Practice Self Love to Slay Moodswings

In the last few years I have had to stand face-to-face with sadness and depression a few times more than I would want to. While it turned out not too alarming but, it can. I have lost a few friends to it already.

I think the trick lies in understanding your feelings and being in touch with yourself. The minute you start feeling the downward gravitational pull, just hit the panic button.

Meditation has helped over the years with hightened awareness but, it also makes me vulnerable at times because it has pulled a whole lot of walls down from around me in a world that wears armor at all times.

Depression 

Depression is the gnawing in your soul that makes the skin under your hands and feet crawl even when you sleep. That kind of sums it up for me. Depression is nobody's friend. I can vouch for that because I have lost more than a few happy friends to it.

Art 

Every time I feel sad, I turn to creativity even if it has to be by force. For me art and words are the two tools that bring stability in chaos. It may not be true for all. But, throwing yourself into serious work or even cleaning the house just makes it worse for me.

Food

I love to cook when I am alone but, when I feel sad, I just think of eating. Pushing myself to cook works because eating the end result is always an uplifting experience.

The DIY Managing Life Changes List

Reading

May or may not work always. I try choosing reading material that promises happy ending or a solved mystery.

Films

Movies also fall in the same genre as books. They sometimes work too well and push me into a creative mode but, at others, they push me into darkness and mistrust.

Sleeping

It works like a dream but, in the long run, it is a downer. Avoid sleeping. Instead binge watch a sitcom or all the seasons of Sex and the City (if you can lay your hands on it).

Exercising

In my case, aimless walking works but, exercising behind closed doors makes me lazy afterwards. I love to think I am moody but, I know now that it is not true. I tire easily in structured environment and it is highly probable that the lethargy I feel is more mental than physical. So, choose your exercise regime with care.

Stay Healthy to Stay Happy this Winter

Planning

That works amazingly well for me. I plan itineraries and make up speeches I am going to give when I am famous. It immediately changes my mindset, lifts my mood.

Social Media

Is lethal unless it is a space / platform like Pinterest that allows creation of boards full of things you would like to do one day. I would put it under planning. Under any circumstances stay away from WhatsApp and Twitter - they are toxic mostly.

Family

It works like magic. Sleeping next to your mother at night, no matter how old you are are a sure way to feel happy but, it could backfire as well. Remember parents love to make things "right" for you and seeing you unhappy can pull them down as well.

Beat Stress without Breaking Sweat

Hobbies

That's another lifesaver but, I have to push myself to get things going. Journal writing helps immensely because it allows venting as well as planning. 

The idea behind writing this digital post is selfish. These posts act as reminders every time I feel the force of gravity on my mood. I have gone back to writing physical journals. I use pens, colors and imagination on diaries that I can read later and feel proud of. 

Yes! Self love is absolutely important and we must keep patting our backs at all times. It's the surefire secret to a lifelong high.

Anatomy of Depression

(Images: Pexel.com)

Books that Make Me Want to Pack My Bags

Reading, thinking, going...

"Not all who wander are lost," said JRR Tolkein and who better to say it than someone who had created an entire new world and filled it with magical creatures who inspire you to greatness.  

Since this post is about books that have made me want to go on voyages even if I do them in my dreams, I will get on to it with only a short preamble.

For those who don't know me, I have always lived surrounded by books. It's not a big deal since books have given me so much in return. Apart from stories and knowledge, books have opened my eyes to so many hobbies, cultures and understanding of human mind that I could possibly never have learnt otherwise.

As I adapt my mindset to write more, I keep returning to the books that I have read over the years. It is not such a bad thing to do actually because tried and tested is always a good idea - even when reading.

Here's a list of some of the books that have always fascinated me and called me back from the shelves in my home. But, most of all, they have pushed me to travel, pushed me to explore - even if it was my own city that I walked around in:

City of Djinns by William Dalrymple

Perhaps no one has loved Delhi so much before it became an Instagram phenomenon than William Dalrymple. A Scottish by birth Dalrymple has been living in India for several years now, hosts one of the most famous book gigs in the world, Jaipur Lit Fest and if you read the book then, there's no way that his love for the much-maligned an highly-polluted city will not rub-off on you.

The story of Delhi is very close to my heart and it's just not because I am a Delhi'ite myself. The story of the seven or as some insist, nine cities of Delhi are so full of blood, glory and intrigue that it feels like the life of a real living person like an epic hero.

