Day 17 - A course on music theory

I'm up to my neck in work and routine stuff. Sometimes it seems like I cannot manage everything.  There are several things around the house that need my attention.  And there are times when I feel overwhelmed and frustrated by the endless chores that I have to do everyday.

And so - I went and signed up for a course on Fundamentals of Music Theory on Coursera.

Yeah, I know, "mental."

I'm learnt Indian classical music, but for years, I've been wondering about the theory of western classical music.  I've listened to, and enjoyed it, just as music - but it always bothered me that there was something deeper out there that I didn't know.  Something that, I was sure, would help me appreciate the music better.

When my cousin V started learning western violin and saxophone, I tried to read up on the theory and notations, hoping that if I didn't understand anything, my aunt or V would help me.   But like with all my self-studying, this petered out due to lack of discipline.

I came across this course on the day it was supposed to start.  So I had no time to worry about how I have no time, and how I'll squeeze this into my schedule.  There was no time to change my mind.  I signed up, and jumped in.

I've finished the first week of lectures, and realized that it needs more work than I thought.  But it is not as difficult as I expected it to be.  I've already understood the very basics, and that itself makes me happy.  I'm looking forward to the rest of the course (only 5 weeks totally, thank goodness) and I'm hoping that I'll hang on and manage to finish it.

Writing full-time

I quit a job in IT 7 years ago to write.  I didn't know what I would write, or what I could write.  I just knew that I liked writing stories, and I knew I would find something to do.

When Puttachi was little, my entire day revolved around her.  If I think back on it, I smile.  They were some of the loveliest months of my life.  But there were periods of intense frustration and desperation - and whenever I snatched a few minutes of the day in which I could write, I told myself that there would come a day when I would be writing full time.  I still didn't know what I wanted to write, but I visualized it again and again, and I liked the thought of it.

The last couple of weeks have been like that.  All of a sudden, I find myself involved in multiple projects - some started on my own, some assignments, some paid, some voluntary, some fiction, some non-fiction, some creative work, some translation, some research, some imagination.   I write from 9 30 to 2 30, and then again for a bit at night after Puttachi goes to bed. 

It is tiring.  It is overwhelming.  And I'm just about managing to keep all these projects in sections of their own in my mind, and attending to them one by one.  There are times when it seems like the barriers between the projects will break and flood my head.  It is a fine balance, but so far, it's working.

It's tough.  I have housework to do, and cooking.  Puttachi comes back from school at 3, and I have her needs to attend to.  And most people don't understand the concept of writing being work.  For them, it is a hobby that I am following, not a profession I'm trying to build.

But yet, so far, it's working.

I know that a couple of months from now, it might not be the same.  And I might lie on my bed and read this post and say "oh for those days!"    But now, I'm doing just what I hoped to do when I decided to say goodbye to IT for good. And that makes me happy.

There's another thing  about me - that I long suspected, but now know to be true.  I need deadlines.  Deadlines not only as in days, but as in time too.  I need that 3 o clock every day before which I have to finish some work before Puttachi gets home. If the day lies open in front of me, empty, inviting, I end up wasting time and seeking distraction in food and FB.  Self-imposed deadlines work, but aren't that effective.  I need to make a commitment to another person, and I'll fall over myself to stick to it. 

I'm looking forward to see how this journey progresses.
 

Day 30 - Self-esteem, stuttering and romance.

Just happened to read this excellent article - Why should disability spell the end of romance?  The writer of the article started losing her vision in her teens, and writes among other things, about dating and romance for "disabled" people, and "nondisabled" people's views on the marriage-worthiness (or rather, the lack of it) of disabled people.

Many, many of her experiences were familiar to me.  Though I'm not "disabled" (I don't like that word!!) I stutter, which was enough for scores of people to decide that I wouldn't have much choice in choosing my partner when it came to marriage (that is, if someone would deign to marry me!)

In school, some classmates would pair me with another classmate who stuttered, saying, "perfect pair!"  and laugh and laugh.  "Come on, you'll be right for each other!" they'd say.

 Several times, in school and college, when it came to light that, say, X had a crush on me, even if X was not a very palatable character, some would urge me to "consider."  Would these well-wishers of mine have "considered" X for themselves?  Not in a million years!  But I?  I should consider him, because, you see, I had trouble getting my words out, and so I was less-than-worthy, and I would have to settle!

