Unwrapping the Gift of Creative Solidarity
After years of being a lonely planet, I find myself in a constellation of creative beings.
The big yellow envelope
On a Monday afternoon, just after lunch, the doorbell rings. I open the door. A postman hands me a big yellow envelope. I look at him for explanation. I am not expecting any delivery. I sign a quick ‘R.G’ and close the door, a balloon rising in my chest. The sticker says ‘Poetry Books’. I flip the package. It says
. A grin splashes itself on my face.Sarah is on the other side of the planet, fast asleep. We found each other in a comments section on Substack! Sarah used the new DM feature to say hi. We met for a coffee date on Zoom. Sarah wrote about it in her beautiful Substack post.
Corner-ness and petty thoughts
Who doesn’t like meeting like-minded people? But we stay in our little corners, hiding our need to connect. Sarah’s enthusiasm healed my corner-ness.
I open the package, feeling electric. Three chapbooks of poetry come out with Sarah’s business card. She is a creativity coach like me. Holding her card, I know exactly what kind of a coach she is. Warm, intuitive, life-affirming, fuelled by love. I pick up the chapbook with poems on birds. My awe multiplies with every turn of the page.
The second chapbook opens to a poem with this line:
when did love become a list?
The last chapbook, ‘The Planets Speak Through Virginia Woolf’ is a found poem. Each of the planets use Woolf’s words to express themselves. Gosh! If Sarah wasn’t already a friend by now, I would have sent her fanmail. Heck, I am still going to send her fanmail because that’s what I love doing.
Sarah reached out to me because she too has loved and used the phrase Creative Resilience. She was excited to find someone else using it. I wonder if I would have the courage to do that. I would have felt so ashamed to know that I am using something someone has already used. Such is the obsession with originality!
I confessed my petty thoughts to her, and told her how much I appreciate her goodwill. And what do you call a person who makes you want to be more open and courageous? A friend.
Solitude and solidarity
I remember how Sarah listened to me. It made me want to say the truth, but also say it in the juiciest way. It made me wiser and goofier at the same time.
As if her naughty yellow envelope hadn’t flooded me with joy already, I find a shy postcard lingering inside. It says, “In creative solidarity, Sarah”. I remember reading this line in a book:
Opposites though they are, both solitude and solidarity are essential if the artist is to produce works that are not only significant to his or her age, but that will also speak to future generations. — Rollo May in ‘The Courage to Create’
I had groaned at this line when I read it.
I will never stop believing in the power of solitude. I live alone by choice, and I graze on solitude like a hungry goat.
Yet, loneliness has also been my inconvenient roommate at times. I have made peace with the fact that I care about things that many people don’t. I dream about writing and reading and workshops more than vacations or weddings or pubs. My friends did cheer for me, some more lovingly than others. But their lives were different in both shape and colour.
So I found a solitary corner and settled in it.
Unwrapping the gift of solidarity
I started connecting with poets and writers in 2017. Yet I truly felt in community with writers from the
universe. And then there are dear friends from Third Space, Pune transform me IRL. They offer unconditional curiosity and warm, musical company. After years of being a lonely planet, I find myself in a constellation of creative beings.
Sarah’s is not the first gift I have received. Swaati sent her papercraft goodies. Supriya sent her drawings of me. Anusha and her brilliant writing circle sent me postcards with Urdu couplets and heartfelt words. I didn’t believe my luck. Natasha sent me a book by George Saunders. I suppressed my joy. When Reema sent me a tiny love letter in a notebook, I sobbed in disbelief.
It is as if bright light emanated from these gifts, and I had to shut my eyes, eyes too used to darkness. By the time Sarah’s gift came, I had somehow created more space for love. Our zoom meeting had expanded me.
I can now differentiate the isolated writer from the connected writer, for I have been both. The isolated writer is more competitive and worried. The connected writer is generous and playful.
Solidarity doesn’t have to be a deep friendship. It is more like two runners nodding at each other at the park. It is writing a glowing blurb for someone’s Substack. It is letting go of your corner-ness and petty thoughts. It is sharing your wins as well as your rejection letters on Instagram. Inspiring others to be persistent in their efforts. (Shout-out to my friend Nikita, queen of creative solidarity!)
Saying “I am lonely” is hard. Saying “I am no longer lonely” is harder.
Sarah doesn’t know she has gifted me so many things in one big yellow envelope.
Have you experienced moments of solidarity? How did they change you? What kind of solidarity do you dream about?
Write with Natasha Badhwar and Raju Tai in the Ochre Sky Stories Memoir Workshop. 💚🌼
“I live alone by choice, and I graze on solitude like a hungry goat.”
Tum kya cheez ho, Raju 💜 🐐
Corner-ness. I will never forget this. And reading writing like this, a salve on all the corner-ness in me. Thank you Raju for writing .