When tiny chores get piled up for the last two days of the week. When despite two clear days, you can't seem to get even one chore done. When the two clear days blur and the Friday evening merges into the Saturday morning that in turns creeps into the Sunday; all without you realizing that it has happened. When before you know, the weekend is over. When the gloominess of the impending work week that you'd have to spend trapped in office sets in. When you miss your days as a free bird where you were the master of your time and the concept of work week was alien to you. When you start craving for that time as the free bird to come back; even if it meant financial insecurity. When the financial security starts feeling like a chain around your ankles and life looks boring. When you start questioning the meaning of life. When you watch Steve Jobs talk about life again and again. And when Steve says the think about looking into the mirror, you think of the ticking time bomb. When you look for reasons to clock in mandatory nine hours and try to diffuse that time bomb; even if none of those nine was spent on any actual work. When by the first hour itself, you start comparing yourself to other rats in the race. When the futility of it all hits you in the face and you cant comprehend why are the other rats so oblivious to misery of a financially secure life. When you forget the futility bit because the
The Impending Monday
So this is what it feels like.
When tiny chores get piled up for the last two days of the week. When despite two clear days, you can't seem to get even one chore done. When the two clear days blur and the Friday evening merges into the Saturday morning that in turns creeps into the Sunday; all without you realizing that it has happened. When before you know, the weekend is over. When the gloominess of the impending work week that you'd have to spend trapped in office sets in. When you miss your days as a free bird where you were the master of your time and the concept of work week was alien to you. When you start craving for that time as the free bird to come back; even if it meant financial insecurity. When the financial security starts feeling like a chain around your ankles and life looks boring. When you start questioning the meaning of life. When you watch Steve Jobs talk about life again and again. And when Steve says the think about looking into the mirror, you think of the ticking time bomb. When you look for reasons to clock in mandatory nine hours and try to diffuse that time bomb; even if none of those nine was spent on any actual work. When by the first hour itself, you start comparing yourself to other rats in the race. When the futility of it all hits you in the face and you cant comprehend why are the other rats so oblivious to misery of a financially secure life. When you forget the futility bit because thefancy paycheck that you get allows you to go to fancy restaurants and afford things that you never could. When you do buy those things, it dawns on you that you have no time to enjoy those things because you don't have the time. When you suddenly have to go sleep by 9 on Sunday night because you dont want to be late to work the next day. Oh when you dread things like getting in late. When the little question from the poor administrative office feels like a nag from an old, sore wife. When the entire experience feels like dragging a dead relationship because you don't want to let go; hell, you can't let go. When the entire thing makes you depressed about it. When the fogs of depression dont let you see a way out. And when the fog lifts, you realize that life's reduced to staring at the clock, hoping it would go faster; but the torturous clock actually ticks slower than it ought to and no one can help. When you suddenly think that may be, just may be, if you believed in God, may be He would have have helped the clock go faster. When you realize that others that believe in God are faring no better. When you see those God-fearing zombies all around you, happily walking into the doors of slavery. When you can't understand what makes the other slaves tick and so excited about the mundane days ahead for the rest of their lives. When the gloom of the predictable eventually sets in. When you get used to it. When you become a part of the crowd rather than screaming. When, when, those jokes, those stories, those anecdotes, those cartoons about perils of Monday mornings start to make sense. When you are.. you are...
When tiny chores get piled up for the last two days of the week. When despite two clear days, you can't seem to get even one chore done. When the two clear days blur and the Friday evening merges into the Saturday morning that in turns creeps into the Sunday; all without you realizing that it has happened. When before you know, the weekend is over. When the gloominess of the impending work week that you'd have to spend trapped in office sets in. When you miss your days as a free bird where you were the master of your time and the concept of work week was alien to you. When you start craving for that time as the free bird to come back; even if it meant financial insecurity. When the financial security starts feeling like a chain around your ankles and life looks boring. When you start questioning the meaning of life. When you watch Steve Jobs talk about life again and again. And when Steve says the think about looking into the mirror, you think of the ticking time bomb. When you look for reasons to clock in mandatory nine hours and try to diffuse that time bomb; even if none of those nine was spent on any actual work. When by the first hour itself, you start comparing yourself to other rats in the race. When the futility of it all hits you in the face and you cant comprehend why are the other rats so oblivious to misery of a financially secure life. When you forget the futility bit because the
Thoughts on book industry in India
Now that I am a stakeholder in the publishing industry in India and over the next few years I hope to become a significant one, I am going to start talking about things I've learnt while I was working on #tnks (wow that was a long sentence).
I plan to post my thoughts in a series of posts. And I am calling this series as Business of Books. So before I start getting into any serious discussion or prose, here are a few things that I would talk about over the next few weeks, months. If there is something specific that you want me to talk about, please do let me know.
No, I am not an expert. I am a mere curious observer standing on the sidelines of this amazing business.
Oh, I just need to figure out how would onWriting.in co-exist with this. I don't have answers for the time being. Let's see when they dawn. In the meanwhile, hope you've ordered the book!
Originally published on tnks blog.
I plan to post my thoughts in a series of posts. And I am calling this series as Business of Books. So before I start getting into any serious discussion or prose, here are a few things that I would talk about over the next few weeks, months. If there is something specific that you want me to talk about, please do let me know.
No, I am not an expert. I am a mere curious observer standing on the sidelines of this amazing business.
- Print vs Electronic. The non-stop battle between printed and ebooks. Which is better. Why? What is the alternative?
- The monies. What do the publishers make, what do authors make? Who else makes money. Of course a lot of guesstimating will be involved.
- Marketing. Of course. I am after-all a marketeer by training. The jury is still out on my "expert" level though.
- Managing egos. Of other writers, publishers, retailers, distributors. Even readers have egos!
- The mafia. No no, not the
ItalianSicilian one. But the mafia in the books industry. Yes, there is. Trust me. I've had an encounter already. Thankfully it was not dirty. - Support groups. I am lucky to have folks at Wrimo India as a huge support group. Without them, a lot of my work would have suffered. Why is important to have a group? What to do if you don't have one.
- First-time authors. This one is probably where I'd spend a lot of time. After all, I am an outsider and it took considerable time, effort, hustle and luck to get the book done. Publishing for me was surprisingly easy. More on this as we go along.
Oh, I just need to figure out how would onWriting.in co-exist with this. I don't have answers for the time being. Let's see when they dawn. In the meanwhile, hope you've ordered the book!
Originally published on tnks blog.
"You think and do, whereas I do and think"
 |
| SRK. Source: Unknown. |
So on his birthday, I was reading one of his interviews from 2014 and when Rajeev Masand asked him about his relationship with Aamir Khan, SRK said [he said to Aamir Khan],
"You think and do, whereas I do and think,"I read the line and I was like, wow!
In this one line, he put to rest all speculation, all doubt that I had about SRK's ability to choose what he does. I can now ignore, forgive, forget all his mistakes. I mean the man simply acts. Agreed he thinks a lot and he's created a perception about things but he simply does. For him, action takes precedence over foreplay. Karma wins over buddhi vilas.
So, coming to myself (after all the blog is supposed to be about me), I think I do the same thing. I act. Often impulsively (or may be I act on gut and intuition. whatever but I act) and then I think about what I've done. As a result, I often make mistakes but who cares. Every mistake makes me richer. It strengthens my gut, my intuition muscle, creates a rich library of incidents that I can refer to. After all, I am in this for the long haul!
Not a bad epiphany to happen first thing in the morning!
Thank you SRK for helping me with the epiphany. And oh, belated Happy Birthday!
The Paycheck Puzzle
 |
| Rat Race. Source: Unknown. Found here. |
In fact, I want to claim that everytime I have needed money, I've somehow got it from some unexpected source. No, I don't win lotteries or get estates from old uncles but I do get some unexpected work (freelance). Or some deferred payments comes through or some refunds happen. Somehow, something has happened and I've got money.
But lately I am having issues. First a freelance job that gave me a regular trickle of money every month, I was fired from it. Second I made some unnecessary expenses at the behest of some friends; the expense was totally unjustified and sad part is that I can't get a refund on it and I will have to live with it. Finally, I did not plan things well. I kept delaying things, hoping that they'd fall in place by themselves. They did not and I am thus reeling under the pressure.
All these, things, have made me a slave to paycheck that is supposed to come at the end of every month. I started a new naukri and it's been a month. Well almost. The paycheck is due and I am waiting for it desperately. It's actually the 5th day of the month already and money is nowhere in sight. However, the overdraft on my credit card is staring in my face. Oh, I am behind on the rent. And I could do with some new clothes. The phone needs to be replaced and the computer that I loaned from sis is almost broken. The list just goes on. I will not bore with details but the matter of fact is, I need money. Side note. I think I also need a year off.
I have no clue how the rest of the world lives their life waiting for a paycheck. Total respect AND pity towards the ones who do. My folks did the same and most people around me do it. And no one seems bothered about it. I have no clue how they do it. The damn rat race is so evident and I am now a part of it. Existential crisis is so not happening. That too, first thing in the morning!
On an average, during the day, I think that I can change the world. I really mean it. I really think that I can add a lot of "value" to whatever I do. I believe I am gifted like that. I have no shame in saying so. Neither am I proud about it. I just know that I've been given a gift and I am not using it. And I am stuck in this mindless chase to nowhere. If I were any less, I would've accepted things and would have done haalat se samjhauta. But I can't. I know I can do lot more. I don't know when or how though. Any help anyone?
While I finished posting this, I am still refreshing my bank account page every thirty seconds. Hoping for a miracle that somehow some money would land in the account and I would ward off the creditors for a bit, before they are back, next month. And the month after that. While I am still waiting for my paycheck to happen!
Oh, and just yesterday I met someone who told me that great men like Anurag Kashyap and others had to sleep on the kitchen floor for years. And for every great man who's made it big, there are a million others that die an anonymous death. Can I take hope from their lives? I don't even know what I am rambling.
More later!
P.S.: These days I think a lot about money and life and other things. Don't know what's up!
P.P.S.: Things aren't that bad to be honest. Most of my issues are first world problems really. Some other such problems are here.
The first ten copies of #tnks
The first ten copies of #tnks are I can't wait to see em. Can't wait for that damn courier to arrive. I just hope that paper is nice, cover is thick enough and it feels like a real book when I hold it in my hand.
How do I feel? A million bucks. Damn right! A million bucks! After all the book was on my bucket list forever!
So, after the euphoria, now that the book is here, I need to do two things.
a. move on. Last
b. housekeeping. I need to do some bit of housekeeping. For starters, I need to give the first copy to Rana Sir. After all, he paid advance for his copy way back in Oct of last year. Then I need to hand over a copy to #sgMS. Of course I have ordered one for her already that would reach her home once the book is on the bookstores, but I ought to give it to her by hand. And then, I will give a copy to few friends, including my sis and Neo. And I would keep a few copies on me all the time. So that next time I goto a bookstore, next time I meet someone who loves books, I could flip the copy out and show it to them!
That's it!
In case you want to buy, you know what to do. Head over to Amazon and Flipkart.
Epicness!
So if you know me, you would know that all my life I have been scared of kids. Not scared actually. But there is some other emotion at play that I can't pinpoint. I can not, just can not be in the same room as kids. I hate them. Detest them. Don't want to be anywhere close to them. Please dont blow these words out of proportion. I merely mean that I, Saurabh Garg, am not fond of kids. And I have no problem with other kids. I mostly leave them alone. I just don't like them around me. May be I would when I am old and won't have anyone else to call of my own. Whatever.
But yesterday night, something epic happened. Epic as in E P I C. I took a 3-month old baby in my arms. Let me call her babyNeo for ease of reference. Ok, so babyNeo may not be 3-months, she's something like 6-months. But she still is a big orange ball of flesh. She kept clawing at my face and my arms and it was the most brilliant feeling. Almost up there with time spent with sgMS. That brilliant. Yeah man!
No, I am not excited about holding her again. It was that one off thing. Like those things that you do just once in life? Party in Vegas, Bungee jump, road trip across America and so on and so forth.
But yes, it was EPIC and it had to come on the blog. Even though I am swarmed with work and thoughts about life and things. More soon. Over and out.
But yesterday night, something epic happened. Epic as in E P I C. I took a 3-month old baby in my arms. Let me call her babyNeo for ease of reference. Ok, so babyNeo may not be 3-months, she's something like 6-months. But she still is a big orange ball of flesh. She kept clawing at my face and my arms and it was the most brilliant feeling. Almost up there with time spent with sgMS. That brilliant. Yeah man!
No, I am not excited about holding her again. It was that one off thing. Like those things that you do just once in life? Party in Vegas, Bungee jump, road trip across America and so on and so forth.
But yes, it was EPIC and it had to come on the blog. Even though I am swarmed with work and thoughts about life and things. More soon. Over and out.
