About Nestlings and Fledglings

"What we know is a drop, what we don’t know is an ocean" – Isaac Newton.

 My knowledge on birds minuscule indeed despite owning the field guides. And this instance reeling under the false knowledge of all times i really didn't know what to do. The fact that if i touch the poor creature and provide some comfort it will be abandoned by it's own parents and banished from the community. All of them could smell me on it and considering it alien might peck it to death. 
The poor creature which i knew to be a baby had fallen down, perhaps from it's attempt at flying or could've accidentally fallen out of it's hole nest in a tree. i wouldn't know. All i knew that it was lying below the pomegranate tree, seeming quite helpless and afraid. 
Torn between the dilemma that arose because of the ill baked knowledge and also the fact that i should not interfere with nature i kept guarding the poor thing from being a meal of cats/dogs. But how long could i do that. My presence there might perhaps be making rescue by parents difficult too.

i realized then how nothing i know about what to do when i find a baby bird that looks abandoned or lost.  
For starters i held the baby. Tried to comfort it through affectionate human gestures. Soft caresses and gentle sounds.Trying to convey that it was safe and would not be harmed in any way. Then tried feeding some water by opening its beak gently and squeezing drops of water out of a moist cotton ball. Later placed it in a bed of a hanging basket of money plant so that it could feel that it is in a familiar setting and then sat down to think what i should do next. 

As i stood in the balcony i couldn't help but notice a flash of green rushing past and disappearing into the dense foliage of mango tree visible from the balcony. Perhaps it was the mother searching for her baby.

i decided to take the baby and put it back safely among the branches of the pomegranate tree. i followed my instinct and did just that. It was below this tree on the ground i had found the bird.

The baby perched and sat there as i stood for a while making sure that it is still there when once again i noticed another green with a long beak fly past and before i could see who it could be it got merged in the oblong shiny foliage of the nearby child life tree aka Putranjiva.  

It was time for me to move away and let nature take it's course. 

Sitting in my balcony i had my anxiety though. i wondered if the mother was able to find her baby. i wondered about many things because we have legs and hands and can do a lot while they have their beaks and their wings and have limits to what they can do.

After finishing my daily chores i decided to google and find out if i did right or was my handling of the situation a non caring or halfhearted one. i ought to know better.

Found this not only helpful but also received some sound learning/knowledge which also dispelled the myths i had about baby birds.  https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/i-found-a-baby-bird-what-do-i-do/ 

It was not difficult or bothersome when once again i found a 'nestling' of the Indian Robin aka Bulbul bird that had perhaps fallen out of it nest. As mentioned in the internet site about what to do i made the baby safe from predators and later searched for the nest. It was not a long search and i could locate the nest in the Rangoon creeper aka Madhumalti. Not without some flurry of activity happening around me. A couple of Bulbuls chirping loudly were hovering around me and it seemed that they were panicking. Nearby perched on to the thin branches of the Indian lilac aka the Neem tree which was swaying in the breeze another Red Vented Bulbul  kept calling continuously. It sounded more like a war cry/ alarm call than just the usual chirp.  

i quickly put the nestling in it's nest and scooted from there as fast as i could hoping that the shrieking birds should sense my intent. That i was only trying to help.

i can only hope that my intrusion was purposeful and that the baby grew up to be another Red Vented Bulbul and is chirping around living it's life. So do i imagine about the Basanta aka Brown Headed Barbet i had placed on the pomegranate tree. 

i too feel like how Karen Blixen felt in the story 'Out of Africa' by Isak Dinesen. 

Do they remember me ?!

Just how i remember them and have a memory of them do they too have one of me ?!

“If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?” ― Isak Dinesen

Wednesdays i generally wear green. Not that i am a devout Hindu who wears colors as specified in the Hindu astrological almanac for each day but for saving time have i decided to follow it. i have too many clothes. Much more than i actually need.
https://www.color-meanings.com/color-wear-day-colors-week/ 
But is is not the color of clothes i had wanted to talk about. It is basically about another who wears green. Not on Wednesdays only but always. Not commonly seen as one would see a crow or a common starling (Myna) but generally heard. '' Call it a monotonous kutroo, kutroo, kutroo or kutruk, kutruk, kutruk uttered throughout the day. Very noisy in hot weather, often calling in chorus.'' ( Birds of the Indian Subcontinent by Richard Grimmett, Carol Inskipp & Tim Inskipp). 

They remain very near to us and sighted sometimes but mostly remain camouflaged in the foliage of the trees.

Maama From Singheeyaa

A friend noticing my penchant for pickles called me chatori and i lolled at the funniness of it all, the word and how she put it across just to pull my leg like all bum chums normally do. 

It is hard to give one word in English that can explain the word completely. i can definitely say that it is a word generally used to describe anyone who likes spicy food. Most harmlessly use it to tease a person who is passionate about eating. So Chatori for a She and Chatora for a He.

 

Not all is bad about the pandemic. From what i see that there was a lot of talent erupting from here there and everywhere and the monsoon season brings this analogy to mind almost immediately. Just like the rain brings the earthworm out of their comfort zone into the open the talent is wriggling out one by one in the cell phone driven world.

i have been following many food preparations and some i try as soon as can while some i reserve for later. Watching so many pictures and food videos creates in me the desire to share my own stuff too.

i really want to for anyone who cares to understand that we are not only a sum of our experiences but we are also a sum of what we lack. What we do or don't do is governed by both. 

 

i see him clearly as i recollect, a Maama (Mother's brother) having quite a funny face visiting us once in a year perhaps carrying a big earthen pot of Mango pickle fastened with coir rope. This memory invokes in me sadness and some sort of a longing which i can't explain. He was blind in his affection towards my elder brother whose birth he was a testimony to as being nothing short of a miracle. This Maama and a pet-parrot in a cage had provided my mother with companionship/succor for the nine months that my mom stayed in confinement at a rented clinic room eating food without salt till my elder brother could be delivered safe and sound but not without a precarious Cesarean operation. i was told he even cooked and cajoled her to eat her tasteless food on time distracting her mind from the nourishment which lacked a major flavoring agent all the while narrating her tales of siblings at home and many other stories, successfully cajoling her to eat something. Before this elder brother my Ma had lost her two sons as she had a medical condition which rejected the fully formed fetus. First time during her seven months of pregnancy and second time even earlier. This after some years of hopelessly trying to start a family and get her own child. The trauma that my parents went through has been narrated by many family members and family friends who also were privy to not only my mother's medical condition but also of my Dad's pain/ worry on two accounts. First on account of she and her child she was carrying being in danger and later of having to remain childless or perhaps even wife less and a widower, God forbid!. 

