YOURS TRULY, SOMEONE
The introduction starts with a blogger who is a live character.
Born in 1958, this blogger is still carrying a wonderment about life and his longevity, whatever it is, seems to be full of life, that gets richer by – to borrow his poetic expression – that every drop of the rain of now. In a way, most of the characters in the story have got something or other to do with him.
This witty, emotionally charged character, very grateful to the Almighty for that every drop of the rain of now, himself a huge reservoir of energy that he is – calls himself, Srushti which in Sanskrit, means creation. Srushti is almost always in the joy of Now. He is highly inspired by the Power of Now and is now engaged in his endeavours to Practice the Power of Now.
Usually vulnerable to inspiration by anyone with good vibes, Srushti indulges in blogging and tweeting. A blog of Srushti is a revelation of how much he cares for the common man, wherever on earth.
Every character is given space in the novel with intent to glimpse the purpose of her life, more than the events in her life. As we trot along, you will have met a few people whose purpose of life was understood by them through their hardships. It is the purpose of life that made them live for values that far outweighed their life.
Readers, you may not be liking this experience in case you had expected the flavour of a usual experience of fiction. But if you expected something novel, there is a fair chance that you may pick up liking it.
The author is not a novelist by any standard. He was crazy enough to be a googler, yahooer, hotmailer, blogger and tweeter, like many are across the globe. His heart, over the years, has grown to beat for the common man, wherever on earth. A death anywhere in the world causes him agony. There is a story in that every drop of the rain of now. There is a melancholy in that every drop, when one expands to his universe beyond his family, friends and neighbours. It is just not possible for any socially conscious person today to be impervious to the agony mankind is putting itself to one way or other. There is so much of fiction happening around us.
But anyone can trace human agony through one's own family tree. One can examine whether the agony was avoidable and if avoidable, who was responsible or what was responsible by containing whom or which, the human agony could have been reduced to an extent. Every family with lesser burden of agony, is going to be lighter for the earth and humanity. Every individual counts. Every moment of every individual is so precious, so inevitable, as a source of joy and as a mitigator of agony. The individual like any other entity in the society can ill afford to waste a single moment, a single opportunity, a single truth and means of happiness. If an individual misses that opportunity, there is a huge social cost attached to it. Is he aware of it? Was he aware of it? Which generation was aware of it? Or no generation was aware of it? Was life always complicated by people, family, relatives, friends, society and the world? Or is it a new phenomenon?
There are hundreds of questions that pour like torrent on the head of a poor novelist like me. At the same time, there are quite a few characters asking to come forward, share their experience and perceptions, in high decibels and in hissing voices, from near and from far, from now and from then, from past, present and even future.
It is a most complex situation in my life, as I start allocating time and attention to the characters. If I allow all of them to come at the same time, there is going to be a stampede. Everyone is having the pent up feelings to ventilate and the bottling has been there for centuries.
If I allow them to come one by one, there may be a huge cost in terms of time, the novel or whatever name that can be given to this crazy concept, will not be over even in a dozen Novembers.
I do not want to mislead the characters. I do not want to mislead the readers. I cannot handle excesses of expectations. While I need some expectations to motivate all of us, I am just unequal to all expectations put together.
I invented a solution to the problem.
I will tell you that tomorrow. In the meantime, why don’t you take a flavour of the mind of this one character introduced to you today, the blogger, Srushti. This was one of his recent blogs.
MONDAY, AUGUST 10, 2009
YOURS TRULY, SOMEONE
I heard this story during my childhood - if you grew up in a similar geography,
I am sure you would have heard it many a time too.
A community decided to contribute to a Temple in so many ways on the occasion of
the sanctification and inauguration ceremony which is known in native parlance as
'Kumbhabishekam' which literally means 'immersing the pyramid of the temple in holy water and auspicious substances such as milk etc'.
The community divided itself into various groups one of which was to contribute milk. This group was extraordinary in its collective years of experience and wisdom in handling all such events. Each member exactly knew as to what to do. So after great deliberations about the milk, where to source it from, quantity and quality etc, the members were unanimous that each family will contribute 10 litres of milk. And there were 10 families to contribute a total quantity of 100 litres which was thought to be adequate for the Kumbhabhishekam.
