Tag: writing

Spring Adventures: Watching Nature Unfold

We had plans for a lovely bike ride by the bays and knolls near our home, a hike in the verdant hillsides, or even a walk by the stream/river by our home where all our fellow creatures are preparing for the year ahead. Soon, the ducklings and goslings will hatch. Everywhere you see, there are signs of nest building and it is endlessly fascinating to sit and watch the frenetic spring cleaning happening, even if it isn’t happening in our own home. I empathized with Mole in the Wind in the Willows : Who wants to wallow inside the home, dusting old furniture and mopping dusty floors when the world outside is so full of beauty and promise? 

The son and I had our spring hopes dashed for us with a bout of flu. That feeling of enormous promise that accompanies spring was dampened somewhat by the high fevers, and we moped about the house. 

Watching Spring

When the fever subsided, we pulled ourselves to sit outside and watch spring at least. The crows and wrens stopped flying and did a double take mid-air seeing our watch-fest. If AI interpreted their language, I am sure we’d have some semblance of this:

“These two restless souls – what are they doing sitting and watching?”

“I know – been seeing them for the past few minutes. Nothing? Are they really doing Nothing?”

“Strange!” 

But this Nothing gave rise to something marvelous. We noticed the fresh green leaves sprouting in the ginkgo and maple trees. Some of the cherry trees had blossomed out of their flowery cloaks into their leafy ones, while others were still in their efflorescent robes of pink and white. 

“See this leaf? “ said the son. “It is shaped so that it can fly very fast and the seeds within can spread when it falls!” 

I peered into the leaves he was showing me, and it was true. I remember learning to make a paper airplane in a pattern like that once, and watched mesmerized as it floated down and away every time we launched it. What a brilliant inspiration? 

Right enough, we searched for the tree in question, and it is called the Hot Wings Tartarium Tree. The Hot Wings maple tree is a low maintenance beauty whose seeds are called Samaras.


Nature is astounding – every leaf, seed, flower, tree, shrub, plant, trunk, twig is a marvel in itself and sometimes sitting and watching is the best reward.

We came back inside flush with the knowledge of having seen a new wonder, and felt better.

Poems & Trees:

I think I shall never see 

A poem as lovely as a tree

 – Joyce Kilmer

The poem finishes on these wise lines:

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Only Nature can do accomplish this fest without fanfare.

How COVID-19 Shaped My Blogging Routine

Syzygy

The blog is a familiar topic with the nourish-n-cherish household.

“How many posts have you written this month, amma?”

“This is going on the blog isn’t it?!”

“You should write about this in the blog, amma!”

The subjects who appear most often are by turns eager, resigned and accept their lot with good humour and grace. 

When I published my 1000th blog post, I was encouraged to write a special blog to celebrate the syzygy (aligning of the stars) that enabled me to continue writing.

1000 posts : A Special Post to Celebrate Syzygy

Now there is a different milestone – a smaller one, a different one. But something.

Atomic Habits

Half a decade ago, when Covid-19 hit the shores of America, something phenomenal happened. Travel stopped, non-essential services providers could not sustain, and I found myself faced with time that had been hitherto dedicated to shuttling to train stations, and standing up in crowded compartments being squashed with my fellow commuters, now available for something else. So, I landed up doing the things I liked most – hanging out with the family, walking, biking (we actually bought bikes just before the shutdown), reading (the library was a savior to so many families during this time) and of course, writing. My writing increased from a 4-5 posts a month to a 7-9 posts a month.

Well, it is half a decade since this happened. 5 years in which I kept the pace of the increased frequency. Even when the world around us opened up, economies fluctuated, inflation rose, elections came, and post-election yelps are still being heard, I kept the pace.

Covid and how it changed the world around us

Atomic Habits

“You don’t have to build the habits everyone tells you to build. Choose the habit that best suits you, not the one that is most popular.”
― James Clear, Atomic Habits

Doing something as a labor of love regardless of what it leads to seems to be my strength and my weakness. This month marks 7-9 posts a month for the past 5 years. 

A Lament for Short Stories

Give me short stories over real news or fake news any day

The clouds are wondering whether or not to drizzle. It is the perfect weather for musing and meandering thoughts.

I wonder how I meander to the thoughts on short stories – maybe a recent conversation. But I feel the short story is one of the most poignant losses of literary fiction. As children, magazines were filled with short stories and the thrill of finding a short piece contained in and of itself providing the nourishment of the soul was brilliant. What happened to short stories these days?

Give me short stories over real news or fake news any day. Please.

