Taking a moment to say hello!

Hello from bucolic living at its best! I am away this week at one of the oldest writer’s residencies in America. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I mean that literally.

The residency is atop a hill, and it is surrounded by copious amounts of snow. The closest civilization is reachable only by car. There are no grocery stores, yoga studios, gas stations, or humans near where I am. But we do have bears and moose as neighbors. And the frisky wind which teases the curtains at night.

Initially, I was convinced life in rural, secluded America would be an episode from one of the Srivastava-Vikram family favorite TV shows, “Criminal Minds.” Apparently I sounded (maybe still do) like a cynical New Yorker with my “safety” questions. Don’t judge me; people here don’t lock their doors or cars.

The first day, when I walked out of my studio in the evening, I realized the common area was pitch dark. And suddenly it struck me that I was by myself in this massive cottage. And did I mention there is no cell phone reception here? I freaked out! Contemplated going back to the city. Just then, two of the other residents (also from NYC) walked into the cottage. I guess the stress lines on my face were obvious. They distracted me by talking about the spectacular sunset – a must see.

So, I grabbed my coat and walked out. I sat on the corner of a snow-covered barbeque table and saw the most gorgeous view. A humbling feeling. Right then, something happened. Something dramatic. As the rays of the setting sun melted some of the snow, I had a conversation with myself. My thoughts breathed freely in the woods. And none of it was intentional.

Given the demands of a city life, my every hour, like most city-dwellers’, is dedicated to some active verb or the other. Every minute is accounted for.

Peter De Vries once said, “I write when I'm inspired, and I see to it that I'm inspired at nine o'clock every morning”. Professionally, I am a multi-genre writer, so I make sure I devote enough time to poetry, creative nonfiction essays, and fiction stories. My brain is used to the juggling. Literally, at the specific allotted time of the day, poetry gets written. Or personal essay topics flow into the specific compartment of the brain.

Life in a big city is about processes. And every creative type I have met there tells me they have a routine. There is no other way of meeting deadlines and accomplishing everything.

Anyway, after the sunset on the first day, I got back to my studio and wrote for almost six hours. It was pure and untainted work. A short fiction story. The next day, I tried writing another story, but my hands ended up inscribing poetry. I wondered about it. And the day after, the same thing. happened. I decided to go for a walk even if that meant walking on a cold, frozen, uninhabited road to remind my brain that it was “short story time.”

I walked up to the gallery, a few blocks away, where Edna St. Vincent Millay, the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, wrote at one time! It was an honor to experience the energy at a historical landmark site.

The director, a lovely man, and I got talking. I confessed to him that I wasn’t able to write anything but poetry. Fiction pieces felt phony. And I didn’t quite feel the emotional upsurge to write a personal essay. He told me that I wasn’t the first person to experience the poetic-pull. One of the residents in the past, a visual artist, ended up writing poetry instead of creating visual art pieces.

There is something in the air here. I wonder if its Edna’s energy. There is a poetry trail here -- Millay poetry trail. Is that the muse? I don’t know, but I am learning to appreciate time. Time which isn’t a slave to urban dictatorship. Time which allows creativity to flow like the Ganges.

I have always been a city person, and I don’t see that changing. But I can see why people come up to such remote places. It’s not just about avoiding distractions. It’s about listening to yourself. Getting reacquainted with what you want. It takes a little getting used to, but it’s worth it in the end.

In these few days, my creative instincts want to live like a true, bohemian artist: Wear green pants with pink sweater and soak in the surroundings. I indulge them. I nap when I want. I write and read when creative juices knock at my door. The city girl inside of me might be perturbed, but the artist feels at peace.

 

More until next time, 

Xoxo

 

Copyright © 03. 08.2010

“Writing is making sense of life. You work your whole life and perhaps you've made sense of one small area.”  Nadine Gordimer quotes

 

 

Dude, take a break!

Let me start this post with a disclaimer: I am a huge fan of Karan Johar and his films. They, almost, always have a unique viewpoint and are class apart. But lately, in my opinion, he’s making movies that fall outside the realm of his expertise. He might try and position them as “love stories,” but nah! Somehow his experimental films don’t work as well.