As this group was extraordinary at the level of individual member, each member by telepathy thought the same way about the logic of the contribution. The members thought that if it is going to be 90 litres of milk from the remaining 9 members, 10 litres of water should not make any difference for the proposed immersions, after all, when the liquid reaches the repositories for distribution to the devotees, it is better the milk is lighter and that much better for consumption. A noble thought in deed.
The story ends with the Kumbhabhishekam happening in absolute water free from any
contamination of milk as such! This happens with intellectuals of equal ability, experience and wisdom.
I would liken the current intellectualisation of the great recession in various economies to this story. This is a great event to carefully cope with for improving the economy. The whole community of intellectuals has to set about various priorities and see that the event goes through without hurt to anybody and the economy steers through the exercise. Everyone knows exactly what to talk on business channels, how to speculate and theorise.
And everyone believes that the contribution is going to happen from someone else!
I have a pet theory for the intellectuals, arm chair philosophers and the overarching tribe of the fortunate employed as such.
My theory, to put it simply is, be yours truly someone!
Be that someone who can help the economy turn around by being more alert to the grave situation and doing your bit - forget the 90% of others and care to belong to the 10% of someones.
What does yours truly someone do and how does it help?
Let me explain this in terms of choices that yours truly someone can make:
i. If there is a small technical maintenance kind of job that can be done by hiring someone or by yourself, please hire someone and pay him up. Do not try to save that money.
ii. When you are hiring auto or taxi, avoid a hard bargain. Remember, in the current situation, there is an impact on the topline for these people too. Try and accommodate them so that they can absorb their costs. Most of them do not own the vehicles and without a reasonable passing on the cost they cannot survive.
iii. If you usually shop once in a month, try to do shopping more often. One visit tires you, try and distribute your shopping into fortnightly or weekly visits. There may be decent bargains and improvements to be done at home. It is worth your while.
iv. If you are a movie buff try and watch more movies in cinema halls, rather than economising with the help of pirated CDs.
v. You wanted to upgrade yourself by way of a good two wheeler - go for a car which is fuel efficient.
vi. If you are not fully engaged in your job due to lower business confidence and lesser travel, try and invest yourself either in professional education or in tourism, depending upon which propels you better.
vii. In case, your servant or driver hailing from village needs an advance from you for helping their dependents suffering from the ill effects of a bad monsoon, be liberal and deduct the loan through easy instalments. This may be a contribution to mitigate against the increased risk of suicide.
viii. If a vegetable vendor or a fruit vendor or a flower vendor is after you for
buying the fresh arrivals, try and see how much you can buy. They are not asking for charity, they are just seeing how they can survive the onslaught of bad time in the economy - they do not have a roof over them for their shop - they are just at the mercy of your attention for a fraction of a second. It makes a difference to their lives.
ix. If your children want something outside the curriculum like art or game or whatever, please be liberal. Every shopping by them is an incremental benefit to some cottage industry somewhere in the country.
x. Avoid a hard bargain with street vendors - assuming they are exploiting you, think that that is the only way you can help them carry on their life, without becoming a naxalite or terrorist or a criminal. Compared to the exploitations you have gladly accepted from various forces, these are too trivial to react to.
xi. See the brighter side of life during bad times - get connected to nature. Go places. Take the long postponed holiday and
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
NANOWRIMO PAGES 4 to 7
Who are they? Where are they from?
As I keep struggling to choose the story to tell, a number of characters are queuing up in a kind of competition between them. I feel overwhelmed. I am telling them that I cannot afford to have all of them into one story and I do not even know whether I would eventually be a story teller, the world would be interested in.
The characters are very smart. They argue with me that it does not matter, whether the world would recognize the story. It is very important that I would recognize them. They want that assurance that the truth which they want to convey is not diluted by me in the
role of an author. In essence, they say they want to tell the story,
as it is.
These moments have been most difficult in my memory. I shared my anxiety with the characters that were upon me that I let them speak out. My anxiety is about the fact that as these characters speak out they should not be resembling any characters whom I am not representing through the novel. It is not enough for me to put a disclosure statement and get away. I am an ordinary white collar wage earner, I cannot afford the sophistications in facing claims upon someone's life being told without her permission.
