Shuvashree Chowdhury's Blog, page 4

‘Existences’ – the Making of a Book: Valentine’s Day.

The making of my first book: Valentine’s Day.

My collection of short stories, Existences, is actually my first written book — it is also my personal favourite as all the narratives are taken from real-life experiences — in the later books I learned to merge fiction with reality so finely that even the characters will barely recognise themselves — my mother read Across Borders back to back for almost a year to figure out my psychoanalysis on her life and times.

So what inspired ‘Existences’ —

My onetime South African boss, in Jet Airways, who was the head of service quality and training then, on a coach ride from Mumbai to Lonavla, where I was going to assist him in conducting a senior leadership workshop, very amusedly said to me, “Shuvashree, someday I’ll write a book on you, you’ll see …”
This was in response to my animated discussion on people whom we had concluded a heated meeting with in Mumbai, and my opinions on various stations (cities) I audited recently.
I had stopped midsentence, sitting beside him as we drove up the hill tracks, baffled and embarrassed, but soon catching my breath I replied, “When you do, please send me a copy also”…
Little did I know then, that he had planted the seed of a book in my head subconsciously.
His constant quizzing me on my worldviews, as he did whenever we spoke and met, gave me the confidence to take my views to the world via a book when I did.

He even gave me Rs 5000 back in 1998 to go buy his gorgeous fourth wife Martha, Valentine’s Day gifts, as I happened to be in Mumbai then. Ernest had a very efficient secretary, Sylvia, who was empowered by him to handle most issues and escalate only if she must.
With Valentine’s Day almost on us now, I remeber this incident so fondly, as I didn’t have a Valentine then — What’s important is that he gave me the confidence that I needed to make choices in life.
Not only did he like my gifts, including a big red battery operated heart with a stand — which he placed on the table at the Italian restaurant at the Leela Kempinski, very close to our office at Saki Naka crossing, that I suggested.
Then next day he also told me that his wife was quite sure all the gifts including a teddy bear, were not his choices.
I was the only one from my pan-India department, who got the Merit award the next year, 1999.

Ernest Collette’s wife Martha, was the Assistant Head of inflight services with Jet Airways, then. And all Heads of Departments, were expatriates back then.
And after her initial interaction with me in Mumbai over dinner at her place, with our team and then again in Kolkata, much after that Valentine’s Day — when I took her to meet the management of Oberoi and HHI hotels and listened to their complaints, where the captains and cabin crew were put up, she presented me a book — “You Can Win” by Shiv Khera in which he says, “Winners don’t do different things, they do things differently”.

All these thoughts make Existences what it is. I’m sharing a spontaneous review by a young male reader of 28 years.

“The title Existences might be one of the simplest words which encompass a wide range and depth of human experience shared in the book. It is very rare for a reader to actually walk a mile in the shoes of the author without the need of a grand setting or without the need to create a fantasy world. Shuvashree does an inspiring job of holding the hand of the reader and letting him/her explore life experiences through the lens of a self-aware and powerful woman. The narrative beautifully flows through more than 20 short stories, each like living a day or more in the life of someone you can look up to. The struggle, the angst, the love, the beauty, the complexity and the simplicity of human existence spills through effortlessly. It doesn’t matter where you were born, to whom or the type of upbringing you had, the experiences touch many strings at once and all are in resonance.
The stories embrace the soul by gracing issues like identity, home, friendship, love, heartbreak, crisis, leadership and more. You will find yourself coming closer to the soul of the book with each story, witness the journey of the creation meeting the creator.
— Tejaswi Raghurama

You can read Existences right now from the links below, or get a copy from Amazon in India, and also globally.

https://www.thedogearsbookshop.com/page/2/?s=shuvashree&id=22661&post_type=productThe

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

#workingwomen #authorlife #booksbooksbooks #shortfiction #literaryfictionbooks #womensupportingwomen #womensempowermentcoach #women

On, a Walk, my Mother: Secularism.

