What do I say?

It's been more than a year and a half since I last posted, and frankly, I don't know what i want to write now, either. So many blogs go silent after frenetic posting for some time. I sometimes wonder why. Is it because we run out of things to say? Or is it that we cannot sometimes share what we really want to say? Or do we lose that drive within us that pushes us to write, to share, to let the world know?

I don't know. All I know is that the last two years were very stressful and packed with so much to do, that I just lost the interest to write and maintain the blog. Besides, what is there for me to say? I don't have any defined topics, I am not writing on any particular subject, just random thoughts and experiences, and they sometimes dry up.

Sometimes, when you are focused on something, you exclude everything else. That is what happened to me. I was so focused on helping my daughter through school, and into college, that everything else came second. Now that she has cleared another peak (her XII Boards), and is doing extremely well in first year in college,and no longer needs me the way she did earlier, I am suddenly faced with the question - what do I do now?

For the past so many months I have been contemplating this question. I realize that sometimes the dreams you had for yourself as a young person, no longer appeal to you. I am in a kind of limbo, not inclined to accept the things that come my way and yet unsure of what I should do. Maybe I have to go through the limbo, maybe I just have to wait for the answer to come...

I wish.....

I wish I could

Put away everything -

This life, these experiences,

The emotions, the challenges -

Everything,

And curl up and sleep,

Floating gently on the waters of Life....

Aruna

Yesterday I lost a friend.....

Aruna, with her wide open smile and twinkling eyes brought such freshness to our lives. She faced all the challenges in her life with a smile, even cancer.

I remember meeting her after her first chemotherapy cycle. She had lost all her hair, but not her infectious laughter. She kept laughing and giggling over many things, and I came away feeling happy and hopeful, even forgetful of why I went there in the first place!

She put up a brave fight, but the last time I saw her, over a year ago, she looked a ghost of her former self. She had lost a lot of weight, and her smile was not as full and joyous as before. Her large dark eyes looked even larger in her gaunt face, and were full of pain. Even as she continued to smile, we could see that she had given up the fight.

So many times during the past year, I have wanted to visit her but something or the other would come up, and I put off the visit.

Yesterday, when I heard the news of her death, all I could feel was regret. Regret at not making the time to visit her, at not calling more often, at not telling her that I was there to share her pain, at not helping her through this very difficult time.... I miss you, Aruna, and I wish I had not let the mundane duties of my life come in the way of spending more time with you.

Midmorning musings....

Three months...and no posts. I must be the slowest blogger in the world! And what are my excuses this time?? A bout of viral fever( with symptoms like chikungunya), assorted tests and exams, and my daughter's dance arangetram....


I have come to realize, like most mothers, that my world, and my writing, revolves around my daughter. Not a good sign, for there is always the danger of stifling her with my love and attention! I know, most of my life is spent doing things for her, but surely there is something else. Or is it too selfish to even think about it? I guess old-timers would think so, but if I don't want to be an albatross around her neck, I guess I had better find something to do:-)


Most of my friends are either going through such an awakening, or are dreading the very thought of their children growing up and flying away! But, seriously,why should we try to fill our time with some activity that prevents us from facing our loneliness? Why does it seem so dark and gloomy? I personally think I have to look deep into that darkness...for it holds so much of me. If I cannot face myself, my fears, my insecurities, then how can I go through it to find meaning? A friend told me she was going for various classes because she could not be alone, it would make her think of things that upset her. By pushing the issue away, how can we deal with it? And deal with it, we must. There really is no choice but we would rather put if off, and then wonder why we feel so low, so depressed, and so heavy.


Instead of running around attending various classes and courses, I feel it would be better to reflect on what we already know, from experience and otherwise. Creativity is fine, but most women I know are already asking what do I do with this skill even as they are learning it! Why monetise everything? Why not enjoy creating something beautiful, and then learning to let it go by gifting it, or selling it? "Oh, I am not into making money"...okay, then give it away. "But most people don't really appreciate it"...why think of it once you have given it away? Recently, I spent a day with a friend, and every suggestion I made, everything I said, was met with such a retort. Frustrating, but I could understand her resistance, and her intense need to break the pattern. She knew she had to do it, but she was not willing to make the change.


It is indeed hard to break long-entrenched habits, but once you break through the resistance, it becomes so simple. And then, you do not have to worry that your children have grown up and no longer need you; you do not have to depend on another to satisfy your need for approval; you don't need to do things for other people in order to feel important. But you will do all that, because you love to:)

The Parting

It’s time to decide,
Clear-eyed, emotionless.
Time to split
The furniture, the books,
Even the children….
Vestiges of a marriage
Come to an end.

