An exciting walk-in;
dejected walk out
Walking Dead
An exciting walk-in;
dejected walk out
Tag: people
What Is The Point Of Writing?
I like to write when I’m not doing anything else. And by anything else, I mean, eating, sleeping, or watching food porn.
Since I spend quite a lot of time writing — what, you ask? Well, don’t. Anyway, what is the whole point of writing?
When you think of it, it’s nothing really.
Most people tell you the point of writing is “To share with the world — things you can’t show.” or “To educate people about something.” Better yet, “To share feelings.”
Thing is, you can do all those stuff, without writing. Why write when you can tell? We all like to speak, so why write it down? Nothing we ever write will stand for eternity — preservation ended with great literates, there are too many people who write nowadays — we can’t preserve them all forever.
Then why bother writing at all? What’s the point of spending time and energy — not to mention paper, ink, or screen time — if you’re one of those technology buffs — on something that’s seemingly pointless?
Everything we ever write — thoughts, opinions, comments, detailed explanations, stories, poems — everything you can think of, you can also speak and record. Besides, isn’t spoken word poetry already a thing? And audio books?
So why do we still write?
Not one of the countless reasons really explains the need to write.
It’s Thursday and you’re at work. You’re bored and flipping through a magazine, and you suddenly feel like you have to write. Like your fingers want something to do — other than flipping glossy pages of size zero models. There is a sudden not-so-gentle nudge that wants you to drop everything else and just write. You don’t know what to write, or how to write; there are too many thoughts in your mind. It’s almost noon; you’re feeling mildly hungry; you’re thinking of that holiday you so badly deserve; the project that needs some final touches; then again the Caribbean holiday with boozy sangrias — before you realize you’re a little short of cash, and then — from nowhere — comes the thought that the following day your salary gets credited — after all those taxes, of course. But in the middle of all these thoughts, is something, a little lightbulb, a spark of light, that tells you to sit and write.
And that’s why we write.
I Believe in Listening
The Quiet Revolution took the world by storm. People now acknowledge the difference between being shy and being quiet — but I believe we haven’t spoken enough about listening.
I believe listening to someone’s story requires patience, and discipline; we need to refrain from interrupting. But who would listen if we all fight to speak? Who would sit across from us and give us their undivided attention?
Each of us has something we’d like to get off our chests. Be it a heavy burden or the excitement of a family trip that has come around after years of yearning, we love sharing stories; it’s what makes us human. But we also need someone to listen to us: to our rants, our complaints, our expressions of joy and sorrow, of our fears and anxiety. We need a shoulder to lean on, a face to mirror our emotions, or to just have someone listen without judging.
We should listen more. To the people who are closest to us and to the ones we smile at in the corridor every day. There are plenty of people with stories that could sweep us off our feet. Or sometimes, with stories that make us realize how thankless we are for everything life has given us.
It began with a maintenance staff at work. She’s old enough to be my mother, and yet she addresses me as “Madam.” She does cheap labour, and so does her young daughter, whose higher education she cannot afford. The look in her eyes as she notices me and the others swinging by, often in reckless extravagance, isn’t jealousy; it’s compassion. It’s a kind of baffling love and respect for the selfish people who don’t even stop to make eye contact.
I wouldn’t have realized it unless I had listened to her story. And all it took from my side was a tiny smile and a “good morning.” Now every time she sees me, she greets me and enquires about my well being — I can see that she cares. She cares, because I listened when no one else did.
My mother wasn’t much different from the maintenance staff. I talk to her every day, I ramble, rant, complain, worry and sometimes shout at her for her incessant telephone calls, but I hardly ask about her day. I know her routine of course: she’d wake up, make tea, prepare breakfast for two, take her medicines, cook lunch, welcome the maid, have another cup of tea, a break — and then medicines again, lunch, rest for a while, go for a walk, take more pills, then prepare dinner and finally, wait for my father to return. Oh and somewhere in the middle of her day, she calls me at least five times — only to be snapped at.
I decided to listen, because she listened first. When I had no one to share my fears with, she was there. And when she needed me, I listened — as she spoke of her rheumatism, of her problems with her sisters, of her brother’s new business venture — and what that means to her — of how much she is concerned for my brother and his complete disregard for vegetables. It all seems trivial; I’ve told her to take care of herself; that we’d handle ourselves, but the mother within her never takes a break. She needed someone to talk to, she had to open up and express her feelings — and I decided to listen. Because I knew bottling up emotions — however tiny — is a sure path to depression, and I did not want that for my mother.
My mother helped me see the value of listening; everyone’s so busy talking, that no one spares time for the other. In a world that can’t stop talking, listeners are miracles.
People tell me their stories in the belief that I’d hear them out without judging. They talk to me, and feel the burden slide away; they become light and they smile a little wider. I listen to a lot of stories; endless problems and countless perspectives. These stories inspire me, because when you share someone’s thoughts, you have the power to heal heartaches.
I believe it’s medicinal, and I believe in listening.
The Dhabba Experience
I hadn’t heard of this restaurant before my team mates told me we were going here for a team treat.
A bit of digging told me there were 10 of the same restaurants and that they serve good seafood. A lover of prawns, I set my mind.
Even as we got in to the cab, I could feel my insides expanding with excitement. I was a little ashamed too, it was just food after all. But again, it’s food!
I was all ready; my phone was fully charged and so was I. As we got down from the cab, I started clicking pictures of the surrounding. I was going to write an impressive review- complete with photos and all.
It was a large extravagant area – for a restaurant. Felt like walking into a huge holiday resort in the making. There was a big play area for kids and even a separate section of the restaurant for pure vegetarians. Sadly though, it was too hot for a soul to enjoy the slides and rides.
We walked inside and my excitement settled a little – we were finally there. It was now all about food.
We took our seats – three tables of it and I began looking around. It is a Punjabi restaurant and to reinforce the mood were paintings of Punjabis – beautiful work by the way. The ambiance within the restaurant was perfect – almost empty. Which is unsurprising considering it’s somewhere in the middle of nowhere – on the highway. There were a couple of small groups, and they were quiet too. The lighting was mild – not that it needed much, it was in the middle of the day. And being so, it was so hot outside but so cool inside. The tables were of stone and with the air-conditioning set at 18 degrees, the atmosphere was welcoming.
The service people were a little less welcoming though. Can’t blame them too, they were probably shocked to see a group of 15 people thronging into their restaurant with no regard for, well, anything.
Anyway, without much ado, we ordered.
We began with hot and sour soup. I’m not much of a soup person, but I loved it.
They didn’t have many of what we hoped to have – like the tandoori momos for instance. I was looking too forward to tasting that. We ordered prawns salt and pepper, fish fingers, mutton something and a couple of chicken somethings for starters.
None of them was spicy enough for me, but the taste was good. Prawns salt and pepper was a bit too salty with too little pepper, but I’d surely recommend this place anytime.
Moving on to main course, the biriyani was dry, I heard. I didn’t try the biriyani but the taste was good – judging from the way my team mates devoured. Another friend mentioned that the fried rice was great too, but I’d vouch for something else. My love for the greens tempted me to order pudhina (mint) paratha, and it surprised me, as always. But thankfully, it did not disappoint. It didn’t look too appealing; my team mates’ eyes widened at the sight of it – not to mention that my jaw dropped. I recovered soon enough though.
It tasted good – the pudhina powder added a little bitterness, just the way I like it. To accompany the paratha, I had ordered prawns chettinad masala and a chicken dish – I forgot the exact name.
The menu was so extensive and the names of the dishes were difficult to remember. The best thing though was that the taste was worth remembering.
At the end of it all, I decided to top it up with lime soda. Because I suddenly remembered that I had been suffering from an upset stomach for a couple of days. Just the day before I survived on liquid salts.
Coming back to the lime soda, it was too salty for me – pungent. But it did do its duty; I digested it all without much trouble.
Anyway, my colleagues ordered a variety of ice cream, gulab jamun, milk shakes and funnily enough – carrot halwa.
Ha, that carrot halwa! Not to taste; reminded me of sweet paan.
With an unmistakable burp, our treat ended and we walked out, satisfied and satiated.
After a few minutes of idling and selfie taking, we re-boarded our cab and came back to office – only to look forward to going home.
P.S: My very first restaurant review. Any thoughts, folks?
The Consent
Tuxedos side by side.
“I do.”
The Chaos Within 