the summer, I got to be 'me'...

Today was the first day of my son's second grade. It was both a joy- he's growing up so fast and a tiny bit of sadness- growing up way too fast!

I was just supremely surprised today by how fast the summer swept by. My son's school generally indicates the beginning of the University term too. We officially begin next week, but we have already started the process of orientations and meetings... another semester, many more stories. 

The 2022 summer is perhaps the one I have enjoyed the most since 2013 when we moved to South Africa. Summers are always my favorite season- not just because I have my birthday in the summer, but because of summer vacation- a long enough break that we can breathe. One of the chief reasons for this summer being special was obvious- my parents were here with us in Kansas, but another was that I had time to simply read, relax, travel, and be myself. 

I was born with a lust for travel. As a kid, I dreamt of becoming a truck driver traveling with goods throughout India. A minor part of that dream was perhaps realized when I attended grad school at Pittsburg State University in Pittsburg, Kansas. I would drive through prairie grasslands and see rural Kansas for two and half hours daily. It was crazy and one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.

This summer, we went to the beach, and you can see the photos if you follow my social media accounts. This was my son's first visit to the beach, and we got on a road trip in between, so it was bliss. We also visited many family-friendly places in Kansas city itself. We went to the Science City and the Union Station in KC and our favorite, the KC zoo. We visited the KC plaza and the Prarie Fire Museum in Overland Park.  

I saw an advertisement the other day which resonates with me. The ad is perhaps from one of the travel companies- asking viewers what they would regret more when they die- the places they did not visit or the things they did not buy? For me, it's definitely the former- the places not visited. However, I don't think it was just the travels that made this summer so special. It wasn't just my parent's visit but a culmination of small things I achieved or re-lived over this summer that made it so special. 

This is why I am back at writing. This summer, the one thing I did for myself was to get back to writing my blog. I started blogging in 2006 when blogging was emerging. We had just brought a desktop computer, and my brother and I were becoming conscious of what the internet could offer. I came across a news article about how blogging and social media change the world. I became intrigued and decided to open an account on Google and started writing. 

I loved the fact that through my words, I was able to reach so many people. I still remember the comment from Mongolia on my Arab Spring blog entry. Gosh, it was enthralling. A girl from Kolkata writes about revolutions in faraway Egypt and Tunisia, and someone in Ulan Bator reads that blog and comments on it. How would anyone not be giddy at the possibilities the internet could offer humankind? Alas, it seems that initial euphoria might have been a tad bit misplaced. Anyhow, life intervened, and I stopped blogging for a long time. This summer, I decided to be back again, pursuing my second love, that of writing. 

I also did a whole of reading this summer. Of course, I am pursuing a doctoral degree, so I guess reading comes with the job, and I love it. But this summer, I read books like The Filter Bubble by Eli Pariser alongside The Traitor Quen- the second book in The Bridge Kingdom series. I also read two rather nice romances, and I was surprised they still wrote them clean. I also spent quite a bit of money on second-hand books- which I shall probably never read, but hoarding them feels so good. I was sad to see the Friends of Johnson County Library second-hand bookstore close, and I purchased a good amount of books to make myself feel a little less guilty. 

So, yes, this summer, I did all of those, but most importantly, I took out time to be myself, to get back to the things that made my life meaningful and put zest into it. Beyond my identities as a mother, wife, daughter, and sister, I am also a reader, a traveler, and a blogger... most of the time, I get lost in embracing the former identities and losing the little bits that make me whole. This summer, I think, I have reclaimed a little bit of myself... I am glad I could still find myself in those identities, and even if for a fleeting summer, I could live again. 

The tangle of priorities

 The last time I updated my blog- I lamented how I haven't gone back to writing, in a long while. I decided to get back to updating this blog more often, in fact, every Saturday (hahahah). But before I could do good upon my decision, life intervened and I ended up prioritizing other things. 

Which made me think: How do you prioritize? What comes first for you? 

I thought of writing this week's blog on priorities. 

