Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Tamil Literature? Tamil Pulp Fiction!

I first read about "Tamil Pulp Fiction" few months back in Chennai Metblogs. My first impression obviously was that it must be cheap Tamil short stories or novels translated into English. I dismissed it with the disdain of some one who had never read a good Tamil novel completely. Little did I know that the last week or so would have me reading the very same compilation non-stop, each story making me eager for more!

What got me interested this time was this: Two weeks back, one of my friends at work approached me with a sly grin and said he was reading a story with my name. Hurricane Vaij! I was immediately hooked and begged to borrow the book from him. I didn't realise it would turn out to be the one I had brushed off sometime back - "Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction", a compilation of nineteen selected Tamil short stories translated into English.


Generally, the term pulp fiction is used for stories printed on cheap recycled paper. So it's the paper that is cheap and not the stories themselves! But somehow, the term seems to have inherited that trait as well!

This is the cover of the book. Does it look sleazy? But that's how typical low-priced Tamil story books are illustrated. So perhaps it is appropriate for this book as well since it's a collection of those stories.

I must say I really enjoyed reading most of these stories. They are as entertaining and masala full as any of your English ones. Yes, they are not too "literary" literary but hey, that's exactly why this book was published according to the translator's note. Quoting her "this book is an attempt to claim the status of literature for a huge body of writing that had rarely if ever made it into an academic library, despite having been produced for nearly a century." So there, if Mills and Boons deserves its respect, so does Tamil Pulp Fiction.

Another passage from the translator's note that is interesting to read is the glimpse she provides into the work she had to put in to get those stories translated. Pritham K Chakravarthy says "I spent a year searching through library records for the most popular books, going on wild travels to strange book houses and far-flung homes of the many different authors, artists, and publishers, taking many crazy bus journeys and visiting many coffee houses, and doing a kind of pleasure reading I realized I had been badly missing for the past thirty years."

Sounds interesting, right? Maybe you should pick up a copy and give it a try. I particularly liked the story (no, not Hurricane Vaij! ;) ) "The Rebirth of Jeeva", originally written by Indra Soundar Rajan. I just loved it actually. I am definitely planning to buy some novels by this author (Tam version) the next time I am in Chennai. I need to sharpen my Tam reading skills a bit though!

And of course, kudos and thank you to Pritham Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna (the editor) for their work on this book.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Dear Ladies, want to vote for me?

This is what I wrote to my lady friends. Blogging for posterity!


Dear Lady Friends of mine, (Oh! what a cheesy way to address you guys, uh? I know!)

A contest for Mother’s Day was recently organized by IndusLadies (a community website for Indian Women, if you didn’t know already). Participants just needed to write a blog post on their most memorable parenting-related experience.

Naturally, I with my wannabe writer ambitions (ya, right!) decided to take part and try my beautiful Jupiter luck in winning the $200 high stakes. There were other prizes too like Jaldi 25 (the first 25 entries get an IL letter holder), the top ten entries get IL cap and T-shirt, the third best entry gets $50 and the second best gets $100 (Drool, drool).

All the prizes will be decided solely based on voting online except the Jaldi 25.

I really wanted to win at least the letter holder (but it didn’t look too attractive to me!). But me being me (whatever that is!), procrastinated until the very last date of the contest. But my last-minute burst of 3es (energy, enthusiasm, eagerness – ya invented it just now) that had always stood me in good faith didn’t let me down. I typed at 100 words per minute (believe me, ok?) and completed the post just in time.

Now it’s time for voting. (and some campaigning of course!)

Go have a look here at the fifty entries that poured in from mommies and others across the world. Read them whenever you find time and vote for the one you like best.

My entry is over here on my blog. I am kind of feeling nervous sharing this link with you all (being that this bares my soul to some extent!) but hey if you want to win you can’t be shy, right?

My contest entry is titled “Super-women need to be appreciated too, right?” and is dedicated to my mom. (I am planning to dedicate a post to you all if I win, heheh… cheesy cheesy me)

So… I hope you understood what I am saying here? (I knew you guys are super dooper smart otherwise we’d never have stayed friends **my evil laugh**)

The voting page is here. Go on, vote. Stand up for your friend’s rights (*allow me one dirty laugh here please*).

