Deepti L. Sharma's Blog, page 2
May 16, 2020
Another Coviode
The zephyrs were pleased
The gaping skyhole sealed
Bowels of the waters
Finally cleansed
Spring in the turtle flaps
The cuckoo piercingly squawks
Cocking its head, "Caged?"
It seemingly asks
It was one against ten million
But the others were mere minions
Dried, depleted, resources drained
Was earth just man's dominion?
Cure for the earth, curse for the ruler
Came a vicious invisible intruder
Pulling down the despot to his knees
A fate befitting the abuser?
Shall we win? What if we do?
Toast to our older greedier hue?
Or dare we hope of lessons learnt..
A golden earth that did pull through
The gaping skyhole sealed
Bowels of the waters
Finally cleansed
Spring in the turtle flaps
The cuckoo piercingly squawks
Cocking its head, "Caged?"
It seemingly asks
It was one against ten million
But the others were mere minions
Dried, depleted, resources drained
Was earth just man's dominion?
Cure for the earth, curse for the ruler
Came a vicious invisible intruder
Pulling down the despot to his knees
A fate befitting the abuser?
Shall we win? What if we do?
Toast to our older greedier hue?
Or dare we hope of lessons learnt..
A golden earth that did pull through
May 14, 2020
A Coviode...
The roads were empty, so were the skies
Hope reflecting in tired eyes
They walked home with fear as headloads
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Where they had toiled, where they had sweated
Where they had dreamed, there they were gutted
That land spat them out when came the viroids
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Crushed and bloodied, battered and hungry
Gored, devastated, embittered, angry
Countering the demons, questioning the gods
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Those who had once built and created
How could they lie thus mutilated?
Far from peace, far from abodes
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Hope reflecting in tired eyes
They walked home with fear as headloads
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Where they had toiled, where they had sweated
Where they had dreamed, there they were gutted
That land spat them out when came the viroids
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Crushed and bloodied, battered and hungry
Gored, devastated, embittered, angry
Countering the demons, questioning the gods
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
Those who had once built and created
How could they lie thus mutilated?
Far from peace, far from abodes
'Tis been long since I gave in to odes
April 30, 2020
The Fiction vs. Non-Fiction Debate
Many an elite reader I've met tends to look down upon fiction. 'Fiction?' they'll say, and wrinkle their noses as if talking about a worm. 'Why, no, I've no time for that.' Essay collections, biographies, self-help books are more their cup of tea than humble fiction.
And yet if you ask me, the formative impact that the fiction genre has had over me is immense. I am whatever I am today thanks to this genre. While the non-fiction genre doubtlessly yields the promised pearls of wisdom, the works of fiction hardly fall far behind. For you see, everything obtained overtly from the non-fiction genre is available to be gleaned covertly from the fiction books. Be it studies in character or events in history, discoveries in science or tenets of social theory - fiction has a unique way of stealing up to your blindside and fixating these units of knowledge into the folds of your cerebrum more effectively than their straightforward rendition. So fiction entertains while it informs, engages while it enlightens. If non-fiction is the distillate, fiction is the art of distilling. My vote for fiction, for in this case, the distillation and the distillate both are mine!
And yet if you ask me, the formative impact that the fiction genre has had over me is immense. I am whatever I am today thanks to this genre. While the non-fiction genre doubtlessly yields the promised pearls of wisdom, the works of fiction hardly fall far behind. For you see, everything obtained overtly from the non-fiction genre is available to be gleaned covertly from the fiction books. Be it studies in character or events in history, discoveries in science or tenets of social theory - fiction has a unique way of stealing up to your blindside and fixating these units of knowledge into the folds of your cerebrum more effectively than their straightforward rendition. So fiction entertains while it informs, engages while it enlightens. If non-fiction is the distillate, fiction is the art of distilling. My vote for fiction, for in this case, the distillation and the distillate both are mine!
April 13, 2020
Musings on Writing and Publishing
I suppose it is a quandary all indie authors face. Here we are, brimming with words that threaten to choke us if we don't type them out fast enough. Words that torture us with the promise of creative fulfilment that would be ours if we could only get those brutes out of our heads and onto paper. I tell you, these words in our heads - they have minds of their own. But these words, ah, they aren't content with merely coming out of the author's system. They are mightily egoistic beings who want to be recognized for their worth, applauded for their profoundness, loved for their splendour.
