6 AM
Been up for a while. Feel ok.
What a day was yesterday. Fuck. Can’t imagine having more days like that. I literally slept through it.
And whatever part I did not sleep, I got thru it like a zombie.
I did not step out of the house. A rare occasion.
I ordered a million things. A thing that I had stopped over the last few days.
I would’ve eaten like a pig that’s come out of famine.
I did not go for a walk.
I did not do Surya Namaskar.
I did not write on the Roshan story.
However, I somehow managed 15 minutes of meditation. And I did publish the day’s #aPicADay. I did call home but I would have spoken to my parents for not more than 300 seconds.
Thankfully I did not succumb to temptation and did not order coke or coffee. Though I did eat a bg tub of chocolate mousse. I think that’s my guilty pleasure. As long as I have that in moderation.
Fuck.
It sucked.
Like a day taken away from the limited time, we have here on Mother Earth!
It’s a crime that I did that I need to be a lot more responsible with my time.
On one side, I may claim that it’s ok to take breaks. Apparently, even God rested on the 7th day. But then, the earth does not stop spinning on the 7th day. The sun does not stop fusing into Helium (I hope I am right) and radiating energy. We don’t stop breathing on the 24th hour. The chakra of life does not stop spinning! Who are we to then stop and break our routines?
While it is good and easy to acknowledge that I slacked yesterday, at some point in time, I need to meditate on the reasons. So that I can fix those.
One reason I can think immediately is that I overslept. I know that I am as fresh as a daisy even with 6 hours of sleep. I know, science says we need 8 hours. I want to go there. I may work my way to that. But right now, I am good with 6. The days I sleep more than 6, I get fucked. so may be, yesterday was brought about that.
Two, it could be all the news around me. Friends falling sick of COVID, friends, and families of people I care for suffering from COVID, people dying from it, general apathy of policymakers with it. I think this is the first time I have seen this large humanitarian crisis (please don’t get started on how living in India in itself a humanitarian challenge. May be that’s affecting me at the subconscious level? May be I may claim that I am indifferent to the suffering but I get deeply affected? May be it’s my inability to help people and matters right now that is making me suffer? Fuck helping others, I know that if I were to need Oxygen or those meds for my family, I would have a hard time arranging for those. It plain sucks to be alive right now.
Of course, I am lucky to be ok but I think it’s a matter of time.
Anyhow. The point is to not wail into the misery. The point is to reflect on the reasons for the off day.
Three. May be my system merely wanted a break from the strenuous routine that I live? You know, where each minute is accounted for?
Routines. Ah, the love of my life. lemme talk about that.
For someone that chases freedom and independence of time, I love routines a lot. I think it is the routines that get simple people to do great things. Like I have been walking up 8 floors every day for the last three days. The first day was tough af. The third was a little easy. I could’ve gone another flight. If I did this every day, someday I can walk up 24. And then someday, the Everest. No, I haven’t forgotten that. But the moment you break routine, you are back to square one. I know that today I will have a tough time walking up.
Most great people, when asked about their process and work, “blamed” the boring routines they had when it came to work. They would live exciting lives otherwise but when it comes to work, the things that they are known for, the work they do, would have been produced in the most boring, mundane, routine things.
Wait. I am thinking. Should I do a series of posts on how some of the greatest writers write? Now that I am ok being on video, this could be a great time to do so! Kya kya karega Garg? Marketing Podcast? Investor’s Podcast? Writer’s techniques. Lol. Guess, “I am not much of a petty thief!” Let’s see. Let me make a list of questions and see where it goes. #note2self
Anyhow.
Moving on.
Here’s the streaks for the day.
- Morning Pages / Meditations – 131
- #aPicADay – 112
- 10K steps a day – 0
- OMAD – 0
- #noCoffee – 44
- #noCoke – 44
- 10 mins of meditation – 9
- #book2 – 0
- Killer Boogie – 0
- Original Work (limited time only) – 0
- Surya Namaskar – 0
Lol. Most things are zero. What’s the point of tracking these?
Anyhow, onto Roshan’s story.
Day 8
I am still at a point where I don’t know the central conflict in his life. What is his nemesis? What makes him leave his bed every morning (even though he is deteriorating) and take a stand? What is the cause that he wants to chase? In #tnks, I was clear that the main character was chasing revenge. The others were trying to protect Nidhi and her family. I can’t make this about a treasure and its hunt. Book2 is all about that. I can’t make this about the family’s heritage that he may want to preserve – the setup will become complex.
Lemme launch into free text for about 30 minutes and see where I reach. Its 8:03. Here we go.
[START]
The thing with a small place is that everyone knows everyone else. If you don’t know things first-hand, you will hear it soon enough. You may still be able to hide things trifle like life or death, bankruptcy, misfortunes et al. But you can not hide things like love affairs, a familial argument, revolts in the family, and other such things that take more significance at these small towns where things literally are stuck in time. The older men still gather under the banyan tree. The younger women still find time to share notes when they gathered around the temple. Temple was probably an excuse to leave their homes to escape their monotonous lives that circled between sleep, kitchen, chores, sleep.
At the temple, while the Pujari and everyone was there, it was Pritha that was the chieftain of these women seeking a break. At these breaks, they engaged in idle banter and gossip as they did non-essential chores for the temple. This hour that they got for themselves after lunch was like a maha-sabha of the women of the town. Even a few non-Hindu women attended these. And despite their status or rank, everyone was welcome. It is at this temple and under the patronage of Pritha that the daughter of a sweeper could sit next to the wife of the Pujari and share water and snacks from the same banana leaf.
These meeting of the women was the only anomaly in the town of Indapur where people were still seated in tradition even though they were in the 21st century. The traditions from the yesteryears were still enforced, respected, and revered. To a point that it was not uncommon for the Panchayat to bar a family or two often from the town. There was no way you could go against the Panchayat that consisted of a representative of the seven families that Shivaji himself blessed. To represent the pandits, there was the Pujari. Shlok Chavan was a descendent of the fighters in Shivaji’s camp. Pritha took on the seat after her husband died and she represented the munims, the accountants for Shivji’s empire. The voice of the lower castes was with Sharat, whose family has been in the service of the Maratha warrior even before they came to Indapur. So, even though they should ideally not be on this august panel, he was the most vocal. To make things worse, he accepted and agreed and decreed that the caste system be preserved.
Of course, there was a local MLA, the police, and the government apparatus. But at Indapur they held no power apart from giving inconvenience to their official powers to reaffirm whatever the council decided. There were talks that Sharat stand in the elections next time around so that they did not need these pen for hire. But then the system was convenient. They could pass on diktats with as much ease.
As the only woman on the council, Pritha was as important. While the other men would secretly sneer at her decisions, none of them had the balls to be open about it.
[END]
Let’s see where we reach. Some ideas…
1/ Can I make this a communal story? Two people from two different communities fall in love. This love wedges a crack in the entire town. To a point that there are murders and all. May be Roshan could be a saviour? Before he died, he wants to see his town safe and the couple married? Not sure. Too many violent, angry love stories have been told already!
2/ Can the rift be between son and mother? Mother wants traditional upheld. Son wants the lovers to succeed. On one side, they have the grief to get over. And on the other, they have this egoistical battle?
So that.
Over for the day.
Work beckons.
See you guys tomorrow.
