A fictitious account
Dreams are larger than what eyes can see. That’s why many don’t see it through…but a few do.
Motherless and blamed for the death of her mother post-delivery, 13 year old Tulsi never wanted to clean toilets. She wanted to run…run away from the clutches of a complaining father, abuses of the elderly stinking household, miseries of a daily struggle to earn a loaf of bread and poverty huge enough to cripple dreams and reality.
For her, the railway track which ran across the farm, 3 miles from the dilapidated hut, was the alarm clock. Her torment began everyday at 3AM when a narrow gauge express train passed by, almost always on time. She had to run…run with two empty buckets to get a chance to get water from an upper class run rationed water well. The day she missed to collect water, she got only grass to eat.
Three years back, it was one of those days when she was unable to collect water. Sobbing and afraid to go back home, she laid near the track watching the same sun rising after a dreamless night. ‘Tulsi, come here,’ came a thick noisy voice out of no where. She was tired of always expecting a commanding voice out of nowhere asking for filthiest of work. ‘Tulsi, mother killer bitch, come here.’ This time she had to notice. Morning has begun. She could see a stout, bearded recognizable man with a suitcase calling from the perch of the train standing by. She ran…ran for the command.
‘Here, you see that shit and garbage…clean it up,’ ordered the village Seth. He had engineered a train halt…to go to the city. Tulsi had to clean-up the entire 5 feet radius where the Seth was supposed to sit. As she descended, the train had blown the whistle. She got down and started walking back. The train inched up on the track and moved screechingly. The two empty buckets resting on the green farm grass made her relive the day in advance. The beating and the hunger are easy to withstand when there is light at the end of the tunnel. Here there was no hope. The train had gathered speed towards the tunnel. Blink…there always comes a moment of intervention from the Almighty. Tulsi ran…ran towards the train a good 20 metres away. She must have run a mile before she boarded the train finally. She had run her first race to life.
She must have travelled two days and a night before she was dumped on the station as a parcel out of no where. There was hunger but so was hope. There was poverty but there was no one to beat her or to command…no… there were few.
It took no time for three teenage rag pickers to identify the new girl in their area of operation. And desperate they were at the most silent hour of the night. They pounced on her. The flickering and lone bulb at the corner of the station bore testimony that the cities are worse than villages. Surprised and still wondering, running seemed the obvious way out for Tulsi. She ran…ran again…this time for dignity.
She did not know the roads and streets she took. She did not know if they were still behind her. She was terrified. She kept running the entire night. Not even for once did she think of stopping or even looking back. Running this time was not easy. Her naked feet were used to village lanes, not the gravel heavy city roads. She stopped only when she collided with Mahabir, 40 something disillusioned yet motivated mentor. ‘How long have you been running?’ asked Mahabir as he saw blood soaked feet and felt her sweat soaked body. ‘It was dark when I started.’ ‘Come, You have found me,’ said Mahabir tersely as he continued his morning jogging session. At least a dozen students followed him back to the coaching centre. The same sun was beginning to shine ever so brightly. ‘Would Tulsi be the lucky thirteen?’ the thought kept running through Mahabir’s mind.
Mahabir, a full time teacher was a tough taskmaster and a running fanatic. He would inculcate benefits of running into everyone he met. His salary went into ensuring balanced diet for his runners. City NGO was helpful every few months. He kept selecting and training hopefuls…with one goal…running for the country. Under Mahabir’s guidance in a little known city, Tulsi’s life flourished in awe of possibilities.
She followed a strict routine, was an excellent pupil and listened and above all ran passionately. She was easily the best of Mahabir’s lot and kept winning accolades wherever she went. She came first in a district level competition, a month later she was among the best in the State and in a year’s time she ran at the National Games in Jharkhand. To everybody’s amazement, she won gold and landed up with a government job. Mahabir’s coaching set up did not receive the same attention as the medal winners. He still worked hard to make ends meet and harder still to train his wards. For Tulsi, the government job did not distract her determination. She trained more not because she was an average performer from international standards but because her coach required money for ‘acute pulmonary edema’ medication. Mahabir had water in his lungs, was becoming frail and running was out of question for him.
