Comfort place

Some wise person had quoted, "Birth and death are momentary. The entire life, in between, is all about maintenance. Maintaining what is happening, maintaining life."

Sudden philosophical urge today? No, at the root, it is not at all philo... it is row life, regular day-to-day stuff.

Maintaining home is difficult. We put lot of energy in buying or renting a place, we call it home after attaching certain emotional value to it. That emotional value, does not come by only staying in it, i guess, it comes when you start living in it, when it starts living with you. The more you adjust with it, suit it, more it adjusts with you, gets comfortable with you.

I have always been crazy about comfort places at home. A place where you can peacefully sit, where you need not feel like watching television or reading a book or doing anything for that matter. A place, need not be 'comfortable' per say... but has something that soothes you. 

At my parent's place, where I spent my entire childhood and part of adulthood, I had one such place. The house was smaller then, it did not have the 1st floor. It had a metal staircase and a tall metal pillar supporting the structure. I used to sit in the small gap between the pillar and wall (i used to 'fit', I wanted to say, it would have been meaningful looking at me now, but meaningless otherwise...). It had nothing, nowhere to rest your back, no cushions to sit, no coziness whatsoever. But I used to like that spot. Facing banana trees and some other green entities, feet directly landing in soil or mud, even if people are calling me from within the house- can not hear them and vice-e-versa, even if at home, so much disconnect, so much solace. 

Later we built the 1st floor, the lovely lively metal staircase was replaced by robust but ruthless concrete one. The pole gone and spot was covered by some wall supporting that climb. What I hated the most in the development is loosing the spot. Nobody noticed that earlier, so later there was no question.  

We shifted to a new house few years back. I am yet to hit the 'spot', I can say!

Every morning, when I get up, i find Kabir, not at his place where he slept at night, but at the bottom. Half on the Gadi, half on the ground. Me and Rashmi asked him several times whats the deal, he says he liked it. I think, he has started to find 'it' before me!!

आजी- आईची आई

आईची आई, म्हणजे दोनदा आई. किती गोडवा असेल मग त्यात? म्हणायला ठीक आहे, पण दोनदा आई म्हणजे जरा धोकादायक आहे. असो!!

आजी... माझ्या ह्या अजिबारोबारच्या आठवणी एकट्या तिच्याबरोबरच्या नाहीत. आजी आजोबा दोघांच्या आहेत. त्यांचे डोंबिवली चे घर, स्वच्छ आवरलेले आणि सतत स्वच्छ होत असलेले. होय, आजीला स्वच्छतेची आवड होती. भयंकर! आवड म्हणणे थोडे कमी आहे, आजीला स्वच्छतेचे वेड होते. तिला मी गमतीने म्हणायचो सुद्धा, की "आजी, धुणे वळत घालून झाले. आता ती वळत घालायची काठी धुवायची राहिली आहे फक्त..."

मला आजीच्या हातची लसुणाची चटणी फार आवडायची... गेलो कि माझी फर्माईश असायचीच... अन आजोबांचे केक, चोकलेटस आणि आईसक्रीम... जेली, जाम आणि बिस्किटे सुद्धा... आवडायचे नाहीत ते आजीचे डांगर... डांगर नावाचा भयंकर पदार्थ करायची ती... आणि भाजणी... पण आवडते जेवढे आग्रहाने खायला मिळायचे तेवढेच नावडते सुद्धा. 

आजी रसिक होती. tv आवडायचा तिला. cooking चे कार्यक्रम अगदी आवडीने बघायची. तिची खरी मजा यायची भारत पाकिस्तान क्रिकेट मेच बघताना... तिला क्रिकेट अतिशय प्रिय होते... आणि शेवटची ओव्हर सुरु झाली, आणि आपण हरत असलो कि ती बिचारी आत जाऊन बसायची... आणि मी प्रत्येक बॉल ची Live commentary तिला पळत जाऊन सांगायचो... पु.लं.नी सुद्धा असा एक प्रसंग लिहिला आहे त्यांच्या एका पुस्तकात, म्हणून मी इतका वेड लागल्यासारखा वाचायचो बहुतेक त्यांची पुस्तकं... मग मेच जिंकली की आम्ही दोघे वेड्यासारखे नाचत असू...

