July 1, 2013
Kalyani, India
I suppose at least a few of the following factors, in no particular order, need to converge for a blog about boredom to materialize: randomness of remnant jetlag, turning forty (and being in a protracted state of introspection), a solo trip to one’s childhood hometown for the sole purpose of spending time with a recently-widowed parent, a cable scorched-out-of-action by a formidable lightning (it is the season of Monsoon in India) ensuring there is no Internet connection at home, and, a palpable unfamiliarity with what to do with a very large chunk of time suddenly becoming available to you when your domestic and professional responsibilities are halfway across the world.
When I am in California, the days pass by before I can even blink. I crave for solitude and freedom from the to-do list. I feel the pangs of guilt when I talk to dad over telephone and he sounds feeble and I long to teleport myself instantly to India to see how he is doing. Now that I am in India, dad is at the best of his health to the point that he does not even want to go for a routine checkup, stubbornly citing the reason that the doctor might take him as a hypochondriac —“Dad is on an emotional steroid”, according to my brother. I guess everything that they say about the positive health effects of having your near and dear ones close to you is true, but the result is that I am jobless after finishing a 500-page book in 4 days. If you must know, the just-finished book is Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James. And now I have moved on to revisiting the Bengali classics by Sarat Chandra Chattopadhya. The breadth of the spectrum that is needed to cover both these genres is not insignificant, and you need a spectacular sense of complete boredom to undertake this kind of a lazy project and enjoy everything about its ‘no-deliverables, no-constraints’ aspect. I think part of me is becoming a fan of boredom. If not anything, it is the undeniable proof that if you are bored, and you are not only acutely aware of it, but you are actually starting to relish it, then you are finally free of all the stimuli that you must process constantly when you are in the momentum of your usual daily routine.
Creativity must have these pregnant phases of nothingness to retool its cradle, i.e., your brain.
I am solving the daily Scrabble in the Leisure section of a print newspaper---slightly damp from the humidity hanging heavy in the air--- sprawling on my mom’s daybed, admiring her black and white framed picture that we put on her dressing table, now that she herself is gone. A basket full of fresh white flowers plucked from our garden is making the air fragrant. It is 12:30 PM. I already had two rounds of sumptuous home-made snacks and yet to have a late lunch with dad, to be followed by a siesta and then maybe an evening walk. No agenda to achieve anything today, or tomorrow, or the day after. It is boring no doubt, but how deliciously so!
