Notes on nothing

 

As a tenderfoot at the A-Z challenge and that too not riding on a theme, 'nothing' is the word that swamps my mindscape these days. While committing myself to this endeavor, I had never imagined lasting beyond the first few alphabets. And here I'm into week three.

Every night I ask myself what can you come up with for tomorrow's post and pat comes the reply, 'nothing', at times even in fluorescent ALL CAPS! It's as if the grey cells want to potter about but the head in which they are encased has incarcerated them. I show them a clean slate every day and set them abuzz. And remind them that they have a deadline looming large. 

So, today when my mind pretended to be cerebrally impaired, I threw a spanner in its works. Thought poverty, did you say? You have nothing to come up with huh?  Fine then, let's do a whirl just around that thing, which is 'nothing'. And here's how the mind obliged, knowing there's no escape.

•  Nothing is a beautiful thing.  It’s the mother of all beginnings
• Nothing travels light, so you can fill it with a thoughtful something
• Nothing brings a pause and then warms up the mind to fly 
• Nothing blows away the dust, clears the clouds and reveals the silver lining
• Nothing is the one constant, from before birth to after death and beyond
• Nothing in its limitless expanse can encompass anything, everything

Dear me, to weave a post around 'nothing' was something!
 

Material memories

Life's a one-way street for all. Yet we never know who gets off the ride when and how soon. The departure of a loved one leaves a boundless void and all you have to pour over, even if ever so fleetingly, are some material memories. 

That pair of forlorn reading glasses, the dogeared diary carrying stains from yesteryears and now some dried-up tears, a chipped piece of crockery, a hand-written greeting card, a little piece of jewellery... In holding them, you feel that fading touch, in smelling them you breathe in the bottled-out warmth. Poor consolations, and still these timekeepers help calm the oft-raging storms. 

While we learn to nurse our secret sorrows and deal with all the silent chaos, grief silently lurks around and pain lights up with the faintest tune of a distant song. At such fragile moments, it’s the material memories that bring comfort, even if cold. Once mere articles and items of sundry use, they are the last of what’s left to clutch onto, to lean on when life feels overwhelming sore and the heart’s been in smithereens for far too long.

Yes, objects are barren and know no feelings, but when the same cradle a mother’s long-lost love, or froth with a sister’s animated laugh, they breathe life on their own. Little nothings or material memories which carry us to the deep valleys of our thoughts and give us a taste of time, sweet and snug, but irredeemable.  

And then it's a different trepidation - now the keepsakes must live long, stay intact and hold on.

LOL factory downloads...

 

Life's mostly comical until we start taking it too seriously. On a jocular vein, I'm posting snippets of some LOL moments from my journey, which have me in stitches even to this day. Call it much guffaw about nothing.

Arpita to Armpit! Autocorrect, like they say, has a special place reserved in hell. Thanks to this overzealous software, my sign off (on a text message) once got autocorrected to Armpit and off it went that way. So much for a spellcheck, gosh! What followed was studied silence on both sides, after which it was business as usual. Today, I laugh my head off every time I recall this mortifying episode.

Trash in hand, cash in bin: Every cleaning spree unearths some stray cash from nooks and crannies of your cupboard you don't even know exist. I usually plug into music during these drills and zone out. On one such occasion, I conveniently trashed a fistful of small cash into the bin and walked back to my drawer with another handful of paper shreds. Such wizardry! Clearly, my mind needed a hose down more than the closet.

A tumble down the stairs: This was during break hours at office. There was this sweets & snacks shop which my work besties and I'd frequent. That evening, after digging into our favorite sweets and some savories, we were streaming down a staircase, when I tumbled down a flight of steps. What's worse, in that very moment I was struck by a hideous laughter fit, the kind where you start to snort. My friends waited for a good minute or two for me to recover. One even disowned me as a friend in that moment for the public spectacle I made. Well, I did an ROFL long before it even became a thing. Did I end up with some bruises? Who knows, but laughter was my medicine.

A phantom or a pillion: This was back in college days. My brother and I lived in the same city and his two-wheeler was our easy transport. He, however, would always crib about how the helmet cut off all surround sound. One evening, we were about to go to the grocers and he was seated on his bike, headgear on, waiting for me to perch behind. Must have been the surround sound, for I wasn't that feathery, after all. The next thing I see, he was gone. Without me. I tried to wave at him, even call, but choked on my own laughter. Poor guy, rode quite some bit before realizing little sis had disappeared like fizz! 

 What's the best LOL moment you can recall? Share here and spread some cheer 

 

    

 

Kintsugi, I'm crushing on this word

Words have always been my safe sanctuary and one of the best things about reading is discovering and succumbing to the charm of new words. Kintsugi is one such find and I'm floored. 

Some of you might be already familiar with this stunning word, but for those unversed, Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold. It's about not hiding the imperfections, but giving them a new meaning and flaunting them still. The profoundly philosophical word mirrors life and how - aren't we all a little broken but beautiful! 