“There is a life and there is a death, and there are beauty and melancholy between.”
— Albert Camus

This album, On A Walk – https://www.facebook.com/share/18WQ86jTCs/?please click to view, came up today as an FB memory from eleven years back.
This park, better known as Central Park, is a two minute walk from my home in Salt Lake, Kolkata. My mother went to walk here every morning, since my father passed away and my sister and I moved out of the city. It became her solace in solitude, also her home away from home, where she also slowly made new friends.
I clicked all these photos either on one or two such walks, while accompanying her on my visits home in Kolkata, from Chennai where I lived.
Ma would proudly introduce me to her walking friends, both male and female, after insisting I come with her to walk somedays. I often caught the surprised and impressed look in their eyes that said – Ah, so this old woman also has a family – or she always walks alone and sits on the benches for long viewing the water.
On the way out, at the gate Ma made it a point to sit on the bench and spend some time with the chai wala’s dwarfed and autistic, also jovial and friendly younger brother, who over time was her best friend. She bought some thing or other like peanuts, biscuits and chips, as she came back home for tea, just to justify the visit to the shop. But I always had tea and chatted with the tea seller and those around.
Then Ma, otherwise a devout Hindu would say, ‘Khuda-Hafiz’, before she started to walk away, as she always said to anyone and everyone leaving, after they had visited our home, also to my sister and me, never forgetting to add in English, ‘It means, go with God – may God protect you’. I have heard her saying this since my earliest childhood, till she passed away in April 2021. Just as she would come out of her puja room after prayers to goddesses Durga or Kali and bless us, by blowing on our face starting with our forehead, just as Muslims do.
It was Ma’s idea to send us to a catholic boarding school, where we were brought up almost as catholics, regularly attending mass, saying the rosary; then to a protestant high school where we lived like them, attending mass every Sunday.

After school, class 10, my sister announced that she wanted to become a catholic – my mother said, ‘just finish college and if you still wish to, then you can go ahead’. My sister changed her mind, by then.

Tomorrow, Netaji’s birthday, I will be reading about the life and times of a Sufi woman, a spy during world war 2, at a reputed theatre studio. For which I have been practising the past week.
So when this album came up as a memory, I could not help thinking how my mother’s broad minded attitude and thus our secular upbringing, all of which I have narrated in my debut novel ‘Across Borders’, has influenced my life as well.

I’m adding these photos of Ma in front of the Central Park, when she was over eighty, the last time, just before the covid lockdown that didn’t allow her to go again.

So on that note, Khuda-Hafiz to all of you!

‘When I’m Gone’ – by Mrs. Lyman Hancock

#authors #authorsofinstagram #author #writers #books #bookstagram #writersofinstagram #writer #writing #writingcommunity #authorlife #writerscommunity #reading #authorsofig #writerslife #booklover #book #amwriting #poetry #writersofig #indieauthor #bookworm #readers #publishing #authorssupportingauthors #readersofinstagram #authorslife #booklovers #love #write

This, is what I read on Netaji’s Birthday: https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/who-was-noor-khan/

National Youth Day thoughts.

“I’ve always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.” — Leo Tolstoy

Everyone, including family and close friends will like a different version of you, from their own successes or failures, life experiences, perspectives, and world views.
They might not even have the mental and emotional depth, the intellectual exposure to fathom their own steps, leave alone yours. But will give you free advice that become shackles on your feet.

By allowing people to govern your life’s choices, you also make the choice to accept failure that might come with it, be it in your love, friendships, profession or your personal tastes and experiences.
But if you make your own choices, at least you have the self confidence and assurance of having fought the battle with your own wits, even if you have lost it.
Then you can get up even from rock bottom, as you would have imbibed the mental and emotional strength and resilience to, and then try again.
One thing I lost early in life and with a purpose, even if it seemed callous to others, having read wisely since I was a child – is the Fear of failure.

Perhaps it was because my mother had very high expectations, but was wise never to insult me, for my wrong choices, warning my father as well not to reprimand me even in my worst failures.
She always gave me running commentary like my basket ball coach did from outside the court of life, just as when I was playing inter collegiate in Delhi University. But she didn’t enforce her choices, least of all scold me for what she knew were my wrong choices – only getting me off the court of life for a break when she thought I needed it so I could recharge and reenter the playing field, stronger and more powerful.

I had opted for a Bachelor of Commerce(honours) degree instead of one in English literature that she and my college principal deemed fit, but mother allowed me to make my choice and I being the determined person I am, I graduated in mediocrity in commerce, not in English they thought I might excel at.

