Journaling Process

I started exploring journaling in recent years after reading different authors' take on this and listening to productivity / mindfulness influencers. 

I am not an everyday or a ‘fixed time of the day’ ‘journaler’.

I find myself gravitating towards journaling when I am having several thoughts or strong uncomfortable feelings about something that happened and am not able to process it or access my deeper feelings or thoughts. The discomfort sometimes is so huge that it does not allow me to focus on the task at hand or bring myself fully to any conversation. I occasionally also journal as a means of self study.

In essence, I use journaling as a thinking tool and not something to document my day / life. 

(I know people use journaling to record experiences which may be unique in themselves or different from everyday life. They may do this for the sheer joy of cherishing experiences, not forgetting them and hence letting a slice of life slip away, or with the hope to publish them as memoirs, self-help / how-to books, articles to guide others etc.) 

When I start writing, my mind's 'resources' which were holding the surface level thoughts start freeing up to recall more facts, and then nuances or label the feelings as they changed with each transaction. 

The surface level thoughts could be a memory of what happened / who said what / a hint of unpleasantness in my system, without knowing what emotion it is and what is the root cause of it.

I find journaling faster and more effective when I am writing using pen and paper, instead of typing it out. The spontaneous urge to journal is not inhibited by the requirements of creating files, naming and organising them etc. There is not much room to edit and keep improving what has already been inked when writing by hand, so the spotlight stays on expressing with a natural flow rather than perfecting the language and vocabulary. 

I keep the journal / notebook handy and accessible. Personally, I no longer worry about someone reading it. It is an honest conversation with myself where my focus entirely is on how ‘I’ perceived things so I do not feel fearful of being found out or hurting anyone. Another justification to not hide it in a file on the computer. 

I have discovered that revisiting what I had journaled in the past is not necessary. What has been processed at this deep level has done its job and must dissolve away. 

I keep writing at the speed that my thoughts are pouring out till all that was clouding my mind by its repetitive churning is out there and for a moment nothing more is there to say. Sometimes as I am writing, the parts that were lost start surfacing and the entire sequence has been reconstructed to my amazement. This especially is true if the journaling is done before one retires for the day, as there is something about sleep which erases some chunks thus making it difficult to reconstruct the events satisfactorily. 

Then I read what is in front of me and ask myself either the why or what is bothering me. That gives me a direction to dig deeper. 

As all the ‘memory’ is out on paper, the mind is now empty. It can look at things objectively, apply whichever framework one may want to in that moment (philosophy, personal values, psychology / Transactional Analysis etc.) and make sense of what happened, again by writing further.

At this stage, I am able to see myself better and more clearly, and if another person is involved, sometimes where they are operating from too. Over time, patterns start becoming apparent. To prevent getting into the same kind of stuckness again, I can define boundaries for myself / others. Resetting my expectations, applying some life principles/rules and updating my narrative about that relationship dynamic happens sometimes.

Sometimes, when further clarity eludes me, talking it out with someone I trust helps. 

Or it may not work that easily. Sometimes just accepting that 'it is what it is' and moving on feels calming!

Awareness, found in that moment of journaling, itself can lead to change in the longer run, if we keep at it. There is nothing more to be done in the immediate future. 

A young friend recently asked me about my journaling process as he was keen to explore this medium. The above piece is what came out of that prompt.

Journaling within an article on journaling process:

As I worked on this piece, I saw it evolve from a quick text response over WhatsApp to an email to a blog. My need to make it ‘perfect’ (without missing any aspect from my experience, then moving to factoring all generic experience that is common place) and the compulsion to ‘try hard’ for it to be published as a Linkedin post made me keep expanding the scope of this article by introducing Transactional Analysis (TA) jargon, then explaining the jargon for the uninitiated and eventually trying to align everything to the TA lens, so that the article never seemed close to getting completed. The wish to ‘please others’ wanted to get approval from someone to publish this, and get attention and appreciation as ulterior motives that I wrote this!

