Exiled Inspiration VI: Monika Ajay Kaul

8 min readDec 7, 2019

"Home, that was...!"
A memory evoked of the 'Lost Paradise'.Of my home; I could see 
the seared remnants reposing like skeletons.A haven of love and certainty,
a place with souvenirs and benignity.The gust of dust might be shrilling through it,
the ghostly snow falling right into the rubble.In the ruins sleep our days of yore
cradled in those bits and pieces, long forgone.The brick walls that were comfort
in every storm, rests in an ashes' expanse.In my heart, I can feel the blistering flames;
when firefighters watched the intractable inferno.Somewhere in that rubble rests our faltered life;
our possessions metamorphosed into clinkers.Breathing in vibrance, it had been once.
Now our homes are cold, and we lie shorn.© Monika Ajay Kaul

You can either go beyond your limitations or choose to stay in your comfort zone. Once you step out of your comfort zone you learn to explore new grounds, you become willing and eager to immerse yourself in creating new experiences. Yet you are hungry for more and the quest never stops; what is important however is incorporating the lessons learned, into to your life.

“I was never a people’s person. Even in childhood I had limited friends and I wonder till this age if I do really have few. Today if someone asks me,” Who’s your best friend?” Honestly, I wouldn’t have an answer. Striking conversations was always laborious for me and till date I’m not really a good social talker.”

“I could be found gorging on books (other than my course books, of course), doodling and sketching, scribbling poetry in those diaries which never saw the daylight and finally met the ash. I remember a mountain of Readers Digest at home with back covers displaying masterpiece paintings, I used to imitate those. My maternal grandfather wasn’t an artist, but he was a very aesthetic person. I remember him changing a huge wooden wall into an abstract painting within hours. That very moment, I thought that’s what I want to do.”

“My father, who belongs to KAS cadre wished me to prepare for IAS or to become a doctor. He tried his best, but I belonged somewhere else and I’m thankful my mother being an educationist herself, never impelled any pressure on us. Having done my graduation as a migrant student at Udhampur and MBA from Delhi, I found myself in branding and advertising for a Jewelry Brand, which I briefly pursued.”

“A break in career shortly after getting married and demission for family situations never bothered me. I chose what was more salient for me. Few years later I opted to become an educationist and a corporate trainer. I’m thankful to God, I proved to be a good one. Honestly, to continue in the corporate world wasn’t my piece of cake, because the cherry adorning it was placed somewhere else. Perhaps I was always a person who wouldn’t follow a lead.”

Monika Ajay Kaul, an exceptionally talented Kashmiri is deeply influenced by the culture of her birthplace and very proud of her roots. And the pain of separation from her homeland is something she has experienced first-hand. In imposed exile like many of us, her work is evoked by sentiments of loss of home and identity and as an artist and writer, more than anything else, she deserves appreciation, respect and freedom of expression.

"Paradise Lost"The Mother Nature was more mirthful there, 
than on other moors and heaths.
Back home the grass and moss mingled with
the brighter lively hues.The dullness of the earth was nowhere visible
Those apple and almond trees lie lower, 
kneeling down to be humble, to the wind, 
pointless and voluntary though it was.The wind whiffed day and night, 
harsh in winter but clement by summer. 
There the blooms with petals resembled 
a painting created by a Jamboree Queen.That Paradise was blamelessly bright,
not a spot in hearths and hearts.
A brilliant kaleidoscope to gaze at,
As if watching through a child's eye.Those front yards
had once been endearingly paved.
Roses and Pansies planted
in heart-shaped beds.Now the weeds grow between
the saturnine colored bricks;
and those flower beds
are colossal tangle of thorns.The leaves of those changing Chinars,
and height of those Karakoram pines.
The redolence of that Vale's breeze,
remains locked in the reminiscent room.© Monika Ajay Kaul

An outpouring of memories and thoughts — that lay stacked in the layers of mind and corners of soul — is all one needs when reminiscing about Kashmir. I wanted Monika to express the intricately woven feelings, her narrative, her words in her own way and let her work speak for her.

“Childhood back at Kashmir was normal. Fun and frolic. Picnics and get-togethers. Extended festivals and feasts. Visiting the temple and collecting few buckets of ‘Nyermal’ and spewing it in Jhelum was a regular morning ritual. Now memories and redolence. I can still smell the morning fragrance of my grandmother’s room and her humming of Lall Vaakh and ‘Maej Sharkaey’ kar daya.’