Make an informed choice though.

Have a nice Labour Day weekend girls.

Until I see you,
Most cheerfully,
VJ, Vaiju, Vaij (and the other million names you may have secretly called me)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Super-women need to be appreciated too, right?

My entry for Indusladies Mothers Day's Contest


My story of birth & pregnancy will be common to many. The excitement, apprehensions, wishes, unreasonable fears…. and the immense joy when you set eyes on your baby for the first time in the birthing room. All these are expected but were such powerful emotions that they completely changed me as a person. As a young woman, daughter, friend, wife, in retrospect, I was a completely different person. But now, I cannot think of myself as anything other than a mom, for reasons more than the obvious. The journey has been extra-ordinary, yes, but that is not the reason am writing this post, this tribute to mother’s day.

One of the best things that I looked forward to, when I was pregnant, was going back to my mom’s house - to her care, undivided attention, affection, and pampering. Perhaps more than the D-day itself! As the youngest child, I always shared a special bond with her – What I’d like to call the unbroken umbilical cord connection (unbroken by another child!). I was always the kind who got mom-sick even if I stayed away for a single day from my mom. But the hormones of the young, and eventually falling in love, took care of my mom-sickness and before I knew it, we were separated by 350 kms - the only contact between us being the “once in two months visits” and the weekly calls. So understandably, I was really looking forward to being with my mom for four months during the last of my pregnancy and after.

My mom is your typical working lady who juggled a million things to take best care of her wards. She was the very humanly version of super-woman I think now, having come to that stage of life myself. But when I think of those four months she took care of me, I am forced to re-think. No super-woman can compare.

The sleepless nights, singing to a colic-stuck baby all evening long, washing the baby’s dirty laundry, taking care of my sis’s kids who had come for the holidays, cooking three different types of food (special one for me, one for the kids, one for others), taking care of the house in general, and going to work from nine to five - all at the same time. Tell me, which super-woman can do this?

I remember this particular day, which had been really difficult on all of us. The baby was refusing to feed, and my breast was becoming painfully heavy by the second. It was the third day after my delivery and I was scheduled to get discharged in the afternoon. My trouble-making hormones were at their best, and the mornings were especially tough for me. That morning might have been the worst - I was at my cranky best and my baby was too. My mom became really worried and started advising me on various ways I could cajole the baby to feed. But I just couldn't take her “nagging.” Inevitably, I picked up a fight with her. She was distraught, I was furious, the baby was crying non-stop. Naturally, our exchange of words reached such an extent that I lost all my control. I disowned her as my mother, in front of my husband, pop, and the hospital staff, with such harsh words that no daughter would have uttered to her mom.

My mom was terribly hurt. But being the fiery lady that she is, she couldn't take the public humiliation her favorite child dished out to her. So she in turn spoke some words to me which pretty much summed up to say “Go back to your dear mother-in-law’s house if you dislike me so much in the next available train.” Having delivered that checkmate, square and proper, she rushed out of the hospital room, leaving me dumbstruck and full of regret. But my ego prevented me from following her.

I tried to create a scene when the time came to leave for home. I ordered my husband to book a taxi to take me back to Bangalore right away. I cried to my father, pointing out the injustice meted to me by his wife. But my anger was fickle and my ego was no help – both of them deserted me quickly and I proceeded to the pre-arranged car (by my mom!) that would take me and the new-born home to my mom’s place.

As we reached my house, my heart started picking up speed. A mix of emotions assaulted me, prominent being fear. Fear on how my mom would greet me. Would she really be cruel enough to send me back to my in-law’s, I thought, without remembering my part in our mahabharath!

But the sight that greeted me as I reached the front door brought tears to my eyes. In fact, it still does when I remember. Mom was waiting, smiling, with the customary aarthi plate ready to welcome me and the baby to her home. The house looked freshly swept and mopped, the floor had beautiful rangoli on it, and she had decorated the house with diyas. A photo of baby Krishna hung over my bed, surrounded by pretty colorful lights. Something for the child to look at, she later told me. A new crib also stood beside my bed, decorated with fragrant jasmine, and her best silk saree. I almost broke down. I couldn’t have got a more royal welcome.

