Wanted: A Bride

Marriages are made in Heaven, and broken on earth. This is probably my tagline for my perpetual state of bachelorhood. But then again there are many realities. They say wisdom comes with age, but in my case age has just showed up all of a sudden. Not to say that women don't find me attractive. No, no, no, no, no.... and let this be inscribed in the third dimension. As I was reiterating, I have 'dated' all the beautiful women in my neighbourhood, and their neighborhoods for that matter. The only problem is 'Then I wake up'.

Being a computer engineer, aka 'a geek', I have always been preoccupied with the idea of starting something on my own; thinking, copulating the next big thing. Sitting day after day in solitary dimensions, spinning my cocoon, enveloping all. After a string of false starts my finances dwindled to the tune of a discharged amplifier; further affecting my listings on the matrimonial stock exchange. Aha! Maybe thats why I have had no luck with cupid. I had just proved the fixed quantum theory of love. Aha again!!!! I was just this free radical with an unpaired electron. Highly reactive and ever ready to help out with random chemical processes.

Realising that something was missing in my kingdom, I decided to become proactive. And so in the pursuit of the unknown, I started a blog so that women could 'hit' on me. Well I did get a lot of hits but that just got my blog rating up. I then started jogging and at times had 4-5 women running after me. But then I realised that I was pacing random alluring paths, losing sight of the task at hand. I finally decided to consult my more experienced engineering friends. Pierced by the nakedness of my plight, my electrical engineering friend, nicknamed Spark, said that when you get married you discover what real happiness is, but then its too late. Its better to have a mistress. The very thought 'electrified' his senses. My architect friend totally disagreed and said it was better to start a family in order to build a 'strong foundation' for the future. I, on the other hand felt it was better to have both. Then either one would think I'm with the other and that would give me more time to spend doing my own thing. My friends then suggested that I try out the trial and error method. you know, if you find that you'll are not compatible, divorce her. The thought of having more than one wife was ok, but more than one mother-in-law. NO WAY!

The next evening I graced the wedding of my neighbour; for the free food and some rampant ogling. Then it happened; in between ecstasy and dessert, my wandering pupils were stunned to discover how old the bride was. At first I thought 'Love is blind', 'Age is no bar' or 'Maybe cause he is an archeologist'. But later when I learn't that she was the heiress to a large fortune, everything became clear. I met my wise neighbour after a couple of months and requested him to shower me with words of wisdom to which he first thought for an hour. Finally breaking his meditative silence he looked at me and uttered, "Marriage is a mistake we all make." He then thought for another hour and said, "For me marriage is a means to more important ends, it is not an end in itself". So with those words of wisdom and thoughts of marriage as a means to more important ends I put an ad in the paper which read,

Wanted a Bride,
For a Computer Engineer, 27.
Girl must be rich and beautiful.
Those interested can also contact me at my website www.wantedabride.com

The next few weeks were quite hectic. As I browsed through the many letters I had received I came across one which was quite appealing. It was from a girl named Monica who worked as an intern in the Rashtrapati Bhavan. The letter said that she had excellent oral communication skills, was a cigar smoker and her favourite movie was 'Kill Bill'. After trying to find patterns out of randomness I decided otherwise. By now I had received over a hundred letters including those from the opposite gender.

Finally I struck gold and I mean King Solomon's gold. We were to meet at her mansion which was situated in the most luxurious part of the city. On the fateful day I went to her house completely suited and booted; my decision already enjoying its intercourse with grandeur. At first her mother came to welcome me and I said, "So where is the bride", to which she replied, "I'm the bride". Looking at her imperfect figure and looks I thought to myself, falling in love in not about finding the perfect person, its about learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. But that is falling in love; love is whats left when all the falling in love part inevitably withers away. I was in search of the perfect woman but then again I was willing to make a few exceptions. Though she was the perfect picture of imperfection at least she had a perfect bank balance; something that would complement, if not uplift my resources.

After flashing my credentials, a date was set and I finally tied the knot. Tight! I then took my wife to her new home. Seeing my humble dwellings she looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. Trying to retain my composure I told her about the financial mess I was in and how I would soon be starting my private enterprise with our (her) money.

Knowing that I had just pulled off the scam of the century I began dreaming of my bright future. she then looked at me with a smile on her face and said, "You know, that house where you met me wasn't mine. I was just a maid servant working there".

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Disclaimer:
Thats something I wrote a long time back, in the past present continuous; during my early engineering days when I was part of the magazine committee. Since we were not getting articles I was forced to write one :-)
However the article goes back even further to my elocution competitive days in school. The article was written by a person named Prof Zade which we found in the newspapers. I then modified the words and content to fit the 5 minute limit we had. I have mentioned about that competition out here.
However in engineering I did not remember the words and the content but just the outline of the ending and so I sat down and added flesh to the skeleton using quotes/jokes that I remembered from the reader's digest. I changed the article yet again before putting up this post.

Who Moved my Phone

I have moved to our new office building and am already feeling nostalgia wistfully take form outta unknown unassuming crevices. I miss the quaint house we called an office [sigh…. sobbing sound effects out here].

Being in my element, it suddenly hit me that amidst the cube farm and the prairie hopping I wasn't receiving a mobile signal at the place I had parked my derriere. Then it hit me again, what if you desperately need to get in touch with me and your life depends on it, or you are craving to talk to me [sigh…. sobbing sound effects out here again], or you want to just get some work done through me being the nice guy that I am, or want to hire some manpower to beat up someone, or want to invite me out for a treat/trek/play/musical concert/movie/free lunch… ooohhh free lunch... nooooo I can't miss that.

So after a bit of playing detective I was apprised about the places in office where I can get a mobile signal. We do get signals close to the window but the voice breaks cause of multipath effects. You also get good signals near the flat screen in the cafeteria. Then someone told me that we get good signal reception in the loo. Invariably when you enter the loo the phone rings cause the person who was trying and trying and trying to get intouch with you finally gets through. Err so basically I take a seat out there and talk to glory and discuss about that free lunch??? And if you do hear some unusual background noise then please don't ask me,"What was that!" [flush sound effect out here].

Fixing Broken Flowers

I've played the messenger boy before and I must say its a nice warm fuzzy feeling, just to be there; in the moment, as it unfolds :-) I have carried messages when mobiles didn't exist, have packed and parceled a house made of ice cream sticks and have roamed the streets of bengaluru in the rain, searching for 12 red roses.

A friend, Goli, decided to start this thing where he would sing songs on ppl b'days and bake them a cake and stuff... would charge them something but wanted to do it just for kicks.. so he got a GIG sometime back... not sure what else to call it :-) anyways he invited some fellow blogger friends to provide moral support in his endeavour.. so four of us jobless ppl went to this particular place ... a café type place on 100 feet road in Indranagar.. this girl's sister was giving her a surprise for her b'day... Goli knew the girl through some common friends and the common friends knew about his b'day singing plans... so we went there and sang and made merry... Goli played the guitar and there were two girls (blogging friends) with us who sing decently... he also baked a cake and stuff and we improvised with the cake decorations... I had a lot of second, third and fourth thoughts before going but it turned out to be a really nice experience... :-) it was fun... like being one of those ppl who deliver flowers just to see the expression on the receiver's face... :-)

Will We Ever Rise

Excerpts from "The Fall", a novel by ALBERT CAMUS, Nobel Prize Winner

"THE FALL"

