Shuvashree Chowdhury's Blog, page 2

The Making of a Book: ‘Across Borders’

My first photo here with the young girl, is in Park Street Kolkata. I took this photo as the girl reminded me of how I visualized the cover of my debut book to have been.
It was designed by Qazi M Raghib, a Delhi based well known Art Director and I had loved it. I had not given him any additional inputs, other than the synopsis of the book whose cover he was to design and my author profile. He went through my social media profile to choose the author photo and made this cover design, knowing I would like and approve it.
The colours, the emotions, the passion and drive, represented me the author. But my publisher, a man of about 76 then, even though he had initially agreed and paid well for this design and met the designer in Delhi as well, decided it did not suit his publically projected social class and personality or perhaps his religious and cultural identity.
So despite my loving it, as I’m not class biased, and did not see the girl in the photo as the baloon seller but rather the buyer, as my chratcter Maya was well educated I was forced to scrap it and chose from a series of photos that were nice but did not represent me. The book was published in 2013 with a dull grey cover that I just could not relate to.

To this day, I believe this bright cover with my mother’s photo on it, totally Qazi’s inspiration and brainchild, would have done better justice to my book commercially – as after all it’s my work and I would know better what it stands for. The media coverage pan-india however was excellent, but I don’t know if it was coincidence that each one of the major newspapers used a bright and colourful photo of me, not of my choice, from those submitted by their press photographers who covered the events in several cities.

I have said this before and I reiterate – Life is not what happens to you – but what you make of what happens to you. I do not take my failures and challenges as the end but the beginning of a new rocky mountain path. In fact sometimes success makes me give up on a particular track once the challenge to overcome the obstacles is over. Those who think writing a book, or making a film and such tasks are a child’s play or let’s say akin to getting a high professional degree or having a successful career(not creative) – may take a reality check. It’s a lot of hard work, perseverance and grit, with tons of egoless mental and emotional resilience to face never ending rejections and over all that large dollops of good luck.

At the time, just after writing my debut book I had chronicled all my experiences, in my much publicised and often featured Suleka.com blog so that so many bloggers, several excellent writers and wannabe authors would learn from my mistakes and chart their paths knowingly and differently.
My Sulekha.com blog that makes me the poet and author I am today, through the confidence I garnered from much public readership and comments is no longer live and active.
But I have reposted many of the experiences in my current blog, in a series titled “The Making of a Book” Part 1-4, which will give you the story of how difficult it is to write and publish a book.
Many self help books on how to publish a book are there in the market, but I can tell you with assurance that none are as vivid a first hand account of the struggles involved as my chronicles.
I have a trainer and coach mindset from my two decades of corporate experiences, so I tend to do or write anything with that perspective always – so that it may ease and inspire even a few in their life-path.

“The Making of a Book” is in the link below – at the end of every part you will find the link to the next- a total of 4 parts: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2013/01/19/the-making-of-a-book-part-1/

In Chennai, last summer: colour attracts me and how!I love colour anyhow!

#authorlife #authorsofinstagram #author #bookstagram #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #writer #writerslife #amwriting #writing #writerscommunity #indieauthor #authors #books #authorsofig #writersofig #booklover #writerlife #bookworm #writers #book #authorssupportingauthors #writinglife #reading #authorcommunity #authorscommunity #writinginspiration #bookish #indieauthors #readersofinstagram

Spiritual Energy: What you make of your life.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
– W.B. Yeats
A couple of days back, over a long chat with a gentleman, a senior and much experienced corporate human resources consultant who was reading my book Existences, he abruply said “… you’re able to do all that you’re doing because of your spiritual energy…”
This comment, made me think about this for the last two days, to realise that my spirituality is indeed the basis of my moral strengh, resilience and fearless dynamism, even if there are many who pity my constantly being on a snake’s head – like in a game of snakes and ladders, that I have elaborated in my book, Existences.
When I was writing the previous post from my childhood memories, this post in the link below I’d written several years back came to mind. It incidentally illustrates how I tend to be in unthinkable, unimaginable trouble so often, that has emboldened me over a lifetime – but it’s my spirituality and luck that saves me continously and enables me to cross the bridges.
It’s all about how you look at life – the glass in your hands will seem half full or half empty – how you perceive everything in your life that will decide your mental and emotional state – with optimism and positivity or with pessimism and negativity.
I don’t need to fake happiness as I am often able to see the brighter side of things – the rainbow that is hidden to most who see the fatality of life – while I thrive on positive thoughts of my soul’s invincibility if I fuel it with positive Karma.
It’s not what happens to you that’s important in my view, as what you do with and make of what happens to you. In the last decade I use the experiences in my writing.
I consider myself lucky, despite always being in all sorts of weird troubles in life, as I tend to see my cup of life half-full always – even though the world and people in it give me enough cause to see it as empty.

