Five Point Journal

The title of this post is not at all a homage to Chetan Bhagat or his famous book. In fact, I have yet to read any of his fine works. I have scanned a couple of columns and a few pages of One Night At the Call Center. They were quiet enough for my nerves and patience.

But I digress. This post is not about him. There might be one in the future if his writing continues to annoy me.

But for better or worse, "five point journal"  is how I think of a mini habit I have picked up since the 1st of February. I have started journaling; an activity that I have tried and successfully given up many, many times, simply because after a few days, either I lost enthusiasm, or decided my life just wasn't clocking up enough excitement on a daily basis.

This time around, however, although I am not sure where the inspiration came from (must be a blog or a book) but the execution has been going well. I have set aside a journal...nothing too fancy because then I feel this incredible pressure to write fancy words. But this one is fairly simple and has ruled pages. And every morning, after I have turned on the coffee-maker for my two (I mean three really) cups of coffee and I can hear it gurgling and whispering like a forest stream, I sit down with my journal at my study table and list five awesome things that have happened the previous day. I don't write at night because I am just too tired to compose another sentence. I don't write lengthy paragraphs or sentences, just short ones that give enough information. BUT most importantly, I don't write any stuff that makes me or has made me remotely angry, sad or disappointed.

Then how on earth do I come up with five points? Simple. I include good deeds such as if a student has stumped me by asking an incredible question that I had never considered before; if I tried a new flavor of black tea and I know in my gut that it's going to be my new favorite for a month, if I ran into someone I haven't seen in a while and we had the best conversation while skipping around automatic doors, hoping not to crash into others, or if I worked for more than two hours on my own writing and made important changes to my manuscript.

There are also days when I have sighed theatrically and stared at the blank page, struggling to write more than two sentences because, hell, nothing and I mean nothing nice has happened in the last 24 hours. But then I dig deep and list, perhaps the most obvious details, but ones that now that they have been committed to paper, will always be saved for posterity. 

Small, smaller, smallest?

I am fortunate to have (for the most part) open-minded students. Today in one of the classes, I was able to share with them one of the most astounding people I came across this last weekend at the Winter Fishtrap Gathering.
Here is Dee Williams and the story of her remarkable home. It truly isn't for everyone, but I certainly learnt a lesson or two. Here's one more story on her from the TIME magazine.

But whether or not you read any of the stories, please certainly watch this short, entertaining video.

A Refreshing Weekend

I just spent the most wonderful weekend conferencing at the Wallowa Lake Lodge in Joseph, Oregon. The conference was called the Winter Fishtrap Gathering and the theme this year was "getting small." The theme encouraged us all to think and act on smaller scales, rather than the larger than life ways in which we have all been programmed to behave either all our lives or during some part of it. Why should we aspire for a bigger house? Is success measured by the number of possessions we own or how late we stay back in office or by the amount of money we are constantly running around to make?

I became a member of the professional world in 2002, the year I graduated with a master's in history. At that time, if someone had asked me the above questions, I would have laughed and said, "Stop making excuses for lazy people. You don't want a lot of money or a big house simply because you don't have the means to make it happen. You either are not smart enough, or don't have the required degrees, or are just plain lazy."

Ah, the arrogance of youth.

It disappeared quickly. Four years of nine-to-five or sometimes even longer hours of work, two-three hours of daily commute (except when I was living in Chandigarh) and the constant manipulation of people and circumstances I saw around me, convinced me that I wanted to get back to being a student. Not just because I HAD to learn how to write, but also because I desperately needed a change. And so I came to Idaho, with the savings I had from four years of work and a generous loan from a friend and my own parents. But rupees into dollars is not a savvy conversion and the first year in Idaho was merciless. I was broke, poorer than I had ever imagined I would be, and constantly homesick. That first year was hard and the temptation to go back was always around the corner. But thanks to my wonderful roommate Manasi, and scholarships from the University, I hung around. The next year, a teaching job came my way, and I realized I could indeed make this happen. And I did.

Two years ago, I graduated with my MFA in creative writing and I have stayed on to teach simply because Moscow makes me very happy. At times, I complain, just like everyone else and then a conference like Winter Fishtrap comes along.

This last weekend I heard multiple points of view from talented writers, activists, and musicians, and all of them gave me enough material to think about, discuss, and even bring in to my own writing and personal life. Of the many people I met and learned from, if I have to pick a favorite, it would be Tammy Strobel. I usually find it very hard to like, let alone be impressed, by someone I have just met. But Tammy floored me. It was her sincerity, her honesty, the fact that she had journeyed a long way from what her initial outlook towards life was (which was a lot similar to mine), that made her that much more credible and her message powerful. I have read several posts on her blog in the last twenty four hours, I suggest you do the same, and pay attention to her messages just as I am.