But all these comments didn't affect me.  On the contrary, I just looked at these people with a kind of exasperation mixed with sympathy.  But what was it that made me so confident about my worthiness?

For one, neither my family, nor my close friends ever made me feel I was different, let alone less-worthy.  It also helped that I was good at a lot of things, and this little matter of the stutter, though it gave me heartache at times, didn't really come in the way of my appreciation of myself.   Besides, during my teens, at the time when this self-esteem thing is so fragile, I actually had a little fan-following of my own, and many of the guys in this group were excellent, "eligible" fellows, some of them even quite "sought-after" by other girls.  [And I wasn't even "good-looking," if you are inclined to think that these boys were bowled over by my looks.]  As a result, very early on, I became aware that the fact that I stuttered didn't really matter to those who mattered.  And I went ahead with my life, and when I found S, neither did he "settle," nor did I!

But not everybody is as fortunate as I am, in terms of the people in my life, and in terms of how my life shaped out.  There are people struggling with their image and self-esteem, and it just doesn't help that "non-disabled" people are so inconsiderate in their comments.  The article I linked to speaks of several such incidents, and deals with a number of topics.  It is worth a read, and eye-opening on many levels.

P.S. Forgive me for all the phrases in quotes.  It is just that I don't like those phrases, but they are so appropriate for what I wanted to say!

Day 27 - On realizing that introversion and shyness don't necessarily go hand in hand.

When we were in my teens, and first heard the terms introvert and extrovert, all of us rushed to fit ourselves into one category or the other.  The general impression we had about these terms at that time was that introverts were shy, and extroverts were bold, and liked to be around people. I couldn't put myself into either category.  I wasn't shy, but everything else about introversion seemed to resonate with me.  Besides, back then, to be labeled an "introvert" wasn't a compliment, you see, and so when I learned about the term "ambivert," I jumped at it.

The years passed, and my personality crystallized.  After I realized that there's nothing "wrong" in being an introvert, and when I read more about what introverts are, I comfortably slotted myself into the "introvert" category.  I had all the classic traits - I like being by myself, I prefer small groups to big ones because too many people tire me, I like quiet days as opposed to busy, social days, and after even an enjoyable social event, I need the rest of the day, and the next, to recuperate.

But - the shy factor was still bothering me, because I am not shy at all.  And then I read some articles that busted the myth - introversion and shyness do not have to go together.  And there you have it - I am a not-shy introvert.  And in case you are wondering, yes, there are shy extroverts too!

Day 19 - Losing weight

A couple of years ago, I lost weight.  Just a couple of kgs, but apparently, it showed up as a drastic slimming, especially because I was not plump to begin with.   The weight loss wasn't planned, it just happened.  And now, since the last six months, I've apparently lost another 1 kg or so.  

So why all this weight talk?

Because everybody who meets me, greets me with comments that range from "Haven't you lost weight since the last time we met?" right up to "Oh my God, what happened to you?  You look positively sick!  Oh my god, have you visited a doctor?"  And they hold my hand as if it is the last time they're going to meet me.

I laughed the first few times, but then it really got to me, and I got worked up and actually visited a doctor.  After the doc had laughed at me a bit, she prescribed tests, and thankfully all the results were normal.  But that didn't solve the problem, because everybody I meet has something to say about my weight.

I am not getting tired, I am not falling sick.  I eat well.  On an average day, I cook, clean, do the chores, run errands, pick up and drop Puttachi from school (walking,) go walking/do yoga, play badminton, and read and write and attend to Puttachi's needs - and I don't feel unusually tired at the end of the day, and I think that means I am alright.

And now, I am becoming conscious.  I was never conscious about my looks, except perhaps in my teens.  But now, I look into the mirror and think, "Am I looking thin?"  And I hate that I am doing this.  In fact, it has gotten so bad that when I learned that I have to attend a get-together this week, I cringed thinking of the number of comments I have to hear about my weight, and I started thinking about what to wear so that I look plumper.

This is so not me.  And this is something I have to overcome.  I have no idea how, though.

Day 16 - Music lessons

I've learned  both forms of Indian classical music - Carnatic and Hindustani, and while I'm far from being an expert on either, I understand and appreciate both forms.

A few months ago, Puttachi's classmates' moms and I were talking at the school gate, waiting to pick up our kids.  They were talking about how they were looking out for a teacher who would just teach the basics of Carnatic classical music.  Over the years, a couple of parents have asked me if I gave lessons, and I had vaguely thought, yeah, perhaps I could teach a few kids sometime.  But somehow, this time, something clicked.  On an impulse, I said, "If it is just the basics, I could teach them."

And that was it.  I have started giving music lessons.  It has been nearly 4 months now, and I am enjoying it.  Though it is tiring, and though I feel the need for peace and quiet after the class, I like it. I like it when my students make progress.  I like it when their eyes light up when they sing something right for the first time, and realize it.  I like it when they come skipping into our house for class - it means they come willingly and that they enjoy it.

I've learned so many things.  I learnt that sometimes you have to stop insisting on perfection and forge ahead.  Perfection will follow.  Or not.

I've learnt that I have more patience than I had previously thought.  I've learnt that I am not a bad teacher.

I've been surprised at how expertly I am navigating the paths of teacherhood, but then I realized that I've had years of opportunity observing my mother teach her students.  And unconsciously, I've grasped her methods, and am teaching my students in the same way.  And it is working.

It's good that I made the jump.  It has not been easy, but I'm glad I did it anyway.

Day 15 - High-resolution photos

Occasionally, a publication that is about to publish my work, asks me to send them a high-resolution photo of mine, and a bio.

Though a bio is painful, it can somehow be done after a lot of head-scratching. 

But the photograph is such a headache!  We're not big on portraits in our family, and all pics of me are group pics.  In most of them, I look puzzled or angry or lost.  And if I do find a photo I like and cut out my face from it, it becomes a little blurred, and doesn't serve the purpose of the publication, not being high-resolution.

So that means a sudden scrambling for photos.  I pull out Picasa and search for suitable photos and rue my fate again about how I married someone who doesn't care too much about  photography.  (I conveniently omit the fact that when the spouse does bring out a camera, I claim that *insert excuse here*, and refuse to have my picture taken.)  

And then, after an unsuccessful photo album search, S brings out the camera, and I wear a decent dress and comb my hair, and he takes a dozen photos of me looking woodenly into the camera.  I see them all, and reject them immediately. 

Then I go back to the albums, reject those again, and go back to the pics S has taken, and dislike them all again, claiming that I look evil in them. [I open my eyes wide and tense my eyelids to avoid blinking, and my smile is more like a grimace.]  I tear my hair out and roundly curse the publication, demanding to know why they want my pic and why they shouldn't be satisfied with a blank space next to my story. 

S again takes out the camera, and we take a few more photos, with him joking to put me at ease and make me smile a real smile.  And then I go through the new set of photos, and though I still don't like them much, my patience has worn out by now.  On top of that, S selects a couple and says, "These are good enough, perfectly fine, you look nice," etc and I am not sure if he is serious, or is just saying that to make me get off his back, and so we finally select one, and before I change my mind, I send it off.

And all this, after I've spent an inordinate amount of time on it.   I then think to myself, "I have to get a professional photo or something for next time, to avoid all this trouble." And then I say to myself - "Next time?  How do you know, dear girl, that there's going to be a next time?"  And then I skulk away.

Until next time. 

Day 4 - Something to think about?

A couple of weeks ago, I suddenly felt cold right after lunch (happens to me all the time.) I shivered involuntary, and grimaced.

Immediately, Puttachi, got up, went to my room, and brought my sweater to me.

Me: Oh thank you, sweetheart!  How did you know I was feeling cold?

She: Well, you shivered, and your face looked as if you were scared.  But then, you are not afraid of anything.  So that meant you were cold.  So I brought your sweater.

I gave myself mental high-fives.   "You've been a good role-model to your daughter, Shruthi! Not scared of anything indeed!" I told myself.

But then I stopped.  Come to think of it, that could also mean that I am not putting myself in situations where I could feel afraid!  i.e. I am not pushing myself enough.  Could that be true?

Food for thought!

Day 2 - Looking back at 2013

2013 was a vast improvement over 2012.  Though 2012 was a momentous one in many ways, I wasn't in a good space mentally.  2013 changed all that, and it showed in my writing.  I wrote and published quite a bit. [Full list here]

13 non-fiction articles published in The Hindu, Deccan Herald and Women's Web.
2 short stories published in online magazines.
1 short story accepted for an anthology
1 short story won an award.
1 picture book for an underprivileged child.
Lots and lots of content written for websites.

