Hobnobbing with Shashi Deshpande and such

Saturday night was at a book launch by a small publishing firm called Unisun Publications. There were, in fact, four books launched.

I was thrilled at the prospect of hobnobbing with Bangalore's resident literary celebrities, namely, Shashi Deshpande and Girish Karnad

I was with two of my college seniors, and all three of us had atrociously broken the strict khadi rule, it appears. Also the dangling earring rule, the up-turned nose rule and the dressed up rule--as rightly pointed out by one of the seniors. I was saved, thankfully, by the jhola bag I was carrying, that made me look appropriately ethnic.

Before the ceremony began, a senior professor from college, who is closely associated with Unisun, came over to us, and in her typically deep and articulate voice, she boomed at us: "Thank you." For coming, we assumed. And then she said, "Shashi [Deshpande, with whom she is on first-name basis, clearly] asked me where all the young people are. I was stuck. And then I saw you three at the back, so I said yes there are about half a dozen. Come on, I'll introduce you to her."

What? We get to meet Shashi Deshpande. O man o man o man.

Like most important moments, this one fell flat. Shashi seemed either uninterested or shy. Our professor went on at length introducing us. And we squirmed. It was as if -we- had asked her to introduce us to Ms Deshpande. Woe.

*

As for the launch, it was okay. Girish Karnad was nice and witty. There was a weird guy at the back who kept cheering everyone as if he was at some lame-ass talent show. I wanted to tell him to shave his beard. Not because I have anything against unshaved men--they are often more attractive than neatly shaved men. But I had to find faults with him.

*

Once more, I found the poetry deplorable. (There were some 'dramatic' readings.) I'm not saying that the poets couldn't play with words, or that they had nothing new to say; they tended to be witty and somewhat in control of their words. But where was the beautiful extended metaphor? The layers I was meant to crawl through? The brilliant alliteration? Where was the poem I could read over and over again?

Gah.

Buzzerhut

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More later.

Dead People

Maybe if I start talking to dead people, I too will be in a Shyamalan movie.

Or be Madam President.

Acceptance

We-hell! My second poetry submission was to a journal called Umbrella and they've accepted two of my poems. The editor of Umbrella, Kate Bernadette Benedict, is wonderfully kind and helpful. Do check out their current issue which features some lovely poets, not to mention a certain James AL Midgley.

*

I've never been able to take romance writers seriously, but they certainly have their special words and special discussions. If you've never read a romance novel (I admit I have, but I was fourteen and that's forgivable.), well, just read this: The Purple Prose Eater. Just in case, you know, you wanted to know what a love tool was.

"Rake walked into the room, his azure blue eyes blazing. "How dare you treat me like that in front of my colleagues?"

Gina quivered. She wanted to drop down onto the sofa and envelope herself in its soft comfort, but Rake kept staring at her, through her, into her. She was just a secretary and she had a mother diagnosed with terminal cancer to take care of. How could she do this to her career? What would her cold, demanding and undeniably male boss think of her now? She was sure to be fired.

She gathered her courage and looked back into his eyes, and she was surprised to see that they had softened. His lips curved upwards as if to smile. What had changed in those few seconds? Gina waited for him to say something with bated breath. And suddenly, she was in his arms--he was smothering her neck with kisses, and inside, she was melting into a pool of liquid joy.

She knew, then, exactly what she had to do to keep her mother alive for a few more weeks."

It's scares me to know how good I am with this.

Rejection

I received my first rejection from a poetry journal. No point elaborating who it was and what they said. But it really did not upset me. Sure, I would've loved to be published, but I think I'm mature and civilised about these things now. They were polite and to the point and I thanked them for reading.

I'm proud of me.

What is Punk?

Kindly Yahoo helps Clueless Parent understand emo.

Or rather, he/she/it tells you where to go. Really, the wrath emo inspires! I suggest reading the hate mail at the site KY sends you to.

And the fashion tips! No more Cosmo! (Actually, Cosmo gives you sex tips and hot men to look at whereas emo just shows how to slit your wrists and describe blood as 'crimson'.)

I Work Nights

I don't understand it really. What is this discomfort we have when it comes to women working late at night? Does it always have to be associated with prostitution? Single mothers trying to make ends meet?

What's really wrong with being a single mother anyway? (Let's not debate prostitution.)

Banning Night Shifts for Women

Forget unconstitutionality, discrimination, job loss.

This is simply an example of putting a band aid (a used, dirty one) on a bruise that is as large as it is deep--a band aid on a cancer.

And I'm not being dramatic.

Let's be honest. The problem is with perverts; people who think that it’s okay for women to compromise on simple choices; people who think it’s not their fault they can’t control themselves; those who think that lust only exists because women are around.

