Writing 101
Day Five: Love Your Theme
A funny thing happened at the gym. There I was, sweating on the treadmill, thinking about themes, not getting anywhere. Then it so happened that I looked up and the TV monitor facing me advised “Life is too short. Have an affair.”
Before you get the wrong idea, let me just up and say I love Blogging 101. In fact I love it so much, this is my second time taking it.
So why do we try new themes? We try new themes because they are there. One thing I can tell you: I Love themes.
In fact when I have a writing block I just go and fool around with themes. Its easy come easy go, no commitment, no hard feelings. And nobody knows; like you are Vegas bound instead of your desk. With themes, hours flit by like seconds while seconds seem like hours when I write. That critic inside me is silent. And those widgets – best toys ever – some give instant gratification and for variety others confound me (bugs – a programmer knows and loves her bugs).
Day 5 assignment says “nobody is going to spend more time on your blog than you.” Right there in the middle of the page.
Now I’m not calling that a low blow – it’s just fact. I am practical that way.
I tried the Basic Black: sometimes I fancy myself a minimalist. Then I tried a theme heavy on the photos because my professional life is pixels (not pixellated please) and I feel obligated. I tried a verbose theme because I find myself introverted too.
Like the TV said – every theme speaks to me because I have no idea what I will be day-to-day.
Yes, I try themes more often than I like – a guilty pleasure and I don’t want anyone to know its 3 hours I could have spent writing. So I go back to the theme I have had since I started my blog.
How about you?
My New Friend
My day started as it usually does. I half opened my eyes: clear, sunny morning with a cool breeze in our loft, in my city, Dilli; you know the one – if there be heaven on earth, this is it, this is it – penned by a Mughal emperor who I guess fancied himself a poet too. Well I agree with him so he must have been an okay fellow.
Sundari nudged me awake with a gentle tweak of her beak.
I stretched, fluffed my feathers and thought: Oh! All is right with the world.
Little did I know.
I tickled Sundari back making her puff herself in a blush. The city slept or slowly wakened below us, in the early light of dawn.
We fondled some more before soaring off in perfect symphony into the air, swooping and playing with the breeze. Then we neared our favorite morning perch, the corner balcony of apartment 801, on the eighth floor of Central Park in this new area of Dilli. It’s where we rest in the morning before going for breakfast. We have been doing it for so long that other pigeons have given up coming there now and we claim it as our own special place – just Sundari and me.
So it came as a shock when I sighted the intruder.
“Sundari, look, someone is perched in our balcony. Do you see him?”
“Yes” she said; her beak all tight. “Maybe he is like that horrible monkey who used to snarl and snap at us. He smelled bad too; and so dirty.”
“But he is not moving at all and he looks much smaller than the monkey”
“I don’t care” she puffed. “Let’s fly away.”
But I wasn’t ready to give up my special nook so easily. We flew closer and I saw that the intruder sat quietly, still as a rock. Not wanting to argue with Sundari, you know how she can get, I swooped down and positioned myself about 3 body lengths to his right. Having no choice, Sudari perched herself on his left, at first far away but then edged closer till she was about 4 feet away too and gave me a dirty look.
I sat still, wanting to look confident and in charge, hoping that would relieve her nervousness.
We both stared at the stranger intently. I screeched, fluffed feathers, swooped up and down – but nothing – no response from the stranger. I inched closer. So did Sundari. Nothing. We were there doing so many antics that I soon spotted the apartment owner behind the window curtain. He called his wife and she came and they started laughing. Well I huffed, I am not giving up this place, even though this stranger is no friend. I saw the owner bring out his camera, but by then, enough is enough, I thought, so Sundari and I swooped away.
As you can well imagine, Sundari was quite disturbed by this whole episode. She can’t forget the monkey but she has agreed that this stranger is no monkey. As the sun set over Dilli, we flew back to our loft. Far away in the distance, I can see our balcony. I sighed, thinking maybe we have to find a new morning perch. It was getting dark so I looked thinking this is goodbye; but then suddenly, as if he had seen me looking, the stranger glowed a welcoming light as if saying hello, come join me. I was dumbstruck. But yes, there he was winking, blinking and shining, sending warmth and friendship across the distance.