An even more difficult part of the story of writing story is the fact that the characters are stronger than the poor author. Their contention in response to my anxiety is that as they are going to be speaking the truth in their lives, it is just not possible, they will be resembling anybody, as most resemblences start resulting from untruth. It is untruth that can hurt. Truth can never hurt.
I am just not equal to face these arguments from my characters.
But I told them one thing. I would have the freedom when to tell them start and when to tell them stop. And I would not be assigning any reason whatsoever. At last, some of the documents I have scrutinized in my life as banker came to my rescue. None of my characters has worked in a bank. Most of them had little reason to go to a bank as a customer as well. Although the few who had reason had very little to become obsessed with banking. This, for once, gave me some authority. I could structure the covenants for the deal.
I will accommodate as many characters as possible. They would convey truth and nothing else. I will decide when they should start and when they should end. Perhaps, when they should resume as well. Another important freedom I got from them was to introduce them. Even if there are any errors in my introduction they would not mind. They would expect me to introduce them from the period they lived in. I can change the place for narration. They would like to stick to the period with minimal inaccuracy.
As I was facing the characters from my past life, there was a miraculous rendezvous of some characters are engaged in my present life. They would love to dabble in their past as well as present. But they agreed that if I prefer a particular period, I can
intervene to tell them. They would try and accommodate my request as far as possible.
As a person who strongly believes in meticulous planning as the most fundamental step leading to successful execution, I did not mind the slow progress in the maiden novel and devoted a good deal of time in understanding the characters who have chosen to be in the novel.
By the time I was heaving a huge sigh of relief in my peaceful negotiation of a decent deal with various characters, I had the most pleasant surprise in my life. Young boys and girls were in a circle standing like an enclosure to the characters and myself, with their eyes and ears tuned to our conversations. They were intermittently whispering in each other's ears and smiling. I called them to my side and asked, "O my dear children! What are you upto?" These guys with mobiles in hands and ears, asked me in an unbelievable sweet chorus: "Uncle, can we join?".
I said "Join what?"
"Join you guys in writing or telling the novel."
"What do you want to tell?"
"We do not know as yet, we are eager to participate"
"Look, you guys are not going to tell the truth, like others"
"Does it mean we will tell lies?"
"Oh, No. What I meant is you will not talk the reality. If you want to talk you will talk the dreams and passions. May be fears and concerns. But not what happened. That has been assigned to these characters. Not even what is happening. You need to speak what you think can happen. What you are concerned as a possibility impacting your future. Or what you see happening in future that will change our lives. Neither the Past nor the Present. Is that Ok with you guys?"
There was a deafening silence. I was for a moment wondering about my new skills as I embark upon the tasks for which I am relatively unskilled.
Is it possible when I step out of my comfort zone, I tend to imagine what I can do as a means of stepping into what I can and thus expand through realizing some of such possibilities?
Is it possible when these young boys and girls join me all they are doing is to step out of their comfort zone and they want to venture into something which is not an extension of their reality today but a quantum jump from all that is known about them and all that is potent but yet to be known about them?
If that is the case, I have probably done the right thing by laying down conditions of engagement with them in this novel. They will learn from past but not talk about it. They will realize what is happening but will not talk about it. They will catapult their and collective thinking of all of us in to that tomorrow which is not yet known and for the same reason remains potent with scope for realizing the promise and hope of life. We need some characters to go there and tell us, even as we get busy taking into our comprehension what happened years ago in our lives and what is happening right now without our even taking note of it.
Slowly I realized as I gave the freedom to the characters, we were all together expanding on the basis of a Tripod. The tripod had clear delineations for the past, present and future through various characters and their freedom to express themselves. All I am free to do is to introduce them, request them to start and stop and resume, as we go along.
The characters are human and have a fundamental right to err. And I have a fundamental value to forgive in case of error, but I would love to point out the error for non recurrence.
So much for the rules of the game.
The participative process and spirit of playing the game are more important for the sustainability and joy of the game.
I welcome all the characters to this wonderful experience of writing a novel out of their lives. God bless them with immortality. Even if I succeed in reaching a few scores of readers, I would plead with my characters to accept that as my role successfully played.
