The battle continues, not!

Earlier today, I was making my second cup of tea while mentally preparing lessons plans for my students & editing my poetry manuscript, when an interesting conversation stopped me in my steps. One of my fellow writers was talking to another TV/Screen writer. They were both native New Yorkers discussing living in Los Angeles—one of them had been offered a job in the City of Angels.

What New York is to the literary world, Bay Area is to technology world, LA is to films. If you are in the TV/film/screenwriting business, your best opportunities are in LA. It makes sense to spend a few years there. Or so I am told.

One of them said, “I hate LA. Only thing good about it is the hot girls.” Sure, I continued to steep my tea bag. There was no way I was going to quit eavesdropping now.:-) The other person said that LA weather could get monotonous—they preferred the four seasons offered by New York. Then the chat continued about lack of public transport and fake body parts and superficiality in Los Angeles.

I was amused. This wasn’t the first time I had heard LA-bashing. And that too by New Yorkers. Just as an FYI, no self-respecting New Yorker likes LA. Neither do I. We are trained and taught to despise Los Angeles. To me it is the most pretentious and fake city in the US (Maybe world). But then I am not a big fan of California or of that lifestyle overall. I prefer the urgency and diversity of New York. And I’d much rather slit my wrists than stare into space without concerns for my future, dreams or ambition. I don’t think LA has a stress-free lifestyle. It seems that way because most people don’t boast wrinkles. And that is because of abundance of plastic surgeons and botox.

Anyhoo, I digress. One of my very close friends, a big shot at a bank in NYC who could relocate to any place in the US, was born and raised in LA. The first opportunity he had to leave the city, he did. And there has been no looking back for him ever since he moved to New York. Though I did recommend Asia to him—awesomely comfortable life. The other night, when a bunch of us got together, I asked him why he loathed LA. My friend reiterated the same points my fellow writers were talking about today. He hated the traffic in LA along with the superficial culture, air-headed people, low to no work ethics, and lack of professionalism. He also found LA extremely bureaucratic. People don’t work much. And even they do, commitments & professionalism aren’t words that resonate with them. He also pointed out that, unlike New York, LA is homogenous. There are whites and Latinos. And given he grew up in a white, affluent neighborhood, he was friends with mostly Caucasians. New York pampers you in that sense—just the sheer diversity of people and cultures one is exposed to, should you choose, is remarkable.

There is something about the not-so-convenient lifestyle of the city that keeps you real, grounded, and interesting. I remember reading that Mayor Bloomberg takes the subway to work. And he is the sixth richest man in America. If you have watched the hit American television comedy-drama series, Sex and the City, you’d recall an episode where the four friends visit Los Angeles. By the end of it, they are miserable and can’t wait to return to NYC.

American playwright and screenwriter, Neil Simon, once said, “When its 100 degrees in New York, it's 72 in Los Angeles. When its 30 degrees in New York, in Los Angeles it's still 72. However, there are 6 million interesting people in New York, and 72 in Los Angeles.” I smile every time I read these lines. And no part of me believes there is anything exaggeration in them.

Another classmate of mine in graduate school, born and bred in LA, said similar, negative things about her city. Her father ran operations for one of the largest entertainment houses, so growing up she mingled/partied with the “in” people, which included big name celebrities. She’d said, “Men in LA are always on the lookout for “better” women. They could be chatting with you, but they would be looking around you. Given every 3^rd person in LA is an aspiring actor or a model, there is no dearth of good-looking people.”

New York is clogged with celebrities. At our restaurants, bars, parks, bakeries, schools, and stores. But we don’t gawk at them. Or rush to them for an autograph. I was shopping for shoes at Barneys when I spotted the Olsen twins. We literally sat next to each other. A couple of years ago, I saw Jennifer Lopez in Tribeca. But I have also met Jhumpa Lahiri, Malcolm Gladwell, and Salman Rushdie in New York City.

Ultimately, LA might be fun with Disneyland, Universal Studios, Sunset Boulevard and all of that, but New York is that damn efficient and cool where we define who our heroes and celebrities are!

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 03.07.2012

“Tip the world over on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles.” Frank Lloyd

Will your child have a criminal record?

Timing is everything. Less than a month ago, my husband read a study in TIME Magazine. According to it, 1 in 3 Americans will be arrested by the time they are 23. It could be a traffic violation or something more serious. But, yes, a criminal record. A couple of weeks later, we were both summoned for jury duty. Weird coincidence, right?

