Thursday, December 13, 2018
Review of "My Friendship with Yoga" by Ms Swapna Peri, well versed with Yoga
Book Title: My Friendship with Yoga
Author: Revathi Raj Iyer
Format: Paperback
The title of the book definitely strikes a chord of interest as it instantly develops an emotion between the book and the reader.
The cover image of the book is a beautifully crafted digital photograph of a woman sitting in a relaxing yet powerful yoga pose with a serene background.
Historically yoga was more than just a method of physical exercise as it now being propagated; it was a way of life. In general, everyone has dedicated themselves to a lifestyle and culture that surpassed meditation techniques and included healthy eating habits, bathing habits, social interaction, and work. But the basic importance of the existence of life and its unison with soul is often possible only through the yoga illustrations in everyone’s life.
Here's the link to the blog of the reviewer:
http://betareadingbysappy.wordpress.com
#thankyouswapna #bookreviews #myfriendshipwithyoga #blessedwithgoodreviews #amazonreviews #goodreadsreviews
Monday, November 19, 2018
Kindle edition of "My Friendship with Yoga"
Kindle edition is now available on amazon.com at just $2.22 & at just ₹160/ on amazon.in - introductory offer.
Download and read on your tablet on the go!! For the fast paced millennials ❣️
#myfriendshipwithyoga #forevergreen #foreveryoung #hathayoga #yinyoga #iyengaryoga #nationalbooktrust #bookreviews #thankyouall
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
The last bubble - published in Muse India (Sep/Oct, 2018)
‘The last bubble’
Revathi Raj Iyer
There was pandemonium outside the posh Malabar Hill Club in South Mumbai, which was fraught with men in khaki uniform and cars trundling bumper to bumper. The traffic police struggled to disperse the curious passers-by. The guards hurriedly closed the gate. They were instructed to let in Mr. Tim Cooper and no one else. The club was closed for members, that day. An ambulance was parked just outside the entrance.
Arpita was shattered. In the blink of an eye, she had lost everything.
***
The monthly book club was an intelligent excuse for the ladies to get together for the sanctimonious post-mortem of best-selling books by eminent writers. Arpita looked admiringly at her coffee-table books; an eclectic mix of yoga, naturopathy, anthology by renaissance poets, the platinum limited edition of Vogue, Japanese home décor and Ikebana and the latest addition, Amy Chua’s parental memoir: “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.” She could identify herself with the author so much so that she could hardly wait for her turn to bring it up at this book club.
The spread of samosas, tamarind chutney and lemon cookies that she had baked for this morning meet were laid on the oval breakfast table, along with an array of speciality tea which Tim had bought from London including her favourite Marks & Spencer English breakfast tea. The sparkling tableware was appropriately set. The soft skills and social etiquette that she had learnt at the Good Shepherd Finishing School was amply put to use.
“Perfect,” thought Arpita as she kept the pitcher of lemonade with a dash of mint in the fridge, a much-needed cooler especially when the stimulating conversations turned into a heated debate. “Soccer-mom,” her friends called her - envy, admiration, cynicism; she couldn’t care less.
The ladies arrived, sharp on time: Natasha - a classical singer who performed in close mehfils; Rebecca - a self-proclaimed artist; Geetha - journalist and activist; Sarita - a non-conformist with liberal views; Minaxi - homemaker who loved to cook and feed everybody, except the needy. She had brought some tarts along with her; Indira - an angry woman and hard to please; Nupur - a sprightly young newly married girl trying to fit in; Pawan - the only guy in this inner circle. He was gay who had no qualms in flaunting it and the women loved him. He was Arpita’s neighbour and talked himself into joining this ‘exclusively ladies only’ book club.
They took their places on the sofa surrounding the coffee-table and cast an appreciative glance at the décor.
“I hope everyone has read the book, said Arpita in an authoritative tone.
The ladies sighed. They knew exactly why she had chosen this book.
The aroma of freshly fried samosas filled their nostrils and all eyes darted towards Dana, the Anglo-Indian maid with an expressionless face, who walked briskly to the breakfast table and started preparing tea. Minaxi adjusted her position to steal a glance over Dana to make sure she was placing the tarts along with the samosas, cookies and tea. Tiger mom was the last thing on her mind. She had merely read the synopsis, just to keep up with the debate. Indira had read it word by word, all the time altering the situations and putting herself in place of Amy Chua; wishing that she had led a life like that. Geetha had practically memorised the book. The rest had only skim read it but feigned otherwise.
“You ought to be joining a food club, Minaxi,” whispered Pawan breaking into her thoughts, with a naughty laugh. She silenced him and turned her attention to the conversation.
“Are you not satisfied being a tiger mom?” Sarita remarked as she picked the book. “Don’t get me wrong. I am all for pushy parents. Cut the kids some slack and they go haywire.”
