Red Sun Yellow Sky

I've been an absentee blogger since April 30th 2022. All I have as a way of explanation is a bag full of excuses. 

This April, our first holiday since February 2020 crossed paths with my first #NaPoWriMo. I wasn't sure how I'd cope. But I did well:)

I was able to post daily and even got featured twice! Yay!! I absolutely loved the discipline of  crafting a new poem daily (to prompts-- no less). But what I loved even more was reading some amazing poetry and posts throughout April. 

Every time I participate in the April challenge of blogging from A to Z, I promise myself that I'll be as committed to my blog after the challenge is over as much as I am while it is on. But. But. Every year, all I'm left with is a bag full of excuses to offer.

I hope, fingers crossed, that with this short post, I'll put myself back in the saddle and ride, nay, trot along rather gently with my other blogger buddies. You see, I owe a lot to my blog and my blogging journey. Everything that can be counted as anything of substance in my writing career is somehow linked to this blog. The writing process-- its discipline of writing regularly escapes me when I'm not blogging. And funnily enough, it's only when I'm in this sacred space of writing and sharing that my writing stretches its limbs and shakes off its lethargy.

I do post on Insta every now and then but the 'instantaneous' quality of those posts (known as captions for a reason) is so short lived that I barely get the chance to dip my toes and its the next morning, the next week and just like that a whole month has gone by.

The tile of this post is "Red Sun Yellow Sky" because it's the title of the story I'm sharing here with you.

I had the good fortune of sharing this personal story on 26th March 2022 on a zoom session hosted by Shanty Rose who created a fabulous storytelling forum called "Across and Beyond the Arabian Sea". We, the story tellers, were asked to share personal stories on the theme of 'The Gift/Gifts". This is what I shared--

Thank you for listening to Rana's story. 

We are all stories after all. But, it's thanks to challenges and forums that stories embedded in us get aired.

I hope to see you all soon with some pics and posts about my first ever trip to Turkey.

How's the last month or so been for you? Are you making any travel plans? Is summer a time of the year you look forward to or dread? You know I'd love to find out, if you'd like to share.

Stay well. Keep safe and hydrated. Till we meet again.

W is for The Wedding Album #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the last week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

Today, I'm looking at my wedding album with Ichigo Ichie eyes. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

Story Water

A story is like water

that you heat for your bath.

It takes messages between the fire

and your skin. It lets them meet,

and it cleans you!

...

Water, stories, the body,

all the things we do, are mediums

that hide and show what's hidden.

Study them,

and enjoy this being washed

with a secret we sometimes know,

and then not.

Above is part of a poem borrowed from The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks.

The Wedding Album

Bound in blue, it lives 

inside a bag of cloth lying

at the back of my wardrobe.

I open it rarely but whenever I do,

It pulls me in.

The wardrobe's sliding doors 

don't come in the way

of my entry into Narnia of that one sunny yesterday--

my wedding day.

Snapshots of happy, sad moments are glued on thick snowy pages:

on the verge of showing signs of wear 

and going yellow at the edges.

Smiles, tears, flowers, sindoor

lie frozen behind plastic doors.

I sit on the bedroom floor holding 

Einstein's theory of relativity.

The windows of a train he'd mentioned 

are stuck in an album bound in blue.

Bitter-sweet moments zoom past fast 

escaping the wardrobe through and through.

In a whirlpool of time, like Alice I slide

down 

into my present, future and past.

Marriage seeds sown for new lovers

who'll meet,

And some happily ever-afters that will split.

Children yet to be born.

Parents, grandparents that will soon be gone

leaving behind stories

rippling

in waters of memories to be reflected upon.

Bubbles of things that were left unsaid

and the love that should've been shown

will burst and form again and again

as every page is turned.

Vacant looks in Beji's eyes

will bloom into Alzheimer's plight.

She'll forget me soon after the wedding.

It won't matter if I visit her: I'll justify my busy life for me.

 

Twenty-six years of life

sit caught and bound

in an orange and gold bag of cloth

at the back of my wardrobe.

The pale pink heirloom, his family gave me,

brings me back in time.

I look at it--gota-patti running in fine Punjabi design.

Jasmine, henna, his eyes, his 'you look beautiful,' 

will continue to shine

my everyday, ordinary and that Mr. Einstein

is how I understand

relativity of Time.

