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Friday, December 29, 2006

To a Reluctant Writer

I wrote this poem about reluctant writers, who desperately want to write but can't. A friend was having problems with writing, though she wanted desperately to write, so I wrote her this poem.

To a Reluctant Writer

You can pick meaning off words,
You can paint pictures;
You can laugh at them,
Who laugh at you;
You can mourn,
The follies of the unwise.


To write is power,
Of words, thoughts,
Limitless, boundless,
As the sky above and earth below;
You will never be alone,
When words churn in your mind.


You can be heartbroken,
And cry and cry;
But a poem would wipe tears,
Puts a smile on your face,
Erase the pain,
Of loneliness and love.


So won’t you write?
A letter, a poem, an essay;
We would wallow in its depths,
Smile at its humor,
Relish what pains it took you,
And forgive friendly trespasses.

Today I received this beautiful note from a total stranger, saying she has written a poem after nine years, inspired by my poem.

All I can say is "Yipeeeeeeee...."

"I wrote a poem after 9 yrs. I posted the english one on caferatti and hindi one on AKN...

"Txs for the inspirational poem on hesitant writers."

This is reward enough, thanks dear friend. Who says poems have lost their relevance? Who says literature has no meaning? Sorry, I will stop ranting now.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Shutting Themselves In - New York Times

This came via Zigzackly. The "hikimomori" are young people who shut themselves to the world, play computer games, surf the net, listen to music and generally cut themselves away from the world. Though the word is Japanese it has world-wide connotations, an off shoot of the competitive world we live in. Read Shutting Themselves In - New York Times the article that describes the phenomenon that has grave implications, yes, to the youth of today.

Not moralizing but I guess one way of bringing up children is not to put too much pressure on them to perform. I was particular that I won't force my son Ronnie into activities that he doesn't like.

Modern gizmos, computer games , musicians, cult movies, internet networks, message boards and chat rooms all have a negative sides to it if indulged in too much. The warning signs are out, better beeeewwwwaaaarrrreeeee!

My Latest Short Story

 Here's the link to my latest short story, on Christmas, this time (Link to "Christmas with Cheriachen" page). Please read and comment here or on the Caferati board.

The story is about a lonely couple who spend Christmas away from their daughters, who are in ersatz heavens (according to protagonist Cheriachen) - US and Ireland - where there is much joy and everything is free, free, free. They are in for a rude shock.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Don't Mess with Me, I Am Too Smart!

Oh, no! Blogger hasn't come out of beta, at least, for me. My blog is too big. Being claimant to the title of the "Longest Running Blogger" in the Limca Book of Indian Records, I have almost 450 posting over the past three years - that is more than some collablogs - starting from August 2003.

That makes my blog too big to be transformed in the Blogger scheme of things. So they have deferred it. Waaaaah! Instead of making my face droop, I should make my New Year resolutions.

******

There is a lot of staring in the train on the way to work. I don't like the way they stare in trains. I guess people hate each other and tempers are at the boiling over point. A man objected to another man leaning against him.

"I am only taking the support of this seat here."

"Why can't you stand straight like everyone else," this with a Telugu accent.

"If I lean on you, you would be like a football," this with a thick Malayali accent.

"I am saying why don't you stand straight and read your paper? Your paper is tickling my nose."

"Why don't you take your book away from my face. This is not your train, if you want to be comfortable take a taxi, understand this before opening your mouth."

The other man is quite and they glare some more at each other and resume their journey. A man is listening to music on a mobile phone and talking into another. A man is fiddling with his laptop. Another is chanting some mantra from a small pocket-sized book, another is koochie-kooing with his beloved. That's my daily commute.

"Hell is the other man," said Jean Paul Sartre. Yes in the first class compartment to work, it really is. It never was this way before the bombs went off. We were a nice bunch of friends, casual acquaintances who would say hello when we met outside. No more. We are rivals, enemies, staring at each other, murdering each other with our eyes, hating the man who pushes us even a little, and woe to the one who step on our toes, we go all out and demolish him.

Kilos of flesh, there are kilos of flesh, fat, overfed, tumbling from belts, packing the jaws and necklines, the stomach and the backside, flopping, flipping, in this very Indian ethos of the middle-class, wage-earning, degree-holding, software-MBA-BPO-ized humanity travelling to work and back. And they are smart and competitive as hell. "Understand this before opening your mouth," that is like a Malayali, sharp-tongued and not to be taken for granted.

It clearly says this, "Don't mess with me, I am too smart."

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Blogger is out of Beta, hurray!

So finally Blogger is out of Beta. Hurray! But I don't know until I click on the publish button after I write this post. Have patience, have patience! Gone is the longlish apostrophe going round and round that used to drive me crazy, I hope. Sometimes the screen would freeze in the middle of this and I would be at the end of my short wit.

I have tested the beta version and it had great functionalities. Much better than the pre-paleolithic monstrosity that compelled me to try various blogging softwares like Quamana and Live Writer. The thing with these softwares is that sometimes they too clam up without the usual by your leave.

Wife is away in Kerala and I am alone here, stranded during the Christmas season. For that matter I have never had a happy Christmas season, though the platitude is to have happiness and joy thrust on one measuring in oodles and oodles. Boiled my first pitcher of milk without the usual white froth spilling all over the kitchen platform, good work!

