The Lady of the Bridges

 It is the National Science day today. It is celebrated in our country in the memory of C.V.Raman. Raman, Ramanujan,Bhabha, these are great scientists indeed, given their towering presence in the field of Indian Science and Technology. Despite every trouble and each lacunae, they created a body of work that can equal anyone's in the affluent West.

If that is the case with men scientists, imagine how much tougher it must be for women scientists and technocrats. She has to fight the establishment at multiple levels, the home front to the work space. There is tremendous pettiness and vicious attempts to harass her, create hurdles in her path by most everybody, colleagues to extended family.

Against such a background, let us remember Shakuntala Bhagat, the first woman civil engineer in Pre-Independence India who specialised in bridge building. She continued her yeomen services even in the post-independence era as well. Those days, she tried extremely difficult experiments such as toe-bridges to strengthen old, dysfunctional bridges, for instance. Moreover, her constructs were from the use and throw material. Great, indeed! Hence this tribute to her! 

Pratima@Currently, India is specialising in wonderful bridge building. Hence this remembrance of Ms Bhagat's contribution as she tried it those days, and despite (m)any distractions!

Smritichitre

 In the wake of the celebration of Marathi everywhere on, and off, the internet yesterday, today let us appreciate the "Smritichitre". It is an autobiography of a highly spirited, intelligent woman. In a way, it is a memoir, too, of the people  in her sphere of life, and of the times, too. 

It is written by Laxmibai Tilak(1868-1936). An unusual woman, hers was a child marriage which was a prevalent practice then. She was hardly eleven when she was married off. Born in to an orthodox Bramhin family, she was married off in to an equally conservative family. Her husband taught her to read and write.  Later, she completed her husband's epic poem. She was that talented.

Her "Smritichitre" is remarkable for two reasons. To begin with, it details her spirited fight against the patriarchal set-up in her family. Hence it is a landmark text in the growth of women's  consciousness in Maharashtra. Her comments against the patriarchal set-up are pithy, witty and trenchant. Her naughty wit and her child like limpid candour shine like a brilliant star.

I like the book for yet another reason. She is born, brought up, is married off, asserts herself during the high tide of the Phule influence. Her treatise thus holds a mirror to reality. 

Thus through her "Smritichitre",  we know that Brahmin women were not submissive doormats. Nor were they mere fodder to male lust.  A few Brahmin widows might have got pregnant after they were widowed.  Yet most were like Laxmibai, waging a war within the household against the patriarchal set-up. There is a huge line-up of such strong ,yes, Brahmin women who, too, changed the societal features, I feel. Hence the relevance of her "Smritichitre"!

Pratima@Every candle illuminates, puts up a fight against darkness!

Marathi: An Acrostic

 My mother tongue Marathi

 As tough as walking in the space

 Rarely used correctly currently

 At strife with users' wor(l)d w(e)ary de-signs

To get along in the wor(l)d of 'mean' monies

High hopes still linger of its rejuvenation

In the AI age of 'anima'ted communication!

Pratima@ Yet again would there be litanies and paeans to Marathi and its glorious past. Yet again would there be angry debates regarding why Marathi is not granted the 'classical' status. Yet again would there be decorative declarations with quasi-poetic flourishes. The dream of making it a language of knowledge like English and centrally relevant to lives like Hebrew  would linger on like a wraith without a wreath! Long live the Marathi Day!

माझी मराठी 'मिळते' मला केवळ पुस्तकांत/आजूबाजूच्या उन्मादी भाषा संकरात/गुदमरलेला तिचा आत्मा/तिचीच पोरेटोरे प्रतिक्षणि करती तिचाच खात्मा!

Why all this at all?

 What makes us human(e)? I suppose concern and care, right? Well, we should be concerned with all that is the best trying to be better in each and every field, while we should take care of all that is weaker every which way, physically (the old and the children, for instance), financially (the poor and the downtrodden), for instance, and so on.

Unfortunately, however, these days, most of us seem to have stopped being human(e) apparently. Let me give you an example. These days, if an accident of any magnitude takes place, what is the typical reaction? Everyone whips out the mobile, but, hey, not to call the police or the ambulance or the fire brigade, mind you. Most of the great souls with grand mobiles of the latest make are interested in filming the unfortunate event, in making reels that could go viral. 

I would not know if that 'viral' bit gets people truckloads of money based on the likes, et al , which  would be absolutely insane and inhuman(e). Even if it were not so, the very spectator mentality is a downright horror! How can anyone revel in someone else's huge trouble? Such sadistic   nonchalance is a no-no even amongst animals from whom we seem to have apparently 'evolved'!

Such voyeurism makes  one horrifically hard-hearted, narrowly self-centred, and selfish. If you cannot feel the pain, the hurt, the agony of the other, you cannot expect others to come to your help in your time of need either. Imagine that unfortunately you meet with a fatal accident, what should others do? Help you or film you while you are bleeding away to death? 

If you are so heartless and completely lack sensitivity, how can you ever be concerned with the bettering of the best? You would be so horribly obsessed with self in a silly competitive way that you would revel in the pain, in the misfortune, in the failure of others, especially when they are far better than you!

Why be so very narrow and mean?  After all, such negativity is going to demean, belittle, finish YOU in the final analysis! In brief, why all this at all?

Pratima@ "Be kind," said Plato,"because everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

Music is magic!

 My parents, both of them, loved music.  Papa was in to natya sangeet, and loved the Bal Gandharva and Deenanath versions as much as the renditions by the Shiledar family, Vasantrao Deshpande, Jitendra Abhisheki, and others. We have records and CD's of all these great singers, and used to play them almost ad infinitum. Papa used to talk about the Kolhapur performances of Bal Gandharva which he had watched when he was very small.

Aai learnt to sing a little late in life. Yet she had a notebook full of notations of songs. She used to be the narrator, the "sutradhar" of the programmes organised by her group. Her group often used to get prizes in various competitions . She used to compose simple but sweet poems on different occasions, and used to sing these during family get-together's.

My brother plays the flute. He practices it without fail. His doggie sits nearby as if he is listening most attentively. My nephew is good at the guitar, and he keeps on perfecting his notes via the internet. Aai used to love his practice sessions, and would narrate them to me any number of times.

My other brother has so encouraged his wife to sing that her own siblings, who used to find it terribly funny that given the quality of her voice, she would actually train to sing, now praise her. Their elder son started to learn how to play the tabla, but did not continue it though. His daughter-in-law is, however, a trained Bharat Natyam dancer who has won many international prizes as well.

