Archive for the ‘Creative Writing’ Category

IMG_1535As the last sunset of 2012 painted the darkening sky an ever-richer shade of orange I sat by the ocean, my feet sinking deep into the sand. It was a beautiful evening; one for which I was lucky enough to find myself on the southern coast of Sri Lanka. The sea swept towards the shore in rhythmic waves, crashing onto the sand and then gurgling outwards in a wash of sound.

Watching the year’s end evolve into a new beginning, I found myself deeply reflective. I was thinking not only of my own experiences over the past year, but more so of the inflection point our world is at right now: the immense pressures that strain our ecological and social systems across continents, and yet the opportunities and insights for humanity to capture from these very challenges. It felt, somehow, as if inner was mirroring outer. The Mayan’s referred to 2012 as the end of the world, but ends are always new beginnings. It seemed pretty apt, therefore, to discover that apocalypse and revelation are described with the same word in Ancient Greek.

I looked down the beach in the direction of what was now becoming a reddish-gold ball of liquid light that seeped towards us across the sand. A palm tree sloped in the direction of the ocean, silhouetted against the portrait-like sky, and the wild sea air tousled my hair. I breathed it all in with wonder, looking out towards the horizon, whose very edges reminded me of the curve of the Earth upon which I stood. I was at once a part of something so much larger than myself, watching, sensing; communicating with all that surrounded me from the heart.



Read Full Post »

Mr. Kaur

December 2008 

His wooly jumper was bobbled round the edges. Striped and worn, with holes in the elbows. I love my taxi driver, Mr. Kaur. He’s so honest and kind. I love how he tells me everything as it happens.  ‘Airport passing on the right Maam. That’s the flyover for the Domestic airport’. ‘Big runway being built.’ ‘We’re at Ixzit five now Maam’ ‘78 kilometers on the clock now’. He provides live updates. Gently reminding me he is there.

As we drove towards Gurgaon, jagged sculptures appeared from the smoggy mist like silent giants. The developing satellite to Delhi is beginning to thrive and find its own identity. I could see his furrowed brow in the rear view mirror, sweating slightly in the winter sunlight.

‘What do you think of the recent terrorist attacks?’, I asked him.

This had been on my mind.

I woke up last night heart beating fast. I had heard a bomb going off — at least I thought I had. I haven’t been nervous about this stuff in the past, but last night I found out that a bomb had been disarmed across the road from my cousin’s house, in the heaving colony of Kotla, soon after the Mumbai attacks. This was that bit too close to home.


Read Full Post »