Stephen King

I just finished reading Stephen King’s "On Writing." First things first, my heart is bursting forth with gratitude to the person who gifted me this precious piece of work. Friend, if you are reading this blog - thank you. Next, I want to thank King for the pearls of wisdom that fall off from the pages of this book. The book was educative as well as entertaining.

For someone contemplating on scripting a novel which is character-cum-plot driven, On Writing can help lay the initial foundation. With King’s insightful tips, aspiring writers or greenhorns can pull up sails and cruise along towards success. King’s observations are unique. They hold the key to triumph. Other writers might be apprehensive to share their secrets (Lest others follow suit and become better than them.), but not King. He shares everything, accepts everything, including criticism. He isn’t afraid to say that he is wrong. That’s what makes his character an endearing one.

At an age when death is looming large, his contemporaries turning senile, King insists on being corrected and on walking the talk. A feat not many successful writers willingly embrace. I was particularly taken by the thought where he says if you want to become a good writer you must become a good reader first. Smooth as silk. From the list of authors whose works he admires and spits at, it is obvious King has his favorites. He takes sides with the best. He prods us to do the same. The way he quotes copious playwrights across his book will give an idea of the reading he does. In unequivocal terms, he puts it across that he reads at least 70 to 80 books of diverse authors in a year. And I believe this is now. Earlier, he used pack in a lot more.

I fell for the part where he says it’s easy to think of a plot where the drunken husband beats up and threatens his wife. He adds, “This happens every other day. What’s great about it? Want something different? Take the same story and twist it. Go on, do it! You make protagonist the antagonist and vice versa. Viola! You have a gripping theme.” In fact, he had done just that in one of his books. The woman is a psycho. I don’t remember the title though. But he tells it works. It has worked for him.

Gerald’s Game, Salem’s lot and Green Mile, these books have been gathering dust on my rack. They belong to Stephen King first. Then, my elder brother. I never bothered to read them since they promised only gruesome acts, blood and death. To which I was averse. After reading On Writing, my perception of King has topsy-turvied. Behind his mean and ‘deadly’ writing, is a brilliant playwright with a good head on his shoulders. I wouldn’t mind reading his works. Not after having read his On Writing.

I think it’s myth that clouds our imaginations into thinking horror writers are actually as bad as the characters they create, if not worse.The first thing I did when I finished reading On Writing was to go and purchase a copy of Dead Zone. One of King’s books on which he lavishes praise. He says it’s the best among all his books to date. Fortunately, I could also lay hands on another book, The Regulators, which King has written under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. I found it in rubble on a wayside bookstore. Ironically, it was ‘Seek and ye shall find’ kinds.

I don’t know how much I will like his other novels, but I adored his book, “On writing.” If King has time to deliver lessons on writing, I wouldn’t hesitate to enroll as his disciple and serve him till I am convinced I have mastered the craft.

After all, he is “King” in the business of writing.

Star Event!

I had a blast at Landmark the last before Friday.

Vinod (Whom I had met by a chance encounter through his blog.) had extended an invitation to his friend, Hari Mohan’s book launch at Landmark in Banjara Hills. I swiftly relegated everything I was doing to the back of my mind and jumped onto it. Of course, there are numerous reasons for grabbing this opportunity. The foremost being that book launches are so infrequent, you skip it once and you don’t know how long you have to wait for another one. Furthermore, this, I believe, is Hari’s second book launch. Interestingly enough, the first book “The Men Within” has won him rave reviews from diverse quarters.

Besides, Hari seems to have a split personality. While one played cricket at Ranji level. The other seemed to have decided to master the nuances of English to draft fast selling novels. I know this sounds tough. But Hari has done just that. “How could an individual have such diverse interests and still excel in them?” The thought kept gnawing at the back of my mind while I geared up for the event.

A little prior to the launch, I could grab a few minutes to visit the CD & DVD section at Landmark. Boy! The place had a collection that could make a music lover break into cartwheels with joy. Music of diverse genre was bursting forth from the racks. Even Planet M, which actually deceives you into imagining the store to possess a galactic collection of CDs and DVDs stocked in an infinite expanse, doesn’t hold such a fine collection. Right when I thought even wild horses wouldn’t pull me out from there, the fear of missing out on the book launch ran constant stings of apprehension through my veins and I subconsciously scampered upstairs to catch the action.

Upstairs, the hall was smartly decked up with the camera man’s paraphernalia; with the author nowhere to be in sight. At least, I couldn’t locate him. But I was awestruck at the star presence. I knew Gunnam Ganga Raju, a film director was to launch the book, but I didn’t realize a part of Telugu film sorority would be present. The presence of these actors ushered in an air of excitement. Everyone turned conscious of their looks. Sumanth (Of Gowri fame), Swathi (Of Ashta Chemma fame) and Thanikella Bharani, who is a well-known comedian, where all present in flesh and blood looking their devastating best.

I wonder what it is with the actors they are pretty confident even in front of large crowds. Swati’s English was fabulous. The way she went on an extempore addressing the crowd definitely lent an air of exuberance. Sumanth was no less either. After both these actors spoke and read some passages from the book, Hari spoke about the inspiration behind the book.

Probably, taking a cue from the success of “Three Idiots”, Ganga Raju even announced that Hari’s first book “The Men Within” would soon be converted into a movie. A wild applause rang through the hall. After the film director’s brief speech about who would don the roles of hero and heroine, the event came to an end. On the whole the book launch was an impressive success.

Moreover, I was able to steal a few moments with the actress Swati to congratulate her on the impromptu talk. Right when we both were warming up for a good conversation, someone scampered and chipped, “Madam, the director is asking for you.” That slammed shut the conversation. She politely excused herself and I was left wandering looking at the book collection again. For the second time.

In the end, I got to meet Vinod who actually invited me for the launch. Vinod is also writing a book. So, we spent sometime talking over a cup of tea. Discussing this, that, and of course, his book and the book launch. On the whole, the evening turned out to be a pleasant one. With a whirlwind of an activity constantly taking place on the professional front, I guess sometimes one needs to take time to smell the roses. I am glad I attended the launch.

Desperado

For those who love spanish songs, here's an interesting number. I loved Antonio in this song. Didn't realize he could handle the guitar so well. Looks like he has had his innings with guitar playing earlier. Entitled " El Mariachi" it is the title song of the movie, Desperado. It's a short but very heart-thumpy song. Enjoy!

Picture Imperfect!

Among the few things I fancy are: goggles. It wouldn’t be stretching too far, if I say I have a decent collection of several reputed brands. Moreover, I hold this collection close to my heart. So, imagine my fright when I almost lost one of these prized possessions. It began with a brainwave, when I suddenly decided to translate my photos on laptop into an album. Subsequently, after picking up a few good photos, I dashed off to the studio, fearing the thought wouldn’t materialize if I didn’t hastily act on it. With my passion for photography on an upswing these days, I was there at the studio within minutes from the time the thought tingled my grey cells.

I decided to get the negatives developed at Mahaveer, a photo studio where ace photographers flock to get their negatives exposed. The only hassle is that the studio is located in an area that is prone to traffic jams and would seem forever to get there and forever to get out. Moreover, that particular morning, the studio was annoyingly crammed with customers and I had some pressing assignments to deal with, therefore, I decided to throw my weight around and get things done at a quicker pace. In the process, I mindlessly left my goggles on a counter.

When I thought I had initiated the process for my work, I returned and searched for the goggles. But lo and behold, my goggles were gone! Some sinister magician with the sleight of his hand had made them mysteriously disappear. And I stood there like the hapless woman sawed in half by the magician. Not knowing what to do, hoping for the magician to perform another trick which will restore my shades. But I am sure this isn’t a Hogwarts school and there isn’t an honest Houdini. Where magic of the good kind happens!

