In A Moment...

 This story is written based on Women's Web's May's muse of the month writing cue, “What does the brain matter compared with the heart” (from Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf). The prompt required a word limit of 800, since as always I had already missed the deadline, I decided to ignore it :-)

Wading into the Hawaiian Sunset (Maui, Hawaii)

“Aloha! Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Kahului airport. Local time is 4:30 PM and the temperature outside is 80F. For your safety and comfort please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the-“

Missy was no longer listening. The view outside the window had her enthralled. Out of nowhere a rainbow had begun playing hide and seek with fluffy white clouds sailing across the deep blue sky. After months and months of late evenings in office with only the walls for company, this was a magical sight for her. Lost playing peek-a-boo with the strokes that adorned the sky, she was shaken out of her revelry by a sudden jolt.

“On behalf of American Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again soon. Have a nice stay!”

She was finally there! The vacation she had long awaited, to get away from her demanding job, work that kept her in the confines of her cabin for the better part of her day and evening, from Chicago, once the city of her dreams. Once. There was nobody to blame but herself, she thought angrily. She was good at her work, darn good at it. She had been in love with it. Truly, deeply, madly in love. The pay was good, it still was. She knew her colleagues turned a shade of green each time she passed by. Becoming the youngest VP in an advertising firm was no mean feat. But with her more than pea sized brains; it had been child’s play for her. Oh the attention she soaked herself in! Even now the thought of it made smugness capture her face in entirety. She had a beautiful pad downtown, a stone’s throw from ‘The Magnificent Mile’, with a mesmerizing view of Lake Michigan. Come summer, the silhouette of Navy Pier would adorn the river right in front of her bedroom window. It was a house to come to; it was her dream come true. Yes, Chicago had been the city of her dreams.

A sigh escaped Missy as she tugged her weekend bag from the overhead bin and waited for her turn to get off the tiny plane. Her thoughts returned to Chicago. All through her growing years she had loved playing with words but life had dictated its own terms and she had ended up graduating from Harvard with an MBA degree. But she wasn’t complaining, the longing for her pen had soon been replaced by storyboards and sketches. Before she knew it, she had immersed herself into the field and slowly yet steadily fallen in love with it. She had her brains to thank, she was all aware of that. Her ability to adapt to any field, to any industry had helped make her the successfully businesswoman that she was today. Life had been perfect she thought. She had everything she could dream off, yet the glamour of it all had seemed to fade off quickly.Of what use was a house that stayed empty all the time…of what use were those views for which she hardly had any time.Missy deliberately tried pushing those nagging thoughts out of her mind.

She slowly walked down the aisle, down the tiny steps and onto the tarmac. Kahului was a small airport and the walk towards the terminal was but a few seconds long. But the balminess that engulfed her in those few moments was enough to make her drive out all thoughts and resolve to enjoy the four precious days she had managed getting off from work.

***

Maui was beautiful. No, it was surreal. No, it was paradise. She just couldn't decide. All she knew was, she had been floored since the day she had arrived. Her resort, Kamaole Sands was just what she had hoped for. She was glad she had not booked herself into a Hilton or a Westin. She had wanted to get away from the world she was accustomed to. Staying in a place her circle did not frequent was the first step she had taken. And boy was she glad. She had spent the first three days of her stay exploring the island. Visiting the Maui Ocean Center and watching the sea come to life all around her had been more thrilling than making all those presentations in the boardroom. Wandering around the streets of Lahaina and taking the cruise into the Pacific had been so serene, unlike the silence that kept her company when she worked late. The 'Road to Hana' had brought out the adventurer in her, as she drove along the twists and turns and yelled greetings to all cars that passed by. She had been surprised by her own behaviour, wondered where this Missy had been hidden all these years. And finally she had done what she had heard so much about. She had visited Haleakala, the dormant volcano crater to view the sunrise. As she saw the purple hues of the horizon take birth and the morning star steal across the sky, she had heard the sunrise chant reverberate throughout, just as the Sun graced Earth with its presence. She had felt calm like she never had before.

Today she was at a Luau, watching the locals dance across the crowds as soulful Hawaiian music filled the air. She sat at a distance, watching the Sun she had seen rise just the day before, now melt down into the ocean. Not once had she thought of work these four days she reminisced, a smile slowing forming on her now glowing face. Yes, Maui had done wonders to her. She looked towards the Ocean, the smile broadening as she did something she had never done before. She ran into the ocean, wading into the molten orange waters, jumping around with tinkling laughter each time a tiny crab playfully gave her a nudge. It was as if tiny puppies were nipping at her feet, she thought and for the first time in years, words made way into her mind, awakening that dormant urge for her pen, one she had thought she had put to rest forever.

Warmth flooded through her body and suddenly she knew what happiness truly felt like. All these years she realized, she had survived and never lived. She had been successful but not happy. Grinning from ear to ear she made her way back to her room and for the first time since she had landed, she logged into her email. Her inbox was overflowing with thousands of mails, many requiring her urgent attention. But she ignored them all. It was an evening of firsts for her in more than one way. Eagerly she opened a new mail and typed a message to her boss. Imagining his reaction of horror when he saw her note, she smiled, clicking on the ‘send’ button, knowing that she had done what she should have years ago.

She danced down the steps and asked the front desk to extend her stay for a few days; till she found a place she could call her home. No, there would be no magnificent mile, nor any Navy pier. But there would be her pen and the magic it brought into her life. She had finally decided to follow her heart and not her brain; lose herself to her first love, her writing. After all, “What does the brain matter compared with the heart?” She had finally been able to understand what Virginia Woolf had meant.

Missy knew, she was now at peace with herself.


