Dear Yesterday...

Dear Yesterday. I'm an artist, I know, and so I enjoy the shreds that you leave for me to pick at, to write poetry about, to dye and splash across canvasses. But sometimes, I wish that you would leave me alone. Thanks. Me.

Cape Town: Fiddunya hassanatau (The beauty of this world)

Being in Cape Town taught me a few good things. One, that writing should never be taken for granted, and two, that the low literacy levels in our country will always mean that the work of a wordsmith will always be driven by the need to engage readers. To really create in them a thirst for reading. And to make these readables available and accessible in more ways than one; so its not only about learning how to read, but about creating a culture of reading. And so that reading is also an affordable pass-time. A new initiative by Zukiswa Wanner of 'Madams' fame, called ReadSA is engrossed in this project in many ways.

The nose to grindstone image refers.

Cape Town was also a time of rejuvenation for me. I was happy to be plugged into all that the city had to offer me: the smell of the ocean, the embrace of glorious Table Mountain, which served as a backdrop to the launch of M4K, and the throng of people that I had the delight of coming into contact with over the three days that I was there. It started off on flight. I left Johannesburg at 6:55am Saturday morning. I arrived in Cape Town to meet a group of amazing ladies for breakfast at Origins cafe.
Nielfa, Ayesha, Saarah, Nisrien, Saberah, Haseena and Maryam were my coffee companions; a superb start to a riveting weekend.

With this lovely lot, I got to see the District Six Museum, and the Planetarium. Also got to see the Gardens. Walked by the National Library, and planted myself outside the Slave Lodge until I was whisked away to do some bookish things, and to check out the launch venue for the very first time (I went on a limb with this one! in tandum to my advisory team: Nielfa, Yaseen and Nazia for the most part) But to my absolute delight, this venue turned out to be the most incredible of venues I have used for any previous launches or other social engagements.

Meeting my darling friend Nazia Peer was a highlight for me. The fleeting time we had together was enough to tear at me for some time; the quality of which always makes up for the luxury of 'more' in life. Saturday night also turned out to be the dinner and musical in honour of a cousin whose engagement we were there to attend. Boys side party that lasted well into the late hours or early hours; whichever way you need to look at it. Needless to say, I met friends and family that I have not seen in a good while from as far as small towns around Polokwane, Nelspruit, etc. All colliding at this one festive spot in Cape Town or Rondebosch to be more precise.

And so it came to be that Sunday took us from the Waterfront, where we were staying, to the Athlone Civic Hall in attendance of the grand engagement celebrations. Speeches started at 11am and went on until about 1ish in time for grumbling bellies to be filled to satisfaction. Speakers included Ebrahim Rassool, MP and Mr A.Kays, whose work is cited in Daughters are Diamonds. Thanks to a feisty guest who recognised me as the author of DaD at some point, I was introduced to a friendly Kays saheb. Kays speech was short and sweet and bordered on the quest for Layla (girls name) to finding her Majnun (because he hadnt been told that my cousins name is Muaaz) Rather innovative of him in any event. And at first, I thought he might be named Qais, seeing as the original Majnun in the persian tale is called Qais.

And so I met Qais. Or rather, Mr.A.Kays. A wonderful gentleman. And a writer, of course. I also met Judge Siraj Desai and his lovely wife in that fuss of a moment. Desai declined the invitation to the launch due to prior arrangements to meet with Che Geuvara's daughter. Should that be censored information? He didnt say, and so here you go.

And almost time for the launch. I'm meeting people, still. Friends like Luq and more family... People who know me because of whose daughter I am. People who last saw me when I was just that tall (A wavering show of hands somewhere near my navel to show how diminished I may have been back then)

Brother wants to take a drive up to Micassa. Stepping out of the city for a bit. To subdued realness. A little bit of time travel, to visit Shaikh Yusuf. The views are breathtaking. I may have left a few breathes behind. A dirt road leads up the incline, and looking back in view of raised fortified walls, a curving road and some canons not-in-use, balancing still... the feeling overtakes me, that this is a moment in time that may not be measured by the date on my calendar, or on the blackberry in my bag. I relinquish the offending mechanism to the boot of our car and walk a little faster so as to catch up with the rest of the family.

