The term called 'tolerance'

It was just an English word I knew, just like so many others I'm aware of, having read them somewhere or the other. Those are the words you realize you know when someone talks about them and it sounds familiar. I never had patience for dictionaries, even the online ones. Not that I'm proud of the fact; I wish I would have the will to pause and check out the proper meaning of a word before using it wherever it 'felt' appropriate, but so far, I'm only learning, and not very well either. Such words seem foreign at one point of time, when you read them associated with something, anything that hits your heart, and you realize you were simply treating it like a nobody while it held deep character all this while. One such word for me was 'tolerance'. 

Def: (Oxford dictionary online)
[Mass noun] The ability or willingness to tolerate the existence of opinions or behaviour that one dislikes or disagrees with:

the tolerance of corruptionan advocate of religious tolerance

Before that, I'd heard this word in school. 'I'd not tolerate any nonsense!' the teacher would shout. She wouldn't take nonsense, so you better behave. 

I'd also read it in novels. 'It was hard to tolerate all the pain.' Something that'd be difficult to bear.

But was it something big enough to wonder about? Something to be taken seriously, because you'd start feeling bad if you didn't understand it or did something about it? No.

It was only a few months ago when I came across a short speech delivered by the famous author, Vikram Seth, titled 'Intolerance is Violence,' that I got a glimpse into another, more fundamental aspect of the word, and it felt like I've been wronged most of my life!

Pic src: walizahid.com

A friend sometime mentioned, 'as Indians, we're quite racist' and it hadn't taken long for me to agree. We differentiate based on colour, religion, gender, social status, family background, etc even among ourselves. We teach it to our children, even when as kids, they're inclined to treat everyone the same unless they see their guardians treating certain people differently. We're proud of our heritage, even though we don't realize that we probably don't even deserve it, but oh, we're so confident of ourselves that we feel we're the best ever humanity could have. I think it'd be better if we faced reality: we've been provided marvelous lives, and the least we could do is be grateful about it. This isn't a sermon; I'm yet to understand and apply half these things myself, but what I do know is that my life would totally suck if I stayed in this bubble for long. Just so you know, it isn't self-created. It's something we're being born into and we don't even realize there's a world outside that bubble. Some thickheaded among us even guard the boundaries fiercely, lest it bursts, making other people who feel trapped inside, even more miserable. These are mostly the leaders, our supposed heroes sent out to let people escape their cages, but they end up doing the opposite, just because they're too scared to venture outside.

That makes different people live in different bubbles, never really trying to understand others' lives, their values and beliefs, thought processes, ways of living, or ever share their human nature. People eventually become comfortable in their own space and look at differences with suspicion, and sometimes, enmity. This is intolerance.

It takes an uglier aspect when it is edged with acts of abuse. Physical harm is only one form of such abuse. Making a sour face at someone else without even knowing them as people is also abuse. Asking your kid to stay away from the maid's child is abuse. Thinking a man in a turban would act crazy because he is a Sikh, is abuse. Think about how many people you've abused in your life and if you feel humbled even one percent, read on, or else I suggest you go back to your clique of high-profile, 'modern' friends who do no more than share a picture of the poor receiving a once-in-a-lifetime hug from some 'superstar', while throwing a callous, racist joke. I'd hope no more people like you come into existence. There are far too many already. 

I have this belief about authors churning out some of the best messages about life and society, and being daring enough to announce it to the world. It felt great when Vikram Seth did it. Apart from him, J.K. Rowling is someone who actively advocates tolerance and even seeks to send messages of tolerance through her stories. In one of her recorded interviews, she was asked what vice she most despises. Her one word reply: bigotry. The story of Harry Potter has lovable characters who're indeed different and in her own way, she managed to make younger readers have more capacity for tolerance. Need proof? Read it here.

Why should you harbour tolerance?

Because that's how it's supposed to be. Hatred never got us anywhere. Wars might be won, but millions of people die and that's the cruelest crime. Unkind words leave deep wounds, sometimes altering someone else's personality. You should be tolerant towards others and intolerant to intolerance. Someone hurt you badly? If you can't manage to forgive and forget, or let a just law take care of them, let it be. Don't go for revenge or bad-mouthing the person. You should be tolerant because generalization is wrong. It's not just bad, it's plain wrong. People are not defined by their backgrounds or looks and the sooner you realize this, the earlier you'd achieve a level of tolerable tolerance. You should be tolerant because you'd have a bright, wider outlook on the world, friends from the unlikeliest of places and it'd make you feel wonderful. 

