Invoking the scribe -- 1

I work on the other side of the lake and my commute extends from one city to another. Which means that one of the small joys that I can partake of on a daily basis (apart from Sundays) is a ride across the Bund and also that I get to see Hussein Sagar (with its changing colours, depths and moods) on a daily basis.

I am an observer, even when I am on the Bullet, immaterial of the usual dangers and risks poetic in a fast-moving city; immaterial of someone trying to overtake me from the left and someone else wanting to shoulder a way from the right and someone else wanting me to get out of his / her way.

But then, this post is not progressing the right way, it should ideally start with what happened on last Thursday. That was when it took me almost 2 hours to make it to the other side of the lake (the Bund was closed to traffic) and no, I am not going to rant about the city's lack of civic sense or other metropolitan woes.

You see, last Wednesday was when the immersion happened here in Hyderabad. And this time around it seems that the turnout of the people participating in the immersion and the number of idols were both unprecedented and thus it continued for most part of Thursday too.

I am talking of the immersion procession of the elephant-headed god, Ganesha.

Peculiarly enough (maybe because of my substantial commute this year) Ganesha has been constantly on my mind this year and I have been to more of his Pandals and immersion processions this time around than in other years.

I have been stuck on Tank Bund inordinately and ridden my way on egg shells as people have crossed the Bund barefoot -- grandmothers, mothers, daughters, fathers and sons -- entire families with their family's Ganesha. To bid him adieu till next year by immersing him in the waters.

I have chuckled to myself on finding Necklace Road open and ride-able (as opposed to being a mass of lake-watching people the very next day) and also noted that probably this is the only time when Tank Bund looks brighter and more necklace like than Necklace Road!

I have thrilled at the quaint logic and arithmetic of my mind which finally calculated and understood the reason why Lord Ganesha is also known as Bhima -- while I had slowed down in front of yet another pandal on yet another day. As something about the colour of the idol or the lighting in the pandal or some enlightenment in my mind lets me conclude that the lovable (and petulant) child God is simultaneously massive and elephant headed too.

And lastly (you could say it all started here) I have ridden as if my very life depended on it -- slowly and with utmost caution while three of his idols in wet, unbaked clay, sat pillion on the back seat of the Bullet. And felt very blessed to reach home and find all three idols intact.

I have wanted to blog all this for quite some time. And as with most observations and memories the delay in writing means I have forgotten a lot of things. Still, mine's the hope that with this blog post up, I can write a bit more (am dealing with a persistent writer's block as of now) and I hope the original scribe, Lord Ganesha blesses me to write well.

Om Ganeshaya Namaha

(O Lord Ganapati!) You are (the Trinity) Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesa. You are Indra. You are fire [Agni] and air [Vāyu]. You are the sun [Sūrya] and the moon [Chandrama]. You are Brahman. You are (the three worlds) Bhuloka [earth], Antariksha-loka [space], and Swargaloka [heaven]. You are Om. (That is to say, You are all this).

How do you write?

I write with two inexpensive, fairly common fountain pens. One is a Camlin, the other an even more obscure and easily forgettable brand -- in a world of Parkers, Montblancs, Lamys and other collectible heavies.

But it wasn't always so. For most of my initial days as a Copywriter, I used to write with pencils. And I still have fond memories of my daily "getting-down-to-work" ritual. The sharpening of 4-5 pencils (with a blade) in a frenzied abandon that used to leave the area around my desk littered with shards and shrapnel of wood.

Typically, before getting down to writing copy, I would also normally sign my name on the numerous scribble pads littering my desk. And recollect and rewrite quotes like -- "I am a pencil".

Looking back at those days, one reason I can think of -- for persisting in writing with pencils -- is that, when writing with pencils, editing becomes a matter of just erasing out what is errant (for the client or the client-servicing person) and the copywriting gets done without turning the page into a battlefield of scratched out and crossed out words, something unavoidable when writing with pens.

And one consumes less paper, even if it is one-sided paper.

But then, coming back to the reason for writing this post, I write with fountain pens these days and I am high on ink. Which brings me to another ritual that I have been following for most of the last three months.

My pens bleed ink.

No, they don't just leak ink, there is no leak as such, the nib and the feeder are fitted just fine. The pens just bleed ink and I have to clean them up and leave them to dry (without the cap on) before I can get down to doing anything else.

Is it because of the high humidity levels thanks to the profuse rains we have had over the Deccan? Or is it that, for the pen -- bleeding ink is release?

I don't know, but either way, its a good problem to have and smelling ink is a good way to start another day of writing.

Then of course, there are the bonuses. Poetry has come to me thanks to the persistent inkbleeds and the smell of ink. Poetry that demands immediacy and is jotted down by me (in ink) as yet another scrap, yet another note, as the welcome flight of yet another stray bird....

Poetry like this

We dry,
my ink pens and I

Do I write all day with pen and ink? Unfortunately no, I tap out most copy on a laptop. But even for work purposes, sometimes writing in ink (on one-sided paper) helps.