But I have no regrets to this day as it is this that gives me freedom of expression. I don’t feel in bondage of academic books of literature, though I have read more extensively than if I had to study the classics and master writers academically.

This is what gives me the courage to always make my choices – knowing that I will have to own my failures, just as my successes, and no one needs to take responsibility for it. This gives me strength to make definitive choices in life.
Today, these judgements are even worse, due to the opinions even of strangers, due to our social media presence – we are scared of what people who don’t know us at all, would think of us!

Just after I posted this, the quote below showed up on my timeline to validate my views, so am sharing it – apparently, even the universe aligns with me.
“Look at birds, they make great sky circles of their freedom. And how do they learn to do that? They fall, and in falling, they are given wings.” — Rumi

*****

I had posted the above on my Facebook and Instagram accounts on the 12th January: National Youth Day: the birth anniversary of Swami Vivekananda.

Sharing a comment below on FB, by Ms Padma Sahgal, a senior professor of English, in LA, California – she also shared my post on her own FB timeline – the validation reminded me to share it here on my blog.

Your post reminds me of Kahlil Gibran’s poetry: Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

Two minds think alike! If parents were schooled in this philosophy, they would have fewer problems raising their children!

*****

#authorlife #authorsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #amwriting #author #writerslife #bookstagram #writerlife #writer #writersofig #writerscommunity #writing #entrepreneur #authors #writingcommunity #bookish #authorsofig #writers #writinglife #books #wanderlust #iamwriting #indieauthors #poetry #solopreneur #laptoplifestyle #amediting #travelgram #bookworm #sheexplores

Tough Exteriors & Soft Hearts: Death Anniversaries: Work Woes

This was on the eve of my father’s twentieth death anniversary(ref previous post) – at the Salt Lake mela, that I visited again the next evening.

On my parent’s birthdays and death anniversaries I tend to walk back in time, by visiting familiar places and people, cooking their favourite age-old recipes.
As it’s my way of reconnecting with them and the life I led with them. It is what gives me rootedness and self reliance to forge ahead in life on my own. I always carry my life with my parents along with me wherever I go so I rarely feel alone.
Central Park near my house is a treasure trove of scenic locations that my nostalgic heart finds solace in during these days that I want to mark in my memory calendar.
Ever since my college days, when this Salt Lake Mela(fair) started out as an annual event in Salt Lake, near my home in Calcutta, I have been to it with my mother. We picked up a lot of useful and decorative household stuff, sometimes saris, bed clothes and all sorts of utility stuff as there are stalls from every other state all over India. Then even from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Turkey and Egypt.
There are the maximum number of stalls from Kashmir and so it was expected that the man in the photos and his son came every year. I have had atleast 2-3 cups of his Kahwa annually along with picking up lot of Kashmiri handwork as I love their colourful embroidery work.
It was such a pleasure to see him again and have his kahwa with the warmth of famailiarity of so many decades that I try to keep alive by going to this fair.
As usual, I visited most of the stalls and in one of the largest Kashmiri stalls, I sat and had a long friendly chat with the owner, a dealer/supplier to stores all over Kashmir, about my last trip to his land last August. This was over his selling me two embroidered kurtas, after several I brought from Kashmir, and his giving me a brief training on how to distinguish between authentic quality Kashmiri handwork and pricing versus the poor quality – agreeing after I showed him photos of my purchases in Kashmir, that I had an eye for detail, for authenticity and good quality.
It was when I was leaving, though I didn’t ask for it, that he proffered his business card – Umer Farooq, stockist and dealer of all Kashmiri handicrafts. I left with a sense of familairity, like I knew him long.
Then at another Kashmiri stall, while he was showing me his Kani saris and shawls, I just said to the guy, pointing to his stools, ‘May I sit here, please’?
‘No. You may not’! he replied abruptly.
I was shocked, but looked up to see he was smiling warmly. It was supposed to be a joke. Just like when I had asked Umer Farooq, ‘If I take two, will you give me a discount?’ – he too had said, ‘No, it will be 2000’, when it was coming to Rs 1800. Then he gave me a discount of far more than I expected, charging me only Rs. 1600.