Sharing an example of how I slowly became bolder in life https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2015/05/25/when-poetry-and-hymn-merged-in-my-soul-out-of-deadly-fear/

The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you really are.” – Carl Jung

This was the poetry reading event, for which I missed meeting Sr. Andrea one last time before she passed away in 2021: https://www.facebook.com/share/16uosKbXgg/?

Sister Andrea #authorlife #authorsofinstagram #author #bookstagram #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #writer #writerslife #amwriting #writing #writerscommunity #indieauthor #authors #books #authorsofig #writersofig #booklover #writerlife #bookworm #writers #book #authorssupportingauthors #writinglife #reading #authorcommunity #authorscommunity #writinginspiration #bookish #indieauthors #readersofinstagram

Available globally in print and varied digital formats on Amazon and…
https://www.thedogearsbookshop.com/page/2/?s=shuvashree&id=22661&post_type=productThe


https://cinnamonteal.in/product-tag/shuvashree-chowdhury/


Existences: https://amzn.in/d/7uHllxS

Childhood Memories & School friends: Author Life.

At my school friend Mimi’s birthday party last week, the 10th of June – in the photos with a few other classmates.
Mimi, in blue in the frame above and I, went to boarding school since class 2. Swarupa in green, principal of a reputed school now, joined us in class 4.
Sonia a dayscholar and I were the last benchers in school, also in the last row for marchpast, as we were the tallest along with Nayansi also a dayscholar. All of us, have some really interesting memories together, over decades.
Mimi and Swarupa are both doctorates in literature. I on the other hand am a commerce graduate with a post graduation in Public Relations, but I went on to write literature. That I read a lot, mostly literature from the school library as we boarders were not allowed any outside literature, gave me a headstart. But both of them gave me immense moral support all through to continue and take it beyond the casual blogging.
Mimi, her PhD thesis on Somerset Maugham most of whose works I have read – working with a reputed international publisher at the time, was one of the first people to read my debut book’s manuscript. She remained quiet for about four months after I emailed her the manuscript, during which time I didn’t contact her to ask what her opinion of it was, in assuming she didn’t like it. Then when she called me she came straight to the point – after reading 3 chapters she had put it away to see if she would feel compelled to read more – incidentally she did and to read to the end, then to call me and say that she liked it alot. So that gave me a lot of confidence to go ahead with the book. Swarupa had done a PhD in English, specializing in poetry – she appreciated and always recommended my poetry from the start – it gave me the belief that I had publish worthy poetry in me.
Nayansi was my pillar of support as a child – when in the Hindi class I sat beside her at the back bench – but I was the first one in line to get a slap or two from our Hindi teacher Mrs. Lal, on my face or arm, for not knowing my meanings well.
But Nayansi, her mother tongue being Hindi, risking Mrs Lal’s wrath, always tried her best to promt the answer to me. But my height in standing, even if I bent low, kept me far from hearing distance from her.
I was the only Bengali girl with Hindi 2nd language in class, who didn’t speak Hindi at home or in boarding school where only English was allowed. Another Bengali girl, a boarder as well, in our Hindi class, was from Bihar, so Hindi was almost her 1st language. This along with our Chinese friend Dorothy, who always had the entire class and Mrs Lal’s empathy – how could a Chinese girl know Hindi meanings!
I memorised the meanings of many difficult Hindi words and still got them wrong as I was always petrified of the teacher and her spankings, till she found out soon I excelled in SUPW. Then I suddenly became her star child or so she told my mother on parent teachers meeting day – forgetting easily my poor Hindi then.

Sonia who was my partner on the last bench in class 5, in the photos here, who’s birthday it is today – a very Happy Birthday Sonia – has been a dear friend who will always be there when you need her the most – even if there might be long silences when she is busy with so many other people and situations – but we all know she will be there when the real need arises!

Mimi who lives in Delhi with her family, shares her birthday with her daughter Titir – what a charming coincidence – that we were celebrating both their birthdays with friends from all time zones of their lives and with their relatives. It was lovely to meet childhood friends, especially Mimi’s and Swarupa’s mothers – both were friends of my mother – since our parents met over the travel to and back home in Calcutta, from our school in the erstwhile French colony of Chandannagar, and while waiting for us on Visiting Sunday’s or to take us back home.
It’s been so many decades since all our early close associations, but these random meetings however rare, is what keeps us grounded and rooted to ourselves.