The pale pink scarf with gota-patti

Our wedding album has seen more light in the past one year than at any other time in the past two decades. I reckon, the sequestering (at least for me) is making me more nostalgic, not just for the recent past but for the past, past as well.

What about you? Have you picked up an old album recently?

Are you the keeper of a family heirloom?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

Leaving you with this very short video. I think you'll love it as much as I do. It's 'a snapshot of an ancient past captured in time.'

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

U is for Unequal, Unique you #AtoZChallenge

 Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fourth week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

Another Zen Lesson for an Ichigo Ichie Life listed in the The Book of Ichigo Ichie is:

Be your own friend: Rather than comparing yourself to others and worrying about what other people think, assume that you are unique in the world.

As the celloist Pau (Pablo) Casals said in a poem written for children: 

You are a miracle, and there has never been--

nor will there ever be--anyone like you.

It was the first time I'd seen her in my garden. She had enticed me with her rainbow wings in gardens, ponds and fields of my childhood. But, to see her perched on a hibiscus bud: still and contemplating, one day in May last year transported me back to the days when I was convinced I belonged to another planet.

When life raises roadblocks, the mind looks for escapes to cope with the day to day.

I was in grade six. My mother was going through a particularly dark and unsettling period. There was no peace at home. 

At some point in our lives, I reckon, we've all wondered if we were adopted by our families. I'm no exception. Except, my fertile imagination turned me into a long lost princess from another planet who was dropped (by accident) in Dehradun as a baby. My Earth parents found me and raised me. For a few years, I was convinced that I was waiting for the day when my people would find me and zoom me away to my real home.

On days when things were particularly bad at home, I'd day dream about a UFO landing in our school hockey field, where poinsettia trees bloomed red at Christmas, and whisk me away.

Strangely, I always had long flowing hair in those Sci-fi  day dream sequences.

Then, in the middle of the school year, we watched Escape to Witch Mountain, a Walt Disney film, and I was convinced I was another one of the orphan kids who had to find an escape from this cruel world. (The film is about two children from another world who must reach the mountain where their spaceship will hover for a while to take them back to their home planet.)

Her wings, that day in May, took me back to the hockey field, back to the scene when a UFO lands and a disembodied voice booms over my aghast class-mates and says: "We are so sorry Princess, it took us so long!"

According to Wikipedia, A dragonfly is an insect belonging to the order Odanata, infraorder Aniospetra (from Greek anisos "unequal" and pteron, "wing") because the hindwing is broader than the forewing.

She sat still. She posed. Like a ballerina, she held her poses while I adjusted my camera settings.

"Mere ghar aayee ek nanhi pari..." ( A tittle fairy has come home) I hummed lines of a Hindi song after I had finished clicking and she continued to sit on the unopened, red hibiscus bud.

While looking for information on dragonflies, I came across https://animalsake.com. Their page on 'what do dragonflies symbolise' fascinated me. The following findings are from this website.

"In Native American legends, the dragonfly is a symbol of resurrection, and renewal after hardship." 

"In the Japanese culture, the dragonfly was honoured as a symbol of joy and new light, and also strength, courage, and good luck. "

"...if you observe a dragonfly, you’ll find it delightful to watch it fly in every possible direction, and also backwards. It has a very short time to live its adult life, but it seems as if it lives its life with no regrets. It inspires us to make use of every single moment we have, and live as if there’s no tomorrow!"

Do you have a dragonfly legend/memory/story to share?

Did you escape into make believe when you were growing up?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to tell.

Here we are at the end of week four of the A to Z, only five more letters to go. We did it. Yay!

All of us got together this month (thanks to the efforts of the A to Z challenge organisers) to participate in our own unique and unequal ways at an unparalleled time in modern memory to create a unison of reading, writing, commenting, learning, encouraging, laughing, questioning and presenting a post every day despite all the challenges/disruptions and roadblocks in our day to days.

I think we all deserve a big Hurrah! and a pat on our backs for this. Don't you?