Besides writing, my other love is reading. Lately, I found myself reading books on social media and how it is destroying or saving democratic societies. But curiously, in my library- both Kindle and actual, I also found titles such as Atomic Habits, 12 Rules For Life, and Peak. Needless to say, I still have to read any of those, but from whatever I could glean from cursory reading is that priorities matter. If we do not prioritize our tasks, then we won't get anything done. That made me ask myself- how exactly do priorities work- how do we know these tasks or jobs are really, truly important to us? I mean in ten years, would we look back and remember these tasks? 

I don't know the answer to these questions but I did prioritize my tasks last week. My son's baseball routine had the top priority. I also prioritized cooking for family and seeing some episodes of Stranger Things 3, plus grading my student's assignments and writing my dissertation prospectus. 

But I did not prioritize writing my blog, reading the books I had borrowed from the library for summer, or going on a long walk with my mom. Are these not important or not as important as some of the things that I did prioritize. Would I regret not ascribing significance to these tasks ten years from now? 

I also thought about the psychology behind prioritizing certain tasks over others. The jobs or tasks that I did, or thought were urgent and needed completion related to my immediate family needs, my duties as a mother, and my job and career. The tasks I neglected or put off for another day- like writing my blog- I deemed as not significant enough, or somehow not important enough to be tackled on an immediate basis. The question is why? Why did I think that the tasks that would give me more joy could be put off for another day rather than jobs/tasks that needed to be done? I do not know the answer, but I believe a lot of times, we do put off things that provide us genuine happiness. 

Some months ago, I was hearing this podcast- The Happiness Lab (The Happiness Lab Podcast Link) and there are some episodes on "funtervention" or fun-interventions- things that the podcast host does just for fun-- things that bring joy to her. I thought, that these funtervention or fun-intervention episodes of the podcast were amazing. But, not applicable to me because I have a small kid and he needs me so I must prioritize my duties as a mother... blah, blah, blah... 

Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. Maybe I shall re-read this post in ten years and realize that my current priorities weren't priorities at all. Or maybe I shall be thankful that I did the jobs/tasks when they needed to be done. 

So if you are reading this, think about your priorities- what are you prioritizing now? Would you look back at your priorities ten years later and regret them or be satisfied that you attended to the tasks that you did? And yes, if you get time to listen to a podcast, Let The Happiness Lab be it. 

Adios... 

Reflections on writing and habits

I have been thinking about getting back to writing my blog for some time now. Age, I believe, has a way of reminding one of the priorities in life. Writing was always a priority for me, not just writing journalistic or academic pieces - that's what I do for a living. But just writing, writing words that flow from me. Writing is my therapy, always has been, always will be. 

Now that I turned 39 this May, I was wondering how do I tell my seven-year-old to keep following his passion when I do not follow mine? Therefore, back to writing, and back to this blog. Last year, one of my friends from college, Anna, joined the NaNoWriMo (NaNoWriMo) and wrote the novel, Almost Maybes (Kindle book link). I have been reading it. It's really good so far, and I am enjoying it. I felt truly proud of her, that she took the plunge and actually wrote. I could never do that. 

Age, I believe also shows humans what they are passionate about and what they lack. I am passionate about writing but I do lack the discipline, I believe, I am capable of eking out time for writing. So this is an attempt on my part to get back to writing- free-form writing, careless words, that just flows. This is what I envision for myself in 2022- just for me. I am going to write a post on Saturdays on this blog - every Saturday- for four Saturdays. 

However, since this blog post will be on social media, and some of you will probably read it - if you believe you have a passion you would like to take up and like me, you lack discipline, here's a TED Talk I found for you, which helped me a lot. 

Ted Talk on Grit

So that's all for now, till next Saturday, adios..!!! 

My Life as a "wanderlust"... No End To Learning...

There's practically no end to learning new things...

An oft heard old phrase, right.... but this is something that I discovered only a few years earlier... discovered, what it really meant...

Given, like all other "normal, self- absorbed" students, I hated studying.... I mean, I really hated it.

In fact I used to be very envious of my Mom, who was a home-maker, because, she had no home work to submit, she wouldn't be punished for talking in class (which, incidentally was a constant for me)... she did not have the headache of packing her bags every night after duly consulting the time table, and there were no exams for her to be given... She just stayed home...

Oh man, how envious was I of her...!!!

