Back!!!

Well folks....It's official now. I have diagnosed myself with a serious case of Writers' block (yes, I insist that I be called a writer.... so what if only two measly stories are out in print?).

Also add a dash of pessimism and ladles full of self-pity. Serve same garnished with generous helping of sarcasm, and voila!!! You have a blogger with no blog posts for months!!

And then that got me thinking.... wasn't blogging the very fruit of these symptoms? I mean, I started blogging because I had so much going on in my head that I possibly couldn't share it with any other sane person without running the risk of a cardiac arrest (mine, or theirs). And thus, my blog was created for me, by me and from me (wokay.... that last bit kinda sounds creepy to me too, but what the hell!)

Then somewhere down the line, I began getting recognition, a few of the crazy stuff I wrote actually got noticed and some stuff even found their way into the epitome of writing success - the PRINT *revered silence here*

I began writing, not what I wanted to write, but what I thought people wanted to read. That left me with the same problem I have with the non-blogging world - expectations! And me and Mr. Expectations go back a loooooong way.... we absolutely hate each other.

So for all my friends out there (the blogger world is very unique. I have indeed, friends, who I have not met, but I can relate to completely) ............. I am back! And this time, I'm here to stay. (this, as I try damn hard to keep my toothbrush stationary in my mouth and try to wish the "Working Mom" syndrome away! Sigh!!)

Goooooood Morning all!! 

Wise Enough to be Foolish - a Review

A little over 200 pages, this book from Jaico Publications came my way on a rainy day, wrapped in promises of a good read. And it suffices to say that this book by Gauri Jayaram  did not disappoint. It deals with topics that most women have lived through - some more than others. It deals with topics that one is not comfortable discussing, even with one's own conscience.

A special thanks to Marina from Jaico, who is instrumental in me reading this book.

A little more detail in the review:

The first impression : The cover shows a girl with a packed bag (or 'baggage' maybe), not letting too much out in one go. Travel does play an important part of the protagonist's life, but that is not all there is. There is quite a lot of 'baggage' that the protagonist carries, which may have been symbolized here, but then, that's not all there is, either. Interesting cover.

Plot : Much of the plot is autobiographical (in the author's own words); the narrative beginning with the protagonist waiting for her husband to get back home. It then traces her growing up years in a Fauji family, where subtle biases to the male child brings in rebellion in her. The book then covers her travails at attempting to make peace with her parents, while also finding love herself. Through mentors in her life, she discovers two passions - travel and sports. The book would certainly strike a chord with most women, having faced atleast a few of the situations faced by the rebellious Gauri. But the risk here is that most readers may end up reading through the pages thinking, "Been there, done that, what next?"

Writing style : Jayaram is honest; sometimes wanting to make you flinch. Whether it s virginity she is discussing, or the unfairness of being a girl child in India, or live in relationships, or even child abuse, Jayaram manages a fine job of being sincere, yet not get defensive - a difficult task when you are talking about intimate relations such as parents, siblings and lovers. It is like being able to read a good friends diary (without the guilt ofcourse!).

Jayaram also manages to weave in some magical lines that make you want to sigh out aloud, and then read the lines aloud again, savoring the way that sounds. Examples:

• "When no one knows what to say, and there is a moment of silence, the angels are passing and everyone should stay quiet."
• "Life is an individual event, and only you count….Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose."
• "When you are gambling on the table of Vegas, the way you behave when you have little at stake is very different from how you behave when you have a lot at stake."

The narrative is filled with such gems, stemming from the introspective style that Gauri has used in the book.

Final Verdict : This is a book that makes you smile sometimes, shift uneasily in your seat sometimes, and gasp yet other times. An emotional roller coaster, but one that makes you feel warm inside at the end.

The Hope Factory - a review

I have been reading a lot of Indian authors lately. Not entirely a conscious decision, but that's the way it's been. There have been good books, tolerable books and terribly disappointing ones as well. Let me be honest - I haven't put up reviews of the really disappointing ones - call it a 'struggling' writer's empathy at play here :-) ...

But of all the recent ones that I have read, The Hope Factory by author Lavanya Shankaran made me sit up and do some serious reading. For two reasons : The first was that I was approached by a very professional sounding mail from an equally impressive (and punctual) gentleman handling the marketing of this book. Of course, this appealed tremendously to my waning ego as a writer of any talent. But more importantly, when  I actually set eyes on the book, I was swept away. Let me attempt to explain why, in my review here.

The first impression : Simply put, the cover of the book raises expectations. There probably could not have been a picture more apt for the novel than the photo of a young boy, obviously thrilled by something as simple as the splash of water on his face. There is something in the picture that speaks of hope, of happiness - even in hard times. In fact, this is the first time that I've been compelled to take a photo of my reading corner, just to capture that delicious image.



