We have an irregular tradition of diary writing. My maternal grandfather had a diary every year, and he used to write occasionally - his diary had sparse recordings of his activities, the contents defined by how significant an event was to him, and his intensity of emotion on a particular day. His daughter (my mother) is more of an addictive worker, and seldom had interest in such writings etc. My father, on the other hand, had grown from the grassroots, and as a first born, shouldered the family's financial burden (I am tempted to write single handedly, although his brother would challenge that). He had a pocket notebook to maintain an account of daily transactions - he still does. I used to be amused/amazed by his consistency - he never misses these accountkeeping, even if he had to travel. However, he was an addictive smoker until he was 60 - and surprisingly, the expenditure on his smoking habits never featured in any of these accounts - if one were to build a story based on his accounts, they would certainly miss an integral part of him.
Given the teen turmoils, I was quite regular during my school days - keeping a clear account of my school activities and the fun etc. Ironically, I had a strong ego too. When I was hardly 14 (I was still at school), my sisters were in their undergraduate studies, and would occasionally visit home from hostel. During one of those vacations, they made repeated references to my diary notes - which is when I realized they had stealthily read my diary. Infuriated, I burnt them down - today, I feel such remorse for doing it. What a treasure it would have been?!
Although, I felt the urge to jot down, I have always been scared of ripping my privacy open for people and kept stuff to myself. I did have a diary every year, and wrote when my emotions took a toll on me. Ever since the lockdown, I started writing my daily activities, just to keep note of what has been accomplished and what was pending. This has become a habit now (Thankfully!). Every night, before we retire to bed, I diligently write down my activities for the day - some consistency after a looooong time, and boy, I am glad there is some consistency in life.
Ava has been witnessing this for a while now, and goes, "amma, pl write about me, please write about me", much to my amusement. Yesterday, he wanted to write his own account of activities. Incidentally, I began writing his diary, letting him dictate his little account of his happy, sad, proud moments, six months ago. That was abandoned after a couple of months. We picked it up and he started writing by himself, without help yesterday. I am mighty proud!
