Poet, Author, Editor, Creative Writing Consultant

Saturday, August 10, 2013

An Indian in London






I have this dream of visiting London with my family. It is not that I have not travelled, but somehow London has, so far, escaped my radar. So this is one place that I really wish to go to for my next holiday.

Why London, one may ask, for isn’t it just another prominent city and just another capital of a country? What does it have to offer that other cities don’t?  It is definitely not off the beaten track, being a city that almost anyone with a vestige of a colonial hangover would want to visit.

Maybe I have that, the colonial hangover, can’t say, but London it has to be. What drives me to wish to go to London now…well, let’s see.

My first English Reader made me read about a Jack instead of a Ram “Run, Jack, run,” it went,  and then, “Can Jack run?” The Nursery Rhymes I learnt went something like this, “ Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water…”

I crossed hands with a friend to go round and round during the lunch break to sing, ”Ringa-ringa roses, a pocket full of posies…” of course, in those days I said something like ‘poses’ instead of posies and never for once wondered what that might mean! It was enough to go round and round with our school skirts flying behind us and sing of roses and poses.



And I sang also of how London Bridge was falling down. There was no song that I sung about the bridge over the River Hooghly, though I stayed in Kolkata at the time.

So of course, the fascination for Jack and Jill, English roses and the London Bridge began very early in my life. I am sure I will look at the people in London on my trip there and perhaps say hello to several Jacks and Jills. I shall look at the London Bridge and feel happy to see that it has not yet fallen despite my loud song about it.

As an afterthought, I also read Jack and the Beanstalk as a fairy tale, so that is yet another Jack to explore in London.



Then what happened in my reading life? I began to read Enid Blyton’s stories, and she was definitely a Londoner. I plan to  visit her home in East Dulwich and revisit my memories of Noddy, the Five Find Outers and Dog, Mallory Towers and so many other books that she filled my childhood days with.



I then progressed to read the Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes. So naturally I would go to the famous address in London, 221b Baker Street. This it seems, is now a museum, the interior having been created from the stories. I will look at Holmes’ hat, magnifying glass, violin, phials and his famous pipe and imagine him standing right there next to me.



P. G. Wodehouse created a fictitious world around the real London of the 1930s. He filled my reading days with charm and laughter. I would love to take the ‘"What Ho Jeeves!" The London of P.G. Wodehouse walk” and relive the days of Bertie Wooster and Jeeves.

It was during my teenage years that I read T.S. Eliot’s poem where the lines on the yellow fog (of London, where else?) have stayed with me:

“The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening…”

―T.S. Eliot , The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Without a doubt, T.S. Eliot, though born an American, considered himself much of an Englishman for he took British citizenship in 1927. So the fascination with all things English is not limited to people like me of the British colonized countries alone.

The Tower of London is also on my list of visits. I saw the movie Anne of a Thousand Days and fell in love with Genevieve Bujold’s portrayal of Anne Boleyn.


I also became fascinated by the history of the Tudors. ‘The ghost of Anne Boleyn, beheaded in 1536 for treason against Henry VIII, allegedly haunts the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula, where she is buried, and has been said to walk around the White Tower carrying her head under her arm.’  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tower_of_London) Wow. Now that’s something.




Then there is Shakespeare. So the Globe Theatre in London warrants a visit. So much to see and do in London.

I am a touristy type of person too, so of course I shall go to the Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, and admire the Big Ben.

The London Eye is a giant Ferris wheel on the South Bank of the River Thames in London, England. It is something contemporary and excites my interest. So you can be assured that I am not only going on a nostalgic trip here.


And finally, I and my family will enjoy a bracing walk along the River Thames and follow it with  a warm drink in a Riverside pub somewhere along the way.



I remember the bat-winged lizard birds,

The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds,

And the giant tigers that stalked them down

Through Regent’s Park into Camden Town.

Rudyard Kipling, The River’s Tale, 1911, (on the Thames)



I may, with my family, even laze in the sun a while, as is commonly done in Hyde Park.



This holiday would be full of fun, adventure and history, and also bring to life so much I have read and dreamt about. It would be a dream holiday, and my family, which is equally besotted by London and all that it has to offer, will have the time of its life when we holiday there.

I am a writer and a street-side photographer, so I cannot help myself. On my visit, I would write on what I see, click images, and take back memories of a city that I have only read about for a long time now.


 So London, here I come.

*****

 This blogpost is written for the #HappyTravellers Contest  of http://www.yatra.com 








Friday, July 19, 2013

My Writing Speaks for Me




When I first published a piece of fiction, and it was with an international publication, my father, who was alive then and whose critical appreciation I always looked for, read my story and smiled. “I like it very much. I am so proud of you.” His words were music to my ears.

“How much did you receive for this story?” was his next question.

“Nothing, Dad, but it is big thing just to be published here,” I replied, surprised at his question.

“You express yourself very well, but this field obviously has no money. You should look at something else.”

I thought about it, my father did have my best interests at heart.