The work of art with the early morning Cuppa!

A closer look:

Plot : A rich weave of emotions, mundane life and the distinct divide in social classes that is so prevalent in our lives. The characters all have their 'human' element - a quirk here, a secret there, a weakness here and a strength there. There are two protagonists here - the successful entrepreneur Anand, and the hardworking domestic help Kamala who is engaged in Anand's upper middle class household. All the characters who fill out the canvas, from Anand's socialite wife, to the Fabindia kurta- wearing friend who has mothered a child whose father no one knows about, the cook who loses her temper too much, but cooks like a dream - all of them are not mere words on a page to the reader. As a talented writer friend (who is an accomplished blogger herself) confided when discussing the author's works, the apt words to describe Shankaran would be "Astonishingly perceptive"

There are two parallel worlds in the story - the first, a factory owners' bid to stay successful and positive, while trying to remain honest and fair to his employees. At the other end of the spectrum, a woman who has fought all odds to keep herself and her son alive in a world filled with apathy. The determined fighter in both the characters are confronted by challenges and temptations alike. The story is all about the decisions that they make, and their outcomes. Though there are some who would argue that there is very little that 'happens' in the book, one cannot stop turning one page after the other, floating through the lives of these characters, who try to live out their life in dignity.

Writing style : Of the recent barrage of Indian writers' works that have come into the market, this one stands apart in style. There is none of the 'firang' influence - neither in the choice of words used, nor in content of the story. These are carefully chosen words; chosen to bring out the emotion in its strongest form. Some of the lines may need repeated reads - not because the words are difficult, but because the author has used very 'visual' words. Shankaran approaches the emotionally laden parts of her story in a matter-of-fact way, which somehow, manages to make the whole incident more 'real' to the reader.

Note : Look out for a few poignant pages written in that matter-of-fact way when a construction worker has to 'steal' a bath of clean water. (That's it - not letting more out for fear of spoiling it for you :-) )

Character development : Shankaran's perceptiveness oozes through each character, from the kohl lines they draw, to the flowers they wear, to a benevolent smile on a poster. While this may reduce the pace of the story for some readers, I felt that this only added to the joy of reading the book. The story however, ends at a place that allows the reader to imagine the story further - a sequel perhaps?

Words and print quality : Firstly, I just love hardbound books - they feel lovely in the hand. The print quality, the paper, the spacing - all perfect to make a 350 page book seem like a breeze to read. No printing errors (atleast none that I could spot) and meticulous editing in the book is such a welcome change.

Final Verdict : A book for keeps; am glad that this beautiful book came my way. But even more delightful is the fact that unlike a book borrowed from a friend, this one stays right here on my dresser, for me to pull out and read in my cozy corner .........

Tantra - A long due review

My blog is like a reliable soul-mate. There were days when I'd repeatedly delve into the ever patient pages of my blog and pour my heart out into its pages. Then there are times such as the one that passed, where I choose to ignore the very existence of my patient soul-mate. And yet, today when I come back to the non judgmental pages of my blog, she welcomes me with the love only true to her name. (of course my blog is a 'she'!). Of all the commitments I had overlooked, this one has been the worst.

Sorry blogadda, for the delay in this review. (Something tells me this is the last time they are going to send me a book for a review :-) )

So lets move into the review that should have been here a few weeks ago: Tantra by Adi.

The first look : One of the main reasons why the old saying "Never judge a book by its cover" stands true - the cover looks too much like a cartoon with the girl on the roof, and the man in the clouds. Could have been better.

 


Plot : Yes, it does look a little juvenile when one puts words like 'vampire slayer' and 'revenge' into the summary. But rest assured, the plot is fast paced, keeps one hooked on to know what happens next. There are moments of sheer genius, where the author carries of black humor with panache. (That's what happens when a man writes for a woman protagonist - sarcasm flows easily :-)). Then again, there are times when the author walks off in a direction which perhaps, not all may follow - the tantric references and the Vampire stories coming in together is such an example.

In short, the story takes some time getting used to. There are some predictable cliches - yes, the vampire slayer is sexy, yes, there is a sidekick. Yes, she manages to fall in love - again. But so what? The sheer pace of the book makes up for the cliches. Also, the story ends quite abruptly, leaving me wondering if there is a part two waiting to come out, maybe?

Writing style : Something that I've seen a lot these days - a fast paced piece of writing that doesn't pause to take a second look at the choice of words used to carry that pace. Let me explain : in many places, I winced a bit at the choice of very predictable words, and maybe even 'Indian' English. Also some words such as 'shifting' made no sense to me till about a quarter of the novel was read through. (I blame myself for this though - I have successfully escaped Vampire stuff till now). Made me wonder if the author took it for granted that we were acquainted with Vampires.

