My Dearest Dadu: Day 4: Sep 06, 2021

 Okay! I missed two days. Sorry sorry! 
Maybe weekends can be a break? :)

I was telling Soumitra about my Dadu (grandfather) and how much I missed him. My father's dad, and the only grandparent I remember. Oh, he was so progressive from what I remember. Atleast with us kids, don't know about the daughters vs daughter's-in-laws. He used to work at the Excise Department of West Bengal, and all of the glasses in their house were courtesy his job. He was a simple and plain man. I really loved him a lot. As the youngest grandkid, I always was someone he indulged in for and loved to get me things I demanded. Of course, it wasn't easy. I was quite annoying and demanding.

But, I really loved him and miss him so much. After so many years I suddenly remembered him and wonder what he must have felt/thought about us. My parents were very respectful towards him (a lot more than I am to them + in-laws). The house they lived in was small and messy. But something about it made me feel so comforted and welcome. The unorganised kitchen, the random bathroom, the strange smell, all of it makes me so nostalgic, even today. My dadu had his lovely table and chair, which was one of his signature things that I loved. He also put up pictures of the whole family in the living room and that was so heartwarming. He never really shared his pain (obviously not with kids), but there was something about him that I feel moulded my dad and made him who he is. Like discussing important family matters with the family! Or gifting everyone things for festivals or when he met us. Simple things that I think a lot of people seem to miss out on nowadays.

At times I have deep regret- of my choices and where life has brought me. I don't know if I am being punished or it's a test. It just feels really sad. Whatever be the case, for now, I will stay with my Dadu in my thoughts and remember my fond times with him and hope that someday I can have the pleasure of being able to relive some of those moments with my parents (very unlikely).

Aging: Day 3: Sep 03, 2021

 Call me self-obsessed, but can't help pen this down.

I took pride that I looked fresh and energetic and it typically reflected on my face. Today, I looked at my pictures and felt really sad. I've begun to look old. All the stress and sadness is showing. It's painful, because I did take pride in this earlier but now it's slipping away. 

I think I'm exhausted and troubled. There so much chaos that's on the inside and on the inside.
I dream of the day when I feel, calm, collected, and energetic again. Of course aging is only natural and I need to accept but I want to do it gracefully.

Showdowns : Day 2: Sep 02, 2021

I'm a huge fan of showdowns. They are like the relief one feels once they have used the washroom after a long road trip!

While uncomfortable, uneasy and at times, painful, showdowns clear the air very well. I feel they are needed every now and then, for that one person to just let it out. I've witnessed many showdowns- some intense, some not so intense, some that lead to change, and some that let things remain the same.

Last night's showdown was good. I felt good. Sounds mean, but at least there was some acknowledgment, communication, and the beginning of the burst of the bubble. Of course it was the kind that led to nothing, but there's hope. More showdowns or more communication- anything would be much appreciated!

Nowadays I just want things to be out in the open. Multiple showdowns will help. At least things will be out. Like my most fav mentor says, over-communication is always better than no communication. In this complex setup that I'm currently in, showdowns are feared, ignored, and brushed under the carpet too. If there is no communication, of course, showdowns will be considered this way. I really hope that someday whenever they happen, they become normal and everyone feels okay to communicate.

6 Years Later...Enjoying the silence: Day 1 , Sep 01, 2021

Gosh, 6 years, and this blog is still alive! Woah!
I'm amazed!


As I accepted Rhea's suggestion to begin this challenge, I knew a part of me didn't want to do it, but a part of me really wanted it too. Maybe this will bring about some much-needed positivity and a shift in my thinking. Sigh.

I am feeling empty and hollow, like I have gotten used to things. I miss my old carefree and energetic self, but I also acknowledge that this is life. This is bound to happen. I am scared, sad, angry, irritable but I am letting it flow. I don't think there's another choice. Trying to make the most of it, is what I need to tell myself. What's giving me a lot of joy is getting things done at home, keeping it easy, focus on what I can do.

