Life back to what it has to be

Life has been busy these days. 'No time' became a cliched phrase. I am revolving in a mundane daily routine. Going to office, coming back home, watching TV, playing online games, eating, sleeping, all in that order of priority. In between these, are 24 hours, family members, dearest friends, smiling kids, noisy teenagers, pleasant places, tasty food and many more. But I chose to ignore them. I have been doing this from the past 3 years. Well, I am stoned enough not to get bored for few more years, I realized that only recently. Realization about both getting stoned and bored. 

I made a trip recently to my grandma's place, a village with 500 houses all in all, those including migrated and those still remained at their roots. I have experienced the unusual the second I stepped into the village. The good unusual. I was hit by a cool gust of breeze the moment I entered this nature-friendly zone. I perked my head out of the window to greedily breathe the fresh air as much as I can, forgetting that I have 2 more weeks here. There were never-ending crop fields on both sides of the muddy road. I landed in a place I mostly imagined (when read in books), sometimes seen (as shown in movies), but never been.

My grandma's house had a homely and welcoming feel. Every step and corner of the home made me comfortable. The untiled floor never bothered my pedicured feet, the huge pillars at the entrance formed the artifacts, the smoke from clay stoves din't burn my otherwise sensitive eyes, the lavishly big door-less rooms din't intrude my privacy. Instead, two big green fish formations at the entrance became my pets, the corners of the huge pillars helped me create a new game, round-and-round. There is a huge front-garden with vegetable plants and there was always a unique, different smell around us; a mix of stray animals wandering around, empty strip of land across the road and of familiar love. 

I would walk barefoot on the fields, eat in earthenware squatting on floor, take long walks, spend good time with myself. In short, I did what I never get to do in my city life. I simply carried clothes, novels, a dairy and my phone for this one month trip. My phone couldn't get signals in this remote area and hence there was no internet, no facebook, no online chatting or browsing. I surprisingly realized, I am not missing any of them or my usual life. In fact, I found here something that went missing from my life few years ago. 

In my alone time I tried to figure out the reasons for my 'mundane routine'. There seems to be more than one. The most important being - "I am surrounded here by humans, not machines". Humans who talk, laugh, touch, interact with me about trivial issues. They were not my family, friends, colleagues or neighbors. They were all noones and the topics we spoke about were nothings. My busy life reciprocated before my eyes. I counted the number of number of people I meet in my day. My family, neighbors, watchman, lift operator, kids going to school, bus driver- helper duo, co-passengers in the bus, office janitors, house-keeping staff, scores of employees, team mates and the same set of people on the way back. And machines include alarm, electronic shower, hair-styler, mobile phone, toaster, smokeless stove, refrigerator, A/C, ipod, tablet, laptop, data card, TV, remote, mood lights across the house. The list including both the useful and useless machines only grew and grew. And so did my understanding. 

I carried my realization back home with me, now content and happy. I replaced the lights in my home with plants, reduced the usage of electronics as much as I can, never brought work back home at any cost, enjoyed every curl in my hair, bought a clay stove and earthenware for actual home-made food. And to humans, I gave my time, love, ears and a smile. Found a way towards my happy life. 

Unblocking the block - The Writing Prompt Boot Camp

Every writer faces several kinds of problems during his/her career. Sometimes the creativity goes missing, other times there is not a single topic to write about. I, being at the very initial stage of my writing career and without even reaching the shallowest depth of its nitigrities, am already facing hindrances. The technical term for this is "Writers Block". 

My goal like everyone else's goal, just doesn't crave for and stop at the destination. It is not just succeeding as a writer or writing a novel. It is about the journey; the journey which teaches me, strengthens me, enhances my skills, shows me the beauty of learning and ultimately makes my goal worth reaching. I would like to explore the various genres of writing and switch from one another as comfortably as possible. My muse in writings remains to lie in the descriptions whether surroundings, situations or characters. I give descriptions more significance than the story. A story runs slow and a description runs long. Descriptions intensify the story. They all by themselves create a subconscious space in your minds to support the story. 