Dalrymple, an outsider opened a door through this book that has stayed closed thanks to our history being rewritten by the British who had carefully wiped out every glorious narrative to prove the "white man's burden" myth.

City of Djinns is a series of chapters that open up a year of the then-young author's stay in the city that at once delighted and nauseated him. 

It made me long for Delhi for seven years when I was in Bombay and made me want to go walking around gathering stories, myths and mythologies that make Delhi.

Must read if you want to know Delhi beyond the Qutab Minar and Red Fort.   

Chasing the Monsoon by Alexander Frater

Sometimes it takes a great idea to write a great book which makes the reader want to follow your footsteps to pull equally crazy stunts. Frater does it with flair. He starts the book by sharing that he was born on a rainy day on a remote Pacific island. The first line of the book reads, "The first sound I ever heard of was falling rain."

And though I know many who are born on an overflowing rainy day including my own sister, there is only one man that I know of who made chasing the famed Indian Monsoon a successful book project. 

Monsoon does not come in a single strand. It comes from two directions and apart from India, it touches upon a few other neighboring countries. Frater jumps into the fray or should I say, rain, with a gutso, gets drenched in the local cultures on the way, makes friends on the go and does the madcap job of giving the Monsoon a run for its money.

It's pure adventure and unadulterated daring that the author pulls off the torrential rains, open gutters and a thrilling chase. One of the best travelogues I have read and it definitely goaded me into bringing out the umbrella and stepping out to explore every puddle when rains came splashing down in Bombay the year I read it the first time.

Kim by Rudyard Kipling

Yes I know that I quoted Kipling a few paragraphs back, without naming him, as a White supremacist, but, hey! I am ready to forgive and forget the Nobel Laureate because of this one book that turned me into a road tripper. I can never forget the extraordinary story of a little boy across the Grand Trunk Road that was first published in 1900.

It's pure romance when you are a teenager trapped at home during the scorching summer vacations in Delhi. It's so vivid and well written that it feels like you are a part of the team in search of the mystic river/ spy trail - whichever is your poison.

It's one of the best road trip books that I have ever read and no one does adventure the way Kim and his friends do. If road trip / spiritual journey / spy game is your cup of tea, please pack your bags, get the car ready and don't forget to carry a copy of Kim. Go, conquer the Himalayas.

I think, I will go back to it again after I finish this post. :)

A few for the road.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

I was not in a very happy phase of my life when I first picked up this amazing, almost magical book about a woman's journey through three countries that change her life. But, reading it made my heart whole and hoping again - not exaggerating. 

Gilbert's story is true and she has given all the proofs needed to support this through her online presence over the years. Yet, the story almost reads like a self help book that could easily be fiction. 

It takes you on a journey through Italy (eat), India (pray) and Bali (love). The author explores each of the culture with particular focus on the aspect she wants to explore in each country. She eats her way through Italy that makes her happy, goes for spiritual upliftment to an ashram in India that leaves her confused and finally finds love in exotic Bali.

I can't think of anyone who after reading Elizabeth's narrative did not want to walk the same route that she had taken. That you will want to go back to it again and again is guaranteed.

Brick Lane by Monica Ali

When I read this book for the first time, it kind of bridged a gap somewhere in my head or heart - I am not sure. I had grown up listening to stories of our village that now lies across the border in Bangladesh and reading of the British who had ruled the country for 200 years and who a they parted split up the country and injured it's heart forever.

Monica Ali's Brick Lane brought me face-to-face with both, the Bangladeshi diaspora - people I have never met in real life - and a post-colonial London that was sitting on a tinderbox which has burst today in so many blasts. 

It was a story that traced my roots to a different world which was at once so familiar and yet not at all because, I am neither Bangladeshi, nor Muslim or British but, while reading this book, it made me believe that there was a link, a very strong link that makes me who I am today. A link that I need to figure out someday. And it made me believe that perhaps that trail leads somewhere in London where I think it will all fall in place. Not in Dhaka from where my family migrated, not Delhi where I was born and live in but, far away in wet and slippery London where everything seems to be hidden in full view. It needs reading and reading to understand the writer's portrayal of the various characters - the Bangladeshi diaspora that has made London its home. It's uncomfortable to read. The book was shortlisted for Man Booker but, panned by Bangladeshis who felt that it painted them as caricatures - as stupid villagers and religious bigots. 

But, for me, it went beyond the characters. It made me want to explore it find out more.

