Some fiction, some rambles

In India, anyone can be your health advisor. Even that neighborhood marwari shopkeeper is no exception. Sometime back, I went to a shop to buy Amul Butter — that quintessential Indian icon of sorts. The shopkeeper nonchalantly passed me Amul Lite – the low cost low cholesterol breadspread (according to the official description).

I asked him if he has the regular butter by any chance?

“yeh jyada achcha hai”, he assured me (it’s better).

“lekin yeh butter nahin hai”, I protested (but it’s not butter)

“wohi to, sehat ke liye accha hai” (that’s what! it’s better for one’s health)

Now, if I wanted to eat less butter, I would eat less butter, not more (or same amount of) non-butter! Please, keep those margarines (reminds me of migraines for some reasons) and butter-like-bread spreads (which incidentally have almost no milk fat, and have vegetable fats in large quantities, according to the packet) away from me. I’m happy with less of my butter (even Amul butter — ther utterly butterly delicious!).

Not that I told the shopkeeper that. I just walked away. I’m getting more and more weary of what Michael Pollan calls “reductive nutritionism“. I know, I know … call me a follower of Pollanism!

—

Lately, I’ve been reading a bit too much of Alexander McCall Smith (no not his No.1 Ladies Detective Agency, which I found not even close to his best, rather on the opposite end of the spectrum). In fact, my last fictional attempt — A Blind Date — was inspired from his collection of short stories (although not from any specific one): Heavenly Date and Other Flirtations, which I had read just about then.

Now after reading his Corduroy Mansions and now one of his 44 Scotland Street series (book 3, to be precise), I’m bitten by the ‘episodic writing’ bug.  That it might make me write more ‘regularly’ is just one aspect of it.

So here is what I plan to do (they say making your plans public makes you little more serious about them — almost make them obligatory — and if they haven’t already said it, I’m postulating that): write at least one episode of the (yet unnamed) episodic story every two weeks. If I do more, I’d live with that, but I ain’t kiddin myself …

I Plan to post the first part over this weekend, and not to mention, name the damn thing. Watch this space

The Musical Language

When Carl Sagan, the scientist guy who was better known for his efforts to popularize science, in billions and billons of ways, shortlisted music from around the world to go on the Voyager Golden Record — from diverse cultures — of all the recorded music from India he picked up Surashri Kesarbai Kerkar’s Jaat Kahaan Ho.

Kesarbai Kerkar, although well known to the connoisseurs of Hindustani Classical music, is hardly a household name even back in India. Not many would have heard the bhairavi, for instance, and many like me got to know about it in the context of the Voyager Golden Record! Make no mistake about it: I’m not contesting Sagan’s selection at all. I doubt many would, after listening to the piece. I’m in fact marveling at Sagan’s selection — from a rich, diverse tradition that Indian music (classical and otherwise) is, he’s picked up an absolute gem, that’s as alien to many on earth (and the country of its origin), as it would be to any passing alien who might happen to listen to it (in whatever way, the word listen makes sense, in an alien context).

And yet, the longing that’s characterisitc of the bhairavi, is beyond language. Did Sagan, then, believe that even an alien, who has presumably no common emotional experiences to share with the human race, would be able to feel that longing (or did he actually believe that even aliens would share what we think to be very human experience)? For, one has to assume, that with the shared emotional experience of human race, Kesarbai Kerkar’s voice should easily be able to surpass the human languages barrier — languages that are hardly capable of capturing some of the finest human experiences, anyways.

We all are able to feel, even when we don’t understand a word of the song in another language. I was memerized by Nat King Cole’s Quizas Quizas long before I finally got around to reading the translation of its Spanish lyrics (which, are lovely as well). When a cousin introduced me to Magda El Romy’s Kalemat, it blew me over, and I never even checked out its lyrics. Or when I first listened to Meiko Kaji’s Flower of Carnage, after being numbed by the violence in Kill Bill 1, I was transported to another mind zone, where the violence faded away into oblivion, along with the numbness (not to mention, it gave me a premonition that the second part would be more nuanced). There will be innumerable examples, indeed. Much of music is even accompanied by no words, and lets us find our own meaning, without having to ever ‘invalidate’ it, or just surpasses what the words are saying, even when there are words accompanying it.

Many people believe the Vedas to be more than the words, and that with right intonations, anyone should be able to get them, even without knowing Sanskrit. That might seem far fetched to the rationalist in each of us (count me in, of course), but then, how do we understand the pain and the helpless (and yet dignified) rage in Beethoven’s Seventh symphony — particularly the second movement. Would anyone need to understand English to be soothed by Roberta Flack’s Jesse, or to feel the camaraderie in Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World or Hello Brother?