The cold counting
Of what goes where,
To whom –
A far cry
From the heady love
And impetuousness
Of early marriage.

Too late to analyze
What went wrong,
When, and how –
Too late to understand
Why the magic disappeared.

All one can hope for –
To get past the hate,
Past the anger,
To a state
Of calm acceptance

Joie de Vivre

Pushpa is in her mid-sixties. With her warm smile and trendy hairstyle, she does not look like a traditional grandmother. She has tried her hand at a lot of things – being a play school teacher, teaching spoken English to bored housewives, selling Tupperware. For the past few years, she has turned entrepreneur, selling home-made chocolates and block-printed sarees from home.

Sharada is fifty. Appearances can be deceptive, and Sharada’s traditional appearance hides the bubbling spontaneity of a child! Married to a creative artist, she is a very creative person herself. She is an accomplished singer and music teacher but that does not stop her from learning and doing new things. Recently she learnt archery (!) and also acted in a student film, just for a lark! She is a wonderful mimic and raconteur, and can keep you in splits with her tales!

What connects these two women is the fact that they both are cancer survivors.

What amazes me is their spirit and their spontaneous, joyous approach to life. Like so many others I know, they have been to the edge and have come back, not scarred, but filled with a love for life.

When I look at them, my own ennui and cynicism seem out of place. Is it necessary, I wonder, to face death in order to appreciate life?

Hi, I am back!

Have been missing in action, as Cynic says! Fact is, I did not expect to go off for so long. The exams and the holidays brought their own challenges, and so many things came up that I really did not find the time to sit and write...Like Vishwa, I ended up taking a sabbatical without really planning it!

Also, a lot of things that I would like to write about involve other people, and I am not sure if I can or should write about them. True, I can change the names, but many of them read my blog, and would understand who and what I am talking about. Is it fair to do so? I don't know. I sometimes feel I should have started an anonymous blog, like Cynic!

This is also not a blog about people I have known. It is about how I see things, how I experience Life....sometimes, it is not possible to tell all that I am experiencing and seeing,for the simple fact that most people will think I am crazy! That involves a careful selection of words and phrases, which sometimes hampers my style.

But I cannot abandon my "baby", as it were, so here I am folks, back from my self-imposed exile, and hoping to write some more!

A Peak Scaled

I have been in a kind of daze for a while now, since the X Board Results revealed that my daughter has done very well. It is the kind of daze, or should I say satisfied weariness that strikes you when you have achieved something that you have worked towards.

Eight years ago, when my daughter was assessed to be dyslexic, I really did not understand what the journey would entail. I just went by a mother’s instinct to help my child overcome what I felt were obstacles on her path. I learnt on the way, acquiring a Teacher’s Training Certificate to teach children who were like her. But I soon learned that a mother who also doubles up as a teacher faces not one wall, but two!

There have been so many moments of frustration, so many days when I almost threw in the towel, but unlike a tutor, a mother cannot give up, can she? I learnt patience as I picked myself up after each frustrating moment and ploughed on. I learned to appreciate the small things and celebrate each victory, small or big. I learned to look beyond the academic and understand the child as a whole. I learned that all of us are intelligent, even if we did badly at school, for there were other areas where our intelligence would shine through –in music, dance, art, sports, and a host of other arenas. I loved Howard Gardner’s theory of Multiple Intelligences for it made so much sense and helped me understand my daughter’s strengths. I read, taught, and googled as I constantly updated my knowledge about dyslexia.

But my daughter has been my greatest teacher. Her friends were surprised when they came to know that her parents did not throw a fit or have a heart attack when they saw her grades. We knew she had done her best, and we knew that she would come through when it did matter. Meanwhile, we did all we could to nurture her awesome talents in music, dance and art. We have allowed her to grow up into a confident, stable young woman with a mind of her own.

Throughout, I have never shied away from talking about my daughter’s learning disability, for I feel that is the only way I can reach out to many more people who probably are not aware. Through them, I can help so many children who are probably in need of such help, and are fighting frustrating academic battles. Earlier, when someone would ask me “So what is dyslexia” or think it is the same as mental retardation, it was difficult for me to explain concisely. These days, thanks to Aamir Khan, it is easy – “Just watch Taare Zameen Par. My daughter is just like that child in the movie”. It also helps them understand just how talented and intelligent these children are. The only problem they have is with academics.