१९९१ च्या मे महिन्यात राजीव गांधींचा खून झाला तेव्हा मी डोंबिवलीला होतो... सकाळी उठलो तेव्हा आजी बिचारी एकदम सचिंत tv समोर बसलेली होती... मी उठल्यावर मला तिने लगेच सांगितलं काय झालाय ते... मला फार काही वाटलं नाही, पण तिला खूपच धक्का बसला होता... मी फारच लहान होतो ते कळायला... पण तरीही तिने मला सांगितला होते ते... 

आजीच्या घरून गोष्टी भरून पुण्याला घेऊन येणे हा माझा आवडता खेळ होता... मामा त्याला पोत म्हणायचा... मी मे महिन्याच्या सुट्टीला घरी आलो की लगेच, "चला... पोते तयार आहे, भरायला घ्या... " अशी घोषणा व्हायचीच! 

आजीने माझ्यासाठी अनेक कामे काढून ठेवलेली असायची, आवरा-आवरी, वस्तू दुरुस्त करणे (होय, तेव्हाही मला लाकडी किंवा कुठल्याही वस्तू दुरुस्त करायला फार आवडायच्या, आणि मी आजीला पुरेपूर मदत करायचो असल्या कामात!), आजोबांनी गावभर फिरून गोळा करून आणलेल्या वस्तूंची योग्य ('योग्य' ह्या शब्दाच्या व्याख्या आजी आजोबांच्या वेगवेगळ्या होत्या. आजीच्या मते 'फेकून देणे' तर आजोबा त्याचाच अर्थ 'कुठेतरी चांगल्या ठिकाणी वापरणे' असा घेत असत. मी? मी त्यावेळी जो जास्त पावरबाज असेल त्याच्या बाजूने झुकत असे...) विल्हेवाट लावणे ह्यासारखी कामे ठेवलेली असायची. मग मी त्यातून आणखी उपकामे शोधून काढायचो... घोळ घालायचो... तेव्हाही!

आजोबांना गोष्टी गोळा करण्याचा षोक होता... त्यांच्या कपाटात आणि बेड च्या खाली दोन विशेष खण होते, ते फक्त अश्या गोष्टींनी भरलेले असायचे. त्यात बटने, बोबीन, रिले, सुया, बाटल्यांची झाकणे, हत्यारे, अगदी लहान आकारापासून एकदम मोठ्या पर्यंत सर्व प्रकारच्या हेक्सो ब्लेड्स, बागकामाचे अनेकानेक साहित्य असे खुप काय काय असायचे. हा माझ्या सर्वात आकर्षणाचा भाग होता. ह्या गोष्टी काढायच्या, sort करायच्या, आजी बघत असेल तर फेकून द्यायच्या आणि सर्वात मजेशीर म्हणजे त्यातून नवीन काहीतरी तयार करायचे. आजोबांना हे वेड का होते माहित नाही, त्यांच्या पश्चात ह्या सर्व गोष्टी फेकुनच दिल्या गेल्या. त्यांच्या दुसर्या घरी त्यांनी खूप हत्यारे माझ्यासाठी जपून ठेवली होत. मला देणार होते ते... पण काही करण्याआधीच तिथे चोरी झाली. मला फार फार वाईट वाटलेला एक प्रसंग...

आजी आजोबांना घाबरत असावी. कधी म्हणायची नाही, पण एकूण वागणुकीतून जाणवायचे... त्यांच्या नावाने बडबड करायची, पण त्यांनी कितीही वेळा चहा मागितला (आजोबांना चहाचे वेड होते, दिवसातून १५-२० अर्धा अर्धा कप चहा व्हायचाच... सुरवातीला स्वतः करून घ्यायचे, नंतर नंतर कुणीतरी करून द्यायचं) तरी ती न कुरकुरता, न कंटाळता द्यायची!

