Fountain pen to MS Word

I wonder how many of you who stop by to read this, belong to the generation that used the good old fountain pen. As I settled to write again today, I became reminiscent of the days when we were only allowed to use fountain pens to write (in school that is). And that became the habit by default. This was to ensure good handwriting. Then we slowly graduated to using ball point pens and now we have almost done away with the use of pen and paper. While technology has made life simpler in many ways, I still feel writing was much more personal back then. It was a different feeling penning down thoughts on paper, a more leisurely activity. And I am sure we have all had our favourite pens which we wouldn’t trade for anything under the sun. If I happened to lose mine, it would mean more than just the loss of an object. Pens are not as valuable as they used to be; certainly not the fountain pen.

A lot of children these days wouldn’t even know the wonder that it was. If I had to describe it to them this is how it would be – A slightly fatter version of a pen that you see these days; it had to be fed routinely to keep it going otherwise it would create a fuss in the middle of writing something important; a simple procedure at that – open the outer case and dip the nib of the pen in a pot of ink, the colour of your choice. Press the belly and watch how delightfully it sucks till it is full. (This was the part I enjoyed) Put it back in its case and put on its cap. You are now all set to carry the writing tool around. Be gentle while using it. A jerk could leave ink stains on your hand and clothes.

And then, just for fun I did what most of us would do these days – google – to see what that would throw up, and I was quite amused with the dramatic explanation: A fountain pen is a nib pen that, unlike its predecessor the dip pen, contains an internal reservoir of water-based liquid ink. From the reservoir, the ink is drawn through a feed to the nib and then to the paper via a combination of gravity and capillary action. As a result, the typical fountain pen requires little or no pressure to write. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

How many of you are amused at that. Anyway, getting on with what I was saying, what I miss most about it ‘is the ink filling ceremony’ that was the routine every night when I would arrange my school bag for the next day. These were the simple pleasures in life back then. Technology has left us bereft of some of these. It was the last thing I would do before going to bed; a voluntary task I offered to do for anyone who allowed me to. Also, it often became the excuse for running little errands for my brother. When called to do something I didn’t want to, I would retort by saying that I am being kind enough to fill his pen with ink (without being asked to) and he should be happy with that.

As we entered grade 6, we were allowed to discontinue the use of my favourite pen. I became sad because that meant the end of my ‘ink-filling sessions’. It is always difficult to bid farewell to certain habits and addictions. As time went by, I began to appreciate the ball point pens that became my companion for many, many years (through the rest of school and college days) to come till I reached post graduation.

On our very first day, we were told that all assignments submitted must be typed and no hand written assignments would be accepted. Because of time constraints, and constant pressure of meeting deadlines, it was not possible to write on paper and then type it out. So the first time that I sat with a Microsoft Word document open before me, I just stared back at the blank document for a very long time. The screen staring back at me (with the cursor blinking endlessly) was very intimidating to me. Time was short and I had only until the next morning to submit my assignment. I was itching to go back to the comfort of writing on paper. It was an unsettling feeling sitting before the desktop computer. I felt I wasn’t alone. I was being watched over. As if somebody was trying to intrude upon the intricacies within the deep recesses of my mind. Making that start was really difficult. Its similar with people…takes a while to break the ice; someone has to take the initiative. In this case of course I had to and gradually with time it became easier. My personal equation changed - It began to feel like sharing my thoughts with a friend who would be kind enough to check for spelling and grammatical errors as I went along. And now it is almost impossible to write without MS Word document. Who can think of going back to pen and paper and the fountain pen is best forgotten. Things have come full circle!

My eventful 18th Birthday!

As I recall the events of my 18^th birthday I can’t help but exclaim “what an ‘eventful’ night it was!” Indeed a night of celebration with close friends but a little different from what you’d imagine; one that I would like to chronicle in here to come back and read many years later. I am sure those who are part of the story haven’t forgotten it and never will. 

