The Post Without a Theme

This is going to be a rambling post because I am just blogging for discipline... I hardly dare look at the date of my last published post. Well, that makes it sound like I have quite a few in drafts that are ready to go with a little bit of polishing but truth to say, my drafts section is as empty as my favourite cookie jar... no, not even crumbs left!
Now to the discipline part. In my mind, I am a writer. I write journalistic, promotional and other editorial thingies for a living. In school, I used to write poetry and short stories, which were occasionally published in Young Times. And back then, I had no idea that writing required any kind of talent. I just thought it was something everybody did. But of course, my friends caught on that I had a way with words and you know what that means... I have written hundreds of love letters to random girls on behalf of my friends and cousins.

I don't know why teenage guys think that love letters have to be just perfect and written in great handwriting. My best friend, O, charming Casanova that he was, never believed in love letters but I must have delivered umpteen oral missives for him, fuming all the time 'cos I kept expecting him to wake up from his new-girl-in-school-induced-stupor and notice me!! He finally did, but that's another story. :D
I am digressing here but I guess I am allowed to since this post came with ample warning.
Back to writing. I got my first illustrated fairytale book when I was six. It was quite a tome, but frail me practically lived in the book. It was like a magical world where I could be anything I wanted and do anything I wanted, including not eat all day and still look picture-perfect. I had a constant war with food as a kid; come to think of it, I still do: just that in my childhood, I never wanted to eat and now, eating's one of my guilty pleasures and I have to keep reminding myself to stop.

Anyways, with my reading habits (torch under blanket at night included), I am surprised I actually needed glasses only once I started working. And long, long ago, as an extension of my love for reading, I decided I would be a writer. Whatever else I primarily did, I would write a novel which would, incidentally, land me the Booker. Ironically, I am now paid to write but my book is nowhere near completion. I did start on it a few years back but that's it. I can't even find my original draft! But the plot keeps spinning in my head and I keep adding scenes and killing characters and all that! Now you know why I suddenly look disoriented in the midst of a conversation: I am probably trying to find a not-too-cheesy exit route for a superfluous character.
And you know what, I may even make a movie out of my book. I mean, that's the done thing after all. But where's the book in the first place, you ask? It's in the head, and this time, I am determined to do it right.
A friend and published author, S, as well as my former editor, J, have frequently told me that a writer needs discipline: you have to write at least a page a day. It doesn't matter if doesn't read well or even if it actually isn't contributing to plot progression or even to that particular story at all. Just write! Of course, this does not include all the paid writing I do... this has to come from deep within, like putting my mind on paper. And then, they say, the story will come.
So here I am exploring the little-trodden, thorny path of self-discipline in the hope of finding my muse. More tomorrow. Or the day after.

Rain on the beach, and Chetan Bhagat

Abhi's 'big' catch

Last weekend was the most fun we had had as a family in a very long time. We were at the Marari Beach Resort, celebrating Abhi's boss's birthday and we had an absolute blast. This, despite the weekend being the one 'when the rains strengthened over Kerala', to quote the Met Dept. It was some 30+ hours of great food, great intoxicants, great company and well, not-so-great kids but what the hell, you can't have everything!

My daughter hasn't inherited our love for the sea. To the contrary, she's petrified of the waves and hates it when anyone she knows steps into seawater! Anyways, Sunny (that's Abhi's boss's elder son) had a  wound on his foot that had to be kept away from water. So he was in babysitting mode, making sandcastles with Ditu. Soon I joined them and we made this futuristic looking thing with underground nuclear reactors and an extensive defence system and access roads. Unfortunately, I can't find a pic of the completed castle!

In the private pool with Jacuzzi

Sunny, Ditu and the beginnings of the castle

Abhi fulfilled a long-held dream of sitting on the beach while a storm brewed around him. Yeah, I know, he's a little weird but I love him to bits! The food at the restaurant was fabulous, to say the least. Dinner was accompanied by live 'classical music: tailored to suit the taste of the predominantly European and north Indian crowd, the music was heavily influenced by old Hindi film music. I don't know whether I am being kind or sarcastic here.

Bliss needs no caption, eh?

The experience as a whole was heavenly! Add to it the fact that most of us were out of mobile coverage area! That's like hot chocolate sauce on a scrunchilicious banana split. Well, you get the drift....

Coming to Chetan Bhagat and 3 Idiots. This might sound like too little, too late but I take back all my vociferous support for Mr Bhagat on various online forums after watching the movie. Before I went to the movie, I had only read his One Night @ The Call Centre and while I was not charmed by his writing, I did like his tongue-in-cheek dialogues and the crazy plot.

Well, I recently read the book that started it all: Five Point Someone. And I must say that this is one time the film-makers were justified in using the 'Inspired By' tag. I mean, what sort of credit is Bhagat talking about? As an aspiring writer myself, I hate it when writers are cheated of their due but this was stretching it too far. 3 Idiots is way different from 'the original' and this was the only time ever that I found a movie more compelling than a book! It's sad that Bhagat took such a myopic view of the whole issue: yes, his book is entertaining  but nowhere near the absolute roller-coaster fun ride that 3 Idiots is! You just have to live with that, Mr Bhagat, and be happy that the film helped you sell a few thousand more copies.

Writing for patience

Is patience one of my virtues? Let's just say I am learning the art (marriage and mommyhood have helped immensely)...

A friend rang me the other day and wanted to know if I could help his friend's father pen his memoirs. The 'protagonist' in question, he said, is 76, a doctor, with adventurous stories of his service years in the Andamans. "He sounds like a nice person," said my friend. "And I thought of you 'cos you would lend him a patient ear." Now, whatever gave him that idea.

After a lot of hemming and hawing, I've said 'yes' to the project. Yes, it could give me a lot of insight into how different medical practice, and life in general, was over 50 years ago and, as I have learned from my father, old people have a remarkable way of 'anecdotising' their lives, which always seems immensely more enjoyable and exotic than our everyday tales.

I just hope I am able to be 'the patient ear' my friend intended. My dad, who tells interesting stories of his first rubber chappal, first watch and the time he walked from Alappuzha to Ernakulam, would say I have a long way to go. But you have to forgive me for tuning out of his stories at times: he may be recounting it to a visitor but hey, I have been hearing them for the the past 31 years!!

Last year, I told my dad to write down all his childhood tales (which involve a lot of girl-chasing, drinking bouts and general roguish behaviour among the good times like winning basketball championships). he hasn't gotten down to it yet but maybe once I'm done with this project, and with my enhanced reserves of patience, I'll help him do it. Just hold me to my word, guys.