“Yeah, of course, you can say anything you like. If you had children and that too boisterous twins, only then you will realise what raising kids actually meant,” thought Rebecca. She caught Sarita glare at her as if reading her mind.
Rebecca looked away. “I need to keep my expressions under check,” she told herself.
“I would love to have everyone’s take on this book. Not that I am going to change my ways. I reckon children need to be encouraged and pushed like the way Chinese moms do, which is what the author has highlighted,” said Arpita in her defence.
The general sentiment was that Arpita had deliberately included this book for discussion, just to prove a point, that she was the best mom as compared to most of them, in the inner and wider circles.
“Did you all notice that the author Amy has a Jewish-American husband and his views seemed different as opposed to the author? Still he played it the Chinese way,” remarked Geetha attacking the husband.
“Yes, to a large extent he didn’t interfere with his wife’s way of raising the two girls, although he put forth his view, which of course Amy did not consider, until the second daughter,” chipped in Indira as she left that part hang, as if a cue for the next person to pick up.
But nobody did and instead went about ranting how America was full of tiger moms.
“We are no better. I had a tiger mom,” said Nupur and everyone burst laughing, as they gratefully accepted the platter of nibbles and tea which Dana offered politely to each one of them. Their muffled ‘thank you’ was met with a terse nod.
“Whatever it is, this book sold like hot buns all over Asia and America,” declared Arpita holding the book high up in the air. I think it is for the benefit of children that mothers set rules else this generation will get warped with their devices and become useless, mute zombies, incapable of making conversation at the dinner table.”
“I do agree with a little bit of that,” but being pushy is not the solution, said Geetha. Coercion may be counter-productive and can affect the confidence of children. They will never be able to make their own decisions. What do you think Minaxi?” asked Geetha looking directly at her.
Minaxi was taking a large bite of the samosa with the dripping chutney and heavily preoccupied with the stuffing therein, which made it taste better than the ones she made. She heard her name being mentioned and nodded vigorously, not knowing what else to do.
“Raising kids is an art,” said Rebecca, but her comment was submerged under the shrill voice of Arpita that wafted in the air, fiercely defending tiger moms, as if she was the author. The ladies listened in rapt attention mulling over their arguments, waiting for their turn to grab the space. But Arpita was talking non-stop.
“Tim, as you all know is so slack that I have to hold the reins. I finished reading this book in eight hours at a stretch and absorbed each and every word of what the writer had written and empathised with the whole theory of whether kids need to be pushed or not. I take much pride in being a tiger mom,” she concluded.
The chilled lemonade arrived in the nick of time. Dana served with rather swift movements and disappeared.
“The title should have been Tigress mom,” said Pawan and the mood lightened, even Arpita despite her poise cracked up.
The ladies left with unspoken words, well fed and fed up of Arpita’s know-all attitude. Invariably the book club meet ended this way, because the women took everything personally and intimately.
***
Arpita, albeit a control-freak, was a doting, hands-on mother of eight-year old Derek and five-year old Anjali. She assumed full charge of the house and the kids and let Tim intervene only when there was a need. Even then, her opinion prevailed over Tim. She was just that way, constantly trying to get her kids into playdates, hobby classes, swimming, and sports; and wouldn’t mind driving half way around the city and doing as many errands as she possibly could, without complaining. Just as well, parents want the best for their children, but Arpita went overboard.
Derek lacked enthusiasm in anything other than reading. Going to school every day, filled him with unexpressed misery of having to face the bullies. The booing “Derek Cooper Billy Bunter” haunted him, a stigma he wanted to magically erase by losing weight without having to work for it. How the heck could he tell his mom about the bullies? She was no less good, in a motherly sort of way.
Anjali was different. She was curious about everything and Arpita had already made up her mind that she would be a world-class pianist. “Aha, that nimble finger, my daughter is gifted,” she mused.
On a weekend at a resort….
“Derek is terrified of water. Could this be signs of hydrophobia?” She asked as they watched Derek sprawled in a hammock with a book and Anjali engrossed in building sand castles.
“Why don’t you just give up the idea that Derek does not want to be a swimmer? He might be a writer, who knows and what’s the big deal if he cannot learn to swim? I learnt it in my teens, you see. He has inherited my genes. Just let it go. How many kids take to books these days, anyway? You should be happy about that.”
“How can you be so complacent? Our children need to know the basics of life and swimming is a life skill, so why not?”
“Is our boy going to be a life guard, a bay watcher?”
“I seriously don’t appreciate your jokes when I am trying so hard,” said Arpita as she opened the sun umbrella wider and gazed at the ocean.
Arpita had even consulted a doctor who tried counselling her, instead.
“Perfectly normal behaviour, your boy is just not a water person. Give him some time and he will decide what’s best for him. For your knowledge, I am no swimmer,” he added.
