I am alive.
Not alive as in experiencing the Icelandic colds or doing the African safari or living the American dream etc but alive as in breathing and standing on my feet. If the past few days are any indication, I would've been dead by now.
What started as a bout of fatigue from a long drive in the hinterlands on a car clearly not suited for the purpose, turned into a case of acute diarrhea and I suddenly found myself shitting all the time for almost 5 days. So much that it hurts to even sit again on a pot.
And since I dont trust doctors in general and dont go to them for minor ailments, I suffered the attack of the bowels.
Thankfully I was forced to take medications and I am on what seems like the road to recovery. I am finally able to work on my computer again. This means I would resume work on Nidhi Kapoor's story and the new idea that I have had. And this does not mean that I have started to trust the medical profession again.
This post, is to let everyone (whoever cares) to know that I am back. Thank you for asking.
On dreams. And yet another project.
Today I made the first tranche of payment for yet another project. For the record, this is the third time when I am paying for a project and substantial amounts at that. Both the previous ones, sadly did not do well. Heck, what do I mean "do well"? I didn't even work on those apart from outsourcing a few simple tid bits and paying through the roof for those. FYI and FMI, the other two projects are
Saboon (aka Made With Love) and Brownie Points.
This one, unlike the last two where I sunk money and did nothing about, I plan to get off the ground. Let me park this bit, for a bit.
Unrelated note, Neo sent me this awesome quote, which is apt here...
Connecting this and the thought I parked above, its about time I did something about my dreams. I mean I dont really know what my dreams are but I know that it definitely does not include what I am doing right now. I dont even know if this project is my dream. But its a step up for sure. After 55555, this is the second thing that I am working on in 2013. And unlike the previous ones, I promise myself that I would bring this to an end.
While I am writing this, I remembered, one of my ex-bosses captured me in a brilliant line. He said that I am a very good beginner but a very poor finisher (prospective employers, judge me). When I look back, I realize that not finishing has been a common theme in my life across all spectrum - relationships, work and my dreams. And its time to bring things to a conclusion, on all the three facets.
Starting with this one.
More details on this as and when I come close to the finishing it. Like always, I am looking for co-conspirators. If you liked Jerry Mcguire, you could be interested in this. Please contact me of leave your details in comments below.
This one, unlike the last two where I sunk money and did nothing about, I plan to get off the ground. Let me park this bit, for a bit.
Unrelated note, Neo sent me this awesome quote, which is apt here...
Build your own dreams, or someone else will hire you to build theirs. -AnonymousSo far I have spent my entire adult life in building dreams for others. I have spent countless sleepless nights working on those dreams, I have lied for those dreams, I have done things that I have hated doing for those dreams, I have almost sold my soul for those dreams and I have put in my best years to work on those dreams. And if not a major one, I have definitely made notable contributions to those dreams.
Connecting this and the thought I parked above, its about time I did something about my dreams. I mean I dont really know what my dreams are but I know that it definitely does not include what I am doing right now. I dont even know if this project is my dream. But its a step up for sure. After 55555, this is the second thing that I am working on in 2013. And unlike the previous ones, I promise myself that I would bring this to an end.
While I am writing this, I remembered, one of my ex-bosses captured me in a brilliant line. He said that I am a very good beginner but a very poor finisher (prospective employers, judge me). When I look back, I realize that not finishing has been a common theme in my life across all spectrum - relationships, work and my dreams. And its time to bring things to a conclusion, on all the three facets.
Starting with this one.
More details on this as and when I come close to the finishing it. Like always, I am looking for co-conspirators. If you liked Jerry Mcguire, you could be interested in this. Please contact me of leave your details in comments below.
Alice? Who the fuck is Alice?
Facts, before I get into a long drawn rant.
So we have this tradition of a freshers' bash at college where they throw a party for the incoming class and everyone gets drunk like shit. The lucky ones get to score, the partying ones get to party hard and people like me get to learn. And the first thing I learnt there was, how to dance. Not dance as in contestants on Indian Idol or Dance India Dance or something but like a chicken, who's feet have been tied together and is trying to escape the butcher. Its a huge step up for me, the last attempt to dance before this resulted in my parents getting worried and calling a doc.
The second thing I learnt was this song called, 24 years living next door to Alice. The song was like any other English song that I had heard till then. Someone sang in English that was mostly incomprehensible to me, save a few words here and there. And then the singer would take a break, a riff would play and the song would hit the crescendo and send the audience in maddening frenzy. However, on the Alice song, when the singer took a break and the riff came, I learnt that I was supposed to yell, "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice?" as loud as I could and if I did that, I'd become part of a really cool set of people. The ones who know their music, English music. And who knew all the cool things to say. And the ones who laugh like mad people after that. I loved it. For the first time ever, I was a cool dude. I thanked God, for I was a believer then and requested the DJ to play it over and over again so that I could yell the expletive again and again.
And after that freshers' party on a summer sultry day in 2004, its been almost 10 years now, every time I hear the song, my mind automatically inserts "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice?" in that silence. Like the Pavlov's dog. Life was all good and I got giggles and smiles from the members of opposite sex when I yelled those words out loud. I thought it was the secret to the game. So I mastered it and whenever I wanted attention, I would get the song to play and then I would yell out the magic words and lo and behold, I would become a huge magnet to attention and envy. Totally loved it.
But then one day last week, en route to office, I heard the original Alice and my whole world came crashing down around me. It never occurred to me that the song could exist without the reference to the question. I mean I have often pondered over the song and I could never understand why such a beautiful love song has those agonizing words. The song is like a beautiful tribute to the memory of a girl that you could never talk to. It has happened to me so many times that I could be my story. In my case the names would change to D, M, A, R etc (each word is the first letter of the name of a crush that I have had for long but could never express).