Character Development: That the author has immense talent, shows in the way the characters have been defined. A face to every character, a character to every name, and they all come in nicely together. Though there were a few times when I had to go back a few pages to register "Now who was that...." about some vampire, or tantrik, or sidekick.

Final Verdict :
A book that taught me a thing or two about the rage that is vampires, and a book that challenged some of the thoughts about Tantrik practices in India. A debate about good and bad leaves one thinking; though this very debate could have been much more powerfully handled by usage of better words. You may like vampire stories or detest them - this book may be just what the doctor ordered for those who just can't figure what the big deal is about Vampires :-)..... A good, late evening read when you really don't want to mull over heavy reading.  

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

Rituals of Life

Life takes a full circle, and comes back with a lesson or two…

This profound truth found its way into my conscience when I started insisting on certain rituals during the course of the day with my children. When I was growing up, my relationship with these seemingly silly rituals enforced by my mother, ranged from gleeful giggles when very young, to rebellious questions when older.

The rituals my mother enforced on us, and the ones I speak of here, are not rituals that are written down in religious scriptures. They are simple, day-to-day activities made closer to the heart, so that we carry comforting memories of it through the trying times in our lives.

For example, we have a “Greeting rule” at home – both when we wake up and when we go to bed. No matter what – whether you are tired, or angry, or have had a fight with one another, the rule stays. Sometimes, it is this simple “Good Morning” or “Good Night” that chips away the differences, and brings the siblings closer to each other.

Another rule enforced rather strictly at home, is the “Hug before you leave” rule. As the name implies, we have hurried hugs, even if the school bus is honking angrily at the gate. Needless to say, the kids run smiling into the bus, even though the early morning routine may not have been entirely to their liking.

Choosing their bed-covers every time it’s time to change them, is another ritual we love to do together. Ofcourse, choosing it extends into helping me with tucking in the washed, crisp sheets and putting in the pillow covers to match. Thus, an activity which would have been considered a chore, now becomes family bonding time, leaving pleasant imprints in their minds.

Laying the table for the family dinner (the only meal we eat at the dining table as a family), picking out the crockery when we have guests over, deciding the menu for parties, or the venue for a celebratory dinner, are all “rituals”. And the rules remain the same: Everyone participates. (Even if you are sulking!!)

We have our ugly days too. A ten year old who thinks her mother is just not ‘cool’ enough to hand over an expensive piece of gadget to her, or a five year old who has just been reprimanded for pouring water all over the living room rug. Mom and Dad have just had an argument about the broken tap. Just like any family, we have our shares of sulks and fights.

But over the years, we have, as a family, evolved into a collective habit. We set aside the sulks and the fights to accommodate these seemingly silly rituals.

This, perhaps, will train them for the future; a future where they will have emotionally, physically and mentally trying times. But also a future where they realise that the tiring times can be set aside to give time to more important things – like a hug, a greeting, for a loved one; or a bed time story for a little one.

This post was originally published at 'Parentous'

I Have a Dream...... But so do you!!

I love music. To the extent that it can completely change my frame of mind, my attitude to life and maybe even the decisions that I make. That said, one of the biggest regrets in my life is that I never quite learnt music in any of its varied forms. So I have spent half my life envying, and in due course, being infatuated with anyone who sings well or is particularly dexterous with a musical instrument.

Needless to say, my kids are aware of the immense effect music has on me – for quite often they can assess my mood by the musical notes sung in the shower :-) ...

In almost all my conversations with other parents, I was aware of how kids were living dreams of their parents. Somehow, the knowledge that I did not force my dreams down my children’s throats, had made me feel rather superior to the other members of my species.

My ten-year old daughter is a trained Kathak dancer. She has been training under a highly knowledgeable guru for the last five years. Today, she is appreciated for her grace, her poise and her ability to emote on stage. The story however, was not so rosy a few years back.

A few years ago, I would listen to classical music with a six-year-old, while explaining to her all the little things that my sensitised-to-classical-music ear could hear. Initially, she would get bored. Later, she showed a distinct love for the changing beats and the crescendos that accompany the Carnatic or Hindustani styles of music.

I was overjoyed! I asked my daughter a closed question that went something like this : “You are just like me!! I loved music when I was growing up, and I always wanted to learn…… I think you have a beautiful voice. Do you want to join music classes?”

She looked at my twinkling eyes and my quivering hands and nodded with a smile. I enrolled my daughter (who was already learning Kathak for a year by then) into music classes. While the Kathak classes had started entirely due to her enthusiasm, music classes were my dreams surfacing through. But I went through the whole process with the visuals of my daughter enjoying music with me – assuming she wanted to learn it – just like I did.

