Birthday Blues

There is a lot happening in my life.

But still I feel my life is one of the most boring, staid and placid movies that one can make out of a real life. Last week I turned little closer to thirty. Though, just like the women in SATC, I have promised myself that I would stop aging beyond 29 and will be 30 for some ten years, the reality of having to confront another lonely birthday hit me hard.

I spent the day like any other regular day doing chores such as going to office ( I didn’t put much effort in selecting the clothes, which on hindsight I should have ), coming back from office ( I wonder what fine day it will be when I go straight partying from office, or err…do I have to keep a spare pair of clothes for that? Which will be such a nuisance) and doing my laundry – the third item must sound as if I am some kind of clothes fiend, but actually I am. Remember the best dressed person thing??

Some of my colleague got to know that I turned a year older despite my best efforts at keeping it a secret ( I had done it for last two years on orkut). Damn facebook was the place which I had not figured out much, and it gave away precious information. In fact, one of my blog reader --shall I say my only reader?- also ‘located’ me on facebook which is totally ok with me. 

So, those office folks got a cake and asked me to cut it. I might not have written this before but Cakes and I go long way back. In fact, despite being born and brought in 'bhaiyaa land' my craving my ‘english’ style cake pastry had seen no end. Slowly, I got curious to know as how one can make these at home and after almost hundreds of failed expreiments of gooey, half cooked, burnt cakes which were subjected to my class mates, my maids, pets etc I cracked the formula of making a decent ( read: edible) cake. 

Being a true taurian ( read: stubborn ), I never give up something until I get what I want, and then give it up unceremoniously without any remorse to all those people who suffered because they ate what I gave then disguised as cake. One of my polite neighbors told me after eating my caked that eating these biscuits cum cake is really a good exercise for his gums ( He so wanted to give the brick analogy, I could see from his expression).

So, though I digressed, I wanted to make a point that I can bake perfectly turned out cakes --which I would have done every day had it not been for my fetish for my weight—and no body gets surprised there. Imagine eating a decent cake after you have eaten scores of burnt ones.

On one of those nights, when I have really nothing to do and I am too tired of watching DVDs, looking for dates, soliciting for dates, executing solo dates with myself;  I run to the kitchen and see if I have the ingridients to make a cake. And thus I bake a cake. Since, I can’t eat my cake alone I often bring it to office and tell people that my maid has made it  ( alliteration, ye) even my colleagues have got used to this idea that I am a cake junkie. ( Don’t ask my BMI number now).

Therefore, the first thing that they asked me after they got to know it was my birthday “Have you brought cake?”.

“I am not desperate enough to bake a cake for myself “, I muttered slowly.

“Never mind, we look forward to your next offering any way”, chorused my entire cubicle.

‘Ha ha ha” , I gave their my lame laugh which I do when I get embarrassed/ nervous/ or shy.

All the wishes and hugging ( actually no one hugged me, except for one. How boring?) , a chocolate cake was produced by lunch time for me and I lost my nerves. Remember cakes and I go long way back. The truth is much as I want to be the centre of attraction, if and when it happens I totally chicken out.

I was mortified to find that I have to cut the cake and get my pics clicked ( remember my phobia with images)

As the order of things are, I got my chocolate facial in due time—just seconds after I had taken the first bite. And they even rubbed it on my chest ( I know it was some perv who just wanted to feel me: disgusting). 

Khair, I have given much time to write a trivial event in my life whereas all I wanted to write how it triggered a melancholic wave.

 I will post that soon.

P.S. I am reading chick lit  these days --which I have always frowned upon, but somehow I chanced upon a used book and the writer kept me hooked – and that explains why I start trying to be funny everytime I want to write something serious. Marian Keys is infectious and way better than Indian wannabes like Reddy Madhvan etc.

Literary Dreams: How literal are they?

There is a reason I don’t blog much.