The launch was nothing short of amazing. My noteworthy surprises were not over. Lubna, another of my dearest friends, stopped over between her delegatory role at the IPSA conference and on her way to her flight back home to Durban. She is officially the first purchaser of pre-launch Memoirs For Kimya at the Jozi Book Fair, and managed to make an appearance at the CT one too. The Bo-Kaap was an apt placement for the bookish event. I loved the energy generated there, the people I met, the quality of engagement, the view of Cape Town that twinkled below our feet in that raised glass box that was Bo-Kaap Kombuis... and the embrace of the mountain in the background. It is very difficult not to be affected by the incredulous flow of inspiration that fills this city. It is incredibly difficult not to fall in love with this place. I feel blessed to be able to visit again, with the launch of my new work, my celebration of soulful writing, and to plant the seed of writing inspiration in others, as I hope I have.


Monday held more for me; a call from Exclusives, Wordsworth books and a visit to District Six for books, books and more books. Also got to lunch with family, make serendipitous stops in town and outside a strangely familiar place called Bingo, before finding my way to a pretentious pavement coffee shop in wannabe bo-kaap to say my goodbyes to Nielfa, Yaseen, Nazia and Muhammad H, my charismatic programme director for Sunday's launch.

*Deep Breath required here for these goodbyes that Im never good with*

Here's to the joy of blessed moments, and knowing that life makes perfect sense being exactly where we are. Here's to Cape Town, until we meet again.

collision course

Im doing alot of that nearing the edge kind of over-thinking these few days; and I think that when we put love and hate on a collision course, then we only have ourselves to blame. Im rambling again. Its just that there are certain of these life lessons that tend to go over my head and then I find them repeating themselves all too patiently while I sit back and scratch my head in confusion. This time the confusion levels are in a near danger zone.

I dont get it. I dont. And its no longer a person delivering a message or gifting this life shock to me. Its something more; there's this nagging feeling at the back of my mind saying there's more more more to this. So, the suspense is killing me. What is it?

More. Less, but more.
I think the space between lessons is lessening. Still, the same lessons. But like contractions before birthing, and what we hear to be the labour process, the timing between mini earthquakes is getting shorter... the end is near. I think I must get it at some point. Like really just have that lightbulb, eureka moment! Aha! I get it! Like that.. Unless the games being upped and the challenge along with it. And Im losing braincells through my nose in the process, making me worse for wear :/

There's alot going on inside; and definite lines in the sand regards how much I am willing to put up with. Those lines are forming barriers that barricade me from the row of daggers aimed in my direction. Not so sure that's a bad thing or a good thing. It just is.

This rumble of stuff from the inside needs a voice. That's the only thing I know.
And all hell will break loose when that happens.
I figure its winter anyway, so at least we'll be warm, right?
Anyone want to cuddle? Okay, make that a group hug :P

I've set myself on a collision course. I hope all bones remain intact when I'm done with my chosen encounter. I hope that indeed, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. And I hope that I can finally demarcate that area between pussy-footing niceties and just being true to myself. Being real. It's the freedom that I'm craving for the moment. Probably for a longer time than only now. And it scares the hell out of me!

like wildfire or flowing rivers.. who knows?

Kay is overwhelmed. She undid the sluice gates and now she's let the dam wall overflow. And it's been so much fun that the posts have gained momentum like a river and seem to be really making the rounds between the blogs. It all started at Kays place, a post called 'Ten things I'd like my unborn child(ren) to know'.

And a simple tag of a few names led to more of that. It's amazing what a list of things you might say to offspring can bring out the best and the worst in a person :P
Okay mostly the best.
As this little flow of words most certainly did.

Check out the stream:
In no particular order...

Antonio: The Spawn Shall Know These 10 Things

Aasia: ...Spawn of my Loins

Nooj: Lists

Waseem: No Beyonce Listeners Tolerated

Seher/AD: Baby You Hear Me?

Azra: On that Bandwagon.

MJ: Concerning Kids

Saaleha: some sage and thyme for the sprogs

KiLLa: Naseehat (Advice) to my Gunner..

Nafisa: Tag, ur it!

Sofi: The 10 Thing Tag

Freelance Hero: What shall I tell my kids

Nielfa: Listen to me and Listen well..