The Bollywood buff in me and the film addict in my husband recently watched Karan Johar’s newly released film, “My Name is Khan (MNIK).” The movie, in my world, has sparked a few debates. Johar, as always, has done a marvelous job capturing beautiful locales and making everyone look pretty. The cinematography is phenomenal.

Kajol has gained a few pounds, in comparison to Fanaa, and is a tad bit extra vivacious, for my taste, in the first half of the film, but she does remember to act in the second half. Other than that, she was quite pleasant. Her mane of hair and smile are still gorgeous! Shahrukh Khan, for a change, didn’t overact, which was refreshing. Maybe others feel differently, but I actually thought he put effort into the movie.

Their son, Sam, deserves an entire paragraph. In the movie, Sam was shown as this gentle, magnanimous and nice looking chap but kinda unwise. I mean, on one hand this kid didn’t freak out about his mother marrying an autistic guy, which was remarkably mature; but on the other, he was dumb enough to challenge four boys, bigger than him, until they beat him into a pulp. See, I am all about standing up for the truth and fighting for your rights, but there is something called tact. There is something called sensibility. And there is something called strategy. But this boy was brazen. He died because he was foolish. Since the movie has not-so-subtle messages behind it, I pray no teenager, who ever watches this movie, thinks what Sam did was cool.

Here is what baffles me: What is Karan Johar’s ultimate objective about making movies? I am sure a big part of is to watch the cash registers ring at the box office? But are his movies pure fantasies? If that’s the case, I suggest he get help because he has issues. To me, it seems, Karan Johar is trying to convey social messages via his movies—at least the last couple of releases. And if that’s true, he needs to be more responsible.

In “Kurbaan,” Karan Johar painted a dark picture of the Muslim community. In case you haven’t watched that movie, don’t even bother. It’s an upsetting film that represents every stereotype that one could imagine about Muslims, Islam, and violence. Just because he calls it a love story, one can’t overlook the other gory details and the suggestive tone of the film. And then he makes a movie like “MNIK,” where he uses a religious, devout, Muslim fellow, suffering from Asperger’s Syndrome, to tell the world that not all people belonging to his religious faith are terrorists. Is it really so simple to take on a journey most people would fear?

Bigots will be bigots. And people like us, who don’t confirm religion before making friends, could care less if the person sitting next to them was a Hindu, Muslim, or of any other faith. But what about the sub-set of impressionable folks? You think MNIK can control the damage done by Kurbaan? One can tell Johar is a talented filmmaker who believes in his films. I can’t help but wonder if MNIK was Karan Johar’s way of apologizing for “Kurbaan.” His own manifested guilt. If Johar thinks he can change or convince people with his movies, why make an insinuating film like “Kurbaan” and then pray for penitence with “MNIK?”

 

More until next time, 

Xoxo

Copyright © 03. 04.2010

 

“I make films I believe in. Today my strength is emotional drama. I know I lack courage to do a variety of films but I am getting better.” – Karan Johar

 

 

Childhood massacred: How can we stop this tragedy?

I was recently in India. It was a 15-day trip spread across five cities. Hectic for sure, but it gave me the opportunity to talk to people about the latest trends, culture, society etc. and make my own observations about different parts of the country. The cities were unique in many ways, but the pressures of childhood were equally heart-wrenching everywhere.

As I chatted with cousins and their kids, friends and their children, I sensed a pattern: Childhood is about hauling books and running from one class to the other. Seriously, these kids already have longer hours than working professionals. There is school and school-related homework. Then there is a trend to sign up kids for tuition classes. Plus, every parent within their own abilities wants to give their children the best, which means extra curricular activities (in abundance) are a big part of six-year olds’ lives. So, before you hit your pre-teens, you probably play a sport, a musical instrument, and excel at one of the Indian classical dances along with excruciating amounts of schoolwork. And I am talking about the minimum here. There are kids who go beyond and enroll in specialized creative classes (Art, flower-making etc.) and Asian learning centers (to enhance their Math skills).

