My taste for coffee is back... as is my love for American sitcoms. Thanks to my friend Gayatri who has all the seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond, Fraiser and Dharma and Greg. Watching re-runs of these beloved sitcomes takes me back to earlier days [I don;t wish to call them my younger days; what the hell, am still young!!] Which brings me to the fact that I will be turning 27 mid May. I like that number, 'twenty-seven' - 3 years away from the big 'three-O'. But am glad I live in this day and age when it's cool to be thirty. I look forward to it like I have always looked forward to growing a year older. Any jitters I have ever had about turning another year older was always the result of peer-pressure, in the absence of which age does not scare me at all.
Although, I have started realizing that all the noise made about anti-ageing creams isn't too much of a fuss. Yes, your body does become kinda old and rigid. I know 'cause am having an ever tougher time trying to lose weight. Now I'm beginning to broach a subject which is overdone everywhere - on the internet as well as in books which sell like hot cakes... And knowing there are better authorities on how one can work better at these things, I shall let this subject be...
... It was raining today. Absolutely delicious weather for a smoke and coffee. [ummm... my re-found love for coffee...] The rain always makes me feel life is full of possibilities - that I can do what I want to, whatever I feel like... that life will work out the way I want.
I look forward to the new phase of my life in a new city. [Hoping that all goes according to plan...]. Will fill in more soon...
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I am at work. I am bored. My Microsoft Office is down and I am handicapped. The internet has lost all its charms... There is nothing that I want to look up... I am filled with ennui. It's interesting how not having things to do at work can actually tire one so much. I'd rather be in a place which has more stuff for me to do... [read interesting stuff]. But you know, that too is a trap...things can be interesting only if you choose for them to be. Like writing or reading this stuff!! LOL
I knew someone who had written a book called 'My Biography of Boredom' - a suitable subject for a discourse. Bertrand Russell too has written extensively on boredom and ways to dissipate it. In true Russell style he's extremely pragmatic about it - doesn't romanticize boredom and raise it to the heights of the existential philosophy like the whole range of European writers who did [read Camus, Kafka and others]. It's beautiful their writing - it's like wallowing in self-pity... a luxury the romanticization of the world and its meaninglessness. But to produce art of/from the meaninglessness itself provides purpose and negates the existentialist enterprise.
There can be no meaninglessness, because human beings will not allow that. Meaninglessness is paradoxical to the human condition. We always have and will, strive to find meanings. Like I am right now trying to find meaning in my condition of not having my Office up and about... it means 'write on your blog'! Well, am doing just that!
I knew someone who had written a book called 'My Biography of Boredom' - a suitable subject for a discourse. Bertrand Russell too has written extensively on boredom and ways to dissipate it. In true Russell style he's extremely pragmatic about it - doesn't romanticize boredom and raise it to the heights of the existential philosophy like the whole range of European writers who did [read Camus, Kafka and others]. It's beautiful their writing - it's like wallowing in self-pity... a luxury the romanticization of the world and its meaninglessness. But to produce art of/from the meaninglessness itself provides purpose and negates the existentialist enterprise.
There can be no meaninglessness, because human beings will not allow that. Meaninglessness is paradoxical to the human condition. We always have and will, strive to find meanings. Like I am right now trying to find meaning in my condition of not having my Office up and about... it means 'write on your blog'! Well, am doing just that!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I was reviewing my blog - looking at past posts (since they are few in number it doesn't take much time!!) and I wasn't displeased. When it comes to writing on paper or typing on a keyboard, words take on a life and character they never seem to have when spoken. No, am not going to even think about the whole debate in philosophy on the spoekn vs. written language and which is to be privileged over which... I am just going to revel in words - in the tactile sensation they create as I type them... (I've always loved the clickity-clack of the type-writer and keyboard) and the shapes that take form as I press on each key. To be able to play with fonts and choose which font goes with what kind of writing... In my own miniscule way I experience art - personal art, which I create - words which I string together, thoughts which I choose to articulate. No claims to originality here, since I believe there's nothing original in the world anyway. All we can do is come up with new permutations and combinations. But that in itself is, my friend, quite an art!!
Why!?!?