Organharvester: The ten lessons I would teach to my kids..

Veritas: 20 things I want my kids to know

Edge of Where: simple 10

Mangoes & Mint: Things my sprog should know...

Randomness Infinite: 10 things I want to tell my unborn kids.

Zesty: For Abdullah

Dreamlife.wordpress.com posted his at the comment section of my own (previous) post in the same thread: 10 or so things I may impart..

Hasina_S did her own review of the works and added to the fun with Womb with a View in her own eclectic and awesome style :)

If I have ommitted anyone or there are still more to come, please leave a comment at this post. I think most had fun doing this, Even those that Grrr'd at the tag ;)

Thanks Kay! This was fun. Energies were shared across the veld in a veritable Fire. And like i said, its amazing what comes of a simple ten :)

Much Love,
S

10 or so things I may impart to spawn that might be born someday

1. Read. Starting with The Tales of Peter Rabbit, of course! It will kickstart your imagination.

2. Travel. Because the world is filled with fresh oyster and it's a large percentage of water (dnt want to quote just any ol' stat so this will have to do). And water quenches many Thirsts, of course! ;)

3. Paint. Crayons on walls if you must! Draw. Sketch. Create!

4. Be. Exactly who you are! And precisely who you want to be. Even if that changes every day :)

5. Sing. Because a free voice is a free soul. Even if it's a tune to the rememberance of your Creator.

6. Believe! There is a Higher Power and each living being will construe of such in their own way. There is no other way.

7. Love. Deeply. There is NO other way.

8. Smile. It's one way to share good energy with all around you. And its the least you can do for the wonders that surround us.

9. Breathe. Everything else is a bonus! :)

10. Imagine. The possibilities are endless as the grains of sand on all the beaches of the world.

11. Visit Aunty Kay. She's cool. Really! :)

12. And I think I shan't be the one to teach them how to count to ten. Or how to colour in. Because, as you can see, I rarely stay in between the lines. Sigh.

13. Sigh. Really, because sighs of life are a form of prayer (ibaadat).

I TAG WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS TO GIVE IT A GO. OH? AZRA? DD? SAALS? CRIMSON? LADY H? MJ? SEHER? KILLA? DL? NIKKI? SAF? ANYBLOGGIES AND BLOGGERS :)

to the port city of friendliness

I'm off to Port Elizabeth tomorrow. Flight out at 6am. Yep. Means that I probably won't sleep much tonight. Or that I will sleep really early and then not after the morning Fajr prayers. I notice the difference; when my heads lead and I don't make it awake in time for the early morning prayers. My being feels like I missed out on a meal. A nourishment. Something significant. I didn't wake up today; I felt it. Rather, I am feeling it. All day today.

I hope this serves as adequate reason to not miss out again. And again. The flesh is weak sometimes, and turns into molten lead, writhing in bed to the demon's lullaby in my ear. Heaven's music might be sweeter, but its like that proverbial bowl of marshmallows when ur just a weak, infant soul. Dear God, make me grow up. Today.

And Protect me. Everyday.

And so, after what is probably a decade or more, I will travel out to the friendly city. And hope to see Grahamstown, too. When I completed by matric all those many years ago, I applied for my first choice of study, architecture, at PE university especially interested in the idea that the university is set at the seaside. I chose Wits in Johannesburg instead. But PE still beckons more than a decade later. I liek the idea that a place can be labelled the Friendly City. There's something feelgood about that. And I'm excited about the trip, even though I hear that it's already quite cold out there. And with the image of sun and sand in my head, I've already packed a bag of summer dresses and pretty tops with cargo pants, flip-flops and sunglasses. Oh and sun-screen too, of course.

And so, that's to be reviewed, but the excitement stays :)

the summer of sweetness

After that night, she hated him. It took her three months to drag herself, bit by bit, out of that rut of hatred. Because the way she saw it, after all the time that they had known each other as children, it took one moment of hormonal tugging; one sordid word from the woman who wanted him, to make him cast that evil look upon her face. It burned her. Then the scar remained, revealing itself to her everytime that she looked into the mirror. Renewed loathing filled her being. Tears refused to sting her eyes; she wouldn't waste that salt on him. Not anymore. She was adamant, but still it was a struggle to fight back the waters of sadness. Her bottom lip took the brunt of it, revealing beads of red in place of simple salt water from higher up. The taste on her tongue was the same; aside from the colour, blood and tears were the same, she realised.

