A writing woman gathers no fat

Every writer needs a space to write, be it a lap-top or a quiet corner in the room, where you can sit and mull over things, real and unreal, present and past, serious and trivial. That idea of a sacred space can be found in the writings of many women writers, especially Virginia Woolf who spoke of the need for having a room of one's own.

For a woman to write, she needs to be free from the guilt of not doing household chores, unless she is well-off and has one or many house-helps. Otherwise, writing is like walking on tight rope- you might fail to balance the work world, the home world and the world of words. But creating balance comes out of setting priorities in day-to-day life.

Writing is a great relief from the world of stress; it can release lots of tension and keep you occupied with the jigsaw of creating good content. The satisfaction that you derive from writing a page can never be compared to that a well-cooked meal or a sparkling floor as each has its own value in life; but a piece of writing has a lasting value in that a meal disappears in a day or two, depending on the artistic talents of the cook and the floors have to be swept again and again.

Where knowledge is free

 “You and your Google Books”, that’s what my friends keep telling me all the time. A few years earlier, friends teased me about quoting from books and living by some book or the other and planning to write books. 

But now with the changing times, I swear by Google Books. Anything from Literary Theory (I’m a student of English literature; the fascination never ends) to cooking, I find this library extremely useful. 

Even the MLA handbook has a format for Google Book entries. So, this is a season of reading but not in any library but from where I am. Thanks to technology!

Favourite words

Make your own bible.  Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of the trumpet.Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every reader has certain idiosyncrasies, words that s/he loves to visit time and again. But not every reader is able to gather all the words that opened new vistas and changed the boundaries altogether.

Once upon a time, I had a book of favourite verses, of course handwritten and very valuable. It was given as a gift to a very special person. Now, if I write a collection of inspiring quotes and poems, the starting entries might be the same as in the previous book.

Different kinds of entries might follow marking the growth of a mind during ten years. Some of the entries are already posted in the blog under the tag Inspiring words

English silence

I remember reading a tribute to OV Vijayan in an English daily. It narrated a story about his attempts to write a novel in English. Being an MA in English, it should have been an easy job for him; but once he started writing, he understood that his hand was blocked and that he couldn't write with flow. So he tried his mother-tongue and we have the historical Khasakinte Ithihasam. This anecdote stayed in my memory, because at that time, I was an MA student, eager and enthusiastic to devour whatever literary trivia that came my way. Now, five years later, I find that I'm still enthusiastic about writers and their idiosyncrasies.

Lost is how I feel

The horror of being marooned and trapped in an island faraway from civilization is a well-explored theme in literature. The Island of Dr.Moreau, The Coral Island and The Lord of The Flies portray the extremities of such an existence; so does the Tom Hanks movie Cast Away. A similar theme is explored by the Star World series Lost. 

Lost narrates the stories of 40 odd survivors of the Oceanic Flight 815 who are stranded on an island. There are special narrative techniques; flashes of time travel, where the characters move back and forth in time.Though parts of the story are ambiguous, the series surely is an interesting piece of science fiction. 

Though I'm a little lost regarding the storyline and have fallen in love with Sawyer,(the conman in the series, shown below) I certainly enjoy watching even random episodes of it and was surprised to read that it has become a trend in tourism and business as well. (News Courtesy: Business Opportunities Weblog)

Farewell

Usually, I get attached to anything and everything and try to cure my nature by remaining or appearing as cold and unattached. 

There were times before this when leaving a work place made me so sad that I couldn't talk for days together and will not call anybody. Not to make calls when you know that you miss them and they miss you as well. This time, however I plunged into the farewell with a difference.

Morning my first hour on Aristotle was spent on "Tragedy" and its classic definition. It was complete teaching time as if we had no time to waste. The next hour was spent in student presentations with the same principle in mind. But the surprise came when a student handed over a carefully gift-wrapped parcel.