I want to thank all the people who are there for me- from the Didi who is my lifesaver-well wisher and partner in crime, folks at work, friends, and all those who keep me in their thoughts. Thank you. While I don't feel like doing anything or talking to anyone. I am honestly enjoying the silence. When there is so much going on the outside, there is definitely a need to quiet down on the inside. I realised that the anger and the pain has turned into silence. I crave it, and I love it. I yearn for it. Part of me is indifferent but I like that. I feel its an important quality to have, so that things get balanced. It is, in some way giving up, but it's also a form of acceptance.

I know that the silence may turn into joy someday, but for now, I want to enjoy all the silence I can get, in whatever way possible.

A Gentle Reminder

Blog: My my, it's been a while since we saw you here.
Me: * eeeeepssss * Sorry?! You know, life and all that.
Blog: It's okie, welcome back. * Hugs*

I'm welcoming myself back to the blog. Feels great to be back to some writing, some blogging and lots of thinking!

Turning a year older last month, made me wonder about oh-so-much in life and it's beauty. It made me appreciate a lot of things, take account and ponder upon priorities, choices, decisions and fate.

This post is a gentle reminder that I need to write more, do and make more and live more.


Blog: Don't run away, you!
Me: Seeeeee you soooon!

How Many Fingers?

My cousin P, once told me that one should have as many good friends as the number of fingers on your hands. For the longest time I laughed over that statement, convincing myself that one day I would have a huge gang of friends and life would be all rosy and a fun road trip (as depicted in trashy Bollywood movies and over-the-top Hollywood chick flicks). I yearned for that so much and to my surprise, in the 25 years of my life, that didn't happen and well I couldn't be happier.

Over the years, I've made some wonderful friends, some who've stayed and some who've drifted apart. A lot of this has got to do with the fact that I've moved a lot and my friends circle was ever changing. But it's a nice, warm fuzzy feeling when you see friends from 'way back then' to still have been in touch. I think if I had to sit and write down the names of friends I've had in the years gone by, I may actually be able to so (accompanied by a long ream of paper).

It's comforting when you know you have friends and you also to know who are your friends. It's nice to go through the process of making new friends, getting to know them better and then knowing whether they really are your friends or not. Friendship is tricky yet simple. It can make or break everything. But it's equally difficult to let go of friends and/or friendship. Deep down inside I still feel really bad when I think of people who I thought were friends but it didn't work out. That hits really hard! Maybe its a phase-of-life thing. It's equally difficult to start making new friends...something I think we have to do all our lives, but guess it has to be done.

Having said that, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have less friends and more fingers, but that certainly works! I'm ever so grateful to the wonderful ones I have now, I've had in the past and those that I will have in the future...looking forward to seeing you.

Cheers!

Someone else mentioned that same belief as cousin P...looks like it works for everyone!

Courage Is

For a long time, I've been asking myself if I were courageous and what it meant to be so. After a lot of introspection I was able to answer myself. At the risk of sounding very preachy...

Courage is playing that tune associated with the wildest of memories. It is facing the dark, when there is enough light around. It is to looking deep within and still be able to look beyond. Courage is in being hopeful and in hoping, it is in enjoying the burnt dinner, in being honest. Courage is wanting to not wanting, in making things matter, in accepting, in laughing, and in admiring. Courage is being yourself.
                                                                           

"Let go, laugh often, and keep peeking around corners;...

...it'll make for interesting anecdotes in the very least."

It is not often that one gets comfort in words. I've always felt that words comfort, but only to a certain extent. It never sounds believable or convincing enough.  To this day I haven't felt as lucky as I did when I read what a former mentor of mine wrote to me recently. 

Every once in while, there comes a time when you feel SO crappy, that you want to bury your head in the ground and never surface. That's what I've been feeling (and doing) for quite a while. But its nice to know that decisions that you make actually may alter things, make a difference and may make life completely different from what was ever imagined (in a good manner). Having someone who not just believes in you but also encourages you is extremely important. 