Why is it that the best ideas/thoughts/words come to my mind when I'm in the shower or in a cab or walking around, in short when neither a keyboard or a pen is handy!?? This is the cruel joke my mind plays on me... to choose to have my creative juices flowing when I am not in a position to document the little nuggests for posterity - if only for me to take a look at to know and feel that I could/can, did write.
It has been close to a year that I have written on my blog, which is cheesily called 'My World'. But my world already exists - in my living it! But offlate simply living isn't good enough... documentation in ways of photography or writing (read blogging - since gone are the days of hand-written diaries and journals) are imperative. The dictum is no longer "I think - therefore I Am", but "I document - therefore I am".
I feel threatened by my lack of blogging or photographing that I shall fade into oblivion. That I am not making my mark in cyberspace... the privileged space of the present. I have to resurrect my 'being' not in terms of passively existing - but in the sense of the verb - the process of 'being' of 'living' of blogging, photographing, sharing, 'being' on social networks and 'knowing' that I 'am'!!!
Unfortunately or fortunately the force of peer pressure has got the better of me... I will document my life - for that is what I need to do to be in the zeitgeist - to live in and with the spirit of the times. So be it.
It has been close to a year that I have written on my blog, which is cheesily called 'My World'. But my world already exists - in my living it! But offlate simply living isn't good enough... documentation in ways of photography or writing (read blogging - since gone are the days of hand-written diaries and journals) are imperative. The dictum is no longer "I think - therefore I Am", but "I document - therefore I am".
I feel threatened by my lack of blogging or photographing that I shall fade into oblivion. That I am not making my mark in cyberspace... the privileged space of the present. I have to resurrect my 'being' not in terms of passively existing - but in the sense of the verb - the process of 'being' of 'living' of blogging, photographing, sharing, 'being' on social networks and 'knowing' that I 'am'!!!
Unfortunately or fortunately the force of peer pressure has got the better of me... I will document my life - for that is what I need to do to be in the zeitgeist - to live in and with the spirit of the times. So be it.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
I Love Bollywood.
As much of a Bollywood freak I may be; how much ever may I be willing to suspend my disbelief; the amount I may enjoy, support, encourage Bollywood and the idea that is doing the rounds – ‘Bollywood cinema has come of age’ – as a woman, Bollywood annoys me and should annoy all women!!
Laura Mulvey, author of the celebrated piece Narrative Cinema and Visual Pleasure , would have had a field day in Bollywood. Mulvey’s basic argument is that the cinematic medium is one where the viewer’s gaze is almost always a male one, i.e. the spectator is by default a man, and so everything, right from the story to the camera angles, the way the film is shot, all are in keeping with what would be most pleasurable to a man. The woman in the film is usually the lesser but necessary other, whose presence and relationship with the male protagonist is significant for narrative development, as well as for the egos of the countless males watching the film, who relate and identify themselves with the hero of the film. In fact, character development is such that it is only possible to identify with the central male protagonist in the film. It is only his emotions that are complex enough, or important enough, or sustained throughout the film, for the audience – male or female to identify with.
Above is a very rough, layman-ish summary of Mulvey’s idea. But what is more important is the instances of mainstream and even alternative Indian cinema which in the present times have shown an inability or refusal (I am yet to find out which it is), to have females as the subjects, or even to give women roles which go beyond that primitive function of being the terms of exchange between two males. The instances of Bollywood movies which follow shall hopefully elucidate my points further:
Let me begin with the newest film on the block – Rab Ne Bana DI Jodi. But before that let me also, unashamedly claim my own extreme liking for the Yash Chopra banner and league of films. I am a die-hard romantic, and have been fed on this romantic fodder for ever since I can recall! True, there has been a whole lot of internalization of romance as portrayed in movies and earlier on it was an uncritical approval of all I used to see on screen. The glamour and the gloss, the impeccably dressed Yash Chopra heroine (something Chopra is renowned for – making his heroines look gorgeous on screen) perhaps distract the viewer from thinking critically. Corny lines and the inevitable happy ending make everything seem alright in the otherwise patriarchal world that commercial Hindi movies create.