What broke my heart: When I asked a very dear friend’s daughter, in Bombay, about her free time/playtime, she said, “Masi, I play on the weekends.” Those innocent words, at least for me, wore a tragic garb. How can a child not play everyday? Isn’t that incumbent upon them for their healthy growth? What kinds of pressures are we dealing with here where a five-year old brings home assignments that ask them to “Fill up the blank,” or “Do addition/subtraction?”

One of my childhood friends is a teacher in Bombay. In fact, she is the headmistress of her elementary school. She told me that suicide cases in India have shot through the roof. And it’s mostly kids in the fifth and sixth grade. It breaks my heart to think that children with milk teeth have begun to believe that death is their only option. How do they even know about death?

When I was young, there was a lot of pressure about grades and homework, but somewhere my generation was permitted to enjoy our childhood. Make mistakes. Get bruises on our knees. Expend our energy. It scares me that children these days are expected to be these picture perfect porcelain dolls who excel at everything. I mean, isn’t that what adulthood is about?

Unfortunately, parents can’t do much because of the pressure from both the school and the society. They are caught in the middle. If every child in your universe is juggling multiple things, you don’t want to deprive your child. But can no one see how it will all end? Do you really want a ten-year old to think, act, and behave like a thirty-year old?

 

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 02. 26.2010

 

“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught” - Oscar Wilde

Where are social services when you need 'em?

So, my husband and I were in India the last couple of weeks. It was a wonderful trip! We met many of our dear, loved ones – both family and friends.  In fact, I am still homesick. Anyways, on our return, as we boarded the aircraft with a heavy heart and memories of an extraordinary visit, Lady Luck nudged and said, “All good things must come to an end.”

Our 14-hour flight to NYC was one from hell. There were six infants, between the ages of six months to twelve months, in the row in front of us. The babies decided to put up an unfettered, non-stop “crying-show” for all aboard. To be fair, three of the kids cried intermittently, which was understandable - given their age and the pressure on their ears and limited movement etc. etc.  But the other three children, who were triplets,  were uninhibited tear-exhibitionists. They wailed incessantly for fourteen hours. I am not kidding! I mean, there was nothing stopping them! I wanted to pull a Van Gogh and chop off my ears. The piercing noise still awakens me at night. I saw couple of my in-flight neighbors ask for headache-relievers (Tylenol) and earplugs. So much so that one of the stewardesses, towards the end, lost her patience and asked if the children were just unhappy by nature. Clearly, I wasn’t overreacting.

Here comes the interesting part: Three adults accompanied the three infants - the mother and the maternal grandparents. These immature and selfish so called adults a.k.a. parents with zero parenting skills did nothing throughout. They shamelessly slept through the nightmare while the rest of the passengers writhe in misery for more than half a day. An occasional, nonchalant “What’s wrong with them?” from the mother sounded very pretentious! Did I mention that the imbeciles were prompt about acquiring and finishing their “Asian vegetarian meals” without fail? I mean, most of us could barely breathe on the flight, but this family managed to stuff themselves with three meals, around all the howling, while their kids starved.

My husband, who is otherwise a very patient man, couldn’t resist the urge to give the family a piece of his mind. Could you blame him? I was tempted too! But thankfully, just as he stood up, the stewardess intervened. The parsimonious three idiots made the triplets share their pacifier. Are you kidding me? The minute they pulled the pacifier out of one kid’s mouth, the deprived one would have a meltdown. On seeing the bawling child, the other two kids would put up an unstoppable performance. These parents/grandparents barely got up to walk the kids. Or tried calming them. Or feeding them on time. They pretty much held the triplets hostage between those four middle seats and shared food bottles. The mother and the grandmother slept like maniacs as if they were in a spa getting a chocolate massage while the infants looked hungry and exhausted.

I know; it’s too much to ask for adults-only flight, but can the airlines at least create sections on the plane and sound proof areas with irresponsible parents?! I believe the child isn’t at fault! What does an infant know about socially appropriate conduct and understanding responsibilities? They are dependant! But parents need to concede that becoming a parent and learning parenting skills are two different dynamics. Any unprepared person can become a parent but very few can take the role seriously to think beyond themselves and embrace the role of good parenting.