Turning ‘18’ is a special feeling.  It is the official entry into the world of adulthood. An important milestone in one’s journey of life for it throws open avenues, to many things hitherto forbidden. But as I stood on the brink of turning 18, I didn’t feel any different from what I felt at 17. Expectations from others were several notches higher though.  I was ready to deal with all of that later but just for that one night I wanted to let myself loose and have a good time.

I must admit that the child in me was extremely excited, anticipating gifts and a night of celebration.  The eve of my 18^th birthday is etched into my memory for reasons you will soon discover. I was in the last year of my boarding school life and had the privilege of celebrating this one with friends. Birthday celebrations in boarding schools are very special. The birthday girl becomes the cynosure of the entire school. She is showered with love and affection from teachers and friends throughout the day. I was secretly looking forward to all that attention and much more.

My dear roommates, Jaya, Padma and Chhavi had been up to something a week prior to my birthday. I knew they were planning something big for it since this would be our last celebration together.  I didn’t try to find out too much so as not to kill my own surprise. I waited patiently for a whole week but as the countdown begun my impatience was mounting high.

10 pm was the official ‘lights out’ time for us.  While most girls and the matron were fast asleep, these 3 girls toiled away to make it a memorable night for me. They had sent me off to another room while they did the preparations in our room (referred to as cubicle as each room could accommodate four girls).  As the watch showed 11:55pm I was almost ready to jump up from my seat. ..12am and still no sign of anyone.  I thought to myself that they must be on their way to fetch me in grand style. Fifteen more minutes gone and I was at my wits end. I was worried, sensing something had gone wrong. As I made my way towards the cubicle, I heard a few shrieks. I hastened my step and flung open the door to find Chhavi with a pillow in hand dousing the few flames that were left. Padma was shouting back ‘Don’t do it with a pillow, it might become worse’.  All three of them were panicking. I was in a state of shock. When they saw me, they tried to hide their fears.  

I asked ‘What happened?’

Padma: ‘Oh, Nothing. Just one of my pranks that made them angry (trying to look cool while worry was writ all over her face).’  Of course I didn’t buy that and pleaded for them to tell me the truth.

They exchanged glances, looked at their watch and exclaimed that it was past 12. All 3 of them gave me a hug and began singing…Happy Birthday to you….Happy Birthday to you (pitch of their voices rising) cut short by Chhavi: ‘Shhhh….softly. Don’t make such a ruckus. Matron uth jayegi and then we have had it. If she finds out about the F F Fire….Padma jumped from the other end to cover her mouth. But the cat was out of the bag by now.

Fire? Did I hear fire? Oh my God….what happened?  Are you all okay? What have u guys been up to? Someone please tell me. I was panicking myself by now.

Padma and Jaya (together): Nothing. Nothing. Don’t worry. It is all over and fine now.

I could see water spilled on my desk. Some of the decoration stuff burnt out and of course the worried expression on all their faces. I turned to Chhavi. I knew it would be easier to get the story out of her. She relented after a few pleadings and narrated what happened – they had decorated the room with balloons, streamers, hand made charts with birthday greetings, shimmer and glitter and the gifts spread around. As it approached midnight, they switched off the lights, lit the candle and one of them pulled out a bottle of foam. The idea was to spray it on me when I entered the room. But they decided to test it before and as they pressed the nozzle of the bottle the foam that wheezed out instantly rose up in a huge flame. (It was inflammable material which they found out only once the damage was done.) They were petrified, ran helter skelter and grabbed whatever came in their hands. Jaya - the bottle of water, Chhavi - the pillow and Padma climbed the bed instructing both of them what to do. Thankfully Jaya’s presence of mind helped as she threw water and the flames were doused before it could spread.

I sobbed as I heard their story and was grateful that they were all safe. We all huddled, hugged each other, cried a little and then Padma said ‘Come on guys, lets cheer up…after all it is Shruti’s 18^th birthday…and we will never forget this one, right?’  We laughed at that, hugged some more, gossipped some more and finally decided to get some sleep as the clock struck 2am. Thankfully for us, the rest of the school was oblivious to all the drama that had unfolded in our room.

