I Create- I Live

17th of August,2022. Happy birthday dear Daughter.

“Thank you Mommy” she responds panting, with an Endorphin high that comes after exercise. “Ok Baby, I have a gift for you,” I say with a broad smile, almost imagining her reaction. “Can you go to the Penguin classics series on your bookshelf and find that gift”. Eyes widen, she jumps off from the sofa and feverishly scans the Penguins. “I found it”- A yelp of delight.

The pain that a charred dish gives me, but most times the palette tingles with a newly created recipe.

She has found the small memo book with recipes for the food I cooked when I went to London to attend her graduation ceremony. “I should have printed the photographs to go with it. But she never did go to the office to help me print it. Oh reminds me I have to get a printer at home. But there is no furniture to put it on. Maybe buy a new side table….”. HOW DID YOU MANAGE THIS?! – she screams into her Jabra Bluetooth. I make a mental note to check if a friend needs help publishing the recipe book that I left with him.

Warm and happy- I tell her I need to run- the Gardner Pitambar has been trying to get my attention outside the creeper-laden window, past my fern plant, that I am staring at. As I make my way through the garden.

The anguish as snails eat up the plant and at most times a budding fruit that Nature helps create.

“Madam”, “Aaji kokharu gacha re bahut phoola aasichi” he is beaming, as he tells me in Odia, that the pumpkin plant has given a bumper crop of flowers that morning. I skip up, taking two stairs at a time – a friend once told me that’s how I climb stairs! Didn’t know till then. We reach the terrace. 1,..10…15..there were 16 of them! Leaving the three female flowers that will grow into pumpkins, with a bit of tender care and some mercy from the rain gods, I come down and lay them on the table. Who would I have thought I will be able to bring back my Father’s garden to life ?- of course would have been possible with the toil of Pitamber and my mother’s loving guidance. The delight on my mother’s face as we count out the 721st mango to be distributed makes all the heartache worth it.

My alarm goes off, the grandfather clock tells me it’s time for me to pick up the half-written work and post it.

The words just die out, most times they dance with life…. Creating a soft hue.

My writing group cheerleaders have reminded me to tell my truth. Our workshop anchor has said- write- you don’t know who will benefit. I have just come back from a long morning walk and am sweaty. Ahh- a shower can wait. Namrata is going to have me do the asanas and contortions despite my protests and I am going to break into a sweat- real and imaginary! So the bright pink T-shirt it is, As I sit down to write. “A tree that changes someone’s life”. That is the topic for the day. 35 minutes is all we are given. The thrill of finishing a work- good, bad, ugly- who is to judge?- takes me back to school my examination hall and the high of an exam where we have put in all the effort.

As I pull out the tabletop of the 150-year-old teak desk, gifted by Nam- my friend’s words ring out “Write Soma”. I scribble on and reflect on how to close this article.

The light from the skylight above my desk falls on the bed. A golden glint that I see from the corner of my eye momentarily distracts me. The zari (gold border) from the Chanderi Ajrakh saree that Haaris sent from Bhuj in Kutch, Gujarat, has arrived. Months had gone into discussing the material and creating the 6-meter fabric and design. The border he suggested looks ethereal. I must remember to call Pawan and make sure that the magenta of the Kosa saree matched my sister wants. Did I connect him with Vishnu, who wanted to write about the weavers for his school project? I must not forget. These are promptly added to my mental To-Do’s.

I am today the best version of myself. Leading a life of unbridled joy on my farm. Deep Work, intense – they tell me. Creating- I tell myself, the dance of the complete and whole- can be intense and soulfull (can I patent this word?).

A deep sigh, as I rest my head on my arms. “Ouch!” Remnants of my frozen shoulder amuse me every day. I have to take that appointment today with my Physiotherapist- that is no.1 on that to-do list. She has forbidden me from picking up the knitting needles. “Nooooo!” I look at her with dismay. I have just about started my newest brain-tickling creation.

I pick up my glass of green smoothie- the Spinach, Mint, and Banana all fresh from the backyard.