Arpita changed the doctor.
“One of us has to be pushy else the children will grow up knowing nothing,” she thought remembering the10,000 hours rule from Amy Chua’s book. No matter what, I am not giving up and will make sure Derek learns to swim.
***
She was relentless and after several attempts, found a coach, as driven as her, who assured that Derek will learn swimming in just four weeks.
Arpita was thrilled.
Derek was petrified.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” said Tim.
The nightmare began after school, with the coach literally dragging Derek into the water. He was too shy to cry out loud and gripped the coach’s hands. The coach allowed him to keep the floats on to free his hands from the iron grip.
He had to get rid of the boy’s fears, so he asked Arpita and Anjali to join them. Anjali happily waddled besides her brother. She looked like an angel with wings. Arpita swam awkwardly, keeping an eye on Anjali. How could she refuse to not co-operate? The coach’s strategy worked. Derek’s fear lurked but reduced considerably. After a week, he let go of the float, but hung onto the shoulders of his coach. He kept waddling and would swallow the water and come up breathless when the coach gently shrugged off the grip.
“Enough, enough for today, please ... he implored,” standing in knee-deep water and the coach glanced at the clock.
“Okay, let’s walk in the water,” he said with compassion and Derek loved him instantly.
“The next week Derek was taught to hold onto the skirting and begin leg movements.
“Just keep flapping and then slowly dunk your head inside the water. Look around, swimming is not that hard,” said the coach encouragingly.
“I cannot breathe, noooooooooo,” cried Derek and ambled to get out of the pool. The coach threw up his hands and looked at Arpita. She was watching the scene from the stands.
“You will never learn swimming this way. Now listen to me… Take a deep breath and dunk 1, 2 breathe out; 3 head out breathe in; keep doing this in your bath tub. Tomorrow we will try together.” By then the boy was out of ear shot.
Arpita was insistent and there was no escape for Derek. So he made up his mind to learn and tried harder. He was not getting the hang of the rhythm but kept trying as he didn’t want to disappoint his loving mother.
******
The following week was the introduction to the deep end. Ten boys and girls were lined up.
“This will be your first exposure/jump into the deep, nothing to be afraid of. When I whistle close your eyes and jump. Keep waddling and try to come up. Hold your breath. Don’t worry, I can see you and within seconds, will pull you up.”
Everyone was excited although quite nervous.
Derek stood quietly and had butterflies in his tummy as he gazed at the water. Anjali was spared because she was three and it was against the rules.
“I wonder what will be there at the bottom of the pool,” said one boy.
“Sharks,” said the girl and giggled.
“Derek, are you alright she asked sympathetically as she saw the expression on Derek’s face.
“No, I am not. I am very scared of the deep. I don’t want to jump.”
“But the coach won’t listen to you. Just do what you are told, face your fear and you will be fearless,” said the girl. “You don’t have to be a swimmer, remember the coach will have you covered.”
Derek felt better and for a brief moment he felt brave.
He heard the whistle. “Go, go, go, go ...,” the students cheered.
The girl jumped. Without waiting, Derek jumped, instantaneously, out of turn. The coach was focussed on the girl and missed Derek’s leap.
He brought her out in few seconds, as she surfaced.
Arpita was watching the scene and was aghast as she saw her boy jump out of turn. She screamed and came running down the stands.
“My boy is there. He is there. Save him save him,” she cried desperately.
The coach was confused because by then he had blown the whistle and the next boy had jumped. As the coach brought him out, he heard her shrieks and dived in. But it was a few seconds too late.
The awe-stricken crowd screamed in agony. It took their breath away; Derek’s breath away.
******
http://www.museindia.com/
Click on this link & type my name in the author index to read my short stories and book reviews!
Click on this link & type my name in the author index to read my short stories and book reviews!
#thankyoueditor #museindia
Work Life Balance - Published in Woman's Era - September (Second fortnight) 2018
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| #thankyoueditor #newagefitness #gigeconomy #myfriendshipwithyoga #shortstories #bookreviews |
Sunday, September 2, 2018
Monday, August 13, 2018
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
"My Friendship with Yoga" at the London & Abu Dhabi Book Fairs - 2018
Delighted when I was informed by my Publishers, Lifi Publications that "My Friendship with Yoga," was exhibited at the London Book Fair & Abu Dhabi Book Fair, second time in a row! Thank you !!!
#nationalbooktrustindia #londonbookfair2018 #abudhabibookfair2018 #lifipublication
Monday, May 21, 2018
Reflection - a poem published in Hans India
Here is a poem ‘Reflection’ by Ahmedabad-based Revathi Raj Iyer, presented by Mr. Atreya Sarma, in The Hans India daily (20 May 2018)…Enjoy reading it…
REFLECTION
That mulberry tree, my quiet haven
Amidst the squeals, squirrels and songbirds;
Rapturous they were.
