Regimenting Life Again

Results = Regimentation + Repetition + Ritualization

- Amir Siddiqui (Check him out on FB https://www.facebook.com/amirofthebody/posts/816216408438322?fref=nf&pnref=story )

While he was talking about training in the gym, isn't the same true for training in writing too? To see any results in writing, we need to have to regiment our day, repeat it everyday and have a ritual that spurs us on to write. Read http://www.copyblogger.com/writing-rituals/ to know more about some popular writing rituals.

"Rituals that bring us together and that help us map out the patterns of our days are far more vital than you’d think. Without mundane time-milestones like breakfast, lunch, dinner, weekends, a yearly vacation, and a periodic raise, we can go crazy. Those who suffer from structure deprivation fill the emptiness of chaotic hours with alcohol, gambling, compulsive shopping, compulsive eating, and even with compulsive picking at every micro-hillock of skin their restless fingers can find and try to pry loose." --- Howard Bloom

I hated being regimented during my childhood. My mother had these strict hours she followed (and made us follow) everyday for meals and sleep. Our study time and TV time were fixed and unchangeable. This bled into the weekends too. While we fought and argued about it with her many times, it did bring in big results in my life and my brother's too. For starters, we were toppers in school and college all through our life. We were healthy and happy. We had various family rituals of togetherness, festival rituals and vacation rituals which are a part of our most cherished memories now. As the years sped by, these rituals became habits and they remained so till we got married.

Suddenly, we were no longer in the military rule. We were completely free. We could sleep in the entire day, have a bath at any odd hour, no one will ask us to switch off the television, we can order in any day, any time we like and we could eat anywhere (even on our bed) at anytime we please. Since my brother and I are self employed, this also means we can goof off as no one monitors the hours we work. This seemed like the ultimate bliss. I did live by this laissez-faire approach for a few years till I realised babies thrive on routine. Either you create a routine for them or else they would create one that might not be so pleasant for you. Rituals and routines came back into my life but were never regimented like before. If they had been, then my writing would have been on another plane now.

I sorely miss the order and routine my mother had got into my life. My brother and I had such perfect habits as children. We woke up at the same time every day, we watched half an hour of television at the same time every day, we studied for the same number of hours at the same time every day irrespective of whether we had exams the next day or not and we went to bed at the same time too. (We got an extra hour on weekends!)

I think it is time I regimented my life again. The last experiment I had tried was to write every day, at least a 100 words, in the current fiction project on hand and I have been successfully pulling it off for the last few months. The mental peace and emotional satisfaction from this achievement have been awesome. Now, the next challenge is to take it further. I'm planning to have a daily routine and structure, that will be followed with strict discipline, for all those mundane every day activities like sleep, meals, etc. so that my time can give way for those life-changing dreams like writing, a fit body and knowledge. I'll keep you all updated on how it goes.

Meanwhile, do you have daily routines, writing rituals, etc.? Share them here to inspire me.

Inspired to Read

Who/What inspired you to read?

This had been one popular topic of discussion the entire last week for me and my friends. H, the eldest among three kids, picked up books to keep away a kind of gnawing loneliness. She found it hard to live in the cacophony at home and needed a chance to run away. She picked up an Enid Blyton by pure chance at an Aunt’s house and was immediately transported to Kirrin Island with George, Dick and Anne. She petted Timmy, fell in love with Aunt Fanny, drank ginger beer and ate ham rolls. Life became perfect and books became the oasis when she thirsted for happiness.

 

M had an aversion to books. He couldn’t imagine that kids could spend their pocket money to buy a book to read for ‘pleasure’. He had a qualm reverence for such folks and kept away from them for the first 20 years of his life. Then he fell in love with a goddess and as goddesses are, she barely noticed this mortal soul longing for her. He needed to reach her in some way and he noticed that she loved to read. He picked up an Agatha Christie, the author she seemed to be fond of, and read it through in a single sitting. He liked it. Later, in the college library…

Librarian: I have only this one. No other Agatha Christie.

Goddess: I have never read a Miss Marple one. I have only read Poirot. Any idea how this would be?

M: It’s wonderful.

Goddess looked at him. M looked down to see if his feet were still on the floor. He felt kind of wobbly.

M: I just read Sleeping Murder. It is a Miss Marple one and it is fabulous. I’m sure you will like it.

Goddess: Is it better than Poirot?

M (Who had no idea whether Poirot was an author or a character!): Hmmm… I found it as good as Poirot. I’ll give it to you and you can decide.

Goddess: Oh, thanks!

They walked out of the library together that day. Months flew by and the goddess walked away from his life but Agatha Christie didn’t. He became an avid reader.

Me, my hubby and most others didn’t have such interesting tales to share. We loved to read because we were born into a family that loved to read. My husband has shifted home for some 7 times in his childhood and each time with a truckload of books. He was surrounded by a sea of books all through life and reading came upon him as naturally as breathing or walking.

