Thank you for being there for me. It is for you I get up every morning wanting to write more. You give me #hope, something we simply cannot do without. I went for a drive today and as the car swept around a bend, the #trees standing tall and strong in their winter darkness suddenly took on new meaning. They were waiting for the next season, #new #beginning. We can learn a thing or two from these majestic beings of the #forest.
If you have a #goal for #2022 pepper it with #positive energy. Like the trees, that positive energy will take you towards a fulfilling #life.
So, my friends, I wish all of you and your families the best of health and safety. Happy New Year.
#happynewyear2022

When I sat down to pen a Christmas message my mind drew a blank. The computer screen waited for my fingers to fly over the keyboard; I tapped out a few words, deleted them, tapped some more. Nothing was working. I am so used to having multiple images jostling to get out of my mind that this new silence was frightening. This wasn’t writer’s block; a thing I have never believed in, anyway. So then what is it? I asked myself letting my eyes roam the length and breadth of the backyard through the glass pane of the patio door. A sudden gust of wind raced between the fences setting them shivering in the mid-morning sun while the dark furry tail of a lone squirrel vanished into the neighbour’s yard.

I gave myself a mental shake deciding to take the situation in hand. And this is what happened.

I began to count my blessings:

My family – their incredible capacity to turn even the dreariest situation into something valuable. Always ready to listen, laugh, joke, and cheer.

My friends – their wisdom, courage, love and care.  

My writing – as essential as breathing and just as demanding. Each day starts in anticipation of spinning thoughts into words and watch them transform into fantastic shapes and sizes. Somewhat like the old man in the market of my hometown who spun sugar into fantastical shapes and colour. How gorgeous is that world! And I too get to do it. That’s freedom. I am grumpy if I don’t write.

Creation - godly, everlasting, generous to a fault.

Reading – fiction, non-fiction, poetry, essays – you name it and I read it.
 
My books – the characters in my novel Moonlight – the Journey Begins are well-settled and hopefully residing in homes far and near. The next book will be out in the spring of 2022. I have lived between their pages for a very long time; it’s due to them I get this hankering to write even more.

My writing desk – just a small corner in the living room facing the backyard. Squirrels, their fur grown dark in winter, are fun to watch providing moments of hilarity with their daily antics even on the grimmest day. An overcast sky, fat clouds filled with water, or dark and threatening, presaging a storm, transport me to impossible highs. High treble of childish voices float across the sun-drenched air on a hot summer day.

Walking - in the hush of dawn when the sun waits behind giant trees before making a dramatic appearance and I pretend I am the only audience in nature’s auditorium.

Each day is a blessing. You are with me. I am blessed because of you.

The year is winding down, concerns over newer viruses keep growing, but we are gearing up to live our lives to the fullest, aided by technology. That’s something to be thankful for, I imagine.

We are on this road together and my prayers are with you and your family, now and always. Blessings and joy from our family to yours. Stay safe. Be well. Peace be upon you.
Happy Christmas.
Purabi

​#peace #joy #christmas2021 #amwriting #amreading #life

​6 degrees Centigrade, almost balmy compared to what we have had when this week started.

Bus 112 passes me its headlights piercing through the veil of darkness at this early hour.

A face, vaguely familiar, is staring out the window. Our eyes meet. She lifts a hand in recognition; I acknowledge it, the bus revs its engine and disappears round the bend.

It has been raining continuously but my black and red striped umbrella is my refuge. I continue walking accompanied by the music of rushing water into the gutter. Simple thing – the gutter – and not poetic at all. Yet it turns into a concert hall of the highest order during rain. Magic in the air.
 
I pick up my pace for there are things waiting to be done when I return home. The face at the bus window is revelation from the past for I used to take bus 112, when our street was only just waking up, to reach the train station and begin the long commute to my office in Toronto. The sight of a lone walker or jogger at that time would fill me with extraordinary hunger. Not physical hunger, though, for it had more to do with the spirit. Only I couldn’t recognize it at the moment.

Memory of those days of longing will remain fresh in my mind. As reminder of the 3 things they taught me from which I eventually gathered courage to take action.
 
1) Dream (Big)
2) Plan (with Patience)
3) Take Action (Cheers!!)

I am Purabi Sinha Das, writer of stories and poems, dreamer, traveller, unabashed believer in the magic called life, promises to return to drawing, huge fan of all things bookish.
 
Believe in yourself and you will reach your goal.

Stay safe and well.
Purabi

Our world. Yes, this place that never stands still but changes with the times – who would have known it will change forever on March 13, 2020 when WHO declared a global pandemic?