My mom never spoke about what happened earlier in the day at the hospital. She just forgave me my immaturity and embraced me in all her warmth that day and the days that came. But even after that, I never listened to her advices on being a good mom. I had learnt it just by watching her actions and didn’t need the “nagging” words.

We still have our occasional fights. But I am never afraid of going back with a sorry face. You see, I know my mom will always be there for me, waiting with open arms.

And to this day, I can’t think of my child’s early days without hearing the lullabies my mom sang to her. The images of my child as an infant, me as a young inexperienced mother and my doting mother fuses in my mind endlessly. Who was the mom, who was the daughter that needed care, and who was the helpless baby amongst the three of us, I still do not know. Certainly, I was not just the daughter who went to her mom’s for maternity care. Those four months, I was as much a helpless infant as my baby girl. My fifty-four year old mom must have experienced giving birth and the emotional turmoil after all over again alongside me!

PS: After having written this, I think of sharing this with my mom – perhaps reading the above passages to her aloud. As a way of asking sorry to her for my sordid behavior on that day. But I feel shy, terribly shy. I hope I can pick up my nerve to do it. After all, even super super women need to know they are appreciated and loved, right?

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

The best cubicle in office

I believe I have got the best cubicle at office. It is right by the corner, separated by a four meter wide wall from the rest of the aisle, facing huge glass windows that look out into the world outside. Admittedly, the view is not ideal. There are new buildings being constructed in the area and there is a settlement of construction workers in their temporary asbestos homes nearby. But a little into the distance, and the horizon, there are only coconut trees and green lands and the blue sky unmarred by the smokes of Bangalore traffic on bright days.

Every once in a while, when I get bored of staring at the monitor, I look away into the window and watch the kids of the workers playing in the fields. They seem to be around four to eight years, three of them, and yet I see them every day. I wonder why they don’t go to school. Then I shake myself up from the corporate bliss and chid myself for not being more in tune with the ground level realities (literally!) that surround the IT parks.

The kids always seem carefree though. Unrestricted in anyway, with parents being away at the construction site, and no school, they do what do the best. Being kids. It is 2:30 in the afternoon, the sun is shining down harsh, but the kids continue to run around and frolic. And I watch, sitting at the best cubicle in office, protected from the heat by the air conditioning, earning to be out there with them in the sun. Freedom is a heavy word most of the times.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Pictures from the Bhadra River Camp

The view of the camp site from various angles.

Water was calm, cool and refreshing. We did not miss the chance to take a dip even though some of us didn't know swimming. The camp provided us life jackets.

My baby had the fun of her life playing in the sand around the tents. Her fav pass time the entire first night was to throw the sand on any unsuspecting person who happened to pass her.

We were lucky to spot the Green Vine Snake - a very thin green snake which had great strength in its neck which it used to raise itself vertically without support! I got to hold it as well :D

Our camp fire.... and the sumptuous dinner

Finally, what I looked forward to the most at the camp - some birding.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Camping by the river Bhadra – Day 1

When our car turned into the dusty lane off the highway near Balehonnur into Honne Koppa, it was already 5:30 in the evening. The sky was slowly darkening and all of us were in a hurry to catch our first glimpse of the camp site before daylight faded further. Our initial plan had been to reach the place by three so that we could utilize the afternoon well – maybe do some swimming or even a little trekking. And for me, definitely some birding just before twilight - I had become fascinated right from the beginning, when I first read the description of a hornbill sipping rain with its head almost upside down to catch the water drops in its down-curved beak, when I visited the camp’s Website. Add to that lines that went “Tucked deep inside western ghats, the camp lies at the very epicenter of one of world's richest bio-diversity hot-spot…” Heaven couldn’t have been more welcoming for me – at least from the description!

The direction to the site is simple enough – just follow the single mud road on the right (after Aldur towards Sringeri) when you come across the first signboard of the camp because there is not another! As my husband struggled to keep the car running through the muddy up and down village road, I noticed the surrounding scenery – uh-uh, Coffee plantations. Is this going to be just another resort-types surrounded by cultivated albeit lush green lands? Please God, No! We need a break from civilization, I chanted to myself silently. Just then, we spotted an old man walking the other way and we just had to stop for directions being the city folks that we are. Just go straight and turn left near the huts and keep following the road was his advice. Thanks thatha, we could have figured it on our own given enough time, I muttered when I caught sight of the glowering glance my husband was trying to throw at me. Away from civilization does not mean becoming uncivilized he seemed to be saying. Hmm, if only!

