Unread stories

I worked with a couple of children's TV Channels as a freelance writer. Apart from writing jingles & narratives there were many other odd jobs that I did. One of them was to sift out contest stories which children sent for Story Writing Competitions. It was a laboroius task but I could take them home and do it as per my convenience, so it was all right.

I had to go through hundreds of them. Then pick a few of the good ones so that the real judges could go through them to select the winners. I liked the job. It was fun.

Every day there would be new boxes, full of stories that children had written from all over India. The junior executives at the Channel would segregate the handwritten ones from the printed ones. I was given only the printed ones to siffle through. The handwritten stories never came to me. One day I found a few handwritten ones in my box. Maybe it was a mistake. Two of them were very good so I put them in the 'selected stories' box. Kids had drawn images, done a bit of art work and written with different coloured pencils about superheroes only they could have dreamt of.

The executives at the channel saw this and immediately took them out to be put into piled up boxes of handwritten stories.

Those piles were going nowhere. Day after day more boxes would be added to them. None of those stories were to be judged. I asked why. I was told that this particular story writing competition was sponsored by one of the Software Corporate giants and only the stories written on a computer and printed on A4 size paper/cut into CDs were to be considered. This was one of the pre-requisites of the contest terms.

I knew they were right in sticking to the rules. Kids and their parents knew this yet they took the trouble of writing the stories. It was their fault. Or maybe they didn't have access to a computer. Maybe they were from small towns. Maybe they had never seen a computer. They competed because they thought that the content was more important than a mere technicality. Nobody was at fault yet there was something flawed about the situation.

When I gave the channel the best 20 stories out of the printed lot on the final day, I was very sad for those boxes in the corner with handwritten stories. In them lay hidden some wonderful, imaginitive works of art which would go to the trash can after the results were declared. So would the other unselected printed ones too but at least someone had read them.

What if one of those unread gems is one of the first stories of great writers of tomorrow? I know things like these happen all the time and this is the risk all those take who do not follow the rules. But still....I wish I had a chance to read them all. Not from the contest point of view but those lovely stories deserved to be read at least once. 

Yajnaseni & Others

Book Cover credits applicable here

Yajnaseni is the story of Draupadi who was born of the sacrificial altar, written by Sahitya Akademi Award winning Pratibha Ray in Oriya. The English translation is a bit hairsplittingly bookish but the content of the novel holds good on its own for you to be captivated by the strong characterisation and flow of Draupadi's life. I wish I could read Oriya as the translations never do justice to the original text.

It deviates from the original storyline in probably only 2 or three minor aspects wherein she is portrayed to have a soft corner for Karna and an infatuation for her sakha Krishna. The way it is woven, it seamlessly appears believable because somewhere deep down we can relate with the human depiction of her spiritual fascination with Lord Krishna, jealousy for Subhadra and Hidimba, sympathy for Karna, restrained respect for Kunti, dealing with five husbands who have difficult natures to please; anguish, helplessness and a quiet submission to fate despite having been a firebrand princess who doesn't hesitate to state the truth.

I bought this book six months back. When I started reading it, I was full of apprehensions. I had just finished a book on Oriya short stories. Most of the stories had a sad ending. So, to pick up another literary gem from Oriya literature needed courage. I found the way Draupadi explaines how the world saw her as a beauty to be a bit unabashedly outrageous. Which royal woman talks like, "people equated my thighs with the trunks of soft plantain trees" in first person? But as I read on, everything made sense. I am halfway through and can totally understand why this book is an award winner.

This is a book one must read if one is interested in the socio-political thread that runs through the whole fabric of Mahabharat. Especially gender dynamics and challanges of womanhood. Other three books which see the great epic from different individual and ethnic viewpoints are -

'The Second Turn' by M.T. Vasudevan Nair. Originally written in Malayalam as 'Randamoozam', it is the retelling of Mahabharat from the viewpoint of Bhima, the second Pandav brother.

'Triumph Over Death' by Shivaji Sawant. Originally written in Marathi as 'Mrityunjay', is based on Karna.

'Parva' by S.L. Bhyrappa in Kannada. Tanslated in over 7 languages it also won Sahitya Akademi Award for translation for K. Raghavendra Rao. The uniqueness of this book lies in the 'monologue style' where few principal characters of the epic narrate it from their points of view.


All these four derivatives are masterpieces in their own right.

(Note : This post doesn't talk about innumerable re-tellings of Mahabharata. Only the books which bring in a fresh new perspective by weaving a storyline on individual characters have been mentioned here. If you know of any such books, please do tell me about them. Would love to read.)

Interpreter of Coincidences

I read these days with an appetite of a blase parrot. The moment any book starts sounding autobiographical, I lose interest in it. Even though I am a lover of biographies, I feel if one wants to write memoirs, they should write them in their autobiography. Not disguise them into novellas, short stories etc. etc.

Tapping into a particular feeling or an incident and spinning a tale out of imagination is what I thought fiction writers do. But these days the more I read, more I sense the lack of imagination. Almost entire volumes are full of nothing but the writers life history.