A Gold Medal in 1500m in Commonwealth Games…an ambition too high, a goal never achieved by an Indian and a dream worth pursuing. The government had announced Rs. 20 Lakhs prize money for every gold medal an Indian won. ‘That would solve all problems,’ she thought as she geared herself up for the dream of her life. She imagined herself wrapped in tricolor and singing National Anthem in rapt attention. She trained harder under Mahabir. She fought her inner demons with the help of a yoga guru. She never bettered the national record ever in trainings.
At her first international event, she was nervous the moment she had qualified for the event a few months back. In the Qualifying Heats, when she saw well built and well trained runners from diverse countries, she expected the worse. She bettered them with faith and landed in the finals. ‘Tomorrow will be my day. India will watch me not cleaning toilets but running…running for national pride,’ she thought the night before the race. She still required a leap of faith.
The floodlights in the stadium make the night into day. Dreams into reality. And it all gets over in a matter of minutes. No body gave her an outside chance. The interspersed spectators were glad to see an Indian in the finals. The commentators heaped praises on her past running exploits and how she is below par for this competition. But she ran…ran hard… ran with lungs full of air to remove water from the lungs of her coach.
She must have got spring in her feet. She started and ran away like a bullet. She second runner was a distant 5m after first 100 metres of the race. The other pushed hard but she pushed harder. At half-way she led a good 20m. She was a running a dream but so were others. The track doesn’t make a distinction. With 200m to the finishing line, she was still leading by a good distance. And then it all started. The runners behind her gathered steam. Their steps were far larger and they ate into the gap with enormous ease. Tulsi fought back with matching steps but still she was slow. Winning runner passed by…Silver still in sight, the second runner passed…just 50m to go and at least bronze will be mine – thought Tulsi. If God listens to everybody’s prayers, he will be confused. That’s why hard work is the barometer for success and if success becomes unexplainable, luck comes as a reason. Tulsi came a close fourth. She just saw darkness as she reached the finishing line. She did not know that she has bettered her record…she had in fact bettered the games record by an Indian.
She cried an ocean, wept a river and sobbed a lake in Mahabir’s arms. With so many Indians winning medals, the attention was on winners. No one cared except Mahabir and a few others. She stared beyond the floodlights into the dark night. They must have sat for hours in the forlorn stadium before deciding to go back to the Games Village. ‘I am sorry, Biru Chacha,’ she said before going to sleep at dawn.
It was first in many many years when she did not run in the morning…in fact she slept all through amid the celebrations of growing medals tally.
Mahabir alias Biru Chacha ran after a long time. He even jumped couple of times on his way to Tulsi’s room. He did not wait for the elevator but climbed up three flights of stairs in a jiffy. ‘Tulsi, Tulsi, get up Tulsi…,’ he anxiously knocked the door. One of the team mates opened the door. The beaming coach, unable to breathe declared loudly ‘Tulsi, the silver medalist failed the dope test, you got a bronze.’ He plunged on to the bed, gasping for breath. In his excitement to tell the news, Mahabir had put himself in great danger. Tulsi was stunned and so were others. Only the heavy breaths of Mahabir chimed the room. And then she jumped, shouted, jumped hard and embraced panting Mahabir…in plain ecstasy. ‘Chacha…you will get well soon, Chacha. We will get 5 lakhs from the government. All your problems will get solved,’ Tulsi was animated. It seemed Mahabir took an instant decision. It seemed he stopped himself from breathing. It seemed he deliberately closed his eyes. He had an angelic smile on his face before he said his last words –‘Keep running and Keep the centre running if ever you get the money.’