Now here lies the problem. How do these words, these naughty germinations from a fertile author brain, blithely assume they have the worth, the profoundness, the splendour they are seeking recognition for? Does the author, their creator decide that? Ah, no! That timid, unfortunate creature, the indie author, is far too wrapped up in the cloud of his self-consciousness. Those words - they aren't merely words, they are parts of him, parts of his soul, that have burst out of him because he could hardly contain them. He's scared what unmentionable square millimetre of his thoughts has been revealed by these words. No, the assignment of worth must come from others.
Er, others, did you say? Which others may I ask? For an indie author always bears the cross of rejection sensitivity. What if, he asks of himself, what if that trusted friend of his was too bored reading what he wrote and is too polite to let him know? What if he wrote sheer junk and the literary agent sent the manuscript to the shredder without bothering to pen him a reply? What really lay behind the publisher's politely worded rejection letter?
They say the reading public is the best judge. True - but where is the reading public? With attention deficit rearing its ugly head, with video content streaming on everyone's bandwidth, are there enough readers? And if there are, what are they reading? Are they likely to read what the indie author is writing?
Oh dear, and here it is that the poor indie author applies brakes on his thoughts. Was he designing a product for a market? No! Wasn't he allowing his literary instincts a free rein? Herein lies the conflict - an introvert author moonlighting as a flamboyant marketing executive?
G B Shaw had famously said that "I write for the same reason a cow gives milk." Well, cow milk is sold. But females across the 5500 odd mammal species on the earth give milk. So does it become the indie author's job to - well, I apologize as it sounds gross - not only produce the milk but also market his milk so skilfully that he destabilizes the demand for cow milk? Or does he just live in the hope that someday at least some people's preference for milk will change?
Now here lies the problem. How do these words, these naughty germinations from a fertile author brain, blithely assume they have the worth, the profoundness, the splendour they are seeking recognition for? Does the author, their creator decide that? Ah, no! That timid, unfortunate creature, the indie author, is far too wrapped up in the cloud of his self-consciousness. Those words - they aren't merely words, they are parts of him, parts of his soul, that have burst out of him because he could hardly contain them. He's scared what unmentionable square millimetre of his thoughts has been revealed by these words. No, the assignment of worth must come from others.
Er, others, did you say? Which others may I ask? For an indie author always bears the cross of rejection sensitivity. What if, he asks of himself, what if that trusted friend of his was too bored reading what he wrote and is too polite to let him know? What if he wrote sheer junk and the literary agent sent the manuscript to the shredder without bothering to pen him a reply? What really lay behind the publisher's politely worded rejection letter?
They say the reading public is the best judge. True - but where is the reading public? With attention deficit rearing its ugly head, with video content streaming on everyone's bandwidth, are there enough readers? And if there are, what are they reading? Are they likely to read what the indie author is writing?
Oh dear, and here it is that the poor indie author applies brakes on his thoughts. Was he designing a product for a market? No! Wasn't he allowing his literary instincts a free rein? Herein lies the conflict - an introvert author moonlighting as a flamboyant marketing executive?
G B Shaw had famously said that "I write for the same reason a cow gives milk." Well, cow milk is sold. But females across the 5500 odd mammal species on the earth give milk. So does it become the indie author's job to - well, I apologize as it sounds gross - not only produce the milk but also market his milk so skilfully that he destabilizes the demand for cow milk? Or does he just live in the hope that someday at least some people's preference for milk will change?
November 29, 2019
A decade it has been
Once upon a time, I blogged. Blogged passionately, blogged immaturely about people and politics, blogged about matters relevant and irrelevant, blogged about everything under the sun. Blogged to the appreciation of a select few readers, but blogged without a care, without any expectations!
And then I stopped blogging. It happened almost suddenly. Though I cannot pinpoint a reliable cause for the same, this stoppage of me blogging did coincide with a life-changing event of sorts - my marriage, no less!
No, my worse half never put any barriers in the path of an ardent blogger. It was just the opposite! Have never found a more appreciative non-reader of my write-ups than my husband! Ah, but that's neither here nor there.
It is just that the ardent blogger began to get less and less time for her blogging - nay - thinking sufficiently about matters so as to blog about them.
Prior to my marriage I was a researcher in ecology, meandering aimlessly through my PhD, not bothering that an Agatha Christie novel read between experiments or a Chandrakanta translated bit-by-bit between field visits was a 'bhaste of time.'