Dad recounts that troublesome period sometimes and still remembers the name of the Doctor who delivered my elder brother and all the precautions that were taken to keep him alive even after he was born because he had some kind of lactose intolerance and hence had to be given a formula as advised by that Doctor which was imported in those days from abroad. All through infancy my elder brother remained quite a sickness prone very thin, unhealthy baby.     

Maama maintained a strange distance with me which i'm sure was unintentional and perhaps sans biases and yet as a child i felt ignored/unworthy. i wondered about all the tricks he would show my elder brother or how it would feel to piggy ride his back. i yearned for that and also to sit on his lap as my brother would when Maama animatedly narrated so many fascinating stories. His mimicry for fictional creatures, animals and those witches who resided in the Peepal (Ficus religiosa ) tree, i wanted to feel and also interact with sitting snug and comfortable just like my brother did. If and when i was around i would see and hear it but from a distance. Something didn't feel right even when i did and i would walk away sulking.    

During meal time i would wait for the cook to give me a small piece of the pickle that he used to bring in the Ghaila as folks in Bihar call the earthen pot. Ghaila or Matka one and the same thing.

i remember the taste and the aroma so distinctly as it was a typical one.  

Today i wish he were there and i could tell him how unique and how rare that pickle was which was almost dry but so piquant and delicious that i have not yet found any pickle to match the aroma or the flavor of that 'Sookha Achaar' (Dry pickle). Maybe ask his help if he could beget of the recipe in writing. The exact proportion of spices to mix and the exact amount of oil to get that mix. 

And i would've pestered him to teach me those knots made from the rough-to-touch basic coir rope that made it so convenient for him to carry the ghaila all the way from his village called 'Singheeyaa', somewhere in the Bhagalpur district of Bihar to Patna. Some distance covered in train but most of it traversed on foot. 

His nonchalance for me although i also remember very well will not be questioned not at all. Even when perchance he appears in my dreams. 

Someone just recently gave me a long lecture on how bad pickle is for health. i could get that resentful vibe of all the condescension even over the phone. 

i might've not heard all the cautions thrown at me barring those two features about pickles that i already knew. Too much oil and excessive salt. 

Whoever claims to know much and who think that they can control how things pan out in the long run are in for a major surprise i would say.

There is a lot many things people obsess about and they must all be having substantial reasons to do so. 

For me too the reasons are real and only i can put a finger and point to some if not all. Because what gets submerged and what erupts years later from the human brain is yet another mystery.

At the moment it should suffice to say that my Ma never cooked, what to talk of her making pickles or drying potato chips like the others aunties in the colony did. We also never had affectionate home made gifts reaching us from our village which all elders still keep reminding us of as our 'Roots'. 

Roots mean the villages where our agrarian grandparents and the rest of the kin resided. The gifts generally referred to as Saugaat arrived from the roots in the form of assorted pickles of all kinds, aampaapad / amoth (sun dried ripe mango pulp candy), Badis, Adauris, Tillauris, Paapad, home grown/processed aromatic rice or even aromatic beaten rice called Chura or home prepared puffed rice called Murdhee, and last but not the very least the ubiquitous Sattu, the much celebrated roasted chickpeas flour.  

Badis, Adauris, Tillauris are all sun dried dumplings, some smaller than a marble and some large, slightly larger than a lemon made out of lentils, grains, vegetables and seeds. Paapad is also a sun dried cracker which can be deep fried or dry roasted.

Some of my friends in the colony/school would receive whatever their mothers couldn't make from their roots. All forms of saugaat  sometimes even cooked. Special greens of the season that were cooked on slow fire (wood) the entire night. Chana ka saag, Khesari ka saag as they were called. Pickles of all sorts and flavors. Some sweet some sour and some a mix of sweet and sour.

Affections reaching from Nani, Dadi , Bua, Chachi, and even Maami...

Most of my friends' mothers cooked too. And these friends had delicious looking food in their tiffins (lunch- lunch box). Some of the yummy looking edible stuff i didn't even know their names. For all of us who went to school in my family tiffin meant one and one thing only. The shaped like a triangle Paratha and aloo kee bhujiya. Paratha is a kind of shallow fried in clarified butter or cooking oil of Indian bread and can be shaped like a triangle, circle or square. Whereas aloo ke bhujiya is a dry vegetable preparation made mainly of potatoes sometimes with seasoning spices and sometimes without.

In my Dad's place at Patna only this Maama with a funny face, twinkling eye and hairs that grew out of his ear like a cat's whiskers would get us this pickle in the ghaila. Once he had even got us the very famous Chana ka saag slow cooked and infused with all kinds of herbs and spices. Something up for the grabs by the adults in family. But the undeveloped childhood palate which knew sweet from sour and had a penchant for sour did not understand the rare ness or the times taking cumbersome preparation what to talk of the great health benefit of it all hence along with the piquant dark looking mango pickle, the slow cooked tender leaves and stems of chickpeas plant remained somewhere in the brain only to emerge years later. Like now.

Now everything seems important to me. The simple knots, which are functional, environment friendly and so cheap that i suppose even the poor can afford. 

The recipe of the dry mango pickle which although needed mustard oil to mix and fix the spices and hold them together caused no lily pool of oil on the plate nor any greasy slick on the fingers as we chewed on to the goothlee ( mango kernels). And this pickle like old wine aged adding not only more flavor but also had a very long shelf life. No synthetic vinegar or any chemical preservative were added to it but just the home grown spices each having great health benefits too and perhaps having their own preserving characteristics. If you picked out a piece from the jar it was amazing to see how the delicious spices sat very well in the depressions of the mango kernels. Looking at it one would be tempted to describe it as stuffed-with-spices cooked raw mango slices. 

i remember scooping out the spices and spreading it on my chapati ( traditional Indian bread) then making a roll of the chapati/ roti  relishing each morsel and forgetting the dull and quite unappealing vegetables on the plate. Later when all would be over slowly enjoying the sourness of the mango piece and chewing the kernel till it was reduced to a shrunken mass which looked part fiber part wood before throwing it away. The chewing of the goothlee was the ultimate pleasure derived from this pickle or i should say any mango pickle with kernel for that matter.  

   

The pandemic made me aware that all those things made in the villages were survival foods. In times of excess (harvests) lentils, grains, vegetables like potatoes were ground, made a paste of, mixed with aromatic spices and dried in the sun. To be used just in case one ran short of fresh supplies. The shortage could be seasonal or even otherwise. The purpose not only related to satisfying the palate but also making effective use and thereby reducing wastage of food. 

Sometimes to be used as a special side dish to the rice and lentils if and when special guests arrived. Special dishes were then always deep fried in oil. Not the very least was that these stored away dried items painstakingly prepared from excess were also food reserved for the rainy days. 