I had to stop my car, park it on the side of a flyover that looks down to a huge green park and I thought and thought about it, till my head starting hurting. And then I said, "what the fuck, who the fuck is Alice" and I moved on. And then, it hit me. The real meaning. Of Alice. And who the fuck is Alice.
Do listen to the original. Its one of the most beautiful songs ever written. And yes, if you are curious, you may read about it here. And yes, this page, someday would be a part of my biography. And like all my other books, you may pre-order my biography here.
- A. I do NOT belong to a family that teaches their kids to speak English before they could start walking. In fact English is a very new phenomenon to me, so new that I can clearly see the day when someone asked me to talk about "honesty is the best policy" for 1 minute for a job interview at a call centre and all I could do was repeat the same line again and again for about 30 seconds before I was interrupted and was told to leave.
- B. Since I am new to English, I do not really enjoy western music as a matter of policy. There are some that I do love but in general I do not like western music.
- C. I went from a totally nondescript college to one of the best in India for my post graduation. And since I was at this totally cool place I wanted to be accepted in the herd. So much so that I faked all I could. Not that it helped me. I am still as socially inept as I was when I got there but I did learn how to mingle without getting noticed. I think I am so invisible in a party that if it was crashed by kidnappers wanting to take hostages, I could dance in the middle of the room and not even one person, hostages or kidnappers, would notice me.
So we have this tradition of a freshers' bash at college where they throw a party for the incoming class and everyone gets drunk like shit. The lucky ones get to score, the partying ones get to party hard and people like me get to learn. And the first thing I learnt there was, how to dance. Not dance as in contestants on Indian Idol or Dance India Dance or something but like a chicken, who's feet have been tied together and is trying to escape the butcher. Its a huge step up for me, the last attempt to dance before this resulted in my parents getting worried and calling a doc.
The second thing I learnt was this song called, 24 years living next door to Alice. The song was like any other English song that I had heard till then. Someone sang in English that was mostly incomprehensible to me, save a few words here and there. And then the singer would take a break, a riff would play and the song would hit the crescendo and send the audience in maddening frenzy. However, on the Alice song, when the singer took a break and the riff came, I learnt that I was supposed to yell, "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice?" as loud as I could and if I did that, I'd become part of a really cool set of people. The ones who know their music, English music. And who knew all the cool things to say. And the ones who laugh like mad people after that. I loved it. For the first time ever, I was a cool dude. I thanked God, for I was a believer then and requested the DJ to play it over and over again so that I could yell the expletive again and again.
And after that freshers' party on a summer sultry day in 2004, its been almost 10 years now, every time I hear the song, my mind automatically inserts "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice?" in that silence. Like the Pavlov's dog. Life was all good and I got giggles and smiles from the members of opposite sex when I yelled those words out loud. I thought it was the secret to the game. So I mastered it and whenever I wanted attention, I would get the song to play and then I would yell out the magic words and lo and behold, I would become a huge magnet to attention and envy. Totally loved it.
I had to stop my car, park it on the side of a flyover that looks down to a huge green park and I thought and thought about it, till my head starting hurting. And then I said, "what the fuck, who the fuck is Alice" and I moved on. And then, it hit me. The real meaning. Of Alice. And who the fuck is Alice.
Do listen to the original. Its one of the most beautiful songs ever written. And yes, if you are curious, you may read about it here. And yes, this page, someday would be a part of my biography. And like all my other books, you may pre-order my biography here.
My First Angel Investment
It couldn't have come at a better time. People are warming up to using Internet to buy all kind of things, they dont mind using credit cards and they are ok with the concept of ordering things without touching/feeling the material.
As an Angel Investor, I understand that my role goes beyond merely being the Uncle Scrooge (and providing with monetary support). The job is more about helping the business grow with expertise in a certain domain and contacts. I am not too sure if I have either but I can try for sure. I may not be good with marketing but when it comes to brainstorming, I believe I can contribute well. I am also good at situations that requires one to draw lessons from multiple disciplines and as the cliché goes, connect the dots. I am hoping that these guys can make good use of whatever limited skills I have.
In terms of measurable contribution, I am supposed to help them with marketing their service and help them reach their target audience. The good part is that they have been able to define their target consumer in so much detail that I can see her walking down the street. The bad part is that we dont really have any money to reach our target customer. But like they say, what is life without a good challenge. This is the first new thing that I am doing in 2013. Wish me luck.
And if you think you can help with giving me ideas on how to market the product, please do let me know, I would be happy to share more details.
Rant. On Writing.
I have heard from a lot of people that writing is one of the most strenuous and lonely pursuits that us humans can undertake. Of course its not as extreme as tight rope walking or mountain climbing or cross country swimming but its a very taxing thing to do. I have been (posing as) one for some time now and I can totally vouch for the lonely and stressful bits.
And unlike mountain climbing or tight rope walking or tennis, the rewards of writing are rather scarce, to say the least. If you have conquered a high peak, you are at the top of the world, literally. If you have walked on a tight rope, you have conquered, not one but two of man's greatest fears - height and nature (gravity, wind, nerves etc). If you have endured a long swimming route, you have pushed your physical limits and placed yourself in top 0.001 percentile of all humans to have walked on the Earth.
But writing, even if you manage to finish a short essay, what do you achieve? I dont understand at all why would someone want to write. Take me for example. Why do I write?
One may argue that once your have finished something, you get a shot at immortality. At least temporary immortality. This is true for all artists actually. If not for The Count of Monte Cristo and other such brilliant pieces of work, no one would have known Dumas. If not for Godfather amongst others, no one would have known Puzo. So on and so forth. So writing gives you an opportunity to create something that outlives you. And if you do it well, it can outlives your next few generations as well.