Sharing glimpses of our earliest associations in the link below – Sonia made the effort and accompanied me to school when I read this: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2022/11/08/my-childhood-home-life-as-a-boarder-at-st-josephs-convent-chandannagar/

#authorlife #authorsofinstagram #author #bookstagram #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #writer #writerslife #amwriting #writing #writerscommunity #indieauthor #authors #books #authorsofig #writersofig #booklover #writerlife #bookworm #writers #book #authorssupportingauthors #writinglife #reading #authorcommunity #authorscommunity #writinginspiration #bookish #indieauthors #readersofinstagramNayansi, Me, SoniaNayansi and I: in Hindi class I sat to her right.Mimi with her daughter, mother in white and mother in law in blue, her husband Soumya behind in white…

Sharing rest of the photos of the evening: https://www.facebook.com/share/1Xc2jesfMX/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Crash of Air India 171 to London: my aviation experiences.

At the ATC office in Kolkata

Listening now, to the varied analysis of the probable reasons for the crash of Air India 171 yesterday on television, on India Today and NewsX channels, reminds me so vividly of my varied experiences, when in the aviation industry. This was at various airports pan India, especially during my last 2-3 years in the Service Quality department. And my interactions with the aircraft maintenance(engineering)department in their offices and on the Tarmacs.
My South African boss Ernest Collet made it a point to take me along to the AME offices and question the AMEs(engineers) on the Tarmac just before a flight, even though I was reticent in dealing with a department full of men with an attitude – they are the highest paid after the Captains. Much later, a few AME who were friends, told me in jest, they rather looked forward to my visits, as there was no woman in their department. This, even though I had a long list of audit points to gauge them on.
All kinds of conversations come to my mind, reminding me of the immense importance of this aircraft maintenance department.
These photos here…was a day in the ATC(Air Traffic Control) office in Kolkata, just a few years back, my last and much after my assignment with Jet Airways for seven years from 1997. In those years then, I had attended a few mock drills of air crashes, in Calcutta airport, conducted by Airport Authority of India(AAI), that were pretty dynamic and even though we knew they were just recreated drills, they were scary enough.
But in this situation of AI 171 yesterday, it was all over in 32 seconds, with no chance for any practise session or mock drills to get a chance at being of any help. That’s the difference between reality and playact.

In my years with Jet Airways, when in charge of 24 hrs reservations, ticketing and the VIP-CIP cell at the Calcutta airport, I have seen and dealt with passengers right after an emergency landing. Once just after a Mayday threat when the aircraft returned and another on a Nosedive landing. I was there when the aircraft’s door was opened, the step ladder still being alligned, as I’d been instructed by the airport manager over a Walky-Talky to go immediately and meet the passengers, who I found were totally shocked and shaken, and bring them all by a series of coaches to the terminal. Passengers were shocked long after, even at the terminal, as they had faced the near crash situation on the aircraft, wondering if they would make it, looking at me like they were seeing a ghost in the other life or something like that. But they all praised the bravery and attempts of the Captains.

This day at the ATC, in the photos, meeting the staff and heads of department, at the time as a writer, much after my airline and overall working years, gave me an insight into the high pressure job that the Air Traffic Control at the airports deal with and I then understood why they were so brisk and crisp in their dealings with airline staff. They didn’t have the patience for hypothesis, as you tow the line or its game over.
I once had the opportunity to sit in the cockpit for a landing into Calcutta late at night, returning from my audits in Bangalore and Hyderabad, as the senior Captain allowed me to, on my request. I just wanted to get a real feel of their job.
That I can vividly imagine the situation in the AI 171 aircraft before it crashed I am in a state of shock still, as I’m following the story in every media channel I can.

But today, the Blackbox has been found. It is a small machine that records information about an aircraft during its flight, used to discover the cause of an accident. The experts are doing their best to ascertain the cause of the air crash.
Till such time, please let us all do ourselves
and everyone else a favour – with due respect to all the lost lives and all those who lost loved ones – please let us not speculate along with TRP motivated media channels and come up with all sorts of convoluted theories on what brought our grand Maharaja down.

The photo album is here: https://www.facebook.com/share/1Y6Ui81BuP/?mibextid=wwXIfr

#workinglife #aviation #AviationSafety #JetAirways #ATC #AirIndiaflight #reminiscences #authorlife #airline My first book has many such stories from my aviation days…it’s available globally in the Links: 
https://www.thedogearsbookshop.com/page/2/?s=shuvashree&id=22661&post_type=productThe


https://cinnamonteal.in/product-tag/shuvashree-chowdhury/


https://amzn.in/d/7uHllxS

‘Stand Up to Bullying’: terror attacks, Pahalgam, Kashmir.