Aiming at all these dreams, I have joined certain 'Writing Communities'. As a part of the Boot Camp, I am supposed to write random articles on the topics or 'prompts' assigned to me. These communities whisper to my e-mail the prompts, just like how a friend whispered me an answer while I stammered in front of the whole class and just like how my father prompted me the reasons made up on the spur of the moment when I am caught red-handed.

These prompts intend to awake the fictional ideas lazing in the background of my head. All the articles written with the help of these 'writing prompts' are assigned under the label "Writing Prompt". 

P.S: I am trying to keep the fiction as natural as possible, avoiding the melodrama. Sometimes you may find the story not happening in India or rather not written from an Indian perspective, kindly concentrate only the content because it helps improve mine as well as yours. 

Shaping the world!!

'Shaping the world' is a collection of essays written by women writers across the country. It gives an insight into their heads revealing the Sorcerer's secrets of how they cook their stories. The book intends to help the aspiring beginners to take a closer look at writing not just as an ambition, but as a process. For those all who had already set their foot into it, the anthology gives a wider perspective about genres, methodologies, etc. But to me, this book from the shelf simply winked and said, "Go ahead, write your essay for this book."

Writing has been quite influential on me, influential to the extent of making me quit my job. Through my jolly days of college, I never bothered to think about writing as a career. By the time I realized, I already had a degree in one hand and a job in another. It was quite a generous balance, apparently. The reality hit me later, but it was too little, too late to react. As a software engineer, I trickily persuaded my heart coding too is a kind of writing. Turned out my heart was not as blind as I.

My interest in writing started during my graduation days. A cousin's idea that directed me to start a blog. The number of page visits was the unsolicited admiration for my work. And it is said, "A person who feel appreciated will do more than what is expected" not for no reason. So, I wrote. But after a few posts, I ran out of topics. A bitter truth stabbed me hard, that I can write about something only if I deeply feel about it. I accepted it was just a fad.

On a boring college morning, a sudden epiphany dawned on me; it was not writing that I like the most in my life, but it was the English language. Came the passion back! I was not an avid reader when I was a kid; but the only interesting daily chore for me was to read newspaper. From my childhood I had considered only 'The Hindu' as a newspaper and rest others a huge heap of words, software-made sentences and smelly folds of prints. May be the idea of reading was ingrained into me by my dad, but now at this complete sensible age I still stick to it. And so, delving into my roots helped me surface from the problem.

Though I love writing, I cannot write 24X7; so when I am not writing, I would be reading. Many times I wonder, would I ever start writing if I waited for my reading to complete? My reading would never end, line after line is read, call after call is ignored, request after request for help is not encouraged, days after days pass, novels after novels go on. And now, I am in a situation where I cannot survive a day without reading, writing or learning new words.

And when it comes to my Writing, there are no inklings or planned timings, it’s a sudden urge. This sentence may nudge you about something else, but not for me, at least not yet. There is an alarm inside me that pokes me until I reach for a pen and paper. It makes me irritable, speed-up my all other tasks, leave for a silent place and scribble. In dire situations like being in someone's company or lack of paper, a smart phone comes in handy. And if nothing is available for my rescue, a saggy unenthusiastic face pops up. 

The intention of sharing my writer background story is to show there are always glitches everywhere. Face, fix and move on. Things appear just as a fad; but only when they are either overdone or underdone. Balance your writing needs with other desires.

Click for reference

The One that got away - Part 2

What had happened earlier..

Surfacing myself from the dreamy nightmare, stabilizing my stilettos on the checkered floor, I called for a cab. We din't say our goodbyes, not this time or anytime before. At that moment I knew how exactly did Holly from PS, I love you felt. I was counselling myself, take a deep breath, expand your lips, give thoughts a break, close your ears and importantly, take help if necessary. I asked the cab driver to switch on the radio, 'The one that got away' by Katy Perry started playing. Here I am, back to square one. 

I closed my eyes. Scenes from my life were appearing like screenshots of memories flashing one after the other, our days together, long drives, no time for anyone else, always on cloud nine, few sacrifices, some differences, flood of gifts, here and there arguments, slamming of doors, short-lived reconciliations, again gifts, troubling possessiveness, many misunderstandings, ignoring of calls, busy days, giving time a chance to occupy the distance between us, signing a BFF agreement, promising to wish on special occasions, and today the accidental meeting.  

The span of 3 years expressed in a single sentence is a dry gist of: all kinds of emotions, my reactions to these emotions, its' effects on others, their patience in helping me, the strength needed to cope up with it, the gradually approaching positive energy and a better Me. Yet another para of illustration and it is still a dry gist. Any number of pages can only diminish the options to explain, but can never express it in life-like manner. It is like a shallow river; everyone would judge it as easily reachable, but only few can make it to the other end. Same way, only few who'd visited the island of unloved understood this.

We din't technically break up. This is what we felt about our separation, 'This parting will help us make this relationship better than what it was. We will smile at each other. We promised we are going to be in contact forever. We let the world free to judge and assume. It is an answer to the elders, a question to the youngsters, a slap on the apparent sacrosanct climaxes of Indian movies. Our relationship is not like a flower to bloom and wither. Its like a season, long and lasting, often changing and yet never ending. We din't dump each other neither did the fate decide this; we chose this next step of our lives. Fate's plan was to entwine us together, but we changed it. We proved the world that two best friends can be lovers and lovers can take a step back to being friends too.' 

With a jerk of the cab, I came back to reality. I reached my home, forgetting the party I was supposed to join. I did all the stuff that young women in movies do when they think of 'the one that got away'. After 3 hours of self-depraving, my eyes fell on the newspaper. As I opened it, a small soft toy fell into my lap. My eyes widened as a smile crossed my face I read the message addressed to me, "Time to replace old memories. You deserve much than what you have now. Happy Valentine's Day. Go, check your bus ticket". Grabbing my bag, I emptied it completely to find the crumpled ticket in a corner. It said, "Concentrate on your passion. That's the love of your life. Happy Valentine's Day. Diva, check your office mail". My eyes fell on the non-red packages spread on the table. I opened each one of them, the first two turned out business-related. The third package was bulky than others, I sprang to my feet when I saw my favorite novel tucked in velvet lying in it. The next one contained a 'Admission Card' to a course I was planning to take. Another, had a letter. It ended with, "We are waiting!!" 

I was out on the road within no time!!

The One that got away - Part 1

Like all other days I woke up to my alarm, but instead of thanking God I was cursing my boss for yesterday's new project. As I crawled out of my bed, I realized my day has started off with the thought of the wrong person. I brushed my teeth still wondering why my boss had made me the supervisor of that project.

It was perfect, I smiled, looking in the mirror at the room behind me! Oh, it's such a relief to see everything properly assorted as per their need and size, transforming the modest apartment into a spacious room. And then I suddenly found it; a toy bunny hanging on the wall behind me. It was gifted by my ex-boyfriend. Period. 

I hurriedly rushed out of the house for my office and threw the newspaper at the doorstep, inside. It took me more effort than usual to throw it in, least bothered I moved on. It was on the way to office that I realized it was Valentine's Day. The enthusiastic din on the roads and red hues everywhere gave me the hint. I took out my cell phone to wish my girlfriends. Oops, messages and calls have already poured in. Replying to them, I got into my bus. The familiar bus conductor chuckled and gave me a ticket, I tucked it into my wallet. 

At office, everyone seemed as usual, expect for a few happy faces. The mailman approached me wishing and handed a few letters addressed to me. None were in red. Indifferently, I moved to my desk. I was invited for a party at a friend's place. It is a party for the happy people both single and committed, who either felt destined to be a couple or blessed to be single. But for us friends, Valentine’s Day was just another reason to meet. Or maybe my friends wanted to shower some love on me; especially today when love is everywhere else except around me.

I was almost the last member to leave the office, as everyone had their plans for the V-Day. I started directly for the party since I was dressed presentably, both for the office and also for the party. I was glad that I finally put to use the make-up kit that was lay in my bag for eons. My friend’s place was only a few streets across my office, so I decided to take a walk. It was a bright evening.

When I was just a street away from my destination, I came across a familiar face. It was of my ex-boyfriend. Ex would be the last person a girl would want to bump into on Valentine’s Day. Everything around me came to a stop;  for a moment I didn't understand what was going on. He was the first to see me, to gain his conscience and to greet. I knew he felt exactly what I've felt. The only difference is that he recovered, well at least, before me. We exchanged pleasantries, not like exes with compassion or friends in love or colleagues with grudge. There was nothing like it to describe or compare, so was our relationship.  

We talked. Well, he talked and all I did was simply nodding, faking smile, carelessly shrugging my shoulders and yet grasping every word even in that dizzy situation. While he was talking, my eyes were wide open trying to catch every hint or speck of a hint he was wanting me to know. After few minutes he realized there was nothing more to talk, which I gathered the second we broke up. It was not the lack of topics, but an acknowledgement that any further talk can take us and the time, back to when we were together. I was searching frantically for a reason to confront my heart and move along, but I ended up smiling as there was no need for a reason; either to smile or to walk away. I should have popped off that very moment before the volley of negative inklings hit me. Answering my uneasiness, a gold-plated silver ring on his ring finger said a hello and the next second my eyes zoomed in on the bunch of red roses in his hand. 

Turning away, I called for a cab.

Mary Kom - The Trailer

The much awaited trailer of Mary Kom was officially released today. True to its brief description on Youtube, Powerful is the only word that comes to mind. Being a feminist and a fan of both Mary Kom and PC, I would obviously like the trailer much more than how much Salman Khan fans loved the entire movie of "Bodyguard" and its always-in-my-nightmares climax. 

The video starts off with Mary Kom getting knocked off in the ring, as she is falling she takes a trip down the memory lane. And I am sure that she rises back to her feet with a striking blow, says not me but the visibly promising young Mary. It is delight to see a female athlete enter into a men's arena without the need to pretend or disguise. In the trailer, Mary says at a point to her male friend, "Don't worry, tum mere sath safe hai" and another time "Mere hath ka khake deko". As a fan, I loved the way Priyanka Chopra delivered both the dialogs and as a woman, I loved the chirpiness and truth in these dialogs. 

In the video, Mary Kom corrected her father's pronunciation, like all other girls. Few tease, few teach, few explain, few laugh at their dads, but what matters is that they are daughters. During the course of the trailer, she marries and later becomes a mother. As it is said, "Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great". Likewise, her absence from boxing for a few years only ignited the passion in her. As a mother she emerges out with much more energy and strength, it is this part of promo which gives you goosebumps.

Like Indian government which honors most of the Indian heroes posthumously, it seemed until a few years ago that Bollywood also was inclined towards the same thought. But well, the trend is changing for better. Coming to my expectations from the movie, what I am waiting to see is the climax of the movie, how would it end? May be by winning many more medals, reaching to No. 1 position in the sport or to emerge as a role model for women in the country or may be change the stereotype of Brain Vs Brawn to Brain + Brawn. 

What knocked off my socks is the background song that fades in the aura of Priyanka Chopra. Of all the adjectives used until now to define a dil/heart, like bacha, deewana, pagal, cheez, badtameez, I liked ziddi. It gives me a hope. I would undoubtedly call mine as one.

Breaking up with the writer's block!

Dear Writer's Block,

I think we need to talk. Its not you, its me. I have to move on, I am stuck just as you are, Block. I decided to talk to you face to face about this, but as a writer I can express better in writing and also it helps me shoo you away. There have been days in my life when you not even existed, those short happy productive days. But with you, the days are long enough to make me sleepy, the nights only caused a migraine, the thoughts were shallow and the confidence nil. With you, it is like an end to my uninitiated writing career.   

I may not write all day every day, but I do write. Earlier, I was confident that I could write about anything, crisp or elaborate, fiction or non-fiction, well or worse, sane or Bollywood movie scripts, promote or criticize. But now, the best I could do is write a long Facebook status. I hardly remember the last post on my blog. Yes, I do have a blog, which you are not aware of or may be you are. You are that clingy sticky stain exactly the opposite of the Surf-Excel stain. 

I would be never feel lonely even when I am single, because my thoughts are always with me, because they understand me and I understand them. You were censoring my thoughts leaving nothing sensible to scribble on a paper. Yet with all the patience and peace, I would reach for a pen and paper only to scratch it across. Few days later, I stopped even attempts to write. 

And I can go on and on about the issues I have faced when you were around. The longer this post the better will be my break-up with you. So, here it is Good Bye, Mr.Block! 

For the Love of Writing, don't come back into my life again!!