I, being a religious follower of the Society for Hedonist Indians, believe in instant gratification. And I know that things that give me fame, money, notoriety, etc after I am dead are of no use to me. So what could the pursuit of writing get me in this life time? From a few friends who have been able to do so, I think the right answer is audience. In this connected world, where every human has not just one mouth but multiple outlets and platforms (blogs, twitter, facebook etc) to rant about things, being a writer gives you access to certain audience. And that audience allows you to create something that may outlive you, even when you are alive.
There are no guarantees mind you that there would be audience, glory, riches or anything else. For every piece that gets successful, there must be 1000 others that rot in anonymity. But I think that shot at immortality is too tempting to let go. No?
And unlike mountain climbing or tight rope walking or tennis, the rewards of writing are rather scarce, to say the least. If you have conquered a high peak, you are at the top of the world, literally. If you have walked on a tight rope, you have conquered, not one but two of man's greatest fears - height and nature (gravity, wind, nerves etc). If you have endured a long swimming route, you have pushed your physical limits and placed yourself in top 0.001 percentile of all humans to have walked on the Earth.
But writing, even if you manage to finish a short essay, what do you achieve? I dont understand at all why would someone want to write. Take me for example. Why do I write?
One may argue that once your have finished something, you get a shot at immortality. At least temporary immortality. This is true for all artists actually. If not for The Count of Monte Cristo and other such brilliant pieces of work, no one would have known Dumas. If not for Godfather amongst others, no one would have known Puzo. So on and so forth. So writing gives you an opportunity to create something that outlives you. And if you do it well, it can outlives your next few generations as well.
I, being a religious follower of the Society for Hedonist Indians, believe in instant gratification. And I know that things that give me fame, money, notoriety, etc after I am dead are of no use to me. So what could the pursuit of writing get me in this life time? From a few friends who have been able to do so, I think the right answer is audience. In this connected world, where every human has not just one mouth but multiple outlets and platforms (blogs, twitter, facebook etc) to rant about things, being a writer gives you access to certain audience. And that audience allows you to create something that may outlive you, even when you are alive.
There are no guarantees mind you that there would be audience, glory, riches or anything else. For every piece that gets successful, there must be 1000 others that rot in anonymity. But I think that shot at immortality is too tempting to let go. No?
Chapter 3. The Letter.
This is part 3 in a series. You may want to read part 1 and part 2 first.
"So who do you think wants to kill you"?, asked Prakash, to no one in particular. He always let his questions hang in the air like that. One of his theories was to ask questions to no one in particular and let the audience answer. And more often than not, whoever responded first, in all likelihood happened to have a solid motive for the crime.
The scene in Nidhi's bedroom was morbid. She sat curled up like a fetus on the sill of giant french windows. The sill has been designed to hold a small platform that someone could sit on. It looked like the comfort place for Nidhi. It was padded with a rich cushion and there was a small coffee table next to it. Nidhi was holding onto her knees in front of her chest and was rocking back and forth slowly. If this was not for real, it could pass off as a scene from one of her numerous rom-com movies. Nidhi was the undisputed queen of Indian romantic movies of this decade and along with Kabeer Khan, had inspired millions of love stories.
She was wearing a light pink linen tank top and white hot pants and despite her distraught shape, a generous amount of her flawless skin was on display. Despite his known aversion to the members of opposite gender, even Prakash could not stop admiring Nidhi's well sculpted body. Prakash concluded that Nidhi must be the kinds to go to the gym religiously. Prakash also noticed that the windows behind Nidhi overlooked the garden and the swimming pool. Thanks to the Ashoka trees, from Nidhi's vantage point, you could not see anything outside the house. And vice versa.
In the room, in presence, in various states of distraught was Nidhi's entourage. Next to the french windows, on a writing table sat yet another strikingly good looking woman, of about 25 or so. Her hips were casually resting against the table and her arms were folded in front of her chest. She was wearing a pair of skin tight denims and a bright tee shirt. Prakash guessed that she must be Payal, Nidhi's manager and close friend. Prakash quipped to himself, "Even this Payal could be an actress". On the bed, sat the famous Neelima Kapoor, Nidhi Kapoor's mother. Prakash did not have any difficulty identifying her. He had seen his share of films when he was young. Though Neelima was old now, one could see that she would have been a splendid beauty in her heydays. Next to the bed, on a chair, sat Naveen Kapoor. He still had a look of hostility in his eyes and body language. He was talking softly to Neelima and Prakash could not hear their conversation, even though he was in the same room as them. Two servants, apparently a middle aged couple were busy tending to all those present in the room. The lady was standing next to Nidhi and the man was standing against a wall, close to Naveen.
Unlike the rest of the house, Nidhi's room was rather spartan. Apart from rich embroidered curtains, thick rugs and cushions in all shapes and sizes, a very few items of vanity were at show. Unlike the reception hall and her study, the bedroom did not have a single picture of Nidhi or her movie posters. Prakash found it rather strange. Prakash also noticed that the room did not have a single book. It did have a large Sony television and a few bollywood and hollywood DVD stacked neatly in the cabinet, just the way books and vinyl records were stacked in the office. He also saw a Harman Kardon music dock on the writing table where Payal was standing, connected to a mobile phone. There was no music playing though. There was some sort of a walk in closet on the far side of the room and Prakash could not see it from where he was standing but could make out that it was a dressing room, closet and storage, all rolled into one. There was another door next to the closet. It apparently led to the bath.
Prakash waited for Nidhi to answer but she continued to rock back and forth slowly on her hips. When no one else volunteered an answer, Prakash started to move towards Nidhi but Naveen interrupted, "This is not the right time to ask her such questions. Cant you see she is already troubled. If not for the shoot yesterday, God knows what would have happened. You must leave us alone now. I'd have a word with Commissioner Sharma."