I was in Allahabad, and several other places in Uttarpradesh two days before the Baisaran Valley, Pahalgam shootout. In over ten days there, I visited all major and some smaller places of worship, both Hindu and Muslim. Also had informative discussions with young and old people of both religions, leading up to Easter Sunday. I will share part of my UP travels shortly…I just wasn’t in the mood, in grief over the shootout, when I was posting on Kashmir still.
As the UP trip was a week after a 15 day visit to vaious parts of Kashmir, the 2nd trip in a little over 6 months.

These scenes from the Mahabharat behind me, my mother had tiled in my home at the dining hall when I was in high-school, that I have preserved till now — Lord Krishna is coaching Arjun on War agaist kin.
This depicts my personal view and mood on the current socio-political issues the Indian Government is deliberating over due to the consequences on ourselves not just the enemy and neighbours, before taking action.

Sharing my personal experiences of dealing with bullying in the link below, that illustrated in the last billboard photo, an FB game — In my years as a head hunter, a senior executive search consultant, I have used such psychometric tests very effectively.

A repost on dealing with Bullying:
https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2015/07/16/stand-up-to-bullying-it-never-has-to-do-with-you-its-the-bully-whos-insecure/

#UttarPradesh #allahabaddiaries #standuptobullying#kashmirvalley #PahalgamTerrorAttack #PahalgamAttack #baisaranvalleypahalgam #baisaranvalley #poet #novelist #AuthorLife #workingwomanlife

‘Stand Up To Bullying’: It never has to do with you, it’s the bully who’s insecure.

‘A typical Day in Kashmir, in August 2024: with a Temple & a Mosque visit.’

‘A Day in Kashmir, in August 2024: with a Temple & Mosque visit.’

On this morning, our second last day in Kashmir, we visited the well known Shankaracharya Temple, in Srinagar. It was right after breakfast at the houseboat on Dal Lake, that we took a Shikara ride to Ghat 9 and then a lovely long drive by the lake and uphill to quite a distance, to reach this ancient temple. 

Before the drive, we had stopped at an ATM beside which there was a grocery shop. I strategically bought two fruit and nut chocolates here. This was to gain strength and brace myself for the 250 stairs that we would need to climb to reach the temple. On the drive, I ate 2-3 pieces, and also offered Bishwanath https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bishwanath_Ghosh_(writer) — who refused it outright. The difference between a ‘privileged’ journalist and a down to earth novelist(me) — even if both poets.

I shoved a piece at him several times, as he had just eaten two slices of bread with butter – which in my view is not sufficient breakfast to meet a regular day, leave alone a hike up 250 stairs after a hill walk – but he categorically refused to have the chocolate piece. 

So by the time I reached the foot of the stairs, as I had intended, the chocolate provided me with sufficient energy to skip up several stairs at a time, then wait for Bishwanath every few steps and then move on holding him by hand. 

Up the stairs, on the first landing, I insisted on his having two chocolate pieces, which he now did, but they were not going to be absorbed into the bloodstream promptly. With much difficulty and acute weariness on his part, stopping several times, we managed to reach the top of the stairs. I kept telling him not to count the stairs he had walked as he was, nor look at the top, but to just keep looking at the next step in climbing up. As that’s how I deal with life in general. I don’t look at those beside me, or above me, nor below me on my climb up, to compare. Then neither do I count the stairs and least of all do I look at the finishing line – I just concentrate all of my energies into climbing the particular step I am on and then keep looking back to see how far up I have come. 

The Shankaracharya Temple or Jyeshteshwara Temple is a Hindu temple situated on top of the Zabarwan Range in Srinagar. It is dedicated to Shiva. The temple is at a height of 1,000 feet (300 m) above the valley floor. The temple is accessible via a road that emerges off Boulevard road near Gagribal. The temple and adjacent land is a Monument of National Importance, centrally protected under the Archaeological Survey of India.

So when we reached the top of the stairs and walked in through the outer archway, I was panting, but I could still march up the steep last part to the temple in the photos at one go. If you see the posture of all the young people in the photos you will realize how difficult it was and so for the elders it is daunting. 

After a few moments of hesitation, BG followed me haltingly, but once up at the temple, he was fatigued beyond his imagination. I briskly completed my darshan and then a walk around outside the main temple and was ready to descend, but BG was not, as he being an acute Shiva devotee was not satisfied with his brisk darshan in acute tired mindlessness. But he climbed down after me anyways, and was thus by now totally infuriated with me. 

