A Heady Brew - Of Poetry and Winters

Recently, Taneea Aggarwal (my could-be future student) interviewed me for an digital portal which seeks to publish stories of inspiring people and events. It is quite Icy-Tales - a rather wintry name itself! I am truly humbled by the kind consideration on the part of the interviewer and the Editor of the portal to have considered me worthy enough for featuring here.

In an conversation which lasted more than an hour, there were two responses which I particular enjoyed myself. Recalling just the two, but you can read the entire interview by hopping over to this link.

Why poetry? What attracts you most about this form of art?

I wasn’t very fond of poetry during school or college. I never think any teacher was able to make me own poetry the way I own it now. My love for it is not academic at all. Roughly two and a half years ago, I met a lot of self-asserted poets and started understanding the stories behind poems and it’s power to subtly reveal things you don’t want to express directly. I am attached to it now because I have seen it’s power as an empowering medium. There are so many things we want to say but so many times the correct way of putting them in words is through poetry. Poetry depicts little but leaves a lot to be interpreted and applied to one’s life. It’s ability to inspire and connect with the people reading it has always left me in awe. Poetry can take you over on a dark night when nobody’s around you, and give you peace when you’re in a throng. I love the musicality of it, maybe because I love singing. Poetry has opened me up to my roots and made me explore different languages. I believe some of the best poems are written in Urdu, Hindi, and Sanskrit. I like the simpler poets. I have my favorites in Faiz, Neruda, Harivansh Rai Bachchan and Wordsworth. But at its very basic, poetry gives me pleasure. It makes me happy.

Which is your favourite season? Which season gets your best work?

Winters. Firstly, because Delhi is the most beautiful at this time of the year, and it is the best time to be out on explorations. Secondly, there is something very charming and romantic about this season which makes my mind a lot calmer. It makes the romance of life, nature, existence, and relationships become apparent to me. On my blog, most of my writings have clustered around the winter months. It’s also a very nice time for nostalgia, maybe because the year is closing. This is the time to warm yourself up. The idea of sitting in a quilt, with a cup of coffee is very inviting and relaxing. My best thoughts visit me when I am in that zone. I believe that winters are necessary to feel warm. My imagination and creativity are at the peak during winters. 

Winter Notebook - Saudade

At times, I feel like cleansing it all. 
All of it. 
The faces. The love.
The simple. The tough. 
The pleasure. The groans.
The kisses. 
The races, against time.
The words, which seldom rhymed.
The bonds. The myths. 
The cuddles. The rifts. 
The playfulness. 
The kicks
I got out of
Knowing I am the special one
For him
And for her. 
You know what they do? 
They shamelessly display glee. 
In tasteless pictures
Clicked in abhorrent corners of the world
Which now they call new zones
Of friendliness. Of love. 
I feel like cleansing it all. 
All if it. 

I'll just hold memories. 
You know, I own them. 
I can kiss them gently 
Or smother them in my imagination. 
They're fine, really. 
These memories I use to torture myself. 

Of moments that will not come back ever, 
Or which perhaps did not exist in the first place. 

Photo by Achint Mathur

I do not have great things to write about, but the irony between the word (shared today on twitter by Tarique Anwer, a dear friend) and my thoughts struck me. This irony was special and ironical, because all the thoughts of 'cleansing' are borne out of a 'yearning'. So, the paradox is actually the essence. Okay. I am losing it. But you get this story, right? At some point, it must have been your story too. Now, it is my story. 

Words, and Me

They linger, haunt, inspire, cajole

They fight, embrace, depress, console

They flow and ebb and flow some more

They merge, emerge, and adorn the shore

Of mind and heart, of love left bare

Of nonsense picked up from here and there

They’re words, just words, 

But beyond what you see

They’re words, of course

,

But at core, they’re me.