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.