Post my marriage, I did come under pressure to finish my research work fast, so as to be able to move to my husband's town. Which meant all the little grey cells concentrating on a big fat thesis. Once that actionable was ticked, there loomed on my horizon the responsibility of my first job, my bit in earning our daily bread. That meant even less time for thinking and blogging.
And then the real deal happened with not one but two kids! A couple of angels with their dripping nappies and leaky milk bottles. Never had the laptop, that partner in crime throughout all of my blogging, felt more threatened - its very decided space on my lap was now occupied by more legitimate squatters.
How time flies! In the last few years, the exacting job of mine has been replaced by a slightly more relaxed option of running my own show. And the two who were scrambling atop my lap have gone on to possessing their own notebooks! A decade it has been!
So back to the blog? New beginnings? New thoughts? Why not!
And then I stopped blogging. It happened almost suddenly. Though I cannot pinpoint a reliable cause for the same, this stoppage of me blogging did coincide with a life-changing event of sorts - my marriage, no less!
No, my worse half never put any barriers in the path of an ardent blogger. It was just the opposite! Have never found a more appreciative non-reader of my write-ups than my husband! Ah, but that's neither here nor there.
It is just that the ardent blogger began to get less and less time for her blogging - nay - thinking sufficiently about matters so as to blog about them.
Prior to my marriage I was a researcher in ecology, meandering aimlessly through my PhD, not bothering that an Agatha Christie novel read between experiments or a Chandrakanta translated bit-by-bit between field visits was a 'bhaste of time.'
Post my marriage, I did come under pressure to finish my research work fast, so as to be able to move to my husband's town. Which meant all the little grey cells concentrating on a big fat thesis. Once that actionable was ticked, there loomed on my horizon the responsibility of my first job, my bit in earning our daily bread. That meant even less time for thinking and blogging.
And then the real deal happened with not one but two kids! A couple of angels with their dripping nappies and leaky milk bottles. Never had the laptop, that partner in crime throughout all of my blogging, felt more threatened - its very decided space on my lap was now occupied by more legitimate squatters.
How time flies! In the last few years, the exacting job of mine has been replaced by a slightly more relaxed option of running my own show. And the two who were scrambling atop my lap have gone on to possessing their own notebooks! A decade it has been!
So back to the blog? New beginnings? New thoughts? Why not!
August 16, 2008
God Tussi Remake Ho!
No, no, no. I have not wasted time, money and energy actually watching this. Nah, I have just donned the smart-alecky pants of a lazy reviewer and written this piece based on mere impression. Infact I shouldn't have bothered writing an original review at all. A copy-pasted one would have served this xerox alright.
If ever a movie screamed about being a re-make, this Salman flick does so. The title and the poster themselves gave me my first deja vu feeling. Amitabh has played Moragan Freeman so many times - basically because he is the only one in Mumbai who can do so - his doing so one more time gave me my second indication. And then of course there were the promos that did the rest.
I am way too tired writing the same things about the interesting concepts that Indian filmmakers have about intellectual property, creativity and originality. I am not going to waste any more web space. What I alreday wasted is useless enough. Cheerio, guys, and go watch Jim Carey again. And again.
If ever a movie screamed about being a re-make, this Salman flick does so. The title and the poster themselves gave me my first deja vu feeling. Amitabh has played Moragan Freeman so many times - basically because he is the only one in Mumbai who can do so - his doing so one more time gave me my second indication. And then of course there were the promos that did the rest.
I am way too tired writing the same things about the interesting concepts that Indian filmmakers have about intellectual property, creativity and originality. I am not going to waste any more web space. What I alreday wasted is useless enough. Cheerio, guys, and go watch Jim Carey again. And again.
July 25, 2008
Wielding the juggernaut - circus over, challenge begins
Now that the nuke deal is nearly initialed on the dotted line, one begins to feel twinges of misapprehension. Have you come across tales of a couple awaiting a baby for years and years, and then when the son turned out to be a blackguard of the first water, wishing they hadn't hoped for his birth. You begin to fathom what I am trying to hint?
There has already been enough passed on as to how the deal is not a bed of roses all the way and has its gray areas by the kilometers. We know the nuclear power shall not be cheap, as we shall be buying technology and raw materials from the wealthy west. We know India's foreign policy shall be under the microscope of the international watchdogs and an atom bomb shall not be born in our arsenals, much to the glee of our pleasant, friendly neighbours.
