A Day in the Life of..

You leave home early morning, to catch a not-so-early morning flight. The previous night was spent making an unfinished presentation, so you didn't quite sleep well. And obviously the early morning excursion leaves no room for the breakfast. The omnipresent traffic jam greets you on the way. You are based out of a metro, and this is the price you pay for it.

The surly cab driver, the uninterested ground staff lady and the nosy baggage handler are your first human interactions of the day. But you do get a chance to grab a cup of good coffee before the day gets worse. You try to catch a few winks while air borne and that's when the rotund guy across the aisle decides to take a walk across the rickety ATR, giving your seat a violent jerk. You manage to catch only a few winks, literally.

The day drags along with meetings, sales calls, reminders for pending work, piling up of new pending work, hurried lunch and heavy eyelids. It's time to rush back to your return flight - which invariably gets delayed when you are on time. Back to your metro, you wade through the evening traffic. Making calls, returning calls, answering calls - there is no end to it. And with each of those calls being made, returned or answered a little bit of more work becomes pending in the Universe.

Since you left early this morning, your cook had the liberty of not making it on time and so, after the day you have had it is time to scavenge for food. After which you would think that you deserve a full night's sleep, but that unfinished presentation glares at you. 

#Just_One_Of_Those_Days 

Writers Write Daily Writing Prompt: 03 ~ Guilty as Charged

To the unsuspecting bystander it may look like basic supplies - sheets of paper, pens, pencils, erasers, sticky notes, paper clips. To the indulgent it may just qualify as a guilty pleasure.

It's not only about collecting random bits of quirky stationery. It should make a statement; a classy statement. It needs to have that X factor which makes it stand out. It is when you reach the point of carefully picking your stationery rather than just buying it. It is when you begin to communicate with it instead of just by way of it. It is when your relationship transcends from being functional to being sentimental. Falling in love is a sentiment. And I must confess it happens to me. What else would explain the following?

Half a dozen beautiful and classy notebooks - bound with fabric, denim, leather and handmade paper.l; and the last time I was in a classroom was almost 3 years ago. A fancy pen stand full of expensive pens, a case full of pencils ranging from 3H to 10B, multiple rulers and unusually shaped erasers. A cool portable stapler with multi coloured staple pins. Six pairs of scissors, four kinds adhesive tape. An array of paint brushes - the kiss brush is still missing from the set though - with a variety of paints and painting ink! Multi-coloured, multi-shaped sticky notes. Bookmarks made of chrome metal, cast plastic - bearing prints of the Scooby Doo gang - and rice paper with traditional Indian art. Who knew so much could be done with bookmarks! Folders adorned with batik print, silk and hand-made paper. A miniature examination board, clad with crisp block printed cotton. Wooden paper clips and multiple sheets of coarse designer paper.

It doesn't necessarily take a William Penn window or a Sheaffer stand to distract me, a Linc store does it too! Not to brag, but I do have a good eye for pens - not just for the way they look but for the way they glide on paper. I can blissfully roam stationery fairs, and while we are at it, the Delhi stationery fair failed to impress this year. Although I was spellbound at this one stall which had the most amazing collection of soft pastels. They were importers and had fabulous sets of Gallery and Rembrandt. The sets cost upto Rs 70,000 and had I been a pastel artist, I'd have certainly ruined my bank balance that day. Saying that stores like Itsy Bitsy and Hobby Ideas are my dreamland is like stating the obvious. I'm not a brand prude though and have picked up some great things from Delhi haat and other handicrafts fairs. I think this has come to a point where I must confess that I have a tendency to go overboard.

Makes me chuckle that I had almost written about chocolate being my guilty pleasure.

