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.

2451: सूर तेच, स्पर्श वेगळे

मी नेहमीच Indian Idol आवडीने पाहत आले आहे. पण यावर्षी खास वेळ काढून ते खऱ्या अर्थाने अनुभवता आलं. प्रतिक्रिया देणं, हसणं, आनंद घेणं, कधी डोळ्यात पाणी येणं, कधी जुन्या आठवणींमध्ये रमणं… सगळंच मनापासून.

हा सिझन सप्टेंबर 2025 मध्ये सुरू झाला आणि अजूनही वीकेंडला पाहायला मिळतो. इतका मोठा कालावधी असल्यामुळे बदल होणं स्वाभाविकच आहे. त्यात कीबोर्ड वाजवणाऱ्या कलाकारांमध्येही काही बदल झाले.

त्यात दोन कलाकार विशेष लक्षात राहिले.

पहिला कलाकार खूप सातत्यपूर्ण. त्याची देहबोली, चेहऱ्यावरचे भाव, प्रतिक्रिया सगळंच सांगतं की तो पूर्णपणे त्या क्षणात आहे. तो हसतो, स्मित करतो, गायकांशी संवाद साधतो आणि तो संवाद फक्त औपचारिक वाटत नाही, तर एक जिव्हाळा जाणवतो. तो फक्त एक वादक म्हणून नाही, तर त्या सादरीकरणाचा भाग म्हणून उभा असतो. दोन्ही हातांनी, कधी दोन कीबोर्डवर सहज वाजवत, गायकांना प्रोत्साहन देत तो पूर्ण वातावरण जिवंत ठेवतो. अशा कलाकारांमुळे बँडला एक वेगळीच ऊर्जा मिळते.

दुसरा कलाकार अगदी शांत. त्याचं पूर्ण लक्ष समोर स्टँडवर ठेवलेल्या नोट्सवर. तो वाजवत असताना बाकी काही अस्तित्वातच नाही असं वाटतं. एकाग्रतेचं एक वेगळंच रूप.

आणि मग एक नवीन कलाकार दिसला. त्याचा अंदाज पूर्ण वेगळा. कीजवर ठाम प्रहार, बहुतेक वेळा एका बोटाने वाजवणं, आणि पूर्ण लक्ष फक्त वाद्यावर. कुठेही नजर नाही, कुठलाही बाह्य संवाद नाही. पण त्याचा आणि त्याच्या वाद्याचा एक वेगळाच संवाद जाणवतो, आणि तोही तितकाच आकर्षक वाटतो.

हे सगळं एकाच मंचावर, त्याच सिझनमध्ये, त्याच गायकांसोबत अनुभवायला मिळणं खूपच रंजक वाटलं. सगळे जवळपास एकाच वयोगटातील, पण अभिव्यक्ती आणि काम करण्याच्या शैली किती वेगळ्या.

गेल्या सिझनमध्ये, मी आणि माझी मुलगी एकाच सोफ्यावर बसून हा कार्यक्रम पाहत होतो. तेव्हा ती सहज म्हणाली, गायकासाठी सगळ्यात मोठं प्रमाणपत्र म्हणजे वादकांना त्याचं गाणं मनापासून आवडणं. जेव्हा वादक स्वतः गाण्याचा आनंद घेतात, तेव्हा त्याहून मोठं काहीच नसतं.

मला माहीत आहे की प्रत्येक व्यक्ती वेगळी असते. तरीही त्यांना पाहताना हे लिहावंसं वाटलं. सगळेच उत्कृष्ट आहेत. हे फक्त एक निरीक्षण.

2450: Different Styles, Same Stage

I have always enjoyed watching Indian Idol, but this year I finally found the time to truly engage with it. To react, laugh, enjoy, feel emotional, and absorb it fully.

This season began in September 2025 and is still ongoing, being aired as a weekend show. With such a long duration, changes are natural. One noticeable change was among the keyboard players.

Two of them stood out.

