The Chatty Hamour

Prasad was entering his boss's office to fetch the keys of Yaris. Naina, his 9'0 clock student had already alighted from the drop van and was waiting for him. Today was her seventh class.

Thirteen more classes left for her test. If she managed to get twelve ticks on the incomprehensible Arabic sheet on her test day, Naina could have her driving licence in hand. She had driven ten years in India. She had driven a Maruti and later a Hyundai car holding a valid Indian driving licence. What an irony, here she was re-learning from scratch how to drive in this new country. Yaris was a bigger car, but she did not find any difference when she drove the first time. However, the excitement she had a decade ago had waned.

She had always wanted to drive her father's fiat in her teens. But her father had strictly instructed their driver never to pass the keys to her. She sulked, cajoled her father and even bribed the driver. But Naina's tricks did not move a single facial muscle of her Dad nor changed the constant smile of Ramsingh. Mom never had a say in these matters.

Naina's husband, Pradeep had himself never driven a car. Hence when he enrolled for driving lessons, he suggested that she too join. Pradeep had planned to buy a car once they both acquired their driving licences. Naina was on top of the world. Her first lesson at the Singh driving school in Hyderabad. She had woken up early, all raring to go. She got her slot a week later than her husband. Her aim was to impress her parents with her driving skills. They were visiting her after a fortnight. She even imagined how far her Dad's jaw would drop, if she picked them from the station and drove them home. The very thought gave her a thrill. She paid complete attention to her driver's instructions. Her over enthusiasm pushed her to cover three classes on some days. She was confidently driving on roads with her trainer monitoring her.
Two more days left for her parents to come. She still had to learn reverse parking. But she decided to give it amiss. She wanted to go car shopping with her husband. Pradeep's insistence on not to do so fell on deaf ears. She argued that she was already reverse parking their scooter and so could easily reverse park their old car.

A loud burp broke her thought. Prasad longed for a different tea burp. The tea at the small shop in the driving academy had tasted the same last three years. The fragrance of jasmine flowers and the tinkling of bangles was also missing. Sunita was fond of glass bangles and flowers. He could not afford to buy jasmine flowers everyday. He was a poor fisherman and she a maid. In the small shanty hut, she planted few jasmine plants gifted by her master's wife. 

He handed her the keys and was about to reach for the small tobacco powder pouch in his pant pocket, when Naina from inside the car was signaling him to come along. She was raring to go on the road. Today would be her first day out on the roads. Prasad quickly placed the tobacco powder in his lower jaw and was relishing the taste. Naina started the car and was easily gliding it on the roads. Prasad seated in the front, was still lingering on his wife Sunita's thoughts and her swollen belly. He still had to save enough to see his tiny face. Famine few years before had forced him to move away from her and join here as a driver in a teaching school. He was lucky for in leisure time in his village was driving his friend's old Ambassador and that earned him this job. He had never had any official driving lessons and yet he was earning  a livelihood out of it now. 

Today, it was a day of a new cuisine for Naina on the road. He regaled how he taught his wife, cleaning and cooking fish. In seven lessons, Prasad  had taught at least 10/12 varieties of fish preparations to Naina. Two for the price of one. From the moment he entered the car, he would start chatting and the entire conversation would be about fish and not driving.

But today's lesson she really wanted to focus and not repeat past blunder. She remembered how she drove Pradeep on the lanes on Hyderabad, seeing the sparkle in his eyes when she drove easily. They had gone for a movie and ended it with a lovely trip to a Chinese restaurant. She checked the time, it was getting  10 at night when they were entering their apartment block. The over confident Naina, having impressed her husband with her driving skills, confidently reversed to park in their slot. "Thud", came a loud noise, She had banged the car on the pole while reversing it. The new car had a dent, the car's backlight cracked open. Naina had a shock, she thought she could reverse easily, how foolish of her in judging that a four wheeler and two wheeler had similar reverse parking methods. She looked at Pradeep. He grinned and enquired how many days she had learnt reverse parking. She gave a sheepish grin. She still had to learn to impress her parents, Dad in particular.

This time, she carefully practiced her reverse parking properly. Finally the day came and she passed her driving test. Elated, she went to thank Prasad and offered him some extra tip for his driving lessons,  for she had two courses for the price of one.  She would miss his verbal cooking lessons. She had learnt names of varieties of fish, hamour, sea bass etc., though she would never cook them. She was climbing the steps of the van to return back. Prasad shouted "Madam, please try all the recipes" Naina, nodded and a smile escaped her lips. She was a vegetarian. 