Wishing you all a restful, healthy and peaceful  Sunday. See you on Monday with a visual  and tasty treat:)

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

R is for Rainbows on Table Mountain #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fourth week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

The last two days have been hard to sit and write and post and participate because of the dark and dismal news of Covid deaths and distress coming from India. There's been a deluge of  outpourings of grief and bewilderment. As if that wasn't enough, news of the fire on the slopes of Table Mountain erupted on the screen while the husband was watching cricket on Sunday.

Should I post? Should I carry on? Questions pop up.

The answer sits in front of me, spread out on my keyboard, waiting behind the sleeping screen. I see my own reflection in it as I sit and stare. Then the practice takes over. Fingers click and the screen flickers to life. I start typing and pour out my feelings. 

This  is the only anchor that's tethering me to my peace. Otherwise, I'd be fretting over things I can do nothing about. 

Like last year, the discipline of A to Z is helping me to carve out a routine that makes the sun and the moon and the stars rise and set in skies above me and in their rhythm, I see hope.

 

"If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, 

your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars."

Rabindranath Tagore's words guide me towards this post.

I look at the draft I'd prepared a few days ago, and decide to post. 

"Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love."

Without further ado, let's be led by Tagore's words and see the beauty of Table Mountain as we saw it in June 2019.

*****

Visiting Table Mountain is on everyone's agenda when they travel to Cape Town for the first time. I'd hoped for it too. The husband had travelled  to Cape Town for work a couple of times before and every time, weather gods had decreed that he would not get to the top of Table Mountain.

If you read the C post: A Cypriot honeymoon and other coastal curiosities, you may recall that our first day of holiday in Cape Town was a washout.  I hadn't put my hopes up. I was going to enjoy each day as it unfolded and that was that.

So, When the concierge at the hotel informed us after breakfast on Day 2 that a window of blue skies had opened up to let let in visitors to the Mountain, I was ecstatic.

But first, a roadblock.

There were two rainbows 

but the camera captured only one.

"The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally." Rabindranath Tagore

Listen and you will hear...

Clouds appeared out of nowhere. 

Within minutes, sky canvas drew dramatic art pieces one after another...

Yellow Margaret

sways atop Table Mountain

so clouds will bring rain

(a Haiku to highlight the water shortage in Cape Town)

The sky was blue within the hour.

For visitors like us, it was great.

But for the city, the clouds and the rain they bring would've been better.

"Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them."

-Rabindranath Tagore

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com

 

All the quotes above have come from this link: Rabindranath Tagore

Q is for Quaffing beer at a Quaint bar #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fourth week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

Under the subheading , 'A tool for Conscious Magic', 

the authors of The book of Ichigo Ichie write:

 Some people experience many meaningful coincidences while others seem immune to them. Why? This depends essentially on attention.

The subtle messages sent to us by chance are a tool for conscious magic that we can develop in various ways:

like...

 Paying more attention to what happens around us: 

Meetings with others, conversations, books, movies... synchronicity is often hidden in everyday details.

Continued from yesterday's post: Planters' Club

According to The Telegraph India Online, Planters' Club was originally called Darjeeling Club and it "used to function from a place called Thorn Cottage. In 1097, it became Darjeeling Club Ltd. and shifted to the building from where it runs now."

After relishing a couple of cups of fragrant Darjeeling tea while admiring the silver and gold peaks of Kanchenjunga from the balcony, we set out to explore Darjeeling. Of course, we'd made our dinner choices known to the staff at breakfast. Sadly, bread and butter pudding wasn't on the menu that night.

Wherever the British (during colonial days) made homes in India, bakeries emerged. My hometown, Dehradun, is famous for its rusks and sticky jaw toffee. Darjeeling has many famous bakeries, too. 

On our way to town, we passed a beautiful bakery near the club which had mouth-watering cakes and bakes on display in the window. We had just eaten breakfast, so, we carried on without indulging. 

After dinner that night, our second night at the club, we ventured into the bar.

I remember stepping inside a quaint room sprinkled with old world memorabilia. Its exact details fail me but the feeling of being surrounded by history and dark drapes emerges as I try to go back in time to write this post. 

I was a fresh lime soda girl back then. The husband loved his beer. He still does. He quaffed a few that evening.

The only other people at the bar were a group of four Europeans. 

Somehow, we all got talking. They were Tim (English) and his wife, Erica (Dutch) and Erica's parents who were visiting them. Tim and Erica were based in Calcutta.