Recently, a friend asked me if my daughter had “gotten over” her dyslexia. People still think it is some kind of disease that one outgrows! I spend a lot of my time explaining, but sometimes I don’t know if they really understand! But all that can wait, for right now, we are celebrating what is most certainly the first of the many peaks we are prepared to scale. Let the party begin!


Image courtesy: www.readingandspelling.com/Symptoms_Of_Dyslexia.html

To my daughter...

Strange, how your face seems to morph into mine.......

Your angry words, the look in your eyes - an echo of mine.

Words spoken long ages ago, come back to haunt me, through you.

Now I am on the 'other' side, feeling both fear and love, like every mother -

While you chafe and protest, wishing to break free, break the boundaries that I have extended .....but they are still boundaries.

We re-enact the eternal scene........only the people change; the feelings, the conflicts, sometimes even the words, do not.

A Very Private Matter

A couple of weeks ago,I had to consult a doctor for a minor problem. At the city centre of a well-known hospital chain,where I had the appointment, I was asked to fill in a registration form. Sitting down to fill it,I was shocked to find that I had to fill in not just my name, age, address but also my religion.

Religion???? Why on earth would a hospital want to know my religion? If they really wanted to find out which community I belonged to, my name would be a dead give-away. If they had just reproduced an official form, then it shows a total lack of sensitivity.

I firmly believe that my religion, or my faith, is a very private matter between me and my Maker, and I don't think anyone else has any say in the matter. There is too much religion in the public sphere causing too much trouble. I do not think even schools should be asking us to supply such information, so where is the question of a hospital doing the same? Why should they know what is my religion or community? Will a doctor refuse to treat me based on my religious beliefs?I find it ridiculous.

Needless to say, I did not fill in that particular column.

Love in a wired world.....

Last week, idly surfing the TV channels, I chanced upon a Tamil movie. The movie must have been made a decade ago and was a tender love story which involved many twists and turns in the plot. Central to the progress of the plot was the idea of communication (or lack of it).

The heroine does not have a telephone at home and has to go to the neighbour’s house or to a phone booth to call the hero. This often leads to strange situations where she is not able to inform him of some important happening in her life, or pass on vital information like the fact that she has to leave town immediately. While he waits to meet her at the designated spot, she passes by within yards of him on a crowded railway platform, and the two do not see each other. We almost feel like crying out, ‘Turn and look. She is leaving on that train.”

I am sure many of us would recall similar situations in numerous Indian movies, in all languages, where misunderstandings created poignant situations and carried the plot forward.

With the advent of the ubiquitous mobile phone, our movies have lost much of their old-world charm. When you are constantly connected through voice or text, how can there be a lack of communication? There is a surfeit of it, and our scriptwriters can no longer bank on the old tool of miscommunication. In the process, however, our stories have lost some of that poignancy that characterized movies made even a decade ago.

In fact, it has reached the other extreme. A recent ad for a mobile service provider features a young couple texting each other. Only at the end do we realize that they are not far apart, but on the same park bench and that, in fact, the man is lying on the girl’s lap. Why text, when you can look into the eyes of your beloved and say what you want to say? Where is the romance here?

Being constantly connected, constantly in each other’s lives, can be overwhelming. But one cannot deny that today’s lovers will not suffer for want of receiving that all-important message, or vital piece of information that may make or mar their relationship.

A Milestone

I am a year old today, on Blogger!

Just a year ago, I started this blog, having no clue what I was going to write, who would read it, and if anyone would read it at all. Still, it was an opportunity to do what I love best – to write.

However, unlike my husband, I shied away from marketing my blog. While he told everyone about his blog, I kept quiet unless I was persuaded to tell them my blog address.(No, I have nothing against marketing. It just isn't me,that's all.) And yet, you came, all of you came and read my posts, and sometimes left comments. I have found some wonderful friends, even if I have not met most of them in person.

Unlike other prolific bloggers, I have not reached my 50th or 100th post; this is only my 20th! But it feels great when I am missed; when you come and visit my blog to see if I have updated it. It makes me carry on, even when I have nothing to write about, or when I start doubting if I can write at all.

Thanks, guys and gals, thank you for your encouraging words and comments. And those of you, who came and did not comment, thank you too. By just visiting my blog, you give me the strength and courage to carry on, to keep the writer in me alive!


image courtesy:www.ptmortgage.com/blog/category/miscellaneous/ - birthday cake.