The judge excused my husband after the trial juror round, but I was put on a case as a grand juror. I was actually excited (more like intrigued) about the opportunity to understand the workings of the American judicial system. The thought of sitting in the same room as the defendant felt uncomfortable. But the United States law expects jury members to assume the defendant is innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt by the prosecution.

On the first day, the judge presiding the case, the prosecution, and the defense attorney threw a volley of questions at the trial jurors. This was part of the jury selection process—who would fit and who wouldn’t. We went around the room sharing our personal and professional details. The officials asked if any of us had been victims, witnessed, or convicted of a crime. Several people raised their hands confirming they had been victims. Later on the attorneys pestered, “If not you, has someone close to you been a victim of a crime?” Over 95% of the people raised their hands, I was part of that 95%, and most confirmed that their perpetrators hadn’t been arrested. At that moment, even for a raging optimist like me, the world seemed dark.

America has the highest reported crime rates in the world. Granted this is New York, and big cities come with their share of issues. But New York, thankfully, isn’t amongst the top ten American cities in terms of crime risk. St. Louis, Atlanta, Birmingham, Orlando, and Detroit rank the crime-charts. Can you imagine the streets and courtrooms in these cities?

I thought about the defendant in the courtroom where I sat. Young, smug, and in trouble? Sitting in a courtroom instead of playing ball. Or studying or working.

One of the trial jurors, she didn’t make it to grand jury for a reason I suppose, said that her store had been burglarized twice. Both times, the burglars turned out to be young boys who put a gun to her head. She cried, begged for her life. She was the only surviving parent of a 14-year-old. They eventually let her go but not without violating her in other ways.

I couldn’t sleep that night. What were these boys, not men, doing with guns? Again, shouldn’t they be playing sports, meeting deadlines, being yelled at by their parents? Massacres in the US receive significant media attention, but gun deaths and injuries in the U.S. usually occur quietly, without national press coverage, every day.

Studies show that firearms are the second leading cause of traumatic death related to a consumer product in the United States and are the second most frequent cause of death overall for Americans ages 15 to 24. Every year, more than 100,000 Americans are victims of gun violence. Do these numbers tell us anything?

“Homicide rates tend to be related to firearm ownership levels. Everything else being equal, a reduction in the percentage of households owning firearms should occasion a drop in the homicide rate.” Evidence to the Cullen Inquiry 1996: Thomas Gabor, Professor of Criminology - University of Ottawa. “The level of gun ownership world-wide is directly related to murder and suicide rates and specifically to the level of death by gunfire.” International Correlation between gun ownership and rates of homicide and suicide.’ Professor Martin Killias, May 1993.

Is it fair to infer from the studies that accessibility to firearm is not helping our already troubled youth and society? And that a teenager with raging hormones and access to firearms is a recipe for disaster?

Mass shooting tragedies like the school shootings at Virginia Tech in April 2007 and Northern Illinois University in February 2008 – or the 1993 office shooting in San Francisco are testament to what happens when a young person has access to guns. Politicians and other officials have a lot to lose if there was stricter gun control. Or a ban on ownership on weapons. Frankly, I have come to expect very little from them. They will sacrifice their families for their own agenda. But as common people, we can take charge. Instead of a driver’s license, I bet you wouldn’t want to get your kid a lawyer on his or her 18^th birthday or a coffin for that matter!

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 02.21.2012

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Henry de Bracton

Back from the dead

It’s been a while since I wrote my last blog post. Many of you have asked me about it. Thank you caring and noticing I was MIA. For those of you who’d like to know what I’ve been up to, feel free to connect via Facebook, Twitter, or my website.

See, I am not sure why my blog posts took a pause. Maybe because I learnt to address my problems—deal with them head-on versus passive aggressive-paths. Or learned to ignore the troublemakers and heart breakers. Or maybe, just maybe, because I got a book deal for my first nonfiction book—it’ll include my rants, new and old, that you have been reading for all these years.

Whatever be the reason, we all evolve with time. Good or bad, our experiences change us forever. 2011 was a year of personal, professional, and emotional growth for me. It was tough and some days I didn’t think I could take it anymore. But I wouldn’t trade that time for anything else, as life is the best teacher. It has taught me about my personal universe. What kind of people & noises to filter out. I am aware people disappoint us, but the first time you hurt me, shame on you. Twice if you hurt me, shame on me.

