Sun-Day

 I was watching an interview series yesterday that talked about violence and cinema and was hosted by Varun Grover. At some point, Grover said that all Indian parents want their kids to make Baghban. 

His comment took me back to the day when I watched this film with everyone at home. As I grew up, and my parents grew older somehow their interest in cinema deteriorated. Maybe adulthood and responsibilities did that. I am not sure. However, the memory of watching certain films is still fresh in my mind. Like it happened yesterday. Baghban is one of them. Amma, papa, mummy everyone was crying by the end of it, as expected. I don't remember how I felt exactly after the movie. What I remember is that my father (being his very own self) asked both Prakhar and me to write a movie review of sorts. 

I wrote a three-page essay I think. However, I remember wanting to write a lot more. I was reading a story at that time (I think it was a comic book). In the story, a girl was asked to write an essay by her class teacher and she wrote a long 300 pages essay or something. When she submitted it, the teacher asked her to reduce the number of pages because she can't read so much. The girl went back and reduced the essay to some 100 pages and submitted it again. The teacher again politely asked her to reduce the number of pages further as it was still a lot for her to read. The girl went back, wrote a one-line essay and submitted it. That's it. That was the story. Somehow the younger me loved it so much that I wanted to be this girl (from the story) and write a 300-page essay on Baghban. Obviously, that didn't happen but yesterday when I remembered this, it made me realise (once again) that my desire to write and my fascination with writers isn't new. It's been there for a while.

We didn't travel much as kids. There was enough money for the needs but it was never enough for the indulgences. Whenever I travelled though, my father always asked me to write about it, and I did. I still have some of those writings in my diary. I wrote in Hindi at that time and these writings are titled as - Yatra Vrittant. 

I listen to Amit Varma's podcast and often wonder how privileged these folks are. They grew up reading. Their grandmothers read, and they published poetry in magazines. I don't come from such a family. My grandmother was struggling to make ends meet. She did pretty well, but reading and writing were a luxury that she could never afford. My parents also had a similar life. However, if I recall carefully, my father liked to read (at least when we were young). He encouraged us to read and write and archive. He encouraged me to cut and save snippets of newspaper articles, the ones I liked. 

Maybe I don't give my folks enough credit. They did well and I didn't become a reader and writer out of nowhere.

***

It's a sunny Sunday. Sunlight is good for my mental health, I think. I can never get enough of it. I love to watch clothes drying in the sun. A weekend like this has come after a long while. There is no rush. I could wake up leisurely. We had idli for breakfast. Ghee podi idli is the usual Sunday breakfast here. It's easy and comforting. 

The instinct is always to keep yourself occupied. Last month passed by in a blink. I was consumed by work and then GoT. There was no space to think or be. Then we went home for ten days. 

After a long time today, I am sitting and my mind is blank. There is no agenda. I am not binging on anything. As much as, having this space makes me restless, I also like it. I am not great at it though. I am too eager to quickly fill in the blanks. It's hard for me to be by myself. It's hard for me to be with my thoughts. How do writers cope with this? How do they learn to be okay with the emptiness and the loneliness? I hope I figure it out. 

I plan to write more regularly from hereon. Wish me luck!