Now to testing that Beta-less Blogger!

Thursday, December 21, 2006

What I Saw At Babri Masjid By Jeff Penberthy

I stumbled accross Jeff Penberthy, Time magazine Bureau Chief's account of the felling of the Babri Masjid quite by accident (click here: What I Saw At Babri Masjid By Jeff Penberthy).

Seems the mob at Ayodhya chanted "Patrakar Murdabad" or "Death to Journalists." Innocent journalists might ask, "What wrong did we do? What role did we play?"

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Cultural Awards? It's All a Cultural Thing, Isn't It?

Cultural awards? makes me think. A post I had made on a literary network made me gloat a bit. What isn't cultural these days. We are swamped by cultural shows, dance shows, award shows, all these have the same set of beautiful culture-vulture people smiling for the crowds, that's us, the receipients of culture.

A newspapers (I think the Guardian) called the Booker Award as a cultural award. If a certain author wins the award several times over the years, it mean the award is cultural. It's so natural. When the judges sit to confer an award, they say, "Oh, so and so is excellent in this novel. The also rans lack the touch of this genius, besides it is safe and politically correct." The publishing industry minders, the leeches who live sucking blood from the system are also happy as it helps with sales. The many deserving writers, who should have won an award, or been given a break in writing, don't get a foot in the door. The ones who are queueing after them, well, forget them.

Likewise if an actor, say Shahrukh Khan win the Filmfare Best Actor award five times, then it is more a cultural award. It shows the "industry" is in awe of him, his dimples, his acting prowess, his promotional skills. Those four awards out of five could have gone to more deserving debutants. But, no, it's a cultural thing, isn't it? We have a lot of talented actors who aren't recognized. Arjun Ramphal for one. I have admired his skills for long, and he manages to hold on, but never wins an, erm, cultural award. Is it that he is a bit reluctant to cultivate the culture vultures?

This fame business, methinks, works like a conveyor belt. If the top ones don't fall from the belt the smaller ones do. If the top ones don't gracefull exit the small ones don't make an entry. So the ones on the top make every effort to stay on top, or, sort of jam the movement of the belt, and that's a cultural thing. Merit gets side tracked for popularity and visibility.

The same thing happens I guess in matters literary. Poor writers (such as the humble me) have been trying in vain to get established writers to recommend their (our) work. This is established practice. Where would RK Narayan be without Graham Greene? Where would Arundhati Roy be without Pankaj Mishra? But, no, how could they? What would people think? How can they recommend a writer who may be a dud or a future competitor when they themselves are so desperately sucking up to the system? Make it a leeetle difficult for them, or, better ignore them, they would naturally fall off the conveyor belt soon.

Ranjit Bolt, a translator of classical European theatre who lives in the UK gives another jolt to the Booker as culture discussion by the statement that being brown helps to win the Booker. More the reason to believe that the Booker is indeed a culture award. Political correctness would have it that the awards go to the previously oppressed classes, incarcerated in their color, wanting desperately to come out. But Bolt forgets that one must be brown and female to win culture awards. Aw, look at Arundhati, Jhumpa and, now, Kiran. What flawless skin, what smiles, what teeth. But that is the cribbing of an unpublished, grumpy author.

If culture is what awards are all about society is also not far behind. Kalimpong has raised the flag of revolt claiming that it has been wrongly represented by Kiran, and likewise Brick Lane. Who says novels are for woolly headed nerds? Shows that people do take novels seriously. But the culture-vultures of the genteel literary world meet in discreet eating houses in New York and New Delhi and exchange notes on who is "cool" and who is not. What styles could likely win culture awards and what styles are most likely not.

These self-appointed guardians of culture can be seen everywhere. At award shows, art shows, movie shows baring their fangs (sorry, teeth). Visibility is what they are after. And the media, ever in awe of the Page 3 culture is only too willing to oblige. Culture rules, long live culture!

Monday, December 18, 2006

More of Ronnie

He has poster boy looks hasn't he? My son, Ronnie Posted by Picasa

Christmas Carols, My Style!

Saturday was the Church's Carol service. See pictures below. The church is rather nicely done and the choir members, too, look well turned out. hmm. I was Santa's escort, but none of what I said could be captured as I was behind the camera most of the time. My fellow choir members ganged up on me and said I didn't fit any of the noises (sorry, voices, i.e., Bass, Tenor, Alto and Soprano) generated and blackballed me out of the choir. I don't blame them. I am erratic as far as choir practise is concerned, working as I do in Andheri. Not to speak of late appearance at most practise session. Serves me right! So, poor me was relegated to clicking pictures and escorting Santa around. Ho, ho, ho!

Friend Bino Oommen played Santa, and I guess we made a good pair, witty, and boisterous. Nice. I also called out the names of children Santa was to give presents to. "Lisa Tharian, please come forward, thank you, nice, say I love you Santa," and all that stuff that I normally do. It was a good evening to store in the memory and we dispersed into the night after eating cake and drinking cups of hot tea. It wasn't cold, in fact, a bit hot. So I had to take off my sweater and give it to Mercy to hold. A lot more programs, including house-to-house singing, Christmas service are to come in this season to be jolly, tra-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!