sweet!

Quietness is spread like a shroud. The nosiy, vibrant and resplendent view in India is quite strong in comparison to the low profile and calm Belfast.

I have seen that almost everything I see or experience is compared to India. Now it has almost become a habit to compare. I don't know whether this is done by everyone who visits new places.

Deliberations of bathing in a foreign place

Now this has to be my favourite rendition when asked about the experiences in Belfast: Bathing! Funny how insignificant things cause much thoughts and fondness for the bathrooms at home in India. In India bathrooms are given importance in such a way that the space is large, there are taps, buckets and mugs. One not only bathes but also washes and dances in the bathrooms in India.

Alas! nothing of that sort can be done here. There is a wee shower which is the only source of water and so I either turn it on or shut it. I cannot collect some water and keep it so that I can have the pleasure of pouring out water. No buckets!!! No taps!!! I guess everyone here turns on the shower and finish their baths while we in India store the water and slowly take our time. I like showers but not too fond of them as I cannot experience water in it's full force through the shower.

Now the space: the bathrooms here have such small areas for bathing that everytime I turn, I hit myself against the wall. Everytime I want to bend, I am restricted. The soap often falls and it's irritating to bend and pick it up as in the process, I dash against the wall. Hmmmm.

Now another question that is often targeted at me is: Are you home-sick? Well, I am not completely home-sick but in parts such as being Indian bathroom-sick (now this has to be my coinage).

You will know more about my fetish for water and bathing in "Ah! The pleasure of water sliding down the skin."

So far so good!

Kinship through the past

Whilst visiting The Troubles section in the Ulster museum, Tanya asked me: "Do you still feel pain when you think that once you were not free?" It was an unexpected question that I have never thought about before. Today all of a sudden while watching a movie in Queen's Film Theatre (QFT), this question flashed in my mind.

Well I answered Tanya that, we were born when our country was free so I don't much feel anything but at the same time I cannot but think of our past status when the word UK is mentioned. No offense here but collective memory is something that remains. I hope you will understand this.

Tanya also shared with me about her family members' experiences during the Trouble times and we both agreed that it did not affect us much as it did to the older generation.

The movie I saw today was the 1966 released 'The Battle of Algiers.' It was an old black and white film but it did move me. The quest for being free and the ability to breathe freely in one's own country was depicted with a liberal dosage of violence and emotions.

I was left thinking how it would have been to be living in a country that was not free. Even though it would not affected me overtly, the question always leaves me a wee bit stifled. Does it really matter? Does it make a difference?

When the camera stops and the mind struggles . . .

I often wondered whether the creativity of an individual behaves differently when in  a strange place. I am afraid that it is often so as one is bombarded with an avalanche of images and newer sights that everything becomes a potential object for writing about later. Having been in Belfast for ten days now, I find so many aspects of culture, images and sounds that marvel me that I either want to capture them all in my camera or write about them.

But there comes a point when consciously the mind shuts up and forces one to be still and take in the sheer beauty of the new environs. Yesterday we visited two museums back to back - The Ulster museum and the Lisburn Linen museum. I wanted to take many pictures as I was desperate to freeze the memories but after a point, I could not continue doing that. I stopped clicking like a frantic tourist. I was not a tourist anyway. I just went around quietly taking in the information doled to us. I was quite impressed by the way these museums keep the past alive!

Like the camera, the mind also wants to register so many things. Everyone we meet has something to say about their place, it's culture, music, pubs, heritage, etc. that after a point I find myself struggling to retain the information that is so lovingly passed on to me. I nod and nod and finally give up remembering.

Does that happen to you as well when a lot of information has been passed on to you.

So far so good.

Sucked into the willing suspension of disbelief

I love Coleridge for the expression "willing suspension of disbelief!" Whenever I watch a movie and get engrossed with it, I turn into the characters. Especially when the character is an individual who fascinates me, I become her/him for a few minutes of film-viewing. Now this is getting a bit complex. Let me explain. I don't behave or try to act like them in my everyday-life; rather I put myself in their place. I wonder what I would have done if  . . .

