February brings new flowers and...
Two years of newsletter-ing, tree news, and thoughts on beauty as a bubble in time of upheaveal
Dear readers,
This month brings me to two whole years of writing this newsletter! Before I wrote my first instalment back in February 2020, I had taken a social media break and found myself blogging for the first time in years on my now defunct blog (you can still check out the old posts, if you want:) And then, it struck me, why not start a newsletter, a form of writing I had started to enjoy of late (your newsletter, R, was in particular an inspiration:)? Given that I began this newsletter barely few days before the declaration of the pandemic, it strikes me that it become by default a historical pandemic document too, the way it affected my life in so many ways, whether it be the initial days of getting stranded in California due to travel restrictions or actually getting the virus last year or how we are gradually learning to live with its ebbs and flows. But briefly setting that aside, it truly has become a space for homeless thoughts, the intended purpose behind its initial creation, to journal, muse, elaborate at length, and whatnot. Social media imprints are fleeting and ephemeral, there is so much competing for our attention-spans that you barely register one thing before something else pops up in your notifications demanding your instant and undivided attention. In this newsletter, I have found a place to collate and collect those imprints for posterity, which you can return to at leisure and take as much time out to read without your fingers longing to scroll or jump from one story or tweet to another (the way I personally feel about newsletter and other longform pieces). For all those who have been part of my journey, needless to say, thank you for reading and being part of it.
The other day, while catching up with R, I mentioned to her how much of February felt as if the dispersal of a fog which had enveloped me in the past few months revealed a much welcome clarity again. It had released a weight off my shoulders allowing me to both see and focus my attentions on what mattered. And as if in resonance with my thoughts, the trees outside are now garbed in bright, illuminating colors: the pinks of the pink trumpet tree have given away to that of the golden trumpet tree’s life-affirming yellow blooms. The trees are dressed in spring green, the sunlight accentuating their newness…or perhaps, they appear so green because I am especially now paying attention to them. Last Sunday, when meeting my dear friend, S after a gap of few months, we walked, talked, ate cookies and cupcakes, and marvelled at what appeared to be a brilliant archway of yellow stitching the trees, sky, and the terracotta red of the High Court beyond. I recall two years ago that my husband and I had had a similar Sunday afternoon, feasting on ghee-drenched dosas at MTR before wandering to this very tree and then eventually heading home for a very satisfying nap. Three months later, when I was desperately yearning to return home to the States, I thought of this day, both entirely ordinary yet extraordinary and how it had taken a pandemic to so deeply appreciate the quotidian joy of it all. Little did we know how much longer the pandemic would extend, how even more special these joys would become to us.
Speaking of trees, my month, or perhaps, year was made with this tweet though. I am so overwhelmed and touched, to say the least, and all I can hope for is that these trees continue to flourish and spread their beauty for many more years to come.
And yet, as we arrive at the end of this month, I find myself sinking into a different kind of fog again, compounded from a personal maelstrom and that of external events. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and the latter’s defiant, unrelenting resistance meanwhile has provoked a reminder of the many violences and atrocities occurring around the world and which have not received equal and deserved attention, opening up the most vicious cans of xenophobia and racism. The ongoing pandemic (which these cruel myopic nations hellbent on using countries and their innocent people as pawns in their chessboard of power seem to think is over) has already inflicted many and long lasting kinds of traumas upon the world. In the midst of all of this, I wonder again as I have wondered at other points in these last two years if my relentless quest for beauty is a stubbornly insulated bubble in itself, vehemently denying and escaping from the personal and political. Can I truly? Should I? As I ponder these questions, I leave you with both art and poetry which moves you with both the beauty of the simple moments nestled inside them and language reflecting life’s unvarnished truths. Balancing the discovering of art and taking solace in it while keeping one’s eyes and ears open to all that is happening in the world will be my way forward for the time being.
In the meantime, sharing my favorite art finds of the month, courtesy Instagram’s Explore Functions (once you mute the Reels, that is ;)
The moment I glimpsed this painting by Shreshi Singh, with its evocative details of split open pomegranates, parrots, the warm terracotta bolster, and companionship inscribed in the sharing of chai, I immediately thought of my Udaipur visit, the stained glass windows in particular reminding me of all the spaces I encountered then.
I once created a Twitter thread about all the vases I want to steal from paintings and when I saw Polly Mabel’s paintings the other day, I thought, I need to create an Instagram highlight for these too. Each vase is given as meticulous attentions as the flowers placed inside them and needless to say, I want to steal all the vases she paints.
And finally, this poem about art which I encountered the other day, and says so much of what I was perhaps ineloquently saying above.
With these thoughts, I shall end here. Stay well, safe, and finding your individual refuges.
Sending much love,
Priyanka
End notes:
What I wrote
"The one thing I did not stop doing during and after covid was writing. During the covid storm, my writing was both my lifeboat and jacket, it was what kept me from drowning. It was the anchor which reminded me that once the storm blew over, I would be in a safe, protected bay. What I did not realise then was that my writing had already become the bay."
My new essay about practicing at becoming myself again post covid, healing, finding sanctuary in writing, and the body as a map in Juice's Issue 2: Mind and Body. It's been ten months since the virus visited and left me and needless to say, changed me at so many levels.
You can also read here: https://s3.amazonaws.com/.../Juice_Magazine_-_Priyanka...
What I read:
Books:
Elizabeth Jane Howard’s memoir, Slipstream
Azar Nafisi’s memoir, Things I Have been Silent About
Both books I read this month had a lot to do with how one’s formative years so crucially influences the subsequent ones; it’s arguably such an obvious truth but in these cases, the influences greatly matter when it comes to their chosen metier in life, such as Howard and her writing journey, for example or how the personal and political painfully and vividly intersect in author and academic, Nafisi’s case, being brought up in Shah’s Iran and then post Islamic Revolution.
Links:
Mughda Singh’s brilliant essay on faith and religion
Discovered this incredible newsletter yesterday speaking about so many challenges, journeys, and issues that women face.
This piece on colorism, race, and aesthetics in Classical Greek and Roman sculptures was such an eye opener.
This piece on Museum of Material memory, which also includes quotes and thoughts from yours truly.
I loved Janice Pariat’s review about Katherine May’s book, Wintering here, it is definitely on my to-read list. Speaking of Pariat, I also really enjoyed her interview where she talks about her writing spaces; this cluster of sentences about ‘an odd assortment of objects’ on her writing table really resonated with me: ‘It's a space, I like to think, where things continue to live, or be made alive again, renewed in some way by being placed there, inspiring in their shape, their form, and the lives they have led before they found me.
Lovely essay by Anandi Mishra about the specific pleasure of handwritten letters, especially in our digital times.
What I watched:
As a sucker of fluff occupying your mindspace as little as possible reality snows, I was surprisingly all for watching Love is Blind S2. This piece pretty much sums up my feelings about the season this time, in particular a Desi-American who calls himself…Shake.
As always, adoring The Marvelous Ms Maisel S4’s costumes, interiors, and a Wes Andersonesque detail and color-coordinated vibe but not exactly sure where the story is going though? Alex Borstein as Susie might just be the real marvel though, her eulogy scene in Episode 3 was incredible.
1. Congratulations for completing 2 years!!! :)
2. Ah! To be those two trees who were saved by beautiful photographs...how lovely. Thanks to you and your quick photo snatches of the natural world.
3. Artist - what a poem, thanks for sharing this.