In our childhood, we were often taken to the Sawai Gandharw Mahotsav, the Geet Ramayana performances, and even to "orchestra nites". I suppose the magic of music and its mystique, which thus entered our lives, has forever enriched us in blessed ways. Long live the melody that made moments mellifluous!

Pratima@ As for me, I love even the doggo chorus strays perform every night! Well, i  do have a diploma in music, and do play the banjo aka bulbul tarang rather well. Music in some form or the other has to be my constant companion. Well, finding the rhythm and sound patterns in literature is hence a little easier for me, I suppose. 

Actually, I remembered all this as tomorrow, 26, is Aai's mensual death anniversary, and her prize winning "shur amhi sardar", the headgear she wore then, her happy feel were yet again alive for me. Music indeed is magic!

An idol

 An idol, by definition, is worthy of supplication. An idol gives us a sense of being protected, of infinite possibilities, of great, good guidance. Remember the Ganapati festival? We install the idol, and that image becomes a source  of infinite inspiration, gives us a feel of  great reverence, adds an aura of its own to mundane lives.

An idol is ideal, in brief.  Hence idols are  to be located not only  in the field of religion but in all the spaces that  give us a feel of intense betterment. In other words, an idol is found in the worldly areas, too. Since childhood, our parents are our idols. Without even saying so, they craft our identities. Every which way, they give us birth as they design, permanently permeate our personalities, too.

When the socialisation process starts, a committed, caring, and brilliant teacher, especially during the late teens, early twenties can be an idol, too. As we grow up, start forming our own opinions through observation, through reading, our idols come from spaces that include history as well as all the social-political-cultural arenas. 

Well, as our idols influence us immensely, we must choose them wisely, too, right? Hence I feel bad when most youngsters choose some film star, a cricketeer et al as idols. Nothing wrong actually! Unfortunately, however, such idols mostly add a mere stylistic effect, right? So you have a Ronaldo or a Shahrukh hair-cut flooding  the streets as the World Cup or the release of some film happen to be imminent.

An idol who thus merely affects mere looks, sheer fashions is not worthy of truly being an idol, right? Such an ideal is more a tool of the consumerist market place, right? It is capitalism cooking up identities to make the richer still more richer at our expense, right? Nyke shoes make not a Beckham, nor Levis jeans a Shahrukh. But these as models make both the company and the model filthy wealthy, right?

In brief, the moral of the story is choose your idols wisely!

Pratima@ Sant Gadge Baba as an idol  made many Maharashtrian villages ideal, clean every which way!

Social Justice!?!

 As a concept, social justice is indeed lofty, noble, ideal. It breaks down all the barriers artificially created. Which are these imitation barriers? They are class, creed, religion, region, language, and gender. Currently, two more are being added to these which we will discuss a little later. 

The social justice rhetoric always operates through binaries. One of these is the positive, the other negative. Yet another possibility is that one would be powerful, the other powerless. These variations can continually change as they are comparatively superficial. The base binary, however, is the insider-outsider one.

The entire debate is rooted in all aspects of the humanities, anthropology to zoonotics, though the second half of this equation is, more, in the STEM category. We have included it here for the rhetorical flourish and oratory based eloquence of the 'a to z' variety. Yet the fulcrum of the discussion is history.

The social justice consists in repairing the historical wrongs meted out to the party considered weak, ill-treated, and hence in need of hand holding. The execution of this principle is considered a token to humane and equal considerations. 

Currently, however,  it is getting more politicised. Yet another problem is that it is getting both racial and radicalised. As a result, it becomes a strategy of exclusion in its own way, creating the same cycle of victimhood yet again. Real social justice would be to stop this circular process and its spiral re-vision. Only then can social justice be equal and equitable. 

Pratima@ Social justice should not lead to new inequalities. That would be truly inhuman(e).

Suryay nam:

 Suryanamskar as a mode of exercise is no longer old-fashioned. In fact, the way surya-namskar is the 'in', the 'done' mode now, it always reminds me of Victor Hugo's perceptive precept "no power on earth can stop the idea whose time has come", made famous in India by Dr. Manmohan Singh, our erstwhile prime minister.

Look up on the search sites "surya namskar". Google it, for instance, and so mind-boggling would be the information that would pour in that but naturally would you perform a surya namskar there and then! 

Actually, it is more like, is closer to the yogasana. It includes both, the bodily exercise and the breath control. Performed in the open air as the sun is rising, a trendy practice in the metro's and the big cities, it would sure provide both Oxygen and the Vitamin D to the practitioner.

Ideally, it involves the soul, the mind and the body as one is supposed to chant the twelve names of the sun deity. They say that the practice improves the  mental health status of the ADHD afflicted children. In many schools hence, it is a form of exercise, a regular one, and not merely circa June 21.

In a way, such eulogies counter the clear divide in our society between the so-called traditional versus the valorised modern. Surya namskar, hence, is no longer performed merely in the wrestlers' dens with the 'langot' or loincloth. When traditional trends, the modern mimics it. So "suryay nam:"  is the chant now, and the more chic your leotard is, the better!

Pratima@Papa used to perform the Surya Namskar's. Given the frequent transfers he suffered due to his honesty and a work ethic full of rigour, his regularity thereof had to dwindle!

Of beauty

 'Of beauty' is the phrase you utter, and in India, the only name that would pop up is Madhubala! Unbelievably beautiful she was! Why only her? Well, there was minimal make-up to her image. These days anybody, even in the non-celluloid world, in the daily lived real life mode,  can be as much or infact more beautiful  than she could be!

How? Well, these days, the janta goes to any extent to 'appear' beautiful. It can be the  surgeon's scalpel, people use botox, apply layers of make-up thick enough to paint all the walls of their respective houses. Such artificial look was not hers. She was simply naturally authentically beautiful.

There seemed no vanity in her either. People who are attractive, especially film stars and models, are very conscious of their looks. They would present only a particular profile, for example, which would present them the best way. As for Madhubala, if you watch her films, she pulls the weirdest faces, especially in the comedies, and it is this natural honest face which makes her look real attractive as if she is least concerned with her own looks.

May be, her beauty is more appealing because of the myth which includes her heart ailment, her very early death, her unhappy love life, her sadly being used by her own near and dear ones, et al. That adds to her mystique. She appears vulnerable which adds a humane aspect to her looks. She never seems a hard-hearted, harsh harridan. 

Gloss never is grand, right? It is that soft gentle goodness which seems to shimmer in her portrayals, and may be, that makes her a beauty! What say?