So I am now allowing myself to publish it on my blog the way it is. This implies there will be an ‘output’ which will not ‘be perfect’. I can come back and improve on it later to make it into a LinkedIn post. I will shift into my Adult ego state, own my agency and validate / stroke myself, so the need for attention and validation which empowers others will be mitigated. 

 

When to Give a Device to Your Child

I was recently approached by a young mother who was harbouring the question of whether she should introduce her six yo to electronic gadgets such as a tablet or a laptop. 

She has raised her child with minimal screen time while maximising sensory exposure. Experiences of exploring performing art forms and sporting activities, including regular unstructured play time in the apartment garden with other children of similar age have been the other staples of the child’s weekly rhythm. 

Her question was coming from a place of anxiety induced from parental peer pressure and some degree of FOMO in her daughter’s developmental journey. Below is a gist of my counsel. 

Your six yo belongs to a generation of digital natives and hence will pick up applicational usage of technology in no time whenever she is introduced to it. The delay in introduction is not going to define her ability to learn. On the contrary, the learning curve might be steeper the later she starts. 

Extrapolating from the example of learning to write, my experience as an early educator has been that children who picked up the pencil to learn writing the alphabet by age five, six or even seven were at no disadvantage as against other children who had already been introduced to the skill early on. They were able to master the letters in less time, and sometimes pick up the nuances of cursive letter formations with greater accuracy. This, of course, was possible with the foundation of their fine motor skills having been sufficiently activated through plenty of activities in the preceding years. Similarly, any child who is cognitively stimulated and has their innate inquisitiveness intact, should not have trouble picking up how to use a device. And what to do once on the device is never a worry! :)

Do keep in mind that once you place a gadget in her hand, the time spent on it will be carved out of her present schedule. If the trade-off is acceptable to all parties concerned, and you can define/evolve clear guidelines of when, where, how much and what-for to use (the device), please go ahead and give it a try.

Also, when a child is not doing something structured, she is growing in some other way, which we may not always fathom. We do not need to be paranoid on maximising learning through everything a child does.

To my mind, there seems no real need for a child to access electronic devices for academic work till they enter middle school, unless the school has explicit requirements. However, having a conversation with the teachers in school and knowing what is their take on introduction to technology and the possible recommended contexts for usage may help be more in sync with the classroom and the current times. Many concepts are fun or easier to learn when done in an audio visual format. Then, some children learn better using more than one medium or through a mode different from the conventional classroom format. 

Fear of wandering on the internet or app-hopping, getting exposed to undesirable content on social media or getting addicted to the screen and not being able to put it away are also there. Yes, those are real fears besides several others. However, from a long term view, it is desirable for some difficult experiences to happen and allow room to learn from them while you as a parent are available to help, instead of curating a perfectly sheltered life. Then, when a child is away from the scaffolding of parents’ constant guidance and vigilance in older/teen years, they hopefully will have confidence to navigate these challenges without getting overwhelmed, and fearful of reaching out to you for support.

Children (and all of us grown-ups) thrive from a sense of belonging to our peer group (and community) through shared interests, activities, experiences and contexts. It will be prudent to stay alert to signs of alienation from peer groups exhibited by the child due to our stand on any matter. Keep channels of communication open and plenty of room to discuss and renegotiate. 

That said, be bold and choose what works for you and your family. 

If you want your child to be a tech explorer (being savvy yourself or being a tech phobe), embrace that with suitable boundaries and safety mechanisms. 

If you want to be a purist, and keep devices out for as long as possible, go ahead and run your experiment with joy! There is nothing to lose. Steve Jobs is known to have kept his children away from devices, specifically the iPad. What did they do instead? Or the more pertinent question perhaps is, what would you and your kid like to do instead? Be creative, find your own engagements and explore what makes you curious. 

Of course, there is the sweet space in between, where you want to use access to an electronic gadget as a limited dosage privilege, a fun weekly ritual together or a tool to make some aspects of life easier.