A 92-year-old-man recently said to me: “Happy birthday, Sweta. There is no writer or thinker as honest as you. You are the real thing.” His note reminded me that the “real” people in our lives accept and appreciate us for who we are. They bring us comfort and smiles, not stir up trouble.

I now know that I don’t need to change for others. And am proud to declare that I see myself as a human and a woman before anything else. And within the context of that identity, I take offense that woman-beating, homophobic artist, Chris Brown, was applauded, rewarded, and asked to perform twice at The Grammy Awards on Sunday, February 12. Way to send a message to all the domestic violence victims and women everywhere, you friggin’ douche bags! By the same token, love to Adele for being herself. It’s inspiring to know “Someone like you” does exist. Didn’t I tell ya, peeps, the real stuff is here to stay?

It’s Valentine’s Day today. Send love to the people who matter and pray for those who cause you pain. Stay real and have a good week!

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 02.14.2012

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.” Dr. Seuss

Dussehra brings nerdy news...

Over 18 months ago, I went to Portugal for a writing residency. The residency was in the southwestern part of the country. The afternoon that I reached, the director drove a bunch of us to see eucalyptus forests. Most of the eucalyptus trees were being replaced with oak trees. That very trip sparked the idea for my upcoming chapbook of poems, Beyond the Scent of Sorrow.

Exactly a week from today, Beyond the Scent of Sorrow will be launched in New York as part of Freedom Week NYC. I am told that poets and photographers can beautifully express what victims cannot or do not have the chance to convey. Along with my book, renowned photographer Kay Chermush’s images of trafficking will be on display. I am very excited, proud, and humbled to be a part of this humane event.

Though the launch is a week away, Beyond the Scent of Sorrow is available for advance purchase online in the United States and India.

To buy in the US, click here:

To buy in India, click here:

About this chapbook

Beyond the Scent of Sorrow delves into the challenges faced by women on a global level. The eucalyptus trees in southwest Portugal are used as an archetype to symbolically elicit the challenges women face in today’s world. Boldly, the poems, which are lyrical, literal, short, and succinct, profess the unkind capabilities of mankind.

Advance praise for Beyond the Scent of Sorrow

“Sweta's poetic voice flows like water smoothing and shaping stones. With great skill she uncovers, sometimes tenderly and other times more forcefully, the shroud of fog surrounding the feminine archetype. With metaphorical comparisons to the strength of the olive tree, in particular, she has created and nurtured a garden, a wordscape, in which trust and healing can flourish.”

—Nick Purdon, author of The Road-shaped Heart

“Sweta Srivastava Vikram holds her work close. Fold it one way, a poem of loss appears. Fold it yet again for a poem of longing. Her work is as structurally sound as the elements. It soars with anticipation. In Beyond the Scent of Sorrow the author reveals lovely and powerful poems that will long linger.”

—Doug Mathewson, Editor Blink-Ink

Here is the invite to the formal event: https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=220952937963646.

I would love to see you on Thursday, October 13

The Ceeflat

988 Manhattan Avenue, between Huron and India Streets

Greenpoint, Brooklyn, NY

Time: 7:00-9:00 p.m.

$10 at the door

It promises to be a fun evening of poetry and photography! And more importantly, your presence can help make a change! Let’s fight human trafficking, together!

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 10.06.2011

“The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot read them.” ~ Mark Twain

I write to a dead man

In the past few years, I have lost quite a few of my aunts and uncles—on both my mom and dad’s side of the family. None of these people were old. Early sixties. Having seen death visit my family so closely and frequently, the person inside of me feels guarded; the philosopher, emotional around words.

When I was in India in the month of August, my mausa (Mom’s sister’s husband) fell sick. So much so that he was in the ICU, and his children from California and India visited him. First people didn’t have the faith but then mausa showed progress and promised to be around. He started to do better. I visited him in the hospital in New Delhi. We spoke for a couple of minutes. But 48 hours later, on the day I left for NYC, he passed away. Death and destiny do not knock before entering, do they?

I didn’t find out about my mausa’s demise until after I reached New York. My husband, who had come to the airport to pick me up, shared the news. I called up my parents but couldn’t wrap my brains around what had happened. Numb. Shocked. Scared. Heartbroken. I couldn’t cry or eat properly or fight off the uneasiness.