Pratima@ In those days, there were no crops and blurs and filters, 'the' special effects,  which 'make up' a 'star'. Most film personalities were 'actors' first and foremost. As they were good at their work, they looked great. Want proof? Watch Nutan in 'Bandini' or 'Sujata'. In neither film is she to be gorgeous. Yet in both the films, she is the most beautiful because she makes the characters come alive,  right? So, in the final analysis, it is authentic art that makes sincere beauty!

Oh, so unique!

Oh, so unique, what all to say on this occasion of the birth anniversary of Shivaji Maharaj? Oh, yes, I do remember a scholars' meet in the Ciefl where during a discussion, two senior professors attacked me for defending his position. 

The lady, who used to teach a foreign language, held forth the typical pro-Aurangjeb argument, while the gentleman, almost about to retire, was of the opinion that there is no definitive history, and instead only oral, and hence unreliable, narratives exist.

 Of course, I did vigorously counter both the arguments. Yet just as you cannot wake up a person pretending to be asleep, you cannot make people with rigid doctrines see any sense. Their minds are so tightly closed that no other lock would be necessary to guard the ignorance within!

Oh, so unique I find Maharaj's guerrilla warfare techniques using which he could counter the better equipped huge armies of the Mughals. In my opinion, a study of these can help us in any field, in  our daily lived lives, too.

Yet another unique quality is his ability to make great heroes out of everybody around him. He could so fire up the spirit of independence backed by a deep respect for the religion that not only were there great knights like Baji Prabhu Deshpande and Tanaji Malusare but every ordinary foot soldier, too, became a "mawla". Remember the "खबरदार जर जाल पुढे ..."poem  we all loved  during the school days? 

I admire the forts he created. There is literally a huge chain of well-known and the rather lesser known forts which were scaled recently by members of a mountaineering group to mark the great occasion, the three hundred fiftieth year of  his ascension to the throne.

Indeed a simply great king who changed the very course of  history! Huge respect on the occasion of his birth anniversary!

Pratima@Shivaji Maharaj fired every ordinary soul with higher order thinking skills such as patriotism and a deep reverence for religion. This plinth work led later to the glory of the Maratha warriors who were the byword for honour and glory till 1857, and beyond.

Twins

 Recently was celebrated the twins day. Twins are always a curiosity, right? They share a unique bond, we feel. As it is, there always remains a special connect with siblings, however afar life may take us, away from each other. In the case of twins, it appears to be doubly stronger, though my students, studying Spanish with me, say that the "two bodies, one heart" ideation about twins is more a myth. 

It is a cute and ancient myth though. From our Ramayana, we have the Lav-Kusha pair, the twins of Shri Ram and Seeta.  Born in the Valmiki Ashram, they recite the Valmiki Ramayan to their father, while neither knows the real identity of either. 

Similarly, both in astronomy and astrology, we have the Gemini, with twins as the symbol. Especially, in literature, twins are quite some source of inspiration. Look at Shakespeare's "A Comedy of Errors", for instance. The very source of comedy there is the twins. The Hindi film "Angur", based on this play, had Sanjeev Kumar and Deven Verma create a crazy fun riot on the silver screen.

In Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night", the twins, Viola and Sebastian, separated at the shipwreck, come close to a rather tragic fate, caused and finally happily resolved because of their being look-alike twins. 

In brief, confused identity seems to be the birthmark of twin based texts. Well, given the identity politics haunting the public space since the Mandal Commission, such confusion is simply quasi-tragic, as in the case of a story by Anna Bhau Sathe about twin sisters' fate!

Pratima@ Twins appear as if they are born with their bestie! For the parents though, this 'double dhamaka' must be double the pain and double the joy as they grow up!

Edifying Edison

When we were small, my parents would often talk to us of the great folks in many fields. Thus at a very early stage, Marie Curie entered my life.  Marie Curie was a double Nobel Prize winner. She won those two prizes without any politicking, and in times that were inimical to women's University education. Aai used to talk very highly of her, and I continue to think of her as one of my idols.

Such an upbringing made me devour the small little school library where I met Edison first. Was I dazzled! Here was a man who almost single-handedly gave technology the gravitas of pure sciences, and yet he was so very unbelievably down to earth!

Sure all his inventions are undoubtedly great. Personally, however, I like him for his never-say-never attitude. He was optimism and positivity personified. He suffered countless setbacks. Never ever did he let them destroy him. 

I find this quality great , especially when everywhere around, one sees wimps who almost parade their so-called depression, mollycoddled as they are by a stupidly loving parent! Any minor to major setback, and they collapse. May be, because they are very sure that out of his helpless love, the poor parent would be there to support!

Edison, on the contrary, found an opportunity in the worst case scenario to re-build everything yet again, and from the scratch. This restructuring included his own thought process and belief system.  He is, in my opinion, all that is the best in the survivor syndrome. Hence the title to this blog. Edifying indeed Edison is!

Pratima@ All his quotes are simply great. Reading them is itself sheer encouragement! 

Rath Saptami

 I have always maintained that I am indeed lucky to have been born to high caste Brahmin parents. Let me explain why. We had the best of both the worlds. All that is good, ideal,wonderful in the caste was mine by birth, and through upbringing. Yet such was the kind and generous behaviour of my parents that all that could be considered wrong (actually every caste would have all such problems) never ever even entered our consciousness! 

An example thereof could be the Rathsaptmi  celebrations. Actually, the day symbolises the beginning of the sun's symbolic journey towards the northern hemisphere. Clearly it signifies the beginning of, the ushering in of the spring/summer cycle. In the agrarian calendar, it means the harvesting of the rabbi crop.

All the rituals followed in my family signified these climatic, geological changes. And lucky were we that all such explanations happened, too. Aai could draw the Surya/sun rangoli pattern. The seven horses of the chariot would signify the seven days of the week, the seven colours of the rainbow, for example.

Aai used to make a small little bonfire in the backyard, and she used to boil a special kheer of rice, jaggery, and milk in a special small little utensil. She would consciously let it overflow. The explanation was that every small little creature, ant to birdies, must get a share! We were thus from childhood itself environmentally conscious, and considerate of lives, however small and insignificant, around us. 

She used to make that tough to make gulpoli yet again for the second time.Her perfect polis would never burn, burst at the seams on the 'tawa'.  The simply lovely and tasty filling inside would be spread till the edges, artistically cut. The dollop of homemade ghee spread on it, the sesame chutney, the special veggie, we were so indulged in a very healthy wholesome way. Oh, yes, Papa taught us all the Surya Namskar's , too! Happy and healthy was our childhood.

