I Am....

                      While surrounded by the big heads
                      I am greeted with the words; 
                      Handsome, academic, genius, glorious.
                      The words are like sunshine
                      Wherein I disappear like a drop of water in the sand;
                      Absorbed, fleeting, invisible, gone, lost.
                      My head is like a small basket,
                      From which extra items fall.
                      From sand, I fly up as a moisture
                      To sit on a geranium,
                      For a small head to see and smile,
                      And yet not understand.


                                

Three Journeys to YQ.

                   

Serendipity awaited me the day  I stumbled on to Your Quote's FB page.

I have been using the app since the last few months but not being very active on Social Media, I did not connect to the YQ's page till then.

The day I searched for it, I found registrations open for its first women only open mic, Bengaluru, on Women's International Day(8/3/19)

My ego jumped at the idea of performing. The past accolades for my public speaking and the very fact that the presence of a captive audience brings the best in me like a pinch of salt in a dish;  made me yearn for a mic. But, the six months old writer within held my hand, patted my shoulder and asked me to cool down.

"You do not have to give a speech but throw your work out there for people to speculate it and you as well.", Said the voice. I agreed and then contemplated on: to go or not to go.

 The dilemma about the opportunity eventually turned out to be a choice to take an unknown journey or not: the junction on which life brings us several times. At this end was the comfort zone accepting admirations from a handful of people  and on the other end lied an unknown territory which could be an adventure if I go prepared with an open heart or a disaster if I fumbled and feared.

I went on with the registration and made up my mind to perform in Your Quote open mic. And yes...I was nervous like never before! The nervousness of the first day of the school..or many days for a school hater like me; nervousness of the first day of an interview; knowing yet not knowing what to expect and any other agitation that you can relate to. I was peeved at this alien feeling and in a bid to overcome it, started planning for the D-day.

                   The badge from Your Quote has found a place
                   in my study.

I chose a humorous piece to present(Make Paanipuri not Politics), contemplated the logistics of reaching the venue and improvised on my work I intended to share.

The whole process; which I reckoned as a journey was, in reality, three important journeys I was about to take.

Physical journey: It is a movement from one place to the other. No doubt the participation was going to be a significant internal shift but the fact that I had to travel to a few kms in Bangalore in the evening was no less a joke. I started plumbing the distance between my house and the YQ headquarters through Google maps. Twenty km.!! and travel time 2hrs and 28 minutes! 

The commuting hours made me think that after all, in Bangalore the best solution to beat the traffic and consequent side effects, is to consider renting a room near the destination a day before, buy groceries, cook and when the time came easily stroll to the venue? The safest thing to do rather than braving this traffic.

However, I estimated the time required to reach and the time I would have to book the taxi and, before that keep my clothes and stuffs ready and, before that be ready with my performance!

Inner Journey: YQ opportunity lead me towards self-exploration. I started evaluating the upcoming challenge of performance against my growth so far as a writer. This self-research gives joy and unveils new facets of the self which, if paid attention can provide an extra dimension to the personality.

I had been reading the writers from YQ and watched a few performance videos as well. To gauge ourselves against the challenge is not for self-criticism or comparison but to discover the best aspect of that we wish to develop to become our better selves than yesterday.

Creative Journey: once my inner exploration was done for the occasion, another critical thing required was to walk again on the creative path to see if I discover new ideas and inspiration on the way.

I re-read and re-performed my work unless some feeling rang true in my mind and heart that said, "this is fine!" I discovered more imagination and innovation while creatively speculating my work.

Be it accomplishing a task or holding an event no matter how small or big:

the above three journeys would offer a series of clues to pick, work on and move towards your goal in the most desired manner.

Needless to say that I reached the venue before time, met people from age 19 to 50. Met people of different age with a shared interest in writing.

The team of YQ offered a welcoming ambiance and a willingness to listen.

The energy was infectious, and the work of very talented girls and ladies touched, shook and, inspired the new writer within me.

I did my part, and the encouragement, claps, and laughter told me that my journey was full filled. Every mission, after all, has some goals to achieve or problems to be solved. My goal was met as well. I left with more motivation to write!

अब कहाँ

                      अब कहाँ बरामदे में हल्की  सी धूप, कोयल की कूक,
                      और हवा में  पत्तों का सरसराना ।

                      अब कहाँ आँगन का फ़र्श, प्यार भरी थपकी का स्पर्श ,
                      और कपास की रज़ाई में मुँह दबा के सो जाना ।

                      अब कहाँ वो पास पड़ोस, वो त्योहार का जमावड़ा,
                      और आपस में मिलकर बड़ी, पापड़ , अचार बनाना ।

                      अब कहाँ हाथ का सिला थैला, दोपहर में  क़ुल्फ़ी का ठेला,
                      और मोहल्ले के दोस्त को ज़ोर से आवाज़ लगाना।

                     अब कहाँ माँ के हाथों की रोटी, पापा की टोका- टोकी
                     और रात को सबका साथ बैठ खाना खाना।

                      अब तो दौलत है सुविधा है आराम देह घर हैं,
                      बड़े बड़े घरों में छोटे gettogether हैं ।

                      रेस्ट्रॉंट का बफ़े है और मल्टीप्लेक्स हैं,
                      सबको एक दूसरे से सूपीरीऑरिटी कॉम्प्लेक्स है ।

                     नए और बेहतर के लिए पुराना छोड़ देते हैं ,
                     ज़्यादा आराम पाने को, खाना पीना छोड़ देते हैं,
                     और वीकेंड पे लेने के लिए चैन की दो साँस,
                     हम पूरा हफ़्ता जीना छोड़ देते हैं।
                      

From My Journal

Journal writing has been a very therapeutic, and satisfying practice for me over the years. Once you put down an event, emotion or internal monologue on the paper, it relieves you of the mental noise and gives you a sorted perspective of a situation or the self. I have regularly been writing since 2015, and a flip through of the pages of my diary gives me an account of my creative growth over the years.

The idea of keeping a diary appealed to me since childhood. It was the time when nobody wrote either in family, friends or neighborhood nor we were exposed to the sitcoms of teenagers where they are shown to jot down their life in fancy diaries and slipping it under the pillow or inside the wardrobe or any such novels and stories depicting the same.

"Who writes a diary?", I once asked my father when I was ten years old, and he said, "anybody can write. You can also write in a diary." "But what do people write in it?", I asked again.

Papa said, "Anything which you feel is important or interesting to you, can be written down."

My father then encouraged me to write about the first rose which had bloomed in our plant and about which I looked very excited. I debuted with a short write up on "My First Rose Plant" and used that diary well for the next two years. After twenty plus years that notebook is still with my mother with a label of my name and class.

Those worn out pages have not only endured all these years but also my poems, trivia on health and sports which I loved to collect, "Quotes" my love then & now, and the record of the events which my brother and I used to hold along with our friends. We were a creative lot, and in the absence of interruptions from satellite channels and the internet, we relied more on our ideas and creativity. We had formed a "Nehru Club" and held: fancy dress competition, singing and dancing competition, and the likes amongst us. My old diary has preserved all those innocent undertakings and my childhood!

Here is a poem from that old diary composed by ten year old me. I have never shared it with anyone till date. Now my wisdom to look at my follies and accept them has rendered me enough courage to release it from the closed pages and young age shyness:

     I saw a black bird in the season of spring,
    She was looking black and sang beautifully.
   I wanted to catch her; but she was very alert
When I went her nearby; She flew up in the sky!
               

After a few years as I grew up, I grew out of the habit of writing. I was happy to jot down some quotes or poems here and there randomly. The random writings continued till 2015.

Somehow, I picked up my habit again never to give it up.

                                 

                                                           My daily journaling.....!

Also, please don't confuse journaling with a dull habit of scribbling down everything under the sun about the day. There are many types of diary writing about which I intend to discuss through blogs or videos.

Thank you, Papa, for encouraging me to write and for a million other things which have helped me in self-discovery.

For now, here I am sharing some realizations which have been boiled in contemplation and laced with words:

Solitude not Loneliness (30/11/2018)
Solitude is that one friend who is there since we open our eyes for the first time. It is a faithful companion who if trusted sits with a mirror to show you your true nature, your longings, and purpose. If it was not for this pal one could get easily misled by the people and get lost in the crowd looking like one of them.

Solitude prepares us for the world and gives the courage to face it ingeniously and also provides assurance to be there, where we can go back to reclaim our portion of the soul which might get polluted in this crazy world.

Relations will come and go, but solitude ensures a presence for a lifetime in the best possible way. Preserve your solitude; for it does not polish your ego but polishes your wisdom to see if ego is right or wrong.

On Expectations (1/12/2019)
Expectation is like a double-edged sword in your heart. It pierces your heart, penetrating deep into the other person too, to whom you approach along with it. Some way or the other we install it inside us on the life's path. Wise is the person who does not fall into the temptation of using it. As this sword of expectation continues to sit silently it eventually loses its power and purpose leaving behind a space between two people which allows not the wounds but love to grow.