My mausi (Mom’s sister) passed away two years ago. I have mentioned her influence over my writerly-life in my blogs and interviews. My mausa would appreciate my work too. He would print out my blog posts and discuss them with my parents over whisky and wine. He told them how proud he was of me. Every time I saw my mausa, he would bring up my blogs and quote lines from them.

I saved every email my mausa sent me—especially his response to anything I ever wrote about his wife (my mausi) in. In one of his notes, he said, “My dear Sweta, I owe to you to keep alive Memories of Meena. An excellent attempt to heal the wound. Thank you, only you could achieve this belief.”

Death of a dear one makes us selfish. Last week as I sent out links to my blog post (Updates on “Perfectly Untraditional”) and pictures from the Indian book tour, I marked my mausa a copy on the email. I didn’t even think or didn’t want to think, I am not sure, that he wouldn’t be able to read them. Or that I wouldn’t get a reply… from him.

For me, that was the day I felt my loss…the magnitude of it, anyway. I felt a vacuum, broke down, and said to my husband, “I have no mausi-mausa left. Their house, my childhood memories with them, and the precious relationship will be part of anecdotes at family gatherings. A closed chapter.”

My family is very close—we don’t care about how we are related to one another. Second cousins, third cousins. I am not saying we are perfect—but we are temperamental fools with big hearts who will do anything for the people we love.

I mentioned in last week’s post the support the whole bunch showed for my book launch in New Delhi and readings in other cities. I can’t even begin to tell you how much moral, emotional, and physical support everybody extends when sickness or death happens in the family. It’s almost unreal.

But when you are vulnerable and emotionally unsettled, the mind explores thoughts you normally wouldn’t turn to. I said to my husband, “Sometimes I envy parents and children who are in symbiotic relationships—parents give birth and bring up their kids—because of that, once the same children are older, they do what is morally appropriate and socially expected. Basically, the sense of duty keeps the relationship afloat. But there is no affection or emotion—just pragmatism. At least such people can deal with loss, pain, and heartbreaks a lot easily.”

My husband said, “You don’t mean that. You are saying this only because you are upset.” He was right. Later on when I calmed down and thought about what I had said, I cringed. I would be nothing without my family and friends.

Honestly, I pity detached families. What can be more unfortunate than feeling only a sense of responsibility towards your parents or ownership towards your children? That’s what charity and work are for, not family. No desire to spend weeks together, chew each other’s brains, participate in each other’s lives or even pick up the phone and chat/fight? What’s sadder than a parent-child relationship with no emotional connection? I know I would die if I were cursed with one. Relationships make us who we are.

There is a reason pretty much the entire city showed up at my mausa’s cremation. He was a good man, revered by most. It’s the emotional bond that has created this blog post. And it’s the relationship we shared because of which I will continue writing to him. I am not ready to give up yet. And one day, when his mailbox is full, the emails will begin to bounce back. And I am not sure if even that day I will stop. Sometimes the dead are a lot more precious than those alive.

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 09.22.2011

“People love others not for who they are but for how they make them feel.” Irwin Federman.

What a month away in India taught me

Yes, I am back from my almost four-week long trip to India. Many of you have emailed and asked me to share my experiences and pictures from the book launch and other events. I apologize for the delay. A few days after I returned from India, we headed to Minneapolis to attend my husband’s cousin’s wedding. Any excuse to meet with the family, catch up on chitchat, and dance like a rock star, is very high on my list.J

Anyway, the formal launch of “Perfectly Untraditional” was in New Delhi on August 5. Zig Ziglar said, “People who have good relationships at home are more effective in the marketplace.” On the day of the launch, family and friends showed up from all over the world. I am cognizant that we live in times where every second is important. But on August 5, many people put their lives on hold to celebrate my small achievement. My heart has carved out a special place for all of them.

I had always dreamed of sharing this momentous day with my dear ones. And I feel blessed that most of who mattered graced the occasion with their presence. And the ones who mattered but couldn’t make it in person, you know who you are, showed more than enough love and support throughout my journey in their own way. And I am fortunate to have you in my life.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote, “Some days are meant to be counted, others are meant to be weighed.” How true! The room that evening was filled beyond capacity. Words, smiles, blessings, hugs, pictures, and autographs flooded the evening. An image I would like to carry to my grave. My parents sat in front, with their faces beaming. My mom said, “I am a celebrity’s mother.” My father sat in trance as he showed me his two thumbs up while my brother made sure everyone was seated comfortably. My dearest friend Jaya, who flew down from Kolkata for the launch, said, “Bhaiya is so hospitable—as if it is your wedding.” My husband, the man behind the camera, made sure each breath was captured forever. My uncle (Phupha) said, “Beta, it’s so nice to see how supportive Anudit is of your dream.” My aunts, uncles, and cousins extended their stalwart support. An uncle-in-law brought coworkers and stayed on to get his copy autographed despite his sick mother at home. My friends, old and new, embraced me for my madness. They brought their friends and sat with a “Sweta-flag” at the venue. My husband and very dear friend Pooja organized a cake to commemorate the occasion. The audience greeted a debut novelist, humbly yours, with such warm applause. It was a magical night where everyone present just added to my big day. When my brother asked me if the launch was everything I had imagined it to be, I said, “And much more, Bhaiya.”

Following the main event in New Delhi, I went away on a multi-city tour. There were readings, talks, event judging, meetings, interviews, and research work in Bangalore, Chennai, Bangalore, Mumbai, Kolkata, Patna, Rajgir, Nalanda, Varanasi, and Delhi again. I was invited to give two talks at one of India’s leading and most prestigious universities: BHU. And I was requested to judge a debate in New Delhi at the high school where Shahrukh Khan studied. Yeah, I am definitely on cloud nine. Some of the review, interviews, and write-ups are available. If you’d like, you can read them here:

http://www.swetavikram.com/v2011/press.html OR

http://www.swetavikram.com/v2011/reviews.html

Pictures: https://picasaweb.google.com/106456114975338942689/LaunchOfPerfectlyUntraditionalVoyageThroughIndia?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCMS09uKd-ID0qQE&feat=directlink

Many cities meant newer experiences, meeting up with new and old friends, and catching up with family. Writers in different cities welcomed me warmly as they released my book. The list is endless as is my gratitude. Numerous other folks made time for my journey. Some called, some sent emails, some asked about the launch while others gave hugs and showered blessings. And few others showed up, in different cities, with big smiles or sent cakes and flowers. There are so many ways to be involved in someone’s happiness—my own book launch has taught me that. But more importantly, the voyage paved the path for both my emotional and mental evolution.

I feel like a different person after this trip. All the emotional turmoil and agony that I was dealing with right before I left has turned into vapor. I am so much at peace with myself. I can appreciate why philosophers and writers go looking for answers in India. It’s not a publicity stunt to sell tourism to foreigners. I might have found that pearl of wisdom and solace of mind that most others look for.

A friend of mine, who is a therapist, commented that I am au fait with the human psyche and see people a lot lucidly and deeply than most others. Well, I wish I could say I am gifted. But the truth is my profession trains me to grasp my world a certain way. As writers, we peel away superficial layers in every human being we meet and are able to see the “real self.” Combine that trait with a month long stay in India, and you have X-ray eyes + mind:-)

I wrote a book about relationships. And this past four weeks have taught me that we are nothing without them. The good ones bring us a sense of fulfillment and the bad ones lead us to appreciate the good relationships in our lives.

What is also true is the adage: “What you sow is what you reap.” People respond with love and support if you nurture your relationships. No one can be taken for granted. And in today’s world, every relationship, irrespective of age and gender, has to be treated with respect. That is if you want any iota of respect or affection in return. It is equally important to weed out or at least maintain distance with cold, mean, and nasty people. Sometimes, we forget that we have to set our own boundaries to avoid getting hurt.

I recently read a quote on my cousin’s Facebook profile while I was negotiating my feelings for certain people. An old man once said, “There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and the people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living.”

Perhaps, that’s what’s happened to me. I feel healed after this India trip. I have come back with a clear understanding of who I am and what I mean to whom. No confusion or dissonance any longer. It’s such a magical feeling knowing where you stand in people’s lives—good or bad. And it’s even more humbling to know where you stand in your very own eyes.

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 09.12.2011

"How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours."~ Wayne Dyer

Embarking on a journey

I know, I know. I have been MIA for a while. My schedule has been nutty. Pardon me if I haven’t responded to your notes or messages. Or haven’t initiated communication.