Sure, times have changed, at least at a superficial level. There is a lot of theory and jargon floating around. The media is hugely responsible for this, and this has had both its pros and cons. One pro is heightened awareness among people – whether it is filmmakers or the masses. The con is that very often this engagement with theory is not critical enough and gets reduced or remains limited to pop-feminism. So while personally I do appreciate Taani’s bike-riding sequence, where Suri complimentarily tells her that she is Dhoom3, as well as the critique of ‘Macho’ that Suri’s friend Bobby Khosla very seriously recommends and Suri rejects once he learns from Taani that no girl wants a bodyguard, who flaunts his muscles and acts all macho for a boyfriend. These are aspects which do engage with notions of both femininity and masculinity being social constructs – that a girl is capable of riding a bike like John Abraham in Dhoom, or that a man is not innately macho – that it is a performed identity which is not necessarily appealing to women are points that Aditya Chopra is trying to drive home to his varied audiences.
However, what is not interrogated is the larger issue in the film: Suri decides to disguise his identity and be Raj so that he can romance his wife and tell her all the things that he would want to, but are not in keeping with Suri’s character. Now, once he does this – laughs, flirts, dances with Taani as Raj, and is a boring, taciturn husband as Suri, he expects his wife (who he married not out of choice, but chance – note the title at this juncture – Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi – God has made the pair – love born of luck not of the lovers’ own volition) to choose Suri over Raj, without Suri having to change himself, else he would leave her and go away. This choice, that ultimately Taani makes, is what is truly patriarchal about the film – a film which gives you the critique of ‘macho’ and a scene where the heroine is riding the bike with the hero on the pillion - a scene which is actually harmless and fun and gives rise to laughter in the audience. It is not something that would of course be taken seriously.
These scenes exist as tokens to be given perhaps to the female section of the audience – mere lip-service. The larger plot is of course in keeping with what works best to the man’s advantage. It is after all in service of Suri’s ego that the plot works. He insists that Taani has to love Suri for who he is and that he would not change himself to be loved by her, when his friend Bobby Khosla, more sensibly suggests that if Suri also expresses his love for Taani in a similar if not flamboyant style like Raj’s Taani would prefer him to Raj. It becomes a matter of male ego for Suri then, to test who his wife chooses – Suri, her husband, or Raj, he adds with a dramatic pause, who is nobody to her. Love in this context then becomes a test of the age-old category of the virtuous, faithful wife, who must choose her husband over a lover, or a potential lover. In this way, Rab Ne shows how despite all apparent show of progress in terms of skin show, or attitudes, the Indian audiences are still being fed with the same patriarchal ideology by film-makers from whom we expect, if not something revolutionary in terms of social issues, at least a movie devoid of such insidious patriarchal propaganda.
The reason I say this is that I am annoyed at there not being a female Suri. Wait, we do, rather, did. Jassi! Jassi from the Sony serial Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahi, which became a cult for almost as long as it was aired has the loveable, gawky, braces wearing Jassi can easily be compared to Surrinder Sahni from Rab Ne. In fact Suri is not as flawed as Jassi, not quite as quirky. The film and the serial are within five years of each other, and hence the comparison I am attempting to draw holds good as far as both these instances not being divided too much by time. Suri is adamant and does not change. Jassi, in love with her boss Armaan has to transform from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. Suri’s gawkiness is dear to him – almost celebrated by him. In fact the makeover bit is easier for him than it is for Jassi - for a man it’s about shaving his moustache and styling the hair; for Jassi it involved a whole lot more (women would vouch for this – in order to look mainstream attractive, what not pain and torture do women put themselves through..!!)
Well, I could go on with descriptions, but my point is, why does the woman have to transform, while the man stubbornly sticks to his unappealing exterior? Where is the female Suri? Where is our male Jassi?? This is patriarchal propaganda at its best. And then we want to ward away possibilities of female anorexia or bulimia? Or we have actresses, sorry female actors demanding that they be addressed in a more politically correct fashion. What’s in a name or a title, when ‘you’ (read we women) are not allowed to be ourselves? Fat or thin, gawky or not, fair or dark, attractive or not!
The only solace I have is in John Abraham – the piece of ass (literally) that is heralding the arrival of the female gaze. If we can’t do away with the utopian notions of transcending externalities of physicality, the only way is to establish equality. If there is no freedom, at least there can be some semblance of an emerging equality.
[For a more interesting and academic take on Freedom and equality, read the article on the given link.]
More on Bollywood and the crap it sells, later.
P.S. I Love Bollywood!!!