Apart from this, I've worked on many short stories - visiting some of them scores of times, and scraping, whittling, fine-tuning, polishing them, and yet, haven't been satisfied enough to send them out into the world.

I've also completed four online courses.

Think Again: How to Reason and Argue -  Duke University - Coursera.
The Science of Gastronomy - Hong Kong University - Coursera
Archaeology's Dirty Little Secrets - Brown University - Coursera
A Brief History of Architecture - MIT - EdX

I've particularly enjoyed the last two, and they have led me to read a lot about India's history, particularly about how India's lost history was rediscovered by the British.

Now that's quite nicely done, even if I say so myself.

In 2014, I wish to write more of fiction, along with all the non-fiction!

But while my writing life is doing well, I've still not scaled up to handling my life intelligently.  Managing finances, being organized, shouldering responsibilities and being pro-active - there's a lot to be desired.  Ask S, he'll tell you.

I also need to learn how to deal with people more wisely.  I've to give more of myself to those I love, and I've to learn how to handle people who are using me as a doormat. :)

I've also not been too successful in handling the new, grown-up Puttachi, and I think I've made several mistakes while dealing with her.  That's something I need to work on.  And I'll share my learning with you, of course!

That's a lot of work!

So what do you have in mind for yourself in 2014?

Beauty parlour epiphany

Going to the beauty parlour is high on my list of most-hated activities.  I keep putting it off for as long as I can, and finally, I call the parlour and quickly make an appointment before I change my mind.  Since I'm wired to honour appointments, I know I'll stop conjuring up reasons not to go, and I'll go.   

The major reason I don't like parlours is that no matter which parlour I go to, they all treat me as fair game to heap me with advice.  Firstly, I am that specimen who doesn't straighten my hair (horrors!) nor colour my hair (double horrors!)  Besides, I apparently have a face that is a great example for the "before" in a "seven signs of aging" cream commercial and I get a whole lot of advice on what I need to do to my face to become presentable, and that usually includes the most expensive facial available at their parlour.  They put me in front of the mirror and map out my face, telling me what is wrong with what part, and all I can see wrong with my face is the frown of anger and annoyance.

Anyway, to avoid getting commented upon, I had started taking special pains to appear my best before going to a parlour.  Know that old joke about the woman who frantically straightened out her home before the cleaning-lady came in, saying, "I can't let her see my house like this?"  I'm like that when it comes to parlours.  I take more efforts to make myself "presentable" to go to a parlour than to go to a party. At a party, nobody comments on my looks directly!

And yes, I knew I was being silly, but I couldn't get myself to stop being affected.  And since I don't like to slather myself with chemicals that will keep my hair and face conforming to the prevalent standards of beauty, and since I am too lazy to research and sustain the use of natural products that are supposed to do the same, it is a kind of status quo for me. 

And then, yesterday, something happened.  I was at the parlour (a new one, because the lady in the old one commented a little too much about my looks) and this girl who was attending to me said the same things - the usual litany of how terrible my face and hair is and what I should do about it.  But - it was perhaps the way she said it, or maybe it was just time for an epiphany - I didn't get angry.  I just stood back and thought, "Shruthi, she's just doing her job."  Just like I cannot bear looking at a badly-written book or a poorly-crafted resume without an urge to edit it.  Just like an architect might look at an ugly building and think, "Oh I would have done it another way."  Just like a tailor sees a dress that doesn't fit well and feels the urge to set it right.  Just like that, this poor girl feels the need to turn my face and hair into that category which current societal standards calls beautiful.  It is not her fault at all.  She has been conditioned by society about what beauty is.  She is just doing her job. 

And then, I relaxed.  I smiled and nodded at everything she told me, and said, "No thanks" to the most expensive facial and hair spa available at their parlour, and asked her to get on with whatever I had gone there to get done in the first place. 

I feel liberated! :)

Day 27 - Everything comes back!

When we were kids, we used to tease our mother about her "colour sense."

Mother:  Shruthi, please bring the orange box from the fridge.
Me:  Where, where, can't see any orange box.
Mother: Right there, top shelf.
Me:  I just see a white box with a yellow lid.
Mother: Yeah that's the one.

And then Peevee and I would go into splits and tease our mother endlessly.