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
बारिशें
थोड़े से बादल, खूब सारी बूँदें
हरे हरे पत्ते, फूलों की सुगंधें
आँखों में चमक, लबों पे मुस्कुराहटें
बाज़ारों में रौनक, गावों में पनघटें
फिर से एक बार जिंगुरों के आवाज़ें भेज दे
पतंगों की उड़ाने भेज दे
मेंढकों के टर्राने भेज दे
चिड़ियों की चहचाने भेज दे
ए खुदा, ज़ोरों से बारिशें भेज दे
बड़ी सी चिट्ठी, सिमटा सा खुमार
बिखरी स्याही में मिलने की कस्में हज़ार
चंद सुहानी यादें और इंतेज़ार में करार
बारीशों की बूँदों में तेरा प्यार
फिर से एक बार अकेला मकान भेज दे
शृंगार का सब सामान भेज दे
मीठी सी धुन तमाम भेज दे
तीर और कमान भेज दे
ए खुदा, इन बारीशों में 'उनको' भेज दे
उत्सव
हरे हरे पत्ते, फूलों की सुगंधें
आँखों में चमक, लबों पे मुस्कुराहटें
बाज़ारों में रौनक, गावों में पनघटें
फिर से एक बार जिंगुरों के आवाज़ें भेज दे
पतंगों की उड़ाने भेज दे
मेंढकों के टर्राने भेज दे
चिड़ियों की चहचाने भेज दे
ए खुदा, ज़ोरों से बारिशें भेज दे
बड़ी सी चिट्ठी, सिमटा सा खुमार
बिखरी स्याही में मिलने की कस्में हज़ार
चंद सुहानी यादें और इंतेज़ार में करार
बारीशों की बूँदों में तेरा प्यार
फिर से एक बार अकेला मकान भेज दे
शृंगार का सब सामान भेज दे
मीठी सी धुन तमाम भेज दे
तीर और कमान भेज दे
ए खुदा, इन बारीशों में 'उनको' भेज दे
उत्सव
Sunday, February 7, 2010
अलविदा सर्दियाँ
गर्म रज़ाई और चाय की अद्रकि चुस्कियाँ,
कमरे का मनपसंद कोना और अख़बार की पंक्तिया,
थोड़े से गरम पानी पर होतीं बड़ी सी लड़ाइयाँ;
फिर आलस में सोने का मन्न बनाती मेरी अंगडायाँ
अब जाते हो तो जाओ,
फिर से मेरे घर आना, मेरी सर्दियाँ
खिड़की के शीशे ओस से ढके हैं,
हमारे तुम्हारे गद्दे आग से तपें हैं
दस्ताने और जुराबेन भी सबने कसें हैं
और छोटे से चूल्हे पर चड़ी हैं बड़ी बड़ी कढ़ाइयाँ
गरम पकौड़े, सौंठ की चट्नी और जुलाब जामुन की चाशनियाँ
अब जाते हो तो जाओ,
फिर से मेरे घर आना, प्यारी सर्दियाँ
गुनगुनी धूप और बातें बनाती सहेलियाँ,
अमरूद के फाँक, तेल की मालिश और बच्चों की ठिठोलियान,
उँची सी छत से पेचेन लड़ाती लोफेरों की टोलियाँ
और सुर्ख गुलाबों के बीच खिलखिलाती लड़कियाँ
देखूँगा फिर से ये नज़ारा,
जब नये साल आएँगी ये सर्दियाँ
शीत लहरमें बर्फ हो गयी लड़खड़ाती झोपडियान
सर्दी से कपपकपाता बाप, नही है घर में रोटियाँ
आज नौकरी से निकाल दिया मेमसाहब ने,
जो ठिठुरते ठंड मे फिर देर से पहुँची मैं
ना है घर, ना चादर, ना चार पैसे और ना बापू की दवाइयाँ
अबकी बरस आई तो आई,
दुबारा मत आना, मुई सर्दियाँ
कमरे का मनपसंद कोना और अख़बार की पंक्तिया,
थोड़े से गरम पानी पर होतीं बड़ी सी लड़ाइयाँ;
फिर आलस में सोने का मन्न बनाती मेरी अंगडायाँ
अब जाते हो तो जाओ,
फिर से मेरे घर आना, मेरी सर्दियाँ
खिड़की के शीशे ओस से ढके हैं,
हमारे तुम्हारे गद्दे आग से तपें हैं
दस्ताने और जुराबेन भी सबने कसें हैं
और छोटे से चूल्हे पर चड़ी हैं बड़ी बड़ी कढ़ाइयाँ
गरम पकौड़े, सौंठ की चट्नी और जुलाब जामुन की चाशनियाँ
अब जाते हो तो जाओ,
फिर से मेरे घर आना, प्यारी सर्दियाँ
गुनगुनी धूप और बातें बनाती सहेलियाँ,
अमरूद के फाँक, तेल की मालिश और बच्चों की ठिठोलियान,
उँची सी छत से पेचेन लड़ाती लोफेरों की टोलियाँ
और सुर्ख गुलाबों के बीच खिलखिलाती लड़कियाँ
देखूँगा फिर से ये नज़ारा,
जब नये साल आएँगी ये सर्दियाँ
शीत लहरमें बर्फ हो गयी लड़खड़ाती झोपडियान
सर्दी से कपपकपाता बाप, नही है घर में रोटियाँ
आज नौकरी से निकाल दिया मेमसाहब ने,
जो ठिठुरते ठंड मे फिर देर से पहुँची मैं
ना है घर, ना चादर, ना चार पैसे और ना बापू की दवाइयाँ
अबकी बरस आई तो आई,
दुबारा मत आना, मुई सर्दियाँ
Friday, January 29, 2010
Phir Mile Sur: The Common Man’s Magic is missing
