World Book Day happened on April 23.

I think most book lovers celebrate every time they pick up a book with eager hands, wait with impatience for a moment of quiet when they can immerse themselves into worlds unknown, travelling shoulder to shoulder with perfect strangers.

I have heard people say writing is a lonely profession. Not for me.

I don't find it lonely sitting day after day, at my desk, meeting strangers, offering them fictitious lives and observing if they want it or not. If they do, good. If not, that's good too. Then I can be nosy and offer advise and write up a new life for them. See how much fun it is to manipulate characters? And, that's why I am never lonely when I am doing what I like best.

No plush office for me...just a bit of space in our living room. That's all I need to write stories and poems and blog posts.

Keep well, my friends.
Purabi

Cayo Largo del Sur or simply Cayo Largo or Long Key is a small island off the southern coast of the northwestern part of the main island of Cuba. There are no permanent residents on the island, only tourists in resorts. We miss interacting with the locals. However, the island itself, with its long beaches of powdery white sand, turquoise waters, and breathtaking sunrise and sunsets, more than make up for it and we are happy.

The staff at the resort work 20 days then return to their homes on the island for 10 days. A journey home might take 5 hours by boat which is why some staff stay in town after their shift. Drinking water is ferried in to the resort. We are mindful of this and always drink the last drop in our bottles.

As we make our way to the beach, I am struck by something unusual. The terrain here is different from what we are used to seeing in Caribbean resorts. I am curious and must find out. After some reading, I learn about the Karstic origins of Cayo Largo. When rocks, limestone and dolomite dissolve a special type of landscape is formed. Which is why vegetation seems low in this region, I muse, paying attention to the branches of stunted trees clinging to humps of sand resembling dunes. The tide, when it comes in, takes a part of the beach with her. However, the very same portion is returned at some point in time.

With a wind-swept beach our only companion, we settle on a rock, probably here since the beginning of time, and let our senses absorb the beauty of this serene scene. We can stay here for hours, gazing out at the ever-changing colours of the water. A kingfisher swoops down from the sky, bags its prize, rises in a graceful arc, disappears from sight. This is life unfolding before us. We can live together. Paradise!

Keep well, my friends.
Purabi
#amwriting #travelstories #amreading #author #nature #photos 

Continuing on our journey through #womenshistorymonth, I pay tribute to my mother. A woman of great personal integrity, monumental courage, and selfless beyond comprehension, her memory remains a beacon of encouragement when my spirit is low and I search for comfort.

My earliest recollection of my mother is her low sweet voice humming. She could be chopping vegetables, fixing our hair,  embroidering fantastic designs on tablecloths, pillowcases, sofa covers; stitching our clothes, knitting sweaters. She was also a voracious reader, reading late into the night when her chores were over and we safely in bed.  

After leaving India, any time I heard a Tagore song on the radio, which was as infrequent as sunshine during monsoon, it was my mother’s face that leaped into my mind. I would relive my childhood then. During the summer vacations, afternoons were spent indoors to escape from the hot wind and dust raging outside. Our mother made it all worthwhile, however, by singing Tagore songs she had written down in a book. How I wish I could see that book one more time, touch it, and perhaps, by that one single gesture turn the clock back. When we are young, we take our parents for granted, thinking they are here to stay forever.

My poem “Book of Songs” is dedicated to my mother. I have included it in my book TWENTY TWO FOR 22, a collection of short stories, poetry, and travel vignettes. Visit my website to read the poem – www.purabisinhadas.com

​Stay safe and keep well.
Purabi
#womenshistorymonth #poetry #literature #amwriting #amreading #prosepoetry #community #family #inspiration 

Whoever said that women must pack a zillion clothes and shoes when they travel, cannot be right. I travel with just a backpack. You just need to know how and what to pack. No waiting at the luggage carousel for your suitcases to arrive.

We stay in hotels. Not hostels. I have nothing against them but a hostel is not for us.

We try to book a hotel close to the main sights, and subway. Oh yes, we love to ride the subway in a strange city. It’s the best way to try out the local dialect.

I am sharing some pictures of a trip to Spain. It’s a beautiful place to visit but we only had about ten days to spare. What a shame! But we didn’t have to lug heavy suitcases from city to city.

We arrived in Barcelona, checked in to our hotel which was fortunately close to Sagrada Familia. After freshening up, we walked to Sagrada and since we had booked our tickets online, we could bypass the long lineup at the gate. Next morning we took the bus to Segovia and Avila - absolutely breathtaking views - then returned to Barcelona that evening. Next morning we were off to Santiago de Compostela by train.  After a lovely stay we boarded another train to Madrid, stayed a few days, did the sights, then took the train back to Barcelona to catch our flight home.

All the while with only a backpack. It can be done. Try it.

​I am sharing some pictures from our trip to Spain. 

