Kavita EzekielI have dreams about ‘writing spaces,’ but before I can turn this dream into reality, I must ask the apple tree for permission to share space with it, in the far corner of my backyard, where it stands in solitary splendor.
I have been dreaming of building a small and cosy writer’s cottage in its shade. If the world is to be a peaceful place, Man and Nature must stand together in harmony. It is in the belief in the spirit of such harmony that I would love to coexist peacefully side-by-side with the apple tree. The tree would be the creative muse for my poetry. On Mother’s Day, a couple of years ago, it was gifted to me by my family because of my love of apples and trees. That love started when, as a toddler, my father tossed me in the air and called me ‘the apple of his eye.’ I can’t remember seeing an apple tree in India, only in my imagination and in children’s storybooks. If memory serves me correctly, I think the tree outside the window of one of the rooms in my grandmother’s home was an orange tree. Perhaps it was a lemon tree.
Although I love my home and my writing desk, with the pandemic, working inside can become quite claustrophobic. Actually, I have no cause for complaint since I do not need a mask when I am inside. Breathing with a mask on is more than challenging for me when I go to the grocery store. A shed outside means freedom from masks. Besides, everything starts with a dream; a small cottage in which to do one’s writing, is a good dream for a writer.
I wish we could have preserved the two desks and the old typewriter, on which my father wrote his poems and articles. When we were babies, sometimes he had to hold my sister or me cradled in one arm, as my mother did the housework. He wrote with his right hand and had one baby or the other tucked into the crook of his left arm. At other times, he would place us on his desk with one arm to secure us tightly. We would squiggle and squirm like worms, so his task was not easy. Sometimes we sat on his lap… that happened when we were a little older. No matter what position we took, one of his arms was dedicated to us, the other to his writing. He would oblige my mother cheerfully and would be glad to have his precious children beside him. I never remember him complaining.
The writer’s cottage in my backyard, named Ezekiel House, would become a sort of ‘Tiny House with Big Living,’ which is the name of one of my favourite television shows. The small house designs would provide more impetus to write in a small yet cosy space. Many writers prefer to write without distractions. My problem is not so much sharing a desk in the same office space as my husband, it is when he has those continuous business calls for work that is distracting. I could wear earplugs to shut out the conversations, but they make me feel uncomfortable and feel a little unnatural. I need the freedom to write without encumbrances. I can play relaxing music in the background when I am writing, but the human voice can interrupt the flow of words on the page. I could end up writing a different kind of poem or essay, than the one I originally intended to write!
Speaking of tiny houses, I found something interesting about a writer I studied in college. The prolific playwright George Bernard Shaw might just be the original tiny house innovator. He built his 64-square-foot writer’s hut in his garden, and he placed it on a circular track so he could rotate it throughout the day and follow the sun (genius!).
I have heard of a revolving restaurant, but this is the first time I am hearing of a revolving cottage. It would make me a little dizzy to try and write when I am going round and round!
My father’s dear ‘Birdwatcher’ friends had a writing shed just outside their home on the outskirts of Bangalore, India. The dream of a cottage was planted when I was a young girl and visited them with my family. I had forgotten about it over the years. Now, with the pandemic, the dream has been revived. The writing shed of my father’s friends was a snug space, decorated just as I had imagined a writer’s space to be. A simple space with a desk, papers, books, and magazines everywhere. There was a painting or two on the walls. I can’t remember that detail exactly. I would definitely choose to have artwork in my cottage. The one I love is a painting of two owls done by my daughter as a gift for Mother’s Day several years ago. She knows I love owls. Mother’s Day has brought me many inspirational gifts, among them the apple tree, owl bookends, and other owl figurines.
“Look deep into nature and then you will understand everything better.” Albert Einstein
Nature has always been an important part of my life. My first home growing up was a ground floor flat with a garden outside. It was also a short walk to the sea. It was my father who inspired me with his love of nature. He taught me to appreciate even a small blade of grass blowing in the wind. I realize now how much his teaching influenced my thinking. He loved the moon and the stars which we could see in the evening and night sky, as we sat out on chairs each evening, in the garden. My father said he would like to be buried in the garden so he might feel the coolness of the sea breeze and smell the fragrance of the flowers. If he had a choice to move his writing desk into the garden, he would gladly have made that choice.