And it’s not about me being lazy which you would have thought—which, on second thoughts is a good reason—but since I consider myself pseudo intellectual the reason I have is more profound one.

I think mostly what I write is crap.

When I read other blogs, I just find my writing and myself so inadequate.

 My writing which gets influenced by who I am reading at that moment flip-flops between styles. I mean I know fully well that I am not Zadie Smith or Atwood or Arundhati Roy, and can never be but there is a constant struggle within me to write something which I would feel proud later on.

And, for the record, there are things that I am proud of.

Now, the previous line was added as an afterthought, when I had written the entire post just to make it funny. But I find, this line looks very forced and artificial. Probably, I am not funny in real life. My humor gets restricted to sexual innuendos and a few one liners from American sitcoms. Yes, no jibber jabber here!.

It’s weird but in dreams I compose passages which are almost like the styles of writers I mentioned before. I don’t speak English much in real life ( meaning I don’t think in English), I learnt english very late and  started reading english texts much later in my life therefore it’s a mystery as to how those words which I see myself writing so clear.

There is nothing vague about the whole experience since it happens very frequently especially if I have read anything by writers I liked, before sleeping.

Since I have already mentioned, my favorite hobby is people analysis; and for lack of many real people in my life, I practice that a lot on myself.

I have an explanation for everything.

Every tiniest action that I take.

I see this whole writing in dreams as a portent of something similar that used to happen a few years ago.

Circa year 2000, I enrolled myself in one of those English speaking courses. (Embarrassing though it may sound, it was the only option for me since it was near impossible to find and convince someone to speak with me in queen’s language in my  town). The institute forbade people from using any other language except English in premises which created quite funny situations which I think I should devote a separate post later. But the interesting thing in those days was when I started dreaming that I was having an actual conversation ( without faltering, stuttering or  even worse mispronouncing words) before I could have a actual decent conversation one in real life.

Taking a cue from this, I am hopeful that I might write better in future and stop having writers dreams.

If you haven’t got it yet, I have stopped having dreams where I have conversation without faltering, stuttering or mispronouncing words. I have those conversations in real life and people inevitably ask me if I am a product of one of the most famous schools in the town I short lived before moving to Delhi. ( I secretly smile )

As an aside, I saw once an interview of a little known writer who when asked how one wrote good prose responded by saying that in order to write well, one needed to read well first. Those words got entrenched in my mind and I was determined to read as much as possible. I feel that I have made up for those years when I had little access to quality books in last few years since I have become financially independent and moved to a bigger city. However, there is a still a sense that I am not as articulate, expressive or funny as I should be.

There is something else which I read somewhere to the effect that every blogger secretly wants to write a book. This may be true for me and many others.  Because notwithstanding the fact how boring life I lead, there is a book in everyone’s life. They all want to be published.

Before I end this, I have a question. Do you think about the writing process, style, humor etc while you are writing or it just comes naturally? And do you want to be published?

I do but only when I have a little better craft.

Am I too old for Crushes??

I am currently reading 'White Teeth' by Zadies Smith. Ms. Smith is much celebrated writer and this was her debut novel which found much favor among the literary circle. I had picked her second book ‘On Beauty’ around a year back and started reading it, leaving it midway – not because it was boring or something, it’s just that I think I was not in the right frame of mind.

The first thing that strikes you about her is her uncanny beauty, dark piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and that caramel complexion thanks to her interracial parentage. Another striking thing about her is that her first novel White Teeth came when she was only twenty five. In today’s age, where anyone who knows how to string a few words together, and becomes an aspiring writer , I feel it’s a really big feat to get yourself published and get all that laurels.

I haven’t finished White Teeth and thereby I can’t write a formal review of the book ( Futile excercise I think, the book was published eight years ago). So why am I writing about her?? It’s because the book White Teeth- which was described as an Interracial tour the force, and which I thought would have to be dealing with Carrabian and English culture or amalgamation of it- is chiefly based on two couples: Bangladeshi couple and Jamaican English couple. I am close to half way through the book, and I can safely say that the main protagonists are Bangladeshi couple, unlike what I had surmised in the beginning.