Laura Mulvey, author of the celebrated piece Narrative Cinema and Visual Pleasure , would have had a field day in Bollywood. Mulvey’s basic argument is that the cinematic medium is one where the viewer’s gaze is almost always a male one, i.e. the spectator is by default a man, and so everything, right from the story to the camera angles, the way the film is shot, all are in keeping with what would be most pleasurable to a man. The woman in the film is usually the lesser but necessary other, whose presence and relationship with the male protagonist is significant for narrative development, as well as for the egos of the countless males watching the film, who relate and identify themselves with the hero of the film. In fact, character development is such that it is only possible to identify with the central male protagonist in the film. It is only his emotions that are complex enough, or important enough, or sustained throughout the film, for the audience – male or female to identify with.
Above is a very rough, layman-ish summary of Mulvey’s idea. But what is more important is the instances of mainstream and even alternative Indian cinema which in the present times have shown an inability or refusal (I am yet to find out which it is), to have females as the subjects, or even to give women roles which go beyond that primitive function of being the terms of exchange between two males. The instances of Bollywood movies which follow shall hopefully elucidate my points further:
Let me begin with the newest film on the block – Rab Ne Bana DI Jodi. But before that let me also, unashamedly claim my own extreme liking for the Yash Chopra banner and league of films. I am a die-hard romantic, and have been fed on this romantic fodder for ever since I can recall! True, there has been a whole lot of internalization of romance as portrayed in movies and earlier on it was an uncritical approval of all I used to see on screen. The glamour and the gloss, the impeccably dressed Yash Chopra heroine (something Chopra is renowned for – making his heroines look gorgeous on screen) perhaps distract the viewer from thinking critically. Corny lines and the inevitable happy ending make everything seem alright in the otherwise patriarchal world that commercial Hindi movies create.
Sure, times have changed, at least at a superficial level. There is a lot of theory and jargon floating around. The media is hugely responsible for this, and this has had both its pros and cons. One pro is heightened awareness among people – whether it is filmmakers or the masses. The con is that very often this engagement with theory is not critical enough and gets reduced or remains limited to pop-feminism. So while personally I do appreciate Taani’s bike-riding sequence, where Suri complimentarily tells her that she is Dhoom3, as well as the critique of ‘Macho’ that Suri’s friend Bobby Khosla very seriously recommends and Suri rejects once he learns from Taani that no girl wants a bodyguard, who flaunts his muscles and acts all macho for a boyfriend. These are aspects which do engage with notions of both femininity and masculinity being social constructs – that a girl is capable of riding a bike like John Abraham in Dhoom, or that a man is not innately macho – that it is a performed identity which is not necessarily appealing to women are points that Aditya Chopra is trying to drive home to his varied audiences.
However, what is not interrogated is the larger issue in the film: Suri decides to disguise his identity and be Raj so that he can romance his wife and tell her all the things that he would want to, but are not in keeping with Suri’s character. Now, once he does this – laughs, flirts, dances with Taani as Raj, and is a boring, taciturn husband as Suri, he expects his wife (who he married not out of choice, but chance – note the title at this juncture – Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi – God has made the pair – love born of luck not of the lovers’ own volition) to choose Suri over Raj, without Suri having to change himself, else he would leave her and go away. This choice, that ultimately Taani makes, is what is truly patriarchal about the film – a film which gives you the critique of ‘macho’ and a scene where the heroine is riding the bike with the hero on the pillion - a scene which is actually harmless and fun and gives rise to laughter in the audience. It is not something that would of course be taken seriously.
These scenes exist as tokens to be given perhaps to the female section of the audience – mere lip-service. The larger plot is of course in keeping with what works best to the man’s advantage. It is after all in service of Suri’s ego that the plot works. He insists that Taani has to love Suri for who he is and that he would not change himself to be loved by her, when his friend Bobby Khosla, more sensibly suggests that if Suri also expresses his love for Taani in a similar if not flamboyant style like Raj’s Taani would prefer him to Raj. It becomes a matter of male ego for Suri then, to test who his wife chooses – Suri, her husband, or Raj, he adds with a dramatic pause, who is nobody to her. Love in this context then becomes a test of the age-old category of the virtuous, faithful wife, who must choose her husband over a lover, or a potential lover. In this way, Rab Ne shows how despite all apparent show of progress in terms of skin show, or attitudes, the Indian audiences are still being fed with the same patriarchal ideology by film-makers from whom we expect, if not something revolutionary in terms of social issues, at least a movie devoid of such insidious patriarchal propaganda.
