Poetry/ Fiction/Prose/Letter
Leila’s Letter
Conversation Cloud, Imagination Cafe, Catching the Ray
Amit likens fashion to a mask, and style to beauty of countenance. Style, he feels, belongs to the literary elite, who live by their own wishes. And fashion is for the ordinary lot, who make it their business to please other people. . . . You may view a professional dancing girl beneath the awning of a public marquee; but for the first glimpse of the bride’s face during the shubhodrishti (the first look) ritual, a veil of Benarasi fabric is required. The marquee belongs to fashion, the Benarasi veil — which reveals the special one’s countenance shaded by a special hue — to style.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, The Last Poem
I f you ask me why I sat to write this, I would say, it is time.
But really speaking I don’t know how to start.
So let me begin by saying, it makes me happy to write to you in a way I always wanted.
The letter format looks rather old fashioned but somehow I like it. Stealing moments from your day, in the diminishing lights of a lantern — just like you read in old books.
By now you know I breathe imagination.
In a strange way my thoughts tend to form in my sleep. Like a dream of a well written verse, words of a spoken heart.
And by morning I scramble for words, searching through my REM poetry streak, losing the thread to some erratic remembrance. Alas!
But I know, if we were to be present within four walls, sitting opposite like adversaries, with our choice of cuppa, we will probably say nothing and just laugh like friends.
Not because we will not have things to say, but because we will know the words to be spoken doesn’t need utterance.
A table where two confirmed introverts rightly fit.
Maybe the reason we decide to write.
It feels good to make simple words pass into history, for keeps, just like how literature has been written and progressed.
Maybe, years down the line some one sitting and reading this will be inspired to write her own — spelling the success of literature then, as we are doing now.
As a kid, when I read books, I lived in them.
I laughed, I cried, felt happy with the protagonist, as the story progressed.
I lived that life outside my own, often engrossed in a world the author created, where I would slip with certain ease and stay.
I never realised they were the seeds slowly germinating to bloom a poet in me.
This habit became all pervading, almost a necessity, specially when I was with books of subject I particularly never enjoyed reading.I passed my exams with moderate to good grades, thanks to my genetically endowed brain and ability to improvise.
However, I adored this other life, I never gathered the confidence to work around it.
Till the time I shaped as a woman, I got complemented for being quiet, reserved and dignified. My cerebral energy in brownian, jumping, romping never travelled the visceral distance to be visualised.
Only a fistful with keen observation around saw through me.
I know now, it was not a mere coincidence that your words fell into my lap, when I opened my door to the Universe for the first time. And when I slowly pulled up the blinds to let the sun in, I looked out for them even from the confines of my window.
And when all the praise flowed down through you, I regained my confidence, vigour and enthusiasm which I lost in the middle, hit by life.
I found the ME that I never thought existed.
Now, word-ripples flow like a spring, eager to meet the bigger scheme called the ocean and be a part of a mega living — my giant world of fantasy and imagination.
How legit does that sound as an adult, I wonder, though I find certain Fantasy Clubs make it sound good….
By the way, where I should be on diet to handle my winter flab, I think you are!
Eat well and never force a smile that pains your cheeks.Happiness is best reflected in eyes and I know I don’t have to remind you that.
In the meantime, my life of a jellyfish continues…..
Reading:
A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
Sesher Kobita (The Last Poem), Rabindranath Tagore
I have to say I was taken aback by the visceral impact of this poem by Thomas Gaudex. You can give a read to feel poetry in The-human-world.
Lisa Osborne moves from the cliche of New Year Resolutions and pens a wonderful personal essay on her plans to move ahead this year. You can read her in Friday-desk-chat-january.
Some poetry are for sheer reading experience, and if you have not read Jonah Lightwhale well…Read him in A-christmas-letter, and don’t forget to check out his page if you haven’t already. Thank me later.
Signing off from Soul Bay. Do share my coffee and be the light that you always are!
The Leila instalments so far:
