A list of all that I have on World Kindness Day

Hello lovely readers,

I hope you've been well. 

It's 5:24 am. While waiting for the sky to lighten so I may go on my walk, I turn my laptop on. Two things happen simultaneously. A bird calls and my search bar states it's World Kindness Day.

What better day to break my long spell of absence, to mark my presence here in this sacred space than today? So here I am. Waving a howdy from spring-like Doha. There is, as always, a lot to share. Some ponderings, and a few celebrations. Grab a chai and a chair. Cosy? Let's go. 

Recently, I came across a post by one of my favourite authors, Katrina Kenison and I had to share her beautiful words with friends and family. In her post, she talks about a line of poetry that became her solace. I googled the poem, read it. Loved it. It's Barbara Ras' You Can't Have It All

It's the poem's  'but you can have...' thread that resonated with me.

Just before I came upon the above post and poem, I was staring at another rejection mail (which read more like an acceptance-so gently was it worded). So that when I landed on the line--but you can have, something made me stop and look out the window. What followed was expected. I went outside, stretched my arms, straightened my back and took a deep, deep breath in. Feet firmly planted on the threshold, I sensed a shift. A realisation. I can choose what I gaze upon- not in a bury-my-head-in-the-sand or head-in-the-clouds kind of way but rooted-in-reality, aware and grateful for the blessing of an ordinary day. 

I unfurl to all that I can have--

Autumn is in full bloom. The roses I planted last year have survived the long, scorching summer. Unusually this year, I am yet to visit the plant  nurseries to restock on soil and saplings. So imagine my delight when, I spot not one, but two pink blooms, fragrant and ready to welcome November.

The more closely I look, the more joy unfolds. My fingertips reacquaint themselves with sprightly blooms of purple basil, the shy sprigs of holy basil, pluck some lemon grass, lime leaves and one or two jasmine flowers. A yellowing lime. There's usually a fistful to be picked. A gentle breeze. The chime dings. A black cat, who's claimed ownership of our large jade pot, poses in repose, Cleopatra-isq, and waits to be clicked. An orchestra of bird-friends bursts forth--the bulbuls and the sparrows, the grey doves and the mynahs  and even an occasional hoopoe bird frolic on neem, peepul and pink oleander.  There are reminders of blunders I have made- the over pruned jasmine, thanks to a YouTube video which promised a miraculous recovery if I followed instructions. A few fresh greens are sprouting on its erstwhile yellowed branches. I am both hopeful and not too sure if our jasmine will joust back. 

Rejuvenated, I return to my desk. 

Kindness. I'm reminded of it everyday in the way the sky blooms, the sun glows, and despite the heartache of what's going on our doorstep, I find hope in poetry. I read and write to ground myself. And in the spirit of kindness, I cut myself some slack and remind myself that rejections (especially the kindly worded ones) are not unlike the scorching summer. No matter how long the road, there is a rose waiting to pink the draught when it is time.

I'm delighted to share a few roses that bloomed in my writing bio recently.

In June, this surreal piece was published by the Flash Flood Journal. Yay!

This ekphrastic piece was published in the bilingual magazine, Setu in September. It's titled, This photograph is wrongly captioned 

I'm thrilled to share that my poem, Silence will appear in the Yearbook of Indian Poetry (in English) 2024.

There's another acceptance that has come through. I'll wait for the publication next year before I share more. 

So, despite the rejections, I can have a reader, such as you, who'll rejoice with me in my happiness and spend time with my words and wonderings. Thank you dear reader for your kindness. I hope you'll find something that brings your joy or resonates with you in this post.

I'd love to know what your list of 'all that you can have' looks like. 

Wishing you a fragrant day. 

Remember, kindness is always possible :)

Of words, memories and kind friends

Warwan Trek, August 2023

Like old friends, my blogging space and I pick up from where we left. The vast gaps between our meetings don't matter. It's been so long that the default browser on my laptop doesn't show my blog link any more. 