However, my concern is none of the above real or imagined reasons. My motivation is a purely personal one at the moment where fear for my own skin is the inspiration behind the blog.
Think and project - are we, as a nation, as a people, capable of maintaining nuclear reactors? A nation where municipality taps miss maintenance, roads cave in, bridges fall, trains bang head-on, airforce planes crash and rocket launches fail. A nation where non-issues mar the real crux of the matter all the time, where corruption reigns, where criminal politicos run elections from jail, illiterate housewives rule states, below par candidates on reservation seats try to manage public offices. A nation that fairly bends double under the weighty threats of terror attacks from nearly all its neighbours.
Is such a nation capable of handling several nuclear reactors safely?
Pranab Mukherji mentioned that winning over the trust vote was the easier part of the deal. How right is he, albeit I am taking his words in another sense.
Most probably I am behaving like a gypsy gone crazy and perhaps tomorrow I shall laugh at this web log of mine. But meanwhile, pledge to be exta-careful, India, lest a Chernobyl happens here.
There has already been enough passed on as to how the deal is not a bed of roses all the way and has its gray areas by the kilometers. We know the nuclear power shall not be cheap, as we shall be buying technology and raw materials from the wealthy west. We know India's foreign policy shall be under the microscope of the international watchdogs and an atom bomb shall not be born in our arsenals, much to the glee of our pleasant, friendly neighbours.
However, my concern is none of the above real or imagined reasons. My motivation is a purely personal one at the moment where fear for my own skin is the inspiration behind the blog.
Think and project - are we, as a nation, as a people, capable of maintaining nuclear reactors? A nation where municipality taps miss maintenance, roads cave in, bridges fall, trains bang head-on, airforce planes crash and rocket launches fail. A nation where non-issues mar the real crux of the matter all the time, where corruption reigns, where criminal politicos run elections from jail, illiterate housewives rule states, below par candidates on reservation seats try to manage public offices. A nation that fairly bends double under the weighty threats of terror attacks from nearly all its neighbours.
Is such a nation capable of handling several nuclear reactors safely?
Pranab Mukherji mentioned that winning over the trust vote was the easier part of the deal. How right is he, albeit I am taking his words in another sense.
Most probably I am behaving like a gypsy gone crazy and perhaps tomorrow I shall laugh at this web log of mine. But meanwhile, pledge to be exta-careful, India, lest a Chernobyl happens here.
July 22, 2008
Muck and Dirt and Shit. Or just Politics
"As Lalu Yadav said earlier during the debate, many members of the house do not know much about the Indo-US civilian nuclear deal, I happen to be one of them." So admitted Mehbooba Mufti of People's Democractic Party.
Waah bhai waah! I have been hearing this sarcastic rendition since childhood - "Saari Ramayan khatam ho gayi to poochhte ho Sita kiski biwi thi?" (After the entire Ramayan was over, you asked whose wife was Sita anyway?). Never had I thought I would get such a live example of the same over National TV. Here is the entire country going gaga about the deal. Even the fruit vendor I came across yesterday was discussing the deal with me, and here we have an MP if you please, thumping her chest with affected, self-righteous honesty and exposing her utter ignorance. Aargh! What on earth do I say?
Meet Shibu Soren. A man accused of master-minding a murder. He now stands tall with the Coal Ministry probably in his pocket. There goes Amar Singh, being openly accused of buying MPs for money. Mr. Advani is so desperate for one term as PM he will touch lower and lower depths of dis-integrity. Man! I am tired of slapping my palm against my forehead.
Consider the utter, arrant, total, self-absorbing IDIOCY of our MPs - while just-out-of-high school Rahul Gandhi was making a speech about the stamina and fighting spirit of a Vidarbha widow Kalavati, the BSP objected saying her name was too close to the name of their chief Mayawati!!!!!!!!!! Imagine that the ruckus created over this forced the Lok Sabha to be adjourned for an hour and after it resumed, Gandhi had to refer to his heroine only as Mrs. Kala!!!!!!!! Have our MPs done a doctorate in raising non-issues? What did they think, this was a national circus going on where they were to act as clowns to provide tax-free entertainment to the gareeb junta?
