brave are those who read
silver butterflies, Indian writers, poetry, life full of life, Karnataka, Himachal, justice, Chile and other travel photos from five years ago
Hello dear reader,
Thank you for joining me. I hope you are happy with the week so far and excited for what is left of it.
I have been reading and writing all the time since I sent the newsletter last week. And how great it is to read!
Days on which I read become more richer, self-explanatory, and seamless. As if I always chance upon writings that complement the colors of the day, glue its moments together, and finally become the silver butterflies filtering through the window mesh only to perch on my cheeks while I dream. Or perhaps, as I see all the words under the sun horse of that day, I find only what it wants to show me.
This week I came upon a beautiful library book that I picked up with some hesitation and felt so alive just having read parts of it. As the name says, the Best of Indian Literature 1957-2007 is a collection of stories, poems, and essays from around India. All writings has been translated in English from Assamese, Bengali, Oria, Hindi, Tamil, Kannada, Urdu, Sindhi, and so on.
I am sure I wouldn’t have found some poems I read in the book anywhere else. Most work of these brave Indian writers who wrote in their regional language have been lost under the English books and the enchanting visual media and the forever trickling feeds. Some writings in the book are so good that if we pick even one per day, we would be all the more calmer, happier, and knowing for having read it.
From the pages I read, I copied in my notebook the poems, paragraphs, and excerpts that impressed or made me smile the most. They echo with my thoughts from the week and so I am sharing a couple of them here.
The first one is the poem beyond the stars that talks about worlds other than ours and how we are never alone.
Beyond the Stars... by Mohammad Iqbal Other worlds exist beyond the world of stars, other struggles await to test the might of man, The empty spaces of heaven are not lifeless hundreds of caravans pass through them. Be not content with the is-ness of this world, there are other nests and nurseries as well. What if one home is lost there are other places to whine and wail as well. Eagle that you are, fly to the highest heavens search new skies to soar, find new peaks to scale let not the cycle of days and nights engross you remember there is the other Time, the other Space. No more am I alone in my quest to free thought from its fetters. I have other friends as well. [Translated from Urdu by K.K.Khullar]
let not the cycle of days and nights engross you
eagle that you are fly to the highest heavens
for for every day that comes, goes to rest, too.
But the sun horse comes galloping again tomorrow
you climb the sky, too.
And here comes the sun horse,
Sunset by Mohan Singh
The sun horse panting and snorting
reaches the shores of evening
kicking his hoofs and flicking red dust
his vermilion mane wet with perspiration
he throws red foam from his mouth
the mellow coloured Evening comes
and places her head between his perked ears;
her long fingers
fill the hot breath from his nostrils
And she takes off the bridle from his mouth.
The restive animal
tamed and quietened
walks behind Evening slowly
and goes into the stable of darkness
[Translated from Punjabi by Balwant Gargi]
And we just go on riding. Because no matter how hard life gets, it always has beautiful little things hidden underneath its snowy wings. Things such as poetry.
Poetry — An Art by M.Kamal
My poetry
is making but a false promise...
My friend
be it for a moment
yet,
it is a spell against the sharp stings of life,
it is a cure, a medicine.
Be it for a moment,
but it kills the feeling of pain.
Be it for a moment,
it becomes a cool shade
amid the lucid sunshine and hot breaths of life
For a moment
it irradiates this sad, colourless life
with drunken songs.
[Translated from Sindhi by H.I.Sadarangani]
Drunken are those who sing the songs of poetry,
drunken is our earth on its soil,
drunken are the crimson flowers on their beauty,
and drunken I am on life’s toil.
This week, I also read Pablo Neruda, Katherine Mansfield, and Bill Bryson, writers from around the world (and one from my favorite country Chile). But here in just one book I read so many writers from all parts of India that I feel I have touched the soil and smelled the wind of their homes. Talk about traveling vicariously!
The words I have shared above and below are from the First Volume. The book has three more volumes, all of which I am going to read with time.
The essays toward the end of the book are even more exquisite. I never imagined to stumble into an essay by Aldous Huxley that he delivered in New Delhi on Rabindranath Tagore’s birth anniversary in 1961.
The Essay titled Literature and Modern Life does justice to the title and is full of advice on writing, tells us why and how to read for personal benefit, and is a priceless, practical, and precise instruction manual on good writing versus bad writing.
Here is my favorite paragraph from the essay that should be read by everyone who wants to read to grow and become better,
Bad literature presents the reader with conventional stereotypes and encourages him to assume a role which, in the very nature of things, must be different from what he really is. Good literature presents the reader with the results of an honest investigation into what is, and so encourages him to break out of the role he happens to be playing and to discover for himself the realities of perception, thought, and feeling that lie behind his assumed mask and have been eclipsed by it.
