7.4

 

04 november, day 4

When it comes to   NaNoWriMo writing

With every distraction you’ll end up fighting

The importance of rigour

Is second only to vigour

And renders every minute is rather exciting

--xx--xx--xx-- 

 

Guruji says we all contain multitudes

Talents, ideas, skills, and attitudes

So sit down and write

Don’t drop out of sight

And you won’t need to blame life’s vicissitudes  

--xx--xx--xx--

Blessed are those that can write

With felicity their stories take flight

Me, I am stuck

Thinking "hey wtf...

This is a really long tunnel with no light"

--xx--xx--xx

Committed to NaNoWriMo tradition

I followed my writing passion

I did not prepare

And was caught unaware

By the devil of Procrastination

 

--xx--xx--xx--

 

On struggling with a writing task

 

Do Or Do Not, there is no Try

So said Yoda, the great Jedi

He is not me

He cannot see

How my well of thought runs dry

 

Vonnegut, Gaiman, or King

Never complain of such a thing

They always seem to know

How to make the words flow

Writing for them is no suffering

(c) Shilpa Chitre

7.3

 03 november, day 3

“Tea? Coffee?”

Our pantry help Deepu broke the spell with his question to our visitor, while setting my usual black coffee in front of me. “Nothing, thank you” she smiled.

As soon as he left the room, she turned to me again with barely controlled agitation. “You drink coffee now? How? Isn’t the caffoxin affecting you any longer? I need you alert and active, not lethargic and lazy.”

I must have used the word “mindfuck” hundreds of times before. It was only then that I fully appreciated the meaning and heft of the word. No other word could have described what I was feeling at that moment.

What the hell was caffoxin? And why would coffee make me lethargic?

I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Look lady, I don’t know who you are or why you are here or what caffoxin is. Either you explain yourself really fast, or I am leaving the room and Security can escort you out. Your choice.”

She walked to the window, giving me a view of that saree clad back again. After a moment, I could see her shoulders drop as she sighed.  

“Well?” I asked, “What’s it going to be?”

She walked over to my side of the table and sat next to me. She looked smaller now, almost as if she was deflated.

“I didn’t think it was possible Jai. The Grenog warned us this might happen, but you know me, I thought you… I thought we were stronger than that.”

I waited for her to clarify.

She continued “You volunteered for this mission to Lapis… I mean Earth. Fulgere, your home, your home planet, is on the brink of destruction. You are Liber, son of Atticus. You are one of the nine warriors who can time travel, so am I. You are here to search and bring back Spumen, at least 28 mingels of it, so we can build a shield and save Fulgere. You have been gone for too long, so they sent me to bring you back. I am Lilium, your dearest friend and partner. Is that clear now?”

Of all the words I could think of, “clear” did not make the list.

“No” I said. “I am Jaiveer Joshi, I have lived all my life in Mumbai. I travel from Bandra to Churchgate, not from one era to another.  I have no idea what’s a spumen and what’s a mingel. My partner, no, my ex-partner is Maansi and she’s left me to travel and find herself. My closest friend is Roshan. My father is not Atticus…. that’s the lawyer guy in that novel. My father is…” And I stopped abruptly.

I drew a blank.

My father? What was his name? Why couldn’t I picture his face?

She smiled at me. “That’s the glitch the Grenog couldn’t fix, remember?”

(c) Shilpa Chitre

7.2

02 november 2022, day 2

“Jai, there’s someone at the Reception for you.”

If only I had known these words would change my life permanently! I have rewound and replayed all that happened, so many times since, and this is literally where it all started.

I was at work looking through some of the purchase orders my team had put in over the last few days and approving the ones that were in line with approved budgets. I was not expecting visitors that morning. But salespeople, especially the ones who are trying to get a new relationship going, often drop in hoping to meet someone in Purchase or Procurement who will be open to try them out.

It’s a nuisance sometimes, but they are just doing their jobs and hey, I am a nice guy.

So when Preeti, our Receptionist, told me there was someone at the Reception for me, I found nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yeah ok”, I said. “Find him a meeting room and I’ll see him in a few minutes.”

“It’s a she” Preeti said.   

When I walked into the meeting room a little later, I saw a saree clad back and an impossibly tight bun staring out the window. What intrigued me was that this woman seemed old; her hair was completely white. Now there are all kinds of business development folks, and salespeople come in all shapes and sizes, but I had never met a white-haired woman who was here to sell me something.