P.S. - Nobody said you had to live with only one guilty pleasure. Chocolate is very much on the list, as are books, clothes and shoes. What's yours? ;-)

Writers Write Daily Writing Prompt: 02

It is not always fun being spoiled for choice. For instance right now I am having a tough time picking just one out of these colourful buttons. They all seem quite enticing and interesting to me. Some of them would make my life a lot easier - singularly or in unison. Whereas others would up the wicked fun quotient. So how about I see how it would turn out if I press each of the buttons one by one instead of picking just one. And while I'm at it, I might not to be particularly well behaved when in possession of any of those fantastic powers. Just to be clear, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Let's get started with the red button. It says that it will make you invisible and the first thing I would do if I am invisible is skip queues. Oh would I! At malls, hotels, stores, movie theatres - practically anywhere there is a phony frisking ritual before letting you pass through. This would also extend to airport security. But here let me clarify, I do not plan on carrying contraband goods so there would be no harm done. Just for fun, and also, I want to know how it feels to be Robert Vadra; to be exempted from critical security frisking without any basis. Of course I would hop on to any plane that I fancied, and always occupy a business class seat. I would attend board meetings of random Fortune 500 companies, just to see how boring or interesting they are and for the same reason I would be part world wide diplomatic meetings. I would not mind occupying Loge seats at Wimbledon, laze around in the VIP lounge at Lord's and of course saunter through the whole of Buckingham palace swooping off a scone or two from her Majesty's tea table. Might even hop on to something NASA is shooting off to space. Sounds ike fun!

The blue button says that it will give me the ability to fly. Now that's a really good one. I would be able to cut back all my commute time, which means I will be able to redeem innumerable precious productive hours of my life; which in turm means I would be able to live in any metro of my choice and avoid one of the major hindrances of any metro these days - traffic.  I would not need a car or any other mode of transportation. Besides saving on my cost of fuel, it would be a green option for the planet! #Politics. Although this does not qualify as a full fledged super hero scenario, I would still seek out to help in animal and children rescues. Besides, I would never have to buy a flight ticket and I could just cruise through the world, see all the places I want to - without aa single stamp on my passport. In your face schenghen visa!

The ability to read people's minds is one that a lot of us would love to possess, and I personally wouldn't mind it. It would make a lot of things clear, gradually making misunderstandings a thing of the past. It does have a wicked side to it surely. So I would probably want to shut off at will and read people's thoughts only when I want to. It would surely be a cruel and unfair advantage during an altercation. I could also start a creepier version of the Carbonaro Effect thereon.

The power to shapeshift into a non extinct animal brings back fond memories of Harry Potter's transfiguration classes and the animagi wizards. I would perhaps want to become a cat for while to know how awesome it feels to be as lissome, lithe and graceful as cats are. There's a bleak chance that iI might try a go at the reptiles purely to ward of my phobias. A sure go would be at a sturdy aquatic creature to go see the beautiful intriguing world beneath.

I'm not sure what I would do with the ability to run at the speed of sound. Perhaps build my stamina again and lose some calories in half the time it would normally take. It's like the mellowed version of the blue button. It would be fun to pretend to be the Flash and freak people out by running around frenetically in a red body suit. The Flash probably ran fatser, but who really knows? Also would be fun to say something and race with my voice and move aside the person to whom I spoke to so that they eventually don't hear anything. Or I could keep talking incessantly so that the final sounds that go to the listener would be all warped. Whichever way it works.

If I could phase through anything, firstly that would render locks and keys redundant for me. Secondly, and more importantly I would be free from the burden of remembering to carry all the appropriate keys to various locks. I cannot recall how many times I have gone back home to fetch a particular key, only to see that I had locked the house keys inside the house too. Not having keys would also mean that if I have phased into a locked space nobody else would be able to get in there - that could be good and bad(?). Additionally, I could traipse through all the shut gates which the security guard of my apartment locks and unlocks, without any logic or sequence, solely at his own whim. This power would also make trespassing so easy - I can just imagine strolling through people's houses giving them a scare of their lives and all those so-called VIP enclosures. Devilish glee!