It was not so natural to me. Reading came upon me as a curiosity. I found it hard to believe that something could snatch away my mother’s attention from me. I loved books. They were alright when she read them out to me during each meal. They were even alright when she read them to put me to sleep. However, mine had pictures of palaces and princesses and hers had nothing. They were fat and boring.

Still, I always found her with a book. Even when she was cooking, while one hand held the ladle, the other held a book. When I did my homework, she sat on the sofa beside me and read a book. I have hardly seen her watch television and I have hardly seen her without her book. She read in the quiet of the morning before we could wake up and she read herself to sleep every night. Sometimes I saw her laugh into her book and sometimes I saw her wipe away a silent tear. She seemed to be in another world and I wanted to go there too. The activity of reading enticed me even before I turned five.

(In my wildest imagination, I can't imagine anyone wanting to use this poorly done sketch for any purpose but if you want to, then remember it is copyrighted. Ask and use)

My very first full-fledged book ‘Amelia Jane Again by Enid Blyton’ was gifted by my grandfather when I was around 7 years of age. I must have read through it some five dozen times.

And then there was no looking back.

So, who/what inspired you to read?

General Anaesthesia - A memory

I mull over most of my life’s experiences before pinning it down on paper. It was the same with what I experienced some ten days back. My hands were itching to write all about it but my mind was telling me to allow it to germinate a bit more. Finally, today I realised that if I don’t jot it down, it is going to escape. So, here it is…

I had already spoken about that small surgery I had around a week back. I had to have general anaesthesia for it. Ooh! What an experience! For both my caesareans, I had been given spinal anaesthesia. Though I passed out and lay senseless during both of those surgeries, it was nothing compared to what I experienced this time.

The last that I remember was a mask placed over my mouth and nose. I could breathe in the noxious fumes but I could barely breathe out anything. The man was suffocating me. Man, I had still not published a novel. I was too young to die! I vaguely remember throwing out my hand to push away the Anaesthesian but whether I succeeded or not has been decided to be kept as a secret by the medical fraternity.

The next I remember was floating. I felt so light – free from worries, free from word counts, free from NaNoWriMo, free from relationships, free from dreams, free from hopes, free from power, free from responsibility. I felt like a newly born child who has nothing to give or lose. And I was in a magical world. Everything was virgin white and circular. I was floating in a circle in the driveway around a building. The building was nothing like what I had seen on earth or even read in a book, even a sci-fi one. The entire structure stood like a smooth circular metallic white cone with no windows or doors visible. From where I floated I couldn’t see the topmost tip of the building. So, I am not entirely sure if the building ended or just scraped across the sky into eternity. I could see no one around me but I neither felt lonely nor craved company.

I was waiting at a particular spot on that structure for someone – someone important, special! I was excited, happy and felt blessed. (now when I think back, at this point, I wonder – I don’t remember the word ‘God’ being mentioned but it felt as if I had an appointment with Him) A particular moment occurred and I was permitted to call Him. I touched the building. Yes, the entire building was a hi-tech touch screen and a rhombus portion of the building disappeared and I met Him. Now, at this point the POV (Point of View) changed. I was still there but I was floating above me. The first me stood transfixed in that I beheld. The second me (the me, that is typing this out right now) started floating away looking down at the first me. Someone was calling me and the first me decided not to come back. The second me didn’t want to come back but the caller was persistent. They were not ready to give up.

Slowly, I heard my name being called out. I didn’t want to come back. Strangely, this was the first conscious thought I had. If I open my eyes now, I’ll never be able to return there. I’ll never feel that peace and calm ever again. I opened my eyes. I could see nothing but some hazy forms before my eyes. I closed my eyes again in hope of getting back there. It was lost. It was gone.

“What is your name?” someone asked me.

“Archana,” I said. Having interned in a psychiatric clinic, I have seen many patients being administered anaesthesia. I always thought all these were regular questions used to check if the patient has gained consciousness. Now, I knew these were questions to test if they had really returned back from that wonderland – maybe I could have sent someone else in my place! I would love to see if I can do that the next time they drug me.

“Put out your tongue.” I dutifully did it. I tried opening my eyes again but it was too much of an effort. I couldn’t move any part of my body but my mind felt so active. I thought about all that I had seen. I tried describing it to my husband. Btw, the tongue was the only organ that moved! Everyone urged me to sleep but the next couple of hours, sleep deluded me. I was too excited by all I had seen.

Finally, after a few hours,I had settled down. I went into a deep sleep. The experience became a memory I’ll always treasure.

Jaipur Trip

Jaipur… It has been ages since a place has actually affected me so! The recent week-long trip we took to Jaipur was an eye-opener in more ways than one. I realized that ‘yes… I too needed a vacation!’ and that discovering a new place can freshen your mind and spirit.

A few days back, as I gazed out at the moon, my mind went back to the pet peacock at Bissau Palace that used to perch on the same branch of the same tree every night. The moon shone behind the peacock and it looked up at the sky in love and expectation. That sight was so eerily stirring that I just can’t seem to get it out of my head.