Prakash shot an angry glance at Naveen. Prakash's eyes were hard and cold like a stone. Even though he was a small man, his eyes could easily send shivers down the spine of even hardened criminals. But Naveen did not flinch. He instead got up from the chair, walked between Prakash and Nidhi and folded his arms over his chest. Prakash realized that Naveen was either overprotective of Nidhi or was trying to shield her for some reason. Prakash said, "I am merely trying to help your family here, not that I want to. I don't really care about these mutts but the letter is a serious matter. I am sure you must be used to getting death threats all the time but do any of you realize that this time it is for real?"
Prakash took back a step. He was about to go out of the room. He paused and said, "Tambe, give me that letter." Without waiting for an answer, he literally snatched the letter from Tambe and placed it on the empty chair that was previously occupied by Naveen. He continued, "This letter was in the typewriter in the room downstairs. If after reading this, you change your mind, you may talk to Mr. Sharma and come see me at the station."
At the mention of the typewriter, Nidhi turned her neck slowly at Prakash. Prakash noticed the movement and for an instant he and Nidhi were looking into each other eyes. Prakash thought that Nidhi's eyes were her best feature and could now imagine why all her films did so well despite lack of any substance. Nidhi broke the gaze and glanced around the room, searching for the letter that Prakash was talking about. She found it on the chair and then she stared at it, wrapped inside a transparent evidence bag. She looked at the letter and then at Prakash and then at her mother, Neelima. Finally she rested her eyes on the letter.
Prakash noticed Nidhi staring at the letter, he turned around and left the room. Praveen followed him with a nonchalant walk. Renu was too dumbfounded to make anything of this. She was standing close to the door and after Prakash left the room, everyone, except the famous Nidhi Kapoor, was starting at her. She did not know how to react. She retraced her steps, turned around and stumbled out of Nidhi's room.
Renu climbed down the stairs and ran after Prakash and Praveen. She caught up with them when they had reached the lawn and were almost out of the main entrance to the house. Renu said, "What is this? You would simply walk away? Shouldn't you investigate further?"
Prakash looked at her, began to talk, and then stopped short in his tracks. He was staring at something behind Renu. Praveen and Renu turned around as well and they saw Nidhi Kapoor running towards them. They were stunned at Nidhi's sudden transformation from a shock-stricken young dame to having total control of her sense.
"Wait, wait", she was panting. She continued. "Sir, wait a minute please. I want to speak to you about this". She was holding the letter in her left hand and was waving it frantically in the air. Behind Nidhi, Prakash and party could see Naveen Kapoor and Payal Chopra trying to catch up to Nidhi.
Prakash said, "What about it? Clearly your uncle believes that he does not need my help. Contrary to popular belief, we are really short staffed and..."
Nidhi interrupted Prakash in mid speech. She said looked him into his eyes and said, "Ok, stop it. I apologize for my uncle. He is like that only. Please. You know, my dogs and cat were very important to me. I am not worried about the attack or the letter. I have been getting such threats since I was a kid. But I really want to see the bastard punished. Please help me."
By this time, while talking, Nidhi had come really close to Prakash without anyone realizing it. She was holding onto Prakash's arm by now.
Prakash underwent a sudden transformation. He looked at his arm. Nidhi realized it and let go. Prakash said, "Ok, I would need to ask you a few things. You will have to lodge an official police complaint about this letter. Can we sit somewhere quiet?"
Nidhi nodded like an obedient school kid and led them to her bedroom once again. She went and sat on her window sill. Prakash asked everyone else to wait in other rooms while he interrogated Nidhi at length. Renu observed that Nidhi was composed throughout the entire interview and volunteered information at a few places even though she was not asked.
After Nidhi, Prakash spoke to Payal, Neelima and two servants. He did not interrogate Naveen. Prakash relied on his memory to notice details and interviews, Renu on the other hand took copious amount of notes of all interviews. Praveen in the meanwhile had left to work with the rest of police team that had arrived to take a stock of the crime scene.
Prakash eventually got Nidhi and Naveen in a room and said, "I'd be leaving now. My team is already here and is working in your study. They would leave in a bit. I would need those CCTV tapes as and when you can get those. Please send them over. And let me know in case you need an extra cover of security."
Prakash and Renu walked out. As they were coming out of the house, Renu asked, "What do you make of these interviews"?
Prakash said, "Everyone seemed to cooperate. I could not read anything in any one's body language. I don't think someone would have had the balls to barge into the house with all the security and electronic surveillance. The animals were plain unlucky. Everyone believes that if Nidhi was not out for a shoot, she wouldn't have been with us."
Prakash continued, "It has to be an insider. But cleaving these animals like this, I don't think a woman is capable of doing it. Naveen Kapoor looks like those typical rich snobs but I he is not capable of hurting anyone. He is a rather meek person and he hides behind his loud mouth. If he wasn't related to Nidhi and Neelima, he couldn't be anything more than a mere orderly in a large building. So I think I can rule him out but I have been wrong in the past. The servants have been with Kapoors since last 15 or so years. So I don't know. Everyone seems to be above suspicion. I have asked Naveen for tapes from CCTV. Let's see what comes out of those. What did you think?"
Renu was back to her usual self, "Hmmm, makes sense. I thought as much. I have a few observations as well. But before that, I am starving. Can we please go and grab something to eat please?"
Prakash was getting irritated. He said, "I'd be in my office. I'd drop you to some place on the way."
Renu played along, "Of course. Now that you have The Nidhi Kapoor's phone number, why would you talk to a mere reporter? That Payal is not bad either. No?"
Prakash shot an angry glance and did not say anything. Renu continued, "But what was in that letter that made her forget all her worries and run to you like that?"
Prakash took the letter out of his pocket, handed it over the letter to Renu and said, "Here, read it for yourself. Hand it over to Tambe once you are done."