Truth often has fewer takers. Truth often is not that juicy. My characters are insisting on speaking the truth, where as I need a good fiction out of the truth.
I only keep my fingers crossed and pray for a readable result.
By the way, who are these characters? Where do they come from? Do they belong to a past or future? Who belong to the present?
An introduction is overdue.
As I keep struggling to choose the story to tell, a number of characters are queuing up in a kind of competition between them. I feel overwhelmed. I am telling them that I cannot afford to have all of them into one story and I do not even know whether I would eventually be a story teller, the world would be interested in.
The characters are very smart. They argue with me that it does not matter, whether the world would recognize the story. It is very important that I would recognize them. They want that assurance that the truth which they want to convey is not diluted by me in the
role of an author. In essence, they say they want to tell the story,
as it is.
These moments have been most difficult in my memory. I shared my anxiety with the characters that were upon me that I let them speak out. My anxiety is about the fact that as these characters speak out they should not be resembling any characters whom I am not representing through the novel. It is not enough for me to put a disclosure statement and get away. I am an ordinary white collar wage earner, I cannot afford the sophistications in facing claims upon someone's life being told without her permission.
An even more difficult part of the story of writing story is the fact that the characters are stronger than the poor author. Their contention in response to my anxiety is that as they are going to be speaking the truth in their lives, it is just not possible, they will be resembling anybody, as most resemblences start resulting from untruth. It is untruth that can hurt. Truth can never hurt.
I am just not equal to face these arguments from my characters.
But I told them one thing. I would have the freedom when to tell them start and when to tell them stop. And I would not be assigning any reason whatsoever. At last, some of the documents I have scrutinized in my life as banker came to my rescue. None of my characters has worked in a bank. Most of them had little reason to go to a bank as a customer as well. Although the few who had reason had very little to become obsessed with banking. This, for once, gave me some authority. I could structure the covenants for the deal.
I will accommodate as many characters as possible. They would convey truth and nothing else. I will decide when they should start and when they should end. Perhaps, when they should resume as well. Another important freedom I got from them was to introduce them. Even if there are any errors in my introduction they would not mind. They would expect me to introduce them from the period they lived in. I can change the place for narration. They would like to stick to the period with minimal inaccuracy.
As I was facing the characters from my past life, there was a miraculous rendezvous of some characters are engaged in my present life. They would love to dabble in their past as well as present. But they agreed that if I prefer a particular period, I can
intervene to tell them. They would try and accommodate my request as far as possible.
As a person who strongly believes in meticulous planning as the most fundamental step leading to successful execution, I did not mind the slow progress in the maiden novel and devoted a good deal of time in understanding the characters who have chosen to be in the novel.
By the time I was heaving a huge sigh of relief in my peaceful negotiation of a decent deal with various characters, I had the most pleasant surprise in my life. Young boys and girls were in a circle standing like an enclosure to the characters and myself, with their eyes and ears tuned to our conversations. They were intermittently whispering in each other's ears and smiling. I called them to my side and asked, "O my dear children! What are you upto?" These guys with mobiles in hands and ears, asked me in an unbelievable sweet chorus: "Uncle, can we join?".
I said "Join what?"
"Join you guys in writing or telling the novel."
"What do you want to tell?"
"We do not know as yet, we are eager to participate"
"Look, you guys are not going to tell the truth, like others"
"Does it mean we will tell lies?"
"Oh, No. What I meant is you will not talk the reality. If you want to talk you will talk the dreams and passions. May be fears and concerns. But not what happened. That has been assigned to these characters. Not even what is happening. You need to speak what you think can happen. What you are concerned as a possibility impacting your future. Or what you see happening in future that will change our lives. Neither the Past nor the Present. Is that Ok with you guys?"
There was a deafening silence. I was for a moment wondering about my new skills as I embark upon the tasks for which I am relatively unskilled.
Is it possible when I step out of my comfort zone, I tend to imagine what I can do as a means of stepping into what I can and thus expand through realizing some of such possibilities?
Is it possible when these young boys and girls join me all they are doing is to step out of their comfort zone and they want to venture into something which is not an extension of their reality today but a quantum jump from all that is known about them and all that is potent but yet to be known about them?