So, aside from the day-to-day commitments, what’s kept me buried is the upcoming launch of my novel: Perfectly Untraditional. The formal event is in New Delhi on Friday, August 5 at 5:30 p.m. at the Attic. A week from today.

So…How big a day is it, you wonder? Think marriage, birth of your first-born. Well, for a writer, the launch of his or her first novel is that big. You nurture your book with love, sweat, and blood. Sleepless nights. Uncertain and anxious days. Innumerable hours without knowing the outcome of your efforts.

I didn’t have a mentor or a sugar daddy or any connections. All I knew was that failure wasn’t an option in the dream that I had seen. And if I had to pull 36 hours, somehow, out of 24 in a day, I would do it.

My aunt-in-law in Minneapolis said to me the other day, “I had never thought a child from our house would become a writer. I always imagined writing to be such a distant world. You have shown us that world and done us proud!” I know, makes you want to hug her too, right? :-)

August 5 is the day I have waited for since whenever I could mark the calendar or understand daydreaming. Or aspire for wishes. I even planned what color outfit I would wear as and when my book came out. I bought a pair of Manolo Blahnik after the novel went into production. That was a treat I had promised myself ten years ago. Ya, ya, don’t judge me. There are a few stereotypical girly-girl traits in me.:-)

When my uncle-in-law in Wisconsin asked what prompted me to explore publishing in India when I have been published successfully in the US, I said, “This is the only way our families and friends back in India can be a part of my literary life and our joys. And share in the enjoyment.”

It’s not just my husband who is flying down to India, with me, for the big day. My parents canceled a major event, in their hometown, just so they could be present in flesh and blood to shower their blessings. My brother is coming down from Singapore, representing his family. Friends in the US have asked their parents to be at the launch and show their support.

One of my best friends is coming to Delhi, just for a day, from Kolkata. She could have easily chosen to show up just for the Kolkata reading. But she understands what August 5 means to me. Other friends are taking time off from work, canceling their business trips, helping me create buzz, inviting their friends, dragging their coworkers, sending sweet notes etc. etc. Relatives have been emailing their hugs and blessings. And many of them have promised to be there.

A few of my buddies in India, New York, and Singapore have bought multiple copies of Perfectly Untraditional as gifts for their friends. Some of the peeps in India and the UK have been visiting bookstores every weekend to see how and where my books are available. A few have pulled me out from my dark moments, cried with me, laughed with me, and shared a glass of wine as I whined. I feel blessed to have them in my life.

I use the term “being present” loosely. I don't expect people to stop their life just because August 5 is a momentous day for me. Many folks can’t make it to the main event for one reason or another. I understand. I know they will be present in spirit. That matters to me, a lot. You know, sometimes, despite being physically absent, some people can be present in more ways than possible. A thoughtful note, a phone call, a sounding board, an avid interest, blind support, an acknowledgement or just any of such small gestures tell me I am lucky to have many wonderful lovelies in my life.

Aside from my ecstatic, exhausted mind, the past few months have been a good learning tool for Human behavior 101. When the time comes, people tell you where you stand. While innumerable folks have been going out of their way in indescribable number of ways, few corners where I expected to find nurture and involvement, turned out sterile. Subject for a new novel, perhaps?

My father, many years ago, gave me a solid piece of advice--those days when I was young and naive.:-) He’d said, “Focus your energy on people who are there for you versus brooding over people who aren’t.” He made such a valid suggestion. In channeling our energy towards those who fail us, we tend to ignore the ones who continue to be there. We take them for granted. I wholeheartedly embrace my Dad’s philosophy.

Fortunately, writing is healing, so I don’t hold a grudge. But I have become wiser. I can see who wears my name on their sleeves. Someone said to me, “If you burn once, it was a mistake. If you allow yourself to get burnt twice, then it’s your fault.” Well said!

I will keep you all posted on the next stops on my Indian Literary Journey. I am doing a big reading in NYC tonight (http://on.fb.me/oiSKWk). My friends from out of town and local peeps will be in the audience—so excited. Hope to see some of you there! And I might just bring out my Manolos.:-)

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 07.29.2011

“There are two types of people - those who come into a room and say, "Well, here I am!" and those who come in and say, "Ah, there you are."” Frederick L. Collins