 Aai was an expert at making the halwa. It is an extremely difficult art, a tedious process. I still remember the lily white cloth she would use to see to it each halwa grain would get perfectly formed.

She could make lovely ornaments of these delicate, fragile goodies. She did make them for both her daughters-in-law and her three grandchildren. Backbreaking work! It was a labour of love for her 

In other words, all that is artistic, poetically rich entered our souls consciously as well as unconsciously. It made us sensitive and sensible, too.  Thus our upbringing was  healthy, wholesome, symbolically like the tilgul, the perfect mix of roasted sesame seeds and the sweet jaggery!

Pratima@Yes, I can make tilgul and gulachi poli. But neither is perfect like Aai's. Slowly but surely, my generation started outsourcing all such delicacies. That is why, may be, childhood has been let out to the t v. cartoons. May be, beyond the Mandal Bill, this ousting of sensitivity, too, is a subtle soci(et)al reason why caste consciousness created externally is so bitter and harsh these days!

The Power of Pen

 The pen, they say, is mightier than the sword. In other words, poetry is more effective than militancy of any sort. Countless examples can be provided to establish the validity of this truism.

Sarojini Nidu's poetry might not be that powerful. Yet it is undeniable that in the pre-Independence era, her poems gave a face and a name to the emerging indianness in the Western imaginary.

All of us know how her brilliant poems initially had a clear British Romantic feel to them. She was highly accomplished indeed, and a polymath, she could easily write poems in the Wordsworthian-Keatsian mode. It was W.B.Yeats who made her aware of her Indian roots, and the need to write in the 'native' (to her) mode. Thereafter her poems always had that Indian feel.

Teaching her poems in the graduate and the post-graduate classes has always been an interesting experience. My Commerce Students loved my explanation of her "The Bangle Sellers". Her use of colours, sounds, symbols was highly exciting for them.

After explaining all such unique beauties in "The Palanquin Bearers", i asked my 'Psycho' and 'Eco' Major students if they could sense the pain and the hard work of the lowly palanquin bearers despite its beautification. Boy, had I opened a Pandora's box! A proper can of worms indeed it was!  The online mode could not contain my students' bounding enthusiasm in thus exploring the poem. So many critiques opened up. Finally, I used the occasion to explain to them how literature can mean in multiple ways.

As for her "Radha, the Milkmaid", my English Honours students loved the way the Indianness can be explored in an English poem. Thus the IWE (Indian Writing in English) became for them an exploration of the Bhakti tradition in the Indian ethos.

As for her much anthologised "The Lotus", symbolism transcending mere realistic description was the theme I analysed. A few students who had initially found the poem a little too simplistic, even childish, finally agreed that the poem could mean gorgeously if we think of the Lotus as a new mode of being, of leading which is  different from the typical, traditional ways, signified by the Rose or the Lily in the poem.

In other words, her consciously 'literary' poems from the pre-Independence era became a stepping stone to literary initiation for my IWE students. In fact, they started liking "the nightingale of the IWE" so much that initially they found the 'bare-all-dare-all' boldness of  Kamala Das' feminist poetry a bit too much to stomach. In fact, I remember a student asking me in irritation the very purpose of such poetry. May be, I had made them infatuated with Sarojini Naidu's mellifluous lyricism!

Her home (now the Central Univ city office), her bold choice of a marriage, all such details are quite mythical in Hyderabad. Hence I introduced my students to her naughty wit and sharp tongue which could mock even Gandhiji. She thus became for them a symbol of a woman's role in the public space. 

In other words, Sarojini Naidu's poetry proved to my students the might of words, the power of poetry, as colourful, as delicate and as symbolic as the bangles Sarojini Naidu immortalised.

Pratima@ Poetry is, in brief, philosophy, psychology, sociology, the arts and criticism rolled in to one singular text of just a few lines, but with infinite meanings.

Love? Really!

 February 14! THE day of mushy, cheesy sentimentality in a big way! Made hyper- romantic by the Bollywood films, the day is actually a huge consumerist spree, a proper tamasha. As it is, teenagers these days mostly are in to and out of relationships quite casually. Nor is love a sacrosanct feel for them. Sure there would be exceptions to this reality. They would, however, merely prove the real rule, right?

Can love ever be anything that is self-centred? What kind of 'love' tries to malign an innocent woman just because she is not interested in shallow time-pass affairs? Which 'love' tries to use a brilliant woman to hide one's own doubtful sexuality behind her? Such a chap knows really well that he can paint the town red with sick, silly stories which the straight(but not)'forward' woman would not even get to know  as she would be busy with her simple, clean life.

Which 'love'-obsessed creep knowingly spreads ridiculous rumours about an absolutely innocent woman?  Which horror of a man(!) uses his ill-gotten money to pay the riffraff who would harass constantly an innocent woman who would not touch  their paymaster even with a barge pole? Just because one's wife is a harridan, a shrieking shrew, a cheap guy cannot bother a clean woman, right?

Just because he does not have anything at all to do, a creepy fool cannot 'cut to size',  as he chooses to say, to completely destroy (वाट लगा दी!) a woman who is thousand times much better than him and his entire 'khandan'(ha!) put together. When such weirdo's choose to call their obsessive self-interest as 'love', they malign the very concept, right? 

If a man meant anything genuinely at all, would he spread the scandal around through every Tom, Dick and Harry even when the woman at the center of this web never ever even remotely is in the company of anyone indecent like him! How come such 'love' is lost when it comes to giving her much-deserved jobs to somebody far inferior?

 Where does 'love' disappear while openly serenading other women 'friends' (but never ever THE centre of attraction) to hotels, and other such places? All such games clearly have one sole purpose, (whatever be the reason, malice, jealousy, cheapness, pressure by (girl-)friends), to ill-treat an innocent woman!

Only cranky crackpots can be 'crazy nuts' (absolutely stinking ignorance of English!) to declare that a woman who does not respond to their public displays of cheap advances is bad, mad, and worse still, a witch! Such absurd nonsense, wherein a woman wants to be humiliated, chased, ill-treated  out of 'love', may be stuff of reel, not real, life. 

In real life, a woman's 'no' has to be taken to be an absolute rejection. Just because a woman does not like XYZ, it DOES not mean that she is abnormal!  If the love is real at all, it will not out of malice and jealousy cut a woman's wings! 

Genuine love helps the partner to grow every which way. True love is  honest support. It is never dominating and dictating! Such sheer film-y nonsense is the proper pits! Really!

