Wednesday, 22 February 2017

Auld Lang Syne redux

"I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were." -Joan Didion

Any blogging expert will tell you that a blog's viability lies in its USP.  My blogs have none, at least none that I recognise. They are self-indulgent online journals where I try and find my voice and in the process giving you, the reader, glimpses into my life; hopefully hold a mirror, here and there, once in a while.

When I started out with this one, it was a means to cope with a lot of newness then in my life - marriage, cohabitation, change of country, unemployment, and all the pushes and pulls that come with change. Laughing or attempting to laugh at the settling in took the sting out of the challenge of accepting change. Yesterday I found another use of virtual diaries  - time travel. Looking back at the posts, they  took me back to a time, and the then me...someone who, till today, I had not realised I had missed.

What brought me back to my debut blog was the chatter y'day around International Mother-language daynand I was reminded of this post that I wrote moons ago. From here I went to the chronicles of the first few days of my marriage - the laughs, the heartaches, the lessons, the blahness, but in all that I found something that I never appreciated in myself- the willingness to hope, a certain lightness of being, to find humour where there was none and to keep trying no matter what. Qualities I seem to have left by the wayside in the last few years for many reasons.

One of the major shifts was motherhood. It came with its gifts, and its lessons. It was now time to process new emotions offline. There were others things too that added to the curriculum. On the upside, I learnt to take my time looking for words to match what I was feeling. I became more private, less apologetic; joy now is more precious and less selfish. On the other hand life feels a wee bit heavier, a bit too serious.

Reading the old posts did not evoke nostalgia of the days gone by but of the person I used to be. If only I knew then how much I would miss her, I wouldn't have let her go (now I know how my exes felt! Kidding).

Maybe the answer to current ennui is not picking up yet another creative assignment but invoking a certain state of mind - the one that allowed me to find humour in the unlikeliest of places. Maybe its time to bring her back - that funny, sometimes silly and (almost) always hopeful person; she was after all, me. 

Saturday, 28 January 2012

Once upon a time in the summer...

... of 2011, V and I went up and down the English roads to catch the beauty of the countryside. The experience has been chronicled in a travel article that I wrote for the Sunday magazine of the New Indian Express. If you'd like to read the piece online, head here.
Ciao for now.

Friday, 13 January 2012

To granny with all my love

January 4th 2012

It was three years back that you stepped out on this day- the day your Peru got married; I remember you sang at the sangeeth.

And today you left home for the last time.

Do I miss you?

No. Because you will always be in my heart-corny as it sounds. You will always be a part of me, the life you lived guiding mine.

I do miss the old times though- the “sun-bathing”, the Q&A sessions, the run-ins, the weekly treats and countless weddings, funerals and gurpurabs we three went to, the hugs and the kisses; not so much the four whacks I received whilst growing up. We really were the three-musketeers weren’t we- you, daddy and I. You were Are and will always remain my ma- it’s just daddy and me now of the trio but we are pulling along fine, as are mom, dad, buas, uncles and the rest of your punj piyares.

It was always about us first, wasn’t it, as you left us bit-by-bit over the last three years? You withdrew slowly so that when the time to say goodbye came, the blow won’t be hard. Expected (and sometimes hoped) we did, hoping you didn’t have to suffer the way you did. But when the time came, it was still very difficult to bid you adieu. Thank you for the invaluable love and wisdom you left us with. I know you will be watching over your family and loved ones.

Something tells me through the distance and years, you will be guiding me to do the right thing- silently bidding me to hold my tongue whenever I am ready to give in to my anger or to practice compassion when the easiest thing to do is walk away from the hurt, but above all trusting me to love and to give- just as you did. Yes you taught me well.

There is new life blossoming around me and I know some time, you will be back- till then, know that I hold you very very close. Love you always.

P Peun.