Finally, after what seemed like ten minutes, our vehicles stuttered to a halt outside a rustic hut, made of Bamboos colored green, yellow and blue, with a board reading Bhadra Fishing Camp. This is it. Woo hooo! But wait, there seemed to be no one around! I frantically searched for my mobile to call my contact at the camping site… only to discover that there is no network. Hold on, I clearly remembered the Website mentioning that there is full coverage across the entire camp site. Then up popped another memory – but only BSNL and Airtel. Duh, mine had to be Vodafone! Now what? Fortunately one of the guys in our seven member gang had the Madhavan endorsed connection and I quickly dialed Mr.Vinod Desai, one of the partners of the Bhadra River Camp, a joint initiative between villagers, government and the private sector to bring revenue to the area.

“Come on right in, I will meet you guys half way” said Desai adding “Leave what you don’t want in the car, it’s a long walk”. But dude, I’m travelling with a two year old kid. I can’t leave a single thing in the car lest I may need it in the middle of the night. Imagine! I am the kind who organized fully charged emergency lamps because we had been asked to bring flash lights! So there I was, tearing my hair out trying to leave at least a handkerchief back in the car, when I saw two guys approaching our car. The one in the smart t-shirt and cargo shorts must be Vinod my mind deduced quickly and we exchanged the usual awkward hellos and welcomes of the first meeting. After another ten minutes of nerve-wrecking decisions on what to take and what not, our troupe finally proceeded towards the camp site.

We had to walk for five minutes or about on a two way walking lane (now don’t go hi-fi on me! think village walking paths please!) from the entrance to reach the river side. The first thing I noticed of course was the very civil cottage that was built on a natural rocky hill overlooking the forests around. It looked very welcoming with its portico looking towards the river below. Nice. Very nice. Look, there is our camp site pointed out one of the guys and my eyes widened in delight. Two tents had been hoisted right inside the river on a naturally formed small island that had been barred because of the low waters of summer. Wow. Are we going to stay there we asked. Vinod replied, “Oh yes, that’s your camp but if you want (meaning having a kid in tow), you can sleep here in the cottage as well.” No way, dude. I’m not passing the chance to sleep in a tent for the first time in my life under the open skies surrounded by clean sands and clear waters. Gosh, I’m turning poetic just recollecting the visuals :)

The next twenty hours or so was pure bliss. The Bhadra river which is usually known for its ferocity had turned calm on us, lounging like a content queen in her divan ready to welcome the visitors. The forests around the site (by now there was no sight of those ubiquitous coffee of the region) seemed mysterious, ripe with the promise of wildlife we all wanted to spot. Peter, our assigned guide for the trip, along with Vinod, enticed us with mentions of Malabar Squirrels, Hornbills, Langurs, Bisons, Snakes, Deers, and Otters. Supposedly a group of Otters, also called water dogs locally, had made their home a few kilometers down the river from our campsite. If we were lucky and had time, we could coracle down to spot them, Peter and Vinod promised.

While the rest of my gang wanted to plunge right into the river for a refreshing swim in the night, all these mentions of wildlife had made me anxious for a quick trek around the region. But the whining of five grown men acting like kids with their candies can be quiet off putting. So off we went for our first activity at the camp site – swimming at night.

Accompanied by Peter and another guard we set off to the swimming spot some distance away hiking across the forest. It involved going a little uphill and coming back down again into a small clearing at the banks of the river upstream. Surprisingly, this part of the river was completely free of any protruding rocks and was flowing very gently – in other words, perfect for a swim even without light. The men quickly stripped to their undies (yuck! the sight of grown men in their undies strutting around showing off hairy chests, pot bellies, and what not can be a gruesome sight!) and ran into the river. Splash, splash, splash, splash, splash….Bhadra must have displaced so much of her water elsewhere! Who knows, some poor Otter might even have got shocked at the sudden influx of water from upstream!