More so, as he had been wanting to come here since the first day of our Kashmir visit right after the Chinar bookfest, but I had kept it in the itinerary for the last day. 

I’m not a religious person, though I am acutely spiritual and as I have always said – nature is my true god above any other. So I preferred to go out into nature first, though I respect everyone else’s god. BG isn’t that religious either and in his hometown Kanpur visits the Dargah on every trip, has done so weekly since his youth. But he’s a great fan of Shiva. And for a fan not to have a heart to heart with his idol is surely cause to be mad at the one who caused it. 

So anyways, we sat down, downstairs of the main temple, but as far away from each other. As by now, it was getting crowded and I was really angry too – for his not gauging a perceived hurdle and physical threat, worse for not listening to my warnings to have a better breakfast and the chocolate for strength. All the days he would not have  lunch either, just a light breakfast and a heavy dinner. 

When I’m in a difficult situation or feel anxious — his having to climb down again weighing on my mind also added to his defiance — I start to say my daily chants. This was a second time that day — to  give me mental strength to see me through. 

An elderly lady, looking at me wearily, abruptly asked me for water. I don’t know how she assumed I might have some. I had a tiny little bottle from the flight, refilled, tucked into my bag for an emergency. I thought BG might need it as he wasn’t feeling too good, but thinking it was the right thing to do as she needed it first, I gave her the bottle. She thanked me earnestly and then thoughtfully consumed just a couple of small sips and returned the bottle that I tucked away to save for BG on the descent.

Then I sat down again under a large tree looking at the temple and resumed my chants. I had barely finished the 108, that I always do for mental strength, when a lady, a visitor like us, came up to me and handed me a large ghee laddoo saying it was Prasad. I took it hesitantly but thankfully and was just thinking how to convince BG to have some of it. But to my immense relief the lady went across after giving some other people and shoved one into his hands. I looked at him slyly and to my greater relief, he was actually eating it. 

Just a few moments after he was done eating it, he said to me in a brighter tone, “I’m going back to the temple, you want to come?” 

He then almost sprinted up and I sat there refusing to go, as I said “I’ve had a great darshan and I don’t need to go up again.” 

As I watched, he came back down smug and happy. Then after viewing the cave where Shakracharya meditated, we slowly walked back all the way down 250 stairs and a long walk downhill, as the parking was much further below.

On the drive down, I was a bit awkward to ask Umer, who was waiting downstairs for us, to now take us to the mosque. I didn’t want him to think a temple precedes a mosque in our view, when actually it does not for BG or me. But to my relief, Umer himself suggested cheerily, as I had told him on the first day itself, without him suggesting, that we would surely like to visit there — “So should we go to the Hazratbal mosque now?”

“Yes, yes, please let’s go…”

So we drove to Hazratbal and in the car I covered my head with the dupatta I carried for this purpose. My photos here are in front of the Hazratbal mosque, Srinagar, where I as a woman could not enter the shrine, but I respectfully waited outside. I believe in honouring religious sentiments, but not undue injustices.

A young muslim woman, to my surprise, after saying her prayers outside the shrine, came and tucked into my hand a coin from Vaishno Devi with Ma Sherawali etched on it, saying, “I had to give this to someone so you keep it…”
She walked away just as abruptly. I looked at the coin and the woman in awe and curiosity. Two other muslim women who were drinking water from the dispenser, came and empathised with me vociferously, “what’s wrong with her, why did she give you this coin here?”

Then they called the cop there and complained to him about what just happened, and he said pointing to the woman who gave me the coin, “What a stupid woman…she does not even know that in this place of worship, in God’s presence, we are all equal. We can all pray here securely, irrespective of our backgrounds,” then looking at me he added cheerfully, “madam, you please don’t mind, just think that in this holy place in front of the shrine you received this particular coin as a blessing from God. You are special. Keep it safely, always.”
The policeman actually had echoed my sentiments then – I had been thinking, why would I receive the strength of female Shakti just outside the shrine of a mosque! There had to be a reason that Allah also blessed me with the power of Shakti just outside the shrine I could not enter. It was definitely a blessing, irrespective of the source used to empower me with it. I am empowered by God, is what I must believe.

Bishwanath came out of the shrine and insisted on a cap from this holy place. Though the guard kept asking him to get one from outside, inspite of his wearing a baseball cap to go inside which was permitted — but then he got a green skull cap from the mosque to bring home as a memento. The Chinar leaves in the photos here are all collected by Bishwanath from all over Kashmir.
Those of you who have read my novel Across Borders are aware of my mention of this mosque and how the prophets hair lost from here had started a movement in East Pakistan…leading to Bangladesh.

