Words that speak to me. They give me company on a regular work day. Repetitious. But I cherish them. Because they know me. We speak. We can understand each other. The note pad that gets scribbled upon with the endless list of things-to-do. I love it. I love writing down the simplest of tasks. It keeps the words etched in your memory forever. You don’t forget anything that’s written down. It gets clicked as a picture. A picture whose background can be drawn by your imagination. I have a note pad in my kitchen too. I scribble down anything and everything.
Nothing gives me the feel like written words. I miss my diary writing days. Time to get back. Even if it’s just a line, ‘An awesome day at work’, ‘Fun time with friends’, ‘Bless the kiddoos for the wonderful portrait : a piggy I looked :-P’. It gives you a wonderful feeling.
As a child, I have written letters to God. And yes, I posted them too. No. Not in the post box. But in the Hundi (DaanPatra or Donation Pot). I hope no one read it. I wrote complete name and address, so that He doesn’t get confused between me and the neighbor who was my namesake. Innocence of childhood. Simply pure like a dew drop. Wish I could be a child again. Life was far more simple. May be it looks that way from where I am watching it now. But then, during those days it was as complex as it could be.
What if the teacher noticed that I had written, “I’ll not talk in the classroom.” only 99 times and not 100 times?
What if Mom noticed that out of the seven mangoes only six are left because I ate one without telling her?
What if my friends get to know that I didn’t get the Nancy Drew as a birthday gift from Mom, but I lied to them?
What if the post man delivers the letter to someone other than Dad and he gets to read my complaints about Mom? What if that someone informs Mom through a phone call? How bad she’ll feel? Then I would pacify myself saying ‘Thank God! STD costs are too high.’ A little later I would still feel worried about it and then I’ll tear off the letter.
Such were the complexities of our life during those days.
Written words are simply amazing. When you go back to them after years it’s such a fun to read all that you scribbled down. Be it rants, complaints, success stories, tragic encounters, funny anecdotes, little moments of love, friendship and parenthood. Written words make them all beautiful. Yes even the rants and the sad stories.
I recently took out my diary from the year 2003-2004. Marriage, a home and my people left behind, new household, new family and a new and more responsible job profile. Everything and everyone was new all around me. Nothing familiar. No one I knew. It felt like I was being pushed into a whirlpool. The only saving grace: the man I got married to. I was shy. I was naïve. I was scared. I didn’t know who to talk about my insecurities, my fears or share my anxieties with. I didn’t share with anyone. I kept aloof from everyone. So much that some friends thought I had become arrogant overnight. Almost lost all of them. And that was when I again became friends with my forever friend: my diary. We spoke. We laughed. We cried. Together. With every word being etched on those pages, my heart felt relieved and clear. He never responded. But he listened patiently. And didn’t share it with anyone else. Something others wouldn’t have done. And at the end of it all, on some of the pages, there were notes in a separate handwriting. Ones by my man. Written exclusively for me. A feeling indescribable. Wherever I used to hide it, he would find it out. And I love him for having left those tiny notes behind for me to read when he went on his long tours.
Reminded me of how we used to enter into cold wars and since it was just the two of us there were some matters that required to be discussed. We would break the ice by starting our conversation by speaking in third person, like ‘koi kisise kuch kehna chahta hai’, ‘koi kisise kuch keh sakta hai’. It was such fun that we would end up laughing till our tummies burst.
That gave me an idea which I have taught the kids. When Mamma gets angry at one of them the other one has to scold the bad Mamma, so that she leaves the good Mamma for them. A deal which I hope works. For now, it’s just fun for us.