I chose hence to celebrate the 'Vasant Panchami' though there were many posts on certain groups which stated that the real goddess is not Saraswati whose social contribution such wonders questioned! Opposition for the sake of opposition, hatred for the sake of hatred, where are we indeed headed!?!

Pratima@Obsessive self-interest which leads to hatred of the innocent is really mediocre!

The real often loses

 Yes, indeed it IS so. Whatever is real, always loses. Want proof? Just look around. Okay, let us begin with the so-called brands. Most people swear by brand products. Buying brand products is not only a craze, but a life time ambition for many.

The smart unorganised bazzar immediately takes advantage of, latches on to  this yen. So in all sorts of "linking lanes" in all sorts of metros to taluka places, you would get a "gucchi", for example. Who would know the spelling that well, right? 

Thus neither the brand is real nor the pleasure derived from it is real! Real often loses to reel, right? Look at the serials, for instance. Luckily for me, I never watch any. But a few  I had to listen to because Aai used to watch them. Oh, yes, she, too, never liked the silly ones which she found plain boring, and  instead preferred my kind, the Discovery or thev History Today  or the National Geographic, the real ones!

In the reel one's, however, they would always show real horrors. Even in history based serials, there are very many reel based characters, events, feels! Know why? Whatever sells, sails!

Why even in the case of enviornment and nature about which everyone loves to sigh and cry crocodile tears over, the reel wins over the real. People prefer plants and flowers of the artificial variety over the real ones! Plastic wins here, too!

Be it relationships, be it products, in this post-capitalist, consumerist world, the real always loses!

Pratima@ The real is complex, the real is tough, the real requires efforts and patience. The reel is easy, simple, uncomplicated. Indeed who has the real time for the real these days! No wonder, the real loses.

Mother 'knows' the best!

 Scientists are forever exploring newer, formerly hidden aspects of the universe, both within and without. Just as Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics and their super specialisations explore the engineering, that is, the working of even the outer  space, similarly Biology, Medical Sciences ferret out the secrets of the interiority of the human species.

Want proof? Glasgow University has recently published a rigorously conducted research which establishes that the X chromosome is responsible for superior intelligence, while Y chromosome controls the cortisol kind of stress creating hormones.

Now all of us know how the gender of the foetus is formed. When two X chromosomes form a unit, the baby is going to be a girl, while a male foetus would have one X and one Y chromosome.

The scientists are hence convinced that intelligence is the gift of/by the mother, while tension/emotions related issues could be inherited from the father. In other words, if you are super intelligent, or otherwise, that is your Mommy's gift, and if you are hyper-sensitive, or real hard-hearted, that is Papa's inheritance. Better forever be grateful to your parents if you are both, hyper- intelligent and sensitive in a refined way.

What all corollaries  could emerge out of this research? I suppose, marry an intelligent woman if you want brainy kids, right?True! Yet we must realise that intelligence would at least fifty per cent depend on upbringing, too. Well, an intelligent woman alone would provide such a balanced and value-enriched upbringing, right? 

Well, the moral of the story is that even when THE day, that is, the Valentine's, is approaching fast, remember that an intelligent woman is far far better than a pretty face or a richie-rich 'papa ki pari'! Well, such an intelligent choice, too, would need an intelligent mother, right? In other words, the real moral of the story is mother indeed 'knows' the best!

Pratima@The Glasgow University study further reveals that children who love the mother ( and/or a mother figure) intensely till they are of about two years are better human beings. That should explain the need for a kid being immersed in the love of mothers, grandmothers, aunts and sisters, right? In brief, women are/perform wonders, right?

Promise

 Apparently today is a day dedicated to the notion of promise. Yes, promises are indeed important. As Robert Frost would say, "I have promises to keep". Indeed that makes the whole difference!

A promise to be kept is actually a test of one's entire personality. Keeping a promise includes the involvement of the head, heart and soul. It is a strongly ethical position whereby even when  none is looking, you stand by your own honour. You refuse in a way to violate your own dignity.

At times, the promises that you thus make to yourself may cost a lot materially. May be, however, the inner satisfaction that comes from keeping a promise makes you a strong and sensible person who is also sensitive. Great gains! 

Actually,  a promise is always to one's own self, even when given in the public sphere, be it at the job, in the court, and so on. A promise is a kind of refusal to be swayed by extrinsic contexts. It means remaining true to a set of principles, a system of values without being rigid.

Such a definition of promise holds true even in the religious context. When you promise to observe a fast, to put it simply, you are promising to the tradition/system a certain code of honour. It blooms, however, from within your own self.

In other words, if you thus promise yourself a good life, death, that ultimate promise made at the very moment of birth and which none can deny, will be just a casual acceptance. These words are easy, but tough and truly hurtful they are, when they relate to those who you care for. 

Well, I promise to end this blog now, and I  promise to stay the "promise!"way whereby an eternal oasis of promises leads me to a better me!

Pratima@ The best, the ideal example of promises kept would be Lord Shree Ram. May be, that was why the Ayodhya temple consecration was such a magnet. In our entire history, there are very many examples of promises never broken. That, may be, would need yet another blog!

And, oh, yes, remember the childhood faith in the "god promise" and "I swear on my mother (mostly!) or father", promises that crafted a good girl out of oneself?

Loss

 Actually I had decided to devote the blog today to the magical evening blessed with the pristine purity of the absolutely perfect balance of sur-n-taal. My colleague's surgeon son Shantanu performed brilliantly on the santoor in the company of a tabla maestro and a flutist whose flute literally talks. 

Well, I returned home after a great concert, and with a cup of coffee was checking the wapp messages when like a slap in the face, I got the sudden news of the most untimely death of my dear colleague, Suchismita Mohanty, hardly in her early fifties. Hardly the time to go!

It seems suddenly her white blood cell count started dropping, and she never recovered despite the ventilator treatment, too, it seems. Some of my other colleagues, including the Office In-Charge, shared my acute sense of loss.

 Unlucky as it sounds now, I got introduced to Mohanty Madam during the Covid years when online I taught English Literature papers in the senior wing of her college.  For about a year and a half, we were more a voice to each other as colleges had closed down. 

I do not know how  but we grew to be good friends even when our subjects/disciplines differed. She was  a very sincere genuine person committed to teaching and to students' well-being. There were very few airs about her even when she was both, the Head of the Department and the Vice Principal.

We used to chat on various issues ranging from  the alternative medicine for her husband's backache bouts to organ donation after death (it hurts now!) to the unbelievable sense of loss when Mother is no more. Her poor kid (Mohanty Madam would always tell me about her and her progress, send me her pic's), hardly eight going nine, and now no mother for her!