And then there is the issue (decidedly not minor) of divinity: of music surpassing all language and conveying to us the idea of divinity, or making us feel its illusory presence. The cliché about a picture being worth a thousand words begs a question: how much more worth is a piece of music, if it can transcend all that language can capture, or all that (even) the visual arts can inspire — although I agree that I’m not really a guy who is qualified to even begin to make that assessment. Undoubtedly, there is much that visual arts can communicate. But being a form, is it constrained when trying to communicate the formless? The perfection of form that Michelangelo’s David conveys probably would never be expressed in language either, but there are rare moments (or not so rare, when Kumar Gandharva is singing, for instance, or Abida Parveen) in music when God talks to atheists like me, and makes me believe that there indeed is the seed of divine in each of us. That formless, nameless, territory, at least for me, is ruled by music and music alone.

Blogs, Blog Camps, and a Thousand Words

[This is in continuation of a discussion that started on PuneTech, on Navin's Blog about BlogCamp Pune 2. Although I wasn't planning to attend the blog camp, I got sucked into the discussion, and then Dhananjay left a request for comment, of sorts]

I started typing a response and it became so long that I decided to make a blog-post out of it. This is what you’ll find here (don’t tell me I didn’t warn you):

1. Why I blog, and ruminations on blogging, reach, and value.
2. Thoughts on blogging cultures, and types of blog
3. Thoughts on blog camps

However, since it started in the context of Dhananjay’s comment/ruminations, I’ll treat this as a response, rather than a self-sufficient post.

KandaBatata Update (Jun 10)

The most ardent fan of my writing, parikrama, commented that my KandaBatata blogs need more visibility than it currently has. Well, here it is, my friend: a sticky post on my main blog.

It’s another matter that it’s hardly read itself. But what the hell, I gave my best shot!

Here then are the latest KandaBatata (TM) posts:

Prominent Atheist Kills Himself after God’s Existence is Disproved

Older:

Taliban to bid for Pamela swimsuit

Hopefully, parikrama, your judgment is better than mine.

Slumdog: short music review

In my review of Slumdog Millionaire,  I made passing remarks about its music. Here is a little more detailed review:

1. O Saya: Interesting. Although too much of Euro junk mixed.
2. Riots: Give me Bombay theme any day. Forget haunting, this hardly even registers.
3. Mausam and Escape: Just when you enjoy the sitar (is it?), the Euro-junk kicks in. Has energy though, just like O Saya. As far as theme music goes, this is pretty much up there.
4. Paper Planes: Pure Euro Junk.
5. Paper Planes (DFA Remix): As if pure Euro-junk wasn’t enough, mixed with more pure Euro Junk.
6. Ringa Ringa: Choli ke peeche genre marketed to westerners by putting it on adrenaline.
7. Liquid Dance: Best of the lot. The mixing doesn’t seem to smother it into the same pulp like some others. Although that “heyyyy” cry once too many irritates. Would have been so much interesting with a little less screwing around with it. Still one of the best in the soundtrack
8. Latika’s theme: Serves the purpose. Pure utilitarian.
9. Aaj Ki Raat: No comments.
10. Millionaire: Forgettable
11. Gangsta Blues: This has “I can do this shit too” written all over it.
12. Dreams on fire: Soulless soul
13. Jai Ho: Has energy. Utilitarian. Bolly-music fruit-plate served on a with some European seasoning.

Final score? Well 2.5/5. That’s being generous. Especially considering Dev D music review is pending (go check that out instead!)

Blog Potpourri

Yes, the name says it all. It’s a mix of some interesting blogs that I stumbled upon recently, and thought worth sharing:

I’ll start with Syeda Semim Zahan, whose blog Memoirs of an Assamese Muslim has some really nice monologues like this and this. Syeda writes intelligently and coherently, and makes you think. She’s at her lucid best when she ruminates over questions of identity.

Those who have frequented my blog will know that I consider myself a male-feminist of sorts (if you didn’t you know it now). And I’ll not define what I mean by feminism, because this isn’t the place and time. But a group blog, Ultra Violet is one blog that has a slice of Indian feminism, that I tend to empathize with, if not agree many a times. Dilnavaz Bamboat’s this post got me interested in this blog, and since then the feed is in my google reader. And how can I miss this one?

Although I haven’t followed his blog much otherwise, Neville’s this post took me down the memory-lanes of Indian Advertising.

Another group blog that I have been following lately, off and on, is Indian Muslims. Those who keep complaining that the moderate Muslim voice is not heard enough, should read this excellent group blog. A few sample posts to get a flavor: this, this and this.

And now to repeat the most banal phrase, last but not the least, here I present the final blog of this potpourri. Atul, who has been my default tag bunny, wrote one post which made me really really jealous — because he stole my words. No, I’m not being frivolous! Atul, of course shouldn’t be introduced this way, for his writing is much deeper, and sublime (and his photography even more so), but what the hell. I’ve already introduced him in another blog-potpourri, so I can take liberties here. I’ll not forgive him for stealing my words, but I promised him his blog will go places, and a promise is a promise!

That’s it for this installment of potpourri.

Meme (not me me) once more

I’ve been blogging, on and off, for almost seven four years now that I think about it. I guess, when nothing else counts, years count; because sometime back Mahendra called me a veteran blogger somewhere. In reality, though, he looks much more of a veteran (it’s just been half a year, and he’s already blogging like a pro). Anyways, the same Mahendra has tagged me. The meme is: strengths of a writer. Now I see multiple takes on it by others who have been tagged: “my strengths as a writer”, “strengths I’d like to have as/in a writer”, “what are admirable strengths of/in a writer” and so on.

Being a compulsive egomaniac, I’d have picked “my strengths as a writer” theme, but that would be too much of a problem! I’m trained in finding weaknesses and faults (ask anyone, if you can’t take my word for it). Trained by myself, of course. Suddenly finding strengths, and that too, in my own writing, which has been the most unorganized hash of whimsical outpour that I’ve ever seen (yes I know I rock), is a job that I don’t have a heart for (sue me for ending a sentence with a preposition, but I won’t stop doing that, ever). Besides, I’d be kidding myself, if I actually listed my (alleged) strengths. My writing is, kind of, in the closet. It hasn’t gone through the grind of publishing industry, crowd’s acceptance/lack of it, and so on. So what use, is a so called strength, that hasn’t really been tested in the real world, so to speak of (there, again!)? So what I will do, is discuss what I find as strengths in writers, the real writers — writers I admire for one reason or the other.

Goes without saying, that those are precisely the strengths that I’d like to have in my writing. How I wish.

1. Personality: I have always enjoyed authors who tend to make their presence felt through their writing. Like Umberto Eco, Marquez, Kundera, even Rushdie. You can feel the author smiling that condescending smile here, that chuckle there, that raised eyebrow somewhere… It’s intimate. That’s what makes reading them fun, even when the content itself gets depressing at times.

2. Sense of humor: While I’ve enjoyed, once in a while, someone like John Steinbeck, I rather prefer authors who have a natural sense of humor, a sense of irrelevance/irreverence even. Of being able to laugh at the world at large. Of course, there has to be more than that, in a book, for me. Still, this is bare-minimum. A controlled sarcasm would be ideal (more so, because I don’t know how to control it: sarcasm is the easiest thing in writing, it’s the control which is the hardest). One book wonders like J. D. Salinger (OK, he’s rumored to have written another, even better, book but that’s for literary historians, looks like), or his present day American counterpart DBC Pierre, also fit in the shoe.

3. Poise: It’s hard to describe poise, but then we all know it, don’t we? If you don’t, read Hermann Hesse’s Peter Camenzind, or James Jyoce’s Portrait of Artist… or Pamuk’s My Name is Red, or Vijayan’s Legends of Khasak/Infinity of Grace, or Ghosh’s Shadow Lines… It’s when the author seems sleepwalking, sure of (him/her)self. There is a sense of calm that emanates from that self-assuredness. It rubs on you. It even rubs on your writing in that period, is what I’ve observed. I guess it cannot be manufactured. It’s one of those “states” that comes to you, or it doesn’t. That’s one strength, or quality, that I’d die for.

4. Perseverance: Damn, it’s the other one. We’ve heard it so many times, that it’s become a cliche. But not all cliches are outdated. This one will never be. Pamuk writes about it beautifully, in his Nobel acceptance speech (a strong recommendation):

A writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is: when I speak of writing, what comes first to my mind is not a novel, a poem, or literary tradition, it is a person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and alone, turns inward; amid its shadows, he builds a new world with words.The writer’s secret is not inspiration – for it is never clear where it comes from – it is his stubbornness, his patience. That lovely Turkish saying – to dig a well with a needle – seems to me to have been said with writers in mind.