Stay safe and well.
Purabi

​#womenshistorymonth #authorlife #travel #amwriting #amreading

The word “adventure” has that magical quality, an out of this world call the human spirit must answer. No matter what lies ahead.

The unknown is attractive, seductive. Can be a sublime experience, sometimes.

Foreign lands leap up from the pages of a book, render us helpless with a deep craving to go out and explore. 

When I hear words spoken in a language I don’t recognize, it sparks curiosity. I must know more.

Each country visited, so far, has been a treasure trove.

Petra in Jordan is one such. One of the seven wonders of the world. Each grain of sand its own story. Words need not be spoken. The hot wind sings its own song.

Red rocks threw out challenge after challenge, I climbed higher and higher, emboldened by the sheer majesty of sky, rocks, sand, and universal energy pulsating over all. Not unlike writing. It was up to me to tell the stories that had been in me all this time. Rocks. Yes, those sandstone rocks of Petra urged me to keep moving forward, show up at my desk every day, write, share my writing.

After a visit to the lantern themed silk road exhibition in Toronto a few years back, my feelings for the majestic Petra which had lain dormant, rose to its full stature, reminding me of the great adventure I had there. With the result, the wildly sensory adventure of fourteen year old Mariam who is the central character in my prose poetry “The Legend of Mariam – the one who followed a caravan.” 

That exercise turned into a deeply contemplative process.

I included “The Legend of Mariam – the one who followed a caravan” in the poetry section of my book TWENTY TWO FOR 22. Let Mariam tell you in her own words, her adventures in the desert. This desert can be anywhere in the world.

We feel without seeking. These feelings are spontaneous - the best kind.  

Purabi

​Photo Credit - Purabi Sinha Das 
Rocks of Petra
Twenty Two For 22

​"Launched during the pandemic when borders were closed and
journeys of any kind all but a dream, Twenty Two for 22 is a portal,
a passageway, a glimpse into another world, bringing you to your
greatest passion of exploring global cultures and provides food
for the soul; one page at a time. Filled with nostalgia, heartache,
adventure and magic, Twenty Two for 22 creates an escape, one
which is above all filled with human stories that encapsulates a
range of emotions including vulnerability that allows for a real
connection across generations and time."
-Umbereen Inayet, Artistic Director and Curator, City of Toronto

I had been pondering on this for a while now. 

How do I, as an author, measure success?

Difficult, and, at the same time quite simple which became apparent to me the more I thought about it.

There are two aspects to success - financial gain and emotional satisfaction.

As an author I want to sell as many books as I can. 

I also want to achieve emotional satisfaction after having written a book. All that time spent in creating characters and scenes, places and incidents live - they are now a part of me living inside me after my book is published.

My debut novel MOONLIGHT - THE JOURNEY BEGINS was picked up by a local book club. They invited me to their meeting to discuss my writing, the characters, inspiration behind the story. I am in awe of my readers. 

A second wonderful thing happened just recently. A reader came up and said - I hope you are writing another book. She was one of the first to have purchased my novel. We spoke at length and during the course of our conversation I discovered how much she had enjoyed reading MOONLIGHT - THE JOURNEY BEGINS. I was able to say that I am writing a second novel. Stay tuned. 

In conclusion, I can now honestly say success as an author to me, is emotional satisfaction.

In gratitude,
​Purabi

https://youtu.be/morcncYsxHY

Going through some of my writings from the early years, I came across my first book WHAT WILL IT BE THIS TIME, a collection of personal essays which I published on Kindle when the world we had known went into a collective lockdown in March 2020.

One essay stood out. It's called LEAP OF FAITH and here's an excerpt:
"When we set out to achieve a life-long dream, a desire, it requires long hours of hard work, plenty of patience, and a large dose of courage. To a writer rejection can have far-reaching results. However, courage to go on is the key here; to dust off and keep going. Courage breeds determination. Determination is the key to success. Obstacles will materialize along the way. Then it’s up to us to either allow those obstacles take over or clear a path and move forward."
Purabi Sinha Das, Leap of Faith
from What Will It Be This Time

This belief is part and parcel of who I am; it holds me up when times are tough and the light at the end of the tunnel just a question mark.

Friends, if you wish to read more, I welcome you to my website to access WHAT WILL IT BE THIS TIME through a direct link. https://www.purabisinhadas.com/whatwillitbethistime.html
​
And, since I love sharing my pictures with you, here are some from the Van Gogh Immersive exhibit in Toronto we visited in Nov 2020, when masking was mandatory. This was a birthday gift to me from our daughter. I'll never forget that experience. 
​
Take care, stay safe and well.
In gratitude,
Purabi

Look at the colours! This projected on the walls of the auditorium, while we walked, sat, lay on the ground...just gazing at the beauty. Van Gogh Immersive exhibit, Toronto, Nov 2020
​

Another exhibit...we felt like we had entered a Van Gogh painting. At the Van Gogh Immersive exhibit, Toronto - Nov 2020

where thatched roofs crown the painted walls of mud huts
fish of all shape and size ripple in playful swirl in ponds
and life happens under the shade of ancient trees
lush fields sprout fresh produce, goats and cattle roam free
on this land of the red soil.
This is Birbhum
 
I came across Villfood Kitchen @villfoodkitchen last year, and turned into an ardent fan of their You tube channel. When our TV is turned on at home heralding the end of a work day, I settle down cradling a cup of tea and wait for the magic to begin.

A group of people, from the district of Birbhum, West Bengal, are doing great charity work travelling from village to village in Birbhum, cooking mouthwatering meals for the villagers, at the same time, attempting to  revive the lost recipes of Gram Bangla/Bengali village.  Sometimes aided by donations from their loyal subscribers.

Through these vlogs I see the wetlands abounding in this region, places I have never been to but dream of. I am with them on the banks of a pukur/pond in the shade of a khejur/date tree, throwing stones glazed smooth by rain, into the water. I laugh out loud at their antics when they try to catch fish using a fisherman’s net or just by hand. Sometimes, it’s a mosquito net – like the one I have slept under back home. How innovative.

I travel with them on screen as they wander through far-flung fields, watch them dig out vegetables from the ground, pack them in jute bags. The farmer, though busy at his chores, will often stop to help. The four men, who are regulars on this vlog, pay the farmer, balance the bags on head and shoulders and move on. I travel with them as their three wheeler stops at a chosen spot – generally under an ancient banyan tree, or at times in a field beside a pukur/lake.

I lean forward to get a better view as they dig a hole in the sand or brown earth in the open placing three bricks to make three points, light a fire with twigs and wood they brought with them; then, the cooking process begins in enormous pots to feed the entire village of about 200 people. I feel myself relaxing visibly by watching the children at play – some climbing trees, others drawing on the dusty ground with a twig, and some singing in the sweet treble that only children possess.  Nearby, goats and cattle graze. The air is filled with birdsong. The sky, as big as the hearts of these four men, is the canopy above.

“Return you to your dwelling places…” Kahlil Gibran’s immortal lines from A Tear and a Smile resonate in my mind. You see, Birbhum is where my ancestors had settled, I was told. They may have arrived from the far north. I am not sure and daily regret not having asked my father who passed away when I was still in school.

Every day I watch these vlogs and mentally return to Hazaribagh, because the scenes are so reminiscent of my place of birth. 

I chose these pictures of Hazaribagh and surrounding areas I had taken one year, as an accompaniment to my piece. I encourage you to watch Villfood Kitchen and Village Cooking blog on YouTube.

A sudden burst of mental sunshine on a gloomy sunless day…
That rush of fuzzy warmth when the voice you are waiting for, calls…
When someone mentions the name, you are too shy to say…
Your heart beats so loud you are afraid you might faint…
That feeling, hard to describe, is here to stay…
Eternal, as the earth’s splendour, is this Song of Love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!
​
by: Purabi Sinha Das

I had drawn this picture long time ago for my husband when we weren't married. He had kept all my drawings I used to send him as greeting cards for Christmas and Birthdays. Writing takes up all of my time now so I have stopped drawing. Fortunately, I can dip into this repository when I want to complement one of my poems with a drawing. To me drawing and poetry are interwoven, each breathing its own life into the other.

When nature is left alone, allowed to flourish as she is supposed to, we are given a gift that stays, grows, becomes ever more meaningful with each passing day. When we tinker with nature, the opposite happens. We all know how that is turning out to be in our own lifetime.

I was watching a show on television, where a group of designers entered a challenge to produce outfits for different occasions. There were different levels with each challenge becoming more and more outlandish. It was interesting to hear the participants talk among themselves about what was scariest, who was the weakest link, and how to win. Winning was the goal.

I understand all about journeying towards the goal of winning. But what struck me was how the judges reacted to the designers’ outfits. On the one hand insisting participants be creative, then flipping back to emphasize current trends in clothing.

Creative, as I understand, is the ability to create from one’s own imagination. One participant, a multi-talented designer on his own merit, found himself eliminated in the final round because he insisted on remaining true to himself. His designs spoke of him, they were uniquely his.

When we remain true to self, we must work harder. It takes courage, but is also supremely satisfying.

I find trees to be the best teachers. I don’t know the name of the trees below, but they take my breath away every time I see the pictures. We are used to trees with symmetrical branches, or whose branches shoot upwards. But these two speak to me – maybe because they are so out of the box.

The necklace, made from banana leaves, is from Costa Rica. I was drawn to it the minute I saw the necklace. It is now, one of many such unique pieces of jewellery I have collected during my travels, each piece a testament to someone’s creativity.

To be truly authentic to our own creative self is a steep climb but well worth the effort.