**Special thanks to Sid Balachandran, the famous Fiction Writer for proof reading the draft and his brainwave for the title of this post :-)

The Bigger Picture

www.clipartbest.com

The new academic year was round the corner. But the school Suresh went to was to start a day earlier than the others. After years of bad maintenance, the management had finally fired the principal Mr.Verma and appointed Mathur Sir to the post. Mathur Sir was known for his strict and unorthodox attitude and was probably the only choice the committee had to salvage what was left of the school’s reputation.

While Suresh was not overly fond of Mathur Sir, he and the rest of the 10^th std. class knew there was no other teacher who could take up the big job. If anything they would ruin it more than Verma Sir had in the last few years. Sheela Maam was quite good but she had just joined the school as a junior teacher, she was yet to learn the ropes of the game. He was looking forward to the change which would begin that day, the day before schools reopened, the day a felicitation ceremony was being held to bid Verma Sir a farewell and to hand over the reins to Mathur Sir.

But his Mother Sukanya was anything but happy. Parents had been invited for the function but she had been reluctant to go. Her mood hadn't changed much at the School either. She sat there with a frown etching countless lines on her forehead listening to Mathur Sir’s speech.

“Look at Mr. Mathur getting all emotional! For all the aggression he shows otherwise, this is how he behaves when he gets what he has been greedy for all these years!” She was not able to control herself anymore.

“Ma, he has been with this school for over two decades, he loves it here. And now he has been given the opportunity to head the institution. Isn't that a big deal? Wouldn't you cry too?” Suresh had found the gesture to be perfectly normal.

“But look at how aggressive he used to be? Do you remember, he instigated those kids to mass bunk a few years ago? Imagine that! Bunking in school? Whoever heard of that?” Sukanya was just not ready to give up.

“I know Ma. But Verma sir also used to fight with the other teachers. He used to scold and beat us so much! Was that right? Don’t you always tell me that everyone should be treated equally and all guilty should be punished?... Why only Mathur Sir then?I feel Mathur sir is not that bad. Even Peon Uncle was saying Mathur Sir will do a lot of good for the school.” Suresh was now bewildered, he thought this was just common sense.

“But still, why does he have to shed tears? This is not one of my Saas Bahu serials now is it? Oh! Had this not been the only school close to our home and had you not been answering your boards this year, I would have moved you out!” Sukanya was now close to tears herself.

“But I love this school Ma! And why shouldn't a Headmaster cry Ma? You and Papa do when I score good Marks or win a trophy. If he can help our school it will be good right? You give me another chance so many times, then why not him?”  Suresh had now begun to lose his patience.

“But how can he? I mean-“

“Listen Ma, in all our talking we missed what he had to say about the new ideas the school has this year to make it better. You tell me not to disturb when someone is talking, now that’s exactly what we are doing! And Ma, you said there was a Parents Teachers Association survey done to decide whom to select. He was appointed based on that no?”

“But-“

“Ma you always tell me not to jump to conclusions, but isn't that what you are doing now? Now I don’t understand what is right and what is not”said Suresh with a confused look on his face.

Why did Adults behave like this he wondered? Couldn't they just take things as they are just like they asked him to?

From the corner of his eye he peered at his Ma and let out a sigh and walked away. He had more important things to worry about. Would Mathur Sir be developing the cricket ground or maybe the badminton court?

Book Review: Business Doctors By Sameer Kamat

Imagine being a business consultant for the Mafia. If that is not enough, imagine analyzing gambling, drugs and porn for the business processes they follow and providing an approach for re-engineering them. Sounds crazy right? It did to the Consultant in me when I first read the blurb on Sameer Kamat’s latest book “Business Doctors”. How could it be I wondered, stepping away from the regular corporate world and applying those very management fundas to the underworld? Wild.  Exactly how the Author defines it to be.

Mafia Boss Stephen Woody, owner of WFB a 'family business' is grappling with the losses when his trophy wife Angie suggests he hire professional help to rectify his problem and correct his losses. With no other plausible solution at hand, Woody hires an Ivy League educated management consultant Michael Schneider to analyze his businesses that spread across gambling, killings, drug and porn to figure out what is causing their steady decline. High on muscle but relatively weak when it comes to managing businesses, Woody and his team think of Michael and Martin his associate as Business Doctors – folks who will set everything right for their ailing company.

I was looking forward to the ride, wondering how the Author would bring together the two worlds of Consulting and Mafia. Expecting a straight dive into the bellies of the underworld, I was quite taken aback when the book began with the escape of a convict Chang. The start caught me unaware and intrigued me on what was in store next. Keeping the suspense going with that string hanging in mid air, the story then moved on to Woody and Michael, from there began the tale of how management consulting goes on a wild, hair raising ride. As the ‘Business Doctors’ go about analyzing the trade and brain storming over ‘MECE’ principles and Issue Trees, the Author ties the prison escapes, the mafia and the consulting jargon all together to weave a meaningful story and flow.

While the book does not keep you glued to your couch, it sure is an entertaining experience. Especially for readers like me who hail from Consulting, the Author ensures we have our fair share of sniggers and guffaws as Michael puts together MECE principles and the 'discovery' and 'solutioning' phases for the mafia world.  The way Michael goes about gathering background information of the ‘Industry’ WFB operates in and the ‘deck’ they put together on their logos and understanding of the business will esp. make readers from a consulting background break into smiles. Be it the industry research  they start on as soon as they get the WFB lead or the shock that Martin gets when he realizes that their precious ‘decks’ are looked down upon in the ‘Dungeon’ (WFB’s ‘conference’ room), the Author has defined a delightful side to the way things are dealt with in Consulting.