He wasn't her brother. Nothing tied him to her, irreverently. They weren't lovers. Love was this strange word that could so easily distort the purity of the friendship that they had cultivated since they were each less than a metre high. She supposed that such was the nature of soul connections. A knowing with certainty that the other person was a certain way, today but perhaps not tomorrow. Having an inkling of an idea that they needed to hear something said at a particular time. Or that they needed to be simply left alone. It came with time, and patience, and listening. It came with caring, because she was sure that even some married couples didn't quite get to that point. Married couples? What was she thinking, they were not a couple. They were childhood friends, thrown together at a time when innocence was the glue and adventure was the energy that grew them on the same branch of life's tree. Two unripe mango's laden with promise, and waiting only for the summer of sweetness to claim their moment in the sun; their moment of fame and glory.

It was something that everyone was entitled to: that precious time at the prime of one's life when all potential and wonders are revealed to a world that never knew of your existence. The only ones who knew were the ones who grew you to this point. With water and light and care. With tenderness. Just like he did for her, and she did for him.

And what happened then? The fork in the road. The split in their journeys. The look of disgust in his eyes. Those last words, spat out like something bitter and poisonous lingered on his tongue. And then nothing.


(Copyright Shafinaaz Hassim 2009)

angels and demons

The forces of light and dark are undeniable variables in our every day. If day exists then so does night. For the most part, it's just as easy to enjoy the glory of a star-speckled sky, as it is to bask in the grand elation of sunshine caressing one's skin. Beauty has many colours, evokes different emotions and appeals to many in different ways. But in life, as one might at some point discover, there are also an army of angels that will spur you on in your quest to find that elixir of uncovering hidden potential. And there are a range of demons, too, who will stop your process at every opportunity; the way I see it, is that its really a game of wills, a maze of chance and a test of strength of spirit.

There are people who will love you for what you do even if their blood doesn't flow in your veins. There are those who will love you for who you are because the same heartbeats resonate in their chest as in yours. And there are those who will abhor you beyond reason. Some will spit venom when your name is mentioned. And some will be audacious enough to partake in actions that intend some harm to you. Bad words. Bad thoughts. Even worse, they might do that which belongs in the realm of science fiction bestsellers; engaging forces of darkness and evil to cause you nothing but harm and often even disease. It makes sense, of course, that invoking the protection of forces of good will encourage in you a lightness of being. And that increased faith and belief in a Higher Power will fortify you against such malice. It just seems for many that I have heard tales from, that the struggle is continual. Kind of like playing different stages of a digital game where the stakes are upped every next level.

And we keep playing. And so do the demons. Angels are plentiful, too.

It's a surreal place to be, this hanging between lightness and darkness and knowing the beauty of each, but also being wary of the dangers inherent in that in-between space.

Here's wishing one and all, angels more than demons. And here's wishing you the ability to discover the Angel within.

Love and Light,
...S

fancy schmansy masquerade

Last night was far more of a jol than I imagined it would be. My brother's dear friend Jehanzeb 'Jzee' Bashir is getting married tonight. So we attended a fancy dress party last night in honour of wedding crowd events and such things. Grosvenor hall in Mayfair was turned into a mini gaming zone; yea it felt like you were in one of those arcade games with lots of characters flying and floating around. About a dozen or so people fluttered past making us feel like we were seated in the midst of a paintball venue, shooting at each other with life-like water-pistols, water-rifles (some in full army gear): few were recognisable especially because of the awesome disguises that they had played with. And the make-up art was divine, of course! A Spanish Princess accompanied her Matador partner; some princesses and fairies and elves dotted the place, and I played drama queen to the shade of pink alongside my sister-in-law in red she-devil regalia, her sister in pale white crowned princessy-ness, my brother as a London 'Bobby' policeman, cousin as a erm something... fancy-ish... and groom-to-be as a ruffian-come-jester-come-rap artiste. He got messed with water, flour and choice things that needed a few changes of clothes just like in some Bollywood song sequences. Somewhat surreal, mostly tonnes of fun... altogether feelgood. Here's wishing the new couple the best that life has to offer, grand dreams and choice health in the many years ahead, iA!