"In a certain way I am sticking to my subject with all that about friends and connections. You see, I've heard of a man whose friend had been imprisoned and who slept on the floor of his room every night in order not to enjoy a comfort of which his friend had been deprived. Who, cher monsieur, will sleep on the floor for us? Whether I am capable of it myself? Look, I'd like to be and I shall be. Yes, we shall all be capable of it one day, and that will be salvation. But it's not easy, for friendship is absent-minded or at least unavailing. It is incapable of achieving what it wants. Maybe, after all, it doesn't want it enough? Maybe we don't love life enough? Have you noticed that death alone awakens our feelings? How we love the friends who have just left us? How we admire those of our teachers who have ceased to speak, their mouths filled with earth! Then the expression of admiration springs forth naturally, that admiration they were perhaps expecting from us all their lives. But do you know why we are always more just and more generous toward the dead? The reason is simple. With them there is no obligation. They leave us free and we can take our time, fit the testimonial in between a cocktail party and a nice little mistress, in our spare time, in short. If they forced us to anything, it would be to remembering, and we have a short memory. No, it is the recently dead we love among our friends, the painful dead, our emotion, ourselves after all!" pp 32-33

“The day I was alerted I became lucid; I received all the wounds at the same time and lost my strength all at once. The whole universe then began to laugh at me. That is what no man (except those who are not really alive--in other words, wise men) can endure. Spitefulness is the only possible ostentation. People haste to judge in order not to be judged themselves. What do you expect? The idea that comes most naturally to man, as if from his very nature, is the idea of his innocence.” pp. 80-81

"Some people's problems is to protect themselves from men or at least to come to terms with them." p. 27

"It was not a matter, mind you, of the certainty I had of being more intelligent than everyone else. Besides, such certainty is of no consequence because so many imbeciles share it." p. 29

"Life became less easy for me: when the body is sad the heart languishes. It seemed to me that I was half unlearning what I had never learned and yet knew so well--how to live." pp. 42-43

"You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question." pp. 56-57

“Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself.” p. 81

“What we call basic truths are simply the ones we discover after all the others.” p. 84

“One plays at being immortal and after a few weeks one doesn’t even know whether or not one can hang on till the next day.” p. 105

“Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbor while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.” p. 114

“Sometimes it is easier to see clearly into the liar than into the man that tells the truth.” pp. 119-120

“But when you don’t like your own life, when you know that you must change lives, you don’t have any choice, do you?” p. 144

Children of Men

It was Sunday and I found myself in a grocery store, a short distance from church. As usual, I greeted this man with the warmest of greetings. Like me, he and his two young kids follow the Sunday ritual; church then the grocery store. I do not have a name to his face but we always exchange a few words and a warm greeting.

Amongst the bustle of people in the store, two young girls entered; the elder being around 6 and the smaller one, around 2 years. As they entered the little one bumped into someone and fell to the ground having lost her balance. People around her looked into each others eyes exchanging glances; searching for signs of claimant to the post of guardian of the young one. But as we were doing so, the elder sister picked the young one up and told her, "It will be ok". The two of them went about their business, as people started to smile and ruffle the little one's top. I asked the elder sister if they were ok and she replied in the affirmative, whimpers still emanating from the little one; the elder sister trying all that she could to cajole her younger sister. And then they left the store.

I then saw a lot of children at this other place; smiles on their faces, dark questions lurking in the twilight; like dormant volcanos on a mid summers dawn, waiting to erupt, waiting to be heard.

While on the road I came across some more little children at the back of a car. So I decided to wave to them and they returned the gesture through beaming faces; the smiles getting bigger with every subsequent gesture.

And then I got to where I was heading ? Well... err not yet.

An Ode to Sorpotel

AN ODE TO SORPOTEL

For the hotch potch known as Haggis
Let the Scotsman yearn or yell
For the taste of Yorkshire pudding
Let the English family dwell.
For the famed Tandoori Chicken
That Punjabi's praise like hell
But for us who hail from Goa
There's nothing like SORPOTEL!

From the big wigs in Colaba
To the small fry in Cavel
From the growing tribes in Bandra
To the remnants in Parel
From the lovely girls in Glaxo
To the boys in Burma Shell
There's no Goan whose mouth won't water
When you talk of SORPOTEL!

And Oh! for Christmas dinner
Don't you think it would be swell
If by some freak of fortune
Or by some magic spell
We could, as they have in Goa
A bottle of the cajel
And toddy leavened sannas
To go with SORPOTEL!

--- anonymous

Letters from Mt Everest

Gist: My cousin climbed till Everest Base Camp a couple of days back. I wanna climb Everest someday. Go till the top, sit there and take photographs :-)

What I intend to capture here is the excitement, fear and thrill that one feels when climbing a majestic mountain. Posted below are her emails, verbatim. She emailed from various places while on the trek.

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Subject: Namaste
Date: Sat, 17 Feb 2007 20:21:42 +1100

Hello from Kathmandu!

Arrived here this morning (Nepal time) and am settling in to the familiar sights and smells of this region. On the way here, from the plane, we saw Everest poking through the cloudline - dwarfing peaks around it, with a plume of ice being blown from it's summit. Amazing.

The weather in Kathmandu is fine at present - a balmy 16C and sunny - not as chilly as expected. Spent last night in Bangkok. The new Suvarnabhumi airport wasn't as chaotic as the media reports lead you to believe. It looks kinda spaceage from the outside, particularly at night with all the lights on.

Have been eating my way through some culinary delights in the last 24 hours - will likely go vegetarian from here on in, just to be on the safe side and minimise a bout of the trots:).

Tomorrow there is a tour of Kathmandu on the schedule and then the trekking adventure begins on Monday with the flight into Lukla! Can't wait!

Am enjoying every minute and everything is going very smoothly.
Will sign off for now.
Take care,
Charmaine.

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Subject: Hello from Namche!
Date: Wed, 21 Feb 2007 15:36:12 +1100

Hi All,
Have made it to Namche Bazar. We were lucky to make the flight from Kathmandu to Lukla on Monday. No planes had been flying for the previous 6 days due to ice on the runway. The flight into Lukla appeared death-defying, as we decended onto an obscure airstrip nestled among monster mountains. When we landed we realised why there had been a cancellation of flights in the previous 6 days - snow was everywhere. The trek from Lukla to Padking took about 3 hours and yesterday's trek from Pandking to Namche, ascending 800m to 3400m in snow took 8 hours (abit more than the usual 5hours). Was pooped, tho slept well and am ready for some sightseeing in Namche today. Fortunately the weather has been clearing now - with the sun shining for the past three days - so the snow is melting, making trekking abit more easier. A week ago the route to Everest Base Camp and Gokyo Ri was impassable due to the weather. While things a looking alot better now weather-wise - the completion of this trek will rely on the weather staying good from here on in.

Anyways - that's about it for now.
Take care!
Charmaine.

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Subject: Back from Base!
Date: Sat, 03 Mar 2007 20:14:59 +1100

Hi Guys!
Well, despite the uncharacteristic weather (i.e. snow, and lots of it) - the Gods have been shining and permitted a window of opportunity to allow us to reach Kalapathar (5545m) and Everest Base Camp a few days ago. The trek to Gokyo Ri is still unpassable, so here i am, back in Namche Bazar and ready for my first shower in Kathmandu in 2 days time :) I've climbed, trekked and walked through a snow blizzard - all in the name of a holiday (some one please talked some sense into me the next time i take leave). The weather has generally been below freezing and the trekking path icy, slippery and dangerous (are we having fun yet?!).
Nevertheless, it's been a big challenge and I'm on the home stretch as the weather begins to clear and i head back to Kathmandu in two more days time (i can hear that hot water running now:).
Anyways, hope all is well. Talk soon.
Charmaine.

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Subject: Heading Home
Date: Fri, 09 Mar 2007 16:17:20 +1100

Dear All,

Well, am back in Kathmandu, where i have been shopping, eating, sleeping and roaming for the past two and a half days. The trek from Namche to Lukla was very different without everything blanketed with snow - and was alot faster.

The flight out of Lukla to Kathmandu eventually arrived once the sky cleared enough for the twin otter to land. As for that first shower in 2 weeks in Kathmandu....what can i say...you probably heard me singing!

