A List of All The Things I've Forgotten, That I'd Like to Write About.

And a note on Artistic Clusters.

After a false start in April, I've re-enrolled in the

Ochre Sky Stories

memoir writing workshop, that the very cool and radiant

Natasha Badhwar

and

Raju Tai

curate for intimate groups several times a year.

Writing for me is sometimes emotionally strenuous but almost always rewarding. I find that there's a certain inner game to writing a thing — you have to get over yourself and be alive to the world. Neither of these comes easy.

There's a familiar trope about the solitary writer figure — a shadow of a person sitting somberly at cafes and making self-indulgent notes about the world. This person is sometimes me.

It turns out that artistic pursuits are best nurtured in communities. Both my creativity heroes,

Austin Kleon

and Julia Cameron, speak of the value of an artistic cluster of supportive and nurturing humans that create together and show each other their work. These are spaces that offer intentional softness, encouragement, accountability, and inspiration. You'd think this is easy to come by in our regular lives.

For the next few weeks, I aim to reset. As someone suggested at today's workshop, I want to cultivate a beginner's mind and approach writing from a new perspective.

I expect it to be tiresome, humbling, and fun!

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I wrote an unedited version of this post during one of the six-minute speed-writing sessions we did together.

The prompt was to Make a list of all the things you have forgotten that you want to write about.

Here goes:

The names of all my crushes. Not the boyfriends, because those already received a ton of mental real estate. But the slowly passing, strange, and inexplicable crushes whose names I was too ashamed to say out loud. The crush that I had when I was eight and hoped would grow taller than me when we were adults (he did not), and the one that straight-up scowled at me when I mustered the courage to smile at him. Maybe if I took inventory, I'd learn something useful about myself. Crushes are a type of mirror.

Tennis class. Everything that I didn't like about it, including the coach. But also the things I did like that I missed taking in then. It would rain often, and they'd cancel class. I'd feel a euphoric relief as we'd run to a spot under a giant tamarind tree for cover. The courts were in an orchard, the sky was often blue, and the weather was always great, even at three in the afternoon. I had a much too big red, white, and black 'wind sheeter' that I'd wear afterward. And these wind sheeters, among other things, were a mandatory tennis purchase.

Sabena’s price is up 150% since 1998 and my mother is not pleased

The many items on my mother's grocery list. She'd make these lists on telephone diaries that some bank or the other would send us as a year-end gift. With each passing year, the diaries shrunk in size. She always started with turmeric because there was some odd superstition around that. And then the turmeric-adjacent spices like mustard, fenugreek, cumin, and chilly. She wrote the names of some items in English and some items in English text but in Tamil. Like kurumolaghu for pepper. And vellum for jaggery. An unmissable item was several packets of Sabena - a cheap, everything-cleaning powder we could overuse without guilt. And then Colgate gel and Hamam soap because the marketing worked on my mother so well. Then there was flour and ghee and a whole list of rices. Sona masuri and boiled rice and raw rice and red rice. These would be procured from an entirely different store specialising in 'rice items'. And the damn store was located in a spot with zero parking.

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It's funny how the small details come rushing back when you let them. Maybe’s there a something there.

Have a great Sunday!