I held back unsure, unsteady
Atop the branch, aeons ago, afraid to jump.
A shrill wail! I turned around.
Her pig tails caught my eye
As they flew like birdies.
Her wail was distraught;
She started to weep
Terrified of the sweep.
Slides are meant to excite
Not scare the wits.
Her father coaxed; she refused to let go;
Tightened her grip on his sleeve.
I smiled, I remembered… I saw myself
A little girl with pigtails
Atop the branch, afraid to jump.
I looked down; he pacified me
And said it won’t hurt.
I would glide, a smooth fall;
And his hands would hold.
I let go, jumped, and slid to safety.
Yes, it was a smooth fall
On the cold coarse sand
That scattered my memories,
And left me shattered.
Although I learnt to fly
I never saw my father, again
Revathi Raj Iyer
Revathi Raj Iyer, from Ahmedabad, is a freelance writer, book reviewer, company director, service volunteer and yoga/fitness enthusiast. Qualified as Company Secretary (India & New Zealand) with legal background, she has worked in the corporate field for over a decade. She bade adieu to a rewarding career with a multinational to become a full time mum and pursue her twin passions, yoga and writing. This was followed by a long stint in Fiji Islands, where she started to learn yoga, and thereafter pursued the training in New Zealand. Continuing her passion for yoga after moving to India, she has brought out a book ‘My Friendship with Yoga’ (Lifi Publications), and is working on her second book that relates to fiction.
http://
Click on the LINK, or ZOOM the text for a clear view of the entire poem.
REFLECTION
That mulberry tree, my quiet haven
Amidst the squeals, squirrels and songbirds;
Rapturous they were.
I held back unsure, unsteady
Atop the branch, aeons ago, afraid to jump.
A shrill wail! I turned around.
Her pig tails caught my eye
As they flew like birdies.
Her wail was distraught;
She started to weep
Terrified of the sweep.
Slides are meant to excite
Not scare the wits.
Her father coaxed; she refused to let go;
Tightened her grip on his sleeve.
I smiled, I remembered… I saw myself
A little girl with pigtails
Atop the branch, afraid to jump.
I looked down; he pacified me
And said it won’t hurt.
I would glide, a smooth fall;
And his hands would hold.
I let go, jumped, and slid to safety.
Yes, it was a smooth fall
On the cold coarse sand
That scattered my memories,
And left me shattered.
Although I learnt to fly
I never saw my father, again
Revathi Raj Iyer
Revathi Raj Iyer, from Ahmedabad, is a freelance writer, book reviewer, company director, service volunteer and yoga/fitness enthusiast. Qualified as Company Secretary (India & New Zealand) with legal background, she has worked in the corporate field for over a decade. She bade adieu to a rewarding career with a multinational to become a full time mum and pursue her twin passions, yoga and writing. This was followed by a long stint in Fiji Islands, where she started to learn yoga, and thereafter pursued the training in New Zealand. Continuing her passion for yoga after moving to India, she has brought out a book ‘My Friendship with Yoga’ (Lifi Publications), and is working on her second book that relates to fiction.
http://
Click on the LINK, or ZOOM the text for a clear view of the entire poem.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
A Bedtime Story
(Sequel to the fiction featured in Muse India Issue No 75)
After hesitating a bit, ma removed another photo and showed it to me. It was that of a boy around twelve years of age. I wondered as to why ma was showing me Rahul’s photo.
“It is not what you think. This is Varun,” ma said very softly. Rahul had never mentioned a brother. I was speechless.
“Just between you and me, another time,” said ma as she left the room. Yet another bedtime story was on the cusp of revelation……….
***
I could not forget the image of that twelve-year-old boy Varun, a replica of Rahul. Were they twins? Why was ma silent all these years? All of a sudden why did she open up and that too, only to me and not her son? What if Rahul knew but had never spoken to me about it. Slim chance but still…the suspense was killing me.
One night, I decided to prod Rahul in my ploy to find out the truth.
“I am trying to write flash fiction for a literary magazine. Can you help me with some ideas?”
What I had envisaged as a manipulative conversation starter to get some leads on the mystery, didn’t exactly elicit the response that I had imagined.
Rahul gave me a blank look. “Since when and why?” he mumbled.
I was dismayed at his damp response. Maybe I wasn’t convincing enough, naturally, because I wasn’t writing any story at all.
“What do you mean ‘why’? Why not,” I demanded defiantly.
I must have sounded as if declaring a war with words not to spare the emotions that flowed with it. Rahul instantly said, “Okay,” and repeated the word ‘okay’ a few more times.
“I never knew that you were into writing. Now tell me more about it,” he said attentively. I tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that was threatening to creep in.