The Management Consulting lingo is spread in generous doses across the book and reflects the experience the Author brings from his professional background. What he does show with this piece is that Management Consulting can work with just about any business using the same concepts, the same jargon and the same gyan. The extent of knowledge he brings in of the western underworld, the processes involved in video production, gambling and drugs suffices for the book and the lighter tone that the story line has throughout. His ability to show how power and money triumphs be it in consulting or mafia with implicit messages reflects clearly through the book.

While I found the play of consulting jargon fun and entertaining, I also realized that it could get a tad bit boring for those who do not come from the background. Also, on one hand the story develops at a quick pace but on the other it leaves behind a few grey areas which you feel could have been dealt better with. Here are a few examples-

•  The readiness with which Michael agrees to take on Woody’s assignment is not clearly explained. While the slow down in his business is apparent, the shift from the shock on knowing what Woody’s business truly is to taking up the project is extremely quick without any room given for reasoning out the long term implications of working on such an assignment.
•  The sudden absence of Martin once the initial study phase ends stands out like a sore thumb. Right from the start Martin works with Michael on the assignment and is also involved in the initial phase when Woody approaches them with follow on work. However without any rhyme or reason he suddenly disappears from the scene, leaving a small gaping hole in the characterization of the plot
•  While a good job is done of tying the prison escapes to the main story, the pace the Author had managed so well through the story, slows down drastically with the ‘boot camps’ that the escaped convicts go through.

From a publishing standpoint, the text formatting could have been more optimized with appropriate breaks and paragraphs being injected, this does put you off track but the font size and conversational tone of the book makes it easier on the eye.

Overall, humour that flows easily from the Author’s pen at the right places and an easy to read writing style is what works in this book and makes it worth a read. I would recommend this book for an enjoyable read on a lazy Sunday afternoon esp. for all those Consultants out there who mutter curses under their breath and roll their eyes each time they hear the words ‘deck’, ‘value stream mapping’, ‘value chain’ and the likes. This is a book that will make you appreciate your field in a lighter vein.

---

Author Bio: Sameer Kamat is the founder of MBA Crystal Ball and Booksoarus. His first book, Beyond The MBA Hypepublished by HarperCollins, is currently in the third reprint. Business Doctors -Management Consulting Gone Wild is his second book.

The Fallen Krishna

Source: www.rgbstock.com

“BANG!!!”

The deafening sound of a shot ringing through the air woke Rinku from his deep slumber. For a dazed second he wasn't sure where he was. Vigorously rubbing his eyes, he groped around for his spectacles, almost dropping the water jug off the side table. Swearing under his breath, he found the pair and quickly slipped them on. He then reached out to the cell phone he knew was placed next to the glasses and checked the time.

2 A.M. 

He looked around only to find darkness enveloping him from all sides. Peeping out of the window next to his bed, he saw it furthering its cause all across the street. The streetlights hadn't been switched on that night. He fumbled around for the water jug; too nervous to switch on the bed side lamp. What had that sound been, he wondered? Feeling the cold liquid wet his parched throat, he waited with an ear out for any sound that might seem out of the ordinary. After a few minutes of deathly silence, he decided it was but a dream and tucked himself back into bed. Just as he had drawn the sheet over his face, a blood curdling scream filled the air. 

Rinku sat up with a start. Despite the silent whir of the ceiling fan, beads of sweat were now forming on his forehead. This time, he knew where the sound had come from. Slowly he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling, clutching tightly onto the side of his bed as if to brace himself from the terror that seemed to have unleashed above. A sudden thud and the sound of disappearing footsteps made him gather all his might and step out of the bed. 

“What could have happened? Is it Sinha Aunty who lives above…. Has anything happened to her? Or is it Isha?” 

Rinku’s heart did a sudden flip at the thought of Isha; Sinha Aunty’s niece who was staying with her for the summer holidays. Ever since he had seen Isha, he had harboured a secret crush on her. She was the kind of girl he and his classmates dreamt of every night. He had never managed to muster the guts to speak to her and now this… a shudder ran through Rinku as he broke out of his thoughts. 

“Oh God, what if it is Isha? I haven’t even told her how I feel about her! “

With a sudden surge of courage, Rinku swiftly moved out of his room and felt his way to the main door. Years of quietly moving around the house to satisfy his midnight hunger pangs were coming of use today. He opened the main door and quickly looked around.
“Mom and Dad seem to be fast asleep. Its good that they are sound sleepers…” he thought, carefully closing the door behind him. 

Taking two steps at a time he reached Sinha Aunty’s house within no time. He gulped when he saw the main door ajar and the living room covered in darkness. Stepping in, he almost tripped over what seemed like a human body. Stifling the scream that almost left his mouth, he took a step back, his body shaking as he bent down to check who he had stumbled over. With trembling hands he reached out feeling cold brass on first touch. Relief spread through his body as he realized he had fallen over the Krishna Idol Sinha Aunty had so lovingly placed right at the entrance of her apartment just last week.

“But what was it doing down there? It weighed over 20 kilos. Surely that couldn't have come toppling down by a simple accident...” thought Rinku realizing that something had gone terribly wrong in the house.

“Should I go back and get Daddy? Or at least a flashlight..?” he wondered, feeling rather foolish that he had dared to come all alone in the middle of the night without even a light to see what he was doing . 

“What if there has been a murder? And if the killer is still lurking around?... my fingerprints are on the idol now ... Oh my god” Rinku’s trail of thoughts had now started to make his teeth clatter and his hands tremble. 

“I have come till here, I need to carry on and check whats going on. I might be able to help Sinha Aunty and Isha!”. Once again the thought of Isha made his sixteen year old mind firm up and continue.