The husband and I  had a super early start the next morning as we had decided to go to Tiger Hill to watch the sun rise over the peaks. So, after a couple of drinks, we bid our new friends good night and left.

Next afternoon, we bumped into Tim and Erica again.

Like us, they were headed to Gangtok the following morning.

'Why don't we share the jeep?" Tim suggested.

Super! we thought. By now we'd become very fond of them. And they seem to like our company, too.

The fact that Erica kept referring to her father as a mountain goat endeared him to me. And her father's prowess with beer chasers at the bar had impressed the husband no end.

Early next morning, packed and loaded, the six of us settled into the jeep we had hired with a driver to take us all to Gangtok, the capital city of Sikkim.

The drive through lush green tea gardens was what dreams are made of. Acre after acre of tea plantations looked like a giant's bonsai collection spread out on either side of the curvy road.

Someone decided it was time to stop for a break.

I was at the back of the jeep. So, I wasn't privy to plans being hatched among the others up in front. When a suitable spot was spotted, we stopped, got off the jeep, stretched our legs and claimed a spot to spread out a picnic by the roadside.

From a magical world, Erica's mother conjured up a white cardboard box which was filled with all the baked goodies we'd been admiring in the bakery the previous morning. Yes, if you're reading this and drooling and wondering about our luck. Trust me, I'm with you as I recall that wonderful picnic in the middle of nowhere. Without our knowledge, they had packed generous portions of deliciousness for us. The gods of full bellies and tasty treats were on our side, for sure.

We sat there for a long time, by the roadside, enjoying our picnic among tea bushes, munching apples, exchanging life stories and clicking photos.  

Erica used the phrase 'our children' a couple of times that day.  She mentioned how they'd gone camping with 'their children' once and how they'd love to explore these hills with 'their children' next time they come to Darjeeling.

I was taken by surprise as I didn't think they had any children. They looked too young to have children old enough to be left home alone  while they enjoyed a holiday! I was confused. 

"How many children do you have?" I asked.

"Nine." Erica smiled.

And then she told me about 'her children'. Erica and Tim were referring to street children they were working with in Calcutta. 

You can find out more about their work here: Future Hope 

We've lost touch with them. We moved cities and then countries. And only now, when I was reminded of our trip (for the sake of this challenge) did I find out just how big and wonderful Tim and Erica's family has become. 

I'll be sharing this post with them. Will keep you posted if I hear back from them.

In the meantime, here are two photos taken at the picnic on 29th February, 1996.

From left: Erica, her parents, Ashish (aka the husband) and me.

Tim joined the group in this one and Ashish clicked.

Our  paths will cross once more  in Gangtok. That story is for another day:)

*****

What's your favourite picnic memory, or a favourite picnic spot?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

N is for New Beginnings #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the third week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

Today's post, as the title suggests, is all about new beginnings. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

"It's Never too Late to Bloom"

When we think of beginning, of developing something new, often what comes to mind is a young person with their whole life ahead of them, but this is only a prejudice. We all have the ability to make a new start in life, regardless of age.

Quote borrowed from The Book of Ichigo Ichie

I was struggling to find 'N' related topics to write for this post when suddenly, out of the blue, a whole string of 'topics' popped into my universe on the 13th of April.

The first was a message sent by a friend called Nandini. No, I'm not making it up. That's her name. She wished me Happy Navratri. Then more messages and greetings poured in. 

13th of April 2021 was special because it marked Baisakhi and Vishu (as usual) but this year it also heralded Navratri (festival of nine nights honouring the Universal feminine represented as Durga or Devi, the Goddess).

The Holy month of Ramadan also commenced on the 13th of April this year.

Baisakhi marks the beginning of the Hindu solar year and is known by different names in different parts of India. My Punjabi family celebrates it as Baisakhi. The Khalsa was formed by Sri Gobind Singh Ji, the tenth Sikh guru, on this day in 1699 to fight against religious oppression imposed by the ruling Mughal emperor.

The golden blooms of the Indian laburnum announce Vishu, (or Bisu) celebrated in some of the Southern states of India. It's believed that this is the day Lord Krishna killed the demon Narakasura.

