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.

Boy's don't cry!

For those of you read my last post—yes, I am referring to USP and Ramby—and didn’t get it, the guy in the second incident was me. I tried to distance myself from that incident and didn’t want to come across as sentimental hob. However, I thought I must confront it and accept who I am  the way I am.

 It turns out that I can cry at the drop of a hat. Well, it was not like this earlier when I used to cry only over issues of global importance such as pimple breakout, my ever increasing waistline or every time I saw food I didn’t like. I have a confession to make since I am already spilling beans on my personal stuff. I hate to look myself in the mirror. Unlike most of the guys who don’t leave any chance to run through their hand in their hair, puff their chest or adjust their crotch the moment they encounter any reflecting object, I would deliberatley duck away from such devices in those frightiening moments.

No prizes for guessing that I would always find fault with something in my body: The surprising thing was that the body part will never remain same. One day I find to my horror that I have a very big nose ( still smaller than Shahrukh’s) and other day it would be my ears ( still smaller than Amir) and on other days I will start looking with quizzical expression as to what was wrong with my ears, nose ,lips...Hope you get the drift.  This shame/ guilt/ anger would last forever and no amount of increased frequency of operation "mirror watch" would make me get used to my own self. 

I mean isn't it the case that if we something long enough we don't notice the obvious flaws. 

Case in point is Dev Patel-- with his perennial goofy expression and lanky body, I don’t know what Freida saw in her, and what I think of Freida’s beauty is very different-- who I have got used to seeing if I can use the expression and find him 'tolerable'.

Coming to my original confession, I don’t like to face mirror –and yes, I hate cameras too, if that was not obvious yet—however, and this is where the big surprise is: I look into the mirror every time I cry. 

I don’t know why I do it, but let me tell you I don’t do it to check how horrible I look.

Do I look to check if I look better ( I am so bored with using ‘look’ so many times, how vain can I get? ) with all those tears, bleary eyes and a running nose. 

Yes, I believe so. How many people can seriously look brilliant while crying? I think I can. With my eyes welled up, ears getting a crimson hue and the lone tear falling on my cheeks, I find it so..so...so not me. I kind of feel I am looking at a different person who I don't know. Who is smarter, better looking, more humane and vulnerable.

P.S. I guess this is one of the most weird post which I have written ever. But I can't help it if things are turning weird for me-- which I will post sometime soon. Now, I am gonna make a mean biryani ( there was a Hailstorm in Delhi, and it's so much cooler now) and eat it.

 

Signal Madness

Scene1 : Traffic Light, Outer Circle Connaught Place 

A thirteen fourteen year old school kid wearing clean white uniform, his school bag on his shoulders knocks on the window of a car. The car is a white Audi A4 costing 30 lac upwards. The kid has some long, thick pencils in his hands which he is trying to sell for some school project. He speaks to the lady sitting next to the driver. The lady shows some interest. Traffic light turns green. Everyone starts honking behind ( No surprises, this is Delhi). The lady takes out 5 rupee coin ( my guess, but I am sure it must have been 2 rupee) and gives it to the kid. The kid looks disgusted. Some more honking from the desperate drivers.  Seems, she does not want pencils. He throws the coin through the window slit and moves back.

Scene 2: The next traffic light, Connaught Place

Red Traffic light.  A middle aged guy carrying a four- five year girl knocks on a car window. The girl is allegedly sick. Her face is covered with a coarse cloth trying to shield her from harsh sun. One of the most common method of begging. The guy in the car doesn’t pay heed. He looks away. Suddenly, from some where the mother of girl emerges. Desperate, disheveled and angry. She has a bright face with big eyes accentuated by her olive complexion.  The father knocks on the window showing a government hospital prescription and shrieks” Bheekh nahi maang raha hoon main”. The guy in car looks other way. He dithers, then looks for his wallet. He could only find a 100 rupee note in his wallet. He gives it and speeds away. Crying. Crying inconsolably.

Recession Woes

Economic recession is here. As if I didn't know the fact, it was all too obvious. The place where I work has not strated to lay off people. Yet. That is in India of course. Globally, it's a different story.

We all keep hearing about rumors how other companies are firing people left, right and center and it can be our turn any other day. 

I never believed in these doomsdays theories. And I have got enough problems of my own, than to think about when my job is going to go. ( As an afterthought, I don't know how I will continue my retail therapy if things go wrong). But, this is not what I chose to blog about.