Without any hurdle in the way, he had now reached the dining hall. Sinha Aunty’s flat being a replica of his; he knew the scream had originated from the second bedroom. He could see a faint glimmer of a light in the room and the door slightly open. Stealthily he made his way towards the room; as he neared the door, he felt his feet touch something wet on the floor. Bending down, he touched the liquid and smelt it. The familiar smell of blood hit his nostrils, making him feel faint. Weak in the knees, he turned towards the room just as the door opened and a pair of hands grabbed him. Before he knew it, a second scream rang through the night. This time it was his. As he sank lower and lower, a cold shower of water hit his face making his eyes open wide.

 “For heaven’s sake Rinku! I was just waking you up! You don’t need to scream so loud for that!” His mom gave an exasperated look and continued “Sinha Aunty and Isha will be joining us for breakfast, they had a short circuit around 2 AM last night. Get ready quickly”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Rinku turned around feeling a rustling sound as he moved his blanket away. The book he was reading the previous night lay open on his bed, at a page with an image of a fallen Krishna idol

Aisa Desh Hai Mera...

Already dueling with the hot sweltering heat, I let out a cry when a rough hand caught my arm and pushed me to the side. As the freshly dug scratches turned a darker shade of red, I looked up angrily to watch a plump lady dressed in black proudly beckoning her kin to the front of the line. To the spot she had now claimed to be hers in the unruly 'queue' that had formed, waiting for the gates to open.

Cursing under my breath, I glared at the woman from behind my sun glasses but to no avail. She had long forgotten me. There was not much to expect from a woman who wore all black on a hot summer day, I told myself, shifting my gaze to the rusty lock that adorned the still shut gate.

As I watched the Jawan fiddle with the key, I found myself moving forward, pushed and jostled towards the gate even before it had opened. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable crash into the wrought iron that stood tall in front of me, but the heavens took mercy and the gates flew open just as the crowd started to topple over.

They were running all around as if the world had been set on fire. Maybe it had, I might have failed to see. So I joined the maddening crowd, letting out a triumphant glee each time I overtook and got nearer to the security check kiosk. A frivolous check and a few more huffs and puffs later, we were seated in the gallery, glad to have found almost 'front row' seats to watch the ceremony. 

Happy and elated I sat there, perched on my step, eagerly looking forward to what would be store next. The imagery had already started to form in my mind; the crisp and smart looking Jawans steadily marching towards the border holding their heads up with our national flag soaring high. The feeling of patriotism was overflowing in my mind and heart, wetting the eye every now and then.

The lady who stamped my hand and stood in my face

As I reveled in the moment, I felt a knee sharply jab into my back and that of my niece’s almost pushing us off our painfully attained seats. I turned around to find young girls perching on their knees in the middle of those seated, doing their best to knee us out. The unruliness could have been ignored had it not been aimed at an innocent seven year old.

Politely, I asked them to stop only to be told “ladka to nahi hoon na jo tumhe chhed raha hai, chup chaap aage dekho” (I am not a boy molesting you, keep quiet and look ahead). With sheer disbelief we stared at the young girl who seemed to be a part of a college group. She glared at us and the little one before clawing her way through to the front to demonstrate her pelvic calisthenics on the patriotic songs that were playing. For us the songs were an expression of patriotism, for her and many like her, it was a mean to gyrate their bodies to. Disgusted, we did our best to ignore the pushes and the shoves and waited impatiently for the ceremony to start.

It finally did, but with it, the animal behaviour we had already got a glimpse of dipped to another low. Women of all age, heights and weights, descended upon those seated and roughed their way forward. A perfectly sensible looking lady stamped over my hand before positioning herself right in my face to enjoy her view of the ceremony. That she had hijacked someone else’s was a matter that didn't matter. She was not alone, despite multiple requests to maintain decorum, each and everyone ignored. They had all grown paws and claws within minutes.

Frustrated, we tried out best to peek through the sticky arms and backs that seemed plastered to our faces and bodies. Despite being that close, we were way too far. Taking our minds off the brutishness we saw in front of us, we sat down amidst the sea of legs that seemed to think stamping every soul was their given birthright.

The 'On-Demand' Toilet

This was the end, I told myself. It would soon be over and we would be headed out; away from the brashness of this crowd. I had just about begun to believe myself when I had a trickling sound right in front of me. A young boy stood inches ahead on the step below us, relieving himself amid all the rowdiness that surrounded him. With my mouth wide open, I looked beyond him to see his mother smiling away, encouraging him to create his own on-demand toilet. Instantly I looked down at my niece, not knowing how to react at the stunned yet confused look she had plastered all over her face. Hearing a squashing sound I turned around but couldn't locate where it had come from. Was it a bottle or was it a piece of that little girl’s innocence I wondered.

The bugles had stopped and the flags had been lowered. The ‘ladies’ were finally settling down. Some on the surface that had been wetted just minutes before. I started to stop them but then thought the better off it. Probably a bit of them had rubbed on to me.

Finally the retreating ceremony came to an end. Once in a life time experience it was, just as everyone had said it would be. I had gone there hoping to celebrate patriotism but instead saw its entire paradigm being shattered right in front of my eyes. While on one hand I was filled with pride watching women Jawans who protect our borders, on the other I had seen my own kind squelching that very feeling with their terrifying mindsets and mindless encouragement to children to do the wrong thing.

That evening we drowned the voice across the border with our show of 'patriotism'. We must have seemed to stand united in our neighbour’s eyes, only we know how intolerant we were among ourselves.

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This post is a narration of my experience of the retreating ceremony at the Wagah border in April 2014.

Book Review: The Kite Flyers By Sharad P Paul

In today’s times, reading an Indian Author usually translates into “North Indian boy meets South Indian girl” stories or “IIT/IIM boy makes it big in the big bad world” tales. So when you come across a plot of three friends from a remote village in Tamil Nadu who separate and reunite against a political backdrop you pick it up just for the refreshing change the book brings from the pink and rosy world of MBA and romance.