What's more important is that someone tells you that its ok to do what you want to do. Probably one of the only few persons who said something nice and encouraging when I made certain (current) decisions.

I'm looking forward to peeking around corners the most, atleast I'll have something to write about!

Thank you so much, K!

PS: I'm soon going to start a poster series titled 'Words of Encouragement". Watch this space for more! 

Want to bury my face (in a hat here) and never surface!

And Now That We're Dreamless

As part of my life-is-so-miserable-but-I'm-still-going-to-try series, I have my first entry that opposes the same. Ok, maybe it's the first step towards. In no manner is this post to be taken as whining or complaining or cribbing. It's just me, talking, being realistic.

Ever since I was 13, I had this one goal, this one dream. I have no idea how the seed was plotted in my head, but that became my only aim in life. Even if I didn't express it explicitly, deep down, I sort of knew what I wanted. And I worked towards it, if not giving it all my time and effort, at least some of it did go into that.

Cut to age 22. With hard work, perseverance and with some good luck, the dream did come true. The journey was difficult, something that I questioned at many points, but somehow I didn't give up. It felt good. Sweet. I enjoyed every bit.

Till I turned 25. You see, the dream had now been fulfilled and it was well, practically over.
Needless to say, I had not really imagined the same, the beyond and the after. From 13-25 I had not once thought that there will be a time when I'd have to think of a future, a something. * Wish I had been better prepared* It's equally difficult to explain this to anyone or expect someone to understand. It's something one experiences I guess.

I'm now at this point (and I say it very objectively) where I don't know how to dream or what to dream. It's scary and gives me chills, but I'm hopeful. Something will trigger a goal or a dream soon, and I'm eagerly waiting for it. It's not to say that I didn't enjoy the journey or the dream. Both were lovely. Made me a stronger, better person.

Perhaps its time to get up, smell the coffee and look around.

(As I write this, the song Dream a little dream of me, is playing softly. )

I'd also like to thank the three students who didn't take up the offer and I got the chance. Secretly, the universe does let you get what you want.

MM with a space!

For the longest time I didn't know that there was a space in MM's name.

Perhaps it never came up, in written or in oral form. We've been the craziest and the coolest pair of friends (or so I'd like to believe)  for the past three years and a two figured month . It doesn't take me by surprise as to why though. MM has got to be the kindest and calmest person I've met in quite a while. There's a certain aura around and a very interesting character around MM.

An excellent support system, a horrible critique, a huge risk taker, a constant teaser, easy-to-make-fun-of, madly talented,  the most humble person I've ever met, and not to forget one who can always be trusted. We've seen each other through the good, the bad, the ugly and the crazy and secretly we know that we're there for each other.

We're both big on experiences, learnings and mope about things! Whilst there is no one special story and experience I can remember with MM but there's a bagful of memories that I'd actually like to keep boxed up, safe and tight, so whenever I tug at it, there's a lot to smile about. (Ok, there's one...saving that for another post)

So while you wonder why I didn't know there was a space in MM's name, its only because it never mattered and thats what true friendship is all about.

Thank you MM.

And Now That We've All Grown Up...

When recent conversation with a friend about 'milk drinking' came up, there was a sudden smile that crept on my face. And suddenly I was taken back to the milk-drinking days!

You see, I've hated milk all my life, atleast of whatever I've lived/remember.

Somehow, milk never brought any joy to my and D's face. Never. We were forced to drink it. And D like the good kid, always did. I'd make a face, try and escape it, make faces like I'm going to vomit, I'm choking, like the milk was bad. It never worked. M knew me really well.

There was this one time, when I distinctly remember grinning ear to ear one morning before heading to school, crossing M and announcing that I'd finished the milk. I'm sure M was trying to figure out what was really the matter. My face would never light up when I drank milk. Or even otherwise (I was/am a super sulky kid) The next morning, I tiptoed towards the kitchen with that milk cup and ....... caught me pouring milk down the kitchen drain!! Oh! The look on my face is probably etched in M's memory! What followed was a moral lecture and that did work, I never wasted milk, or food for that matter.