Sometimes when serious decisions are to be taken by the character, I start my journey. What would I have done when situations like walking away or remaining behind confront me. Watching The Three Colours Trilogy by Krzysztof Kieślowski, I associated myself with all the women characters in the three films!!! According to my personality I arrive at a certain decision AND if the character takes the same decision as me, I allow myself to extend my imagination: Perhaps the director knew someone like me. Maybe his love interest had certain traits like that of me. Hmmmm.

The saner part of me sometimes fails to keep an aesthetic distance from the film that I am watching. Certain characters are etched in such a way by the directors that the individual is a bundle of contradictions. Such characters interest me as I try to mentally speak to the character and try analysing their problems with them.

Another way in which I tend to get into the film is when certain minutes seem like a deja vu.Pieces of my life always find places in the films I watch and think about later. The thinking and analysing sometimes goes on for days together.

It's a shade of my personality to allow myself to be sucked into the willing suspension of disbelief!!!  Maybe  the movies I see are ones which fall into the 'realism' mode  which reflects on the existential meanderings of life and individuals.

Image courtesy: Internet

A beauty so touching that you sob

Traveling by bus today afternoon, I was pleasantly surprised when my friend from Rishi Valley called me and asked me to read a column called Footloose in the Sunday Magazine of The Hindu. Footloose talks about places that are tucked away into the city where not many wander off in their ‘tourist’ expedition. The particular column my friend asked me to read was about how the writer sobs every time she sees a place that is “remarkably stunning” (using her own words).

Cut to 2006:

Location: Tungnath, Located at an altitude of 3,680 m (12,073.5 ft), Uttarakhand

Some of us from the school where I was working at that time decided to go on a trip to the Himalaya. We were quite overjoyed at the thought of this trip. My friend, her daughter and I were a bit slow to climb the Tungnath peak. The others had managed to climb very fast (at least faster than us). My friend and I were slowly trudging along the path. As we went higher, it was difficult to breathe and the way became slippery as it began snowing. During the journey, at times, when we looked around there was no one. It was quite dreary and lonesome. We were very bitter but kept encouraging one another. As we were nearing the place, we saw crows. Sign of life finally. When we saw crows, we understood that there were humans nearby. My friend’s mobile ticked with life as she received a message. So long it was dead! After a grueling hike, we finally reached the top to view the temple of Shiva. Ah! What joy! A temple between white sheets of snow.

Both of us started sobbing.

Sobbing as if a dam had broken lose.

It was the sob which contained a million emotional outbursts – the beauty of the place which completely bowled us over, the sign of the temple finally after a very long hike, seeing snow for the first time in our life and the joy of having made it finally.

It was so perfect that both of us realized exactly what was going on in each other’s mind. We allowed the tears to flow till it stopped on its own accord. It didn’t for a very long time.

When some women say that great sex makes them cry, is this they are referring to? A spiritual experience where all the senses are satisfied.

These tears are rare and valuable as it is caused when one is moved completely from the within.

I am glad my friend called and reminded me of that experience.

Do you have instances as these when you have sobbed involuntarily without stopping. Do share them with me . . .

Anxieties of a research scholar

Today my neighbours left to their native place with packed bags and smiley faces. Years ago, it was the same with our family. Come summer, we would finish all our exams, throw away the books and leave to our grandma's place.

Now all that has changed.

Being a research scholar, I have no holidays and as icing on the cake, I am a full-time scholar. This leaves me with the situation of every day being a working day and/or every day being a holiday. When people ask me about my weekend plans, I have to tell them with a straight face: I don't differentiate between a week day and a weekend. That gives no room for further conversation. Period.

I also face the peril of working at odd hours of the day and sometimes it so happens that people around me don't ever understand my inability to help with chores around the house. This stifles me.

The beginning of the research  is all rosy with dreams of having a Dr. in front of your name but as the time goes on, a vague feeling about the meaning of the whole 'research' slowly seeps the insides which leave me with a sense of restiveness.

Now about blogging: Everyone feels that I waste time by writing meaningless words in something called a 'blog' when I ought to be writing my thesis. Expletives have to be stopped.

