Dear Readers,
The world is precarious. Every day, rain washes its roads, so I must tread carefully. That doesn’t mean I won’t slip, because life involves other people. And we’re only human, correct? It doesn’t mean I have to stop walking, either. It just implies I should be more careful lest I hurt myself.
It’s no coincidence that I bring up the analogy of walking today. But before I explain why, I’d like to share a beautiful thought that I read on Instagram and which will stay with me for as long as I write because each day, as I move forward in this journey, I want to embrace it as my walking partner and not merely as a means to an end. I am learning to sift and it’s liberating. I find it funny that I often imagine writers on walkways, a huge wave of us walking down and past each other in our writerly attires, attaché cases with manuscripts in hands, waiting to walk into offices of publishing or agenting honchos. Amidst this, I read an Instagram post by a poet who tries to answer questions about publishing her next collection (the first was nearly four years ago). In her words, I won’t hasten to craft merely to leave an echo. Only a handful will remember me when my voice falls silent…and will they truly need my words to recall the essence of who I was?
Thank you, Teji Sethi, for this. I hope I will have the wisdom to create based on my own reasons and convictions, as you do.
Teji’s words also spark many questions in my mind about the walls we build in the writing world, many of them hollow and cavernous. But I will leave those for another day.
Let’s return to walking. This week Namratha prompts us to talk about walking. She shares some beautiful poems on her Substack. Her own, offers an interesting perspective on how a simple walk with a friend can make life bearable. Another one, Fleet, talks of walking experiences in different terrains, showing how the same act can offer a different experience in varied spaces.
Adding to the list, I have a poem that I wrote nearly four years ago when I lived in Delhi. Walking is meditation for me. As one from the hills, my walks in Shimla, through tall deodars felt like a prayer. This poem comes from an attempt to recreate a similar experience in an urban setting flanked by high-rise buildings.
MORNING WALK
I prefer the outer circle, dancing around the edge like the earth tracing the sun year after year after year. An Indian gooseberry greets me few metres from its tree. Globe-shaped, why does it risk falling down? Waiting, to be trampled upon?
Does it borrow fortitude from the blade of grass twirling in the breeze in a community park—round and round, like a river flowing around a rock. I circumambulate once again. It’s tradition, I learnt as a little girl plodding silently behind my mother in the temple, in a town built (a)round seven hills.
We orbit before we collapse—the gooseberry, the blade of grass, the hill-town, the girl walking around the ten towers she now calls home.
moon-shaped pond…
bird in flight
grabs a lotus
Thank you for stopping by. I will see you again next week!
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A Hundred Quills 
What a lovely post that was . Walking and writing about walking . …..
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I particularly like this line: “We orbit before we collapse—the gooseberry, the blade of grass, the hill-town, the girl walking around the ten towers she now calls home.”
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I remember this poem in its nascent form, and I love how it has evolved. The growth of the girl from the hill town is perfectly captured in the ending haiku, which is so evocative with the bird and the lotus. I really admire the idea of walking around the bigger picture and noticing the details, especially where and how they fit in the diorama.
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I like how this whole poem is about orbiting and coming back to where you started from. Glad you reworked your old poem. This poem reminds me of another one which I had about going in circles, but it has a rather desolate tone.
The haiku works well with the moon-shaped pond and the bird which seems to be seizing the moment. Lovely writing.
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Thank you, Namratha. Always inspired by you:)
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