I am guilty of it too. Hence I stopped a few weeks back.

I decided to take a break. Go away for a bit.

I went to visit my mom-in-law who lives in a place which is smaller than a small town but bigger than a village. A place called Baripada in northern Orissa. A place where eve-teasing is still unheard of, people pick their daily vegetables from their kitchen gardens, sweets are made of pure milk and no place is more than a ten minute ride away.

Blissful co-existence prevailed. We talked about everything under the sun except alcohol, smoking and sex. It is so much fun to find out how your husband grew up and what he was like as a child. We talked and talked. She about the past and me about the future. I couldn't be at loggerheads with the woman who raised the man I so love. She spoke of the time Neil Armstrong landed on the moon and it was Rathyatra time. They were hooked onto BBC radio day and night. 

I had loads of time at hand. I explored the house and its belongings.

Guess what I found on the table??? A book that my husband had bought before we got married.

'Interpreter of Maladies' by Jhumpa Lahiri.

I smiled to myself and remembered how I had stopped reading the book halfway. Too much detailing and no feelings is what I had complained. Writers who are busy observing (so that they can pen down the specifics) often fail to get a grasp on how it feels, is what I thought. The fact that it was written by a beautiful woman who won a Pulitzer at 33 and was much loved around the world fueled my shallow dark side which I rarely admit to.

Here it stared at me. Daring me to finish it.

I picked it up and got down to it. All my ego aside.

My heart sank. The 103 year old lady Mrs. Croft kept harping about the 'man landing on the moon' episode in one of the stories named 'The Third continent'. Mrs. Croft also gave a detailed account of how she heard it on the BBC radio. 

This was uncanny. I had heard the same details from my mom-in-law just a day before. "What a wonderful backdrop it would make for a story", I had thought when she recounted whatever she heard on BBC radio sitting in Rourkela in Orissa, India. Not much different from the narration the century plus lady at Massachusetts Avenue had given in 1969 in the book. Here goes my story idea. Pooof!!! "You Jhumpa Lahiri", I growled.

It was the last story in the book so I gave this coincidence no more thought and started looking for other books in the house. Ma said there were many in the loft, now covered with a white sheet. Standing on a stool, I rummaged through the stacks. I started picking out the books by their sizes as they were higher up and I couldn't see the names. I chose three. One the size of a pocket dictionary, two the size of leisure reading paperbacks.

Got down and dusted them all.

The first one was 'The New Testament'.

Second one a pale green 'Mountain Trailways for the Youth' - A daily devotional book for young Christians.

Third 'Spring in the Valley' - a daily devotional book

I missed a beat.

This was a Hindu household in middle of absolute nowhere in the most unassuming part of the country.

Ma said my father in law loved to read about all religions. He was into learning Arabic as well.

That was not the reason I missed a beat.

"What a wonderful backdrop it it is for a story to find books for various religions in a Hindu household", I would have thought if I hadn't finished reading 'The Interpreter of maladies' just a day before.

'The Blessed House' is the seventh story in the book.

Twinkle (who is a Hindu) keeps finding Christian artifacts hidden in her new house she has just moved into. One day a poster of Jesus. Statue of Virgin Mary the other day. So said the story.

The three books which I had just dusted, looked me in the eye and told me that Madam Lahiri had been here too. I was late. 

Despite my defiant grudges I admitted that she is a wonderful writer.
Yeah yeah...and she is pretty too!

Pearls of wisdom - In conversation with Gulzar Ji (14 August 2008)

My friend Anagha is doing a project on 'Waterproof Mumbai'. I am making a documentary on it. On 14th Aug.2008, we stood outside Gulzar ji's bunglow 'Boskiana' (Bosky is his daughter Meghna's nickname) waiting to ring the bell...we looked at each other and realised our journey on the project had begun.

We went in.
We looked around the living room. A 'floor to ceiling' framed photograph of Meghna (when she was 3-4 yrs old) reminded me of my Dad. We could see the adjoining study full of books, writings, papers and a window letting in the afternoon sun. We didn't dare venture there. We confined our exploration to the living room. Various statues of Buddha and his own caricatures filled the room.

Waited a bit. Despite our shy 'no no'...two cool glasses of green sherbet came in. Just as we started sipping...Gulzar ji walked in...apologizing profusely for being late. We stood up. In complete awe, we had no idea how to tell him 'it was perfectly all right...in fact we didn't mind waiting at all'.

As we got on with our work, all awkwardness vanished. Anagha was at her best as she explained the project to him. He recited 3 of his poems based on 'Mumbai in rains'. It was an experience to hear him recite & explain the nuances.

We had some time at our hand as we were setting and lighting up for his interview. For a moment there was silence and all three stopped talking at the same time.

I have no idea what possessed me. I blurted out 'मेरी बहुत सालों से इच्छा है के मैं आपको अपनी एक कविता सुनाऊँ. I said it and had absolutely no idea why I did so coz it had been years since I wrote and there was no way I would remember them by heart. One of those silly things you do on impulse and regret it soon after. He asked me to sit and recite. I smiled back and did as I was told. I started with a poem that had no name and nine verses. I should have chosen a small one. He wouldn't have had to suffer much.