The first one has been consistently present. His personality, expressions, and overall presence make it clear that he is completely immersed in what he is doing. He laughs, smiles, and interacts with the singers in a way that shows a real bond. He is not there as just another player. He is part of the moment. He enjoys every second, connects with fellow musicians, and plays effortlessly. Most of the time he does not even need to look at the keys. With both hands, often across two keyboards, he manages everything seamlessly while still encouraging the performers. Artists like him bring life to the entire band.

The second one is the calmest. His entire focus is on his handwritten notes. When he plays, nothing else seems to exist. It is pure concentration, steady and unwavering.

Then came a replacement. His style is completely different. He strikes the keys with force, mostly using one finger, occasionally bringing in more. His attention never shifts from the keyboard. There is no attempt to engage elsewhere. Yet, there is something very compelling about the way he communicates with his instrument.

Watching such a range of styles on the same platform, in the same season, with the same singers, is fascinating. They are all from a similar age group, yet their ways of expression are so different.

Last season, as my daughter and I sat together on the same couch watching this show, she said something that has stayed with me. When the instrument players enjoy the singing, that is the best certificate for the artist. Nothing beats it.

I am aware that every individual is different. Still, watching them made me write this. All of them are excellent. This is simply an observation.

2449: From Open Skies to Closed Shelves

Something unusual happened today. The packaged dry fruits on my shelf began to speak.

At first, it felt like imagination. But the voices were gentle, familiar, almost like elders who had been waiting to be heard.

One of them, a raisin, spoke first.

You see us like this now, sealed and silent. But we were not always like this. There was a time when we lived in the open, under the sun, close to the soil that grew us. We came from farms where things were not rushed, where what was grown was meant to be shared within a home.

Grapes did not last long in their fresh form. So someone, with patience and care, chose to preserve them. We were dried under the sun, slowly, naturally. The warmth of those days stayed within us. We were not just stored food, we were an extension of the season itself.

We would then find our place in copper and metal containers in the house. Those containers were not shut away and forgotten. They were opened often, with familiarity and affection. A handful here, a pinch there. We moved effortlessly from farm to home to plate, becoming a quiet part of everyday life.

There was joy in that rhythm. There was meaning in that movement.

Then things began to change.

The sun was replaced. Machines took over. Drying became faster, sharper, detached from time and touch. We were processed, separated, packed tightly into plastic, and placed on shelves. We travelled farther, but somehow reached less.

Now we sit for long periods, first in stores, then in cupboards. Sometimes we are seen more on screens than in hands. People look at us through glass before they ever taste us. There is access, but not connection. There is availability, but not presence.

And yet, within us, something remains unchanged. Whether dried in sunlight or by machines, we still carry nourishment. We still hold the ability to support life. But the way we are received has shifted.

If you can, visit a farm when the season arrives. Taste what is fresh. And when the season ends, take home what has been dried with care, from the same source. Share it. Consume it regularly, not occasionally. Let it be part of life again, not just something stored.

And remember, it is not just us. The same story belongs to many others you see around you. We are all, in some way, moving through the same current.

The voices faded after that.

The packets on the shelf were still, just as before. But something about them had changed. Or perhaps, something within me had.

Now, every time I reach for them, I wonder if I am simply consuming them, or if I am also choosing the way their story continues.

२४४८: उन्हातली गोडी, कपाटातली कोंडी

 किसमिस आजी आणि नात बोलत होते. गप्पांमध्ये दोघीही रंगून गेल्या होत्या. आजी मस्त मस्त गोष्टी सांगत होती आणि नात मन लावून त्या ऐकत होती. अधेमधे प्रश्नांची सरबत्तीही सुरू होतीच. एकंदरीत आजीला समाधान मिळत होतं आणि नातीला काहीतरी नवीन, अनोखं कळत होतं.

आजीने नेहमीप्रमाणे, पण यावेळी जरा जास्तच उत्साहात सांगायला सुरुवात केली,
"माहिती आहे का?, माझ्या वेळी, म्हणजे मी लहान असताना, शेतकरी बहुतांश कुटुंबापुरतंच उत्पादन घ्यायचे. फार मोठ्या प्रमाणावर नाही. त्यामुळे घरची द्राक्षं खाता यावीत, या दृष्टीने सगळं होतं. हे मला अनुभवता आलं किंवा ऐकिवात आहे.

मग द्राक्षं काही दिवसच मिळतात, म्हणून ती साठवून ठेवूया अशी कल्पना आली. आणि त्यातून एक वेगळाच अनुभव मिळाला गं. सूर्याच्या किरणांचा सुंदर उपयोग करून, त्याची ऊर्जा जणू प्रत्येक फळात साठवली गेली. त्यामुळे आजच्या भाषेत सांगायचं तर शेल्फ लाईफ वाढलं. द्राक्षांचा मौसम संपल्यानंतरही ती सुकामेवा म्हणून उपलब्ध राहू लागली. पदार्थांमध्ये तिची उपस्थिती वाढली.

नंतर ती इतर सुकामेव्यांसोबत मिसळून लोकांपर्यंत पोचवली जाऊ लागली. पण मग काय, सूर्य बाप्पाला बाजूला केलं आणि क्षणार्धात मशीन वापरून सगळं सुकवलं जाऊ लागलं. ते चटके कुणालाच आवडले नाहीत, म्हणून ते सगळेच जणू रुसले गं.

आधी कसं नैसर्गिकरित्या वाळल्यावर, एखाद्या आजीच्या डब्यात स्थान मिळायचं. आणि तो डबा किती वेळा उघडला जायचा. पण आता काय, तर आपल्याला वेगळं केलं जातं. कुठल्याही बागेतलं, मशीनने सुकवलेलं, प्लॅस्टिकच्या पिशवीत कोंबून ठेवलं जातं. मग ती पिशवी दुकानात आणि नंतर घरच्या कपाटात बंद.

आधी शेतात, उन्हात, डब्यात आणि मग सरळ तोंडात आनंदाने फस्त केलं जायचं. परसातल्या पानांत बघण्यातच अप्रूप होतं. आणि आता आधी काचेच्या तुकड्यावर, फोटोत बघायचं, आणि मग कधी तरी त्याच काचेच्या तुकड्याकडे बघत बघत खायचं. नुसती ढकलाढकली. आनंद नाहीच.

हे सगळं सांगण्याचं कारण एकच, आता सगळं बदललंय. त्याची सवय करून घे, नाहीतर मला झाला तसा त्रास होईल.

जरी उन्हात किंवा मशीनमध्ये सुकवलं, तरी आपल्यात जीव असतो गं. आपल्या सेवनाने माणसांचं जीवन सुधारतं. मग असे वेगवेगळे प्रकार का वापरतात, कोण जाणे.

द्राक्षांचा मौसम आला की एखाद दोन शेतात जावं, ताजी द्राक्षं खावीत. आणि मौसमाच्या शेवटी, त्याच शेतकऱ्याकडून उन्हात वाळवलेली घ्यावीत. कुटुंबासोबत आनंदाने खावीत. आहे ना सोपं?.

आपल्यापुरतंच नाही गं, बाकी सगळ्या सुकामेव्यांचंही काहीसं असंच झालंय. सगळेच जणू एकाच होडीत.

पण त्या काचेच्या तुकड्याला बाजूला सारलं तरच ना प्रकाश पडेल या बुद्धिजीवी जगात.

जाऊ दे, ते बुद्धिजीवी आपल्याला स्वीकारोत किंवा नाही. तू मात्र हा बदल स्वीकार. कपाटात बंद राहायची सवय कर. वेगवेगळ्या प्रांतातून आलेल्या बांधवांसोबत राहा. विविध सुकामेव्यांसोबत मिसळून राहायला शिक. आणि मोठ्या काचेच्या किंवा प्लॅस्टिकच्या शोकेसमध्ये, दुकानात निमूटपणे पडून राहा".

२४४७: माझ्या मोगऱ्याची आठवण

माझ्या मोगऱ्याची फारच आठवण येते आहे. का कुणास ठाऊक? कदाचित उन्हाळा हा त्याच्या बहराचा ऋतू आहे म्हणून, किंवा तो सुगंध मला फारच प्रिय आहे म्हणून.

अगदी लहानपणी आम्ही ज्या बंगल्यात राहत होतो, तिथे चौफेर मोठी बाग होती. काय नव्हतं त्या अंगणात? विविध फुलं, फळं, भाज्या, वेल, तुळशीची रोपं… खूप वैविध्य.

आम्हाला सरकारी गेस्ट हाऊसमध्ये राहायला जावं लागलं, बदली झाली आणि quarter तय्यार नव्हतं, डागडुजी सुरु होती म्हणून. तिथली बाग तर अजूनच मोठी. अहाहा!

डागडुजी झाल्यावर राहायला आलो quarter मधे तेव्हा पुन्हा नव्या रंगांची फुलं, झाडं, कधीही न अनुभवलेली झाडे, पाने, वेली ई. दिसू लागली. पुढे स्वतःच्या घरी गेलो तेव्हा चाफा, लाल पेरू, कलिंगड, वालाच्या शेंगा, आणि अनेक प्रकारची फुलं… खूप काही होतं. जेवढं जमलं तेवढं मनापासून सगळं जपलं. तेव्हा वेळ होता, आवड होती, समाधान मिळायचं. थोडंफार जबाबदारीपासून मुक्त असं जगता येत होतं, म्हणून अशा गोष्टींना वाव मिळायचा.

दोनाचे चार झाले आणि चित्र बदललं. तरीही मी मोगरा, गोडलिंब आणि गवती चहा अशी काही झाडं जपली होती.

मोगरा बहराला आला की मी त्याच्यासोबत वेळ घालवायचे. तो सुगंध मला सोडवतच नसे. असं वाटायचं तिथेच बसून राहावं. कारण तो बहर काही दिवसांचाच असायचा. तो सुगंध मी जणू साठवून ठेवायचे. नेहमी वाटायचं, निसर्गाला कसं कळत असेल की हीच ती वेळ फुलायची, बहरायची, इतरांना आनंद द्यायची? आणि तो सुगंध दूरवर पसरायचा. कधीच त्या मोगऱ्याने मोजून मापून सुगंध दिला नाही.  कदाचित म्हणूनच त्याला जपण्याचा प्रयत्न व्हायचा. जमेल तसं पाणी, थोडी माती, थोडी काळजी.

झाडांमध्ये जीव असतो. त्यांना जपावं लागतं, वेळ द्यावा लागतो. नाहीतर ती हवी तशी फुलत नाहीत. आणि ते त्यांच्या बाबतीत अन्यायच आहे.

आता मात्र हे सगळं करावंसं वाटत नाही. आणि त्यामुळेच कदाचित यावर्षी माझ्या दारात मोगरा फुललाच नाही. प्रचंड आठवण येते आहे त्याची. त्या बहराची. त्या सुगंधाची. त्या प्रसन्नतेची.

२४४५: एक कला

व्हरांडा हा एक घराचा खूप महत्त्वाचा भाग असायचा, माझ्या लहानपणी. आम्ही जिथे राहत होतो, तिथे मोठे सरकारी बंगले होते आणि पुढे-मागे दोन्ही बाजूंना वऱ्हांडे असायचे.

पुढच्या वऱ्हांड्यात गाडी, सायकल, चपला वगैरे असायचं. मागच्या वऱ्हांड्यात मुख्यतः कपडे वाळत घालायची सोय असायची. उंच, छताच्या जवळ दोऱ्या बांधलेल्या असायच्या आणि त्यावर ओले, जड कपडे काठीच्या सहाय्याने बखूबीने वाळत घालावे लागायचे बहुतांश वेळा, रोजच.

ती एक कला होती. 

कपडे इतक्या शिताफीने पसरवावे लागत असत की कोणता कपडा कुणाच्या शेजारी, कोणाला लपवायचं, कोणाला पुढे ठेवायचं, हे सगळं ठरवावं लागायचं.

नंतर स्टॅन्ड आले आणि काम सोपं झालं. मग पुलीच्या सहाय्याने वर-खाली होणारे बार आले आणि ते तर अजूनच सुकर झालं.