Renu got so engrossed in reading the letter that she did not realize that Prakash had left her alone in the sprawling lawns of the Kapoor's. She looked around and found Tambe smirking at her. Tambe said, "Madam, saheb has left. I am also done talking to the guards. I am heading towards the police station. Do you want a lift?"
Renu nodded and said to herself, "something is not quite right here. I cant put a finger on it yet though". She was now riding shotgun in an open jeep of Mumbai police and it was flying down the empty expressway.
"So who do you think wants to kill you"?, asked Prakash, to no one in particular. He always let his questions hang in the air like that. One of his theories was to ask questions to no one in particular and let the audience answer. And more often than not, whoever responded first, in all likelihood happened to have a solid motive for the crime.
The scene in Nidhi's bedroom was morbid. She sat curled up like a fetus on the sill of giant french windows. The sill has been designed to hold a small platform that someone could sit on. It looked like the comfort place for Nidhi. It was padded with a rich cushion and there was a small coffee table next to it. Nidhi was holding onto her knees in front of her chest and was rocking back and forth slowly. If this was not for real, it could pass off as a scene from one of her numerous rom-com movies. Nidhi was the undisputed queen of Indian romantic movies of this decade and along with Kabeer Khan, had inspired millions of love stories.
She was wearing a light pink linen tank top and white hot pants and despite her distraught shape, a generous amount of her flawless skin was on display. Despite his known aversion to the members of opposite gender, even Prakash could not stop admiring Nidhi's well sculpted body. Prakash concluded that Nidhi must be the kinds to go to the gym religiously. Prakash also noticed that the windows behind Nidhi overlooked the garden and the swimming pool. Thanks to the Ashoka trees, from Nidhi's vantage point, you could not see anything outside the house. And vice versa.
In the room, in presence, in various states of distraught was Nidhi's entourage. Next to the french windows, on a writing table sat yet another strikingly good looking woman, of about 25 or so. Her hips were casually resting against the table and her arms were folded in front of her chest. She was wearing a pair of skin tight denims and a bright tee shirt. Prakash guessed that she must be Payal, Nidhi's manager and close friend. Prakash quipped to himself, "Even this Payal could be an actress". On the bed, sat the famous Neelima Kapoor, Nidhi Kapoor's mother. Prakash did not have any difficulty identifying her. He had seen his share of films when he was young. Though Neelima was old now, one could see that she would have been a splendid beauty in her heydays. Next to the bed, on a chair, sat Naveen Kapoor. He still had a look of hostility in his eyes and body language. He was talking softly to Neelima and Prakash could not hear their conversation, even though he was in the same room as them. Two servants, apparently a middle aged couple were busy tending to all those present in the room. The lady was standing next to Nidhi and the man was standing against a wall, close to Naveen.
Unlike the rest of the house, Nidhi's room was rather spartan. Apart from rich embroidered curtains, thick rugs and cushions in all shapes and sizes, a very few items of vanity were at show. Unlike the reception hall and her study, the bedroom did not have a single picture of Nidhi or her movie posters. Prakash found it rather strange. Prakash also noticed that the room did not have a single book. It did have a large Sony television and a few bollywood and hollywood DVD stacked neatly in the cabinet, just the way books and vinyl records were stacked in the office. He also saw a Harman Kardon music dock on the writing table where Payal was standing, connected to a mobile phone. There was no music playing though. There was some sort of a walk in closet on the far side of the room and Prakash could not see it from where he was standing but could make out that it was a dressing room, closet and storage, all rolled into one. There was another door next to the closet. It apparently led to the bath.
Prakash waited for Nidhi to answer but she continued to rock back and forth slowly on her hips. When no one else volunteered an answer, Prakash started to move towards Nidhi but Naveen interrupted, "This is not the right time to ask her such questions. Cant you see she is already troubled. If not for the shoot yesterday, God knows what would have happened. You must leave us alone now. I'd have a word with Commissioner Sharma."
Prakash shot an angry glance at Naveen. Prakash's eyes were hard and cold like a stone. Even though he was a small man, his eyes could easily send shivers down the spine of even hardened criminals. But Naveen did not flinch. He instead got up from the chair, walked between Prakash and Nidhi and folded his arms over his chest. Prakash realized that Naveen was either overprotective of Nidhi or was trying to shield her for some reason. Prakash said, "I am merely trying to help your family here, not that I want to. I don't really care about these mutts but the letter is a serious matter. I am sure you must be used to getting death threats all the time but do any of you realize that this time it is for real?"
Prakash took back a step. He was about to go out of the room. He paused and said, "Tambe, give me that letter." Without waiting for an answer, he literally snatched the letter from Tambe and placed it on the empty chair that was previously occupied by Naveen. He continued, "This letter was in the typewriter in the room downstairs. If after reading this, you change your mind, you may talk to Mr. Sharma and come see me at the station."
At the mention of the typewriter, Nidhi turned her neck slowly at Prakash. Prakash noticed the movement and for an instant he and Nidhi were looking into each other eyes. Prakash thought that Nidhi's eyes were her best feature and could now imagine why all her films did so well despite lack of any substance. Nidhi broke the gaze and glanced around the room, searching for the letter that Prakash was talking about. She found it on the chair and then she stared at it, wrapped inside a transparent evidence bag. She looked at the letter and then at Prakash and then at her mother, Neelima. Finally she rested her eyes on the letter.
Prakash noticed Nidhi staring at the letter, he turned around and left the room. Praveen followed him with a nonchalant walk. Renu was too dumbfounded to make anything of this. She was standing close to the door and after Prakash left the room, everyone, except the famous Nidhi Kapoor, was starting at her. She did not know how to react. She retraced her steps, turned around and stumbled out of Nidhi's room.