It is now that I realised that they genuinely liked me quite instinctively and the ‘No’, was their way of showing warm affection. Which I had badly mistaken as haughty arrogance from a Kashmiri colleague, in a luxury hotel I worked for years back leading to my resigning – with whom I was so upset even when other senior colleagues told me that his bullying was because he liked me.
Tough exteriors often are homes of some of the softest hearts you will come across.

It takes the wisdom of years, to see through tough exteriors and realise that sometimes people come across as abrupt and arrogant to protect themselves from rejection or getting hurt. We need to just be more patient, for them to let down their gaurd, to show us their sincerity and genuine love.

PS: I had written about this in a different context long ago, in this blog: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2018/05/08/your-imperfections-make-you-beautiful/

#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

‘A Letter to my Father’: on his 20th Death Anniversary.

5th January, 2025.

‘A Letter to my Father’

This morning, now twenty years ago,
you didn’t wake up by 8am as you would –
it was supposed to be another ordinary day
so I was dressed – all ready to go to work.

As always I went to say goodbye to you,
but you wouldn’t wake up, though I called you.
Mother was seated at the dining table –
over her mug of tea looking glazed and weary.

She said you both were up through the night
talking – I being the topic of your conversation,
as you worried about the course of my life –
though to everyone around I was benign.

But I just couldn’t leave your side and go –
I had not left without saying goodbye before.
I tried to wake you, nudging your hands,
you looked at me long, then closed your eyes.

I called your cardiologist, he said it was fine –
you looked at me, ‘so don’t worry’, he intoned.
But everything crashes around me nonstop,
my instincts as sea animals detect storms.

Another doctor I called, a friend’s mother –
I described your condition in detail to her.
‘It’s a stroke rush him to the hospital’ she said,
but what a fool, I didn’t know – heart or head.

By now mother intervened and took charge,
we rushed you to the nearest hospital –
as getting medical aide was of importance,
but a junior resident doctor was in command.

It was a heart centre we rushed you to
that didn’t have facility of a brain CT scan –
I called several friends, doctors, all I knew,
‘Help me please’, I cried, my father is dying.

Mother had gone home to pack your bag,
an ambulance with paramedic awaiting –
to shift you to the best hospital I was bent on,
not trusting mother’s judgement on this one.

Sitting on the staircase in public site,
head on my knees I desperately cried to god,
to find me a doctor who could save your life –
as shifting was a risk, would take much time.

The sole resident doctor rushed to me –
‘get a senior doctor’ he appealed to me,
‘then come, sit by your father’s side’:
Nurses resuscitating, heartline a straight line.

I was late, yet I couldn’t leave your bedside, without you saying goodbye I wouldn’t budge.
This was since my boarding school days –
I knew, you always looked back one last time!

Your daughter,
Shuvashree.
5th January, 2025.

I typed these lines straight on my phone now, by 9am, so are not edited – after I got the garlands and flowers for my parents, lit the agarbatti – both are gone, leaving me in moments – I couldn’t get timely, decent, medical aid to save them – as a similar situation was with my mother in 2021, an hour late to get an ambulance – despite all my corporate experiences or connections in this city, even with ability to pay.

I know well, when it’s time for people to leave they just leave you, however much you cry and plead with god not to take them away. But I can never come to terms with abrupt losses, it makes me feel like I’ve hit rock bottom and the pain in always excruciating, like when I was in boarding school without warning at the age of four.

But, I never felt more alone in my whole life as I do right now. As when loved one’s leave suddenly without a farewell, they crush your heart and take your soul away too!

Sharing a poem in my blog link, I’d written on the 12th year of my father’s passing — but mother was there then and so the big difference in mood — https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2017/01/05/reminiscences/

#poetry #love #poet #art #poem #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #writer #poetsofinstagram #poems #writing #quotes #music #photography #life #artist #quote #words #instagood #spokenword #wordporn #hiphop #poets #inspiration #quoteoftheday #poetsofig #writersofig #writerscommunity #poetryofinstagram #motivation

5th January, 2025.‘A Letter to my Father’This morning, no...

5th January, 2025.

‘A Letter to my Father’

This morning, now twenty years ago,
you didn’t wake up by 8am as you would –
it was supposed to be another ordinary day
so I was dressed – all ready to go to work.

