A first is a first. After migrating to old new territory I was just happy being happy. You know how small kids obsess over a new shiny clean slate ? No ? That’s what I was doing. I would go to the page look at it longingly and smile and close the tab. I even tried writing about ‘Moonrise Kingdom‘ ‘a film so fragile that merely describing it may ruin it‘. And after 2 weeks in drafts decided against it.
So this is what it has come to. Yesterday I missed going out for a run, thinking I felt like writing. I did but the words were not coming. Today I deliberately did not go for the run because a girl needs to work. So I started writing. You see how things flow for me? No? It’s ok yaar.
Life is all about creating one (I guess) after you have been given one. Too cryptic may be.
So last week visiting home, we compelled aai to get rid of her age old relic ‘the iron almirah’, known as the ‘godrej almari’ in most Indian households. Well it was just an eye sore with the shiny wardrobe in the same space. The idea was to move it out, use it for the sundry winter items. ‘Push’ ‘Pull’ and we moved it out all right. But the balcony was not just ready to let it stay there. So decision was taken that it be donated to the building gym facilities. Later it was decided to move it to another flat where a teacher is planning to take classes. But after talking to the maid who showed interest in the iron giant, it was decided to give it to her.
In all this we totally ignored aai’s feelings. Well it was her first ‘private space’ in a joint family post marriage. She tells it was made after giving deliberate measurements, making sure the then house’s geography wouldn’t be disturbed. From mere clothes to us growing up, the almari spans decades in our lives. She is attached to it the way I am attached to my blog. I miss my old blog. I miss my old posts. Of course I can read them anytime.
And this is why I am going to ask aai to keep it. (well if the maid does not insist).
This is how one accepts being like one’s mother.
Overtly sentimental and attached.
Of course we can detach ourselves. But reason we must.
So this is what it has come to. Yesterday I missed going out for a run, thinking I felt like writing. I did but the words were not coming. Today I deliberately did not go for the run because a girl needs to work. So I started writing. You see how things flow for me? No? It’s ok yaar.
Life is all about creating one (I guess) after you have been given one. Too cryptic may be.
So last week visiting home, we compelled aai to get rid of her age old relic ‘the iron almirah’, known as the ‘godrej almari’ in most Indian households. Well it was just an eye sore with the shiny wardrobe in the same space. The idea was to move it out, use it for the sundry winter items. ‘Push’ ‘Pull’ and we moved it out all right. But the balcony was not just ready to let it stay there. So decision was taken that it be donated to the building gym facilities. Later it was decided to move it to another flat where a teacher is planning to take classes. But after talking to the maid who showed interest in the iron giant, it was decided to give it to her.
In all this we totally ignored aai’s feelings. Well it was her first ‘private space’ in a joint family post marriage. She tells it was made after giving deliberate measurements, making sure the then house’s geography wouldn’t be disturbed. From mere clothes to us growing up, the almari spans decades in our lives. She is attached to it the way I am attached to my blog. I miss my old blog. I miss my old posts. Of course I can read them anytime.
And this is why I am going to ask aai to keep it. (well if the maid does not insist).
This is how one accepts being like one’s mother.
Overtly sentimental and attached.
Of course we can detach ourselves. But reason we must.
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