आजोबा गेल्यानंतर आजीने हाय खाल्ली. त्यातून ती बिचारी सावरुच शकली नाही. आयुष्याच्या शेवटच्या घडीला तर तिला वृद्धाश्रम व रुग्णालयात घालवावा लागला... सगळे करते सावरते सोबत असताना, मुल-मुली-नातवंड, म्हातारीला एका लहानश्या ५X३ च्या अंथरुणावर खिळून राहावं लागलं. जेव्हा जेव्हा भेटलो तेव्हा म्हणायची, "मी ह्यातून बरी झाले न, की तुझ्या घरी येणार आहे रे. मला घेऊन जा घरी. फार नको मला, एक कॉट टाकून दे, तिथेच राहीन." पण आपण वरपांगी जेवढे चांगले असतो तेवढेच कोत्या मनाचे असतो... तिला हो म्हणून तिथून निघून येताना नेहमी त्रागा व्हायचा मला, पण मी काहीही केले नाही...

अखेर एक दिवस तिथून फोन आला... म्हातारी आज सकाळी ५ वाजता गेली. रीतसर सोपस्कार झाले. तिला अश्या कर्दमलेल्या अवस्थेत पाहवत नव्हत... "सुटली", "बाकीचे सुटले" अश्यासारखे उद्गार निघाले. कोण नक्की सुटले माहित नाही. त्रास नक्की कुणाला झाला, किती आणि कुणामुळे झाला ह्या विचारात न शिरलेलेच बरे. पण तिचे जाणे माझ्यासाठी माझ्याच षंढ प्रतिमेचे प्रतिबिंब होते, हे मात्र नक्की!

Socrates was killed because...

Wedding, of a relative!

Getting married is one of the loudest (sweetest I wanted to say, but loudest sounds perfect!) milestones of life. With a few exceptions, most of the lives are planned with wedding as the central block/post.

I attended a wedding today, of one of my sisters'. Me and my sister never really jelled, or even cared for each other much... But still, I attended her wedding with a lot of enthusiasm ( i was searching for some comment on this but couldn't find any, I am tired!! Other people's weddings can also be exhausting...).

We faced many relatives that we never see apart from such occasions, many that do not even know I have grown up, married, have a kid, who is a boy, name is Kabir (Oh, Kabir?! Why, I mean, such a nice name...!), many that laugh and hug as we meet and start bitching as soon as we turn our backs. We met some good persons, unfortunately some of them are related to me! 

Attending such weddings is most often a fun time for people. Except the immediate affected ones, nobody cares about it so much. Showing off your new Saree/dress/Jewelry/Son/husband/... meet people, meet people that you don't want to meet otherwise, EAT are some of the most common drives why they attend such functions. Why do I attend? I don't know...

I was alone in the hall for a while, and i was looking around at the crowd. Old ladies (some of them could be my aunts, well... fortune and relatives can't be chosen... right?) wearing things that are suitable for their grand nieces, young boys acting as if they have seen such a big hall for the first time and running their guts out, young girls just being paper dolls, and some, like me, clueless, sitting wondering why did i come in the first place....

I was talking to one of my aunts and she, without fluttering her eyes, says- Why are you like this? Why name him Kabir? Why do u grow your hair and keep a pony tail? I told her, see... as it is you don't like me, right? Then why bother? The whole family is made up of straight shoots, there should be someone with oblique branches, let me be the one! 

Socrates was killed because he asked too many questions!

That man on the signal

Almost everyday, i cross this particular signal near Pune University. It is a busy cross-road, 4 roads jumping over each other. I always take left, the least bother-sum turn one can take and lead towards my house. People honk and shout, cross from left to right and scratch their roads to their destinations. 

There, on the left side of the cross road, stands an old man. Old, must be about 70+, skinny, always in striped white shirt and some pants, thick soda glass spectacles, holding a stick. Best part, a whistle. A whistle, equally powerful as any police officer's, but without 'power'! 

