Type your title here. If only it were that easy.

Okay, so I've finished writing a post, or an article, or an essay, or whatever. It feels great. I go back to the beginning and proof-read, tweak a few sentences here and there, and move some words or even sentences around. I search for the perfect picture to go with the text, if I want to use a picture in that piece. That usually doesn't take too much effort. Then, when I'm ready to post/publish it, there's a big empty field on top, waiting for the title. Waiting, in fact, to hold the name of my creation.

I type in whatever comes to mind at first. It sucks. I alter it a little and cut down some words to make it short and catchy. It sucks even more. I erase it all and type in another idea. Alright, maybe it's not so bad after all. Then I read the first sentence of the main text and realize that this new title doesn't fit what I've written very well.

I sigh and give it another go. I read the entire thing again and try to summarize it in a single phrase. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't. When it does work, I'm ecstatic. The piece is really complete now. People will read the title and know what I want to say. Hopefully, they'll want to read more than just the phrase that summarizes the piece.

When even this doesn't work, I usually get quite frustrated. I save the draft even though it has already been auto-saved that very second, and log out. I take some time off from what I've written. I work on something else, or make some coffee and take a break. After a while, the unnamed piece (languishing under the bastard "Untitled" tag) starts tugging at me again. I start thinking about what I wrote, and what kind of title would make me want to read that kind of thing if someone else had written it. Now the rusty cogs of my ability to make up titles creak a little.

There will invariably be a few more misfired attempts, but I soldier on. I come up with the lamest, cheesiest titles, type them in just for the heck of it, and erase them again. This is a great stress-buster for me (well, I have come up with a few title ideas, bad as they may be) and gets me really going. I think up funny titles which will hopefully make people laugh and want to read the rest of it. When that isn't really a good idea because the subject matter or the tone of the piece is serious, I try to come up with a hook -- something catchy, which is related to the text but isn't necessarily a 100% fit.

If all this fails, I go back to the first title I wrote out, and go with that. Let's face it, I'm not that great at titles, though sometimes I don't suck so much. Every time, I just have to try to suck a little less, and some day, I'll get there. Fingers crossed.

That moment when...

Some moments, when I look back, shine out. A few have the brittle brilliance of diamonds. Others have a gentle glow, like the light glimmering in a distant window in the dark. One or two, however, loom large and cast their light and shadow over all the rest.

These last moments came without a warning, when I had no expectations and no inkling that something out of the ordinary would happen. They came when I wasn't thinking at all, but going along with the day -- going with the flow, so to speak.

They may not look life-changing or even extraordinary to others, but to me, when I think of them, they are reminders of how sweet life is, and how it is best enjoyed when I let go and just be... They make me realize the importance of seizing the present and not wearing myself down with thoughts of what might have been and what may (or may not) come. They are complete in and of themselves, capsules unsullied by the sordidness of everyday drudgery. They remind me to not hold on too tightly, because only when one moment ends, can another happen.

Taking the plunge

"What the hell am I doing here? Why did I even think I could do this? Oh my God I can feel the wind on the soles of my feet through the grating.. Oh nooo..." These were the kind of thoughts racing through my mind as I was being prepared for my very first (and till date, only) bungee jump.

I went from Hyderabad in Central India all the way to Rishikesh in the foothills of the Himalayas, just for this. Well, not quite. There was also another jump (a canyon swing) and white water rafting on the Ganga. We were a bunch of adventure enthusiasts, and I was the only girl in the group. After braving a 21 hour journey by sleeper class train, we reached New Delhi, and another 6 hour drive took us to the campsite.

There was thankfully enough time for a nap, after which we all got ready for the day and explored the camp a little. It was breath-takingly beautiful. There were rows of tents on a sand embankment, and beyond them was the river, on the other side of which loomed a hill. There were mountains all around, and the river meandered through them on its way to the plains. It was a bit of a hike to reach the road where the vehicle was parked, but none of us minded.