I discovered not one but many things about myself during this forced isolation. I like to walk – that is the contemplative me – drawing strength, as it were, from overgrown bushes, fallow fields, gravel and rocks, wild birds, small creatures. A big part of me resides in these things. But I also love to spend time in chatter and unbound laughter. Not to be with friends and family during this time was slowly killing that mirthful me. So, I took refuge in writing pieces as outpourings of that part most difficult to articulate; created poetry that served as an outlet to my feelings of utter desperation, an insane urge to fight the nebulous. Unseen to the naked eye, the plague is dangerous like untended fire and can rage through entire populations with complete disregard to life.

However, light will force its way through the tiniest of cracks. In response to our church’s encouragement to think of creative ways in which to stay positive, I made a placard which said – HOPE IS HERE TO STAY - and stood clutching it with icy hands in front of the lych gate on a dreadfully cold and windy spring morning in March 2020.
“Tomorrow will be beautiful for tomorrow comes out of the lake” said the poet Emanuel Carnevali

And, here is tomorrow. Our world is opening up. I met with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. What made her connect with me all of a sudden? Isolation digs up memories, makes the heart long for golden days that we are afraid are past, never to return. Resorting to months of on-line service, our church is now open for in person service. The first time I returned to church to attend in-person service all the restlessness and helplessness I had been experiencing seemed to melt away; it was like returning home after a long interval. My eyes flitted like a busy bird taking in the stained-glass windows and to my amazement they seemed to actually smile. Wow, I breathed, how can glass smile? And that wasn’t all. Soon, the walls, in their warm shade of terra cotta, seemed to fold me within its arms. I laid a gentle hand on the wooden pew I was sitting on – it seemed silkier to the touch.

Some of the ice that had formed around my heart during the pandemic began to melt. I felt a tingle, like when you are too close to an open fire, which soon turned into a mad rush, of something I couldn’t put a finger to at that moment; it began to spread through me. Moments later the truth hit me. Yes, hope is here to stay, I said to myself. 

If we did not have to deal with loss, grief and confusion during the past eighteen plus months, I wonder if we would have found a newness in nature? A loss of any kind usually reveals an eagerness for consolation.  
We visited Niagara Falls over the weekend, our first visit this year. The beauty of nature never fails to amaze and humble me. Trees, rivers, oceans, seas, hills and mountains – creation gives without asking for anything in return. Why, then, do we take, destroy, and want more?

Here’s an excerpt from my poem “Gentle Giver” that is one among many in a collection soon to be published.
 
Now is time to end rhetoric, posturing, histrionics,
Journey through healing, repair, redemption
Strive to save our universal mother.
 
After two weeks, COP26 is at last over. Will it be a success? We don’t know. Only time will tell. In the meantime, we need to do our bit.
Stay safe. Keep well. Remember to smile.
Purabi
#ourworld #hope #nature

What an honour it was and such fun. Read all about it here - https://www.elainecougler.com/moonlight-the-journey-begins/
​

​Baby steps are good. In fact, they are more than good; those first steps learned push us forward to walk, run and jog, rush to embrace a loved one, hop on a bus, dance into the wee hours.
My baby steps...
I found my novel MOONLIGHT - THE JOURNEY BEGINS #debutnovel https://books.friesenpress.com/on the shelf at Coles - Indigo, Coles Pickering Town Centre. I am told the book is also available at their Ajax and Oshawa locations. #Blessed #author #writingcommunity Baby steps heading in the right direction.
These pictures taken in a rush (excess excitement) came out rather blurry. Apologies.

Three photos below are from the Open Mic hosted by the Writers' Community of Durham Region WCDR on September 15, 2015 when I read from my WIP to an audience.
...then there's the finished product...my debut novel launched on August 23, 2021 

It’s been quite the journey for me. Starting with hastily scribbled notes on pieces of paper and when the errant pages became increasingly difficult to find, transferring those notes into a spiral notebook. A busy work schedule precluded the easy transference of said notes into neatly typed pages.

My conscience was heavy; the little voice on my shoulder would not stop nagging. Got to organize your life, girl, it intoned day and night until I accepted defeat.

But it wasn’t defeat; as it turned out, this thing called conscience nudged my hesitating self towards an awakening. I was ready to grab life by its horns, so to speak, and let fly determined to put the finishing touches to my WIP. Having willingly given up a wonderful job I became unemployed in January 2015 when I entered the uncertain and gray realm of a full-time writer without a single published book to my credit.

