The boredom was seeping into her very bones. She had time to kill, but the creative being that she was, she couldn’t think of a novel way to kill. The idiot box was no good, neither was the crummy-stupid-Im-a-laptop-but-Im-pretty-useless box. She saw the world moving by, the joyous multitude of words and sentences flowing on their blogs and she felt a vague emptiness in her own. Like an old piece of newspaper, left to the elements, yellowing paper with letters fading and edges tearing. Answering her friends and colleagues was becoming an ache – ‘No, I haven’t updated it in a month.’, ‘Yeah, I know I should. But I don’t get time!’. After a point, the lies came easily enough. Time was not a problem, it never was and it never will be. But such is the thing called life where priorities change and a little bit of virtual space marked with a URL gets pushed down to the last in favor of jobs, household work and grocery shopping.
Then in a moment of absolute fed-up-ness, she decided enough was enough. She opened her trusted notepad and let her fingers do the talking. She was going to give no excuses, no ‘Im back for good and will stay around forever’ announcements that she might have to renege on – just the plain truth. Which was? That she was too busy to set her mind free. That she couldn’t afford a wandering meandering creative mind when there was logical work to do. That her she missed the only recreation she truly enjoyed and she hoped she didn’t have to stop doing it, even for a little while. That she hoped her readers would understand (like they’ve done a million times already).
Back to regular progamming, folks! 🙂
It’s crazier than I thought, this thing about bringing a blog back to life. I had to pause two minutes at the login console of WordPress because I couldn’t remember my password. And then another 2 minutes trying to figure out where to post from. And then the endless wondering if someone would actually drop by (tough chance, since I’m presumed dead these days). But you know what? It’s all worth it.
I’m completely out of interesting things to write about, not to mention crib, complain, fret and rant about. The Pakistan Emergency thing’s been beaten to death and I’m not into politics anyway. I haven’t been on any vacations, haven’t had strange people come over and ask me if I’m Aishwarya Rai (that’s interesting, isn’t it?), haven’t been to any wedding or birthday party to pass comments on the people and their choice of clothes – nothing! Absolutely nothing. So what’s the next best thing to write about? Useless stuff, ofcourse. So here goes…
(This is something that’s been rotting in my drafts folder for quite some time now. Rotten stuff stink. Beware.)
Words never stop amazing me. A colleague who knows this pinged me this little Wiki bit on one of my favorite topics – Word Play!
Called ‘Homophonous Phrases’, this is a classic example of the beauty of this thing called Language. Forget highrises, bridges over oceans and sending Man to the Moon, one of the truest proofs for the evolution of mankind can be found in languages.
I read recently that the pace of language extinction exceeds the pace of species extinction. Can you imagine that? Extinction! Somehow I’m not surprised because I could have my own part to play in this. The Telugu I speak/understand is probably 1/10th of what my Grandma can. What she knows and understands will be a fraction of what her ancestors knew! It’s evident, isn’t it? Caught in this mad rush called life, we’re slowly losing our very ability to be diverse in our tongues. 50 or 100 years from now, we would talk about most languages the way we talk today about Sanskrit or Latin – used more ceremoniously than colloqially.
Well, what can we do about the whole thing? Maybe make an effort once in a while to learn a little bit more of our respective mother tongues and delay their extinction, if not prevent it altogether. Reminds me of a one minute film by Vijay Prabhakaran (which I first read about here) which portrayed this in a painfully beautiful way.
What hit home hardest was these lines – “Languages die the way many people do at home, in silence, attended by loved ones straining to make idle conversation” (Jack Hitt, NYT)
Glad I’m back or not? Hmmm?