With rage seething over, I gave a piece of my mind to the proprietor for not having surveillance cameras in place. I handed out a pretty good dressing down to every one who stood in the line of fire. The staff really didn’t know what to say or where to look. They were at loss of words. One of them hesitatingly informed me that he had seen one customer eyeing the goggles. In other words, suggesting that the customer could have pinched the goggles. I was able to recall that customer’s face, he looked like a pucca gentleman, a clad in white shirt and khaki trousers with an air of dignity. But then you never know. Petty thieves come in all shapes and sizes and in decent clothing too! So I presumed.

The employee too suggested that the man didn’t look like someone who would pinch goggles. But looking at me and my rage he fumbled, “He might have pinched the goggles, for all we know, nobody can be trusted.” My wavering mind found immediate solace in his words, and in him, a confidante. I drew closer to him and asked if he could interrogate this man on my behalf regarding the goggles when he returns to collect his photos. He asserted that he certainly would.

Then, I stormed out disheartened and angry as hell for being such a slapdash idiot.

I had completely given up hope on seeing my goggles again. Later that evening, when I went back to collect the photos, I casually remarked about the morning’s happening. The entire staff stopped working and gave me a stare that could have frozen a polar bear. I couldn’t fathom what caused such a sharp reaction. Then, the employee, I had earlier talked to, said “Sir, you forgot your goggles inside the lab and you started searching here in reception area.” This time I didn’t know what to say or where to look. I was at complete loss of words. My feet and hands turned sweaty watching so many eyes shooting daggers at me. I murmured something and secretly hoped some magician would wave his wand over me and make me disappear, Poof! But this is a real world, where such magic hardly happens. I realized you got to face the reality whether it’s thrilling or “chilling.” Numbed with fear I expected the staff to go berserk with rage.

But there weren’t any fireworks. Instead, what truly came as a balm of relief was that the staff took this whole thing in a good stride and didn’t once scream at me. But, however, they suggested I be more careful before I blew my top the next time. To which I humbly nodded with my head down, thinking it would have been better if they had screamed at me. I wouldn’t be feeling so damn guilty.

In retrospection, the fact that I screamed at them when the actual fault was at my end – was like somebody kicking me hard in the shins. It hurt like hell. After picking up my goggles and photos, and in heart of hearts thanking the staff for not pouncing and taking me out limb by limb, I quickly disappeared from the spot.

The Smile

She was all of six
Playing with stones and sticks
When ‘Hi!’ signaled my fingertips
A smile crossed her lips

She quickly tottered over
Carried on an incessant chatter
Out came sweet rhymes
Accompanied with coy mimes

Delighting those around
With inimitably adorable sounds
Peals of laughter
Making hearts gladder

‘You are a smart dame.’
People nearby murmured.
‘I heard mom say the same’
She retorted.

‘Wonder what dad says ?’
I ponder aloud.
With a sad look she answers, ‘I don't know.’
He died many years ago.

Greetings!

Wishing my friends, well-wishers and readers that the year 2010 would usher in prosperity and happiness of unimaginable proportions! Happy New Year!

Close Encounters with the Terrifying Kind

This happened about eight years ago, but the entire episode is imprinted in memory with a kind of clarity like it all happened yesterday. It was an evening; I was driving around for sometime and was just beginning to enjoy the summer breeze, when I spotted an old friend of my mine, Dinesh. He was walking hurriedly along the pedestrian path looking almost lost. I slipped in front of him and stopped my bike and we struck up a conversation about old times. At the end, when I enquired what he was doing stalking the streets? He quipped, “I am searching for a Clinic – an ENT specialist’s.” As I had barely anything important that evening, the Good Samaritan instincts sprang up, and I offered help even though he hadn’t asked for it. I guess, that’s how people foolishly play into the lion’s mouth, in my case, it was the Great Danes’.

To top it all, Dinesh didn’t have the exact address of this clinic so we were literally going in circles. For sometime, we looked more like the door-to-door salesmen knocking on every door, checking if it was the doctor’s clinic. The only difference was that it was dark anybody could have mistaken us for thugs instead of salesmen. After sometime, to avoid being mistaken for any of these two, I stayed on the bike, while my friend went around enquiring.

Halfway through our search, we came across a small rundown joint which looked like a carpenter’s makeshift. I saw no possibility why a doctor would run his clinic in such a ramshackle. But Dinesh, who was aggressive by nature, barged in without second thoughts, in other words, without any thought.

