Hi there! Welcome to My Casuarina Tree. I’ve been particularly fascinated by Toru Dutt’s lovely poem, Our Casuarina Tree as a child.
Who am I? Yours truly is just another Every woman – a hill girl in the city ,a work-in-progress spouse, a fierce mother of two doting boys, a defender for the family, a girl who grew up with a fistful of dreams, some which slipped through time and some which endured to see the light of the day with time.
As a child, I shared an odd love-hate relationship with writing. I quite resented the fact that I could better-express in writing while not so much when speaking even if I loved talking. Then, to kill that damned bug called fear of effortless expression, what NOT didn’t I do – from elocution, to spelling bee to dramatics to debates and extempore, i did them all.
My parents always thought I was brilliant, while I begged to differ. I went on to acquire the much coveted brag rights to being the biggest chatterbox at home which I happened to win so by re-telling stories and lore to my hapless mom and much younger siblings. The ritual went on for the longest time and soon, my father also became part of my audience. The content changed from stories to what used to happen in the classroom.
From getting serious about life-changing exams, until the next 7-8 years, I remember drowning myself in endless reading of books of all sorts. I wouldn’t even spare the newspaper or magazine carry-bag that came home wrapping piping hot samosas. Oh, I love samosas, by the way.
So, my world revolved around reading and writing, concisely and eloquently. My teachers and professors approved some, disapproved some and I went on to form a tone and delivery, very peculiar to me. We could not afford a lot of books and magazines, thanks to middle class means and ends. We counted our little blessings, thank god for the state library membership and lovely friends in the neighborhood who truly believed in sharing and exchanging books. That was my childhood of reading and writing.
So, I conquered my odd love-hate relationship with writing when I could seamlessly express what I felt without having to put pen to paper. And that happened in my first teaching gig. I unlearned a lot of prejudices, and mental and emotional blocks that I was carrying as a learner while I also empathized and appreciated the effort every teacher and facilitator puts in to drive a point home.
We all choose to behave and communicate in a certain way because we have been conditioned in a certain manner. Very few people are evolved to see through the clutter. As a teacher and facilitator, my primary instinct has been to disarm the learner in such a manner that he/she does not read/learn/write for the sake of marks. The Indian mindset is driven by grades and comparison, sadly.
I don’t have a genre that I particularly excel in. I write what comes to me, naturally and effortlessly. Writing has been healing and liberating for me. Writing has allowed me to celebrate and grieve. Writing has given me moments to love, laugh and live about. Writing has made me less stoic and more vulnerable. Writing has helped me laugh at myself – as a person, an eager friend, a gawky daughter, a clumsy sister, a lousy spouse and a helicopter mom in the making. Writing found that voice in me.
So I write.