I will not get into the negative impacts of unregulated / excessive screens on young children as that scientific literature can be easily dug out from the internet as a personal side-quest. 

Whatever choice one makes in their journey as a parent, it is important to not judge the choices made by others and allow room for a perspective there, so that we and / or our child do not fester a sense of superiority or the opposite in our heads. We can all have different ways of leading our lives, however these need not be classified as better or worse, and just be left at ‘different.’ And if possible, a respect for others’ reasons to choose what they do.

I would greatly love to hear where you lie on this spectrum and how you find your balance and navigate any challenges that get thrown your way.

Dadiji and Me

Dadiji’s first of many gifts to me was the white woolen shawl when I visited my sasural in Kanke during the winter of 2002 post my engagement. It must have been dear to her given that V bhaiya and M bhabhi had brought it for her as a souvenir from their honeymoon. A thoughtful selection – white base with brown creepers, soft, light and cozy, perfect for the Ranchi winters. Yet, it must have been more important to pamper the newest member of the family. Just before Dadiji’s final hospitalisation a month ago, my daughter I picked that shawl for the first winter that lies ahead of her at boarding school. Needless to say, its pristineness and of course the absence of true winter chill in both Ahmedabad and later Bangalore, were deterrents enough for me to really use it. It was as well preserved in my wardrobe, I dare say, as it would have been in hers. 

Dadiji came to stay with us in Ahmedabad in 2003 from one of the Jaipur trips before S’s engagement. She was eager to visit her brother in Mumbai. Ashish had her embark on her first solo train journey by putting her on a Shatabdi Express to Mumbai. And there she was, Dadiji at the age of 70, travelling by herself! 

Somewhere during her same visit, we planned a trip to Somnath and Dwarka. The trio of us had ice cream at the bus station before boarding the sleeper bus. It had actual berths which I had heard of and seen for the first time. We sat cross legged on our double berth and chatted late into the night with Dadiji and Ashish (okay, Ashish and Dadiji) recounting innumerable tales of interactions and negotiations with vegetable vendors, escapades of the domestic staff, adventures of all the children growing up in that nature’s haven and abundance of vegetable garden harvests and their creative usage in the family kitchen. Dadaji featured in some of the stories, more for his remarkable character and the strict decorum and discipline that he followed and demanded from Dadiji. It was a joyous trip. I will safely conclude that the only memories I recall are happy ones. We were too young and she was too old for us to end up in conflicts of any manner.

Leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter, she would be smiling ear to ear, watching my kitchen antics. Soaking chana masala and stir frying it before adding the boiled chana to it. Scraping off every bit of malai from the milk pan and stowing it in the fridge for eventual extraction of ghee before putting the milk-pan in for a wash. Trying to cook rice and daal simultaneously in the same pressure cooker to save fuel. I was always second guessing myself and wondering if she was amused at my incompetence. Of course, I know better now. Over the years I learnt what she valued. And I was probably doing some things right by her, at least in spirit. 

She loved eating corn, it was the season and miraculously the vendor was spotted below our balcony every evening. I would dash down the four flights of steps to fetch it for her and please her and consequently please myself. My act of dusting the frame of our wrought iron sofa would draw appreciative glances from her. And I would then work at it more thoroughly, reaching into the most difficult spots. The memory of that act recently kept me company as I got back to that chore with the said sofa, without grudging the absence of house help in my lately ongoing crisis. 

In a different decade and city, while I was on my parenting sabbatical from professional work, Ashish and I had the ‘cute’ idea (in retrospect) of having Buaji and Dadiji over with us in Bangalore for a fun week. The Lal Bagh flower show was on and the crowds were easy to negotiate back then. With kids packed off to school, the four of us had a lovely outing, the two of us chaperoning elders for a change. I remember having a noxious verbal tiff with the security guard for not allowing our car near the gate to drop off senior citizens. Once inside, we got Dadiji on the e-vehicle for easy touring of the garden. She obliged my whim by posing for a photo perched in the driver’s seat of the e-vehicle. Srinathji's was a sattvic fast food joint in the heart of our neighbourhood. Who would imagine that Dadiji who never ate out when at home could do a typical pizza pasta sizzler outing! Buaji gave me the secret tip to the ideal no-brainer brunch for Dadiji – an aaloo based, well cooked and garnished sabzi along with crunchy paratha. Well, nothing could match up to the taste of Dadiji’s thick aaloo parathas prepared with spontaneity and a love cloaked in nonchalance, for her grandchildren and their spouses.

