nabinadas13

Do You See?

Blog Amnesia; New Books; Delhi Trip; If Feeling Isn’t In It…

Um, a lot has happened since the last post. I’ve been a little out of touch with the blog but not jobless really. So much to do, so little time!

My short fiction book THE HOUSE OF TWINING ROSES – STORIES OF THE MAPPED AND THE UNMAPPED got published almost at the same time as my second poetry collection INTO THE MIGRANT CITY.

Here’s a LiFi Publications poster of my fiction book:

poster

And here’s one particular cover of the poetry book that’s unique for now (you do remember the covers from Writers Workshop were all different colors, being handcrafted and embossed?):

DSC07446

Meanwhile, we zipped off to Delhi on a super short visit in near-freezing and grey climes there. The heartwarming events in Delhi were my poetry reading and discussion with students in JNU, and some good family time. Dhananjay Singh, JNU faculty, facilitated the reading. Eminently refreshing. And what fun, some copies of my poetry and fiction book got picked up by students. I met a few friends there, always a bonus! Here are pictures of Anjumon Sahin, Dhananjay and me:

anjumon-me

 

anjumon-me 1

In other exciting news, we’ve moved to our own new apartment in the city. A 3-BR set up in Mallapur-Nacharam. Enough for city living considering I’ve been spoiled with living in largish airy houses. Still much to fix and work in the house. Making it a comfort zone.

Photos later.

***

Poetry?

If Feeling Isn’t In It

BY JOHN BREHM

You can take it away, as far as I’m concerned—I’d rather spend the afternoon with a nice dog. I’m not kidding. Dogs have what a lot of poems lack: excitements and responses, a sense of play the ability to impart warmth, elation . . . .
Howard Moss

Dogs will also lick your face if you let them.
Their bodies will shiver with happiness.
A simple walk in the park is just about
the height of contentment for them, followed
by a bowl of food, a bowl of water,
a place to curl up and sleep. Someone
to scratch them where they can’t reach
and smooth their foreheads and talk to them.
Dogs also have a natural dislike of mailmen
and other bringers of bad news and will
bite them on your behalf. Dogs can smell
fear and also love with perfect accuracy.
There is no use pretending with them.
Nor do they pretend. If a dog is happy
or sad or nervous or bored or ashamed
or sunk in contemplation, everybody knows it.
They make no secret of themselves.
You can even tell what they’re dreaming about
by the way their legs jerk and try to run
on the slippery ground of sleep.
Nor are they given to pretentious self-importance.
They don’t try to impress you with how serious
or sensitive they are. They just feel everything
full blast. Everything is off the charts
with them. More than once I’ve seen a dog
waiting for its owner outside a café
practically implode with worry. “Oh, God,
what if she doesn’t come back this time?
What will I do? Who will take care of me?
I loved her so much and now she’s gone
and I’m tied to a post surrounded by people
who don’t look or smell or sound like her at all.”
And when she does come, what a flurry
of commotion, what a chorus of yelping
and cooing and leaps straight up into the air!
It’s almost unbearable, this sudden
fullness after such total loss, to see
the world made whole again by a hand
on the shoulder and a voice like no other.
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This entry was posted on January 28, 2014 by in fiction, Nabina Das, poetry.
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