She used to like my blogs a lot. She used to respond to them most warmly. Once she told me she could not sleep, and my blog on that day happened to discuss that very issue, being a night person! We shared a warm chuckle over the coincidence. 

Basically, she had a kind of deep faith in me. Sure she was nice to everyone.  She felt she could rely on me though. Research topics to be thought through to discussing problem students, we both knew the other person would be the most dependable.

Miss you a lot, Mohanty Madam! May you rest in peace! May God give your kid the energy (she is too small to say strength!) to bear this grievous loss!

Pratima@ Some three weeks back, I think, she read my blogs on consecutive days. Yet she never responded which I found a little confusing.  Thought she might be busy. How I wish I had called her up then! Death is a deadly chamber whence no echoes answer back! RIP, dear, RIP!

The Polar Vault

 Well, currently , so many public personalities, be it big power brokering educationists, big ticket journalists, such 'public' is so busy pole vaulting, aka 'posturing', that you may feel that my blog discusses these worthies. Well, not really! Often such grandees' posturing is chameleon fast. They can change colours of all sorts at all times! Better to stay away from personalities who have their own 'right' people in 'right' places, however much they may mouth 'left' stuff in all senses of all these terms!

Well, my blog talks of an innocent clean theme. No, it is  not about the circus vault. Who allows the circus to happen these days!?! Children's joy, poor artists' daily livelihood can go hang so long as certain oh-so-sensitive people can publically prove their love for animals even when they hate pets! True, the Olympics are approaching fast. Yet my blog does not refer to such sporty events  either.

My blog deals with astronomy. Well, as is its usual practice every decade, the sun would do a pole vault. That is to say, the two poles of the sun would switch, change their position! The sun's North Pole would now be its South Pole, and vice versa!

Of course, the solar event would lead to solar storms. Would that affect the earth? Mostly not, as the earth's gravitational pull and its own polar power would create a shield saving us the solar shenanigans!

What if it does not? Well, give a free rein to the science fiction writer in you! You can come up with all sorts of disaster stories, right? Or an optimistic one of the new Prometheus stilling, rather than stealing, the 'heaven'ly power which would rather be my theme.  

So let us not worry over this pole vaults. Instead let us continue to be amused by the pole vaulting prior to poll casting about to happen some time soon!

Pratima@ Discussing any serious issue with people busy with conscious posturing is like  waking up a person who is pretending to be asleep!

Penning THE pain

 In his epoch-making poem, "The Waste Land", T. S. Eliot, in a way the father of the modernist English poetry, asserted that 'April is the cruellest month'. Well, for the British royal family, January seemed to be rather a cruel month. Want to know why? Two members of that prominent family needed medical attention/consultation regarding  cancer like symptoms. In fact, King Charles is apparently diagnosed with cancer.

" Sceptre and crown must tumble down/and in the dust be equal made," wrote James Shirley. He was describing death. Equally true the description would be of cancer that spares none, neither the rich nor the poor! An auto-immune disease, cancer so changes the cell structure that their very proliferation causes a problem!

Hippocrates of the famous oath knew of it,  and talked of carcinoma from which comes the modern term 'cancer'. In proper medical usage, it is still called carcinoma. It is indeed highly painful.the Bollywood presentation of the disease, most Indians associate it with "Anand". One in a million would be an Anand. In a way, "Mili" or "Shwas"  is closer to the  truth, real lived trials and tribulations of the patient, given the utmost pain cancer causes.

In its last stage, the disease is so very unbelievably painful that palliative care allows the use of morphine! For the 'New Indian Express', I wrote a series of articles on cancer, cancer and women, cancer and children, palliative care, and so on. Thus I know a little about the facts and the  misconceptions regarding cancer 

The most difficult to bear would be cancer in children, and more so for the adult care-giver who has to witness  the child's pain, and thus suffer it psychologically, right? For women too, cancer is tough to bear because often they suffer a threat to self  image, be it the breast cancer or the uterine cancer. Well, the cervical cancer is still more problematic because it declares loud and clear to the whole world  that the patient had many partners! 

Yes, there is a particular gene that could be a cause of cancer. Hence, it seems to run in families. Yet it is the lifestyle that may aggravate the  disease apparently. Scientists ARE eagerly 're-searching' for a panacea. Hope they will find one truly soon, given the rapid strides in the medical field. This would end the pain that cannot be penned!

Pratima@ Despite the pain, many patients survive both the dis-ease, and its relapse. Hope the medical fraternity would soon find a permanent solution to the terrible pain. Hope very soon a commemorative day  dedicated to cancer would just not be needed!

The Rose Day

 The Rose Day! Across the campuses, it is big time. In fact, many groups have a rose week. It competes closely with the 'navratra'. Each day has a particular colour with a particular meaning associated to it. Yellow stands for friendship, and so on. The week sure culminates on the February 14, theValentine Day with the bazzar overflowing with all things red, roses to teddy's to tacky headgears! 

Such adolescent affinities apart, a rose is a rose is a rose! There is a something special about this flower. In the trendy and fashionable cut variety, for example, the shape is literally perfect. Personally, I find them a little artificial.

I rather like the natural beautiful roses that bloom on a vine or a bush. They have a divine fragrance, too. The colours are gentle as well. Have you seen a  pot full of what is known as Chinese or button roses? They look lovely, too.

Mostly, roses are red, pink, yellow. Oh, yes, in the rose exhibitions year after year, I have seen blue and green roses as well. They have to be grafts, and yet they look a truly normal bloom.

A deeply symbolic flower as far as literature and Christianity are concerned, many love the rose as the queen of flowers. Each to his own. Well, as for me, Mr. Garden has quite a zenana of favourites, the coral flower, the champak (we have three varieties), the jasmine, the night queen, the marigolds, the hibiscus ( in varios sizes, shapes and colours).  The list is endless. 

We have some unusual ones in our garden. About them, some other time. Given the day and the week, no harm in declaring the rose as the queen of the garden!

Pratima@ A rose by any name might smell the same, it looks vastly different and unique though! 

The Price

 I suppose all of us have to pay the price for who we are, and who we want to be. Oh, no, I am NOT talking of the fees and all, even when they ARE pricey these days. Rather I am referring to the values we stand for-n-by, and the sacrifices we are happy to, willing to  make to thus hold our head and our backbone straight. 

Well, agreed that most all people may appear as if they do not care for all such airy, high funda stuff. I do, however, feel that it is not so. Each one of us has this soft point that we would guard for our own self, and come what may. It could take any number of forms, family, genuine love, profession, passion, whatever, something not to be compromised, come what may, and whatever might be the price one has to pay.

