word by word (an update)

the life of a writer, Kolkata, celebrations, sacrifices, and lilies

Hi there!

Thank you for joining me.

I hope you are doing well and your week has been peaceful.

I am working on a large creative-writing project that has me confined to one room for weeks now. Though I have to submit the writing in April, the project is so huge I can’t afford to lose even a few hours. 

Every couple of weeks, a fast-forwarded movie, or two, at home, is the maximum entertainment I can gift to myself. Discovering red potatoes on Amazon Fresh and adding them to the cart is adventure today. Making payesh (a milk dessert) with a fragrant Bengal rice known as gobindbhog is my break. Smiling at the old cleaning helper at my friends’ place is my moment of friendship and love.

Since I landed in Kolkata from Vietnam more than a month ago, I have been staying in the apartment of a friend. Originally from Kolkata, she hasn’t kicked my partner and me out, yet. But about two weeks ago, my partner and friends went home to celebrate Diwali and meet their parents. Since then, I have been alone in this home with my stories.

photo of a pond in Auroville, not the one I mention below

Until a few days ago, I went to walk near the lily-filled pond in the apartment complex every evening. But now I don’t. If I go down I won’t come back so easily. I love to walk. I’ll think, just one more round, one more, and before I know, I would have spent more than an hour strolling around. The outside world would have entered my mind distracting it from this screen, from this story I am working upon. 

So instead, I stand in the balcony of this second-floor house and look at the pond. Its water is sourced directly from the Ganga river flowing nearby. I admire the dark magenta lilies every morning before they close for the day, watch the fish frolic in the green water that becomes even more translucent in sunlight, and laugh when I see the kingfisher and the heron both swooping down in to the water trying to catch fish. 

Happy as I am for dedicating myself to work, to writing, to this art I have picked up, I do miss the outside world. Often my eyes find their way to the window behind my computer. That 3x2 square foot is literally my window into the world right now. 

I see trees in the distance and a road curling below the window. The world moves while I write and eat and shower and go to bed. 

Since the day I arrived, festivals have been celebrated on the streets without a pause. Small pick-up trucks jammed with people blasting loud devotion or Hindi-cinema songs came thundering in at all times of the day. In the back of the truck, about fifteen-twenty people, all from one neighbourhood, stood around a ferocious, gorgeous Durga statue. She dazzled in bright-red golden-laced clothes. Her jewellery was made of sparkling golden paper and cardboard and artificial gems. Long, luscious, black hair flowed from her head onto her shoulders and down her waist. 

Following the caravan, drummers beat their drums with full power. Some groups came dancing along with the drummers. A few people circled the dancers from behind and made a perimeter with a rope to stop loafers from joining in. They are all taking the Durga to immerse in the Ganga river, locally known as Hooghly. 

people taking their Durga to Ganga

For Durga Puja, it was Durga, now at Diwali, it was the goddess Kali. The goddess  —  painted all black, with her red tongue out, with a bleeding skull in her hand, a wild dog waiting at her feet to catch the skull as soon as it falls, long hair flowing all around, multiple hands, and a necklace of skulls around her neck  —  looks like a warrior not to be messed with. At her feet, the god Shiva lies all blue. 

My mother used to tell me that once the goddess Kali had gone on the rampage killing the demons. All the gods were scared what Kali might do in her rage. To save the world from her anger, Shiva had lied down on the ground. While killing the demons, Kali’s feet fell on Shiva. She was so embarrassed about stepping on Shiva that her tongue came out. And that’s the story I saw depicted in the statue of Kali to whom the people of West Bengal pray on Diwali.

the goddess Kali

A few days ago, at another festival Chhat Puja  — same pick up trucks had arrived, same songs played, but there was neither Durga nor Kali with them. To thank the Sun god for sustaining life on earth, people carried sugarcanes, bunches of raw banana, and a basket covered in red clothes full of items they would immerse into the river while praying to the sun. Streets were full of men in long white shirts and women in bright pink and red saris. Everything was so loud that for a moment I forgot I was in the house. 

just some of the crowd that thronged the streets on Chhat puja

Even if I close all the windows and put on curtains, the noises wake me up at twelve or two in the night. I toss and twist in bed for hours wondering if I should just get up and dance. I imagine long dance sequences with friends and reminisce the dances I have enjoyed in the past. 

But now, tired from the long day at work, I don’t get up to dance. Instead, I fall asleep while thinking about the bread rolls I would make with red potato, pooris I would fry with chickpea curry, and the snacks I would load up with the tamarind chutney I order online. Probably the hardest has been to not pick up fruits and vegetables from the shops myself and not spend hours cooking them.

exploring Kolkata Street food on Diwali

And then I thought, all the festivals were over. People living in the opposite building switched off their red-blue-green decorative lights on the balcony. But yesterday, loud music and the beats of drums barged in through my windows at midnight. I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The month of Hindu festival — October — has passed by. What could people be celebrating now?

As I am writing this letter to you, I hear drums again. I have started to believe that in this part of West Bengal — where Ganga is the lynchpin of communities — drums and celebrations and dance are the way to life. People always find a reason to celebrate. And that, I don’t mind. 

While all of this goes on, bikes pass by at such high speeds I wonder if they realise that a river flows at the end of this road. Do they plan to land straight on the ferry whose siren I think I hear every couple of hours? Men in shorts and women in salwar-kameez go on walks. The delivery boys rush to supply groceries and couriers to this neighbourhood on the outskirts of Kolkata. Cleaners, cooks, and guards come on bicycles.

meanwhile, I write

Then there are couples with girls dressed up in cherry-red dresses while their boyfriends click their pictures against trees with DSLRs. Throughout the day, I see large groups of boys photographing each other. Some against the bike, someone against the tree, two together, alone, all with DSLRs. You would think there is some occasion. But no. All of them are most probably trying to get a good profile picture to put up on social media. The internet is their window into the world. 

When nothing else, there is that lone kite flying with a branch to build her home. But she drops it mid-air, tries to catch it again, the branch falls in the pond, and the kite flies away. She returns later in the day.

a Kite that came to my home for a sunbath years ago in Bangalore.

And when I see her building her nest quietly, I remember I have to get back to my narrative, too. But not before scribbling these thoughts and observations that you are reading today. I realised irrespective of which project I am working on, I can’t stop writing about the things I see around me. To look at things, feel them, hear them, and write about them is my job. 

And I really shouldn’t call myself confined either. When the laughter, joys, and heartaches of the outside world reaches me even through the closed window at two in the night, how can I be confined?

I don’t have a new article to share. Writing and editing thousands of words every day leaves me little time to read, browse the internet, pick up good news articles, or do anything on social media. And I have to be okay with living in my own world. So you will not find the usual good reads of the week and videos to watch I always sent.

But no one can write without reading. So as I go into the project, I will have to start reading a lot more. And I will share all of those then.

My creative project will take all my energy for these upcoming months. So, for now, I hope you would be okay with just this letter, a piece of my heart, that will not only update you about my week, but will also be an honest introspection of what this process of confining myself to a room or a house for the sake of work and writing and art feels and does to me. This is the real test of how much I can love, endure, and appreciate the life of a writer even when I am longing to go out.

The question is always how much you are ready to pay for what you want. And I have to answer by putting in word by word for seven months straight.

I hope you will stay with me to know what I find out and if I come out on the other end. I will really appreciate your company.

What confines you to the chair?

this lady is restricted to her chair because she has an auction to run. I didn't know auctions for such small things as she was selling (t-shirts, lamps, chairs) still happen. In Kolkata.

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Thank you for reading.

Have a wonderful weekend. Have fun. Go out. Eat. Cook. Spend time with your loved ones. Play with the sand. Fly with the wind. Soar above into the sky. Do what you like so that you can later sit tight and make something of your own.

Que disfrutes, as they say in Spanish. While the phrase cannot be translated literally, it means to enjoy, live to the fullest, immerse in this beautiful thing called life. 

Take good care of yourselves :)

Let me know what you think about this newsletter. Just press reply.

Yours,

Priyanka

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