The reason I say this is that I am annoyed at there not being a female Suri. Wait, we do, rather, did. Jassi! Jassi from the Sony serial Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahi, which became a cult for almost as long as it was aired has the loveable, gawky, braces wearing Jassi can easily be compared to Surrinder Sahni from Rab Ne. In fact Suri is not as flawed as Jassi, not quite as quirky. The film and the serial are within five years of each other, and hence the comparison I am attempting to draw holds good as far as both these instances not being divided too much by time. Suri is adamant and does not change. Jassi, in love with her boss Armaan has to transform from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. Suri’s gawkiness is dear to him – almost celebrated by him. In fact the makeover bit is easier for him than it is for Jassi - for a man it’s about shaving his moustache and styling the hair; for Jassi it involved a whole lot more (women would vouch for this – in order to look mainstream attractive, what not pain and torture do women put themselves through..!!)
Well, I could go on with descriptions, but my point is, why does the woman have to transform, while the man stubbornly sticks to his unappealing exterior? Where is the female Suri? Where is our male Jassi?? This is patriarchal propaganda at its best. And then we want to ward away possibilities of female anorexia or bulimia? Or we have actresses, sorry female actors demanding that they be addressed in a more politically correct fashion. What’s in a name or a title, when ‘you’ (read we women) are not allowed to be ourselves? Fat or thin, gawky or not, fair or dark, attractive or not!
The only solace I have is in John Abraham – the piece of ass (literally) that is heralding the arrival of the female gaze. If we can’t do away with the utopian notions of transcending externalities of physicality, the only way is to establish equality. If there is no freedom, at least there can be some semblance of an emerging equality.
[For a more interesting and academic take on Freedom and equality, read the article on the given link.]
More on Bollywood and the crap it sells, later.
P.S. I Love Bollywood!!!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Living Out of a Suitcase...
The bohemian life had always been a fantasy - and now I'm living it. First the hostel experience. Life-God-the Cosmos, call it what you will has this strange way of gently breaking me into new experiences. The follow-up of the hostel (my first experience of being away from home was a more settled, organized one) is this nomadic existence I am experiencing in the newest IT city of India - Hyderabad (proud of its newest addition and facet - Cyberabad), has somewhat accomodated me, in my already confused identity of a Punjabi born and brought up in Bengal (read Calcutta/Kolkata).
The two and fro journeys between East Marredpally (see pic) where I have left(read dumped) my stuff with my trusted friend Martin, and Somajiguda (apparently the fourth most expensive locality the city of Nizams boasts of) where I am putting up with friends (some new, one old) is an experience that I know I will remember and cherish in my years of settled life yet to come. [Or will they?]
The point being - in this moment of transit, of doubt, punctuated by moments of self-doubt and questioning, I am experiencing what I had imagined and craved for in my growing years. Am I enjoying it as much as I should? I don't know... Perhaps it's only in retrospect that I'll be able to tell. Or will I have romanticized it so much by then, that it would have subtracted from the mundane reality that it also has to offer?
The cliché to the rescue - Only Time can tell!!
The two and fro journeys between East Marredpally (see pic) where I have left(read dumped) my stuff with my trusted friend Martin, and Somajiguda (apparently the fourth most expensive locality the city of Nizams boasts of) where I am putting up with friends (some new, one old) is an experience that I know I will remember and cherish in my years of settled life yet to come. [Or will they?]
The point being - in this moment of transit, of doubt, punctuated by moments of self-doubt and questioning, I am experiencing what I had imagined and craved for in my growing years. Am I enjoying it as much as I should? I don't know... Perhaps it's only in retrospect that I'll be able to tell. Or will I have romanticized it so much by then, that it would have subtracted from the mundane reality that it also has to offer?
The cliché to the rescue - Only Time can tell!!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Blame it on the carpenters!!