Although I spent the Republic day humming ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’ for greater part of the day (as Zoom TV released the new avatar of Mile Sur Mera Tumhara), the connection was not instant. The new version propelled me to watch the older version on You Tube and fondly appreciate the early makers.
There are a host of subtle and significant changes that the present creators have done supposedly to be in sync with the present generation. This compels me to write this blog in support of pseudo national anthem of my childhood years. Why I didn’t like the recent version is because:
• I hated the liberal dose of bollywood stars and near stars – musicians and directors (are these the two major clans depicting achievement in life?). To add to the grief, the extensive close-ups are annoying. Shahrukh representing a baazigar emoticon or Ranbir seemingly humming a love song at a waterfall nearby; in his own complete solace. There were stars last time around as well but they were real. No close –ups, no glamour, adequate glitz and some real connection.
• Differentiation doesn’t mean excellence. Why remix to such greater extent that the originality gets shaked-up. Intermittent drifting from the original tune takes away the charm; at least for me.
• All this would have been still good if we would have felt a connection. All the stars sprinkled only with a few sportsmen and artists do not make up India. Where is the common man whom I never recognized but felt close-by. Where is that ‘mahaut’ riding the elephant in Kerala waters or the fisherman, content with the daily catch? Perhaps they are more marginalized now than they were 20 years back.
• Above all, where is the spirit of unity in diversity that ‘my’ older version so beautifully represented? I distinctly remember the ‘mashaal’ being carried on and everyone coming together at the sea shore, notwithstanding their differences but rising above for the cause of the nation. This time around, they came, they sang in solace and left. That’s the new ‘Phir Mile Sur’.
Few of my friends may comment – ‘Grow up, it’s a virtual world and everyone is connected.’ A few others may comment that I have ‘grown up’ and not in sync with changing times. Perhaps they are right or perhaps we are more networked but less connected now than we were couple of decades back.
Do watch the older version one last time on YouTube…
There are a host of subtle and significant changes that the present creators have done supposedly to be in sync with the present generation. This compels me to write this blog in support of pseudo national anthem of my childhood years. Why I didn’t like the recent version is because:
• I hated the liberal dose of bollywood stars and near stars – musicians and directors (are these the two major clans depicting achievement in life?). To add to the grief, the extensive close-ups are annoying. Shahrukh representing a baazigar emoticon or Ranbir seemingly humming a love song at a waterfall nearby; in his own complete solace. There were stars last time around as well but they were real. No close –ups, no glamour, adequate glitz and some real connection.
• Differentiation doesn’t mean excellence. Why remix to such greater extent that the originality gets shaked-up. Intermittent drifting from the original tune takes away the charm; at least for me.
