Procrastationery

Whenever I walk into a store, and if there is a stationery section, you will find me there. 

I can't help but love:

those tiny little post it pads to write profound notes on;

those colorful A4 sized notebooks to pen down significant thoughts and ideas;

and those sharpened Staedtler pencils always ready to scribble, scratch out and sketch; 

Every time I browse through this section, I have this vision.

At home I would be sitting on my antique mahogany desk, writing furiously into that freshly bought designer notebook . My focus makes me proud. My life has purpose and meaning. As I write about change, the world of the future and....

In reality I have no mahogany desk at home. And it's not antique, but obsolete. 

In fact great writers, thinkers and visionaries seldom need the post it notes and expensive diaries and different colored pens. And they never wait to sit at their mahogany desk to bring their dreams to life. They probably only owned one after they made their money.

In spite of knowing this truth, we still buy those little things that make us dream of all that we can be. 

We take them home, or put them in our bags or place them on our desks. 

And when inspiration strikes, we never know where to find them.

 Why? Because you never needed them in the first place.

We buy them because they are cute.

We buy into the idea of making us look intelligent and organised. 

And most importantly we want other people to believe we are creative and persevering.

It's a love affair that ends up being a one night stand.

A relationship of pure lust and absolutely no commitment.

Do I blame myself? Never.

After-all, it's those things that seduce us. 

Recently, I walked into a store and picked up this tiny notebook held shut with an elastic band.

It was Rs.315 for 4inch by 4 inch 200 pieces of ruled paper. That is bloody expensive.

However, my rational brain stopped working as I began to read what it had to say.

It was a tiny book to catch inspiration (TM). 

Wow. What a thought.

Let's say it again. "To catch inspiration". 

Inspiration is fleeting and floating and flying through the air. And all we have to do is catch it by opening this book and shutting it tight.

And yes, inspiration can strike anytime and I need to be ready.

I need this wonderful catching mechanism.

Need it.

My insights, ideas, comments, opinions, observations all jotted down. In Rs.315.

Wow. What a philosphy. What a lifestyle. 

Spiritual. Clean. Simple.

Bullshit.

Do I need to spend Rs.315 to make something bigger out of my life? No.

Did I buy it? Obviously I did.

Occupational Hazards of a Blogger

The phrase, "occupational hazard", always reminds me of my father. I have heard him say those words too many times in conversations which invariably ended with the other person laughing. At the time I didn't know what it meant, but I always loved the way he pronounced hazard. "Hazaard". 

The day I  figured  the meaning of both the words , "occupation" and " hazaard" I put the two of them together and began to love the phrase.

I would use it wherever necessary. It was more like an intellectual punch line. Saying it was like asserting my place in the world of high level humor. Mind you, I would say hazard and not hazaard. 

Many years have passed, and now I don't consider it as my most intelligent line. However, it came to my mind,  after a series of disconnected conversations with different males.

The reason I specified that they weren't females is because it is true. When almost 9 or 10 men which includes colleagues, friends, friends of friends, brothers, or the boyfriend make the same remark, you begin to wonder about the insecurities or the need for attention that men have. 

Let me explain the scenario. Whether in office or at home, when one of the concerned males and I are having an intense debate or discussion, and I pause to breathe or just think of my next statement, I find myself hearing the familiar words, " Ok, now don't tell me you will write this in your blog". 

Now the topic of conversation has been forgotten, because I begin to ponder over the guy's statement. Introspection begins. In my attempt to unearth insights and bring forth hilarious observations do I just record what the other says without using my voice or opinion? No I dont. So why do so many people speak to me that way? 

After five such interactions with different people, it struck me that this is the occupational hazard of being a blogger. 

It's probably the reason why I wouldn't befriend a psychologist. Trying to read what he is trying to read about me would drive me insane. After which, my psychologist friend would probably need to visit me professionally.

I'm that person now. I have a blog that few people read and I can express myself well. So now these people see me in a different light. Apparently I have the power to praise or embarass them on a public forum. 

For them this is my disclaimer. My blog is not my weapon. Everything that is said to me will not find its place here. Most importantly everything that they say is not interesting enough for everybody. So stop with the "Ok now go write your blog". 

This is actually what I think. All these boys want to be featured here. They want to be quoted and they want the credit. 

So what if I know someone who had a chicken fly into his face when he was riding a scooter.

Or someone who walked around town wearing only boxers, torn at the place they shouldn't be.

Or someone who has no trace of nails because his OCD won't allow him to get his nails dirty.

Or someone who was not allowed to board  the flight for being too drunk

Or someone who spat in their coworker's hair in the elevator.

No, I won't write about them.

Voice

"Tina Ghudiyal is a poet at heart, and a procrastinator by choice. But she manages to find few hours to write copy at Soso's Creative Agency. 

It's common to see such sign offs by writers today. In columns, in blogs and every other place that a writer is trying to be creative.

Trying. To be creative.

You read something like that for the first time and it's like that smile which never makes it to becoming a full fledged laugh.

It's like ha funny. Not a hahahahahahhahahaahhah funny. (A friend described one of my previous posts like this once. I was disheartened. But today I know what she means.) 

No offence to the first person who signed off like that. The first clever man or woman, who decided to assert his or her identity in a rather original manner.

It was new and charming. 

Today, when I read it for the fifteenth time I pity that fine writer who unknowingly invented a formula. 

Now when Anil, the vacationer at his vocation signs off his article in any media, a part of me pities him.

To have a voice of your own as a writer is rather difficult.

You have to speak different words.

Have a unique tone. Use a sensible volume. 

And it has to be done in all honesty.

Being honest in communication, might come naturally. But to stay honest is a task.

It's easy to start sounding like an advertisement you've heard.

It's tempting to entertain an audience always waiting to laugh, cry or comment.

It's daunting to make a statement without expecting a reaction. 

Or fearing ridicule. 

Writing in your own voice is one of the hardest things to do.

You need to discover who you are, in order to know what you want to say to everyone.

You need to master the skill of catching the thoughts that fall out of your brain and keeping them close.

When you put together those words to form a piece of art it becomes a precious treasure. A classic.
And you would gladly read it again and again, just to appreciate the sound the words make in your head.Now if you can do all of this, if you can write like that with just pure heart and no head, I sincerely request you to not sign off with something this unoriginal.

-Neelie is a part time adult and a full time dreamer, hoping to find a voice of her own.

I sound so cool.