The man arrives the duty station in the evening and stays there till late night. He has interesting duty to perform, shepherding! Shepherding the traffic, people walking on the footpath, on the streets. Vehicles, be it bikes, cars or trucks, he has equal treatment for all, move ahead!! All he does is wave his stick saying move ahead, keep whistling, saying- move ahead!

"What's wrong with this man?" We always think. What could be wrong? He must be homeless, so finding good way to cut his time on streets and must be stiff enough not to beg. Must be little off, he may not be knowing what he does. Must be- just a person like that!

What's wrong with the man?
He could be a family man, with home and family which can but don't bother about him? with wife and kids who- feel either very sad or very happy when he leaves everyday from home for his unaccounted unnoticed duty? Among all the vehicles he shoos off, can be one vehicle of his own, driven by his kids/wife/other family members? Could he be filling in the void in his life by standing on the streets, in the crowds, talking to strangers, at least. 

Or he could be, just, that man on the signal- a representative of the future of out tormented, lonely, deteriorating society?

आजी - बाबंची आई!

एखादी व्यक्ती आपल्या आयुष्यातून गेल्यानंतर आपल्याला अचानक तिची उणीव भासायला लागते. आजीशी असलेले माझे नाते जरासे abstract होते. मी तिला रोज भेटत नव्हतो. ना फार गप्पा मारायचो फोन करून. आत्ता शेवटी शेवटी ती मला रागवायची पण, ‘अरे, मी आहे अजून... तू भेटायला नाही तर नाही, पण फोन करावा एखादा...’ माझ्यात फारसा बदल झाला नाही, पण आता चुटपूट लागून राहिलीये.

पण लहानपणी, जेव्हा एकत्र राहत होतो तेव्हा आणि घर सोडल्यानंतरची काही वर्ष, आजीशी खेळायचो मी खूप. भातुकली, घर घर, ऑफिस ऑफिस, ह्या सगळ्या खेळातली माझी सवंगडी होती आजी! घरी मी दमून आल्यावर मला छोट्या कपातून चहा देणारी, माझी विचारपूस करणारी, मला दाणे गुळाचा नाश्ता खाऊ घालणारी आजी... खेळताना खेळात एकरूप होऊन, ‘हे काय लहान मुलाचं आहे, कसही केलं तरी काय’ असा attitude न ठेवता एकदम seriously खेळण्याची वृत्ती मला आजीमुळे मिळाली असावी. आता विचार केला तर अशा अनेक गोष्टी मला आजीमुळे मिळाल्या असतील, अनेक अशा असतील ज्यांना मी अजूनही अनभिज्ञ असेन.

मृत्यू अटळ आहे आणि प्रत्येक जन्माला आलेल्याला तो कधी न कधी येणारच आहे. स्वतःच्या आयुष्याची ८३ वर्ष आजीने पाहिली... आणि माझे संपूर्ण आयुष्य... आमच्या नात्यात सगळे छान छान गोड गोडच होते असे नाही, अनेक बरे वाईट प्रसंग आले मधे, नात्याच्या अस्तरला अनेक सुरकुत्या पडल्या, अनेक ठिकाणी ते विरलेही... पण माझ्या मनातल्या आजीच्या कल्पनेशी ही आजी मिळती-जुळती राहिली. लहान लहान प्रसंगातून भावत राहिली... तिचं आजीपण दाखवत राहिली... ती गेली त्या क्षणी आणि आता तिच्या आठवणीनेही मी टिपं गळली नसतील कदाचित, पण मनात आत खोलवर एक अंधारा कोपरा आहे जिथे मला शांतपणे जाऊन बसावसं वाटतंय... काहीही न बोलता!


Rest in peace आजी!

Cycling- back

Cycling to office is not at all same as going back home.

I stay in a hilly place, hilly means at the top of a little elevated hill like area (that's what I said!). It is a nice place to stay, difficult to reach. There are 2 steep slopes on the way and overall climbing up. It takes the s@#t out of one if a beginner. Am i a beginner? Always... :(

While coming back from office, I have to cross the road twice. I mean there are 2 right turns I have to take. That is the first challenge to face. Wave hands, look behind, do whatever gestures you can, cars and bikes go by you as if they will die if they allow the bicycle to cross through. It takes lot of courage and stamina to cross the road and cruise to the desired direction.