Kumar, Raman and Lakshmi are three friends from the village of KKP in Tamil Nadu. Flying Kites is a passion both Kumar and Raman share and one which they teach Lakshmi to enjoy. Learning practical life lessons from Kadallikaran, the groundnut vendor from their village, they look forward to an exciting childhood together but it all comes to a stand still when Kumar and Raman’s schooling comes to an abrupt end. Raman picks his life from there and decides to move to Madras to earn his living as a tailor while Lakshmi plunges into the Kaveri when her parents decide to marry her off to her Uncle. The three friends drift apart. But the tragedy of their lives doesn't end there. Against the political backdrop of MGR’s growing influence in Tamil Nadu and the general unrest of the Tamilians against Hindi as the national language, the three friends undergo changes that change the course of the lives forever. How they break apart and eventually get together is what The Kite Flyers is all about.

Sharad Paul begins this book with the narrator who wonders about the Kite framed on the wall of Cool Cuts, the salon where he goes for his haircut. He wants to question Kumar, his barber but does not get an opportunity. From there on begins the flashback of the lives of three friends and the circumstances that bring them back to the present. While he does not get into the details of their childhood and solely focuses on a few moments of their friendship and kite flying, he depicts the lives of Eunuchs when they get intertwined with those of the protagonists extremely well. What also stands out for me is the knowledge he brings out about the political situation in Tamil Nadu during the 1970’s along with the intense hatred for Hindi as the national language. The possessiveness for Tamil and everything that is Tamil is evident even today but the intensity from those times is cleverly represented by Paul.

The fine job done in setting up the political backdrop however does not seem to extend to the narrative as much. The transition from present to the past seems abrupt with no premise being set for the change. The absence of the narrator through the story and the sudden appearance towards the end also makes you question the necessity of the character. While the story concludes well, the focus on Gowrie the village school teacher in the Epilogue seems forced esp. since the character was not really introduced in the main story.  an editing standpoint is the usage of abusive words in English which take away the authenticity from the dialogue of a village boy.

Despite a few loose ends here and there, The Kite Flyers makes a fine read esp. because it is a story of what the southern parts of India truly were like in those times. Not too many Indian Fiction Authors venture into the realist world of Indian culture and history, Sharad Paul is an exception whose efforts must be appreciated.

Life With(out) Archie

Source: www.departmentofuseless.blogspot.com

It was a quiet day at the Chok’lit Shoppe. The place seemed empty except for the lone figure of Pop Tate hunched behind the already gleaming kitchen counter, swabbing away the tiny salty drops that kept trickling down onto it. He would have been at it all day had he not heard the main door creak open and silent footsteps make way to the farthest table in the room. Their favourite corner, the table they sat at, sometimes all day; taking his advice or driving him up the wall. 

But today was different. One of the chairs would be empty. He had spent hours standing at the table that morning wondering whether to remove the chair but then it had always been there. It would always be there. 

He glanced outside straining his teary eyes, catching a glimpse of blonde and long black hair as he turned back to his cleaning. The door had opened again, this time it didn't take him long to recognize the heaviness in the footstep; he immediately turned towards the stove to grill an enormous hamburger for the latest entry. But the footsteps had stopped, not as usual near his counter, sloppily calling out the order, but at that corner table. A routine of decades had just been broken by his hungriest customer. The crown like beanie hat which he abhorred was missing from the boy’s head; it was a day of firsts as far as this fella was concerned he thought, tears now flowing down his cheeks, wetting his perfectly maintained mustache.  

Source: www.rollingstone.com

Pop wondered if he should go say hello to his favourite people but for once his feet wouldn't move. The door opened again, but not with the brashness or the force the folks entering usually opened it with. With drooped shoulders, the three trudged in. Trio, they were today- The big “Duh” boy, his long time girlfriend and the conceited guy who always chased her around. The door had almost closed shut when the tiny little nerd walked in with their athlete friend and his girl friend. All trooped towards the corner table, joining the rest of the gang. He looked at the door waiting for it to open one last time and he wasn't disappointed. In walked a tall lanky girl and went straight to the boy she had adored years before but had never been with. Before anyone could react, they had engulfed in a hug and burst into tears.

He couldn't believe his eyes anymore. For years he had watched his favourite group of people and the relationships they shared. The brawls that took place and the brickbats that flew. The friendship that developed and the love that bloomed. The animosity between rivals and their patch ups too. He had seen them bitch and later cry on each others shoulders, sometimes even lending his own. But never had he seen them all so quiet and silent. 

He closed his eyes hoping it was all a bad dream. Slowly he opened them, praying fervently to see what he had seen all these years, them laughing and joking at their favourite table in the farthest corner of his cafe. But that was not to be. Amid the stillness, all his eyes could see was the empty chair where once sat their red haired freckled friend, the one whose absence had destroyed the world as they had all always known it to be.

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This post is a small tribute to Archie, the lovable yet accident prone and confused boy we all grew up with. Come July 2014, Archie will be dying a heroic death while saving a friend.

Book Review: 'Never Let Me Go' By Kazuo Ishiguro

Sugandha and I met over books. It cannot get any better than that can it? But then I hopped over to her blog Shades of Life and realized we have a lot more in common; her thoughts, her reflections, fiction and reviews… I realized we shared a mutual love for the written word.

So when she asked me to write a review post for her blog, and let me decide what I would like to talk about, I couldn't think of a better book than this to share through her writing world. 

Source: Wikipedia

Kazuo Ishiguro is an Author you wish you could be. Every book that I have read of his has had poise, elegance, uniqueness and a creativity that very few Authors are capable of. Each book he writes is vastly different from the other and leaves a mark on the reader not only with his writing abilities but the characters he creates through each of them.
'Never Let Me Go' is probably one of the finest of his works. While Remains of the Day continues to remain my personal favourite, this particular piece of work touches a chord in an entirely different way.