But I knew myself, my mind and my passion. I had to write. They say the path chooses you. I say that you also have to choose your path. I could have done anything else, but I stuck to writing. I knew that writing fuelled my spirit. That with writing I came alive.

Over the years I wrote poems, articles, essays, short stories, a novel, and my work was published in India and abroad. I won awards and recognition.

I have a long way to go. But I know that whenever my fingers fly on my laptop and the words begin to form on the screen, I am in the right place, creating my next piece of work. 

I would like to believe that a woman ‘As Beautiful as her Work’, is me. I am as beautiful as my writing and as confident as Megha is with her presentation. I am sure, just like she is, that whatever I present will hold the reader’s attention, for my work is an expression of myself.


Megha knows the worth of her work. I know this too; my writing scintillates with my passion and illuminates my true beauty. 

I am a Mia woman.

This blogpost is my entry for the ' Tanishq’s Mia blog contest in association with Ripple Links on the topic “As Beautiful As Your Work”. 


Thursday, July 4, 2013

Ancestral

What your ancestors give to you 
may be just that certain hip in your walk,
 that certain slip in your tongue 
or maybe just the way you look at things 
or feel a certain spring
 the unquantifiable parts of you 
that show in your smile as you skate
 on the edge of things
oh yes, don't say that you are just you, 
while that may be true
 there have been others that make you
break you.

(C) Abha Iyengar, 1st July 2013 (Ruminations in this Kickstarter Month)

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Happy International Flash Fiction Day! Winners of FLASH MOB 2013 are up!


Flash Mob 2013CONGRATULATIONS to all the winners and runners-up of this year’s flash fiction mob. There are more than  a 100 stories, including some wonderful entries by the judges and organizers.
The top story is by Michael Gillan Maxwell. Congratulations to him! 
My own contribution to FLASH MOB 2013 is All of it Returned. I did make it to the top 15 WINNERS!
 Congratulations to the winners once more! Happy International Flash Fiction Day! 
Please do read my story All of it Returned and I would love comments.
I SO LOVE FLASH!

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

"The poetry that fills my soul will surely ruin me 
It stops me from revelling in my superficial trappings."
~ (C) Abha Iyengar, 20th June 2013

Monday, May 20, 2013

Abha Iyengar's Creative Writing Workshop

https://www.facebook.com/events/484807848256335/484807851589668/?notif_t=event_mall_comment



  • 26/5/2013 to 16/6/2013. 4 Sundays in air-conditioned premises from 10.30 am to 4 pm.
    4 different topics: Basics of creative writing/ short story/flash fiction/memoir. All packaged together. Writing exercises, interactive and critique sessions, writing markets explored. Tea/coffee/cold water provided. Lunch: Bring your own sandwiches :). Or, if you give advance warning, and speak with me, something may be arranged at the venue for you at a nominal price.
    Age: Anyone above 18 (if 17, speak to me and I will let you know) and below 100. (If 101, talk to me and I'll let you know). :)
    Basic requirement: The course is in English, so a grasp of the language is required. Apart from that, a desire to write is essential.
    Total Cost of 4 full Sundays where you learn and interact with a small cohesive group: Rs. 5000/-
    Interested? Please email abhaiyengar@gmail.com. Or call 09873266466
    Limited seats, so book early. Early bird discount for the first 3 birds who book: 5%
    Where? For the first time in East Delhi. It's hot but happening.
    Any other doubts: call 9873266466/email: abhaiyengar@gmail.com
    I'm there.
    Abha

Sunday, May 19, 2013

All of It Returned


She looked like a sun dried tomato. Her puckered skin, dry and rough, made me wonder what I had seen in her twenty years ago, I must have been really silly. She came towards me licking her parched lips, pushing them out and pulling them in. Her hair was wispy, underneath it her scalp shone in the mid-day heat. The Kerala sun was far from merciful, and I was thankful for my Adidas cap.

“Here,” she said, “I saved these for you.”  She opened her light brown palms, etched with lines. There were some dried herbs in her small hands. Her hands were green-veined and brown from working the fields. That’s what she did now. I noticed her bent back.

I grabbed the dried leaves and brought them to my nose, and smelt once again the chicken coconut curry. I rubbed the leaves against my mouth and nose as if willing the aroma to remain on my skin forever.  

In a frenzy, I grabbed her hands and put them against my face.

The leaves were dried and crushed with time and fell like green ash. Her hands against my face were hard, unable to shape themselves against my skin. She pulled them back, embarrassed. At one time, she had cupped my face in her hands every day before sending me off to school.

Hair of black water running down skin of moonlight, eyes that lit up the nights when she sang me to sleep. Smell of chicken curry spiced with herbs from her body as her small hands stroked my hair, damp with sweat. She took care of me while father taught what being a Christian meant to the people here, hoping to change them and  mother wrote from England, hoping I was being well looked after.

*****
© ABHA IYENGAR, 19th May 2013 http://flashmob2013.wordpress.com/