Words donât come naturally to me anymore, except the word âprocrastinationâ. Itâs one of those things, I am starting to believe, I am no more capable of. I feel like superman in the presence of Kryptonite. Â
Superman, Kryptonite. I wonder. Â (hello, distraction) Â Anyway.
Words, yes, words. I have a hard time tracking the words in my thoughts, if you know what I mean. They zoom and whizz and flash past me, in a random directionless manner. Sometimes, sometimes they pop in my head and just as a sentence seems to be taking shape, *poof* A distraction. Then another. Another. Yet another and another!
By then the word, the sentence and the thought have all disappeared; like a bubble that goes pop in the sky, or like the smoke that just glides and blends into the air, or like a drop of water that seeps into a dry sponge, or like a beam of light speeding into the dark night sky; all gone.
You wake up from bed, and in your gut you feel like, this is your day and only yours. Have you felt that before? Today, felt like such a day.
Finally, after-God-knows-how-many-days, I got around to doing something productive this Sunday. Maybe when some people say âbeing in a moodâ to work ,it is this ,or maybe worse, itâs just a horrible excuse for procrastination and absolute laziness. For me, it was just basking in the glory of finishing design school.
Before I slack further and before this feeling (of-heck, letâs conquer this world) dies, I decided to commit to something and write this blog post; even though, I am not certain as to how many people really read my blog.
I decided to adopt a new sort of technique to help me be more productive and proactive. I decided to..wait for it...*drumroll* wake up at 5:00 am everyday for the next one month. I sincerely hope that I really can do it. I intend to inculcate some more practices in addition to this one, such as, practising my letters/drawing, and doing my yoga/any exercise. As I type this, I realise that I will be travelling next weekend and the weekend after that. I suppose Iâll have to try and, come what may, wake up at 5:00 am, the very least. Really pray, I can keep up the sleep cycle and not go crazy.
My very first books . Made these in the first year of college, using leftover paper from multiple #sketchbooks and loose paper that I found and collected over time. Bound together using cardboard and fevicol (they're still intact, sort of) Most of the drawings and writings in it are from the summer of 2013.
I like to draw, write and personalise the covers of my books (most of us do). It just makes me feel more secure for some really odd reason. #drawings #books
I am mostly writing this out of worry, desperation and mostly just utter frustration about my situation; in the hopes that once I put all the garbage i have in my head out there, itâs clear and more receptive to new and nicer things.
On December 9th 2015, I landed in Delhi, excited, nervous and very  eager to learn, for a six month internship.Â
Exactly one week before that ,I was in Coimbatore and then in Hyderabad and now in Delhi. That is some progress,donât you think?Â
Well itâs been about two months now and I am hitting an all time low. I admit it shamelessly, that I have been a sucker for routine and such in the city,thereâs so much to do in Delhi. It doesnât rest, ever, however it has been difficult to catch up with itâs pace or join it. Making new friends in a city is difficult, especially if you have absolutely no clue where to begin.
here are some tips beginning with living -
I stay in a PG in Delhi, however I rather rented out a place and had my own neat and nice space. I really wish people had kept their spaces and places neater before they lent them out. It is almost annoying to think that they take advantage of the fact that there doesnât seem to be much choice for you.
Pg/ rented house /room there are some pointers that you NEEd to check -
- Bathroom , a bathroom with a good vent and big enough to fit a baby elephant is typically a nice bathroom. Trust me you donât want to be dashing into things early in the morning only because your bathroom is too small.
- Window - Delhi is by far the dustiest place I have ever seen. But some sunlight is very very important. Make sure there is a window with atleast some sunlight coming through.Â
- If you are going to be staying here for a couple of months, I suggest you have a table where you can either dump your miscellaneous things on or just have a table to be able to work, sit and read, or write. It is essential to have a table.
Ideally, it would be brilliant to have a room by yourself where only you are to blame yourself for the dirt you make, however it is also nice to share a room with someone who you may know, or with someone who you may grow to know. But it has its ups and downs
During the course of writing this it started getting darker outside, I have taken a nap and my food has digested too. I think for now I should end the rant about my stay in Delhi. More than the people and the city, I think the place where I stay really bothers me. I wish I can come back to a place that makes me feel home like and at least provides me my space to do my things.Â
Also on other days, I think I feel too negative about my whole situation and that I need to just get my butt out there and see and experience Delhi as much. I donât know, it is such a difficult thing to think about.
this post is mostly a rant, but I am learning a lot on the other hand. I met some interesting people, I have attended some interesting events and learnt a lot in just two months of my stay here in delhi.