No, this is no reference to the band, The Carpenters. Instead, I am referring to the actual men at work in my house thanks to my mom, who has gone on a wood repairing and polishing spree. Well, this invitation to the carpenters has resulted in a whole lot of work for me (read The Lazy One), something I was not looking forward to! So my desk and cupboards had to be emptied and all the stuff dumped on my bed. Then, something that I dislike even more happened – Mom rummaging through my stuff, which she would prefer to call my rubbish. (I object to that!) And then, she suggests that I throw most of it away! Why? ‘Cause most of it consists of scraps of paper, cards, funny pictures and silly trinkets. I say these are memories, she says they are worthless, and that I should get rid of the junk and live in the present – the past is over, and whatever memories I have in my head are good enough. Well, reluctantly I have agreed. It is a mass that intimidates me. But this morning, I got to work on it. And the emotions that this act of cleaning up brought on, was something I was not expecting…
Of course, I anticipated feeling a little sentimental throwing away the stuff I have been holding on to for years (of course I am not going to trash all of it, most of it stays put! Shh…Mom needn’t know. Once it goes back into the drawer, it’ll be a well kept secret!). But I didn’t expect feeling as weird as I did!
This is also owing to the fact that I have painstakingly preserved all kinds of things for posterity, rightly thinking that they would be my gateway back into my past in the years to come. So, when I was in high school, any paper conversations we used to have while the teacher was teaching, were quietly slipped into my bag, brought home and put into the drawer of my desk. During one cleaning spree, I even organized my paper conversations into envelopes with the names of different friends, and so this became a practice I continued right into my Masters. Besides this valuable resource I have to recreate the past in the form of dialogues with my friends, replete with their handwriting and my ever changing handwriting (I could see the evolution in my handwriting), there were also letters from this particular friend of mine.
Now, I am unfortunately no longer in touch with this friend owing to various reasons. But reading her letters at this moment in my life gave me such perspective and insight into myself that few other things could have. I also had letters and cards from a guy who used to really, really like me. And again scraps of paper and cards from other friends and my boyfriend. The important thing that I realized is that I have been loved! I felt so loved, that all I can be is grateful.
Today, I am in touch with some people whose memories I had preserved for posterity, and some people have become less important, while others have gained more significance. And this is true for all of us. This is what life is – people touching your life and you touching theirs… leaving impressions that make you who you are today. Again, these are commonplace clichés, corny stuff some might even say. I guess one can feel it best when one has one of these moments themselves… I had one such moment today. I thank the carpenters, who insisted that they wanted to polish the desk well and I had to empty the drawers out. The Lazy One was roused from her lethargy, and the result was intense emotional upheaval. But it felt good…before the end of 2008, I am letting go of some memories in their tangible form… holding on to several others and preparing for newer, if not better ones!!
Of course, I anticipated feeling a little sentimental throwing away the stuff I have been holding on to for years (of course I am not going to trash all of it, most of it stays put! Shh…Mom needn’t know. Once it goes back into the drawer, it’ll be a well kept secret!). But I didn’t expect feeling as weird as I did!
This is also owing to the fact that I have painstakingly preserved all kinds of things for posterity, rightly thinking that they would be my gateway back into my past in the years to come. So, when I was in high school, any paper conversations we used to have while the teacher was teaching, were quietly slipped into my bag, brought home and put into the drawer of my desk. During one cleaning spree, I even organized my paper conversations into envelopes with the names of different friends, and so this became a practice I continued right into my Masters. Besides this valuable resource I have to recreate the past in the form of dialogues with my friends, replete with their handwriting and my ever changing handwriting (I could see the evolution in my handwriting), there were also letters from this particular friend of mine.
Now, I am unfortunately no longer in touch with this friend owing to various reasons. But reading her letters at this moment in my life gave me such perspective and insight into myself that few other things could have. I also had letters and cards from a guy who used to really, really like me. And again scraps of paper and cards from other friends and my boyfriend. The important thing that I realized is that I have been loved! I felt so loved, that all I can be is grateful.
Today, I am in touch with some people whose memories I had preserved for posterity, and some people have become less important, while others have gained more significance. And this is true for all of us. This is what life is – people touching your life and you touching theirs… leaving impressions that make you who you are today. Again, these are commonplace clichés, corny stuff some might even say. I guess one can feel it best when one has one of these moments themselves… I had one such moment today. I thank the carpenters, who insisted that they wanted to polish the desk well and I had to empty the drawers out. The Lazy One was roused from her lethargy, and the result was intense emotional upheaval. But it felt good…before the end of 2008, I am letting go of some memories in their tangible form… holding on to several others and preparing for newer, if not better ones!!
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