A few weeks of classes later, my daughter started showing signs of exhaustion, and began to avoid talking about either the dance or the music classes. She also asked me once if she could quit both. I would ask her why, and she would say, “Just joking Mom!!”

One day, G (the other half of me) walked up to me and said, “Listen, I think you should take up music. You sing real well in the shower.”

I looked at him as though I had been hit by a passing meteor. G, incidentally, is trained in Hindustani music, and has a discerning ear. Which means he has never, ever, in so many years together, told me I sing well (hint: because I DON’T)…… I knew he was lying.

I asked him why, in ten years, he didn’t tell me I sang well, and now he wanted me to take classes! He said, “Because that’s your dream…. you want to sing. And you just may be able to sing well if you take classes……” And then he stopped talking.

I prodded him on. “And……?” I asked him.

He was fidgety and uncomfortable, but he said what he had to. “Well, it’s your dream Meena. Not little G’s. She loves to dance; every inch of her mind and body loves dance. This is why she has never complained of aching feet or tired arms – even when she has to sacrifice her weekends. It’s not the same with music. She’s doing it for you!”

I was aghast. My mind screamed that it was not true.

“What absolute rubbish!” I nearly threw the hair brush at him. “You should see her tapping her feet at the beats and the way she closes her eyes when she hears a nice piece! I never forced her to join classes…. She told me she wants to learn music!” But I knew G was right. My conscience was shaking her head sadly while I said this.

“Because you wanted her to say it. And she didn’t want to disappoint you.” G was in mortal fear of being hit by a flying hair-brush (but he is a courageous man :-) )

Everything fit into place now. Little G’s exhaustion, her ‘joking’ questions on wanting to quit both dance and music, because she couldn’t tell me she chose her dream over mine. I was no less criminal than all the parents who force kids to become doctors or engineers to live their dream!

Little G and I had a talk in the evening over an ice-cream (as I’ve mentioned in other posts, little G’s innermost thoughts are most accessible with vanilla ice cream) and I told her that I had many dreams in my life and almost all of them got fulfilled. I also told her that music was only a little thing that really did not matter anymore to me. And that she was a wonderful dancer, and that she could quit music if she wanted.

Of course, she was only too happy to quit music classes, once she was sure she wouldn’t ‘hurt’ me by doing so. Finally, I made her promise me that she will never do things ‘for’ me. She would live her dreams not mine – and I assured her, that would make me the happiest Mom, ever.

She and I, we had reached a new level of love and respect for each other after that little ice-cream talk.



Yup!! She's the one stuck in the middle :-)

Published originally at Parentous - a parenting site.

When I write....

* Rant alert!!!
** Writer's block
*** Bad combination! What you still doing here?

I found a treasure recently - an old dairy, with yellowing pages and folded edges.

Yes. Yours truly was the kind who poured her sappy heart out into fresh, crisp sheets with narrow lines, of a dairy..... Lines that barely contained the tails of the 'g's and the heads of the 'T's.... just as it could barely contain the emotions that poured forth from the much chewed reynolds pen.

I read them again and again, with flashes of visuals coming in spurts and bits. I laughed at some of the pages, amazed at how much joy the little things in life gave. The flutter of a heartbeat when a glance lingered on a little more than it should. The sense of pride in hearing one's name being mentioned alongside obvious 'excellent' students in class. The hurt in finding that not everyone saw things in the same light as I did. Uninhibited emotions that could only be shared with the best of friends..... sometimes only a dairy could take on that role.

Remember the simple joy of writing? Not punching impersonal, cloned alphabets into the keyboard of a swanky laptop; but the sheer genius of creating words, sentences and stories through a pen. The joy of seeing one's personality flow out of the pen into beautiful, pristine sheets of paper.

When was the last time I had to change the refill of a pen? I don't remember - pens no longer ran out of ink before we lost them!

Remember how our growing up years were, to a great extent, focussed on perfecting this very art of transferring thoughts to paper. We put in years of practice - of holding the pen at that perfect angle, of keeping the thumb positioned at the best position to leverage the speed of the mischevious nib, the tilt of the index finger and the agility of the wrist. Years of parents of toddlers tightly holding their little fingers wrapped around pencils, coaxing, threatening, bribing those little minds to replicate letters, words and numbers.

Remember how we could determine who the owner of an essay was, by just looking at the writing? Or the hours spent thinking who the 'secret admirer' was - and then comparing all the handwritings in class to try and arrive at a blissful conclusion? Remember how parents proudly held aloft notebook covered in brown paper to show off the handiwork that lie within? 

Years of aching wrists and fingers, not to mention the agony of lost or stolen pens, pencils, erasers and sharpeners; years of ink-smeared fingers, ink smudged shirt pockets, ink cartridges and refills - today, are all just a page in the story of  each of us.

pic courtersy google images