Renu climbed down the stairs and ran after Prakash and Praveen. She caught up with them when they had reached the lawn and were almost out of the main entrance to the house. Renu said, "What is this? You would simply walk away? Shouldn't you investigate further?"
Prakash looked at her, began to talk, and then stopped short in his tracks. He was staring at something behind Renu. Praveen and Renu turned around as well and they saw Nidhi Kapoor running towards them. They were stunned at Nidhi's sudden transformation from a shock-stricken young dame to having total control of her sense.
"Wait, wait", she was panting. She continued. "Sir, wait a minute please. I want to speak to you about this". She was holding the letter in her left hand and was waving it frantically in the air. Behind Nidhi, Prakash and party could see Naveen Kapoor and Payal Chopra trying to catch up to Nidhi.
Prakash said, "What about it? Clearly your uncle believes that he does not need my help. Contrary to popular belief, we are really short staffed and..."
Nidhi interrupted Prakash in mid speech. She said looked him into his eyes and said, "Ok, stop it. I apologize for my uncle. He is like that only. Please. You know, my dogs and cat were very important to me. I am not worried about the attack or the letter. I have been getting such threats since I was a kid. But I really want to see the bastard punished. Please help me."
By this time, while talking, Nidhi had come really close to Prakash without anyone realizing it. She was holding onto Prakash's arm by now.
Prakash underwent a sudden transformation. He looked at his arm. Nidhi realized it and let go. Prakash said, "Ok, I would need to ask you a few things. You will have to lodge an official police complaint about this letter. Can we sit somewhere quiet?"
Nidhi nodded like an obedient school kid and led them to her bedroom once again. She went and sat on her window sill. Prakash asked everyone else to wait in other rooms while he interrogated Nidhi at length. Renu observed that Nidhi was composed throughout the entire interview and volunteered information at a few places even though she was not asked.
After Nidhi, Prakash spoke to Payal, Neelima and two servants. He did not interrogate Naveen. Prakash relied on his memory to notice details and interviews, Renu on the other hand took copious amount of notes of all interviews. Praveen in the meanwhile had left to work with the rest of police team that had arrived to take a stock of the crime scene.
Prakash eventually got Nidhi and Naveen in a room and said, "I'd be leaving now. My team is already here and is working in your study. They would leave in a bit. I would need those CCTV tapes as and when you can get those. Please send them over. And let me know in case you need an extra cover of security."
Prakash and Renu walked out. As they were coming out of the house, Renu asked, "What do you make of these interviews"?
Prakash said, "Everyone seemed to cooperate. I could not read anything in any one's body language. I don't think someone would have had the balls to barge into the house with all the security and electronic surveillance. The animals were plain unlucky. Everyone believes that if Nidhi was not out for a shoot, she wouldn't have been with us."
Prakash continued, "It has to be an insider. But cleaving these animals like this, I don't think a woman is capable of doing it. Naveen Kapoor looks like those typical rich snobs but I he is not capable of hurting anyone. He is a rather meek person and he hides behind his loud mouth. If he wasn't related to Nidhi and Neelima, he couldn't be anything more than a mere orderly in a large building. So I think I can rule him out but I have been wrong in the past. The servants have been with Kapoors since last 15 or so years. So I don't know. Everyone seems to be above suspicion. I have asked Naveen for tapes from CCTV. Let's see what comes out of those. What did you think?"
Renu was back to her usual self, "Hmmm, makes sense. I thought as much. I have a few observations as well. But before that, I am starving. Can we please go and grab something to eat please?"
Prakash was getting irritated. He said, "I'd be in my office. I'd drop you to some place on the way."
Renu played along, "Of course. Now that you have The Nidhi Kapoor's phone number, why would you talk to a mere reporter? That Payal is not bad either. No?"
Prakash shot an angry glance and did not say anything. Renu continued, "But what was in that letter that made her forget all her worries and run to you like that?"
Prakash took the letter out of his pocket, handed it over the letter to Renu and said, "Here, read it for yourself. Hand it over to Tambe once you are done."
Dear Nidhi,
I have been trying to get in touch with you for so long. I have tried to speak to you so many times but you are always busy. Today Nidhi, the separation from you got the better of me and I had to come and meet you. I went to your film set but you had left by that time. I thought I would catch up with you here at your home. I knew you would be in your study. Didn't you say so in your interviews?
I came here and well well well, I was surprised to see all those books. I did not know you were interested in reading. You have never mentioned that anywhere. But it was a good surprise. May be when we are together, we could take a few books with us for the holidays.
Coming back, I loved your room and just when I sat down on the couch to play some music, your dogs and cat starting growling at me. Thanks to that documentary about you on the Discovery channel, I knew about them and I had come prepared. I had a pack of biscuits laced with sedatives and it was easy to pacify the greedy animals.
I just sat there and I waited and waited and waited for you. Since I did not have anything to do, I thought I'd play with your pets. But the silly creatures were almost asleep and were no fun. And I thought, why not just remove them from the scene altogether? I started with the cute pug. I know you call it Cho. Ever since that mobile phone company used it in their ads, every one has bought one. Did you also get it because of that ad Nidhi? Even if you did, thanks to me, its gone now. I held the pug in my arms and twisted it neck like a coil, like that wristwatch that you had to wound regularly. I did it till the neck snapped with that sweet sound of the bone breaking. Its the most comforting sound ever Nidhi, the sound that a bone makes when it breaks. Someday I would make you hear it.
Ceaser, the bulldog was next. You know I tied one of it hind legs to the writing table. I actually wanted to write this letter on its belly. I would have been the best love letter ever. I started to write but despite the drugs, the damn dog did not stop moving at all. I got so angry so angry that I just stabbed him in the belly with your pencils. And then it started to cry. Can you believe it? Cry! A dog. I just plunged a pencil in its face so that it would stop crying.