For the next half an hour, the rest of three ladies (including my baby) watched enviously the frolicking acts of the men in water. Ha, if only we could swim we thought. Unfortunately, none of us knew how to! Peter must have guessed how we felt for he quickly organized a coracle to take us across to a small clearing in the middle of the gentle river where we could sit with our feet dangling in the cool waters. This is true chilling out you Bangalore folks, Bhadra seemed to whisper. Aye, aye, I agreed.

Before we knew it, it has become ten in the night and we had to haul ourselves reluctantly back to the camp site. After freshening up a little in the newly constructed rest room in the main cottage, we lumbered down the rocks towards our tents. A camp fire had already prepared thoughtfully and we all collected around it to discuss how we would spend the night. I was sure of one thing – no antaksharis and absolutely no games where we would have to sit. For heaven’s sake, this is the only chance we get to run around in open spaces without bumping into a parked car or potted plants I told my gang.

All of us quickly agreed to play Lock and Key (a game where participants who are not able to escape the catcher admit defeat and sit locked to be released (by key!) by other participants who are still free). It was so much fun – to play again, to be so carefree, to act like a kid again – so liberating. We enjoyed ourselves immensely and stopped only after the fatsos decided to call it quits. After a sumptuous dinner, prepared by the village folks and served by Peter and others, we retired for the night quietly, rounding up around the camp fire again.

The night was totally dark. Clouds had formed a curtain around the almost full moon, probably jealous of our hedonistic pass time. The fire kept burning fuelled by the woods gathered from the forest. Occasional strange sounds of the night were heard coming from far from the other side of the river bank – perhaps a bird roused from slumber or an animal caught by a Tiger (the other side of the river touches the periphery of the Bhadra Tiger Reserve). And there was absolute silence. And yet, we felt completely safe - far from the madness of the city, far from the psycho killers, far from the desires of the ego…. Bliss indeed.

Slowly, the blowing winds of the Western Ghats chased away the begrudging cumulus and revealed the moon in all her splendor – to bath the entire camp sight in soft white light. We put off the camp fire and enjoyed the natural light for sometime talking aimlessly. Before long, the aura of the night made some of us get up and wander away from the others – seeking solitude, privacy, and for two, a place where they could relieve their bladders and hoist flags!

That night, we slept in the two big tents provided by the camp organizers – complete with new beddings, pillows and blankets. Comfort in the middle of the wild night. Ha! What more could one ask for? I couldn’t wait to see what the next day would bring.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Off to Agumbe

The long weekend is finally here and we are off to Agumbe this evening as planned. As per our itinerary, we will first stop at Sringeri then stay overnight at Agumbe to take in the famous sunset point, waterfalls, ARRS, etc., and then move to Hornadu for the Annapurneshwari Temple, and finally end our trip in Bhadra Game Reserve. The reserve apparently is still in development stage and is a late and unexpected addition to our plan. Let's see if it lives up to the description on its site. I'm looking forward to sleeping in tents under the big blue sky near the Bhadra river... wow, can't wait!

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Creative writing workshop

My creative writing classes are coming to a close after eight weeks. Today will be the last session and we will be discussing screenplay. The last few sessions have been amazing. In fact, come to think of it all the sessions were amazing. I will write a detailed review a little later. For now, I just wanted to let you know that the next workshop is coming up in case you are interested. Here's what Still Waters (Vijay Nair's (the person who is conducting this workshop) company) has to say about it:

' “Still Waters” announces a weekend workshop on “Creative Writing” commencing April 12, 2009, at Hotel Ramada. The workshop covers the craft of writing novels, plays, short fiction, poetry and screenplay writing. For more details write to stillwaters@vijaynair.net / vijay@vijaynair.net. '

So go on and register if you want to give creative writing a shot. I'm sure you won't regret it - I don't.

My first canine bite

It was a totally lazy Saturday. I had just then given bath to the lady of the house and was dusting her with some Johnson and Johnson's. The house dog, Rocky, slept peacefully wedged in the tiny space between the sofa and floor. All was well. I moved a bit to get some more powder for the lady when I suddenly felt something under my foot. At the same instance as my realization, that it is the dog's belly hair, I heard a great snarl coming from under and the next thing I know... my left leg is in Rocky's mouth! Like they show in movies, everything froze in time for a milli-second. The dog with my leg in its mouth, my daughter leaning down to stare at what's going on, my noiseless shock at the silly dog's action, Rocky with his eyes still closed!!!