Little did I know, that being a mum, had other responsibilities which were far more difficult and cumbersome than my simple, student life...

I was a diligent student, part of the reason was, that would keep my parents satisfied, my teachers happy and me, out of trouble, generally...

Of course I was pathetic in Maths and Science subjects, but they were only two out of the entire course of eight subjects... Till my tenth standard, somehow, I got through without much trouble, as I earlier mentioned, I was a diligent student, able to keep everyone happy...

The trouble came in my Tenth Standard, which was one of the worst years in my entire life, just not student life, but my entire life... Personally it was the happiest, because it was the first time, I had been in LOVE... well, it was more of a adolescence crush... but professionally, I mean being student is a full-time profession, isn't... it was terrible....

I flunked in almost all the tests, that were periodically taken in my class, and passed with mere passing grade in Mathematics in the finals.

That was IT for me... no more Mathematics, no more Physics, no more Chemistry... I just don't think I could have dealt with it anymore...

Fortunately for me, my parents thought so too...

In my 11th and 12th standard, I was allowed to take up the Arts subjects, and that's where the transformation came in...

I will forever be grateful to my parents for allowing me to take up Arts...

And it was in these classes, and afterwards in College, that I really learned...

There is a difference, between learning for mark's sake and learning for your sake... and the difference is a great deal...

The way I used to mug up stuff before, changed to understanding the subjects... History, Economics, English, they were no longer "subjects" for me anymore, they were a device to learn and understand the world.

For those two last years of my school life, student life for me was no more a rigmarole... it had become a journey... For the first time, in all my years of schooling, I looked forward everyday to a school day... and no, I did not study in school that was super cool or anything like that... in fact I studied in a public school, with the worst academic students, because no one wanted to take up Arts... where's the future in that...???

My teachers became my best friends... they helped me quench my thirst for knowing more, because I had developed  this insatiable desire for reading... No more, did I envy my mum, in fact I found her world to be quite mundane...

I did not understand it back then, but I do understand it now... I had excellent results in 12th standard, which enabled me to go, to one of the most distinguished college in my country... Just studying doesn't fetch one marks, one has to really love the art of learning... otherwise it's an utter waste of time, money, and energy... just mugging for mugging's sake does not get a person anywhere...

Even the job that I took up later in my life, I loved it... and I learned tons of stuff in it... Office wasn't a place where I would just trudge, do my work and get back, it became a place where I learned a lot of stuff, some practical, some philosophical...

Even my Boss was super cool  no he wasn't hot or dashing or handsome... but he made me learn some of the most important lessons of my life, and one of them was that, there was no end to learning...

It was his "mantra" for success, he would keep on saying... "Sreeupa, there's no end to learning, everyday would teach you something, every person, whoever it is, your friend or enemy, would teach you something... you just have to be cunning enough to learn from it all..."

In due course of time, I left the job, got married, moved to another country, but those words, still stay with me...

The reason I wrote all this, because, I used to think, I am a very good writer, in fact I have a blog (which incidentally, you are reading now..!!),  my work has been published in several magazines and reputable national dailies... I worked in one of the largest newspapers of the country, but four week ago I started taking this online course about writing... and trust me, it again changed my whole perception of writing...

Once more, I learned that there was no end to leaning, and if you love something very much, you would want to learn more and more and more of it... the key is just to find out what exactly you love, and the rest you'll welcome...

I love writing, I really love, the way mere words makes magic, make you want to cry, make you want to laugh, and make you want to read more of them... I love reading stories, mine and others and I love the fact that I am still learning to be a better writer and reader of the words...

My life as a "wanderlust" ... The Story of Sarada

As in my previous post, I had promised, that I would write about some of the wonderful people and places that I have visited during my travels, this post is my first endevour to fulfill that promise.

I wanted this story to be the first, because it's a story of an incredible woman. This incident took place in the year 1998 in the month of April. I mention this story specifically, because there are so many women, and in so many different circumstances, and each have their own brave tales to tell... this is such a story, the story of Sarada, an ordinary woman, but incredible because of the circumstances she's in.