I was unable to sleep for a long time after that. Shaken from all that had transpired, I was tossing and turning in bed. A day later we were all going home for Diwali break so I started focusing my thoughts on that. Half-packed luggage was strewn all over our room.  As I settled with these thoughts, I felt something skimp by. Must be my imagination I thought.  It happened again. No chance of a mistake I told myself. There is definitely some rodent scampering around in the room. I called out to Jaya. Thankfully she wasn’t asleep and reconfirmed that she felt something on her hands too. What could it be I asked her. ‘I think it’s a rat’. I freaked out. Rat, are you sure? How can it be? We don’t have rats in our room. Oh my God, our suitcases are open. If it gets in then we’ve had it…. Jaya do something I called out in desperation. Wake up Padma and ask her to switch on the lights. (Since she was closer to the switch board)

“Padma, wake up, there is a rat in our room.” I thought she would wake up with a start on hearing that. Far from it she responded in a state of semi-consciousness – “I know there is a rat, I put it in the dustbin and left it outside our room.” Jaya and I laughed uncontrollably at that remark. 

Regaining composure we decided to head to the switchboard ourselves. We were worried about stamping on the two miscreants on our way in the pitch darkness. When I switched on the light, we found that there was not one or two but more than a dozen rats running helter skelter. Jaya and I jumped back on the bed and began screaming our lungs out. That finally jolted Padma and Chhavi out of their slumber and they joined the chorus of screaming girls. We managed to raise an alarm and half the school came to our rescue followed by the matron. She asked with utmost concern and when we gave out the reason she remarked – “Silly girls. You raised such an alarm, I thought fire broke out.” We looked at each other and smiled, suppressing the urge to laugh out loud. She continued “These are only rats, they won’t possibly kill you. Go sleep in another room.” It was well past 4am before all this drama ended. We had only one more hour to sleep before we would have to get up and get along with our day. We didn’t sleep. None of us could, having been through such an eventful night. The time was spent in discussing where the rats came from. We did have a few edible items in our room like dry fruits, milk powder, coffee, tang etc but never before had there been a hint of a mouse.  As we tried fitting in various permutations and combinations, Padma passed the final verdict. “Remember guys, today is Shruti’s birthday and they came to wish her that, add to the drama of the night and make this one of her most memorable birthdays! And indeed it has been that way.

Note: Since school, Padma, Jaya, Chhavi and I have moved to different parts of the country. Many times in our conversation over phone we have recalled the events of that night and have had a good laugh over it. For those of you who read this story it might seem made up but for ‘us’ this is our little secret which is the truth and nothing but the truth.

Fighting Terrorism

It is a week since the 13/7/11 Mumbai blast. My heart goes out to all those affected by it and sadly this is what has come of it a week later - Reports carrying information on it have dwindled away from the front pages of newspapers. News channels have other matters to cover now. They are not to blame, we’ve all moved on since then. Very soon it will fade away from our memory, except for those who have lost a dear one. Very soon it will be just another date that we will remember, make some fuss over and then forget. But does it all end here - Is this just about the blasts in Mumbai or some other part of India?  Can I/you or should I/you remain indifferent if a blast was to occur across the border or in some other part of the world? At the end of the day it is innocent people who lose their lives irrespective of where the blast occurs. Don’t we as humans need to focus on this larger question threatening our very existence from time to time? More than the ‘where’ we should be worried about the ‘why’.

A victim of the 26/11/08 Mumbai blast said something very important to me once. Something I have not been able to forget - that if just a handful of terrorists can create so much havoc, then how much can be achieved by the solidarity of common people working together to create peace.  Even as we are faced with similar circumstances four years later, the question returns to haunt my mind. I have an unsettling feeling within – these people we call ‘terrorists’ are from amongst us. They are not supernatural beings bestowed with some extra power. They are flesh and blood like us - two eyes, a nose, lips; a pair of ears, two hands and two legs is what comprises their physical being also. There could be one sitting amongst us and we wouldn’t even know.  So where is the difference between ‘them’ and ‘us’? The difference lies solely in the state of mind.  ‘Terrorism’ therefore is a state of mind. And our fight is against ‘this state of mind’ that can exist in a person irrespective of his caste, creed, religion or colour. To come to think of it, every being is a potential terrorist. The reverse is also true. Every terrorist is human and the potential for change cannot be ruled out.