Why the heck was I not being direct with Rahul? Was it because I didn’t want to cause an awkward situation for ma? Was it because ma confided in me and not to her own son, assuming Rahul had no inkling about his doppelganger? Relationships were tricky and sometimes we tread on thin ice and unwittingly might crack it.
“I mustn’t let that happen,” I promised myself.
“Seriously Rahul, I am participating in a short story contest. There are online literary magazines that publish “voices of the unheard.” I am going to give it a shot. There is a lovely literary world that I intend to explore. You really need to get out of your business world and look at the other side of the spectrum.”
“Voices of the unheard? That is quite funny although I must say that you have a knack of putting things in perspective, Swati.”
“Funny? Does that sound funny to you? I do have a creative bent of mind. It appears to me that you don’t know me well enough,” I retorted getting side tracked once again.
“Some day you will realise,” I added defending my pride.
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh or insensitive. Of course I will be proud to see your name and story getting published and you know that,” he said softly and asked, “What kind of story do you have in mind?”
I had set the stage well enough. I took the plunge.
“Well, let me ask you something? What would your reaction be if you came to know that you have a brother?” My words hung in the air as I took a deep breath.
Rahul’s expression suddenly changed. He was clearly not amused.
“What kind of a devious story is this, my dear? Are you writing about me?”
“What if I was?” I rose to the bait.
“Well, in that case you shouldn’t be asking me for ideas, aye?”
I was failing one more time in this verbal tantrum.
“Ok Rahul. What if you found out that you have a brother? What if ma had a son that you never knew about?”
Rahul became really serious now and his voice was firm.
“I think you’d better stop this right away. I do not like where all this is headed. Are you suggesting that my mother had an affair? Sweet God! Your imagination is really wild. Please show some respect to ma.”
I swallowed the guilt that was choking me and decided to end this inane conversation that was on the tip of turning into a fight. I had no choice but to wait until ma was ready to share her secret.
This happened exactly two weeks later when Rahul was away on a business trip.
One afternoon…
“Swati, are you free now?” asked ma knocking on my door, quite unexpectedly.
“Yes, oh yes!” I quickly put my laptop on sleep mode and followed ma like a desperate child.
******
She began…
“I have wanted to get this off my chest.” She paused for what seemed like a whole sixty seconds, as if searching for words and then said, “Varun is Rahul’s twin brother, legitimate and unfortunate.”
Her words sent shock waves through me.
“We were cowards, Swati. Your pa and me,” she said lowering her voice.
“Varun turned out to be the exact opposite of Rahul. Except for the facial similarity, nothing else was. He was born with half developed limbs, misshapen.”
I sat still with unabated breath and pursed my lips, not knowing how to react.
“The sonography had somewhat detected this but since they were twins and one was normal, I had to go ahead with the pregnancy. However I forbade the doctor to disclose this to pa and have regretted that mistake, all my life. I was young and too scared to comprehend that one of my babies was deformed and yet I had to bring him into this world. I was expecting some miracle. Sadly that did not happen. When pa saw the twins, with one baby so out of shape; he simply could not take it. He also knew that I had hidden this from him. That same night when I was asleep he made arrangements with the help of a nurse and gave my baby away. I was too weak to put up a fight. Probably, deep down I knew that I might not be able to handle the situation. I was shattered and shamed. Every month a cheque was sent to the orphanage and both of us tried to con ourselves into believing that we were at least doing our financial duty.”
Ma stopped. She was staring into space. I placed my hand on hers. She looked at me and continued,
“A miracle did happen but much later. Providence took my boy all the way to England. We received a letter from the orphanage informing us that Varun had found a foster home and there was no need to send the cheque. No other details were revealed. I admired the couple who were kind hearted and strong enough to give Varun, a home. Remember that photo of which I showed you?”
I nodded vigorously delighted to have been ma’s confidante.
“It was the one taken on his last day at the orphanage. That is when it struck me how similar he was to Rahul. Pa had no regrets about his decision. He even refused to look at the photograph. It is good that our boy has found a home,” was all he said.
“Ma, do you want my help in finding out more about Varun?” I asked hesitantly. “It might be difficult if he has changed his name but at least I could try,” I assured.
“I was coming to that, Swati. At the library I came across this book which showcased paintings by ‘brilliant, talented, challenged artists’ as they were called, some of whom had lost their limbs during an accident or war. There is a guild in the UK that promotes such artists who out of sheer courage dedication had made a worthy life for themselves. And there I saw my boy, Varun Victor Whittaker, a renowned artist in Europe, proudly displaying his paintings. Blessed with astute talent and with the support of his foster parents, Varun has enriched his life. I am happy that my boy turned out to be a great personality but sad that we were not the ones who enabled him to do so.”
