Wednesday, May 26, 2010

What I abandoned

It's been a rather long sabbatical considering that I now have the luxury of house help and some breathing space. My hands don't look like a scourer any more, I can actually see signs of my nails growing, there is more than the pungent aroma of garlic and onions in my nose (I can feel and smell fresh, unpolluted air) and the cacophony of clanging utensils doesn't reside in my mind any more. Oh, but there's always something else to do: the books to read, the songs to listen to, the calls to make, the pending long chats with friends and the bills to pay. A friend and well-wisher gave me some sound advice the other day. She said, "If you want to be a serious blogger, you have to be at it every single day, without fail." Of course, like any other novice, I nodded my head vigorously, took a deep breath and resolved that no blog of mine would be left stranded without a post—never mind, if I am going to be the only one to read it for some time now. No, it's no state secret; it's just that I haven't yet gone to town about my new-found interest and the very few who know about it think that they shouldn't be taking me too seriously. Not that I have abandoned too many projects before but I distinctly remember one of the woolly type that I did. With great enthusiasm, I had embarked on a knitting exercise—with knitted brows too, for good measure. I was to knit a sweater for my little cousin. The wool and the needles were bought and some design books too. Only the best would do for my beloved one. I chose a fairly simple but wonderful design and with the speed of a seasoned seamstress (I don't know what a woman who knits is called....knitpicker?), I knitted the border. I was at it for an hour every day of the week, diligently, patiently. Somewhere along the way, I realised that though I loved the way the finished product would look, getting there was giving me these blinding headaches and my eyes some unnecessary stress and I didn't exactly find the exercise rewarding or rejuvenating.  I had been forewarned that after some time what looks like a highly creative endeavour is actually a mechanical, taxing exercise. This came from quitters and though I kept up the pretence of enjoying myself, I had to admit that there was a lot of truth in their observations. And, I didn't want to look or feel like a quitter myself. So, I took these long breaks—some as ridiculously long as six months and then resumed knitting again, often not knowing how to proceed. By the time I came halfway close to creating something that looked remotely like a piece of warm clothing, my cousin had grown four years older. Where, earlier, she would come close to me and ask me happily, "Are you making this sweater for me?" and beam even more when I would nod my head, she now looked at me with definite disinterest, some pity and maybe some scorn too. One day, as I held the piece in front of my eyes to survey my creative work, I was forced to acknowledge that it looked like a misshapen piece of something-that-could-not-be-named. It found its way quietly into the dustbin. The other time I had abandoned work was when I had tried to knead dough to make chapattis. I took a large plate, added some flour, poured water, kneaded some, added more flour, poured more water, kneaded some more. Either the flour got flooded or it felt too hard. The whole exercise went on till the dough assumed the size of a huge ball used by tall, sinewy basketball players. If my aunt, at whose place I was conducting this culinary excess hadn't stopped me in time, I would probably have made it to the record books for kneading the largest piece of dough on earth. I couldn't dodge this ball and the waste basket didn't have the provision to accept such monstrosities of the inedible kind. The gigantic blob frightened me and the prospect of rolling out 500 chapattis made me quake so much that I started howling loudly as if someone had abused me. My tears didn't melt my aunt's heart or soften the murderous look in her eyes, but she spared me after rolling out 10 shapeless, size 18, chapattis. I didn't even wait to see what she did with the rest of the dough.
I haven't messed up my blog yet and have no intention of doing so. This makes me hope that I will be here to talk, to share, to dare, to care day after day. And I am also wiser. These days, I buy readymade sweaters if I have to gift them. My house help makes the chapattis for the family though I can knead some really soft dough. But, I know that there are some things I won't and can't delegate. Like blogging. I'll stay here for sure.
PS. I had once abandoned Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook. Am planning to start reading it again once I finish with  The Help and The Woman Who Walked Into Doors and some more books. 

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