A Different Form Of Life

 December 14-2020/ Blog #1

Life is at times absolute; 

at times obsolete too.

Life.

So far we know it just by one of its forms.

The form of life, which we are living now.

The one, we say is a Gift of God.

The one, which is given to us by our parents.

Life.

Have we ever thought of it differently?

Have we ever thought of imagining it differently?

No. We haven’t.

There is nor harm in doing that.

Maybe we can discover something which could be better than this form of life.

Life.

I wonder about it often.

Strange questions flood my mind.

Does this LIFE belong to us?

Or

Do we belong to this LIFE?

Life.

I love to imagine it differently.

I often think, life is like a train.

Always in motion.

Travelling from one destination to the other.

And that is where I feel there is a problem.

I wonder what happens to life as a train when it finally reaches a certain destination!

Does it come to a standstill?

Life.

If I say it is like a train; it can be considered an interesting form.

Now consider life being in motion.

A destination; a so-called station is almost round the corner.

Just then someone announces that the so-called station, the train was supposed to stop at doesn’t exist any more!

Or it might happen that someone suddenly reveals - the so-called station has suddenly disappeared!

What will happen to this form of LIFE then?

I meant, what would happen to life, I am imagining in a different form; as a train.

Will Life follow the same?

Life.

I believe it is a strange package of equally strange events and instances.

Life is at times absolute; at times obsolete too. 

Life.

No matter in what form you imagine it as. 

Even if we consider a different form of life.

It will still sound, smell, taste, feel and seem like this LIFE of ours.

Life is life. Nothing else.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The Two Worlds

November 15-2020/ Blog #1

We coexist between 

two worlds. 

We might miss paying attention to one reality.

Or we are aware of it. But we don’t talk much about it.

The reality is, we coexist between two worlds.

Yes, you read it right.

Rather than saying we live in two worlds; I am trying to say - We coexist between two worlds.

Which are these two worlds?

The first world is the tangible world.

Besides being only tangible, this world also serves as home to us.

This home is beautiful.

We have built this home or bought this home with great hope.

We eat, we pray, we love in this home.

We share a warm coexistence with its residents (mostly family).

The other world is the intangible world. 

This is the most interesting one. 

It doesn’t have a shape, a form of its own. 

This world is found stuck between two drawers. 

This world is found trying to release itself from the dog-eared pages of a book.

This is that world, which is privy to everything we do; we don’t do; we try to hide from others.

This is that world, which allows a spider to crawl over it and leave a legacy of cobwebs behind.

This legacy then gets transferred to spiders of new generation, who waste no time to take this legacy to a new level. 

Do you know when our frequency of  visit to this intangible world increases?

Mostly during festive occasions or a special moment in the household. 

Because that is when we take a broom or a piece of cloth in our hand to get rid of the first layer of dust, which hides this intangible world.

Interestingly the tangible and the intangible worlds are never caught in a conflict. 

They know their space, their purpose in this universe. 

Remember, they are these two worlds. They exist. They have been existing. 

It is we who are coexisting between them.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

Our Own Biographies

The opening lines of my autobiography

October 19-2020/ Blog #2

Discover ourselves first.
Then rediscover ourselves.

Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? These questions have been within our minds for a long time. But we never set time aside to introspect. But in the past seven months, that we have been living indoors; working from our homes, achieving and failing from the comfort of four walls; starting new things and stopping doing old things; listening and muting conversations; seeing something and then choosing to turn blind; seeking a hug and suddenly acting indifferent; we aren’t realizing that time has been setting us aside to help us introspect. 

No one in this entire world is denying the reality - enough of this; enough of that; enough of me; enough of you; enough of him; enough of them; enough of us. Enough. Yes enough. But just screaming ‘Enough’ at the peak of our voices is not going to push those thoughts in the abyss. In there; in the abyss; down there; many reasons, many more reasons of screaming ‘Enough’ have been choking to death for the past seven months. But is ‘Enough’ the ultimate action and the reaction? What will happen to the questions we had started asking - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Don’t these questions deserve answers. Or we leave these questions somewhere; ask others; waste time over them and then one day, we will again scream ‘Enough’ and stop thinking about them!

