A Year Into The Path That Chose Me

I know I know it is absolutely wrong to oversell, even more so to bore your followers and readers but (biting nails) my fingers have a will of their own. Stop them if you can - they are just flying all over this keyboard like raving lunatics! All they want to express is the feeling of nervousness mingled with sheer rejoice at having spend the year 2013 with Social Potpourri. After all these were the same fingers that typed and deleted the first ideas that came forth from my head. These very same villains clicked on "send" on the numerous contracts that we signed during the formation of the company.
There have been a number of downs too - that is true. But neither I nor you would like to dwell on them would we? Those were lessons learned that helped us grow and here we are... We created yet another rudimentary video (thank you apps) of our journey. It's been nerve wracking to think back at the plunge we took and even more so to imagine the future. We have no idea where we are headed or where we want to be but here we are for NOW

Stay with us dear friend. I will take you with me in all my triumphs and never let a whimper of failures touch you... Cheers to all that awaits!

Signing of the "Social Potpourri - An Anthology"

I could totally get used to this! Woo hoo!!!

"The Stopover" - A Review

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As most people reading this must already know, we are publishing a book soon, a set of anthology – created by members and writers of www.socialpotpourri.com. The journey of creating a book, I discovered is cluttered with obstacles small and big. Even so for a first time publisher! But with an iron will we continue and defeat everything that comes on our way!

In the middle of such a battle on a hectic day last week a mail dropped into my inbox. The signature below said Deepa Rachel Pinto and she introduced me to a project that she herself has been involved in - a creation of a novel form in books. They are going to call it “The Stopover” she wrote and described it as “a first-of-its-kind Photo Fiction”. As soon as I showed my keenness in getting a sneak peek, another mail followed promptly comprising a part from the book for me to review. Below are my thoughts on the same.

I think, it would be fair to say, calling it a “photo-fiction” would be under-estimating its’ potential. It is much more than just those two words. It captures your mind in three dimensions. It’s a story (“a blend of fiction and fact”) said in the course of a travelogue with captivating pictures of the journey that the protagonist makes. Neither would it be too far-fetched to say the style reminds one of Shakespeare’s “story within a story”. Only in this case there are several plots built in.

The part of the book that was shared with me is about heart-broken Varun who travels to Leh, for that much needed break after a storm has passed his life and left him in tatters! The writer takes the reader through his journey in simple English. We slowly unscramble Varun’s angst, his confusion and pain while we explore parts of Leh that he treads on. Through him we learn not only that this place exists but a whole deal more like its history, the topography, the culture there, the locals, the schools and much more.

The photographs that run along the narrative are most captivating. And even though I am pretty familiar with the history of Tibetans; the creation of Leh; The Dalai Lama; and the politics behind it all, “The Stopover” did explore unfamiliar grounds for me. The reader learns through the mind of Varun and sees through his eyes. To that extent at times he/she is made to play the role of the protagonist himself. The conversational mode of writing makes it a fast paced reading yet at times just admiring the pictures and imagining the scenes told in the book makes one linger.

Overall I think the book will surely open a brand new concept of narration that will open new paths for publishers and writers alike. It is not without reason that “The Stopover” Facebook page has a following of 55,000+ even before it has been published. I am inspired by these guys and this has been a sign for me to tread along with all that I have planned for my book! 

Lover's Cove Challenge #4 8-26-2012

It's that time again! Time to head on over to apd-loverscove.blogspot.com, other wise known as Lovers' Cove and take part in this week's challenge! Please read the Guidelines and Q's & A's thoroughly before entering! In short, you must come up with a line of 15 words or less and your line must continue on in thought based on what the previous person on the linky wrote! 

Andy`s Line
      "Behold! I am renewed again, for the spirit of love has descended upon my heart!"

 Crystal`s Line
       "Years, I've wandered aimlessly through the midst of the shadows trying to elude the dark."

 Elen`s Line
       "Darkness isn´t always so dark, sometimes becomes hope when our imagination wants to look for a light"

Radwa’s Line "A light that has been trying to find its sight through such darkness night"

My line

This darkness becomes me; I am but the light of our shadow that quivers now

I Feel Achieved

When I started blogging in howaboutthis I never knew I would one day write to share my achievement here. No don't get me wrong! I haven't gone to the moon yet; or even to Genova for that matter! But a couple of years ago, for no credit of mine, I met Sulekha Rawat online and somewhere during our chats we suddenly devised Social Potpourri. As one of its features, we thought, it would be way cool to have a meetups section where like minded members could meet offline to share things they were interested in or curious about. Its been a year since Social Potpourri was formed. We managed some amazing meets during this time. It was not easy at first; still is not to get people to understand where we are headed. 

