January eases into February
Bangalore as a sunny, blue-skied being, color stories, and thoughts on women at breakfast in art + book and newsletter reccos
Dear readers,
Trust the past month has treated you well and that you’re looking forward to what February brings ahead. I found myself caught up in a flurry of activity after months of being away from the grid, emerging from the cave I had inhabited for the last few months of 2022 and blinking my way into life again: responding to the pile of unread messages, posting on Twitter and Instagram (not Facebook, make of it what you will), and then, intermittently crawling back into my cave, when it all got too much for me. I also found myself coaxing my rusting writing muscles into use again, a no easy task indeed. I wrote two poems after months of not writing one, excavated a long buried non fiction piece about jinns and sent it off to various places, and am tentatively exploring the world of fiction again. I pitched and submitted to endless places, was ghosted by several, received polite rejections to a couple, and two positives at the end of it all: Ah, my mind said, shaking its head, welcome to writing life once again.
And in midst of it all, Bangalore has been a sunny, blue-skied being, allowing many much needed moments of basking in the sun in my balcony garden, admiring the sun-bathing bougainvillea, and sitting beneath the trees, admiring the tree-tops, which are simultaneously shedding and re-leafing. The new bright green leaves of the raintree in particular always fill me with renewed vigour, their life-affirming greenness silhouetted against clear blue skies always making me pause and gaze up in appreciation. As I write this, I realise that while my favorite colors have varied over the years, generally inhabiting a family of cool shades and tones, I have somehow never gravitated towards green as one of my favoured hues. And that makes me wonder why given as to how vitally important and restoring green has been in my life, in form of tree canopies, potted plants, sunlight streaming through large green leaves, succulents and cacti, all that foliage that I simply cannot do without these days. Perhaps, who knows, green will be one of my favorite colors this year.
Speaking of color, one Instagram account that I really enjoy is Lorene Edward Forkner’s Gardenercook, which is a wonderfully soothing exploration of colors in her garden, a color distillation all that grows there, which always makes me ponder about the staggering spectrum of colors as viewed through the lens of plants. I always look forward to encountering her posts on my feed, wondering what plant (and occasionally, objects) deconstructed in color I will see today.
In a color-coincidence, I found myself making flower art from fallen sunshine-yellow plumeria and pale mauve flowers after so long; it was good to sit on the grass and play around with fallen flowers, appreciating them individually and when in dialogue with other flowers.
This month, I found myself contemplating more than ever about a genre of paintings that have been a fascination of mine for quite some time, thanks to continually encountering it on the art accounts I follow on Twitter and Instagram: works depicting a solitary woman either sitting at the breakfast table or more, poignantly, surrounded by the detritus of breakfast. What is it about the woman sitting there that compels and captivates the artist so? Given that the majority of the works I am talking about are those by men artists, I wonder what their gaze is trying to depict and why; I would of course love to find out more about women artists who have also painted the woman at breakfast as a subject and see how they respond to it. As for me, I ponder about the limbo that these women inhabit between that of breakfast and the day ahead; is the day ahead filled with endless chores with little to look forward to? Is this the only time when they have for themselves, perhaps drinking that last cup of tea in peace before performing the duties of the day? I imagine these women mostly as wives and mothers though, cocooned in domesticity, a sense of lassitude emanating from them for the lives they are compelled to lead. But what of the woman who lives alone, whether of her own volition or not? Does breakfast signal the hope of a day in which something will change, some new adventure or person will breathe new vigor and life into it? Or does it remind her more than ever of the treadmill tedium of it all? Perhaps, one day, I will write a story inspired by these women at the breakfast table; it seems that they have plenty to say.
I shall end here with this sun-drenched painting that caught my eye the other day, dear readers…hoping that the days ahead bring you abundant sunshine in all shapes and forms.
Much love,
Priyanka
Endnotes:
What I wrote:
A piece about one of my most favorite Bangalore places, Sri Aurobindo Bhavan for Join Paper Planes.