The dried dumplings/ crackers provided extra flavor when mixed with curries or eaten like a side dish with the simple meal.

Almost all vegetables could be pickled, stored and used whenever to enthuse a special zing to the daily standard meal of cooked rice called Bhaat and cooked lentils called daal and perhaps fresh vegetable that one could avail fresh from the kitchen garden. 

i will not go on to rant about the zero wastage functioning of our agrarian system because that's not the real reason why i wanted to write this blog.

The act alone as to why we do things has some reasons which only the heart knows.

Some times it is peer pressure, sometimes it is a genuine whim no matter how fickle/ transitory it could be, to learn a new thing.

Other times it could be need based like how the lock down made many of us creative and innovative chefs who make do with whatever is available to create a new dish ...

There could be more reasons. Reasons viewed by any on the other side as being rather shallow or even profound. It depends which side you are standing on.

i don't know what to call mine but i certainly felt a lack of certain things in my life which has always propelled me to do what i do. 

Sometimes i want to compensate other times i want to hold on to my roots. Maybe it's also in the genes to crave for a certain aroma of a certain spice mix which tied to the roots emerges from the deep recesses of the walnut like brain and seizes the heart to go on an endless search. 

It also could be an urge to hold on to what feels like slipping out swiftly and hence of panic to realize that some recipes, skills will soon be obliterated if not forcefully but eventually. For those who knew about it were just too plain or too simple to have realized the importance of their knowing something specific belonging to that specific region to pass it on what to talk of recording it somewhere.

Or is it that the pandemic made me more aware of 'surviving minimally ' and so i feel the strong need to know and try out more. Be it the specific kinds of knots or ways and means to preserve food, why! even train the self to seek simple and remind the palate that less is more than enough.  

It could be all of these and yet one dominant childhood memory also remains etched like a scar on my passionate-about-eating foodie soul. My school lunch box made by some careless cook always had ugly looking dark parathas having burn spots and aloo kee bhujiya each day which no friends wanted to share when i was in primary school and i used to eat alone feeling a bit ostracized and a bit alienated. Sometimes i felt too embarrassed to open the tiffin box lest the familiar/ boring aroma startled the rest who would happily be digging into each other's boxes and sharing the goodies that their Ma had put in for the day. 

And i also never had any unique candy or pickle to share.

One which Nani ( Maternal grandmother), Dadi (Paternal grandmother) , Chachi ( Wife of father's brother), Bua ( Father's sister) or Maami ( Wife of mother's brother) had brought or sent.

Also no one even bothered to ask me at home why the lunch box had returned unopened/untouched. 

One of the collateral damages perhaps of being born bonny having the bonny ness despite the absence of care or fuss that usually is created when the child has not partaken his/her food. 

No one at home was aware even explain to me that why food should be respected no matter what is as a blessing and not wasted. Definitely i was also never reprimanded for not eating.  

Strange as it may sound now i want to know who made that pickle/ chickpeas greens which Singheeyaa waaley (from) Maama used to bring. If he had a wife who painstakingly prepared it then why didn't this particular Maami ever visit us like the other Maama and Maamis who always did. i remember Dad telling me that he was my Ma's cousin brother and was not so well off, rather his living was barely subsistence level as he owned a very small fragmented piece of land. How did he then have the largest heart when the rest of the very flourishing own brothers of my Ma only indulged, at all that my Dad's money/ position could provide. And why didn't this man who always walked miles with his saugaat before catching a train and then again walking all the way from the Patna Junction (station) to our home didn't.  

About the picture of the jars in my blog. Well ! i learnt how to make a loop and then a knot seeking help from the internet. Of course with all online deliveries suspended during the first phase of lock down and shops remaining closed i could not get the specific chord mentioned to make those knots. i made use of the naada (drawing strings) to learn the bottle knot which made carrying the jars to the terrace for sun cooking the mango pickle so much easier and stress free.  

True it is what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder. And lack of anything perhaps getting you obsessed. If i do about the food that belonged to my roots it could be anything. My desire to survive, learn or to hold on to what matters the most.

Suffering is a catalyst to teaching too. i felt eager to learn to cook even when i could not reach the stove table. Dad would make me stand on the footstool, tie a local towel called gamcha (traditional checkered towel) around my frock and teach me how to cook. It was a gradual process starting with the peeling and cutting of onions using both a hansua/ boti/ pirdai ( Indian traditional knife that involves sitting down and cutting) first and later the knife. Class six onward class friends started including me in their tiffin (lunch) sharing and no one squirmed or called my tiffin boring anymore and rest is my own cooking food history. Compliments come but i owe it all to my Dad, his innovations/ improvisations and his emphasis on the the color and aroma of the food which proclaims the entire truth about the hands that cooked. 

All through mid school and high school and college i prepared my own lunch box. Nothing very outstanding or out of the ordinary. If at all it can even be considered as a feat then i guess i am way behind the many little girls who start to cook even earlier. Specially if we go to our roots meaning our villages then even today we will find very small girls cooking and feeding the entire family before heading out to their respective schools if at all the village has a school.

Why then have i been fussing over the lunch box, be it my husbands' or my sons', or why do i want to learn the four way knot with a rough coir rope, and last but not the very least my frustration at the Angika (dialect) speaking folks of my native Bhagalpur who are busy Tik Tock ing making silly videos and taking selfies and not uploading recipes when the rest of the regions all over the country are sharing/ uploading all kinds of recipes using plants, and other edible species endemic to their region.

i hope someone realizes it soon enough and uploads that which might be on it's way to extinction. The sookha aam ka achaar in an earthen pot called ghaila with the rope tied in a four way knot making it not only easy to carry outside for slow cooking in the sun but also to hang comfortably somewhere away from the reach of chatori kids like me who might perhaps finish a years ration supposedly kept for special occasions or reserved for a rainy day, in less than a maybe a couple of months. 

Perhaps my intense desire to learn a simple bottle knot was my way of remembering Singheeyaa waaley Maama Jee who was poor yet never made any visit to our home empty handed. Enduring a long hard journey, making compromises, perhaps even sacrificing a lot of his meagre income to bring this saugaat (rare gift generally given on special occasions) for all of us to enjoy.

All done so quietly without banging a single drum of self righteousness/ praise and being blissfully unawares of the great abundance in his heart. To share whatever he could and make all of us feel like it cost him nothing at all... 