The cat, was surprisingly easy. I merely had to lift it up and slam it on the floor some three four times. You know I was surprised to know that cats don't really bleed as much as dogs, or even us humans do.
And then I cleaned all the mess. I piled them on top of each other on the nice carpet. It made a brilliant sight. And then I started to wait again! I waited till almost the morning. I wanted to stay longer but I had to go. If I am missing from my room for too long, they will know. And I don't want them to know about me. But of course you know who I am. Don't you?
I will be in touch. Will meet soon. You and I are meant to be together. This word can't keep me away from you any longer. There are so many things that I need to tell you Nidhi, so many.
Till the time we meet, you please take care. And wait for me.
Renu got so engrossed in reading the letter that she did not realize that Prakash had left her alone in the sprawling lawns of the Kapoor's. She looked around and found Tambe smirking at her. Tambe said, "Madam, saheb has left. I am also done talking to the guards. I am heading towards the police station. Do you want a lift?"
Renu nodded and said to herself, "something is not quite right here. I cant put a finger on it yet though". She was now riding shotgun in an open jeep of Mumbai police and it was flying down the empty expressway.
Of punctuations and grammar. And on writing.
I have spent a large part of last few days thinking about Nidhi Kapoor and Prakash Mohile. For the uninitiated, these two are the lead protagonists in my latest attempt at writing fiction. I dont have a name for it as yet, I am open for suggestions. But its a novel length piece of crime fiction (about 80,000 words spread over 20 - 25 chapters).
But the thing about cooking fiction is that you have a vague idea of what you want to write about. You come up with a setting, you draft your characters and place your characters in the setting and try to bring that vague idea to life. You take liberal doses of inspiration from things that you have read and experienced in the past. And you mix these and some other things into a concoction. Finally you try and put this mix into words.
And this is where you fuck up. When it comes to actually putting pen to paper. Especially when you are not a native speaker of English and you are brought up in a society that discourages use of Hindi. As a result, you grow up confused and you dont have command over either language. You think in Hindi, translate it in English and then you write. As a result, the grammar and the meaning of what you want to say go for a toss. If you try thinking in English, since your vocabulary is so tiny that you cant find the right words to put your thoughts on paper. So, when you want to talk about a good looking woman, you can only use words like gorgeous, beautiful, brilliant, awesome. Since you dont know synonyms like astonishing, awe-inspiring, breathtaking, exalted, formidable, frantic, grand, imposing, impressive, magnificent, majestic, mind-blowing, moving, overwhelming, shocking, striking, stunning, stupefying, wonderful, wondrous, you get repetitive and monotonous. And despite your brilliant narrative, the text becomes boring. And then you cant pin point your mistake.
So today while I was stuck on the third chapter of the Nidhi Kapoor saga, I decided to make a list of things that I dont know and I need to work upon. Here is the list. If you can help, I am willing to pay for it...
Thats it for the time being.
I am also looking for an editor who can work with me on correcting these grammatical errors that I make in my texts. And a researcher, who could help me plug loop holes in my text. Anyone?
But the thing about cooking fiction is that you have a vague idea of what you want to write about. You come up with a setting, you draft your characters and place your characters in the setting and try to bring that vague idea to life. You take liberal doses of inspiration from things that you have read and experienced in the past. And you mix these and some other things into a concoction. Finally you try and put this mix into words.
And this is where you fuck up. When it comes to actually putting pen to paper. Especially when you are not a native speaker of English and you are brought up in a society that discourages use of Hindi. As a result, you grow up confused and you dont have command over either language. You think in Hindi, translate it in English and then you write. As a result, the grammar and the meaning of what you want to say go for a toss. If you try thinking in English, since your vocabulary is so tiny that you cant find the right words to put your thoughts on paper. So, when you want to talk about a good looking woman, you can only use words like gorgeous, beautiful, brilliant, awesome. Since you dont know synonyms like astonishing, awe-inspiring, breathtaking, exalted, formidable, frantic, grand, imposing, impressive, magnificent, majestic, mind-blowing, moving, overwhelming, shocking, striking, stunning, stupefying, wonderful, wondrous, you get repetitive and monotonous. And despite your brilliant narrative, the text becomes boring. And then you cant pin point your mistake.
So today while I was stuck on the third chapter of the Nidhi Kapoor saga, I decided to make a list of things that I dont know and I need to work upon. Here is the list. If you can help, I am willing to pay for it...
- When I use quotes to denote a dialogue or a statement by a character, do I put a full stop after closing the quotes? Or before that? What if my character is asking a question? Does the question mark come after the quotes? And do I put a full stop after that? And yes, I did clear CAT with flying colors.
- What is a good way to break paragraphs when you are writing something? And are there any established norms for the same?
- The difference between choose and chose, loose and lose, anyway and anyways, even though and despite. And a million other common mistakes that non-native speakers like me make
- Vocabulary. I read somewhere that an average human being knows about 15000 words. The great writers however know some
100,00066, 000 words. I am sure I dont know more than 10,000. I need to work on it. Can someone help me with some tips on these? - Formatting for readability. How do I format my text that it is readable. I know that people dont really read every word but they skim through the text. So, how do I format text so that while skimming, you focus on the essential bits, that are important to a crime fiction? Is the F pattern true for fiction as well?
- More people like Pressfield? I read his blog regularly and love his advice to people like me. He's really really good. Are there more people like this? I dont want self-improvement advice. I want insights from people who have been there and who have done that.
Thats it for the time being.
I am also looking for an editor who can work with me on correcting these grammatical errors that I make in my texts. And a researcher, who could help me plug loop holes in my text. Anyone?
Relationship Status?
As a 30 year old teetotaler, bald, fat, poor, boring individual with close to nil social life, I get asked this question quite a lot. And most times I dont have an answer. Today, however, I have one.