These incidents, the laddoo and the coin coming to me out of the blue, I take as positive assertions from the universe. I had been reading a memoir on Kashmir since my flight here. So I asked Umer about Downtown. He promptly drove us there, then through and around that old part of town, before taking us to Lal Chowk and Residency Road, also the Polo View Market. All this in the photos. Umer’s younger brother Amaan had suggested to him to take us to Adhoos, the famed eatery for Kashmiri Wazwan. 

Two of my Kashmiri friends, also an elderly Shikara-man(after work), who has been employed with Thomas Cook for the last 40 years, had suggested this place that I must try the Wazwan there. 

“Hope the trip has been worth its while” one of my friends had written from Pune, “While in Srinagar, you can eat _Gushtaba_ for a meal or mutton seekh kabab for an evening snack at _Ahdoos_ restaurant near The Bund/Residency Road.”

After the heavy but awesome meal, including the above suggestions, of which BG had just tomato soup and Phirni and Umer and I had all you see at the table in the photos – we took a stroll around Residency Road and Polo View Market along with Umer.

This was before the last and final drive along the Dal Lake to ghat 9, from where we took a Shikara ride back to the houseboat for the night. 

The photos to go with this post are here: https://www.facebook.com/share/1971uXG6FL/?mibextid=wwXIfr

*****

Sharing the entire photo album of the August 2024 visit, you can click on the square icon to the top right in the link below, for the write-up on each place and set of photos:  https://www.facebook.com/share/15XT9DwMab/?

PS: Above is a repost with reference to the recent terrorist attacks in Kashmir on Hindu tourists, in this and my last few posts: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2025/04/22/terrorist-shootout-at-baisaran-mini-switzerland-kashmir/

#kashmir #kashmiri #jammukashmir #jammuandkashmir #kashmirdiaries #azadkashmir #kashmirtourism #captivatingkashmir #kashmirvalley #kashmir_lovers #kashmirlovers #kashmirdairies #freekashmir #kashmirbeauty #kashmiriyat #beingkashmiri #kashmirbleeds #kashmirlife #standwithkashmir #savekashmir #kashmirphotographyclub #kashmirifood #visitkashmir #kashmiruniversity #mirpurazadkashmire #kashmirphotographers #beautyofkashmir #kashmirpp #kashmirnews #beauty_of_kashmir

‘At the Window of Paradise’: Kashmir.

‘At the Window of Paradise’

On waking up every morning in Brein,
a locality in Srinagar that’s divine —
it overlooks the magnificent Dal Lake,
Moghul Garden is a half hour’s walk away.

On my left is the well known Tulip Garden,
that’s a five minute stroll from my stay —
whereas the famed Nishat Bagh
to my right is a half hour’s brisk walk
I take morning and evening, on my own.

I first open the windows to gaze at a Sunrise
over the Dal lake, that slowly lights up —
the March drizzle and haze as curtains lift up, with the blue of sky and water parting ways.

A brown Persian house-cat plonks on my bed,
his name is Habibi — love of my life,
acts like he knows me from his past soul —
he’s been raised with love, by Basharat,
drinks mugfuls of water to quench his thirst — wrapping me in his flurry ball of lovable antics.

I view sunshine light up picturesque sights,
indulging my photographic sight with joy —
breakfast with Kahwa is far from my mind
for I’m feasting my heart on scenic delights —
as if collecting alms, from doors of Paradise, aptly the name of the owner of this home.

— Shuvashree/ 11th - 26th March 2025.

The entire photo album is here: https://www.facebook.com/share/1BMFkL...

PS: After 15 days in Kashmir, I spent 12 days in Uttar Pradesh on a work assignment till a day before the terrorist attack in Pahalgam.
In several cities of UP I happened to visit most major and many small temples and Hindu monuments serially, yet as a Hindu I don’t find the need to flaunt my religious practises and attack other religions just because of some faithless terrorists who do not belong to any real faith.
You have to dip yourself spiritually into any faith — to come out sanctified with the true essence of any religion as they all teach you humanity. If not for the incident in Baisaran I would have been sharing my UP travels but as of now I prefer to remain in solidarity with Kashmir, as well as with the families of the bereaved. Propagating hate is not my agenda, as I don’t go with its flow.




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‘The Rebirth, in this Lifetime’: Baisaran, Kashmir.

A video journey ‘The Rebirth: In this Lifetime’

At the foothills of the meadows of Baisaran,
I negotiated with a vendor, for a horse —
to the mountaintop known as Mini Switzerland
he assigned me a pony with a boy of fifteen.