The holiday is coming to an end as i am heading to the airport in 30 minutes to begin my homeward journey. (Am happy to report that all my fingers and toes are coming too:)

It's been quite a 'holiday'. Not sure i'd recommend the experience, as over the past 2.5 weeks there have been a number of times i've been completely out of my comfort zone. On reflection now though, it's something i am really glad i have done.

Anyways, i'd better sign off for now!
Take care,
Charmaine।

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Blank Noise Project

Blank Noise Project is a blog for awareness about eve teasing in some of the major Indian cities and whats being done... I have added some stories below.

Here is a wish list of what many want to be able to do… One of them read...
[snip]
I want to be able to walk down the street naked. I want everyone else to be naked too. Stark naked. There will be no room for an issue.
- anonymous
[snip]
Reading it the first thought that came to my mind was,"I’m sure a guy wrote this… :-)". Ok I'm sure there were nobler intentions being thought but that one amused me. After the giggles settled down I thought about the person who felt that this is the only option. I was trying to think of why someone would even consider that everyone should move around naked and couldn’t come up with a reasonable thought flow… and then I just went yikes!!!! which only means that there needs to be a lot more awareness…

Whats the project all about ?
[snip]
share. talk. inspire. understand. tell. speak. hear. be heard. narrate. voice. throw open.

When did you flip a situation so you could resist, when did you give back as hard as you got? When and how did you choose to confront? When did you become an Action Hero?

Being a 'HERO' is relative . We are interested in knowing how you challenged yourself or didn't feel victimised?

This is an attempt to understand how different women ( across age groups/ cultures/ communities) have dealt with street sexual harassment in their everyday lives. Male bloggers are encouraged to share stories of women in their lives and how they have dealt with street sexual harassment.
[snip]

So I thought to myself why not. I'll tell you two stories from the few that I have.

Story 1: Walk the Night
This happened during my early engineering days, when I used to stay in a place with a lot of relatives around. We own this huge area with houses all around and a squarish ground in the centre. I have played on that ground since my childhood and at night we would sometimes have bonfires late into the night. Basically what I want to convey is that my sense of security was within that entire enclosure and not just within my home.

My mom would sometimes go for her walks even if it was late in the evening. Along the border of this enclosure there was some construction work going on and some workers were making merry and in high spirits. One of them threw a bottle from the top and it landed about 20-30 meters away from him, with the intention to startle or target my mother. My mother came home and told me about what had taken place; my dad was not at home at that moment. I then decided to confront them armed in a short pant, a baniyan, rubber chappals; with a baseball bat in hand. We climbed up to the second floor where the workers were and finally I stood face to face with them; about 7-8 lean, well-built men. The reality of the situation then hit us, with my mother standing behind me, and we froze. They didn't have weapons but there were rods/bricks lying around which could serve the purpose. They could have easily over powered us if the need arose and then through the fear in my throat, words started to flow, trying to make them realize their wrong doing and bring some sense to their actions. They listened while I spoke, the baseball bat ready for any eventuality.

But then things went out of hand. A third person who was living in that building came to the terrace and tried to get involved, having a previous history of friction with those workers. 'SPLAT!!!!' he slapped one of them across the face. Realizing that the situation was now out of hand I took my mom home and then people, relatives started to turn up from everywhere. In the minutes that followed three groups were formed; the other group on our side against those drunken workers and their friends. People phoned people and the crowd started to increase and after a bit of shouting and yelling, people decided to beat up a few people. We were arguing about the bottle, the workers were arguing about the 'SLAP' and the third party was also arguing for something. In the heat of the moment, things happened :-) as you didn't know some of the people who were on your side. Finally the contractor in charge of those workers arrived and we spoke to him and things were settled, our sense of security still stretched to the limits of that entire enclosure and not just our homes.

Story 2: Flash Light
I was out for a late night movie with friends at Symphony Theatre in Bangalore; three guys, including me and a girl. We were coming out of the movie and crossing the road heading towards our vehicle; myself and the girl behind the others. A car that was parked was heading home and he slowly moved towards the road as we passed in front of him. Then out of the blue that guy in the car increased the intensity of his headlights as the girl passed in front of him. I didn't realize what was happening... in fact I only thought about it when I saw her angrily stare at the guy in the car and the smirk he had on his face... she was wearing an ankle length skirt, made of cotton material. It took me sometime to figure out what had happened but by then we had already moved ahead. The incident took just 2-3 seconds, the others never noticed anything and the girl also chose not to mention anything to us.

Conversations

Why do people blog or write Novels.

Well they do it because their are interested in conversations, one-on-one conversations to be more precise. But the issue with this approach is that it cannot scale. It is almost impossible to 'push' words onto others when they really don't want it at that particular moment in time, as they have other more important things to attend to. And if you 'ask the dust', they will tell us the same. And even if they have the time, they may not be ready. The only way for this desire to scale would be to put your words down somewhere and allow others to 'pull' them whenever they want, as per their convenience; tucked in a bed at night, on a solitary rock at the end of the beach, while travelling. And when they choose to do so, then the one-on-one conversations begin; between friends, between strangers, where the ambience is imaginary. The very first conversation, beginning, the moment the words start to metamorphize out of thin air; the conversation with oneself, between friends, between strangers.

Ask the Dust

"Dust thou art, and to dust thou shall return."

Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent; and I found myself in church where they put ash on my forehead, humming the words above; to remind me of who I am. The ashes are prepared by burning palm leaves from the previous year's Palm Sunday celebrations.

So our place in the sun is no more than a handful of dust, as we go on like clockwork orange; justifying our heartbeats, writing down our absurd, existential and rational fictions; oblivious of the many other fictions taking shape, the ashes taking form. And in that quest we sometimes trample upon dust, weary of the same fate; all in search of our ephemeral eternal ecstasies.

Reema once mentioned that we are 'Alone, Not Lonely', to which I added that you have to learn to depend on yourself for everything, and everything includes happiness too. I don't mean that you should not have family or friends or whatever to support you whenever you feel the need for it. But you should learn to depend on yourself for everything. To fight, to pick you up, to bring a smile on your face. You need to do this so that you allow them to get the time and energy to find that happiness within themselves too. In the pursuit of searching within yourself for happiness you unleash sparks of creativity within you. If you depend too much on others then you stifle the creativity within them.

And creativity is a source of eternal ecstasy????? I guess we have to 'Ask the Dust'.

The Business Card

I came across this guy on the web who draws cartoons at the back of business cards and is actually doing pretty good business, putting his creative instincts to use.

Metup with a friend Neeti yesterday, a lawyer by profession; currently practicing Intellectual Property Law; who was in the city for the ITechLaw Conference. She was telling me all about her networking activities and her business card handout experiences at the IP conference as I sat there in silent observation. Having discussed our views on patents and the outsourcing of the soul on previous occasions; she beamingly handed me her business card, which I chose to make a little more personalised, intoxicated under the influence of some creative ideas by Hugh Macleod. Nope I don't drink and draw :-)

Outsourcing the Soul

I got a mail from a friend asking me to use my literary skills or the lack of it to edit a mail that he wanted to send out to friends, in the hope that they would forward it to their friends and so on and so forth. I edited the article which was etched in the third dimension out here.

The thoughts that ran through my head while writing were:
1) The choice of media is important. Instead of sending the content out in a mail it would be more appropriate to put it on a blog and send the link to the blog out, so that there would be just one place for people to comment on it.
2) The other important thing was to add a tad bit of humor to the article, without which it becomes tough for unknown people to take an interest in it. Humor is important in life; its a means to more important ends, but not an end in itself. Humor is like food, water, blood and oxygen for a body, but that is not the point in life. But without it there is no life.
3) What we were trying to do is sell our article to the common populace. They are the customers, they have to buy in and they have a choice whether to do so or not. Then again the customer is not God, the customer is a human being and the only way to reach out is to write from your soul; the soul cannot be outsourced. I will only add the humor part and some tweaks here and there for better reading. The underlying content/message had to come from him.