C’mon, haven’t you met those people who never say NO to their children? Their kid could be wiping their dirty hands on your sofa or throwing things around your house, but not a word. My youngest niece is 18 months old. My husband and I recently met her in Bombay. My mother-in-law has gorgeous Swarovski crystal pieces and Lladro figurines on display, but this kid doesn’t touch a thing. I am not suggesting that the little one is God’s gift to mankind just because she’s my niece.  All I am saying is that my sister-in-law and brother-in-law take the time out of their lives to teach and preach her. They make an effort to guide her because good parenting requires spending time and teaching your children the right things versus just winging it at other people’s expense! And as a bystander, sometimes all you need to see is effort.

 

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 02. 17.2010

 

"The Hebrew word for parents is horim, and it comes from the same root as moreh, teacher. The parent is, and remains, the first and most important teacher that the child will have"
-- Rabbi Kassel Abelson

Steve Jobs (CEO of Apple Inc.) does it again!

If you watched the news earlier today, you must have heard that Apple Inc. unveiled its anticipated, rumored, new tablet device - iPad Tablet. You know, just when I thought Apple couldn't revolutionize technology any further, Steve Jobs and his posse proved me wrong! Boy, am I glad they manage to tickle my writer-fingers every single time! They create products that redefine “handsomeness” and make Jane Austen’s heroes look hideous!

As you can probably tell, I am a proud member of the Apple cult. I humbly confess that I ONLY use Apple products – right from music, to phone, to my laptops(s). If they made soap or soup, I would use them too! So much so, I can spend my free time browsing through their different stores in NYC and soaking in the ridiculous awesomeness of creativity. In fact, on several occasions, I have asked the Apple customer service folks if I could work for their company. And they seemed unfettered. I guess, the other cult members must have asked the same poignant question. I think blue, the T-shirt color worn by most Apple customer service reps, wouldn’t look too shabby on me. I would totally appreciate wearing their chic, placid, ingenious, and nirvanesque uniform!

Okay. Now that you have some background information on my Apple-loyalty (devotion/ insanity), back to the iPad. Of course, as someone who is an Apple aficionado, I am ecstatic about the iPad. I mean, what’s not to like? For instance, if you enjoy hamburgers and then someone tells you that there is a Big Mac available with triple the amount of cheese, meat, onions, and tomatoes compared to the regular burger, what are you going to say? Do I hear a “Hell yeah, dude!” See, the iPad is like the Big Mac of iPhone with its 9.7-inch IPS screen versus 3.5 inches of the iPhone. The iPad weighs 1.5 lbs and it is half an inch thick. Ooh, the battery life is 10 hours, or a month on standby. It comes with 16, 32 or 64 gigabytes of flash memory storage. I mean, can technology get sleeker than this? Best of all, it’s not that expensive! Prices start at $499, $599 and $699 - depending on the storage size.

So, do I see myself purchasing an iPad in the near future? Who knows! Never say never! Though if I decide to partake in the frivolousness, I will have to justify, to my conscience, why my MacBook and MacBook Air weren’t inspirational enough for the poor writer in me.

Anyways, despite my positive reaction to another phenomenal Apple product, I am bothered by one thing: Who came up with the unimaginative name, “iPad”? Seriously, as one of the critics said, “iPad sounds like a feminine product!” I couldn’t agree more! Why do I feel some dude came up with it? What do you all think? 

More until next time,

Xoxo

Copyright © 01.27.2010

 

“Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower” - Steve Jobs

What are you going to be doing?

Welcome to the New Year and a new decade! Hope you all had a good holiday season. You might feel that I am a little late in wishing everybody but then think again. See, until the first week of January, people aren’t really receptive to the outer world. Can you blame them? With the general festivities, innumerable parties, vacations, relaxed season, and pumpkin lattes over, the first week of January feels like a tight slap across the face. So, I decided to post my thoughts, along with my warm wishes, today.