Nobody is born a terrorist. It will be more agreeable to say that some people have a greater leaning towards that state of mind. When people undergo training to become a terrorist, I presume it is more than just the training with arms and ammunitions. It includes, in fact starts with the mental training, brainwashing  where the person is made to feel a victim at the hands of society; where an entirely erroneous belief system is ‘fed’ into the person’s mind and once he/she falls prey to it then that person can justify his/her act of killing another being. Then it becomes not a heinous sin but a matter of pride; of carrying out the will of God.

If we have to put an end to terrorism, we will have to begin work backwards – ‘unfeed’  the erroneous beliefs and embed the correct one – love for humanity and greater tolerance towards one another. That, to my mind is the only plausible solution. We could hound the terrorist/s who did a 13/7 and shoot them all but that is not the end. There are several others in the making. The need of the hour is greater solidarity amongst us – the ordinary people belonging to the family called ‘human race’. We need to look beyond our identities as ‘Mumbaikar/Indian’ or ‘Hindu/Muslim’ and broaden our outlook to that of a ‘Global citizen’. We need to reach out to each other. Extend a helping hand to those who are suffering. Pass on the baton of peace and love from one to another. And when we are able to do this, we wouldn’t be worrying about issues like ‘terrorism’ any longer.

Wireless Communication

Just the other day, sitting within the comfort of my home, I had a video conversation with my family in Delhi. I was particularly happy to see my nieces as I spoke to them. My younger niece (four years old) asked me very innocently ‘Bua, do you also have this?’ At that her mother prompted her from behind – ‘What this’, ‘Say the name of what you have in your hand’. To which she said ‘I don’t know mamma’. Her mother explained that she was holding an Ipad. I was amused while I watched all of this. She again repeated the question to me, this time more enlightened (gleeful expression)– ‘Bua do you also have an Ipad?’.  To which I said ‘No, mine is an Ipod touch.’ I could see the confused expression on her face. And then the question came up – ‘Now what is that?’…..ummmm….I paused for a moment wondering how to explain it to her and thankfully that is when my Ipod indicated low battery and turned itself off. I was relieved I didn’t have to answer that one.

But for a long time after that, I kept thinking about the progress we’ve made with technology. We had used the ‘Facetime’ application on our respective devices to conduct the video conversation. Since this was our first attempt, it took us a few minutes to figure out but once we managed that then it was as simple as punching in our email ids and getting connected. And of course for free. I know if I get into the science behind it then it is really the transmission of waves, invisible to the eye. But for someone who doesn’t want to get into all of that, it is still a source of amazement for me. Haven’t you ever expressed wonder at the whole mechanism? No amount of scientific explanation can take away this feeling for me.  

My mind wandered and led me to thoughts and ideas much deeper. ‘Thoughts’ did I say?  And that is where I stopped and thought for a long time. What are thoughts? What is the genesis of a thought in my mind? Simply, it is energy I think. I can’t see it, feel it and yet it still exists. But how do different people conjure up different thoughts to the same situation? This means variation in energy. Thoughts lead to certain emotions and feelings. ‘Emotions’-  what are they?;  Energy as well? How do I ‘feel’ a certain kind of feeling? I was totally lost and confused in the web of my thoughts by now.  I tried to brush these thoughts aside and focus on something else but I couldn’t. One question after another sprung in my head with great speed - What about prayers? How are they communicated to the universe? I have experienced the fulfilment of certain wishes. Aren’t they some kind of energy as well?  And then I came across a beautiful and satisfactory explanation by Dr. Daisaku Ikeda,  “Invisible radio waves travel vast distances through space, reaching Mars and Venus. In the same way, our inner determination, which is unobservable to common mortals, activates the forces in the Universe-the heavenly deities and the Budhhas throughout the ten directions-and appears as solid actual proof”.

