A rickshaw in my husband’s grandmother’s native village.
Some writers need their holidays, some need a writing holiday, I needed a holiday. Period.
Writers and holidays make for a strange combination- writers need to write for holidays- Christmas, Diwali, Eid, World Mole Day (hah?), World Press Freedom Day etc etc. It almost seems that for some writers holiday time is cashing in time and smiling at their good fortune- which most writers don’t have really.
Then there is a ‘I need a writing holiday.’ I need to walk out on my husband, kids, home and responsibilities and ensconce myself in a (preferably) picturesque place (a hill-station would do) and write, write, write. Finish that chapter, wrap up that novel.
And if at all you happen to be my kind of writer you chuck your writing cap, shut the laptop, put away your notes and jump into holiday madness. And if that holiday destination happens to be India, you are in for a treat. For where in the world will you find such stunning visuals that cover the whole spectrum of colours? Where on earth can you hear the sounds of the vehicles and the morning chirrups of the birds, the cart- walla selling his bananas and the sleepy buses slumbering their way into another action-filled day? Which place can offer you food to satiate every taste bud of your greedy mouth?
Having come back from the madness that is India, I am all geared up to pick up where I left. I have that novel to finish, my Kindle book to market and find a traditional publisher for and establish my business- a childhood dream that I hope to fulfill. And yes, feed the kids, play football with them, do the dishes, take care of the laundry.
Lots to do before I take my next holiday. To India.
The reflections of life