Thats the story everytime I try to draw from a website.
Lesson Learnt.
"me: maybe i'll go on a figure drawing website to learn how to draw better, more natural poses
figure drawing website: *1000 people doing ballet, 700 pictures that were definitely originally intended to be pornographic, 2 natural poses, 500 white guys screaming while holding katanas*"
I woke up this morning, my mind surveyed the room registering the presence of my friend sleeping next to me.I register the daylight seeping in through the curtains,chattering of the birds ,of the faint noises outside the room-water pouring in, people dragging their feet and their buckets to the bathroom.Ah!It's Monday. I hit the snooze on my phone,turn the fan speed down and snooze.Exactly,ten minutes later,I wake up to my alarm singing.I move to the edge of the bed,kick the lump of a person next to me "It's Eight" and I cross over the lump. I grab my tooth brush and drag my feet to the bathroom and join the other sleepy heads. I do this routine every single day,my mind scans,registers,alarm rings and I snooze it.
But there are those days my mind wanders and reminds me of random things.It generally happens in the bath and today it was about the Creche.I went to a creche because both my parents worked, it did me good to spend a few hours with kids everyday.
The Creche  was a space in the garage of a large apartment with four blocks A B C D,we lived in D 122. It had three main spaces, a verandah-here we played(and later monitored younger kids) on funskool's slide and see-saw;a drawing room area - where we gathered to tell stories,rhymes,did our homework,celebrated birthdays; a living room that extended to a kitchen-we took afternoon naps,had our lunch or a snack here.
The creche was run by Lata Aunty, she lived on the pent house of the D block.A tall, healthy lady with a long plait,I have always seen her in a neatly ironed and starched saree.A disciplinarian,she came to the creche at four pm each day,sat by the main door as the girls lined up holding their combs, hairbands or ribbons to get their hair combed and neatly done.She'd then wash her hands, pick a baby from the cradle and come back to her spot. She played with the baby, kept an eye on the kids in the verandah  and exchanged hellos(or shared behavior report)with the parents who came to pick their children.
Apart from Lata Aunty, there were Rani Akka,Ganga and Vani akka.These three were an integral part of the creche and Aunty's houseold too.
Vani Akka, a tall slender lady worked in aunty's penthouse.She was always running around doing errands, I still picture her clad in a half-saree saying hellos in a high pitched voice and running with bags  in her hand.
Ganga was just few years older to us. She came from a tiny village to make some money by doing small chores in the creche.Ganga played with is, she knew all the rhymes as well as we did.
Rani Akka lived in the creche,full time. She cooked for us, took naps with us and sometimes spoilt us by letting us watch Shaktiman on tv(in aunty's absence of course)
Everyday, the best part of my day was the creche. I used to spend my time in school wondering what my Creche mates must be doing and how to outwit or challenge that annoying Sriram.Sriram was my oldest friend in creche, we were constantly at each other's throats.Tarun was the smartest and he had a new animal fact to share each day, Sameera was the silly billy of the group, Ramani and Maharshi were the quiet kids with the most mischievous plans and then there was Tippu, he ran at the speed of light and showed off about everything.We didn't like Tippu's attitude. Ironically, I remember incidents with Tippu vividly, but till today I don't know his actual name. Nobody did.
Shreya's Aar PaarÂ
Caution- This post is rather long
Itâs July and itâs time to go back to school for us here in India.For everyone else, but not quite for me, my vacation was still partly on,because my cousins were going to visit India. Each year July would come and with it, Lekha-Keerti, my cousins from America;that was the beginning of some good, loud drama!
The drama started right from the time we prepared to receive them up from the airport, all the adults and I waited for them with roses in our hands (I was puzzled as to why we were giving them Roses, Whatâs the big deal).I didnât want to part with the rose but I had to give mine to Lekha â a welcome gesture. Lekha, she has an Indian name like mine, but she spoke English like an American and she didnât speak any Indian language,not one! The dynamics was quite confusing, I didnât have any cousins of my age in the city but then, come July and I have this cousin. She was quite a nut, I tell you. We(Keerti did, I just agreed on it quietly) nicknamed her Tornado, not that she was destructive but she definitely shook the house like one.