I still have spurts of party 'high' in my bloodstream. 100% natural. No additives. Pics aplenty. Some to follow.

Love and Mwahs,

The Drama Queen ;)

PIC UPDATE:

bringing me 'home'

Waves
crash over reason

my deepest anxieties
uncovered
by the movements not of water
and moon dancing wanton,
but of shifting tectonic plates
far below the
usual realm of
consciousness.

Waves crash
over anything remotely
reasonable

I am. And I am no more.

Content confusion a sacred state almost.
Confused contention a place to
sit and twiddle thumbs
on a fancy laptop
with no
mouse for company.

Just a burning wrist
fit for the chiropractors
skilled
wringing of his own two;
wrists and palms
and teeth, one ivory and one gold.

Spontaneity drowned
in that exchange.
Only more to contend with,
oceans of reason and un-reason
and some pain;
a meddlers chair to sit in
while wrists do their work
on my own.

And a ream of paper waiting
to be branded with
ink and words and someone elses dreams, dashed.

More waves, crashing on the shore
of newer contemplations...

Bringing me home
to simple content
and the space of knowing
that there is
no coincidence...

Only Plan.

For He is the Best;
the Planner.

I can take rest.

I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair...

- Sandi Thom Lyrics

Good News and Bad News...

Good news is always welcome.

I believe that.

Especially since a lot of negative words get thrown about and rages flying from people you probably won't remember in two years time can cause unnecessary grief. And then there were those 'venom-spitting turds' who called themselves anon. Aaaarghhhh. I mean...who needs someone else's hot potato in their laps, right? Especially when things you say get twisted by ego's only ready for a jol.

What happens when their thirsts are quenched? Will they see the light, or will they continue to delude themselves for a lifetime? I guess everyone gets what they deserve, me included :) Alhamdulillah.

Ok.. First the bad news. I am in an excruciating amount of pain today. This all due to some painkillers wearing off and an hour of dental drilling into the recesses of my one measly tooth. It used to live quite peacefully at the back of my mouth until that dreaded day. A cavity. My dentist says its due to those braces I had when I was 13. Today's braces don't do that, she says. Right. Back then it was the coolest thing to sort out twisty teeth; accept for the fact that I couldn't chew gum or eat 'jawbreakers' (remember those hot spicey red ones??!!) or that I couldn't eat those lollypops with the gooey centre.

Back to the present; this all a load of drama to bring me to my proverbial knees. Actually, I am sitting on my knees as I type this! (I use one of these posture accurate typist chairs that has a rest for knees and butt. It's kinda funky. And it has wheels :P I love it. But Boi am I in pAiN!. Sigh.

So, to put away the bad news, I'm going to sleep. Writing is not happening today. Not like this, any way. Hmm... now for the good news...

I have just been appointed as a trustee (the youngest, I might add :P) on the corporate board of WIPHOLD. I know, its just a word. Or an acronym. I know. But it's a feather in my cap, whichever way. We are a total of five board trustees. The CEO of WIPHOLD, the CEO of WipCapital and the Chairperson (a Founder Member with great Merit in her field - legal and corporate). And then theres another two of us, newly appointed. This piece of news comes at a rather opportune time, seeing as I am at the threshold of many choices. It is a culmination of the many coats that I wear in the corporate and social sectors and I really hope to be able to make the most of it.

Read the Corporate Profile Mission Statement HERE.

The reasons that I have become hugely interested in this organisation is their immense social responsibility programmes in place. In some cases, companies like these are able to do more than the state. Read more about the extensive Social Development Commitment HERE.

I have a feeling that 2009 is going to be one heck of an exciting year!

oOo---10 Tips for Writers---oOo

1. Pencils are earthy. Hug a tree. Hold a pencil. Life flows!

2. Roller ball ink pens allow your words to 'feel' life.

3. I wish my dreams had ink at hand... They would make for some awesome scenes :)

4. Blueprints are not Buildings. Plots are not Stories. Brick by brick you gotta just write, write and .............keep writing!

5. Even the prison of the mind has a little window that lets the light of inspiration in. So keep your face to the window. Suns and moons are good friends to have.