माझ्या आधीच्या पिढीपर्यंत मुलीला कपडे किती व्यवस्थित वाळत घालता येतात, यावरून तिची पसंती ठरायची. तो एक फिल्टर होता, एक मापदंड होता. अर्थात त्याबरोबर चालून दाखव, बसून उठून दाखव, गाणं म्हणून दाखव असे अनेक टप्पेही होते. मुलाचं काय? फक्त नाव पुरेसं असायचं का तेव्हा? असो.

आज पुन्हा एकदा कपडे वाळत घालताना नकळत हसू आलं.

का? कुणास ठाऊक, पण मला परत एकदा हे काम आवडायला लागलं आहे. कपडे नीट वाळत घातले की ते दृश्य डोळ्यांना इतकं सुबक, सुंदर वाटतं.

दुसऱ्यांना उगाच प्रदर्शन नको, याची काळजी आपण घेतोच. पण स्वतःलाच छान वाटावं म्हणून, त्या स्टॅन्डलाही आनंद मिळावा म्हणून, आणि बाल्कनीत स्टॅन्ड विराजमान असेल तर आजूबाजूच्यां कठड्याला, भिंतीला, जमिनीला, आणि इतर सर्वांना  बरं वाटावं म्हणून, हे काम फक्त काम म्हणून न बघता, आनंद देणारं साधन म्हणून बघितलं तर?

मला तर खूप मजा येते आहे. समाधान मिळतंय.

कोणाची शाबासकी मिळावी म्हणून नाही, कोणी तारीफ करावी म्हणून तर नाहीच. फक्त स्वतःसाठी. त्या रंगांसाठी. त्या सुगंधासाठी.

कधी मी स्टॅन्ड आडवा ठेवते, कधी उभा. कधी इकडे, कधी तिकडे.

छोटे छोटे बदल. वेळ काही जास्त लागत नाही. पण जो परिणाम मिळतो, तो खूप वेगळा असतो.

करून बघाल?

2444: When the Sarangi Lives Through a Keyboard

 “Dil cheez kya hai… aap meri jaan lijiye…”

An iconic song from a completely different era, a time when music was not just composed but deeply felt.

What makes this song unforgettable is not only the lyrics or the singing, but the coming together of poetry, composition, live instruments, and a strong cultural touch.

One instrument that stood out in the original is the sarangi. It did not just accompany the song, it almost spoke. It carried emotions that words could not fully express.

I do not come from a music background, but I enjoy watching Indian Idol for moments like these.

Yesterday, Anshika performed this song again. What stayed with me was not just her singing, but everything that supported it.

The orchestra recreated the same emotional experience using today’s instruments. And yet, somewhere within that modern setup, the essence of the sarangi was beautifully present.

Through the keyboard. Through the understanding of the musician. Through pure sensitivity.

Just imagine the depth of effort behind this. Understanding such a complex traditional instrument, decoding its emotional language, embedding it seamlessly in latest keyboard and then recreating it so seamlessly on a modern platform.

This is not easy. This is not routine. This is art. This is respect. This is evolution.

Truly touched. Salutes to the unseen genius behind such moments.

2443: Think and pause

 This afternoon’s visuals from the Mumbai–Pune Expressway were disturbing. Vehicles stalled, traffic at a standstill, families stranded for hours, no water, children trapped inside cars, and people forced out into extreme heat.

The uncomfortable truth is this is no longer unexpected. Every long weekend, we know exactly what is coming. Traffic overload, delays, exhaustion, and risk. Yet we still choose to step out, not always out of need, but often out of habit or the urge to “make the most” of a holiday.

But at what cost?

Basic preparedness like carrying enough water is missing. The intensity of heat is underestimated. And many of these trips are not essential.

Even the best vehicles are not designed for endless idling in scorching conditions. But more importantly, people are not built for it either.

Sometimes the smarter choice is simple. Do not go.

A holiday at home is not a compromise. It is comfort, safety, connection, and real rest. The same home we rush to leave behind is quietly waiting for our time.

This is not a criticism. It is a request. Travel when it truly matters. The rest of the time, pause.