I would like to quote my blogger friend's expression about being in the last leg of the thesis-writing:

Just hang on that last mile - which is the most difficult! But I do promise that the moment you submit it, you'll feel such relief. It's like being pregnant - that last month is so cumbersome and u just want it to be over, but the minute it's over, there is great joy and relief.
that's at least what I've been through.
I have really funny stories from my last month of "thesising" - I threw out my dad from my my apartment, managed to have one of my worst fights with my partner over what kind of vegetables to put in the salad, was grouchy and snappy at everyone who came my way, I mean I had MURDER in my eyes. During the last week, when all I lacked was a few touch ups, the introduction and the abstract, I almost gave up on the whole thing, saying "who needs this degree anyway?!" and I just wanted to crawl inside a seashell and stay there. The last night was spent on proofreading - and of course I didn't sleep and went to University to print it - walking like a zombie, but I MADE IT.
After that - I had a lot of apologizing to do and was lucky that everyone forgave me...
I wish you have an easy "birth"!!! 

 Her words are so quite true.

And finally everyone you meet ask the most prized question: "So when are to going to submit your thesis?" As if a thesis is another application form to be filled and submitted. This is quite irritating as people ask this question whenever they meet me. Sometimes I face this question almost every day in a week.

On a lighter vein, I am going to attempt a book on the dynamics of thesis-writing and handling people when I complete my thesis. Anyone volunteering to be the second author of the book with me? I shall be more than glad.

Signed by
Frustrated Research Scholar
xoxox

Possession

What are your immediate thoughts on seeing this picture? Well, for me its not a very pleasant sight to behold. Graffiti is something which has been in our culture since long. But the graffiti that held its place in history made  political or revolutionary statements that made the general public to think and act (certain times). But as time passed by, graffiti has been reduced to scribbling one's names or just scrawling a heart with two names written.

This kind of crude writing of names just to pass away precious time is quite annoying. We can find this kind of scribbling everywhere - museums, railway stations and in some cases even in buildings which are are given the heritage status by the government.

What is the psychology behind this kind of behaviour. This is seen mainly observed in school and college students who tend to carve their names in trees, walls, rocks, banners and many other places which seem a nice place to etch their names. Solidarity in having a gang, lover and impressive mobile numbers make the students to scribble their names in walls which are clean and just painted. Why? The urge to possess and own a particular place in the wall gives them a rush of adrenaline and excitement. Every year the government spends big money to preserve many of its historical monuments from vandalism without any effect from the public who love to deface clean walls and rocks.

The word 'quiz' which was also born from graffiti is one example which stands apart. I know that many people who scribble on walls do not know about the word 'quiz' or any revolutions that were born out of graffiti. All that they know is that they have time and means to etch their names for posterity (or so they think) much to the annoyance of people who love to see clean walls.

"I think graffiti writing is a way of defining what our generation is like. Excuse the French, we're not a bunch of p---- artists. Traditionally artists have been considered soft and mellow people, a little bit kooky. Maybe we're a little bit more like pirates that way. We defend our territory, whatever space we steal to paint on, we defend it fiercely."

—Sandra "Lady Pink" Fabara (Source: Wikipedia)

  
So what is your take on Graffiti dear reader?

Creator albeit a mortal one

Adding up spices and condiments, imagining the end result and titillating the senses with smells is the wonderful art of cooking. Today after a gap of a short period, I ventured to prepare a chutney for dinner. Just making sure the ingredients are just the right quantity, salt and chilly powder not sprinkled in excess and the flame not too high or low, makes one feel like a creator -- A creator of fine food. My friend who enjoys cooking always remarks: Cooking is the only art where the creator is able to partake as well as enjoy the results at the same given time. It is a communion where the process is present continuous. 

Not everyone has mastered this art. It is but a gift to the ones who are willing to let go and lose themselves in the dish they are going to prepare and serve. Long ago I read a story which touched me: A mother always kept a jar and while the dishes were close to getting done, she opened the jar and sprinkled the ingredients to the pot on the stove. After her death, the children were curious to see what was inside that box. It had an old crumpled paper which read "TLC" and back of the paper were the words: Tender loving care. The creator knows that without TLC the creations are but a worthless bauble.

The end result was delicious. The creator relished as well as the others. Probably I was a bit romantic in describing the art of cooking and conjuring a nice dish. There are days when I just cannot lend myself completely to cooking and during those times the creator part does not fascinate me. After all one cannot be a creator always, isn't it?

Picture courtesy: Internet