We were clever though, I mean, if we couldn't throw it, ofcourse we could leave it behind on the breakfast table stating the fact that we were getting late and the school bus would leave us and we'll have to ask M to drop us.... D and I did it once (teamwork fist bump), M figured that this was a trick.
So one day, when we tried it and ran to catch the bus, M put her game face on and made the bhaiya stop the bus, as it was leaving the colony premises, present it to us on the tray,  and had us drink the milk, while all the other children cheered for us. Needless to say, M was the hero and this was a story that went down in family history. Guests till date are entertained with this story. But ofcourse, we ensured that we left home drinking milk after that eventful (and embarrassing) day.

The day I finished my last of school, the one when you give the last exam, scream out loud that school was over and you'd grown up, was the day I drank my last cup/glass of milk. I mean, I was almost- in college, and milk, was for kids anyway. Pretty sure that I'll never forget that day. Ofcourse I do drink milk now in the odd forms of milkshakes, with cornflakes and as a remedy to a sore throat, but that  association of milk has gone. Now we're mature milk drinkers.

Or so I tell myself that. Uggh milk!

Note: Just yesterday, I decided to start drinking milk on a regular basis (as an adult), so as to not look at future weak bones. I bought myself an exclusive milk only cup...lets see when that comes of use :) 

June4toAug4

Accept.
Be.
Cook.
Cry.
Draw.
Dance.
Design.
Laugh.
Learn.
Let Go.
Love.
Read.
Talk.
Travel.
Sing.
Smile.
Write.

Summer Be Nicer, Please? Pretty Please?

Hi there Summer,

You know me. Ofcourse I whine. Thats something I do very very well, if not the best!

I'm stuck. Struggling stuck. What a horrible combination at that! Summer, you and I get along fine, muggy and wee bit troublesome at times but fine. The past two Summers of my life have been pretty decent, better than this one, for sure!

Have I failed? Should I be thinking about it already? Wherever I look, something feels wrong. Is it bad timing? Is it meant to be? Will I ever see light? Its only in the worst times that your best comes out. I'm waiting. Patiently.

Feels like there is nothing to look forward to, and nothing to look back at. Absolutely nothing. Never felt so empty and helpless. Tell me its a phase. Come on, make way for some real happiness.

Waiting to get out of it.

With love and lots of hope.
Me

The Dally Fraand

A typical way of pronouncing 'friend' in North India is to say 'fraand' and a lot of time its used rather cheekily. Even I'm doing just that right now. Consider this as a long overdue tribute, a whining session with myself or just a simple blogpost, but this one's for P.

My Dally Fraand P made Dally likeable, not to forget liveable. What P and I share, probably very few share. True story! Starting out as uncomfortable Dally fraands, things changed so much between us that now I can just smile when I think of the beautiful progress that happened.

Insane laughter session, first crazy (ahem) party, daily Dally yoga mornings, scary turn of events at strange places, debut visits to Paharganj and late night walks with Mudpie. But we moved out and moved on too, and strangely enough, to the same place. So much joy!

Boombai got us even closer and we had a lot more fun than Dally (A hell lot more!) and that was probably the bestest time we've ever had together. Not to sound like a jilted lover or anything, but that ended rather too early!

We moved on, again and kept in touch. Continued the madness there, and oh-my-God-that-was-fun-too! Its hard to calculate how much I even owe P for the fun and excitement brought to my life. Just that this time, Dally is oh-so-empty and feels horrible, again not to sound like a jilted lover but thats the truth.

Dally misses you P and so does Mudpie and so do I!

P has always been there and will always be there. I know it. Just that this Dally Fraand now needs to see me soon, in Dally itself.

