bottledworder

I’m sitting at a cafe trying to write because I was at home earlier trying to write. Before that, I thought that if I went to my office, I could write. I made a schedule, hoping that if I split my day into slots of time and put it all down and color coded everything, I could write.

I had tried to write at home. But then I thought I’d get up just the one time and make some tea before I started on the blank page. After spending my two minutes microwaving tea, when I carefully set the cup on a coaster so it didn’t topple over on my keyboard, I got a slight sense of achievement. The cup was warm and heavy and weighed of something substantial completed, done. 

Afterwards, right when I was about to start writing on the blank screen that was waiting, I thought I’d open a new tab to check Facebook in case there was a red notification bubble. Then I went through that slight feeling of disappointment. There was no bubble. At least there’s no marketing message camouflaging as notification, I thought. A link attracted my attention. So I spent a bit of time reading it and feeling angry and frustrated. This, despite the fact that I had no prior knowledge about the wellbeing of bears in populated areas. I had never thought much about bears before. 

I decided to go to the office. A closed space in my case with no one else and no distractions at this time. It’s not a corporate office in my case but an academic one. So it’s designed in some ways to write. The office chair is easier to sit on. The screen is bigger. I even have multicolored sticky notes to mark important work on a paper notebook.  Being in a space that looks busy with work with pen, paper, screen and idea bubbles on sticky notes gives a sense of achievement. 

So I go to the printer and collect a crisp, white sheet. Quite unnecessarily, I decide to write by hand and bring my stapler hoping to staple a couple of sheets to take home and put in my “scratchpads” folder. I briefly consider taking a picture of my workspace to upload to my social media later. Perhaps I should get a cup of coffee from the coffee guy to recharge the brain cells, I think. 

That is how I reach this cafe along the way. I decide to sit here for a while. A group of youngsters who look like high school kids enter and take up a table. There is a lot of chatter. I envy them their work. What bliss to have work assigned to you that you simply have to address one way or another. An essay? A math problem? Complex, I hope but designed and assigned by someone else. 

A toddler arrives with her mom. She is super chatty and cute and roams around the cafe as her mom orders a sandwich. As they sit at a table, her mom takes out a board book for her. She takes it up aimlessly and then slams it down on the table with a gesture of reading and a cheeky smile. Her mom, at this point, takes out some crayons and a crisp, blank sheet of paper and puts these down in front of her. The girl takes the crayon and tries to eat it as she makes eye contact with me. 

I feel the tautness in my shoulder muscles relax a bit and let my posture over my laptop loosen. I smile and the kid smiles back and begins to babble. 

I decide to walk out to the plaza outside. Folks are rushing to catch the train. People are jostling each other. Construction workers are thronging about. There is even a musician trying out a few amateurish notes. Something resembling music. Nothing matches, nothing is in tune. 

Yet life goes on. 

I decide that the writing can wait. It’s much more fun to be alive.