I would kill be able to lift and move objects with my mind. The tendency of my dwellings to get so messy at the drop of a hat irks me no end. It just needs a little nudge and hell breaks loose. I find the tidying up process extremely tedious and I have conjured up a lot of possible ways to deal with this; and I must say the grey button sounds like the perfect solution. I can have things arranged my way, without uttering a word, without any alien infiltration and best of all, without actually moving a feather. I would be the happiest person ever, no exaggeration.

As a child, and upto my adolescence I was quite inclined to take up a career in medicine. Due to some inexplicable reason I did not explore the possibility of taking up veterinary sciences well in time and as fate had to have it I did not pursue anything remotely medical. However, I would immensely appreciate the ability to heal any non fatal wound in both humans as well as animals. A lot of precious lives are lost to inadequate or lack of timely aid turning non fatal incidents into fatal ones. Especially in the case of homeless animals, who in addition to pure accidents are also subject tohuman cruelty.  I would want to combine this power along with the blue button and become a super saviour. I would go to bed every night knowing that I have indeed made the world a better place.

Phew! That was a lot for a day! Readers are welcome to share which button would they choose to press. Adiós!

Writers Write Daily Writing Prompt: 01

Having subscribed to Writers Write Creative Blog Daily Writing Prompt for months and not having really been prompted to write all this while, today I finally break the jinx. And what better prompt to start with than this one?

"Who introduced me to the wonderful world of books?" Ideally, this should date back to the time I really picked up a book and read it from cover to cover; and hence the person who handed me that book. But should it really? How about the people who gave me all those  comics and numerous 

children's periodicals which I scoured before actually going on to pick up a book in its pure definition? So yes, perhaps the scouring of Champak, Nandan, Chandamama, Chacha Choudhary et al counts as the initiation to books. Let's take it a little further than that to the scores of stories that were read to me as a toddler. The various Sher Singh stories that I made my parents read to me till they were quite sick of them. Those stories which I, as a toddler, couldn't read to save my life but knew exactly where which word was printed in the book - owing, of course, to the hundreds of encores. This makes a strong point in the case, doesn't it? We see the trend of audio books now, but it's not a novel concept really. And it might have been my introduction to the world of books, quite fair and square.

I can almost pick out the date when my father handed me a copy of Enid Blyton's Twins at St. Clare's - the memory is as vivid as it can get. I still have that vintage copy preserved carefully in the safe haven of a book shelf at home. I also remember being reluctant to read it, as it was the first 'boring book without illustrations' that I was given - like the ones my parents used to read. I remember flipping through all pages of the books the elders in the house read, and finding no illustrations branded them as boring in my head. Maybe that's why I even coloured a few with my wax crayons. Anyway, I think reading the Twins at St. Clare's was surely the turning point in my life. I loved the book and there was no looking back from there on.

From a time when I had to be pushed to read a 'non-illustrated' book , I have come to a point where I have run out of space to keep the books I have. No matter when the initiation happened - whether with Sher Singh or with Enid Blyton - I will have my parents to thank for it. For passing on a precious hobby, a rich legacy and a world of happiness.

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Sense of an Ending is the first Julian Barnes book I have read. And sweet serendipity it is! It will be thoroughly unfair to divulge the teeniest bit of the plot - which, thus, I am not going to do. The paper 'back' gives you a decent yet guarded glimpse of it. No spoiler alerts here. But this Booker Prize winner is an interesting and intriguing read. It is an unusual story, narrated in a manner so superior that in its flow it does not take the attention away from the plot for even an instance and yet holds you spellbound. It is like the sweet fragrance of flowers that lingers in a blooming winter garden and yet does not make you stop looking at the flowers and go smell them instead. There is a mild parallel line of musing in the story, on which - quite adroitly - the entire story rests is basis; taking you across decades, yet making it clear that you are looking at only a slice of the pie - perhaps the most interesting slice, but nonetheless - from the point of view of the protagonist. The plot begins in a semi-first gear and maintains a normal pace throughout, until just before the climax where it revs up and plummets through the sound barrier. Perfectly. Packed neatly in precisely 150 pages this is a must read.