5. Erudition: I guess we all love what we don’t have. I love Eco because of the expanse of his medieval scholarship, if one can call it that. Same with Arthur Koestler — not medieval, for sure, but his ability to summon references at will. And it’s not Encyclopedias that they’re writing. They create their own meaning out of it all. That’s what erudition is, to me: the ability to seamlessly weave a thread of meaning from jumble of facts. Pamuk also, again, does that so well with the history of a neglected world, so does Ghosh, in his own way, making connections.

The five are randomly chosen, more or less. Yesterday I might have chosen a few others. Tomorrow, I’m sure I will choose a few different ones. But however random they might be, I’d feel I’ve surpassed myself, if I manage to have these strengths. It’s a long haul, sigh!

And now: time to pass on the meme:

Gaizabonts : feel free to duck this one, too; no obligations, as always.
Anumita : I don’t think you remember me, for I rarely leave comments on your blog, but you make writing look effortless.
Red : Ditto (about the effortless part, I guess you would remember me, or should I have said hope?).
Rajesh : It might look like I’ve forgotten you, but this just might convince you I haven’t.

And then, anyone who wants to pick up the meme, you’re all invited. Just leave a ping/trackback/link to my blog, and increase the traffic here, lol.

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The New Face of Indian Feminism

The new face of Indian feminism, and whole lot of crabs:

Ah, the prude me! If only I had the guts to substitute the word face with something with more, umm, oomph factor, I guess I’d have made the cut (into the real liberal league, or the RLL for short). I should start kicking myself, and learn to be more liberal (or more real liberal). Bear with me. Bear with me, as you’ve been bearing with me all these days/months/years, the way you bear with any other megalomaniac dimwit (if you’re a first timer, go to paragraph no 31 directly). This time, I’ve an excuse. I’m writing after a long time (unless you count book review as writing). Yes, at times, the anti-constipation medicines might be a little too effective for comfort. So, for the third time, bear with me. I’ll come to the point, later, rather than sooner. Oh hell with it. I’ll come to it anyway. What’s sooner or later between friends?

Yes, I’ve come down from the pedestal already, as some of my regular readers (actually one, unless I count myself), would say (IW, you’re still reading, aren’t you?). I mean, why oh why, am I chewing on a subject that deserves its own share of ignoring? The reason, as I already told you, is this: something is better than nothing. I mean, I’m thirty one plus (not twenty-something, unless 11 counts as something), not getting any younger, definitely not getting any smarter, more definitely not getting any creative (I contemplated if I should add more before creative, but then backed off). My writing career is in the middle of nowhere, since the day I started. Mind you, it hasn’t moved left or right, up or down. It’s right in the middle of nowhere, all along. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that is where it’s gonna stay. So what was I doing on the pedestal anyways? Smart question. But then, I’ve come down, haven’t I? OK, OK! I promised I’ll get to the point.

Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we, for a change? Let me share all that I learned in the last two hours (I hope my manager, who has the feed of this blog in his reader, and even reads it sometimes, isn’t reading this. He thinks I’m writing a design paper. There! I’ve confessed! Ummm. Sorry, I shouldn’t be jumping the gun). So first thing I learned is: there is a blogger called eM. Damn this new Firefox feature of online spell check. It says eM is a misspelling. I mean, do these guy have any sense of humor? Just because you spell something in reverse doesn’t make it a misspelling! Doesn’t make you ulta either. There! Another red line under ulta. Okay, honest now, I’ll keep it straight. Not that straight, dear. I mean, of course I’m straight. But as an aspiring member of the RLL, I don’t want anyone to think that I meant straight as a value-judgment. The last thing I need is being called homophobic!

So anyways, I was telling you about eM. She has a blog. What did you say? Everyone has a blog these days. Thanks for educating me. But eM has an ubercool blog: The Compulsive Confessor. It deals with: “partying, smoking and binge drinking, along with candid musings about sexual techniques and escapades” according to Telegraph (UK) feature. Oye, where are you going? I haven’t even finished! Good thing I didn’t give you the url right away. So anyways, Telegraph (UK) did a story on her. And what’s more, the story divulged that Penguin India has commissioned her to write a semi-autobiographical book. So far so good. What has it got to do with feminism, you ask? Well you tell me. I wish I knew! Who’s saying anything about feminism?

Oh you mean the title. Sorry. Fooled ya! Ha. Just kidding. I’ll get to that. (No wonder no one takes me seriously).