PS: He hasn't paid me anything for the editing yet. need to get a treat from him :-)

What you find below are some excerpts from articles from http://www.gapingvoid.com/

Start a blog:
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Blogs are funny things. Say something smart, and people pay attention. Say something dumb, and youʼre ignored. We big media folk just can't seem to get our heads around that concept, for some reason. Regular blogging can help train you to discern between smart and dumb. It makes it easier to extend this to the rest of one's business.

Write from the heart:
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There is no silver bullet. There is only the love God gave you. As a professional writer, I am interested in how conversation scales. How communication scales, x to the power of n etc etc. Ideally, if you're in the communication business, you want to say the same thing, the same way to an audience of millions that you would to an audience of one. Imagine the power you'd have if you could pull it off. But sadly, it doesn't work that way. You can't love a crowd the same way you can love a person. And a crowd can't love you the way a single person can love you. Intimacy doesn't scale. Not really. Intimacy is a one-on-one phenomenon. It's not a big deal. Whether you're writing to an audience of one, five, a thousand, a million, ten million, thereʼs really only one way to really connect. One way that actually works: Write from the heart.

Free Willy

"Oh my God!!!!!!!!" And then my sister takes my three month old nephew to the doctors, the exclamations still lingering on. The doctor takes a look, then looks at my sister and says, "You shouldn't massage him that hard." The nurse echoes the doctors words trying to appear professional, her stifled laughter tickled by the thoughts of the impending action at hand. "But I don't massage him that hard", argued my sister trying to apply logic to speculation. They all look down as a silence lulls the room, only to be desecrated by the next logical utterance, "Ok, so what do we do now". The question floated in mid air and was finally brought down with a grin from the nurse, finding it too hard to contain. The verdict resonated with amusement, "We have to tape it up".

It seems that he had a minor cut near his willy and there was a slight oozing of blood from the area. Speculation fell on my nephews overgrown finger nails, to which he cooed in his own defence; only to be overruled. The last I heard was that there was yet another sequel to the 'Free Willy' series.

Sliding Windows

The gallery is filled to capacity and you finally find your seat, amongst the buzz of eager homo sapiens. Tickets are checked, you recline to a comfortable position and then the show begins, oblivious to the many eyes that fail to appreciate the artistic composition of a million framed pictures on display. The spectacle of nature; the 'Sliding Windows'.

Chips Dip Recipe

Ingredients:
Curds 400 gms, one hand full Kothmir, 2 green Chillies (big), 1/2 pod garlic, 5 tsp sugar, salt.

Procedure:
Grind Garlic, Kothmir, Chillie. Not very fine. Add the ground contents to the curds beaten up with 5 tsp sugar and salt.

Serve with chips. The chips are partially dipped into the concoction; one by one; and relished :-)

The Beach

I headed down to Trivandrum, the capital of Kerala, with the intention of going to the Kanyakumari and enjoying some quality time on 'The Rock'. I knew zilch about the Kovalam beach in Trivandrum. After a bit of siteseeing with Bala at Veli beach we headed off to his ancestral home which is on a hill top and overlooks the top of a million coconut trees which then opens up into the sea. Kovalam beach is just 3kms from his place. Kovalam has three big adjacent crescent beaches. The southernmost, known as the Lighthouse Beach, is the most popular of the three. It is ranked amongst the top beaches in the world and is extremely gorgeous. The beach is very flat and has a gentle slope into the sea.

Alice: Cultural Learnings of a Full Marathon for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Never Never Land

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beep Beep BEep BEEp BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP!!.... well there you go the 'R' rating. Errr.... well actually the phone alarm woke me up from my dream. A dream where a lot of confusing things were happening and you are glad that you finally wake up. But as Natalie Goldberg says, when you continue to stop yourself from going all the way in your subconscious and coming to a deep resolution, its not a dream you wake up from, but you carry the nightmare out into the streets.

And those streets happened to be the streets of Mumbai, where like the many others you decide to run the full marathon, all 42.195 kms of it. You decide to click snaps along the way, since this could be your only attempt at a photo finish :-) A GPS logger dangles from your side which you can use to geo-tag photos later on. The route is lined with people cheering you on; with pompoms and balloons and music and all sorts of colorful things. TV crews and sponsors names are everywhere. Many other corporates use it as a platform to advertise their brand and the thought of 'guerilla marketing' brings a smile to your face.

Birds rise from their feeding ritual along the beach, as the mist blends with the buildings at the far end across the sea. Families, localities, chawls came out in numbers to support us, while some just came out to observe. Initially the children were a bit shy but then they lined the roads for that ephemeral high five, only to be enforced with a culture later on, stifling the right to develop their own.

Initially you run alone, then you join someone along the way and move together for some time and then move on. You meet Dr Roy who is 74 years and who maintains a steady pace. Some complain about cramps and impending catches but the water stations at regular intervals provide electral, ice packs and spray to relieve you. A nun was also distributing sweets to the runners. The volunteers at the stations remained till the end, long after the front runners had past their stations. And if stations were not in sight then you help each other out. You do so willingly and without a second thought, which makes you wonder what stops you at other times. Maybe its cause you are running the same route at this moment, oblivious or maybe just skeptical of its authenticity at other times.

The full marathon started an hour after the half marathon, and it should have been the other way around as it started to get too hot for mere mortal runners like me. There was one girl who was using an umbrella towards the end. The traffic at some places took over the roads and we had to walk along the footpaths. The cheering had reduced but still a few people stood their ground to cheer us on. I forgot to drench my body with petroleum jelly and that mistake started to manifest itself with blisters and abrasions due to friction with my clothes. Music soothes all uncalled for manifestations; jazz, latin, arab-andalusian, heavy metal, old hindi songs, and instrumentals; without prejudice, just doing their job.

I met a fellow Bangalorean who was attempting his first marathon, with about 5 kms to go. He was 43 and used my cell to ward off his wife's worries since he was taking more time than expected. That and his wife didn't want him to go all the way to Mumbai to run a full marathon. He told me that he just liked running and had completed the half marathon (21 kms) in bangalore in 1 hr 50 mins. He complained about the heat and wondered whether it was worth it to torture ourselves in the heat and whether it really mattered since we were walking anyway. Both of us fell silent and we walked a little further, trying to find reason to our madness. I then broke the silence and asked him if this was his first marathon to which he smiled and replied that it would indeed make a big difference if he completed it.

There were people of all ages and backgrounds running the marathon. Some were running for a cause; some for charity, some for farmers, some for peace, some for fun, some for life, some for a clean and green mumbai, some for freedom, some for health, some for the free drinks along the way, and some for Shilpa Shetty to stop racism against her from some UK folks on the 'Big Brother' reality show. But then again is anyone running to stop racism between the different parts of India, the north against the south, the south against the south, the north against the north, the east against the east and the west against the west. When things get toooo confusing you decide to run for yourself, not for anyone or anything but for yourself; since you know that everything is related in all its intricacies and will eventually be overwhelmed by the domino effect. So you run for yourself, so that you may go all the way and come to a deep resolution; and when you wake up from your dream, you only hope that you no longer carry the nightmare out into the streets.

Do it yourself links:
Google Maps APIs
Map in your blog tutorial
How to geo tag an image
Blogger for Dummies
Google Map Mania blog
EXIF image format

Walk the Line

Panipuri. Yeah good stuff, but with a little improvisation it tastes even better. Ever heard about Boozepuri. Well you take the regular Puri and put in the regular stuffings and then you take some fruit punch. The stuff in which alcohol is mixed and use it as Pani. Then you take that concoction and wallop it down like a regular Panipuri :-)

After a Tequila and a Martini I called it a day. Whats happens when you forget to call it a day. Well people start to poke you and tell you that you're drunk. And then naturally as you know that you're not drunk you tell everyone, "I'm not drunk. But when I get drunk I'll tell you." However when you start to repeat that sentence about 20-30 times to each and every person then naturally people start to poke you even further. Then you go and walk the line to prove to them you know whats happening. And then after that you stand on a chair and decide to gulp down one more Tequila and then you climb a table to declare to family and friends that now you are finally drunk and will go to bed.

Oh yeah I shot the table top declaration on camera. Cheers :-)

A Clockwork Chocolate

No chocolate cake was coming back with me this time cause my mom was elsewhere… but then I was told that going home and not getting cake could be bad for employee morale… so I thought of baking a cake and getting it to bangalore… I mean I have the recipe, how tough could it be right… I might as well give it a try… however I was then told that baking a cake myself and bringing it back here could be bad for employee morale….. so I to decided take my sister Sonali's help. I knew that a lot of sweat and hardwork will go into it and maybe some into the batter too. I told my Mom about employee morale and my nobel cause to keep it that way, and then i waited to see what she had to say.

Mumzee: 420 gms maida, 500 gms butter....
Moi: What ?
Mumzee: 500 gms eggs.
Moi: Wait!!
Mumzee: What.
Moi: I already have the recipe. I have it up on my blog. All I need is your blessing.
(After a long pause)
Mumzee: Ok you need the recipe. The one that you have is outdated. I made some improvements. If that was yummie then this is yummieeeee.
(At this point the artist formerly known as Mumzee takes on the role of Mamamia.. in other words she starts to speak with this hush hush tone)
Moi: So the one on the web is not the ONE.
Mamamia: Nope. That one was for others. This one is the family secret.
Moi: The family secret. Like Chocolate Cake Recipe Version 2.0
Mamamia: Yes. The family secret. Version 2.0. And remember the batter has to fall like a blob. And if it doesn't fall properly then you have to add stuff 'Andaaz Se'.
Moi: So 'Aandaz Se' is included in Version 2.0
Mamamia: 'Aandaz Se' was included in Version 1.0 too.

Finally with a little help from my sister I managed to make the batter fall like a blob. However i didn't quite understand the 'Aandaz Se' too well and it came out a tad bit hard :-) But that did not do any harm to employee morale. Good enough for starters though. The next time I'll put Beethoven's 9th symphony in the background. Yeah that should do it :-) And oh yeah I forgot to put 2 tsp Vanilla essence.

Six Strings

Got my first six strings :-) Was thinking about learning the guitar for quite some time. Nikhil and Sonu were in Calcutta where Nikhil was picking up a twelve string for himself. He plays the guitar, synthiszer and the violin. Sonali said that he and his friend spent 3+ hours in the shop trying out various guitars to check the sound.

One of my middle names is Santan. You put an 'A' at the end and it becomes Santana. Well it is also an alphabet away from Satan and then Santa too :-) I guess I'll just have to learn how to play those chords. However I have made music before but by writing a device driver to control a PWM, which stands for Pulse Width Modulator. PWM is also used in audio amplifiers to generate output signals for cellphone speakers to high-power stereo systems. It is used to generate Sine Waves by configuring it to oscillate at a particular frequency. So basically you search on the web for the corresponding frequencies for the various musical chords i.e. A, B, C etc for the various octaves. And then you search on the web for songs in terms of musical chords. And then you feed those chords which are parsed by a program which oscillates the PWM at a particular frequency for a particular duration of time. And thats it.... music :-) Well that's how polyphonic ringtones work.

Krupya Hold Kijiye Aap Kaatar Mein Hai

We have a fancy dress ever year in the Catholic Club in Nagpur. There are two bachelors who for the last few years have sportingly been the butt of jokes about being single. Everyone keeps on poking them about being single and asks them when they are getting married. So for one of the fancy dresses they came together dressed in wedding suits with a red ribbon tied around both of them, with the caption, "Special Offer: Ek ke saath ek free". Unfortunately there were no takers.

Then last year Brian came dressed as an Indian bridegroom who had now turned to technology for help. The internet, wedding portals, cellular technology, mobile phones etc to bridge the gap. He came with his face covered with flowers desperately trying to find Misses Right via the mobile phone. SMSes didn't seem to work.
SMS: Several Missed Shaadis
But there was hope with MMS which worked over GPRS.
MMS: Many More Shortlistings
GPRS: God Please Realise I'm Serious
However it seemed that he was using the wrong network.

Finally this year Brian turned to the Government Cellular Providers and has got engaged to a Mumbai girl.
This time his caption for the fancy dress read.
BSNL: Brian Says No Liaisons
MTNL: Mumbaikar Takes Nagpur Lad
And if you call him now you will hear the following message, "Mera Number Ab Vyast Hai".

Cold Mountain

Running in winter does take a lot, especially when you are officially on vacation. The thought of getting out of a cozy bed when the temperature outside is pretty low is a bit unnerving. But you manage to convince yourself and in the bargain you see the newspapers boys collecting their lots of papers on the way. And then you see the milk booths being unloaded with their quota for the morning. The dogs look at you and you exchange perceptions of life. An old man sits on the very same spot, along your path, and over time you condition yourself to exchange a 'Good morning' with a face that does not have a name.

Before I came to Bangalore I used to run about 6-7 kms and go to this place called 'Seminary Hills'. Its about 3+ kms from my home. The tree density in this place is quite high and your path has a lot of flora on either side. The upward gradient is not too much and then you tread along a path cut through thick foliage and finally descend down a flight of stairs and find yourself in a nice and peaceful place. Serene by the nature that engulfs it you find a shrine of 'Mother Mary' there, which is visited by people of all faiths; Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Christians; but at other hours. The solitude of that small hill, that cold mountain, restores a bit of your sanity and then you trot back home to begin your day.

Joyeux Noel

'Without an enemy, there can be no war'

Well thats the tagline of the movie named 'Joyeux Noel', based on true events that occured during World War 1, 1914. Its draws a thin line between comedy and drama as the Germans, the French and the Scots declare a ceasefire on Christmas Eve and fraternize at various places along the frontlines. They decide to bury the dead, play football, sing songs, and exchange chocolate. Historical facts can be found here.

Christmas Eve. I was at home with my dad enjoying the warmth from a bonfire. No decorations were up as we were tired from our bird watching hike in the morning, then dada went on to create a high jump thinghy for the children in the neighborhood. We kept on postponing the inevitable and then decided to finally do it after the bonfire. Next day we woke up, went for mass and came home and realised that we had still not put up the decorations. Not even the christmas tree. We then got into superheroes mode and put up things in 20 minutes flat :-) In all that hurry (and superhero mode) there had to be some casualties. And so a plug that supplied power to the light series was trampled upon and it crumbled to pieces. But the lights still came on...

Birds of the same feather

The morning was cold and beckoned us back to bed but the birds were out there somewhere, waiting to be watched as they performed their morning rituals. I headed out with my dad and his friend Anup to a lake on the outskirts of Nagpur. My dad has this bird book which he carries along on bird watching hikes. We spotted a lot of birds basking in the morning hues of the sun.

Amongst them was a bird which ornithologically goes by the name 'small green bee-eater' and psychologically goes by the name 'Yeda Popat'. Why you ask. Well there is a story behind it. It seems that if you try to hit the bird with a stone or try to shuu it away it will fly from its position and then hover above for some time. And then it will come and perch itself on the very same spot. However the thought never crossed our mind to try out that hypothesis. We were just watching. And if we did shoot them then it was with a camera.

High on Light - A Dark Documentary

Reema, who is a budding journalist called me up a couple of days back, asking if I could participate in a discussion which was part of a documentary she and a few colleagues were making. The theme of the documentary was 'High on Life' and you can get her side of the story out here. The others who were to take part in the discussion were Madhuri (21), Sadhana (21), Karthik (23), Avinash (27) and moi (27). The only person who I knew from amongst the participants and the others in the room was Reema.