Ma was in tears. I held her hands tightly.
“We are the unfortunate ones, not Varun. Pa passed away without knowing that his ruthless decision gave a new meaning to the life of our abandoned son.”
I embraced ma. That moment I made up my mind to tell Rahul, everything. He had the right to know. He may take some time to understand, accept and forgive but I knew that he wouldn’t hate ma or pa.
I was right.
One day …
“Why not we all go to UK for a holiday this summer?” Rahul asked looking at all of us who were engrossed in the Sunday morning comedy show.
“Yay! But why UK papa,” quipped Anu. To see the Queen?” she asked with exuberance.
“To say hello to somebody even more interesting than the Queen, your uncle ‘Varun Victor Whittaker.”
http://museindia.com/Home/ViewContentData?arttype=fiction&issid=78&menuid=7744
#thankyoumuse #fictioneditor #nicetogetacknowledged#writingisfunevenotherwise #fictionwriting #imagery #characterbuild#dialogues #chirmineyblogspot
Monday, March 19, 2018
My review of "Once upon a time" - a Kashmiri novel by Bansi Nirdosh
Once upon a time
A novel in Kashmiri
Translated by: Qaisar Bashir
New Delhi: Authors Press, 2017
ISBN: 978-93-87281-06-6
Pp 131 | Rs 295
A simple Kashmiri tale set in the pre-Independence era
A novel in Kashmiri
Translated by: Qaisar Bashir
New Delhi: Authors Press, 2017
ISBN: 978-93-87281-06-6
Pp 131 | Rs 295
A simple Kashmiri tale set in the pre-Independence era
Akh Daur by Kashmiri author Bansi Nirdosh, posthumously translated by Qaisar Bashir as Once upon a time, portrays the travails of an innocent village girl Nageena and the cultural, religious and social conditions that existed during the early 19th century. The author was a popular novelist, playwright and short story writer from Srinagar, whose literary career began as an editor of Naya Zamana and thereafter as sub-editor of a daily, Khidmat, upon his return to Srinagar. Bansi Nirdosh has also scripted several articles for Akashvani radio programme surrounding social issues, over a hundred drama skits for radio and published short stories and two novels in Kashmiri language. Some of his writings have been translated into English and Hindi, as well.
Once upon a time is the story of a poor peasant girl Nageena, from Bandipora, whose father Deen Mohammad is debilitated with a disease. She pictures her father getting better with treatment and coaxes him to go to the Mission Hospital at Srinagar. Nageena is entrusted under the care of the kind landlord Ghan Bhat and the villagers. The author brings out the camaraderie and solidarity that prevailed amongst the fraternity of Hindus and Muslims albeit adhering to their own cultural norms, highlighting an era gone by.
Nageena longs to visit her father but is not allowed to cross the boundaries of the village by the protective landlord who visits Deen Mohammad and brings the news back to them all. Ghan Bhat is also worried that the little girl might not be able to overcome the grief if her father passes away whilst she is there, hence the embargo. It is interesting to read about this unique relationship between the landlord and a peasant as imagined by the author.
However Nageena’s overpowering urge to meet her father, gives her the courage to escape. Crossing the river Wular by boat, followed by a rather tedious journey, she reaches the hospital at nightfall. She is stopped at the gate despite her naïve pleadings. Not knowing where to go, she takes refuge in a nearby shrine. A passer-by sees her and offers rice and water. The next day when she gets to meet her father, she is shattered and speechless. It was contrary to her imagination. It feels as if he has been shackled and is suffering from severe bouts of cough. The doctor assures that her father will return soon and she must not stay behind. She is saddened when her father asks her to return home and let him know she has reached safely.
The next day she happens to meet the man who gave her rice and water and is happy to return the empty bowl, trusting him to be a well-wisher. But he turns out to be a pimp, Sideeq Joo. Nageena ends up in a brothel believing this to be a home away from home, as she sees the grandeur, comfort, good food and the warmth of Tout’a. By the time she gets to know the truth she realises that there is no escape once girls end up here. A different chapter unfolds in the life of the protagonist and the author engages the reader in a simple story with an unexpected end.
The author has been eloquent about the picturesque Kashmir. I quote –
“If you peered out through the hospital window you could see the golf course and the polo ground; far away from it, the city, mosque minarets and glittering temple spires; and from your right, the Dal Lake and the Parbat loomed into view. And if you desired to take a deeper look, it only seemed a lip to tea distance from the mountains of Gulmarg and their tops capped with snow. On beholding this scenic landscape, you would feel your eyes comforted as if recovering a lost sight and rejoiced that being born in Kashmir were like to be born in a paradise. Where else would such a beauty be?”