I was so glad that my poem, A Wisteria Wedding once more found a new home in Yours Poetically mag’s Poetics Issue: Volume 1.
What I read:
Books:
It was initially a slow reading month and after a reading slump especially in the initial weeks, I then began Katherine May’s wonderful book, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. It isn’t exactly winter here in Bangalore but I suppose, winter she refers to is as much a state of mind as that of pertaining to the weather. I read books far too quickly in my opinion, the first time round anyway but this is one book which I have been taking my time to linger over, appropriate for a season when everything appears to have slowed down to a glacial pace - and yet, changes are still afoot, thrumming beneath the frozen, seemingly wasteland earth.
I enjoyed Aanchal Malhotra’s The Book of Everlasting Things with its rich, delicate, fragrant prose, much like the scents that shape and permeate the novel. Initially set during the times of early twentieth century and times of Partition in Lahore, the novel literally voyages back and forth from Europe to the subcontinent across decades and generations. At times, it can get a little too rich and you need to take a breather and put the book aside before returning to a world which literally vibrates with a cornucopia of detail: a perfumery in Lahore, calligraphy dazzling the page, flower fields of Provence, and romance and poetry soaked letters exchanged between two lovers.
I have been reading Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni’s books since I was an university student, studying creative writing and dreaming of the day when I would publish my own novel. I am still dreaming about it, ha but I was delighted to get the chance to hear and meet her speak at the launch of her new novel, Independence at one of my Bangalore happy spaces, Blossom Book House. I greatly admire the author’s prodigious output although I do find the books uneven in their quality, some resonating with me more than the others. Independence lingered in my mind though; also set during the Partition, Divakaruni’s words give a window into the many griefs and dilemmas and regrets permeating the cataclysmic events that tore apart Bengal through the interwined stories of three sisters, Deepa, Jamini, and Priya. I read it in almost one go, becoming immersed in what it meant to live, hope, dream, and love during those perilous times, of a woman aspiring to heal others through medicine, the stories underlying the minute stitches of the Kantha, and what it meant to inhabit a country under rule and a free one in a space of months.
Links:
I have always found it difficult, irritating, and even reluctant to answer this question, ‘Where are you from?’ and this piece helped me understand why.
This piece really resonated with me as I feel I have been unconsciously trying to implement it in my life: the power and indeed, necessity of awe in our every day lives as being essential for our well being.
A moving story about an island in Wisconsin, a beach full of rocks, and what happens when we take away from nature in guise of ‘collecting’; as someone who collects rocks, for instance, it certainly made me rethink about why I do it and for what purpose.
This wonderful piece reminded me why I should journal more often. I have been journaling for years now but it can often become a sporadic, forced activity; the irony is that I avoid journaling when I most needed it and always feel the better for it after journaling.
This piece remained with me for a long while after I read it, of a writer struggling to reconcile with the hurtful, dispiriting truth that his mentor plagiarised his words; I admire the compassion and kindness that he still gives to his mentor, it really gives an idea into the kind of the person the writer is.
Newsletters
I wanted to add here all the newsletters I look forward to immersing myself in each time I see them pop up in my inbox.
My friend, Raju Tai’s newsletter, Evolving&Enough, who was the one inspired me to start my newsletter - and her meditative essays always make me pause for thought.
Thinking, reading, and writing about home definitely occupies a large part of my time and so I alway look forward to Jan Peppler’s offerings in form of her newsletter, Finding Home.
I was born on a full moon so you can imagine why I love reading all things related to the moon in Will Dowd’s newsletter, The Lunar Dispatch.
I love reading books but I still find it so hard to write about them and Resh from Satchel Notes has such a wonderful way of describing books, making us fall in love with them and instantly dash out to read them.
And finally, Ella Frances Sanders’ notes in form of The Sometimes Newsletter, which always seem to be what I most need to read just then.
Thanks love ❤️ Wishing you a gorgeous February full of new colours. 🌺