Sapna Magazine!

Check out Sapna Magazine's first print issue to read my article about Changing the World!

Gandhi, My Father

I was very excited the other day to find out that the newly released movie, Gandhi, My Father, is based on a book I edited entitled Mahatma vs. Gandhi, forthcoming from Jaico Publishing House!

Yay!

A chat with Dr. Vidushi Babber

Dr. Vidushi Babber, a Medical Director with a private practice at The Institute for Neuropsychiatry in Louisiana and whose expertise is in women's mental health issues, invited me as a guest on her internet radio talkshow "Winning With Wellness"! Listen to my interview here! Thank you, Vidushi, for the wonderful chat - I hope we were able to help women find their creative spirit!

A Distinguished Invincibelle!

Invincibelle, a website totally focused on helping multicultural women, has honoured me as a Distinguished Invincibelle! Read my interview here! Thank you, Deepika!

Volunteering Abroad... anyone?

ABCDlady Magazine recently published an article I wrote explaining the ins and outs of volunteering abroad for anyone interested in taking on such a life-changing experience! Read it here!

Are you ready to get married?

Bibi Magazine has featured my latest article in their online mag! Read it here: Are You Ready For Marriage?

Interview with Phil Harris

Phil Harris, renowned writer and expert author, invited me as a guest to his internet radio talkshow "All Things That Matter"! You can listen to my interview here! Thanks for the wonderful opportunity, Phil!

sifting and changing

I was just sifting through some old emails I keep in a folder called "sweet" when I found this little bit I wrote to someone a very long time ago... I vaguely remember writing it, but I love that I did and thought I would share it... I hope it begets inspiration

so what are my dreams? what do i long for?

these two questions remain intertwined in my head as two sides of the same coin... i long to effect a positive change on people's lives... i dream of changing the world... i long to help those who don't have the capacity to help themselves to the level of their desires... i long to share my words with the world... i want to see people happy and i want to be one of the people to help them feel that happiness, that calm, that serenity... i want to be peaceful myself... i dream of publishing and selling my books, and i long to make a difference... though i get discouraged about the effect that one person can have on the world, it is shortlived, because when i do something special for someone special and i see that glimmer in their eyes for that brief moment, i know i can change the world, because i can change one person's world, and thats the world to me... i want people to know how important they are, and i want people to discard any negativity and complexity that surrounds them... a lot of my dreams and longings are perhaps wrongly rooted in other people's happiness, but they are also rooted in mine... publishing my words and changing the world will make me happy... the effects of those will make others happy... hence the happiness of my world and the happiness of the world are entwined in a sort of codependent and loving way... i dream of learning, and by learning, changing... both my life and the life of those around me... i love peeling away the layers of complexity and simplifying life to this: just be happy... your questions are hard to answer, the answers finding roots in other questions... but i dream of joy and i dream of serenity... and i long for these words to inspire dreams of their own...

thats not all, but its certainly the beginning...

retired at 21

Dean Hunt of retiredat21 was kind enough to interview me recently! Read the interview here and browse his very interesting blog!

Thanks Dean!

a couple of articles...

To read more about my experience at an NGO in Bangalore, India, read my article in ABCDlady magazine, an online mag that focuses on topics related to the South Asian community who grew up in America.

A little older news... For mother's day, Bibi Magazine online asked me to write an article for their readers. Check it out here! Bibi is one of the longest-running, largest-circulated South Asian fashion magazines in the USA!

The Desi Connect!

I'm honored that The Desi Connect's Sheena Singh and Sumaya Kazi took the time to interview me for their online mag! Running under the umbrella of The Cultural Connect, these mags feature young, driven, and forward-thinking individuals, and they've chosen me as their Young Professional of the week! Read the interview here and support their wonderful endeavours!

Biji - My Shakuntla Devi

On April 19th, at 8:55 AM, my grandmother took her last breath. There's a certain emptiness that surrounds death... a sort of spatial void full of silences and shadows. I left the hospital with a grandmother, and came back to find I no longer had one. Her last hours were spent with a dead body but a beating heart. Her last message to me was this: breathe. Breathe all the breaths you can, child, because that is the only thing you have, and the last thing you will ever need.

The house, her room, her spot on the couch, her paths - all carry a space around it where she used to be. Everything in our lives revolved around her, and now we have nothing left to revolve around. The first day in the house with just us three, where we used to be four, was the most difficult. When I leave the house, I imagine saying bye to her, and her saying bye back. When I come home, I imagine saying hi to her on my way to my bedroom, and her saying "You've come, Child?" (in Punjabi, of course - Aa gaya, Puttar), and me saying "Hanji" (yes). But there is only silence.

It will take a long time to get used to not coming home for 4 o clock tea time, and not having her box of teeth next to the sink in the bathroom. It will take some time to get used to walking past her room and not seeing her in the bed, or leaving home and not hearing the too-loud tv playing the same Indian channel every day. It will take quite a while to get used to shutting the light in the hallway because she no longer needs to see the way to the bathroom. Or filling her glass of water at 6 PM every day. I will never get used to not having to move from her spot on the couch when she was coming down the stairs, or arranging it so that someone would be home at 1 PM to make her lunch. I will never forget the laughs she laughed when I squeezed my mother, or rubbed my father's head. It will take a while to get used to not closing the closet door just such, leaving only a few inches open, or taking her teacup down when she was finished drinking. I will have to adjust to not moving my things from the path she took every day with her walker to the couch, or the way she would pull the kitchen table to her, instead of moving her chair closer to the kitchen table. Refilling her bottle of oil, fixing her audio tapes when they got pulled, or figuring out the mysteries of the stereo gone awry. I will still jump at every sound, worrying that she may have fallen, or may have dropped something. I will not forget the exactness of each sound and how I knew exactly what they meant. What she was doing when each sound was made, where she was going at each timing on the schedule. Like clockwork I knew this woman. Like a melody, I knew her.

Did I tell her I loved her enough? Did I ever hug her? Did I ever sit at her feet and listen to her stories of pre-partition India and the love that permeated her life? Did I grumble too loud, or get upset at her once too many? Did she know she mattered? Did she forgive my youth? Did she remember the days when I used to make banners and strew them across the entrance when she visited? Did she remember when I would teach her the alphabet, and give her a passing grade to join the next class? Did she know I loved her laugh? Did she know I held her hand more in her last days than I did in her whole life, but that those last days meant more to me than all the days we spent together? Did she hear me whispering to her in the coma before her death? Did she feel my hand on hers after she left our world? Did she remember I told her I loved her so much? Did she realize she would take a piece of me with her when she left?

Will she remember me?

On April 19th, 2007, at 8:55 AM, my Biji took her last breath.

a month - my grandmother

so i know i've been missing for over a month, but i have good reason... my grandmother has been in the hospital... my month has been full of emotional ups and downs, wishes and prayers, family visits and friends... all culminating to one question: what will happen?

yesterday they gave us a private room... we know it's because it's her last days, they know too... but they don't want to say it... it's really hard to watch someone dying, and know that any moment they will take their last breath...

i've written more in the past month than i have in a very long time... it's amazing how life and death can bring out so many shades of a person... though i can't say what will happen (or when will be the next time i post something), i will be back after this hiatus - likely with a new sense of appreciation...

have a wonderful day, because today is your life...

rachna

... and if you feel like reading something delightful and touching that a wonderful designer friend of mine, oorbee roy, wrote about me in her ever-popular blog, check out OmHome. And be sure to take a look at her incredibly beautiful line of pillows, linens, and other gorgeous creations... watch out for her because she'll be on oprah's favourite things one day - i guarantee it!

failure: my four-letter word

over the last few months, i have watched someone succeed so unbelievably where i (in my opinion) had failed so miserably... i see that person doing the things i wish i had done, and being the person i wish i had been in the same circumstances... it's very easy, now, to look back and see how i could have changed my experience, but in the moment, i was weary and overwhelmed, unprepared and uncertain... all excuses, i tell myself, for this person must have felt the same as i did, but just acted differently towards their experience...

failure is just another lesson learned... a mistake made that we will hopefully not repeat... the only problem with failure is that we, ourselves, thrust the knife so deep into our heart that we open a wound big enough for us to pour salt in freely, every day of our life... and the skin becomes sensitive around that wound, so that when someone else comes too close to us, we yell and scream at them for hurting us... only because we need a break from the self-blame for a moment... and sometimes, seeing someone thrive where we failed smarts that old wound... for though the blood may be dry and the wound may have healed, the scar has not let us forget about the pain of failure...

forgiveness has been said to be divine, and it is... but forgiveness towards whom? for if we do not forgive ourselves first, who else, then, will we truly be able to forgive? we must first forgive ourselves for thrusting the knife in so deep - only then will we be able to see the truth... that mistakes were meant to be made, failures were meant to help us grow, wounds were meant to heal, and we were meant to move on, move forward... and the core of that truth is - there are no failures, just experiences...

so, for all the things i wanted to do but didn't, all the expectations i wanted to meet but couldn't, and all the experiences i wish i had created but hadn't... here is what i have learned:

I Forgive Myself.

United Divas Diva of the Month!

United Divas, a website dedicated to empowering women to be artistic leaders, professionals, innovators, and role models, has honoured me as March/April's Diva of the Month!!!

I am so excited about it - thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity, Jan and the team at United Divas! You all made my month - well, two months (March and April)!

Be sure to check me out and support their wonderful endeavours!

a smile found

It isn't every day that someone tells you that you were brought into their life by the grace of God. It isn't every day that someone says your presence made an indescribable impact on their life. No, it isn't every day that someone finds their smile, their hope, and a desire to pay it forward because of you.

It isn't every day that you can take a person's life and sprinkle magic into it just by granting their wish. And what is a wish, anyway? Winnie the Pooh said 'A wish is a dream your heart makes'. So can we make a heart's dream come true? And if we can, will we? And if we will, when? And why not now?

I don't remember why I joined the Make a Wish Foundation, but one day I decided to stop talking and just do it. I was assigned a family where the parents only spoke Hindi. Woohoo, I speak Hindi - let's go! I met our wish child and told her she could have any wish in the whole world - anything!

Her wish? To decorate her parents' room because they had no furniture so they slept on the floor. Wow... There are not many people who are selfless, and even fewer who would give up the pyramids in Egypt for their parents' comfort. But that was her wish. We pushed and convinced her to switch rooms with her parents and have her own new room decorated instead, and she finally agreed - though reluctantly. This was the kickoff to my first wish, and I already had tears in my eyes!

I won't go through the endless months of details, but in the end, we granted her wish, and so much more. More importantly, though, she gave me the best gift of all in return for ours - her smile... her laugh. I could see her road ahead, and it was recovery... it was life.

Today, her mother thanked me. It isn't every day that someone tells you that you brought something into their life that they wouldn't have been able to bring into their own. No, it isn't every day that someone looks into your eyes with newfound hope, and tells you that you are a gift from God.

No, it isn't every day. But it was today.

someone wrote it best

i came across this passage by eugene o'neill and it captured everything so well... so instead of writing my own entry that would probably be unmatchable, i'll just write his up instead... after all, why try to rewrite that which has been written so well?

Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love? Why am I afraid, I who am not afraid? Why must I pretend to scorn in order to pity? Why must I hide myself in self-contempt in order to understand? Why must I be so ashamed of my strength, so proud of my weakness? Why must I live in a cage like a criminal, defying and hating, I who love peace and friendship? Why was I born without a skin? O God, that I must wear armor in order to touch or be touched.

Eugene O'Neill - (from The Great God Brown)

the beauty of india

i spent almost a year in india recently, volunteering for an ngo in bangalore... while i was there, i was asked by a friend to describe the beauty of india, and i thought everyone might enjoy hearing about it... words cannot possibly do justice to the myriad of sensations that pass through you every moment of every day, but this was my feeble attempt to provide an inkling of how i felt while i was there...

the beauty of india... the beauty of india is in the smiles of the street and slum children who excitedly and incessantly wave hi and bye to me everytime i pass by them... its in the bare feet of the mothers who walk in the dirt rock road with their pantless children on their hips... its in the tough soles of the children who happily play barefoot in the rocks and weeds that make up their home, and in the tougher souls of the mothers who raise these children with love and give them the smiles on their faces... its in the tiny outstretched hands of the children beggars who should be in school, but who instead lay their souls in the palm of their hand for a rupee... its in the glimmer of the ring that adorns each woman's nose... its in the sweet tinkle of the anklets that sing on women's feet as they walk by... its in the dirty silk or cotton or chiffon that still manages to drape elegantly over their shoulders... its in the scented jasmine flowers that are strewn through their hair... next to a fully lit, extravagant house, its in the woman squatting in the weeds and rocks in front of a fire in the night to cook dinner for her children... its in the beautiful chalk designs that are drawn anew every morning, adorning the ground in front of the doorways of each house... its in the religious fervor and the love for God engrained in every single person who lives here... its in the harmony in the air while diwali, a hindu festival, and ramzan and eid, muslim festivals, are being celebrated together in the same weekend... its in the fireworks that have been gracing our skies for the past month, out of joy for the various religious celebrations that have overtaken the country... its in the elaborate carvings on temple walls and the indescribable architecture of temples and mosques that are built in any little corner and on any little street that can fit it... its in the tender flute that wakes me up some mornings from the house next door... its in the music that resonates in the streets from shops... its in the sweet voice of the lady singing in the field for all the people working in the blazing sun, encouraging them, lifting their souls, lifting my soul... its in the joyous song of the child shepherd who is herding cows down the road next to me... its in the loud cry of the vegetable seller who sings out the products he is selling as he walks down the road... its in johnson, one of the children from the lowest class in my school, who, when asked why he loves school, told me that he loved it for the food that he gets to eat... its in the appreciation that emanated from raju, one of the children from the highest class, who, at lunchtime, told me he was too full to finish his food but kept eating because "they gave us the food to eat"... its in the little girls from the lowest class, who, when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, answered with "dish washers" or "clothes cleaners", because their mothers (those who have mothers) held those positions, because they weren't yet aware of all the opportunities that awaited them in the world... its in the child whose birthday it is in school, who gets to dress out of uniform in her best clothes and walk around the school handing out sweets to everyone, even if her family does not have enough money to feed themselves some nights... its in the joy that emanates from all the slum children, because life is simple and they cannot fathom a reason for sadness... its in the disintegration of all complexities as you learn what real life is all about... its in the peace and appreciation you cannot ignore... its in the word akka that i hear everytime i walk into school... its in everything and everyone that makes up this country... its in every second that i get to experience here... the beauty of india is india itself, and the secret it holds in its soul... and no one could ever explain this to me, i had to come here to understand... these words cannot even remotely do justice to the beauty of india... that is the beauty of india...

technical writing

ok, so i do have a day job - i'm a technical writer...
i kind of fell into the job, not something i studied to be, but i guess i'm good at it since i haven't been fired yet... i think maybe i fell into it as a way to keep myself writing, because i had stopped for a while...
being a technical writer is boring, yes, but sometimes it brings out some quirky sides of me... here is a poem i wrote one day, bored on the job...

an ode to a paperclip

oh paperclip paperclip
sitting on the tabletop
do you wish you were holding papers
do you wish the agony would stop?

oh paperclip paperclip
a wire deformed
would you rather be a computer cord
would you rather hold forms

oh paperclip paperclip
you uniter of paper
you joiner of lost souls
you potential finger scraper

oh paperclip paperclip
how do you live
how do you fulfill your purpose
when you have nothing left to give

oh paperclip paperclip
wire of my heart
i will not mourn your parting
but i will mourn our time apart

I Create

I just learned that the word poetry comes from the ancient Greek poieo, which translates into I Create.

And since the word Rachna comes from Sanskrit (Hindi) and means Creation, I feel like somehow, writing was engrained in me.

Maybe that's why I feel I have no choice but to write, because if I don't, I'm failing all that is me and what I am made of.

Here's to creating...

Kriti Festival

I'm excited to be a panelist at the 2007 Kriti Festival in Chicago April 26-29!!! It is an event celebrating South Asian and diaspora literature, and I will be speaking on various panels (not sure which ones yet!)! And the keynote speaker will be Anita Desai !!!

Find out more about the festival from www.desilit.org/kriti.html and be sure to buy your tickets early to come visit me and ask me some questions!!!

Thanks Desilit for the awesome opportunity!

the distance within

so my first blog is named after my first book, named after the first poem

The distance within
Was the distance without
Me

The distance without
Was the distance between
Us

The distance between
Was the distance around
You

The distance around
Was the distance within
Me

in the beginning...

every story begins with a word
and every word begins with a breath

and with my first breath - thank you for visiting...

ever wonder why every book begins with a dedication?
because without others, we wouldn't be half of what we are, and we wouldn't have done half of what we did...

so here is mine

to those who made me feel
those who made me think
and those who made me do

but especially
to those who made me

want to find out more about me - visit my website...

i'll be back with more soon...