As I said, this recession thing has put lot of people out of job but the place where I work, it has made people out of work. Now, if you have bunch of young, smart, intelligent people around who don't have much to do than to spend their entire time either on Facebook or blogsites, what you'd propose to do?

You'd ask them to indulge in mindless activities such as organizing events to get all employess together and spend time with each other. Never mind if you don't want to stand the guy who chats as if he is long lost sibling of Rakhi Sawant or the lady who thinks just because she is punjabi, she can foul mouth anyone. Ah, if these were the problems that really mattered to me.

Some bright chap gave the idea that why not have a poll asking employees some random questions. Most of them very boring and tepid according to my taste. Sample this: Who is the most helpful person? Seriously?? I mean give me a break. Are we here in a personality contest??

Whatever. So while I was completely disinterested in the whole proceedings, a little birdy told me that I was also one of the contenders. The category, though certainly flattering, had me in worry. Was it too obvious??

Best dressed person? I mean who are we kidding here? Like I mentioned that there are a couple of guys who have six packs amply supported by their punju model looks, who dress more expensively ( like Shades costing 15 K) this win was a total surprise to me. Curious I was, as to find out how I beat these people to win the race, and the answer was not difficult and I was told it was my style which won over the expensive brands. haha. Don't I feel good? Yes, I do. I dress quite conservatively opting for very fitted, formal look without giving too much attention to what I am gonna wear next day. But I guess somethings like your style are innate ( reading cosmo, or sartorialist.com always helps), I have a thing for good things not necessarily expensive ( which I'd love to buy if I was that rich) and it sometimes shows. And yes, if you think it's about being gay. So be it. I would prefer being called a stylish person. Straight or gay!

Wrong Number, Madam!

Ok. Here comes the ceremonious year end post. On second thoughts, I am not good at lists of any kind. So why do things that I am not good at.

Besides, the year is three days away from close/end. (I don’t know the right word and I am too indifferent to check) and there are still possibilities that it could turn out eventful. Now, by eventful I would mean a year where I was not living like a nun in the second half. Speaking of nuns makes me remind the famous line in the movie ‘Milk’ which I caught last night. A little digression here, I recommend watching ‘Milk’ by every fag or non fag. For those of us, who still live in a false dreams of utopia in US / Western Countries this movie is a stark reminder. So what if the events depicted in movie took place some thirty years ago. Until we have people like Sarah Palin and her closeted republican cronies along with the sitting pope,  on grounds things are not very different for us;  and we certainly don’t need to be reminded constantly what’s ‘god’s way’. Anyway, the point is Sean Penn is excellent playing ‘Harvey Milk’ in this biopic and is strong contender for academy awards this year. He plays the role with unassuming ease and affability and I was disheartened to see, despite my thinking that we are all unique and blah, there were some very apparent resemblance to the body language and expressions of gay people in the movie that I saw in some of the people I met here in India.

Enough of the rant, I have almost forgotten what I wanted to post here.

Actually, I have not. Because it is something that gives me a ‘feel good’ feeling (speaking in my silly punjabi ‘Surinder Sahni’ish goofy smugness). So, without much ado, at the risk of sounding a braggart, let me share with you that I feel there have been three ‘girls’ who have given me some signal that they are interested in me. And all this at my workplace. Like most of gay guys, I am at ease interacting with female species ( it takes tons of efforts on my part not to give them some fashion advice) talking nineteen to dozen. I often play dumb in situations when discussion around relationships and such stuff takes place around me, even though I pretty much know what is the subtext and undercurrent of conversations, shifting glances, twitching of lips. Playing dumb is my favorite technique, it puts people offguard and at ease, without having to calculate their actions and I love it when I see it all unfolding in front of me.

Out of three ‘girls’ ( why does it have to be girls? ), there is one who is  particularly interesting. She is smart, intelligent, witty and funny. She and I both know that we both know we feel ‘drawn’ ( me asexually, of course J ) towards each other. For me, I always love intelligent company and any wittiness is always an added bonus. She is both.

Looks wise, I hardly care. However, to be fair on whoever reads this, she is not that ugly (read: petite), has style (can do with bit more make up) and looks clean ( That reminds me she doesn’t wear perfume, She Should. Not that she smells, just that it adds to the personality of a person). I would have dated her/ asked her out if only… 

However, I haven’t added that I do borderline flirting. I have always done that with my female friends and they always played along. Why I do it is a mystery to me since I have not been able to ‘flirt’ with a single ‘male’ friend of mine. 

Now, let me ask you this. What do you guys do when you get such ‘vibes’? Do you play or back out?