      

 

         

First Love

The last time something left me wanting to know more of it was when i had spotted it. A flower/plant i had never come across. Not even in any of the many readings i do what to talk of my conversations with people about exotic plants and trees.
https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/glory-be-to-this-pea.html
As if this knowledge was not enough i lapped up the local story behind the flower and had out poured my excitement in the following post.
https://shivanidiwani64.blogspot.com/2014/04/flower-of-blood.html
i really love stories related to plants and trees. Ever since i was maybe a teenager and Papa had gifted me that book written or rather co-written by Maneka Gandhi and Yasmin Singh. ' Brahma's Hair'.
Tree tales fascinate me. Something which perhaps was sowed long before i could even read and Ma used to tell the bedtime story of the king and his three queens. The youngest of whom the king was so fond of and who gave him twins...
Believing or disbelieving is another thing because sometimes i'm also a logical person having my own share of skepticism about tales/ stories. But let's just say the tales feed me enough. Like stories that feeds a child's curious hunger to lap up something fantastic, mystical and magical.
i wish all trees had a tale associated with it. And this i believe that they do. Someone should be there to tell.
Only thing i have not yet found the story about this one which again is a native of the land "Down Under".

This time again i have something before me of which there is an intense desire to know more.

Risking chances of infection donning a face mask and carrying a pocket sized sanitizer bottle just a day before the first phase of lock-down i had visited a local plant nursery far away from where i reside looking for an Ixora plant and saplings of other summer seasonal flowers. Not that Ixora is my favorite plant but because i also love to see the visitors that frequent the bright blooms of Ixora. The birds, bees, insects and definitely the butterflies.
Now i don't claim that i am an avid gardener but i would say i enjoy the act of planting. Then whatever follows quenches my thirst for more. Slowly things are revealed .
As it takes root, i notice the crispness, feel encouraged to see it acclimatize to my garden soil and surroundings and finally feel rather blessed when the plant stabilizing itself starts springing forth new leaves. i feel like it has acknowledged my intent which is a major catalyst to perseverance. Then on i am in a la la land of my own quite content with whatever is revealed to me through observation and practice .
Some people are avid gardeners, some love to add beauty to their homes by including plants, some are more of collectors and yet some love to garden simply for the fact that the flowers will attract butterflies, birds and bees to their garden. But i find the act of planting, nurturing and even preserving very compelling. It fulfills me and keeps me satisfied even though i fail in getting a grasp of what went wrong.  All i can say is what happens during and after is a bonus that i derive. Love for planting takes one to very interesting places. Hence the pleasure/ advantages derived cannot be summed up in one sentence or two but i can say that i am all of what i just listed and yet none at all. Definitely the process helps me forget all kinds of pain, suffering and hopelessness and in a way connects me with the 'Unknown' whom we often have referred to as The Divine. Many a times it actually restores my faith.
Sometimes when i close my eyes to pray or just sit in silence with my eyes closed, i see images of life i had seen earlier on the terrace. The light of bliss/calm eludes me and there in my mind's eye i see Gardenia/ smell the fragrance or any other bloom or that caterpillar i saw, insect that happily nibbled the leaf into a green lace, bird that flitted across looking for this or that and the colors on wings i saw flashing in reckless pursuit.

This time a plant was handed over to me but again with the wrong identity. The seller told me it was Chinese Ixora. Since it was a small plant (in the black poly bag plant) with just a couple of branches of healthy looking green leaves i came back and re potted the plant carefully into my earthen pots.
Last week i was delighted to see the cluster of buds appearing and this week i was more than just surprised to see the blooms. The gasp after watching the blooms indeed escaped but not without few exclamations.
" Oh My!.Who are you... !!"
It is not that easy to get the name of certain plants on the world wide web if you have never studied Botany but because i did in my high school and still remember a few terms like racemes, elliptical i could get not only the ID of the flower and the evergreen tree but a lot more on the internet including the fact that it is Australian as i have mentioned before and that it is a hard wood tree. The wood used by the indigenous population to make spears and shields.
Sometimes just knowing the name gives a lot of insight. Other times it leaves you in the lurch.
The common name is Golden Penda and now in India they call it First Love. Probably the plant is an import from Thailand where it is called rak raek pob (love at first sight). i can very well understand why the name First love or rak raek pob and why Golden but Penda still draws a blank.
Scientifically Xanthostemon chrysanthos is Greek meaning Golden flower.
Last time i was quite annoyed by the gardener but this time i am rather pleased with mistaken ably finding my First Love. Some great surprises really spring from having it all wrong in the beginning. This was an epiphany one of the many i keep having every now and then. 
i hope some day i will also come upon a great story associated with First Love but right now it suffices to know that apart from butterflies and bees a strange insect i know not of called Spitfires by Aussies breed on this tree. Otherwise called Sawflies the larvae of which when aroused eject or spit a yellow fluid from their rears. This could be nasty as if it gets into the eye it could sting bad.

My observation of many endemic flowers that now don the gardens in India is that they certainly have something missing. So is the case with First Love. Back in their native place they are supposed to be sweetly fragrant with glossy leaves. It could be due to many reasons. Could be the soil, climate, the air...
However i am happy to have yet another from as the band Men at Work sang in their song, "...a land down under, where women glow ..."

i also hope to update this blog if and when i find out why or what is 'Penda'.  

i don't know if it happens with other people too. There actually is not much to tell but yet when i sit to tell it does stretch. Will have to confess that many times it is just like that for me. But of course i'm not a writer and can't be artistic about this special characteristic of mine. i have also come to accept that it can't be done any other way but this however boring or long it may seem to anyone.
   

Souls Fiddling on the Roof

One morning a couple of days back i received a carpe diem kind of message from my younger sister. This is how it appeared on my phone screen.

*हो सकता है हर दिन अच्छा ना हो, लेकिन हर दिन में कुछ न कुछ अच्छा होता है।*

    *सुप्रभात*

सुप्रभात in English means 'good morning'. About the rest of the Hindi words that preceded the good morning i discovered it to be a great quote from Alice Morse Earle. " Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day".

Thanks to my sister not only did i learn something of Alice Morse Earle but also got the exact words to express my feelings. 

Just like everyone i do get insufferable at times. The creeping heat, and most importantly the absence of helping assisting hands can be enlightening on good days but utterly depressing on a daily basis. Being used to having people who would do jobs or run errands for us is like addiction and i guess dealing with all the chores for a few days is as exciting as joining a gym the sole purpose being weight loss. Now it feels like being in an addiction rehab and the withdrawal symptoms are killing. Chores that are never-ending, tiresome and monotonous. In fact some chores are happily bundled and thrown out of mind for 'laters' but much to my chagrin they do remain in sight.

i wouldn't have realized the importance of the wonderful whattsaap message what to talk of using it to express until grumbling under my breath i walked into the already heating up terrace to feed 1500 or more babies in their beds. Yes i am talking about my plants in their pots. Pots of all sizes ranging from three inches to one and a half feet. With daily temperatures now creeping and nearing 40 degrees they need to be watered twice. 