I was amused by the changes that took place by their arrival, the non-masala food, boiled water and extra carefully cleaned water bottles, the toilet paper in the washrooms , mosquito repellants- coils, electric buzzing green coloured ones, sprays, Odomos , and furniture was moved to make place for two huge suitcases to fit.
Even the people changed; the tailor deliverered on time, the driver was more than happy to extend his shift , the maid washed the clothes with extra care, , the neighborhood kids put on an American accent, and then not to miss the special attention of the neighbourhood aunties- one bakes delicious cakes , one comes over to chat about âsomeone someoneâ in America, while another makes strenuous efforts to chatter in English and then continues emphatically in Telugu with a high pitched voice assuming Lekha and Keerti will understand it all (this situation is hilarious because Lekha and Keerti manage to pick a word or a phrase say it the entire vacation in the same tone and the same accent, and this happened quite often. For example once it was âSnatakam ki tappa kunda ravaliâ roughly meaning make sure to be there right from the beginning of the wedding ceremony.
 Fortunately for ammamma(grandmother), I visited them with one small bag and I didnât need any other big changes. There were a lot of mosquitoes in their locality but I didnât complain as long as the coils were burning.Coils, the sprays, the balms, the electric hitec ones- nothing seemed to work for Lekha and Keerti, they woke up with new and fresh mosquito bites each morning. I always wondered how that happened! Lekha was always sulky and screaming for everybodyâs attention- including the mosquitos I thought!
I accepted the âinscrutableâ ways of these American cousins, the toilet paper, shouting and throwing tantrums, the necessity to have polite manners, mosquito bites, the attention, the accent, etc! However, one day Lekha told me something that surpassed all this; she asked me to learn âcar-mannersâ! Now what is car manners? To this day, I do not know what car manners is,nor does Lekha. This âtornadoâ was very fiery and I never understood why. The funny thing is, Lekha got irritated quite often and she would start shouting in English; most times I didnât understand or care what she was saying or why she was shouting and crying at the same time, but her fluency in the language fascinated me.
Lekha used to be annoyed and irked, I learnt leaving her to the care and attention of âAmmammaâ was the best option.That way, I get an opportunity to spend time with Keerti. Keerti is four years older to Lekha and me, sheâs calm and composed and less irritated about anything.Memories of time spent with Keerti is very vague in my head but I adored her, felt quite nice to just sit next to her and ask her what she was reading or what class she was taking. I always used to look forward to their visit. Despite Lekhaâs pet peeves and âtornadoâ bouts. There was always Keerti ,and I loved bonding with her.
I must admit in spite of theâ tornadoâ that she was ,Lekha was a lot of fun when she was in one of those âhappy moodsâ not sulking , angry or irritated. She would come up with a variety of imaginative play and I assisted her always, a magic show or just any show, drawing, painting, playing cards, or just exploring. I discovered âa caring friendâ in her.We were about ten when we had gone on a family trip to Tirupati. It was huge group and I met Lekha and Keertiâs paternal cousins who were also from the US for the first time. The more the merrier was the theme of the trip! We kids had no sense of time or place. We played, sang and played together; it was a jolly good group. On one such day, a fight broke out amongst us and unfortunately I became the scapegoat, one of the older cousins shouted at me severely. Quite upset, I ran out from there into the adjacent room and shut myself. Lekha, who was watching all this followed me and much to my surprise ,consoled me, she even brought me crispies and a pack of cards so that we could have our own fun. I thought it was a kind gesture and she really made me feel better!
I grew fond of this Tornado in spite of her crankiness, I guess somewhere inside I knew it was mostly because she felt alienated in India. When Lekha was gone I missed the creative games that we played. Unlike my friends at school , she never insisted we play âteacher- teacherâ âmummy-daddyâ âhome-homeâ or any such ridiculous game. When we were introduced to informal letter writing in school and got various topics to write on, irrespective of the topic my letter would always begin with âDear Lekhaâ, (it made more sense to write to Lekha who was miles away than to write to my friend sitting next to me in my class). The visits began smoothly, then we would hit a few rough patches and it would end smoothly. At the end of their visit she would write me a card to say âsorry and miss youâ and I would do the same. Year after year this continued until we grew up and mellowed down. I do miss the drama,âdesi dramaâ.