Alongside such resplendent beauty, the author also portrays the misery of the destitute and class differences – haves and the have-nots. I quote –
“Looking out through the hospital shutters, you would feel the same pleasure, same fear and love, which a man travelling in an aeroplane feels: rivers and streams looking like thin strings, houses as match boxes and the wide open planes, fields and lanes seem to be only a picture carefully painted by an artist, who adorned and embellished it with trees, mountains, roads and pulchritude. This comeliness, however, is on the canvas, not in real life. Not in the stone made houses built on the river embankments, in boats and canoes sailing on in the river, in the life of boatmen living in house-boats, or in the life of anglers, who catch fish, fetch wood and ferry people across.”
This book marks Qaisar Bashir’s debut as a translator. The foreword by Sahitya Akademi award winning author, critic and linguist, Prof Shafi Shauq is explicit about the capability and brilliance of Qaisar Bashir, for effectively capturing the multi-dimensional contents of Akh Daur in this novella to reach a wider audience. The charm of this book lies in its simplicity. Readers will get a glimpse of the erstwhile Kashmir befitting the title “Once upon a time.”
{Published in Muse India - Jan/Feb, 2018}
Click onto http://museindia.com/MuseIndia/AuthorIndexList
Key in my name Revathi Raj Iyer to catch a glimpse of my stories & reviews
Book Review - My Friendship with Yoga
Book Review #128: My Friendship With Yoga
Author: Revathi Raj IyerPages: 185Publisher: Winspire, an imprint of LiFi Publications Pvt. Ltd.
- Ratings-
Cover : 3/5
Title : 3.5/5
Blurb : 3.5/5
Theme : 4/5
Overall : 4/5
Title : 3.5/5
Blurb : 3.5/5
Theme : 4/5
Overall : 4/5
- Blurb:
My Friendship with Yoga is a comprehensive and engaging book with a unique combination of narrative, detailed guidelines, tips, techniques and benefits. Readers will experience the joy of embracing yoga through the wide range of asana (postures) and a weekly practice regimen. From the perspective of a seeker’s journey into yoga, this illustrative book is the perfect guide for all yoga enthusiasts.
- Review:
My Friendship With Yoga by Revathi Raj Iyer is a book for yoga enthusiasts and everyone else who wishes to make it a part of their daily life. The book is divided into three parts:
Part 1: Narrative: The first part gives readers a sneak peak into what entails yoga, an understanding of what yoga is, and helps break certain myths and notions around yoga via the story of Revathi. It also helps explain one’s body structure, the energy chakras one has in the body, and how yoga can help synergize these chakras for a healthy and fruitful living. In short, this part covers the physical, psychological, and spiritual aspects of yoga with a selection of topics along with interesting anecdotes.
Part 2: Asana (Postures): This section helps the readers understand the various postures in yoga — 80 to be specific — with detailed steps on how to go about achieving them, their benefits, and tricks and tips to make the most of these.
Part 3: Daily Yoga Practice: The final section comprises of a weekly practice schedule with detailed and clear instructions on things to do on each day of the week to make yoga an integral part of your daily routine.
- Let-downs:
I found the book a bit methodical with little freedom to customize options and regimen for daily routines. Also, I would have loved to see special instructions for patients of diabetes or other non-communicable conditions as they need to imbibe yoga in their routine the most.
- Appreciations:
Explaining the details of yoga via a story was a brilliant step in putting across her thoughts given that readers usually have less attention span for theoretical concepts. The story helps keep the readers engaged and drives home the point that it aims to. I also loved the fact that Revathi not just mentioned details and benefits, but also helped lay down a rough regimen to follow over weeks, for beginners especially, so as to make yoga an integral part of our routine. This ensured that readers sustain their yoga practice and not lose touch of it. Kudos for the idea!
- Verdict:
A comprehensive guide answering all questions about Yoga (4/5)
#thankyou madhurivarma
Author Interview - "My Friendship With Yoga"
Author Interview : Revathi Raj Iyer
Posted on March 11, 2018
Revathi Raj Iyer, author of “My Friendship with Yoga” published by LiFi Publications, is a freelance writer, book reviewer, company director, service volunteer, and yoga/fitness enthusiast. Professionally qualified as Company Secretary (India & New Zealand) with legal background, she has worked in the corporate field for over a decade. She bid adieu to a rewarding career with a multinational to become a full time mum and pursue her twin passions: yoga and full-time writing. She lives in Ahmedabad, India and has completed her next book which is a collection of short stories.
Let’s get to know her more-
Tell us something about your recently published book My Friendship With Yoga.
My Friendship with Yoga is about my progression from learning under an instructor to achieving confidence in self-practice and sharing my varied experiences with readers. I have presented the complicated aspects of yoga in a lucid style with practical hints so as to cater book lovers of all age groups and skill levels.
When did you start writing?
