2459: Freshly Ground Nostalgia

The last time I visited a flour mill, I think I was in 5th standard or somewhere around that age. I had gone along with my father, mostly for fun, no special agenda.

After that, either my father or somebody else from the family used to regularly handle those visits.

Then life moved ahead.

I grew up, set up my own tiny house, became more than a full-time mother, and because good quality flour became easily available everywhere, we mostly opted for ready-made options for years.

For specialized flours like jowar and other millets, either the nearby super-shoppy owner would lovingly get them ground for me along with the regular society orders, or my elderly maid would quietly jump in to help. She used to see me constantly running around and would often take over such tasks on her own.

Now the kids have grown up and started working.

And today, after ages, I thoroughly enjoyed the new avatar of that same flour mill.

What an experience it turned out to be.

The moment I entered, nostalgia quietly surrounded me from all directions. That fine layer of freshly ground flour floating in the air, the fragrance of grains and seeds getting crushed into softness, the sounds, the movement, the rhythm...

Honestly, no combination of words can fully describe the aroma of freshly ground flour.

I stayed there for almost 45 minutes, and by the end even my hair had happily accepted a new layer of flour dust on them 

The place was overflowing with people. The queue kept growing every few minutes. Yet the mill owner was handling everything in such a systematic and effortless manner that simply watching him work became an experience in itself.

I had carried only a tiny quantity for grinding.

Good that I did.

Now I think I will continue carrying tiny quantities only, so that I get reasons to visit more often. Many readers may laugh after reading this. After all, a flour mill is not exactly considered a “place to visit.” But for me, today it truly was.

Somewhere during those 45 minutes, I deeply missed my father too. His bicycle. His storytelling while going and coming back. His explanations about how flour mills actually work, why different grains behave differently, how the machines function...

Today, standing there quietly, I connected many of those old dots once again.

Sometimes nostalgia arrives covered in flour dust.

2458: The Answer Arrived Quietly

A tale of a family, heard from someone somewhere.

Today, a somewhat similar incident surfaced before me again, and it quietly reminded me that every story truly has another side to it.

This tale revolves mainly around five individuals. Before becoming parents, the couple lost one child even before birth. Life moved ahead, and eventually they became parents to three more children.

Things, however, were never truly smooth within the family.

Years passed. The children grew up, started working, and one fine day the couple silently parted ways. No major drama, no loud announcements, no public noise. Just distance.

The lady somehow learned to survive peacefully without depending on her husband anymore. But somewhere deep within, one confusion still remained alive.

What now? or What next?

Should she continue visiting the old family home sometimes?
Should she stay connected?
Should she wait?
Or should she quietly move away from that emotional space completely?

Being a simple woman who had spent nearly 35 years within that relationship, she was not searching for revenge, arguments, or victory. She was only seeking clarity.

And strangely, clarity arrived one fine day in an unexpected form.

She came to know that she was no longer even allowed to enter the very house where the family had once lived together.

And suddenly, everything became crystal clear.

No more confusion.
No more emotional negotiations with herself.
No more waiting for signs from the universe.

Ironically, the person who finally gave her complete peace was her husband himself.

By making things so visibly clear.

Sometimes, painful clarity is still clarity.

And perhaps that is why they say: Whatever happens, happens for the highest good.

2457: सुगंधांची सकाळ

 तर त्याचं काय झालं, आज सकाळी नेहमीप्रमाणे चालायला गेले होते. इथेच अगदी अंगणात म्हणायला हरकत नाही अशी मोठी open gym आहे. भरपूर मोकळी जागा असल्यामुळे चालणं, व्यायाम करणं सहज शक्य होतं. समोर भला मोठा डोंगर, मोठमोठी झाडं, मिनी जंगलच म्हणा ना. वर डोंगरमाथ्यावर छोटंसं देऊळसुद्धा आहे.

तर अचानक कोणीतरी माझं जबरदस्त स्वागत केलं.

तो मातीचा सुगंध...

अहाहा, काही विचारूच नका.

क्षणभर इकडे तिकडे बघितलं. पावसाचं कुठेच चिन्ह नव्हतं. मग हा दरवळ आला कुठून?

चालणं सुरू होतं आणि चार डोळ्यांनी शोधमोहीमही.