That gave me a clearer perspective and  I came to a conclusion – in today’s age where we’ve made wireless communication possible, we’ve only gone back to what originally always existed and will exist for eternity – Wireless communication between our heart and the universe - Difficult to believe? Go back to where I started and hopefully you will be convinced.

Before it is too late

Everything happens for a reason. Haven’t you said this to yourself from time to time and haven’t others said this to you too, though mostly in consolation? I am a great believer in the theory of karma – the simple law of cause and effect. While the theory of karma is not new and finds its mention in the Hindu philosophy also, my understanding and belief grew only once I started following Nichiren Daishonin’s Buddhism. If nothing happens by chance, then it logically follows that there has to be a reason behind the fact that I embraced this life transforming philosophy. I am not referring to the justifications and explanations that I can give for turning to this practice (I have shared those in my first two blogs); I am hinting at something bigger – that this was a predetermined move in my life and things fell in place when the time was right.

An interesting conversation with someone the other day about philosophy, religion and life reinforced this idea. Towards the end of our conversation, he said that certain unfavourable incidents in his childhood made him turn towards spirituality/religion. He found his answers and peace in reading and following the Bhagwad Gita. I chose a different route but under similar circumstances. And both of us agreed that this was our calling, destined and meant to be; that there is a time when matters of faith take on a greater and more significant role in our life. I am glad that this realisation came very early to me.

People in my life have reacted differently to this. Some are indifferent. Most have raised questions though no objections - why I have taken recourse to faith so early in life; that I should save it for my last years. And some are happy that I am not on a wrong path. In response to all these responses, I have a question - What is the purpose of religion/spirituality? Again the answers will be different for each one of us but the fundamental truth if I may say so – The purpose of religion is to create happiness and peace in our lives. It is to empower us and help us lead more fulfilling lives. To be better human beings – the proof of which should reflect in the different roles we play as child, student, spouse, parent, employee, employer etc. Faith is to be applied in daily life so that we can create value on a daily basis. I hope most of you are in agreement with me on this.

So if that is the case, I wonder what purpose it would serve if we decided to take it up at the fag end of our life? By then we would have lost the valuable years of life when we could have made a difference to ourselves and others. I know a lot of people will argue that there is no time for considering these things in the present, in the midst of our hectic schedules and lifestyles. To which I’d say then the need is even greater to pause and self reflect. What is the point of having rushed through life, not savoured the simpler pleasures and joy that it offers. What’s the point of turning back and looking at a life spent with regret?

Speaking from my experience, I am glad that I took up faith early in life, for it has become the solid foundation to help me lead a happy life. I am a tad wiser, happier and less fearful than what I was before. So, those of you who have postponed it as a plan for the later years of your life might want to rethink it. Life is a beautiful journey - Each day should be soaked in happiness and peace, with a few challenges thrown every now and then, so that we don’t become complacent. Stop. Think. If it is otherwise then take heed before it is too late.

Home away from home

Since I’ve said upfront that this blog is about choices that I’ve made, and some that were made for me and how they’ve shaped up my life….I thought I’d share a slice of my life that wasn’t my choice but I am glad that this choice was made for me – My father’s decision to pack me off to a boarding school. Thanks to this experience I have a great many stories in my kitty today. Stories that will make you laugh, cry and gasp in amazement with a tinge of fear.

These are feelings in hindsight but what it meant to me then is a different matter. I wasn’t the first in my family to be sent to a boarding school. My cousin, a year older was the first brave heart. So the buzz and fuss around boarding schools was the subject of regular family discussion. On one such evening I barged into the room when my grandfather, uncles and my father were at it. The colour of their complexion turned pale as they saw me. I was able to discern that they were talking about me. I hurriedly came out of the room and plonked myself in my favourite spot (under the study table)and began thinking – they were talking about boarding schools…so how come I featured in their conversation?; they couldn’t be thinking of sending me to a boarding school…no no that’s not possible. Boarding schools are meant for unruly and undisciplined children. (Or so I thought then) I was far from it; basically the exactly opposite – demure, obedient, disciplined, soft spoken and the studious types. With these virtues I did not need to go to a boarding school. I made this conclusion to myself and cast aside my fears. Quickly the matter faded from my memory and I was happy but not for too long.