How can you achieve more tolerance?

#1. By controlling your desperate urge to comment on any such post on Facebook where people are belittling others by categorizing them under religious heads. Hint, hint: read any post related to 9/11 or Kashmir floods and you'll know what I mean. It's horrifying to read hatred filled comments coming from the youngsters who'd supposedly help India overcome problems. Ow, don't tell me you really believe that? Because as long as we're stupidly guzzling any form of generalization made so prominent by businesses and media, we're only going downhill. You could vehemently go on opposing it, because you'd be long dead by the time other people suffer due to your mindlessness. 

#2. Stop generalizing, stereotyping, prejudicing and most of all, stop misusing the voice social media so easily provided you, to encourage any of those. I'm sometimes astounded at the minuscule number of people who'd agree on the importance of reading, so I wouldn't even go there, but if you think you're smart enough to churn out biased viewpoints and abusing people, even communities on social media, I'd have to admit that I think you're totally dumb. No, ignoring you is not the answer. Stopping you is. 

#3. Wait to know people yourself first before believing anything negative about them. Practice looking at people without the cloud of their background in mind and making assumptions; do that till you are able to look at anyone without wondering about their colour or caste or religion or finances or any other thing. Don't accept generalizations. They're bad. 

#4. Mind your own business. Seriously. Unless it affects you, and unless what you say or do will actually make a difference, keep your nose out of other people's business. Also, like mentioned before, your opinion on world issues is hardly relevant, so unless you have something useful to say, refrain. Then look at the world become a better place.  

Many Indian leaders before have talked about intolerance. Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan spoke of intolerance as the greatest repressor of progress. There probably are a lot more ways for being tolerant and I'm hoping I'd understand and practice those too, while praying that others too know how important it is to not be swayed by radical assumptions and statements, to have the ability to accept the fact that people are different and that the world needs a lot more love than hatred.

A part of Vikram Seth's speech that makes sense to me:

'Intolerance is violence. And accepted intolerance is violence with the acquiescence of society.'

'You may as well be yourself, because really, there’s no one else you can be. We’re here for such a ridiculously short time, in this ridiculously trivial corner of the universe, that if we aren’t ourselves, what’s the point of doing anything at all? So I would say it all matters, whether it’s your profession, whether it’s your beliefs, whether it’s the person you love, you must go at heart with who you are. Not what someone else tells you, not what your clan tells you, not even what an unjust law tells you. Go with yourself.'

Of verandah cricket and scooter rides...

I had been warned about a lot of things that happen in the 'real' world, things to protect yourself from, just like other normal kids who fear being carried away by a wolf if they venture outside the designated area. Or those who know the possibility of being squashed by a running vehicle if they toddle on the roads. I know, they don't really fear all this with conviction, being the little superheroes they believe themselves to be, but you have to admit that they'd possess a little bit of commonsense in between all that bratiness. (Chill. We're allowed to make up words. Shakespeare made over 1700 of them). Lately, though, I've been having misgivings about this assumption, especially when I take Scoot out. Roads seem to be a lot more safer than the narrow galis, because the children of today are completely convinced that no kind of moving vehicle can ever hurt them. If you doubt it, try riding a two or a four wheeler in a residential lane. Honking won't make them budge and giving them cold stares would make you feel ignored. 

As I stood exasperated, still perched on Scoot, observing with near-amusement the group of small boys and girls on bicycles, giggling and calling each other names, choosing to ignore Scoot inches away from them and its unnecessary honks, I couldn't help thinking of my own childhood and what comprised the world for me. Probably it was a lot more simpler, what with the lack of smartphones and what-not, along with managing school on our own instead of feeling miserable in a tuition class. In any respect, I'm sure we all adore our childhood, however we might have enjoyed it. When I think back to those years in the 90s, vivid memories of various forms of enjoyment seem to be those I cherish the most. It feels somewhat remarkable, and sad, to know that we probably never would do the same things again. What's a better way than to write it down, so that even after years or decades, we can go back to them without having forgotten sweet memories? 