Music & Lyrics

The song “Jai Ho!” from the movie “Slumdog Millionaire” seems to be a resounding success, winning not only the Oscar but the hearts of thousands of people. A lot of young people I know, who do not understand the Hindi lyrics, have nevertheless taken to the song. As Rahman himself said in an interview, the phrase “Jai Ho!” gives a burst of positive energy – probably why it became stupendously popular, even though we know it is not one of his best compositions.

Some songs have that magic – they come to mean so many things to us. Not just the lyrics, or the music, or the tempo; there seems to be an extra, magical ingredient that gives the song a special something. Something that lifts it from a musical composition of words, into a song that stirs emotions and feelings in us, a song that sometimes even brings solace to our wounded hearts, or makes us feel we are not alone.

There are many such songs that have come to mean a great deal to me – songs that have helped me face difficult situations, songs that have helped me understand life. Probably because so many memories are connected to these songs, even today when I listen to them, those emotions come flooding back.

One song that kept me going during the two and a half months that I lived in Bombay alone was from the movie “1942 – A Love Story”. My husband was in Chennai, and my little daughter was with my parents in Coimbatore. I had to stay back in Bombay to finish my thesis, and every evening I would come back home to an empty flat. The loneliness was terrible, and there were times when I would feel like throwing up everything and running home to my family. Only the thought of chucking up all the hard work kept me from doing it. That, and the song "Yeh safar bahut hai katin magar/ Na udhaas ho mere hamsafar”. I listened to it so many times during the day, over and over again, especially the lines “Nahi rehenewale yeh mushikilen/ Hai yeh agale mod pe manzilen”.
And yes, the destination was just around the corner; I only had to keep going till I reached it.

I find I listen to different kinds of music at different times, to suit different moods. But when I am really down in the dumps, I go back to classical music. I need the strains of Carnatic kritis to calm me down, or to lift up my spirits. One of my favourite kritis is the beautiful “Rangapura Vihara” in Brindavanasaranga. I have listened to it since childhood, and MS’s beautiful soulful voice only added to the magic of the song. It has the power still, to lift me up from the darkest depths. Many other kritis are also important to me and although I do not always understand the words, the music or the raga lifts my spirit.

That is why I feel it is not just the music or the lyrics, but a certain something, a special ingredient, which gives these songs a magical allure that they may continue to weave their spell on us.

Hidden Strengths

Just when you think that things are going along smoothly, life has a way of pulling the rug from under your feet. Suddenly, you find yourself in a situation where you need more than your wits to rescue you. You have to discover hidden strengths from within you, not just to get out of the situation, but to overcome and transform it.

It has happened many times in my life, and in the lives of my friends, and I am always amazed at the hidden inner resources that help us during these testing times.

Last week, it happened again.

Rejoining duty after medical leave of 4 weeks, my husband was surprised to find that his services were no longer required by the company. When he called to inform me, I was amazed that my first reaction was not one of fear or insecurity, but relief. I knew he had been unhappy the past year, and I thought this was the best thing to happen. I always believe that when one door shuts in your face, many others open, filled with opportunity.

As friends called and poured out their feelings over the phone or through mail, I was stunned, and grateful. I realized that I had much to be thankful for – a home of my own, good friends, enough money to live by at least for the time being, and above all, we had each other. Every situation is a learning experience, and this has been a fantastic one so far.

Offers of help and possible job opportunities continue to pour in from concerned friends. They are surprised to see that we have taken it so well. But then, what have we lost? A job, yes. In these troubled times, a steady job is important.

But what we have gained is immense. The understanding that this is not the end, that there is more to life than a job you have held for 30 years; the love of so many friends that gives us the energy to carry on ; and the knowledge that, together, we can ride the storm out.

A Morning at the Beach

I am fortunate to live near the beach, in Thiruvanmiyur, a blessing that most inhabitants of our colony take for granted. Recently, however, the local citizen's association has become very active and is  getting involved in various civic issues concerning our locality. On January 2nd, they had called for volunteers to come and clean the beach which was covered with a lot of debris washed up by the sea. I was not in town for that occasion, but this Sunday (Jan 25th), I joined a number of volunteers to clean the beach again. This was to be an ongoing activity, as cleaning is never a one-time job.

Armed with gloves and huge garbage bags, we met at the beach at 6 in the morning and soon spread out, our eyes open for every bit of plastic, every piece of paper. The local fishermen watched us bemused, as they went about their morning routine. Barely three weeks had passed since the beach had been cleaned, and I am still amazed at the amount of garbage we picked over the next two hours!