However, on 28th of July Meenu Mehrotra, called to discuss an idea of a meet she had in mind. We called it "Construction of a Writers' Mind". 

The morning of the meet welcomed Delhi in drizzles which turned into raging pellets of rain. The majority of the Delhi population heaved a sigh of relief but Social Potpourri was not too happy. We waited an extra 20 minutes for participants to arrive and then started off without some who had registered for the meet. 

Engrossed in what Vikrant Dutta was saying about his decisions in life and how he came to be a writer I had forgotten about my worries for less participants. I turned around to ask for a cup of tea and was amazed to see what I saw. 

The room was full and the meet was just the warmest close knit meet I have ever attended. Even that is not the achievement I am talking about though. The achievement my dear friends is that me, the most technology challenged person in the planet, managed to make a "movie" of the meet! Its not the best but I did manage to bring it together - I feel really achieved. Do check it out and let me know what you think please. 

"THE CONSTRUCTION OF A WRITERS' MIND"

Lover's Cove Challenge - part III

Andy David initiated a brilliant poetry link up session called Lovers' Cove. And here I am trying to participate in the third round of fun and literature all of which can be read at http://apd-loverscove.blogspot.in/2012/07/lovers-cove-challenge-3-07262012.html. Here's my 15 word contribution that will ultimately meet with the sea of brilliance over at Andy's blog. 

"I drink your hues, merge into me, be born with me in a new color"

I hope that does justice

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Lovers' Cove Challenge

Lovers’ Cove Challenge #2  06-27-2012

Lover’s Cove set a writing challenge, which you can read about at  http://apd-loverscove.blogspot.com/   I continue from Sulekha's thought

I spent seven joyous years, besotted in the love of someone I knew not. How is this different then? Strangers both; One my past and the other my prospective future. 

Path to the Future

Lovers' Cove May Link Up

Andy David initiated a brilliant poetry link up session called Lovers' Cove. He gave us his first line which can be read at http://apd-loverscove.blogspot.in/2012/05/lovers-cove-challenge-1-05262012.html. I continue his thought with

But I bleed enjoying your thorns of love, rest awhile so I may breathe

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A Typical Morning for me

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I sail through scenes of a typical Gurgaon Monday morning – a scrawny guy comes out of a tin hut and scratches his behind sleepily, the corners of his mouth have stains of dried drool from his restless night, he stretches and yawns a jaw breaking yawn; the early morning commuter drives with blaring music to keep himself awake, taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and shakes his head vehemently at the scenes of the day shaping up in his head; a dog stretches out and leaves his spot from the middle of the road to look for food and water; a prostitute comes out sheepishly from where she has been working and walks briskly towards the nearest auto rickshaw, tries to smoothen the ruffled hair, she probably was not given the time to get decent before she left. 

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I watch these scenes, as I tutor my daughter nonchalantly about farm animals – the topic of the week. I observe everything and return my attention to the interior of the car. I realize something about myself – that I look at the world like a spirit, as if I wasn’t there adding to the camaraderie, like my driver was not trying to avoid the speed breaker with furrowed brows, like the little child next to me wasn’t like thousands of sleepy children this morning, just craving to go back to their room and create a brand new shiny mess. 

We halt at a red light, a bike stops next to our car. The window on my side is rolled down so I can catch some of the morning air. I can hear the two men on the bike talking over the buzz of the traffic. It’s strange that they find it difficult to hear each other when I can hear them clearly at a distance! The driver curses his addiction to cigarettes. He compares smokes to “suicide bombers’. He points out that cigarettes burn themselves to kill the smoker. His friend disagrees; he says he only wishes it could be that spontaneous. The lights change leaving me with a thought.

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We only stop next in front of our destination, the school. I pick my daughter to take her off the car, smoothen her dress, ruffle her hair and then put it back in place again, kiss her a little too aggressively on both her cheeks and tell her to go and have fun, start conquering the world right from here and that I will be back to pick her up when she’s done. She gives me a hug and walks toward her school, I sense a loss already but shoo the feeling away as one of those useless silly ones that are meant to slow you down. As I am walking away, I meet a new friend. Someone I look forward to seeing in the school. I walk towards her with my usual “sup”… She says nothing except, “I am putting this away for much too long…” She notices my questioning face and says “didn’t you notice, I’m growing my hair” and then she lifts her tracks to show me her legs. I laugh and we walk together towards where our cars await us.

A year in Gurgaon and I already possess a world-full of things that have roots here. Memories of where I spent the last few years grow dimmer with every passing day. I have already started to forget the frequency of my favorite station. Here, if both my Queen friend and me are bored at the same time, we agree to meet to sail through time. I let him take over the conversation, so we don’t have to put the TV on to tide over the awkward silences. There are none when he is around and it’s pleasant. Lately though, he seems to be as busy as I am and when we meet its different. It was because of him that I could add a life lesson to my list. “No one wants to look you in the eye when you are trying to make money”. 

When that thought occurred to me, I urgently reached over for my laptop and double clicked on the word processor. I needed these thoughts to be processed – thank you Microsoft!! And here is what I wrote, “They say it’s a sin to pray for material gain. They also say I am a part of the machine called the universe. I should pray for the whole and forget petty things like my own gain. But how does the whole function smoothly if its parts are not well oiled. I take it upon me hence, to look after my well being. That is a task I take on for the well being of my whole, the universe. I do it for all of you and you should do it too.” I picture myself saying this to a crowd and what echoes back are giggles and an angry murmur. I smile, save the document and get ready for a shower. 

Later that evening, a friend calls to say he’s going to play a poker game. I grimace and exclaim “don’t you have anything better to do?” He replies “does that mean you don’t know how to play the game?” I am at a loss of words. And then I wonder how many times have I given myself away like that. Lately I have come to believe that my thoughts are visible. I am convinced that any person talking to me knows what I am thinking, even if I am enacting something vastly different. It’s not because I am an open book or anything. I believe this to be true of everybody in this world. Our body gives out signals of the truth, to warn or to compliment the listener. The listener should just listen with his/her soul. 

So I listen, I really listen these days. I hear the needs around me, the joy, the fear, the pride, the embarrassment, the annoyance, the exhilaration, the hurt and I cannot help but wonder… am I more receptive to myself now? Is that why these emotions feel free to open up to me? I feel like a vulnerable bunch of exposed nerves. But like I said I am a part of that Monday morning, the morning will protect me like it does all who are there in the scene. I will then wrap the scenes of Gurgaon around and walk straight into life. 

My Calling

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I hear a calling. I hear it as soon as I wake up in the morning and it lasts throughout the day. It’s a pleasant distraction in the quiet hours of the morning newspaper, an addictive humming during my commutes, a welcome mat when I return home and a lullaby when my eyelids get heavy. I see before me a path unfolding itself, opening out as I walk, green pastures or fields of marigold. I see myself armored in a desert – still walking, still humming that tune. I see myself create an inheritance for posterity, a foundation for the needy, a bridge for people separated. I hear the rumble of footsteps getting closer almost drowning the faint buzz of discontent! I hear the applaud of the gathered world while someone far away draws the curtain to keep the light away. I strain to hear the buzz, trace the unhappy. But I realize with joy that on this path I can only walk on one direction. I can look back but cannot retrace. I hear a voice telling me to focus and I do. I am headed towards www.socialpotpourri.com  

Have you ever felt this strongly about something? Do you think I should heed to the calling? 

A Mom Knows

I have been sharing each passing second of my daughter, Agni's, developments with friend and business partner Sulekha Rawat. The latest being the separation anxiety that sets in with the beginning of school. Let me be honest and confess here that this syndrome made much deeper impressions on me and my soul than Agni's. Nonetheless she suffers unimaginably. Sulekha Rawat, the most fantastic Mom and daughter ever, wrote this to comfort me and it touched the deepest corner of my heart! Here is what she wrote:

Mommy Don’t Leave…

I wake up with a heavy heart, 

Don’t like the morning time.

Dread opening my eyes,

Bury my head in the pillows, instead.

I know what happens next,

I drag myself into her room.

My angel sleeps so peacefully,

a smile on her rosy lips.

She puts her arms around me,

And wishes me a happy morning,

But then her face crumples up,

Courtesy

I can see terror in her eyes.   

She remembers its school-time now,

And mummy will take her there.

She feels threatened among the strangers,

In her heart there is a fear.

What if Mommy leaves her ,

And goes away for three hours?

How will she find her mommy,

in the crowd of strangers?

The little girl is scared to let go,

Of her mum’s hand,

She feels safe with her and,

has been her world for so long.

For two and a half years,

They have been a team.

Their bond solid yet so fragile,

Their love so comforting,

and supreme.

When mommy leaves her baby,

and walks away towards her car.

The desperate longing in the baby’s eyes,

Tears at her aching heart,

But they both have to be strong,

Be brave for each other.