The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh

Amitav Ghosh is by far one of the best craftsmen of the written narrative. The reason why I have chosen this book is because it again resonates with the stories I grew up with. As a child I had heard and known many families that had moved back from Burma because the regime changed overnight. Many of them were very well-established Bengalis. It was like the partition nightmare all over again.

I didn't understand much except the fact that their ordeal was somewhat like my family's. Exodus and migration is never a happy topic to write on but, Ghosh manages it all very masterfully by crafting history and magnificence of Mandalay and the fall of the ruling dynasty into the narrative. 

It traces an epic journey through several countries and thousands of miles. It's got all the ingredients to keep you occupied, royal coup, history, exotic locations, great storytelling and perfect prose which is a hallmark of any of Ghosh's novels. It made a strong picture in my head and that is one place I want to go to one day soon.


So, these are some of my favorites. I assure you that my shelves have many more because, travel stories were told in caravan sarais and village addas much before printing was invented forget, Instagram. Because most humans probably come preset with the wanderlust gene. Travel is in our blood. 

Happy reading,  happy chasing your world of dreams. 

Image from the Internet

Book Review: Once Upon a Time... - One Frenchman against British Imperialism

I was going through a reader's block for a while and picked up this book on a whim and also because, Sam Miller's book on Delhi had left me impressed a few years back. I did not expect much from it but, easy reading that I hoped would put me back on the proverbial horseback riding of book reading. I was not disappointed on that front. I took to it like duck to water.

The story is full of hyperbole and loopholes but, the writer tried hard to show Indians in an somewhat impartial manner as humans and not barbarians. He also tried to be respectful of the Hindu religion though failed totally to justify untouchability. I do not think he was wrong in upholding that ideology. Many today will agree with him. He has rather ended the story in a way that the Republic of India was formed a hundred years later - equality for all.

I agreed to him in most of his views though Alfred Assolant never visited India! But, so what? Bibhutibhushan Bondopadhaya had never been to Africa and yet wrote the must-read book of all Bengalis coming-of-age, Chander Pahad. It is full of cliches and a hero who is just out of school!

Anyway, coming back to this book, I loved the characters of Capt Corcoran and his pet tigress, Louison. They are both obviously larger than life and not much unlike the merry gang of Kipling's Jungle Book though, Louison never talks and that's perhaps what puts it on the shelves for young adult and adult readers. Or anyone like me who loves a tale of swashbuckling adventures replete with beautiful young princesses and treasures. I guess no one can find fault in that genre of storytelling. It's as old as the hills.

Also, most people read fiction or watch films is to run away from the reality. Isn't it?

So, to cut a long story short, despite my reading handicap, I finished the story in two sessions and being a Bengali could not help compare it to Chander Pahar that I had read as a young adult in the original Bengali version. It was as riddled with cliches and struggling to rise above it on Africa as this one does on India.

Overall, I enjoyed it immensely because it made me laugh at the antics of the young Frenchman and his adventures in India. It is full of cardboard characters both Indian and British. We never get to understand or delve deep into the head of the characters much though each important one gets a brief historical narration about them and how they ended up in the thick of action that the book is.

However, Corcoran and Louisa are the real plot movers. The captain being the embodiment of everything heroic down to being a good human being and a just ruler and Lousia the tigress being the perfect foil, a diva of present day Angelena Jolie's caliber who can be a female and a toughie in the same frame. The beautiful Indian princess is just a cardboard prop in the story. The Balinese tigress is the real deal.

I'd recommend anyone who loves unrealistic adventure tales to go for it.

It's easy to read and fairly unbiased in narration of the Indian characters though mauling the characters of those serving British East India company badly - in words and through Lousia's actions.

I could go as far as to say that it kind of fits right in with the nationalistic fervor we are witnessing these days!

Happy reading folks. 

When Summer was Fun

It is that time of the year once more - summer vacation! I remember summer vacations as fondly as the best time of the year (the scorching heat not-withstanding) during school. Never an outdoorsy person, I spent most of the two months either visiting grandmothers or reading. In fact, while visiting grannies too I would be huddled in a corner reading or lying down and listening to my mom's mom reading out stories to me. In the case of my father's mother, she was a consummate storyteller and would recount stories about her village in East Bengal with as much flourish as she would tales from the Mahabharata and Ramayana.

I loved to hear her tales. They sounded almost unbelievable at times. Especially my favorite one, where a famous robber was attacked during the village fair in front of both my grand parents and she swore that even though his head was loped off, the man ran headless all over the place, drenching everything in a fountain of fresh, warm blood, scaring the hell out of everyone because he was still clutching his sword and slashing it about. According to her, it went on for a while till he finally fell down and died.

