SEPTEMBER 3. It is late Thursday afternoon. The chairs are empty and the hills are quiet. I like this familiar space I had once lived in- breathing words to life, one day at a time. He sits across me today. On this warm afternoon. We are meeting for the first time. In a room lit by sunlight. Traces of a working day still visible. And his energy for life, infectious. I instantly think of happiness. It seeps into my being. Like the sweetness of Autumn flowers that fill the season. The blossoms may fade- like everything else- but they always live their time, leaving a lasting impact. It's odd that I am sitting her e with you , thinking of life as the most precious thing. And in between words that sum up our pasts, it feels like home - just as they say, home is people, not a place. I relish the tea, the talks, the laughter- this very moment, sparking with inspiration. Then I knew I have met my Muse . The one, who opened up a whole new world of books, fo
The familiar sight of years gone by struck me with a deep sense of nostalgia as I revisited the City of Joy. The place where poetry was born in me. And to find that home is never too far away when you encounter people who are driven by the same passion as yours. It was my love for books that brought me back to the city, thanks to the Bastar Solidarity Network (BSN)! And it is with profound memories of the two day PEOPLE'S LITERARY FESTIVAL that I return back to the hills, stronger in my resolve to keep the rich stories of my land alive. I just read somewhere that there are as many as 67 lit fests in a year in India- which I thought is really incredible. But what's different about the People's Literary Festival Kolkata is the cause behind it. It celebrates people as much as it does literature. It celebrates humanity and talks about real things. About life at its best and at its worst. It talks about the truth.The stark reality of things. And that's what I