Stories in their natural length: stream, or rivulet, or tributary, or river

I’ve read stories stuffed into tweets – threatening to spill over, and bulging in all the wrong places.

And Then.

I’ve read stories watered down and stretched into novels. The original essence there, somewhere perhaps, but too watered down like homeopathic medicine.

What I’d like is a story – at its length. No fluff. No dilution. Just essence.

If a story is meant to dance and spurt joyously like a stream, let it. If it settles in, and flows like a river, let it. If it is a tributary and wants to join the main river, let it. If it is vast and encompasses depth adn breadth and expands into an ocean, let it.

Kindle Singles came up with the idea – I wonder what happened to it. They fizzled out.

There are anthologies – but they are few.

Reading the first half of The Overstory by Richard Powers made me yearn for short stories again. I think it is time to revisit Golf stories by P G Wodehouse or a little visit to Malgudi to reacquaint myself with all the characters. Tales from a Village School would be welcome too, wouldn’t it? Miss Clare Remembers is a wonderful book of short stories all woven around the fallen giant – the elegant, thin, straight-backed kind teacher, Dolly Clare.

Give me short stories when my attention is wandering. Enough to keep me stimulated, and wanting more.

Recommendations Please

Are we losing another art-form altogether? What would Somerset Maugham say, what would Alice Munro say? I remember the thrill of liking an author’s story, and then finding a whole book written by them. How marvelous it would be to crack open any magazine and find short stories there?

If you do read short stories, which magazines do you get your source from? Apart from The New Yorker I mean.

P.S: I have written a collection of short stories of my own too – both singles & themed collections. Written to its natural length, and savored from time to time by Yours Truly, but otherwise waiting – wondering where they can be published. So, if you have any recommendations of publications for short stories, please let me know.

How Reading Changes Our Understanding of the World

Reading, Absorbing, Retaining

We were discussing books and one of my friends said wistfully, “I like what I am reading, but I don’t know how much of it I will be able to retain afterwards.”

The rest of us nodded. It is a problem and one that I have yearned to be better at too. How marvelous it would be to quote with ease from our various influences! The internet truly is a savior for folks like me who have a vague idea. I don’t think stunning speeches are made by saying things like: “Remember that saying by Shakespeare where he said something about wise men knowing they are fools, and fools being very sure of their awesomeness? Or something like that?”

Aah….here it is:

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool”.  – Shakespeare

So, it is with knowledge. The more one yearns to learn about the world around us, the universe, and the lives we lead within it, the more one realizes how little one actually knows. There is no surer path to humility than learning.

“Even if that is the case, I suppose we retain things that appeal to us subconsciously.” I said.

The conversation meandered after that  but I found myself thinking back to that statement. It was true enough.

The OverStory – Subtle Influences

I read The OverStory by Richard Powers a few years ago, and loved many aspects of the book – its lyrical language, the poetry of the trees, the rich interweaving of nature in its stories etc so much that I wanted to read it again with my book club. It is when I started it again that I realized the Hoel family tradition of photographing their old chestnut tree must have appealed to me. Why else would we have started taking photographs of this particularly gorgeous maple tree every fall? I did not even realize this till we started re-reading the book, and I visualized the hundreds of pictures taken generation after generation. The only surviving chestnut tree for hundreds of miles in every direction. 

There is a timeless charm to a tradition like that.

Reading is a critical part of Becoming

Reading is a critical part of Becoming. Things we read voluntarily, can influence how we think. The characters in stories that appeal to us? They appeal to us for a reason. The actions of flawed individuals? They appeal to us for a reason – maybe we learn to be more forgiving towards follies – our own and of others when we catch them.

There are many studies proving fiction readers were generally more empathetic.

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/novel-finding-reading-literary-fiction-improves-empathy/

Read Across America Week

It is Read Across America Week in schools honoring Dr Seuss’s birthday, and I found myself loving the rich world of stories once more. We each have a world of stories within us – stories that shaped our beliefs, joyously transported us to different realms, acted as escape mechanisms at times, stress busters at others, and just a marvelous source of shoshin otherwise.

Languages all over the world have a phrase or word for the vastness of knowledge, and I suppose I am grateful for it all.

Anantha gyana, gewaltiger umfang, enorm kunnskap, Abhijñā

Happy Read Across America Week – may we all read more about hopeful, brave, courageous, witty, humourous, compassionate, kind, vibrant personalities, and become like them.

🌲🌳🌴🎋Magic So Sublime 🌲🌳🌴🎋

“Do you see anything dramatically different today?” I quizzed the husband. He looked around him. We were standing outside the home before setting off on a walk. He looked blank, looked around, and then settled for his safe-bet. “Did you cut your hair? It looks good!”