Inside, sat a man in front of a small table on which one bottle of RC (Royal Challenge) and a glass rested. Both were empty, indicating that the man had consumed the full bottle, and was now under the complete influence of the drink. Unmindfully, my friend enquired if it was the doctor’s clinic, the man nodded that it was and ushered him inside. Once Dinesh stood standing where the drunken man wanted him to, he screamed, “Tozzo!” and out came a four-foot high canine – a Great Dane. It emerged with a hungry look in its eye and its tongue licking its mouth obviously thinking that his master had bought some special delicacy for dinner that night. Looking at the size of the beast, Dinesh lost his cool, then his guts. Sweating profusely, he started addressing the drunken man as “Sir” and delivered apologies for intruding on his quiet time with his drink.

One glance at the beast, one part of my heart begged me to kick-start the bike and scurry away while the other enquired if it was ethically the right thing to do? Torn between the two, I held on to my bike like a lifeline, hoping that the dog owner wouldn’t notice me. This man started interrogating Dinesh on what made him think that his place was a clinic. My friend, after a few moments, along with his guts lost his speech too. His speech suddenly turned staccato and his face paler. It was while answering these questions that he shot a glance outside at me. The drunken man immediately sensed I was also an accomplice in disturbing his peace, summoned me inside. Though I didn’t want to become another victim of his drink, I obviously didn’t have another choice.

I thought, come rain or hailstorm, I will defend my friend with my life. But I realized that was foolhardiness when I stepped in and stood a few feet away from this lean but muscular dog. On watching the dog’s height and weight up-close, I suddenly had a strong urge to run. Bolt away to southern or northern hemisphere where there were no dogs! Under the circumstances, I would have even raced against Ussain Bolt and won and never give a damn about it!

Caught in this terrifying situation, my mind raced, trying to figure out a plan to escape the place unscratched, which on all parameters looked impossible. I heard the drunken man ask some questions, which I intentionally didn’t answer. I thought any answer would aggravate his temper, which I sensed, was precariously perched at the edge of a precipice. Unfortunately, my silence only challenged his drunken stupor. He rose. For a minute; I thought he would strike me. But instead he screamed, this time, “Bozzo!” I didn’t know where this creature was lurking till then, but out it came. Another Great Dane! This, built-wise, was stronger and looked more ferocious than the other one. Shocked, my heart did a quick summersault in my ribcage while I stood dead in the tracks gulping down fear.

Whatever fight was left in me simply evaporated as beads of perspiration quietly descended down my side locks. My thoughts raced. Body stood paralyzed. I thought Dinesh and I could fight one dog. But definitely not two. Then realisation dawned. Our lifelines were now in the hands of this drunken man. One pull at them, if not dead, we could easily end up in a hospital. I shot my prayers up. I guess Dinesh did too. We hoped for the dogs to pounce on us any moment. We waited. Nothing happened.

I didn’t know what came over the drunken man but he had a sudden change of heart. He smiled at us. “Since this is your first time, I will excuse you both” he cried. So relieved was I that I felt like hugging this very man, who, a few moments ago, threatened to throw us to his dogs. With his words came the assurance that the dogs wouldn’t harm us. Before he changed his mind, Dinesh and I quickly but cautiously made our way to the door. It was after a good 5-minute drive from this place did any of us speak. Dinesh cried, “What does this idiot think of himself? I will report him to police.” All along the way Dinesh let out a relentless list of abuses. I, for one, was too shocked to say anything. Even when I dropped him at his place, we hardly spoke. We were that overwhelmed with fear.

After this, I couldn’t meet Dinesh for various reasons. Later, I heard he moved to Dubai. But it was at a recent Christian concert that I noticed him talking to somebody. I quickly walked over and said, “Hello.” He turned around and flashed his usual smile and shook my hand vigorously. Looking me in the eye, the first thing he said was, “Do you remember that day?” Even before he said anything, I exclaimed, “How can I ever forget it?” Then both of us burst into a hearty laugh.