But think about them? Aren’t these questions important? What if I tell you that every question is biographical. Every question is hinting at something very personal, very intimidating. Why can’t we treat these questions as research material to write our personal biographies? Who knows us better than we ourselves? Has anybody ever known about the rare passion, immense love you harbor for your Sundays? Has anybody ever seen the sketches you draw of the person, you had loved more than your life? Does anybody know that when you release the shutter of your camera, you create magic with your third eye? Nobody knows anything about you. Somebody might claim to know you. But how much of you is known to anyone else? Too little. 

I wish to make a confession. In the past seven months, I have been asking the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? But as a human being, I too have been procrastinating. I feel I had seven fruitful months. These seven fruitful months are not going to return to me or us ever. Maybe we have got a few more months with us to ask those questions again! Perhaps try seeking answers again! Because if we don’t seek these answers now, we will never discover ourselves. In a world where we speak proudly about rediscovering life; rediscovering who we are; rediscovering our childhood; rediscovering our passion; rediscovering our love; we never ever talk about merely discovering ourselves. Maybe we should make that effort to discover ourselves first and then continue with our personal journeys to rediscover ourselves. 

Trust me, we aren’t alone in this journey. The time is with us. The situation is with us. Terms like lockdown, social distancing, precaution, sanitization, hygiene are with us. Every breathing being, living being and struggling being is with us to ask and repeat the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Let’s try seeking answers. Let’s have our own biographies. Let these biographies be not verbose but introspective. I have decided. When I write my biography; I will begin with the line - My is is my was and my was is my is…

Maybe by the time, I am done writing my biography, this line; this statement; these words will get stolen. Because we might be maintaining social distancing. But we aren’t going to distance ourselves from the overpowering impact of social media. Because if we aren’t trending, we aren’t living. But we are still being followed; (sometimes) liked; (most of the times) disliked, trolled, threatened, traumatized, chased, etc. But again, with that whatever little we have left with us, let us have our own biography in place.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The Revival

October 01-2020/ Blog #1

There will be newness.

Discover it. 

After having celebrated fifteen years of blogging in September, my blog didn’t make much noise. Neither did I. Does that mean that I have grown lazy?

I therefore wish to begin with the process of the revival. 

I am thankful to specific friends and readers, who have developed a habit of visiting my blog; reading its new posts. Or else, they would have never asked or said the following:

Did I miss something??

I definitely reply when I read. 

The above is a motivating example of some reading happening on my blog. I respect such emotions. 

So, going by the title ‘The Revival’, I would like to clarify that it is not about restoration of life, a new production of an old play, a showing of an old motion picture. The title of ‘The Revival’ hints more towards an awakening (with no religious interpretations please).

This Awakening or This Revival is a journey by itself. It is an effort to review, relook. So far, this blog of Virtuous Vociferous has stood its ground as a representative platform of certain subjects. Will it continue being a platform or will it become the real voice of the author (meaning me)? But this blog has always been my voice; an extension of my personality. Should you then expect something new?

Yes there will be newness. I won’t reveal about the specific elements of this newness now. Let the newness remain fresh. Am I going to make an announcement or issue a statement? As the author of this blog, I would request you to discover it. 

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The 15 year BLOGVERSARY - September 19 | 2005-2020

 

September 22-2020/ Blog #1

This blog is my voice.  An extension of my personality. 

My blog www.virtuousvociferous.blogspot.com is just five years younger to my career span in the advertising industry. I owe its evolution to my learning from the advertising industry and the world. 

This blog is my voice. This blog is an extension of my personality. This blog takes its name from my crafted identity on Facebook. But when I started writing this blog, it had a very different identity. I commenced blogging with the title of Bengal Surprise. Eventually I chose to change it to Urban Surprise. Somehow, these names weren’t ringing a bell. I still don’t remember exactly as to what made me change its name to Virtuous Vociferous. But I am happy, I did so. As the name changed, so did my style of writing. I owe the change in my writing style to authors like Jhumpa Lahiri, Jeffrey Archer, Karl Ove Knausgaard, Bishwanath Ghosh, Mark Manson, Piyush Jha, Piyush Pandey, Prasoon Pandey and Manav Kaul. I’ve time and again referred to their writings; read their books; followed their interviews; watched their interviews; listened to their podcasts. This influence has been stupendous. 

I am also lucky to have some great friends around me. They read my blog. On many occasions, whenever I have shared a link of my newly published blog post, they make time to comment. Some also make sure to highlight the paragraphs, they liked the most. And when I tend to act lazy, these are those friends who call me, write to me and remind me - I NEED TO WRITE. I never mind them coaxing me. It is their love and faith which made me add the title of ‘WHAT AM I WRITING NEXT?’ to my page. I am immensely thankful to them too. 

