.::Song Of The Little Road::.

Quotes From Here And There

Albert Einstein: Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction.
Dylan Thomas: I fell in love – that is the only expression I can think of – at once, and am still at the mercy of words, though sometimes now, knowing a little of their behavior very well, I think I can influence them slightly and have even learned to beat them now and then, which they appear to enjoy.
Eddie Cantor: It takes twenty years to become an overnight success.
Edward Abbey: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
e e cummings: To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
Eyler Coates: We've all heard that a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters will eventually produce a masterpiece. Now, thanks to the Internet, we know this is not true.
Friedrich Nietzsche: Without music, life would be a mistake.
Gustave Flaubert: The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.; Going to the Opera is like making love; we get bored but we come back.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: If I love you, what business is it of yours?
John Steinbeck: Only through imitation do we develop toward originality.
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: There is no remedy so easy as books, which if they do not give cheerfulness, at least restore quiet to the most troubled mind.
Leonard Cohen: Ring the bells that still can ring;
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything;
That's how the light gets in.
Montaigne: The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.
Paul Sweeney: You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.
Peter Altenberg: I never dreamed of being Shakespeare or Goethe, and I never expected to hold the great mirror of truth up before the world; I dreamed only of being a little pocket mirror, the sort that a woman can carry in her purse; one that reflects small blemishes, and some great beauties, when held close enough to the heart.
Robert Frost: In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.; There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money.
Satchel Paige: Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody's watching.
Thomas Mann: A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
V S Naipaul: The writer has only to listen very carefully and with a clear heart to what people say to him, and ask the next question, and the next.

Experimental Cinema For The Cinéastes - The Gift Of Solitude

Tuesday, February 5, 2008 by Abhinav Maurya

I was lazing around in the afternoon and almost on a whim, I decided to attend the Avant-Garde movie screenings held at the Gallery Beyond. And it was so good that at the end of it, I cursed myself for being lazy and not attending on previous days.

The map for the festival does not pinpoint the location of the Gallery. And nobody except the a man standing outside Max Mueller could tell me where Gallery was. As a result, I arrived at the Gallery a full one hour late. To add to my woes, the watchman there told me that games were being played at the Gallery (Yahaan toh khel khila rahein hain).

Just as I was about to leave thinking that the event had been shifted to some other venue at the last minute for which notifications could not be put up on the website, a man told me that movies were indeed being screened at the Gallery and directed me to a door. I entered a darkened hall where the movies were being screened. It was only when my eyes adjusted to the light and I spotted paintings hanging on the walls around me that I realized I’d been ushered into the gallery itself.

The movies were perhaps the best ones I’ve seen in a long time. The immense poetry and purpose of the cinema that I was subjected to reminded me of the thing that I once wrote as a comment on some blog:

Cinema is visual panache and and an eye for detail… It is the story-telling which needs more than cinema to be successful… But after a certain stage, one loses the desire for incident in the movies one watches. As in literature, I want a deeply uninhibited artistic expose once in a while in the movies I watch (never mind if it is wrong or unpopular). So I have relished a movie that shows a sleeping face pass through its various stages of sleep, or an apple captured in the hands of a person with a certain staccato movement of the camera, and many others. It is these experiments that make up cinema for me, I’ve never looked for stories in the movies I like, though that is an added bonus. It is just that my attention is held by the camera and the way it moves much more than anything that it can capture… Cinema ought to have an essay-like pondering quality for it to be worthwhile…

What makes the grace and the nuances of the movies even more deserving of respect is the fact that the sort of cinematic experiments that were showcased in the movies must have been extremely difficult in the 1920’s and 1930’s without the benefit of tricks of our digital age.

The screenings included the following movies (not including any which I might have missed due to being late):

Le Tempestaire (The Tempest) (France, 1947) directed by Jean Epstein, 22 minutes: Perhaps the only movie which had some sort of tangible story, The Tempest was perhaps the most lyrical of the day’s finds. It tells the story of a woman whose lover goes out to sea for fishing. Soon, a storm brews up and the woman fears for her lover’s life. Her mother tells her of a man who can sing a song to soothe the raging sea. She goes to the man and offers him her necklace. He refuses to accept anything, but sings a song into a crystal ball that soothes the sea and brings back the lover to the woman’s door. One of Epstein’s best, this movie makes use of slow motion visuals as well as audio. The way the tempest is captured is majestic to say the least.
Romance Sentimentale (France, 1930) directed by Sergei Eisenstein and Grigori V. Alexandrov, 16 minutes: Starring the mistress of a rich Parisian, the movie for the most part shows her singing a song. The notes said it bears the mark of Eisenstein in the beginning (though I would not know having watched Eisenstein for the first time myself).
Autumn Fire (US, 1931) directed by Herman G. Weinberg, 15 minutes: Best described as a poem in the disguise of a movie, it revolves around the thoughts of two lovers. Shot by Weinberg as a marriage proposal to the star of the movie Erna Bergman, it draws parallels between the story of love and the changing seasons. Bergman married Weinberg within a week of seeing the finished movie. The movie is one of my favorites in the Avant-Garde series.
Le Retour à la Raison (Return to Reason) (France, 1923) directed by Man Ray, 2 minutes: Ray’s attempt at creating surreal cinema, it was not accepted by the surrealists. It was created on a whim for being screened at one of the Dada soirées.
Emak-Bakia (Leave Me Alone) (France, 1926) directed by Man Ray, 16 minutes: Another one by Man Ray, it was a longer attempt at surrealism, the scenes of lucidity serving only to punctuate the surrealist escapades.

In fact, the last two of the list were repeats for those who had come late and missed them in the beginning.

Posted in: Arts, Cinema, Kala Ghoda, Reports | 1 Comments | |

Lost In Translation

Sunday, February 3, 2008 by Abhinav Maurya

In the one hour I had between the two writing workshops An Introduction To Freelance Writing and The Art Of Translation yesterday, I wandered the corridors of Elphinstone College and its narrow dark staircases that looked as if they belonged to a cold time-forgotten castle more than a college.

I even happened to venture unnoticed into their staff room which has six larger-than-life portraits hung across its walls. And guess what I found!!! One of the portraits was of William Wordsworth (eponymous grandson of the great poet William Wordsworth), who was a principal of the college at one time. Another portrait was that of Peter Peterson, who had been a Professor of Oriental Languages in the college. It might be history to those who know Elphinstone, but it is certainly news to me.

As for The Art Of Translation workshop that followed, it soon regressed into The Craft Of Translation workshop. It is very necessary to have an agenda or at least a purpose which implicitly sets some sort of tacit agenda, especially if the workshop session is going to be as long as three hours. The discussion was often punctuated with silences that hovered in the air of Elphinstone’s Seminar Hall which hosted the poorly attended workshop.

A lot of discussion took place on the problems of finding suitable publishers for translated work, why small publishing houses make a success of it while big publishing houses shy away from it, and the lack of qualified, experienced translators and an agency that unites them and protects their rights. Also the practical difficulties that a translator may encounter while translating from one language to the other (often the second language is English) were discussed in great detail. Attention was also paid to the problems of typesetting and transcreation.

In all, four people attended the workshop including me. One of them was Meera Desai who had translated some stories from Gujarati. Rimi had a look at the manuscript, liked the stories very much, and promised Desai to do something about them. There was a girl who had worked extensively with BNHS, right from the editing stages to the printing stages of its journals and magazines. Then there was a guy who does technical translation from French to English for an organization. I was the only one with little knowledge of translation, and perhaps that is why the workshop didn’t work wonders for me. In the end, the workshop grew intensely boring and meaningful, like a Proust novel with little pace.

The saving grace for me was that the talk was interspersed with discussions on translation of Bengali Literature. I’ve a weakness for Bengali, and for me it has always meant much more than a language. I took Bengali classes some years back, learnt the alphabet, even some poems, then abandoned it midway for no reason at all. But sometimes I still go back to the thin, translucent pages of my textbooks on the Bengali alphabet and Introductory Bengali Literature and sigh with quiet pleasure.

The workshop could have been productive except that it mostly became an analytical debate rather than a workshop. Ultimately art is more important than (and sometimes far removed from) the issues.

Perhaps Rimi Chatterji’s time could have been better used if she had taken a workshop on The Art Of Writing A Novel, especially since her second novel The City Of Love has been published recently.

Posted in: Caferati, Literature, Reports, Workshops | 1 Comments | |

Crafting The Perfect Pitch

Saturday, February 2, 2008 by Abhinav Maurya

Braving the inclement weather in the morning (I do not do this even for the most important of my college lectures, preferring to amble into the lecture hall only after noon), I managed to reach Elphinstone College well on time. The trains were empty on account of the weekend, and minus the effort that one needs to exercise in the daunting crowds of Bombay locals, the faces of commuters looked sadly careworn and unoccupied.

Held in Elphinstone’s Seminar Hall, Kavitha Rao’s workshop was quite a success - in addition to the twenty people already registered for the event, there were others who dropped by and had to be accommodated. (It would have been that wee bit better if all of them had showed up on time and not trickled in one by one throughout the duration of the workshop.)

A quick note on Kavitha Rao:

Kavitha Rao has lived and worked in London, Hong Kong, Bangkok and Tokyo, and reported from Cairo, Beijing, Seoul and various cities in India. She currently lives in Bombay.

I came across her website just a few months back while researching an article on the internet. I think it was her review of Rana Dasgupta’s Tokyo Cancelled in South China Morning Post that caught my eye. I remember thinking that it must take a gritty freelancer to sell such a story to SCMP.

And her website is another lesson in making the right first impressions, especially in a profession where first impressions can often also be the last. Though her website is clean, free of frills, and minimalistic, it exudes a quiet authority, is regularly updated and never undersells her strengths as a freelancer. In short, just the sort of online portfolio that can make an editor sit up and take notice.

Kavitha began her workshop by asking the us why we wanted to do freelancing. Somebody said that she did not want to do it for the money but for the satisfaction it offered of seeing one’s name in print. That set the stage for an engaging and productive workshop on the craft and business of freelancing.

Though two hours is not enough time to give a lot of lessons in freelancing, Kavitha did her best to squeeze in as much as she could. She spoke about how it is important to read a lot of newspapers in order to pick up story ideas, why it is necessary to analyze your market before you make a pitch, why it is important to have a hook/peg on which to rest the story idea (the reason why the editor must decide in favor of your article amidst the large volume of submissions he receives), and the mistakes that a budding freelancer may make and how to avoid them.

Somebody raised the question - What if the editor steals the story idea and gives it to a staff reporter? From her experience, Kavitha replied that though this was an inherent occupational peril with freelancing, the chances of it happening were very slim (about one in a hundred cases).

Another query raised was what should a freelancer do if he felt that a badly edited article in print reflected on his skills as a writer, even if it wasn’t his fault. To this, Kavitha’s simple reply was - Don’t you agree that the editor knows his magazine more than you do? If there is a factual error, you may point that out, but never make the mistake of telling an editor what his magazine should look or read like. He probably knows it way better than a freelancer does.

The best thing about the workshop was Kavitha’s candor and her realistic attitude towards the business of freelance journalism. The freelancer needs to understand that it is he who is dependent on the editor and not the other way round. It only harms a freelancer’s career if he speaks rudely to an editor; the publishing business is after all based on relationships. Kavitha also discussed what should be the ideal time for which a freelancer may wait before sending the editor a polite reminder (about a week for submissions sent electronically and a fortnight for submissions sent via post, though the rules vary with each market) and ways in which to write such a reminder.

Kavitha made no bones about accepting the fact that Indian publications pay a pittance to freelancers (if they pay at all) and that it was probably better to look at Western markets instead of lamenting the sorry state of Indian publishing industry. She shared some of her experiences on publishing with Indian newspapers and magazines, which unfortunately were not very good. She answered the queries raised by people attending the workshop, many of whom were practicing freelancers themselves.

The most important part of the workshop was the discussion on what constitutes that most elusive thing - a perfect pitch - and how to write one. Kavitha discussed many of her pitches which she considered good ones, so as to demonstrate the essentials that go into a good pitch. As the discussion progressed, some best practices emerged which will be very helpful to those who attended the session and plan to pursue freelancing ahead and some of which I remember well enough to summarize here:

When in doubt, leave out. Whether it is the ambiguity of salutation in connection with unisex names or certain facts and figures that cannot be readily verified or the question of something that might be construed as libel, it is better to steer clear of any vagueness and limit oneself to ground reality.
If it makes you look good, put it in. If it makes you look bad, leave it out. Another very useful cardinal rule, when writing query letters.
Show, don’t tell. An aphorism that can be attributed to Henry James, Kavitha mentioned that it one of her best practices that stands her in good stead no matter which genre of writing one is tackling.

The second session of the workshop takes place tomorrow morning at 1030 hours. The pitches that people will write and bring along with themselves will be discussed in the workshop so that they can realize their mistakes and write better pitches, so as to woo editors into handing them those plum assignments.

Update (February 9, 2008): A mail today in the inbox of Caferati-Bombay folks read:

Thanks to everyone who attended my workshop, and took the time to post here. As a freelance writer who spends way too much time in seclusion, it was great to get out and meet people. It was only my second workshop, so yes, I did learn a great deal. Thanks also to Peter, Annie, Manisha, Rashmi, Anushka and everyone else on the KGAF committee who helped make this possible.

Best wishes,
Kavitha Rao

Kavitha, it was a learning experience for us to listen to a veteran talk about her experiences and impart wisdom gleaned by years of practicing the wayward art of freelancing. Especially after Griffin let us know that all the workshop leaders created and ran their workshops without charging a rupee.

I cannot believe it was only your second workshop. So planned and practiced, it looked like you had been doing it for ages. I hope that such workshops keep happening in the future to impart some gyaan to us fellas. Thanks a ton.

Posted in: Caferati, Literature, Reports, Workshops | 0 Comments | |

The Kala Ghoda Arts Festival

Thursday, January 31, 2008 by Abhinav Maurya

This year's Kala Ghoda Arts Festival takes place from 2 February to 10 February, both days inclusive. The complete roster of events may be found here or here.

On behalf of the Literature section of the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival, the blog of the fest is hosted and literary contests held by Caferati, a global writers’ community with roots in all major cities of India and even outside the country. There is a huge effort to make the Literature events inclusive, to give aspiring writers a chance not just to listen to the established ones talk, but to actively learn from them, and to try their skills in contests and the like, to participate.

The festival hosts five literary contests this year, including one which could get you published. The deadline for all of them is 3 February, 2008, so hurry:

SMS Poetry
SMS Poetry has one simple guideline: The entire poem must be short enough to fit into a single 160-character SMS (blanks and punctuation marks count as characters and a line break counts as two). Always a big draw, this contest is now in its fourth year at the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival.

Flash Fiction
Flash Fiction (also called micro-fiction or short-shorts) presents a simple challenge: Tell a story with all the classical elements: a beginning, a middle and an end, a conflict and a resolution, a credible protagonist... but do so in a very limited number of words (not more than 300 words to be specific). Flash Fiction is now in its third year at the Kala Ghoda writing contests.

Poetry Slam
The Slam is about performance poetry. Poets get on stage and perform their work. The audience has a say in whether they stay or leave. Reality show style, except Slams predate reality television. The slam made its debut last year (the first in India, actually) to much enjoyment from the audience and the participants. It involves writing four poems on four assigned topics (this year's topics being Name, Place, Animal, and Thing) and performing them in front of judges and an audience.

Flash Essay
Making its debut this year, this contest widens the genres that Kala Ghoda contests cover, into the interesting area of non-fiction. The twist here is that the essays must, like everything else these days, adjust to the age of information overload: They must make their point in up to 500 words. We call them flash essays in a nod to the term flash fiction.

Open Book Pitch
This is a new idea, and Caferati's most ambitious. And this despite the fact that there are no guaranteed winners. The Open Book Pitch lets writers submit pitches to publishers and literary agents. (Some of the biggest names in Indian publishing including Penguin India, HarperCollins, and Random House India are signed up, as are some of the exciting newer ones like Siyahi.) The process is anonymous both ways: The writers do not have direct access to the talent scouts from the publishers and agents, and the scouts do not see any personally identifying information until they see something they like. The prize? A chance to be published.

There are three non-competitive events lined up.

The Open Mike
15 minutes for seven out of the nine days of the festival. The event mixes writing with performance. Each Open Mike session will have 6 slots of up to 2 minutes each. These slots are booked on a first-come-first-serve basis every day.

The Open Screen
15 minutes for seven our of the nine days of the festival. The event mixes the word with the visual arts. Participants submit 2-minute films via email. The organizers will choose the best films should we get more entries than time permits them to show.

The Open Wall
A pseudo wall will be erected at the venue. Audience members will be invited to leave their own writing to be displayed there. The organizers will also encourage email submissions.

And finally there are twelve writing workshops, conducted by prominent writers from all over the country.

Picture This (Graphic Story-telling)
Conducted by: Sarnath Banerjee and Samit Basu
The workshop, by two well-known pioneers in the field, will cover graphic stories and graphic reportage.

The Pastoral (Poetic Form)Conducted by: Ranjit HoskoteA master-class for city poets in the art of the poetic form known as the Pastoral, by well-known poet Ranjit Hoskote.

Little Pencils - for children (age 10 +)
Conducted by: Neeru NandaChildren's author Neeru Nanda works with the children, inculcating in them a love for story-telling.

Poetry in Performance
Conducted by: Jeet Thayil
Thayil, a prominent poet and a musician, will lead this master class on the art of performance poetry.

Once Upon a Time - Writing for Children
Conducted by: Jane Bhandari and Marilyn Noronha
How do you write for kids? How do you hold their attention? Two writers and poets who also teach children, lead this workshop.

What Every Writer should know about Publishing
Conducted by: Anita Roy
An editor from a prominent publishing house will tell budding writers all the secrets of making a good impression with publishers.

Writing for Stage
Conducted by: Anuvab Pal
This workshop by a playwright and film writer who has had his plays performed in the USA and India, will introduce participants to the nuts and bolts of playwriting.

PenTathlon - Five exercises for Fiction Writers
Conducted by: Kavita Bhanot
Fiction writing is always a big draw at Kala Ghoda. Here, a literary agent and trainer put budding authors through boot camp.

An Introduction to Freelance Writing
Conducted by: Kavitha Rao
A practicing journalist who writes for publications around the world teaches the basics of making a living as a pen-for-hire.

Writing for Screen
Conducted by: Manisha Lakhe
Writing for the screen is a different game, and you need to learn the rules. This workshop gets you thinking the right way.

The Art of Translation
Conducted by: Rimi B. Chatterjee
India is famous for the number of languages its citizens speak and write. And this workshop will cover the practical problems involved in the process of translation and the publication of translated work.

Poetry Appreciation for Children (10+)
Conducted by: Sampurna ChattarjiThis workshop will look at poetry as play. The attempt will be not to teach poetry, or even write poetry, but to experience poetry - with one's body, with one's senses, with sometimes an abandonment of logic and sometimes a rigorous application of it.

Looks like one jam-packed schedule to me!!! I'm going to be there at the festival. Are you?

Posted in: Arts, Contests, Events, Festival, Literature, Workshops | 43 Comments | |

The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie

Saturday, January 5, 2008 by Abhinav

Title:- The Satanic Verses
Genre:- Fiction
Subgenre:- Novel
Author:- Salman Rushdie
Publisher:- Viking Press
ISBN Number:- 0-312-27082-8
Price:- £5.99

The Blurb

No book in modern times has matched the uproar sparked by Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses, which earned its author a fatwa from Iran's Ayatollahs decreeing his death. Furore aside, it is a marvellously erudite study of good and evil, a feast of language served up by a writer at the height of his powers and a rollicking comic fable. The book begins with two Indians, Gibreel Farishta, who has been for fifteen years the biggest star in the history of the Indian movies, and Saladin Chamcha, a Bombay expatriate returning from his first visit to his homeland in fifteen years, plummeting from the sky after the explosion of their jetliner, and proceeds through a series of metamorphoses, dreams and revelations. When the jumbo jet blows apart above the English Channel, Gibreel and Saladin are the two who survive and are washed to an English beach. However, it soon becomes clear that curious changes have come over them and that they have been chosen as protagonists in the eternal struggle between God and the Devil.

Rushdie's astonishing powers of invention are at their best in this Booker Prize shortlist and Whitbread Prize winner. Salman Rushdie is the author of Midnight's Children, winner of the 1981 Booker Prize, and Shame.

The Review

The Satanic Verses is a novel which falls in the genre of Magical Realism (a beautiful paradox of our modern times), of which

we see much in Gabriel García Márquez's works.

It tells the story of the enchanting Gibreel Farishta who rises from being a pauper in Bombay to a popular filmstar playing Hindu deities in Bollywood mythologicals. The humor in the novel commences when Gibreel refuses to make love to his female admirers with the elephant snout on, which he has used as a prop for playing Lord Ganesha in a movie and which his fans have come to fancy. He complains that an acting career in Bombay is quite less of acting and much more of frantic travel between studios trying to keep schedules.

It also tells the story of the misplaced Saladin Chamcha, who develops an English accent so refined and immaculate that he lends his voice to British radio shows. He shuns his father who loathes books and had sent him away from Bombay to study in Britain. He returns after a long period of absence only to find that the city of his childhood has changed in a quintessential measure.

On his return trip to UK, Saladin Chamcha meets Gibreel Farishta who has absconded in order to meet his flame Annie Cone, the Mount Everest conquerer whom he courted in Bombay. The plane gets hijacked and all but the two protagonists of the novel - Chamcha and Farishta - are dead. The two are washed ashore on the waves of the English Channel, only to find that there has been a major change of roles. Gibreel thereafter suffers hallucinations of being an archangel, while Saladin is transformed into a chimera representing the devil.

Saladin miraculously recovers from the transmogrification and plots his revenge against Gibreel for refusing recognition and help when Saladin was led into custody by policemen. Like Iago, he plots the murder of Annie Cone at the hands of the suspicious and jealous Gibreel Farishta himself. In the climax, Gibreel shoots himself when he realizes what a mistake he has committed.

The novel also runs the course of three mini-plots: The first comprises the tale of Mahound's revelations from Archangel Gibreel, Hind - Mahound's fiercest opponent and Baal - the irreverent poet. The second speaks of the Imam and his gang of terrorists. And the third and most beautiful story is that of Ayesha, the girl who leads poor villagers on a Haj pilgrimage after convincing them that if God willed it, the waters of the Arabian Sea would part to make way for them.

The novel has ample instances of Rushdie-style humor and sarcasm. The narrative though broken into four parallel threads of narration is held together in a very cohesive manner. Rushdie's implicit commentary on the racism prevalent in UK is commendable and should have been the fo

cus of attention, rather than the much publicized and denounced fatwa issued by Ayatollah Khomeini against him. However, the novel is not as erudite as it could have been. It is in no way grand or profound, and does not seek to reveal something that the reader is unaware of. Definitely not one of Rushdie's better novels.

The book was banned in many countries including Iran and India, for propagating the theory of The Satanic Verses - those verses of the Holy Quran which were revealed to the Prophet by the Satan and which he later retracted as being part of the Holy Book of the Moslems. It was fortunate that Salman Rushdie survived the fatwa issued by Ayatollah Khomeini, since the Japanese translator Igarashi was murdered, and the Italian translator Capriolo suffered serious physical injuries due to being stabbed.

Posted in: Book, Booker, Literature, Review, Salman Rushdie, Whitbred | 17 Comments | |

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry

Friday, January 4, 2008 by Abhinav

I'm almost through with Rohinton Mistry's novel A Fine Balance set in the Emergency (1975-1984). It is pure Bombayana. Written with a mix of caustic insight and deep compassion, Mistry's prose is the most natural ever. He writes like an insider - hell, even makes Rushdie's work feel like an outsider's voice. Rushdie writes in awe; his love for the city is almost filial. Mistry on the other hand knows Bombay for the bitch that she is; his depiction of the city is steeped in amorous love with the whiff of loss looming large over the milieu he creates. It is for this reason that Mistry can write with greater acceptance and credibility of the city's tragedies than Rushdie. I'm on a happy track with the last hundred pages or so of the tome to finish. The whiff of impending tragedy is looming large. Let's hope I get through.

Posted in: Book, Booker, Giller, Literature, Review, Rohinton Mistry | 5 Comments | |

To The Coffee House

Monday, December 31, 2007 by Abhinav

I realized long ago that what I had to say could barely keep one blog going, let alone two blogs at a time. There wasn't a great difference in their themes either, for them to exist separately. So I thought I must have a single blog and try to make it as good as possible. And finally, just before the new year, I've managed to merge my two blogs - which had been growing apart yet together like Siamese twins - into a single coherent whole.

And to bid good bye to The-Year-That-Was, here's a splendid coffeehouse poem by the bohemian Viennese poet Peter Altenberg, whom I discovered today following the trail laid out by Medhini (Now I've newfound respect for coffee):

When you are worried, have trouble of one sort or another - to the coffee house!

When she did not keep her appointment, for one reason or another - to the coffee house!

When your shoes are torn and dilapidated - coffee house!

When your income is four hundred crowns and you spend five hundred - coffee house!

You are a chair warmer in the office, while your ambition led you to to seek professional honors - coffee house!

You could not not find a mate to suit you - coffee house!

You feel like committing suicide - coffee house!

You hate and despise human beings, and at the same time you cannot be happy without them - coffee house!

You compose a poem which you can not inflict upon friends that you meet in the street - coffee house!

When your coal scuttle is empty, and your gas ration exhausted - coffee house!

When you are locked out and haven't the money to pay for unlocking the house door - coffee house!

When you acquire a new flame, and intend provoking the old one, you take the new one to the old one's - coffee house!

When you feel like hiding, you dive into a - coffee house!

When you want to be seen in a new suit - coffee house!

When you can not get anything on trust anywhere else - coffee house!

Happy New Year to all my fellow bloggers! Meet you on the other side of the midnight!! Ciao!!!

Posted in: Literature, Poetry | 16 Comments | |

Rengetsu And The Cold Night

Friday, December 21, 2007 by Abhinav

The story I am going to narrate today is a fable that has grown to be a leitmotif in my life. It is so important to me that I have spent days gathering the courage to (re)write it (though it is very unlikely that I'll be able to narrate it with the exalted erudition it deserves), and searching for an appropriate image to place it with. For me, it justifies much more than my absence from this blog for a long time - it justifies in ample measure much of my attitude and many of my thoughts, writings and actions. In a sense, it defines the difference between the me I was before I read this story ten years ago and after it.

It is about Rengetsu née Otagaki Nobu (1791-1875), a Buddhist nun who was well-versed with the schools of learning of the Pure Land sect, Zen and Esoteric Buddhism.

Born of a high-ranking Samurai and a Geisha in the city of Kyoto (famous for its long, famous tradition of comely Geishas that remains unbroken to the present day), she was raised by Otagaki Teruhisa, a priest serving at Chionji, head temple of the Pure Land sect of Buddhism. She suffered great tragedies earlier in her life, but later went on to become a successful potter, calligrapher and poet. She is one of the few women who have attained Enlightenment under the Zen school of Buddhism.

One day tired from her travel, Rengetsu reached a village and asked for a place to rest for the night. The village was home to orthodox Buddhists. As soon as they found out that she was following the path of Zen preachings, they turned her out of the village.

Rengetsu was now faced with the twin prospects of spending the night under a tree in the forest (for the village was surrounded by a dense forest on all sides), or continuing her journey in the dead of the night (which was certainly the better and more tiring option, for it did not subject one to the scrutiny of wild animals and the danger of being eaten up by them without the benefit of a struggle). She chose the former and lay down to rest under a tree that bordered the village. She soon fell asleep...

In the middle of the night, she woke up from her sleep due to a strong breeze blowing through the land and howling in her ears. When she looked up at the sky, she was awestruck by the majesty of the tree which was in full bloom and showered her with flowers possessing an ethereal fragrance.

At this act of Providence, she turned towards the village and said an oath of thanks for turning her away.

Due to your utter sensitivity
In turning me away without shelter
On this dark night of a pallid moon,
I find myself showered with flowers from heaven.

She thanked the very people who took offense to the idea of sharing her company for a single night. If it had not been for their act of denial, she would have been sleeping in someone's home, oblivious of the beauty that this night was to offer her - the showering of blossoms, the cold lonely whispering night, and the silent conversation with the moon.

She was not angry with the villagers, and through her acceptance of the tribulations that they had wished upon her, she found a reason to celebrate in the bone-chilling lonely night. She had thus proved herself to be Buddha - The Enlightened One!!!

Posted in: Essay, Short Story | 14 Comments | |

Mewwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, December 9, 2007 by Abhinav

HURRAYYYYYYYYY and ROARRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!

Sarah Hina who blogs at Murmurs has wrongly accused me of writing well. The extent of her delusion is evident from the following thing she has written about me:

The Reluctant Writer
Abhinav is passion personified. Whenever I read his lovely writings, I sense his generosity of spirit, and a conviction that will never fail him. He's young, but (and I know this phrase has become trite) he truly is an old soul. He reminds me of the fact that we are all still students, sharing a common classroom.

Thanks a ton Sarah for making a wish come true so fast. I adore your writing and coming from you, this means the world to me.

Credit goes to Seamus Kearney of Shameless Words who instituted the award in the first place with the hope, nay the belief of fostering a network of bloggers who wish to make others' lives just that wee bit easier, profounder, and happier - who believe in the power of the written word atleast as much as they believe in themselves, if not more.

I think (???) that a writer ought to have the following in ample measure, for his own good self:

Doggedness:- The most important one. Without it, your imagination may wilt and all your talent may get you nowhere. It is the pluck you develop along the way that helps you to make sense of a rejection letter but still not give up. It is your ability to beat down a door once someone closes it in your face. It is your ability to pitch a murmur in a sea of noise. And it is the hallmark of every writer who has made a worthwhile place for himself in the hearts of his readers amidst a whirlpool of pages.

Tragedy:- Tragedy is the whiff that remains for a long time after the profound sense of loss that a work of art may inspire has passed away. A good writer revels in the glory of joy. But a great writer grieves in the gardens of melancholy. I do not intend to say that writers who do not celebrate tragedy are not at par with the ones who do. I'm just saying that they are missing the forest for the tree.

Love:- Don't write words that do not enamor you and make you fall in love with them. Don't create characters who don't come alive for you out of the pages of your manuscript or the posts of your blog. It is a sin to do so. If something doesn't inspire you, there are very little chances that others will like it. Your opinion and conviction in what you write has to be your own private benchmark.

Five of my favorite blogs in no particular order are:-

The Variegated Sky:- One of the most prolific blog writers, Aparna Kar got a book published out of her blog. Her posts are have this unsaid ability of being personal and universal at the same time. And sometimes she can be downright profound without dropping a hint. Her blog is a haven for some peaceful soul-searching and nostalgia. Appu, you deserve every bit of what you get.
Aloi Reads:- She is one crazy girl. A book fanatic. Her byline says it all - '…deep inside I’m still that first grader holed up in the library at lunchtime!'
Eating Poetry:- This is the place where prose is as forbidden as the prince in Rapunzel's tower. Go check it out for some stirring lyrical poetry.
Youth Curry:- Rashmi Bansal is the editor of the youth magazine JAM which we, college-going junta enjoy. She has a way with both ridicule and compassion, and she must have inspired many through her posts that force one to sit up and take notice.
Eat Almost Anything Atleast Once:- If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one is perhaps on the costlier side. A voyeur's delight, they take me to places I cannot dream of visiting in the near future. And they do so with a lot of journalistic aplomb.

That's all for now. The bloggers may collect their awards from The Shameless Lions Writing Circle. And don't forget to spread the goodwill!!!

Posted in: Award | 15 Comments | |

Let It Be So...

Thursday, December 6, 2007 by Abhinav

This long due post is my first entry for the December Writing Project at Cafe Writing.

If in the veil of my darkness, thy light takes refuge, let it be so...

If in the pieces of my heart, thy want of love takes refuge, let it be so...

If in my cold, dark nights of despair, thy light takes refuge let it be so...

If in my shriveled hands, the tears of thy plight take refuge, let it be so...

If in my half-lived life, the joy of thy birth takes refuge, let it be so...

If in the shackles of my traditions, thy flight of freedom takes refuge, let it be so...

Posted in: Poetry | 9 Comments | |

.::Song Of The Little Road::.

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