 An NRI- "We live in Toronto";Indian Aunty-"Oh acha, which part of USA is that?"The late 1980's and the 90's saw a boom with many Indians migrating to the west.America till today remains the most popular of the 'abroad' places.US of A like some put it.Â
Lekha,my american born cousin and I, during a Eureka moment, decided to write articles about our summer experiences in India and about how we perceived one another. Although,initially thought of as a series "Aar Paar" made it only till two rounds of articles.Â
Here is Lekha's Aar-Paar.Â
If I am in India it is summer vacation and I am eight years old. I am always hot. I take time each morning counting new mosquito bites. I share a stiff mattress with my sister on a bed low to the ground and each night we turn a dial all the way so the ceiling fan spins ferociously and we draw up brightly colored cotton sheets above our faces and tuck them under our toes. We mummify ourselves in an attempt to avoid mosquitos. The logic is that the fan will whip air quickly enough to keep mosquitos from landing on us. The logic is that even if they do land on us, the cotton sheet will protect us. Each night this logic is defied and I wake up with new bites.
When I wake up each morning when I am in India it is noisy already. In New Jersey I have my own bedroom, and it is usually quiet when I wake up because the house is big enough for sound to stay local. When I am in India the bedroom I share with my sister is in the same sound space as the street, our kitchen, and our neighborâs kitchen. If I donât wake up early enough, I can listen as the ambient noise sometimes turn towards me and become about me. I can hear my grandmother and grandfather and sister and mother talking about me. I wish they wouldnât do that.
If I am in India I am eight years old and I am expected to play with my cousin Shreya, who never seems to be itchy or hot like I am. We donât know each other that well and sometimes I find that expectations for our compatibility are higher than they should be. Shreya is my only cousin who is the same age as me. Adults think that this is enough in common for us to be good friends, but I do not identify closely with the age. Eight years old doesnât mean anything to me, which is a feeling I share with all other eight year olds.
Most of my days in India are more out of my control than my days in New Jersey, where I donât have much control to begin with. But if I am in India it means that I can do even less: I can watch fewer channels on TV, I do not have my bicycle to ride even in circles around my cul-de-sac, I can not request that my mother arrange and then chaperone play dates with friends from school. I do not have my books or usual pantry full of snacks. The milk taste different in India, which means the ice cream and perugu do too. The ghee taste better, though, and the movie theaters are bigger. And I can spend afternoons with my head rested on my grandmotherâs belly and nap.
But one thing that is out of my control and is sometimes bad and sometimes good is that sometimes Shreya is dropped off at my grandparentâs house and we are expected to play together. On a bad day, I am itchy and sweaty and mean to Shreya. I donât know why. At home when I play I am rarely the aggressor. Rather, my cousins pick on me and isolate me, which causes me to throw tantrums that isolate me further. But if I am in India I am a total snot. I jabber in English, literally using the language to jab at her. I am short-tempered and selfish, and Shreya and I have little in common to mitigate these characteristics. We watch different childrenâs programs and speak different languages. Her schooling is different from mine. You donât think these things matter, but I think it adds up.
On good days I am still itchy but maybe itâs that I slept better, so I feel more energetic. On these days Shreya and I find common ground. Our common ground is the space behind the curtain separating the living room and bedrooms, where we hide and make up stories or plan short performances. Or, common ground is the stairwell to the roof or the front left corner of the garden where we found a birdâs nest once and where we stuck our hands in a spider web once by accident.
But I feel irritated by how these good days and peaceful stretches of playtime are scrutinized by the adults, who remark about these good days, making it obvious that they are the exception. I wish they wouldnât expect the worse from me. I donât like the feeling that we are being watched while we play, because I feel that Shreya and I could benefit from some privacy and more space. More real estate to forage more common ground. When I am in India I am eight years old on summer vacation and I feel crowded and not myself, but I wish I was more myself so I could be a better friend.