One day the suspense ended and my father broke this news to me. Actually that’s a mild way of putting it. It wasn’t short of hurling a bomb at me. I was stunned, shocked and inconsolable. Try breaking this news to a twelve year old and you are bound to get that reaction in most cases. He added that he had carefully thought this over, it wasn’t a hurried decision. Also that he could give to me in writing that I would be grateful to him for this many years later. He promised that this would be the golden period in my life. All of this made no sense to me then. I laughed (and cried) it away. But as things have turned out every word he said has come true. The six years of boarding school life has indeed been a memorable one for me. And this write up is with the intention to convey my gratitude to my father for having taken this decision.

So to continue with my story - I revolted, was miserable and no matter what consolation anyone offered I was not ready to lap it up. I put my foot down, argued to find enough reasons to be sent to a boarding school. When that did not work I pleaded, made promises – that I would study harder, come first in class and a whole dozen of other promises (which I don’t remember now). But no matter what I did my father’s decision stood irrevocable, much to my grief. I was angry and hurt. But what I did not understand then is what I know now – that his decision stemmed solely from his concern and love for me; from the worries and anxieties of a single parent. Honestly, I never really felt my mother’s absence to a great extent in my early stages. My father fulfilled both roles so wonderfully that today I can fall back on memories of a happy childhood.

My father tried consoling me. I told him that I loved him too deeply to live away from him. He reassured me that he did the same. I wasn’t convinced. I thought this was his way of punishment. Far from it, this was his compassion towards me. He foresaw what I could not see - When I came home from school there was no one except the maid to tend to my needs. This is a small example. There were many such incidents. It pained him greatly to see this and boarding school was the solution. He envisioned a happy life for me, a new place I could call ‘home’ where I would be surrounded by friends and teachers all day long. This is what he desired for me; even at the cost of trading it with more loneliness for himself.

My new home was to be tucked away in the hills - Mussoorie. All arrangements were made and my father and I left for our destination which my grandfather described as the ‘heavenly abode’. He was excited that his granddaughter would be studying in such a beautiful and serene atmosphere. I on my part still nurtured the hope that I would be able to convince my father on our way and come back home with him.

We reached Dehradun and spent the night there. I sobbed and sobbed, full of worries and anxieties. My father grew worried. For the first time in many days he said to me – “Let’s go and see the school tomorrow morning. If you do not like it then I will not force you.” These words revived my hope and the rest of the night passed off peacefully.

The next morning, an hour and a half journey along winding roads from Dehradun took us to Mussoorie.  It was indeed the ‘heavenly abode’. The freshness in the air, cool breeze and the clouds floating past made me smile after a long time. We straightaway headed to school once we reached Mussoorie. At the entrance, huge iron gates (about 12 feet high) flung open on both sides and the car chugged along with great difficulty to climb the steep slope ahead before we reached the landing area. We entered the reception area. The first impression was good.

Formalities were quickly completed and I was taken to a different room for my entrance test. I finished the test in half the stipulated time. My father was surprised at that and worried that I must have deliberately not written my papers well. I reassured him that I would not do such a thing. The next hour or so was spent doing a reconnaissance of the school. By the time we finished with it the results were out and I had been selected. My father was happy and turned to look at me.

He said now the final decision is yours. With head lowered and teary eyed I said to him that I will stay back. Till date I do not know what changed my decision in the affirmative. Probably it was just meant to be. My father reconfirmed – “Are you sure”. To which I said that I liked the campus and wanted to stay back. And then that was it. I hugged my father one last time. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes but he turned before I could see them drop. He bid me a goodbye and walked on. I looked after him for a long time till he was gone. Someone came along and pulled me as I walked with heavy steps – scared, nervous, excited and lonely. And thus began my journey in a new ‘home’ far far away from home.