My Delicious Bait – Mid Week Quests

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There are people who, with utter madness, admire talented personalities. I am not saying  I don’t admire laudable talents, but I am not excessively, fiercely dependent on them when leading my life. Good books satiate me, good music fills my heart and soul with joy and a beautiful piece of writing, magnificiently laced with evocative threads, never fail to uplift the person in me.

But these days, I find myself lend an attentive ear to memoirs – both written and spoken. Perhaps that bit of character has been an innate part of me for long, since I have always liked reading personal blogs more than anything. I am not overtly dependent on them, but yes, I do find happiness out of taking a stroll through the life of another person. I am yet to decipher the craziness that resides in the liking, or if I have company in the form of people who nurture similarity in that regard. Some are of the opinion that such people are diffident about their own lives. But then, what if the act inspires me to be more? In my case, there is a second reason too, to which I shall reach in a while. 

People are different, I believe, and everyone has his/her favourite bait, which quite positively hooks them, feeds their souls and releases them for a better life.

Well, I have a few other such similar nourishing baits too on my list – like A.R. Rahman’s music, A Kazuo Ishiguro novel, an Alice Munroe short story, a Mohanlal movie, a chat with my best friend and so on. But the latest one to have conquered my heart, once I started working on my own manuscript, is reading the writing story of my favourite authors. Sometimes, I might not even have read their works, but their presence – their sheer authoritative presence and their diligently acquired accomplishments, out of the many other reasons, inspire me and I look forward to knowing more about their writing journey. I have been flipping through many such authors, a few of them blogger-turned authors, when my eyes fell upon the blog of the acclaimed author, Ruchita Misra – Blogging All The Way. I read and re-read most of her blog posts and they brought smiles to my face more often than not. There is something surreal about reading the amateur works of a person who have been a success ever since. 

Is it because of she is famous and widely accepted now, that I find her earlier writing amusing? 

I don’t have an answer. But I do know that I have a soft-spot for innocous memoirs and I can read and re-read personal blog posts for any number of time I want. Somehow, they take me closer to the writer and I feel I have been given a huge comforting bear hug by an invisible force. 

I came to know that she too is an anxious person like me and although I never read the blog aiming to end up with a tutorial to alleviate my anxiety, my haphazard mind was pacified to realise that I am not alone when it came to matters such as that. She, in one of her posts’s, mentions about bringing down her anxiety by trying to solve the mathematics table in her mind. Every person has his own technique to deal with his problems, griefs or similar downsides. For me it has been work. But I cannot work round the clock and there are times when struck with a bout of anxiety ( for a reason ), I discern methods to escape from it. These days, it has been reading good blog posts for me. I blog-hop, find interesting blogs and devour the articles which strike a chord with me. They inevitable leave me at peace at least for a good one hour or two, when my mind returns back to the jovial self.  

Even as a child, I used to listen to my dear ones sharing stories with one another – my mother about her work place to my father, my grand mother about our relatives to my mother, my mother about my brother and me to her friends, my brother about his eventful day to me . .  the list is endless. No, I am not nosey, nor am I a gossip-monger. I simple love stories. Good stories. Happy stories. Intriguing stories. Undoubtedly, there is something soulful about listening to true stories. They are flawless and pristine. On the contrary, I hate movies made out of real stories. The tweaked version irks me and I would rather have someone narrate the story to me than watching it. 

So much for my love for true stories. As I wrap this post up, I can’t help but leave you with one simple question. If ever you feel lonely and would like to have a friend listen to your story, you now know who to approach, don’t you? 🙂

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P.S: This post is tagged with Mid Week Quests, a sub section of this blog where I write on a Wednesday, about random nuggets from my life.

Self-doubt And The Likes: A Piece Of Me

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So I sit down to write and I find myself doubting whether I will be able to churn up a good post or rather, put my thoughts into words most precisely as they fleet through my mind. This is not the first time this stump of doubt has left me wondering about my writing abilities. I find the same, old, irksome piece of bone gnawing at my peace of mind, every time I sit down to write – be it a story, a poem, or maddeningly enough, even a personal rant, which I assume, I would be the best one to be writing. Even when the heinous mote of doubt lurks as a shadow in the precincts of my conjuring mind, I somehow make my up mind to bring to life the idea that sprouted in my mind anyway. This has been a routine, since forever. No, wait. How can it be since forever, when the fact remains that I started ‘writing’ when I was 20 years old. Random thoughts on the many inconspicuous nooks of my belongings wouldn’t classify as writing, I believe, even though, they could be the first appreciated signs of the likelihood of spring around the corner. Continue reading

