Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert — Book Review

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              Title: Committed By Elizabeth Gilbert
Language: English
Genre: Research-backed Memoir
Pages: 320
Rating: 3/5

Excerpt:

This book captures the writer's life after she sets off her life after the "Eat Pray Love" comes to an end, the solo journey she took to find herself. Towards the end of this self-reflecting journey, she meets a Brazilain man, Felipe, she falls in love with & they have their seismic rhythms all tuned in to the frequency that works for both of them. But their rhythm was soon hit by turmoil. The American government Department of Homeland Security officer detains Felipe for violating the visa rules. The book captures the "exile" and uses the experience as a point of departure for delving on different aspects of marriage. the time and great detail of socio-historical aspects of "Marriage" in various cultures & of also the journey they both lived as they figure out an arrangement that is satisfactory to the government & themselves.

My Thoughts :

As I picked up this book, I believed it will be deep dive into the psyche and interpretation of marriage from Gilbert's point of you. But no! The writer has shared personal experiences here and there between a lot of research-based insights into marriage in various cultures and plunged into the history of marriage. With her sharp, witty writing the book was engaging enough & also to make you feel she's talking just to you. Like having a one to one conversation. The book even though it was too meandering moved me with insights & details of research rather than her own personal essays. The research insights running parallel with personal anecdotes are all in her voice as if she was convincing herself to marry for the second time & why. It was aptly pointed out that the book is "rather chatty and personal to be so heavy on research, but it’s rather researched to be so chatty and personal" by the NY Times.


Decent read! A book to read for anyone who wants to understand various cultural aspects and nuances of marriage or closely witness a clear-eyed celebration of love with all its consequences of surviving, in the real world, actually entails.

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

A Decade Gone by — A Short Story

Photo by Brad Fickeisen on Unsplash

There was a house at the end of a road, it was an abandoned old house. The house was small by the local standards; two rooms and two bathrooms, a single entrance, with two doors opening inwards. This is what spooked people the most. Any space with one entrance also means only one exit.

The overgrown branches of the trees planted at the entrance covered the door as if it was warning me to stay out. I passed the streets, I wasn’t heading for home, but for an old place, everyone believed haunted. I felt drawn to it, to explore the place. So I pulled the branches without sweat and made way into the old house. I opened the door. It made creaking noise as every abandoned house did and then slammed shut behind me. I tried to convince myself it was “the wind”.

The windows of the empty house were oversize. The glass panes divided into many parts like the many compartments in a beehive. Tales handed down from various generations in this town spread across neighbouring towns and cities. Tales about people staying here, vanishing, experiencing bad omens and terror.

The people could not help but notice, that the doors and windows stay shut most of the time. Every Sunday a newspaper got delivered to the gate and by the next day, it was gone. There were rumours of it being a dope house or a gangsters den to keep his hostages. Some have heard the rattle of chains through the dead of the night.

A foul stench invaded my nose. I look around to see where it came from and fainted at the sight of a half-decayed body, nibbled by the rats and maggots. It spied over me, staring straight through me. Those eaten eyes, the eye sockets staring in the open.

My mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turns over never kicking into action. I couldn’t formulate a thought. Everything looked intense and I could not think of a way out of this house. I glanced at the floor, no trap door. My eyes went to the walls, the windows. When I look outside, it was night now.

I walk around and I see there was a fire in the hearth. A chill runs through me. I decide to leave. As I turn around to leave the house and turn the doorknob, I heard someone.

“Don’t go.” said an echoing voice, “we can be such good friends”

I try to turn the doorknob and say “ Can I come tomorrow, my mother will be frantic”

The voice replies “Don’t you remember how long you have been here?”

“An hour?”

“How about, try years? Ten years? The neighbourhood plastered your pictures of you going missing. Your mom and dad split, your brother is in rehab. You left quite a hole in their lives.”

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert — Book Review

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Title: Eat, Pray, Love By Elizabeth Gilbert
Language: English
Genre: Spiritual Memoir
Pages: 352
Rating: 5/5 💗

Excerpt:

The Bhagavad Gita, ancient Indian Yogic text--says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection.