                                             

                                                 "Vintage Style Journals" ,made by me!

Please share with me your experiences and thoughts about journaling. I wish to know how others do it.Also would love to hear if you would relish blogs or vlogs on journaling. 
(I have been planning to do this for some four years from now.)
   
                                                          Thank You!

Make 'Paanipuri' not 'Politics'

While glistening malls and showrooms are reserved for few; the paanipuri wala managing to stand outside such magnamanus buildings in a cramped corner serve as honeypots attracting a motley group of people.

The crowd around the golgappa  comprises of not only girls and women, but it has made fans to boys and our uncles too.

I am such a haunter of this place. Many times a month I get a call from the crispy, light balls and its spicy and tangy accompaniments and I sincerely attend to it. The excitement that holds standing  in front of the “Bhaiya”; waiting for him  to drop that little morceau of joy in your bowl; is akin to that of watching the examiner in examination hall walking towards you with the question paper: only the latter does not promise a happy ending as the former.

Once the golgappa goes into the mouth, it bursts out sending all the tastebuds into Zumba. And this sequence continues until the “bhaiya” interrupts by informing, “That was all for Rs.10..”

I have tried this  Indian fast food in different cities and have my favorites in each of them. In Patna, I once decided to take my friend along to such a frequented corner . The Paanipooriwala looked at me and immediately remarked, “You came a day before yesterday also. Isn’t it?
The recognition summarized my loyalty for the "phuchkas" and sent me to an immediate feeling of self-pride which I quietly absorbed giving out a broad smile.

I never forget this Indian fast food in happiness, in routine, in health and even in uneasiness of occasional acidity. I proudly mentioned to my mother once that how everytime I feel acidic I munch on golgappas which eventually makes me feel better. To this, my mother reminded that “paani” of the puri is one of the healthiest things which we have forgotten. It is a digestive made of cumin, black salt, tamarind, coriander, and mint. The concoction is something if consumed after a meal during summers would cool down the digestive system. A few days later after this revelation by my mother, I watched a video of a dietician stressing upon benefits of this “jaljeera water.” My love for this fast food matured into respect as like most other Indian food items it is humble, gratifying and comes with health benefits.

I admire the hard work by the panipuri walas. They stand whole day to sell out the food item, and I often calculate to find that it is for much less profit. They cater to different moods and preferences of people quickly making desired changes in the masala and the water as per the likings: making it a little sweet or spicy ; serving it on a plate, some want without water, some want it slow and all this while keeping the count of the golgappa he is serving.…Some of the sellers do not own the standees and work on commission. On looking closely, one would find that they don’t seem thrilled while making others so and a little compliment here and there would do no harm in making them as happy to sell as we are to eat.

                                                             
A few years back while I lived in Bhopal; there was a time when the craze for mineral water was at its peak, and every other person took pride in mentioning the popular water purifier they had bought. This frenzy made people skeptical about the street food and yes the water they used. Water being the soul of the golgappas was targeted the most.

In new Bhopal, I soon found this snack was made out of mineral water, stored in jars.

The seller would fill each crispy ball with a small outlet from the jars and neatly placed them on the plate. On seeing paanipuri facing the threat of extinction, my heart revolted; I felt like standing on a podium and reprimand them for fiddling with the basics of paanipuri! “Have they forgotten their roots? what has happened to this generation?" I wondered! Paani puri has to be served with hands, dipping every single piece in the earthen pot filled with the tangy, digestive water. With bhaiyas wearing plastic gloves take care of the hygienic part and there is nothing one should think beyond!

Apart from the taste, I look at it with pride for being healthy, and as I mentioned in the beginning; welcoming people from different walks of life.  In a way, the Paanipuri corners are serving the cause of the constiution: welcoming all with no differentiation. You would never find people circling the golgappa wala in a lousy mood or indulging in any sort of argument.
                                                               
In Bangalore, I have my favorite place just down my apartment .Once, while waiting with a bowl to receive my share of golgappa I looked up at a banner of a political party hung on the electric pole trying to divide voters by language and started an internal monologue against them when my spell was broken:  "Chennagide?", asked the panipuriwala from North in impeccable Kannada to his customer. "Achcha, bohot achcha" replied the man with a smile.

I once again felt pride for my country coexisting with diverse language and culture and felt assured that as long as we keep our sanity and love for this street food intact: nobody can divide us . This cramped corner will keep bringing people together.

Our country definitely needs more paanipuriwala than politicians!

Picture Courtesy : Youtube.com and quickmagindia blog