Pic credit: Self

My brother and I were among the minuscule number of kids in our colony, so we were each other's closest playmates. That was probably what ignited our protective instincts for the other, along with developing a habit of hardly ever talking to each other without sarcasm. Till the time G was tiny and didn't know he was supposed to rebel the fountain-like or tiny ponytail hairstyles we made him have, he agreed to be the student when I proudly used a chalk on the small, rough blackboard. That was also when we collectively played with our toys, tiny dolls sitting on top of Anand Cola trucks and vehicles, falling off the tops repeatedly as the trucks swished on the floor. G was not to be restrained to make-believe games for long. He soon found a keen interest in cricket and games involving more physical activity. Having amazing powers of conviction mixed with cuteness, he managed to involve me in any and every sport or game he wanted to play. 

Cricket was something I never said no to. It had soon become a family sport. The narrow lane in front of our home with the park having overgrown grass surrounding one side of it was not an ideal spot, since the ball (that dad later started calling the do dinn wali ball, apparently because it lasted two days before it got lost) was quickly lost, finding its way in an overgrowth or a gutter. Our dad was our favourite playmate, apart from each other. He moved our game indoors and the thin strip of our verandah became our pitch. He acted as the referee and mostly as the batsman who would hit the ball at just the perfect angles for a whoop-inducing catch. I loved catching the ball the most, just a little less than batting. Since the verandah was really narrow, it did not afford space to score by running, so we made our own rules, the most flexible of which I found the one-tip-one-hand rule. If there were more than three balls I hadn't got to catch, I just needed to gesture to dad and he would make the next one an easy catch thrown my way. 

I miss that tiny verandah space the most. It was where G and I had stood because mom wouldn't let us in. Of course, if both of us were ghar nikaloed together, it would hardly matter, for we would start playing any game G would invent. The harder bits were when it was either of us who had been the naughtier one and hence, accorded that punishment. The only solace in that moment when we cried bitterly, lay in the fact that soon, our sibling would find a way to let us in. Sometimes it was G using his convincing skills, or grandmom feeling sorry for us, or the best of all, the alternate door to the house. We soon found a way to overcome our problems by simply, stealthily opening the lock to the alternate door and let the other in. The only hard part would be those minutes, or even hours we'd have to spend hiding under the dining table, cutting the hours till the time we knew mom would be opening the door to let us in. 

It was also the safe space for skating, something I'd learned to love. Although my first independent 'walk' on wheels had been in our drawing-cum-dining room, the verandah had witnessed thousands of tiny rounds when the uneven road outside was deemed unsafe. It then became our basketball court when we got a small basketball, complete with a red netted basket. Cricket though, won over the other sport, being something we enjoyed the most. The verandah saw our first, horrific falls. It was surrounded by a low wall with a broad base where it met the gate. That piece of wall was the perfect spot to perch on, looking over to the narrow lane, the park and the main road beyond that. It was also easily accessible thanks to a cemented base doubling as a resting-stool-stuck-to-the-wall. When I had first fallen off that wall, G had not yet been born and I had made the drop towards the outside lane, fitting my small self into the thankfully dry naali. G's fall, a few years later, was on the inside. Nevertheless, it was our favourite spot. We would sit there in the evenings without electricity, playing games. 

  

There was the letter-box opening in the cemented wall, through which G and I would shoot our water guns at passersby two days preceding Holi. The only scary moment was when one lady didn't seem to have liked it and had suddenly turned towards our house, angry. It was terrifying as we had quickly ducked and like little soldiers, made our way to the metal door leading into the house as fast as we could, the lady's accusatory shouts ringing in our ears as our hearts thumped madly. A few years later, the verandah was witness to and a participator in making me have my first stitch-requiring-injury. We were playing aankh me choli. It did not occur to my super-smart brain that it'd be better to move slowly and I ended up banging my head on a wall. I thought it was okay once I had paused and pressed my hand to the painful spot and the pain had seemed to recede. G was standing stock-still just where he had been and when I had removed my hand and smiled up at him to suggest that I was okay, he had called, 'hawww! khoon!', looking horrified. The next moment I felt a trickle of liquid down my face, the drops landing in red on the floor in quick succession and I had started shrieking at the sight and unnaturalness of it. 

There was a tap right next to that letter-box opening and our perch, which was used to fill up water balloons and store in the bucket on the mornings of Holi. We would excitedly hand over balloons to dad as he sat on his haunches, filling up those water balloons and depositing them in the bucket till G would declare them enough. We spent most of our childhood Holis spraying coloured water on each other in the lane outside the gate, after mom and grandma would go back inside and dad would supervise the game, or click pictures. Balloons were mostly for ourselves, until we were joined by a couple more neighbourhood kids and we realized that there's more to those water bombs than we had imagined. 