Untitled. Oct 30, 2014.
I don't even know when was the last time I posted on this blog (edit note: On 6th Oct). Since the book went live on Amazon and Flipkart, I have spent all my time talking about it, to everyone that I meet. So much so that if you wake me up at the middle of the night, I would rattle that TNKS is the story of one Nidhi Kapoor who happens to be a famous actress...
Most of these people-many are meeting me for the first time-look at me with pity. They are like, "Here's another misguided soul who thinks that writing could feed his expensive lifestyle." Some obviously are kind. Take GK for example. He is the first contributor to my campaign to try and raise money for the book. Thanks GK.
To top the misery ofmarketing hustle (to get the book known by as many people as possible), I just started a new job. It's been a month and with the Diwali leave and other small leaves, I have spent very few days in office. And, trust me, all those days were so full with work that I did not have time to even die. Writing, reading, meeting people, traveling, thinking, poker and everything else's now been reduced to things that are meant to be done on weekends. I am now part of the rat race. I am now trapped in that inevitable month-on-month paycheck cycle. A life that I detested all my life. Irony. Guess when they said "never say never," they said it from experience. It's like someone's clipped the wings of a grasshopper. Or a bird. Take your pick. So, yesterday, the monotony of warming one chair with my fat butt got better of me and I left office before the time I was scheduled to leave. Of course I would be reprimanded by HR for it. But what the heck. I am not a slave. I love what the company does but my freedom is more important to me. I left early, came home and fell face first on my hard bed. And no, it did not hurt. It actually felt nice for a change.
It was 7 I think when I forced myself to doze off. The sleep was fitful and I woke multiple times at night. Each time I checked my phone, hoping that #sgMS would have reconciled things and would have asked me to come back. No, she did not send any message. She'd never do something like that. Her pride is far too big for it. I did dream of her though. She and I were on some train journey. Very unlike because I detest long train journeys but I am not complaining. It was a dark night and train was passing over a never-ending bridge, erected on top of some ocean somewhere in Europe. Apart from that faint sliver of moon at some distance, it was a pitch black night. I flipped out my phone to take a selfie, both of us bathed in moon light. But I am klutzy when it comes to camera. So she snatched my phone and extended her smallish arms and took a picture. While she clicked, she squeezed in close to me. I could breathe in her perfume, see that tinge of white hiding behind the thick bun that she loves to tie her hair in. She was close to me than she has been in years. And I wanted the moment to last forever. Ok enough. Just because I am reading my first Mills and Boon does not mean I start writing cheesy things on a public blog. And that too about sgMS.
To come back to the afterlife of being a published author, to be honest, it sucks. While I was writing, I had no one to answer to. No one had any expectations. I broke away from all relationships. I was a free fucking bird. I had saved some and seen the world and all I had to do was write 1000 or so word everyday. The 1000 words were a struggle but every word I wrote brought along elation and excitement and satisfaction. I was rowing my own boat in the vast ocean and it did not matter if the boat stayed afloat or drowned. No one would've noticed to be honest. I was truly by myself. I was the master of my time. I could choose what I did.
Now, now that the book is done, I am back to being the chief bread-earner for my family. A side-note on my parents. If not for them, I wouldn't have been able to lead such a nomadic life. Not nomadic but hippy. Thanks Ma and Pa.
But now that I am back, the grind sucks. The ones I listen to, I goto advice for, my mentors, they tell me that that's how life is meant to be lived. I refuse to accept. When God, or whoever else made us, he had to have a plan. And that plan definitely could not be as wasteful as spending hours in a room with other people, trying to give wings to other people's dreams. Damn life. It's so frivolous and wasteful. Something needs to be done. I don't know what.
At times I think the ones who are called mad, they probably weren't mad at all. They were merely taking the world for a ride. That dude Nietzsche said something interesting about such people. He said, "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." I want to believe that he was right. I want to believe that a lot of people around me are dancing to their tunes and I have no clue as to what they are listening to. Wish I had a tune playing in my head. I could've danced to my tune and I could've ignored the world around me. But then, the eternal question. Is it what the life is meant for? To take other for a ride?
There has to a way out. Someone has to have answers. Someone must know the meaning of it all. Someone has to solve the conundrum. There are so so many things that are wrong about the world around us. The unfairness of the world, the hazaar khawahishs, the bonds that prevent us from taking wings, the expectations, sgMS, money. There are so many things that I dont have a clue to. Time to seek help? I don't know. Who'd have answers? Are they easy?
Guess this is what Midlife Crisis is all about?
P.S.: Loved writing this little rant. Oh, the pleasures of venting out. And the pleasures of writing. And the pleasures of a coffee shops. Thanks Starbucks!
P.P.S.: Just updated my bucket list.
Most of these people-many are meeting me for the first time-look at me with pity. They are like, "Here's another misguided soul who thinks that writing could feed his expensive lifestyle." Some obviously are kind. Take GK for example. He is the first contributor to my campaign to try and raise money for the book. Thanks GK.
To top the misery of
It was 7 I think when I forced myself to doze off. The sleep was fitful and I woke multiple times at night. Each time I checked my phone, hoping that #sgMS would have reconciled things and would have asked me to come back. No, she did not send any message. She'd never do something like that. Her pride is far too big for it. I did dream of her though. She and I were on some train journey. Very unlike because I detest long train journeys but I am not complaining. It was a dark night and train was passing over a never-ending bridge, erected on top of some ocean somewhere in Europe. Apart from that faint sliver of moon at some distance, it was a pitch black night. I flipped out my phone to take a selfie, both of us bathed in moon light. But I am klutzy when it comes to camera. So she snatched my phone and extended her smallish arms and took a picture. While she clicked, she squeezed in close to me. I could breathe in her perfume, see that tinge of white hiding behind the thick bun that she loves to tie her hair in. She was close to me than she has been in years. And I wanted the moment to last forever. Ok enough. Just because I am reading my first Mills and Boon does not mean I start writing cheesy things on a public blog. And that too about sgMS.
To come back to the afterlife of being a published author, to be honest, it sucks. While I was writing, I had no one to answer to. No one had any expectations. I broke away from all relationships. I was a free fucking bird. I had saved some and seen the world and all I had to do was write 1000 or so word everyday. The 1000 words were a struggle but every word I wrote brought along elation and excitement and satisfaction. I was rowing my own boat in the vast ocean and it did not matter if the boat stayed afloat or drowned. No one would've noticed to be honest. I was truly by myself. I was the master of my time. I could choose what I did.
Now, now that the book is done, I am back to being the chief bread-earner for my family. A side-note on my parents. If not for them, I wouldn't have been able to lead such a nomadic life. Not nomadic but hippy. Thanks Ma and Pa.
But now that I am back, the grind sucks. The ones I listen to, I goto advice for, my mentors, they tell me that that's how life is meant to be lived. I refuse to accept. When God, or whoever else made us, he had to have a plan. And that plan definitely could not be as wasteful as spending hours in a room with other people, trying to give wings to other people's dreams. Damn life. It's so frivolous and wasteful. Something needs to be done. I don't know what.
At times I think the ones who are called mad, they probably weren't mad at all. They were merely taking the world for a ride. That dude Nietzsche said something interesting about such people. He said, "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." I want to believe that he was right. I want to believe that a lot of people around me are dancing to their tunes and I have no clue as to what they are listening to. Wish I had a tune playing in my head. I could've danced to my tune and I could've ignored the world around me. But then, the eternal question. Is it what the life is meant for? To take other for a ride?
There has to a way out. Someone has to have answers. Someone must know the meaning of it all. Someone has to solve the conundrum. There are so so many things that are wrong about the world around us. The unfairness of the world, the hazaar khawahishs, the bonds that prevent us from taking wings, the expectations, sgMS, money. There are so many things that I dont have a clue to. Time to seek help? I don't know. Who'd have answers? Are they easy?
Guess this is what Midlife Crisis is all about?
P.S.: Loved writing this little rant. Oh, the pleasures of venting out. And the pleasures of writing. And the pleasures of a coffee shops. Thanks Starbucks!
P.P.S.: Just updated my bucket list.
#tnks on Catapooolt
News!
I just signed up for a crowdfunding campaign on catapooolt.com to help me raise money to market #tnks. The campaign is live on the catapooolt website. Please go see it. Here is a small intro I made for it.
So why I am doing this? What do I hope to get out of it? What is the exact status of the book? You must have like a million questions. Hopefully this post will answer all those. I like the QnA format the best. Here it is.
U: What is the status of the book?
SG: As we speak, the book is with the printers. Should be available in first half of November. The publisher (Grapevine) has sent requests to Flipkart and Amazon India to list the book but I don't know the status as yet. I need to check with the publisher for it.
U: What do you hope to get out of the campaign?
SG: Two things actually. A, Reach out to more people. And B, raise some money (Rs. 5 lakhs to be precise) that I plan to use to market my book.
U: Thats a lot of money. How do you plan to use it?
SG: To be honest, Rs. 5 lakh would not translate into a lot of actual cash. A large chunk of it would go towards the cost of running the campaign (cant get into specifics buts it's in low double digit percentage points). Then, each contributor will get atleast one copy of the book. Another large chunk will go towards its cost. Finally, I would be left with about a couple of lakhs for marketing. I hope to spend it on conducting a book tour, physical meetups, placing sample copies at libraries across the country and online marketing (SEM, FB and other online platforms). No, I will not take home any money that I raise from the platform. Please do ask me in case you have questions around this.
U: Do you have marketing plan in place?
SG: Yes I do. Available on request. Please ask me and I would share.
U: Why crowdfunding?
Few reasons. Here is a list.
U: What would you give in return if someone supports the campaign?
SG: Boat load of thanks. That translates into good karma. In terms of tangibles, you ofcourse get a copy of the book.I volunteer to sign and write a personal message in each copy that I ship to people who support me. I know I am no big deal and my message is not important to anyone. But your support is important to me. And writing a message is the least I can do for you. A few goodies that the Catapooolt guys have thrown in (more details on the campaign page). I also plan to work alongside other first-time authors come up with their books. I am definitly not the best writer out there. But I am sure that I know how to finish a book and get it in a shape that a publisher may want to see. To me, that was the biggest challenge while I was working on the book. And I want to work with other first-timers on it. And, an opportunity to pitch your book to my publisher, Grapevine India. Trust me, its a tough ask to get a face-to-face meeting with a publisher.
U: What if the campaign is a flop and you can't raise the money you seek?
SG: Big deal. Things often don't go as planned. That does not mean we stop living. I would atleast learn a few things about this thing called crowdfunding. No? That's it. I've run out of questions. You have more questions? Yes? Please ask me. No? Please support me.
Thank You! Oh, one more thing, Catapooolt guys are really really cool. If you are looking to raise funds for a project or something, please do consider them. I would be happy to connect. It's been an absolute pleasure to work with them.
Originally published on #tnks blog.
I just signed up for a crowdfunding campaign on catapooolt.com to help me raise money to market #tnks. The campaign is live on the catapooolt website. Please go see it. Here is a small intro I made for it.
So why I am doing this? What do I hope to get out of it? What is the exact status of the book? You must have like a million questions. Hopefully this post will answer all those. I like the QnA format the best. Here it is.
U: What is the status of the book?
SG: As we speak, the book is with the printers. Should be available in first half of November. The publisher (Grapevine) has sent requests to Flipkart and Amazon India to list the book but I don't know the status as yet. I need to check with the publisher for it.
U: What do you hope to get out of the campaign?
SG: Two things actually. A, Reach out to more people. And B, raise some money (Rs. 5 lakhs to be precise) that I plan to use to market my book.
U: Thats a lot of money. How do you plan to use it?
SG: To be honest, Rs. 5 lakh would not translate into a lot of actual cash. A large chunk of it would go towards the cost of running the campaign (cant get into specifics buts it's in low double digit percentage points). Then, each contributor will get atleast one copy of the book. Another large chunk will go towards its cost. Finally, I would be left with about a couple of lakhs for marketing. I hope to spend it on conducting a book tour, physical meetups, placing sample copies at libraries across the country and online marketing (SEM, FB and other online platforms). No, I will not take home any money that I raise from the platform. Please do ask me in case you have questions around this.
U: Do you have marketing plan in place?
SG: Yes I do. Available on request. Please ask me and I would share.
U: Why crowdfunding?
Few reasons. Here is a list.
- I am poor. No shame or guilt in admitting it. Heard of poverty porn?
- I need money to market. Like any product, the audience (people who read books) needs to be told that a product that they may like (my book) exists and they ought to try it. This telling the audience bit requires money. And hence crowdfunding. Simple.