It was the walk, last week, my first morning walk this May, thanks to a sore back. Or perhaps I've been lazy--late nights on Netflix come with side-effects.  Maybe, it's the planetary shifts that have kept me from rising with the sun. 

Not expecting any explanations for my absence, the Gulmohur, crimson and abundant, greeted me with the ease of an old friend as I made my way down the familiar rubberised path flanked by Neem, Ficus and grandfatherly Olive trees in Aspire Park. The sprinklers came on, as if on cue, creating rainbows with tender sunbeams. I must write a blog post today, I thought. 

A writer friend had recently shared a chapter of his novel and in it was this word. The moment I read the said word, two things happened at once--I was reminded of a valley in Kashmir and the soundtrack from Sound of Music became an earworm. Edelweiss. I picked up my phone to check if the valley was indeed as achingly beautiful as my memory believed it to be. The photos and videos clicked in August 2023, set in a grid of three by nine on my phone screen, whooshed me back in time.

There I was, miraculously present in the golden hour in the middle of a moment so lush with Edelweiss that no matter how hard I tried, which angle I took, whether kneeling on my knees or sprawled on my tummy in the ticklish grass, its immense expanse refused to squeeze into any of the lenses in my possession--not my phone's, nor the mirrorless Sony's, and definitely not my eyes. Greedily, I wanted to absorb it all in a single scoop. I couldn't. Its magic spilled out like golden marbles. No matter how many times I looked, there was always more beauty to behold. Both the cameras failed pitifully. If I zoomed out, the proportions would distort. I didn't know how to capture this stunning valley--her arms open in a wide-galactic embrace, a tall purple mountain holding its horizon with the firmness of a hug. For a few precious seconds, I was breathless. Anxious to box the magic--to be able to store it for a blog post or bragging. Vanity or hubris or both. I know not. The sun would dip over the horizon and all too soon this -- this -- this -- would be over. How could I hold it? Suddenly, without my doing, my eyes closed a tad longer than a blink. 

I stood there, in the middle of the valley, precious seconds before sunset, consumed with a  sensation that it wasn't me who was looking at the valley, the flowers, or Kashmir. It was the other way round. That flash of a thought stilled me. Calmed me. Took away my need to consume the moment. I was being held  in the valley's  bosom--an infinitely tiny particle connecting with the One Infinite for a fluttering nano second. Ek Omkar.

To say I walked the rest of the way back to my tent without taking a single photo would be a lie. But something had shifted. As if an old, kind friend had reminded me of my favourite tune that I hadn't hummed in a while.

Memories, vast and unreliable, can mutate and solidify. Someone, I don't recall who, said a memory is the memory of the last time you visited it.

Since November, I've been working on a writing project. At times, it feels as vast as a valley--freeing, exuberating and then there are times when it feels like a never-ending hike--the summit so far away, my aching back screams--give up.

The trouble is this word--capture. 

I'm captured by one of my favourite Maya Angelou's quotes--'There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.'' I read the quote sixteen years ago. It became my mantra. It holds me accountable when I start looking for excuses.

Then there is the practical question of skill and practice--how to capture memories, both painful and joyous, from ones life, and craft them into stories worthy of a reader's time? 

I must be mad to sit at my desk, sometimes without a break, for three to four hours, pouring out stuff that makes me cry. Maybe. But, I don't have a choice. This surrendering to the story has to happen. The work must be done. 

Memoir writing, I'm told, is therapy. It cleanses. I believe it does. But it is also extremely exhausting. I guess any emptying is. But, especially, if while shining light on others' shortcomings, you, mostly unknowingly, discover aspects of you that you've kept hidden from your own conscious self. That's when the writing really hits the gut. The punches can be hard. They can knock you out of your commitment. That's when friends, writing buddies, photos of flowers and memories of valleys pull you out, dust off the doubts and say, 'you got this.'

Whatever it is, big, small, clear, unclear, that is bothering you today, know this--we have to do the work. But also, dear reader, you got this.

Also, my website, lovingly and patiently designed by my sister, Seema Talwar, is live. She's been my constant cheerleader and I couldn't be happier with how gorgeous the website looks. I hope you'll check it out and share your feedback with us. 

Here's the link: arti-jain.com

Wishing you a healthy and peaceful and creative and joyful day, weekend.

   

All photos shared in this post have been made by @arti.a.jain in August 2023

Celebrating a feast of acceptances -- half a dozen poems in Issue 11 of Usawa Literary Magazine

Dear Readers,

Hope you're well. 

I come bearing a basket full of fresh, new poems. One of them is all about mangoes -- and it is mango season in India, in Doha.

These poems, some that took more than a year to come to the shape they occupy in this journal while others less than a week, appear in the 'appetite' themed Issue 11 of a literary magazine I have admired for some time. 

I'm chuffed to bits, of course. 

Here's the link to the six poems: This Thin World and other poems

I'd love to read your comments/thoughts, of course.

Thank you.

Stay well. Keep hydrated. Enjoy the bounty of summer (if you're able to) and wear sunscreen.

Love.

Arti 

Fabulous February and all that life brings

Kangadi-- a portable heater

Dear Readers,

It's been a while. I hope you've been warm, well and healthy. 

It's been a busy few months for me. Some travelling, lots of reading, a fair bit of writing, immersion in Kabir and gardening have kept me from blogging. Lately, blogging has become the hometown I forget to visit when I'm busy with life and yet whenever I do, I feel replenished.  I like the old familiarity of this space. It's a place to connect without the pressures of other SM outlets like Insta and X. I'm not against the latter. In fact, I like the visibility they provide for my work but there's an old world charm about blogging and this blog that feels like a home-coming whenever I get back after a long hiatus.

2024 has started off on a good note for my writing. In fact, the first day of February (my favourite month) brought some fabulous news. A CNF piece I'd written was released as part of the "Happy Place" issue of Epistemic Literary

You can read and listen to me read it aloud here: Accoutrements of Hiraeth.

What are the images, sounds, memories, hopes that glitter in your heart and mind when you  hear the phrase 'Happy Place'? I'd love to read your thoughts, if you'd like to share them as comments.

In view of the war that's occupied our screens and psyches, it's not easy to feel light and hopeful. And yet, as February rolls in carrying petunias and geraniums in her spring-like bosom, I can't help but bask in the sunlit grass, tickling my bare feet or let the kohoo-kohoo of koel and go-go-gutter-gooo of grey doves and chitter-chatter of house sparrows fill me with joy.

I wish you a peaceful and joyous Friday and a beautiful month ahead.

And if you're in the mood for a feel good and well made film this weekend,  then I'd recommend Coco Farm. Here's a trailer. I LOVED this film. 

Till we meet again. Stay safe and smile:)

'Don't Climb on the Bullock Cart' is here!

Dear Readers,

I'm thrilled to announce that my second book is here. Yay!

And it looks and feels just like I'd imagined it would.

After two years of collaborative work and six months of decisions about font, style, size of the book and so much more, the book is finally here: Don't Climb on the Bullock Cart

Tanmay's illustrations create the perfect feel for an old, old memory; relived and retold through the book after forty-seven years. And Judy's (Parakeet Books) love for our collaboration is evident in the choices she made for the quality of paper and print. 

I'd love to hear you reviews of the book. Please share this link further if you enjoy it or if you know of someone who will.

******

On Friday, the 8th of September, with the help of my husband and a few friends, I launched Don't Climb On The Bullock Cart in Doha. It was a gathering of all those who have supported my writing journey with words of encouragement and love. It was a gathering of friends who've connected with me via my words--blog posts, poetry, stories and now two books.

The venue was a bar. I wore my laal paad, a Bengali handwoven cotton sari I'd bought last year, borrowed a beautiful bangle from a friend to celebrate. I even recited a poem. 

To quote Maya Angelou: My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.

And I intend to do my very best to thrive.