मग लक्षात आलं, आमच्याच इथे बांधकाम सुरू आहे. काल उशिरा बहुतेक मोठमोठे वाळूचे ढीग आले असावेत. काही जण ती वाळू भरून नेत होते. नदीकाठची, थोडी मातीमिश्रित वाळू.

बस्स...

त्या सुगंधामुळे नकळत माझ्या चालण्याचा वेगच वाढला.

इतक्यात जिमच्या वरच्या मजल्यावरून अजून एक सुगंध खाली उतरला. कोणीतरी भात शिजवत होतं. आणि तो तांदळाचा दर्जा काय सांगू? त्या शेतकऱ्याला मनापासून सलाम, ज्याने इतका सुगंधी तांदूळ पिकवला.

थोडं चालून, हे सगळे सुगंध अनुभवत परत घरी आले. किल्लीने दरवाजा उघडायच्या आतच अजून एक दरवळ स्वागताला उभाच होता. संपूर्ण घर सुगंधाने भरून गेलं होतं. वरच्या मजल्यावरच्यांनी कपडे धुण्याची मशीन लावली असावी. आणि साबण वापरताना हात अजिबात राखला नव्हता हे स्पष्ट जाणवत होतं असंख्य फुलांचा सुगंध दरवळत होता.

तो अनुभवतच गवती चहा घालून चहाचं आधण ठेवलं.

अहाहा...

मग काय विचारता, जैसे चार चाँद लग गये.

आणि मग अचानक जाणवलं, आपल्या दिवसात किती प्रकारचे सुगंध सतत येत असतात. फोडण्या, साबण, चहा, माती, भात, फुलं...

सगळं रोजचंच.

पण आज ते नव्याने अनुभवलं. 

तुमच्या दिवसातही असेच दरवळते क्षण येवोत... 

2455: हवेबरोबर अजून काही

हल्ली दिवसातून सिगारेटच्या धुराच्या किमान चार फेऱ्या ठरलेल्या असतात. आणि हल्ली तर सिगारेटच्या दुनियेतही काहीतरी बदल झालाय बहुतेक. धूर जास्त दाट, जड आणि टिकाऊ झाल्यासारखा वाटतो. एकदा आला की बराच वेळ सोबत राहतो. त्यामुळे परिणामही जास्त वेळ जाणवत राहतो.

माझा बहुतेक वेळ वाचन, लेखन, अभ्यास साहित्य तयार करणं, ब्लॉगिंग, ऑनलाईन शिकवणं, journaling अशा अनेक गोष्टींमध्ये जातो. माझ्या बेडरूमला मोठ्ठं बाल्कनीचं दार आहे. भरपूर प्रकाश, मस्त हवा आणि अप्रतिम cross ventilation. माझं ते कोपऱ्यातलं विश्व मला फार आवडतं.

पण हल्ली त्या cross ventilation सोबत bonus म्हणून अजून काहीतरी येतं.

माझ्या डोक्यावर अगदी थेट वर राहणारे शेजारी बहुतेक WFH चा आनंद घेत असावेत. कारण त्यांचा बराच वेळ बाल्कनीत जातो. आणि ते chronic smoker आहेत हे तर आता निर्विवाद झालंय. आमच्या बाल्कनी इतक्या जवळ आहेत की दिवसातून अनेकदा त्यांचा धूर थेट माझ्याकडे येतो.

बराच काळ मला एकच प्रश्न पडतोय. मी किती वेळ माझंच बाल्कनीचं दार बंद ठेवू? आणि का? दुसऱ्याच्या सवयीमुळे मी नैसर्गिक प्रकाश, हवा आणि माझं आवडतं workspace का टाळावं?

विशेष म्हणजे वास इतका त्रासदायक नाही वाटत. पण second-hand smoke बद्दल जे काही ऐकलंय, वाचलंय, त्याचे परिणाम मात्र सतत मनात फिरत राहतात.

मनापासून वाटतं, अशा धुराला दुसऱ्यांच्या फुफ्फुसांपर्यंत पोचायच्या आधीच शोषून घेईल असं एखादं साधन असावं.

शेजाऱ्यांना जाऊन सांगावं असं वाटतंय खरं. पण त्यातून फार काही बदल होईल असं वाटत नाही. त्यापेक्षा असं एखादं smoke absorption device शोधून त्यांनाच भेट द्यावं बहुतेक.

2454: Tiny Packs, Giant Memories

I took an aeroplane ride today. Sky high, far above the visible skies, literally. That too an international ride after such a long time.