First, I was astounded and put it down on the table after muttering a "Thank you". Then, I realised what a fool I'm remembering all the times when I've also missed unwrapping a gift. So, I unwrapped the parcel to see a beautiful Ravi Varma Painting of a woman with a bowl of fruits. It was quite unexpected and then I understood that learning Oscar Wilde and his 'Importance of Being Earnest' together brought us closer to one another.

Then after sometime, I realised that the teachers in my staffroom were throwing a surprise party (with sweets and specials). This was another unexpected blessing that made me realise how loving somebody is (for every noble gesture is an idea in the mind of a woman ;-).During the party, everybody said good words about me and I was moved by their kindness. Some of them even asked me to return next year for the next academic session.

This farewell was a heartwarming experience; for once I reached home, I felt as if I had left something precious at college. But the saddest part is that I feel shy of going back even for a day because everybody has bid adieu already and I feel conscious of that! Still I have made calls to my colleagues and plan of visiting college to finish some unfinished businesses.  

The second is always the best

My grandmother always had this saying to prove that I'm not as good as my elder brother: The second is never the best. Her explanation was that the expectation and charm of a first-born, first job, first salary (who said so- money is money, spendable, splashable and savable) is unmatched by anything that comes after it. My grandmother always favoured the eldest and the male. It was part of her legacy and I was more than once much irritated by her attitude.

For a few months, I was working as a lecturer in a college. Though temporary, it was my second stint as a teacher for students at the college level. The first stint was very unpleasant and had made me very bitter and comically venomous towards teaching at colleges in general though the fault lay in my mind, which was so unfocused and fatally in love.

But this second time was different. It was only few months but the best time of my life in my opinion. A city college with not many amenities but the basic ones and students coming from poor backgrounds, it was not easy to win hearts as a teacher.

When I leave the campus in a few days, I know that I have not made a revolutionary change in the "Englishes" of my students but I know for sure that I have made at least a small difference in their grades.

Now, I'm leaving a job after making my students ( at least my Drama class students) and the teachers in the staff room LIKE me incredibly.This second chance for me at least meant that I could shed many of my stupid notions and negative emotions as well as my own lack of confidence in my teaching abilities gained as an after-effect of my first stint.

Reading Spree

Do you know the occasional learning spree that makes you read every scrap of paper that passes before your eyes? Well, I have this tendency once in a while, when I want to read lots and lots of books and gobble up tonnes and tonnes of new ideas- anything that can quench my thirst for knowledge. But such spells last only a short span of time and may be followed by times of no reading at all.

This week, I'm on such a reading spree and I have got writing assignment on new topics that  might have created this curiosity. Well, let's see what writing comes out of this love of words and ideas.

Resolutions of 2009

It's been a long year, this 2009 and somehow I was not able to stick to  my  New Year Resolution that I had made this year- to write a page a day. 

Till June, I faithfully continued writing a page a day and blogging regularly. But then, ill health took over and I stopped my writing altogether. Still, I believe that I was able to do some work regarding my blog, which has occasional posts and is not at all a disappointment for me. I guess I bragged about writing a page a day and that finished my writing habit!  


Regarding my other New Year Resolutions ( to lose weight and get up early), however I was more or less successful. The first resolution was an indirect result of watching how the Indian actor Aamir Khan worked hard to gain his six pack abs. However, my plan was only partially successful because it was ill health that brought down the scales and no hard work or dieting. 


Getting up early in the morning was a mirage for me because of my habit of sleeping at around 2 a.m. It was solved when I got a job and started waking up at 7 and later paying off the sleep debt after work. This has been the practice on weekdays since September but on holidays, I sleep till noon. Still a far better me than before! 

Can you communicate freely without using the word "I"?

Opportunities

There are days when life is swamped by opportunities and lack of them at the same time. Like there are two three people ringing you up with some project or the other that has to be completed simultaneously. Sometimes all turn out to be in vain as well. But who can explain such a phenomenon of attracting several possibilities at the same time, all glittering and bright; only to feel the pain of rejection.

novel

I like reading about authors and how they create their works. Earlier, I wanted to write a novel that contained the best possible writing that I could do. But somehow writing a novel looks like a daunting task now because of its too time consuming and I realise as years pass by that I'm turning too unimaginative for such a kind of literary effort.

