Throughout life we look for connections. Unlike family whom we don’t choose but are born into, a friend is someone who appears one day and you like what they say because your friend and you think alike. You know your friend appreciates your creative thinking and is not afraid to say so; will stay by your side and never let you down. You and your friend become closer as the years go by. This relationship sustains you both, you share laughter together, your friend listens with an open mind, never condemns, and you come to them with your joys and sorrows safe in the knowledge there is no greater miracle than true friendship.

There's yet another kind of connection. I call it what-could-have-been.

It was December 2010. We were waiting for our train to Luxor from Cairo train station with our Egyptian guide, and enjoying a cup of tea and cakes, when we were joined by a young woman, a teacher from Bulgaria who was travelling with her mum and younger sister. She and I immediately formed a connection as if we knew each other carrying on an animated conversation. Turned out she was a fan of the Egyptian actor Omar Sharif.

Just before our train arrived, we settled the bill; she wanted to pay her share but we wouldn't let her. She thanked us graciously then walked over to the magazine stand to make some purchases. She returned to our table and gave me a magazine she had had just purchased. When I wanted to pay for it she wouldn't let me. I still have the magazine.

The train pulled in and I said to her at parting - maybe we'll meet some day. Two days later while touring the pyramids who do you think I met up with? She was standing in line waiting to enter one of the pyramids. The first thing she said was - remember, how you'd said we might meet again?
​
Here's to friendship! And to what-could-have-been. May you flourish and grow in strength with each passing year.
#friendship #InspiredLiving #amwriting #amreading

​I think of solitude as a comfortable companion and trusty friend who will not judge if I remain quiet for hours. It isn’t being lonely but becoming one with one’s self rediscovering that dewy moment of peace so hard to find in our frenzied world. Solitude is often hidden within silent walls, rolling meadows, rippling streams and smiling flowers. A busy square, quiet pond, the desert. The trick is to recognize what uplifts the spirit.

In between editing my novel which I am doing now I like to write short stories to challenge myself. In long form writing I have the liberty of time and space to develop characters, set the atmosphere, write dialogue. The opposite is true in short form where I must compress a lifetime into a few pages. And that's how my short story I CAN BE TOUCHED BUT CANNOT TOUCH was born where I chose to write in the POV of a stone statue. It's featured in CommuterLit - Fiction on the go https://commuterlit.com/2024/09/monday-i-can-be-touched-but-cannot-touch/

​Autumn – chilly mornings, maybe a warm afternoon, the unmistakable scent of moist earth, glorious colours, sensuous landscapes.

Fruits from trees fall to the ground for human and animal to feast upon; there is the fragrance of burning logs in someone’s fireplace.

A rising wind will rush through the trees dragging the leaves down making a carpet for us to walk on softly. This is Fall. But I prefer to call this season by its name – Autumn. It conjures up positive images like the fruition of plantings in Spring and Summer culminating in bountiful harvests.

Autumn is also when trees having caught all the light through Spring and Summer, undergo the fabulous process of photosynthesis.

I picked up these leaves while walking this morning.
Enjoy the colours of Autumn, dear friends.

Keep Well. Stay Safe. Be Curious.
Purabi Sinha Das

​Photo: Purabi Sinha Das
#author #authorlife #amwriting #amreading #autumn #glorious 

Punta Arenas in Chile’s southernmost region, also known as Sandy Point in English and serving as an Antarctic Gateway, is a city one would want to wander around soaking up the visual delights it has to offer.

During the 5 day stay, our favourite was easily the waterfront where we walked, stopping occasionally to let our eyes linger on the blue waters of the ocean. Autumn was nudging into winter when we visited so sunshine pouring out of a blue sky felt like benediction.

With hardly any tourists at this time, we had the place to ourselves most days. Except for ducks in the water, and a couple of geese sunning on a wooden bridge.

Peace had never seemed so personal.

Hard to imagine that this stunningly beautiful place was chosen to be a small penal colony by the Spanish government in 1848 to protect its interests in this southern region of Chile.

Then, as the era of the gold rush shimmered on the horizon, large waves of European immigrants, mainly from Croatia and Russia arrived, who make up most of the population to this day. During a tour of the city our guide pointed out many mansions, mostly owned by Croatians, who own cattle farms up in the mountains and looked after by hired gauchos. There is a large community of Sindhis from India. Interestingly, the Indians are called Hindu.

Without delving too deep into its fascinating history (readily available on Wikipedia), this piece is just a tiny example of my feelings that threatened to overcome me during my stay in one of the largest cities in Patagonia. Usually, I wax eloquent on any topic I feel close to, but here I struggled for words. I resorted to my handy camera phone, instead.

Photos are my stories on the go and I share them with you, here.

Keep smiling and be well, my friends.
Purabi
​Photos by Purabi Sinha Das

Just received a note from my publisher FriesenPress that I should do something kind for myself. Why? Simply because today's the first anniversary or Bookiversary as they put it of my second book TWENTY TWO FOR 22 - a collection of short stories, poetry, and magical travel vignettes.

"...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

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