I have this signature quote on my mails, which I am so aptly fully feeling today than ever before: It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. -Jerome K. Jerome, humorist and playwright (1859-1927)
Today for the first time my toddler starts to be in school for a full 3 hours....which leaves me with enough time for my infant and for myself. When the tiny buddy is asleep (like right now), that leaves me with just me----that cherished 'my time' is finally here, and it's not even dark outside...in broad daylight. Oh how I have missed this time forever. And look at me now---for the last one hour, ever since the debut my-time, all I have done is.......since we are confessing.....Facebooking! I have peeped into tons of people's holiday, birthday and just life pictures, I have learnt that one 'facebook friend' (now isn't that a different species of friend than the friend that we actually connect with in the good old 'friend' definition?) is leaving for Cancun in precisely four hours from now, and that another one's cat drank the milk that she had kept for herself. I have even searched and found and sent friend requests to two 'names' that I recalled from some twenty five years back. Is this what I am going to be doing in these pristine hours of solitude..and facebook isn't even paying me for this!
To make my 'idle time' ideal, I would like to make it 'sweet' by doing what I truly cannot do when either or both of the kids are around and buzzing---writing. But look, how I failed the first test of discipline.....by being seduced by facebook. Time to close the windows (on the computer), and open the mind. Wish me luck.
अब तक यह कैसे संभव रहा की हिंदी में जैसे कुछ लिखा ही नहीं? सोलह साल? एक और दो नहीं, पुरे सोलह साल हो गए, और हिंदी के प्रयोग की आवष्यकता ही नहीं हुई. सच ऐसा होता है क्या की हिंदी में सोचते हैं, हिन्दी को बोलते हैं, हिंदी को पहनते हैं.... ना हिन्दू को नहीं, हिंदी को, परन्तु हिंदी को लिखा नहीं? अंग्रेजी में बोलना, लिखना, पढ़ना, सब आसानी से होता रहा तो ज़रुरत ही नहीं हुई हिंदी की. फिर? फिर, बच्चों को हिंदी बोलते देखने की इच्छा जागी, क्यों ?
क्योंकि जब अपने जैसे दीखते बच्चे अपने मुहावरो की सुन्दरता को नहीं सराह पाते, जब हमारे जैसे नामों वाले छोटे छोटे चेहरों पर हिंदी तरानों से जुड़े हिंदी के बोल नहीं आ पाते, और जब 'जूठन' शंब्द के लिए इन बच्चों पे कोई शब्द ही नहीं होता---अंग्रेजी में शब्द नहीं है, और हिंदी इन्हे आती नहीं, तब एहसास होता है की हम हिंदी से जानकार माता -पिता के पास एक कितनी सुन्दर धरोहर है, जो हम इन छोटे छोटे अंतर्राष्ट्रीय नागरिकों को दे सकते हैं.
मेरे पास हिंदी है, और मैं इन्हे हिंदी दूँगी. यदि तुम्हारे पास मराठी है तो तुम उन्हें वो दो. भाषा---जितनी जानेंगे हम, मेरा यह विश्…
That eternal vagabond, That Usain Bolt of thoughts, That mixing bowl of Glen with Chardonnay with Vodka and Tequila, That child with a pout insisting on the china doll, That Siddhartha of nirvana, That Hitler of Holocaust, This mind is all that, And worse.
The peanut vendor tightened the tarp on his
wheelbarrow, ensuring to cover every bit of everything that was on it-the drum
of peanuts, the stack of newspaper bags, the bag of coal, and the small
aluminum pan he burnt the coal on. With the warmth of his coal fire gone, Niru
double-wrapped herself in her shawl. "Bhaiya, do you know what time the last bus
comes?" She asked the smallish vendor who was now almost ready to wheel
his wares to wherever his home was. "Should be coming any minute now." He
raised his hand. Niru thought he waved to her, but he was only getting ready to
give a giant push to the cart. Off he started. With him gone, with the street lamp only giving a
dim, lethargic flicker, and with the shops behind them all closed now, the
bus-stop became desolate in the uninterrupted darkness of the cold December
night. "Sham, let's take an auto till Dwarka."
Niru said, feeling a bit nervous now. She only had enough money to get her
closer to hom…