Next, it was the colours. The sarees at RTDC, the salwaars at Bapu Bazaar, the stone-studded bangles at Maniharon ka rasta – everything was an explosion of colours. The rainbow would pale in comparison. Retail therapy is the best in the world. Don’t shell out the psych-expert’s fees – just shop with it and all your troubles would melt away!



I am a foodie and I love to cook, at least the dishes that I enjoy gorging on! But, even I have never made or tasted a lassi like the one served up by the Lassiwallah at MI Road. All the cream in it was a sensual sinful indulgence. He does need to open a branch here, in Mumbai, as I don’t think I would be able to replicate his taste.



Another very very very important thing that I learnt from the trip is ‘though it looks easy and fun, travelling on an elephant is one of the scariest things that I have done in the recent years’ (Apart from the rock climbing and rappling bit!) I still at times shudder when reminded of those long ears caressing my calves… Eeeek!

Jaipur had something for everyone. Sanju loved the zoo and the animals, Aaru loved the music, dance and the puppet shows, I loved the culture, architecture and the people and Hubby was happily clicking photos of the various Jaipur buses! And to top it all, the kids had their beloved grandparents to share all their adventures. Sanju was happiest to bond with his favourite Chitthi and Chittappa. And, Jaipur rocks!






Lastly, Jaipur was inspirational. It has not only gotten me writing but has also taken me back to my easel after so many years. Thank God for that!

Birth of A Brother

I remember, I think this must be my earliest memory, walking down the lane of my rental house holding a pillow in one hand and clutching my father’s hand with the other. My father had some rolled up bedding in his other arm. He walked jauntily announcing to the entire world that his wife has just delivered a son and that we were off to the hospital to be along with the mother and baby.

I don‘t remember the stay there or the fact that I named my brother ‘Aravind’, but I do remember having at least 4 Aravinds in my Junior KG class. So, it must be true. I must have named him. Not just that, he owes his birth to me. Let me tell you the story.

We were on the first floor of an old rental apartment and there were another half-dozen houses there apart from the landlord who resided on the ground floor. I was a lonely four-year old.

So, secretly, I used to pray to God everyday to give me either an elder sister like Ammu or a younger brother. I never wanted an elder brother who might bash me up or a younger sister who would snatch my lovely beads and dresses. Since God couldn’t turn back time, he satisfied my latter wish.

So, my brother owes me two things – his birth and his name!

My First and Last Experiment with Snuff

My parents lived in the first floor of an old small rental apartment in Chennai during my early childhood. There were around 10 other families around us apart from the landlord who lived in the ground floor.

One of the families were a bunch of Anglo-Indians. I loved to go there and play with the ‘Akka’(means ‘elder sister’ in Tamil) there. Her family seemed huge with a Granny, a dozen brothers (or so it seemed to me!), a half-dozen sisters, a harassed mother and not-so-easily-noticeable father. Akka was the person who introduced me to Chess. She taught me the game and I loved it! I haunted her house often to enjoy a game of chess with her. Whenever I play this game, till now, her memory flits across my mind. She was the kindest person I had come across. Secretly, I used to pray to God to make her my very own elder sister.

Once, when I had gone to her house to pester her for another game of chess, she had gone out and only Granny was in the house. Granny had this small cylindrical box in her skirt pocket that she used to bring out often. She used to open the box and take a pinch of something out of it and sniff her pinched finger. Then she used to open her mouth wide and exclaim “Aaarrghhh..” as if she was in the ecstasies of pleasure.



Since no one was around that day, I went up to granny and asked her, “what is in this box?”

“Snuff,” she said.

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“Ok but don’t drop it.”

I opened the box as delicately as possible and peeped inside. I was disappointed. It was just some dark-coloured powder inside.

“Want to try it?” Granny asked. Her eyes sparked mischief. I nodded my head. She took a small pinch of the powder and placed it in my palms.

“Sniff it in now,” she said.

I did just what she asked and then it started.

“Atchooo… Atchooo… ATCHOOO… Atch.. Atch… ATCHOOO….” The sneezes were beyond the control of my 7 year old self and the laughter was beyond the control of the 70 year old. Sometimes, I still hear that loud raucous laughter in my dreams.




Akka entered just then with her mother.

“Granny, what have you done?” Akka seemed really angry.

“I don’t know. She only wanted to try it,” Granny said.

Akka looked at me and I could only sneeze twice more in reply. Conversation was beyond my capacity.

I was given a glass of water and packed off home. I didn’t breathe a word of this incident to anyone. (In fact, this blog entry is going to be a shocking revelation to my parents!)

Years later, we moved into our own house in the tallest high rise building in Chennai at that time. Akka and Granny became distant memories.

Recently, I met Akka again at the Gynecologist. I was 8 months pregnant with my second child and Akka was so happy for me. Sadly, she was married but childless. God is unfair at times! He does test people’s faith. I remembered the love Akka used to shower on all of us kids and prayed to God to bless her with a child soon.