Paper, crushed plastic cups  , broken beer bottles, gutka packets, plastic sachets, straws - what came to mind was the careless and callous attitude we have towards public spaces. These were not thrown there by the local fishermen; rather they were left behind by the people who came from far and near to enjoy the fresh air and the sea. Families on picnics, or lovers looking for some privacy, all use the beach, but the least we can do is to leave the place as clean as it was when we came in. This  lack of civic sense is something that alarms me, but there is still hope.

While I was picking up the junk, a middle-aged man from the nearby apartment  sauntered by on his morning walk. He had not been aware of the beach cleaning activity, but the moment he understood what we were doing, he pitched in and did his bit of collecting. Not only that, he seemed determined to come again. Slowly, I am sure as awareness rises, we will feel collective responsibility for our shared public spaces,and  will take care to keep them clean and beautiful. Till then, I suppose, we will have to spend a Sunday morning every month cleaning up the beach.

(Photo courtesy: chennai.metblogs.com/2007/10/15/thiruvanmiyur-beach/)

Staying Connected...

This seems to be my season for re-uniting with lost friends!

 Recently, we went to Bombay for a wedding. A friend's daughter was getting married, and it was the perfect opportunity to meet our old friends. I was travelling to the city after 12 years, and a lot had changed, and was still changing. It took us ages to go from one place to the other especially because of the Metro work, but the warmth with which our friends welcomed us more than made up for that.

Twelve years is a long time, and children had grown into adults, found jobs, married and started families. Neighbourhoods had changed, and new housing blocks had sprouted where once there were open spaces. Our old colony had changed so much, become busier and more crowded.

 And yet, some things had not changed. As I ascended the steps to my friend Pushpa's house, I remembered going there thrice a week for my yoga lessons. I will never forget the look on Pushpa's face! She had been thinking of me constantly for the past few days, and there I was, in the flesh! There was so much to catch up with, phone numbers  and email ids to be exchanged.

Why do we do it? Why do we go out of the way to locate our lost friends? What drives us to catch up with the lost years? What do we gain from this exercise? 

I received a mail recently that brought up these questions with regard to my previous post where I had spoken of meeting my school mates after 32 years. The sender of the mail wanted to know why it was so important to have a reunion which according to him/her was "regression". I do not agree. I think the answers are very obvious. 

Every relationship we have, whether it is as a friend, spouse, sibling, child, or parent, is a cord of connectivity. A part of us is there in that relationship; we invest not just time, but emotions and feelings into every relationship. We share so much together, and when we lose that relationship, that friendship, a part of us is lost forever. Somewhere we do not feel whole and complete. This feeling of not being complete drives us to look for the missing parts of our own selves, and that is exactly why we feel complete and happy when we find our lost friends.

 And not, as my misguided friend had written, because we were unhappy with our present lives and were looking for something that was lacking.

Threads of connectivity

Something wonderful happened on December 19th. Thirty-two years after passing out of school, the class of '76 of Railway Mixed High School, Madurai had a re-union.

To me, it was a miracle. I had studied there between 1972 and 1975, leaving half-way during Class X. I had not met any of my former classmates since then, and my earlier attempts to keep in touch through letters petered out soon. Thirty odd years later, out of the blue, one friend calls up, and soon it is an avalanche of phone calls, mails, and messages. It was as if a door had opened, and they were all back in my life. It still is a wonder to me how they found me, for I did not expect them to remember me at all!

It was wonderful to go for the reunion and meet everyone, especially because we were all looking so different! Almost everyone had grown(in girth!) but some of the "boys" were un-recognizable!! We had so much fun laughing at the "Then & Now" slide show and catching up with the lost years.Suddenly, it was as if we had re-discovered a lost slice of our own selves.

I have often read about the inter-connectedness of things in the universe - that we are all connected in so many ways by invisible threads of connectivity. The reunion brought this to me very forcefully. Looking around at the happy faces and listening to each one's story, I realized the truth of John Donne's assertion - "No man is an island". Each one of us there was connected to each other through our common experiences in our old school, experiences that had shaped us and guided us through life and brought us back together.

The forgotten art of listening!

Very often, I am exasperated by people I talk to. 