If that is the case, I have probably done the right thing by laying down conditions of engagement with them in this novel. They will learn from past but not talk about it. They will realize what is happening but will not talk about it. They will catapult their and collective thinking of all of us in to that tomorrow which is not yet known and for the same reason remains potent with scope for realizing the promise and hope of life. We need some characters to go there and tell us, even as we get busy taking into our comprehension what happened years ago in our lives and what is happening right now without our even taking note of it.
Slowly I realized as I gave the freedom to the characters, we were all together expanding on the basis of a Tripod. The tripod had clear delineations for the past, present and future through various characters and their freedom to express themselves. All I am free to do is to introduce them, request them to start and stop and resume, as we go along.
The characters are human and have a fundamental right to err. And I have a fundamental value to forgive in case of error, but I would love to point out the error for non recurrence.
So much for the rules of the game.
The participative process and spirit of playing the game are more important for the sustainability and joy of the game.
I welcome all the characters to this wonderful experience of writing a novel out of their lives. God bless them with immortality. Even if I succeed in reaching a few scores of readers, I would plead with my characters to accept that as my role successfully played.
Truth often has fewer takers. Truth often is not that juicy. My characters are insisting on speaking the truth, where as I need a good fiction out of the truth.
I only keep my fingers crossed and pray for a readable result.
By the way, who are these characters? Where do they come from? Do they belong to a past or future? Who belong to the present?
An introduction is overdue.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
MY MAIDEN NOVEL THROUGH NANOWRIMO - FIRST 3 PAGES
THE UNIVERSAL PROBLEMS: WHO AM I TO SOLVE THESE?
Where to start is always a problem in narrating a story. Be it the smallest incident on the way home, or the story heard during lunch at office or the story one read in a magazine just about the day before.
More than solving this problem it is very important for me to remember that this is not a problem so unique to me. It is a universal problem.
But there can be problems so specific to myself, I will not be able to search for this 'universal' label and fix it on them. (Is this what they mean when they say 'Fix it!'? In a way, it is good to have certain problems unique to oneself; as such problems have a decent chance of becoming the 'Plot'! And the 'Plot' is what a very vital element of a novel is.
In case, just in case, you read a full novel and narrate the story, you would in all probably say this is somewhat the plot. You will start telling the plot, remembering certain characters that impressed you and perhaps you will take a pause, reflecting on the experience you had while reading the novel, which would make you wonder as to how to express to a person who has not read it. Between the reader and the listener who has not read, there is an experience that defies expression. In case the listener wants to complete his experience of the novel, listening to the same in the words of another person would not suffice. He needs to read the novel and experience herself. For all you know, from the same novel, she is going to get an experience so unique to herself.
Have you ever wondered how this is possible? A novel more or less carved in stone by the author, evokes different emotional responses in its readers and perhaps even different emotional responses in the same readers in different occasions of reading.
Even the author is no exception to the phenomenon, as and when he becomes his own reader. He is certain to undergo different emotional responses, at different points of time or at different stages in his life.
Have you ever wondered why this happens?
I have always wondered. Not just at this phenomenon about novels. About life itself, I carry this wonderment. Same events and truths of life evoke different emotional responses in me. I am sure when I read novels which I read in the past – and of course, there is a big 'if I read', I am going to experience a different stream of thoughts and emotions. I keep evolving. And even the minutest change in the evolution gives me a different perspective of life, values, circumstances and what happens to people in different situations.
The paradox is at each stage of evolution, it appears everything has assumed finality about itself, as though there is nothing more to evolve. At each stage of evolution, the creation is so complete in itself. This is the greatness of the creator. There is nothing incomplete in His creation. There is nothing imperfect. And at the same time, everything evolves into a new creation. Everything gets novel and there is no dawn comparable to a previous one, no two sunsets are same and no two moments, reflections, expressions and stories can ever be same. Therefore, I believe deep in my heart, what I write down through this great Nanowrimo vehicle will be novel. It is bound to be. In case, I complete this and you happen to read – even if you did not find it novel, please read again, when you read again, certainly it will evoke a different emotional response from you. I swear I am writing this for You. Who else?