Maths – My Love

Mathematics, lovingly and shortly called Maths. It is an all-time expanding as well as shrinking ocean of miracles. Expands our knowledge and shrinks our obscurity to the concepts. It is constant and variable at the same time. A constant nightmare and a randomly varying subject of interest, but only to few. For many, maths appears to be an abyss from which digits fizz out, aiming straight ‘only’ at them. And to many more, numbers seem like colonies of ants, hindering their peace of mind. But to me, they appear like freshly made Act II popcorn. 

Some love, some loathe, some ignore, some fear, some teach, some learn, some unlearn. But I, I only savor it, in spite of it being called a masculine ability. While few dread even at the thought of maths, I see it everywhere around me. These days, digits compete very closely with mobile phones and personal computers, for topping the list of things that are used by humans always or very often.  But digits are the winners because the latter two themselves depend on digits. 

The logic of 1+1=3 was universally accepted by even by the ardent math-lovers. Logically wrong but emotionally right. This process of  creating something new takes a span of 9 months. There after the newly-born tiny heart, beats around 130-160 times per minute and the number of beats gradually reduces as the age increases and at some particular point of time it nullifies.  Life begins and ends with math.

My daily routine after I wake up is to walk to my balcony and count the number of  little flowers that blossomed last night. And the last thing I do before I sleep is to count the number of buds that are ready to bloom the next day, but not the flowers that have fallen down. My day begins and ends with Math.

We divide our grief, multiply our happiness, add color to other’s life, subtract the darkness inside us to derive the sunlight, which travels with a speed of 186,000 miles a second. Every life around the world all time needs numbers and the magic they make.

I end this post by adding a song from the movie, “School of Rock”. This song is the conversation between the students and teacher, wherein the teacher adopts the musical way of teaching.

Math is a wonderful thing,
Math is a really cool thing,
So get off your ath, lets do some math,
Math, Math, Math, Math, Math!!

Seasons' Lessons

Seasons were changing without any notice and I was too busy to realize these changes. Winter was depressing while the summer was sultry. Then came the monsoon irritating not just me, but the whole Hyderabad. And autumn always gives the rest my tired body needs after all these season swings.

But today the weather is quite different. It has been like this since a week. Brumous in the mornings and breezy in the evenings. I have always been a fan of such revitalizing days. They bring out the best in me without many or any efforts. Today is one such day or rather one such evening or more precisely one such hour. From the time I started from my office through the journey to my home, I experienced the most calmest and relaxed period since a very long time.  

My office is located on a high-end area in the city. Five-storied, beige colored, equipped with centralized-AC  and tightly sealed off with mostly walls and here and there a few windows, creating a totally different and artificial environment. So, when in office I am not aware of either climactic changes or terrorist attacks going on outside. When I stepped out of the my office I was welcomed by dusky clouds and gentle winds. It was a potpourri of seasons served in the bowl called today.

I walked towards the road gelling with the nature's glee and dancing in the tune we created within minutes of our meeting. We have met earlier too, that happened quite often then, but now I am a grown up. Well, that's a whole different story. Then came this day when I felt like I am back into my past by a few years.

I felt a new energy flowing in my veins, I smiled at the security who ogles at me. Suddenly, everything settled in its own place, everything had a solution. I alone was enough to make things happen. I felt I could do many novels just this one evening, both reading and writing. My mind was running with ideas and thoughts unlimited. I found them hard to hold, difficult to note, but mandatory to quote.  

I suddenly remembered those days when I used to spend evenings alone on the terrace of my building, looking the sky change it colors, deciding which adjectives to use to describe them justifying exactly to its beauty. I dint know back then I had a flair for writing, but I did know that I love nature. The flair was discovered and developed, while my love was lost and forgotten. 

I was myself smiling at absolutely nothing and next second I notice I see others smiling at me too. Life reflects life. The rain washed away my tensions. The breeze swayed away my problems. The trees gave me the shade which none offered and the sky gave me the hope which the saints never preached.

There are lessons that mentors can't teach, problems that family can't solve, gaps that friends can't fill, situations that fate can't change, may be they are not even familiar with the existence of all these lessons, problems, gaps, situations. But only one supreme power is aware and has the might to do change them - You and You alone.