On Sepia Mutiny — the greatest thing to have happened to Indian Blogdom since Margaret Thatcher (what? what has she got to do with Indian blogdom? I’ve no clue. It’s the first name that came to my mind. It seemed as good as any) — Amardeep did his take on the article, and then Indian feminism was born. Err. Okay, not really. Again, blame it on those anti-blogstipation medication thanks to Amway. I’d have sued Amway, but then my brother will be implicated too. (What I’ve no brother? How did you know? Is there no privacy on net, dammit?)

So we had two of the most famous Indian Women Bloggers (or so I’ve heard) taking up the fight against the patriarchy that was pulling crabs down, and pants up.

What’s wrong with compulsive confessing, Sakshi asked. Well, absolutely nothing, I agree. I mean, just because it’s compulsive doesn’t mean there is something wrong!

Wonder why our society’s philosophy on empowerment starts at providing women with decent education and then abruptly ends when she starts expressing her individuality.

Indeed! With you all the way.

Similarly, many think eM writes solely to attract attention and gain that temporary hype (and therefore she ended up getting a book deal) because it’s difficult for them to comprehend the fact that an Indian woman can also think, write, discuss and not be apprehensive about her intimate thoughts on a public platform

Absolutely. Indian Women rock! Err. I didn’t mean… you know what I didn’t mean.

On the other hand if her writings were preaching the sati-savitri qualities in desi-women, the joys of motherhood, the precious value of an intact hymen – she would be applauded for her thoughts, no matter how farce they maybe in actuality.

There you lost me, Sakshi. Intact hymen? Are there bloggers writing about intact hymen? Where are they? Why are they hiding? I mean, if they’re being applauded, as you contend, surely I should have heard about them. But then, I’m a little hard on hearing, so sorry for asking again. Where are they? I so love blogs about intact hymen.

The only question I have is, where in the blog did Sepia Mutiny/Amardeep actually said she should not express her individuality, or take off her blog/not write a book/do whatever? But asking that question might bar me from RLL. So for the record, I never asked it.

Melody highlighted the Indian Crab mentality with a nice old story. Of course she was being a little judgmental of the crabs but then I’m not a PETA activist, so I guess crabs will have to deal with the damage to their self-esteem on their own. (Comment to the crabs:) Sorry guys. I like you, but on my dish. Lightly spiced, and cooked well. Your self-esteem is, frankly, not my problem. (End of comment to the crabs). Besides, she didn’t really give the crabs a benefit of doubt. Maybe they are pulling the other crab down, because they:

1. Think he might be killed if he goes out, in the unknown world.
2. Like him so much that they don’t want him to go away.
3. They are actually trying to push him up, but are just plain incompetent.
4. It’s not a he crab, but a she crab. And the he crabs surely don’t want to let a her go.

(Note: I’ve implied that the pulling crabs are all male. After all, women crabs cannot be that insensitive!)

But I get the point. Postmodernism is not on offer for the crabs (although crabs are on offer for the postmodernists! What a win-win). Especially not for the Indian crabs. There I almost sound like a PETA activist now (except for that insensitive comment about the dish. But then I really like crabs, when dished out that way). I’ve heard PETA members have a preferential queue in RLL. But then we aren’t reading for any ulterior motives, and just taking the things on face (errr! there again, I lost my second chance. the prude me) value.

According to Melody, its a “very very sad” thing to “diss”(miss?) another blogger, a fellow Indian blogger at that, a fellow Indian Female blogger at at that that (this last I presumed), especially by a group of “desi bloggers”. Doesn’t she get it? There are Indian bloggers, and there are Desi bloggers. Surely, you can’t expect one group to root for the other! But then, I’m with you Melody. We must not ever dismiss anything Indian. Even Shobha De. There, I’m against Sakshi, even. She says Shobha De is a hypocrite! How could she. I mean, Shobha De is an Indian Writer for god’s sake. And an Indian women writer at that. And an Indian women writer who wrote about women taking down their pants (or so I’ve heard), and men too, for it takes two to tango, and in those days when you said two, you said one M and one F, how homophobic!) long before there were bloggers writing about women taking down their pants.

I get it. I get it. Why Shobha De is not kitsch, is that she only wrote about other people taking off their pants. Never about she taking off her pants. But it’s a big mistakes. She never wore pants! So come on now. Let’s forgive Shobha De for her alleged hypocrisy. We must root for Indian feminism, in all shapes and forms. Err… I didn’t mean it that way. You know what I didn’t mean, don’t you?

Get Well Soon

This blog needs some TLC. It’s troubled by attention deficit syndrome. Its creator has abandoned it for more earthly things like work. But we just heard rumors that now He has realized His blunder. Soon, we hear, life will return to normal for this troubled, ignored, depressed blog. Let’s pray for it.

Amen!