Under the Pink Shade of the Bougainvillea

Dear Readers,

I write to you from the Delhi bound Sarai Rohilla Express. As I leave behind fields and acacias and hazy white skies at a mile a minute, I cannot help but think of the subliminal message this travel conveys about the past one year. Let me take you through it.

Did Covid turn you into a homebody just like me? Not that I was much of an outdoor person before that, but what at first appeared to be forced entrenchment soon turned into a comfortable view of the world from my virtual window. The ease of connection made me less desirable of real-world interactions as I settled for zoom calls/meets and a new virtual reality.

Earlier this year, I moved to Jodhpur, a quaint old town in Rajasthan, which is very different from my previous city of residence, Delhi. A metropolis has so much to offer, even if it’s just traffic, that being in a place with a radius of fifteen kilometres was laughable in the beginning. I joked about how the entire town was the size of my palm. But gradually the littleness of this place grew on me. My morning walks graduated from going around high-rise apartments to walking beside lakes and under the bougainvillea, throwing its pink shade on walkways.

From walks to regional food and markets to attending the Jodhpur Rajasthan International Folk Festival to making local friends and travelling to nearby towns and cities, I am not sure of the timeline my altered lifestyle followed. It was slow and organic and I flowed seamlessly into a different routine, a more normal one, if I may say so.

So, where did I fit writing in this schedule packed with the outdoors? Yes, I wrote. But without beating myself over (a) not writing every day (b) not submitting to every single place or competition (c) not getting accepted everywhere.

Instead, I will say I discovered writing in a new and very different light, aiming for (a) clarity (b) fearlessness (c) surety and (d) fun.

I can safely say I was more regular on this blog than last year. Though I didn’t participate in many blog hops or respond to prompts, I poured my heart out in every post and enjoyed little chats with other bloggers, learning much along the way. My regular subscriptions to some enriching blogs on this platform and on substack kept me motivated. This little shout out on X from Noor Anand Chawla made my day (year)!

So, what did I write about in 2024? I sent a short story for the Rama Mehta Writing Grant earlier this year and was shortlisted to attend a writing workshop in Udaipur, under the guidance of editor/publisher of Yoda Press, Arpita Das. It was an enriching experience where I met writers from various backgrounds writing in Hindi, English, Urdu and Rajasthani. In this four-day-long literary extravaganza, we also met translator/author Priyanka Sarkar and author Rakhshanda Jalil. The final event was graced by film-maker Mira Nair, who inspired us with stories from her life.

There were three things about this workshop that will stay with me. To begin with, the diverse age groups and backgrounds of my fellow participants contributed to a wealth of varied cultural experiences. This invaluable exposure was like stardust that I now use to sparkle my craft.

Secondly, for the first time I was able to put the mega impostor syndrome on the fringes because of the faith shown by my mentor and fellow writers. After the experience, I think I’ve been able to write without the diffidence that accompanies every ‘what if’. I learnt that encouragement works better than criticism, that a good heart makes good art.

Finally, one thing that I brought home and which was stressed upon by every luminary I met at the RMWG workshop was the importance of the fallow period. It makes me feel less guilty about doing things other than writing. Like enjoying a good show on TV or catching up with my folks. I count these things more gently now as my subconscious writing times. Sometimes we are very harsh on ourselves about enjoying stuff that is not very productive. I’m glad I could overcome these barriers.

The shortlisted story from RMWG will appear in Setu Magazine soon and I cannot wait to share it with my readers.

Another theme that appealed greatly to my heart this year was a CNF call for an anthology My India My Gods which will be published by Bare Bones Publishing. My piece The Grand Canyon was shortlisted for Volume I of this very important anthology which will be out in February 2025.

In July I wrote Air Conditioned which was kindly picked up by MeanPepperVine Journal.

A set of six poems is also out in the world, waiting for a home, and dear reader, I hope I can send them your way soon.

Finally, I have been painstakingly working on my chapter book since October this year. Too early to say much, but we are going steady with nearly sixty percent work done.  

Which does not mean I didn’t receive rejections. They are always way more than the acceptances, like two sides of the same coin that go hand in hand.

To sum up this last post of 2024, here are two experiences from the outdoors that helped shape my writing and world view in the last few months.

Evenings by the lake have been the best part of my days. The lake does not shout for me to notice it. Nor does the sun call out to me to watch it go down every day. They just do their work, they simply exist and I am drawn to their quiet being. This past year of moving beyond four walls has taught me to follow suit with writing. To draw attention to it by its mere existence.

During a walk in the old city (five-hundred years or more), I saw a banyan tree that hosts nearly two thousand house sparrows in the wee hours every day. Their chirping followed by a flight in the open skies is an experience I will carry in my heart like a poem or a story, for days or weeks or maybe years. It will probably travel to other towns and cities with me, where I will meet more house sparrows and listen to their birdsong or watch a sunrise with them by my side. I will carry it until I get the right and enough words to pen about it. There’s no hurry. There shouldn’t be. 

   

Wish you all a blessed 2025. See you in the new year.