Of Dan Brown,Gilbert and Shoddy Writing

The precursor : A lot of people find Dan Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert's writing to be shoddy. I am guilty of committing the same crime. However, if a contradictory and sometimes obscure thought is 'out there', such overwhelming success is welcome.

Salman Rushdie gave this piece of advice to Irshad Manji over the flak she received for her book : 'Your work is out there. It will create magic for some and it will stir a hornet's nest. As a writer you must know that you cant control your work when its published. After that your thoughts and your work take a life of its own.'

I have always believed in letting a thought fly free in the world. Letting a feeling or an opinion be played with the larger masses.

Jessica Crispin wrote this article in defense of Elizabeth Gilbert's books. My favourite lines :

"Like a lot of people who care about books and writing and sentence structure, I was initially horrified at the success at Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code. Then I realized what it meant: 80 million people read a book about the removal of femininity from the Catholic Church, about how Jesus liked women and prostitutes and screw-ups and freaks, about how the Bible was edited by men in power, about how Jesus' divinity was not universally accepted. They read the book, and now it's in their brains, like a vaccination against patriarchal monotheism, even if they don't do anything with the information. Even if the people who read Elizabeth Gilbert's books now only toss them away and grumble ''How dare she?,'' Gilbert's sincerity about figuring out a new way to be in the world are now out there. It won't rid the world of its Lori Gottliebs, the fearmongers and the scolds, but the books can create little antibodies in the culture, boosting our immune system against them. "

Its a simple case of different thoughts being allowed to mingle in this idiosyncratic world of ours. We may not agree on specifics but the larger picture is reassuring.

Quickies

'The magician was the king of gore. Those body separation tricks were always done with twins. And hours of brainwashing '

'Sigh. Teenage times. A note with a missing alphabet . Friend into fiend. And the cliques were formed'

'She opened the refrigerator and saw the giraffe head. She smiled. She always knew that riddle was false. She had proved it wrong.'

'88 steps to the temple. A crutch and a patient lover. One push. End of responsibility. Beginning of the large life.'

'Depression. Option to end life: rope,poison,terrace. Happiness. Option taken: Murder'

'White. Wedding Night. Note on Side table: Thanks for the dowry. Dont try to find me.'

Lifeless Blue

Sometimes I miss the bus, thinking

I hold that bite and stare

When typing, I stop

To watch my fingers waver

A letter and its words

remain close to my heart

Life's favor

normalcy doesnt start

Places are etched

Meaningless moment

A joke, an oft-repeated line

dark corners and familiar scents

Some concrete where hands were held

a song that describes 'you'

The palette

is lifeless blue...

Lessons from Coco

"Every comedian dreams of hosting the Tonight Show and—for seven months—I got to do it. I did it my way, with people I love, and I do not regret a second [of it] ... All I ask is one thing, and I'm asking this particularly of young people that watch: Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism, for the record it's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen."

—Conan O'Brien, on his departure from The Tonight Show, January 22nd, 2010

Fiction : At the Government Office

I vowed to carry my pro-national, pro-justice, anti-bribery self to the government office. I did just that.

Nature carried rain, scorching heat and random breeze through its four hour rendezvous with humans in a long queue.

People were making deals on the phone, some listened to music and queue gossip. Usual remarks about bribery being a menace were promptly forgotten once the paperwork was handed down to them. I refrained from preaching and hoped that my work wouldn't involve cash exchange.

The one wearing diamonds and the latest Coach bag was in front of me. She fretted, fumed and drank Evian. The clerk incharge of this section had weird skin on his hands. The kind that was blistered, red and made you squirm. Not in a cruel way. You wondered what that disease was, thanked God for your own baby skin and wished he could get treatment.

The one with diamonds created a class scene. Dirty diseased hands could not touch her paperwork. She was acknowledged by the supervisor, much to the clerk's chagrin. The supervisor seemed to agree with her in a subtle way. The remaining people in the queue got a valid reason to refuse a bribe.

I waited my turn. He kept quiet as he shuffled papers and grunted at the lack of resources. I understood his grumpiness and placed the bribe along with the documents.

I didnt believe in it, but I thought something ought to help this man who was cornered by pseudo-justice seekers and colleagues who thought his skin was a valid reason to disparage him.

Perfect Frame

Why dont they call with a new question?

Why must the call begin with news

Why cant they offer her a hug

Why do they never ever realize that maybe just maybe she may be scared

Do they know...

She sits in a corner and sheds tears

She worries about the world and their thoughts

In the cozy corner of the room

her heart reminds her of the real thoughts in her head

she realises that breaking shackles is not easy

and then she smiles

then there is the realization that she must

go back to the frame

the frame that sits still and conveys normalcy.

Have you ever looked at a frame and wondered about the smiles?

Have you ever looked beyond the eyes that are trained to lie?

Have you ever shared silences with understanding?

Have you looked into your heart and found someone who isnt you?

Have you weighed options and realised that feelings and hurt weighs the most?

Have you ever seen perfect love and realized that covering up is an art?

Have you given a free, uncomplicated hug to a stranger that needed one question less?

We all have perfect frames in our homes. We cherish them, glance at them and smile at a memory. Well, some of us do.

We all hope for a perfect frame, even in our most dire of states. As a writer, I take inspiration from shards of broken hearts and sunny dispositions. I just wish I get to write more happy stories and the inspiration for this poem finds that lost peace.

Fiction : Corny Glue

She hopped on the steps to head into the mall. The air was cold and the soft shawl gave her much needed comfort. For a change the RJ was playing soothing happy songs.

It feels great to be outdoors. I should do this more often.

'Now we have a caller with details of the latest hip events in town. Listen in if you want to know where to head out to!'

She fiddled with her purse to check how much money she had. The sight of blue plastic reminded her that she needed to get back to work asap. All this leave taking wasnt going to look good for her appraisal. She waited in the security line, listening to a stream of unnecessary conversation between the RJ and a caller.

Why do they talk so much? Why not just play songs all day long?

Her turn was next. After the security check she smiled at the security guard and walked in. She was sure retail therapy was the solution.

'And now wherever you are and what ever you are doing, I have the perfect song for you loners! Have you ever felt like the conversation was incomplete? That things ended too quickly? That all that unknown anger was buried deep inside? ....then...relationships...this song...'

She started to admire a giant Santa Claus prop and thought of Christmas last year. Behind the red and white cutout, she saw him laughing. That ruffled hair, the same sudden smile and the deep laugh. Suddenly the dried pastures of her heart cried out for cheesy, corny love. She thought it was a tightly shut treasure chest. Her Heart. In reality it was held together with cheap glue. Cheap glue of sudden meetings and rare appearances. She had turned her back onto something that was...

'Kitni baatein yaad aati hain

Tasveer aisi ban jaati hain

Main kaise inhe bhoolon

Dil ko kya samjhoon...'

(So many memories

form a collage in my mind

How do I forget them

How do I convince my heart?)

She smiled a silly smile. Her life was held together by corny glue. When she did bump into her near perfect past, there was an appropriate song, red confetti on the floor, Santa by her side and countless Whys in her head.

NOTE: Clearly this post is about a broken heart. But we all are reading about broken lives in Haiti that need our prayers and monetary help. If you are having trouble donating money due to payment gateway issues, a friend and co-blogger, Saffron and Blueberry has setup a donation post on her blog. If you leave a comment, 10$ will be donated to the Haiti Relief Effort.

As as aside, please read this post by Alanna Shaikh on why you should always donate money and not stuff(clothes, food,blankets) for relief effort.