SENSES

 Month of March began with an excitement to furnish our house which meant continuous trips to shopping malls in Doha, visits  I dislike. I have always detested shopping. However, enthusiasm to fill the company provided accommodation with possessions; that would give me momentary happiness, filled my days for some time. Each object parked in my house provided me immense satisfaction, whenever I step into my house. I can't resist admiring them. A tiny speck of dust activates me to reach for the cleaning cloth.  Smell of new furniture in the house affirmed my settlement in this new place. Sipping my green tea, enjoying the feel of new texture adorning my apartment, I would appreciate the unknown craftsmen, who toiled hard to create these pieces.

My adrenalin rush had not even settled down, when senses having had their brim started producing uncomfortable noises. The very eyes, which till yesterday were busy appreciating the interior beauty started watering. Nose choked with dust and sand blowing outside refused to perform it's primary function. My mouth gasping for breath was forced to open itself at all times. The parched tongue developed a metallic taste swallowing white pills and gulping queer syrups. The sore throat sent shrill vibrations in the room tiring me completely. Exhausted with internal aches, my body slumped one day onto the new grey and black sofa. Sedatives numbed me and my sensory organs failed to differentiate between day and night. I was sleeping through most part of day and night. Whenever I woke up, I found myself lying on the couch. I had become a part of the living room, an extension of the new furniture and I abhorred the feeling.

A fortnight later, once my senses resumed their normal functioning, fingers which enjoyed the rough texture of the sofa material now were aching to do work. Eyes started longing for change of scenario and pining for some natural colours. The diaphragm extending it's thoracic region was craving for pleasing odours. 

Cont..

I found this decade old incomplete writing of my own, not yet posted. It captures my emotions felt then. I read it with mixed feelings and chose to conclude it by filling it up with present sensations.  Absolutely clueless  on what I meant by pleasing odours, I will continue my scribbling assuming, I flipped a new page in my life. 

Most  perceptions have changed. Work  fills entire day. My eyes scan and my senses seem happy with some incomplete and some routine assignments . A seismic shift in my approach towards existence. My daily regime keeps me engaged in an eclectic mix of both bodily and cerebral tasks, with an invisible margin segregating week from weekend. My body and mind do not seem perturbed by it and that's a good feeling, more so during the current, global pandemic, which has kind of put a indefinite pause in my life along with the entire mankind. 

An year ago, gratification of sublunary senses have made most of us clog airports to fly to exotic of locales, splurge in extravagant apparel and accessories.  In the last decade, weekends had acquired a new definition. Binging at food courts, trying unheard of cuisines at malls which being the most frequented tourist spot.  Every bit of it captured by anorexic phones to be displayed in crowded social networking sites possible for admiration. Human senses deriving an dopamine high with every like and comment. 

What a paradox, the Covid virus seems to have a fascination for these  very senses with it's  mundane names such as eyes, nose, mouth etc. Senses having befriended the no more alien virus  allow it to nest in our lungs and brain causing irreparable damage. The fatigued senses preferring the lethal virus to the never ending outdoor visits and  uploaded selfies of past.

It's been more than a year, with the virus spilling and spreading into first quarter of 2021. Perhaps our senses even now need its repose to gear itself for some more decades of  exploitation, or do they prefer to be claimed by death lurking in neighbouring alleys?

PATIENCE

 It's been half an hour since I tried to switch on my laptop, but today it decided to test my patience. It froze like the last few pieces of  ice cubes stuck on the ice tray.  However, some aspects were in my favour today. The weather outside and inside are very pleasant,  the view outside my window  absolutely refreshing with swaying trees full of clusters of pink flowers luring me to give them  undivided attention. 

Today is the start of the month of Ramadan and my husband came back home by midday. He is seated on the chair opposite me working on his laptop finishing pending office work.  My daughter is lying on the adjacent sofa enjoying her short lunch break. My indoor weather would not have been so beautiful had  they not been here with me. 

This day is also the Telugu new year's day, Ugadi. I had decided in the morning to wear a new saree, cook some traditional delicacies to bring some festive cheer amidst the looming pandemic gloom. Any positive habit if initiated on a new year's day tends to be more long lasting. This is an age old  belief that runs in India. And I have been deliberating over for some days to make writing a daily habit. What better time than after the afternoon siesta. Nevertheless, my laptop still seems in her afternoon catnap zone, declining to wake up despite my persistence to reboot it again and again.

 I sat down today determined to write about my innate thoughts on issues which have been visiting and filling my empty mind, since years, sometimes even doubting whether its all right  to bare myself in my blog or do I worry that I will be judged if I write about every notion in my head. Yet here I am having got an unexpected opportunity to practice patience, another positive trait, I need to work on. Sitting inside the confines of my dining hall, I watch the pink flowers outside growing in bunches at the end of each delicate stem, looking  absolutely rapturous. They seem to be swaying south responding to the call of the lovely breeze.

Eventually, my laptop turned on, having tested me for quite sometime and so here I am scribbling on my just found ability to be patient. Thirty minutes just flew by, without me fidgeting or itching to get up and do something. Was it the indoor and outdoor weather, or the lovely floral view or am I well rested? This half hour of wait is a gentle reminder from now on to learn to loose the decade old tag  'impatient'. That word has often been used by my family, since childhood and I am wholeheartedly  responsible for it. I have  exhibited all signs of irritation or impatience in most situations which caused me the slightest of discomfort. 

Not to be preachy and sound abrupt, but yeah would I still be able to maintain my composure for half an hour if it was hot and sultry, or if I was tired or hungry? I will have more occasions to try it out, but for the moment, I have something to smile about.

FASCINATION OF USAGE

 Language has a strange way of hooking one's interest. I really found it interesting how words gains emphasis when used in the right place. For example, yesterday's Hard Talk programme of Stephen with the economist Ken, where Ken pointed out the marked difference between " similarity of patterns of behaviour' and parallels in behaviour, as parallels never meet. So if one's behaviour is akin to other person, the apt usage would be similarity in the patterns of behaviour, which is fascinating. 

Similarly, the expressions, 'Middle East' and " Far east", were coined by the Brits for their convenience. The Egyptian author had explained this in  her interview, which I found very fascinating.  Egypt is located in the Middle East and India in the Far East as for someone who is in England.

Likewise, the book I am currently reading" Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway' has some expressions and anecdotes which stick to the readers mind, one of them being theme of  death in the opening stories. Death in various forms is spanning across various countries such as Cuba, France, Spain. The subsequent chapters are depressing in terms of theme, yet it is fascinating how pain is presented in an elevated sense with the words such as good and nice.  Especially the expression loosely as I remember  'death might have gone to other alleys and then switching saying that the character feels its presence' is a nice way of humanising death, which is actually so juxtaposed to its very nature. In contrast,  the in depth detailing about nature, landscapes. transports the reader to  the setting.

I am also reminded of the 80 year old Canadian author who made a comment in an interview about herself and her book, that  one need not be the centre of every conversation of others and that everyone has a right to say what they feel is right to them. It is easily said than done as accepting every comment  in today's age where everyone is keen to put themselves in the limelight through photos, pictures clicked of places, sceneries, food, dresses  etc. 

OVERACTIVE

 Till I was made aware, it never even stuck me that being on the move gives me immense pleasure, be it my exercises, my cooking, mu other household chores.

And so I struggle to plonk myself at one place or do activities which require my attention. It kind of makes me restless and I feel my attention span reducing minute by minute. No wonder my body pains have increased over time as  have really pushed them beyond their capacity. I do not listen  to my body, like right now, I feel fatigue in my legs and yet I walked for  15 minutes in the afternoon.

Another thing I observed like today afternoon, when I get too tired, I get bored easily. I watched three episodes of the programme, "The final table", yet I was feeling kind of guilty, because I did not iron clothes like yesterday and my body did not feel like doing. I fact I did not feel like blogging. But I wasn't feeling sleepy. I mentally did not feel like doing anything. 

Now this is the contradiction I have in my head, am I feeling lazy or have I pushed myself, or is it all right to do just lie like that and watch programme endlessly. I did not feel like reading a book or arranging cupboard. People say long lonely walks are a good time to reflect thoughts. But with my exercise in the morning, I am not able to do walks. Sitting idle doing nothing, I feel restless. 

So what should I do to relax? Let me start by writing down what I feel write now. I feel tired, yawny, and enjoying the outdoor air with soft Hindi music and my husband by my side , I feel nice. Am I thinking too hard how to relax?

