Reader's Feedback

The greatest reward for a writer is readers' connect


I always enjoy reading and replying to my readers. If someone happened to bump into a piece I wrote, any thought which made them question, made any difference is my true reward. I often get mails from readers whom I don't know in person. The only connect is through the powerful words from my world to theirs. 

A recent mail from a reader from South in response to an article I wrote for The Hindu on Pyjama power. The whole post was an eulogy. The reader Sarthak appreciating the feature idea said, "I could relate with the article as it was about everyone's experience. A thought which you have captured well". 

Each feedback is truly special. And it matters a lot to me. 

Thank you for making my day :)

Dear Zindagi Activity

I am writing about Jug in my life for the #DearZindagi activity at BlogAdda. My friend in my life has to be my mother. The pillar on which the foundation of my existence rests. Our friendship dates back to early 90s’ when she transformed her role from a mother to a friend effortlessly. Guess, that’s an inborn talent mothers have.   

Words are not enough to describe our equation. Still, for the sake of my Jug, I will try to define our bond: a supreme connection of one heart with another surpassing the menial boundaries of mere words.

I discovered a friend in her at a time when I was floating in deep black waters, struggling with a mighty wave called Adolescence. The confusing age, as it is, made me clueless about things I heard at school, read in newspapers or seen on TV. This period of identity crisis prolonged till my saviour came into my life like sunbeams glowing through heart of gloom.

Being there, I presume, is the first rule in friendship book which she always fulfilled. As a mother she has always been there. As a friend, she arrived in my teens. I sailed through that tumultuous period through her support and understanding. To that and many more situations which were to befall years later, she stood rock solid beside me.  

Sharing and caring are the two hallmarks of a real friendship. Both of which I found aplenty in my equation with her. Whether it was first crush, report card at school, moments of angst, that tender feeling of love, everything anything was shared in great detail with her. Pretence was shown door and originality was embraced during my conversations with her. Gradually, the foundation our friendship was laid.

Open hearted interactions smeared with dollops of care made this bond grow even stronger with time. Care is the driving force for any relation. Her responses to the questions I asked or advice I sought, everything revolved around my best interest. She placed my care at the highest pedestal.

My friend wore our friendship like a badge of honour. She cultivated this bond as she tends to vegetables in her terrace garden. Over the years, our friendship only matured and ripened like a wine in a vineyard. They say, the real friends once found should not be let loose. As echoed by Polonius’s advice to his son Laertes in Hamlet: ‘Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried/ Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel’. She stuck with me till this very moment as I write this piece on friendship. In sickness and in health.

Never did she let out my words to third person. This sole fact reposed my trust in her. And trust is the cornerstone for any relationship. Be it daily happenings at school or my unshaped random views about life, she was witness to all. A patient ear was lent, rants and reactions were heard; responses were noted. I always knew as an innocent child, a disgruntled teenager or a confused adolescent, that she is my final resting point.

My friendship with her is based on mutual respect. She respect me for who I am. What I said as a child was given due attention. As an adult, things only improved as I picked up language. Our friendship grew with time as I blossomed into youth. Stages of life kept changing but the nature of our friendship remained same based on love, respect, and trust.     

During my pregnancy, one person I needed the most was my mother. She did everything she possibly could. Heard me, advised me, took me to doctor, fed me, took care of me, bore my emotional tantrums, hormonal imbalances without any sign of exertion. I was difficult to handle. But only she could handle me.

Bearing labour pain, she stood for fourteen long hours tending to my back. I never asked for it. She judged my needs even before I could express it in words. That’s a true friend. My Jug, my mother.

Even the birth of my son and all his firsts have been taken care of by her. She has been my confidante.  

Through her, I have been able to access a whole new world within myself which until her arrival was elusive to me. My beliefs, perspective, ideas, identity, humility, creativity all stems from her presence. She is the one who invoked spiritual intelligence in me. Enlightened me with the supreme connection with the God. The access to the ‘best in me’ is the result of her guidance.