On September 19, 2020 the blog turned fifteen. I remember the night of September 19, 2005 when I had posted my first blog at around 10.30 pm. I was overcome by joy. I felt overwhelmed. From then, till today, my blog has served as a foundation for me to write and share my thoughts with the world. 

My blog has made me reach out to people. My blog has invited attention too. I would like to share a small incident regarding the same. One of the renowned Page Three socialites from Mumbai had not only commented on a blog post. But she made it a point to meet me at a book launch. In a very polite manner, she pointed out to me the aspects of that blog post. The parts, which she loved the most. The parts, which she felt should be deleted. The parts, which she felt were simply brilliant. She took keen interest in this blog post because I had based it on her life, which was again written about by Sir Jeffrey Archer. 

All these fifteen years have been interesting. All these fifteen years have enriched my experience. All these fifteen years of the blog has been a celebration of a journey through listening, observing and learning too. 

I invite you all to be a part of this celebration. Your participation will only motivate me to keep writing and keep this blog Virtuous Vociferous. 

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

As a writer in the Freedom Month

Notes from 2016

August 06-2020/ Blog #1

I am wondering 

as to when I’ve enjoyed 

writing the most.

At times, I feel good to introduce myself as a Writer.

Writer by itself doesn’t sound like a designation.

It is a title. A title not necessarily bestowed. But an earned title.

A title, which is so close to my heart and (maybe) to the hearts of those, who know me as a writer.

I do get asked:

Are you a writer?

What do you write about?

Why don’t you write love stories?

How about trying your hands at writing a movie script?

Have you considered writing a web series?

When will you experiment with something sensuous?

Do you write porn?

After that first book how long should we wait for your second book?

What does it take to become a writer?

Which writer inspires you the most?

I don’t deem it necessary to answer all of them.

I think I am content with the fact that I am a writer.

Some might also argue that they don’t get to see much of my writings. 

I’ve never disagreed. Maybe because I am not in a mood to make everything too apparent or visible to everybody.

So here I am, the so-called Writer.

Thinking about myself and writing a little part about myself by being myself.

As a writer in the Freedom Month, I am wondering as to when I’ve enjoyed writing the most.

Naturally I’ve enjoyed writing the most when I have felt free; free of prejudice, free of malice, free of botheration. 

But then someone will again argue - Writing comes from within; it doesn’t need a day, a date or a time for something to evolve. I would again not disagree.

As a writer in the Freedom Month, I would only wish that the freedom to write is never taken away from me.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

July’s rain-less beginning

Photography by Purnesh Bhattacharya

July 02-2020/ Blog #1

It is not my nature

to complain against

Mother Nature.

Turning a new leaf of the calendar; stepping into the new month; breathing in a new aroma; it is time to embark on a new journey. No, if you think, I am going to step out; it isn’t practically possible or advisable at this moment. We have to practice patience for the good times to make a comeback. The agents of change are working towards it. Let’s have some faith. Let’s strengthen our belief.

July’s advent at this moment seems a bit odd though. If you’re in Mumbai right now, you should be knowing that July is one of those months when the clouds are in good mood. But this time, the clouds seem to have proceeded on an undeclared holiday. The skies are clean. This morning, we did see some clouds hovering around. But like a misled fleet of birds, they left almost immediately. The atmosphere somehow continued being fragrant. This fragrance seemed to have traveled our way from a distant place.

At this juncture, I would like to say, I had really wanted to begin writing this piece by seeking your attention and mentioning Greetings of July. We can still wish the same to each other; isn’t it? Greetings of July. Why should we leave the month feeling discriminated just because the first signs of a healthy monsoon are fading out fast! Let’s leave it to Mother Nature. She might have her own plans to organize the entry and exit of clouds. I hope when the clouds come next, they take a pause for some while. They can simply spend quality time with the skies, which spread over our city.

Our city comes alive in rains; I have been witnessing this phenomenon for the last four decades. Wouldn’t you like to see it come alive yet again? In fact, few days back when a storm had developed on the western coast, I had pulled out an umbrella. I had also sought the assistance of a friend to cover certain parts of our home’s exteriors with the blue colored plastic sheets. Our only goal was to protect those certain parts from leaking.