“Hi, were you looking for me?” I asked.

She turned around.  She must have been a looker when she was young, her eyes were something else. I’m used to dealing with the pretty young saleswomen, but they are usually groomed and made-up in a cookie cutter look. This one was the OG.

“Liber, we meet again! Where on earth have you been? I had a hard time finding you” she said with a tight smile.

Smooth single malt, not marred by even one ice cube. Rashid Khan singing ‘Aaoge jab tum saajana’. Maansi’s fancy silk sheets. Her voice was just that, pure pleasure.

“Are you ready Liber? We’ve lost so much time just finding you” Her urgency brought me back with a thud. She was staring at me, gripping the table edge.  

 “Sorry, what’s Liber? I am Jai”  I said.

She sat down heavily. “That’s how you want to play it? You haven’t forgiven us?”

I frowned in spite of myself. “What are you talking about? Who are you ma’m?”

She leaned forward, staring at me. “We have no time for this. I’ll apologise again. And again. And I will call you Jai. But can we leave now? They are waiting for you. Let’s go.” 

“Listen” I said “I have no idea who you are, what you are talking about, or what you want. Is this a prank? Or are you confusing me for someone else?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. How could I ever mistake you for someone else? We practically grew up together. And have you forgotten our time at Nusquamia?”

The room swam around me.  

I had a sudden flash of a sunny meadow, laughter, excitement and a deep baritone saying “Welcome to Nusquamia”.

And then the room came back into focus. What was happening? Who was this woman?

(c) Shilpa Chitre

7.1

01 november 2022, day 1

 

i no longer have a story to tell.

once upon a time i started writing a romance.

i used to be in love with the idea of love, and i loved reading romances. i loved reading, period. but romances held a special place in my heart, despite the formulaic plots. 

having devoured dozens of romance novels, i was convinced i could write one in my sleep.

easier said than done.

i wrote the first couple of chapters in the late 1990s. then added a little more after y2k. shared it with a couple of folks, who liked it and told me to continue writing. and with that validation, i stopped writing my story.

flash forward to 2018-19. after yet another course on writing, i have written a few short stories and some free form writing. my writing muscle is being exercised and i am keen to finish what i started two decades ago.

but twist in the tale, many desktops and laptops later, i no longer have the story! i trawled through my email archives, with no success. i asked my beta readers to check their emails, again no success. i check my old back up files, no success.

so here i am, a writer with no story to tell.

7. #NaNoWriMo

 so november is national novel writing month. 

i am part of the clear writing community which is a bunch of people who sharpened their writing skills with amit varma and some of us have decided to use the momentum of #nanowrimo to start / continue writing.

it's great for distracted amateur writers like me who need all sorts of external factors to get them to put pen to paper. or fingers to  keyboard in this case.

from the 1st of november, i have started my new thirty - everyday this month, i will write minimum 200 words. at the end of it there won't be a novel, but my writing muscle will be a teeny bit better worked out, and i will have written over 6000 words which i wouldn't have otherwise.

the writing may be a poem, a rant, a response to a writing prompt, or something else. all i know right now is, there will be #writing.

 

 

6.4

an epitaph is usually the text inscribed on a gravestone. however this often takes the form of verse and some poets have written particularly appealing epitaphs for themselves. today i post one from don blanding:

Do not carve on stone or wood,
"He was honest" or "He was good."
Write in smoke on a passing breeze
Seven words… and the words are these,
Telling all that a volume could,
"He lived, he laughed and… he understood."

6.3

Troubled heart meets troubled soul
Hate and angst have taken their toll
Intuitively reaching for the other’s pain,
Searching old memories soaked in rain.
Elemental sadness pervades the air
Xenocrysts of hope in grey despair
Every dream dry and old
Rueful remembrances remain untold.
Catharsis needed but not found
Increases desperation unbound
Seeking seeking an outlet or vent
Eroding inside of discontent.
Islands of peace difficult to find
Strange, considering it’s all in the mind
Frustration grows day by day
Ultimately it will have its way.

Non est vivere sed valere vita est.

this is an acrostic i made up. an acrostic is a kind of poem where the first letter of each line when read together has some meaning in itself. like the letter arnold schwarzenegger wrote to his lawmakers.