My inspiration is my mother who is an ultimate guide to wisdom. We fit each other as two pieces of jigsaw perfecting each other. She replenishes my soul. My true soul-mate.  Thank god for her with whom I share the ludicrous laughter that comes from enduring the ordinary everyday existence. I feel at this moment what Emerson said, “Friendship, like the immortality of the soul, is too good to be believed.”

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Benefits of blogging 

The song from Frozen by Idina Menzel: Here, I'll stand and here I'll stay echoes in my mind as I write this brief after having crossed the milestone of 50 posts :) 

It has been a long journey. I have finally made half-century as far as number of posts in my blog are concerned. Here, I wish to stand, as I am forever connected to my blog. This space is my own. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can influence my thoughts in this domain. 

My blog has been like my baby whom I had given birth in 2008. Since, then I have been on a journey recording milestones, sharing memories, writing what concerns me about the world, people, relationships, life in particular. Each word straight from my heart, no strings attached, whatsoever. It has been my companion in good times, more importantly, in worst times. When I had no one to talk to, I turned to blogging. My innermost feelings found an expression here. It buried the restlessness.

I don't remember how and why I had started blog in the first place. I think the journey began when I was aspiring to become a journalist and seeking admission in India's top notch institute for media, IIMC. My first post was this. I am equally proud of what I wrote eight years back. 

Each post is truly special in its own way. 8 years, 50 posts. Not bad. Though, I should have been more regular in the years that went by. Nonetheless, the present number too makes me feel happy. This is the perfect occasion for me to also share how blogging has helped me become a better writer.:

1) Increased familiarity with words- The more I blog, the better I know my words. They are like my friends. I can call them whenever I need them. They serve and are at my beck-and-call.
2) Inspired to look for ideas-I look for ideas to write in whatever experience I go through daily. Everything and anything tells a story. My job as a blogger is to tap those stories and express in this space. I feel truly accomplished once I press the 'Publish' button. Ideas invite me to write about them, convert them into a full-fledged story.
3) Writing is best, when it is from heart-My blog has taught me that writing which comes straight from heart is always heard and responded by readers. It connects with everyone.
4) Blog being an ardent listener-All my rants, frustations, emotional turmoil, opinions, discourses, meditations, philosophy were absorbed by these plugged in ears. Anytime, my blog was always wired to listen to me. This confidence and trust reposed over the last eight years is what makes my relationship with blogging truly special. 
5)Reach out to audience- My blog has global readership from countries like US, UK, Ukraine, France, Germany, Europe. They reach out through the medium of this space and connect with him. Single comment, a single post does make a lot of difference. It drives me to keep writing. Keep churning out words. 
6) Reinforces discipline, brings consistency- No skill is perfected if it not practiced consistently. It doesn't bear fruitful results. My blog motivated me to document instances from real life which otherwise would have gone unnoticed. This exercise in turn honed my writing skills making me a better story-teller. The craft of writing like any other skill needs utmost regularity. My blog, therefore, came to me like poetry comes to a poet- spontaneous. 

What's been your blogging experience like?

               Try Gardening for peace

                      by Priyanka Chauhan

I always enlisted ‘Gardening’ in the hobby column of my Resume thinking I would definitely do it ardently one day. However, this word rested for almost a decade in that space till the birth of my son, when I decided to finally shun off all excuses and smear myself with the wonders of the wonders-Nature.

My initial inspiration to have been awestruck with the extravaganza of the green world began when I used to see my mother plant saplings. As far as my memory can loom large and remember those yesteryears when she would plant, plant and plant in her seldom precious leisure hours. 

Tender Spinach, red turnip, browny Potatoe, ornamental chillies will be the show of our Kitchen garden  at backyard. In retrospect, I now zoom in to capture and understand the bliss she experienced while harvesting her crops and cook a meal out of her produce. Too young to appreciate her enthusiasm back then, I truly salute her spirit of gardening which she never really shared with anyone because nobody understood that divine pleasure, that soft feeling to be one with the nature.