Lots and lots of love to you P! :*

Early Morning Breakfasts

One of the earliest memories of breakfast I have is that of me eating in DD's house during the summers. Every morning, we were greeted by an old uncle of the neighbourhood, who brought us fresh baked bread. This activity was not on special days nor on days that we spent vacationing there. It was an everyday affair, which we all appreciated and loved. The bread he brought us was the first thing we ate, along with a variety of fruits that were displayed on the fine bowl china plates in super white along with yummy Amul butter. Sometimes, breakfast also included a sweet or two that got left behind from the previous night. And somehow it tasted better! The taste of that bread is something I'll probably never get back, it will just linger. 

Breakfasts were always the most important meal of our initial lives. Maybe because of the way we were brought up from the very beginning, with a proper discipline of sort, we never missed our breakfast. Skipping breakfast almost meant like a crime. B was the one who went to 'a very strict school' and M was from the 'super strict family' where breakfast was given most importance.  But who would skip it, for M, made the worlds most tastiest breakfasts on earth. I would claim, they are her best foods made. She can churn up a huge variety of breakfast things at the drop of a hat! B till date ensures that he eats a hearty breakfast, although it has reduced over the years, and M never missed her 'cuppa tea' with it. They are breakfast people, completely, and thats whats been passed on to us, in its full form!

So, it wasn't strange when I left home and didnt find it difficult to eat breakfast without being told to do so in my hostel days. If I remember correctly, I was usually the one who inaugurated the meal at PGGH, almost everyday. Once that stint came to an end, and I started work, breakfast still was a part of my daily routine, a low key affair, with leftovers and burnt bread with eggs but it never was meant to be the in-a-rush sort of thing. It had to be eaten with concentration at the table, sometimes accompanied with the newspaper. But those breakfasts are breakfasts I'll never like to remember again.

The breakfasts I'd like to remember is what brings me to where breakfast stands today. It would be incorrect to say my day does not start without the 'poha' I eat every morning at this particular place outside my campus, referred to as 'The Dhaba'. The warmth of the meal lies in the fact that it served with so much love, everyday. The scrumptious meal consists of hot beautifully made Poha (a steamed dish made with flattened rice) , garnished with chopped tomatoes, onions and coriander, topped with a gentle helping of namkeen (savory). This poha plate is accompanied with a hot glass of sweet, milky tea good wishes for the day! The meal is tasty, healthy and extremely happy, to say the least. Its probably the best part of my day and in some sort of way, it addictive. I have introduced the Poha Palace (someone I know, refers to it like that) to my fellow classmates, batchmates, my bestie and D! Everyone has totally loved it. Sometimes I meet people, classmates or just random strangers and we share our meals with smiles (and talks) and hopes for a good day!

There is not one day that goes without me eating my Early Morning Breakfast at the Poha Palace, and if I miss it, my entire day goes bad. From the hottest summer days, to the foggiest day in winter, I loyally land up every morning on my cycle, waiting to enjoy my daily happiness doze. On sundays, I take the liberty of being a little late with the breakfast. There have been days where I take turned up so early that I have actually watched the kaka make the entire poha, and somedays I have been unlucky to find it to be over. There have been staff changes, infrastructure changes and even shut days of the Poha Palace! But nothing really changes the atmosphere of the place. The kaka is a sweet man, always serving with a smile, he wishes me every morning and allows me to pay up a day or two later, in times of a crisis. The beauty of the meal at Poha Palace lies in its simplicity and I feel extremely lucky to be a part of it! This poha every morning has changed my life so much so, that now M fears even the mere attempt to make, fearing that it will be compared. So whenever I go home, Im served with the other delicacies of the household!

The only thing I fear everyday is the what-if-I-miss-poha tomorrow, but its rather rare that, that happens. Touchwood!

The Ox and Me

There are a lot of times when you do things in sheer stupidity. With another motive, another idea in the head and some other purpose at that point. Just like how you do things when you are initially in love or when you like someone. But this is a different story, not of me being in love, cheekily I claim.