Speaking about leakage, mom and I sat discussing those days of our lives, we spent in heavily leaking homes. We would not dread the monsoons; but, we would certainly dread the repercussions of rains. You may also laugh at me, while I confess that I still see those homes in my dreams. Even in dreams, I see them leak, a lot more profusely. The leakage was rampant during this particular month of heavy downpours; the month of July. Now, here’s this July. We are waking up to sunshine every morning; bright and happy sunshine. Am I complaining against the sunshine? No, it is not my nature to complain against Mother Nature. I am just wondering, if we are missing the rains or the rains have given our city a miss. This prolonged phase of cloudless skies and rain-less surroundings leaves the heart wrenched. Since we are still inside our homes; just imagine staring out of the window to catch a glimpse of the rains and its unmistakable melody.

The month of July as we have known it throughout our lives has always packed a surprise. Maybe the July of 2020 too has some surprises in store for us. So, as I reach the last part of this post, I am staring out of the window. Our gallery is looking brighter; not because of the sunshine alone! The picturesque bloom of fresh marigolds has changed the otherwise somber mood. Just like the marigolds keep coming back to make us smile; this month of July shall also return to its full bloom. The clouds would return; so would the rains. Till then, let’s celebrate July and be happy about turning another leaf of our lives.

- Virtuous Vociferous | What If | 2020

Maa Always

My Maa

Always more. Always stronger.

Here and everywhere.

‘Maa’

My first breath.

‘Maa’

My first dream.

‘Maa’

My first utterance.

‘Maa’

My first speech.

‘Maa’

My first known person in this world.

‘Maa’

My first partner in innocence.

‘Maa’

My first friend.

‘Maa’

My first listener.

‘Maa’

My first teacher.

‘Maa’

My first mentor.

‘Maa’

My first master chef.

‘Maa’

My first written word.

‘Maa’

My first sung hymn.

‘Maa’

My first, admirer and fan.

‘Maa’

My first leader.

‘Maa’

My first philosopher.

‘Maa’

My first Goddess.

‘Maa’

My first everything.

Maa. Nothing less; always more. Nothing weak; always stronger. Here; always here. And everywhere. It’s Maa Always.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 10 | May Blog-2 | What If | 2020

The Missing Rainbow

Photo Courtesy: Google

Deaths are defeating lives.

Diseases are endangering survival.

Everything has changed around us.

Conversations muted. Movement limited. Socializing curtailed. Freedom denied.

The windows are open; the rays of sun are in; the birds are chirping; but human voices have gone missing.

The doors are open; the breeze is in; the dry leaves of plants and trees are flying in; but humans aren’t walking in.

The world seems to stand divided between – Inner and Outer world.

Everything has come to a standstill.

Happiness seems to have vanished.

Time has paused.

The car, which was left parked after a road trip hasn’t gone beyond the housing colony. The air pressure in the tyres is decreasing every day. The fuel tank is on the verge of running dry. The bike, which is in urgent need of servicing is stationary.

Vacations stand cancelled. Engagements and weddings stand postponed.

We have lost half of March, the whole of April and few parts of May.

Our financial scenario looks pale. Our emotional scenario appears scarred.

Queues are to be seen; outside wine shops, ration shops, police stations, offices of local political leaders. Some want to get drunk; some wish to continue staying overstocked; some are willing to go home; some are still eager to seek privileges.

Trains have stopped running. Flights have stopped taking off. Vehicles have stopped moving between cities, districts, states and countries. Ships are anchored at the shores; there are no immediate signs or symbols of them sailing anytime sooner.

Exams have been cancelled. Projects have been stalled. Employment opportunities have been thinning out. The processes of recruitment have been slowing down.

We made some noise. We lit some candles. We did every possible thing to keep the crisis away. But, strangely the crisis seems far from getting over. Every single day, the crisis keeps growing, multiplying.

Deaths are defeating lives. Diseases are endangering survival.

Hotels aren’t available to stay. Restaurants aren’t serving. Sea beaches are sealed. Resorts are shut.

Once upon a time, this life seemed like a colorful rainbow. The rainbow has gone missing.

Right now, desperately seeking The Missing Rainbow.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 06 | May Blog-1 | What If | 2020

Didu can never be forgotten

Didu always

We still feel

her presence

among us, within us

She spoke the language of love because she knew only to love. Didu, Amma, Thamma as she was addressed by us; her battalion of five grandchildren, she was special, she will remain special. Even though I am the eldest among my siblings, I would often feel that her love was getting a little more shared between the other four. Well, that is how Didu was; ever loved, ever generous, and ever supportive of us. And all the five of us, loved her infinitely.