This is no sob story; but that kind of visualisation or imagination is not there with me right now. But even this hue and cry about being a kind of literary failure is illogical; but that's what makes me churn out all these words right now. Reading about NaNaWriMo has spurred this outburst; mainly because there are people who try and fail; but I sadly belong to those set of people who logically analyse the probabilities of winning and never try.

Scattered thoughts from a rambling pen

I don't know when this started; but somehow life has fallen into a maze. The main thing that I notice about it is the simple inability to put things in their right places; like a disordered life, a disordered mind and a disordered room. It's like I know what's wrong but lack the energy to lift a book that has fallen from the table, to set right a calendar that runs two months late and many other lazinesses.

May be it's my health or may be just inertia. But there are things that interest me everyday like getting up in the morning and checking mail ( or reading the newspapers) first thing in the morning. Earlier as a young maiden, I was a orderliness freak that could make my classmates cry in amazement- easily readable home-made labels on bookspines, file divisions for subjects, cleanliness, lists and what-not.

Now, life is full of inertia. Add to it, the pain in my shoulders when I strain myself for a long time. Never thought of it as a serious medical problem or anything but that prevents me from doing quite a lot of things that I want to do. Still at some invisible level, there is an order to days; an invisible level of control that keeps a check on reality and divides all the chores into the urgent and unimportant.

But a few tasks like folding clothes or doing a complete cleaning session of the room and all its contents is too improbable; for they are made of tiny ignored tasks that piled up one on the other.
May be writing it out helps this inertia a little!

Words at midnight

At times, I have found out that my otherwise lazy mind works overtime at night and produces word after word in perfect order as if somebody was using my mind as a blank page to write upon. At such times, I feel that even if I record these words, I might not be able to record them all.

Last night was such a night and I couldn't sleep at all, thinking of all the unwritten words. When I finally put them to shape, they had lost their original magic. Just words on why I cannot write as I could do earlier. So if at all I write a classic that will definitely be titled "My story about why did not succeed as writer, person, teacher or a social being!" Amen!

Good Reads

Four books that I read this month are:

• The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
• The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
• Moving on by Shashi Deshpande
• The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

Surprisingly, Moving On was amazing in its gradual unravelling of the story that was both touching and awesome while Lahiri surprised me with her evocative style and beautifully constructed stories.

Blogger is back!

Right now, it's raining outside. Somehow, my fascination with the rain has kept me awake. I don't know how longer I'm going to stay awake at this midnight hour listening to the sound of this heavy rain. It's a great feeling of being one with nature.

This blogger was for a time ill; sick with diseases probably interesting only to my own doctor (no intentions of boring anyone with inessential details). Yesterday, I seriously thought that my blog, my favourite sacred space for a long time has stopped being so and has died out.

My day was not that interesting. The only excitement was the run to rescue the clothes left for drying from getting soaked almost completely, while the whole running exercise and the quick bath in the rain did a lot of good to cheer up my "I'm ill- not upto to anything" spirits.

Spring is here!

According to the Malayalam calendar, today is the first day of the New Year and the beginning of Spring here. Falling after Karkidakom month that signifies poverty and illness,this month of Chingam is the time of harvest and propserity.

The arrival of Chingam is celebrated with floral designs called pookalams and by dressing up in the traditional handwoven dresses interlaced with gold threads. These simple handlooms give elegance to its wearer.

During childhood, Chingam stood for Onam holidays that saw all of us children running to see the snakeboats gliding across the River Pamba to the beat of the traditional vallapaatu. It also meant onasadyas and waiting for the thiruvona thoni at midnight.


This year, the shopping sprees and festive atmosphere is very much marred by the swine-flu scare. Still, the Malayali spirit in me, decided to remember that it's spring here and Onam, the traditional festival of Kerala is only a few weeks away.

