How do you write a story?
A story involves a resolution of a crisis of spirit, or circumstances, says RK Narayanan. Why! Every thing I write is a story. An idea, distilled to its smallest, most potent form, set to my own words. That’s my story. I am sticking to it.
45 (100-55)
A writer put pen to paper, wondering how many words he needed to write. While most of his species were indulging in 100 and 55 word fiction, he decided 45 words would suffice to tell the story. The question was, what? How about this one?
We will now write a random post
for that is expected of us. We have been living a crazed life the last two weeks, what with blog celebrities linking to our pithy one-liners, our column getting published, and famous Hindustan Times journalists commenting on our blog.
Meanwhile, we are still working on our plans for world domination, Tamil colonialism, and perhaps, word-play induced casualties of war.
On that note, we shall end.
Oh, there is one tiny bit of news we would like to share with our dear readers. We met these super, fantastic, excellent, balle people yesterday.
Orhan Pamuk on his father
Zigzackly saar sends me a mail of Pamuk’s Nobel speech. I haven’t read any of Pamuk’s books yet, but reading this one speech, I am left with an image of a quiet man who will laugh with you when you mock him. Brilliant words. One particular paragraph of that speech caught my attention:
My father had a good library – 1 500 volumes in all – more than enough for a writer. By the age of 22, I had perhaps not read them all, but I was familiar with each book – I knew which were important, which were light but easy to read, which were classics, which an essential part of any education, which were forgettable but amusing accounts of local history, and which French authors my father rated very highly. Sometimes I would look at this library from a distance and imagine that one day, in a different house, I would build my own library, an even better library – build myself a world.
My father too had a library, though I am not sure how many books it did have. My father travelled a lot, when I was much younger. And he would always come back with a book or two. Robert Ludlums and Sidney Sheldons and PG Wodehouses and the like. Sadly, I don’t remember seeing any French author. I too thought of building a bigger, better library one day. And I am. Slowly, with much hesitation, a library is forming in my cupboard. 30 books strong, and almost as many genres.
But, my father was, and is, a generous man. Cousins and uncles and friends would come over, and borrow a book. Never to return. I am sure there are about 300-400* books out somewhere, all bearing my father’s initials. I don’t think I will see them again. Which is why, I am a bit selfish about these books I’ve bought. They are never out of my cupboard for more than 2 days at a stretch, and when friends borrow it, they prepare themselves for reminder-calls every 24 hours.
In spite of which, 4 of my PG Wodehouse signature editions are missing.
(That reminds me: I need to return Anand’s Bach)
*Yes, I agree 300 is an exaggeration. But…
Coupla more things
I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while now. Zigzackly saar sent me a mail sometime back, about Esha, an organisation that works with blind kids. This organisation can braille-enable your business cards. As he puts it,
So, your cards can then be read by people who read Braille. And you help visually-impaired people get a little more financial independence.
I am going to pitch this idea to my company, as well as to friends. I am not saying you do it too, but do give it a thought. You can mail them at Esha_braille[at]yahoo[dot]com. Meanwhile, I have to write up two essays, plan my new year, and take part in a writing thingamajig ZigZackly saar bade me take part in. Now, if I only found the time to do all this, and continue to post twice a day…
Don’t fuck with my comic
You know the feeling, don’t you? You’ve grown up seeing something in a certain way, and like it, warts and all. Your own securities and insecurities are based on how those things in your childhood looked and behaved.
Especially your comics.
And then, you grow up. A new generation comes in, starts fucking with your comfort zone. Today, I learnt that the Archie comics were getting a facelift. Apparently, some big-shit artist decided the new gen wanted ‘dynamic art style’ comics, and have fucked up the way Archie, Betty and Veronica look like. Woe, fucking woe.
And just as I was trying to cope with a new-look Betty, I read that Ganesh is organising the next Chennai blogger’s meet. Damn! When I began blogging, organising blog meets was my fiefdom. I was important, and people looked to me for everything about the Chennai blogger. Now, another generation of bloggers walks in, upstages me, steals my thunder and what not. Double fucking woe.
Just for this, I am not going to attend the blog meet.
[Archie link via Madman. Blogger meet link via Chenthil. Woe via me.]
About
Chandrachoodan Gopalakrishnan is a copywriter, photographer and goofball from Chennai. He is also an archaeologist, historian and a city lover. He is currently a documentary film-maker and desk-monkey for a film production house.
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