Bangalore diary - III

Today I said good bye to Bangalore officially. The unrest still raged on the streets somewhere in Bangalore. I was to catch the Brindavan Express at 2:30 pm to Chennai. So we started rather early because we didn’t want to be late in case the situation the road wasn’t that great. We could have gotten into the train at K. R.Puram but the train stops for a short while and I was moving from one city to another so, I had just too much luggage. So we decided to get to Majestic City Station. (Bangalore travel tip: Majestic also refers to the bus stand at around the same area. So always specify where you need to go.) Of course, because of the luggage we had to take a call taxi. The driver of the taxi turned out to be such a chatterbox. He informed my already hyper mother that (1) 10 drivers hadn’t turned up for work and that they belonged to the Muslim faith and (2) the two taxis that has left before us were burned down. So with lots of positive thoughts in our head, we started for the City Station. Some areas were heavily patrolled. Some saffron-colored flags were strewn all over the streets. And through one area, I think it was Thimmaih Road, I felt real uneasy because there was something very eerie and scary about the silence of that street. Anyway, we reached safely. Getting into the train was uneventful.

In the middle of the journey, the trains stopped. There was no station in sight. The sun had set by then enveloping the train in darkness. As usual, most people didn’t bother. But there was one guy who wanted to find out what was going on. He headed for the door and came back a little later. Settling down in his seat, he said loudly to all the people looking at him, “It’s a technical difficulty.” And the proceeded to whisper to his neighbor, “they suspect a bomb on the train.” I heard him loud and clear. I had the urge to tell my mom but she was sleeping and it was already very eventful just trying to get to the station. So, I let it be. And hope and prayed that there was no bomb on board. There wasn’t and we reached Chennai in one piece.

You would think that was enough excitement in one day, right? Wrong. I had a total of 8 bags and suitcases. My dad had come to pick us up from the Chennai station. We loaded our stuff onto the auto. While getting off, I left my backpack there. For me, this was far more upsetting than traveling through riot-torn areas. All my silver jewelry was also there. Every body at home wanted to know why I carry my silver jewelry in my backpack. Well, I always do. It’s not so much silver for me as jewelry and I like all the things I need on an everyday basis like cosmetics, accessories, books, notebooks, hairdryers, almost everything other than the clothes itself, in one location. I was quite upset as to even shed some tears over it. Miracle of miracles, in the middle of the night, (actually 4 in the morning, but it felt like the middle of the night), the auto guy – bless him – returned my backpack! I was so relieved! Relieved was an understatement. I really thought that finally anything was possible. I know I am given to hyperbole a bit.

That just about wrapped up my Bangalore stay and return. I will be returning but only to shop for books and clothes!

Bangalore diary - II

Jan 21 Sunday
While Bangalore burned, we shop at one of post-liberalized India's iconic outlets, the Big Bazzaar. Today, I went and packed my stuff from the PG place near Koramangala, right opposite to Christ College. I shifted to my Uncle's house at Kaggadasapura. I have lived exactly 12 days in this new PG place. My Bangalore stay has been very nomadic and chaotic. I have shifted places like 6 times in as many months living in as diverse places like a convent (St.Brigitta's near M.G Road), a seedy hotel (Hotel Shanbagh in HSR Layout), a family friend's place (Koramangala), an old independent house where I was first the sole PG and then had another PG - a guy - moved in upstairs, and then I stayed at colleague's place, and this was my 6th place - a PG place that functioned like a girls' hostel. This was going to be my last. I ain't moving no more.

Anyway, the Saddam Hussain issue merged with some Hindu-Muslim issue and Bangalore's most volatile area, Shivaji Nagar and its whereabouts was seething with unrest. In the middle of all this, mom, my aunt and I went shopping to the Big Bazaar at Old Madras Road. Isse sasta aur accha kahin nahi, claimed the tagline which impressed Mom a lot. It had 7 floors of really inexpensive stuff. My cousin dropped and picked us up. When it was time to come back, there was a lot of talk about the unrest spreading to the posh Indira Nagar area, which is very close to Kaggadaspura. But thankfully nothing eventful happened. Later in the night, we went out with my uncle (father's younger brother) and aunt, and cousin Mithun for dinner at Chung's.

Bangalore diary - I

Jan 19 Friday:
My last working day at my Bangalore company. I am moved that so many people will miss me once I leave this place. I managed to make some lovely friends in this place and will always miss them.

I will also miss the daily azaan that I can hear when I used to leave the office at 5:30 pm. One of the most striking images I have seen here as I looked up and saw a scattered mass of swaying birds flying against the blue late afternoon sky while the azaan flooded my ears with music. That one time, I almost felt like time stood still.

Jan 20 Saturday:
I go to Commercial street for shopping. It's only my second time in Commercial street, the shopping district of Bangalore. The weekend before, I went with my Bangalore friends. This time, Mom is with me. We are making our way in the middle of a maze of streets filled with shiny sandals, mirror-work bags, chikankari dupattas, and sequined trinkets. I find this old shop, where they sell beads. I spot this lovely yellow beaded necklace, mom is pouring her attention on white sequins when suddenly people start running past the store into the lane which leads to the restaurant Woody's. I am not sure what to do. My first instinct is to hang around and watch, preferably go to the source and find out what's happening. Why are people running as though their life depended on it?

It's obvious that I have never been in the middle of a riot before. My mother, a survivor of the Naxal atrocities in Calcutta in the 1970s (she was a student then), has other ideas. Her MO is to run away from trouble no matter who caused it. Surrounded by colored hanging beads and other trinkets of various sizes, the medium sized shop had 4 men with skull caps and white kurta-pajamas and two women, one in a blue saree and a big black bindi and the other in an easy-to-wash blue salwar-kurta. For a second, I am dazed. The men ask us to stay in the shop as they pull down the shutter and stash inside the aluminum stand full of plastic toys, which was standing outside. Mom pulls my resisting hand and runs out of the now dark shop. She hits her head on the half-downed shutter while we rush out. We turn left into the Woody's lane and continue running against the traffic.

After running frantically for a few minutes, I stop and argue with mom as to why we shouldn't run: look, no one else is running (true, they were stuck in a traffic jam inside the lane), why are you panicking (indeed, why?) and calm down, (while other shops were pulling their shutters down one by one). I stop to get a pair of silver sandals, which is all the rage in Bangalore right now. The sun shines on a shop which has a dented cardboard standing at a jaunty angle on rows and rows of tantalizingly multi-colored shoes "only Rs.100/-" it screams. I cannot help myself. I have to have a look even if I don't buy anything. Outside people have stopped running. Things seem kind of normal. I'm checking out the sandals when suddenly the second rush of people running past the store, from the Woody's lane, turn right and across to circle at the end of Dispensary Road. This time I don't argue. I drop a pretty silver sandal, which I was holding, and rush along with the crowd. I spot two white women running with me and we discuss why we all are running. Someone says, "they are protesting against the execution of Saddam Hussain." "Yeeaaas, yeaaas.. Saddam Hussain," they enlighten me. From afar I can see a series of police jeeps, shops downing their shutters, and lots of dazed confused people.

We walk to another Circle (here crossroads are called circles) a long rather tense walk where we cannot get an auto to take us to Koramangala, where I stay. Soon, we almost reach M G Road before we get an auto. All along that walk, I get a lowdown on how pitifully little I have been exposed to riots and do not know how to handle myself in a crisis. Phew!

The Evolving Face of Fiction: Literary non-fiction and Microfiction*

When we talk about “writing,” we expect to be directed to the usual genres of fiction, poetry, drama, and prose. However, today new genres and sub-genres are cropping up that blend, stretch, twist, and turn many of the existing genres and do it successfully no less! Two of such “new” genres that are gaining prominence are literary nonfiction and microfiction.

Non-fiction has been around for a while. But the new sub-genre that is being taught in the Universities in the US combines the creative streak of fiction with that of the factual basis of non-fiction is “Literary Nonfiction.” It’s also called Creative nonfiction, Factual fiction, Documentary narrative, and the literature of actuality. Of course, the source spring of this genre is good old storytelling. LNF has been around without anyone putting down a name for it. Remember Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood? That’s Literary Nonfiction.

The characteristics of LNF is that it tells a story that has happened but in a non-textual manner. That means that all the techniques that are used in writing fiction are employed here including character development, scene-setting, action sequences, dialog and interior monolog. The only thing that can be called as the distinguishing factor is the fact that LNF is based on real life incidents.

According to the University of Oregon’s Literary Nonfiction page, the LNF has a wide variety of concerns. One can write LNF while writing a memoir, personal essay, or even a biography. So the scope and size of LNF is as wide as fiction itself. One can talk about prison life as well as orange juice and still be a part of this genre!

Needless to say NLF is requires back breaking research especially if the subjects chosen are from history. For example, Erik Larson’s Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic and Madness at the Fair that Changed America chooses to concentrate on 1893 Chicago. So the research about that place and time needs to be thorough. On the other hand, if a subject that is more close at hand is chosen like Walt Harrington’s Crossings: A White Man's Journey into Black America then the research required is more on the lines of meeting people rather than looking up dusty tomes in the library.

Is LNF purely an American phenomenon? Though writers from all over the world are drawn to this genre, at its core it can be seen as an American phenomenon. Madeline Blais, professor at the University of Massachusetts has this to say about LNF.

Literary nonfiction has a deep American backbone, fixed in the democratic notion that real stories about real people are worth telling. Literary nonfiction not only honors all the shibboleths of classical storytelling, but it also welcomes the best of other disciplines into the mix, giving it melting pot inclusiveness. (Blais)

Some of the classics in this field along with In Cold Blood are Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer, Oranges by John McPhee, and Hell's Angels by Hunter Thompson.

While literary nonfiction has been around for sometime, microfiction is gaining ground in the recent times. Unlike LNF, microfiction is a brash new genre that takes advantage of the diminishing attention spans of audiences worldwide. Some have called it “prose poems”, “short short stories”, “sudden fiction”, and “flash fiction” as well (Barenblat). Flash fiction story is any short story under 2000 words in length and typically less than 1000 words. Perhaps, in this age of information overload, this brevity accounts for the increasing popularity of microfiction.

Since this is an evolving genre, there are no distinguishing features except for the length. Some writers believe that this compressed form leads to the fiction being highly charged and full of energy. Typically, one work of microfiction will be about the same length as this article.

While using the same devices available to fiction writers, a writer of flash fiction must be extremely aware of the space constraint. Words, therefore, need to be very frugally used. That is the challenge of being a microfiction writer. However whatever be the constraints, the topics available to the writer of microfiction are endless. In sheer variety, microfiction can claim an upper hand.

Robert Shapard and James Thomas, in their latest edited collection Sudden Fiction (Continued) summed it up the best: “Each (story), whether traditional or experimental, proves that a tale told quickly offers pleasure long past its telling. This is serious fiction that's fun to read.” (qtd in Hazard) There are a few anthologies in the market that have compiled the literature in this genre, though the production of microfiction is much much more as evidenced by their presence on the net. Some microfiction anthologies are Short Shorts: An Anthology of the Shortest Stories edited by Irving Howe, Micro Fiction: An Anthology of Really Short Stories edited by Jerome Stern, and Flash Fiction: Very Short Stories edited by James Thomas, and Sudden Fiction by Robert Shapard and James Thomas.

If one goes by the mantra that there is something for everybody when it comes to fiction, then Literary Nonfiction and microfiction satisfy the different fiction cravings of the reader. It’s fiction all right but with a twist. The two genres that extend the reaches of fiction and sometimes blur the edges of fiction and non fiction, and fiction and poetry are here to stay.



Works Cited


Barenblat, Rachel. “Prose Poems or Microfiction?” In Posse Review. Retrieved 16 August 2004. < http://www.webdelsol.com/InPosse/barenblat.htm>.


Blais, Madeleine. “Literary Nonfiction Constructs a Narrative Foundation.” Nieman Reports: The Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard University Vol. 54 No. 3 Fall 2000. Retrieved 16 August 2004. <http://www.nieman.harvard.edu/reports/00-3NRfall/Literary-Nonfiction.html>.

Hazard, Shelly. What is Flash fiction? Homepage. Retrieved 23 August 2004. <http://www.fictioninaflash.com/page1003.html.>


Wallace, Ronald. Writers Try Short Shorts! (Parts I, II, and III). University of Wisconsin. Retrieved 17 August 2004. <http://mendota.english.wisc.edu/~WALLACE/short.html>.


What is Literary Nonfiction? University of Oregon. Retrieved 16 August 2004. .

__________

*I had written this piece a long time ago. This is one of my shortest literary articles. I thought I should post it. I had gone through the trouble of looking at resources and all that jazz. So, you could ignore the Works Cited list, if you want to. :)

Are you in a race and if so, with whom? Are you going to live your life by what I think?

A friend of mine asked me these questions when I asked her a - now - rather silly question: Am I a loser? So, I started thinking...

Are you in a race?
I am not sure if there is a race on but apparently there is. There is a race for bigger pay, better salary, better position, bigger and better lifestyle. Now, am I in the race for that? It does seem that I am. I wasn't conscious of it till I answered this question. I am in a race that I don't want to be. And it is a bit messy trying to get out. But I will. There is also the fact that I have somehow I have gotten caught up in this race. It's a bit like in a stadium. If people around you shout and scream, it's only a matter of time before you will. I'm screaming now. On the top of my lungs. And I didn't even realize it. Till this question.

I want to opt out of a race that I don't want to be in. Does it matter that people inside the race ask me to stay on? It shouldn't. Does it matter if my family who is cheering me from the sidelines want me to continue the race. It shouldn't. It doesn't now.

If so, with whom?
I do realize one thing - I am in the wrong race. The only race that I should be in is with myself. But that's the toughest race of them all. To opt out of the race I'm in now, I need to pay a price. Am I ready to pay that price now? Can I afford to? That is something that I have to decide.

Are you going to live your life by what I think?
To be honest, I don't know. I know I shouldn't but somehow I do. I know I seek approval from people, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. It makes me feel good. But the only approval I should seek is from ME. I am the most important person whose opinion I should consider. And I am writing all this down so that I don’t ask silly questions of my friends again. I shouldn't care what people think but I know I do. It's a habit I am trying to break. I think that there is some amount of social conditioning going on here. Usually, qualities like modesty (in achievement, talent, not clothes) and social approval are encouraged so that society doesn't feel threatened. (Aside: I am reminded of what my professor once said, "A single woman is a threat to society because she shows a male-dominated society that it is possible to live without them.) But modesty taken to an extreme can mean low self-esteem. And social approval is a crutch all of us can do without. I remember when I was a kid, my mom used to tell me, "You need to change yourself" because I was headstrong and stubborn. I still am. But I need to be headstrong and stubborn about the things that matter. I don't live my life by what others think but sometimes I might just ask an opinion just to see how I am getting on. So, from this volley of 3 questions, I have come to know some things about myself.

Poets I have been reading

Of late, I have immersed myself in poetry. I can get lost in a poem and come out clean, stripped of worries and anxieties. These are the poets I have been reading:

• Roger McGough (One of the Liverpool poets of the 60s, writes poetry that startles, shocks and makes you laugh.)
• Kate Bingham (Can see the sheer craft of writing poetry in her poems. She explores genres that are difficult like the sestina and makes it all seem effortless.)
• Wendy Cope (For poetry that's simple and intricate at the same time like lace.)
• Clare Pollard (Poetry's new voice, raw, angry and angst-ridden.)

Why do I read poetry?

This is my answer to a survey by Bloodaxe publishing to the question "Why do you read poetry?"

Poetry always touches a raw nerve in my system. It opens up nebulous worlds that exist below the surface of which I have a hint but no direct access.

Happy New Year

A very happy new year 2007. I get the feeling that it's going to be a great year.