I met Reema outside and as we were walking up the stairs we realised that the lights were out. We entered the room which was dimly lit by ambient light. In the dark I was introduced to the other participants and budding journalists. Words were exchanged in the dark, as we waited for the lights; waiting for the camera and sound equipment to be fueled by the electrons and protons that lay unexcited at the moment. Words, familiar words; words that formed ephemeral patterns that could trace their genesis in our minds. Words that had been subjected to the filters that we have built over time. For the documentary we were to talk about youth issues; what gets us high on life, youth and spirituality, peer pressure, how the ambience affects our reactions at that moment, effects of wealth on behaviour and other such issues.

In the darkness time ticked, as we waited; waited to discuss issues of youth; the conversation casually drifting to whatever it could hold on to. First impressions were exchanged in the dark; impressions of people who you know nothing about, neither their looks nor their background; all you can do is base your impressions on their thoughts; impressions that are left to the subconscious whether to consider them or not. And then finally the lights came on. Lights! Camera! Reaction! And words were exchanged in the light, fueled by excited electrons and protons. Words, familiar words; words that formed ephemeral patterns that could trace their genesis in our minds. Words that had been subjected to the filters that we have built over time; filters that seem to be influenced by light and excited electrons and protons. And you notice the difference, however subtle it may be; the difference in the dark and in light. You cannot escape, we cannot escape, but are we aware of it. Ironically it was darkness that threw light on the subject. Youth: High on Life.

Novel Sexual Overtones

It was a time when I was down with delirium during my Novel Writing Marathon days; days of the recent past; days when the finish line was in sight. I had already endured the stages of 'Denial', 'Anger', 'Bargaining' and 'Depression' and had finally reached a stage whose magnified characteristics could be characterised as 'Delirium'. And then around that time I happened to meet 'M'.

M____ : So what are you writing about ?
Alistair : Err... (and then to cut a long story short, I began the long story)...
M ____ : Is your Novel about sex ?
Alistair : Nope.
M ____ : Is your Novel about God ?
Alistair : Nope.

After a short pause. Actually there was no pause cause 'M' knew what he was gonna say :-)

M ____ : Then how is it gonna sell !! I mean, I'm also thinking of writing a Novel. And my Novel is gonna be about God AND about sex. Infact its gonna be about God having sex. Now that will sell !!!!

At that very moment lightening clasped the violet sky above our heads, as the sound of our blasphemies were overcome by thunder, that was dutifully following the laws of physics.

I told 'B' about that incident when we met over the weekend, to which he gave me the 'Been There, Done That' look. It turned out that during our Engineering days he had written a 150 page novel on sex and a Goddess, which turned out to be a Hollywood movie actress. 'B' was a hosteller and during our first year of Engineering he was asked to write a 100 page novel with a sex scene on each page. All this in the name of ragging. When he returned from his holidays, the pages were increased to 150 as he had not even started. He then started with the journey to Hollywood. 5 pages waiting at the bus station. 20 pages travelling by bus. And a sexual scene; if not atleast an overtone on each and every page. He even commented that the seniors found the novel pretty amusing and told him that he was a budding novelist. So if he ever decides to quit his regular day job he can very well take a shot at writing.

Being Judged

A friend called me up and asked me if I could judge a contest she was organising at her business school. I replied that the only contests I have judged till now are dance competitions, but that I have taken part in elocutions, debates, extempores during my school days and that I was not particularly good at extempores. She said that I would fit in as a judge and she would get back with details.

For those of you who have taken part in competitions, you would know that there are huge expectations from the judges. Not just expectations from the audience and organisers, but from each and every participant who put in a lot of effort on stage. I've been there, and during the competitions that go beyond an hour, like dance competitions; would wonder what went wrong with the judges when the results came out. Thoughts like "We definately deserved better than second or third. Besides the junta that got first were totally crappy". When we did manage to win, we never wondered if the second/third place winners thought of the judges in the same way.

And then there is the order in which you are to perform. You are told that judges tend to give the initial participants less marks. Its like when the first participant comes up, you can't compare that person against anyone else so you never give them the highest marks even if they are really good. Then marks are churned out relative to the others and in the bargain you tend you forget how the initial performers performed. There is no 'replay' system, as a judge you are expected to be fair and come up with a result that is without conscious prejudice.

There was this one competition where I totally went numb when I heard the result. It was probably the biggest and most prestigious 'Elocution' competition in the city. You had all the best schools taking part, there were 16 in all and 2 participants from each school which made the count 32. By a draw of lots it turned out that our school spoke first and my chance was first, while my schoolmate would get to speak as the 17th participant. It hits you hard and all your teachers tell you to forget about being ranked amongst the top. The topic I was to speak on was partially worked on by me, so there were a lot of emotions from the past weeks that had gone into its making. Not to mention the endless hours of practicing modulation, voice tone, being phonetically correct, body gestures, facial expressions with a conscious realisation of how much time had elapsed after each and every sentence. You do your best from your side and then you expect the judges to do their best. As I mentioned, when the results were out I went a bit numb and the hall went silent in my head, as I somehow found my legs taking me forward. I won by half a mark, with my schoolmate second and we won the overall trophy. I thanked the judges that night and hoped that they felt that they had done justice to all participants.

While preparing to judge the extempore/debate contest that a friend was organising, I got a bit hyper and wanted to have the breakup of marks before hand so that I can think about it and not wonder at the judges table, "What the hell does that mean?". I told her to give me the contact info of the other judges so that I can talk to them about the marks split and so that we can come to a consensus on how things should be judged. She then told me tht I was to be the only judge which totally caught me off guard. Yikes!!! Am I gonna be fair to the participants. I know that by being the only judge that would definately not be possible. I then asked her to send me the topics for the extempore so that I can think about it before hand and not be caught wondering what is being spoken about on stage. I was not a nervous wreck but was definately a bit jittery and doubtful of my abilities to judge. She then informed me that the extempore was just an intermediate contest in a series of competitions. And that teams were to be eliminated along the way, competiting on some other grounds to move up the ranks. On the final day they got one of their professors to judge along with me. I was relieved that we just had to eliminate some teams, cause that day I definately could not decide who was the best amongst them. There were two-three teams amongst the top but I knew that I would be unfair to them if I had to pick one. The prof told me that he felt that somewhere inbetween he was giving teams low marks so then he started giving them higher and in the bargain his marksheet does not reflect the real rankings. I put forward rational behind eliminating certain groups and why certain groups should not be eliminated. Since it was an extempore and the topics were different there were some who spoke decently well on tough topics and then there were those who did not do justice to easy topics. Finally we arrived at a consensus, but I felt that I kinda pushed my opinion on him :-) There was definately something that could have been done better from my end in terms of judging but looking at what was required at the end I think I did a decent job.

What's in a Name ? Duh!

Not 'Duh!' but "What's in a name ?" part deux.
The name is 'Shyam'. Well its 'Shyam Shankar'. Err well its actually 'Shyam Shankar Dharmarajan'.

Shyam just moved to Bangalore and we were out with some friends. Meghana, who like the rest of us, knows Shyam for the past 9+ years was calling him 'ShyamShankar'. Most of us just call him a plain simple 'Shyam'. So naturally the question arose as to why she doesn't call him 'Shyam' like all of us. I then asked Jaya and between a few giggles and just being herself, she pointed out that she calls him 'Shyam'. Meghana then mentioned that she calls him 'ShyamShankar' cause she likes the sound of it.

The guys then got into a huddle, and started discussing our own theories about names. Bala then mentioned that 'Shyam' was more intimate than 'ShyamShankar'. Its like first you call him 'Shyam' and then push him away and reiterate the distance he has to keep from you, by adding the 'Shankar', which makes the gap obvious. Something more intimate than 'Shyam' would be 'Shhh' and then the only thing more intimate than that would be to call him by making eye gestures :-) So while we were on our way to obtaining our Phd in names and the sound of it we decided to ask Jaya what she calls her boyfriend. We then got back into a huddle and started to discuss on the new input we had just received. Jaya who was oblivious to what was going on amongst us, seemed to be get a bit uneasy as we started to out giggle her. No one can take the crown of 'Laughing Queen' away from her, not us, no one. So she queried and we oblidged with the first draft of our thesis.