As always I went to say goodbye to you,
but you wouldn’t wake up, though I called you.
Mother was seated at the dining table –
over her mug of tea looking glazed and weary.

She said you both were up through the night
talking – I being the topic of your conversation,
as you worried about the course of my life –
though to everyone around I was benign.

But I just couldn’t leave your side and go –
I had not left without saying goodbye before.
I tried to wake you, nudging your hands,
you looked at me long, then closed your eyes.

I called your cardiologist, he said it was fine –
you looked at me, ‘so don’t worry’, he intoned.
But everything crashes around me nonstop,
my instincts as sea animals detect storms.

Another doctor I called, a friend’s mother –
I described your condition in detail to her.
‘It’s a stroke rush him to the hospital’ she said,
but what a fool, I didn’t know – heart or head.

By now mother intervened and took charge,
we rushed you to the nearest hospital –
as getting medical aide was of importance,
but a junior resident doctor was in command.

It was a heart centre we rushed you to
that didn’t have facility of a brain CT scan –
I called several friends, doctors, all I knew,
‘Help me please’, I cried, my father is dying.

Mother had gone home to pack your bag,
an ambulance with paramedic awaiting –
to shift you to the best hospital I was bent on,
not trusting mother’s judgement on this one.

Sitting on the staircase in public site,
head on my knees I desperately cried to god,
to find me a doctor who could save your life –
as shifting was a risk, would take much time.

The sole resident doctor rushed to me –
‘get a senior doctor’ he appealed to me,
‘then come, sit by your father’s side’:
Nurses resuscitating, heartline a straight line.

I was late, yet I couldn’t leave your bedside, without you saying goodbye I wouldn’t budge.
This was since my boarding school days –
I knew, you always looked back one last time!

Your daughter,
Shuvashree.
5th January, 2025.

I typed these lines straight on my phone now, by 9am, so are not edited – after I got the garlands and flowers for my parents, lit the agarbatti – both are gone, leaving me in moments – I couldn’t get timely, decent, medical aid to save them – as a similar situation was with my mother in 2021, an hour late to get an ambulance – despite all my corporate experiences or connections in this city, even with ability to pay.

I know well, when it’s time for people to leave they just leave you, however much you cry and plead with god not to take them away. But I can never come to terms with abrupt losses, it makes me feel like I’ve hit rock bottom and the pain in always excruciating, like when I was in boarding school without warning at the age of four.

But, I never felt more alone in my whole life as I do right now. As when loved one’s leave suddenly without a farewell, they crush your heart and take your soul away too!

Sharing a poem in my blog link, I’d written on the 12th year of my father’s passing — but mother was there then and so the big difference in mood — https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2017/01/05/reminiscences/

#poetry #love #poet #art #poem #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #writer #poetsofinstagram #poems #writing #quotes #music #photography #life #artist #quote #words #instagood #spokenword #wordporn #hiphop #poets #inspiration #quoteoftheday #poetsofig #writersofig #writerscommunity #poetryofinstagram #motivation

Year End thoughts: Emotional Strength and Resilience.

Last evening, at a concert with friends — this time of the year its the best weather in Calcutta and the city is filled with bonhomie.
So I must partake of the jubiliant spirit, whatever my moods might be.
This is the root of my rootedness, my mental strength and emotional resilience — my ability to show up at the ring of life well tunned out, whatever the situations — that makes me ready for any sudden life shattering nasty punches that come my way, when I’m least expecting it — even from those I have trusted with my life and had the best and most honourable intentions for the future, after I have loved with all my heart and soul.
Those who want to mistrust you, from their own place of insecurity will keep doing so — then there are their kettle drummers who in jealousy of your equation, will give them the much needed rhythm to keep marching ahead with the big drum of doubt and suspicion of you.

Life keeps coming at me like a tsunami ever since I was a child, as anyone who knows me personally, knows — but still I stand up like the sphinx to withstand being sucked into the quicksand.