It is in this book that I also read about a dream of Woolf.
Virginia Woolf tells us she sometimes dreamt that when the Day of Judgment dawns and the great conquerors and statesman come and receive and their rewards, the Almighty will turn to Peter and say of those others coming with books under their arms, “Look, they need no reward. We have nothing to give them here. They have loved reading.”
What more can I say now? And so I conclude with another little darling poem that makes my heart ring with the joy of being alive.
Falling Leaf by Ajneya (Translated from Hindi by the poet)
From this spreading golden canopy
There fell but one solitary leaf
But how many times
In every shiver
Of its insignificant falling
Did I not die!
the joy of life
Do you read? Would you like to read more? If so, what is stopping you?
For this week’s letter,
Some of my writing,
quotes I love,
things to read,
things to watch,
and
travel tips.
Past Articles I’ve Just Renewed
Sunlit and Slow Living in Coorg’s Stuart Hill – In Photos
Every day started with homemade breakfast in the sunlit garden of our Stuart Hill homestay (in Karnataka). And I reciprocated the host lady's efforts by chatting with her, wearing her saris, and eating pakoras in her kitchen.
In this memoir you will find life on Western Ghats: in photos and stories.
Read the memoir and see the photos now. Or Pocket for later.
When I Climbed Apple Trees in Himachal Pradesh [With Local Families]
The apple harvest season is upon the Himalayas, and so I'm sharing the time when I climbed trees and plucked apples in Himachal Pradesh with the women of my host family. Oh they also carry the 50-kilo basket up the hill on rough tracks all day.
Get to the narrative now. Or Pocket it for later.
Quotes I Love
Partaking
You know very well
this poet has nothing else.
Just a lone shirt
and that too parting at the seams.
Love must be just like this
baring covers to soothe the heart.
by Hiren Bhattacharya (Translated from Assamese by D.N.Bezbaruah)
“Life is drunk on life.” — Yours Truly
What I’ve Been Reading
I’ve been reading short stories, books, articles, and so much more. I can’t possibly list all what I have read in the past week so I’m putting down the things I found most relevant and worthwhile.
Beautiful reads from the week,
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson — The travel writer Bill Bryson walked parts of the Appalachian Trail in North America with his friend. The narrative of that hike, this book made me laugh, thrilled me, and filled me with the joy of being in nature all on our own. I skipped some chapters which went into too much natural history of the US but nonetheless I was happy to see that Bill has given a detailed account of North America’s forest richness and how it was destroyed by the government.
Memoirs of Pablo Neruda — The memoirs show what it was to be Pablo Neruda, how he grew up, what stirred his mind, and how he started writing poems. Along with Neruda, the reader also gets to go around the world spreading the message of peace, friendship, and love. I recommend especially to all writers.
The Dove’s Nest and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield — A beautiful little book of Katherine Mansfields’ last short stories. Some are not even complete and I wonder how she would have ended them.
Indian Literature 1957- 2007 Volume 1 Book 1 Edited by Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee and A.J. Thomas — I have spoken enough about this above. No matter how true, undiscoverable, and pleasurable some of the writings are, not all are so thrilling so be ready to find your own gems.
Finally Justice Prevails — ‘Power of arrest must be pursued sparingly’: Supreme Court gives Zubair bail in all cases — India has a solution for everything today - File a FIR. Whether be it artists, journalists, common man, writers — everyone is threatened by a FIR. I was happy to read that the Supreme Court granted interim bail to the journalist who was charged by the Uttar Pradesh (North Indian state) for spreading communal hatred through his tweets. When the lawyers asked the court to tell the journalist not to tweet, the judge refused and said, “It is like telling a lawyer that you should not argue. How can we tell a journalist that he will not write? We cannot stop him from tweeting. We cannot anticipatorily interdict from exercising his right of free speech.” Finally someone said something sensible.
What I’ve Been Watching/Listening
that’s worth mentioning
Little Women, Begin Again, and Wild are my movies of this week.
I also loved watching this acorn grow into an oak tree in 196 days
And for all my Wanderlusters.
my host mother in Chile with whom I stayed for six months. here we are in the house of her friend. Also a little more than five years ago.
a waterfall I visited in Karnataka exactly five years ago with a friend who became my life partner
my writing desk from five years ago
a sunset in Bangalore from three years ago. I lived near a forest. Yes, I had found a forest in the chaotic city of Bangalore.
a forest lizard escaping our room a few days ago.
Thank you for reading.
I hope you have a great weekend and your upcoming week is full of life. Take good care of yourselves :)
Let me know what you think about this newsletter. Just press reply.
Yours,
Priyanka
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