Where to start is a universal problem. Therefore, there is no anxiety about it. What to tell and what not to tell is another universal problem. There is absolutely no perfect blend for this. As the right judgement is always in hindsight, even if there were a solution to this universal problem, the practice would have been to ignore it and pick up the solution at the end of the story. Therefore, I will not indulge in being wiser. I am going to be indiscreet in telling you what ought not to have been told as well. I am sure indiscreet authors are read better. There is no guarantee of my becoming an author, but there is a fair chance that I can achieve the 'indiscreet' label handsomely by writing, or rather, telling a story in detail, by failing to exclude the 'ought not to have been told' stuff as well.
Now we have an exceptional understanding and our expectations are well set, sort of. – I would profoundly thank you before you change your mind on this. This is the right time to tell the story. I am going to take you all to a different decade perhaps when internet was not there, phones were not every home at least in a country like India and mobiles were not even imagined. It is a time when people used to be connected by meeting in person. And if they did not meet frequently enough, they used to miss each other a lot and make a big issue about it. Families, friends and relatives were all expected to meet during festivals, marriages, births and deaths in the family. Celebrations and condolences were equally important. Being there with your near and dear was a value with which compromise was just not done. People were not conditioned by a tweet of 140 characters. They were supposed to be - generally were up to that supposition – generous not in just their laughters but their tears. In fact, condolences used to be in high decibel, to an extent that where need be, people could be employed for the purpose. Feasts used to be not just sumptuous but on the back of compelling hospitality, a bit hard on one's stomach. Feasts used to be prepared and served by the hosts themselves, rather than contractors. The abundance in all these was superb. There was a prosperity even in poor countries like India which is no longer within the capacity of your imagination. There was abundance in the life of everyone. Perhaps, there was a lesser longevity, but much more life residing in that longevity. Today, my friend, the longevity is more, but life is less.
In a sense, I am going to tell through this month long endeavour in novel writing, the story of a nation. A nation whose generation to generation movement has a great story, neither relished nor forgotten, but often ignored in her quest for development. The story of a nation who progressed but perhaps lost her grip over the purpose of progress of a nation and her people.
Is it my story? May be. Is it the story of my parents? Possible. Is it the story of my brothers and sister? Quite possible. Is it the story of the common man? That of the lower middle class of India? That of villages and small towns of India? I cannot say or vouchsafe exactly what is this story about and who exactly are the characters in it. Perhaps I do not have to. As I start recollecting the truth that my life has been through, the people about whom I need to write will visit the story. In a sense, they will write the story. Not me.
With this another universal problem is getting resolved: who can tell the story best? And about whom the story should be told? The characters themselves will tell the story. And they will tell about themselves or more. I leave it to them. This is a highly democratic novel. The characters will decide what to tell, when to tell and what not to tell too. Do not blame me. I am not the author. Every character is an author.
And with plenty of freedom to speak out.
Where to start is always a problem in narrating a story. Be it the smallest incident on the way home, or the story heard during lunch at office or the story one read in a magazine just about the day before.
More than solving this problem it is very important for me to remember that this is not a problem so unique to me. It is a universal problem.
But there can be problems so specific to myself, I will not be able to search for this 'universal' label and fix it on them. (Is this what they mean when they say 'Fix it!'? In a way, it is good to have certain problems unique to oneself; as such problems have a decent chance of becoming the 'Plot'! And the 'Plot' is what a very vital element of a novel is.
In case, just in case, you read a full novel and narrate the story, you would in all probably say this is somewhat the plot. You will start telling the plot, remembering certain characters that impressed you and perhaps you will take a pause, reflecting on the experience you had while reading the novel, which would make you wonder as to how to express to a person who has not read it. Between the reader and the listener who has not read, there is an experience that defies expression. In case the listener wants to complete his experience of the novel, listening to the same in the words of another person would not suffice. He needs to read the novel and experience herself. For all you know, from the same novel, she is going to get an experience so unique to herself.
Have you ever wondered how this is possible? A novel more or less carved in stone by the author, evokes different emotional responses in its readers and perhaps even different emotional responses in the same readers in different occasions of reading.
Even the author is no exception to the phenomenon, as and when he becomes his own reader. He is certain to undergo different emotional responses, at different points of time or at different stages in his life.
Have you ever wondered why this happens?