I finished and sat still. Looking at Gulzar ji like I look at Dad at dining table after serving him overcooked chapatis and yet hoping to hear 'wah kya khana banaya hai meri beti ne'....

Now followed the biggest compliment of all (or maybe he was just being nice)...'तो क्या आपकी नज्मों की किताब छपी है या किसी magazine में publish होती हैं?'
I didn't know where to look. Just smiled and said 'नहीं, सिर्फ diary में हैं'.
He said 'अरे आपको भेजनी चाहियें magazines में. Reject हो जाने के डर से भेजना बंद नहीं करना चाहिए. मेरे ख्याल में तो जितनी बार reject हों वो अच्छा ही है क्योंकि इसका मतलब कम से कम editor ने पढ़ीं तो होंगीं'.

I said 'मैंने सुनाई हैं कुछ लोगों को पर जब देखा के उन्हें समझ ही नहीं आईं तो फिर बंद कर दिया सुनाना'.

He said ' इतनी मेहनत तो आपको करनी ही होगी. अगर आप चाहती हैं के आपके काम को कोई पढ़े तो उसे communicate करना आपका काम हैं. ये आपकी ज़िम्मेदारी है के आप लोगों तक पहुंचाए अपना काम, लोगों की नहीं.

I said a sheepish 'जी'.

He said 'जब देनेवाला talent देता है तो आपका फ़र्ज़ है उसे तराशें. आप कुछ साल पहले से अपनी poems मुझे दिखाना चाहती हैं (I had met him earlier on Debeers work) तो तब से आज तक जो आपने लिखा है, क्या आप उस से खुश हैं?

I said 'खुश का तो पता नहीं पर हाँ तब के लिखने और आज के लिखने में फ़र्क काफ़ी है. अच्छा या बुरा हुआ पता नहीं पर आज मैं उस वक़्त जैसा नहीं लिख सकती.

He said 'अच्छा ही है. इसका मतलब है आप grow हो रही हैं. अगर आप उस ही काम को अपना best काम समझें और दूसरी तरह का न करें तो ये complacency होगी. अच्छा या बुरा, आपके काम में हर वक़्त तबदीली आनी चाहिए. एक जीते जागते इन्सान का सबूत है यह. इतने सालों बाद भी मेरी हर नज़्म पर बार-बार काम करता हूँ मैं. कई लोगों को सुनाता हूँ. उनके reactions का ख्याल रखता हूँ और फिर जाकर कहीं ये छपती हैं.

मैंने एक बार लिख दिया....अब जो है सो है.....ऐसा कहना एक writer के लिए arrogance होगा. मैं अपनी पुरानी लिखी चीज़ों को वापस देखता हूँ और सोचता हूँ के ये कैसे बेहतर बन सकती हैं.

Me and Anagha were listening spellbound. I said 'हाँ किसी काम को ख़त्म करते वक़्त पीछे मुड कर देखो तो लगता है 'अरे ये शुरुआत मैंने ऐसे क्यों की...कुछ और करना चाहिए थी'. इस ही वजह से कई बार poems आधी ही रह जाती हैं और लगता है के 'हम कितने fickle minded हैं '.

He said 'पहली बात....कुछ भी लिखते वक़्त अपना दिमाग़ clear रखना चाहिए. ये तो बहुत ही natural है के आपने शुरू किया नहीं और तुकबंदी (rhyming) पहले ही आपके दिमाग़ में आने लगती हैं. इनसे ज़रूर बचना चाहिए क्योंकि फिर ये आपको मजबूर कर देती हैं तुक के हिसाब से लिखने पर. अब 'बारिश' को ही लीजिये...इस topic पर लिखने बैठो तो 'गुज़ारिश', 'सिफारिश', ख्वाहिश' ये सब सूझने लगते हैं.....यहाँ तक के 'खारिश' और 'मालिश' जैसे words भी आ जाते हैं. इनके हिसाब से लिखोगे बेटा, तब तो हो चुकी नज़्म पूरी.
तुकबंदी और अच्छा लिखना ये दो बिलकुल अलग अलग बातें हैं. अच्छा लिखो तो शायद कहीं कहीं अपने आप तुक मिल जाता है पर अगर तुकबंदी करने बैठोगे तो आप कभी अच्छा नहीं लिख पाओगे. हमें consciously इस से बचना चाहिए'.

I said 'हाँ, ऐसा तो होता है लेकिन इन बातों पर मैंने कभी गौर नहीं किया'.

He said 'तो फिर अब करने लगो. मुझे अच्छा लगा जो आपने लिखा है....मैं तो यही चाहूँगा अब ये मैं magazines में पढूं या आपकी किताब में. मेहनत तो है और वो आपको करनी ही होगी अगर आप professionally लिखना चाहती हैं. आसां नहीं है इतना'.

By then the lighting for the shoot was done and all three of us got up at the same time. As he walked into his daughters study to sit for the interview, he turned around and said 'ध्यान रखना मेरी बातों का'.