Then in a final stroke of genuine crown winning giggles and laughter she burst out, "Nooooo..... Shyam Shankar Dharmarajan!!!!". Ouch.

An excerpt from the 'Novel' deed.

I completed NaNoWriMo 2006. For winning I got a certificate in pdf form, which is to be printed. And some winner banners that I have put up on the blog. Long way to go though. Planning to print the excerpt on the back of the certificate so that it reminds me of what I have to do :-) The excerpt is below.

Eight Queens

The landscape was serene, reflected by the life that dwelled on it, although transient. The sun had reached its pinnacle, witness to all that was below, the elements in motion, the gentle flutter of flora, complemented with the random movements of the fauna, each in their own world, their actions unconsciously maneuvered by their conscious decision for survival; survival of the fittest, Darwin’s world reliving itself life after life, breathe after breathe, movement after movement, actions from reactions, each one having a subtle effect on the next, randomness in patterns, patterns out of randomness. And in all that randomness trod a wild horse, white as the snow on which it left its ephemeral mark, making itself one with the picture perfect scenery of which is was a welcome guest. It neighed its way through its feeding ritual, cutting its space through the ambience with majestic poise, moving on to the next grazing point when it partially whet its appetite from the flora that had just served its purpose, oblivious of the eyes that followed its profound beauty.

Eyes that blinked with thirst and hunger; eyes that had grown wary of the promises of life and the living of it; eyes that lay in ambush with a fixated gaze that was as tranquilizing to the flesh as a profane thought was to your dignity; flesh the object of desire that sparked off the covert behaviour. The beauty of the majestic beast was almost resonating; before it was transformed through the need for survival in the eyes of the beholder as yet another stepping stone on the road to El Dorado. At first there was hesitation as to whether this ghost deserved to be relieved of its beautiful body, the very sight of it satiating the hunger of the senses, but reality can’t survive on thoughts alone, the heart was willing to defer its verdict but the mind was playing games, vehemently advocating its case in the court of conscience, pushing rational ahead in the light of current circumstances, the jury unanimous in its decision.

Survival of the fittest, that very thought transformed itself through the senses into outward actions that manifested itself in the lifting of a gun in stealth mode, all senses focused on the impending action to be performed. It was a sacrifice the soul was willing to make, the sacrificial lamb on the altar of the Gods of hunger and the need for survival. The sanctity of the mountain was to be desecrated by the blood of an innocent for the sake of another and there was nothing anyone could do about it, not the Gods, no one; everything around, living and dead would soon be witness to this act as the sound of nature’s laws would soon resonate. The bullet would rip through the personal space of the animal that it thought was its own and it would catch it unaware; too quick to respond to the warnings that travel through space and time.

Was there really nothing anyone could do to stop this act; not even the Gods. Blood would permeate its way through the white snow and the episode would soon be forgotten as nature taking its natural course. The winds then took the smell of death to the senses of the white horse, as it twitched its head in the direction of danger and froze in its stance, making contact with its soon to be assassin; eyes locked and perceptions of life were exchanged, anxiety and opportunity meeting somewhere in between, giving rise to a plethora of emotions locked inside Pandora’s box. As the first pearl of sweat found its way through his pores and down his brow, silently awaiting its final decent to coalesce with the snow below his feet, his finger finally made contact with the trigger and the mind gave a go ahead, with doubts still lurking in the shadows. That moment etched in time was to decide the fate not just of one soul but of two. As he raised his spirit to deliver the coup de grace, a voice was heard in the background, “Let it live. It need not die so that we can live.”

The Beginning of the End

NaNoWriMo Blog

Excerpts from my Novel in progress 'Eight Queens'.

View my Progress Report

You win a certificate in pdf form, which is to be printed. And some winner banners that I have put up on the blog. Long way to go though. Planning to print the excerpt on the back of the certificate so that it reminds me of what I have to do :-)

NaNoWriMo PepTalks

NaNoWriMo :: Week Four

Dear Author,

We've been through a lot together these past 21 days. We've laughed at our books. We've cried at our books. And, in the last three weeks, we've progressed steadily together through the five stages of novel-writing.

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

And together we've grown as---oh wait.

Those aren't the five stages of novel-writing. They're the five stages of grieving.

Well, there goes this week's pep talk.

But you know what? Those stages actually work pretty well for NaNoWriMo too.

Stage/Week One definitely had plenty of denial ("this isn't going to be that hard"). Stage/Week Two was full of anger ("why do I do this to myself every year?"). Then came Stage/Week Three's bargaining ("I'm spending Sunday in bed watching TV, but only because I'm going to get up at 4 AM Monday and write 18,000 words before I go to wor k.")

And now we reach Stage/Week Four. Depression.

Why depression? Shouldn't this be the all-out party point? What about the stuff in last week's email about 35K and the gravity changing and the Tibetan yak farmer with the superpowered writing totem? Isn't Week Four supposed to be the point when everything gets easier?

In a word: Yes.

This weekend, we'll hit the home stretch. Where our books leap into the 40,000s, and we bat out the last 10,000 words in an exuberant rush, crossing the 50k finish line with a few days (or minutes) to spare. A true storybook ending.

But there's also a certain bewilderment that comes with setting an impossible goal, working like mad, and then looking up to discover that you are on the verge of achieving it. Winning NaNoWriMo is something that you'll remember for the rest of your life, but winning means ending, and it's a little sad to accept (Stage Five!) the fact that the focus, pro ductivity, and imaginative mayhem of these last 21 days will go away soon.

I'll talk about maintaining that momentum year-round in my final email, which will go out the first week of December. For now, though, we have a challenge to complete. And whatever your word count, know that you are on track for completing it. If that means you need to write 49,900 words this week, so be it. People do it every year. We'll have the wrist-icer, massage technician, and a gilded novelist crown ready for you when you come flying around the 50K bend.

The end is in sight! I'll see you at the finish line.

Chris
32,100 words and counting

NaNoWriMo :: Week Three

Dear Author,

You remember those overachieving participants I talked about in last week's email? The ones speeding past us with word counts in the 20,000s, and "kick me" signs fluttering from their backs?

Most of them will be cruising into the 50,000-word winners' circle this week.

Sheesh.

But you know what? I've been doing a little research. And I've discovered that thousands of participants haven't written word *one* of their books. Which makes those of us with more than 10,000 words to our name look pretty darn good by comparison. Not as far ahead as we'd like to be, maybe. But nowhere near out of contention.

And this is where I need to talk a little bit about 35K.

To me, there are two milestones in NaNoWriMo. The obvious one is 50k, when the champagne flows and the confetti falls, and your friends hoist you up on their shoulders and sing songs about your heroic novel-writing feat.

My favorite moment of the whole endeavor, though, comes at 35K. There's less singing, mind you, but when you hit 35k, you won't need a word-count tool to tell you you're there. If Week Two had a wall of fatigue at its core; Week Three is built around this glorious, chocolate-covered door called 35K. That portal opens into a wonderland of renewed energy, revived bookish enthusiasm, and serious happy-dances at the computer keyboard.

Because when you pass 35k, the gravity of the whole event changes. Writing is easier. Plotting is easier. And at 35K, you will see something in the distance that is both wonderful and bittersweet.

You'll see the end of this crazy noveling adventure.

We'll talk more about that next week. For now, the only important thing is getting to 35K. For those of us in the lower rungs of the word-coun t bracket, that may seem an impossible feat. But as NaNoWriMo participants, we eat the impossible for breakfast.

And just to make sure you have everything you need for this week's intense writing sessions, I've asked our technical overseer Russ to pack a little something extra into this email.

