This ‘Easdale’ is not in Scotland. But it might as well be a contender for the quaint charm which that island holds. My writing, if I may dare say, breathes in such airs. When you breathe, and do so without obstacle, you make yourself comfortable, even if it may not exactly be a thing of lowering guard for others. It is, so to say, a means of self-comfort than otherly relief.
And so, as I spent four days at Easdale at Muttukadu, (largely) cut-off from my routine – the humdrum of office and home, the cacophony of traffic and the mundaneness of utility – I found serenity. The room, which was at the ground floor of this duplex house of vintage kind, was clean, minimally done and with a skylight letting sunshine in. Clubbing with the attached bath, the size was just fine for a solo visitor like me.
While the hospitality of the hosts made me settle my laptop and self, indoors and write away till the natural lights shut their shops down, it was the mornings that I enjoyed the most.
The beach, which was a 3-minutes’ walk from my room, did the job of a broom in my mind, clearing the cobwebs of corporate kerfuffle and ambiguous ideas and slightly nudging the hidden but dispirited kernels of experiments to step forward and take centrestage. I walked on the wet sands and saw till as far as my eyes went, and in some parallel world, wove stories in there and returned happily with the spoils.
I scribbled unhindered, stopping only to sip a cup of ginger chai or walk alongside Luna to sniff flowers in the well-tended garden or chat with Sarita and Nawaz with their uplifting wit.
As nights fell, I moved into the quiet of my room, reading a little of Abdulrazak Gurnah and gently easing into a world away from mine, the stars shining lightly in my eyes, making their way, after all, through the skylight.
A little, unhurried world then. A place to find many words then. Unto next.
My detailed review of this homestay is available here.