My friends on social media, you might think that I’m always partying, hanging out at good places — while all of life’s woes are with you — that’s furtherest from the truth as my close friends know — all my books are about resilience from life’s struggles which didn’t come from my only gallivanting — it’s just that I choose not to mention my immense unimaginable troubles randomly here, lest you loose faith in life — I have built strength since I was a little girl all alone, as life has only challenged me harshly as it continues to today and I don’t want anyone to face what I do.

The jacket I’m wearing is from my last trip to Kashmir and the outfit is a gift from my dear friend Pooja, in Chennai. What I liked best about her is at my worst times she would land up at my place to gift me something lovely and when I looked at her with a broad smile she would say ‘it’s for the future’.

Sharing a post from 2015 to reiterate my resilience — not good luck: https://shuvashreeghosh.wordpress.com/2015/08/05/what-emotional-strength-means-to-me/

On this note, blending profound thoughts with wisdom and warm bonhomie via the video clips here(please listen on my Facebook timeline https://www.facebook.com/share/p/ys4ANgqaGxuCDLxQ/?mibextid=wwXIfr

The Rabindra Sangit in the 2nd video clip in full is here https://youtu.be/cyVDGS1QDgE?si=QHfTeplQLyFZ9kJp

I wish all of you mental, moral and physical strength and lots of love —
A very Happy New Year!

#authors #authorsofinstagram #author #writers #books #bookstagram #writersofinstagram #writer #writing #writingcommunity #authorlife #writerscommunity #reading #authorsofig #writerslife #booklover #book #amwriting #poetry #writersofig #indieauthor #bookworm #readers #publishing #authorssupportingauthors #readersofinstagram #authorslife #booklovers #love #write

Poetry or prose, you decide…I tend to merge the line a lo...

Poetry or prose, you decide…I tend to merge the line a lot…a few excerpts from my novel ‘Entwined Lives’:

1.”Nascent love requires a lot of nurturing, just as a sapling that has been sown into the warm brown earth of your heart. If it is ignored by the one you love – the gardener, not weeded off scepticism, ego and fear, it will be plucked out by the errant bird – self-pride, transplanted on to the fertile soil of another planter who considers himself blessed by the gift of love.”

2. “Sympathy is the most easily available of all elixirs, while empathy and applause the most allusive. The dying man often has more well-wishers than does a robust one, just as failure attracts more camaraderie than success does, even though the trail to the latter is usually more precarious.”

3.”A bird when it flaps its wings to fly, does not fret about being alienated by the universe, it looks towards an endless sky, assured that at some point it will be joined by some close friends and some new, then they will fly in patterns of ethereal beauty, for all they left behind to see, not concerned with those whose eyes hurt to look at them due to the glare of the sun.”

4.”Love is like a fizzy cola drink. Only the bottle perceives the pressure inside till you open it, though the world sees its perky colour. Then once you uncork, it keeps fizzing for a while and is unsettling, gushing out and over, till it slowly settles down to allow you to enjoy it, cooling you in the process, till it drains out completely and then leaves you with an aftertaste sweet or sour. If you’ve enjoyed the drink, which you’ll truly indemnify only once the bitter-sweet flavour leaves your senses, you’ll crave for another one, perhaps similar, if not you’ll avoid it altogether for a long time to come.” 5.”Thoughts are like nectar – that words

both spoken and written carry as Bees do, into the beehive of your mind. Then once sealed in with the honeycomb of your attitudes and values, they produce honey that feeds your soul for a lifetime.” — Shuvashree Chowdhury, ‘Entwined Lives’ – literary fiction novel available globally on Amazon
#poetry #novel #kindlebooks #romancebooks

The Wind beneath my Wings

‘The Wind beneath my Wings’

This post is inspired by my longtime blogger friend M.V Simon’s latest post on Facebook, “There has been times when I wished to give up.”
Simon, an advertising professional, now living in Wayanad, who lived in Chennai for long, and I, blogged on Sulekha.com since 2007 – my friend, this post is especially for you – you cannot give up!

