Ego-Wise...: December 2024

By definition, BLOG is a Web Log – keeping logs of your thoughts with the help of Web. Just like a Diary with only a difference that it is made available in public domain. Otherwise, “As you write more and more personal becomes more and more universal…” said a wise man!

With the post ‘Prologue’ on Tuesday, 8th December 2009, my writing (and publishing on web) journey started with this blog to talk about philosophy, moral/mythological stories, socio political statements, and developed into sharing TED Talks having Ideas of common good that I found worth sharing. Today it has completed 15 years of being my stress-buster, if nothing else and I might just take a break after this 649th Post.

Eventually a Marathi Blog Et Cetera [Eeetyadee] based on Poetry - ‘Spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings recollected in tranquility’ as defined by William Wordsworth, has some poems [and prose] by me as well as my friends and some notable poets.

Be[a]Cause – a WordPress Blog started to realize the Socratic concept "The way to gain a good reputation is to endeavor to be what you desire to appear." has miscellaneous things, including Educational, Environmental, Political and Social… largely ‘Human’ concerns.

All these writings along with my expressions on LinkedIn and publishing on ResearchGate have about 2+ Lakh views/readings collectively and if I have made at least one person think about something, I have lived Socrates’ belief, “I cannot teach anybody anything. I can only make them think.”, I would like to believe and it’s time to pass the baton, I guess!

After attempting to recollect the spontaneous overflow of her powerful feelings in tranquillity in the form of a Gazal, Maitrayee this time has resorted to Prose for expressing her feelings and insights she gathered in her first solo trip which proved to be more than a wanderlust. It would be prudent to put this as the fourth episode of the ‘Fatherhood’ series on this blog.

Following are pages of Maitrayee’s Diary about her Solo trip to the city built on top of seven hills. After going through and reflecting on the intent and extent of this content, I am assured that the legacy of intense expressions through both – Poetry and Prose has not only survived but in a more eloquent way with a fineness. Now I can hang my boots, maybe!

Solo…

Maitrayee P

Saturday, 16 Nov 2024

3 hours of reading ‘Midnight's Children’ in the cosy Brews and Books cafe left me with two things – the desire of meeting Tai in his Shikara in the Dal Lake at Kashmir and with the rosy vision of Salman Rushdie which captures minute details of the surroundings.

Salman Rushdie has scribbled on sheets of papers for years and has written magnificent books, only to make him immortal and meaningful. My eyes absorbed his narrative style and vision as I closed reading the book, only to be reopened by another stranger sometime in the book cafe and set to walk in the streets of Shimla.

There was an air of romance in the night streets of Shimla, as the chilling cold of 4 degrees was pleasantly brushing the tips of my covered hair.

Truly as the name suggests, Shimla, the Queen of Hills, has not diminished even an inch of its pristine natural beauty over the years. Other than the flared modern jeans with pockets that the young women are seen wearing roaming around the city, there is nothing else that can point out the age of the city.

The summer capital of India, through its wooden houses made in British architectural style, English names of the places and the European streetlights, is frozen in time, making the tourists travel back through time in the pre-independence era when talks for freedom were being conducted by National leaders at the Viceregal Lodge, which is now converted into Indian Institute of Advanced Studies.

As it was half past ten, the crowds of lively tourists were slowly disappearing, leaving with only a few groups of young folks trying to capture their memories in front of the historical edifices of the city. The Ridge, the Mall, the Scandal Point and the old Church were standing tall and alone in the cold chilly night, seeing new people come and go everyday through the years.

I climbed up to the Young Men's Christian Association Hostel, which also endured the memories of history through its old-fashioned British architecture (it also had an old attic at the top!) to enter my hostel room. My French hostel mate, who has been backpacking around the world for a year now, exclaimed that she was worried about me as I came too late. We had met only a day ago and didn't even know each other’s names, and yet the caring she showed for me was a metaphor of the connections that people make during their short stay in the city.

I went out to the terrace-cum-cafe, to take a last glimpse of the glittering snowy city, as I bid adieu to the queen of hills. There was pleasant silence in the atmosphere, only to be accompanied by soft Punjabi music playing at some clubs, which reminded me that the city was earlier the capital of East Punjab. The city was contained between the huge statue of Hanuman peeking out from the hills to the extreme left, and the crystal white church standing tall to the right. On a starry night, it would be difficult to distinguish between the shining stars and the glittery sparkling lights of the city.