6. I wish I had time to write contemplative sequels instead of daydreaming so much.

7. Daydreams are NOT agents of procrastination.

8. Procrastination is just a germination period.

9. After germination comes the rains. Naturally.

10. Rain makes me daydream. Sigh.

11. Happy Monsoons to all you fellow writers out there!


...Love and Words...
Shafinaaz

PS: I almost forgot. I met a very distracting dude recently. He was tall, dark and handsome. He showed me ID> His name was Inner Critic. Yea, he had oodles of dark charm. I'm a sucker, what can I say. It's tough, I know, but don't fall for him! Lol. Or her, for that matter :P

deuce juice

I am reluctant...
fundamentally flawed by the curse
of a day gone by.

the end.

and the beginning, a bitter reminder
of some inner longing
reduced to a case of ulcer
and putrid
gas.

what with the price all so shaky at the moment,
the oil-rich look less shiney
and the starved look somewhat
a trendy artists grunge inspiration.

aah, the pathos of
a new condition
regurgitated from the machine
of an over-worked mind
and a rather battered muse;

with a juicy social consciousness squeezed from
the-eye-half-closed to wrongs,
an airy fairy soul still struggles
to cling onto
plastic wrap
and staples
in the hope that the competitive edge will
inspire the one to entice suffocation
or the other to slice
wrists damned by
the clerks
choices!

for now, head-to-head
are dreams reduced to deuce
with so much work
still left
to do.

the energy of words

words have energy. and so do books. even as a child, i was always overwhelmed by the energy inherent in the space of a library or bookshop. i grew up in a small town in the north called pietersburg. the little indian ghetto we lived in was called nirvana. my mom and i would walk to the library every so often. this event thrilled me beyond measure. i remember, i was barely five when i got my first book out the library. the tales of peter rabbit. the over zealous reader in me was enticed pretty early on, wanting to be an adult along with my twenty-something year old parents, and not the baby first-born happy only with teddybears and other such trinkets.
and so began my love affair with books. my parents are avid readers. so the energy follows along a bloodline, perhaps. or a kind of conditioning, maybe. what is interesting, is that, i chose the nerdy reclusive route of an adolescent, intent on burrowing in the world of words, rather than the shaky aspirations of the other kids. my friend mish reminds me often, of her visits to pietersburg, to her maternal grandparents. my sister would be enthralled by her tea-sets, and they could compare notes on barbie fads. (ok, i had an india barbie ;) but, i would be mesmerized by the single wall of towering bookshelves in her grandfather's lounge. layers upon layers of time old wisdom, collected here in his sacred space. i learned much later that, when he passed on, his oldest grandson (my mom's first cousin ebie) inherited his out-of-print works. i also learned, from my dad, that sunday afternoons were set aside for philosophical seminars in his lounge, attended by a select few of his friends. some of his grandchildren of my own age, lament not being at an age of understanding when he was around to impart the knowledge he possessed. but the energy that held my attention, and many others, was undeniable. i remember it still.

when i moved to johannesburg, i soon became acquainted with the old bookstores of mellville, the side roads of fordsburg (i bought orwells '1984' for R2.50!) and the flea market bookstalls at the zoo lake and bruma. old mellville is still my favourite hangout. last year, when i travelled to cape town for the bookfair, i discovered some worthy gems at the parade bookstalls (i got a signed copy of psychoanalyst june singer's 'seeing through the visible world' @ R25 - dr.singer worked with carl jung, btw:P). and this year, when i stayed out in durban for a few months, i happily came upon one or two places of rare bookish discovery, out in bulwer near the university, and in kensington (amitav gosh' 'the glass palace' and vikram seth's 'an equal music' at R40 each) etc.

london's all year sales place one in the happy position to buy books at 'three for two' bargains. and because of the large book buying potential, and hence the great print runs, prices are far cheaper than that of the south african book market. i find this both with regards to local and overseas print. i have my theories, and all are not related to cost. a sinister exploitation abounds. but thats another post.