But then, last week,

Puttachi:  Amma where are my pink pyjamas?
Me:  Not washed.  Wear your blue ones.
Puttachi:  Blue?  I don't even have blue pyjamas.
Me: You do.  The one we bought at xyz.
Puttachi:  That's not blue!  That's dark grey!  Ha ha ha haaa!!  Why did you call it blue, Amma?

And I go - gulp.

I guess, during childhood, you want precision, you are particular about things - but after sometime, you are satisfied with a vague description of everything....  Has this happened with you too?

Similar things happen, not only with regard to colour.  I say something is in the left cupboard, and I would have meant, the left of the usually-used right cupboard, and I expect her to understand, while Puttachi searches in the left-most cupboard, and can't find it....  such things used to happen with us and our mother too!

But that's not all.  There was another thing my mom used to do (still does.)  She would be thinking of something, and then suddenly speak aloud about it, as a continuation of the thought process in her head - and all of us, who had absolutely no context, wouldn't understand head or tail of what she was saying.  "Huh?"  we would blink, and then she would realize and start from the beginning.  Oh how we have pulled her leg about this!

But, yeah, you guessed it.  From the past one month, this has happened with S and me.  And I am the one speaking without any context.  And S is the one left wondering.

What else did we tease our mother about?  What else is in store for me?  :)

Day 21 - Losing myself in learning

When I was in school, a classmate and I had decided that we would be archaeologists when we grow up.  I don't quite recall what we thought archaelogists did, but we were pretty serious about it.  I have also conducted "excavations" in my backyard.  Gradually, the idea about growing up to be an archaeologist faded, but naturally, my interest in the subject didn't fade away.  I always read with interest stories of ancient cultures and reports of new findings of old artefacts.

Now, I'm thoroughly enjoying this archaeology course I am taking from Coursera.  The videos, the required readings, the exercises - everything interests me greatly..  Today, I started research online for an exercise, and it led me to the history of archaeology in India.  I was so intrigued, that I clicked and clicked, and all morning, I've been engrossed in reading about the origins and the fathers of Indian archaeology.   And then, suddenly I felt  hungry, looked at the time - and realized it was lunch-time.

Isn't this the best way to learn?   Choose something you really want to learn, and then lose yourself in it?

Someone asked me - "Why this course?  Why do you want to learn about archaeology? Of what use is it to you?"   Honestly, that thought had never crossed my mind.  I thought for a bit.  What use is it to me?  I have no idea.  I don't see me "using" this knowledge in my life, practically.  But I feel a keen desire to learn about it.  And that, as I see it, is reason enough.

Day 15 - Half asleep

Whew, this day nearly got away from me!

Been on my toes since morning, except for some time sitting in a car, which, I can tell you, isn't too pleasant in Bangalore.

Finally, the day is done, and I am half asleep, and every bit of me wants to curl up with a book, and then go to bed.  [sidenote - anybody else out there who thinks that one of the sweetest moments in life is to sit in bed with a good book just before bedtime, listening to the patter of rain outside?]

But yet, here I am, writing this, hoping I am making sense, and wondering why, when I set my mind to it, I can make the time for anything even in the most uncomfortable of circumstances.  Well, I guess one needs to have a project worth being committed to.

This was one of the reasons I set myself this challenge.  To see whether I could keep this up even when I can hardly move my fingers across the keyboard.

Day 12 - An atypical day

Today has been, so far, a very different day.  For one, after dropping Puttachi off at school, I decided to - dust.  There, that should tell you.  And since the day had anyway started off on a tangent, I decided to just go where it took me.  So, apparently this was a day when I wanted to watch television, and potter around the house doing nothing. So that's what I did.

Today was different in another respect - that I had nothing ready for lunch.  This doesn't ever happen, and so while I was lazing about, I was vaguely wondering what to cook for lunch.  And then, serendipity - this post made me decide - what's good for breakfast is good for lunch.  So lunch was ready in five minutes.

Just as I was feeling a little guilty about "wasting" my day, this article came by - "Why Can't I be a Housewife?"   Read it, please do, especially if you are a housewife/homemaker who is battling with people, or with yourself about wasting your life, your education, and not having any ambition.

But ambition is not necessarily a virtue that needs to be solely linked to a career. Aspiring to become a better mother, a better cook or a better friend is also being ambitious. The competition really needs to be with you, not with anyone else. Are you a better person today than you were yesterday? That is ambition to me.

