Jane Borges (2024-25)

I write this exactly three months after having left Stirling, and yet not a day has gone by since I haven’t thought of my time there. In Mumbai now, caught in the manic grind of work and life, memories of the soft rhythm of Stirling have become my refuge, reminding me what slowing down did for me and my writing.

My first novel was written between the fleeting moments I had managed to snatch between work. The second novel begged a sabbatical: I gave myself this opportunity by quitting my job to focus on my writing. The first draft of the manuscript was written in a tearing hurry, the anxiety of not earning an income always lurking. I was satisfied with the book, but not entirely happy. It’s around this time that I applied for the Charles Wallace writing residency at the University of Stirling, uncertain of how it would help.

I remember arriving in Stirling early on a bitingly cold February morning, hauling my luggage through the quiet town, looking for a taxi to take me to my accommodation at Lyon Crescent. There was a thick fog that blanketed the air. The trees were barren; branches stripped off leaves and colour.

Over the next few days, the town opened up to me: The fog cleared, the cold became more bearable, and I witnessed life return to the trees, one shoot at a time. For me, this moment and this place was a gift that I didn’t want to take for granted.

At the University, I quickly found a writerly routine, which I had never until then experienced. I had a room to myself, with large windows, which overlooked a beautiful garden space, where I was told to keep an eye for the nesting oystercatchers. This was luxury, made sweeter because of the people I was surrounded by: My coordinators Gemma Robinson and Lorna Gibb who made time for me between their own hectic teaching and researching schedules, and my housemates, all of whom were visiting researchers at the university. A writer needs a room of her own, but she also craves coffee, conversation, friendship and company. And I had that in plenty.

I would spend about six to seven hours in my office daily, mostly writing. Occasionally, I would take a stroll along the Airthrey loch, hot chocolate in hand, and soak in the beauty that surrounded me. The campus looked different to me every day—new flowers appeared before vanishing without a trace; the same tree was someday a gorgeous rust, and another day, a divine green; the loch could be still, and then suddenly overrun with swans, mallards and moorherns. Here I also made some new friends, engaging with Heidi and Peter Gardner, the artists in residency, whose amazing initiative, The Faculty of Taking Notice, made me observe the art around me more carefully.

I walked a lot during this time, and despite a bad back, pushed myself to see everything I could at Stirling. There was this one day when my housemates and I trekked to Dumyat summit. From the university campus, the summit appears like a craggy speck, making itself visible only so slightly, so that you know it exists on a faraway rocky outcrop, on a distant hill. We dared the climb on a rainy morning, with strong cold winds for company, playing and pushing us around. When we reached the summit some hours later, the view we saw breathtaking. To be so close as I could to the clouds made me feel absolutely alive.

Naturally, all of these experiences shaped my writing in ways I hadn’t expected it to. While at Stirling, I used the time to rework the manuscript of my second novel. Because I could hear and listen to myself more clearly in this new environment, I could also see the flaws and hurriedness in my previous writing. The chiseling and shaping of the manuscript happened gradually. There were days when I was stuck on a chapter for weeks, and then, there were weeks, when I had covered a lot many chapters without too much effort. By the end of my three-month-long stint, I had a more definitive novel in hand, and which I was certainly proud of.

What I most appreciated about this residency was how much I got to engage with the various departments here, through readings, seminars and dialogue. Quite early into my time here, I was given the opportunity to do a reading from my work-in-progress novel at the Linguistic Injustice and Inequality in the Public Domain conference at the University of Stirling. Later, Aishwarya Iyer (the Charles Wallace Fellow at the University of Kent) and I did a joint reading at the campus—she read her poems, and I did a reading from the opening chapter of my book, where I even sang a few lines. Since I lead an oral history project, I was also given the chance to lead an oral history research seminar, where I spoke about documenting the stories of Konkani-speaking Catholics in Old Bombay. My time at Stirling saw a perfect wrap with the Off The Page event, organised by the Stirling Council, where I got to share the stage with some of the finest Scottish poets and writers—Kevin P. Gilday, Hannah Lavery, and Alan Bissett.

In Stirling, I was alone for the very first time—I have always lived within shouting distance of family and friends. And yet, there wasn’t a moment or day where I felt absolutely lonely. I discovered so much about myself amidst the silence that this place offered me, and for which I will always remain grateful.

I know I will return to Stirling again, perhaps some years down the line, because there’s a tree that I planted inside the campus, and I want to see how much it has grown. And whether it came into its own, like I did.