Sunday, July 12, 2015
Sangeeta Suneja, Author & World Poetess
From New Deli, India, welcome world poetess Sangeeta Suneja . Sangeeta is the author of The First Few Minutes, her first book of poetry, short stories and a few motivational notes. Sangeeta says, “The stories are small and revolve around the subject of self-empowerment and have arisen out of my own observations of life and the mundane.”
A Commercial Manager with AirIndia, Sangeeta is married and enjoys time spent writing. “For me writing is an ongoing process,” she explains. “I have been writing short stories and poetry, publishing it, systematically, awaiting good publishers.”
Congratulations on your book release The First Few Minutes! Can you explain the title and what we will find inside your new book?
I believe in positively and mutually encouraging, the writer within, us.
The cover art is intriguing. Who is the artist, and why that image?
The cover has my digital painting, and rest of the cover has been designed by an artist and designer Mr. Ajay Verma.
The Image has a group of girls, standing in a row, as if, on a scale of time. The one in the centre reflects her complete image, rest of the girls get blurred, dissolving in the background. It has been used as a metaphor to define ‘the first few minutes’ those have affected her complete presence.
My book revolves around the concept of enumerable possibilities, those lie hidden and undiscovered within us, and because we have not actualized our potentials. The first few minutes of every endeavor, hold the key, if at that point of time, we connect to the cause, we deliver majestically, sooner or later.
Describe your writing space...
My writing space is my mind, if it has scribbled enough, then, I pour it gently, on the paper or on my tab, anywhere and everywhere, I get a chance, on my bedside I have a huge window on my right side, opening in the balcony, overlooking a small garden. It has laburnums, drumstick, banana and other ornamental shrubs. Being an airline Manager, I am multitasking, most of my time, driving sixty kilometers everyday
My writing and creativity have grown on me like a mistletoe, but is not parasitic. It is the sprig that I love to wear, all the time.
Besides writing, what do you do in you spare time?
My evenings and mostly the late night writings are the most comforting part of my day.
What are you currently writing?
I have been a part of many collaborative anthologies, online magazines and books. Apart from this I am a blogger and have my own poetry blog Poetry Love Sangeeta Suneja. It has been awarded by baggout.com, and selected as the top fifteen socially active poetry blogs of India. It has around two thousand poetry pieces and a few of my artwork.
Where in the world is your favorite place to be?
I am truly inspired by the subtlety of nature and the natural, life is beautiful and lovely when it is simple. The mountains, hills, forests, rivers and the countryside, be it, in any part of the world, attracts me. I am a spiritual seeker and a believer, so faith in the superpower of the creator has been my main driving force, for all the matters of my life, including my writings.
Please share an excerpt from The First Few Minutes…
The first few minutes
are crucial for a new born,
if it cries out and loud,
The creation has been endowed with ‘an art.
The communication of the creative units with its environment is a must to come alive as an art,
Within first minutes if it does,
it is an authentication,
a certification of being an art.
The idea behind my writing this book was to communicate, to share my quaint experiences of life and learning. My book is a window on the passing railroad of life, the readers get a glimpse of it. Here is an excerpt, from a story, from my book The First Few Minutes…
In search of silken thread
It was an emotionally charged moment, hundreds of young college students were seen bitterly crying holding hands, hugging and sitting, consoling each other, it took some time for me to realize this after I spotted a few of them in their uniforms, that they were cadets from National Cadet Corps, who were returning home after a month long NCC Camp at the garrison grounds Delhi Cant after performing for the Republic day parade and a beating retreat at the Raj path India Gate. A month long association created great bonds, lifelong relationships, away from the family a new home and then separation is distressing. Many of them still happy to be together till their journey completed.
The emotions and affections are universal and remain the same in all ages and times but the display of emotion today is different from our times I realized we in our youth were totally bound in our cultural parameters, today they are more comfortable in their skin, and they are emotionally intelligent, respond differently and value the need of expression.
Boarding the train after so many decades, witnessing these lovely young adults openly expressing their predilections, I smelled a familiar flavor in the air, the time machine began to escalate me in its intense intoxicating fumes, taking me back...
There has always been a mysterious attraction between the trains and the love stories. The trains either give birth to love stories or are the progenitors of affections. However this remains a subject of research. When a train gallops among the farms freely through the jungles, deserts, tunnels the cocooned train compartment is a haven and an oasis to the first time lovers, part time lovers, once in a life time lovers, and equally for the seasoned players who encapsulated in the running fire, catch sparks of beauty through the train windows. When these sparks turn into an inferno for a life time, nobody knows...
The dark of night awaits,
Playing its calm carousel,
Draping the damp dementia
Of the late last evening,
When the part of the particle broke, Into two,
the bright bismuth and midnight blue,
Rest resulted in a sleep,
slumbering in a shallow cloak,
The stream of a running light, tapped against my door,
The dog rubbed its paws,
Wagging the tail, for a few moments, in hope,
The morning, today again is slow,
It kicks me left and right,
But the day is dumb, as much, the night was neatly numb,
I opened the latch of the door,
The morning stands, hesitant, out on the floor,
My wish to call her in,
She understands, but I do not speak, Why?
The God, only knows,
The morning, in me is the sand, awaits,
away at the shore, We never meet indoor,
She pays me a visit at the gate and goes,
Back to the back waters,
My abyss misses again an admirable acquaintance,
As she posed,
to say a goodbye,
Was wanting to be the sea,
The Moon of monotony moans,
I hang like a broom stick in the corner,
Ready, lazily for the chores,
The morning, without waking the waves,
Once again it goes!
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