Therapeutic Week

Not very long ago I swore off retail therapy of any kind, so that means no shopping for clothes, books and music, even though the last two evolve into another source of therapy - I'm sticking to that, irrespective of the fact that I bought a new patch-work leather bag to replace my rather well-worn and over-used Kashmiri leather sling pouch that I carried around everywhere from class (as a student and now as a teacher), to casual rendezvous to more formal occassions. That was more necessity than therapy so, I'm not taking into account its therapeutic values even though I'm uber pleased with my purchase!

So this week I'm indulging in different forms of therapy - Number One being Sleep. It's not like I've been sleep-deprived (I have been getting an average of 6 hours per night, which isn't the preferred 8 hours but it's sufficient to keep me from turning into a zombie after a few days). Sleep is important - I've never been able to stay up late studying/working. Back in school and college days my mind would shut down at 8 p.m and I couldn't study any more after that. That did change during M.A when I was juggling it with French and was basically out of the house from 9 a.m to 9 p.m. My brief encounter with insomnia came at a time when my inner reserves where at an all-time low - those who knew me back then, generally describe me as walking around in a dream-like state with this touch-me-not aura to myself! Anyways getting back to the topic, insomnia is one thing I don't have to worry about in Pune, for I usually fall asleep within a few minutes of shutting my eyes. Pune, if for nothing else, is definitely good for curing insomnia ;-) The last couple of days I've pretty much competed as much as I can with Sleeping Beauty. Early to bed and late to rise, long afternoon siestas. Restful, dreamless sleep. Rejuvenating.

Books have always provided the much-needed refuge and have been my closest companions ever since I was 2 years old and I learnt the ABC sitting on Papa's shoulders as he read the morning paper or peered over Bhaiyya's shoulder as he read an Archies comic. Despite being a student of English Literature I was never conscious of my choices, reading whatever came my way and pleased my mind and my senses. I'm even guilty of enjoying the much reviled Mills and Boons. I guess I won't be able to display any literary snobbery for some time, having admitted to this sin - but hey I aint reading those for their literary value. I completely aknowledge thier complete lack of literary value, but I also give them credit for providing me many an hour of mindless amusement when all I wanted as a book in my hand and not really have to use my brain. Same applies to the few other works I've read in the popular genre. The last few years has seen me conscious of what I'm reading as I grew increasingly appalled at how little I've read and how ignorant I am... I've been merrily reading several ridiculous romances simultaneously with a collection of Eugene Ionesco's plays and I have to admit I'm enjoying both of them equally!

Music. I say it's my porn - and many people have come up with incredibly interesting interpretations to that statement. ;-)The last few days it's been a true companion as I've dug into my Collection of CDs and pulled out ignored albums for a heart-warming session, or simply tuned into World Space and grooved to the latest hits. Gwen Stephanie, Peter White, Kayne West, Chet Atkins, Paul McCartney, Fool's Garden, Creed, Prem Joshua, TLC, Beyonce, Ottmar Liebert, Sean Paul, Bon Jovi, Vanessa Mae, Tears for Fears, GNR.... it's an instant lightening of spirits as I begin to hum under my breath, swing my hips and tap my feet to the beats.
{Playing right now - Maria Joao featuring Cal Viva and Ermenio De Melo)

Art. Well not exactly the hi-brow kind; just the stain-glass painting I indulge in once in a while. There's something immensely pleasurable about spreading newspaper and my painting gear all over the dining-table, tracing designs onto the glass and then swiftly filling in the outlines with that translucent paint. I had borrowed an Old Monk bottle from Titu Dada (he was using it as a make-shift vase for some rather ugly plastic flowers), saying I'll paint it and if it turns out good I'll gift it back to him. Magnanimous soul ain't I? Anyway for the longest time it just lay rather desolately below my writing-desk. This morning I finally picked it up and sat down to transform it into a glowing vision in warm orange and yellow. Perfect for the season. It's come out awfully nice, even if I say so myself. What say people? If you like what you see, and have a nice bottle lying around under the kitchen sink/bed or behind the curtains or even hidden below piles of lingerie in your cupboard, send it over. I'll be all to happy to transform the ugly duckling into a beautiful swan ;-)

I've oft been compared to Monica Geller of F.R.I.E.N.D.S - reason being my fetish for organisation and cleanliness. So, for the past two days re-arranged all the stuff in my room...shifted the computer out of the room, moved furniture around, dusted the shelves, re-did my cupboards, not to mention my book shelves! Dusty work - am sneezing like a mad hatter today - but also satisfying.

Gardening. My mother finds it very relaxing, so I thought I'd lend a hand. But after getting my finger-nails all dirty and my hands scratched by the thorns in the flowering plants, I decided this is one form of therapy I can do without ;-)

SO - all said and done, I guess there are other forms of therapy that work much better than retail therapy - and they work just as well, if not better! :-)