     

Its a story of my desperate attempts of meeting an Ox. Every morning, on my way to 'serving-my-purpose-in-life', I cross an Ox fruit cart. Its basically a beautiful Ox, who leads this fruit cart. This Ox is strong, healthy and very pleasing to look at. The fruits are well laid out on this cart, categorised by their size and colour. The Ox has the most beautiful pair of horns ever. They are hand painted in bright hues and a folk style of art. The ox's eyes are the most gentle ever, not talking of sadness but of experiences.  

My ever growing love for animals especially cows and dogs makes me do stupid things at times. I always want to pet them and touch their noses! So this Sunday morning, when I crossed him again, I made up my mind that I have to, have to meet him. So on my way back from my Early Morning Breakfast (today late though, I take this liberty on sundays) I stopped at the Ox Cart. I tried to stand right next to him, but the Ox owner-cum-fruit vendor made sure I was more interested in his fruits and nothing else. The Ox-owner-cum-fruit vendor didnt look like the kind who tortured Mr Ox or ill-treated him. The healthy body, posture and self righteous attitude made me believe that he was a good man and hence I continued my stop at the Ox fruit cart corner.  So while I acted and actively showed interest in the fruits, from the corner of my eye, I was appreciating and taking in all the beauty of Mr Ox. I bargained and made some claims of him not giving me the best fruit, to waste some time and admire Mr Ox. Sadly he wasn't even close to being interested in anything else (humans especially). What a pity! 

I paid up for my purchases, extremely tempted to ask about Mr Ox's name, but stopped myself from doing so. Beaming with a naughty smile, I told myself that not knowing his name would only enable me to come again and meet him!

Ah, now this does sound like a love story!

We live in a society and culture that on one side has pride in well lit and bright supermarkets with fair price claims, and on the other hand there are these animal fruits and vegetable carts, that may sound archaic and folky, but speak volumes of how we as Indians, try and put everything to its best use, in a sustainable and healthy form. 

The End

"Its over", she said.
"Why? " he asked.
"Its about the space", she answered. 
"Let me try", he said.
"I'm sorry", she said.


That did it. He plugged his iPod earplugs and listened to Floyd, she sat on the corner of the bench, unsure of her next move. And as they looked at each other, they both had tears in their eyes and a rush of memories swirling in front of them. He turned away.


She walked out on him.


"Seven", he muttered.

Baba's Baby

The school principal  asked M, 'So I believe your husband is coming'. M, had no clue how the news had spread. She hadn't told anyone. Not really. Someone else had.

That was me. Everytime B came on leave, I made sure that the entire world (those who made my world) knew about it. From school teachers, to neighbours, shopkeepers, the maid's husbands, all my toys, dogs in the street and children in the park. Everyone had to know. After all B was coming. My joy had no bounds.

D and I waited longingly for whenever B came on leave. It was the event of the year. And when that happened, it was like there was a festival happening. Rooms were cleaned, things were arranged to 'show' him and D and I made our own lists of things we had to do when B came and what all we needed to buy, what to get fixed, what shoes and clothes to buy. We always took up most of his time and he also made it a point to spend it with us to the maximum.

There was nothing fancy about it back then, no exotic holiday, no frills, nothing. Just plain family time which we cherished the most. After all, we saw him only when he managed to get leave, from protecting the nation and fighting for it. And obviously it wasn't that easy, for any of us.

So everytime he came, it was 'our day(s)' and his holiday revolved only around us, our wants, needs, fights and the resolving them. On school days, there was a fuss made every now and then, to get permission to bunk, or if that didnt work, to atleast get the pleasure of him dropping us to school or maybe a pick up in the car.

I remember once, as a young child, when I fell very badly ill and was admitted in the hospital. Evidently I was super upset because I hated being stuck to that dirty, sad hospital bed. One day, when M came in, she told me B was coming. At first I didnt believe her, but then, that night, I was shocked to see him right next to me, giving me a tight hug and kiss. I'm not sure what followed, a crying session or a laughing one, but I got better much before it was expected.

B always made things special. He still does. We are the apple(s) of his eyes and can never get anything done without telling him or asking him. Even now, after leaving home, the joy in meeting seeing B can never be met with anything else.

So, today may be Father's Day, officially, but for me, its everyday. Thank you B. For being there and for being you. There is something strange about this relationship, that can never be expressed.

An Ode to the New Family

The S's are probably the sweetest landlords anyone could have. The family is welcoming, calm and very very affectionate. I'm probably the luckiest person to have such adjusting and wonderful landlords. They treat me like their own and care genuinely. I call them my New Found Family.

The oldest member, DJ is frail, yet strong with so much determination in his face, which talks of experiences that have been lessons. He's a man of few words, but whenever he speaks my heart melts and I cant help but smile. He reminds me a lot of my own, DU and I always miss him when I speak to DJ. 

The older lady of the house, DJ (2), is the voice of the house. She can talk and talk and talk for hours together and yet not let you feel bored. She's the one who handles everything, gently yet with great efficiency. If one needs to learn how to run the household, meeting her is a must. Cute, sweet and oh-so-huggable! 

The man of the house, U, could win an award for being the best landlord ever. He's soft spoken, gentle,  the-no-nonsense kind and a wonderful person. He's always ready to help me with anything I need fixed, any complaints, and any issues!

Finally, A, my favourite person in the house is whom I can run to anytime, ask for anything and talk about everything. She's a patient listener, a doting mother, a caring wife and the best daughter-in-law ever. The relationship of A and DJ (2) is something I have never seen before.  Even to me, she's kind and very very accomodating. 

Every Sunday afternoon, I get a call from them, asking me (rather ordering me) to come down for lunch. Most sunday afternoons are spent with them, chatting over things about anything and everything. Coupled with a home cooked meal, I have the best sunday when I'm with them.

The kids of the family, add life and music to it. Well behaved, soft and quiet, J with D, who is naughty and smart, they make the perfect sibling pair. I love to talk to them and try my best to spend sometime every week with them. 

The family is wonderful and I consider myself to be extremely lucky to have been with them. They have been the reason I have survived and made it an experience worth living. To another year of warmth and wonderful landlords (and awesome sundays)!

Handwritten Tales

There is something about handwritten things, its just so personal. Whether its a handwritten letter, a note, a random 'to-do' list or just a doodle, its always always nice to be writing things with a paper and a pen.

I have vivid memories of trying my best to have a nice handwriting and constantly practicing writing for it as well. Those four lined notebooks brought me most joy, apart from marks for 'neat handwriting'. For me, a lot of my learning happened and still happens through the process of writing. I feel more connected to my topic/content of study. I think I got marks for 'neatness' in most of my school final exams!
I love to write random things, and just read them on and on. There is so more of a connect.I wish I could write write better, in a literature sense, but thats where I havent got very lucky.

For years I wrote handwritten letters to friends and special ones. Even B wrote back so many times. And I loved reading those short and sweet letters. Q always made it a point to write back to me, sometimes really long letters which were a treat to read. And those are just what made things even more special. They always do. Whats even better, is when you dig out a boxful of those letters and there is a rush of memories going through your head! I moved on to writing letters on cards and then on postcards. But now that also seems to have vanished. Such a pity. I wish I brought about this practice again into my life, maybe its is a good time to start.

Genetically, I think have been lucky. M has the most wonderful handwriting ever. B's on the other hand, is illegible at most times. D also, got lucky! Maybe its a feminine thing, but then again Q has an -oh-so-awesome handwriting that makes you fall in love with it, and so does HeWhoMustNotBeNamed. I think I like people more if I know they have a nicer handwriting!

I wish this post could have been handwritten, but then again, that wouldn't have been here! I have my letterpaper ready for the next letter though!