On many occasions, that we revisit our memories of her, we remember how she was our friend, our mentor, our guide and as my brother put it – our partner in crime. But what were these crimes, which we would commit and she would happily be a part of? Most of these crimes included purchase of few more candies from the shop, a piece more from the crispy French fries made by her or an extra serve of a piece or two of the mutton she cooked or a little extra cash. Beyond that she would sometimes also be supportive of deducting the extra hours, which our parents might demand us to contribute in studies. But Didu would do this only on one condition; she would make us promise that we should make up for the lost hours in our next session.

Didu was our gravity. She took over from where Dadu left. My two sisters and I were lucky to get pampered by Dadu as well as Didu. My brother and my little sister never got to see who Dadu was or the person, the human being that he was. But they got to see Didu. And Didu showered them with love and blessings. Before she breathed her last on April 20, 2018; it was my younger brother and youngest sister who served her and attended to every demand of hers. One of my sister was already married by then.

My relationship with Didu had been that of grandmother and grandchild. But she was my sister during Rakshabandhan; my mother during my mother’s absence while she was teaching in her school; my father during my father’s shift duties; my teacher while studying. During my college days, I stayed with Didu. I would stay awake till she was awake. And I would sleep when she would sleep.

Two years faded away. But even today, her memories remain fresh in our minds. Be it her own children or us; her grandchildren. At times, I remember those moments when I had fought with Didu. These fights were just like the fights, we break into with our friends and forget about them; as immediately as possible. She would never take offence. But yes, she would grow emotional. Still she was strong enough to make us stronger and make sure that we are prepared enough to take up all challenges of the future, she prayed for us.

The fondest memory, which I hold about Didu is the train journey between Mumbai and Kolkata of 1993. I had just appeared for my board exams. My parents took the landmark decision to send us both to Kolkata. This was my first ever solo journey sans my parents. Didu was traveling with me. During the journey, a mother and son were our fellow travelers. The son would demand anything and everything, which her son would demand. My Didu would buy it for him and I was left fuming. On many occasions, I tried stopping her from doing that; Didu didn’t budge. Finally, there was one such moment, when the mother happened to visit the bathroom and I got the opportunity to ask Didu some tough questions. But the compassionate soul that she was, Didu silenced me in two seconds. When I asked her, why was she spending so much for that kid? She replied, ‘His mother has been putting her hand in the wallet to fish out money. But do you know that she is penniless. Her husband made her board the train but didn’t give her any money to spend during travel. She will only have some access to money when this train reaches Howrah station and her brother comes to fetch her.’ I asked Didu, as to who shared this information with her. Didu replied, ‘When you were fuming and being angry at me for buying him that toy, she saw you. She broke down and told me her story.’ The journey ended. The woman and her son were attended by their relative. I looked at the woman and the child; they smiled and waved at us. I felt a lump in my throat.

So, as another year passes by after Didu’s absence from our lives, we still feel her presence among us, within us. Because for the kind and compassionate soul; Didu can never be forgotten.

- Virtuous Vociferous | April 22 | April Blog-2 | What If | 2020

The Death Of An Actor – RANJIT CHOWDHRY (aka CHOTTU)

Ranjit Chowdhry - 19.9.1955 to 15.4.2020

Ranjit Chowdhury

as the youngest brother

kept us together as family

His sister paid a fitting tribute by posting an old photograph of his; a black and white photograph on instagram. In a footnote, which she wrote on the bottom left of the photograph; Raell Padamsee wrote about her brother – 19.9.1955 to 15.4.2020; actor, writer, maverick; we will miss you. Below the photograph, she wrote a description; as simple as the actor looked or his personality was. She wrote and I quote – For all those who knew Ranjit, the funeral will be held tomorrow and a gathering to celebrate his life and share his stories on May 5. With love, Raell.

I personally learnt about his death from one of the posts of my favorite author Bishwanath Ghosh’s post on facebook. He shared his fondness for the song – Uthe sabke kadam dekho rum pum pum from the movie Baaton Baaton Mein. He described Ranjit as that guy who played the violin in the song is no more. I was a bit taken aback. I googled about his sudden demise and learnt about his demise on April 15.