Once done, there comes the steeps. Those kill me, kill my enthusiasm... I start doubting my ability as well as reason for riding the bicycle. 

There was a time, in school days, when bicycle was the only kind of vehicle allowed (and owned, or given!), climbing steep slopes was never an issue. It was easy, like any other road. There was one enemy road back then as well, but the rage never lasted after I climbed the road every day. While coming back I used to love the road, for letting me glide effortlessly. 

Now, the slopes don't excite me. They warn me, that too much speed can also be dangerous, that this speed can render me dead, or broken at least, that this speed, is a gift, not an achievement. 

There are days countable on fingertips, when I have reached home without getting off the seat, when I have successfully completed the travel- including road crossings and steep slopes- while peddling the wheels. Otherwise, always, I get down least twice. Less due to external obstacles, more because of the ones within!!

First day at school

First day at school

Yes, first day at school. I do not remember my first day at school... frankly I do, but may be I don't want to! I used to go to this school named 'NPPS' in Pune. I remember, for the first day, both mom and dad had come to drop me. It was a gloomy morning (either I remember it gloomy or it was actually one!). I remember walking in the school, the madam (tai, her name was Ms. Kale i guess) stretching her hand forward to receive me... entire school campus, kids wearing brown uniforms, crying. I joined the gang too. I think that was the only day I did what the other kids were doing, rest of the days of the school, I did what others were not doing- coming late, sleeping off in the school, wetting my chaddi, not making friends etc etc. I always played the role of a cranky crying kid every school has. Anyways, I have paid enough for the being in that role as well... 

Today's first day at school was for Kabir. Yes, he is grown up. So much so that he is now going to school, to a play school, but still. We were excited for this promotion from a long time. He was about to enter a phase which is never ending. All his life, at least all his prime years, he will be spending in some or the other school or such educational shop. The things now he is excited about, uniform, bag, water bottle, he will hate them to core eventually. We had had the day planned. Rashmi will take him from home, reach the school campus, I will reach office little early, spend at least an hour in the office so people won't say anything, then leave in time and reach the school, we will send off the kid together. Such a perfect, loving, family family event. 

I wanted to see how he marches towards the school when we drop him there. Will he cry? Will he be sentimental, at least? (this question can arise in case of Kabir, he is just like his name, Saint!!) Will he be apprehensive about leaving his parents behind? Will he.. wil...

I had more apprehensions than him. I was more excited than him. I wanted to see all these, feel this anxiety... be worried and happy at the same time. Be a good father and be around when the kid would need me the most...

I left office thinking about all this. I remembered how I used to go to school. My dad used to drop me. This is 1990's when the wall clocks were set on the radio announcements. My school was about 5-6 Kms away from home. It started at 7 in the morning, and we left the house at about 6.50-6.55. Dad used to drop me to school, come back, park the vehicle and then walk down for another 20 mins to catch a bus at 7.40. Believe me, even if the things don't add up now, it used to work, every day, except Thursdays. He used to ride me to school, full speed, shouting on the people on the streets. He had Hero Honda CD 100, bike as old as me (and he still has it, still rides it, not full speed, but still shouting on the people walking by!!), which he drove to the fullest. Scary but wonderful days!!

I was so lost in the thoughts, I did not worry about the traffic, signals I had to wait for 2/3 times, stupid and subjectively irresponsible people crossing the roads and driving cars, nothing. I somehow reached the school in no time. I was relieved and excited. To meet him, see him going in the school, crossing the road, finally!!

And best part of the story, I missed all this! I was, apparently, very late and school was particularly particular about starting on time. I reached at about 11.35, when the school starts at 11.30. They waited for 2 mins for me to come (SO nice of them!!) Hmm... all the anxiety, good fatherhood, excitement, apprehensions, sentiments were washed away by 3 minutes... 