I love water fountains. the buddha fountain sitting on my patio would be the perfect water feature I would place inside the cottage. It comes equipped with a glowing red light when the fountain is turned on. The sound of water is peaceful, and as the glow of the light illuminates the water, my writing could reflect that beauty. Since I am unable to have the sea of my childhood, a water fountain would do just as well. I am trying to recreate the atmosphere in the cottage with meaningful objects, not just things thrown together for the sake of it. Everything must be carefully selected to create a certain ambiance. Gently flowing water is musical and the poetry in turn becomes musical.
The objects a person has in their home reveal a lot about the person who lives there. The chosen décor is a statement of their character, their beliefs, and the things they love and value.
Presently, I am now blessed to live near a nature reserve. The most beautiful birds fly into my backyard and perch themselves on the fence. I have strategically placed three birdbaths in different areas of the backyard and watch the sparrows, the robins, magpies, woodpeckers, chickadees, flickers, and other exotic birds whose names I do not know, drinking water. They sometimes allow me to take their pictures if I am quiet. The Argentinian hawks make their home on the tree beside the church across from my home. On one occasion, a large hawk flew low across the backyard, and another sat high on the electric pole beside my back gate. These are rare sightings. In winter, the owls hoot in the trees, though I have only seen their shadow. In the Fall evenings, one particular owl loves cars and hoots at each passing vehicle. The birds have inspired my poetry, as have the squirrels that scamper on the grass and the electric poles. The butterflies and bees have also found themselves in my poetry and the flowers and flowering bushes of different varieties enhance the view and enrich my writing.
The birds and squirrels might decide to pay me a visit at the cottage. I could entice them with bird seed and squirrel food. Writing with them by my side would be a unique experience. When I write at my desk, my cats often curl up beside me. They love the warmth of the machine, and human warmth. Speaking of desks, I read that Emily Dickinson, the writer who spent more time writing at home than any other writer I know of, had a desk that was just eighteen inches wide. Yet, she was able to produce some of the finest poetry the world has known. It just goes to show that the size of the desk or even the space you are writing in does not really matter. If you are determined to write, you can write anywhere.
In winter, the cold, the snow, and the icy sidewalks force me to stay inside, and a heated shed would relieve my suffocation. The fresh air coming in through the slightly open window would refresh my thoughts and invigorate my writing. A skylight might enable me to see the sunlight in shifting patterns of light and shade. I would have a readymade view with a room! To be able to see the two cherry trees across the yard, is a bonus. Their pink and white blossoms bring color into my writing. They were planted before the apple tree. A bowlful of cherries would certainly be a bonus. I can remember going down in a shaft to visit a mine on a school trip. Sometimes, the winters here remind me of that feeling. The outdoor cottage would take care of that feeling of claustrophobia. The phrase we use here is ‘cabin fever.’
It is hard to conceive of the apple tree declining my request. If it did, I could move my desk to the sunroom. I had never heard of a sunroom in India. There the sun pours brilliantly into our homes and of course over all the land. My sunroom is beautifully decorated with windchimes, colorful cushions, books, photographs, musical instruments, and a pre-lit cherry tree. The windows look out onto the backyard. It is the one room where the cats are not allowed. I feel bad about excluding them from that space, though sometimes when I open the door, they manage to get in. There is one problem with the sunroom. It has an old gas fireplace that does not work, and the room gets very cold in winter. Since the house is old, we are afraid to get the gas fireplace repaired. I do want to be outside and beside a real tree. If I feel hungry, I could pick an apple or two quite easily. Last year, the apples were so sweet and were also beautiful in appearance.
Speaking of space, my thoughts go back to my first rented childhood home. All my writing for school essays and college assignments were done at the dining table. When it was time for dinner, everything had to be cleared away. There was one other desk in the room which was exclusively for my father. He did all his writing there and the desk was littered with paper and books. Sometimes I wrote with a cushion placed on my lap, sitting on the floor on a chatai, or on the divan in the living room. Other times, I took one of the chairs belonging to the dining table into the garden, again with a cushion placed on the lap, and did my writing that way. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, and less than ideal for writing well. Space was at a premium and one did one’s best under the circumstances.
Virginia Woolf in her extended essay on the subject of women and writing said, “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” For many of us and certainly for me personally, that would be a matter of a hearty debate. Many of India’s great leaders studied under street lamps, and I imagine many middle-class writers in Bombay and in other countries around the world, wrote in cramped or small shared spaces with family. If an individual is determined to write, they will write, irrespective of space. Many famous writers like J.K. Rowling, among others, have said that they can write anywhere. Other writers have said that if a writer waits for the ideal writing space, they might die without putting down a single word on paper.
