Indie author Simran Munot is on cloud nine, for her first-ever solo book entitled ‘Cordially Yours’ is now published. Not only is the book receiving rave reviews from various quarters but is also challenging the beliefs of the twenty-two-year-young Mumbai-based writer, who had initially thought that books on letters don’t do well. Speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction, Simran, who has previously co-written two poetry books, says the plan to pen down her thoughts and come up with Cordially Yours came long ago, only she wasn’t that confident enough. ‘Cordially Yours is basically a collection of heartfelt open letters. I have seen and read various poetry books, different kinds of novels, and novella but hardly one or two books on letters. A book full of letters is rare and definitely a recent concept. So, I was very sceptical about publishing it,’ she shares.
Does not the sky obscure the worlds afar,
Insuring all gods who abide in light?
Summered have we on planet Earth so far;
And we know what’s hard here is for them light.
Mothers have sure mothered billions of souls,
But who begot the first mother d’you know?
Traumatized, she returned home, with her soul shattered and defeated.
Her husband welcomed her back, in the chirpy way he usually greeted.
He told her to freshen up quickly and join him in the kitchen.
That him cooking tonight didn’t mean she didn’t have to pitch in.
But all she wanted now was to cleanse herself with a long shower.
What you must understand is that poetry is not simply expressing oneself – not for me. That would seem more suited to an essay. Rather, poetry is a way of being and of seeing as if it were another sense in the way of taste or touch. And with this sense, it becomes a way of relating to life at its smallest as well as its largest. For the poet, it is every day and everywhere. It is who and how you are. Poetry is, at its fullest, a relationship. And the words are the bi-product of that relationship, that way of being. They are the conversations that you, the reader, are allowed to overhear – but they are not in and of themselves the whole thing. Birds stroke distance through the air, spiders build webs, and in the same way, poets write. The significant fact, though, is that what they write; poems are not about, they are not faint reflections, but rather, poems are, are the thing itself – as is the distance, as is the web.
Answers I have looked for,
But questions still remain;
Chasing me like a cop,
Dim they are sure and lame.
Refrains, they are the quintessential keys
That open up the rhyming Villanelle,
Revealing what the poet’s passion sees.
The nuanced lines, expressive by degrees
Enclosed within the repetition shell;
Refrains, they are the quintessential keys.