Ranjit to be specific was a star of the family movies, we grew up watching during the seventies. Thankfully these movies were relayed repeatedly on the Doordarshan and now they are doing the rounds of ‘retro watch’ on some OTT platforms. He was one of those rebellious guys in the movie, who would always step out to do the oddest thing in the movie. As Deepa Mehta put it in an interesting way in one of her interviews with Sanjay Jha, a film critic. Deepa Mehta described Ranjit fondly as eternally rebellious. She added, “His wicked sense of humour, his disdain for convention, his compassion and irascible nature will be hard to replace.”

The movies, I loved him watching were – Baaton Baaton Mein, Khatta Meetha, Khoobsurat, Kama Sutra, Fire. The first three movies were sugarcoated. Kama Sutra showed him in a different light. But it was his role in Fire, which still remains memorable for me. I remember, Fire being banned and people raising slogans against the movie focusing on a lesbian relationship. I cared for none. Two fine actresses were shown falling in love; Shabana Azmi and Nandita Das. They belonged to a dysfunctional family and were married off to the two men in the family; Kulbhushan Kharbanda and Javed Jaffrey. But the third man in the family; the servant played to aching detail by Ranjit Chowdhry was the kind of character, which lingered in my mind. Right in the drawing room, he would sit watching porn. The oldest woman of the house; the so called Daadi (granny) or Ammaji (if I am not getting it wrong) would be asleep and she would keep screaming. Ranjit would do the unthinkable and shower the choicest of abuses to silence her resistance. Post Fire and many years later, in short films on many OTT platforms and YouTube, I’ve come across many characters like him. The closest to his character was the servant form the Tisca Chopra short film Chutney. Yet, he couldn’t beat what Ranjit Chowdhry had shown to the world, which stood resistant to Fire.

In today’s era, when a certain star from Indian film industry makes his way to Hollywood cinema, it becomes news. Ranjit Chowdhry along with the likes of Om Puri, Roshan Seth, Saeed Jaffrey, Anupam Kher, Irrfan Khan had already made it to Hollywood long back. If you don’t believe my words, try watching Denzel Washington’s Mississippi Masala. You will realize, the kind of actor that Ranjit Chowdhry was.

On a concluding note, you might wonder, why am I writing about an actor; I am not even related to. Nope, I am definitely related to him through my love for cinema, which kept us together as family. Ranjit Chowdhry as the youngest brother or the littlest brother in these cinemas was the ever extended olive branch. His characters made us believe – Rebels have a world of their own.

In his memoirs, A Double Life: My Exciting Years in Theatre and Advertising, Alyque writes fondly of his foster son, “Ranjit . . . has always been a delightful spirit of a human being. An impish character, both in size and personality, he’s quick-witted and charming.”

- Virtuous Vociferous | April 18 | April Blog-1 | What If | 2020

#MusingsOfMarch – A NEW BELIEF SYSTEM

The next era of humanity 
is going to be 
the best era of our lives. 

No time is good or bad. Time by itself is unpredictable. That being the fact, no great astrologer could have ever predicted COVID-19 as a threat to humanity. Had such predictions been in place, the World Health Organization wouldn’t have declared it as a pandemic. 

India is not untouched. The global apathy threatens to cripple us. Thus, we need to have a new belief system in place. We need to stay calm and respect the restrictions. These restrictions are not limiting us. These restrictions have been imposed to protect us. 
Starting from March 25, 2020 we will be experiencing a national lock down of 21 days. Trust me, it could get extended to. Therefore, we need to stay calm. We need to seek a new purpose to live and to help live our loved ones. 

It is understandable, the four walls of our home could leave us feeling suffocated. So do the four walls of our offices. But this is not the question of which four walls sustain us well. 
For ages, we have quoted – The home is where our heart is. 

My personal belief says, when the head of our country, the Prime Minister; the head of our state, the Chief Minister; the head of all other countries are asking us to stay home. There seriously couldn’t be a safer place than home, home and only home. 

So, if the times are difficult, don’t curse it. Time is as innocent as we feel we are. And only time will be able to tell us in the coming days, where are we going to stand as a nation, during the difficult phase of corona outbreak. And only time will be able to tell us, where will the entire world be after having fought bravely against the pandemic.