I rolled my eyes. Honestly! 

“Nice try, but no!” Then, taking pity on him, I gave him a hint. “It is more to do with the immediate surroundings.”

He paused, looking up at the roof. Yesterday’s rains had us both rattled a bit. It isn’t often that we get up to the sounds of heavy rains lashing against our windows. It is a beautiful sensation, but a little fraught for us this time, since the last time, we found a pool of water had managed to seep in. This, after the roof repairman had stomped on the ceiling repairing things for sometime already. 

“Not the roof either! Look at the flora and fauna.” I said.

“Ahh – okay – that is easy.” Then went on to gabble on about flowers blooming, some plant surviving till I stopped his rambling, and said, “It is okay to give up, you know?”  

Then, with a dramatic flair, I pointed to the cherry blossom tree that only a day ago was fully white filled with blossoms. To be fair, I did not see it while it was raining. But one day later, it was there fully clothed in fresh green leaves – not traces of the tree in full bloom from just a day ago. 

How I wish the tree would tell us when it would do this? I would love to just set up a time-lapse video and sit watching it in slow rapture. When do you think the leaves actually sprout? Has anybody actually seen a leaf grow? This has to be some of the most sublime magic on the planet. 

🌸🌸🌸 Oubaitori in Spring Time 🌸🌸🌸

I felt a pang for the beautiful blooms of that tree – gone so quickly and completely, and then remembered that a month ago, it was bereft – a tree in abscission. Beautiful in its starkness, then resplendent in its white blossoms, and now lovely in its fresh greens. It is no wonder that cherry blossoms have captured the hearts and minds of philosophers for centuries – the simple lessons of enjoying the beauty of the moment, the oubaitori to bloom and sprout at your own pace.

The Mantra of Mass Misery

It was a beautiful weekend after a rushed week. On a whim, I decided on a walk by the bay. The waters of the bay with its myriad reflective powers, always helps to bring on the magic of expansive thinking. No two moments are the same here – the shimmering colours seldom fail to invoke that glimmering feeling of hope, the waves helping us think of the ebbs and flows of life. 

Meanwhile, out there, the world continued its dip further and further into its dystopian gloom, and I felt only something as powerful as nature itself would help. As I watched the birds titter and start their early morning songs, I mused on the callings of power. 

Promises, Promises

How ironical it was that every fascist dictator who came to power, rode on a promise of better times – often divisive slogans, and increased prosperity to certain segments, only to be followed by a regime running on a mantra of mass misery. 

After all, a prosperous populace is a demanding one. They want accountability, progress, intellectual discussions, better this and better that. They want to achieve prosperity, feel valued, etc – all the things abhorrent to total power. 

It isn’t even a month since the latest one assumed power and already society is reeling from the clutches of the many pronged tentacles of misery. It seems anything related to the finer and higher order thinking of humankind is not to be spared:  Art, education, humanitarian aid, medical aid, international peace. 

For once we get people worried about the daily grind, they would not have the power or splunk to protest, would they?  If they do, the next rule in their book states to create more and more distractions so that strife and misery are so widespread, no one is keeping track anymore. Keep moving their attention to the base of the pyramid.

It is astounding how so many fascists do not even bother to change that strategy, for it has worked every time throughout history. Every time the vulnerable and the gullible get taken in by promises of prosperity, till it comes back to bite them. Every time. 

“Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!”

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

While musing on the world’s spiral into fascism, my attention was brought back swiftly to the skies where a war was waging between a hawk and a couple of crows. Maybe the hawk had attempted to take a chick or attacked the crow’s nest, but the crows weren’t having it. If I hadn’t seen the savage anger and relentless driving away of the hawk by the crows, I might never have believed it.

Just like that, nature had shown the way out. Humans have spirit. We may not feel like we have much agency over what is happening now, but when things get out of hand, wouldn’t we, like the crows, rise against the hawks in our lives?

Exploring Handwriting: Cursive vs. Digital Age

Cursive superpowers

The white board was littered with alphabets and numbers. We were discussing the different ways in which people wrote their numerals or alphabets. 

“How come nobody seems to like cursive writing as much anymore?” I said, and off we went writing our little cursive numerals and alphabets like artists swirling their best hieroglyphic characters.

“Is that an ‘I’? Truly? I have never seen an ‘I’ like that before!”

“Wow – that ‘J’ is wild! No wonder teachers moved away from cursive. “

“Well, there is a lost skill – imagine the superpowers teachers had deciphering everyone’s handwriting and essays.”

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia anyone?