• All this would have been still good if we would have felt a connection. All the stars sprinkled only with a few sportsmen and artists do not make up India. Where is the common man whom I never recognized but felt close-by. Where is that ‘mahaut’ riding the elephant in Kerala waters or the fisherman, content with the daily catch? Perhaps they are more marginalized now than they were 20 years back.
• Above all, where is the spirit of unity in diversity that ‘my’ older version so beautifully represented? I distinctly remember the ‘mashaal’ being carried on and everyone coming together at the sea shore, notwithstanding their differences but rising above for the cause of the nation. This time around, they came, they sang in solace and left. That’s the new ‘Phir Mile Sur’.
Few of my friends may comment – ‘Grow up, it’s a virtual world and everyone is connected.’ A few others may comment that I have ‘grown up’ and not in sync with changing times. Perhaps they are right or perhaps we are more networked but less connected now than we were couple of decades back.
Do watch the older version one last time on YouTube…
Friday, January 1, 2010
0-10 of my New Year resolutions
My last week’s Christmas blog helped me reconnect with many friends. So, I thought why not a New Year blog to share my New Year resolutions. In hope of reconnecting with many more, here are my resolutions for the year apart from writing 100 blog entries this year (last year I did just 20)
0 – Zero cigarettes: After a long year and a half hiatus, I succumbed to the butt yet again. Not this year as I continue to strive for a smoke free life.
Zero Speculation: Markets may have gone up like forest fire, there are always more losers than gainers. Say NO to speculation.
1 – Complete my ‘one’ book so what if I am an idiot.
2 – Complete two certification courses. Did you ask which certifications? Well, there is a year to decide.
3 – Three compulsory vacations and that too not among the hills. Huh! Quite a task.
4 – Enhance all four (for family members) life and health policies so that every New Year is better than the previous one
5 – Purchase my five dream gadgets a) Power packed Laptop b) Handy cam to cover impending vacations c) PS 3 for the player in me d) Kindle for the voracious reader and e) I Phone as soon as I get successful in destroying my current mobile
6 – Reduce six kgs. of my weight; all the more better if the entire six kgs. gets reduced from my waist
7 – Seven hours of charity. Number is unimportant, intention is not.
8 – Eight percent easy home loan from SBI. My cash flow model suggests lakhs of savings.
9 – Nine months to fatherhood – well perhaps…consensus is required!
10 – Read at least ten books in the year. It is not easy. You bet me!
If you have managed to read till here, I wish you and your family a safe, prosperous and happy new year. God Bless!
0 – Zero cigarettes: After a long year and a half hiatus, I succumbed to the butt yet again. Not this year as I continue to strive for a smoke free life.
Zero Speculation: Markets may have gone up like forest fire, there are always more losers than gainers. Say NO to speculation.
1 – Complete my ‘one’ book so what if I am an idiot.
2 – Complete two certification courses. Did you ask which certifications? Well, there is a year to decide.
3 – Three compulsory vacations and that too not among the hills. Huh! Quite a task.
4 – Enhance all four (for family members) life and health policies so that every New Year is better than the previous one
5 – Purchase my five dream gadgets a) Power packed Laptop b) Handy cam to cover impending vacations c) PS 3 for the player in me d) Kindle for the voracious reader and e) I Phone as soon as I get successful in destroying my current mobile
6 – Reduce six kgs. of my weight; all the more better if the entire six kgs. gets reduced from my waist
7 – Seven hours of charity. Number is unimportant, intention is not.
8 – Eight percent easy home loan from SBI. My cash flow model suggests lakhs of savings.
9 – Nine months to fatherhood – well perhaps…consensus is required!
10 – Read at least ten books in the year. It is not easy. You bet me!
If you have managed to read till here, I wish you and your family a safe, prosperous and happy new year. God Bless!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Why am I celebrating Christmas Today?