I received him when he came out of it, same as I would if he comes out of an airplane. We clapped, chirped and did all those stupid things one does when around his/her kids. 

Nothing goes waste, as the happiness on his face when he came out was equally enchanting. I missed the beginning, but the complete movie, especially the climax was worth a watch!!  

Conference

Conference

In development sector, attending some or the other conference, preferably for oral presentation (yes, it is called Oral presentation!), if not then poster presentation, is a matter of pride. Getting a scholarship to go overseas, great! If your organization sends you, Oh... My... God!

I am recently added to this OMG herd. Where and how are immaterial, the real fun is what happens surrounding it.


I was discussing it with one of my colleagues, who asked me a question. "So do you feel indebted to the organization?"

I had to think about it. No, i think. Me being sent to a conference to represent my organization makes me feel closer to the organization, helps me build faith and trust about it. But it does not make me indebted to it. I am not saying it is their duty. No, it is not. It is like parenting. Raising a child is not their duty, they do it naturally, with passion. Sending someone to a conference must have a cause behind it, not motive. Going to a conference with organization's money should have responsibility, not debt. 

I am definitely obligated by the gesture the organization has shown, but I am not in debt. 

It is like, if I overwork, or create something out of the world for the organization, I can be sure the organization will never fire me?

TG

TG

TG... these 2 letters may mean nothing to a lay person, but the professionals working in my sector know perfectly what these stand for. 

I was in Aundh buying stuff for Kabir. Cloths, toys, usual. We were done, so we came out of the shop and standing there, thinking what to eat for dinner. It was about 9 PM and fairly crowded as we were in a prime locality of the town. We gazed the road as some sudden running and noises appeared from a corner of the street. A family, 3 kids, 2 women and a guy were loudly arguing something and all of a sudden, the man started running on the street, possibly towards someone. Shouting at him (her!). I could see, a Transgender woman was walking down the street, away from the family. She was looking happy, must have got some cash. She was a thin tall person, draped in green sari- not so vivid, but a dull cotton sari, even though TG not so sharp looking (TGs i have met are extremely sharp and well put, I won't say well behaved though!). The man, running for her, finally caught her, held her hand firmly and started yelling on top of his voice, mostly to create scene. In about a few minutes, there were men all around her, beating her, pulling her hair and cloths. Finally they threw her on the footpath, removed all (ALL) her cloths and kept abusing and shouting. 

The TG had asked for some money. When the family gave out 10 Rs, the family lady had held a note of 500 Rs. as well. The TG snatched it from her. When they demanded to give it back, she tore it in 2 pieces and gave it back. This is the man's version of the story. We could not (or to be frank did not) hear her version of the story. 

In no time, 2 police officers came by, beat her up again and left her. The case closed there, for the man, the police and public. For her...?


What was I in all this. A passerby... an onlooker.... just any other guy in the crowd?

Yes, i stood their, frozen, looking at the scene, helpless. I could have done something to save that lady. I could have gotten in between to at least ease it up, but i didn't. 

There was a time when it was above my head, so I called a few people. Tried getting some help for her. There are organizations working for the TGs in Pune city. I was hoping somebody will come and help her, may be not in crisis, but at least after trauma help. 

The organization denied, saying "She must not be a real TG. Must be a temporary mangti who was trying to steal or something. We can not get into it and disrupt our reputation." 

They sounded just like me!!

Cycling

Cycling

As mentioned in my earlier post, i like doing things... So, my recent attempt is taking bicycle to office. My office is about 4.5 KMs away from home, so it is a ride of about 9 KMs per day, which i feel is decent (though, one of my friends the other day said he rode for 23 Kms and it felt nothing. Common.... 23??).
So, i took out the bicycle yesterday, cleaned it (yes, had to wipe the dust off, clean the joints. Old unused goods need cleaning on first use, u see!), had to pump in some air and I was good to go. It took me 35 mins to travel the distance (which is extra-ordinarily too much... now i feel so!). But, when i reached office, drenched in sweat, little dizzy and powerless for a while. I regretted for a while to get to office on a bicycle but later, it felt good.I felt i have done something for myself, it is a rare feeling for me!