My tiny tots and I grew up together enjoying simple home-cooked dishes filled with endless variety. Sandwich making at home was one such celebration. Back then, the house was always full of people. There were minimum two or three maids around, neighbours walking in and out, plates constantly being shared, and food naturally prepared in abundance. Sandwiches were never made for just one or two people. It was always an event.

It has now been a complete year of sandwich break for me after my duo flew away.

The other day, while speaking to my beloved son, I told him that I really did not wish to buy those bulky cheese and butter packs anymore. They would simply become permanent refrigerator assets with no takers at home now. He casually suggested buying them anyway since their expiry dates usually stretch long enough.

I still was not convinced.

I searched online for smaller packs but found none. Yesterday, while visiting a nearby shop, I hesitantly asked for just a couple of cheese cubes to begin with. Thankfully, the shopkeeper agreed. Then softly, almost with embarrassment, I asked if he had tiny butter packs too.

And there they were.

The moment I saw them, I was in tears.

I had last met those tiny butter packs years ago during my first flight to America. Yesterday, they quietly reappeared in front of me at a small local shop.

Life suddenly felt very simple.

Today, when I finally made my sandwiches again, the chef in me came out wholeheartedly. And with the very first bite, I directly reached that aeroplane once again.

I cannot fully express what I experienced during that tiny meal today. It carried taste, memories, togetherness, absence, gratitude, and longing all at once. I missed my duo badly while eating.

But somewhere, it also reminded me of the incredible richness and variety hidden within simple home-cooked food. After an entire year, it was finally my sandwich’s turn again.

And honestly, the journey is beautiful.

2453: What Enters Unasked

I smoke heavily every single day. At least four times a day, without fail.

Somewhere along the way, cigarettes seem to have changed too. They feel longer lasting now. The smoke appears thicker, denser, and somehow more persistent. It lingers longer than before, and so does its impact.

Most of my day goes into reading, writing, preparing study material, blogging, online teaching, journaling, and related work. I usually sit in my bedroom beside a wide open balcony door. Bright sunlight, uninterrupted airflow, and beautiful cross ventilation make that corner my favourite workspace.

But over time, another regular visitor has quietly become part of that environment.

I think it is my immediate neighbour who sits right above my head directly, perhaps someone enjoying WFH too. A chronic smoker, without a doubt. And because our balconies align so closely, I end up inhaling the smoke multiple times a day.

For a long time, I kept wondering how long I should continue keeping my balcony door shut, and more importantly, why should I disconnect myself from natural light and fresh breeze because of someone else’s habit?

It is not even the smell that bothers me the most. What stays in my mind are the repeated discussions around second-hand smoke and its long-term effects.

I genuinely wish there existed some practical device that could absorb or contain cigarette smoke before it spreads into somebody else’s lungs.

I may still go and speak to my neighbour politely, though I doubt much will change. Perhaps searching for such a smoke-absorbing solution and gifting it might work better.

2452: Understanding the ‘P’ Beyond PhD

Based on my journey as a researcher, guide, external expert, and now a research workshop facilitator, I have increasingly felt the importance of the “P” in PhD and why it stands first in such a vast journey.

Taking this thought forward, I have been conducting a series of workshops inspired by Garbha Sanskar, beginning in Marathi and gradually extending to English, Hinglish, and Hindi. These sessions focus on building that foundational layer of thinking.

Today, I experienced a very unique validation of this approach.

I came across a podcast by Prasad Chalavadi, a well-known name in the saree and garments industry. What stood out was not just his business scale, but the depth of his understanding.

His awareness of the psychology of women and how it connects with sarees was remarkable. From understanding weavers, patterns of saree preferences across regions, seasonal variations, market conditions, and uniqueness of weaves, to observing how women relate to sarees emotionally and practically, everything reflected a deep sense of exploration.

What fascinated me even more was the way this understanding was translated into experience. Some of his stores have a temple within the premises. After a saree is purchased, a priest performs a pooja, offers it in the temple, and then hands it over with blessings. In others, small cows move freely, interacting with families. For me, this was something entirely new.

It made me pause and reflect. This is what I associate with the “P” in PhD, the ability to observe deeply, connect meaningfully, and build something thoughtful out of that understanding, irrespective of the domain.

This felt like a quiet validation that I am moving in the right direction. There is no comparison here, but a shared thread. When the “P” is understood well, it brings along immense and often intangible rewards.