Have I been excited about the holiday season? Definitely yes…Has it been because of Christmas? Perhaps No…Do I celebrate Christmas? No…Do I know why is it celebrated? Perhaps Yes…Have I been turning Santa for a few special ones? Yes…
I have been thinking of these questions for some time now. Why am I celebrating Christmas? Why am I wishing Christmas to few and all, to colleagues, to drivers, to shopkeepers, to my wife and to my parents? Why I like getting snapped up in that little red and white santa cap? Why is my mother preparing the grand six egg cake today? Why do we have little Christmas trees all over the house? Why am I rhyming ‘jingle bells’ to my little niece? In a manner, I am celebrating…I am celebrating the spirit of Christmas. What’s the reason then? Why?
Is it because it’s truly a global festival; celebrated by majority of inhabitants of planet earth and I would like to be a partner in their joy? Perhaps not…Is it because that Indians by nature love chaos, love being boisterous and always search for a reason for celebration; no matter whatever be the occasion? Or is it a phenomenon being experienced only in select cities with higher per capita income? Perhaps…
I pondered and pondered and then celebrated. The reason most likely exists in the idea of India. The idea that binds us all together and wants us to celebrate happy times and share not so happy ones. This idea of a secular society which is expanding to every nook and corner of the world is the reason why I am celebrating Christmas; with the same vigour that I would celebrate Diwali. The idea is paying off. The idea of India that our leaders dreamt off is yielding results and I feel good just like you all.
A free day comes with all its thoughts which I scribbled right away as below:
Just when the little roadside boy needs a sweater,
Just when the impish child turns pale with hunger,
Just when the unreachable school needs a teacher,
Just when the patient needs clean drinking water,
Just when the farmer desires little drops of rain,
Just when small businesses look for making some gain,
Just when a martyrs’ hope of peace remain,
Just when the hatred rules …we need you again,
O Jesus! We need you again.
After reading this, my good old friend Jolly is going to say that ‘He is Everywhere’ and we just need to be true to ourselves. And I agree…
Merry Christmas to you All My Friends
I have been thinking of these questions for some time now. Why am I celebrating Christmas? Why am I wishing Christmas to few and all, to colleagues, to drivers, to shopkeepers, to my wife and to my parents? Why I like getting snapped up in that little red and white santa cap? Why is my mother preparing the grand six egg cake today? Why do we have little Christmas trees all over the house? Why am I rhyming ‘jingle bells’ to my little niece? In a manner, I am celebrating…I am celebrating the spirit of Christmas. What’s the reason then? Why?
Is it because it’s truly a global festival; celebrated by majority of inhabitants of planet earth and I would like to be a partner in their joy? Perhaps not…Is it because that Indians by nature love chaos, love being boisterous and always search for a reason for celebration; no matter whatever be the occasion? Or is it a phenomenon being experienced only in select cities with higher per capita income? Perhaps…
I pondered and pondered and then celebrated. The reason most likely exists in the idea of India. The idea that binds us all together and wants us to celebrate happy times and share not so happy ones. This idea of a secular society which is expanding to every nook and corner of the world is the reason why I am celebrating Christmas; with the same vigour that I would celebrate Diwali. The idea is paying off. The idea of India that our leaders dreamt off is yielding results and I feel good just like you all.
A free day comes with all its thoughts which I scribbled right away as below:
Just when the little roadside boy needs a sweater,
Just when the impish child turns pale with hunger,
Just when the unreachable school needs a teacher,
Just when the patient needs clean drinking water,
Just when the farmer desires little drops of rain,
Just when small businesses look for making some gain,
Just when a martyrs’ hope of peace remain,
Just when the hatred rules …we need you again,
O Jesus! We need you again.
After reading this, my good old friend Jolly is going to say that ‘He is Everywhere’ and we just need to be true to ourselves. And I agree…
Merry Christmas to you All My Friends
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Tantalizingly Close: An Idiot
I now feel like an idiot. When I succumbed to slumber last night, I felt irritated, anxious and praying. Before I continue further to my state of mind, I need to recommend Times of India’s Crest Edition and Mint’s Lounge Edition. They are now on my Saturday definite reads list.
So why am I feeling the way I am? Well, I read Raju Hirani’s interview in one of those newspapers and tell you what …it did not read nice.