Read on at Shades of Life

The Tri-General Tournament

Wikia.com

The Goblet of Electiofire had spurt out the names of the two champions who would participate in the Tri-General tournament. The championship was meant to be contested by three but never had it thrown out more than two names in the previous fifty odd years. 

Champion no. 1 was Reggie from the School of Empowerment. Known for their good looks and charming personalities, Empowerment taught them the magic of words. A string of words that tackled every problem in the world.

Champion no. 2 was Ned from the School of Controversies. Characterized by boldness and aggression they considered themselves Empowerment’s (gulp, the school that is) no. 1 foe. Their forte lay in their magical charms which were all about jingles.

There were no surprises here; the two schools always competed against each other. So the students rose and began to celebrate but all went quiet when they saw the goblet fire up again. Much to their shock, it spat out another name. A third champion would compete for the first time in the history of the Tri-General tournament.

Champion no. 3 was Andy from the latest school on the block, the Muffler School of Magical Arts. Every student in this school was a commoner with nothing but their flying skills to boast about. While they did learn their spells and potions, their strength lay in their magical brooms.

Oh, Andy was an underdog alright, but his flying abilities held everyone in awe. After all he was the boy who lived despite the number of slaps that came his way. Reggie and Ned didn't really care, as far as they were concerned they were the heirs. 

The tournament was made of two tasks. The first being making the spectators dance to their tunes. While the second was to venture far across the Empire, tackling every monster and spell that was thrown at them. The contest was set to take place in two days and a large crowd was expected to turn up. Not only would there be students from all three schools but also folks from all across the Empire. It was going to be the moment of a lifetime for whoever would win.

The three champions had begun their practice.

Reggie didn't really have much to do as his school had one solution for all. “Empowerment and Youth!” that’s all he had to say. He had never questioned what it meant but he knew it sounded magical and well, that was about the only spell he had managed to learn. So he went about muttering the spell and doing little of anything else.

Ned was smug as he watched Reggie mutter around. He knew his school could win the cup this time. All he had to do was recite their latest magical jingle, the spectators would swoon all over him and he could tackle all dragons and monsters thrown his way. 

“Spells I may or may not cast, Ned’s laugh will be the last” he repeated to himself all through the 48 hours that lay in between him and the championship. He was quite confident that his jingle would work, he had already heard a lot of sniggering and chatter each time he recited the lines. Yes, people were already falling for its charm.

Andy practiced as well. He flew his broom around telling one and all that it was now time for the commoner to win. It was now time for spectators in the crowd who sent their children to schools like his to win. That was his secret weapon against the veterans, woo the spectators and wipe off the two old timers with his magical broom.

Finally the championship day dawned. All three stood smug, each convinced of their own win as they walked out into the stadium unprepared for the sight that met their eyes. The stands were full with a crowd like they had never seen before. Jeering and clapping all at once. Andy was overwhelmed to say the least. But Reggie and Ned felt a shiver go down their spine, for the first time they weren't sure who was being jeered and who was being cheered. But before they could react or wonder what to do, a sharp shot rang through the air. 

The Tri-General tournament had begun. 

Book Review: The Black Tower By P.D James

Source: Wikipedia

As a child, I fed on mystery stories. Be they Famous fives or Secret Seven... I joined hands with the Three Investigators, deciphering clue after clue and wished from the bottom of my heart that I had a boyfriend as charming as Ned Nickerson from Nancy Drew. As I grew up, my diet changed and I was introduced to Agatha Christies, Erle Stanley Gardeners and Marry Higgins Clark who kept me on the edge of my seat and biting my nails till there were none left.

And then came along P.D. James; an author whom I had not read until now. When I did pick up Black Tower, the sole Adam Dalgliesh novel that I have read so far, I was brim with expectation and my hopes were pinned high. That is probably also the reason why when I finally placed this book down I was a tad bit disappointed.

The Black Tower is a mystery that is triggered off by a letter that Commander Adam Dalgliesh receives from an elderly chaplain, Father Baddeley. Recuperating from a misdiagnosed illness, Adam finds the letter as an excuse for a perfect getaway from his professional life to take a break and decide what he really wants from his life. With that in mind, he sets off to Toynton Grange an isolated nursing home along the coast of England. What he discovers on reaching the home is not something he had ever anticipated. Father Baddeley and a patient from the home are dead, having died presumably of natural causes. There is nothing about the place or the situation that cries foul but the letter Dalgliesh had received makes him wonder if there is more to it than what meets the eye. He decides to stay back to sort out Father Baddeley’s books which have been left to him as a legacy. In the short duration of his stay, the bodies start piling up with not enough reasoning to term them as murder. But the sheer coincidence of death and a detective’s mind suffice for Dalgliesh to carry out his own private investigations, solve the crime and unmask the terrible evil that has been residing in the heart of Toynton Grange.

P.D. James is like no other mystery Author I have read before. Most Authors specialize in developing the analytical abilities and detective mindset of the protagonist to unravel the suspense that has been built, P.D. James does no such thing. In fact if anything, Adam Dalgliesh seems slow in comprehending the setting of the crime and not much emphasis is given to how he goes about solving the mystery. While there are sprinkles of his investigations here and there, he spends most of his time either regretting a mistake he makes or just getting to know his suspects. Not often does the author give you a peek into how the detective arrives at his conclusion and nails down the guilty.

What P.D. James does do is develop a deep sense of personality of each character she introduces in the book. She develops a vibrant scene of potential malice, dark thinking and diabolic feelings in each character thus thickening the plot and building the suspense. However the lack of investigation and the final outcome do not seem to do justice to the hype she so successfully builds up.