Fit in or sit out. Be ashamed of your scars. Put on a show for the world. Wear your veneer of strength ... how often have we yielded to such thoughts? The answers are not far. We want a life of roses and rainbows, but without the thorns and rain. How lame. Kintsugi reminds us that beauty births from pain. 

The cracks in us need to show and how to fill them gracefully is what we need to know. We all shatter but can build back better. Just like the piece of pottery which reincarnates, you and I too should have have no sell-by dates. 

When age brings wrinkles, fill the creases with smiles and some twinkles, the Kintsugi style. Let's all be falwsome!   

What's your favourite word and why? I'm all ears...

   

Junkyard for the spillover thoughts

 

How many of you are overthinkers here? Oh no! Now please don't overthink it. I'm the kind who ponders 360 and more and has multiple mental tabs open simultaneously. It's phrenic acrobatics. Sounds stupendous, even to me! 

As a seasoned overthinker, I'm aware that my mind generates a lot of junk, feeds me a lot of trash (thoughts). Sadly, it's only junk food that gets all the press. I believe, junk thoughts need their junkyards, too. How often have I wished there was a delete button in the human anatomy to select and discard the pesky thoughts that return in bigger loops. Or at least a recycle bin, where I could fling my wayward woes.

Practicing pause, I'm told, helps stop recurring thoughts in their tracks and that it comes with mindfulness. But how to be mindful with the mind already brimful? We overthinkers overthink why we overthink and end up pontificating like this (ha ha!). And now that I'm thinking, there are times I have even overthought on others' behalf. Yes, that's the level of mastery. Am I seeing some facepalms there?! Well then...

So, I'll tell you where's my junkyard. It's sleep, a state of mind that doesn't just bring me rest, but also lets my thoughts recline. How do you toss away your excessive, compulsive thoughts? Please share here but don't overthink ;-)

Hold on, there is an afterthought...

Before I leave, I have to take a little detour. Overthinking isn't always the ultimate and absolute villain. We are all writers because we are overthinkers. Aren't we? We run into our thoughts, sit with them, dawdle over lots of coffee, dress them up in words and put them out. I cannot believe anyone who writes doesn't overthink.      

I - 'nuff said!

The A-Z challenge puts the mind on a spin every night. Another day done. Now what tomorrow? At 'I', I just couldn't come up with anything till it hit me, why even try.

'I' isn't just another alphabet waiting to know its true worth only after being baked into words. It stands tall as a term in itself, with an unmistakable identify of its own. Imagine it taking as many unique forms and more as there are people on this earth. That's ginormous! We all and without exception lay claim to the 'I' and effortlessly so. 

'I love', 'I hate', 'I believe', 'I feel', 'I think', 'I concur' and the foremost of all 'I know', the 'I' is boundless in the way it can expand to fit in and feed our sense of self, which is all great. As life flows, we all need to figure out our 'Is' to compositely project them as who we are, but are we discerning enough to stop and see its delusional side? 

I read somewhere that 'I' can be limiting and that struck and stuck. The obsessive 'I' is myopic. It paints an exalted sense of the self which is a lot of hubris. The kind of 'I' that doesn't let you rise above and smell the other roses in the garden. 

But there is also a version of 'I' that knows that it has to come out of its silo and embrace the 'we'. That's the aspirational 'I' which powers the real growth of a person. It's the one that has to subsume itself and be reborn. None of us can do without the 'I' for it forms the bedrock of our identity, but what if we water it in a way that it branches out to make room for every other 'I'? 

Sure nothing is impossible.  Read again. Even the word impossible says 'I M POSSIBLE'. So much for the lean, (dare I say mean), freestanding 'I'! 

Home is people

'Home is people. Not a place.' This quote by American writer of speculative fiction, who goes by her pen name Robin Hobb, is as beautiful as it is profound, and today I feel like perching my thoughts around it and giving it my own little spin.

Maybe we have got to view life three dimensionally to expand the scope of what we understand as home. To me, such people take you in their warm embrace. Around them you feel safe being vulnerable, in their presence you can be a little more you. They are the walls that will never let you crumble, the roofs that will gather your tears and the doors that will not shut on you. Your cheerleaders for all seasons, they give you the best high fives when life's on a roll and pull you out and dust you down when you tumble down that rabbit hole. 

Such are also the souls who know the art of silent love, the kind of tenderness that shows in action more than in vacuous words. No wonder then that even today we smell home in grandma's kitchen, sniff nostalgia in mom's knitted stole and dig into fading albums for a scoop of heaven. It's also the father's little bursts of anger that often come layered in love or the kindergarten teacher's words that have remained etched in our hearts. 

To me home is that dear friend who remembers my toughest day and lights up as a message on my screen saying, 'You are in my thoughts today'.  How beautiful it is that people can make you feel at home, what else otherwise are all our dwellings but edifices made of beams and stones.