Sharing this Times of India Page 3 photo, two days back, as it came up as a FB memory, reminded me of some incidents from this day (in the event album in the link below):

The woman in blue is my sister Jayshree Nair and in red is my college friend Mona Mitter – now they both live near each other in Bangalore and are good friends. The TOI article described their appearances well. They actually inspired the article – thank you, both of you.
So to attend my Chennai event, they came to Chennai the day before. Just when I was ready – both barged into my room, to give me their final verdict on my appearance – without which I was not to leave my bedroom.
Both women approved of the outfit, but insisted I should wear big dangler earrings to enhance my appearance and I firmly turned their whim down. But they vehemently insisted otherwise and almost got me to wear a trendy pair when BG arrived on the scene. Now instead of supporting me, he chose to side with the two women.
I was so irritated with all three, but blasted him – ‘They don’t know – but you should know well, how Madras Book Club functions are’ – this was in Dec 2013 – so I left home in an agitated frame of mind, all for earrings that were not approved by three of my closest friends. Yet, I was confident.
I also had a rather bad hair day, and I hated my hair – as I had got a recent haircut in Calcutta from a reputed salon on Park Street, rather than my usual hairstylists in Bounce or Tony N Guy in Chennai for the last 7 years – as I had just arrived from the city two days back after the Calcutta launch.
At the venue, the Taj Connemara, we arrived early, but I soon got busy with going over the parts that Kaveri Lalchand, a reputed theater personality at the time, now a leading dress designer with her own label, agreed to read from my book on the request of Mr Muthaiah.
Just as we were done, Mr Muthaiah called me to where he was standing in front of the hall facing the almost filled up seats.
Mr Muthiah, now no more, was a respected veteran journalist who has taught many senior and leading journalists of the city, and also better known as the father of Chennai – who founded the Madras Week and the Madras Book Club, along with writing a regular column in the Hindu called Chennai Musings for years.
He had helped me for over a year to this event, towards the realization of my dream to have a reputed Madras Book Club launch of my debut book, ever since I knew of it when I set up a large format Crossword in Chennai, till launching several of Bishwanath Ghosh’s books that I attended and watched closely. No, I didn’t envy, ref. my previous post – I was much inspired.

When I emailed him, then sent my book over to him, as a debut writer – not a journalist, I had not expected to hear from him. But to my surprise, he called me over to his home, and over coffee and snacks had a detailed discussion on my book that he had read in detail. Then telling me he would allow a Madras Book Club launch of my book, for which to publish I had struggled like never before at my 20 years of working – only if I had a good distribution network and books were at all Chennai stores, thereby introducing me to Rekha Hira of IBH. So I visited her, but they had just sold out the business, then I persisted with IBD who took nine months to give me a clearance and then sign me up.
Only then Mr Muthiah personally roped in Gen Raghavan to launch my book – who called me to Gymkhana Club for a long breakfast interview to agree to launch my book.
So now at the venue of the book launch – facing the entire audience minutes before we started, Mr Muthiah looked at me quizzically and asked, “Shuvashree, why are you dressed in such a bright sari for your book launch?”
I blanked out for a moment – after I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. It was too late for me to change or do anything about how I looked. I just confidently looked at him, charmingly smiled at the audience, while cursing the 3 validators of my outfit earlier in the day and then replied, “Sir…what to do…my novel is quite old fashioned and perhaps dull…so I thought of entertaining the audience to some colour and liveliness.”

To my sheer relief Mr Muthiah laughed and parts of the audience smiled after him, then promptly we got on the dias and started the event, with Mr Muthiah making the opening speech. Those who have known Mr Muthiah, especially senior journalists who have been trained by him or even those he guided decades after should know how people fluster in front of him, leave lone come up with wisecracks. He can simply crush your wings if not strong enough, with criticism of your work, and I have seen this personally, at two other book launches of senior joirnalists. But then, I had learnt one thing about him in a years interactions – with his longtime Sri Lankan journalistic stint, he liked sincerity and boldness, also that at one time he wrote about fashion and lifestyle – he would not disapprove of my dressing up, even for a serious book’s launch.
I really don’t know what emboldened me to be so smug, in front of my first audience, when Mr Muthiah could have given me a verbal thrashing instead of laughing back. Perhaps it was the resilience I had built from years of rejections by the publishing industry, after quitting my full time job as a senior executive search consultant in 2010, to making it on my own with help from my godsend publisher Mr Satyabrata Saikia(in the photos) who I met in 2012. No force on earth could mock and crush me anymore.