Then there was school, of course. I never liked school. It was full of bullies and stupid children who cheated on tests and never left an opportunity to make fun of others. Either this, or the compulsory lessons on classical dance: something or the other was always a flop in my idea of school. I remained in my own world nevertheless, having to come out and act smart only when G started accompanying me to school. We used to make a single-file line even on our bus stop (I still can't believe how they managed to instill that kind of discipline!) and G would sulk, or worse, cry, if he wasn't the first in line. It became a ritual of keeping an eye out on the road as we hurriedly dressed for school at 6.15 in the morning, rushing out to be the first to start the line. I was usually the first one to get ready, so it was an added responsibility to reach the stop earlier to avoid anyone else getting there first, because the not-so-appealing alternative would be to manage an annoying G all the way to school. 

During this time, afternoons were usually monotonous, especially when we returned home. The perks were when we could see our grandmom at the gate to our house, waiting for us. An even added perk was finding our dad along with her. Our little hearts were filled with such enthusiasm at the sight of them that we'd quickly hold hands and cross the road, before G's hand would leave mine and he'd jump over the low wall of the park, cross it and reach dad before I could. Ever since we know, he's always had work in shifts, so we hardly ever knew when he would be there to receive us. If we would be feeling really excited, we'd chant 'scooter pe round' and dropping our bags in the verandah, we'd plant ourselves on the scooter and enjoy the round he'd give. I loved sitting facing backwards during these rounds that probably lasted five minutes, but made us happy for the entire day. Even though I was a preteen already, I don't think I even for a moment considered it as something ridiculous. It's fun, really. It was rather a let down when I badgered dad into letting me sit facing backwards a few days ago and he actually did not move more than a short distance because it was embarrassing. -_- See? That's why I say we need to cherish such things because they're mostly possible only during childhood. :')

There are a lot more stories surrounding childhood, most of which relates to things that were so important to us. Play time was not time pass. It was absolutely essential. It was an important part of our life growing up and made us learn a lot more than watching TV or playing video games ever could. We did succumb to computer games later in the years, but there was always, and still is, that special place reserved for sports or actively engaging games. It's not just something to cherish, but also something to be passed on. It's somewhat disturbing to find kids the same age as we were back then, recklessly driving gear-less scooters in the lanes, or being callous enough to not even consider a motor vehicle coming towards them.  

Do you remember such games or special hangout spots of childhood? Aren't those just too precious? :')

       

The stuff we learn...

You know how it feels when you think you're more mature than you ever were, and you think back to the past and want to kick yourself because what you thought/did/talked about was so stupid? I think this feeling is a constant, as we continue to change each day. I was (kind of still am) a believer in the permanence of things, but I suppose it's a silly thought. Even if you manage to preserve something for centuries (ancient stuff found in museums or even mummies), they're not the same as they were. We change, things change, and in the process, if you're receptive, you'll learn to be at peace with it and even enjoy it. The past few days, I've been thinking about the stuff I used to get so worked up about and wished I hadn't wasted time on it. But then, how was I supposed to know unless I've 'been-there-done-that'? This thought is a consolation, and particularly now, I feel lighter than ever, having made conscious choices and decisions and realizing what suits me best.

It's been hard, because I've felt like I belonged someplace else, ever since I was small. Be it any institution - school, coaching centers, colleges - there's always been this feeling of temporariness. 'I'll leave this place soon. Let me make the most of it and ignore the hurt that comes. I'll be free soon.' I'm not sure what to make of it, but I have no complaints. I've always been a happy kid. Delighted, even. Getting upset at things normal kids get used to get upset at. Till then of course, I hadn't experienced sadness or tragedy, but whatever. The point is, it has been now, when I finally feel free to make my life as I want, that I feel truly liberated. And light. And very much normal. Looking back, it's worth noting how, when we're bound to a place or situation, we want to make the most of it and form relationships around. Of course, each experience feels great, even exhilarating because that's how it felt right at that time, but it's an entirely different feeling to feel liberated from all of those, to feel the relief that you're not bound, or expected to do a certain thing. Maybe in some people's perspective, you still are, but you don't feel it that way. Or perhaps it's about priorities. I feel I'm beyond trying to be nice just to be nice, to go out of my way just because it's expected of me, to do what is supposedly right but doesn't feel right. Barring a few close people (family and friends), I'm not bound to anybody. Even those few people don't make me feel 'bound'; just feel-goody connected. It may feel like I'm stating the obvious, but if you've been through this transition stage, you'd know what I mean. We think we always know it, but we don't. Not really.