That was true. It is a superpower. Writing fast was a superpower too, one that was made easier with cursive. How beautifully could we go on in one pen stroke for a word like pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis? How many people suffered from hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia back then compared to now (fear of long words!)?

“I think in terms of the keyboard locations when I spell a word.” said a much younger colleague, and I drew in a breath – the places where generational differences get you is truly mind-boggling. But then I realized their generation spent more time typing things out in word documents, or in chat screens than any other generation preceding it, and it was only natural for their brain to associate the keyboard with the spellings..

One person said that when they added numbers, they imagined them as dominoes being added together. “Were you a gamer?” 

“Yes!” they said, looking a little sheepish.

The Cognitive Processes of our Brains

Truly, the brain is such a multi-layered immensely capable and adaptable organ. Neuroscience must truly be fascinating to study and research. How many visual thinkers were there among other species? What percentage were analytical? Many would possess kinetic intelligence. Once we stop only thinking of the narrow spectrum of human intelligence, the world becomes that many dimensions more fascinating. I peered into the bookshelf at a book that has been on my tsundoku shelf for ages: ‘How the Brain Thinks’ and resolved to read it soon.

The picture of the brain was on the front, and I smiled as I thought of a friend who told me that they don’t like eating cauliflowers because it looks too much like the human brain. What was that type of thinking called? Visual or Associative.

Knights of Rain

“Don’t you feel like a Knight of Rain?” I said. The words must have sounded somewhat garbled for the rains were lashing, the winds were whipping, and the trees were swaying somewhat alarmingly.

The husband shouted out a response lost to the elements. It sounded like ‘WHAT?!”

“I moved so I could use the wind’s direction to my advantage. “I said, don’t you feel like a Knight of the Rain?”

He lifted his umbrella momentarily to give me a withering look. A mistake. For the winds elegantly made an upside down lotus of the black umbrella he was holding, and he danced to right it again. I saw a neat few buckets of water making use of the interlude to rain its droplets all over him. 

I smiled. “Using our umbrellas as shields, we make our brave foray into the wild world frenzied up by the elements.”

I heard some grunting and tutting, but nothing more.

This year, the rains have been particularly sparse. Yesterday was only the second day of proper rainfall, and I’d yearned for it. Obviously not wanting to miss the fun, I dragged the husband along for a short stroll – in my defense it was not as bad when we started out. There were no warriors required then – merely prancers. Every little raindrop whispering its presence out to the world craving for its sound.

I’ve always loved the piece by YiruMa with the sound of the rain in the background.It feels like the magic was music was just waiting for that sound to make the transition from beautiful to sublime.

If They Could Do It, So Could We

🌲🌳🌴🎋 I peeked out from the umbrella at the branches of the pine trees and willow trees swaying and dancing in the rain, I felt the joy building up inside me – if they could do it, so could we! 

🦅🐿️🐦‍⬛🦢I heard the sound of the winds and the rains against our flimsy shields of cloth, and marveled at the wood ducks enjoying themselves in the waters. When the rains stopped, they took just shook themselves off, with a little dance, didn’t they? If they could do it, so could we!

🐳🐟🪼I felt the trickle of chill water droplets that managed to shimmy past my umbrella’s shield and my jacket’s hood to slide down my neck, and gurgled a bit. I peered out. Were we lost – where were we? If the lost fish could find their way to the streams, and the streams to the rivers, and the rivers to the mighty ocean, so could we!

Who needs raincoats when there are rain quotes?

When finally the pair of us stepped into the home, one euphoric, and the other helpless. “Wasn’t that the most marvelous walk in a long time?”  collided with “Only an idiot would step out in this weather.”. It was like watching hydrogen peroxide mix with yeast and water. The laughter shaking out of our systems with the rain droplets. 

“I need a change of clothes before heading out now.” he grumbled but I caught a smile, as he shook his head and said, “A walk in the rain!”

Who needs raincoats when one is busy looking for rain quotes?

“Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.”

– Roger Miller

Sonder and Saudade: Reflections on Travel and Books

Sonder

Traveling anywhere in the holiday season brings this fact to the fore. Airports, railway stations, bus stops, freeways – every place is packed with people, more people and more and more people. It was faintly unnerving at times to see this many people out in the world, all seemingly busy doing their many things. How many of them thought deeply, what did they do to occupy themselves, earn a living, attend to their loved ones? How many of them were loving and giving, and how many selfish and cruel?

That feeling of realizing the sentience of our fellow beings can be especially acute when traveling in crowded places. There is a beautiful word for it: sonder.

But wherever you were: one thing was apparent. Business was thriving. Clothing stores, eateries, perfumeries, jewelry stores – they dotted every city, country and airport. One time, I remember gazing out the window as we rode from one end to the diagonally opposite end of the city, and seeing shops after shops after shops. There was an apparent unending need for clothing and electronics, for consumption. One cannot help wondering about the ecological impact of all this, but there you are. ‘Better’ means the old has to go somewhere, and make place for the new. Maybe the next wave of innovations will be in making biodegradable plastics, electronics and clothing. After all, the waste that we are generating now can hardly be a scalable problem.

Lack of book stores in all the airports, cities

Even as I gazed out through the window taking in the local sights though, one thing sent a pang through me: the lack of bookstores anywhere was truly tragic. I felt their absence keenly. I had asked my siblings to fit in a visit to the bookstore. The only one in the vicinity was a little like a wild goose chase. The shop had moved they said, you cannot see the billboard from road they said. When finally, we found it, the reason was apparent. It was tucked away underground, as if hidden away from population. Only if you truly had the magical three things, could you find it: the will, the means, and the luck.

The bookstore had a passionate but regretful owner. “No space madam. Only so many books!” He said, gesturing apologetically to the small collection he had. To be fair, the little store had a fair amount of shelf space for children’s books (maybe those are the ones people are actually buying), but other fare was slim pickings. They were a few translated classics (which was a new section I admit) – it was heartening to see A Hundred Years of Solitude translated into Tamil. We picked up some books including a Tamil version of 1984 to donate to our local library in the USA.

The Hidden Bookshops of Timbuktu

But it all felt like the hidden bookshops of Timbuktu.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timbuktu_Manuscripts

How many malls, streets covered with stores, and yet for intellectual stimulation, one had to either go scrounging or online? It was the same in many airports too. Perfumes, alcohol, watches, jewelry, clothing, chocolates, coffee, burgers: you could find these everywhere you turned, but good old fashioned books were tucked away in a corner (if at all), and hard to find.

What would it take for every coffee store, every clothing store, every jewelry store to have a reading nook that people could browse and buy books if they wanted? Wouldn’t that be marvelous? A tiny art nook that one could spend time creating their own art and craft while others shopped? I know reluctant shoppers would gladly accompany their friends and family if they could be tempted with the right incentives.

Was that utopian thinking?

Image: The beautiful hotel in which we stayed in Zurich that had a large marvelous library in its lobby. My heart sang, my spirits danced, and my soul settled, here in the presence of greatness!

Saudade

Our own town in US lost its bookstores to the great Amazonian sweep a decade ago. But luckily stores like Target or Costco still have a small pecking section for those really wanting to buy books or see them before picking them up.

Oh books! When did you go from being ubiquitous to precious to rare?

Could this be referred to as Saudade? That feeling or yearning for lost experiences?

Inspirations for Writing

Talented Inspirations

I recently read The Firework Maker’s Daughter by Philip Pullman

I’ve always wondered about the series of books that are titled thus: Galileo’s Daughter, The Clockmaker’s Daughter. The appeal of the daughters of men with interesting careers is an interesting premise. For so many years, women were denied the opportunity to consider interesting careers.

Like Elinor Dashwood (of Sense & Sensibility fame) says of women and careers:

“You talk of feeling idle and useless. Imagine how that is compounded when one has no hope and no choice of any occupation whatsoever”.

  • Jane Austen, Sense & Sensibility

If ever I am grateful for anything, it is that women’s talents are now nurtured and recognized. After all, talent does not distinguish between the crude lines drawn out by humanity – it does not care about race, caste, creed, sex, religion.

Fascinated as I was by the book, The Firework Maker’s Daughter,  I loved the colorful cast of characters, and  what is required from them to succeed in their profession. It also got me interested in the writing style of Philip Pullman – his was witty, whimsical, and oh-so-light.

Pullman on Writing (Source: Wikipedia)

“I have stolen ideas from every book I’ve ever read. My principle for researching a novel is ‘Read like a butterfly, write like a bee,’ and if this story contains any honey, it is because of the quality of the nectar I have found in the work of better writers.” 

  • Philip Pullman

A better imagery for writing I could not think of. If one thinks about it, life itself presents all the inspirations we want. Even when is in the midst of the Thanksgiving week-end, and may be busier with spending time with family, friends, trips etc, the inspirations are all around us. 

If you are looking for that November spark, look at sparkling fireworks of Diwali, the colorful trees of the fall foliage around us, the many friends and family one meets during November’s Diwali & Thanksgiving  seasons to gain your sense of well-being, gratitude and inspirations!