Doodling Days


Thanks to mobile phones, our lives have changed so much. Most people do not use their landlines all that much anymore.

In fact, I know of friends who have done away with their landlines.

Why am I saying all this ? While we have reaped the benefits of technology,  a few, cute things have gone missing from our lives.

I just realized this today, when I saw an old notebook of mine from work. For some strange reason it seems to have survived the onslaught of time. Can’t remember why I did not throw it away.

Anyway, I’m digressing. The book is filled with my doodling. Leaves and flowers, cubes and cuboids, little birds and houses, rabbits and trees, abstract shapes, many squiggles and spirals, my name and signature repeated in various styles.

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I laugh out. I can imagine sitting at my work desk and talking to customers and colleagues. I can see myself nodding and doodling, pen at the ready, capturing important points to act on, as also expressing my creativity on the side.  I am sure now that at the time I had no idea that I was doodling so much.

During my childhood, we had a small notepad next to our landline, and a pen, to jot down numbers. All of us left our mark on that notepad with our doodles.

Today, I don’t see anyone doodling all that much. Paperless offices are in, people send contacts through their mobile phones, no one seems to write down numbers.

I feel nostalgic for the doodling days, when we had elegant leather phone books, indexed by alphabet, where we wrote down people’s numbers and addresses.

Life has changed for the better, yes, but I would love to doodle again.

Of bookmarks and growing up


I love bookmarks as much as I love books. I have a whole collection of different bookmarks, from different parts of the world.

One of my favourites is from the Van Gogh Museum in The Netherlands.  I bought it from the Museum’s souvenier shop. It is a magnetic bookmark, based on Van Gogh’s painting of red poppies.

The bookmark has frayed over the years, from over use, and from one evening of soaking in heavy rain.

I chanced upon it today and a funny incident came to mind.

We were at the Van Gogh Museum, soaking up the art. My son was four then and loved to sketch and colour all the time (he still does).

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        Courtesy – http://www.pinterest.com

He asked me about the paintings. I told him a bit about Van Gogh and about the paintings, and why we were there.

And then it started, a loud bawling. To my utter amazement, it was my son. Shaking his whole body and crying.

We rushed him out and looked for injuries or bruises. Nothing!

After he had calmed down a little bit, we asked him what had happened, and if he was hurting.

The remnants of big sobs shook his little frame, as he said, “Why are my drawings not in this Museum?”

We laughed our hearts out and gathered him for a hug.

I told my son about this incident. He had a good laugh, and I just realized how time flies and how quickly my baby has grown.