Wednesday, 30 December 2015

A little mindfulness

Yesterday, I went to a spa. I don't indulge in luxuries usually, though I like anything that is soothing and rejuvenating. I decided to give my hyperactive and over-thinking self some rest. It's good to unplug sometimes, I thought. I switched off my phone. I immediately felt a sense of relief. Unplugged and Unburdened.

Everything today is just a touch or a click away. Too much connectivity. Global village. Shrunken world. And what not. But how difficult is it to unplug? Gradually, one feels the weight of these "privileges". Would the universe crumble if I steer away from my WhatsApp, Facebook and Twitter for three hours? I told myself that I am over-thinking and continued with my therapy.

Yesterday, after a long time, I realized that I was paying attention to the new room I was sitting in and the new people I was interacting with. It was a small room with dim lights, subtle fragrance and good music. What more can one ask for? The first fruits of unplugging.

I spoke to my attendant for a long time. Her name was Shaina. I am a very interactive person usually, but, yesterday, I was attentive. May be this is what is mindfulness.

After three or four hours, I stepped out the spa. The jarring sound of vehicles made me realize that I can't play my unplugging game for long. I was heading home and I switched on my phone.

And then... All hell broke loose.

17 missed calls. 41 WhatsApp messages!

My mother called me irresponsible. My friends called me archaic because I had committed the blunder of switching off my phone... for three hours! And funnily, I hadn't missed anything.

We all search for "space" and "experience". But unless and until one is aware and conscious of his feelings and sensations, the found space is a hollow tunnel and the felt experience is a residue of something extremely trivial and unsettling.

I love people.
I love conversations and interactions.

But, a brief unplugging, now and then, won't make anyone asocial or melancholic.

Mindfulness is a beautiful thing to strive for, I think.

Sunday, 27 December 2015

Between and Beyond loyalty and disloyalty

It is difficult to write. Very difficult.
Hence, we all postpone. And when we write, after many deliberations, we abandon our writings. Unfinished. Unattended.
We all like fresh music, good food and new places. But stability and comfort are our old friends. Rather, best friends.
Hence, the playlists of our phones house the same old songs. And we repeat them everyday. On the path to fight against monotony? Well, I doubt.
We all go to new cafes and restaurants. But, how difficult is it to choose the unfamiliar Panna Cotta over the familiar Walnut Brownie?! Yes, I am talking about those big decisions.
Family is the first institution that builds one's personality. One's character.
My people believe in reading "ALL" the works of a writer.
Dickens is their favourite and I am sure that on this Christmas too, they are going to talk about his novels. Welcome newness.
Marquez and Hardy are my favourite. And now, when I look at the works of new writers at book shops, I feel guilty. Funny it is. As if I am cheating on my boyfriend... wink emoticon
My father introduced me to cricket. And he almost made me believe that once I have liked Micheal Bevan, I cannot admire the newbies. Ever. So, no Boucher. No Dhoni.
Loyalty is good. A virtue long lost. And literature can make the eccentric ones fall prey to this malady.
Now, coming back to writing, we love our drafts. Those unfinished and half-baked things that yearn for our attention. We are loyal when it comes to reading. But, we are extremely unfaithful towards the things we write.
One my favourite professors once said, "Writing is like carpentry. You cannot produce masterpieces in a day. or a week. Writing demands attention. It is a form of worship."
It is important to revisit the drafts, decipher the inadequacies and insufficiencies and inject in them whatever they demand.
So, my goal for 2016 is to be (a little) unfaithful towards my authors and faithful towards my fragments.