Unfortunately, I was so utterly immersed in the celebratory mood that I forgot to take my phone out of my bag to take pictures!!! HA! HA! 

I'm sharing a few that friends took and were kind enough to share with me.

Thank you dear readers for being my oxygen. You know you're the reason I dare to fly and thrive as I do.

It would be marvellous of you if, once you've read the book, you could leave your reviews and ratings: Arti Jain on goodreads

Wishing you all wonders and magic, good health and happiness and above all, I wish you love; pure and unapologetic for who you are and for what you do and for how you do it. You do you and keep the light shining bright.

Till we meet again.

Arti xx

When I met Neeraj Chopra

On 6th of May 2023, I had the good fortune of talking to Neeraj Chopra, reigning Olympic Champion in javelin throw, at a lunch hosted by Fauzia (Fab Entertainment) to honour him and Eldhose Paul, the first Indian to win a gold medal in men's triple jump at the 2022 Commonwealth Games.

They were visiting Doha to participate in the Doha Diamond League, an annual one day track and field meet event. Both the athletes are proud products of Inspire Institute of Sport (IIS). The other celebrity guests present were Mustafa Ghouse, Manisha Malhotra from JSW Sports and Parth Jindal, founder and director of IIS.

A hushed silence always precedes an important entry. It was no different when Neeraj and Eldhose walked in. 

Neeraj was beaming and he had every right to. The previous night, he had won first place at the Diamond League season-opener with an impressive 88.67 m.

More than the medals and the shine of celebrity, it is the person I'm drawn to. Not that I get to shake hands with celebrities on a regular basis, but whenever I've had a chance to meet with one, it's the way they say what they say that makes more of an impression on me.

Neeraj Chopra, at twenty-five, displayed the wisdom and poise of a much older person. He came across as an old soul to me. 

"I come from a humble background. From a village in Haryana. I never thought I'd be here today.." When asked by Fauzia to share his story, Neeraj chose to start by stating the obvious with such humility and ease that I felt I was listening to a person older and wiser in years than a 25 years old athlete who's star is on the rise.

The Q&A session followed the speeches. Valid and pointed questions like how the Institute plans to reach India's grassroot levels, or how does one change the national narrative of schools and educational outfits along with the parent' obsession about academic achievements at the cost of everything else, were answered by the panel with clarity and passion.

We are all products of an education system where sports and the arts are considered a waste of time by parents and schools alike, especially in middle and high school. 

The only exception is cricket. I'm not a fan and frankly, I don't understand the obsession. 

When an entire nation and that too a populous one focuses on one sport alone, it doesn't bode well for other sports. India, despite its large population, has won a paltry sum of medals in the Olympics.

All that is set to change. At least, that's how I felt listening to Parth Jindal. 

Last Saturday, in a banquet hall glowing with amber glass chandeliers, he dared to share his dream of  'Jana Gana Mana' (India's National anthem) being played on a loop at the Olympics of the future.  His confidence and his passion shone brighter than the lights. He spoke about the begging bowl he'd held out to all the big corporate houses in India when he first thought of the idea of IIS -- more than five years ago.

The proof of the pudding came when athletes from IIS started collecting gold for the first time in the sporting history of India. That's when India and more importantly those with a will and capacity to help and turn his dream into reality started to take notice.

Jindal spoke about how there is an urgent need to plan and build at least twenty more IISs, if India is to tap into its true sporting potential. 

After the Q & A, it was time for photos. I had saved my question for later. I had one for Neeraj Chopra.

"How do you tackle self-doubt-- that is if you ever have any?" I asked him once we'd said hello and I'd congratulated him.

"Of course. This is an individual sport. I have to beat my own best. So, there are times when I have to push through despite the doubts." smiled Neeraj. "I give my best to every shot. I don't save it for the last." 

Wow! I thought. 

Writing, too, is a solo sport. To give ones best every time one sits down to write would be a great way to be. It's not always possible, though.