A stickler for finesse, her saris were crisp with starch and personal ironing as no one could reach her exacting standards. Her bed sheet was tucked to perfection without a single crease and misalignment. Everything was always in its perfect place in her room no matter what time of day or night. This evoked a minor panic attack in me if I had to open up my bedroom door without having tidied it up first. Not that she ever commented. She encouraged, taught and maybe even demanded busy hands. And for good reason. Her own hands were busy while they were steady and also beyond. Handkerchiefs with intricate lace borders crocheted by her find a place with my rare collectibles. 

A is lucky to have worn a sweater crocheted by her great grand mom. Also to have worn a kurta that was worn by her grandfather in his baby-hood, discovered by Dadiji in her treasure trove, aka trunk. The said trunk also had a length of olive-green khadi fabric that belonged to Dadaji which she fondly passed on to me for getting kurtas stitched.  

Dadiji was an advocate for everyone. Always siding with who she thought was un-represented or did not have a voice at that point in time. She laughed off my cheekiness and logical reasoning countering traditional wisdom and cultural norms. She had her own sense of humour. Playing with my second newborn, she made a classic remark – Bhagwan thodi si maati ore laga deto to ke hoto?! Honestly, I could never take offence or feel hurt at this comment. She did not attach herself to our generation's outcomes. Maybe that altered some things.

‘Dadiji, kaiyaan ho they?’ was always met with the un-hesitating response ‘Chokha hn’. She did live with the virtue of her times — never sharing her pain or suffering and actively advocating the same to me. I see the wisdom now, convinced of it for more reasons than what was given by her. 

What powers govern our actions and choices? I had spontaneously decided to plan my Varanasi trip via Ranchi. Dadiji had been in the hospital for more than a fortnight when I arrived. The dedicated care being showered on her by the family could not alleviate her suffering. Her discomfort and helpless groaning were disconcerting. She was not even in a state to indicate that she had registered I's and my presence. I left for the conference. To the holy land of Banaras. The spirituality of the talks, aura of some speakers, sightings of the Ganges, the ghat walks, burning pyres and the aakash deeps – all kept reminding me of her and the imminent ending that was looking us in the face. Dadiji was unconscious when I visited her upon my return. She was peaceful in her carbon-dioxide-saturation-induced slumber. I imagined a moment of quiet connection with her when I touched her forehead and attempted to reach her soul with mine through my closed eyes. I choose to believe that the decision to bring her home instead of advancing to ventilator support that evening helped her ease out of her suffering body which had started to resemble a tube infested maze. 

Was it her blessing to me that I was around when she breathed her last and her mortal remains were being sent off for their final journey? I wonder why, during this trip, was I wearing her meenakari bangles that she had handed me for my mooh dikhai? 

Not living in Ranchi, I knew her very little. Ours was a relationship pivoted on fun and not any mould of expectations or responsibilities. Whatever time I shared in the same space as her formed the basis of this unique relationship and will remain a precious treasure. Stories of her youth and our ancestors, which my children gleaned from her, are now etched in our memories as iconic scenes of blockbuster movies.

With Dadiji’s passing away, an era has ended. The light that shone on our culture and traditions seems a little feeble now. She was the bridge across to the times before her. That portal is closed. A generation is lost. 

Today was the ultimate of the last rites – final goodbyes and setting the soul free of all earthly ties, to merge with the creator. As we believe.

