Lazy days

Have always wanted to do something extra at work. While working in administration, I wished to work with the English department because the staff and students seemed to have so much fun. I mean, it must be fun, reading books and writing for a living, right ? I really wished I could volunteer as a writer or a teacher of English but unfortunately I don’t have the qualifications and my regular work at the same university prevents me from volunteering in another department.

Anyway, two days back, a member of the English department sent me an email asking if I could lead a Book Club for this year for just four weeks. Reading a book with those who wanted to read along. You know how it goes.

And the first thought that comes to my mind is – OMG! How am I going to get out of this ? Can you believe it ? This is like what I have wanted ever since I joined the university and when I get the chance, I don’t want to take it up.

Finally I told them, I could substitute if one of the regular leaders didn’t come for a session and effectively got out of this responsibility. Sad, don’t you think ?

Cold weather

Even the desert feels the cold. Realized it this year. How much ever you bundle up, the cold gets into your bones. The room heaters we have don’t help too much.

It seems there is a cold, icy front in the Western countries. Even tropical countries are feeling the cold this year. Climate change ?

Green plants hampering beauty of the corridor

She walked by her door. She looked into the door and asked whose was the poster left in the corridor. It was an old abandoned poster, fallen down and to be trashed.

Then she peeped into the room and said, ‘ Are those flower pots yours?”

She said, ” Yes”.

” Well, you can’t keep them there in the corridor. Have you got permission from Building Operations, so put pots there ?”

Of course, she hadn’t. The pots and plants were brought by her to green up the corridor of the building. They helped her go through the tough times she was facing. Her mother’s double cancer and her own loss of a dream found her collapsed in the last year. She nursed the plants as her own.

Sensitive though she was, she was only grateful the place had allowed her to keep plants in the corridor for so long. Green is healing, you know.

There are changes

  • We had a department meeting yesterday.
  • Seems like we have had a merger with the department we used to call ” post award” but was actually ” business administration”.
  • What this implies is that our old friends are back with us again.
  • And their head is our combined head now.
  • Meaning my supervisor does not report direct to the dean like their head but instead reports to the ” post award” head.
  • That is major.
  • And there is a new member going to join our team next month- from our main university.

2019 resolution

I didn’t make any resolution so far for 2019 and now is a good time to remind myself to do so.

My resolution is to :

  1. Speak less.
  2. Give others’ a chance to talk.
  3. And when I talk to talk only sense, at least, what I gauge as sense.Why? Because last year, I hurt others’ with my words. Words are like a sword, they say. What will I do to bring out the words that would feel chained inside ? Why, write more I think. Don’t you agree this is a good resolution ?

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Words without brakes

It is surprising how reading a book inspires one to write. A fountain that was dried up seems to want to send out water again. A tap that ran dry seems to be waiting to be opened up and let flow. Poetry seems to be flowing out. Can there be magic in a pen and can magic transfer from one writer to another ? It would seem so.

When I post, usually I read and re-read and sometimes trash my posts because they have been written over days and the day I am ready to publish, the post does not resonate with my inner muse anymore. Time has changed my outlook on the same issue even though much time has not gone by. Even seconds can change one’s way of looking at the same thing. Writing a post for me is like capturing a moment on a photographic plate, slicing through my life at that point in time. In epidemiology, cross sectional studies are defined as those studies that report events as they are at a particular point of time- such are my usual blog posts. A few days later, the same post does not seem right enough as it did the day it was conceived. Am I driveling ? Perhaps I am. But I continue to write in order not to stop the flow of that muse that has seen drier days and lonelier nights.

The book I picked up at the airport on my way back is my inspiration. ” Second Thoughts” by Navtej Sarna. It is a book which should be a reader’s dream book. A book that speaks of the writer’s travels through the circumstances and sometimes the places where the writers of his choice once lived or wrote. Imagine having the freedom to go to places or sit on site at tables or in rooms where writers once wrote and imagine the thoughts that went into those writer’s minds as they wrote. Writing should be the most honest of crafts for if written as words are born in the mind, it should be a thread that connects the soul of the writer with the soul of the reader. When I began posting I was such a writer. Over years, a veil seems to have clouded my writing, I seem to go back and read over my words and decide certain words must go or some thought removed( often to not offend) and then the post becomes presentable. In the process it becomes far removed from what it should have been. I see now, that my posts in recent days have been dishonest.

I am inspired to look in my library for many of the books written about in ” Second Thoughts”. The book describes the book ” Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Truman Capote,which probably will be the first book I will be looking for. And another book- Landour Days by Ruskin Bond, which I might have read before but am inspired to read again. Seems like Landour Days is like a collection of Bond’s ” Morning Pages”, if such can be, a rambling through his days in Landour, a hill station in the Himalayas. The words the book quotes from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” are the ones that have inspired me to look for the original –

“Never love a wild thing. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get.Until they are strong enough to run into the woods.Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you will end up— If you let yourself love a wild thing. You will end up looking at the sky.”

As a mother who is probably going to lose her treasure to another, these words seem prophetic to me. Is that funny ? Is there even a comparison between a wild thing and a child ? Giving your heart to another living thing until one day that living thing leaves you and you are left looking at emptiness. If what remained was the blue sky, I would take it. If what remained was memories of good times together, I probably don’t want it. Does that mean one should not love to not be left holding the kite strings, once the kite has broken free ? When did I become a mother like this ? When did I change ?

Where do my rambling thoughts take me ? Mothers are funny creatures. They love and love and love, until surprisingly one day, the love seems to be a chain, a burden, a heavy weighted vest, which has to be cast off.

Morning pages

Two weeks of travel and the morning pages routine got into a once in two days routine and then once in three days and then not at all. Travel does that to one. Habits created and carefully cultivated are edged out for new ones or none at all. I am often guilty of the latter.

Perhaps it was better I had kept up the routine. Because for one, it would have helped me keep track of events, at least in my mind and two, it might have helped me cope with the psychological turns I took during this time.

Now what I feared is come up on me. I can’t seem to pick up my pen to write the pages. The spirit is not there any more. I need an ignition.