Fast forward to September 2015. I am getting ready to read an excerpt from my novel Moonlight – The Journey Begins at an Open Mic event organized by @wcdr. Nervous? Of course. Excited? Yes, but my nervousness far outweighs any excitement I feel that evening.

My family and friends have turned up in full force. How can anything go wrong?

The audience is hugely supportive. I am rubbing elbows with seasoned authors, remarkable poets, an awesome singer and in the company of such talented people, my draft begins to appear uncommonly rough around the edges to my intensely critical eyes.  I am suffering from an acute case of imposter syndrome.

I hear my name, Kate Arms, MC for the evening, is introducing me. I stand up, smooth my dress down the front and in a haze walk to the podium. Fixing my glasses firmly on my nose I shake out the pages noting my steady hands with detached curiosity and start reading.

Pfft…all of the negative emotions I had been feeling before disappear as I enter the world of my characters - talking their talk, feeling their feelings, living their lives.

A long journey, fraught sometimes with self-doubts coupled with intense highs and distressing lows, at the end it has been well worth all the effort. Those pieces of paper found a home within the pages of my debut novel Moonlight – The Journey Begins. To get a copy simply follow the link - https://books.friesenpress.com/store/title/119734000179989228
#amwriting #writingcommunity #author #inspiration #books #debut #debutnovel #heritage #life

13 delightfully crisp degrees welcome me as I step out.
It’s 6:30 a.m.

In anticipation of a refreshing coolness, I am dressed in layers.
Silence shrouds the streets in a secret world
Parked cars stare with regal disdain;
A sudden whirring of leaves makes me look up a maple tree
and I catch the impish twitch of a black tail –
the squirrel throws me an amused look before disappearing.

I pause, drinking it all in. Then, carry on. 

​#life #september #pandemic2021 #amwriting #writingcommunity

Dear One,
It has been more than two decades when we first saw the blueprint, liked what we saw and purchased what would be our first home here in Canada. Blueprints are too logical for me, I am a touch and feel person but you did not exist at that time so I had to be satisfied with lines, scales, measurements on paper and salesperson’s talk. Our meeting took place in a mobile home of the developer proudly displaying pictures of single, detached and townhomes. We chose you.
We travelled every weekend from Scarborough where we were living then to watch the progress of your creation – from a mere skeleton into this house that you would be in a six-month period.

I still have the first video footage of posts, columns, gas and electrical lines.

 Then came the day of the move on an exceptionally freezing January day. Including a fierce blizzard. We watched with growing concern the swirling snow that reduced visibility; a raging wind swept against our eleventh-floor apartment window and the temperature dropped steadily.

During that nightmarish move most of my plants perished although they had been carefully wrapped in newspaper. Our kids were young and we, as new homeowners, had no idea how things worked in a house. Growing up in India, we always had things done for us.

It was cold. No, let me rephrase. It was FREEZING. How were we to know all new houses are cold to begin with? Thank goodness for wall-to-wall carpeting. 

I remember dozing off at the top of the stairs where I was keeping watch over our young son as he slept in his own room. His dad and sister were bringing the last load of our belongings. Bone tired, all we wanted was to sleep. But there were things yet to be done.
***
2 a.m. My fingers are freezing and I can’t feel my toes. You seem to waken beneath my frozen toes, a sudden whoosh and you are quiet no more. The furnace has come on. In the apartment it was always hot during winter so we dressed in T-shirts and shorts.

The wind howls around your brick covering with the obvious intent to invade this space you have provided us. I shiver and wrap my arms around me to capture some warmth from my own skin while my mind wanders over the years to a house in a small town in India where I grew up. There, during winter nights, hyenas regularly visited our garden setting up a terrible howling and laughing to scare the living daylights out of us. My reflection breaks at the sound of a car door shutting. I run down the stairs, hold the door open, and welcome my family.
***
You will be here even when we are gone for you are eternal and will carry the essence of our being within you. Just like the original people who had their dwelling here. I feel their spirit in the breeze, in the quiet of dawn, on the sun speckled fence.

As with most people during the global pandemic, we have managed very little travel or entertaining. Instead, we have grown to love each and every corner of you, treasure and cherish the comfort and safety you provide.
It’s often said a house reflects the personality of the homeowner. I like to think, in our case, the opposite is probably true.

Stay safe. Keep smiling.

Purabi Sinha Das
​
#home #life #inspiration #family #hopeisheretostay #amwriting #writingcommunity #author