The Whys

Why am I not advertising this blog?
I am not sure. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was an avid blogger at one time and then fell off the radar and don't trust myself too much vis-a-vis this fine art anymore. Maybe because I have read too many bad blog posts by now, whether mine or others, and don't want to think a lot about making this the most definitive web address of the world. Instead, I just want to ramble. Maybe because I don't ever want to be reminded to update (although secretly I do like the attention.) Maybe because some of the readers I truly value are friends who have already stumbled upon it.

Seriously, I have no answer. Except to say, I like the not knowing.

Another Day, Another Movie

The Kenworthy Performance Arts Center of Moscow is a place for all kinds of quality artistic and cinematic experiences. Meaning, that nearly everyone who comes there is either over the age of fifty or a geek in some way or the other. So far I fit into the latter category but twenty more years and I will be both. 

On Friday, I went to the Kenworthy to watch The Last Station, a film starring Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer . As expected, I was the only one in the audience without any serious health issues or disillusionment about life. But on the other hand, it also made for great movie-viewing because unlike other theater experiences, here no one felt the need to be continuously restless or flip out their phone, or answer a text message while the entire universe lit up with the light from the screen of their electronic gadget. 

The Last Station is a movie that demands you to slow down. So if you are going with the mindset of one used to the mind-numbing pace of events in current Hollywood movies, then The Last Station is not for you. It's also not a movie for those easily tired by the old, and would rather spend time looking or talking to toned, young (as opposed to youthful) minds and bodies. But if you have a sense of appreciation for history,  literature and for all those grandparent-like people filled with wisdom, then The Last Station will work quite fine for you. In short, it's a historical drama about the last few months of Leo Tolstoy while he tries to balance the life of privilege he was born into with the life devoid of material things that he aspires for, and the impact of this struggle on his wife of many years, Sofya.    

For those seeking an old-fashioned good movie with some seriously breathtaking acting by Helen Mirren, this one is a good watch. 

In the summer time...

I like to watch movies.
No surprise there for those who know me. I can watch movies everyday, especially for the big screen experience.

Two recent movies I saw--Robin Hood and Letters to Juliet. I went for the first one with sky-high expectations imagining a bloody, tension-ridden, rollercoaster which would make me rediscover my intense love for Russell Crowe. That didn't happen. Actually, none of that happened. I thought making Robin Hood sound like a contemporary politician wasn't the best idea, at no point with any of the action scenes did I feel as if Robin himself was threatened, and despite occasional bursts of genius and awesomeness, I thought Crowe made for a very old, jaded-looking vigilante. Not the best deal when you are seeking to fall in love.

I went for the second movie with zero expectations. And it turned out to be, in spite of its cliches, quite entertaining. I guess anything that has a background of Italian vineyards and historical sites with noisy local men and women working their way through giant hunks of cheese and rich, red wine, is already slated for a grand, visual experience. Which is why, I will actually give Letters to Juliet a bigger thumbs up.

Did I just commit the unthinkable?

A Lightning Conversation

One of the main reasons I had not advertised this blog was because I wasn't sure whether I myself will continue writing on this for too long. But given some particularly encouraging words I received in the recent past from fellow bloggers--Smita and Sinjini--who happened to stumble upon it, I am back.

Today is a nice, relaxed Sunday for me. I intend my blogpost to reflect the same. So I am thinking on the lines of a conversation...a made up conversation...made up of Facebook status updates.

I have wondered in the past, how it would be if I was to compile the status updates of my friends in an attempt to build a coherent conversation out of it? Let me try it today:

"A friend is looking for Car... small to medium segment... budget 4-5 lacs... Ur vote goes to???"
"HUSBANDS WEEK"

"Baby has an ultra goopey eye (since yesterday morning, is getting more goopey). )-: Been doing the breastmilk treatment which usually works. Might be time for something else...any suggestions?"
"Hot chocolate fudge icecream (fatfree)!"

"I washed my hair."
"YOU are a phenomenal woman, a beautiful person,doing an extraordinary job."

"Will work to remove boredom."
"It's time to unwind."

"Can you believe it's raining cats and dogs?"
"This adds a new dimension to my pride."

"Just give me one thing that I can hold on to."
"Lightning."

The Agonizing Symbol

I just finished reading Dan Brown's excessively L-O-N-G book called The Lost Symbol. While his two other books--The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons--featuring the cool history-symbolism professor Robert Langdon were quick, interesting and entertaining reads, TLS is anything but quick. It's easily 200-pages excessive as a result it never seems to end. It has sentences such as "He felt his inner compass spin out of control." It has way too many twists and turns than are necessary. And finally, the ending is a huge cop-out. It's convenient, easy and a big yawn.

Spare yourself the trouble. Stay away from this Dan Brown.

Perfect Word

I have just learned that the word ABRACADABRA used by magicians of all ages all over the world, comes from the Aramaic word ABRAHADABRA, which literally translates into "I will create as I speak."
So clearly this reiterates once again, that the human ability to share words is the most powerful creative force in the world. Just one word can create, destroy, wreck havoc, soothe, console, and uplift.
Is this the right place to admit that my favorite word is "imagination?"