Reminded me of this ridiculous article by Chetan Bhagat on why men should have working wives.  And this great response to it.

I think everyone needs a day like this (or half a day) when you absolutely do not have to be responsible for anything, and have no pressing duties to perform, and just go where the day takes you. Refreshing.

This day of mine would perhaps not have taken me to the laptop had it not been for this challenge.

Now, let me go back to doing nothing - for another hour, until Puttachi comes back from school.

Day 8 - Online courses

Just about a couple of years ago, if someone had told you that you could take a course from the top universities of the world, from stalwarts in the field, sitting in your home, for free, would you have believed it?

It is wonderful how MOOCs are growing.  And I experienced it myself first hand, when I took a course "Think Again: How to Reason and Argue" from Coursera early this year.  It was good fun, in many ways.  The video lectures and assignments and quizzes were well-structured, and technically, it was excellent.  One of the instructors, Dr.Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, was very good, and I thoroughly enjoyed his lectures.  I later found that he is a very well-known person in his field.  The discussion forums on this course abounded with comments by students who gushed about how lucky they felt to be learning from such a bigwig.

The best part about this course was the fact that I could view the lectures whenever I wanted.  And if I didn't understand something, or if I dozed off in the middle (I did!)  I could always play the video again.  What an advantage over a real classroom situation!  I earned myself a certificate with distinction too at the end of it.  

There are a couple of things I learned about online courses.  One, the instructor matters.  I signed up for another course, but I didn't find the instructor impressive enough, and I un-enrolled in a couple of weeks.  Another thing is that you have to choose the course depending on your level of interest and the time you have available to do it.  I know, sounds obvious.  But I signed up for Astronomy with a lot of enthusiasm, but I couldn't spare the kind of time or attention needed for the level it was taught at.  

I have now signed up for an Archaeology course.  I found to my great joy that the instructor is a very robust, ebullient, likeable lady, and I actually feel like she is talking to me personally (felt that way with Dr.Sinnott-Armstrong too)  and it makes me want to give my best to the course. 

There are many other sites out there, like Udacity, apart from Coursera where you can find online courses.  And of course, if you go the websites of several top universities, you can see information on courses they offer there. 

A great way to learn more about something you're already interested in, or to add to your skills. From the comfort of your home.  For free.

Day 5 - Impostor syndrome

When does a writer start being a writer? The moment she writes a word? The day she completes a piece of writing? The first time her work is published?

Turns out that for me, none of that was enough. I had won an award for a short story, had published a few children's stories in a newspaper supplement, and yet, I didn't consider myself a writer.

At a party, a friend was introducing me to someone, and she waved her hand at me, and said, "She's a writer." I looked over my shoulder to see whom she was pointing at. And then grinned sheepishly.

It was at this time that I won a prize for my children's story. What followed after that was beyond anything I had expected. First of all, my story was performed by schoolchildren. It gave me such a high. Shortly after that, The Hindu called to ask if they could do a feature on me.

It was unreal. Why would they want to do a feature on poor little me? In my head, a writer is someone mature and accomplished. And I was the opposite. So why would a newspaper want to feature me? And it wasn't even just any rag - The Hindu, of all papers.

 And then it got wilder. On the day of the interview, the photographer arrived first, and went click-click-click, making me pose, and turn, and saying - stand in the light, stand facing the light, smile, relax your features.... and I obeyed like a zombie. Just as he was leaving, the interviewer arrived, and she talked to me for about an hour. It was fun to give the interview, but the moment she left, my brain couldn't take it anymore.

It was a severe dichotomy  in my head - "what should be (a writer)" vs. "what is (me)." And I couldn't reconcile the two. Then it turned physical. My teeth started chattering, I started trembling, and my legs wobbled. I was alone at home. I heated a cup of water for myself (I was shivering too much to trust myself to brew a cup of tea.) I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up on the sofa and sipped the hot water until my body relaxed.

And then, I started crying. I have no idea why. Hot tears flowing down my cheek like they wouldn't stop. I don't remember too much what I did.  I think I called S and my mom, but I am not sure.

And what thoughts were going on in my head?

 "This shouldn't be happening to me."
 "I'm just an average writer who had a stroke of luck - they shouldn't be making so much of me."
"I'll never be able to write another good word, and then the whole world will know I am fake."
"They should stop calling me a writer - I am not one."
"Is there any way I can get them to stop the article getting published?"