It was then when i saw what was there to see did i actually recall the words again. *हो सकता है हर दिन अच्छा ना हो, लेकिन हर दिन में कुछ न कुछ अच्छा होता है।*

    *सुप्रभात* 

The tree which these days is a cynosure of eyes had been flowering for a few days now but today it seemed to radiate flashes of whites in a random manner. Walking close to it and breathing in the mild fragrance i could make out not only flashes of white but even more. The pretty thing was a venue for ' Party Time'. Different kinds of bees, insects and butterflies going berserk dipping into one flower then next then again returning to the first but hurriedly flying off to take a sip from another.

Citharexylum spinosum or the fiddlewood tree. A graceful tree with fragrant, creamy white, tiny flowers. The wood perhaps is used to make stringed instruments hence the name 'Fiddlewood' but which ones i still have to know. It is not used for violin that much i know. Why i bought the plant not knowing anything what to talk of it being a tree was the instant attraction to the glossy bright green color of the leaves. Also i was quite taken with the color of the leaf stalk. A juicy orange. The seller did not bother telling me anything about it having blooms because i did not ask anything either. This was seven years earlier. The plant cried out for help outgrowing the twelve inch pot into which it was initially planted only then did i learn of it being a tree. Learning has been happening ever since but in bits. First the fact that the beautiful bright green foliage turns orange in early spring and finally falls off . Hence perhaps it is a deciduous tree. 

It left me wide-eyed the day i saw flower buds. Some elegance and grace in how they hung. Clusters that arched like fountains. Finally the flowering and the mild fragrance of the clusters. 

It was that first flowering day when i stayed awake till late that night and sought 'Google' to help me know it's name. Slept somewhat content and somewhat in wonder later after discovering not only the name or how to pronounce the name but quite a lot more. Funny facts that native birds don't nest on this tree and hence the local name 'Sitaranjan' . i have wondered if native birds have after all started nesting on sith-uh-REKS-il-um spy-NO-sum after being renamed Sita Ranjan or Sitaranjan. For now it suffices that butterflies and bees have taken quite a fancy to it.

Today it made my day special indeed when slightly irritated with unfinished chores i walked to the terrace to hydrate my babies. Seven years does not feel long when i stood close breathing in the gentle and mild aroma. After reaching maturity it has flowered regularly on time. i have captured photographs earlier too with the lone cute Lineblue. This butterfly which thought-to-have-gone-extinct reappeared much to the delight of lepidoterists. https://www.hindustantimes.com/delhi-news/butterfly-spotted-in-delhi-in-2018-was-last-seen-in-1962-researchers/story-zwdFFokFUUMZ4pt6x76ebJ.html

The celebrity butterfly resting on it made that day super-learning-special too. That day the learning centered more on the lil angel with tiny moving legs and glittering orange dot on the wings (Lineblue). 
Today not one or two but many butterflies hovering around it made it extra special even when the butterfly is commonly seen. At one time i counted and there were eight common Indian Pioneer butterflies. Some white with black, others having yellow quite pronounced and yet some who did have mist sprays of subdued yellow. It was magical. 

My friend would've felt the same magic i guess when she sent me a mobile picture of many white butterflies over a Moringa (Drumstick) tree. What kind of whites i would't know but many whites over a tree indeed can be a great sight.

The entire scenario refreshed the mind and body. After indulging later when i returned to my chores i was cheery and raring to go. Nature indeed has the power to renew and refresh. Couldn't agree with this Helen Keller quote more. Not only did i unplug from all the botheration i felt recharged too. i returned to my chores feeling the 'runner high' and completed most remembering to have enough time at my disposal to relax and do absolutely nothing.
Finally i would love to add to what i started with. Do one thing everyday that makes your heart sing for that would make your day the most beautiful day.   

   

Cravings Change with Age

This morning i received a forwarded whattsapp message from a friend who is enjoying her current posting in Myanmar. It had the ever so popular Ekla Chalo Re composition sung by Ms Shreya Ghosal. And as the music played the immortal words of Guru Rabindranath Tagore flashed by. Few if not all meaningful eternally relevant words by Tagore flashing on the screen as the song played. Jodi tor dak shune kyu na ashe tobe ekla cholo re
Currently i am wanting to focus on one of those words.
'' The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence. "
The week that was had many special dates. 7th May being one. It is celebrated by one and all and there are simple gatherings where the birthday of Guru Rabindranath Tagore is celebrated and his compositions sung.  
So here i am listening to'' Jodi tor dak shune kyu na ashe tobe ekla cholo re...'' Translation: If nobody responds to your call, then you move forward. My blogging may or may not be consistent with Guru's immortal words but this is what i have to say today. My mind having flashes of it's own of this peaceful nestled amidst forest, a region in the Doars of India called Alipurduar.

Some of us have the habit of making sweeping generalized statements. Like this one that if ever there was a food crisis the Chinese as a race will emerge because they would survive. They can eat anything and everything that moves. There is no scientific validity about that 'if' barring the fact that nature has a way of dealing with things and in nature either the species evolve or get obliterated. After all it is a survival of the fittest planet, this earth. i suppose that nature has a way of maintaining balance or for even providing if things go haywire.
For quite sometime now i have had strange food cravings. This was way before the lockdown. i remember telling my friends about my strange cravings. Biological Science has an explanation to 'Senior Citizen' cravings.
i don't know if that science has explanation for what i am having. Cravings that are not only sudden but also consistent. Most of us are quite familiar about expectant woman cravings and maybe science has research papers to explain that too. For those women who are 'expecting' the cravings might not only be for sweets but it could differ. Some crave sweets, some have cravings for salty or that which is sour. Talking about craving reminds me of that particular scene in the Bollywood movie 'Salaam Namastey' where pregnant Amber/ Amby Malhotra (Preity Zinta) has a sudden craving in the middle of the night to have nothing but Ben &Jerry's Belgian Dark Chocolate icecream. i have known friends who have wanted to eat Paani Puri or Chaat items all of a sudden when they were pregnant. When i was expectant with my first i craved crisp Jalebis and warm Gulab Jamuns.
Past one year or so i have realized these sudden cravings to have returned with vengeance and now as in today cravings are quite frequent for primitive and simple foods. Some that don't involve cooking at all but just mixing the available ingredients. Adding this and that and food is all ready to fulfill. Really don't know if Biological Sciences can explain post menopausal strange food cravings.
One thing i request for whosoever reading this is to understand that my cravings are not for what society has labelled as 'poor man's food'. Food is survival and it is none of our business to brand food as 'rich' or 'poor'. Hunger cows men and can make us eat whatever.
i was not born of pauper, begging parents nor am i lacking anything now. It's just that i am myself nonplussed as to how my mouth salivates at the thought of what i don't see but have known in fragments. A memory here and an experience there. Primitive because i don't see anyone talking about those foods what to talk of making them or eating them. Although there is not much making involved only assembling things and custom mixing them to suit the taste buds just as it is of so many delicious Indian snacks for example Bhelpuri. Primitive foods because my understanding so far of pre gas stove era or any stove era for that matter is that getting the cooking fires lit itself was a major task which was accomplished eventually nonetheless for all that must involve cooking ( frying, boiling...). Food for breakfast generally then were the initial fast foods, mostly leftovers from the previous night eaten with a ready made pickle or onion or perhaps even jaggery if the need arose.
During this period of lockdown people are forced for reasons best known to us and them of making do with whatever is available and there is a sudden boom of food videos be it on instagram or facebook or even whattsaap apart from very-depressing-to-me workout videos. But strange it may sound i wouldn't be interested in any of those food videos. Needless to say then that i delete the work out videos even without seeing them. i have urges of my own and who knows the universe might get the vibrations generated by my urges and provide me with videos that i seek. These days i roam the internet lapping in all the information about all the hitherto overlooked edible leaves and flowers that exist around us and just a few days back i was amazed to God's glory to read about Edible Dandelions. Yesterday i felt thrilled to forage edible purslane called noniya (Hindi) which had appeared naturally in my flower pots. Also enjoyed cooking it with Bengal lentils called Chana Dal . Decided to make a simple dry veggie dish mixing potato if more Noniya Saag appeared naturally in my flower pots.
i once called up a friend just to know what she was cooking because i had exhausted my own ideas and wanted easy vegetarian recipes. Secretly i wished my folks at home to mirror my own cravings and i think an epiphany of sorts was constantly happening regarding food.
Just like every other thing food is so personal and tastes undergo evolution too.
One cannot force one's tastes on another.
Everybody has their own cravings which could be based on their own memories of food that once was and is no longer easily available.
Only little babies, the old and sick eat without fussing and shaming food... .
Yeah more truths emerged. i have listed just a few.