Navratri and Ramadan herald a period of fasting and travelling inwards, to ruminate and contemplate and renew ones connection to the Divine. These festivals, rituals, practices help us to slow down, to pay attention, to mulch our soul soil so that we may ready ourselves to embrace new growth, to nurture our ever-changing and evolving selves.

Despite the sequestering and the new normal, I found that the past year has been a veritable garden of new beginnings for me. No, I didn't slay any demons or topple any emperors, but I did come face to face with my  doubts, commonly known as self-doubts. They can be as lethal as demons and because they're invisible like the virus, they bring harm insidiously.

Soon after the end of last year's A to Z blogging challenge, a string of events unfurled many new beginnings for me. And almost all of them were the result of the connections I had made during the challenge.

Arti of my space put me on the path of open mic storytelling sessions (on Instagram) when she performed on one. I was intrigued. So, I asked her and she shared all the details. For the first time ever in my life, I performed my poetry and stories and I absolutely loved it. She also shared details of the National Story Slam contest. I sent in my entry and even got as far as the regional rounds. Performing a story is very different from writing one and that too on Zoom! Needless to say, the dormant performer in me woke up in 2020.

The Writers' Nook, by the Hive, a group on Facebook ,opened up for submissions for an anthology titled, Tea with a drop of honey. I sent them a couple of my stories. One got picked and there I was tucking another 'first' in my cap:)

Sonia Dogra, another friend from last year's A to Z, shared news of a poetry anthology. The Kali Project houses one my poems called 'A home for her children' and I couldn't be prouder.

By June of last year, I had not only started performing on open mic sessions every week, I even started writing and recording poems in Hindi. A YouTube channel was born to keep these recordings in one place and to share them with others. 

If you'd asked me in 2019 that I'd be looking at 30k hits and views for a poem I wrote about my mother's depression and bi-polarity, I would've laughed at the impossibility of it. But it happened and along with it came my first radio performance for Mirchi Scribbled, a well known radio platform in India.

For the first time ever, some of my photographs were selected in competitions. Poetry and photography platforms that were not accessible to me because of where I live, started opening up virtually in 2020. 

I'll stop tooting my horn as it's sounding very, very, vain. But, the point of this post is firstly, to show that it's never too late to start. 

And secondly, to highlight that before any of the above happened, it's the readers (friends, family and other bloggers) who kept supporting me with their comments and words of encouragement from the day I started sharing my writing (about 8 years ago). I can't name them all here. But you know who you are. 

New beginnings are easier to break through when one is supported. Danish Hussain, a fabulous actor, playwright, director and storyteller, who's open mic sessions sprouted the performer in me, gives 'the power of appreciation' credit for his success. He passes it on in spades to others.

None of what I may call as my 'achievements' would have happened if you, the readers of these posts, hadn't shown your love. Thank you, each and every one of you, for your love and time.

I recently read an article called 'Time to Take a Leap' published in the January 2012 issue of Red magazine. Yes, I keep old magazines for a very long time. This caught my eye: "The more times you put yourself out of your comfort zone and handle it, the easier it gets."

Even this year's A to Z was looking impossible to tackle in March. I felt I had exhausted all my material during the growth spurt of 2020 as I rely mostly on my memories. But how wrong I was! 

Like the yoga mat, where showing up is the hardest part, starting what you love to do can be hard. But once you hunker down, it gives and gives.

"If you're brave enough to do what you love, every day would be the best day of your life."

Quote borrowed from The Book of Ichigo Ichie

I'd like to wish you all new and wonderful beginnings with this delightful animated illustration created by the Bohra Sisters  based on a story I wrote.  

And for a change, every now and again, it feels good to pat ones own back and say: "well done you!" I don't think it's vain. I think it's akin to acknowledging the Divine within.

Have you overcome any demons recently? 

Did 2020 surprise you in a pleasant way?

Is there something you've done for the first time recently and you'd like to share?

You know, I'd love to hear.

*****

I'll re-share one of my poems here. In case you've got the time, you may want to listen. It's in English and it's called Mohini (only female re-incarnation of Vishnu, destroyer of demons, essence of Shaktism). 

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

I is for Idiom Book Sellers #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the second week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

Thank you.

Arti

*****

The word 'Idiom' (n), according to www.etymonline.com, comes from Greek idioma meaning "peculiarity, peculiar phraseology". 