Vande Mataram: Happy Independence Day

This is Sri Aurobindo's translation of the Indian National Song "Vande Matharam". On this occasion of our 62nd Independence Day Celebrations, this song that celebrates the glory of Mother India.

Mother, I bow to thee!
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
bright with orchard gleams,
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might,
Mother free.

Glory of moonlight dreams,
Over thy branches and lordly streams,
Clad in thy blossoming trees,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet!
Mother I kiss thy feet,
Speaker sweet and low!
Mother, to thee I bow.

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands
When the sword flesh out in the seventy million hands
And seventy million voices roar
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Thou who savest, arise and save!
To her I cry who ever her foeman drove
Back from plain and Sea
And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath
Thou art love divine, the awe
In our hearts that conquers death.
Thine the strength that nerves the arm,
Thine the beauty, thine the charm.
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thine.

Thou art Durga, Lady and Queen,
With her hands that strike and her
swords of sheen,
Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,
And the Muse a hundred-toned,
Pure and perfect without peer,
Mother lend thine ear,
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Dark of hue O candid-fair

In thy soul, with jeweled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands,
Showering wealth from well-stored hands!
Mother, mother mine!
Mother sweet, I bow to thee,
Mother great and free!

Ernest Hemingway

Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.

You, eager reader, must have read quite a lot of material on how to improve your creative writing skills. While I was attending a writing workshop recently, I had this brainwave. I actually hit upon a brilliant place to generate creative blog ideas.

The professor was discussing Ernest Hemingway’s writing habits. Hemingway chose a quiet room in his house that was neatly cluttered with his typewriter, foolscap sheets for pre-writing stages, an oversize slipper wearing which he stood and wrote and his wastebasket that contained shreds of initial drafts that he improved upon.

On the third day of the workshop, the writing exercise was on visualizing and describing the scene. For me, who is just a hack writer, the writing exercises were a disappointment. At that moment, I could not write anything more than a drab piece of prose that just rephrased what was originally in the article that the professor read out to us.

First, I asked the professor, “May I stand and write?” He said “If that helps”. Then I produced some poor quality writing whose only good point was that I described a person’s bland face coming alive when he smiled. The professor applauded that and wisely ignored the rest, while I sat expecting a word by word analysis of my writing. Well, nothing happened.

In the next twenty minutes, everybody read out their versions of the writing exercise. One was exceptionally well-written and I really saw how good it was, with good illustrations and cleverly planned. Then the clown in my mind started dancing and making faces. He showed me an image of The Carpenters in concert half-clad and inspired.

So to cover my embarrassment of being a writer and not being able to produce a good piece of writing, I started narrating the example of the carpenters and that I needed a good shower to start working on any writing job I have. Bogus or not, I went home and enjoyed some special time in my sacred space and came up with this piece on Ernest Hemingway.

The Story of a Mad Woman

People said I’m mad when I told them that I could hear voices in my head. I guess many people could. But I could also hear what others thought and could do what they wanted or did not want at all. This could be called a miracle but it’s not. It’s a modern curse when many days are laid waste just because voices whisper in your head and sneer at you.

One day, they tell you, “You are the queen”. The next day, they explode your head with pain. This has made me silent and quiet and afraid of others. I told my folks that I could hear voices. They took me to a doctor who prescribed a long list of medicines and sedated me. When I woke up, their faces had changed into that of hatred for creating so much trouble for their reputation and wealth.

On some days, invisible hands search my body. I wish I could tell someone who knew the same. Someone who could hear voices in their heads or feel the strangeness of being touched by something you cannot see. Until then, I’m only a mad woman who feels attacked by strange invisible hands that move up and down her body or cause disturbances in life.

Some days, these voices made me believe that you, whom I had lost had come back to retrieve you. Instead my life ended that day. For if it was you, you were not an angel as I thought you were but a demon who set in motion the destruction of a person who loved you the most. Whoever you are, I’m trapped in a world of your invisible beams until death.