A new year and a new beginning. I used to have new year’s resolutions, but as I grow older and wiser I’ve abandoned them. So I welcome 2021 with a blank slate, not much in the calendar. A huge embrace for the unknown and what the year has in store for me and mine. In this time of uncertainty, it is futile to plan holidays, family gatherings, or even a catch up with friends. It will happen, just be patience. New mantra, it will happen.
This time last year I pressed the publish button for My Heart Sings Your Song as an ebook and I didn’t just publish on Amazon, but went worldwide. Everywhere, every ebook platform. Anyone who had an app on their phone, tablet or computer could read my story, everyone who had a library card could download it.
It was an enormous step. I had joined a creative writing course in 2006 and wrote Where Have We Come, that story poured out of me. I remembered every comment, every incident in vivid colour, the feeling of inadequacy, the search for a miracle to prolong his life. It is the story of our first-born son who lived but didn’t survive, after all it was our experience. Simple, right? Not really.
It was also the year my father was diagnosed with bone cancer, and then it hit me the grief. Grief for my father, but also the grief for the baby who was too sick to survive. So when I published in January, it was a conscious decision to add a celebration. I have always felt sad from January to March, and I’ve put it down to living in the northern hemisphere, short days, long nights, and the cloudy skies, the greyness of it all. Two years after his birth, we had a healthy baby boy, and three years later another. January became a time of celebration; all my children are born in January. We fill the weekends with family and friends and a visit to the cemetery to spend time with our son. This year isn’t the same, we don’t have friends and family with us and the memories of that time are still too fresh, still raw and at times I feel they’re ready to burst out again. Leaving me with the stomachache, the thumping headaches, the lack of sleep. Then I think of how I got here, the panic attack and the talk therapy that brought me back to the story I wanted to share. I take comfort from the moment I took the steps to self-publish.
I wrote my books to deal with my panic attacks, but I also write and speak about depression, child loss, anxiety, stigmatised subjects. I want to tell everyone that my experience isn’t unique and that I’ve found a way to deal with my depression and anxiety, it’s still with me, but I embrace it, stay connected with it, and ease it. If I found the courage to seek help, to find my enjoyable task, my voice through my writing, then they can too.
Photo by Thays Orrico on Unsplash
Festivals
As I write this, there are a couple of festivals celebrated throughout India and all over the world by Sikhs, Hindus and Jains: Lohri, Makar Shankrati and Pongal.
Lohri takes place on the day of the longest night at the end of the winter solstice and is followed by Makar Shankrati, whereas Pongal is a multi-day festival. They are all a celebration for the end of winter.
For Lohri children collect firewood and sweet treats; gurh-jaggery, gachak-peanut brittle, tilcholi, a puffed rice, sesame seed and jaggery brittle, popcorn during the day. As the sunsets the bonfire is lit and the food distributed and offered to the fire, some people walk around the fire and pray to it. Hindus also offer milk and water to Surya for his protection. Everyone sings and dances around the fire. Lohri is mostly celebrated by North Indian families, singing special Lohri songs and dancing the Gida and Banghra, dressed in their best clothes.
The day after Lohri is Makar Shankrati, for me this is the colourful kite festival, offering thanks by praying to Surya. Again sweets are made and distributed in Gujarat and Rajasthan, its talsakri - sesame seed and jaggery brittle, they fly kites during the day and bonfires are lit in the evening. Many places hold fairs, full of stores, fairground rides and entertainment. It’s also the time Hindus go to the Kumbh Mela when pilgrims converge to bathe at Prayaga, Hardwar, a confluence of the River Ganga and River Yumana. A mass gathering that happens every twelve years.
Pongal, is a festival celebrated by the Tamil community, the festival is named after the dish made with milk, rice and jaggery. Are you getting the idea for the festival yet? Winter harvest and jaggery. A way to say thanks to mother nature and its bounty.
Pongal runs over three days and is celebrated by South Indian families. Beginning with Bhogi Pongal, the day to discard old things, clean and decorate houses, exchange new clothes, decorate cow horns and light bonfires. Surya Pongal the next day, friends and family gather to cook the pongal dish in the open, usually in a clay pot. They make Pongal with milk, rice and jaggery and allow it to boil and overflow. The dish is offered to the gods, then to cows, before the family eats it. It is on this day that the entrances of houses have a geometric pattern called kolums, similar to rangoli but with rice flour. Mattu Pongal on the third day, is dedicated to the cow, people adorned them with flowers, some people bathe them in turmeric paste, and feed banana and special meal to them. Mattu Pongal is to give thanks to the cow, bullock, for providing transportation, farming aid, fertilisers and food. Some communities celebrate a fourth day where they visit family to get blessings.
As a celebration of the first year of My Heart Sings Your Song, I’ve created a little trailer and want to thank you, my readers and supporters who’ve left reviews on Goodreads and Amazon. You don’t know how important it is for a writer to have validation. Reviews are also bread and butter of marketing for self-published authors, so please spread the word by leaving yours, if you haven’t done so already. And I now have a Youtube Channel. Please check it out and like.
Writing and embracing the unknown
I thought I’d explain the process of why and what type of questions I asked myself before I decided on publishing. Hope it will give you the courage to embrace your story.
When I was on the creative writing course, there were several exercises to get you to write. One of these is an exercise on expanding an anecdotal story, something that happened to you, that you could expand on and create into a short story. The exercise is simple in that it’s from a place you're comfortable, something that has happened to you, something you can embellish. My book started like that, a short retelling of my experience, and then became Where Have We Come. The questions I asked can also help you write a personal story.
Why am I writing this story?
To tell my story, to tell other people who have or know of people who have been through similar situations, know that it is okay to grieve. To remember our child and his short life.
What will writing it do to me?
Help me process my feelings and recover from the cycle of grief and sadness that overwhelms me.
What will writing it do to the reader?
Comfort them, tell them they are not alone. Help family and friends understand parents who’ve lost children so they can better support them. Open up discussion about child bereavement.
What is the bigger conversation this will contribute to?
Open up discussion on mental issues for families who have lost children and for the south Asian community to recognise that child loss is just as important as other loss. To talk about mental health and to wipe out the stigma.
What is the cost to my wellbeing in writing it?
Helping others and opening discussions will provide me the opportunity to meet other families who are dealing with the same situations. Writing about my emotions will help me deal with them better.
Why am I writing this now?
It's time to question old-fashioned attitudes. Subjects like postnatal depression, child loss and mental health need an honest and open forum and I have the opportunity to dedicate time to make a change.
My Heart Sings Your Song
Friendship
An understanding of the meaning of friends, true friends will stay with you in your time of need. If they drop away when you most need them, then they aren’t in it for you, but only themselves. We have some amazing friends, who have supported us in our time of need and celebrated with us too. The extract is from My Heart Sings Your Song. The first time Reena realises that it doesn’t matter where you come from or who you are, there is a commonality in us all.
“I know this film,” Peter exclaimed. “I love it.” He started to sing. “Ye Dosa Tea Ham Na Hee.”
The Indians in the room gawked like goldfish. Umi and I laughed out loud at his version of the Hindi film classic. We settled down to watch Amitabh and Dharmendra. Dick was the only one who didn’t have the shared experience. Luckily there were English subtitles on this version, and he, too, would understand the Western-inspired, buddy movie, Sholay.
As the song started, Jay got to his feet, pulling at Nik. Peter joined in and began to sing, too, so we all stood up and sang holding each other around the waist.
When the song finished, we laughed at Peter, a Nigerian who grew up watching Bollywood films, and felt how amazingly small the world was and how we had had the good fortune to meet each other.