If there is one thing that stands out for me about this author is a skill which impressed me beyond measure and at the same time frustrated me at some junctures throughout the book- Her ability to weave together words and metaphors such that they lead to vivid descriptions and paint distinct images in your mind. While this writing style of detail and imagery overwhelms you with her creativity, it tends to throw you off track at times when all you want to read is a straightforward explanation for the suspense that has been created. It forms a pleasant experience, pondering over her usage of language and the way she plays with words but when it pops up in the middle of a cliff hanger, it tends to confuse and take away the focus from the actual mystery at hand.  

If anything her writing style made me wonder if sometimes an author needs to draw a line as far as over usage of writing creativity is concerned

The Black Tower was overall a good read, however I wouldn't call it an edge of the seat thriller which boggles your mind even after the mystery has been solved 

Book Review: Half of a Yellow Sun By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Wikipedia

When I picked this piece of African Writing, I did not know what to expect. The only objective I had was to read a different Author, one who comes from a world that was different from the one most of the authors we read belong to. And boy, did it make a difference.

Half of a Yellow Sun is a story of three characters Igwu, Olanna and Richard set in the 1960’s both before as well as during the Nigerian civil war.  As you start getting to know the characters in the book, you begin to believe that like any other fiction, these characters will form the central element of the story and the rest will revolve around them. But as you get deeper and deeper into the plot, you realize eventually that the theme centers on the Nigerian civil war, the rise and fall of Biafra and the torment and inhuman treatment by the Hausa’s (from northern Nigeria) of the Igbo’s (southern Nigeria) leading to the birth of what we today define as starvation. The intent of the characters is but a mean to bring to fore the plight Nigeria suffered at the hands of its own people.

Igwu is a house boy to Professor Odenigbo and later his wife Olanna as well, who does everything a house boy should. For him loyalty means being with his master and mistress through thick and thin, through life and death. Olanna, a Sociology Major is a smart, forward thinking Igbo woman whose parents have rich political connects and is estranged from her twin sister Kainene. Richard is a Igbo loving English writer who finds his true calling in Nigeria than he does in his own homeland. He finds love and companionship with Kainene. The journey of these five characters through the civil war, the way their lives intertwine and the consequences they have forms the crux of this book.

In the early sixties, each character is shown to develop, each personality is revealed. Then the Author moves a few years ahead into 1967 where war breaks out and she paints a picture of how overnight everyone turns homeless and runs for their lives. From here she does a playback to events that happen pre-war which test the relationships between the protagonists and then moves it forward to the peak of the war and finally the end it sees.

The star of this novel is not the depth Chimamanda brings to her characters nor is it the relationships that develop between them. It is the attitude she brings out in them to overcome issues they have and the instinct she portrays for survival during the short time that Biafra comes to life and gets engulfed by one of the worst civil wars of our time. 

I am sure not many of us have much insight into African history, let alone the plight of those who suffered the war. Chimamanda does a fantastic job of giving us that peek into what formed the foundation of Nigeria as we know it to be today. Starvation is too small a word to describe what the people went through. Lack of food and supplies made them eat lizards and worms, things you would not even consider as food in normal times. Lack of hygiene and cleanliness made them victim of diseases that we would never have thought off. Imagine using the same tea bag for days together to have your black tea. Imagine using the same water day after day to clean whatever little grain you might get to eat. Imagine making your own soap out of ash. Imagine observing animals to see what leaves they eat and then eating that yourself… no, how much ever we try, we really cannot imagine it. She narrates the horrors of the massacres, how pregnant women were beaten, raped and killed, how fire was opened on anyone who looked like an Igbo…how humanity came to a standstill. But what shines through all the melancholy is the hope the Biafrans harbor of a brighter future, symbolized by the half yellow sun on their flag.

Half of a Yellow Sun is a heart wrenching lesson in history with a human narrative. This book is an effort by the Author to let the world know what her country went through during those trying times. This is her way of telling the world that the effect of that war has still not died out. It has its effect on every Nigerian even today. This book is a piece of Literature that makes a difference. It makes you feel that a Writer is quite capable of doing justice to history.

Don’t miss this book; we all need to know how our world once used to be…. 

Up The Jamun Tree

 This story was originally meant for Women's Web's March's muse of the month writing cue, “To want is to have a weakness.” (from The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood). The prompt required a word limit of 800, since I had already missed the deadline, I decided to ignore it :-)

The tree outside Meena's window (Source: Deviantart.com)

She stared at the Jamun tree outside her window. The slender branches swayed as the leaves rustled as if they were playing “chinese whispers” with her. ‘Whoosha, Whoosha, Whoosha” each leaf whispered, some highpitched in their excitement while others drooping with their feeble tone. All seemed to want to speak to her.

“Just like the stories from those books all girls in the class talk about” thought Meena.

Fairies, pixies and gnomes, some hiding under toadstools, others disappearing behind bushes and climbing up trees. Trees like the one in her yard; with leaves whooshing all the time as if there were little elves hiding on their branches whispering and inviting her into their own abode. Full of jamuns in the summer, she wondered if the tree would bear some other fruit as the season changed, just as the faraway tree all the girls spoke about did. She peeked out, wanting to talk to those beautiful creatures her imagination had given birth to, but quickly jerked back and pulled the curtains when she saw Sneha, her neighbour, staring at her from her balcony.

“Oh why was she there now, just when I wanted to talk to my friends and live those tales all my classmates talk about…what she talks about!” cried out Meena opening her Science textbook and doodling over the chapter on cross-pollination.

Her mother would stop by any time to check on her, to check if she was studying or wasting her time dreaming of what she called nonsensical creatures.