“If only women covered themselves up and stayed at home, this would never happen…”

This reminds of the time I was forced into attending a Christian retreat and this utterly ridiculous woman (I insult her because she insulted me.) told us that if girls dressed provocatively (and this included sleeveless clothes, tightish jeans, coloured hair), it invited trouble. More importantly:

"If you make a man lust after you, however inadvertently, it is your sin as well."

What happened to resisting temptation? I remember being a kid and being told at Sunday school that temptation is everywhere and that part of being Christian is fighting it.

I mean, anyone can live without sin if the world is temptation-less. O, lookit me! I’m not a rapist. But I’ve never met a woman/young boy to rape before! I live in a cave!

<tires of Christian talk>

***

You are not solving problems by making these laws. You are merely saying you don’t care, that you’d rather not work. You refuse to acknowledge the greater problematic of social power. We can’t make people stop demeaning you, but we’re really, in our hearts, against this sort of disgusting behaviour–-is that what you’re saying?

Or alternatively, do you think it’s really our problem and do you think you’re being kind to us by saving us the trouble of getting insulted, molested, raped?

The law is not kind to women. It merely pretends to be.

Nourish Your Writing

Those silly ideas of writer’s block seem to have disappeared, and I’m glad. It is important to constantly nourish yourself so that you can always write, even if the result is mediocre. Nourishing means reading not just poetry, but novels, non-fiction, Wikipedia even. Learn about new cultures, myths, countries and languages. Learn languages. See. Notice details, watch people moving, talking and emoting.

Nourishing also means eating—there is no point in starving.

Hesitation has a vocabulary.

Do you um, er, euh or aa?

It's a genuine question that came out of a real situation: I was asked to hesitate in one way and not another.

I've been learning French for almost three years now, and have reached that all-important Diplôme Supérieur stage at the Alliance Française--a stage where you have to get as French as possible. I now know French politics better than I do Indian politics. I know a little bit of their philosophy; I can tell you why they don't like Americans; I have a fair understanding of their eating habits and slang--in fact, I speak French better than I do Hindi. And I've never been to France.

Despite all of this knowing and wanting to know, there are somethings I simply can't do. Or that I confuse, anyhow.

One of my professors of French is a Frenchman and after I explained something to the class, as was asked of me, he said: "Well, you have a good fluidity when you speak . But you know, the way you hesitate--um, um, um--it's very British. The French say euh. If you have to hesite, say euh."

The Linguistics of Hesitation

Of course, I laughed. He wasn't really being a prick. I can understand how amusing it would be to hear someone speak Hindi or Kannada interjected with euhs and bons and bens.

But the confusion of knowing how to hesite when!

A month or so ago, when I was at college and not at this boring intern desk job, I had to make a presention on EM Forster's understanding of the word 'fantasy' in the novelistic genre--in English, of course. When I sat down, my friend said: "Don't ever do that to me again!"

"What? Was it that boring?"

"No, the euhs! What was that?"

"The euhs?"

"Yeah. Next time you're thinking of what to say next, don't say anything. I didn't get a bit of what you were saying because I kept waiting for the next euh."

Imagine my surprise to know I use euh when I'm speaking English and um when I'm pontificating in French.

It really got me thinking. The French go on about la richesse linquistique and la richesse lexicale. Now, there's une richesse linguistique/lexicale d'hésitation. Or am I confusing the terms?

Indians usually say aa or so I'm told (My ums are apparently British.). And I'm sure that since we have a diversity of languages, we also have a diversity of hesitation-syllables. Aai, mm, hai and made popular by Bollywood, the very emotional, coded and comical Kkkiran.

Then again, I wonder, do Indians really hesitate? Most of those syllables are associated with irritation more than hesitation. Indians rattle off what they're saying seemingly without having to stop or think; this seems to be the case with vernacular languages, and not so much Indian English.

(J'hésite. Donc, je ne suis pas indienne? --> I hesitate. Therefore, I am not Indian?)

In my case, I have a syllable for written/typed hesitation: er. Er is part of my writing (thankfully not my poetry), my chat conversations, my emails and now, my blog. It is a powerful syllable that occassionally replaces um and euh of speech. Er does not just communicate hesitation, but also, irritation, irony, embarrassment, "Excuse me?" and "You're an idiot."

A semantic flood.

Hesitation has a vocabulary.

That is undeniable. It has occurred to me that I can write a kooky paper on this.

As for French, I think what one of my classmates said after class sums it all up:

Il faut hésiter en français!

(One should hesitate in French!)

***

I live with ums and euhs. My sentences struggle between them, like perfect roses pushing against masses of weed. In the garden of my speech, there are very few blossoms. It is the ums and euhs that...

Er.

I'm a bad, bad pote.