Kumhror phool : Pumpkin Flower

i have waited for just Saag &Bhaat  posts and posts showing Maand Bhaat & Aloo Chokha.
Taste buds have undergone massive changes too and i think just like my Bitmoji avatar on my phone whatever we come across as healthy eating feels somewhat like a Bitmoji avatar. i did not come across what in the village i had once, a potpourri of sorts of the leftover cooked rice of the previous night. The leftover rice that remained in the container in which it was cooked and doused with some fresh water as if to soak the already cooked rice !
Early morning that rice mixed with ingredients like mango pickle spices, green chillies and raw onions !  My original first indigenous fast food breakfast. No cooking shooking just some chopping of raw ingredients and mixing them happily with the same amount of affection as one would happily cook.
Eating this eating that also has a fashionable status associated so much i have experienced. Chinese, Thai, Lebanese, Mexican and of late Sushi....then things have gone further and even more complicated. There are vegans and probably more 'ans' quite justifiably so. From oats to olive oil to exotic multi grained breads, red rice, black rice and recently quinoa pronounced keen-wa...
Not surprising when Gods could be in and out of fashion then why not food. First Natraj, then Ganesh and these days Buddha in all possible postures. Be it Food or Gods who are supposed to provide food, both can't escape 'trending now' status.

Simple stir fried mixed greens

My cravings being consistent i eagerly look for veggies that i could forage. Eating all kinds of edible greens with plain boiled white rice and freshly cut onion quarters. Not a salad which is a mix of cucumber, onion, carrots, tomatoes, radish and whatever one possesses... just plain onion quarters.
It forces me to think however that everything happens for a purpose and in order to satisfy my cravings, the cosmic forces in nature created situations which took me to a place where foraging for food is a common sight. West Bengal. Maybe not in the metro cities but small towns far from metros, not heard of generally foraging in the wilderness even, is indeed a common sight. That is if the food to be cooked is not to be found in the makeshift kitchen garden or nearby pond. Most individual homes have an area where vegetables or a couple of fruit trees grow, Banana clump a must and maybe guava or mango or any other and every few houses share a pond where one could forage for all kinds of the much loved fish.

Dhekia:

Diplazium esculentum the edible fern

My learning regarding healthy and sustainable eating reached new frontiers and i could acknowledge the amount of wasteful consumption that i have been indulging into all along. Bengali cooking has a perfect recipe to use the discards effectively. Delicious simple recipes for Cauliflower stalks, potato/bottle gourd peels, the thick stalks of greens that generally go to the dustbin, leaves of vegetables, flowers and buds of certain vegetables, even the tendrils you name it and all can be cooked into one yummy treat that not only satisfies the craving for primitive food palate but also indulges the soul. It's a feeling i can't describe. Eating and imagining all the vitamins, minerals, roughage reaching the various parts of the body which is famished for those providing not only nourishment but healing too. The essentials reaching even the brain which has a mind. The mind feeling blessed, feeling joy of yet another kind. Awe mixed with the thrill of discovering foods that exist all around us and will help us survive if only we cared enough to know them.
Food taken care of by nature and indeed not planted by humans but others. Birds/bees/ insects/animals all playing interconnected parts in that. From pollination to germination to seed dispersal and finally as being organic fertilizers that enrich the earth again. No wonder then i was healed from much of the pain i was suffering from. i felt healed inside out.
Today as i foraged and found flowers of pumpkin to make as fritter, a special treat for my craving palate i am posting a borrowed from you tube video which will not only show the recipe but also tell about the foraging for food sight i talked about.