It’s only a matter of time,

till the tables are reversed.

Now the mommy will cry,

when the baby sighs.

“I don’t want to go home,

I want to remain at school.

I want to play with my friends,

I like being here.

At home I get so bored,

So please leave me here.”

So cheer up Mommy and Baby,

You are in for a roller-coaster ride.

Enjoy the highs and lows,

Yell with glee and pride.

God bless you both and,

Sulekha Rawat (top left) with Mom and daughter
 long after their separation battles are over

I wish and pray,

That he keeps you safe,

night and day.

P.s. I know daddy loves his angel equally but this poem is about the mom’s experience at the school with the baby. So Daddy kindly understand J

Sulekha aka Lucks

Nurture to be Nurtured - duhhhh!!!!

The headline is a lesson more relevant to "Blogosphere" than life, but it really seems to spill over onto many situations in both. Okay I think I am going to cut the chase here and get to the point. It’s been a while I took my leave from Blogosphere – it’s been so long that I started wondering whether the agency actually had given me a one- way ticket. The feeling was gnawing and I started to fear my absence in that zone.

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Some of the nagging doubts seemed too close to being real – “What if my friends forget me there?”, “What if followers are too used to seeing that lock on 'howabouthis'?”, “What if I was labeled a sporadic wannabe without any loyalty?” The doubts created a nice and thick blanket of insecurity around me and I was just too scared of shedding it and buying that return ticket!

And then one day his voice reverberated in my head, the voice of ‘Blogos’, God of the blogging world. Nurture to be Nurtured – he said. I saw a vague vision of him – his lips curled into a smile, his lashes blinked and exposed kind large eyes swimming with words and knowledge! Then there was light and the darkness went away.  and the dawn matured into a beautiful autumn day. I felt needed rather than needy. And what a feeling that was. Nurture to Nurtured – duh – but of course I knew that one!

So to my 117 followers I return today with an apology and a promise. It’s a promise to always be there when you come knocking; a promise to be ready for you just in case, even if you are not planning a visit; a promise to visit you even if life here in this world takes over for it is you who make my blogging world and it is you who can take it away.

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Having said the above – here is a question. Is that being opportunistic in some level? Is that like a give and take? Is that saying I will not give if you don’t take or vice versa? Maybe not – because this is what Blogosphere is made of – a lifeline of support. There is nothing else that keeps us together and going. And after all if you need a plant to bloom into a flower you will have to make sure it survives.

I know not if this is a good return but it is one nonetheless and with this I have bought my ticket back. My door will be answered from this day onwards – I will eagerly wait to see you arriving.

Here's to Sulekha

I read an invitation to a tempting call to write at http://sulekkha.blogspot.com/ and this is what it said:

“Let's make a collage of articles.

"SOUL-MATES"
 Friends,
 You are invited to my collage making event. All you need to bring to the event is your article on soul mates. Do you believe in soul mates? How and where can you find your soul mate? Does everyone have one?
 If you are interested in helping me make this collage, then Please leave your name and blog link at the bottom of the page, before 7th September.”


How could I not respond to this call from someone who actually fits quite well into my imagination of a soulmate. Sulekha completes my sentences and thinks my thoughts for me. Check her blog out at sulekkha.blogspot.com. And here’s to her…

I am to Soulmates what an ant is to alphabets! I am told that soulmates as the name suggests is a mate of your soul – a mate that stays with you in one form or the other in every physical lifetime but is a constant lover in the ethereal world - a world that I have no remembrance of in this state of my existence.

So being the practical ant that I am, I seem to concentrate largely on my mate in this world; my lover and husband here in Earth. For the time being he is the be all and end all of my entire existence. And just in case he is not my Soulmate my heart and head asks me not to look for who is immediately. He will come when he has to and I will deal with him then.

Having said that, contrary to most romantic ideologies about soulmates, I am extremely nervous about meeting this guy. I like the warm and fuzzy feeling of comfort with my existing (let’s just say) “world mate”. I feel dizzy even imagining someone disrupting what we have here. I have put my heart and soul in this relationship – absolutely NOT to find out that my soul was only humoring me when we worked in partnership!! Surely it knew all along who its mate is. Was it actually laughing at my futile attempts then?? Was I really working on someone who was thrown my way to tide over this world only to return to someone else in the next???

Photo courtesy

Well it’s all very confusing to me. I just want to be with people I know and have learnt to love. I am not comfortable with drastic changes and believe that I may just abhor whoever my Soulmate is for disrupting my life like that. “Common SOULMATE – I HAVE A CHILD WITH THIS MAN!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!?” What’s worse – apparently I won’t even be able stop myself from falling in love with this spoilt sport!