The road to the "jump site" wound through the same Shivalik range. We caught sight of the jump platform first -- a yellow metal rigged structure with a bridge to the actual platform from where we would jump. That was the first time I realised I would jump from the road level to the valley far, far below. 82 feet doesn't sound so very scary on paper, but looking at it made me so afraid I almost turned back then and there.

The others were also a little scared under their bravado, so I knew I wasn't alone. We filled out a form absolving Jumpin Heights (the company taking care of the whole bungee setup) of blame should anything happen to us.

And then, we walked to the platform. We were there. This was the whole point of the journey -- the jump. The staff were all quite calm (of course!) and friendly, and tried to put everyone at ease. Then when it was my turn to be harnessed, they said I couldn't jump in my shoes, because the hooks for the laces could scratch the bungee cord. The floor of the platform was actually a metal grate sort of thing.

Taking off the shoes and feeling the wind tickle my soles through the grating was terrifying. I had come all this way to find out if I had it in me to take the plunge. The knowledge that my feet were firmly harnessed to the bungee cord didn't help much. The rational part of my brain must have fled long ago. It was time. They led me to the edge, until my feet were half in the air. I could feel the edge of the platform pressing into my instep. I almost turned back there. Then I looked straight ahead. The jump master, an awesome lady from the Netherlands, tried to calm me down. I told her to give me the count right then, because I felt reason and courage both slipping away. I knew that the longer I stood there, the more scared I would feel, and in the end I might not jump at all.

I think she understood. I heard the count , "One, two, three.. BUNGEEE!". And I jumped. For the first few milliseconds, I was sure I was going to hit the ground and get my brains splattered all over the valley floor. But I didn't, of course. The adrenaline kicked in, and then the bungee cord pulled me upwards again. It was an amazing moment, with the blood rushing to my head and the landscape (oh, wait, that was me actually) bouncing up and down.

In that split second before the jump, at the edge, I really didn't know if I was going to actually take the plunge. Then, when I heard "BUNGEEE!" I decided I'd come too far along to give up at the last moment. I told myself there was no going back from here, only down. And then I was falling. And flying, and falling again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The whole experience taught me that whenever I felt scared, or that I couldn't do something, I just had to take one step forward, into the unknown. There's no way anyone can predict the outcome of their effort with absolute certainty. The thing is to push ahead, regardless.

But you're a vegetarian!

Almost every (non-vegetarian) person I meet seems to think that a vegetarian foodie is something of a paradox. But I'm here, I'm vegetarian, and I love food. Get over it, meat-eaters. I'm not judging you, so don’t judge me.

You might say, “But what’s there in vegetarian food for you to love?” I say, lots. And I have never eaten kale or quinoa (or tofu, for that matter) so I know what I'm talking about. Where do I get my protein from? Well, lentils, milk and soya. Don’t I miss out on the exquisite taste? No, I've never tasted meat, thanks to my upbringing. And now I don’t want to, by choice.

That doesn't mean I don’t love and adore food. I eat out a lot, and living in a country where there’s a significant presence of vegetarianism (both full-time and part-time) in the culture, helps. Being a vegetarian is respected, but with a little pity added to the mixture. A sort of “Oh you poor thing, you can’t have real food”. So all vegetables and fruit are imaginary, you say? Interesting. In that case, I'm living on air. Air shouldn't make me put on weight. Ergo, my being overweight is also a figment of your imagination. Go away and pester someone who does eat “real” food to workout.

“Not even eggs? But eggs are vegetarian!” Is another common refrain. Eggs may be vegetarian in some people’s books, but not in mine. There’s no need to get belligerent and quote famous people at me, it won’t work.

I honestly don’t understand why being a vegetarian should define me. It’s not all that I am. And it certainly shouldn't let people belittle my foodie status. The Oxford Dictionary defines a foodie as “a person with a particular interest in food”, i.e. I'm a foodie according to this definition. Food includes vegetables and such like, the last time I checked.