In a few hours, I was completely back to normal.  I even looked forward to the article, and though it initially shocked me to see my face printed across half a page, I enjoyed all the attention when it did come out.

Later, a conversation with my aunt revealed to me that what I was feeling was called "Impostor syndrome" and it is very real, and that I am not alone. Can't tell you how relieved I was to find that I wasn't abnormal after all!

Even then, I could not call myself a writer. I would cringe if I was refered to as a writer. Given that I hold so much esteem for writers, why do I run away from that name? Do I think so low of myself?  I don't think so. Is it a false sense of modesty? I have no idea. Or maybe my idea of a writer is someone with a book to her name or something big like that, and so I don't consider myself "there" yet. I wish I knew what it was.

Only in the last  year, I have been comfortable with that tag, and though I hesitate slightly before I say it, I do say - "I'm a writer." And the more I say it, the easier it gets.

Note:  I needed a year and a half to bring myself to write about this! Gotta thank my post-a-day effort.

The month-long challenge

So hear's the deal.  Starting tomorrow, I'm going to put up a post every day.  One for each day of June.  That's 30 posts in one month. 

Yes, this is a challenge, one I have set for myself.  Many thoughts flit about in my head each day, and a few of them reach the stage of "I've got to write about it." But then it goes nowhere.  This month, every time a thought fructifies enough to make me want to write about it, I will write about it.  It is going to be hard work, because writing is more of rewriting and editing than anything else.  And this will require a daily commitment from me.  And that is my intention.   

So I hope you'll go with me on this journey, and cheer for me, perhaps? 

Too much and too less.

The days in my life are largely uneventful - every day is usually pretty similar to the previous one.  Every once in a while, something happens that keeps me abuzz for a while, and then life takes on its regular pace.  I am not complaining.  I actually enjoy it, as long as it doesn't get monotonous.

So imagine how it is for me the last few weeks.  The major event, of course, being the Big Move to the new home, and all the attendant issues - which by itself is enough to overwhelm me.

Add to that, my parents' departure to the US to visit my sister, the arrival of my aunt and my friend to India on a holiday - both of whom I keep constant touch with and so wanted to spend as much physical time as possible with.  

Add to that the arrival of a little being - my brother-in-law and his wife had a baby girl.  Puttachi's first little sister :) , and my first niece - so that's not an everyday occurence.

And then the book release, and all the hullabaloo surrounding it.

And with all this, a Humungous Cold - that happens to me only once in about 2-3 years - but really grips me and shakes me up, and nearly puts me out of commission for its duration.

And these were the big events - I'm not talking about many many little get-togethers and parties and chores and ... well... what do I say?

3 weeks of all this, and 49 weeks of quiet.  I seriously would prefer it a little spaced out, please.  Familiar?

Interview on Chillibreeze

My interview on Chillibreeze

Comments and questions welcome.

It is "outed" not "ousted" at one point in the interview.  I have asked for it to be corrected.

500

I don't usually mark milestones on my blog, but this calls for a celebration.  500 posts.  Coming to think of it, it is not such a big number at all for all that I have said over more nearly seven years. 

But what a journey!  How I agonized before publishing my first post!  I was so shy about showing my writing to the world.  I rightly guessed that blogging would cure me of that hesitation, and now here I am, 500 posts later, with a few writing successes to my credit.

In these 500 posts you can see my journey from a clueless and irresponsible new bride, to the mother of a five-year old, someone who doles out hot (albeit shapeless) phulkas as effortlessly as she doles out unsolicited parenting advice (heh.)

You can see me transition from someone who wrote to escape the boredom of a job I wasn't interested in - to someone who writes for the love of writing.

A large part of what blogging did was to open me up to an entirely new world out there - to people who have affected my life profoundly in ways I would never have imagined.  There are people who wouldn't ever have come into my life if not for blogging.  Windows have opened that led to doors, and more doors, and with that came more people - and the learning, the discovery, the joys - phew!

I'll stop the gushing - I'm sure you get the picture.

Some of you have been with me all through that time. Some have joined me later, a few have held my hand in the beginning, but you've moved on since.  Some have been silent, some of you have constantly spoken to me. But each one of you has contributed to me and my writing in some way or the other, so thank you all for being there.