This story takes place in a small town in of Londa, more specifically, the Londa Railway Station... Londa is situated in the Belgaum district of Karnataka, India. It's a really beautiful town, with breathtaking views of the Sahyadris rising up. There are generally two types of people who come to the Londa station. The first are the trekkers who are interested in going up the Sahyadris, and the second group generally, change trains here for the further journey upto Goa. My family and I fell into the second group.

Back in the 1990's, Konkan railways, which connects Mumbai and Margao in Goa, did not have many trains in operation and as my father was being transferred from Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh, taking the right connecting train was even more difficult... so we undertook a long journey, from Madhya Pradesh, to Mahrashtra to Karnataka and finally to Goa. Londa fell in our Karnataka section of the trip.

When the train stopped in Londa, very few people alighted. It was afternoon and the month of April. The summer sun was already making it's presence felt and there were very few porters available.

We were approached by one, who took a hard look at the number of cases we were carrying and asked us our destination. When we told him that we were taking a train from this station itself, and we merely needed to change the platform, he pointed out that there was a bridge to be crossed and that with the amount of luggage we had, he would charge at least 70 bucks.

Now Indians, and especially Bengalis, have an inherent habit of bargaining... no matter the money was being paid by the Indian Government, my parents and I promptly indulged in a bargain. The fellow, probably was feeling too sleepy... contrary to agreeing or disagreeing, as is the norm of a successful  bargaining, he simply left.

So here was, a family of four, stranded on a platform, with the summer sun beating down upon us, and in a few minutes it looked as if the entire station has gone on a siesta, except for us. There was not a single person milling around, not even stray dogs were found, the few stalls of books and paraphernalia had already closed with "lunch time" hanging on their downed shutters. The last departing porter gave us a reassuring advice, wait till the next train arrives and someone would be there to help us... well the next train that would arrive was the one we were supposed to take, so his advice was completely wasted on us... but we chose not to point it out to him.

As we were staring up at the stairs to the bridge, gathering up our luggage and planning on a strategy as to who would carry what, we met her... she was a frail looking woman, in a red sari, no footwear and a large red "bindi" on her forehead... she came up to us, and signaled with her hands, where we were headed.

 Our first impression was that she was a beggar, and thus consequently, we chose to ignore her. As my father picked up the first suitcase and started heading, she ran to my father, and started snatching it from his hand... we jumped up, thinking she was a mad woman, and my mother and I started screaming for help... then she started pleading to us, again with the signs to stop screaming... she painfully explained that she was a porter.

When we understood, what she was trying to convey, we were extremely taken aback, a woman porter, that too one who could not speak or hear... we didn't know whether to be impressed or suspicious...

We slowly started loading up the suitcases onto her head... when the limit of two cases was reached, my mother asked my father to take the other two, since she was so frail, we didn't really trust her to carry everything.... she again signaled, she was very able to carry the extra two suitcases, and they were also promptly loaded up...with four cases piled up on her head, and two duffel bags on her right arm, she slowly started to mount the stairs. I and my brother kept matching her pace, because we were sure she would topple over. She again signaled to me regarding which platform to go to, and I signaled back. When we reached our destination, she slowly unloaded the suitcases and the bags and waited. We weren't sure what we were supposed to do, and my father took out a 50 rupee note... she again signaled that she didn't want the money now, but when she would load the luggage on the train. We were surprised and really touched.

As then happens with all Indian families, we squatted on top of our luggage and waited for our train to come. She squatted on the floor nearby.

My mother, this is one trait I share with her... whatever the circumstances, we need to talk. My mother promptly started a conversation with her. Now it was the most strangest conversation, I have ever witnessed. No a single word was spoken between the two speakers, the entire conversation was through actions, yet the witnesses present could clearly understand what was being spoken.

What transpired from the conversation was as follows.

Her name was Sarada, she pointed at a Hindi tatoo on her arm to let us know of this fact, she was married, her husband was also a porter, infact the same one who had told us that there would be someone to help us... she had three children, and she helped her husband out in the business of pottering.