It tugs my heart when i recollect the images. The 'Mothers' in taant sarees some wearing pola shakha bangles and others without picking 'stuff' from the green patches by the sides of the road, lurking and looking around near the boundary walls/fences searching and picking up the choicest leaves, collecting them in the makeshift pouch made in the overlapping folds of the taant saree ....
True it is when they say that when it has to happen things will automatically happen. We have no way of controlling what we need or when we need. Thanks to my husbands' posting in that particular region which falls under West Bengal i was in the right place at the right time to know that during one such occasion and i am forgetting if it was Bengal Nobo Borsho (New Year) or Bashonto Utsab (Spring Festival) a potpourri of 21 greens is prepared with the most simple ingredients easily available in any Indian kitchen. All one needs is, to raid the local vegetable market for most and perhaps forage for the rest. This special dish for the day apart from many other special dishes like crispy fritters made from edible flowers and a delicious paayesh ( pudding) made from aromatic small grained rice and nolen gur ( Date palm jaggery) .
Twenty one types of  greens and although i can't remember the names of all than what i already know of spinach, chenopodium, fenugreek, dill, purslane, amaranth- red and green, mustard, drumstick...! Sensing bliss through the palate with plain white boiled rice a bowl full of all kinds of edible greens from nature. Patua saag (Jute) and Dhekia saag (Fern) in that bowl of edible greens, my craving reaching fulfillment and satisfaction. Plain rice with nutritious greens and onion quarters.
What i crave of my village that i once visited as a child was something special too because i remember pickled spices scooped from mango pickle jars also added to this what West Bengal calls Panta Bhaat.
https://www.downtoearth.org.in/coverage/pantabhat--well-slept-rice-13162
i am sure most rice producing regions might be having their own versions of Panta Bhaat or Baasi  Bhaat.
Not really knowing the real reasons for such cravings to happen has nevertheless not stopped me from having theories of my own validated by my own experience.
a) It is also genetic and,
b) history repeats itself.
i recall my Ma who would cry out in her sleep and crave in her awakened state for Paeda ( Sweet fudge made from thickened milk). i remember being in the final year of graduation then. i also remember Papa taking care of that earnest request when she wanted the Amber-of-Salaam-Namastey-type Paeda and obliging her by getting special Kesariya Paeda ( Sweet fudge having real saffron strands for flavor and color) from Banaras. She is in heaven now perhaps not needing anything and experiencing what saints and seers describe as true BLISS land where one actually is 'wantless' or 'craveless' so as to speak.
Not that i don't miss her otherwise but in this too i can't help but regret not understanding her craving then and all of us poking fun at her. i wish i could go back in time and change that.
From craving Orange Marmalade to craving soupy noodles to the indigenous Bihari Baasi Bhaat, i told you it is getting weirder and weirder!!
Want to say more but i think i must refrain from making more sweeping generalized statements of my own. Will return soon to share my own recipe which took care of my craving. Not many but one which perhaps should be consistent with my own narration of foraging and eating happily.
Also the second Sunday of May i received Mother's Day messages too which instead of uplifting me made me miserable. i missed my Ma not especially on this day or when i have my cravings but always because in all that i do or all that is happening around me i know i have seen before when Ma was physically around.

Paintings that Flutter By

It would be more than interesting to know why it is called The Painted Lady although it was helpful to know much more apart from the fact that it has other names too. Courtesy https://www.thoughtco.com/facts-about-painted-lady-butterflies-1968172
i wouldn't be sure if it is a common butterfly simply because commonality too is very personal and depends on apart from the frequency of sighting to one's interest in them. i can't say then that The Painted Lady is as common as a crow. i was seeing them first time.
When i was a kid growing in Bihar i loved trying to catch butterflies only because it was thrilling to tiptoe, holding in the breath and missing them always but nevertheless going at it at the mere sight of one. The thrill of a challenging feat and it didn't really matter if i caught one but feeling super elated at the attempt itself. Those colorful butterflies of childhood days seen everywhere, in school gardens or in the deserted patches near home where thistles and other wildflowers grew are not seen anymore. It is heartening to know however that they are still around.Thanks to the field guide compiled by none other than the Butterfly Man of India Mr Issac Kehimkar.
As a kid i knew them just as a butterfly that one needs to catch and had no questions not even as to why it was called a butter although it did fly. Now thanks to the book i know that they are commonly called Jezebels. The Jezebel i mostly miss of my childhood is also having the prefix painted too. Painted Jezebel a white with black branching in a pattern stripes and having yellow, orange... if i remember them correctly. Today i have a question. Why are they called Jezebels !?.
The meaning of the name which "Often not capitalised : an impudent, shameless or morally unrestrained woman'' or " an immoral woman who deceives people in order to get what she wants."

Watching one now as a piece of live art i did not feel the thrill of childhood but curiosity mixed with awe as it probed to feed, my thoughts glued to the art which could be a clever mix of abstract and geometry. The mind seeking creativity most times started imagining a huge canvas with those patterns in it. Shades/hues of browns interspersed with white, powdery orange and salmon pink if i am describing the colors correctly.

Should i be marveling the artist Master Creator or the fact that science has explanation for everything be it the fusion art on the wings of the butterfly or the strange color combinations used to create unique masterpieces !
''The patterns on the wings can help protect butterflies from predators through camouflage, or warn predators that the butterfly's body is toxic, or help attract potential mates.''
Presently i want to believe that there is a Master Artist preparing yet another set of patterns using unique color combinations to blow my mind off and leave me yet again with one or more questions. 

Thirsty Mind is the Lucky Mind

Concerns are getting scarier especially when it is about the malaise that has struck the globe with no respite other than staying where you are and taking preventive/precautionary measures.
All around there is a feverish concern about lockdown but here i am beginning to feel greater than before. Some saying this and some saying that. Some doing this and some doing that to remain sane and calm during lockdown. Some using phrases like ‘burning a house to kill the rat’ and others using words like hell, curfew, detention, clampdown, confinement and what not to describe their feelings and i am beginning to wonder if it is crazy or mean of me to feel very fortunate especially now.

Nothing much has changed for me barring the frequent ordering of special takeaways online through the usual aggregators. i have more than enough to live well and do whatever i want to without having an iota of doubt if it is the correct thing to do during ‘trying times’.  

i continue to live each day as before doing chores that i must do and when i want to be entertained i have plenty to pick and choose. i can’t complain about anything but the usual. For example calling up the Chief Health Inspector and requesting him ‘fogging’ for the entire colony as there is a sudden influx of both Dengue and Malarial mosquitoes.

i deal with my health issues by diverting my mind and most importantly exercising the mind. i can’t help feeling blessed here too because i can.
Each first time encounter makes me smile like a cat who has just polished off a jar of fresh cream and is so certain that the next meal would be Ben & Jerry's Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream.  

The painful joints cease to exist when i am into my self-induced projects. The projects not only obliterate the unwanted but also give purpose to my mundane existence. Pre or post lockdown i have always been like that and feel thankful that my life has not been thrown off gear. The perfect formula for dealing with any kind of lows/blues or even boredom be it during this (lockdown) or any other is to create something to look forward to depending on what one is really passionate about. Never comparing or competing with others as to what they were doing but doing just for the love of it.

Among the so many things that i enjoy doing is arriving at my own discoveries while executing those mindful projects. Not that i am a committed- to -the -cause explorer but it is just that lady luck shines on me delivering me golden opportunities to quench my ever curious thirsty mind.

The picture of the beautiful exotic flower is that of a clover. Of course when my eyes chanced upon the tiny specks of delicious pink i did not know it's human nomenclature. Living in what the world is experiencing as ‘trying times’ and yet having at my disposal a vast seemingly endless resource called the internet at my disposal to satisfy the important and urgent needs, it took me less than ten minutes to know what it is.
Clover- Apart from pink there is a white flower and yellow flower clover too and they are great nitrogen fixers for the soil. So many new knowledge did i find https://momprepares.com/red-clover-an-edible-plant-that-packs-a-punch/

Not knowing what the beauty is would've left me in a state of tiresome restlessness just like how the ever so busy ever so moving world is facing during this scary lockdown. 