I have had such strong mentors lifelong, who have given me the wind beneath my wings and built me up to fly independently. The media also supported my maiden venture and that gave me immense strength. Other than reviews and interviews, Times of India Kolkata covered my book’s launch in Page 2 after a long interview the day before the event with the resident editor – TOI Chennai in Page 3 as they could not add it to the news page 2 as the border issue didn’t constitute city news in Chennai, but they did cover it so nicely – I will always be so grateful.

I’m also sharing here, the Indian Express and Hindu coverage of this evening – adding them to the end of the official album of photos collected from the media photographers:
https://www.facebook.com/share/KD2jWbrVNum9tdrz/?
Please click the link above, to view the corresponding photo album of the event.

About Mr Muthiah: this is my humble tribute to him:
Mr S. Muthiah http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S._Muthiah …making the welcome speech.

Also my sincerest gratitude to veteran journalist Sushila Ravindranath, who has been a beacon of light and hope, ever since I started to write.
She encouraged me at every stage and I got her approval on each manuscript before I considered sending them to any publisher. In the photos, at the launch, she receives the first copy of my debut book!
Thank you so much Sushila

The book, is available globally on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Nobles.

You can read it now in several digital platforms on –

https://www.thedogearsbookshop.com/page/2/?s=shuvashree&id=22661&post_type=productThe

https://amzn.in/d/02ZjIXo

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

The prelude to the above post I had shared the day before:

Kolkata winter has set in, there’s that pleasant nip in the air when I go for my morning walks and I have started wearing a light jacket.
Evenings, be like this – cozying up with a soulful book – a shawl thrown in, that you don’t really need.
Sharing an excerpt, that I could totally relate to, as luckily for me I haven’t been gifted with Envy either, about which I just read Albert Camus’s views – while this photo was taken that I didn’t realize.

“I have never discovered that most wide-spread failing, envy, the true cancer of societies and doctrines. I take no credit for so fortunate an immunity. I owe it to my family, first of all, who lacked almost everything and envied practically nothing. Merely by their silence, their reserve, their natural sober pride, my people, who did not even know how to read, taught me the most valuable and enduring lessons. Anyhow, I was too absorbed in feeling to dream of things. Even now, when I see the life of the very rich in Paris, there is compassion in the detachment it inspires in me.”
— Albert Camus/ Lyrical And Critical Essays

My views on this: Since I was a girl, for sprint, hurdle and relay races that I was quite good at – I always looked at the present moment I was running in and put in all my efforts into that moment in time and space – with just a tentative look at the finishing line – never at those running beside me. I have done the same in all my job assignments and I did this all along in my marathon to establish myself as a writer who won’t pander to the masses.
I only compete with myself, never with anyone else in anything I do – so where does Envy have a chance to creep into my life!

#literature #bookstagram #books #poetry #reading #book #booklover #love #art #bookworm #writing #writer #quotes #read #bibliophile #poem #writersofinstagram #bookish #poet #author #bookstagrammer #poetrycommunity #poems #booknerd #reader #fiction #bookaddict #readersofinstagram #literatura #writingcommunity

‘The Homecoming’

The moment you looked at me,
your smile lit up like the crescent moon -
I smiled back, basking in the warmth
that radiated from the light in your eyes -
it embraced me in a royal welcome
as if I had come back home to you
after a long time-travel from another life,
across the hills and rivers of time -
several decades of living this one
in which our souls are old and wise -
though physically defying age lines.
You recognised me instantly then smiled,
but I took a long time to recognise -
what I mistook for your love at first sight,
was actually our reunion - in this life!

— Shuvashree/ from my upcoming 3rd collection ‘Several Lives’(working title)/ all my 5 books are available globally - on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Nobles.
You can read right now on several digital platforms on these verified bookshops:
https://www.thedogearsbookshop.com/pa...

https://amzn.in/d/02ZjIXo

https://cinnamonteal.in/product-tag/s...




#poetrycommunity #poetsofinstagram #spilledink #poetryisnotdead #poetsandwriters #poetscorner #poetscafe #voiceofpoets #poetrypromts #readpoetryprompts #poetry #lovepoemsClick for the Instagram reel: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DCmJtc0g_Q_/?igsh=MWMxYzJmb3h5eTE2cw==