The Itch

As I work and toil, like real everyday people do, I can’t help but let my mind wander sometimes.

I’m back in a routine. I’m getting things done, the class I work in is working well, until management tells me it is not (which I hope won’t happen in the near future.) And I still can’t help but wonder if I would have been happier doing something else? Is creativity lost to me? Was it actually mine to begin with? What about philosophy, literature and academia? I wish I carried on, but was I really any good at any of that stuff?

And then that there’s that itch. I really really want to write, but when I get home, the last thing I want to do is open up a laptop. On the plus side, I’m going to bed ridiculously early and I’m reading and it’s making me so happy. There really is nothing like a good book.

In fact, I am happy. I am content. Sometimes, when I’m on playground duty, keeping that ever watchful teacher eye on the children in my charge, I see other things. Things I would not have noticed were it not for the time I had in Calcutta, and I am grateful.

Did you know, and I’m sure you did, that children will take the opportunity to play football with any object they find? I saw a few boys playing with a discarded bit of plastic from a kinder egg a couple of weeks ago. They’re not allowed to play with a ball on the playground, it’s too dangerous. They have to use the field, but that would mean changing their shoes. The children compromise and play with bottle tops and discarded plastic. I’ve seen the joy on their faces. Street children in Calcutta do the same. I imagine children are the same everywhere. They just need to play.


But then I need to write about it and the itch returns. Do you remember Suva and Kyto? I think about them too. Kyto is stranded with his andro and Suva is about to discover something amazing.

For the first time in months, I visited them again this morning and I have to say that I was so relieved. They are just as I remember them, innocent, bright and eager. Their stories will continue.

I have an itch to scratch, after all.




I’m blogging and stuff but I’m not getting any feedback. I’m getting lots of new followers every day but no one except for treesshrubs (you’re awesome, by the way!) is liking my posts! No one’s commenting and it’s as if I’ve gone back to square one. Is there anybody out there? How do I generate the ‘likes’ again? Is my writing rubbish? It’s OK, you can tell me!

barely 🙂

How do you create?

What fuels your creativity?

I’m not talking about what inspires you, I’m asking, perhaps more accurately, what stokes the flames of your inspiration?

Lately I have retreated into a shell of contentment and domesticity. You see, I have found a kitten and I have adopted him. I’ve been running all over Calcutta to find him a vet, toys, food and a litter tray. Not a mean feat in this city of dog lovers, and ‘the wary of cats’. In return he has entertained me and loved me, playfully nibbling on my fingers and tugging at my heartstrings.

As a result, although I have much to write about, I have not felt the inclination to sit still for any length of time to do just that. I have wanted, instead, to take care of my new little one and to watch it spring and leap and snuggle and wrap it’s way into my home.

I have always had lots to write about, but this passed week has left me at a loss. I just didn’t feel the urge to write. It wasn’t until I had stopped running around, when I stood still, by myself and forcefully stopped to reflect, that I have managed to be inspired.

I had to be alone. I had to be still. One day, I mentioned to a good and wise friend that I would like to meditate. “What is meditation?” she asked me.

“To know one’s soul, I replied.”

“Any type of focused activity is meditation. To lose yourself, your ego, in your work, is meditation,” she said.

I shrugged my shoulders, not really being able to reply and filed the conversation as one that I was not ready to understand, just yet. But after all of the hectic goings on recently, I stopped and I questioned why I had not written. For a moment I was lost. I think, the ‘I’ literally was lost and all that remained were words. It is a process I am familiar with, but had never quite thought about.  To think about the ‘I’ as an observer, to watch your thoughts as they come and go, to catch them, to note them down, to release them, surely that is a form of meditation.

But to do this I need solitude. I need to be still, perfectly still. My eyes focus on nothing and my breaths are even. This is what I need to create.

The mind is like water, it has been said many times. Restless thoughts rush to the surface, like silt, when the water is stirred. We must learn to control our thoughts, make the waters of our minds still. I do this every time I sit down to write, I realise. This is what stokes the flames of my inspiration.

So in response to my friend, “Yes, this is my meditation, just as yours is your art.”

So, how is it that you create? Your thoughts, like my new kitten leaping, pouncing, constantly distracted, how do you still them, how do you calm them long enough to produce your art?


from google images

On Being Freshly Pressed!

Well first of all, Thank you WordPress! What an unexpected surprise on a dull Hyderabadi morning.

Secondly, HELLO!

If you’ve found me on ‘freshly pressed,’ WELCOME! I’m looking forward to checking out your blogs as soon as I can get around to it.

To all my early followers and friends, thank you, too. But a quieter whisper of a ‘thank you,’ for you; the kind that needs only a look as between a father and a daughter on her wedding day, because you know me best.

And to the people who really, really know me best; my actual father and my husband; two men who always said I should write a book, a different ‘thank you’. My father said I would do great things. My husband  says I should get off my backside and get on with doing great things. It was my husband who convinced me to start blogging, and look where that’s getting me.  Thank you, although I know that it is not needed or asked for.

The thing is, I feel like I’m growing up as a writer slowly, coming of age, coming into my own. Being ‘Freshly Pressed’ was a mental landmark I hoped someday to achieve, but never actually believed I could get there.

Again, it’s renewed my fervour, reaffirmed my self-belief, made me say to myself, ‘if hundreds of people around the world like my writing on this, small yet perfectly formed platform, known as WordPress, then maybe I can be a writer who will be published one day.

If I’m honest, to be a published writer is what I’ve always wanted, but you know how it is! You actually have to go out and get a real job because you live in the real world, with real bills and real children to feed and clothe. And so, while I almost started, I never really got off the ground. I was too scared to fail so I didn’t give it my best shot. So while I was ‘dithering ’ Life happened and suddenly I was teacher, teaching and loving it. I’m not sure if I was amazing, but I put my all into it and convinced myself that this was my calling. I’m still passionate about it, but more as a social inequality issue. There are too many people in the world who do not have access to good quality education and I hope to address that somehow.

However, today, I am a writer, at least I’m turning into one. I’m a little like the Ugly Duckling; someday I’ll be that ivory swan I see swimming with unspeakable grace upon a clear, glassy lake.  One day, I’ll be able to soar in a cloudless sky, with the rest of the world below me, watching as they hold their breath and wonder at my beauty and skill.

But for now, at this very moment, I’m thankful and humbled by all my readers and followers. I’m  thankful to WordPress for such a clean and shiny platform on which to display my work and I’m grateful to the God of Opportunity and Time for these moments in which to think and write.


from Google Images