And here is another thought – an amateur in spirituality – I am led to believe that all human beings are a part of one great soul. DO I need to elaborate more on this? You get my drift right SM? We are one anyway – so stop looking for me. Please stay at peace knowing I am already you and you me. What’s more – my “World Mate” and baby are a part of you too. It may be an unfortunate thought to you but really we are all one. Let’s stand united in this belief okay?

Dad's Diary 19 - KICK BACK

He had a single name, Dukpa, which meant that he hailed from Bhutan; 'Druk' was Bhutan and 'pa', man. “That's all you need to identify your existence with,” he once explained to me, “with having or lacking a first name, you never have or lack anything extra.”

Dukpa was employed as a 'sahish', running after the horses hired out for fun riding to the tourists in a Himalayan resort by his employer who owned several of them.

Dukpa was a good horse-man; In fact calling him that was rather crude; a horse-whisperer was much nearer the point. His favorite was an aging mare; Pema, he had lovingly christened her.

His employer hired and fired him almost daily; hired him for his horse-sense, and fired him for his weakness in giving Pema as much food and rest as was possible. The net result was that the mare earned less and ate more. The employer resented this; and, in Dukpa's reckoning, had stooped so low as to declare Pema to be the ugliest one of his whole lot.

Dukpa didn't care one way or the other. But what really brought tears to his eyes was the rapacious employer's caprice of kicking the mare for no reason at all. To make up, he would buy colorful ribbons, show them to  the mare as if to assuage her feelings, and tie them on her mane, telling her in a soothing voice that she would go to heaven, and the employer to hell.

The day came when Dukpa decided that enough was enough. He maneuvered Pema in a particular position, and informed the owner that she could not work with injuries in her hind legs. The disbelieving employer came over to personally inspect the injuries. Dukpa tightened his grip on Pema's mane, and beseeched her, “Now baby, now.”

A snort later, Pema heaved up both the hoofs, equipped with new horse-shoes, with all her might, caught the employer under the ribcage, and threw him on to the concrete wall at the far end of the stable. “And that's what I call an ugly kick,” shouted Dukpa. Pema guffawed for the first time in her life.

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The employer was rushed to the hospital with multiple fractures, and Dukpa rushed Pema to safety. He rode Into a pre-arranged Buddhist monastery in a far flung area where the head Lama had agreed to take them in.

Dukpa took the robes and the vow of silence, and slept under the same shade built for Pema, taking care of the mare in her old age. The head Lama approved,  counseling Dukpa that that precisely was his way to salvation. Dukpa fulfilled his assurance to Pema that she would go to  heaven if there was one; the monastery indeed was Pema's heaven.  

BY TAPAS MUKHERJEE

Dad's Diary 18 - The Boss

I crossed the threshold, and walked right into a shattered symphony. A symphony was indeed what wafted from Abdul's words and activities. Something had gone horribly wrong.

The one thing that Man Friday Abdul hated about his boss' demeanor was his indifference to improving the quality of home comforts. 

All the officers' quarters were equipped with calling bells fitted in the kitchen and the domestic-help-quarters except this house. He had made several fruitless requests to his boss. It was a matter of prestige that the bell should summon him instead of the officer's holler. It was too demeaning for him.

CREDIT - polyvore.com

In fact Abdul's persistence had led to the requisition of an electric bell from the government store. But, this being a government quarter, an electrical engineer had to oversee its installation by a departmental technician. The notorious 'red tape' had taken its toll; there was no trace of the engineer concerned. Abdul was in an explosive mood. 

In the boss' absence I offered to pay for a private electrician, and face the consequences later. An overjoyed Abdul ran out to make the necessary arrangements. The bell was fixed even before the boss' arrival back home. When he did arrive, 'krirring krirring' heralded his entry.

Next morning we waited in the living room for the cup that cheers, but there was no trace of Abdul with the tea pot. The boss lost his cool and shouted for Abdul to hurry with the tea, but to no avail. Ultimately we located him huddled up in a corner of the kitchen.

“How many times do I have to call you?” the irate boss fumed. And ignition reached the bomb-wick.

“I heard some undesirable noise,” retorted Abdul, “but I did not hear the bell ring,” adding that the bell switch was meant for the boss to push, not to add color to the wall.

“Yes, Sir,” the boss managed to say, somewhat startled. 

BY TAPAS MUKHERJEE