You see, eight years ago, while trekking across Tibet, I met an old yak farmer who lived alone in a small yurt filled with paperbacks. The older volumes were self-help guides to better living through topical applications of yak butter. But the more recent books included an array of detective fiction set in London, sci-fi tales about interplanetary wars between asparagus creatures, and a sassy series about a young woman just starting to make a name for herself in the publishing industry.

The farmer, it turns out, had written all of them.

When I asked him how he managed it, he explained that he'd found a secret totem on the s teppe that endowed its possessor with superheroic noveling powers.

I excitedly told him about my idea for founding a project where everyone in the world would write a 50,000-word novel from scratch. He wept. Then he went and dug out the brown, wooden totem, and placed it in my hand. "Share it with your people," he said. "I don't need it anymore. Book contracts have ceased to have any meaning for me since Bertelsmann AG bought Random House."

He then lowered his sad eyes, and disappeared, leaving me with the curious object and keys to his yurt.

Thanks to that totem, I've managed to write a 50,000-word novel every year, overcoming dastardly word-count deficits and my own diabolical procrastinatory tendencies.

But now I think it's time to pass the torch. This morning, I ground up the totem, and asked Russ to carefully imbed a tiny portion of it into every Week Three pep talk email. You have it no w, and its magical writerly effects will last at least through the end of the month, and probably much longer.

All I ask in return is that you honor the last request the old man made to me before riding off into the yak-filled sunset.

"Please be at 35,000 words by the end of Week Three," he said. I nodded. I had no idea what he was talking about.

But I know now. As do you.

The challenge is mighty, but you are mightier still.

See you at 35K, writer!

Chris
NaNoWriMo
18,400 words, 4 yaks, and 1 jumbo latte

NaNoWriMo :: Week Two

Dear NaNoWriMo Participant,

Hi there! It's Chris Baty again. And if you accepted the challenge in last week's email, you opened a comfortable word-count lead right out of the gate, increased that lead in the first weekend, and are now sailing far ahead of pace, preparing to plunge into the 20,000s.

You are looking good, feeling great, and your back is slowly accumulating an array of "kick me" signs, placed there by your fellow participants as you sprinted past us. A few signs, though, are a small price to pay for victory. And you *are* going to be victorious. If you are a day or less from 20K, you have everything it takes to win, and win big. Keep it up. Don't slow down. We admire you, even if you made us feel so bad about ourselves that we had to put those signs on you.

But this email is not for those doing exceptionally well. It's for the rest of us---authors with underdeveloped word counts, overdeveloped novel-guilt complexes, and sensational procrastinating abilities. Because we are the ones who are going to begin having serious misgivings about this whole escapade in the next seven days.

Why?

Because it turns out we are too busy to do this.

Or because a crisis has brought some novel-eating turmoil into our lives.

Or because our stories are really, really bad, and we're wondering why we're sacrificing so much of our time to produce a consistently crappy book.

It all adds up to the fabled Week Two Wall---a low-point of energy, enthusiasm, and joie de novel that strikes most NaNoWriMo participants between days 7 and 14. This is when our inner editors, who largely turned a blind eye to our novel flailings in Week One, return to see how things are going. And their assessments are never kind.

The plot is draggy. The characters are boring. The dialogue is pointless, and the prose has all the panache of something dashed off by a distracted kindergartner.

If you're feeling any of these things---or find yourself starting to feel them this week---know that nothing is wrong. In fact, you're likely on track for a great NaNoWriMo. Just lower your head, pick up your pace, and write straight into the maw of your misgivings. If you are thinking about quitting, DO NOT DO IT IN WEEK TWO.

If you have to quit, do it in Week Three.

I'm serious.

Because if you quit in Week Two, you're going to miss an amazing moment---the moment when your novel begins to click. You'll miss a genius plot twist you can't foresee right now that will suddenly elevate your book from a distressing mess to a sort-of-tolerable mess. And then you'll miss the euphoric breakthrough that follows that twist, when your book improves itself all the way to not-half-bad.

Not-half-bad will make you scream, it feels so good.

And you know what? The more you write, the better it gets. So make it a priority to write in torrents this week. Allow your characters to change, and have change forced upon them. Follow your intuition, even if it leads away from where you thought your book was heading. And know that writing a novel is like building a car. Your only job this month is to create a clunky machine that will eventually move people from one place to another. If your beast rolls at all at this point, you're doing great. Pretty prose, snappy dialogue, brilliant metaphors---they're all part of the high-gloss paint job and finishing touches we put on *after* the body is built.

In December, we'll have nothing but time for adding flames to our hoods and airbrushing a majestic eagle or pair of sunrise stallions on the sides of our new rides. For now, the 20,000s are calling, and we can't get distracted by the small stuff if we're going to get there. In the challenging confines of Week Two, our books will truly be built. Characters will evolve. Plots will unfold. It's going to be difficult at times, but once we make it into (and out of) the 20,000s, everything gets much easier. And envious tales of our literary feat-in-the-making will begin circulating amongst our friends, family, and co-workers.

At which point, we'll probably find a note or two on our backs as well.

It'll be awesome.

Keep plowing onward, brave writer! Good things are coming. I'll be back next Wednesday for some thoughts on Week Three.

Dreaming about my airbrushed eagle,

Chris
NaNoWriMo
8400 words and counting

NaNoWriMo :: Week One

Dear Author,

Greetings! My name is Chris Baty, and I'm the director of National Novel Writing Month. Welcome to this year's noveling extravaganza! It's great to have you writing with us.

As impossible as it may seem standing here on the precipice overlooking a vast November, NaNoWriMo will be over before you know it. This month---like the book you started writing today---moves at a frightful pace. To help give you a heads-up on some of the spirit-lifting milestones and spleen-poking hazards we'll be flying past on our way to 50K, I'll be sending an email like this one to you every Wednesday of the month.

Which brings me neatly to the subject at hand: Week One.

Ah, sweet Week One.
Whether you're a first-timer or a NaNoWriMo veteran, Week One is epic. We step onto its stage clutching a few crumpled lines of dialogue, and bearing only the haziest notions of setting and story. And, when the curtain closes on the seventh day, we're improbably directing a strange and wonderful cast of characters, all of them eager to make their mark on the tale unfolding around them.
The keys to thriving in Week One are straightforward:

1) Surge early. To be on par for the month, you should be writing 1667 words per day. In Week One, try to get 2000 or 2500 a day, and beg, borrow, and steal as much of the first weekend as possible to write. You won't need to keep up this pace throughout the month, but nothing guarantees a NaNoWriMo victory (and a fun month) like opening up a hefty lead in the first week.

2) Know that you're not doing any of this alone. As you dive into your book, 70,000 other souls are going through the same ups and downs of the Great Sleep-Deprived Novel. Whenever you're feeling like hurling your laptop out the window or setting fire to your favorite noveling notebook, come to a local write-in or stop by the NaNoWriMo forums for encouragement and reassurance. Likewise, whe never you've had a ferociously productive writing day, celebrate by sending a pep talk or sports car or box of fantastically expensive Swiss chocolates to a writer in distress.

3) Embrace the fear. It's okay to be nervous. Nervous just means you're pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone---which is when great and magical things happen. Even if you have a complete story outline to serve as a map for the month, it's still terrifying to be stepping out into the frontier of your imagination. I blame this on a lifetime of exposure to the perplexing idea that art should be made by artists, and novels left to novelists.

As someone who has done NaNoWriMo for eight years now, I can tell you this: Novels are not written by novelists. Novels are written by everyday people who give themselves permission to write novels. Whatever your writing experience, you have a book in you that only you can write. And November is a beautiful month to get it written.

Have a great first week, everyone! I'll be writing like crazy until Wednesday the 8th, when I'll drop by your inbox again with some thoughts about the spleen-tastic adventures awaiting us in Week Two.

Write on!

Chris
NaNoWriMo

Taut for the Day

"One day you finally wake up and realise that 'Life is like a box of Chocolates', but by then you have diabetes !!!!!" ------ Alice in Never Never Land.