SANTOSH BAKAYA
Allow me to add something more to what I said about the importance of Observation in my column last fortnight.
“ I want to taste and glory in each day, “ said Sylvia Plath.
Yes, each day has something different to offer, different hues, different perspectives, different people, different glories We need to tarry a while, looking around with a keen eye , but not be that absent minded Little Johnny Head – in – air, who used to be so involved in observing swallows, dogs, and the cruising clouds overhead that he forgot about the dangers that lay ahead and kept stumbling and tumbling on the way, becoming a laughing stock of everyone.
Or the botanist who was so intrigued by the sight of a rare plant on the railway track that he bent down to observe it closely – and was almost crushed by the fast moving train !
slow down,
breathe deeply,
look around
exhale
Stop to pick up a petal, a yellowing leaf, look closely at a snail slithering, a caterpillar gracefully moving on the ground, the pigeons yodelling and the birds raising a chirruping storm, inhale the fragrance of flowers blossoming in bounteous beauty in the neighbour’ s planters, the neighbours exchanging gossip across the boundary wall, an egret taking a free ride on a cow’ s back – all this is food for thought !
Stories are scattered all around us , provided we keep our senses alert. One needs to hone one’s senses, explore different hues , shapes and contours , shades and shadows . If we prick our ears to the surroundings around us, we may hear sounds which we have not heard before. Smells take on new connotations as they waft across to us from the past . I still remember the sights and sounds of childhood, now so much a part of me. It is around these sights and sounds that I have penned many an article .
Keenly savouring the tastes of things can heighten our senses, helping us mastering the art of observation, impacting our writing. But this should not give us the liberty to indulge in semantic incoherence / incongruity or mindless verbosity.
It was Anton Chekhov who said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass. “
When I go for my morning walks , I love observing the small things around me- the antics of grasshoppers, the track suits of joggers, a boy and girl sitting under a tree engrossed in their own world , a group of old women singing bhajans based on filmi songs, a dog and cat walking side by side, no mythical enmity dividing them, a young jogger stumbling over his undone shoelaces – all these provide me with mental fodder , becoming part of my column, Morning Meanderings.
Sometimes an idea strikes me at the dead of night, and I stealthily creep out of the bed and jot down my thoughts. I often keep a diary under my bed and quickly scribble the outline of the thought, so that I don’t forget what had struck me ! One can really let one’ s imagination go berserk and conjure up fictional events, stories, or articles. Being observant allows one to flesh out stories and garnish them with minute details . Let me make a point here. One doesn’t need to observe things and scenarios from some spectacular spot, but even from one’ s window or the main gate of the house .
Just the other day, our cab got stuck in a traffic jam, and as I looked through the window of the cab, my eyes witnessed an almost surreal scene. A plane was gliding through the clouds, and a bird was also flying behind, as if bent on chasing the plane . Right next to it was a flamboyant paper kite cruising merrily. Three highfliers with their own private missions . This scene got etched in my memory and I am sure, will later become a part of my writings.
During the COVID period, I was able to observe the silent world outside from the glass windowpane of my bedroom. Once I even saw a Neel gai , a deer , and many rare birds and a peacock dancing with a gay elan. Such scenes can help embellish one’ s story.
Allow me to take your leave now , but hang on!
I just sighted a Common Rose finch ! Let me go and observe it from closer quarters. Ah I can glimpse the Red – Crested Pochard swimming in a creek ! It’s a male , I think , with its chestnut head and a large crest …
Keep honing your art and observing till we meet again!
The author is an academician, poet, essayist, novelist, and TEDx speaker, with more than twenty published books to her credit.