Yet there is another side to this coin, too.  And that is especially true of those successful in the glitzy way. They pay the price of stardom as they are the sitting duck for attacks. There would be constant and public tarnishing of their image, for example, though such smear campaigns can be the lot of us, mere mortals, just like those greats doused with the star dust.

What is all this leading to? Is that your question? Well, it is February 6, the death anniversary of Lataji. Two years are much too much long, I suppose, in the world of constantly gained and instantly lost celebrity status today. No wonder, there was not all that jazz today!

Yet I thought to myself what all price she must have paid to be Lata Mangeshkar. Tough life! A slip of a girl fighting it out in a patriarchal cine world dominated by the Urdu jaban, and the slightly heavy raspy voices of celebrated women singers then. She was a 'ghati' with a silken voice. Everything was pitted against her. Yet she made it.

And did she pay the price for it! Why, anybody and everybody could accuse her of playing politics, and finishing off competitors. Everybody would choose to misunderstand her, including, at times, Asha Bhosale, I suppose. Why, she was poisoned. When she stood up for the royalty rights which continue to help the third-ratest of the singers then and now, she was alienated. She would be mimic-ed, made fun of. Did she pay the price for being THE Lata!

Well, in the one-on-one which I was to hold when she came to Hyderabad after some twenty-five years, given her principled stance against conscious ill-treatment, I was to ask her these questions, and the interview would have been a song. Every which way!

Well, the awful audio-visual media interviewer (AV wala Abdul aisa hi ch tha!) disposed this proposal! For a five minute interview which he wanted to shoot, he made her stand up, sit down, adjust to lights so many times that she, a senior citizen in her mid-seventies, got real irritated, and cancelled all the subsequent interviews!

Everybody's loss, I would say! My Desk Editor understood my irritation. She wanted me to cover the great concert after twenty-five long years, and cajoled me in to it, and actually dropped me to my room after the show. Well, my review did get sent to Lataji's Prabhu Kunj.

I do, however, regret the missed chance of  talking to her of the price she paid to be 'the' Lata! Well, the price of being a rookie freelancer with an English newspaper without the press-y glamour!

Pratima@Much later, I read somewhere that she had said she would not like to be born again, and surely not as Lata Mangeshkar. The subtle sad note of that remark rang in once again my irritation for losing a possible sensitive chat with her! Oh, yes, last week itself, I saw a reel where she talked of often not getting paid, and thus losing a lot. The price indeed of being 'the' Lata!

Comparison

 Remember when we were children, we had to study 'comparison' at school? The three degrees with their three forms are fun as grammar, right?

In real, lived life, however, comparison is always a bother. Comparison creates contrast. Unfortunately, mostly, it is with others which is a sureshot recipe for unhappiness. People always remember that they are far behind some XYZ. What they conveniently forget is that, by definition, they are far ahead of ABC!

In other words, through comparison, we  always find ourselves in a relative position which can be bothersome to many. I suppose, hence, the best comparison should always be with one's own self, right? 

At least so do i believe. I always compare myself yesterday with myself today. At times, it can be myself last week/fortnight/month/year in comparison with me this week, et al. Why, unlike the millennials, I enjoy the luck of comparing myself of the 1999 with myself of the 2024!

Mostly, such comparison brings one a sense of peace and well-being. No, it does not make you smug because you do not have to show off anything to anyone. Hence you do not mind pointing out faults, admitting mistakes which leads you to a better self, right? 

Sure you have to be an introvert to thus compare yourself to your own self. May be, introverts love their own company more, anyways. Unfortunately, that might not be the case with extroverts, right?

Why avoid comparison? Most often, comparison breeds jealousy, hatred, viciousness which ruin the contentment quotient of one's own life, right? When our days are so numbered, why waste them thus, right?

Oh, yes, would the strategy of comparing one's own self with one's earlier selves work for larger units than an individual? Indeed i think so. A country can thus measure its progress the best way, right? 

Anyways, whether we want it or not, others do indulge in comparisons which does provide a convex mirror, too! So why worry? Instead self-compare, and your own faults with your own self share!

Pratima@ What others had and may have pales in comparison with what you gained, and never lost!

Write well!

 This weekend, despite a very bad cold, I was busy with the fair draft of an article. As it is a critical appreciation, I thought of a quick look at my own blog, too.

I started it on May 9, the second Saturday of 2021. Yes, it was the Mothers' Day. As it was to be a tribute in a way to Aai's memory, with dollops of memoirs of Papa, I had promised myself that I would never ever miss posting a blog. Well, to this day, I have been true to that promise to myself.

It has everything, intense remembrances, lyrics, monodies, acrostics, art appreciations (many of which were hugely admired), essays on various issues, and some three to four times, even jokes, including the p.j's! Basically, it is wordsmith-y. So no visuals which appeared a little tacky and reel-ish to me. So avoided them like the Corona virus after an attempt or two after the end of the year of blogging.

Well, generally, it is my habit to find thousand faults with my own stuff, writing to singing to playing the bulbul tarang. When I used to regularly freelance with the English newspapers during my Ph. D. years, I used to find at least one (to countless, depending on my mood, which was not much to write home about, anyways!) fault in the published stuff. 

Senior professors used to like and admire my writing. Once Chandra Babu Naidu had praised my coverage of the Children's film festival, and the Desk Editor and the Chief Editor were very happy. Even then I would feel that I should/could have done still better.

That self-analysis and self-reflexivity continue in to this blog, too. Yes, there are regular readers. At least, there is a regular footprint. Despite the huge numbers that flash when I share  the blog post on the wapp status, I can never think of monetising the blog in any way even when it was suggested to me. Basically, I can keep the good lives of Papa and Aai alive, and that means hugely to me.

When I began the blog, I was told that Amitabh Bacchan never misses posting a blog. Well, it did not occur to me as strange, as I thought of him as a poet's son. But it was pointed out to me that he would have anyways an army of ghost writers.

I do not even need such contraptions. I try to write well, and drop each blog in to this writing well, wishing all along that I am doing a slight something for my parents who spent a lifetime for us. So here is wishing well that I shall write well till the end.

Pratima@ Writing gives a space and a name, as Shakespeare said, to everything, memories to musings, and thus enriches us, both as a writer and a reader, especially in the ChatGpt days!

Three jokes

 With a cough-n-cold bout in full swing, the best thing you can do about it is crack a joke or two about it. Here you go.

1) The pony cannot neigh. Why? Well, because it is a little horse! (Remember  in pukka English, horse/hoarse sound almost the same!)

