The weekend was part fun, part disappointing. After long, fruitless debates, the office team finally settled on going on a lunch retreat to The Great Kabab Factory. Good decision I must say. The galouti kebabs, fish kebabs, and malai jhinga (butter shrimp) are to die for!
On the way back home, I bought those silver antique anklets that Sho's been wanting to buy. I hope she wont read this before her birthday. Considering she wouldn't know this blog address, I'll put it down over here, nevertheless.
Saturday evening and Sunday noon, I tried to write and complete that 'short' story titled 'A Room to Himself', but just could not do it. Especially on Sunday afternoon, when each time I sat down to write, the doorbell rang! That stupid woman employed to keep the building clean kept coming to collect maintenance money, give the receipt, get signatures, and such silly things. By the time I got to writing the story, I realized I'd run out of ideas. After 1979 words, I realized the story had still not reached midway!
This is my problem with short stories. I just cant, for the life of me, write a short story. I've no problem going on and on with a novel, but a short story - even something as simple as this blog post - exasperates me. Abhishek and I have often discussed writing. He is a brilliant satire writer, and his Twilight Banter was pretty popular among the 'circles'. I always told him how I admired him for being able to:
1. Write shorts, with mostly nothing more than dialog
2. Make all of them satirical
There is this Unisun publishing house in Bangalore that is hosting a story writing competition. I plan to send an entry, and have a story or two in my head. Of these, at least one I have written already and posted on my blog (Which reminds me, I need to pull out that blog from the Internet). I only have to refine it a bit. Add some 'meat'. The other one, equally stunning I suppose, is still in my head, but not on paper (Or on a Word document for that matter). Same problem. The publishing house rules state that the story should not exceed 3500 words and my problem is I do not know how to write a stunning, thought provoking, story within 3500 words.
I cannot write abstract stories, like those blaft publications things. Nor can I write stuff with heavy philosophy. My stories are mostly simple narratives, with a conclusive...well...end. No ambiguities. On the whole, it may look like the story is simple to the point of being mundane. And no writer wants to be called 'mundane'! I wish I could write more complicated, thought provoking stuff. But then, that is not me. Sigh!
I need to learn this art of writing short stories. Since I plan to keep, for now, all the short stories related to Mumbai, I hope the forthcoming Mumbai trip will help me get a few ideas.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Accolades for a Friend
I was attending the inaugural session of the Journalism course at XIC, on a rainy evening in July 2000. The session was conducted in the convocation hall that had red curtains, banners with vintage calligraphy, and soft lights, which make your mind drift away from the monologue emanating from behind the podium, to a perfect world that you would like to be in at the end of the course; where you want that course to take you. :)
The footfalls of heavy-heeled shoes broke the trance. I turned around to see this pretty lady walk in with many bags, a scarf or two, and other such paraphernalia. Obviously late for the session, she took one of the seats that lined the wall, right across from where I was seated, in a chair by the wall on this side.
Five or ten minutes later, the sound of heavy-heeled footfalls made heads turn in its direction again. This time, the pretty damsel was stomping out of the hall! The whole episode was a nice comic relief. At least she had the courage to refuse to sit through a predictable monologue!
Later, months into the course, this pretty damsel turned out to be one of the brightest in Journalism class. We also got to know each other, worked on a few assignments together, and went out with other friends occassionally. I asked her once what type of journalism she wanted to do after the course. With confidence that I'd not seen in anyone else in the batch, she replied, "Sports".
Sports she did, after the course. Many months after the course was over, I was happy to see her on TV, first on Headlines Today, presenting news, very elegantly as always, about some tennis tournament. Then, I saw her on Zee Sports much later.
The same person recently wrote a novel called 'Running on Full'. Not surprisingly, it's about sport. "Men and sports", she once replied to the obvious question posted on her Facebook page. Today, February 4, her book is being launched at the Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, New Delhi, by Kapil Dev!
Just a little story about a batchmate and friend, who took the effort to sail towards the goal she must've dreamt of, like I did during that first session at XIC, and made it there elegantly. To the person I've always admired and need to draw some inspiration from: Tina Sharma Tiwari, cheers to you, lady!
PS: For this little effort of writing a blogpost, Tina, if you're reading this, can you give me an autographed copy? :D
Visit her website at http://www.tinasharmatiwari.com/
The footfalls of heavy-heeled shoes broke the trance. I turned around to see this pretty lady walk in with many bags, a scarf or two, and other such paraphernalia. Obviously late for the session, she took one of the seats that lined the wall, right across from where I was seated, in a chair by the wall on this side.
Five or ten minutes later, the sound of heavy-heeled footfalls made heads turn in its direction again. This time, the pretty damsel was stomping out of the hall! The whole episode was a nice comic relief. At least she had the courage to refuse to sit through a predictable monologue!
Later, months into the course, this pretty damsel turned out to be one of the brightest in Journalism class. We also got to know each other, worked on a few assignments together, and went out with other friends occassionally. I asked her once what type of journalism she wanted to do after the course. With confidence that I'd not seen in anyone else in the batch, she replied, "Sports".
Sports she did, after the course. Many months after the course was over, I was happy to see her on TV, first on Headlines Today, presenting news, very elegantly as always, about some tennis tournament. Then, I saw her on Zee Sports much later.
The same person recently wrote a novel called 'Running on Full'. Not surprisingly, it's about sport. "Men and sports", she once replied to the obvious question posted on her Facebook page. Today, February 4, her book is being launched at the Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, New Delhi, by Kapil Dev!
Just a little story about a batchmate and friend, who took the effort to sail towards the goal she must've dreamt of, like I did during that first session at XIC, and made it there elegantly. To the person I've always admired and need to draw some inspiration from: Tina Sharma Tiwari, cheers to you, lady!
PS: For this little effort of writing a blogpost, Tina, if you're reading this, can you give me an autographed copy? :D
Visit her website at http://www.tinasharmatiwari.com/
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Check out Save Our Tigers | Join the Roar
Title: Save Our Tigers | Join the Roar
Link: http://gotaf.socialtwist.com/redirect?l=-724303126848671097521
Link: http://gotaf.socialtwist.com/redirect?l=-724303126848671097521
Monday, February 1, 2010
On a Thousand Hills
In class eleven or twelve, I set out to write a novel for the first time. There were no personal computers then. I got a 1000-page notebook and a special 0.5 microtip pen - a fad those days - to write the book. Eventually, I wrote the first chapter of a mystery set in London of all places. I've never been to London but could imagine what a typical London street would look like at the beginning of winter.
Very Lawrence Sanders-like, there was a retired detective who was about to settle down for dinner with a nice, comely wife, when the telephone jumps to life. He is called to a crime scene to 'provide inputs', if not help solve the case. He retired, remember? :) So he steps out and at the doorstep his wife reminds him to take the gloves. November was ending and they werent getting younger, you know. :)
That was where the novel ended - at that first chapter. I had no idea what to write, no one to read the rubbish I wrote, so had no clue what to do next. Besides, as always, I was lazy. So that's where the first book ended.
I wrote a second one, much later in life, around the time when I was finishing my Journalism course at XIC and had left the TOI job. I wrote quite a lot of that book, I must say, however incorrect and shallow the first draft was. But that story was no story at all. Most of it was idle banter - could have passed it off as chic lit though - and so I gave up on that one too.
"On a Thousand Hills" was the first novel I wrote sincerely. I have not completed it, and the story has changed course dramatically since the first ideas that I'd thought of. Locations and situations changed, the characters remained the same, and even as late as last month, I've researched about Rwanda for the sake of writing this book.
The story centers on a couple of Indian origin, their family and life, set in the days, years rather, leading to the Rwandan genocide of 1994. I began writing this sometime in 2002-2003 and wrote 32 chapters then. Yes, thirty two chapters! First draft definitely, required editing, but I had a draft!
And then one day, my hard disk crashed.
In the 'Author's notes' of 'Shantaram', I remember reading about how the Australian cops caught the author with the book while he was doing time, and flushed his book in the toilet, and burned a second draft. The final one was his third or fourth attempt. Really admired the man for that perseverance and rigor.
How I wish I had at least an iota of it!
In my mind, this story of mine is still fresh. I rewrote eight chapters, but after that, nothing. Although I know what I want to write, and how to write it, I have just not gotten past that block to start writing again. Now I know you guys will tell me I should, at least for the sake of those 21 dollars that I spent on the books I bought from the World Bank Info shop on Pennsylvania Avenue, for my research on Rwanda. I'm sure now that I know more about Rwandan politics, society, and the genocide situation that my father, who lived and worked in Rwanda for six years till 1994. But there are several apprehensions that keep me from writing:
1. Who will want to read about a family of Afro-Indian origin in an almost unknown central African country called Rwanda (Not even Zaire (DRC) or Uganda; people 'know' these countries)?
2. Even if there's someone out there who would want to read this, would they believe in my story and the situation, considering I plan to write this book on the basis of research and one month spent on vacation in Kigali when I was in class VII, in 1990?
3. The genocide happened in 1994, 16 years ago. Do we have to rake up ghosts of the past? There are people still suffering in the aftermath of this tragedy. Would they be happy to read this, especially modern Rwandans in a now modern Rwanda, where things have changed?
I read this bit about the Smithsonian Institution while on trip to one of the Smithsonian Museums in Washington, D.C. It said that James Smithson, the British chemist who left a bequest in his will to the United States of America, which was used to initially fund the Smithsonian Institution, had never ever been to the United States! I, on the other hand, have been to Rwanda, even if it were for a month, even if that trip happened 20 years ago. Not quite related to my situation, but if a Smithsonian institution could be founded, I guess there's no harm in writing a book. :)
Very Lawrence Sanders-like, there was a retired detective who was about to settle down for dinner with a nice, comely wife, when the telephone jumps to life. He is called to a crime scene to 'provide inputs', if not help solve the case. He retired, remember? :) So he steps out and at the doorstep his wife reminds him to take the gloves. November was ending and they werent getting younger, you know. :)
That was where the novel ended - at that first chapter. I had no idea what to write, no one to read the rubbish I wrote, so had no clue what to do next. Besides, as always, I was lazy. So that's where the first book ended.
I wrote a second one, much later in life, around the time when I was finishing my Journalism course at XIC and had left the TOI job. I wrote quite a lot of that book, I must say, however incorrect and shallow the first draft was. But that story was no story at all. Most of it was idle banter - could have passed it off as chic lit though - and so I gave up on that one too.
"On a Thousand Hills" was the first novel I wrote sincerely. I have not completed it, and the story has changed course dramatically since the first ideas that I'd thought of. Locations and situations changed, the characters remained the same, and even as late as last month, I've researched about Rwanda for the sake of writing this book.
The story centers on a couple of Indian origin, their family and life, set in the days, years rather, leading to the Rwandan genocide of 1994. I began writing this sometime in 2002-2003 and wrote 32 chapters then. Yes, thirty two chapters! First draft definitely, required editing, but I had a draft!
And then one day, my hard disk crashed.
In the 'Author's notes' of 'Shantaram', I remember reading about how the Australian cops caught the author with the book while he was doing time, and flushed his book in the toilet, and burned a second draft. The final one was his third or fourth attempt. Really admired the man for that perseverance and rigor.
How I wish I had at least an iota of it!
In my mind, this story of mine is still fresh. I rewrote eight chapters, but after that, nothing. Although I know what I want to write, and how to write it, I have just not gotten past that block to start writing again. Now I know you guys will tell me I should, at least for the sake of those 21 dollars that I spent on the books I bought from the World Bank Info shop on Pennsylvania Avenue, for my research on Rwanda. I'm sure now that I know more about Rwandan politics, society, and the genocide situation that my father, who lived and worked in Rwanda for six years till 1994. But there are several apprehensions that keep me from writing:
1. Who will want to read about a family of Afro-Indian origin in an almost unknown central African country called Rwanda (Not even Zaire (DRC) or Uganda; people 'know' these countries)?
2. Even if there's someone out there who would want to read this, would they believe in my story and the situation, considering I plan to write this book on the basis of research and one month spent on vacation in Kigali when I was in class VII, in 1990?
3. The genocide happened in 1994, 16 years ago. Do we have to rake up ghosts of the past? There are people still suffering in the aftermath of this tragedy. Would they be happy to read this, especially modern Rwandans in a now modern Rwanda, where things have changed?
I read this bit about the Smithsonian Institution while on trip to one of the Smithsonian Museums in Washington, D.C. It said that James Smithson, the British chemist who left a bequest in his will to the United States of America, which was used to initially fund the Smithsonian Institution, had never ever been to the United States! I, on the other hand, have been to Rwanda, even if it were for a month, even if that trip happened 20 years ago. Not quite related to my situation, but if a Smithsonian institution could be founded, I guess there's no harm in writing a book. :)
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