books have an energy that sings to me like the piped piper did in that old folktale... let me not forget to mention the bookstores of old delhi. i have trudged and dragged my brother and some cousins at various times through the streets around the jama masjid in delhi's old quarter looking for hidden treasures, only to be delighted beyond my expectations. lucky for me, my dad shares my enthusiasm and has more than happily led the way. we're known to gift each other some or other book gift. and unlike a tie or a pair of socks kind of gift, i believe that books (for self and for gifts) find you, and not the other way around. books FIND you. i liked typing that. it reminds me of my new acquisitions, a single copy of 'the essential rumi' and 'the book of love' waited on a lonely shelf in mumbai for me ;)

there was a time when mumbai flourished with too many books to choose from. the 'fountain' area (think scene for movie 'chameli') once listed hundreds of sidewalk vendors intent on distributing largely pirated works, now long cleared up. but even there, i have my choice places to shop at. at least, now, shopping for books is less precarious. and still well worth the ardent search for works not to be found anywhere else in the world. of course, apart from the carefully placed individual booksellers, there are the mainstream stores. but its in these caves of some dust and many sweet-smelling pages that are to be found anything your reader imagination can conjur, from the best-selling popular fictions to the rarest of finds.

there is an energy about this. a sharing of someones soul, someones dreams, someones fears, someones hopes tried and tested. theres a flow of life in books. and this flow of life and energy binds us, inextricably. i am writing again. i feel linked to the energy of the universe in more than one way. spirit thirsts and is quenched. through books, and life, through believing and being.

Yeh hai Mumbai, Meri Jaan...

I have been traversing through India for a week now, and it feels like a bit longer; considering the cities and flavours that I have delighted in, in this short space of time... We landed in Mumbai a week ago, in transit to Jaipur, the famed and imaginative 'pink city' of royal fantasy. After gleeful visits to Amber Fort and the treasures of the old city around the City Palace and the glorious Hawa Mahal, the visions of the puppet shows continue to remain as trinkets in my mind (I have a pair souvenir dolls -male&female- to remind me! hmm, just like in that movie.. what was it again..)

The celebration of pinks moved on to deeper shades of colour as we made our way through Rajasthan... onward to Agra, with the incredulous stop at Fatehpur Sikhri, famed for its sprawling palaces and mausoleums. The palace of Queen Jodha, the towering five-storeyed Paanch Mahal, the Diwan-e-Khaas that undoubtedly houses many secrets in his innately carved walls... the Hall of Mirrors... myriad fantasies come to mind in making my way along the paths and through the hallowed arches, and beside the now deteriorating pillars that form the structure of some 46 palaces here...

Agra, filled me. The joy spilled pearls uncounted through my eyes. Its been seven years since I visited the Taj Mahal. Seven is a lucky number? It just occured to me that it might be. Who knows. The Taj is mesmerizing as ever. I am spellbound still. Maybe it means a different thing to me now than it might have back then. But its a good difference. I conversed with those walls of milk and honey. They smiled at me. Mostly for being silly. Mosly for my strange state of self-denial. Mostly for my unwarranted contradictory state of being. I wanted to place what I thought was a burden, at its feet. Too much drama ensued. Have you ever seen the Taj Mahal, in all its majesty, break down into a fit of giggles? It did. And what a beautiful sight that was. Sigh. And then onward to Delhi. Bustling, rumbling Delhi. The grandest rajhdhani. Where I usually delight in the wares of booksellers. But I ventured to nurse a bit of fever and some well-known delhi belly. Souvenirs, no doubt.

Having arrived in Mumbai just last night, I must look somewhat in a trance state; dazed as I am from the happenings of the last week or so. And then, of course, is this something special about actually being back in Mumbai... because there is something that draws me back here, time and again. Something, that links the energy untapped within me, to the immense energy that resonates through this place of many contraditory things. Perhaps it is that it is intensely beautiful in its tragic state, a contradiction in itself. Or that it is so often misunderstood, misused by its custodians and so out-of-reach of its essential benefactors...
So many whats and ifs... and yet the city thrives because of and in spite of it all... immensely alive with creative energy, life, and all things magical. I am here to reconnect. My soul is thirsting and quenching almost at the speed it would take to fumble through the beads of my tasbeeh.. Greatful, and joyfilled and somewhat in acknowledgement of the inner chaos.

Ru-ba-ru Roshni se... Finally face2face with Sunshine. The tears flow freely now.

With Love and Magic
Shafs