Pic credit: Google

What I feel suits me well:

1. Keeping true to myself and to the rest: Pretense is just not my thing. Having been in places and situations where I definitely had to pretend to feel good when I certainly wasn't, I had started feeling that maybe I did actually feel happy, and was scared to think of the opposite. But now when I'm free from them, I do realize I was internally, miserable. I couldn't pretend, really. Did I make many friends? No. Did I manage to heavily applaud someone on an achievement when I hadn't really felt like it? No. Will I try to befriend someone just because it 'should' be done? Most probably not. If I don't want to talk you, I wouldn't. Just don't expect me to make small talk or whatever just because it should be done. There are no 'should's. In the same beat, I can't force myself to talk nicely or however is expected if I don't feel like it. I can't just pretend.

2. Always having something to work on: Staying idle is a nightmare. So is non-clarity of how I perceive my present and future. I want to know everything that matters. It's difficult to stay idle even day-to-day. I sometimes feel irritated when someone says they're getting bored. More often than not, they'd complain that they're getting bored, as if it's our job to keep them entertained. I used to feel guilty whenever someone in my company said they're bored. Bullies and stupid kids in school called me a bore, whereas I hardly ever get bored myself, even in the most yawn-inducing lectures or situations. Mind it people, it's not other people, but your own capacity and mind that makes you feel bored. It's your own outlook and what you choose to feel.

In a larger perspective, I always need a larger goal, whatever it is, so I can stop feeling idle and work towards attaining something. Of course, nothingness has its own charm, but it works for a little while. Getting one of the top ranks, or crossing a particular score as my personal best, finishing formal education with as little pain as possible (I've hated most of my formal education years. However much you try to improve the universities, it won't make much difference if you don't start improving the early schooling years), getting into the publishing industry because working anywhere else seemed like a nightmare and incredibly terrifying. Of course, you don't always achieve what you set out for, but knowing what you're working for gives an immense amount of satisfaction and higher chances of succeeding. Sometimes you may end up worse, but mostly you'd end up much better than what you thought. Like I luckily did. Most people don't get it; why I'm happily settling for something so different from my peers, or from what is the norm, and I don't feel obligated to even attempt to explain why. But now that I've been where I wanted to be, I need a new goal, however small it might be.

3. I can't write, for long, for other people: I've attempted being a part of some webzines, but in most of them, we're required to write on specific topics or by fixed deadlines and I realized I just couldn't manage that. I'm having to ghostwrite a bit even now, and although I've learned quite a lot from it, it's not something I can manage for long. I am a firm believer in writing as an art; it's not something mechanical. Plus, good writing is always in which the author truly believes, not what he should be writing because that's what people want. People don't actually know what they want, like how Steve Jobs proved it. I'd happily write what I believe in, even if I have a minuscule readership. In this industry, I've unfortunately observed how sometimes people write just for the perks of being an author. There's no morality involved, no love for writing, no consideration for what's being put out in the market, in the hands of people. I don't care if anyone calls me old-school or whatever, but I strongly believe in the power of good books and good writing (like many others before, please don't ask me to define 'good'. You know it as well as I do) and it's important to see what you're putting inside other people's minds. Books have a power to influence and it's a responsible job to be an author. I'm not against entertainment, but I'm definitely against mindless production and consumption of entertainment.

4. I have a thing for not following strict schedules and deadlines: I think my fetish for having it all planned in advance is just so I can break/bend the rules. If I do it on impulse, I'd feel totally 'unplanned', and that's not a good feeling, but if I'd do just a little part of the whole on impulse or in a sudden mood swing when I'd planned something different, it'd feel like an adventure. It's the same with deadlines, although I try very hard not to break those deadlines, but when it comes to setting them up, I'm known to have accepted quite unrealistic ones. Like right now. I'm seriously supposed to be working continuously and that is how I'd be able to reach the deadline with completed work, but I just cannot get myself to work. It's not that I have an aversion to dates; in this case it's the work. I'm certain that if it's something I don't like, no one, absolutely no one can get me to do it. :| However, I do feel the need to become more organized. I have a tendency to take work home, and then I can't give in to those bursts of want when there's a book I want to read instead.
     