I began as a closet writer at a very young age. As a book lover, I have often wondered as to what it takes to be on the other side and how wonderful it would be to connect with readers all over the world. I started reviewing books and was invited to join the panel of Muse India. I also began writing stories, poems, limericks and articles. This was my transition phase. As my work started getting acknowledged in magazines, both print and online, I felt encouraged and continued to write. I then decided to combine my passion for yoga and writing to reach out to a wider audience. “My Friendship with Yoga” thus took shape and was launched on the 10th January, 2017 at the New Delhi World Book Fair. Thanks to LiFi Publications for making this happen!
Writing is very therapeutic and it makes me happy. I love to connect with people through my work. “My Friendship with Yoga” is my humble attempt to inspire readers and spread awareness of health by sharing all what I have been exposed to.
What inspired you to bring forth this idea as a book?
Physical activity was dominant in my life right from an early age. I trained as a classical dancer since my school days and this continued till my late twenties. For almost a decade there was a complete break as I became engrossed with my career together with being a hands on mum to a lovely little daughter alongside other demands that needed my attention. Things changed when we moved to Fiji Islands. I chose to take a break from my corporate career and became a full time mum. I got back into fitness with intense aerobics and strength training, along with a bunch of friends. Around that time when I was in my late thirties, I began to read about yoga, tai chi and was filled with an urge to learn something different. As destiny would have it, a disciple of Yogacharya BKS Iyengar was deputed to Fiji to introduce this ancient tradition to the people of Fiji. Yoga was at my door step and thus began my journey in this paradise island. To me it was an exercise, dance, meditation and gradual awakening of a hidden spiritual side within me. I embraced yoga with heartfelt love and since then it has become part of my routine. It made me realize as to how yoga can change one’s lifestyle and perception. I understood its therapeutic as well as meditative aspects and felt inspired to share my friendship with yoga.
My idea of meditation is being able to improve concentration and develop a receptive, calm and open mind that wishes to learn and evolve. To me, spirituality is self-discovery and being able to experience the divinity that is within each one of us.
My debut book titled “My Friendship with Yoga” was launched at the New Delhi World Book Fair, in January, 2017. Since then it has been exhibited at several International Book Fairs viz. London, Frankfurt, Abu Dhabi, Tehran, Colombo, Indonesia and Beijing under the auspices of The National Book Trust, India. It was also displayed at the College & Research Libraries Conference, Baltimore.
My poem “She” was published in Singapore based Kitab.
Two of my poems “Timeless friendship” and “Rizzu” were published in The Sunday
Hans, newspaper.
So how was this journey of becoming a published author?
To me, success is being able to accomplish my goals that I set at the start of each year and happiness is to enjoy that journey. Hence, the journey of becoming a published author has been extremely exciting and fulfilling. It is important to follow the guidelines and present a well-crafted proposal to capture the attention of the publisher since that will start the dialogue between a potential author and publisher. Be relentless but patient in your efforts. “Where there is a will, there is a way” is the mantra that kept me on my toes. A professional approach and adhering to deadlines helps build a rapport with the publisher. I used to meticulously check and edit my manuscript at every stage of completion, along with the team of Lifi.
Have you self-published your book or followed the traditional approach?
My book has been published under the traditional method.
Which approach is better according to you: traditional or self-publishing, and why?
I think there is a lot more challenge and excitement in the traditional approach as opposed to self-publishing a book. However, the marketing and promotion is something the author has to be actively involved in and support the publisher, regardless of the method of publishing.
What should the beginners do today?
They could seek the support of a mentor who will be able to guide them along the way, unless they are self-starters with penchant and drive for excellence.
What is your take on book publishing as you see the current scenario?
It is a highly competitive business but still there is room for emerging writers to create their own footprint.
What are your forthcoming writings?
My next project is a collection of intriguing, theme based short stories with interesting backdrop ranging from the dainty dwellings of India to the land of the long white clouds and larger than life characters.
What are the four top most things you take care of while writing a book?
Syntax, Style, Narration, & Milieu
I see! What is your favorite genre and why?
My favorite genre is a racy thriller as it breaks my routine.
What / Who is your biggest source of inspiration in life?
Health scare that fortunately turned out to be a misdiagnosis – yoga & meditation helped me through the whole phase.
If you had to live a day of your life as one of the living or dead personality, who would it be and why?
My namesake actress / director Revathi for her talent and versatility.
And finally, any message for the readers?
Rejections are a part of the whole process of being ultimately accepted and acknowledged, as a writer. Please do not give up, no matter what, and pursue your passion, despite the road blocks. Do not ever succumb to this self-created monster, the so called ‘writer’s block’, which is a fragment of our own imagination. Think of the book lovers and connect with them. Write for them and the passion will always be with you.
https://madhurivarma.wordpress.com/2018/03/11/author-interview-44-revathi-raj-iyer/
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