Traveling on a bicycle has few benefits, 3. it saves fuel 2. it helps you burn some fat 1. and the most important, it slows you down. On road, when you are travelling with a speed of 8-10 kms/hr, you can see all the other vehicles overtaking you, speeding ahead, rushing- almost always unnecessarily. Large 4WD ones honking and attempting to take you over. Largeness has issues, i feel. Larger you are, more problematic is the maneuvering. And it is true not only for vehicles!

I met some of my relatives yesterday. In laws to be precise. I told them, just out of fun, that "look, i think the bicycle has thinned down a little." They took some time to realize the joke, but when they did, their comment was... how do I say, hurting. 
"Please mark the calendar for days you use the bicycle"

Hmm... I know my track record is not trustworthy. I have proven to fail too many times, especially on the exercise front. But, I am yet to give up!. There are instances where I have given up, so I won't say 'I never give up' and all crap. Nobody is that way, I suppose. Everyone has to give up something sometime, it depends what you choose to give up!

As a result of the brief conversation, I got the bicycle today as well. Though I was a little late for office, still!

Such criticism can get one off track and make sure one never comes back. Sometimes, it helps one perform. Did it help me?

I reached office in 15 mins!!

One thing at a time

One thing at a time... Yes, that's how I happen to work...

I am an ordinary man. I have small dreams, want to set my life on an ideal course. But I feel, i can do only one thing at a time. I read in the inspirational type books a list of things you must do everyday... i agree to all of them, but can not do it all.

If I decide to follow child psychology and dedicate complete attention to Kabir, then i stay awake for a long time at night. Then 'read till you drop' motto goes off. Then i can not get up early in the morning and 'early to bed early to rise' sleeps back to bed. 
Reducing the belly fat has been my ambition for a long... long time. Has never worked so far. You need dedication and getting up early. Exercise and hike/walk should become an integral part of your routine. Child psychology does not take into account physical fitness of the parents...

Visiting gods (sitting at home) has always made me feel good. Meditating and dhyana are fascinating, at least feel like i am trying to give some time to myself. But, it has conditions, dependencies. Unless all the other things are clear, one can not do these. If i get up at 8.30 in the morning, need to reach office at least by 10.30 (my office starts at 9.30, I am ill-famous for being 'supremely punctual'), then clean yourself and do all other biologically required things consumes most of my time. On top of that, if Kabir gets up then whoa... It is a different game all together. Where will i find god in all this?

I love to work in the garden. Plant trees, water them, see them blooming and fruiting (i don't know what they call when a plant has fruits), it is a pleasing joy! This joy also is expensive. it demands time, water availability etc. And what will pose as a question is really unpredictable...


If I try to become a perfect father, I have to live with the fat tummy. If I follow strict (not even strict, loose will also do)fitness regime, then my plants and books go unwatered. If i decide to eat breakfast everyday, i usually miss the lunch! If i decide to read the books i like, i miss on to the sweet mischief of Kabir. 

So basically if i do one, i miss other 7. I think that is fine, that is life. 

It is good to be ideal, but fun to miss things. That's human!  

Newspaper at home

Thinking...

Newspaper at home

we stopped taking newspapers long back. Our schedules are such that many times the newspaper delivery boy hits a locked door, thus does not put the newspaper, but we end up paying for it. So, we stopped taking it all together.

but, having a newspaper helps. I was reading it in my office today and saw some serious accidents, some people frauds, some corporate national frauds... thought i am missing onto so many things which i need to know, which others think i should/ must know...

Reading newspaper is a hobby for some people, OCD for some. It is nothing for me. Neither a hobby nor a requirement. I read if i find it lying on the table, i don'c care if it is not there. I know a few who get restless if they do not read the news in the morning, even their bowel movements are synced with it... 

I never cared...

And after reading today's newspaper... Like everyday, I still don't!

:)