2) A drunkard to his wife: " I have severe cough n cold.  Get me whiskey!" The irritated wife says " What are you talking about?". Says he: " Just now they said on the radio" whiskey goli lo/cough bhagao"!

3) The doctor to the patient :"Your cough sounds better now." The patient:"Yes. It has to. Practised it the whole night!"

Laughter is the best medicine !

An uncommonly common companionship

 There are some illnesses which ARE tough (cancer, for instance), which are perceived to be tough (piles, for instance), and then there are illnesses which are very ordinary, but create tough times! The common cold is an indeed frequent and most bothersome example of the last type.

When you catch this not so uncommon common cold, your very breathing is a problem. It IS forced! Every breath indeed becomes a conscious process. You then literally understand the value of each breath that you take via your mouth, dry as dust, while your nose is overflowing like a river in spate! You are surprised at your own ability to create so much mucus which is both, embarassing and a huge block.

And then there is the temperature. You are sure it must be more than the worst, hovering somewhere between 105, and a life threatening 106. The thermometer refuses to budge, to leave its usual siting at 98! You cough, you sneeze, you sputter, but the fever is not impressed. It stays put at its usual spot!

Then there is the wondrous voice. Your usual soft silky voice disappears, and you speak in a throaty squeak which can shame any frog in the beginning of the monsoon. Oh, yes, how can you forget the site that can cause terror in the heart of the very mirror; red nose, rheumy eyes, dry as dust lips. Well, the least said, the better!

You take the coldarins, you take the steam, you guzzle lozenges. But the common cold loves your uncommon company! It provides you intimate companionship if you take medicines, and refuses to go till almost a week if you do not.

You feel dead tired as if somebody is snuffing the very breath out of you as you laboriously breathe through one stuffed nostril. With fingers whose tips are colder than any icy peak, you make yourself a hot soup. A warm cuppa, a soft rug, a book and some music (you are so down in doldrums that a silly serial would do, too!), and then the sick bed is literally a h(e)aven! 

Pratima@Enjoy your bout of the common cold. You have nothing to lose except the mucus!

History as Hysteria

In India, one always seems to be living in very many historical eras simultaneously, all at the same time, so to say. Here, in Pune, for example, post January 26, there were at least three students' fests (by the BMCC, by the BHAU, and at the SPPU) that encouraged the start-up's by the young brigade. 

On the contrary, on very many wapp groups (with urgent urging to spread the 'news', the good word, further far and wide), since January 26, a video is doing rounds wherein  a lady teacher in a very small village refuses to put up the image of Devi Saraswati during the Republic Day Ceremony of the school, and in a truly heated fashion, she counters the villagers insisting that traditions be followed with "What did Saraswati do for education?"

Honestly, if we keep our eyes and ears open, currently, there are huge, concentrated and concerted efforts to re-write very many historical facts. In the narrative about the Freedom Struggle, for example, Lokmanaya Tilak, who questioned the British, and was well-known in his times by his contemporaries to be making the common man aware of the colonial ills, has disappeared! If he is allowed/accorded any space at all, it is as a "sanatani"! Come again!!??!!

Hey,  wassup on the WhatsApp indeed! The social media is being used for releasing all sorts of alternative genealogies. Sure hisory can be and should be viewed from multiple perspectives. But any and every perspective MUST be supported by actual data, right? 

History cannot be loose opinions, wild suppositions based on the surmises of an individual or a group that has numbers on its side. Democracy is NOT number game! Such attempts would be demogaugery! History writing is serious business. It cannot be a hysterical wish-fulfilment, warping realities and facts, right?

Pratima@ Academic debates or intellectual assertions, given their trickle down effect on the society as such, cannot be and must not be narrowly casteist. Why is there then so much Bramhin bashing? Oh, yes, by the way, very few amongst them are. "bhat"! Historical facts are indeed not governed by hysterical 're-actions'!!!

Being an author

 Well, this is a writer's blog about writing. It will include for sure the writer's block, too. Undoubtedly, antiquity to the post-post-modern era, all sorts of great authors/critics have already written lots on this theme. Here is my own selfsame exploration, so to say.  Indeed, of all the arts, writing, i would say, is the toughest. 

Except life itself as the hardcore material, there is no 'given' in this form of the art. When I sing or play a musical instrument or dance or enact in a play, a structure already exists. Sure i can explore it my own way, but a mould already exists.

That, however, is not the case with writing. When I write a poem, a story, a novel, an essay, out of the rough edged words, I have to create a brand new make-believe world. It has to relate to the larger world, moreover. It has to mirror the experientiality of the larger lived world. The genre, the mode, the form, in brief,  has to be filled with this brand new vision.

When I play my bulbul tarang, or sing a song, for example, I have a notation ready. When I write a poem or a story, nothing is  the given, the ready-made, except the words and a faint inspiration. Often it gets clearer as I write. At times, it may demand its own form. It is, however, born and brought up in the writer's imagination.

Writing is, moreover, a very 'alone' can kind of art. To practice it, for  example, you have for company your own self and the blank page, or the blank screen these days. The ideas, the themes, the characters, their behaviour patterns, the language they would speak, NOTHING  is there. All of these f(r)actions of the writing process keep on instantaneously, simultaneously (re-)mixing in, while unraveling reality itself . I have to suit them to a new proper  structure. 

Sure I need not  write for any given audience or critic. The publishing process, however, is real tough. These days, there are all sorts of "paid" middlemen! Much worse is the social media. Any and every sort of mushy trash, bubbly words without much thought, gets published! The 'thumbs up' are often extended without much thought either, but it gives people a swollen head, right?

Writing has yet another issue which other arts rarely face. Writing faces , in brief, all sorts of censorships, formal/by the government, and informal by the society. No wonder, there are all sorts of cliques, caste-based, regional, political, and so on, acting as a witch like midwife to the newborn  piece of writing 

No wonder, given such restrictions, seen/unseen, but always felt, an author, a deeply sensitive soul, may experience a writer's block. Often it leads, however, to self-reflexivity, a deep analytical look at oneself, very necessary to every committed artist.

Well, all said and done, no joy can equal the process of writing. The product is so rich, so complex that it touches every field of0 experience, aesthetics to rhetoric and sociology, via psychology and philosophy. Unique is its relationship with science, too. Being an author, even when not much touted, is a very enriching process. Truly it is like the experience of a mother when first she sees her baby born the natural way, a process extremely tough, difficult, painful, but fulfilling and strengthening!

 Pratima@ An author is a jack of no trade, but a master of all!