My current relationship status?
Sulking in my bed, listening to Mohit Chauhan on loop (this track), reminiscing of days when I was with sgMS and missing her terribly.
My current relationship status?
Sulking in my bed, listening to Mohit Chauhan on loop (this track), reminiscing of days when I was with sgMS and missing her terribly.
What I want from life. And two sidenotes.
So I was late. On normal days its not a problem because I work at a setup where we dont have HR (or HR policies) and thus we dont have time sheets. This means that you merely need to show up at work before your boss does. And my boss, the hedonist and party animal he is, comes by 2 (in the afternoon). And most days I get away with it and am fine.
I use another phone when I am in Mumbai and a very few people have that number. And since no one could reach me on my regular number, everyone started calling me on the number. Every one from my boss, my admin guy, the client, the neighbor of the client, my team, everyone called me atleast thrice. All for the meeting that I was supposed to be in, that no one had bothered to inform me about, that was supposed to start at 11. The meeting at 11 had some 11 participants in it, I was the 12th. Everyone, including a lot of high ranking officials from one of the largest companies in the world aka client aka God aka the creature that is never wrong, were waiting for me. I reached the meeting room as 12 and when I opened the door, I saw 11 bored faces staring at me. One look and I could tell that at least of 10 of them wanted to be anywhere but in that conference room. And all of them were expecting me to lead the meeting. I obviously did not know what I was doing there or who had called that meeting or what would I talk about in the meeting. Hell, I didn't even know the names of 9 out of those 11 people.
But, thanks to my MBA, I faffed my way out of the meeting. Funny that most people in that meeting were MBAs themselves and yet they could not figure out my faff. Wonder why. I somehow wriggled my way out of the meeting, only to get stuck in the bureaucratic maze that my workplace is. Bureaucracy, in a company that has just about 100 employees and in a branch that has just about 50. We do take somethings seriously here.
And then after that I dont remember what exactly I did but when I checked the time next, it was 8 PM. Luckily, a very dear friend was nearby and I invited her over for dinner, at the place where I had this meeting. We had our food and Diet Coke over a conversation that had no purpose apart from catching up. Like most of my dinner meetings with friends, I would have spoken for 80% of time, the other 20% spent in eating and drinking. Poor her. Side note: If I could have more days like this where I do a lot of work, I catch up with a friend after work, write something when I am home, I would be sorted for life. Ofcourse I need to add a few things - namely atleast a cuddle with sgMS, lot of money, lot more time to cook up new projects, a shower couple of times a day and a lot of travel to break from the monotony. What else could we ask for from life? No?
So, coming back to the day, I dropped my friend to her car and plunged into work. And then suddenly it was 1130 PM. I was tired out of my wits, not because I had lifted weights or something but because I had a million things on my head. I think exhausted would be a better word. I realized that mental works tires you more than physical labor does - may be a lesson for training, once I get fit again. I also noted that I had walked quite a bit during the day. I need to buy some good walking shoes. Heard that Asics are good but havent tried em. Ok, so I walked at least 9672 steps, as captured by Moves (Side note: amazing app. Must have even if you are not trying to lose weight).
The next day (which is technically today, since I am writing this at 1:33 in the morning) I had an early start. I needed to leave home by 630. And hence I left at 12ish. I reached home, did some bits of work, wrote this (still writing) and finally off to wonder land.
Of course not without dreaming of Nidhi and sgMS.
P.S.: Just realized that I am beginning to talk a lot about work in recent posts. Note to self. Stop doing that. Work rather on creating a brand out of thyself.
84.3
With butterflies in my stomach and a heart that was jumping so hard that it could pop out of my throat, I tapped on the scale to activate it and then I stepped on it. To measure myself.
They say when you face death, time flows slower and the entire life somehow flashes past your eyes. And that is what happened when I saw the number on the weighing scale. I was struck by a lightening. As ferocious as it would have been when the day of reckoning would have tormented mother Earth. When all Dinosaurs perished and when we were engulfed in a white storm. The time stood still.
And like all victims of calamities that us humans cant control, I went through the following five stages of emotions - anger, denial, question, acceptance and depression.
It started with my pent up anger coming to surface. I was angry at myself for letting the athletic me of the late nineties to have become the fatso of now. Like most things in life, I did not plan for my inflated belly but I know that I could have controlled it. And to be honest it does not take much to do so. And yet I let is grow like crazy. To a point where I cant breathe after even little exertion.
Next up was denial. When I tried to tell myself that its not me and may be the weighing scale has made some mistake. May be the scale was rigged and its a conspiracy against me and my weight loss mission. May be its an attempt to derail me from writing the Nidhi Kapoor story.
And then the question. I questioned Mother Nature. I asked about her decision to punish me. Me of all her 7 billion children. There are times when you want her to select you and shower you with goodies but at times like these when she singles you out and slaps you hard in the face, you wonder, why me.
I realized that like lot of other things this has been forced upon me. Yes, I am responsible for a large part of it. And I accepted the way I am. I told myself that I'd be happy and try to live with my chin held high. I would close my eyes everytime I see someone who is fitter and leaner. That in reality means that I walk like a blind man, for everyone else around me is fitter and leaner than I. But since I have accepted to live with this, I shall do so.
But the hard part is to actually do it everyday. Day after day. Hour after hour. Minute after minute and second after second. There is no way I can keep depression away from my head. Not about my poverty or about my thinning bank balance. But about my uncontrollable weight. Whatever I have tried, may not be much. But it definitely is not working. The only options left for me, as I see, are either to go into the sharan of Nirmal Baba, or renounce from this material life and goto the mountains. But I think going to mountains requires serious commitment and effort. But then, I wish I was the kinds to put in effort :(
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