” SHAANT NIVAANT SHISHIR SARALA

SALSALTA HIRWA VASANT AALA, KOKILECHIYA KUHUSANGE, CHAITRA PADWA DAARI AALA.

GUDHI PADVYACHYA HARDIK SHUBHECHA “

A very happy Gudi Padwa.. Today is the first day of the lunar calender… it is also the initiation of Vasant Ritu, or spring… it symbolizes new life with the blooming of fresh flowers, singing of the birds and of fruit laden trees… it is considered an auspicious time to venture into new projects… it is also the first day of Navratri..

May the happiness of this auspicious day and moment, may the turn of the calender, may the singing birds and the fruits from the trees and all astrological exigencies, bring to my extended family and to their families the blessings of the elements and of nature. May you all prosper with an abundance of bounty and may the days ahead be full of happiness and joy, unbounded.

For this I pray as I turn in ..

Proof above that I indeed do.. the laptop atop my pillow.. the admin page of the word press open on the computer and as i feverishly single finger punch in my expressions, an eye on the clock to be able to end the day and attain sufficient hours of rest.

Peculiar phenomena, sleep. Get your 7-8 hours from say hitting the pillow by 10 and up from it by 6, conditions the brain to function well and optimistically. Deny it this luxury and you become a crabbity ol’ man - lethargic, snappy at all and just not finding anything worth its while. Its the time to put everything away, stop what you are doing, take deep breaths and move away from vulnerable encounters. I do this quite often. My sleep deprivation is infectious. And I find results that please me.

Writing is a lonely profession, wrote one of my colleagues who does a column for a daily. He is right. As I sit here on my bed there is just the comfort of my thoughts and the ever inviting screen all lit up and ready to accommodate our finger impulses. Ready to carry it through to the universe at the press of a button. Science has put our lives into such a convenience. Delivery is instant. Connect immediate.

But not so very long back it was not that convenient. Or was it not.

I am blessed that I have acquired necessary skill to be able to use this medium at an average level to get across to all. But I have also been through the era of letters and post boxes and postmen. Of the absolute joy of picking the right pen and ink, picking the right size of paper, to underlie it with ruled sheet so your writing maintains a certain symmetry. Of folding the content to fit the chosen envelope and to sealing it with the right amount of your saliva. The choice of the postage stamp, the walk to the nearest post box, the clang of the lid on it signaling that your enveloped thoughts have reached the pile within to be picked up at an hour painted on the body of the box. The walk away from that location. The anxiety of having left your words your thoughts your feelings in an alien metal drum, wondering whether it shall be picked up and not lost by those that profess to handle it.

And then the most beautiful part of this exercise.. the wait…

That look of anticipation at your door for the postman. To study from his expressions whether he has something for you. The dejection when he does not and the elation when he does. The reverence with which you touched the envelope that had travelled distances in response. The immediate discreetness that you exercise for it - taking it away to some lonely corner where no one notices you. And in the solitude of the environment, to gently opening the contents, trying hard to not damage any portion of the container.

The smell of the first page as it enfolds upon you and the strange effect it has - that of the writer almost sitting beside you as you read every word. Reading it again and again. And again. Gently putting the contents back where they had lain closeted, finding an appropriate secret storage for your most valued possession, locking it away from strangers and prying eyes. Revisiting it perhaps twice or thrice a day, to check whether it remained safe. Picking it up again to relish the letter and the moment, with the most gentlest of hands and finally to find it a comfortable home in an ornate box or case, tied across with a soft colored ribbon.

All this for the joy of communication.

And today… the cold harshness with which we design our words in physically punching them into the screen, correcting punctuation’s and spelling and grammar errors through automatic devices, through brains that do not belong to us, worked out assiduously by unknown technician that produced the software. The impertinence with which we change the design of our writing mechanically through millions of font options and the unguarded panache with which the ’send now’ or ‘post’ bar is depressed by a traveling arrow. Storage and conservation, either automatic save in the drafts region or designated to a ‘document’ with a search title, or on the desktop for easy identification.

The romance and the effervescence, the aroma, of the delicate art of letter writing, now encapsulated on a ‘hard disk’.

What a contrast from the ’soft colored gentle ribbon’…

Sweet dreams dear ones.. the night with all its darkness and intrigue envelops me… wary of the light that shall overcome it from the approaching day -

Amitabh Bachchan