Can you believe we have entered a new decade? That’s huge! Have you thought or made plans for the next ten years? In case you are judging me and thinking, “No one does that, dude,” you’d be surprised at how wrong you are. For people in their twenties, this is the decade (There are always exceptions!) to consider making personal commitments. Not to say one couldn’t find a partner at fifty, but the options and opportunities get limited in today’s world. Will you be able to last at parties and bars past midnight once you are in your thirties, forties, and fifties? In fact, will you have the time to make as many after-work social commitments on weekday evenings? If not, then where else will you meet people? Your coworkers? Nah! By the time you cross the glorious twenty-bridge, your colleagues are the people you see the most. Unless you are a masochist, you wouldn’t want to date someone you spend fourteen hours of your day cooped up inside an office space. If you have a television show, then sky is your limit. After all, Rakhi Sawant organized a “swayamvar” to meet the caring and doting guy she had always dreamt of. She is apparently still engaged to Toronto-businessman, Elesh Parujanwala.

For thirty plus folks, this decade is crucial career-wise. It is the “Make it” or “Break it” time. My generation has been cursed with pre-mature aging – an aspect of globalization no one talks about. We already have school, car, house and million other loans – an overwhelming feeling our parents didn’t have to deal with until they hit fifty. It’s not a surprise most of us hit our mid-life crisis in our early thirties itself. Ironically, my generation is such a slave to work; even our pre-mature crises revolve around our careers. Gone are the days where men bought themselves a Porsche and a blond as an accessory or women obsessed about their altering looks or widening waistline. Mid-life crisis is about revelations for us - the fear of waking up and realizing that you had a passion, but you didn’t act on it when you had the chance. How do you deal with that feeling of not knowing whether or not something would have worked?

I will write more about my personal story and mid-life crisis another time, I promise. But until then, think about what you want to do with the rest of your life because now is the time.


More until next time,
Xoxo

Copyright © 01.13.2010


"A man who does not think for himself does not think at all" – Oscar Wilde

Santa Does Exist - Book Launch in December

So, you haven’t heard from me in a while. No philosophical opinions have hit your inboxes in the past few weeks. I have had few people ask me the reason for my delayed blog posts. Nope, it’s not end-of-year exhaustion. If anything, I am an Energizer Bunny in December. :-) This month has been rather busy at work and holiday parties have taken over my life. I am not complaining about the festivities because more human contact translates to even more opinions and blog ideas, so watch out in January.:-)

Every thing seems magical in the holiday season – the decorations, carols, promises, and even the air. So much so that, every year around this time, I get hooked on to hot chocolate with marshmallows. For those of you who know me, I can’t stand hot chocolate otherwise. I might not care much for the freezing temperatures in NYC or trudging through tainted snow, but there is no other place I’d rather be around the holidays. Even wading through hoards of tourists near the Empire State Building (I work in that area) doesn’t bother me. I think, humans smile a lot more in December.

Anyway, for the first time, I wish I were in Bangalore this holiday season. Maybe because my Christmas wish has come true. See, I have always desired, for my poetic contributions, to find a home in India as well. And it’s finally happening. This coming Sunday, December 20, 2009, marks the launch of one of my poetry anthologies. The book titled, “I, Me, Myself,” featuring the work of 20 poets (including humbly yours), will be launched at Reliance Time Out, Cunningham Road, between 3.00 p.m. - 5.00 p.m. in Bangalore. On the same evening, the publishers of the anthology are planning to organize a poetry reading session at the Bangalore Club from 6.00 p.m. onwards.

So, if you are in the neighborhood and in the mood to share some love, please grace the launch with your presence. I have pasted the invite. I am honored that my high school peeps, in Bangalore, have promised to represent me. The saying is true: Old friendship goes a long way.

Meanwhile, for those of you believers in hope, Recovering The Self: A Journal of Hope and Healing (a quarterly journal which explores the themes of recovery and healing through poetry, memoir, essays, fiction, humor, media reviews and psycho-education, Vol. II, No.1, Paperback) is out. One of my poems titled, “Convalescence,” features in this issue.


Have a wonderful weekend everyone! Enjoy the holidays and stay safe!

More until next time,
Xoxo

Copyright © 12.18.09


“Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular” - Aristotle