So it came back, like a torrent rising from within, not letting her breathe, not letting her live. She thought she could be the sea, the master of waves, the lover of Moon, the harbinger of dancing boats, songs and hope.
But she cried. She simply cried.
Saturday, August 5, 2023
stories, unborn
I will write a novel on myself. I have stories within me, sucking my blood and growing, like a child in a womb.
She said fatal depression follows when the child is out of you. Can I anyway help, since I do have this within me and it needs to get out?
--
On cooking.
Somewhere I read, ``dumb'' women say ``I don't cook''. I say it all the time. Because, really, I do not cook. Not because I hate it, but because I have no interest and time. When I have time, i do, but that happens rarely.
Does speaking truth make me dumb?
She said fatal depression follows when the child is out of you. Can I anyway help, since I do have this within me and it needs to get out?
--
On cooking.
Somewhere I read, ``dumb'' women say ``I don't cook''. I say it all the time. Because, really, I do not cook. Not because I hate it, but because I have no interest and time. When I have time, i do, but that happens rarely.
Does speaking truth make me dumb?
Flashback.
Spelling errors in one of my father's IAS friends' diary had me dreaming. At seven, I had corrected: ``it is conscience and not consense''. Father was very proud and showed me the proverbial sky: `You can do it!' I nurtured it till the time I was 16.
After XIIth, there was a furious debate between father and I. Must I take up Literature or Economics? Literature turned out to be the natural choice. I loved poetry, wrote a little and could speak the language fluently, apart from editing the school magazine.
Once the romance with Literature began, aristocracy became a monster. A scorn for paan-chewing politicos was all I could revive in me whenever prospects of babudom loomed. I often said: ``How can I ever follow a boss i can outsmart?''
Later, life taught me two major spellings: destiny and patience.
But the slateboard was different. I wanted to be paid for writing. A course in journalism seemed most lucrative. An anxious father kept sending letters exhorting me to come back from my journalism school but an adamant I kept at it.
The beginning was tough. Tears were the bedtime companions. I was home-sick, impulsive and incredibly silent. A stint in Bombay taught me to start living my struggles; I was painfully mute while they hung heavy on my dreams.
It's been five years since then and I continue to be fazed by my dreams. I can't see through still; the route to my happiness remains hazy.
It's not babudom, I know. It's certainly in the letters, I am sure. But how?
Long ago, when grandfather dreamt of me penning a research paper, I had just shrugged rebelliously at the thought. I guess I am such a fool. I like to waste myself so much.
After XIIth, there was a furious debate between father and I. Must I take up Literature or Economics? Literature turned out to be the natural choice. I loved poetry, wrote a little and could speak the language fluently, apart from editing the school magazine.
Once the romance with Literature began, aristocracy became a monster. A scorn for paan-chewing politicos was all I could revive in me whenever prospects of babudom loomed. I often said: ``How can I ever follow a boss i can outsmart?''
Later, life taught me two major spellings: destiny and patience.
But the slateboard was different. I wanted to be paid for writing. A course in journalism seemed most lucrative. An anxious father kept sending letters exhorting me to come back from my journalism school but an adamant I kept at it.
The beginning was tough. Tears were the bedtime companions. I was home-sick, impulsive and incredibly silent. A stint in Bombay taught me to start living my struggles; I was painfully mute while they hung heavy on my dreams.
It's been five years since then and I continue to be fazed by my dreams. I can't see through still; the route to my happiness remains hazy.
It's not babudom, I know. It's certainly in the letters, I am sure. But how?
Long ago, when grandfather dreamt of me penning a research paper, I had just shrugged rebelliously at the thought. I guess I am such a fool. I like to waste myself so much.
Power woman/Dalit icon?
Mayawati first fought from kairana 25 years ago. Can her journey in politics be called a history of Dalit assertion in India? Read here.
Achebe's comeback
Chinua Achebe is back again. I read his `Things Fall Apart' and was tempted to read most of his work. To me, he remains the most moving of African authors. Next, I could name Maya Angelou.
I heard a well-read friend of mine comment on Achebe's work in a very casual way. His criticism was that Achebe is no different from Alice Walker or the likes in choice of his subject and that nothing about his novels was drastically different from the rest of African literature. I differed.
Subject matter could be similar in theme, in its literary milieu or context but then, that is what most African literature is all about. What sets him apart is the way he writes it. He makes it very very simple and that very simplicity touches you. He himself says he chose to write in English for the simple reason that he wanted to reach out to a larger audience. He was much criticised for having chosen English as a language for his literary work.
Achebe has now announced to write his first novel `Things Fall Apart' in Igbo, his native language.
I heard a well-read friend of mine comment on Achebe's work in a very casual way. His criticism was that Achebe is no different from Alice Walker or the likes in choice of his subject and that nothing about his novels was drastically different from the rest of African literature. I differed.
Subject matter could be similar in theme, in its literary milieu or context but then, that is what most African literature is all about. What sets him apart is the way he writes it. He makes it very very simple and that very simplicity touches you. He himself says he chose to write in English for the simple reason that he wanted to reach out to a larger audience. He was much criticised for having chosen English as a language for his literary work.
Achebe has now announced to write his first novel `Things Fall Apart' in Igbo, his native language.
dream homes
Check here and here.
awesome.
Got a portion of my house renovated this Diwali. It seems there can be no end to home redesigning. Last evening, I bought yellow table cloth for the dining table. Alreday have blue, cream and white. Next is yellow cover for the sofa cushions. And, a scrubbing of the floor marbles this weekend. Tough task on hand.
awesome.
Got a portion of my house renovated this Diwali. It seems there can be no end to home redesigning. Last evening, I bought yellow table cloth for the dining table. Alreday have blue, cream and white. Next is yellow cover for the sofa cushions. And, a scrubbing of the floor marbles this weekend. Tough task on hand.
A Tiger of a Dilemma..
..it has been for advertising firms - to continue with Tiger Woods or dump him? His confession obviously did not do him any good, considering the media onslaught on him continues. An american daily today carried a speculative report on the possibility of his wife filing for divorce.
Is this all to Tiger Woods, who was once hailed as one of the greatest sportspersons of all times? In the United States, I expected people to be a little mature than conservative India and do a Hillary Clinton to the entire saga - accept apology, be kind, look beyond his human frailties and help the sporting legend find his feet back in the world. Instead, exhibiting ample double-standards in their moral order, they are feasting on gossip around Tiger's life, which is disturbing. Simply because Woods is a global figure leaves him to public scrutiny and the lesser known ones - in offices (read sexual harassment at workplace), roads (read rapists), families (read incest), can continue doing what they want?
Let us leave Woods to mind his own personal life and set his own moral benchmarks. He is answerable to his wife, children and family alone and no one else. What has happened is really unfortunate and should not be encouraged but media bashing of such accompilshed sportsman is sheer violation of his right to privacy and right to settle his own matters without any external influences tiling scales against him.
As for Accenture and Gillette, well, did Accenture build its entire brand around the perception that Tiger Woods did not and could not sleep around or that Tiger Woods, the excellent golfer had 14 Majors to his credit in 13 years? It's certainly not just Woods, who erred. Woods just proved that he was human (though I must clarify that I do not appreciate his sexual philandering). It's firms like Accenture too, who rope in celebrities thinking they would play advertsing angels for them. They make God out of humans prone to lapses of reason and it's they who must pay for their flawed business decisions and not the likes of Woods whose lives may very well take unexpected turns like anyone else's.
In the last few weeks during which media and social networking sites awash with cheap jokes around it have largely fed on the Woods controversy , Kunal Pradhan's article today has come across as a balanced piece of writing in many days, which gives the golfer his due and asks intrusive media to take a chill-pill.
You must read Tiger Tiger Burning Dim.
Do not miss the related NYT article Accenture, as if Tiger Woods Were Never There.
See you soon.
Is this all to Tiger Woods, who was once hailed as one of the greatest sportspersons of all times? In the United States, I expected people to be a little mature than conservative India and do a Hillary Clinton to the entire saga - accept apology, be kind, look beyond his human frailties and help the sporting legend find his feet back in the world. Instead, exhibiting ample double-standards in their moral order, they are feasting on gossip around Tiger's life, which is disturbing. Simply because Woods is a global figure leaves him to public scrutiny and the lesser known ones - in offices (read sexual harassment at workplace), roads (read rapists), families (read incest), can continue doing what they want?
Let us leave Woods to mind his own personal life and set his own moral benchmarks. He is answerable to his wife, children and family alone and no one else. What has happened is really unfortunate and should not be encouraged but media bashing of such accompilshed sportsman is sheer violation of his right to privacy and right to settle his own matters without any external influences tiling scales against him.
As for Accenture and Gillette, well, did Accenture build its entire brand around the perception that Tiger Woods did not and could not sleep around or that Tiger Woods, the excellent golfer had 14 Majors to his credit in 13 years? It's certainly not just Woods, who erred. Woods just proved that he was human (though I must clarify that I do not appreciate his sexual philandering). It's firms like Accenture too, who rope in celebrities thinking they would play advertsing angels for them. They make God out of humans prone to lapses of reason and it's they who must pay for their flawed business decisions and not the likes of Woods whose lives may very well take unexpected turns like anyone else's.
In the last few weeks during which media and social networking sites awash with cheap jokes around it have largely fed on the Woods controversy , Kunal Pradhan's article today has come across as a balanced piece of writing in many days, which gives the golfer his due and asks intrusive media to take a chill-pill.
You must read Tiger Tiger Burning Dim.
Do not miss the related NYT article Accenture, as if Tiger Woods Were Never There.
See you soon.
50 things I like
One of my friends compiled a list. I took a month. Consider yourself tagged and tell me about it :)
Here goes mine:
Things I like –
1. Clay pots
2. white curtains
3. Sun on a winter morning
4. freshly scrubbed marble floors
4. warm water bath after work
5. long nights in winters
6. bikes. Not the flashy ones.
7. cold sand under my feet on a full-moon night
8. long walks
9. a bus ride on ring road – from the origin to the last stop - on a Sunday in winters
10. Smell of rain
11. Voices and songs of street vendors
12. Stationary items – pencils in all colors, highlighters, slates and chalks
13. Water colors (but can not paint).
14. Shoes and watches
15. Music – from raunchy to rock to sufi
16. Cotton – in anything – from clothes, curtains, bedsheets, keyrings, earrings, bangles to dining table mats. Anything in cotton.
17. Hot and strong coffee in a large mug. All seasons.
18. Long narrative stories a la New Yorker
19. Journeys – long and sudden
20. Listeners
21. People with madness/secrets/humility
22. Bamboo curtains/shades/furniture/swings
23. Ceramic tea pots and tea- green/white/black/tulsi/ginger/lemon/lemongrass
24. Simplicity – in speech, living, food
25. Sundays
26. Green and spacious homes
27. Chaupal conversations in the villages / trains
28. Love that is hard-won, long-envied, honest
29. Deadline extensions
30. Hand-written love letters
31. Holding hands
32. Courage, space, respect, humour and openness in relationships
33. Quaint auditoriums playing Shakespeare
34. Cotton corsets
35. Sunrise in the hills/villages
36. family dinners and hosting friends
37. art house cinema – my first was Pather Panchali when I was 8.
38. The now phased out maruti gypsies
39. Fish starters and dark chocolate cake
40. Burberry perfumes
41. check shirts and hotpants
42. Mini dictionaries
43. water in brass glasses
44. Lamps – clay/brass/wooden
45. Literature and folklores
46. The feeling of falling in love
47. Tents and bonfire – one mustn’t do without the other
48. Mountains – If I were the river, I would be married to a tall one.
49. Family trees – they are more about individual histories and that is where every child’s history lessons should begin
50. daylight dreams – those are the ones we want to work for.
Here goes mine:
Things I like –
1. Clay pots
2. white curtains
3. Sun on a winter morning
4. freshly scrubbed marble floors
4. warm water bath after work
5. long nights in winters
6. bikes. Not the flashy ones.
7. cold sand under my feet on a full-moon night
8. long walks
9. a bus ride on ring road – from the origin to the last stop - on a Sunday in winters
10. Smell of rain
11. Voices and songs of street vendors
12. Stationary items – pencils in all colors, highlighters, slates and chalks
13. Water colors (but can not paint).
14. Shoes and watches
15. Music – from raunchy to rock to sufi
16. Cotton – in anything – from clothes, curtains, bedsheets, keyrings, earrings, bangles to dining table mats. Anything in cotton.
17. Hot and strong coffee in a large mug. All seasons.
18. Long narrative stories a la New Yorker
19. Journeys – long and sudden
20. Listeners
21. People with madness/secrets/humility
22. Bamboo curtains/shades/furniture/swings
23. Ceramic tea pots and tea- green/white/black/tulsi/ginger/lemon/lemongrass
24. Simplicity – in speech, living, food
25. Sundays
26. Green and spacious homes
27. Chaupal conversations in the villages / trains
28. Love that is hard-won, long-envied, honest
29. Deadline extensions
30. Hand-written love letters
31. Holding hands
32. Courage, space, respect, humour and openness in relationships
33. Quaint auditoriums playing Shakespeare
34. Cotton corsets
35. Sunrise in the hills/villages
36. family dinners and hosting friends
37. art house cinema – my first was Pather Panchali when I was 8.
38. The now phased out maruti gypsies
39. Fish starters and dark chocolate cake
40. Burberry perfumes
41. check shirts and hotpants
42. Mini dictionaries
43. water in brass glasses
44. Lamps – clay/brass/wooden
45. Literature and folklores
46. The feeling of falling in love
47. Tents and bonfire – one mustn’t do without the other
48. Mountains – If I were the river, I would be married to a tall one.
49. Family trees – they are more about individual histories and that is where every child’s history lessons should begin
50. daylight dreams – those are the ones we want to work for.
charm on my table
I was waiting for my coffee at Barista in a marketplace famous among college goers. I go there once in a while. It's important and almost a monthly ritual for me. The mad crowd and the eclectic colours in shops and on footpaths and in stalls madden me about life in general, about living the way I lived in my teens, about dreams that stay and grow stronger day by day. I go there to also pick up fashion trends and become a teenager again - 19, not sweet sixteen.
The dreamy years of my life go on the Nineteen at the slightest hint of a purple hair clip or a baby pink bandana or velvet green hairbands and sunflower yellow in t-shirts, shorts and shoes.
And, then, after picking up random stuff from stalls and shops alike, I almost always step into the local Barista for a coffee.
Last Sunday, I was waiting for my coffee. Around me were couples holding hands, sharing jokes, looking into eyes. Cute, I still do this stuff and much more, I thought.
I mean - touch is such a wondefrful blessing to humans - on the cold shoulders in winter or the waist or the cheeks. And many such `frozen' places. Just a warm hand across my back could beat a hot stone massage. And, only love can bring such privileges. Or else, I wonder what does one get out of encounters? Drop your pants and vrroooom! Eeeks, must be very cold and disgusting...!
But the love around me - the puppy love- doesn't convince me most often. How long will they last? I can not help and ask myself and my heart aches. Staying in love, my ex-boss told me recently, was true happiness when i told him `falling in love' was. I conceded: yes, falling and staying in love must be that feeling which just makes the world go round.
In my thoughts, I had completely forgotten the coffee when a guy walked up to me. I almost mistook him to be one of the Barista guys but oh, he wasn't. He placed the tray on my table as I struggled to say `thank you' when he looked at me and said: ``Perhaps a 5 rupee tip for this will do.'' I couldn't help smiling!
I had ordered fat-free banana muffin too but I had forgotten again. Trust me, not intentionally at all.. I was just so so so overwhelmed by this guy's gesture that I kept sipping my coffee and thinking: ``is it not Delhi?''
I wondered several times over and he was at my table again, this time with the muffin. His friend was smiling and I almost shivered: ``does he want to ask me out?''
I could barely say `thank you' and he was gone, to another table.
He must have been 24, very good-looking and I can vouch for this, he had a lovely heart.
And, I must be blessed to have spent a moment like this in my life.
The dreamy years of my life go on the Nineteen at the slightest hint of a purple hair clip or a baby pink bandana or velvet green hairbands and sunflower yellow in t-shirts, shorts and shoes.
And, then, after picking up random stuff from stalls and shops alike, I almost always step into the local Barista for a coffee.
Last Sunday, I was waiting for my coffee. Around me were couples holding hands, sharing jokes, looking into eyes. Cute, I still do this stuff and much more, I thought.
I mean - touch is such a wondefrful blessing to humans - on the cold shoulders in winter or the waist or the cheeks. And many such `frozen' places. Just a warm hand across my back could beat a hot stone massage. And, only love can bring such privileges. Or else, I wonder what does one get out of encounters? Drop your pants and vrroooom! Eeeks, must be very cold and disgusting...!
But the love around me - the puppy love- doesn't convince me most often. How long will they last? I can not help and ask myself and my heart aches. Staying in love, my ex-boss told me recently, was true happiness when i told him `falling in love' was. I conceded: yes, falling and staying in love must be that feeling which just makes the world go round.
In my thoughts, I had completely forgotten the coffee when a guy walked up to me. I almost mistook him to be one of the Barista guys but oh, he wasn't. He placed the tray on my table as I struggled to say `thank you' when he looked at me and said: ``Perhaps a 5 rupee tip for this will do.'' I couldn't help smiling!
I had ordered fat-free banana muffin too but I had forgotten again. Trust me, not intentionally at all.. I was just so so so overwhelmed by this guy's gesture that I kept sipping my coffee and thinking: ``is it not Delhi?''
I wondered several times over and he was at my table again, this time with the muffin. His friend was smiling and I almost shivered: ``does he want to ask me out?''
I could barely say `thank you' and he was gone, to another table.
He must have been 24, very good-looking and I can vouch for this, he had a lovely heart.
And, I must be blessed to have spent a moment like this in my life.
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