Mian Samad and Alsana are two very unlike people and they share very few things other than their country of origin and the fact that they are married to each other. Now, coming to why I am writing about the book is a confession that I want to make.

Midway through the book, I realized how peculiar it is that the book is mirroring my feelings at present time. In the book, Mian Samad at the age of fifty seven is gripped by an intense infatuation- a desire which goes wrong against his faith, his standing, his age and his marital status- towards the music teacher of his twin sons in school. He repeatedly gets sexually aroused by mere thought of the teacher who he has met only for a few minutes in a PTA meeting. He can’t let her thought go, he is hard all the time and masturbation not being halal ( I don’t know the veracity of this) is in a continual ethical dilemma to do it.

Now, I have a very hot colleague of mine who I have recently started interacting more than I should. Though, I don’t find him super-intelligent ( a must for keeping me hooked to an individual), his easy manners, affability and good looks keep me interested in him. And to top it, this guy has six packs ( Never seen those but from the looks of his formal clothes I can make out a lot more than just his packs) with a great body. (Only minus point is he is shorter than me by two inches). Normally, I don’t like any competition to be close to me but this time I don’t care that much if he has better physique than me. ( I am not in a bad shape myself! Wink, wink).

One thing that keeps me intrigued is how or why this guy is single. He is good looking, intelligent, articulate, earns well, and has gone to good colleges. Not to mention, he has great fashion sense, h takes care of himself well. Is he a new age metrosexual male or I am reading too much here?? For Chrissake, he is a hot blooded punju who don’t give a damn about having new flings every fortnight!!

So, I don’t think I many have to explain how my situation is similar to Mian Samad and what’s keeping me awake/ disturbed/ aroused/ intrigued this entire weekend. In fact, I think this whole thing was reinforced in some way when I read it in the book and started imagining myself to write a similar novel in future with great deal of masala thrown in. I can call it ‘White Sheets”. I know that’s cheesy. But, aren’t wet dreams are made of ‘white sheets’ and ‘White teeth’

P.S: I wanted to do a post about comparing language style of British vs American authors; in fact, comparing Jhumpa Lahiri and Zadie Smith. I am not even remotely an authority on the subject of linguistics, nevertheless I think it will be an interesting post.

Enchantress of Florence

I just finished reading "enchantress of Florence" by Sulman Rushdie. It was my first Rushdie book. Though I had started reading "Moor's Last Sigh" a decade ago, I couldn't go beyond first few chapters. The language was too complex for me, and I had a terrible ( still do) habit of knowing the full meaning of every word before moving on. Ostensibly, at that time, I used to do this with every written thing that came my way especially the film glossies that were my staple read those days. It did help me while I was preparing my the MBA entrance exams and needless to add vocab was my favorite section. Now, I don't think there is anything left to say about the style magical realism, baroque style of Rushdie. However, I needed just three evenings (2-3 hrs daily) to finish this book.
The plot was revetting with so many literary devices thrown in that after a while I stopped paying heed to it and started enjoying the book. There was too much history thrown in, History of medival Italy, Mughal India and Turkey Ottoman empire. A few referances to sexual practices in those times did make it more engaging reading experience. And come to think of it, Rushdie writes that two third of florence was gay. Umm, Oliver Martinez!! where are you ??I am coming to you. ( Though, a quick google check tells me is he is of french spanish descent...oh never mind, I don't mind them either)

if any one of you ever reads movie reviews by Taran Adarsh, he has a line that he uses in every reivew. Classes vs Masses. Before I fall in the trap of reviewing this book, let me just say I found it an interesting read, somewhat pacy unlike other books I often pick up and it certainly have class for masses.