25th November 2024

Dear Uprooted Jacaranda

        Monday blues

        Enlivening my spirits

        In biting the dust

        During the weekend's carnage

At the hospital that morning, I was option-less but to park my vehicle under the supine branches of this lovely tree. It could not survive the wind gusts and rain soaked putty soil. 

3rd June 2024

From Palash to Aakash Mallige

Assortment of colours, textures, fragrances

carelessly collected in unhurried 

walks amidst nature.

A volcano erupts, spewing pleasure!

Slow savouring of the gifts of today,

cherry picking

only blessings strewn en route.

This load generates a warmth of fulfilment.

Then what was this mad race for more they mentioned?

Amassing wealth and fame you think.

Along sneaks in something more

and then more...

Today is the Day

My brother was suffering from Jaundice and very critical and hospitalised. And here I was, to visit him in a rainy New Delhi with my husband and two daughters aged four and two years respectively. We were put up at a dharmshala across the road from the hospital. The canteen within the premises was exemplary, with staff boys who were always smiling despite occasional tiffs from some impatient attendant or some recuperating patient herself. Clearly, service was their only motto. The proprietor of the canteen had put up a white board on which he penned positive reflections on life before every meal, which I began looking forward to. 

The canteen itself felt eerie once in a while; death loomed so close. A jovial man, with his head cocooned in bandage, talked incessantly to probably eclipse reality or ease the pain, for he was terminally ill. A middle aged lady diagnosed with cancer, undergoing chemotherapy, had hair just sprouting out of her scalp. Children can ask taboo questions very casually, my elder daughter asked, “Why has Aunty got such short hair?” To which she quipped smilingly, “I had no hair, it started growing only recently”.  There was a small girl with bandage on her head, perhaps a major surgery. And all of them so matter-of-fact all this while, comfortable sharing tables and conversations with strangers, dignified despite illness and so respectful of illness!  

My girls being the age they are, were usually up to some dancing, singing or talking which would attract the attention of diners in the small room, compelling some to smile and some to approach and talk to them. It felt good to see these extensions of my being spreading some cheer to the otherwise solemn atmosphere. A staff boy walked up to us and handed a packet of ‘Mata’s suhag pitari’ to my younger daughter. Our spontaneous reaction was “This is not ours!” and then came the realisation. They saw the Divine in my toddler. This is faith; a faith and goodwill that the canteen and its people had established and were everyday passing on to all who partook bread there, some of it was surely percolating through my soul.

Once my brother started responding to treatment, he was allowed to travel back. We too packed our bags and headed home wards. En-route I lost my mobile phone. I was very disturbed as to how could I lose it being the careful person I am! Words from the Geeta Saar that I had read at the canteen the same morning echoed through my consciousness – “What did you bring here that you have lost!” It was surprisingly easy for me to let go of the thought of the loss. Another thought however replaced it. That which I lost was just my mobile phone, maybe precious to me for the contact numbers lost with the handset memory and the part of my identity that I shared with the phone, now in the hands of a total stranger. What about the loss of a loved one or a family member or a dear friend? After all, we were so perilously close to such a situation.  What about me dying? Will it be so easy to let go? No. However, what is it that I would do in such a circumstance? I don’t know. Is there anything that I can do about it today? Maybe yes. Be a positive person, value my family and friends for what they are, forgive and forget conflicts, ignore the trivia and focus on the bigger picture of life so that when these precious people are no more in this world or I have to move on, the one feeling of remorse for a relationship unfulfilled would not be there. That is all I can do for that dreaded tomorrow. And once I have done this, perhaps I would not dread that tomorrow as much!

Divya Jalan

September 29, 2010

Yoga Se Hi Hoga

I started Yoga quite late in life. Having always been fluid in terms of the timing of personal and domestic tasks on my schedule and also believing that habits are just mechanical coercions of the brain, I needed to find out why was I doing Yoga and how was it important to me, if I wanted to sustain my newly commenced practice. This need was rooted in my verified and validated viewpoint that once the ‘why’ of ‘what’ you do is sorted, the how, when, where and who find a way of getting worked out.

Hence, here was my moot question to myself during my practice every morning — Why do I do Yoga?

And I found the responses tumbling out of a deep recess of body intelligence every time my physical being was engaged in asanas and feeling rewarded by the sweet aches of the stretches and the soothing relief of counter stretches.

I don’t do Yoga to manage my weight.

I do it for my holistic well being. 

And this is how —

Yoga adds to my routine and gives me a meaningful morning ritual, giving a springboard start to my day.

Yoga keeps me physically fit and gives enhanced stamina. I find myself doing more without feeling exhausted or tired. 

Yoga makes me stretch my muscles, making them stronger and my body flexible, supple and stable.

Yoga helps me have stronger bones as bones that take load become stronger and have reduced  chances of fracture.

Yoga aids in keeping my knee cap in place by strengthening my quadriceps and hamstrings.

Yoga helps me have a stronger back, thus helping me hold myself up straight, leading to better posture and body image.

Yoga keeps me emotionally fit as menopause is closing in on me and I get ready to cross over to the other side with a sense of well being and accountability for myself.

Yoga assists me to be more aware of my movements, stay balanced and coordinated and avoid falls. It helps me counter osteoporosis in a body which is making less oestrogen and having lowered bone mass density (BMD). 

Yoga helps in keeping my body toned and generally looking better as an add-on gift.

Yoga gives me the motivation to eat timely, healthy, mindfully and only as much as my body requires.

Yoga helps me fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed. By itself, it gives me the satisfaction of a day spent well.

Pranayaam at the end of Yogasanas allows to become aware of my breathing, slow it down and connect with my body. I am able to deal with tormenting and complex emotions and still find myself smiling. 

Meditation facilitates looking inwards, clearing my mind and commencing the day with a fresh and positive outlook.

Yoga silences the inner chatter to anchor me in spirituality — that I am but a soul in this body, on a journey, and only an instrument of a greater scheme.

What I feel inside is magnificent. 

What I look on the outside seems to fade into insignificance.

Windows to youth

The wall-engulfing bedroom window

Leaks inwards during torrential and monsoon showers
When the sky pours out its heart fanned by the furious gale.
I never find myself complaining for the wanting of a ledge above
The glass panes here look the cleanest after nature’s scrubbing,
With a three dimensional canvas to soothe the fourth dimension spent in confines of bed
Nursing the self to healing.

The amorphous grey mass is purposefully drifting towards north east
Blending tints and peeping hues revealing movement.

Now a flock of anxious ibises; flapping, fighting the gust
Melt into a beautiful V
Streamlined bodies in fluid formations.
A laggard or two play catch-up
In their daily micro-migration, merely from one lake to another.

 

Migration, flight behaviour and adaptations...

Lessons imparted by Dr. Deepak Sahay play back unfailingly
Every time flock after flock
Waltzes across the heavens, drawing my gaze with it.
Oft, I wish to spin back time and change professions
Or in the least, magically conjure up pages upon pages of class notes
From the damp mouldy vault, which I cleared off my belongings two decades ago.

Views of the sky, while lying in bed last monsoon inspired these thoughts. The culmination found its way out today.

Happy Birthday my dear Valley!

 

The years breathed in your vast expanse
Looking closely, deeply, intently
At the nuanced charm of nature
For which you always created the context
Have made me realise that you no longer exist separate from me
You are in me

I have discovered you everyday
In things around me
Within me
cheerfully, gratefully, wistfully

Floral clusters of Kadamb
Taunted me a month ago
Such resemblance to the virus-with-its-spikes
Ah! Isn’t this the same Kadamb
That was planted in the Amphitheatre on Valley’s last birthday
When we remotely watched the planting ceremony
The same virus holding us at bay

My letter to Valley for the school newsletter as she turned 43 on 17th July 2021 - amid the COVID lockdown.

If you care, then...

Listen with your heart, not your head
Listen to understand, not to provide a solution
Listen to convey " I am here" and "You matter"
Be S I L E N T and L I S T E N

... without judgement