I am jumping my thoughts. Why are my muscles in the feet aching? Am I over thinking about them? Why do I worry that if I post, I will be like an open book? Why do I need other's validation? Or why do I wait for another's validation? 

 How do I rate my day? Why do I think that I always have to keep doing something? Even when my mind is empty, I keep telling myself that I have done this and this till now or I imagine myself telling someone that my usual day is this.

Where did I get this habit? Is it the reason that I am constantly comparing myself with others, friends, cousins, parents, in-laws that I am also doing something. Is it the reason for my guilt, constantly bugging me? 

Is it the reason my mind struggles to be quiet? Let me try for tomorrow not to justify or even think and just go with the flow of the day. And why also I have this sudden fear or everything? Unnecessary fears, which never have turned out true in the past. I need to use diffusion technique more often. That's it for now, adios amigos....

The HYPOCRITE

I feel, I have always been a hypocrite. Always lived life to impress others, even today I rush at the very first instance to impress everyone around me.  Even if it's my husband, if he gets up early, the moment my eyes open, I rush to make tea. For once its a stark reminder that I need to take care of myself and labelling is such a strong term which slowly gets ingrained in our minds.

I will slow down, assess take time out for myself as to why week after week, the calf muscle pain is increasing. Is it really due to me ignoring my body signals? Let me not be a hypocrite with myself anymore.

As regards the shoulder pain, the chiropractor said that my shoulders are just dangling without any strength. Should I look for an exercise to strengthen in addition to  existing shoulder exercises? Or should I continue these and accept that they are here to stay and not attach myself to the thought. That will be my first level of hypocrisy gone.

Secondly, I have to accept that I am looking for perfection at every nook and corner, and that I need to ignore it. Similarly at that time, I also need to not let myself affected by people's perception of my life.

The other crucial aspect is in true sense erasing the word constant comparison, which is a stress creator. It  has and is undermining my life. So tomorrow when I practice diffusion exercise, I will think of this scenario. Also, its ok if I have not sent the greetings or responded. I was tired, accept it.(SELF TALK)

Another quality is  not to allow one person to dominate my  thoughts and give undue space in my head. Let them post whatever they want, let me move on. These thoughts are self harming in nature. 'You need not be the centre of every conversation. In fact its better like that, because then you will be revealing less about yourself'. Absolutely well said, So listen more and listen attentively.

To conclude, l need to listen not only to others, but to myself and my body too. Every signal is a cue and so let me not allow the cues to pile up. Guess, that's it for now...

THE SINGLE RED SOCK

Even the very thought of writing this topic is increasing my heart palpitations. I had actually written couple of lines, then realised there is no point naming people in power or countries, for the mindless violence inflicted on civilians displayed on news everyday seems to be a constant feature with most nations.

The terms genocide, bloodbath usually was synonymous with Hitler for a very long time, but today if I look around, I am falling short of fingers on my hand and toes on my feet, of the number of people in power today who do not blink an eye in perpetrating violence on innocent civilians in their own country. 

My scattered, incongruous mind, the mere mention of falling short of fingers and toes reminds me of my childhood at home, when doing Mathematics, if I couldn't do additions or subtractions with fingers, I would use my toes if the numbers were double digit numbers. The habit carried itself accidentally at school also, where my red socks' covered toes in black shoes substituted as digits in Mathematics class. The very thought transports me back in time as memories of my school, small town where I grew come flooding and bring a smile on my face. 

Strange are the ways of the human mind, here I have sat down intending  to write about a thought which has been wearing me down from long, yet here, I have travelled back to a happy memory of childhood. Maybe my mind is incapacitated to handle the mention of gruesome killings all around in the name of power and prefers to embalm with soothing childhood memories which smoothen out the wrinkles of  bereavement.

But, what about the pain of those innocent children in those countries  caught in  the crossfire? They do not have a enjoyable childhood to clothe their sufferings. Day after day their tiny eyes are an innocent witness to the unending hostilities.

Nonetheless, my school's red sock always had a match even when sweaty or soaked, washed or dried, folded neatly in the cupboard or worn by me. But how many children in those war torn nations, or in nations suffering from inflictions  have only a single sock left? The other blood red sock hopelessly lies buried under the debris  bearing a shrapnel wound, the missing toes eager to perform calculations.