So not only the pink clover but all that the’ trying times’ are adding to my kitty will be featuring in my next blogs. But let me confess the treasures that add sparkle to my bored -with- everything mind are definitely not induced by lockdown. i have for a long time now attended classrooms without walls and have been content. i was urge free to share or blog. Absorbing the importance of each addition felt like the start of a fresh new episode of a binge worthy show and finding time to write/blog felt wearisome if not worrisome.

Last evening when i spoke to my Mother in law she was echoing the same contagious excitement of extreme gratefulness. She said she was eating better because the vegetable vendors were delivering straight -from- the- farm- to -home fresh fruits and vegetables. It felt even greater to analyze over a long warm chat without getting bored/snappy with each other as to why it could be so.

They say that a four leaf clover is hard to find but one who does is considered lucky. But this is what Ms Oprah Winfrey said about luck. She said that luck is what happens when preparedness meets opportunity. One must be prepared when opportunity came along. i believe not only me but there would be so many of us who would second that. 

My Observations

Learning also comes through conversations especially when it involves equal participation with no hidden agendas. There is an interesting anecdote and i am not sure if it will be consistent with my chain of thoughts but here it is.
A family friend was telling us animatedly as to how he dislikes this of his wife, '' She does not read ! no matter how much I tell her to...!"
He bemoaned not having delightful conversations about the trending bestsellers. Probably our friend was trying not to criticize but rather compare musings because my husband had shared his bits about his own wife. Now i really don't know if my husband really approves of my old way of reading hard copies because at the drop of the hat he reminds me of all the space occupied by books and how those books would prove to be a burden if and when have to shift. Nevertheless while having his elated conversation he talked about my habit and my collection both.
Listening to them i could feel that both husbands were not really being honest in their conversation. And both were not at fault. i too am like that.
i am forever wanting what is not and cribbing mostly about my husband not reading anything but the newspaper too.

Are all readers really better than those who don't read i can't tell. What i can tell is that people around me respect, love and admire my husband despite him being a non reader probably because he is a good listener. What also i can tell is that books are lovely conversation subjects provided one is being honest about just the book and not bringing it into the conversation just to impress.
Mostly i feel we are not truly being honest about reading what to talk of books.
If the society says it is great to be a reader then it is so. Pathetic are those who do not read for they will never understand, know or learn or grow...

Today as i sit to blog i am beginning to question if it was really decent to laugh about what our friend divulged later as the session carried on.
He said that if and when his wife was meeting her friends for lunch/dinner/coffee/ she would approach him to summarize the plot of the trending book he had just read. Sometimes even scribble a small write up which she could lap up to reproduce later during her drive to the rendezvous spot. He went on to explain how his summaries had actually helped his wife to keep up with the joneses. i remember all of us lolling to that.
Today when i think about it i feel guilty for endorsing that which i generally condemn. Which is to participate in ridicule. i should've said something. Changed the direction of the conversation instead of laughing out loud at someone who was also a friend and that too when she was not even present.

It indeed is making me question. Should one read for the love of books or should one read to improve one's understanding or should one read because when people have conversations one should be participating as readers even when they are not. And why do we keep shaming non readers. There are a host of other so called good things we all should be doing and are we actually doing them. 

If not reading then something else. Aren't we all projecting what we really are not. Be it caring for animals or environment, be it doing Yoga or managing waste, be it contributing pseudo opinions on social media or grabbing attention by posting meaningless details . The list is endless. We just want to be seen as conforming to what we ourselves have rated to be the best not because we really mean it or are truly committed to it but because we want to impress upon others. Apparently seeming to be concerned and connected but not really staying committed or concerned about anything.
i fail to understand how hard it could be to grab a phone and have a lovely tete e tete than to type niceties which truly lack credibility. All those niceties at best appearing like i scratch your back will you please scratch mine. 

Why can't we feel good about how or what we are and why don the false pretense?
It seems to me the more we apparently engage the further are we being driven apart. And all the social medial platforms are actually destroying the social ness of it all. And we definitely are not having conversations between friends or anyone there what to talk of having conversations that can usher forth a change.

Conversations are starters, binding us and eventually making us feel good about the time spent.
When i was younger i remember conversations adding more zest to what i already knew. Someone mentioning about a piece of music composition i had not heard or interesting facts about which place i should be visiting, an introduction to customs/rituals the how's and why's, easy DIY's including handy kitchen/household tips and a whole lot of other things apart from comparing notes on family, gardening, pets and recipes. Not to miss it we also had conversations on books to read, movies to watch so on and so forth.
i also remember those conversations as being refreshing and exciting. Igniting not only a passion for more but also keeping us looking forward to sharing details about our own lack of understanding without any false pretense.
Today i am at a loss. Sometimes i am banging my own drum and other times i am listening to other drums. Of late there has been a constant bombardment of sorts and i want to run away to a land of peace and quiet if it exits anywhere. Where my inward talking should provide me with solace if not all the answers as to why it is so. It troubles me to realize that we are slowly but steadily drifting apart. 
Often a conversation meets a sudden death and what ensues is the emergence of an argument where no one is really listening to anyone. Or else as it happened in this case the conversation left in it's wake so many unanswered questions, doubts and an overriding sense of guilt.

Maybe through this as i blog i am mulling over the aftermath. The fact of the matter being if the art of listening to some who love to only hear themselves speak can be mastered. Should i really work towards building a huge stockpile of patience and learn to be a passive listener or should i be working towards more effective communication skills through which i can convey what i have to say without being offensive.

Folks who care (home) tell me that i get too hyper and the words fails to convey. Emotions, expressions creating an unpalatable soup which drowns the essence.
Uff ...

It beats me to talk softly or slowly about something i feel strongly about. Even though i am not a certified bipolar i must be sounding like Carrie Mathison (Homeland) when she was having one of her episodes. Talking fast and talking loud and thinking even louder.

The last show on Netflix i binged on was Ozark. As i soaked in the all kinds of conversations between warring factions the one sentence that has stuck is this- " People aren't afraid of autocrats. People are afraid of being different from their neighbors.'' Jacob Snell.

i think conversation is also quite a cultural thing and it definitely has something to do with our genetic make up. When i ponder over the harmless allegations desiring change i do realize that i have my roots somewhere and i carry all the telltale signs of it.

Can i improve or will i ever be able to change that which dilutes the essence only time can tell.
i don't know if what i have just said is consistent or not. But blogging it definitely has brought me to what i should start with for the time being. For the moment with this pleasing thought, "Conversation isn't about proving a point, true conversation is about going on a journey with the people you are speaking with.''