Just the thing we need to do

5. I'm independent and I want to stay that way: I don't even want to be dependent on anyone about how I feel, not even a friend or someone in the family. This doesn't mean I don't want to consider them at all, but I'm not particularly inclined towards having people tell me how I should feel. Like that one time a well-meaning friend was adamant that there's something wrong in my life and I can't see it. I know you mean well, but I feel alright and you don't know as much about my life as I do. I've had bad moments, but I'm an optimistic person. I neither have the inclination, nor the energy to feel negative for long. There's a lot I have to do in my life, and I can't let small things matter so much that it takes all my focus. I want to have a fantastic career, in the sense that I do what I enjoy, to the best of my capacity and in a way that benefits others. I want to travel a lot, and document it all and use it well. I want to laugh and make people laugh. I want to enjoy all sorts of adventure sports and meet new people from different places. I do not want to look at anyone and get a stereotyped thought. So yes, you need to know that I wouldn't give it a lot of thought as long as I'm happy.  

6. Not trying too hard to be unique or make a mark: I used to spend time thinking about creative ways to make my blogs and posts different and interesting. It was definitely fun then, and maybe when I feel like it again, it would be nice, but it's a free feeling to know that I don't really want to do all that. I believe that being ordinary is so rare that it is actually what extraordinary is. I want to stop being so dependent on social media to feel knowledgeable, when all I actually end up reading is stuff I won't remember or have much use for. It feels like an illusion. I want to spend time talking to people in real, to go out in the evenings and enjoy good weather with those I love. I want to stop worrying about things that don't matter and how I feel left out or backward when I don't know the Facebook latest and all those silly things. I guess I've started feeling that way already. I'm light, free and I intend to stay that way.  

Now. Now is the time when I should seriously get back to work. Praying that I manage to complete it well on time! Please pray for me and shower some motivation, people! I so so so need it right now!

PS- “There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson 
I read this just now, after having posted this post. I feel somewhat relieved with this!

Papier Mache Tutorial: Making Bangles! Or anything else, basically.

I think I have reached that stage when I can proudly state, smugly, 'this post is the result of popular demand', even though it's been this one friend who demanded. But still, that counts, right? Here you go Gunsheen! Sorry to make it so late. :P

Papier mache has been fascinating for me for quite some time. If you'd remember, more than two years ago, I posted about a wacky mask I made during vacations, using the layering papier mache technique! The mask hangs still solid (albeit among frequent cobwebs - just slight ones) on a wall in my room. ^_^ God, re-reading that post brought back memories of an innocently awesome time. *sighs*

Anyway, this time, I decided I'd go with the pulp technique and make something cute and lovely. I don't honestly remember where I get such ideas from, but this just happened. I was also looking forward to making the pulp. Y'know, the gooey gooeness of it? I Googled some, YouTubed lots and basically ended up with lots of raw material and clicked pictures step by step because I really wanted to make a blog-post-tutorial! Let us, finally, 'are we all settled down?', begin. :P

This post would have examples of bangles and a bowl I made for a friend. Here's how the final product(s) looked:

Pretty and colorful, right? :D

Step # 1: Collecting raw material
To make papier mache objects, you need:

Some stuff

1. Paper (of course!): It can be newspaper, kitchen towel paper, computer printing paper or even toilet paper! Although the best kind to use in the pulp technique is plain old newspaper. 

2. Glue

3. Flour 

4. Salt

5. Mixing bowls (preferably plastic you won't need later)

6. Mixer/Grinder/Hand-held grinder 

7. A stove (just for the initial heating)

8. Water

9. Your creativity, I suppose. And patience. 

Step # 2: Making the pulp

This is the most important step because the pulp will ultimately determine the quality and strength of your product (in this example, a bangle). 

- Cut small pieces of newspaper and collect them in a bowl. You can use a big enough container and fill the newspaper up to the top, because it's anyway going to be mashed into a pulp and hence, reduced in size.  Make sure to cut as small pieces of the paper you can. It's easier to work with, later on. However, use your own idea of the quantity of pulp you wish to make. I made enough for 6 bangles and a whole bowl made of paper! Since the pulp (according to what I know) won't last for more than a couple of days in the same gooey freshness, you could simply use it to shape different objects within those two-three days and let them dry for the next few days.

Pieces of paper. 

- Add hot water to the paper in the bowl. Immerse all the paper completely, and let it stand overnight.