The boy quickly fetched me high rubber boots 
to protect my shoes and clothes from slush —
wearing the boots, I  left my shoes in the car 
before I was helped to ride the young horse.

The horse owner insisted I take an assistant, 
but I declined to carry up more baggage —
physical or emotional, they weigh you down, 
in your spiritual journey travelling solo is fine.   

As we strutted into the narrow winding path, 
a group of six men on horses, made a ruckus, 
garrulous talk and guffaws their idea of fun —
I got my pony to switch onto a solitudinal path. 

“Keep far away from all the tourists” I insisted,  
chatting with my newfound friend, Tariq —
he understood, obliging my need for solitude, 
even as we struck up a bond, over our talks. 

The hill track by now got narrower, muddier,
snow had begun to melt, it was mid March —
a mature Bullet, evaded pudges in the drizzle, 
but I worried about Mukhtar waiting in the car.

It was a scaring climb, at the edge of the hills,
but was soft for Bullet to swivel and swerve —
the four year old pony had wisdom and verve,
just as the people I’ve met in all of Kashmir. 

Tariq, reminded me often to bend my back —
forward if slope was down and backward if up, 
to assist Bullet balance our weight to survive, 
as many a times I felt I wouldn’t last this ride.

Often Bullet ducked randomly into the ravine,
abruptly as if not to disrupt our conversation, 
I’d clutch his reins, my heart in my mouth —
more from Tariq’s personal story of struggles.

He belonged to a village, a few hours by foot,
but he climbed several times on this route  —  
each ascent more than two hours it took,
descents assured pay at the end of the road. 

As the only earning member of his family now,
he was responsible, though only a child —
warned me not to play with rabbit and pigeon
if I didn’t want to be charged a big ransom. 

We stopped awhile, to rest and  feed Bullet, 
who munched dry grass with melted snow —
as I savoured the beauty of hills and meadow,
on it the Sun beat down through pine rows.

Over two and a half hours of a tedious climb,
it tested my agility, stamina, mental fortitude,
even as tourists screamed in sheer panic —
creating group mayhem, robbing my peace.  

At the imposing archway to Baisan I got off, 
bought myself a solo ticket past big groups —
before Tariq and Bullet strode to their stand, 
I went into a picturesque snow draped camp.

To my right a vast sheet, of snow on mud,
beyond it snow capped mountains in rungs — 
pines stood amidst them as missing sentinels,
on my left as if a fair, chairs-tables barricaded.

The immense crowds that soon rushed inside
to this raved upon location of tourist delight —
intimidated my peace of mind, made me leave
after a piping Kahwa in scenic enchantment. 

The descent, watching cable cars, is tedious
as hordes of loud, large families charged —
garrulous, as if battalions marching upward,
made me try to descend an uncharted path. 

A group of people atop horses rushed at me,
women shouting at the top of their voices  —
in fear of slipping off the track to the riverine,
a woman kicked my knee, with her stirrup.

Tariq rushed to guard Bullet toppling with me, 
as we were pushed to the edge of the hill — 
my knee hurt as if cracked up with a hammer,
yet I noted the guilt on Tariq’s young face. 

“Sorry ma’am, sorry ma’am the child chanted”
as I feared, for life my knee was damaged —
I’ve lost my fear of death on pony hill-tracks,
in my solitude having coached my soul to last.  

I strutted on with Bullet, over my fear of death,
little imagining a terrorist, bullet-attack here —
massaging my knee I turned hearing a shriek,
a woman and horse fallen, knocking my  knee.

Tariq crestfallen at my pained disenchantment 
over what should’ve been a heavenly event —
imagined I wouldn’t tip him, as he’d expected, 
I did, in learning the essence of solitude well. 

Outside at the base in sheer pain I was reborn
in sizing my muddied self, despite tall boots —
I found Mukhtar, wore my shoes in the car,
how was he to recognise my incarnated soul?

— Shuvashree/ 17th March 2025. This is continued from the last two posts.
 

The rest of the video journey…

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Kashmir & Hospitality: terrorist attack at Baisaran, Pahalgam.

“The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.”—Anais Nin.

My previous post, on the terrorist attack in Baisaran(in the video here) was my tenth consecutive post on Kashmir.
I have said and illustrated in all of these posts, after a month there in two trips in the last 6 months, that my love for Kashmir is way above the picturesque ‘paradise’ on earth that it is to people who do not associate or look at service providers other than for their self centered purpose, as mere servants.
If you pay for a service in India, it’s almost like you buy the provider with it. With my two decades in the service industry in India, including a premium airline, a travel company, luxury hotel, a bank and a series of organised retail companies, I am well aware of the ‘privileged’ attitude that is weilded by clients and that of servitude that is expected but not really respected.