She looked after the noon shift, when there wasn't many trains and passengers, while her husband took a short nap. He would be back, she said in about an hour, and she would go to pick up her kids from school. She had three children, two daughters and one son and yes they all went to school. Her husband and her children could all speak and hear, only she couldn't. Her husband, she pointed out did not drink or beat her, as is the norm in most poor Indian families. When my mother pointed out that she too could take rest, instead of laboring in the hot syn, carrying such huge luggage... she explained to her, that she really believed in earning herself, and being independent and  in fact, it was her earnings, which made it possible for her children to attend schooling. She also pointed out that because both her husband and she earned, it has been possible for them to make a "pucca" house for themselves.This, she pointed out smiling, was an achievement,  as they were the only porters here in Londa to have one. We were stunned listening to her story.

In an era, (this was 1998, remember?) where women's lib was only a lip service, here was a woman, disable so as to speak of, but far more advanced and far more capable than, many quite able ones. She was poor, she couldn't even hear or speak, and yet here she was, doing a job, that in India, is quite clearly a man's domain. We could not hide our appreciation and respect for her.

Shortly our train came, and she again loaded each and every case, with care in our designated compartment and my father was so happy that he paid a hundred bucks to Sarada. Soon as the train left the station, we could see Sarada's red sari fluttering up in the wind as she slowly mounted up the stairs.

The Immortals of Meluha: A Critical Review

Recently I finished reading one of the recent bestsellers, The Immortals of Meluha, by Amish.First of all kudos to the author for trying to deal with Hindu mythology and giving it the shape that would be interesting to the modern reader. Hindu mythology is a subject that very few Indian authors have tried to use in their story telling,much less to base their story on it. The fact that Amish has,goes a long way to say how our rich heritage could be used in the modern day and age. It is a very noble beginning, and I really hope we have many authors who would use this historical background to base their stories upon. We could recreate thousands of Da Vinci Codes, if we delved into our history and mythology deep enough.

Honestly, I felt I needed to write about the book, because, though it has captured the imaginations of many a readers, it would be grossly incorrect, if we were to believe that the author has tried to focus on the ancient and rich history of India. Sure, as a work of pure fiction, it is indeed good, but there are certain facts misrepresented as history of our land. It would be very unfair on my part as a reader, if I do not put out an unbiased view of the book, because even I really enjoyed how the story unfolds.

Let me first start by giving a brief synopsis of the story. The story, unfolds in the ancient land of India, known as Meluha, where reigns Emperor Daksha of the Suryavanshi clan. They are a highly civilized society where rules, guidelines and regulations are to an extent just. Their science, culture, tradition all are taken from the venerable Lord Ram, the proginetor of the Suryavanshi clan. These Suryavanshis are in constant fear of terrorist attacks from another clan, the Chandravanshis, who are exactly the opposite of them as in they adhere to no rules, regulations or guidelines. Their society isn't as civilized as the Suryanvanshis and they have now formed an ally with the "Nagas", the most heinous of all the tribes of India and together they want to steal the secret formula of "Somrasa", which Suryavanshis value as their holy drink.
Now there is a prophecy that a blue throated man from the lands of the "Sapt-Sindhu" would come and rescue the Suryavanshis. Enters Shiva, a tribal chieftain from the mountains of Kailasha, whose throat has turned blue upon consuming Somrasa, is he the prophetic one? Will he be able to deliver Suryavanshis from their problems and are Chandravanshis really the problem? Who are these Nagas? Are the Suryavanshis really as good as portrayed? For finding the answers to these questions, one has to read The Immortals of Meluha.

Now coming to the narrative style, Amish's style can never be called gripping, and cannot hold the attention of the reader. Another thing I quite disagreed with,is the occasional usage of swear words. They have been employed far too many times. The story has been weaved exceptionally well and the climax is really good though the end is kept wide open. Amish cleverly uses this book as a prequel to his next book, "The Secret of the Nagas". Kudos to Amish for knowing his historical facts well and cleverly using them to his advantage. The book can in no way be taken as a narrative of the rich ancient history of our land, but as a work of pure fiction. People reading this should bear it in mind that the author has grossly played with the historical facts and jumbled them up to present a very juvenile land of India.
Lastly it is a book, one should read as purely a work of fiction. Please do note that there are grossly misrepresented facts but yes, the storyline is good, some of the concepts given in it are extremely interesting and overall a good read, though I would not rate it as a "must read". Read it at our own leisure, for the simple pleasure of reading.