- The next day, transfer the now-soggy paper into another bowl, or simply drain the excess water from the original bowl. Break the wet paper pieces into even smaller, stickier, mashed up pieces. Keep enough water for you to use it in a mixer/grinder. I used a hand-held grinder to further make the pulp into goo. (Just in appearance)

Move your head 90 degrees to the right!
I tried thrice to straighten it, I promise.

- Use a sieve to remove excess water. The pulp should not be too dry, but it shouldn't be liquidated either. You'll know it when you do it. Just keep a little bit of water in it and get rid of the rest. 

- Now transfer the soft pulp (no, it's not ready yet!) into a plastic bowl that you'd use to store it for the time you'd be working. Then take a tube of fevicol, hold it over the mashed up paper and squirt. To make it less boring, I prefer making spirals in white over the grey while squirting. Do it liberally. 

- Add half a cup of flour. At first, I hadn't known the wonders of adding flour. My pulp was too soft and wasn't just sticking together when my eleven year old niece came up and asked me to add flour. Talk about smart kids! Flour helps stick the paper together, adds substance, and basically is something you cannot do without. Fevicol is awesome (as the ads say) but not enough for this pulp!

- Add half a spoon of salt. It does nothing more than ensure/prevent/delay fungus or whatever on the pulp so your project/object lasts longer!

- Now, the best part! Put your hands in the pulp: all sticky and scratchy, and mix it all together. Keep on doing it for a good few minutes till you feel the pulp is similar to soft clay and can be shaped into something. (I had made a video for it, but now it's not in the archives!) A good way to know whether the pulp is ready yet, is to take a bit of it and roll it into a ball. If it becomes a perfect, round shape, not breaking away, you're good enough to go forward. If not, consider adding a bit more flour and glue.

This ball seemed good enough

Your pulp is ready!

Step # 3: Making shapes of objects

What is your project? I made some bangles and a bowl for a friend. Let's begin with the bangles.

- It's best to have a mold to help with the circular shape. I used that thin wire we used in school when making flowers (don't remember what it's called), shaped it into a circle, twisted the ends together and it was ready! After that, use the pulp and put it across the mold, as shown in the picture below. You'd need to spend some time on the shaping of these bangles, depending on how you want to make them: what breadth or shape (circular, flat).

The initial phase of putting pulp across the wire

- Once you have shaped them all, you simply need to leave them to dry for three-four days, till you feel they're solid enough to get painted!

All those circular ones for bangles!

You can use sandpaper to rub over the molds/shapes to make them smoother if little bumps etc disturb you. I like the imperfectness of the shapes, so I don't use that a lot. 

For the bowl:

- I used a balloon to act as a mould here. The base of the balloon is round, and you can stick your pulp on to the base and leave it to dry for the same number of days as the bangles. 

Let it stay like this, attached with the balloon till the time you're ready to use it. The balloon would pop off on its own, or you could use a pin. Also, the outer surface here was pretty rough. If you prefer smoother surfaces, you could look up videos for pulp-making and see how to make them really soft. Most of them are by people residing in other countries and some ingredients don't match, hence, I couldn't make it smoother. If you find a way, let me know!

Step # 4: Painting and decorating

Now your shapes are ready to be turned into useful, colorful, pretty objects you can gift or use to decorate your home! I used poster colors to create a basic color paint on the shapes, and then added glitter, or embellishments or other paint to make simple designs. 

Base colors!

These four were decorated differently.

Golden paint added with cotton, to give
an effect of .... well, something ancient :P

Pink decorative gems stuck with fevicol.
This one was my favorite of the lot!

Simple stripes added with white poster color

For the bowl:

A lot, and I mean A LOT of golden paint was used on this. Basically, I didn't have enough poster color for one big bowl, and the golden, shiny paint left over from the time I painted the walls of my room looked like the perfect solution! I'm actually quite proud of it. It did look good. :D

Before

After!

Step # 5: Finishing

Most of the stuff can be left like that once you're done with decorating it. However, in some cases when you want to extend the life of your creative pieces, you can add a coat of varnish to the items and preferably leave them to dry for a couple of days. Adding this prevents them from getting spoiled from water. Kind of like makes them water-proof, although I haven't seen the proof of it, having sent those off before the varnish coat even dried properly!

End result :)

What do you think? Like it? Do these look like something you'd try? :D

If you have any questions, although I don't claim to be anywhere close to good at it, you can still ask me. :P