So, 21 days of being immobile. No, don’t take it in a wrong sense. Try telling yourself #21DaysOfChange. Or motivate yourself by saying #21DaysOfAcceptance. Just read the title of this post again, it says – A New Belief System. It is not that devastating. In the year 2011, a freaky accident had left me crippled and I had no choice. A lunatic biker knocked me down. I was left with a hairline fracture on the left foot. When the orthopedic surgeon told me that I will have to stay indoors for the next one month, tears rolled down my eyes. I was to stay home for a month. Initially it was tough. Being a creative person, I couldn’t digest it. But then I put a new belief system in place; I started a blog -  https://immobilehours.blogspot.com

Some of my colleagues from those days laughed; they said, as a patient I was wanting to seek sympathy. I didn’t pay attention to it. After one month, when I walked free, they came forward and said – You might have been immobile, but we witnessed your life unfold through your blog. Thus, seeking an inspiration from those immobile hours of 2011, after almost a decade, I am going to start something today. The first blog-post was supposed to go live on March 25 itself. But I am happy to remain prone to some of the most amazing moments, which make me feel loved. So, even if there is a delay, you will still get to see a new way of life unfold on the new blog – https://residentcreatorofalockedparadise.blogspot.com

On this blog, I am going to document my personal journey for the next 21 days of national lock down. I am in no mood to share anything that is negative. Instead I am going to write about things, which are doable, can be done and what I ended up doing during these 21 days. Also, this blog is not just going to remain limited to my writings during the lock down of 21 days to fight the contagion of COVID-19. This blog will have its updates, even on days when I choose to remain locked at home or could be at a place, and choose to lock myself and write something.

This blog is my way of putting a new belief system in place. Don’t lose hope. Be hopeful. The next era of humanity is going to be the best era of our lives. And before we step out again, let’s stay committed and make ourselves available through our hearts and spirit to #UniteToFightCorona. 

- Virtuous Vociferous | March 26 | March Blog-2 | What If | 2020

#MusingsOfMarch - IN VIEW OF THE WORLD

Take care, treat life well. 

Love yourself. 

Survive, sustain. 

After December 2019, I hadn’t written anything. All this while, I have saving the best words; I have been segregating the best photographs; I have been trying to overcome certain uncertainties. But when I settled down to think of things, I could only imagine a revolving globe. The revolving globe appeared hollow.

Someone had put it so rightly – Fear kills faster.

At this moment, fear is on a rampage. Even the smallest of infection can spell panic. Governments are making announcements to shut down businesses. But, what about the multiple levels of confidence, which had started collapsing due to the outbreak!

The outbreak has a name. The name has its own share of fame too. But the fame is not enjoyable. The fame is not of that nature, which is celebrated.

Depression is setting in; anxiety is pulling in; apprehension is barging in. Should we wear a mask? Should we stay indoors? Should we save our neighborhood? Should we save the world? Questions, questions and only questions.

As is known to many of us, it is a virus. Logically speaking it is invisible. The virus is spreading. And, spreading violently.

Masks are on. Masks are off. Masks are in. Masks are running out of supply. Masks are to be seen everywhere. Masks, masks; more and more masks.

Initially summers were about vacation and socializing. The summers of 2020 are gearing up for evacuation and social isolation. We are arguing; we are contemplating; we are caught in a state of belief and disbelief (both).

Doubts. We are doubting everything. From a sneeze caused due to dust allergies to cough caused due to the food caught in the food pipe. We are doubting everything. The machinery of fear is working closely with our worst of all dreadful experiences.

Words like quarantine, isolation and prevention are growing frequent as vital mentions in our conversations. But I hear no conversations. We hear no conversations. All we hear, we suppress, and we confess is dread, dread and dread.

It could be too easy to call it a modern example of biological warfare. But we aren’t talking war here; we are talking life here. A life that belongs to us and needs to be prevented. Generations can’t get written off. Journeys can’t be discontinued. Love stories can’t remain incomplete.

This threat, this insecurity is endangering our dreams too. We are often heard saying – It’s impossible, not possible. Have we succumbed already? Or we are waiting for the time to consume us in its run against possibilities!

In a situation so challenging, we are also making space for some dark humor. But I guess, humor isn’t a part of this hara-kiri. Reality of time standing stark. Reality of moment seeming dubious. Television is sending out negative signals at us. Social media is sending out mixed signals at us. The truth remains veiled beneath layers of discrepancy.

But this is a phase; a crucial phase to initiate safety measures and to pray for those who couldn’t get the chance to remain safe.

Therefore, by the next time, I write again…my eyes don’t have to be moist; they should be curious again. Take care, treat life well. Love yourself. Survive, sustain. Be there to share your tale of overcoming the odds.  

  

- Virtuous Vociferous | March 16 | March Blog-1 | What If | 2020