I have always wondered. Not just at this phenomenon about novels. About life itself, I carry this wonderment. Same events and truths of life evoke different emotional responses in me. I am sure when I read novels which I read in the past – and of course, there is a big 'if I read', I am going to experience a different stream of thoughts and emotions. I keep evolving. And even the minutest change in the evolution gives me a different perspective of life, values, circumstances and what happens to people in different situations.
The paradox is at each stage of evolution, it appears everything has assumed finality about itself, as though there is nothing more to evolve. At each stage of evolution, the creation is so complete in itself. This is the greatness of the creator. There is nothing incomplete in His creation. There is nothing imperfect. And at the same time, everything evolves into a new creation. Everything gets novel and there is no dawn comparable to a previous one, no two sunsets are same and no two moments, reflections, expressions and stories can ever be same. Therefore, I believe deep in my heart, what I write down through this great Nanowrimo vehicle will be novel. It is bound to be. In case, I complete this and you happen to read – even if you did not find it novel, please read again, when you read again, certainly it will evoke a different emotional response from you. I swear I am writing this for You. Who else?
Where to start is a universal problem. Therefore, there is no anxiety about it. What to tell and what not to tell is another universal problem. There is absolutely no perfect blend for this. As the right judgement is always in hindsight, even if there were a solution to this universal problem, the practice would have been to ignore it and pick up the solution at the end of the story. Therefore, I will not indulge in being wiser. I am going to be indiscreet in telling you what ought not to have been told as well. I am sure indiscreet authors are read better. There is no guarantee of my becoming an author, but there is a fair chance that I can achieve the 'indiscreet' label handsomely by writing, or rather, telling a story in detail, by failing to exclude the 'ought not to have been told' stuff as well.
Now we have an exceptional understanding and our expectations are well set, sort of. – I would profoundly thank you before you change your mind on this. This is the right time to tell the story. I am going to take you all to a different decade perhaps when internet was not there, phones were not every home at least in a country like India and mobiles were not even imagined. It is a time when people used to be connected by meeting in person. And if they did not meet frequently enough, they used to miss each other a lot and make a big issue about it. Families, friends and relatives were all expected to meet during festivals, marriages, births and deaths in the family. Celebrations and condolences were equally important. Being there with your near and dear was a value with which compromise was just not done. People were not conditioned by a tweet of 140 characters. They were supposed to be - generally were up to that supposition – generous not in just their laughters but their tears. In fact, condolences used to be in high decibel, to an extent that where need be, people could be employed for the purpose. Feasts used to be not just sumptuous but on the back of compelling hospitality, a bit hard on one's stomach. Feasts used to be prepared and served by the hosts themselves, rather than contractors. The abundance in all these was superb. There was a prosperity even in poor countries like India which is no longer within the capacity of your imagination. There was abundance in the life of everyone. Perhaps, there was a lesser longevity, but much more life residing in that longevity. Today, my friend, the longevity is more, but life is less.
In a sense, I am going to tell through this month long endeavour in novel writing, the story of a nation. A nation whose generation to generation movement has a great story, neither relished nor forgotten, but often ignored in her quest for development. The story of a nation who progressed but perhaps lost her grip over the purpose of progress of a nation and her people.
Is it my story? May be. Is it the story of my parents? Possible. Is it the story of my brothers and sister? Quite possible. Is it the story of the common man? That of the lower middle class of India? That of villages and small towns of India? I cannot say or vouchsafe exactly what is this story about and who exactly are the characters in it. Perhaps I do not have to. As I start recollecting the truth that my life has been through, the people about whom I need to write will visit the story. In a sense, they will write the story. Not me.
With this another universal problem is getting resolved: who can tell the story best? And about whom the story should be told? The characters themselves will tell the story. And they will tell about themselves or more. I leave it to them. This is a highly democratic novel. The characters will decide what to tell, when to tell and what not to tell too. Do not blame me. I am not the author. Every character is an author.
And with plenty of freedom to speak out.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
yuga ratna: the symbol of emerging youth power
http://www.ndtv.com/news/blogs/climate_change/13-year-olds_message_at_the_un.php
Saturday, August 29, 2009
A most humbling moment.
Reflecting on the wonderful 23 years of marriage.
A great journey with a great friend.
An overwhelming partnership.
A most humbling moment.
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