P.S. - Special thanks to Dr Nargundkar for introducing me to Barnes.

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Blandings: TV Tie-In by P.G. Wodehouse

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Blandings is a compilation of five short stories and one novella of and about Lord Emsworth, thus set in Blandings Castle. The collection is a result of the six-part adaptation of P G Wodehouse's Bladings series by Guy Andrews. This series was aired on BBC in 2013 as Season 1. Another seven-part adaptation was aired in 2014 as Season 2. I have not watched either, and so will limit my review to the book I have just read.

A myriad of characters appear in the stories - Lord Emsworth and his prized sow the Empress of Blandings being the perpetual recurring ones. Sisters, sons, brothers, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, butlers, constables, secretaries, imposters - the compendium has them all. Wodehouse takes you through the excitement in the seemingly mundane routine of Blandings Castle. A lot has been said about Wodehouse's skill with the written word and storytelling, not to mention the side splitting sense of humour - justifiably so - and this book is yet another testimony to those attributes.

Wodehouse's stories leave me with a sense that all is well a the end, and an unconscious smile - quite literally. I thoroughly enjoyed the collection. Some of them have featured earlier in Lord Emsworth and Others. I had read Crime Wave at Blandings before but gave it a re-read neverthless, for the humour and build up. Rupert Baxter appears in this story and his set right by Lord Emsworth. Pig-hoo-o-o-oey! is a feel good story, revolving around the rotund Empress and Lord Emsworth's devotion to her. Lord Emsworth and the Girl shows us the tender and stern sides of Lord Emsworth. I had not read this before and was a sweet discovery. This is the best feel good story amongst the lot for me. Company for Gertrude spins yarn in Wodehouse's favourite fashion - laying out an imbroglio and then rearranging everything perfectly. The Go-Getter features the incorrigible Hon. Freddie Threepwood who in his efforts to touch one of his aunts for a fortune ends up in unfortunate situations himself. For once he is not getting on to his father's nerves. It was good to have Freddie in the surroundings. The novella - Galahad at Blandings - is a stand out feature of the book. A quick read and classic Wodehouse. If you know what I mean.

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Hello English v 2.0

I did the first version of Hello English almost two years ago. I had a feeling - then - that I might get a chance to follow it up with sequels. A sequel at least, to be fair. So here we are!

There has been an extensive rush of matrimonial alliances all around the place and consequently a lot of people have been giving and receiving wedding wishes. This also includes the lot wishing and being wished on wedding anniversaries - which is the actual irritant here. But what is wrong with that, right? Here is what is wrong with it. Off late a lot of people wishing a lot of married couples on the latter's anniversaries, send out their wishes as "Happy Marriage Anniversary". I'd just like to point out that marriage and wedding are not synonyms. The former describes an institution where two people agree to spend the rest of their lives together, while the latter describes the act of getting married. Imagine someone saying, "This wedding is over. I will file for divorce" or "The marriage party was lavish!". "Happy marriage anniversary" falls in the same level of being ridiculous.

While we linger on terms describing different aspects of matrimony - and I have shared this earlier but makes for relevant ranting - if you read marry, Mary, Marie and merry just the same you must demand a refund from your school. They did not do a good job educating you. Given that educating you was their only job, a case of penalty is well in place. Also, if you read this somewhere you'd probably wonder that the typist had a conniptions fit while typing this out - Mary sat with her tea and English Marie in the merry coziness of her living room and watched, like millions, Charles marry Diana on her television.

As a child in school, I was fairly curious about the nuances of language and after a little probing I realised that whatever is known is known as, but whatever is called is never called as. Known as simply alluding to being known for some feat one achieved and being called the consequent nickname one earned by virtue of the feat accomplished. The process of being named may happen with or without as, as the case may be and the context of usage pertains to what 'being named' literally means. If I were to demonstrate the usage of the three terms in a single scene, here is how it would go - Rajni and Ramesh Tendulkar's son was named Sachin Tendulkar. Sachin grew up to be known as 'the God of cricket'. He was fondly called the Master Blaster. 