She longed to read, wanted it more than she had every wanted anything. All those Nancy Drews, Percy Jacksons, Hardy Boys and Enid Blytons the girls spoke about. Esp. the Enid Blytons; they sounded so magical, as if they could transport her to a different world. A world that consisted of kids who went on adventures, girls who secretly had midnight feasts in their boarding schools, toys that came alive at night, goblins, gnomes, pixies and fairies who went about their business as soon as it was night fall…. She wanted to lose herself in that world, be one of those kids, be one of those girls, secretly watch those toys and all those magical creatures… if only she could, she always thought.

Wikimedia

“To want is a weakness Meena, all those books girls your age read are a waste of time. Study hard and you will do well in life, those books will not take you anywhere”

Every time she had asked her mother for books to read, she had got to hear these words. She was not allowed to be a member at the local library; she had to study all the time. Her mother even disapproved of the School’s mandate for Sixth standard students to take a book from the school library every month to write reviews and essays.

Meena glanced out of the window hoping to steal a moment to step into her imaginary world before her mother came up to the room for her evening check. She looked lovingly at the tree, trying to imagine a tree house on the broad branch that tapered right near her window when from the corner of her eye she saw Sneha again.

“Oh why was she still there! Cant she just let me live in peace!” muttered Meena just as the door to her room opened and her mother stormed in.

“What are you doing looking out of that window? Are you upto your silly antics again?” yelled her mother, continuing her usual torrent about how if she didn’t take studies seriously she would suffer in higher classes.

Meena had learnt to turn a deaf ear to her scolding but this time she was worried that Sneha would have heard every word of it. Her mother had been very loud.

“Always lost in the world of those fairy tales, wanting those books all those girls in your class read! They won’t score marks reading those books; those come only with hours of studying. How will you manage when you get to Tenth standard? How will you score? You have to become a doctor don’t forget that. Have you seen what a free hand Sneha's mother gives her? No wonder she is always third or fourth in class, can never beat you to the first place!” Her mother went on.

By now Meena was praying desperately that Sneha had not overheard any of her mother’s rant, esp. the last part of it.

Wikimedia

She had put in a lot of effort to make the girls in her class think that she read as many books as them. She tried to participate in the discussions Sneha and the rest in her class had during the recess about wishing chairs, faraway trees and circuses. She had even proclaimed to the class that there was a rabbit just like Brer rabbit in her own garden. Living next door to her;Sneha had given her a curious look then, Meena had realized she had gone a bit far with the rabbit story.

She had made up all the stories based on what she had heard being discussed by all the girls. It was so easy to catch up when you liked something so much, she had thought. Suddenly her mother’s voice broke through her revelry, telling her to complete her lesson and be ready for the revision questions she would make her answer at night.

Meena looked out of the window, hoping Sneha wasn't around. Her balcony looked empty but she thought she had seen a shadow disappear across the curtain. All she could do was pray that Sneha hadn't heard anything. The care she had taken over the years to fit in with the rest of her class was at stake; she desperately wanted to maintain the image she had so lovingly created.

Days passed into weeks and Meena got busy with her exam revision. When she felt bored of studying she would look out of the window, first checking to see if Sneha was around. Once the coast was clear, she devoted her attention to the tree imagining the homes of Silky the elf, Dame Washalot and Moon Face, names she heard from the recess discussions of the Faraway Tree books. She imagined herself befriending the residents of the tree and visiting the different lands that came on top of it every now and then… just as the girls decribed from the books. So lost she would be in her world, staring at the Jamun tree, that she would fail to notice the shadow that fleeted across the curtain in the house next door.

Once in a while she would jerk out of her thoughts and remind herself that wants were a weakness, she had to study and top the class like she always did. That was her mother’s want and she had to live up to it.

She continued to talk to her classmates about the rabbit that lived beneath the Jamun tree and the different Enid Blyton books she had read. She even described the tree which reminded her of the Faraway Tree. All the girls involved her in their talks, listening with rapt attention each time she spoke. All except Sneha.

Sneha had begun treating her differently. She was friendlier than usual but continued to hang out with her own group of friends. But there were tiny things that Meena couldn't help but notice, like how she would warmly squeeze her shoulder once in a while and offer to share her eraser or pencil whenever she forgot her own. There was a change in Sneha’s behaviour, she had noticed; especially the look she gave whenever Meena spoke about the books she read. It was hard to decipher but it almost seemed like she knew what was really going on in Meena’s head. A shudder would run through Meena each time she got the look, it made her wonder if Sneha had overheard her mother that evening a few weeks before.

The final exams came and went and a week later the results were announced. As always, Meena topped the class; Sneha had come in fourth. Happy with her results, Meena’s mother had left her alone for the evening and gone out to run some errands. Meena was elated, this was the best gift she could ask for, some alone time with her thoughts, to focus all her attention on the Jamun tree and the pretend rabbit hole below it. She had just settled herself on the window sill when the doorbell rang.

Irritated with the disturbance she quickly ran down the stairs and opened the door. To her surprise there was nobody at the door. Angry, she turned to close the door when a speck of brown caught her eye. Lying on the doorstep was a bulky package with an envelope attached to it that was addressed to her. She picked it up, locked the door and returned to the room. With a lot of curiosity she opened the letter and read,

Magic Faraway Tree Series

Dear Meena,

Congratulations on topping the class once again. You have always been the brains of the class and deserve to top it more than anyone else. Here is a small gift to celebrate your result. Hope it helps you immerse yourself in a different world, one that has had you enchanted forever. Enjoy this new world because you so want to be a part of it.

Always remember, a want is never a weakness, it is our ability to define the person that we are; that we want to be.

Your Friend.

With trembling fingers Meena opened the package that accompanied the envelope. In it was the Faraway Tree Series. Instinctively she looked outside the window just in time to see Sneha disappear from the balcony.