Hirani showcased his style of film making and how important the message and plot are for his ventures. As I read on, I really liked the idea he worked on during Munnabhai MBBS and Lage Raho Munnabhai. In the first venture, he wanted to present as to how doctors can be more compassionate while in the second he wanted to peel the make-up off citizens who abuse Gandhi about his brand of nation (un)building but do not stand a chance when prodded further on their thinking. I appreciate Hirani’s work and went on reading further. I felt good from within.
Then I read about his new film – 3 Idiots. Loosely based on Chetan Bhagat’s ‘Five Point Someone’, Hirani explained how he has developed the screenplay. He explained how five point was just a slice of life and how he developed the ‘plot’ which is inherently the heart in the art of movie making. I felt nicer as Hirani went further to drop in a few hints on the storyline. But my heart tanked as I further read Hirani’s words – ‘So the story is about three guys in Delhi IIT who are not so interested in studies. The film has two time spans – what happened to the three protagonists after they left. Two go in search of the third. At the centre of it is the love story…’ I confess that my book also has two time spans separated by a decade, is about close friends, is about search, has a decade old love story…and what not. I felt cheated as I read Hirani’s words time and again. The motivation to continue writing further ( I am three chapters old out of possible eight) died down and ebbed away as I had small blasts of interrupted sleeps.
Self-motivation is one of most important aspects in any work one pursues. I am learning this fine art these days and it took me good ten hours to re-motivate myself. I still have keyboard with me and I have planned to tweak the storyline if Hirani wants to follow me. My plot - Still a Love story, still some search, still about college but still not that way…
I am still motivated to complete the book…no matter how long it takes and so what if the manuscript keeps residing on the hard disk for time unknown. This will just be for my friends who will read a chapter or two on some lazy Saturday evening.
P.S. While I am eager to watch this movie next weekend, I just hope Boman Irani’s character doesn’t resemble the character ‘TARANA’ of my book (Mr. T.A. Rana who is not a professor...but a lawyer L)
So why am I feeling the way I am? Well, I read Raju Hirani’s interview in one of those newspapers and tell you what …it did not read nice.
Hirani showcased his style of film making and how important the message and plot are for his ventures. As I read on, I really liked the idea he worked on during Munnabhai MBBS and Lage Raho Munnabhai. In the first venture, he wanted to present as to how doctors can be more compassionate while in the second he wanted to peel the make-up off citizens who abuse Gandhi about his brand of nation (un)building but do not stand a chance when prodded further on their thinking. I appreciate Hirani’s work and went on reading further. I felt good from within.
Then I read about his new film – 3 Idiots. Loosely based on Chetan Bhagat’s ‘Five Point Someone’, Hirani explained how he has developed the screenplay. He explained how five point was just a slice of life and how he developed the ‘plot’ which is inherently the heart in the art of movie making. I felt nicer as Hirani went further to drop in a few hints on the storyline. But my heart tanked as I further read Hirani’s words – ‘So the story is about three guys in Delhi IIT who are not so interested in studies. The film has two time spans – what happened to the three protagonists after they left. Two go in search of the third. At the centre of it is the love story…’ I confess that my book also has two time spans separated by a decade, is about close friends, is about search, has a decade old love story…and what not. I felt cheated as I read Hirani’s words time and again. The motivation to continue writing further ( I am three chapters old out of possible eight) died down and ebbed away as I had small blasts of interrupted sleeps.
Self-motivation is one of most important aspects in any work one pursues. I am learning this fine art these days and it took me good ten hours to re-motivate myself. I still have keyboard with me and I have planned to tweak the storyline if Hirani wants to follow me. My plot - Still a Love story, still some search, still about college but still not that way…
I am still motivated to complete the book…no matter how long it takes and so what if the manuscript keeps residing on the hard disk for time unknown. This will just be for my friends who will read a chapter or two on some lazy Saturday evening.
P.S. While I am eager to watch this movie next weekend, I just hope Boman Irani’s character doesn’t resemble the character ‘TARANA’ of my book (Mr. T.A. Rana who is not a professor...but a lawyer L)
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