"It's not that I don't have down days. I do. That's when I talk to my coach. I have to be happy to be doing what I'm doing to give my best." Neeraj added. 

"And you know Ma'am," he continued "life mein balance hona bahut zaroori hai." (It's very important to have balance in life." This sport is part of my life right now. It's not my entire life. Life is so much more."

Some of you reading this post may think I may have been tempted to embellish or tweak Neeraj's words. All I'll say to you is--I don't blame you. I was surprised too. He spoke in a mixture of Hindi and English. But he spoke from the heart. His eyes sparkled with  sincerity.

If this is the future of Indian representation on international arenas and forums, then I have no doubt Jindal will see his dream play out in his life time. 

My take-away from the afternoon was this -- Love for what we do should guide us through life's challenges and joys. Humility and the understanding that 'life is so much more' is a lesson worth remembering and reminding. Nothing lasts forever but to put ones best foot forward at every step is a great way to do justice to the talent one is born with.

'Don't climb on the Bullock Cart' is looking for your love and support

With only 10 days left for our project to reach its target, I reckon it's the perfect time to write about how my second  book (yet to be born) came to be and what it means to me.

The book is called 'Don't climb on the Bullock Cart' and it's being published by Parakeet Books.

When asked about  reasons for writing a book, two questions need answering: Why you and why now?

Soon after I graduated high school, I left my hometown, Dehradun, to pursue a university degree in New Delhi. I didn't know it then but I would never make my way back to the place of my birth, except as a visitor. 

My grandparents (Papaji and Beji) were a big and happy part of my childhood. They raised the dreamer in me for in their eyes, I could do no wrong. They never said 'no' or 'don't do it' when we (my siblings and I) carried out our adventures in Papaji's gorgeous garden; climbing and jumping off trees and the big water tank. 

They were, however, always ready with home-made remedies and softly spoken 'next time...do it like this..' advice to heal our cuts and bruises.

I've moved cities, countries and continents in the last thirty years but I've always carried my birthplace, my home, Beji and Papaji's memories with me, within me wherever I've travelled to or settled down in the world.

Naturally, I wanted my children, raised outside of India, to experience my grandparents' love. But time and distance made it impossible. 

When I lost Papaji and Beji, my children were very young.

Every time I visited my home town, I'd notice it changing. Concrete, multi-storeys started replacing dirt patches and zig-zag lanes where we used to play hide and seek, pithu and kanche. However, it was the fading of people's memories of how our neighbourhood used to be that bothered me. 

That's when I started writing and blogging about my childhood, about Beji and her cooking, about Papaji and his love of the land and his grandchildren, about our mulberry tree, about the recipes they conjured up as home-made medicines.

Then one day in the Autumn of 2020, Tanmay read one of my blog posts. He enjoyed it so much that he offered to do a story board based on it.

In the middle of the second Covid wave, while stuck indoors, Tanmay (from Bangalore) and I (based in Doha) would meet over zoom once a week to work on the story. One scene, one line, little details like how Beji wore her dupatta, how short and messy my hair was when I was five--all of it was moulded into lino-cut illustrations by Tanmay. 

Two years later, our collaboration had turned into a full-fledged illustrated book ready to be published. 

Then last year, I saw an Insta post by a friend and poet whose work I admire--Devjani Bodepudi. Her post mentioned that her next book (for children) would be published by Parakeet Books. So, I messaged Devjani and told her about our 'almost ready' book. 

We knew we'd found the perfect home for 'Don't climb on the Bullock Cart' when we received an emphatic yes from Judy at Parakeet Books. She loved the book, she said.

The dots connected, stars aligned and here we are -- sharing this link to Kickstarter. It'll take you to our project (picked as a #projectwelove by them) where you can pre-order a copy, or help out with a contribution. If, however, you're unable to buy or contribute right away, then please share the link with anyone you know who may be interested. Every little helps.

Thank you for supporting my writing journey with your visits and kind comments. It all started here :)

Have a lovely Sunday and wishing you all a fabulous start to the new week.