61 years of Independence and here we stand. Atop a moral quicksand where truth gets sucked in so fast you hardly ever see it. Why has integrity gone out of fashion? Why aren't there any ideologies left? So right was Shashi Tharoor when he likened Democracy with Draupadi. Isn't she being mauled and insulted and raped everyday in front of and by its so-called custodians? Shame, shame on each one of us. Not one of us ought to spare himself the blame of bringing India down chin-deep into this horse shit.
Give me a break, someone! Please!
Waah bhai waah! I have been hearing this sarcastic rendition since childhood - "Saari Ramayan khatam ho gayi to poochhte ho Sita kiski biwi thi?" (After the entire Ramayan was over, you asked whose wife was Sita anyway?). Never had I thought I would get such a live example of the same over National TV. Here is the entire country going gaga about the deal. Even the fruit vendor I came across yesterday was discussing the deal with me, and here we have an MP if you please, thumping her chest with affected, self-righteous honesty and exposing her utter ignorance. Aargh! What on earth do I say?
Meet Shibu Soren. A man accused of master-minding a murder. He now stands tall with the Coal Ministry probably in his pocket. There goes Amar Singh, being openly accused of buying MPs for money. Mr. Advani is so desperate for one term as PM he will touch lower and lower depths of dis-integrity. Man! I am tired of slapping my palm against my forehead.
Consider the utter, arrant, total, self-absorbing IDIOCY of our MPs - while just-out-of-high school Rahul Gandhi was making a speech about the stamina and fighting spirit of a Vidarbha widow Kalavati, the BSP objected saying her name was too close to the name of their chief Mayawati!!!!!!!!!! Imagine that the ruckus created over this forced the Lok Sabha to be adjourned for an hour and after it resumed, Gandhi had to refer to his heroine only as Mrs. Kala!!!!!!!! Have our MPs done a doctorate in raising non-issues? What did they think, this was a national circus going on where they were to act as clowns to provide tax-free entertainment to the gareeb junta?
61 years of Independence and here we stand. Atop a moral quicksand where truth gets sucked in so fast you hardly ever see it. Why has integrity gone out of fashion? Why aren't there any ideologies left? So right was Shashi Tharoor when he likened Democracy with Draupadi. Isn't she being mauled and insulted and raped everyday in front of and by its so-called custodians? Shame, shame on each one of us. Not one of us ought to spare himself the blame of bringing India down chin-deep into this horse shit.
Give me a break, someone! Please!
July 10, 2008
Who let the cat out (of the bag)?
Now we smell a rat, we do.
The UPA Government was blamed robustly for its alleged opacity in keeping the nuke deal text as big a secret as the face of a newly wed Hindu bride of yore.
And then the text was plunged in toto on an American website.
And then the IAEA spokesperson Melissa Fleming claimed sheer absence of any restrictions on the publicizing of the treaty.
Seems like our ruling party is having a severe egg-on-the-face trouble. And not just any egg, but that of an ostrich. And everyone who can, is having all the fun he can have with this egg, churning and churning it to make proper eggnog.
But while everyone else is preoccupied with reading between the lines of the agreement, here is our query - who was it that made the text public? And why?Since we have no idea of the truth, let's make a volley of speculations. Well perhaps not a volley, to be exact 'cause I can think of a mere two -
A random event? If so, the co-incidence couldn't have been timed better.
Left and/or the BJP? If so, I ought to give them more credit for their overseas ties. I guess their MPs must be actually doing something during their trips abroad.
More options, are there any?
The UPA Government was blamed robustly for its alleged opacity in keeping the nuke deal text as big a secret as the face of a newly wed Hindu bride of yore.
And then the text was plunged in toto on an American website.
And then the IAEA spokesperson Melissa Fleming claimed sheer absence of any restrictions on the publicizing of the treaty.
Seems like our ruling party is having a severe egg-on-the-face trouble. And not just any egg, but that of an ostrich. And everyone who can, is having all the fun he can have with this egg, churning and churning it to make proper eggnog.
But while everyone else is preoccupied with reading between the lines of the agreement, here is our query - who was it that made the text public? And why?Since we have no idea of the truth, let's make a volley of speculations. Well perhaps not a volley, to be exact 'cause I can think of a mere two -
A random event? If so, the co-incidence couldn't have been timed better.
Left and/or the BJP? If so, I ought to give them more credit for their overseas ties. I guess their MPs must be actually doing something during their trips abroad.
More options, are there any?