- Access to "crowd." As much I hate calling people "crowd," it's an accepted term. So, crowd is a set of people spread all over the Intenret - who I may or may not know - that often help others realize their
goalsdreams. Most crowdfunding websites have a long list of patrons and a ready community of such people. - No other alternative. I have to spend money to get attention. Everyone may hate the book. That's a different matter. But they need to read it first. So, I don't have a rich father or long-lost uncles. Not dating a rich heiress. Worked for peanuts all my life and hence no savings. Don't like the concept of loans. And hence no other source of money.
- Marketing. Every person who sees the crowdfunding campaign gets to know about my book. That's a motivation in itself. The entire idea of getting as many people possible to read the book is driving this bit. Higher the number of people who read the book, more feedback I get and better I get. I am in this (writing) for the long haul and I better get better with time.
- Finally, why not!
SG: Boat load of thanks. That translates into good karma. In terms of tangibles, you ofcourse get a copy of the book.I volunteer to sign and write a personal message in each copy that I ship to people who support me. I know I am no big deal and my message is not important to anyone. But your support is important to me. And writing a message is the least I can do for you. A few goodies that the Catapooolt guys have thrown in (more details on the campaign page). I also plan to work alongside other first-time authors come up with their books. I am definitly not the best writer out there. But I am sure that I know how to finish a book and get it in a shape that a publisher may want to see. To me, that was the biggest challenge while I was working on the book. And I want to work with other first-timers on it. And, an opportunity to pitch your book to my publisher, Grapevine India. Trust me, its a tough ask to get a face-to-face meeting with a publisher.
U: What if the campaign is a flop and you can't raise the money you seek?
SG: Big deal. Things often don't go as planned. That does not mean we stop living. I would atleast learn a few things about this thing called crowdfunding. No? That's it. I've run out of questions. You have more questions? Yes? Please ask me. No? Please support me.
Thank You! Oh, one more thing, Catapooolt guys are really really cool. If you are looking to raise funds for a project or something, please do consider them. I would be happy to connect. It's been an absolute pleasure to work with them.
Originally published on #tnks blog.
Hello, Mr. First Timer!
I subscribe to a few blogs and newsletters. One of them is by this guy called Jack Cheng. His last newsletter talked about things he did for the first-time in the last week.
Taking inspiration from him, here is a list of things I did for the first-time in my life,in the last week till the time of writing this. In no particular order.
Taking inspiration from him, here is a list of things I did for the first-time in my life,
- Slept for over 18 hours on Sunday. The time when I was awake, I took a flight, ate, showered and walked. No phone calls, no conversations, no interruptions. It was just me, with myself. Wish life had more days like that.
- Asked the 50 dates girl out. She runs this blog, 50 dates in Delhi. Love the project. Love the way she writes. I had to make friends with her. Wrote in and asked her out. And no, she hasn't responded so far. Knowing of her popularity, I dont expect an answer. But, like Geeta says, karm karo, fal ki chinta nahi. [Update. Before I could publish, I did get a reply!]
- Pushed, shoved, tugged, dragged a shopping cart full of things that I bought for someone else's house. Hoping to make the place better. And despite the fact that I hate going to these grocery, home product places on the weekend but that's all I had. I had to do. Why? I dont know. The person better keeps the house clean.
- Decided to run a Marathon. By June of next year. Gives me 8 odd months to prepare. More on this later in the day / week. I am using this book as my guide. Prof. Bakshi had recommended this book some time back in one of his posts.
- Cancelled a reminder that I had put to alert #sgMS on a med that she ought to take every monday at 8. She is no longer with me and I ought to move on. Tough but I would. Inshallah. I would.
- Missed deadlines. On two things that could impact how my book does. One was to one of the best social media marketing brains in the country. And other to a platform that could have helped me market my books to people I don't know. Knowing both of them, I dont think I am getting another shot. Damn!
- Got an author page on Goodreads. Its at goodreads.com/saurabhgarg. Takes me a step closer to having a wikipedia page some day :). Why do I want it? I dont know. What would I do with it? I dont know. After all it would be one of 5 million (and counting) pages on the wikipedia!
Thats it. I am sure there is more. But cant recall. These 7 were the definite highlights. And I loved writing this one. Thanks Jack! Lets see if I remember to do write one, the next week.
And what did you do for the first-time in the last week?
P.S.: Mandatory plug for my book. The Nidhi Kapoor Story. Website: www.tnks.in. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheNidhiKapoorStory
The Girl in Yellow Boots
Background. a.k.a. Context.
I was talking to this friend and she told me about her fetish for shoes. She told me about 40 different kinds of shoes that she had. 40. Four zero. For someone like me - I refuse to wear shoes even when I am taking interviews - 40 different types of shoes sounded crazy. And that's where an idea happened. What if I could write a fictional story, each story inspired by a pair of shoes?
Here is the first.
[Start]
I saw her first at Indigo deli. Indigo is one of those upscale places where a lot of celebrities come together to break bread and sip on wines. Although, out of place, I was there to meet an old acquaintance, hoping to get a lead for a writing job. After all, that's what I am supposed to do as a struggling writer. Suck up to people, hoping to get work that would allow me to survive in Mumbai for yet another month. I lived like that. Month on month. Hand to mouth. I lived on hope. That some day my words would make some reader cry her heart out and eventually I'd move the entire country. And may be that day, that day I'd make a living from my art. Actual living. Not tiny morsels that aren't enough to feed that insatiable hunger that's gnawing me since I decided to take up writing as a career.
Oh, I have drifted. I often do that. When I see words come up, I tend to get lost. I guess it's one of the curses of being a writer. So, let me come back to her. I saw her first at Indigo. No no. It wasn't love. I guess it was surprise and amazement. It was intrigue. It was this urge to know more about her. Be friends with her. May be spend the rest of my life with her. That's it. Not love. Not even lust. But intrigue and a desire to be with her for as long.
She had long curly hair that fell on her face like a veil. She was chewing onto a gum furiously as she scribbled intensely with a pencil. I don't know what made me look in her direction first. But whatever it was, I turned to her and immediately dismissed her as yet another actress. She looked like one and that anyway was Indigo's claim to fame. That you could spot celebrities even on the dead days.
Since my long-lost friend, who could get me a job that promised another month in Mumbai, was yet to come, I had nothing to do but watch people. Yet another hobby that I had to develop to help me write better. So, I was looking at everyone that I could see from my vantage point, in the other corner. There was this young couple who were apparently arguing over something. May be they were having a crisis in their relationship. There was this mother-daughter duo engrossed in their food. Another couple - they were relatively older - was together on a table but looked bored of each other's company. Guess they were married for some time and they had nothing left to talk about. The man was lost in his phone and the woman was leafing through the menu. Damn such relationships where togetherness loses its meaning and people merely go through the motions. Thankfully, on the table next to me was a group of old ladies, none of them less than 60, who apparently were celebrating life like they were sixteen. On another table was this man who sat by himself, engrossed in a book. And then there was me. An out-of-job writer. And of course her.
While I was busy casting all these people in stereotypes, for some reason, my gaze continued to shift back to her. As if I was watching a ping-pong match. I would look at a table, think about the occupants and then go back to her and think about her. Even when I was busy lamenting about the couple that lacked a spark in their lives, somewhere at the back of my head was thinking about her.
I tried hard to avoid her but I could not. She was like this magnetic force that continued to pull me. I don't know why. May be it was her beautiful hair. May be it was the way she curled her lips while she concentrated on her work. Or was it way she held onto the pencil? I don't know. I would never know.
To make matters worse, I think I was the only one who was interested in her. No one else gave her a second look. And all this was new to me. I have always been unfazed by the presence of even the most intimidating women. And here was this woman who captivated my attention like no other. She, on the other hand, in all probability, was oblivious to my presence and was ignorant of the effect that she had on me.
I knew I had to talk to her. Somehow. I had to come up with a reason, a pretext. I had to find one. I had to speak to her. May be she was a writer as well. How else do you explain a girl, a pencil and a cafe in one sentence. Suddenly, as if on the cue, she dropped it.
I traced the pencil as it fell on the wooden flooring that lined the restaurant's floor. For a fall from a three-feet or so high table, it took forever for the pencil to hit the floor. May be it was one of those incidents where time slows down and things get etched in your memory forever.
The pencil landed near her feet and that's when I noticed her mustard-sauce colored yellow boots first. I had her in my field of vision for this long and I never noticed the shoes that she was wearing. I was stumped yet again. I just couldn't comprehend that a strikingly good looking girl, dressed impeccably in a red dress could wear such ugly yellow boots. To me, a girl wearing yellow boots means a tough woman, who is headstrong, bold, prefers outdoor, loves to travel and is more alpha that the alphaest of men.
I know that I couldn't paint a more cliched picture of a girl in yellow boots. And yet, she, the girl in yellow boots and a red dress, looked like a polar opposite. She was this a fragile little thing that for sure would shatter into million tiny pieces if I even touched her. Her countenance and her boots, together, were like this study in contrasts. I had all the more reason to find a pretext to talk to her. She was away from me, or I could have helped her pick that pencil off the floor. I could have sent a note or something with the waiter but that's probably the oldest way to get rejected the fastest. I could walk up to her and ask for her permission to join her but I did not have the balls. There had to be a way. Do I drop a dish or something and create a ruckus to catch her attention? But what woman wants to talk to a sloppy man?
It took me forever to come up with an elaborate plot to get her attention and go talk to her. In my head, I repeated my opening lines that I'd use to talk to her. I perfected my approach and fixed my hair. I pumped myself with fake confidence and I was finally ready to go talk to her and ask her about her boots. That was going to be my opening line after all.
With an elaborate gesture and a swoosh, I got up from my place and let my gaze travel over other patrons - the man lost in his novel, the old ladies making merry, the boring couple munching onto their salads in uncomfortable silence - to the corner where she was seated. To my shock, it was empty. She was gone. I checked again, I checked all the corners and all the tables. She was gone. I did a desperate dance in the deli but she was gone. I rushed out but she was no where to be seen. I asked the doorman about her and he merely shrugged at my enthusiasm about a nameless patron. I spoke to the parked taxis and rickshaws but she was gone. She was gone.
Before it could sink in that she was gone, my friend walked in. While he briefed me on the job, my gaze continued to go back to that corner that she was sitting at. The corner now housed a group of chatty young women, all of them pretty and interesting. But the one I wanted, the one in yellow boots, the study in contrasts, was gone.
***
It's been three year now. I haven't bumped into her again. Even if I have, I wouldn't have noticed because, to be honest, I don't remember how she looked like. I just miss that red dress and those yellow boots.
I do visit Indigo deli more often than I ought to, hoping to spot those yellow boots, hoping to find out more about her. Over the years, in these three years, I have perfected my approach, my opening lines. I know what to ask her and what to talk to her about. I just need one more encounter with her. Damn I deserve that one more encounter. One more chance. And I will not be slow this time about.
Even though three years is a long long time for memories to fade away and people to move on and things to change, I can't get that evening, those boots out of my head. I remember that tumble and that roll of the pencil as it fell down, as if it had happened yesterday.
Of course, some things did change. That job that I was expecting to get that day, eventually came my way. The thing that I wrote for that job, did make people shed tears and did move the collective conscious of the country. One thing led to another and I have now become what I desired the most. A successful writer. Who makes a real living. Who is vaguely recognizable. Who has a few fans. And I am in a relationship that I dreaded the most. I am with a charming woman and most evening, she and I hardly have anything to talk about. I don't know who's fault is it. But I am the man who is perpetually lost in his phone and she is the woman who keeps fiddling with the menu cards when we go out.
Though, the only thing that hasn't changed is that whenever I am at Indigo, my eyes automatically go over to that corer where I saw her the first time. Hoping to see a flash of pale yellow near the foot of the table. Hoping to find her there. In that red dress, chewing onto a gum furiously, scribbling in her notepad, wearing those ugly yellow boots.
Even today, my woman and I are at Indigo. She was busy talking to someone on her phone and I was pushing my salad around with one hand and twiddling my phone with the other. Suddenly, someone tapped lightly on my shoulder and said, "Excuse me! Aren't you the same guy who wrote that book about that film actress?"
I looked up to her and nodded absentmindedly. My book about a film actress and a nameless stalker had done wonders. I assumed that she was talking about the same book. Before I could add anything, she pushed a copy of my book and a pencil in my face. She said, "It's a brilliant book. I loved it! Could I have your autograph please?"
While I did not want to be rude to the woman, I really wanted to be left alone. To drown in my disappointment and sorrow of not seeing the girl in yellow boots at Indigo yet again.
But I managed a feeble smile and took the book from her. Just then, she dropped the pencil.
I saw the pencil fall to the wooden floor. The time seemed to slow down. Yet again. After all these years. The pencil rolled and tumbled as it raced to the floor. The slow and agonizing fall eventually came to an end as the pencil came to a rest on the floor next to the mustard-sauce colored yellow boots that she was wearing.
[End]
P.S.: The other pieces of theGirlIn series are here.
P.P.S.: If I sound like the protagonist in the story and I come across as a vain writer please note I am not trying to be one.
Here is the first.
 |
| Timberland Yellow Boots. Via AK. |
I saw her first at Indigo deli. Indigo is one of those upscale places where a lot of celebrities come together to break bread and sip on wines. Although, out of place, I was there to meet an old acquaintance, hoping to get a lead for a writing job. After all, that's what I am supposed to do as a struggling writer. Suck up to people, hoping to get work that would allow me to survive in Mumbai for yet another month. I lived like that. Month on month. Hand to mouth. I lived on hope. That some day my words would make some reader cry her heart out and eventually I'd move the entire country. And may be that day, that day I'd make a living from my art. Actual living. Not tiny morsels that aren't enough to feed that insatiable hunger that's gnawing me since I decided to take up writing as a career.
Oh, I have drifted. I often do that. When I see words come up, I tend to get lost. I guess it's one of the curses of being a writer. So, let me come back to her. I saw her first at Indigo. No no. It wasn't love. I guess it was surprise and amazement. It was intrigue. It was this urge to know more about her. Be friends with her. May be spend the rest of my life with her. That's it. Not love. Not even lust. But intrigue and a desire to be with her for as long.
She had long curly hair that fell on her face like a veil. She was chewing onto a gum furiously as she scribbled intensely with a pencil. I don't know what made me look in her direction first. But whatever it was, I turned to her and immediately dismissed her as yet another actress. She looked like one and that anyway was Indigo's claim to fame. That you could spot celebrities even on the dead days.
Since my long-lost friend, who could get me a job that promised another month in Mumbai, was yet to come, I had nothing to do but watch people. Yet another hobby that I had to develop to help me write better. So, I was looking at everyone that I could see from my vantage point, in the other corner. There was this young couple who were apparently arguing over something. May be they were having a crisis in their relationship. There was this mother-daughter duo engrossed in their food. Another couple - they were relatively older - was together on a table but looked bored of each other's company. Guess they were married for some time and they had nothing left to talk about. The man was lost in his phone and the woman was leafing through the menu. Damn such relationships where togetherness loses its meaning and people merely go through the motions. Thankfully, on the table next to me was a group of old ladies, none of them less than 60, who apparently were celebrating life like they were sixteen. On another table was this man who sat by himself, engrossed in a book. And then there was me. An out-of-job writer. And of course her.
While I was busy casting all these people in stereotypes, for some reason, my gaze continued to shift back to her. As if I was watching a ping-pong match. I would look at a table, think about the occupants and then go back to her and think about her. Even when I was busy lamenting about the couple that lacked a spark in their lives, somewhere at the back of my head was thinking about her.
I tried hard to avoid her but I could not. She was like this magnetic force that continued to pull me. I don't know why. May be it was her beautiful hair. May be it was the way she curled her lips while she concentrated on her work. Or was it way she held onto the pencil? I don't know. I would never know.
To make matters worse, I think I was the only one who was interested in her. No one else gave her a second look. And all this was new to me. I have always been unfazed by the presence of even the most intimidating women. And here was this woman who captivated my attention like no other. She, on the other hand, in all probability, was oblivious to my presence and was ignorant of the effect that she had on me.
I knew I had to talk to her. Somehow. I had to come up with a reason, a pretext. I had to find one. I had to speak to her. May be she was a writer as well. How else do you explain a girl, a pencil and a cafe in one sentence. Suddenly, as if on the cue, she dropped it.
I traced the pencil as it fell on the wooden flooring that lined the restaurant's floor. For a fall from a three-feet or so high table, it took forever for the pencil to hit the floor. May be it was one of those incidents where time slows down and things get etched in your memory forever.
The pencil landed near her feet and that's when I noticed her mustard-sauce colored yellow boots first. I had her in my field of vision for this long and I never noticed the shoes that she was wearing. I was stumped yet again. I just couldn't comprehend that a strikingly good looking girl, dressed impeccably in a red dress could wear such ugly yellow boots. To me, a girl wearing yellow boots means a tough woman, who is headstrong, bold, prefers outdoor, loves to travel and is more alpha that the alphaest of men.
I know that I couldn't paint a more cliched picture of a girl in yellow boots. And yet, she, the girl in yellow boots and a red dress, looked like a polar opposite. She was this a fragile little thing that for sure would shatter into million tiny pieces if I even touched her. Her countenance and her boots, together, were like this study in contrasts. I had all the more reason to find a pretext to talk to her. She was away from me, or I could have helped her pick that pencil off the floor. I could have sent a note or something with the waiter but that's probably the oldest way to get rejected the fastest. I could walk up to her and ask for her permission to join her but I did not have the balls. There had to be a way. Do I drop a dish or something and create a ruckus to catch her attention? But what woman wants to talk to a sloppy man?
It took me forever to come up with an elaborate plot to get her attention and go talk to her. In my head, I repeated my opening lines that I'd use to talk to her. I perfected my approach and fixed my hair. I pumped myself with fake confidence and I was finally ready to go talk to her and ask her about her boots. That was going to be my opening line after all.
With an elaborate gesture and a swoosh, I got up from my place and let my gaze travel over other patrons - the man lost in his novel, the old ladies making merry, the boring couple munching onto their salads in uncomfortable silence - to the corner where she was seated. To my shock, it was empty. She was gone. I checked again, I checked all the corners and all the tables. She was gone. I did a desperate dance in the deli but she was gone. I rushed out but she was no where to be seen. I asked the doorman about her and he merely shrugged at my enthusiasm about a nameless patron. I spoke to the parked taxis and rickshaws but she was gone. She was gone.
Before it could sink in that she was gone, my friend walked in. While he briefed me on the job, my gaze continued to go back to that corner that she was sitting at. The corner now housed a group of chatty young women, all of them pretty and interesting. But the one I wanted, the one in yellow boots, the study in contrasts, was gone.
***
It's been three year now. I haven't bumped into her again. Even if I have, I wouldn't have noticed because, to be honest, I don't remember how she looked like. I just miss that red dress and those yellow boots.
I do visit Indigo deli more often than I ought to, hoping to spot those yellow boots, hoping to find out more about her. Over the years, in these three years, I have perfected my approach, my opening lines. I know what to ask her and what to talk to her about. I just need one more encounter with her. Damn I deserve that one more encounter. One more chance. And I will not be slow this time about.
Even though three years is a long long time for memories to fade away and people to move on and things to change, I can't get that evening, those boots out of my head. I remember that tumble and that roll of the pencil as it fell down, as if it had happened yesterday.
Of course, some things did change. That job that I was expecting to get that day, eventually came my way. The thing that I wrote for that job, did make people shed tears and did move the collective conscious of the country. One thing led to another and I have now become what I desired the most. A successful writer. Who makes a real living. Who is vaguely recognizable. Who has a few fans. And I am in a relationship that I dreaded the most. I am with a charming woman and most evening, she and I hardly have anything to talk about. I don't know who's fault is it. But I am the man who is perpetually lost in his phone and she is the woman who keeps fiddling with the menu cards when we go out.
Though, the only thing that hasn't changed is that whenever I am at Indigo, my eyes automatically go over to that corer where I saw her the first time. Hoping to see a flash of pale yellow near the foot of the table. Hoping to find her there. In that red dress, chewing onto a gum furiously, scribbling in her notepad, wearing those ugly yellow boots.
Even today, my woman and I are at Indigo. She was busy talking to someone on her phone and I was pushing my salad around with one hand and twiddling my phone with the other. Suddenly, someone tapped lightly on my shoulder and said, "Excuse me! Aren't you the same guy who wrote that book about that film actress?"
I looked up to her and nodded absentmindedly. My book about a film actress and a nameless stalker had done wonders. I assumed that she was talking about the same book. Before I could add anything, she pushed a copy of my book and a pencil in my face. She said, "It's a brilliant book. I loved it! Could I have your autograph please?"
While I did not want to be rude to the woman, I really wanted to be left alone. To drown in my disappointment and sorrow of not seeing the girl in yellow boots at Indigo yet again.
But I managed a feeble smile and took the book from her. Just then, she dropped the pencil.
I saw the pencil fall to the wooden floor. The time seemed to slow down. Yet again. After all these years. The pencil rolled and tumbled as it raced to the floor. The slow and agonizing fall eventually came to an end as the pencil came to a rest on the floor next to the mustard-sauce colored yellow boots that she was wearing.
[End]
P.S.: The other pieces of theGirlIn series are here.
P.P.S.: If I sound like the protagonist in the story and I come across as a vain writer please note I am not trying to be one.
Dear Mary Kom,
Wrote this a few days ago. Couldn't publish in time. But der aaye, durust aaye!
Dear Mary Kom,
I just came back from a movie hall after watching the eponymous biopic based on your life. And it was moving. So moving that it has made me write this letter. The letter is going to be a really long one. Please do get a bucket of popcorn and some soda before you start reading this.
First things first. You are a wonderful wonderful person Mary. You are a true achiever and a true fighter. I love your never-say-die attitude. I love the way you are totally committed to your sport. I love the way you have been an exemplary ambassador for the sport of boxing. Thank you so much for bringing so much glory to India. I am so proud that you and I are compatriots. I sincerely wish I could do half the things that you've done. You deserve all the awards and medals and appreciation and flowers and other things that we have bestowed upon you. And I sincerely believe that you deserve a lot more. Apologies that it took a movie to get me (and probably other Indians) to notice your contribution to our country.
So, if this letter gets rude, out of place, please ignore it as a rant of a jobless old man.
I do not mean any disrespect to you, but Mary, you've made a mistake. A big big mistake. You allowed Sanjay Leela Bhansali and Omung Kumar (I loved Omung Kumar when I was a kid when he did shows like Ek Minute etc.) to make the movie on your life. And you allowed Priyanka Chopra (who I know has been put on earth to marry me someday) to play the lead. The three of them, individually, are great (like I said). Probably as accomplished as you are. But the three of them together created a mess that is hard to digest. There are so many things wrong with the movie that I don't even know where to start.
Actually I know where to start. Research. If I were to make a sporting movie and a boxing movie at that, I would have done a LOT of research on it. No no, not on your life. That would be easy because I would merely need to sit with you and get dope on you (which I hope they did!) But research on sporting movies per se. I would want to know what kind of sporting movies have worked in the past. What are the few things that make a sports movie interesting. After all, its not a typical rom-com where the actors are running around trees and stealing pecks when no one's watching. I would've seen the classics like Angels in the Outfield, Finding Buck McHenry, even Mighty Ducks etc etc. And I would have seen the boxing movies like the Rocky series, Million Dollar Baby, Ali etc. I would even see Jerry Mcguire. And movies from India that have done well - Chak De India, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag etc.
And then, once I have done all this research, seen all these movies, I would goto the drawing board and start working on your movie. From what it seemed to me, the research bit was missing from your movie. Leave aside research, the script did not have the essential ingredients for a sports film. What could those ingredients be? I think it would be a long list but the key ones would be fast-paced story, action-packed fighting scenes, grandeur and strong characters (apart from you Mary) that inspire.
Mary, you are an accomplished boxer. Couldn't you consult the director on the boxing scenes atleast? The fight sequences were really really bad. They were so boring that I could've actually shown a clock ticking on the screen. I would've saved some money. Even the training bits were really sad. Look at Bhaag Milkha Bhaag. For whatever that movie was worth, it got the training bit correct. You can see the dude sweating while he was training. In your case, agreed you woke up early and you milked the cow and all that but that's your training? Really?
So anyhow let me talk about these characters. Lets start with your coach. Of course the coach is like the Guru. Whatever he says, is like a thing cast in stone. He has to be inspiring. Look at Micky. He made Rocky the fighter he was. Look at SRK in Chak De. Leave boxing and hockey. Look at a simple movie like Rockford. Nagesh Kukunoor is a PT teacher to kids and he is inspiring. Mary, your coach, to me did not look like someone who could inspire. Please please know that I am talking from the perspective of the movie. The actor, the lines, the action, demeanor of the coach is so so important for a sporting movie that you had to have a brilliant actor play that role. I don't understand why would you settle for someone who has not proven his mettle as an actor!
Then, your husband. Damn I hate him. He is too too good to be true. You cant imagine the plight of all other men in the country. When a woman sees your husband do all those sweet things for you, they'd start expecting their men to do the same. Thank God the movie flopped. Otherwise your husband would have been the reason for a few divorces for sure.
Lets talk about your father. His anger and exasperation is justified. He is a simple man and wants his daughter to do well. But Mary, in the movie, did you actually give approval to overt dramatization to that fight scene that is apparently shot in Turkey? Where you are down and out and your father sees you take a thrashing of your life and he then yells at a television to encourage you. And you, some 6000 KMs away get this burst of energy that helps you win. Mary, are you telling me (the gullible movie-goer) that telepathy works? I mean, it may. But this much dramatization? Are you sure? And no, it did not happen at just one place. Even the fight in the climax when your son is struggling with life and your come back. Really?
Then Mary, where did the entire thing about "you being discriminated in a bout because you are a Manipuri" come in from? Do you really think so? You really think we are that small? Some of us may be. But Indians at large? I was actually offended at that scene. Filmmakers have a responsibility and it sucks that someone would resort to communal tensions to make a story out of an incident. And please know that you are as Indian as I am. In fact, Mary, you are a notch better. Way better actually. Because you've brought glory to the country. I on the other hand have just ranted on this blog. Did you not realize that the management or the federation declared the other girl a winner because they hated your guts. Not because you are a Manipuri. Please Mary. I sincerely hope that you did not approve of that bit in the film.
There are so many more questions I have. But I guess time is not on my side. Over all, I think its a poorly written film. The direction and acting looked half-hearted as well. The fight scenes were pathetic. A film-student could have done a better job in my humble opinion.
Oh, and the film lacked grandeur. As an amateur film maker, it seemed to me that you guys cut corners while making the film. The sets were done poorly, space was sparse and props lacked detail, something that I did not expect from a team of Bhansali and Omung Kumar who have worked on magnum opuses like Black and Saawariya. I mean look at all other Sanjay Leela Bhansali films. The only thing that stands out in those films is the opulence, the grandness, the larger than life visual hooks. Your movie Mary, lacked all of it.
Some parts looked as if they were shot on a phone camera. May be they were indeed shot with a small camera. After all, cinematic creativity is something that I dont know nothing about as yet. You should've seen the sketches and you should've been a part of the PPM and other such meetings.
In the end, Mary, I think you ought to give your story to some other filmmaker who would probably do justice to your story and tell is better. You need to redeem yourself. The next generations just can not have this movie as the reference point when they think about the boxing legend from India - Mary Kom!
Regards,
An Indian who is very proud of your achievements. And is disappointed with the film.
What could've been better?
Story, script and screenplay
Actors
Design
What worked for me?
Your husband. Even the actor and his acting.
Overall rating?
1 on 5.
Will I recommend it?
NO WAY. In caps.
Dear Mary Kom,
I just came back from a movie hall after watching the eponymous biopic based on your life. And it was moving. So moving that it has made me write this letter. The letter is going to be a really long one. Please do get a bucket of popcorn and some soda before you start reading this.
First things first. You are a wonderful wonderful person Mary. You are a true achiever and a true fighter. I love your never-say-die attitude. I love the way you are totally committed to your sport. I love the way you have been an exemplary ambassador for the sport of boxing. Thank you so much for bringing so much glory to India. I am so proud that you and I are compatriots. I sincerely wish I could do half the things that you've done. You deserve all the awards and medals and appreciation and flowers and other things that we have bestowed upon you. And I sincerely believe that you deserve a lot more. Apologies that it took a movie to get me (and probably other Indians) to notice your contribution to our country.
So, if this letter gets rude, out of place, please ignore it as a rant of a jobless old man.
I do not mean any disrespect to you, but Mary, you've made a mistake. A big big mistake. You allowed Sanjay Leela Bhansali and Omung Kumar (I loved Omung Kumar when I was a kid when he did shows like Ek Minute etc.) to make the movie on your life. And you allowed Priyanka Chopra (who I know has been put on earth to marry me someday) to play the lead. The three of them, individually, are great (like I said). Probably as accomplished as you are. But the three of them together created a mess that is hard to digest. There are so many things wrong with the movie that I don't even know where to start.
Actually I know where to start. Research. If I were to make a sporting movie and a boxing movie at that, I would have done a LOT of research on it. No no, not on your life. That would be easy because I would merely need to sit with you and get dope on you (which I hope they did!) But research on sporting movies per se. I would want to know what kind of sporting movies have worked in the past. What are the few things that make a sports movie interesting. After all, its not a typical rom-com where the actors are running around trees and stealing pecks when no one's watching. I would've seen the classics like Angels in the Outfield, Finding Buck McHenry, even Mighty Ducks etc etc. And I would have seen the boxing movies like the Rocky series, Million Dollar Baby, Ali etc. I would even see Jerry Mcguire. And movies from India that have done well - Chak De India, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag etc.
And then, once I have done all this research, seen all these movies, I would goto the drawing board and start working on your movie. From what it seemed to me, the research bit was missing from your movie. Leave aside research, the script did not have the essential ingredients for a sports film. What could those ingredients be? I think it would be a long list but the key ones would be fast-paced story, action-packed fighting scenes, grandeur and strong characters (apart from you Mary) that inspire.
Mary, you are an accomplished boxer. Couldn't you consult the director on the boxing scenes atleast? The fight sequences were really really bad. They were so boring that I could've actually shown a clock ticking on the screen. I would've saved some money. Even the training bits were really sad. Look at Bhaag Milkha Bhaag. For whatever that movie was worth, it got the training bit correct. You can see the dude sweating while he was training. In your case, agreed you woke up early and you milked the cow and all that but that's your training? Really?
So anyhow let me talk about these characters. Lets start with your coach. Of course the coach is like the Guru. Whatever he says, is like a thing cast in stone. He has to be inspiring. Look at Micky. He made Rocky the fighter he was. Look at SRK in Chak De. Leave boxing and hockey. Look at a simple movie like Rockford. Nagesh Kukunoor is a PT teacher to kids and he is inspiring. Mary, your coach, to me did not look like someone who could inspire. Please please know that I am talking from the perspective of the movie. The actor, the lines, the action, demeanor of the coach is so so important for a sporting movie that you had to have a brilliant actor play that role. I don't understand why would you settle for someone who has not proven his mettle as an actor!
Then, your husband. Damn I hate him. He is too too good to be true. You cant imagine the plight of all other men in the country. When a woman sees your husband do all those sweet things for you, they'd start expecting their men to do the same. Thank God the movie flopped. Otherwise your husband would have been the reason for a few divorces for sure.
Lets talk about your father. His anger and exasperation is justified. He is a simple man and wants his daughter to do well. But Mary, in the movie, did you actually give approval to overt dramatization to that fight scene that is apparently shot in Turkey? Where you are down and out and your father sees you take a thrashing of your life and he then yells at a television to encourage you. And you, some 6000 KMs away get this burst of energy that helps you win. Mary, are you telling me (the gullible movie-goer) that telepathy works? I mean, it may. But this much dramatization? Are you sure? And no, it did not happen at just one place. Even the fight in the climax when your son is struggling with life and your come back. Really?
Then Mary, where did the entire thing about "you being discriminated in a bout because you are a Manipuri" come in from? Do you really think so? You really think we are that small? Some of us may be. But Indians at large? I was actually offended at that scene. Filmmakers have a responsibility and it sucks that someone would resort to communal tensions to make a story out of an incident. And please know that you are as Indian as I am. In fact, Mary, you are a notch better. Way better actually. Because you've brought glory to the country. I on the other hand have just ranted on this blog. Did you not realize that the management or the federation declared the other girl a winner because they hated your guts. Not because you are a Manipuri. Please Mary. I sincerely hope that you did not approve of that bit in the film.
There are so many more questions I have. But I guess time is not on my side. Over all, I think its a poorly written film. The direction and acting looked half-hearted as well. The fight scenes were pathetic. A film-student could have done a better job in my humble opinion.
Oh, and the film lacked grandeur. As an amateur film maker, it seemed to me that you guys cut corners while making the film. The sets were done poorly, space was sparse and props lacked detail, something that I did not expect from a team of Bhansali and Omung Kumar who have worked on magnum opuses like Black and Saawariya. I mean look at all other Sanjay Leela Bhansali films. The only thing that stands out in those films is the opulence, the grandness, the larger than life visual hooks. Your movie Mary, lacked all of it.
Some parts looked as if they were shot on a phone camera. May be they were indeed shot with a small camera. After all, cinematic creativity is something that I dont know nothing about as yet. You should've seen the sketches and you should've been a part of the PPM and other such meetings.
In the end, Mary, I think you ought to give your story to some other filmmaker who would probably do justice to your story and tell is better. You need to redeem yourself. The next generations just can not have this movie as the reference point when they think about the boxing legend from India - Mary Kom!
Regards,
An Indian who is very proud of your achievements. And is disappointed with the film.
What could've been better?
Story, script and screenplay
Actors
Design
What worked for me?
Your husband. Even the actor and his acting.
Overall rating?
1 on 5.
Will I recommend it?
NO WAY. In caps.
Why ship?
 |
| "Real Aritst Ship." - Steve Jobs. Image Credit: Andrew Power / Busy Building Things |
Context
a. A conversation with a very very dear friend about The Nidhi Kapoor Story. Please judge.
b. I am a firm believer in the concept of shipping (folklore). She, on the other hand, hates mediocrity and thinks quality is always greater than quantity. It's a never-ending debate and there is no right side. I guess.
Notes
a. I don't remember the exact words that she used. Or the exact words I used. But this is how the conversation went.
b. This friend, F, is my dearest friend. The kinds I can die for. Really.
So, it went like...
[START]
Friend (F): Are you happy with your book? Is this the best that you can come up with?
SG: Not really. If I want, I can tinker it with for the rest of my life. But it has come to a point where I am confident about sharing it with the world. I wish I could write like all the other great ones...
F: Then why would you publish it?
SG: What do you mean?
F: Arey you said its not your best output. Why would you want a sub-standard and half-baked product out in the market?
SG: It is not sub-standard. I have given it an honest shot and I really think it ought to see the light of day.
F: Why? If you can still improve it, how is it not half-baked?
SG: Its at a stage where I think I can ship it. Of course I can add things, remove things, change things. like any other story, this one is in a perpetual stage of flux. I have created it. Everything is fictional. I can do whatever with it. But I believe that if more people see it, I'd get more feedback and better I'd get as an
F: But a mediocre product? Do you know whenever Steve Jobs launched something, it was always very very cool!
SG: It may be. Steve Jobs knew what he was doing with his life. I do not know. Writing does not come to me naturally. I had to work hard for it. It took me considerable time and effort to come to a point where I could finish the book. Hence I want to put it out as soon as possible so that I get as much feedback on it.
And like I said, I have spent enough time on the book and I really think that it would be worth the time people spend in reading it.
Plus I want to try. Stumble on things, fall down and then get up again. And eventually carry on walking. And, if writing does not work out, I will move onto the next thing. Simple. Thats the plan. And commercial success is a true true barometer of an artist. Even though for every famous writer, there are a thousand others that die an anonymous death. When I die, I really want to tell myself that I tried. Simple.
F: Fucking faff! And if you really want feedback, show it to your friends. Why release it in print and all? Why make so much noise about it?
SG: Because friends could be biased. They wont be merciless in their reviews. They wouldn't want me to get discouraged. If its out there, I would know that what the aam aadmi thinks.
And I really really believe in doing things that make accidents happen. What if someone reads this and gives me an idea that can change the way I work? Unless I print the book, I would never reach that person. No? So its important to get this in the hands of as many people as I can.
F. Wait. Are you writing this for yourself? Or for people?
SG: Of course its for my own happiness. It would be good to make money from it though. But money is not the only criteria. I want to tell stories. People may or may not listen to what I have to say. But I know that if I keep up to it, I will someday become a storyteller.
F: So, this is about fame?
SG: No no. Its about trying to do something that I think I could do for the rest of my life! Its yet another thing that I am trying my hand at. If it works out, great. If it doesn't, Id move onto the next one.
F. I dont believe you. You are such a fucking moron.
SG: But that's how I am. Trust me I really want to improve the craft and I cant see any other way. I definitely cant be the guy who works in a garage till he comes up with a masterpiece. Whatever I do, I want to put out as soon as possible.
[END]
The conversation went on for another 30 or so minutes till she finally got disgusted and almost threw a glass full of water on face. Thank God she did not do that.
Though, I still wondering, what did I do to deserve that extreme a reaction.
10 books that have stayed with me over the years
First posted on #tnks blog.
There is this thing going around FB where people are listing their top 10 books. I refuse to not be a part of any fad. And thus, here is my list (in no particular order).
1. The Godfather. By Mario Puzo. As someone said, it is the dictionary of crime. It was the first time when I thought reading books could be fun. I loved reading it. I love love it. The characters have stayed with me for years. I can still recall the plots. I know the dialogues by heart and so on and so forth. If there is one book that you out to read before you die, its this one. Or may be its English, August.
2. English, August. By Upamanyu Chatterjee. Its like my biography. Just that Ogu is little less lost, far more focused and younger than I. I can totally relate to everything that Ogu did while he was posted in Madna. I've went through every emotion that August lived through while he wrote the book. If there is one book that I wish I had written, it would be this. Here is a post I wrote about English, August.