The sheer lack of curiosity in people is the cause of such faux pas. If only they bothered to get into the depth of things, instead of the deepness of things - who the hell even coined that term! - I would not be doing a version 2.0 of this. But hope springs eternal and I will come back with a version 3.0 too. In a matter of time. So long then!

(You can read Hello English v 1.0 here.)

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She Writes by Anisha Bhaduri

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

She Writes promises to be fantastic read at the outset. It is a collection of 12 short stories, by 12 different authors. 12 different women writers, each with an impressive background and accolades to their credit. She Writes is the outcome of a competition conducted by Random House India alongwith MSN in a quest to "hunt for India's finest women writers", in their own words. The stories were supposed to be based on one of the three themes enlisted, keeping in tune with the rules of the competition. Each of the themes had a particular quotation from old classics, acclaimed works and celebrated authors which had to be incorporated somewhere in the course of each story.

With such a magnificent facade I was thrilled to read what I thought would take me on a wonderful journey. What I realised was that it was a journey all right, but a rather strange one. The geographic diversity by way of the locational backdrop of the writers' stories, which is in most cases also their own origin, is well represented. The stories take you from Sikkim to Calcutta all the way to Tamil Nadu and also overseas. They have done a good job in painting the perfect mental picture of the physical world in their tales. What disappoints me is the poor narration of the actual stories. Each of the plots is unique and could have been a real gem in the world of short stories. The pace of the stories is homogeneously inconsistent - delving into arduous and rather unnecessary details about the surroundings and silly minute details that do not warrant mention in short stories and then, in what seems like a rush towards the finish line, a hurried statement of facts and conclusion. Most of the stories leave you with the same feeling as you get when you have dumped all ingredients into the wok instead of cooking your dish methodically. The stories left me with several unanswered queries - which were the things that those silly minute details should have actually taken care of - innumerable Whys and Whats. It appears as if a word limit was imposed after the stories were written or that all of them have been retold by a single, rather uninterested, writer. The insertion of the mandatory theme based quotation is also glaringly deliberate and out of place in most stories.

The stories that stood out from the lot for me are - and this is strictly relative - The Tourist by Jyotsna Jha, Mirage by Santana Pathak, Conundrum by Chitralekha and A Boston Brahmin by Belinder Dhanoa. The White Chilly by Dr Geeta Sunder had a wonderful build-up but ended anticlimactically. Mantras of Love by Yishey Doma describes Dewachen and the festival of Padmasambhava beautifully but compromises on the story-telling. The rest frankly do not deserve a mention - what with visible efforts to unsuccessfully create an aura of enigma around the protagonist or portraying a near Utopian sense of righteousness or creating a rebel without a cause or building up a whole lot of emotional tension and then just leaving it at that.

I was thoroughly let down by what Random House India has put together after its "hunt for India's finest women writers". I am certain She Could Write Better.
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Just Another Day

I was at a 24x7 Convenience Store one evening, browsing through their collection of exotic dry fruits. I noticed a little bedraggled girl wearing a vest and knickers, with tousled hair ambling into the store chirpily. She picked up a loaf of bread and went toward the checkout counter. She was not tall enough to reach the top of the counter, and somehow managed to toss the loaf on it. Then she reached into the little pockets of her knickers and fetched out loose change. She handed it all to the cashier, who was indulgently waiting for her. He counted the change and billed the loaf. I had been watching her all this while, and as she turned to go I asked her what would she eat the bread with. She said that her mother had made tea and they would have the bread with tea. I wanted her to stay so I talked to her a little more. She told me she lived across the street somewhere and she had a little brother. I asked her if she wanted to eat something else. Her face lit up and she ran towards a shelf of snacks. She took a minute to decide and picked out a couple of bags of salted munchies. I added a couple of bars of chocolate to it and got it billed with my dry fruits. The little girl pranced out of the store happily and I watched her go. So often, we let the simple things pass by.