Lessons from the past

I recently finished reading 'Half of a Yellow Sun' by Chiamanda Ngozi Adichie. Having no background in African history or history of colonialism, I had picked up the book randomly. Now, I am glad that I picked up this book and got a different perspective on India and Pakistan because our situation was not much different at the time of partition, from what Nigeria had to face, albeit ten years later. The story is as relevant today as at any other time, where different vested interest want to break apart the country on religious, castiest, and regional lines.

For most of us in the Indian subcontinent, colonialism primarily meant our two hundred years of British rule and the adversity faced, or the painful partition independence brought upon. It was not so different for Nigeria, when it got it independence from British in 1960. The book details what a country afflicted by all the maladies that a newly found independent state would face after a prolonged colonial rule. This gives us an interesting perspective to compare the situation of Nigeria with India and Pakistan. Nigeria faced the same problem of religious and ethnic divide at the time of its independence. There were many tribes - Christian Igbo and Muslims Hausa - wanting to upstage the other while making sure their own tribe prosper. The civilian government was ousted and two Military coup followed by killings of thousands of innocent people. Igbo dominated south western Nigeria claimed independence, and created a new state named Biafra. Biafra was not recognized by other African countries except for few, and Nigerian government came down heavily on rebels and a lengthy civil war was started which took as many life from hunger as from bullets and air raids. Food supply was cut off and a whole generation was conscripted to achieve the freedom from enemy state. This war gave malnutrition a new meaning, and kwashiorkor- a condition caused by severe malnutrition- thousand of faces. In the end, Biafra lost and more than a million lives were lost.

I think there are so many lessons for each of us. The futility of war cannot be overemphasized, and today when India and Pakistan are both witnessing dissent from far flung corners for autonomy and self rule, it gives us a vantage point to look at their demands. North East has still remained a place far removed from politics of delhi and even after sixty years many people from mainstream India find it hard to accept them as anything but chinky. We had had secessionist movement in punjab and kashmir which took many lives and continues to do so. Why is is so hard for people to acknowledge the presence of other and prosper with them. The answers are not so difficult to find, if we care to look around.

Earning the Laundry Stripes

Manreet sodhi's "earning the laundry stripes' can be described as 'unchhe dukan, pheeka pakwan' a hindi phrase literllay translted as "big cry. little wool". I was particularly disappointed with the book because it was my first book based on Indian Management schools and graduates. Though as an MBA aspirant we used to think that cracking the exam was the hardest part, but reality is very different as is described in this book.
This book as it chronicles the life of a management graduate 'Noor Bhalla', passing out from IIMC and then being the first woman to join the sales at HLL, much like the real life of its author, fails to strike the right notes.

There are many loopholes like why we never get to know about the Kalpana's MBA college when writer herself puts in very elaborately that in MBA hierarchy your status is judged by the college you are from. Apart from these small details, the most irritating thing I found about this book was its inane juxtaposing of serious issues with corny ones. Surely we don't need the details of the sex and stiffness of her male friends member in the same breath as Gujarat carnage. I think these new writers must learn a thing or two from Chetan Bhagat and why his '5 point something' was such a big hit. Answers are not that difficult to find and certainly not for an engineer and MBA ( at this point, I make it clear that I am an engineer and MBA myself). The subject, language and narrative of Chetan Bhagat's debut novel was very topical to the campus and the sensibilities of youth and it dared not to cross those limits. And here I thought Ms Sodhi knew a thing or two about target audience.

Only thing that remains back with you is her anecdotes from the corporate world which becomes little too cliched at times. And her description of rural India is condescending to say the least. Though at the end of the novel, author suddenly has this epiphany the she had a choice to make in her life and who she is today is a result of that. She makes no bones about making fun of people who eat, speak and pronounce differently than hers.

This book is too contrived and too cliched for any one who has ever been to a good B-School. B-School grads are not that clueless as Ms Sodhi paints us to be. And I hope that she bears this fact in her mind when she sets out to write her next book.