Of Good Conversations And Birthday gifts- Mid Week Quests

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I am forced to keep this post short due to constraints of time, but you wouldn’t mind it as the topic is one that is packed with the sweetest of flavours. Before I proceed, I would like to recall a scene from a movie I hold close to my heart, ‘You’ve got mail’, where the character played by Meg Ryan, after an impulsive bout of speech, confesses to the character played by Tom Hanks that it was the first time in her life that she has been able to say the exact words she intended to say. She goes on to say that it was something she had wanted to experience for a long time. Now, I don’t know if you have thought much about it before, but I don’t usually dissect the conversations I have with my friends or family. I am not much of a talkative person and I don’t make friends in the blink of my eye. Socialising doesn’t come easily to me. It takes hours of cajoling from the aspiring author in me to put up a post on my page on Facebook. I am an introvert and proud to be so. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t discern good conversations the moment I have one. I do. I am an ardent admirer of soulful conversations. I love soulful bonding over a cup of tea or a dinner spent in the company of my near ones. Continue reading

Reaping The Hard Way – Doc Life #2: Mid Week Quests

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I have loved travelling all my life. My parents had to work in a district around 9 hours from our home till I turned four (if my memory serves me right). Travel had been an inevitable ingredient of my blooming days so also. Even though I can’t recollect the subtle details of those days, I remember been excited and enticed about the thought of a journey by train, which evidently lasts to this day. My mother’s home too is in another district, which is a good two hour journey from our home. Since my father bought a car four or five years after I was born, all those to and fro journeys from my mother’s native place and our home were by train. I stayed and prepared for my medicine entrance exams at a reputed institution in a town far from my place and there too journeys had been an unavoidable part of my life. After that came the M.B.B.S days, where , even though the journeys had been mostly by bus, I remember having looked forward to the rare enough train journeys that came my way in the selected few days when there was a proper train during the days I promptly decided to go home. The formidable locomotive called train, needless to say, has been threaded into the pages of my life like no other. Continue reading

Gateway To The Past – Mid Week Quests

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There is a small, beautiful, golden glazed, ornamental light fitting that unassumingly adorns the wall of my bedroom. It has been there since the day we moved in here fifteen years back. I remember gazing at the sheer, sufficing beauty of the masterpiece when I first saw it, for it seemed to exude the sort of charisma that a rare piece of art born out of the dexterous work of a gifted artist could bear. The inevitable charm had insinuated through the dilated peep holes of my eyes, deeper into the velvety pockets of my soul, spreading out to fill them, to enrich them.

But today, as I pause to ruminate, a question disturbs me deep and true. Why hadn’t the piece of sheer beauty evoked aforesaid emotions in me for longer, precisely to this day?

Worse yet, why did my eyes fail to register the presence of it all these years? Was it because I was busy growing up? Or was it because it had lost its lustre? 

Somewhere, someday, the delectable mote in me that sprang up in excitement at the mere sight of the slightest hue of beauty, inconspicuously, started to slide closer to the verge of endangerment. They rarely enticed the adult in me, the reason for which is vague and not quite fathomable in its truest sense even at this moment. 

Nevertheless now, as I stand admiring the art that stands erect in the most formidable point of my room, yet in an unfortunately secluded corner of my mind, I find myself being guided to the damped albeit soulful beauty of the long forgotten pathway to my past- my childhood. I feel fresh surge of bliss rushing through me. It evokes, at this moment, nostalgia like no other monument can or has. The embellished lighting, the little chunk of heaven which proudly carries the weight of an epiphany is, more than anything, an apt and impeccable reminder of the simple joys and subtler intrigues of the unscarred and pristine child in me.

Coming to think of it, isn’t it unfortunate that we fail to appreciate the beauty of all those unavoidable ingredients of our past – soul stirring events, obsessive inanimate objects, life changing incidents, and last but not the least, people who kindled sparks of change in us, people who made us what we are today, who, unknowingly or not are intricately linked to us for the rest of our lives- unless and until a day arrives when the blazing dusty flames of the same are thrown onto us once again out of the blue? What would happen then? Wouldn’t we be overwhelmed then? Would we survive the stupendous vortex of emotions that barge in on us that imminent day? How would we react? Would we smile? Or would we cry? Or would we be insensitive enough to ignore it and move on as if the trails we treaded could do nothing more for the supposedly proud and egoistic us even if we took time and try to dwell in those once again out of gratefulness?
More importantly, wouldn’t we agree, without thinking twice, with the vacuum of our hearts for once filled with utmost fervour, to be flung back to the depths of those memories a second time, to live, love, laugh, obsess, amaze and be amazed all over again?

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P.S: This post is tagged with Mid Week Quests, a sub section of this blog where I write on a Wednesday, about random nuggets from my life .