I would never have believed it possible if I had not been to a scene of a similar crime in Delhi years later as a reporter on Sunday duty. A cop had killed his wife by her slashing neck almost severing her head off. The wife had put on a brave fight for survival when she held on to the almost-severed head with blood gushing from it like a geyser and run around the corridor of the building knocking doors, seeking help. I saw enough gore the next morning to believe both stories to be true.

Sometimes I feel that the seeds for the love of magic realism and surrealism were firmly planted during those story-telling sessions. My mother's ma used to read out from her collection of what is now known as paranormal fiction. Her haul included, Alif Laila, Thakumar Jhuli and other such collections full of ghosts, demons and goblins all set to tilt the world order on one hand and adventurous, courageous and swashbuckling romantics who always found their love in the end along with enormous riches, on the other.

The fact remains that those two ladies had planted the seed of storytelling inside me, all those years ago during those lazy Summer afternoons.

Stories are what I love to hear, to read and now, to tell. So, those long ago Summer vacations are where the Big Bang of my storytelling universe must have really happened.

Summers was an excellent time to read and dream. They are the best times to be out in the nature even in a city like Delhi that is almost as hot as Hell.

The night sky those days, would almost always be clear dark cobalt blue with a hint orange from the hanging-in-the-air sand of the Thar waiting to plunge the city in a dusty cover. Mostly the dust storms came in the evenings.

It started with dark clouds gathering overhead and a thin whiff of sweet wind teasing our senses. This was the moment when I'd take my book and skip out to the huge terrace to read and day dream.

While, soothing after a day of relentless heatwave, this would only be the prelude to the real deal. Soon big fat drops of rain would start falling and even before I could run for cover clutching my book to my stomach and running, cool fresh water would be trickling down my neck into my back wetting my spine.

At this point, ma would appear at the terrace door to call me in and I'd collapse into her, shrieking with joy, my hair rushing in behind me in a tangle.

Inside, I'd perch myself next to the window clutching the now-forgotten book, waiting for the real drama to begin.

The massive winds would soon take over, sweeping the rain away with a disdainful dirty hand and shower the city with sand and dust. At this point I'd push the window a little to feel the gale. The moment I pushed it a wee bit, the wind would snatch it from my hands and flung it open almost pulling me out with the gust.

The dust would rush in with the speed of lightening painting me in grime and ma hearing the noise would run  in to the room and prying the catch from my struggling hands would bang it in place and shut the window, glaring at me all the while.

It was icky being covered in desert sand. It scratched the eye and tickled the nose. It also went into the mouth and made me bite - dust.

So, I'd make a contrite face that made ma go back looking for the broom to clean the dusty floor while I waited for the grand finale...

The most spectacular part of a summer storm is the lightening and the subsequent deluge.

Itchy with grime and scratchy all over I'd wait for the climax. When it finally came, it would make visibility zero for a few minutes and the only discernible thing in the sky were the thick streaks of light that cut it from side to side. Sheets of rain would fall making the wind run off with a whoosh, bathing the dry, gritty dust in water to make it submit, washing it off down the storm water drains. The divine odor of wet grime on the sizzling sidewalk would fill the atmosphere making me take several deep breaths and run around the room with my hands in the air like in a trance.

Often my little sister would join in giggling and we'd continue the ritual together, arms up in the air, deep breaths in and running around in circles, whirling like dervishes. Hearing all that naughty noise, ma would call her name and my little sister would run back to her while I was left looking for the right moment to flee - out!

Making sure that ma was indeed working in the kitchen, I'd tip-toe to the terrace door and open it a bit. The lashing rain would immediately welcome me with a cool spray and make me giggle. The giggle would be enough to make ma aware of the latest mischief but, before she could run out to catch me by the tail of my frock, I'd be out with the brick on the floor scratching my soft jumping feet. And there would be crowns all around me.

Raindrops falling on the water that would have collected on the terrace floor would resound with a thousand plops and make a million crowns that rose and fell within seconds.

The water would soak me to my bones and drench my dirty dress and make me happy, very happy because ma would be standing at the door with a hand on her hips and the other, restraining my younger sister from lunging into the water with me. I knew I was safe because she would never come out in the water nor leave the door in case I slipped and fell.

Did I say, Summer vacations were the best?!