Today, that kitchen space is no more. To keep apace with the time and limited resources, the kitchen garden had to be dislodged in order to make space for our study rooms. Those juicy Guava and Pomegranate trees are no longer standing barefoot to observe us frolicking around the garden. Mango tree is gone too. So is the mighty banyan tree with the robust red flower!

Much against my mother’s wishes, those rooms snatched away her Garden of Eden. She became sad but the move was justified in the wake of ‘need for space’. She silently fell in line with the argument.

Years later, all the trash bins, empty cans, paint buckets, rusted vase, plastic bags and mugs, a broken bowl, earthen pot are filled with the beauty of nature. 

A case in point which illustrated her passion for gardening goes back to the time when a pillar was uprooted from our patio in one of the government’s drive. The smell of fresh soil and sight of pure red soil underneath that pillar made her run from pillar to the post to collect more soil and compost before that deep hole was filled.  Within two days, she collected sufficient compost which was to go into the several feet deep hole and out of which a budding shrubs of Madhumalati were to swing and sway showering us with flowers of red and white.

Birth to my son renewed my interest in Gardening. I see it as a legacy. It’s my responsibility as her daughter to carry forward her interest and grow plants and grow together with them. Secondly, it had always been my interest. The delivery made me realise my son was also a little seed of planted love. His care was my responsibility. The act of bringing up children is as joyous as raising beds of vegetables and bask in their glory. For this and to many other reasons, look forward for more posts on Gardening.

You can tell me what made you take up Gardening? 

Diwali Market: A Fusion Song of Myriad Hues

Each year Diwali’s electrifying decorations adorn market spaces like a bride. Embellished with myriad hues, the festival of light kick starts competitive fever amongst commercial hubs to exhibit heaps of sweets, glittering gifts and neon lights.

I decided to tour the famous old market in Faridabad to taste the slice of this year’s Diwali decorations. As I approached the market, I got excited like a toddler throwing curious glances at the visual grandstand. On our way to the market, my mother and I went on a rickshaw. However, having failed to partake into the festive mood of the grandeur at the display (as the rickshaw moved way too fast for us to savour the spread out fanfare), we decided to walk back on our return.

The rickshaw ride was like a trailer of a beautiful movie, which was to unfold layer by layer after we alighted. Jostling for space in the commercial sphere, we started with window shopping at emblazoned corners which were extended from small shops to showcase Diwali extravaganza.

 The exuberance of shiny streamers of all shapes and sizes (diagonal, square, rectangle, oblong, and circular), soaked in bright colours were resting on roadside stands, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their potential buyers. A few customers merely touched, opened those bitsy creations, changed sides, checked their fall and kept it back in the stall. Others picked up those tiny marvels at first instance.

Chandeliers, paper lanterns, wall hangings painted in silver, gold and brass lit the whole space. The mandatory ‘Shubh Deepawali’ wall hanging put up at home’s entrance was neatly placed alongside hand-painted diyas and other art decorations. Scintillating lights sparkled these artistic wonders ten-folds when visited during the evening. Around this time of the year, any shopping place turns into Diwali Square, buzzing with people round-the- clock.

Splash of orange, ounce of red, sprinkled with some magenta welcomed me to the stalls of Rangoli sellers, who patiently sat on ground marketing the colourful bonanza. The bedecked spectacle was like a colourful picture floating aimlessly in a surreal island.

Many stalls had also put up heaps of traditional Kheel and batasha; every Diwali my mother bought this sweet unfailingly for Lakshmi Pooja. On the Dhanteras occasion, not even a single corner was without customers. It was as if everything and anything are bought by people. 

Noticeably, this year the buzz was more about clothes, sweets, gifts and colours than crackers. Diwali lights sang a fusion song when fell on shrubs in my patio piercing the dormant leaves and creating a Rainbow of Lights at nightfall. Truly, a wonder in a year! I secretly wished if Diwali could be celebrated throughout the year. Then, one would feel high energy and sail through these serene sights of abundance every day. Air, too, will be jazzed up all days.

The scent of misty air beckons the arrival of winters now.

©Priyanka Chauhan

Pix from the Net.

The piece was written for Diwali Special Edition, Different Truths