This feeling of being at home, in Kashmir, for me, is about its people above all else, about their sensitive warmth even if it appears as tougness on the surface especially at first, their emotional intelligence – genuine compassion, empathy and sincere polite hospitality.
I have described this in my last posts, naming a few but there are dear friends who I have not yet written about but would particularly like to thank, including Mukhtar Ahmed Wani, Inam Ul Huq, Basharat and Paradise Wangnoo, also their adorable Persian cat Habibi, all of who make what Kashmir is truly to me — a second home I will come back to soon.

The condemnable terrorist attack has very sadly killed a number of tourists, but the real attack in my view is on the soul of Kashmir, that was just limping back to normalcy through tourism and economic stability. My heart goes out to all the families of the bereaved but it bleeds for Kashmir, as I have made some genuine friendships here, not just out of polite converstions on the weather and the beauty of the region, but connecting on a profound level. Religion never came up between us at any point of time, even when I was there as a Hindu through most of Ramzan. They didn’t see me as different — as to start with, I considered them my own.

There was definitely a security lapse in an area which is not reachable unless by airdrops — this place, due to its topography is apparently less guarded than the rest of Kashmir — if you visit Baisaran, reachable only after a two hour steep, winding pony ride or a foot trek, you will understand that.

In one of the highest tourist zones in Kashmir, there is incidentntally the lowest security measures, as in numbers of armed personnel and army camps — anyone who has visited can see this as a potent threat area for need for hightened security measures. I was at the spot of the shootout for barely fifteen minutes to have a cup of Kahwa as I found the place too crowded, but when I was leaving at 11.30am huge crowds seemed to descend there like I have seen in Durga Puja pandals in Kolkata yearly. I was relieved to be leaving the crowds — even though it is easily one of the most beautiful places in Kashmir.

Terrorism has No Religion and even if any locals supported them, they are Terrorists as well. So let us not confuse the issues at hand here, to instigate people, but act responsibly in this time of crisis.

The photos here were taken in Pahalgam, just before my leaving for Baisaran — illustrated in my previous post, also in the link here: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2025/04/22/terrorist-shootout-at-baisaran-mini-switzerland-kashmir/
Please scroll down for the previous posts on Kashmir.

Thank you, so much everyone in Kashmir — You all will be in my heart and in my prayers along with the bereaved and their families!

This in the video is Baisaran: on 17th March 2025. Please read details in the previous posts.

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‘Terrorist Shootout at Baisaran, Mini Switzerland’: Kashmir.

‘Shootout at Baisaran: Mini-Switzerland.’

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
- Martin Luther King Jr.

After breakfast at the hotel in Pahalgam
we drove to the foothills of Baisaran —
green meadows dotted with pine forests,
the hilltop better known as Mini Switzerland.

We drove over hills, on scenic avenues
flanked by snow draped mountains in view,
reaching a rustic valley with a horse barn — where a pony I straddled for four thousand.

The above lines, today I had barely typed,
after a month of visiting this paradise —
when to my utterly gut-wrenching surprise
a ghastly crime floated up on my screen.

Kashmir terror attack updates were live:
at least 26 civilians, mostly tourists killed
in Pahalgam, in the district of Anantnag — deadliest attack since the Phulwama strike.

The Resistance Front, a shadow group
of banned Pakistan-based terror outfit — Lashkar-e-Taiba, claimed responsibility
for the ghastly attack on innocent tourists.

Number of deaths are being ascertained
as yet, of the cowardly act on humanity —
it is not my place to comment on this yet, but with the bereaved I stand in solidarity.

Over a month I’ve shared, on Kashmir —
of happy times, local exemplary hospitality
that I have experienced despite my faith,
till this attack slaps religion on my face.

The terrorists fired mostly at tourists,
targeting them at close range amid panic, singling victims out based on religion —
heaping unfairness on the local residents.

Among the victims, a honeymoon couple
paid the price of love over their religion —
They shot him in the head before listening
to petitions, of innocent Muslims spurned.

— Shuvashree/ 23rd April 2025/

I visited Baisaran just over a month back, on 17th March 2025, and am posting this in solidarity with the families of the bereaved, as well as the local Kashmiris who are going to bear the brunt of this illogical cowardly act.




The photo album is here: https://www.facebook.com/share/1AErEX...
At the end Is a video of the mountain top, Baisaran.




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