So to all of you who say (or think) I can’t be both vegetarian and a foodie, try eating only meat and animal products for a week. No herbs allowed, because they’re of vegetable origin. No pepper either, for obvious reasons. And then we’ll talk.

Bon appetit!

Memory Lane, with a few twists and turns.

I came across an old journal of mine today. (No, I don’t keep journals any more. I blog, to your eternal annoyance.) It moved me to tears. Not because the writing was so good, but because it was so earnest. It was me, writing my heart out about my innermost feelings and deepest thoughts.

They might seem like typical teenage troubles, and they were. But the sincerity and the vulnerability were what moved me, the cynical grown-up person who thinks she can take on the world.

In the end, that’s what matters about great writing — that it comes from the heart. That it has a modicum of sincerity and genuineness, an innocence of sorts sometimes. A good book draws a reader into itself with this quality. I guess even a truly cynical book would work, if it were sincere enough in its cynicism.

This applies to fiction too, of course. Would you read something the author didn't believe in when they wrote it? I think not.That’s why Lord of The Rings works. That’s why Eragon works, even though it draws so heavily from LoTR that you wonder if there’s any point in counting points of similarity.

That is what any writer wants to do — to engage a reader so completely that they forget about the world they’re in, even if it’s for a second; to get their point across. To tell their story.

On a lighter note, I'm happy to report in my capacity as Grammar Nazi, that I crossed my ‘t’s and dotted my ‘i’s in that journal. I guess I was a bit of a stickler even as a quasi-rebellious teenager.

Well, that girl grew up. Has she changed for the better? Has she overcome her issues, at least some of them? How is she doing now?

Why, I'm doing very well, thank you.

(Yay! Crossed the one-week milestone well and good! That was something.)

Get Going.

Live. Love. Eat. Drink. Be Happy. Be Sad. Succeed. Fail. Fall. Get up. Get going.

This is something I wrote for myself a little while ago, when I was in a black mood (I have a lot of those). It didn't cheer me up completely, but it did something important. It made me think. We are conditioned (especially in India) that failure is something really bad, and once you fail, that’s it. You’re a failure now. Period.

So most of us are scared of failing, and the fear is not of getting hurt in the process, but of what everyone will say if we do. “What will everyone say?” manages to silence a lot of so-called rebellions here. We’re supposed to have moved beyond that. But behind the shining and incredible façade, social mores still hold their sway over a significant portion of the country’s population.

Very few people can actually go against the grain except in the big cities. But there are people who are not paranoid about failing. We’re all afraid to fall, of not being able to achieve what we set out to accomplish. But a few are willing to be perceived as failures if their ventures don’t go as planned. And they have the tenacity to keep trying their damned best.

I am going to try my best to do what I wrote at the beginning of this post. I'm going to pick myself up, dust myself off and have another go.

Keep Calm and Write

I've been thinking for more than three hours about what to write today. Half-formed ideas flit around at the edge of my consciousness. Very tantalising, and I'm sure they’re all having fun, but I'm not. Will one of you ideas come here right now and take shape?

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It’s half an hour later. Those ideas seem to have gone off, formed a union, and started a strike of sorts. I feel a writer’s block coming on. This is just what I wanted to address when I started this project. I wanted to sit down, focus, and write. Sitting down, check. Focus, trying. Writing, well yes, if this counts.

You know what, I won’t give up on this. I set out to write every day. And I will. Even if it means writing about how I can’t seem to put anything down in writing. Maybe it’s because I didn't go out in two days. Maybe because I've been thinking too much of things there’s no point thinking about. But there are so many things to write about irrespective of that.

Maybe that’s why. There are a lot of things I want to write about. That’s why no single idea is coming into focus right now. Until today, I've been pretty clear about what I want to write about that particular day. It’s only today that I actually thought, “Hey, what am I going to write about today?”

All right, now that I know the problem, I'm going to make a list of things I want to write about, and focus on one of them at a time, instead of vaguely wondering about what to write.

And look! I did write today. I did accomplish something. And I learnt something too. Not bad for a listless grumpy binge-eating kind of day.