3. The Count of Monte Cristo. By Alexandre Dumas. Its a work of pure genius. Its revenge. Served cold. This is what inspired me to work on The Nidhi Kapoor Story. If there was no Monte Cristo, there wouldn't be any Nidhi Kapoor. I wrote about the strange dreams that I started having when I read the The Count.
4. Rich Dad. Poor Dad. By Robert Kiyosaki. Yes. Self-help. And yes, I am aware of all the controversy and debate around it. But, eat my shorts, as Bart would say. I read this recently and since then it has changed the way I look at things. I wish I had read this one sooner. May be just before I entered the business school.
5. Eat, Pray, Love. By Elizabeth Gilbert. Because I am as depressed as Groceries is. And her travel helped me get over some bit of my depression. I am serious. Just that I dont know if its a true story or a fictional one. I did goto Bali this year and vaguely tried to search for Ketut but could not find him.
6. On Writing. Stephan King. Of course. I don't have to say anything anymore. It has inspired www.onWriting.in.
7. To Kill a Mockingbird. By Harper Lee. I instantly fell in love with Scout. I wish I had a girlfriend like her! Too bad Harper Lee wrote just one book. As an aspiring writer and a voracious reader, I see a good bit and a bad bit. Good, that she has made enough money from one that she does not have to rely on the mercy of readers / reviewers for sales of the next ones. Bad, that as a reader, I couldnt read more from her.
8. Jack Reacher (series) by Lee Child. This is what unadulterated, indulgence is. You are so enthralled by the man, Jack Reacher, that you dont want his fables to ever come to an end. I have read 13 / 14 books and when I realized that I had read almost all his books, I did not want it to come to an end. And I cant wait for the next one to come. Whenever it does. Someday, I aspire to write about a man like him. Or may be a woman.
9. Shantaram. By Gregory Davids Roberts. I did not like the way it ended but the way he has romanced Mumbai with his "brother" on bikes, uff! They must've been one hell of a time. If there is someone who has been able to do justice to Mumbai and its charm, its Shantaram. Read this one purely for his narration on Mumbai. And infectious smile of one Prabhakar.
10. The Mahabharata. By I dont know who. Surprise surprise. Not a modern fiction but a story none the less. I must have read this one a thousand times. Excluding the Geeta bits. The book is about righteousness, fairness, fair play, good, bad, evil, life, revenge, greed, love, jealousy and all such passions that a human being is capable of experiencing. Love the complex plots and epic connections and relationships. While writing, the notes would have ran into millions of pages. I know I'd never be able to, but I would give an arm and a leg to peek into the notes. Any ideas how?
And here is a bonus.
11. Warren Buffet letters. Again, technically not a book but it's a collection of annual letters he writes to shareholders of Berkshire. Love his sense of humor, his candour and the simplicity with which he writes. He doles about advice on life and investing in the garb of these letters. Its one of those things I wish I had read sooner.
Thanks Internet for this meme. Thanks Radhika for the prompt. What is your list of 10 books that have stayed with you over the years?
P.S.: Too lazy to include links to these books. Easy enough to find I guess, if you want to read them.
There is this thing going around FB where people are listing their top 10 books. I refuse to not be a part of any fad. And thus, here is my list (in no particular order).
1. The Godfather. By Mario Puzo. As someone said, it is the dictionary of crime. It was the first time when I thought reading books could be fun. I loved reading it. I love love it. The characters have stayed with me for years. I can still recall the plots. I know the dialogues by heart and so on and so forth. If there is one book that you out to read before you die, its this one. Or may be its English, August.
2. English, August. By Upamanyu Chatterjee. Its like my biography. Just that Ogu is little less lost, far more focused and younger than I. I can totally relate to everything that Ogu did while he was posted in Madna. I've went through every emotion that August lived through while he wrote the book. If there is one book that I wish I had written, it would be this. Here is a post I wrote about English, August.
3. The Count of Monte Cristo. By Alexandre Dumas. Its a work of pure genius. Its revenge. Served cold. This is what inspired me to work on The Nidhi Kapoor Story. If there was no Monte Cristo, there wouldn't be any Nidhi Kapoor. I wrote about the strange dreams that I started having when I read the The Count.
4. Rich Dad. Poor Dad. By Robert Kiyosaki. Yes. Self-help. And yes, I am aware of all the controversy and debate around it. But, eat my shorts, as Bart would say. I read this recently and since then it has changed the way I look at things. I wish I had read this one sooner. May be just before I entered the business school.
5. Eat, Pray, Love. By Elizabeth Gilbert. Because I am as depressed as Groceries is. And her travel helped me get over some bit of my depression. I am serious. Just that I dont know if its a true story or a fictional one. I did goto Bali this year and vaguely tried to search for Ketut but could not find him.
6. On Writing. Stephan King. Of course. I don't have to say anything anymore. It has inspired www.onWriting.in.
7. To Kill a Mockingbird. By Harper Lee. I instantly fell in love with Scout. I wish I had a girlfriend like her! Too bad Harper Lee wrote just one book. As an aspiring writer and a voracious reader, I see a good bit and a bad bit. Good, that she has made enough money from one that she does not have to rely on the mercy of readers / reviewers for sales of the next ones. Bad, that as a reader, I couldnt read more from her.
8. Jack Reacher (series) by Lee Child. This is what unadulterated, indulgence is. You are so enthralled by the man, Jack Reacher, that you dont want his fables to ever come to an end. I have read 13 / 14 books and when I realized that I had read almost all his books, I did not want it to come to an end. And I cant wait for the next one to come. Whenever it does. Someday, I aspire to write about a man like him. Or may be a woman.
9. Shantaram. By Gregory Davids Roberts. I did not like the way it ended but the way he has romanced Mumbai with his "brother" on bikes, uff! They must've been one hell of a time. If there is someone who has been able to do justice to Mumbai and its charm, its Shantaram. Read this one purely for his narration on Mumbai. And infectious smile of one Prabhakar.
10. The Mahabharata. By I dont know who. Surprise surprise. Not a modern fiction but a story none the less. I must have read this one a thousand times. Excluding the Geeta bits. The book is about righteousness, fairness, fair play, good, bad, evil, life, revenge, greed, love, jealousy and all such passions that a human being is capable of experiencing. Love the complex plots and epic connections and relationships. While writing, the notes would have ran into millions of pages. I know I'd never be able to, but I would give an arm and a leg to peek into the notes. Any ideas how?
And here is a bonus.
11. Warren Buffet letters. Again, technically not a book but it's a collection of annual letters he writes to shareholders of Berkshire. Love his sense of humor, his candour and the simplicity with which he writes. He doles about advice on life and investing in the garb of these letters. Its one of those things I wish I had read sooner.
Thanks Internet for this meme. Thanks Radhika for the prompt. What is your list of 10 books that have stayed with you over the years?
P.S.: Too lazy to include links to these books. Easy enough to find I guess, if you want to read them.
Hello September. Of 2014.
And just like that its September. Of 2014. Time flies. And how.
I don't recall the specifics but it seems like yesterday when it was September of 2013 and I was planning for a roadtrip through the US of A with friends. The trip for reasons beyond the scope of this blog did not happen in September. Apart from the trip, I was thinking about my book. And about what life holds for me in the times to come. The times to come have arrived and life pretty much looks the same. Except that I have little less hair and little more gray hair.
Anyhow, the point is, its almost been a year and I have no clue where time went.
Of course I did things and I met people and all that. But do I recall how I spent the time? No I dont. I just recall that since last september, I wrote and travelled and worked and spent all that I had saved and read and blogged. I generally had a good time. But again, I dont know any specifics. I dont have stories to share, I dont have medals to boast of, I dont have bank balance to show off, I dont have sgMS to go to. I dont have any of those things that make life worth living.
Brings me to the question that I have been asking a lot lately. What's the point of all this?
And no, I am not depressed before you start recommending solutions and medicines.
This time, like the previous four or five months, I wont really do an analysis of what went wrong and what I learnt and what I missed and all that. I think that I am not programmed for that kind of planning. I forced myself to work on it. I tried but I could not. The question is, how do I make time count, before its September yet again. Of 2015. Assuming I make it to Sep of 2015.
Hunt for the second / third place
Lets start this rant with a few facts. Quirks, more than facts to be honest.
Fact 1. I dont like moonlighting my home with my office. It works for a lot of people, but not for me.
Fact 2. I seek flexibility, freedom and independence over a stable job. Even if its a well-paying one. Anyhow, well-paying naukri is a myth.
Fact 3. I see a bed and I want to lie down. Yeah I am lazy like that. I can't say no to the allure of the bed.
So, now the rant.
Because of facts 1, 2 and 3, you can guess that most of my work happens from coffee shops and all that. Which was fine till late. But then a lot of people are now in my position and thus these coffee shops now frown on people spending long hours. Plus, with the prices going through the roof, its become very expensive to sit there. As a result, the productivity has taken a hit and I've wasted a lot of money and time on the hunt for the illusive perfect place to work out of.
So, I need, no not need, want... so I want a place where I could sit and work for long hours. And odd hours because I want to keep the flexibility going. I have tried talking to all those fancy co-working places and communes around where I live and nothing seems to be working.
I put a tweet, posted a question on Quora, put it on FB but nothing is working out. And time is running out fast. Fast like crazy fast. And I cant seem to do anything about it. Someone, please help! Any good samaritans know of some place that I could use?
Kangaali me aata geela
So when I was young, I loved using idioms. And one of my favorite ones was / is, "kangaali me aata geela." Literally translated, it means when you in deep shit, more shit is piled on you. And as I type this, I am in deep deep shit. So deep that I don't think I can wade out of it. Ever. Unless some divine intervention happens and the Hand of God (or an act of God) pulls me out of it.
Oh, apart from God, I am sure Mr. Murphy must be laughing at me as well. After all, despite all the positive vibes that I send to the universe, life has been unfair to me. I mean not unfair but it could've treated me better. It has made me a mediocre, arrogant, cockyyoung old man who refuses to change the way he operates. If life were to be any better, it could have either made me a beggar and left me to rot at the mercy of the world. Or it could have made me an exceptional brain and allowed me to make a dent in the world.
Neither happened and the world left me as a mediocre man. I lost the damn ovarian lottery.
And like I have said a million times, mediocrity sucks. And I am nothing but a case-study in mediocrity. Before I continue with the self-flagellation and self-doubt and pity and all that, let me come back to the kangaali me aata geela bit.
So when I had money, I saved like I was Uncle Scrooge. I did splurge, but most of what I spent was on things that I did not really need. And ever since money has tightened, I have tried to control my splurges but my expenses on things that are essential to work has spiraled. Take charging cables for phones and laptops for example. When I had money, I could buy as many cables and most times my employer would have foot the bill. But the cable never broke. I never misplaced the cables. Everything worked with perfection, like a dream.
And ever since I've been left to fend for myself (and money is in limited supply), everything seems to be breaking. Like my phone cable. And now my laptop charger. And since both of them are Apple products, the accessories are expensive. Sigh! This is just one example. There are more such incidents that tell me that kangaali main aata geela hota hi hai. I believed that accidents and fuck-ups happen with those who attract those. Have I become one of those? Plus I dont know what I want in life. And life is getting shorter by the day. And thus, I have lesser time to achieve things, as and when I know what I want to achieve in life.
I am now part of that feedback loop that is spiraling downwards. Fast. I am poor and hence I am getting poorer. I need some sort of tailwind to bring me back upto speed. Remember I spoke about a year and a crore the other day? That! That is what I need. And like I said, I need some divine intervention. Some act of God, some hand of God, something is needed.
To end this, I know that that act is just around the corner. Just that I don't know when or where will it happen. May be there's a way to expedite it? Prayers help? Try praying for me? No point actually. God and I have a chattees ka aankada. God has told me 'fuck you' in as many words.
Damn!
Oh, apart from God, I am sure Mr. Murphy must be laughing at me as well. After all, despite all the positive vibes that I send to the universe, life has been unfair to me. I mean not unfair but it could've treated me better. It has made me a mediocre, arrogant, cocky
Neither happened and the world left me as a mediocre man. I lost the damn ovarian lottery.
And like I have said a million times, mediocrity sucks. And I am nothing but a case-study in mediocrity. Before I continue with the self-flagellation and self-doubt and pity and all that, let me come back to the kangaali me aata geela bit.
So when I had money, I saved like I was Uncle Scrooge. I did splurge, but most of what I spent was on things that I did not really need. And ever since money has tightened, I have tried to control my splurges but my expenses on things that are essential to work has spiraled. Take charging cables for phones and laptops for example. When I had money, I could buy as many cables and most times my employer would have foot the bill. But the cable never broke. I never misplaced the cables. Everything worked with perfection, like a dream.
And ever since I've been left to fend for myself (and money is in limited supply), everything seems to be breaking. Like my phone cable. And now my laptop charger. And since both of them are Apple products, the accessories are expensive. Sigh! This is just one example. There are more such incidents that tell me that kangaali main aata geela hota hi hai. I believed that accidents and fuck-ups happen with those who attract those. Have I become one of those? Plus I dont know what I want in life. And life is getting shorter by the day. And thus, I have lesser time to achieve things, as and when I know what I want to achieve in life.
I am now part of that feedback loop that is spiraling downwards. Fast. I am poor and hence I am getting poorer. I need some sort of tailwind to bring me back upto speed. Remember I spoke about a year and a crore the other day? That! That is what I need. And like I said, I need some divine intervention. Some act of God, some hand of God, something is needed.
To end this, I know that that act is just around the corner. Just that I don't know when or where will it happen. May be there's a way to expedite it? Prayers help? Try praying for me? No point actually. God and I have a chattees ka aankada. God has told me 'fuck you' in as many words.
Damn!
Book Review: Private India
I recently read Private India. The latest by Ashwin Sanghi and James Patterson. Got the book as part of the book review program by Blogadda.com.
Before I launch in a full-blown review, let me get some numbers out of the way. I mean the ratings.
Readability: 3.5 on 5
Suspense: 2 on 5 (I could guess the killer moment the character was first introduced)
Storyline / Plot: 4 on 5
Overall: 3.5 on 5
One line verdict: A good one-time read. However the story, the characters, the plots won't really stay with you after you've read the book.
Full Review
Before the review, lets try to make a recipe for a bestseller in the crime / thriller category.
Private India follows this recipe down to a T. Except the steamy love scenes. Wonder why did they leave it out.
Anyhow, coming to the story, the lovely city of Mumbai is rocked by a series of murders. Each victim is a famous personality with a vague connection to the Bollywood. On each crime site, a series of clues is left alongside each victim and its upto our righteous, know-it-all Private Detective to solve the mystery of the clues. And prevent the serial killer from going on a spree. And ofcourse catch the killer.
There are a couple of side plots as well. Purely to distract us, the readers, from the main story. And to give the book a larger theme per se. But I'd say, the side plot is so weak that they could've totally left it out.
So, while the unknown assailant is merrily killing people, the hero is trying to catch up with the killer and the side-plot is trying to confuse us, lessons in history happen and we suddenly reach the end of the story! That ways, the story flows smooth. Very smooth. I wish I could write like that.
Coming to the good bits.
And the not-so-good bits
Despite both of them being very very popular authors, this is the first James Patterson or Ashwin Sanghi that I am reading. And honestly, I expected better. From whatever I have heard, Ashwin Sanghi's strength is digging up history (or mythology etc) and coming up with interesting takes and twists on those. At least my friends have made me believe so. Private India is nothing like that.
And James Patterson is like the grand-daddy of writing (and thrillers) and each his book is expected to be a page-turner and unputdownable. As a struggling author, its one of my dreams to be able to write as well as him. This one, however, is not really up there.
May be its a case of over-promise and under-delivery?
In the end
Like I said, its a good one-time read. Perfect for a holiday or a vacation. Reading Private India is like watching one of those mindless action flicks where you sit through the film and you enjoy the violence, without applying your brain. And when the movie over, even though you don't recall what or why, but you know that you had a good time watching it.
Notes
P.S.: This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!
P.P.S.: This is the first time I am doing a post as a part of some review program. I would tag all subsequent review posts as #aff. And no, I don't make any money from these reviews / posts.
P.P.P.S.: My book is coming out in Oct. If you like reading and you would want to review my book, please leave your details in this form.
 |
| Private India. James Patterson and Ashwin Sanghi. |
Readability: 3.5 on 5
Suspense: 2 on 5 (I could guess the killer moment the character was first introduced)
Storyline / Plot: 4 on 5
Overall: 3.5 on 5
One line verdict: A good one-time read. However the story, the characters, the plots won't really stay with you after you've read the book.
Full Review
Before the review, lets try to make a recipe for a bestseller in the crime / thriller category.
- Step 1. Take one potion underdog hero who is battling with his personal demons and alcohol (or drug) addiction.
- Step 2. Throw in a bunch of loyalists who would stand by the hero through the thick or thin.
- Step 3. Add atleast two people who think that the hero is a bag full of shit and is better cornered into a remand home or something.
- Step 4. Finally, create a villain who has a personal vendetta against someone really really famous. Step 5. And then let the villain plan, plot, execute, run from the hero, to eventually get caught by the hero, only to turn tables in the climax, before tables turn one more time to give the hero the upper edge.
- Step 6. Of course, once the dish is ready, as per the taste, sprinkle some steamy scenes, sidekicks (for the hero, the heroine and the villain) and personal histories of all characters.
Private India follows this recipe down to a T. Except the steamy love scenes. Wonder why did they leave it out.
Anyhow, coming to the story, the lovely city of Mumbai is rocked by a series of murders. Each victim is a famous personality with a vague connection to the Bollywood. On each crime site, a series of clues is left alongside each victim and its upto our righteous, know-it-all Private Detective to solve the mystery of the clues. And prevent the serial killer from going on a spree. And ofcourse catch the killer.
There are a couple of side plots as well. Purely to distract us, the readers, from the main story. And to give the book a larger theme per se. But I'd say, the side plot is so weak that they could've totally left it out.
So, while the unknown assailant is merrily killing people, the hero is trying to catch up with the killer and the side-plot is trying to confuse us, lessons in history happen and we suddenly reach the end of the story! That ways, the story flows smooth. Very smooth. I wish I could write like that.
Coming to the good bits.
- Each chapter is less than 1000 words. Some are even less than 500. So it makes for a very very easy read.
- The story has been penned really nicely. Its very readable. Clearly the book has been written for people who probably are new readers.
- One of those fast, pacy reads where story doesn't drag at all. The kinds that you can read in one sitting if you are on a beach or on a holiday.
And the not-so-good bits
Despite both of them being very very popular authors, this is the first James Patterson or Ashwin Sanghi that I am reading. And honestly, I expected better. From whatever I have heard, Ashwin Sanghi's strength is digging up history (or mythology etc) and coming up with interesting takes and twists on those. At least my friends have made me believe so. Private India is nothing like that.
And James Patterson is like the grand-daddy of writing (and thrillers) and each his book is expected to be a page-turner and unputdownable. As a struggling author, its one of my dreams to be able to write as well as him. This one, however, is not really up there.
May be its a case of over-promise and under-delivery?
In the end
Like I said, its a good one-time read. Perfect for a holiday or a vacation. Reading Private India is like watching one of those mindless action flicks where you sit through the film and you enjoy the violence, without applying your brain. And when the movie over, even though you don't recall what or why, but you know that you had a good time watching it.
Notes
P.S.: This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!
P.P.S.: This is the first time I am doing a post as a part of some review program. I would tag all subsequent review posts as #aff. And no, I don't make any money from these reviews / posts.
P.P.P.S.: My book is coming out in Oct. If you like reading and you would want to review my book, please leave your details in this form.
In praise of writing
The last few days have been really busy.
Amongst other things, I have been playing a fervent ping-pong match with team at Grapevine India. They have sent me the edited and proofread version of tnks and I was supposed to give an approval on it. I did not like a few things that they removed. And they did not like a few things that I really want in the final version. Both of us (Grapevine and I) are guilty of clinging onto things and thus we are squabbling over it. And squabbling over things is a very very time consuming and exhausting.
Thankfully, we've reached a truce and agreed on the final draft. And it means two things.
A, we are on track to meet the October release deadline for the book. Yay!
B, I can now start working on the next plot. In fact, today I wrote a few lines for the next one. And I loved working on it. Loved it like crazy. Words magically appeared on my screen and the time seemed to be moving fast. I realized that I love creating new things. That chase of new new thing has remained with me even after all these years!
This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I live. To see time fly by. To see words popping in my head.
When I write, I forget everything that is wrong with my life. I instead become the God and I, for a change, can control things. I can mould characters and their behaviors. I can change the course of incidents and situations and everything else as per my whims. I can give birth, take a life, nurture something, torture someone and be indifferent without any guilt. No, I am not a egomaniacal narcissist. As yet.
Just that I am the happiest when I am writing. And nothing else comes close. May be, except spending time with sgMS!
Original, edited version posted here.
Amongst other things, I have been playing a fervent ping-pong match with team at Grapevine India. They have sent me the edited and proofread version of tnks and I was supposed to give an approval on it. I did not like a few things that they removed. And they did not like a few things that I really want in the final version. Both of us (Grapevine and I) are guilty of clinging onto things and thus we are squabbling over it. And squabbling over things is a very very time consuming and exhausting.
Thankfully, we've reached a truce and agreed on the final draft. And it means two things.
A, we are on track to meet the October release deadline for the book. Yay!
B, I can now start working on the next plot. In fact, today I wrote a few lines for the next one. And I loved working on it. Loved it like crazy. Words magically appeared on my screen and the time seemed to be moving fast. I realized that I love creating new things. That chase of new new thing has remained with me even after all these years!
This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I live. To see time fly by. To see words popping in my head.
When I write, I forget everything that is wrong with my life. I instead become the God and I, for a change, can control things. I can mould characters and their behaviors. I can change the course of incidents and situations and everything else as per my whims. I can give birth, take a life, nurture something, torture someone and be indifferent without any guilt. No, I am not a egomaniacal narcissist. As yet.
Just that I am the happiest when I am writing. And nothing else comes close. May be, except spending time with sgMS!
Original, edited version posted here.
Tum
When I was young, I used to love this band, Euphoria. At MDI, I even got an opportunity to host them at our cultural fest (and like a starry-eyed kid, I was mesmerized with them and loved while they were performing for us. Of course I took pictures with the band.)
Fast forward to 2014. While browsing random videos on youtube, I stumbled onto this song, Tum. It looked like a modern version of a song that I loved when I was young. Thinking that I may have out-grown the love for a love song, full of mush, I initially wanted to skip it but then something in me asked me to give it a chance and listen to it.
And I was blown by it.
Funny this is that the new avatar is almost like the old one. The lyrics are essentially the same. The music is what it was back then (except a new instrument). And the energy is as much as you expect from a Euphoria song.
And yet for some reason, this time, the song sounded more beautiful. It came across as lot more meaningful. it brought back all the good times that I've spent with sgMS.
To end this, Tum has to be one of the most beautiful songs. Ever.
P.S.: This is the first time I am writing a post with the help of Hemingway app. Do let me know if you like this post any better from the other ones that I've written.
Fast forward to 2014. While browsing random videos on youtube, I stumbled onto this song, Tum. It looked like a modern version of a song that I loved when I was young. Thinking that I may have out-grown the love for a love song, full of mush, I initially wanted to skip it but then something in me asked me to give it a chance and listen to it.
And I was blown by it.
Funny this is that the new avatar is almost like the old one. The lyrics are essentially the same. The music is what it was back then (except a new instrument). And the energy is as much as you expect from a Euphoria song.
And yet for some reason, this time, the song sounded more beautiful. It came across as lot more meaningful. it brought back all the good times that I've spent with sgMS.
To end this, Tum has to be one of the most beautiful songs. Ever.
P.S.: This is the first time I am writing a post with the help of Hemingway app. Do let me know if you like this post any better from the other ones that I've written.
The tales of a grumpy old man
One of the things that keeps me up at night is that I am growing old. By the day, by the hour and by the minute. And with old age, I am getting grumpy, fat, unhealthy, lethargic, stubborn, headstrong and other things. And I dont like any of that. And I dont know what is the escape. I cant stop the aging process and I cant stop the side-effects. Its like being on a conveyor belt that is moving towards a destination that I cant control!
Update. On tall claim. And on life.
Since I made that tall claim that day, I have tried to post something everyday. Except the last four.
Because I was traveling and was in Goa where access to Internet is quite a pain. And for a change I did have the time and the ideas to write but I just could not.
Now that I am back, I am going to restart writing. On this blog and otherwise. After all, writing is like a muscle. More I flex it, stronger it gets.
So I went to Goa. To different people, Goa means different things. To me, it means a trip to the casino and a drive through long winding roads through the green cover of trees et al. Over time, casinos have become more expensive and cocky. Roads have become crowded. And if not for these two, Goa is like yet another place that I have no emotional connect with. In short, I think I am done with Goa for the time being.
And I am done with poker as well. I have been losing consistently for almost two months now. Like they say, form is temporary and class is permanent, I think I poker is not for me. Yet to decide on it. Lets see what I do with it.
The initial excitement over The Nidhi Kapoor Story is over. The book is out in October but I am already onto the next plot. I am in that phase where I have some 5 - 6 plots brewing in my head and I ought to pick one and move with it. I have given myself till the end of August to shortlist a plot and then another three months (till the end of November) to get the first draft out. Like it was for #tnks, I hope that the first draft of next one would be about 100K words. Translates into about a 1100 words each day. Pretty manageable.
Naukri still remains elusive. Been interviewing and meeting people. But nothing is materializing. Guess I am not as good as I think I am. I am running on fumes now. If things dont fall in place by end of Sep, I think I may be back home. For good. I dont want to leave Mumbai but then I dont know if I can continue to stay here. Again, update on this as and when things get clearer.
What else? What else could be troubling a middle aged man with no naukri and no love prospects? Quite a few things actually. But then, nothing else seems to be coming to my mind right now. May be in the next few posts?
P.S.: The Independence Day came and went and for a change I did not experience any strong emotions about it. Same for Rakshabandhan and Janamashtmi. Is this because I am growing up? Or is it because there are far more important things that are on my mind? Or may be I am unwell (mentally)? Or I need a break? Any armchair psychologists?
Because I was traveling and was in Goa where access to Internet is quite a pain. And for a change I did have the time and the ideas to write but I just could not.
Now that I am back, I am going to restart writing. On this blog and otherwise. After all, writing is like a muscle. More I flex it, stronger it gets.
So I went to Goa. To different people, Goa means different things. To me, it means a trip to the casino and a drive through long winding roads through the green cover of trees et al. Over time, casinos have become more expensive and cocky. Roads have become crowded. And if not for these two, Goa is like yet another place that I have no emotional connect with. In short, I think I am done with Goa for the time being.
And I am done with poker as well. I have been losing consistently for almost two months now. Like they say, form is temporary and class is permanent, I think I poker is not for me. Yet to decide on it. Lets see what I do with it.
The initial excitement over The Nidhi Kapoor Story is over. The book is out in October but I am already onto the next plot. I am in that phase where I have some 5 - 6 plots brewing in my head and I ought to pick one and move with it. I have given myself till the end of August to shortlist a plot and then another three months (till the end of November) to get the first draft out. Like it was for #tnks, I hope that the first draft of next one would be about 100K words. Translates into about a 1100 words each day. Pretty manageable.
Naukri still remains elusive. Been interviewing and meeting people. But nothing is materializing. Guess I am not as good as I think I am. I am running on fumes now. If things dont fall in place by end of Sep, I think I may be back home. For good. I dont want to leave Mumbai but then I dont know if I can continue to stay here. Again, update on this as and when things get clearer.
What else? What else could be troubling a middle aged man with no naukri and no love prospects? Quite a few things actually. But then, nothing else seems to be coming to my mind right now. May be in the next few posts?
P.S.: The Independence Day came and went and for a change I did not experience any strong emotions about it. Same for Rakshabandhan and Janamashtmi. Is this because I am growing up? Or is it because there are far more important things that are on my mind? Or may be I am unwell (mentally)? Or I need a break? Any armchair psychologists?
The Shoe Story
Today was a big day. In fact I am lucky that first thing I did in the morning was to watch Steve Jobs' version of Think Different Commercial. Everytime I hear it I am filled with so much optimism that I believe I can achieve anything I want to. I think motivation, right in the morning helps set the pace for the day. I dont really believe in self-help books and tips but this is something that I'd try doing tommorow as well. And if tomorrow goes as well as today went, I would make it a routine. Lets see.
Anyhow, so today, I had a big meeting with a big big guy. The meeting went ok. Phew! I may have some interesting news to announce in a few days. But then, that's not the point actually. The point is, since it was a big meeting, I was advised to dress properly. And that meant I was politely asked to wear shoes and a formal shirt.
Now, I have a big big problem with that.
For starters, I dont want someone to evaluate me by what I am wearing. I know that the world works in a certain way and all the older and experienced people want to see prospective employees and vendors in a certain dress code. I know that its hygiene for those people. I know they are used to working in a certain style. But I am sorry, I am not part of that crop. And I have issues when someone judges me on the basis of what I wear!
Second, I really genuinely cant think when I am wearing shoes. No serious. I cant. I have tried and I have failed. Everytime I wear shoes, the pores get blocked and I cant think at all. Whoever said that gray matter resides in the brain must've been kidding. At least in my case, its down there. In the toes.
And third, I am trying to experiment with my look. Which means I have all sorts of weird colors and cuts and none of them may not be appropriate for such serious occasions. So I had an option of wearing a bright yellow shirt or a deep pink one or a black one with a funny cut. No points for guessing the one I finally wore for the meeting.
Anyhow, I just reached home (its 11:45 PM) and I've now been wearing shoes since noon or so. And its almost 12 hours. Straight. Without a break. I am going to take off my shoes and let me feet breathe. You must try it for yourself. Go to work, office for one day without shoes and you'd thank me for the rest of your life.
Go try. Serious.
And thankfully, tomorrow I dont have to wear shoes. But yes, I would start the day with some motivational video for sure.
Anyhow, so today, I had a big meeting with a big big guy. The meeting went ok. Phew! I may have some interesting news to announce in a few days. But then, that's not the point actually. The point is, since it was a big meeting, I was advised to dress properly. And that meant I was politely asked to wear shoes and a formal shirt.
Now, I have a big big problem with that.
For starters, I dont want someone to evaluate me by what I am wearing. I know that the world works in a certain way and all the older and experienced people want to see prospective employees and vendors in a certain dress code. I know that its hygiene for those people. I know they are used to working in a certain style. But I am sorry, I am not part of that crop. And I have issues when someone judges me on the basis of what I wear!
Second, I really genuinely cant think when I am wearing shoes. No serious. I cant. I have tried and I have failed. Everytime I wear shoes, the pores get blocked and I cant think at all. Whoever said that gray matter resides in the brain must've been kidding. At least in my case, its down there. In the toes.
And third, I am trying to experiment with my look. Which means I have all sorts of weird colors and cuts and none of them may not be appropriate for such serious occasions. So I had an option of wearing a bright yellow shirt or a deep pink one or a black one with a funny cut. No points for guessing the one I finally wore for the meeting.
Anyhow, I just reached home (its 11:45 PM) and I've now been wearing shoes since noon or so. And its almost 12 hours. Straight. Without a break. I am going to take off my shoes and let me feet breathe. You must try it for yourself. Go to work, office for one day without shoes and you'd thank me for the rest of your life.
Go try. Serious.
And thankfully, tomorrow I dont have to wear shoes. But yes, I would start the day with some motivational video for sure.
One year and a crore
These days I talk a lot about life. Probably because I am at that juncture where I need to figure out the next step. And its going to be a very important step because the next few years are going to be very important.
I have realized that I am not passionate about any one idea and thus I dont think I can start something. I have also realized that I love my freedom so much that I dont want to work for someone else. And I know that I need money. And I am at a stage when I have to have to settle down if I want to die a happy man. So many decisions and so many constraints!
All of it, all these things that I have talked about above look doable and yet are difficult. They look within grasp and yet they are out of reach. And last night I realized that I need a tailwind gain of a crore and a year. That's all it would take to get my life back on track (read [1] below). One crore and one year.
And that's what I really really need right now.
I can't think of a way to make that much money in a year unless I rob a bank or start cooking meth or sell a kidney or commit a fraud or something. There is no legit way to make money. At least I dont think there is. If there is, please point me to it. Really.
Apart from this, I think all is well. I have discovered something that I think I like doing. And I can totally see myself doing it for the rest of my life (writing). Just that I dont know if I am good enough to make a commercial success out of it. I know the woman that I want to marry and settle down with. Just that she cant tolerate even standing next to me. I know the kinda life I want to lead. Just that its kinda long shot as of now. And so on and so forth.
Oh, and my current mood is sad. And I need sad music. The kinds where the hero walks alone through a happy crowd on a well-lit road at night and a saxophone is playing somewhere in the background (read [2] below).
That's it!
Notes
[1] When I say back on track, I mean that I would be back on par with my cohorts, my classmates, an average guy my age etc.
[2] This kinda music.
I have realized that I am not passionate about any one idea and thus I dont think I can start something. I have also realized that I love my freedom so much that I dont want to work for someone else. And I know that I need money. And I am at a stage when I have to have to settle down if I want to die a happy man. So many decisions and so many constraints!
All of it, all these things that I have talked about above look doable and yet are difficult. They look within grasp and yet they are out of reach. And last night I realized that I need a tailwind gain of a crore and a year. That's all it would take to get my life back on track (read [1] below). One crore and one year.
And that's what I really really need right now.
I can't think of a way to make that much money in a year unless I rob a bank or start cooking meth or sell a kidney or commit a fraud or something. There is no legit way to make money. At least I dont think there is. If there is, please point me to it. Really.
Apart from this, I think all is well. I have discovered something that I think I like doing. And I can totally see myself doing it for the rest of my life (writing). Just that I dont know if I am good enough to make a commercial success out of it. I know the woman that I want to marry and settle down with. Just that she cant tolerate even standing next to me. I know the kinda life I want to lead. Just that its kinda long shot as of now. And so on and so forth.
Oh, and my current mood is sad. And I need sad music. The kinds where the hero walks alone through a happy crowd on a well-lit road at night and a saxophone is playing somewhere in the background (read [2] below).
That's it!
Notes
[1] When I say back on track, I mean that I would be back on par with my cohorts, my classmates, an average guy my age etc.
[2] This kinda music.
The predicament(s) of a writer
I am a struggling writer. My first book is out in Oct (if all goes well). While I am proud about the fact that I am going to be a published writer, there are a 1000 questions swirling in my head. Answers are not easy. And hence the predicament. Before I launch into it, here is a disclaimer.
Disclaimer.
Writing is something that did not happen to me naturally. I had to work hard on it. Took me 10 odd years of consistent rambling on this blog to be able to realize that I could write a book.
In fact this blog helped me realize that I loved writing.
Now, coming to questions, the first question that I get asked is, "Why do I write?"
And my answer is...
Next question that inevitably is, "Who do you write for?"
My answer:
The final question that makes the predicament apparent, "If you write for yourself, why do you want to publish it? Why make it public? Why not keep it hidden in a secret dairy? Why even write a blog?"
I struggle, cringe and sweat. But then more often than not, my answer is:
And then I get that inevitable look of confusion, distrust, mockery from people. Even from good friends. And I dont know what to tell them. Now you see? The predicament. I wonder how do other writers answer these questions. I wonder what about other artists? I can hazard a guess that any art has to be commercially viable for it to take off in the long run and hence the publishing etc. But then who am I to mix art and commerce.
No?
P.S.: If you are interested in writers talking about writing, do see www.onWriting.in. I ask Indian writers 5 questions about writing and publish these on this blog. No, so far I havent published my answers. I think I'll wait till Oct for that. Why? Because The Nidhi Kapoor Story comes out then!
Disclaimer.
Writing is something that did not happen to me naturally. I had to work hard on it. Took me 10 odd years of consistent rambling on this blog to be able to realize that I could write a book.
In fact this blog helped me realize that I loved writing.
Now, coming to questions, the first question that I get asked is, "Why do I write?"
And my answer is...
I write because I love writing. Its like my fix, its my poison. Its my kick. It makes me happy. There is nothing else that I have been able to discover that allows to get me in the zone, in the flow.
Same zone, same flow that athletes get into when they are performing at their peak. Same zone where yogis get in when they are meditating. Same zone where coders are when they spend nights after nights working on lines and lines of code.
Next question that inevitably is, "Who do you write for?"
My answer:
Ofcourse I write for myself. Apart from a secret blog that I write for sgMS, for her to read, everything I write is for me.
Not for readers. Not for friends. Not for family, not for strangers, not for anyone else. It's for me.
It has to give me that happiness. It has to please me. Everything is about me when I write.
And no, I am not a narcissist. As yet.
The final question that makes the predicament apparent, "If you write for yourself, why do you want to publish it? Why make it public? Why not keep it hidden in a secret dairy? Why even write a blog?"
I struggle, cringe and sweat. But then more often than not, my answer is:
Because I like the idea that what I write has the ability to go beyond the borders. What I write can spread. What I write can help me meet more people. It can open doors. It can broaden my horizons. Having someone else read what I have written gives me an opportunity to improve my craft. It allows me to get feedback. It's the reality check.
And then I get that inevitable look of confusion, distrust, mockery from people. Even from good friends. And I dont know what to tell them. Now you see? The predicament. I wonder how do other writers answer these questions. I wonder what about other artists? I can hazard a guess that any art has to be commercially viable for it to take off in the long run and hence the publishing etc. But then who am I to mix art and commerce.
No?
P.S.: If you are interested in writers talking about writing, do see www.onWriting.in. I ask Indian writers 5 questions about writing and publish these on this blog. No, so far I havent published my answers. I think I'll wait till Oct for that. Why? Because The Nidhi Kapoor Story comes out then!
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