“Look Sundari. Look at our balcony. The stranger is calling us.”
“I don’t believe it; looking so friendly. So beautiful. He is no monkey at all. Do you think he is lonely?”
We couldn’t wait for dawn. We got up earlier than usual, when it was still dark and there he was calling us with his glow. We flew straight to the balcony without any of our morning play and perched on either side of the stranger, just as the sun rose in the east, flooding the balcony with morning light.
“Sir, would you like to be our friend and share the balcony with us?” invited Sundari.
As if in response, the stranger stopped glowing and once again became still as if not wanting to intrude, just happy to be with us, be our new friend.
I heard the flat owner calling his wife from behind the curtain. “Looks like the pigeons have adopted our new solar lamp.” They fussed and took pictures, a fancy new camera I noticed, of the 3 of us, Sundari, myself and our new friend they call Solar Lamp.
I preened and fluffed my feathers so I would look bigger than my new friend in the pictures. Sundari, like her name, is always beautiful. And I have to say, our new friend has a quiet majesty that adds to our trio.
Oh! All is right with the world. Again.
Bread Book and Candle
When Milo and Kirsten decided on a divorce, we all expected it to go smoothly. After all they had high-powered professional lives, were independently wealthy and blessed with good genes in the looks department. No kids. Milo was the son of globe trotting diplomats (tact flowed in his veins in place of blood) and Kirsten had the hallmark of good breeding – a profound disregard for matters of personal finance. Money was never an issue.
So we never saw it coming.
“Okay you can have that set of records we bought on our honeymoon” and “your grandma’s armoire is yours of-course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping it even though it has my clothes.” That’s how they were.
But it all broke down when it came to the very last thing they shared – our book club.
Yup! No more Bread, Book and Candle. That’s what we called our potluck-food oriented book-club. We had reading every 4 weeks, always at their house.
Having amicably settled all else, the question came up “How do we divide the book club?”
Kirsten said “I started the club – I will call everyone to my place – okay sweetie?”
Milo said “There would be no book club membership if I hadn’t created the current format with the food and the camaraderie. I will continue with this one – why don’t you start another?”
I can only imagine what Kirsten’s response would have been to that because we were never told.
What we know is that the first time Milo called the book club together and said Kirsten had to leave town we suspected something fishy. The second time Kirsten had the book club meet Milo was missing and we knew.
“What’s wrong?” we asked.
For 11 years our group of 16 professionals, over-educated and under-romanced found much escape in classics – from Austen to Dickens to Fitzgerald to Emile Zola- our club helped us survive marriages, birthings, teenage-angst-kids and in one case a drug overdose.
But our club couldn’t survive the Milo-Kirsten split up. Soon it got really uncomfortable, the food started to taste like shit and one time when somebody quoted Little Women “blessings become a burden when not shared” about Mrs March’s big house, Sally actually burst into tears. Big sobs and somebody had to go get her Evian.
After that every week a couple would call Milo or Kirsten and say ” we love you both. We don’t want to take sides so we hope you understand if we stop coming to the club.”
Initially both Milo and Kirsten were pretty civilized but later they took to begging – “please stay- it will be fine. time heals,” etc. I heard through the grapevine that Milo had called Kirsten and asked for the records back. Kirsten wanted her armoire back. They were even going after one anther’s trust funds.
I admit I was the last one to call them. But what could they have done? Sometimes you just have to let go. Maybe then they would have parted friends. And the worst part is, don’t think me callous please, our group cannot get together as a book club anymore either – like ghosts they just pop in uninvited.
Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You
You’re told that an event that’s dear to your heart — an annual fair, festival, or conference — will be cancelled forever (or taken over by an evil organization). Write about it. For your twist, read your piece aloud, multiple times. Hone that voice of yours!