Most Indians have never been taught to listen, and are not sensitive or open to another person's point of view. I don't know if it is because of our numbers, and the terrible urge to get our opinion across,  but very often ordinary conversations end up becoming slanging matches. Argument and discussion is the hallmark of civilisation, but somehow here, it becomes difficult especially as we become locked into our own positions.

 If this is the case in drawing room conversations, it is even more loud and vehement on our televisions. One of the funniest(!) and pointless programmes I have seen on TV is NDTV's 'The Big Fight'. It starts off well enough, the panelists are people who are suited to address the particular topic, but almost from the beginning, it becomes a Babel of voices, as each panelist starts interrupting, arguing, shouting and generally making a noise. When the show was hosted by Rajdeep Sardesai, he added to the madness by cutting in and loudly making his point. I always wonder what they achieve at the end of it. No one has bothered to listen to the others, or even considered another aspect of the question they were debating.

Sometimes, this can be quite hilarious. I have a friend, and on the rare occasions I visit her, I am confused. Both my friend and her mother will start talking to me simultaneously, often on two different subjects! My brain goes into double-quick processing mode, and I somehow have to find the right answers to their observations! Exhausting, to say the least.

I now find this trait everywhere, on TV, and even in the blogosphere. Everybody has a point of view, everybody wants to make their voices heard, and in the process, they end up shouting or screeching. Why? Why can't we take the time to listen? If only we could listen, we would be able to understand each other. Then we would know and understand that there is really no difference between us, only a difference in perception.

When we listen, really listen, we go beyond the words, to the feelings and emotions hidden deep beneath the words, and understand that there can be another reality. And that it is not really very different from ours.

Bombay's night of terror

I was going to write something else, but the terror attack on Bombay has put paid to that. I woke up this morning to scenes of terror, gunfire and a raging fire in one of Bombay's loveliest hotels. Through the day, TV reporters have been going on and on, analysing, interviewing, speculating. At the end of it, a bunch of guys have killed around a hundred people, the army, navy and the police are spread around the area, curfew is in place, and fear is in the air.

Exactly what it felt like in 1993 after the riots, and the serial blasts. My husband called me to inform me of the blasts and to tell me he was safe but the trains were not running and he would somehow make his way home. Not a comforting thought when you consider he was working in Worli and we were living in far-away suburban Borivli. There were no cell phones then, and he could not stop to call me from anywhere. You can imagine the panic and the fear I felt till he got home late at night. 

Once the situation was under control, each time I boarded a local train, it was with a feeling of dread. Who knew, it could be my last trip. It became second nature to look under the seat, to see if there was anything stored there. I can tell you, it was not a pretty situation. Much has been said of the Mumbaite's resilience, but I don't know what it really is. Courage, resilience, or refusal to acknowledge the fear? I really don't know. But the stress of it was too much to bear, and I was so relieved to move out of Bombay.

This is not to say that other cities are safer. Not at all. Every city, why, every town can be a potential target for a terrorist. The politics of hate has made us all live under the cloud of fear. While we can assure ourselves that our loved ones are safe, my heart goes out to all those who died, people who were just doing their jobs, people who had taken a long-awaited holiday, people who were just having dinner with friends and family....May their souls rest in peace. And may this situation resolve itself sooner than later.

Random Thoughts. . . .

It sure feels good to be missed! Thank you, Anju and Ravi, for enquiring why I haven't written anything in two months. Made my day, I must confess!



Fact is, I've been so tired out dealing with delinquent maids, disappearing cooks, and of course,trying to help my daughter. At the end of the day, I am so low on energy I can hardly think straight. On the other hand, I find my husband is able to keep his blog going even after a hard day's work at the office. I don't know if it is the difference between men and women (my younger women friends may get mad at me!) but I find I am so emotionally tied up with what happens that it becomes an effort to detach myself and sit down to write. Maybe that is something I should work on.



Finding the time and space to write, or do anything else, is so important. Especially when you are in the midst of family and official duties. It gives you a space, "me-time", that enriches you and makes you feel fulfilled and joyous. I know all that, but still get mired in the problems that crop up, and get stuck. From time to time, some kind friend has to tell me to get out of the muck and "follow my bliss".


I've also been thinking a lot about what I am writing. Sometimes, I find myself being influenced by Rada's writing that I think I should also write funny stuff. But humour cannot be forced; it has to be natural. Finding your voice is fundamental to good writing, and I know unless it comes from within, there is no life in your words. I have been wondering whether what I write makes any sense, whether it matters, whether I should write at all...That's why your messages were so reassuring! Thank you.