He must have been as surprised as I am at his own action (he usually just bares his teeth or at the worst snarls when someone hurts him), that he actually bit somebody, he ran away outside as quickly as possible in remorse I like to think. But the vengeful soul that I am, my blood started boiling at the thought of being a hapless somebody under the mercy of a dog's teeth. What has god given me tooth for?? And it (my blood!) reached evaporation point when I examined my leg - it was bleeding! I saw red (all pun intended) and chased down the dog with a stick to give two sound whacks to its rear. It accepted the repercussion of its action rather meekly only to snarl back when I raised the stick the third time. Oops, tolerance point reached. My vengeful nature abandoned me immediately and I ran back inside the house part in fear part in regret! Though of course I was careful not to show the fear to the dog. I didn't want to have a fight with the pet, for heaven's sake!

I paced the house up and down constantly reassuring my daughter nothing has happened to me though the dog is a very very bad dog for biting mom (ya, I am a bad mom I know!). I tried calling my husband to sob out the entire story but the dude didn't bother to pick the phone. Huh, somebody please come! Fortunately, before too long, the dude decided to return back home. The minute I heard the front gate open, I rushed outside to dramatically narrate everything with the intention to get my husband to give his dog an earful first thing when he entered the house. But sadly for me, the first thing he did after hearing me out is take me to a doc for some anti-rabies shots. Does that show he loves the dog more than me or the other way? I couldn't decide.

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch - Three for the three shots of anti-rabies, One for the one shot of anti-septic, and the rest for pure effect.

My Saturday was ruined. If only I had watched where I put my foot (usually I put it in my mouth!), and if only the silly dog had not wedged itself under the sofa! Well, I just have to put it down to first experiences in life - first dog bite and a pet's at that! Duh!

Saturday, April 4, 2009

I would like to know

Will I

Watch the Tigers in National Geographic tear
their preys into bloody pieces while the demented man in a local channel
rants behind bars ruing his bloodless kill
And die of a heart attack with murder in my mind

Will I

Dream of the Tsunami in which I never was
my friends were playing cricket I heard and the waves came on to drag
a small boy having fun on an otherwise pleasant day
And I dream of drowning in the high waters of regret

Will I

Read Yogananda and imagine climbing to a mountain top
sit and watch the world go around, grinning
with glee, their stupidity and foolishness delight me
And I forsake the human kind and kill myself for being one

Will I

Visit my grandma in her hospital bed watching the nurse
clean up her body fluids and remember her making
milk sweets for all us kids on nice summer afternoons
And I curl up inside and cry till all of me drain away

Will I

Grow old and hide the baldness in places, it wouldn’t do
for a woman to be bald, especially on her forehead,
read them stories and think of the ones I never wrote
And I lie down quietly and never wake up

Will I

Look at the ceiling fan one day and decide not
to switch it on, look at the kitchen knife and not use it
to cut tomatoes, look how red they are
And thank the people who made them fans and knives

I think I would like to know.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

I would like to know

Will I

Watch the Tigers in National Geographic tear
their preys into bloody pieces while the demented man in a local channel
rants behind bars ruing his bloodless kill
And die of a heart attack with murder in my mind

Will I

Dream of the Tsunami in which I never was
my friends were playing cricket I heard and the waves came on to drag
a small boy having fun on an otherwise pleasant day
And I dream of drowning in the high waters of regret

Will I

Read Yogananda and imagine climbing to a mountain top
sit and watch the world go around, grinning
with glee, their stupidity and foolishness delight me
And I forsake the human kind and kill myself for being one

Will I

Visit my grandma in her hospital bed watching the nurse
clean up her body fluids and remember her making
milk sweets for all us kids on nice summer afternoons
And I curl up inside and cry till all of me drain away

Will I

Grow old and hide the baldness in places, it wouldn’t do
for a woman to be bald, especially on her forehead,
read them stories and think of the ones I never wrote
And I lie down quietly and never wake up

Will I

Look at the ceiling fan one day and decide not
to switch it on, look at the kitchen knife and not use it
to cut tomatoes, look how red they are
And thank the people who made them fans and knives

I think I would like to know.