Borrowings

Today, a conversation over breakfast led me to answer an essential question. If there was one key tool or habit that Indians could learn from Americans, which one would I point towards? And vice versa?

Having now worked in both the US as well as India, I would say, without an iota of hesitation, the willingness to work. Or work ethic. Or just a sincere attitude towards honest, hard work. However we might choose to define. Whatever words might do justice to this concept. Here in America, very rarely have I walked in to an office, any office for that matter, and not been greeted with a smile. (Airlines offices at New York's JFK Airport might be the only exception to the rule.) Otherwise, I have visibly felt the willingness to work in the other person's body language. I have been greeted with eye contact and a smile, and either the matter has been attended to immediately or someone has called me back with details later. In comparison, I have remembered several offices back home and my nightmarish trips to them either to request for interlibrary loan, or to sort out my taxes, or point out an error in the phone bill. And been greeted with disinterested grunts or lackluster attitude.

Do I sound as if I am generalizing? Perhaps, although I will hasten to add that I myself have been fortunate to work with mostly excellent professionals back home. They have been exemplary bosses who have been generous enough to teach me everything I know today about the ideal workplace.

And what can America learn from India? Warmth, hospitality, respect for the older generation. I have never been to a friend's house in India, where the mother has said, "If you are hungry, you can make yourself a sandwich from the fridge." Having lived here for four years, I can see the justification from her point of view. She is being polite and friendly and opening her house to me. But my Indian upbringing wants to jump to the conclusion that she isn't friendly enough, or warm enough or hospitable enough. What kind of casual nonchalance is this, especially towards your guests? Now if it were my own mother greeting any of my friends, she would cook a feast. She would serve the food herself, she would shower questions about the guest's well-being and spare neither money nor effort to ensure their comfort.

On the same note, every time I see exceedingly flippant or disrespectful student attitudes towards teachers, I cringe and think to myself, "This may not have been possible in most Indian universities." Which is not to say that I am naive or foolish enough to assume that Indians never misbehave with authority figures. They do so, I have done so, but our cultural accouterments are such that most of us would think twice before telling a teacher something as banal as, "I missed only three classes this semester. I think it's unfair that I did not get an A!" Where on earth does this sense of entitlement come from?

Nevertheless, I will continue negotiating my twin worlds and although I have been told not to compare, I will allow myself to do so. I think, for me, that will be the easiest way to continue to let my mind grow.

Entertainment

I am currently reading, among other things, an essay on Draupadi by Dr. Devdutt Pattanaik and The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown. While the first one is about one of my favorite ficitional characters of all time and it's extremely interesting, the second one is a big fat tome that is bound to go the same route as two other works of Brown in the recent past. Yes, I am sure the movie version is not too far off. But can we please have a different Robert Langdon than Tom Hanks? He seems too ill at ease to be Langdon, in my humble opinion.

On other entertainment related news, I have just finished watching two seasons of True Blood, the very graphic, very American tv series based in the fictitious town of Bon Temps where everyone knows everyone, everyone is not what they seem to be, everyone has secrets, and everyone has an opinion regarding vampires, shape-shifters, and other such creatures. Because guess what? All of them live, not peacefully, in Bon Temps. It's a blood-drenched, often gory, often tongue-in-cheek look at human failings more than anything else. And I love it. Can't wait for Season 3.

Rituals

Most Saturdays, at about 7:30 am, I can be found in one of Moscow's wonderful bakeries. I usually get myself a sausage croissant or an everything bagel with cream cheese and read for a while before heading over to one of the cafes or to the public library.The next few hours I spent either reading or writing. Of course, a mug of coffee is never too far away from me.

There are few things I look forward to more than this ritual--all by myself--that I try to undertake at least once every week. At the end of those few hours, I feel rejuvenated, as if I have physically removed cobwebs of exhaustion, unnecessary conversations and arguments and the clutter of every life.

When I am at Wheatberries, every Saturday morning, a group of about eight septuagenarians comes in and they join two table together to sit down for some food, coffee and conversation. I overhear their stray sentences every now and then. One of them will reminisce about an event that took place forty years ago, another will chime in to remind him that something similar happened just yesterday with someone else. I always listen to them and think how wonderful it must be to grow old with friends you have had and known for so many years. What an accomplishment, what a true gift!

Now please tell me your rituals.

Debut

A new blog. A fresh start. My second stint in the realm of blogging. Why am I doing this? I am not sure.

My earlier blog titled Because I Said So stayed with me from 2006 to 2009. I wrote a total of 141 posts. And had a good time. But lately, even though I felt the urge to scribble every now and then, somehow the old blog felt limiting. And when something begins to feel that way, you know it's time to move on, to try something new, to breathe a fresh life into the old.

And so, this is my second blog. Will this help me vent more, vent regularly? Not sure. But I will make an honest attempt. That's a promise for sure.