Some days are meant to be counted, others are meant to be weighed.
The title of the book three words correspond to the book's three sections. The author takes a solo journey of self-reflection after a nasty divorce. The journey thoroughly explores one aspect of herself set against the backdrop of each country, in a place that has traditionally done well. Explore the art of pleasure - living to the fullest, eating & mere being alive in any way possible in Italy, the art of devotion - living spiritually, disciplined & dedicated in India and, in Indonesia, the art of balancing the two aspects of life pleasure & spirituality. Gilbert lived consecutively in three different countries – Italy, India and Indonesia. It is a memoir, a journey taken on the quest to find herself & how the journey unfolds.

My Thoughts :


Gilbert's writing offers a comic cult of writing. It feels like we are reading the mind of a witty woman experiencing her life as one reads. Re-reading this book is my guilty pleasure. I always turn towards this book out of the mere joy of enjoying the travel essay, to re-visit these locations once again closely or to seek comfort and flavour of life or the act of balancing. There is always something new the book has to offer. It is an intensively candid & eloquent touching anyone who has ever woken up to the unwavering need for change in their lives. If you find any of these aspects interesting, go for it!


©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Tropical Summers: Mini essays series (2)

Photo by Sara Kurfeß on Unsplash

It was summer in the capital city of India! Tropical summers driving us languorous are the worst to endure. The sun feels burning close enough here than any other place I have been. It fits the description perfectly — scorching heat, sun shining in full blast, and I wish we could tune it down.

Without air conditioning, you would wake up sweaty, went to bed sweaty, go to the shower sweaty, come out of shower sweaty, and your clothes always wet with your sweat and the pungent odour to accompany you everywhere you are heading to. It is horrible and unpleasant to live in this tropical summer. How many would wish to use this heat to keep them warm in the colder countries, but here the heat is being so cruel to us.

In this heat, even the trees appear defeated. Leaves that should be firm and upward tilting droop, flaccid as an old leaf. The soil is simply arid & dry, to touch. Wonder how the plants stand tall against the sun. It is the usual warmth we have at this time of the year.

Each day the sky is barren with no wind to breeze through. The forest fires are the last thing on my mind, to steal our endless blue for a dull grey and evenings as vermilion hue as the sunsets.

Early one morning, rain fell, calming the boiling lands, large warm drops with stormy winds, lightning & thunder. The soothing petrichor didn't last long, as they struck the hot tarmac, & the hardened soil or were sucked into the dusty mud not leaving a trace.

Winter is still months away. Intermittent rains are the only respite. Already above my head flutters golden brown leaves & trembling virescent hues from the vibrant tall trees. In a few months, those colours would lift my spirit as the harsh warmth goes down & freezing winds come by turning the sky breezy. But, not this insipid tone, fuelling the tree for the winter ahead. This part of the world should never be so arid, muggy, clammy and we can only hope that the late summer will be kinder.


End of mini-essays....watch out for more!


©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved

Bookstores & Night Reading - Mini Essays Series (1)

As I continue to explore my creative side of writing with each passing day. I am now going to explore another method to tap into my creativity. I came across an idea to write mini-essays which I believe will help me find my voice based on the themes I pick and force me to write on hard days & show up to my writing and the commitment I have made. I am sure it will be fun to read as well. Small bursts of writing and exploring deeper into the world we live in. I use them as prompts to think and write a few sentences which I would like to call mini-essays to practice my creative writing. The idea is to build up a collection of snippets & give direction to my writing, as days go by!


To kick start the series, I have chosen two of my favourite topics to dive into:-

Photo by Kenny Luo on Unsplash

 Bookstores

Row after row stands the army of the of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward. Each grouped into a category and different section arranged in shelf after shelf endlessly. The reader groups varied; kids, young adults with low shelve. Some lined up high which were out of reach without a ladder. Only the smell of books filling the space, with muffled silence and stillness. Bookkeeper at the help desk. A hushed atmosphere often punctured by the occasional talks and distant voices at the billing counter.

Night Reading

I love it when the pleasant breeze blows through the night sky, covering my room with the darkness. The sheer lace curtains over my window, illuminated by moonlight and my bedside lamp lighting the book in my hands. My blanket keeping me warm; I try putting one leg in, one leg out like I always do since I was a kid. I loved reading at night on my bed when the world around me is quiet and I am with my book after finishing all tasks for the day.

In those moments as I lay reading in the bed, turning the pages going into another world coming alive, sleep stops by calling it a day. I then curl into a c-shape, putting off the lamp, in the quiet breezy night, in the deep cloud that was hanging above me. I would move into the sweet slumber passing into exhaustion, accompanied by a sudden jolt as I fall asleep!

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

End of mini-essays....watch out for more! 

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved