P.A. Chawla's Blog

Every blossom buds, peaks and drops to earth … enjoy the bounty, do not get attached to it.

P.A. Chawla

Author: Mumbai Mornings and The Shenanigans of Time

She looked gaunt and determined


her head wrapped in a scarf


sneakers under her ethnic dress


stray grays whipping against her face


in defiance


this grandma proud


weighed down


with apples, a diaper bag, a flask of breast milk


stumbling towards the train


puffing like an engine …


the door shut in her face


she stood


impervious – next train… next hour.

Someday the sea of tears will dry up
the lump in your throat you will swallow.
Someday your heart will allow –
Thoughts unrelated
Fresh amusements
Unsolicited cheer.
Until then
Let the deluge of memories
assault you.
Fear not the pain
you need it like a sickle
to clear out a path
that widens to a field
called Peace.

 

 

Solace she gave 

With her ancient eyes and baby soft hands

Her whispered blessings and gentle scoldings…

Let us take with us then shall we? Her extraordinary love?

Yes let us take with us

The fierce belief she had in us, in each and every one of us

Let us bask in  the memory of that soft embrace

And  with courage face

 the remains of the day

 

 

 ‘Words mouthed into a cell phone can sound like marbles clattering helter-skelter down the aisles of a railway carriage.

Words whispered in hallowed places rise above your bowed head, gather the mute prayers of parishioners long gone then spread like cobwebs in the high, unattended corners of old walls.

Ordinary words, spoken out in the open take on the colors and textures of the day, the warmth of the sun, the merriment of the air, the purple distance of the mountains.

Words spilled from the sick bed are laced with the rank smell of debility. They fill up the room and the spaces in your heart with uneasiness.

Words of love when oft repeated lose their magic, their shine. They sound like actors caught unguarded at rehearsal.

Words of unspoken love can weigh you down so that your boots are heavy and life a wearisome journey.

And words flung carelessly in passing sometimes stick like burrs on whosoever stands close.’

From MUMBAI MORNINGS by P.A. Chawla

LOOK FOR THE BOOKS

 

 

 

 

In her second book, Chawla (The Shenanigans of Time, 2013) again displays a gift for revealing character, history, and culture through powerful vignettes. 

In this interconnected collection, an Indian-American woman visits her mother in Mumbai and hears family stories. When Saya, long settled in New Jersey, comes home to Mumbai, seeing extended family and listening to them talk about old times is an essential part of the visit. Each story gets a chapter, as in “Cardamom,” about Hero Harish, a cousin on Saya’s father’s side who came to Mumbai to break into Bollywood films and somehow got a screen test: “He had to lend expression to the word cardamom in as many ways as he could. By the end of the afternoon, everyone was rolling on the floor laughing at his acting.” Harish flailed in life and finally disappeared; now, though, his son is a child star. Other stories include how Mad-dog Mahaan earned his nickname, why Aunt Dina still sleeps on a daybed and not her enormous custom-made canopied bed, how Saya’s mother found solace for her lonely childhood in sitar music, and the strange story of Shanti, who gained a reputation for black magic. In her second book, Chawla (The Shenanigans of Time, 2013) again displays a gift for revealing character, history, and culture through powerful vignettes. For example, in “Swamini,” Saya’s mother puzzles over how her niece Geet could be content living in an ashram. Geet seemed “wonderfully composed and happy” when she visited her in the city, yet the closer her aunt “came to the laughter of children, the buzzing of commerce, of life teeming with expectation and regeneration, the more my heart sank.” Geet’s mother doesn’t give up trying to woo her daughter back from a life “without friends, family, a husband’s love.” Western readers who prize individualism may see this as intrusive, but for Saya, this is a story about the tenacity of a mother who loves her child and will always try to rescue her. Chawla’s masala mix of settings includes Bollywood, Mumbai’s newly built apartments, a rural village, and a Catholic school, nicely showcasing the breadth of this family’s experience.

MUMBAI MORNINGS – Engaging, colorful stories connected by family and differentiated by setting.

– Kirkus Reviews

COMING SOON TO A BOOKSTORE NEAR YOU

It is your smile I love, My Love

It is your voice that lends me voice

It is your heart that breaks my heart

It is your hope that  waters my hope

It is my dream you live your dream …

It is your smile I love, My Love

I was waiting for inspiration. I figured I’d cook something while I waited. Get my creative juices flowing, so to speak :-)

So here’s what I dished out – Naan  slathered with a dressing of greek yoghurt, avocado and a twist of lemon. Topped with baby spinach, kale, caramelized onions, Rotisserie chicken and sriracha. Enjoy! ( No. I don’t measure. Sorry!)

Oh! In case you are wondering, I did find inspiration after I ate the awesome gyro/fajita/California style pizza I created. So here’s a morsel from my funny, sexy, inspirational upcoming book “Mumbai Mornings.” Let me know what you think!

Then one day, just as he began to despair he would dry up like a prune before he found the woman of his dreams–a cross between the reigning Indian actress Madhubala and the French Brigitte Bardot no doubt–he heard a hum in the air that quickly changed to a warble and, at last, into a full-throated crescendo, and within the space of a verse, Mad-dog Mahaan found himself in the throes of love. Mind you, he could not see the singer. He knew only that the notes rose above him, and that it was a female instrument that peeled those silver bells, transporting him to the gates of heaven where he quivered like a sitar player before his muse. What made it even more enchanting was that it was a new song, a modern song, a ditty that he was convinced only a young, chaste woman with a potential for passion could sing.

Mad-dog-Mahaan did the only thing he could: he answered the singer with a tune of his own.

Mumbai Mornings 

Her eyes said good morning as her hand caressed my hair, making sure I was with her in the flesh and not just a voice on the phone. Often, I wouldn’t let her turn the light on or even part the curtains at that sacred hour. Those Mumbai mornings were exclusively ours.

At first, we simply sipped our tea and basked in the silence. Mum seldom asked me about my life in New Jersey. I think not asking allowed her to imagine I dwelled in a sort of paradise where no one ever aged or wept or did the dishes. Then, usually on my second cup, I invoked a name or addressed her past, and slowly she opened her heart.

Coming soon to a bookstore near you ….

If you liked The Shenanigans of Time

you will love Mumbai Mornings

by P.A. Chawla