Fowler writes that "A manifestation of the peculiar" is "the closest possible translation of the Greek word, 

from idioumai "to appropriate to oneself," 

from idios "personal, private," properly "particular to oneself."

You can find more fascinating facts about the origins of the word here: www.etymonline.com

***

The seagulls must've woken me up. I hadn't put the alarm because I didn't want to disturb the husband. We were on holiday after all. 

I was wide awake. The sky was still dark.

I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face and got dressed in the bathroom. 

"I'll see you later." I whispered to him. He groaned in his sleep. 

Equipped with my camera, I left the hotel and stepped out into the still sleeping Old Town of Cochin. 

A street cleaner was creating cloud dusts with his broom while the security guard at the entrance of the hotel looked on.

Almost as soon as I turned the corner, a fading word on a faded wall caught my eye: Idiom, it said and under it BOOKSELLERS in block letters. What a fabulous name for a book shop, I thought and clicked. I made a mental note to visit the shop.

The husband knows how I behave in bookshops. Once I enter, I don't leave. 

When I recall that quiet morning in Cochin, I smile. This was last year. It was our last holiday before Covid-19 descended upon planet Earth. On that sunny and sultry morning, I was congratulating myself for waking up early because I could explore this part of town alone, without any crowds or honking traffic.

What I thought to be precious solitude then (March 2020) started looking like stifling punishment in a matter of weeks after we left.  Silence on busy roads is so rare a commodity in India and yet just a few weeks of lockdowns had turned the same silence unworthy of want.

How fickle and transient are the flavours of time. How important than ever before is to pause and take it all in, to stand and stare and pay attention.

Come along with me while I explore the quietude of a busy city on a March morning that dawned on the right side of Covid-19.

Once upon a time, before Covid-19

joggers, walkers, cyclists

could come out all at once

and spill

without masks or restrictions.

I looked up:

Idiom

Will come back to the store

for sure

I made a mental note

and carried on

capturing

moments as hunters do.

Everywhere I looked,

on doorsteps,

on domes of cathedrals,

there were moments 

waiting mid-flight, 

in plain sight.

Scooters, bikes and cars

began displacing joggers

as I made my way back.

Morning rituals of a city, hotel surrounded me

as I sat on a bench;

sipped water, followed by tea.

I was happy to be with me.

Amber window panes paused the beginnings of the day

distorting them into treasures of fragments

and embalmed them forever.

Later that day, I went back to check out the book store. Adjusting to the darkness inside, I stepped in. Ah! There are no words to describe the feeling when you step inside a book store that has been curated/managed by a book lover.  It's a moment so precious, a feeling so blissful that I stood there in the coolness congratulating myself for sacrificing my afternoon nap to be there at that minute.

I had stumbled into an Aladdin's cave of books in Cochin. I couldn't be happier.

Lying on a table, near the exit,  was a book which was covered in clear plastic. The plastic was dusty. The artwork on the book had a haunting quality despite the dust. 

I asked the gentleman at the till if I could see the book without its cover. He nodded kindly. 

We got talking. The afternoon melted away.

I found  a few gems that I lose myself in often these days. One day, I'll tell you more about the treasures I discovered in a shop I chanced upon which lives up to its name's ideology. For now, these photos:

The spellbinding cover of 'Creation' published by Tara Books --

the one that caught my eye first.

One of the colour plates created by Badri Narayan in the book 'In worship of Shiva' published by Orient Longman Limited

Such finds, in my view, are magic--plain and inexplicable.

Leaving you with this poem I wrote inspired by the teleportational powers of a book shop.

What's a Journey?

Does it come entrapped within two bookends

of a beginning and an end
measured in time? distance? space? 

or is it just a displacement 

achieved

in a step, a moment, a lifetime?

Are all  journeys homeward bound?

Or are the homes we seek to reach

dwell hidden in plain sight :

in a book, a look, a touch, a smile?

Perhaps our journey's end is always in sight

but we walk and walk and walk

pretending to be lost

hankering to be found

despite.

*****

Are you a bookshop fiend? 

Do you miss browsing in these times of lockdowns and restrictions? 

Is your favourite bookshop still alive?

You know I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

Wishing you all a restful Sunday.

See you with J on Monday.

Stay safe and well.

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