“Now Kashmir to me, resembles a snapshot out of time. A Dream, I try to see, often. But the moment I close my eyes, darkness takes over. At times I really wish to visit the garden where I had planted seeds and saplings just to see how they’ve branched off. Do sparrows and maynas still inhabit there? I don’t believe they do because no “kaaw paet’ “ exist there anymore.”

“For all of us, leaving home wasn’t a bitter pill to swallow but it was absorbing a bowl of poison. The heaviest hump of emotions to carry for a lifetime. Nevertheless, I’m proud to belong to a community that withstood the hardships with grace and honour in and out of Kashmir. While in Kashmir before migration, I was shaken the morning Sh. Tika Lal Taploo was gunned down just after leaving our home. The gunshots still clunk my head. Out from Kashmir, the tragedy of leaving continued to loom. The news of gutted ancestral home was a nightmare for my grandmother. She never woke up the next morning. I wonder at times what transformed her in a single night although she was the most strong and resilient woman, I had seen on earth.”

“Our bodies are growing, and our intellectual minds are expanding but Kashmir continues to crumble each day. It resembles an ‘Inflated Ego’, too vulnerable as to ‘Touch-and-go’.”

Such powerful emotions and sensitivity, watching the world from another perspective, standing out from the crowd, seeking, following dreams, lost in time and space, expressing creativity. One can almost visualise Monika interlacing the yarn on the loom of life, slowly and steadily blending the threads, the hues and tones, bright and subdued, a huge collage of revelations and introspections.

“After leaving Kashmir, my venture in aesthetics had come to a complete hiatus, except for a poem which I wrote when my first baby was born. But one can’t stop breathing for long and I breathe Poetry and Art. I know it sounds an exaggerated expression, but I do feel it. I continue to dwell in my not-so-perfect aesthetic sense and I’m happy with that. My ambitions have always been too modest. I was always a contented person, even with less. Being a Nobody never bothered me. It still doesn’t.”

“I’m glad while exploring my hobby as a writer, I had the backing of my ultimate Guru, Prof. Arvind Gigoo. Till recent times, he would send me poetry books to hone my ability. I’m glad my association with few more adorable persons on social media, that includes your Mom, kept my vehemence for Art going.”

You know your inner calling, you know your past and you know your present and you know how to stay genuine, stay original, stay individualistic and stay grounded, you know where you belong.

“You can find me singing “Harmukh Bartal..” , “Sakhyev roothum hayy…”, “Tchi yiwaan roshe chukh..” , “Bedard dadyi chanye..” almost daily. Shamima Dev Azad, Bhajan Sopori, Ghulam Hassan Sofi, Vijay Malla, Raj Begum, the list is endless to soothe the nerves.”

“Well, People may find me in my careless verses, chaotic colors and imprecise notes of songs. But the thought of having contributed to the nation by training and making meticulous corporate people shall always make me feel delightful.”

My own journey on Facebook has evolved over years, my motivation and the reasons to join and be active on social media have changed like the four seasons and I have appeared and disappeared from it like a rainbow. Monika has been a virtual co-traveller, discovered by my mother who in turn introduced me to her. She had to be ‘rare find’ to catch my mother’s discreet eye and I found myself a little curiously, a little hesitantly exploring this ‘contact’ on my list as much as it sounds impersonal and inanimate. What I discovered was enthralling and fascinating; Monika seemed to possess a repertoire of skills — wisdom, intelligence, aesthetics and creativity.
A veritable cornucopia, overflowing with talent, yet very modest and sensible, with a certain air of calmness. She writes and paints beautifully, her enigmatic simplicity is just one of her virtues. You must be a perfectly honed jeweller to value and recognize the precious nuggets she produces in various forms, self-taught, wanderlust for knowledge and a human encyclopedia. We share some common interests and I have been very inspired by her style of writing, her art and expression, she could be a daydreamer’s muse, a seekers delight.
Monika Kaul nee Mattoo is a multifaceted personality, multilingual poet and short-story writer, residing in Delhi. She would love to be an Art Connoisseur, she paints; makes sketches and doodles — always experimenting with colours. An avid reader, mostly biographies and autobiographies of world artists and writers, her poetry and short stories are featured in few Indian and International anthologies, plus a regular writer on various prestigious literary e-zines, currently a guest-academician and full-time toiling mother.

Learn more about Monika here:

Originally published on December 6, 2019 at https://www.facebook.com/notes/351580409387944/

Exiled Inspiration VI: Monika Ajay Kaul

Written by egzīld

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