Penniless in London

I think I am on the verge of another experiment in my life. One that might make or break me. 

I made an important discovery today. My wallet is empty. 

My next live-in job starts on Sep 1st and till then, I am broke. Completely, utterly broke. All my money has been spent on job-hunting and surviving, and I am at a position where I can rub shoulders with a discreet Zen beggar.

Pluses: I have a roof over my head, food three times a day, a wifi laptop on loan, a library in walkable distance, and a phone that can take incoming calls.

Minus: No money, not even a penny, in my wallet.

One more week to go till I see cash notes in my life. Can I survive? Is it even possible to claim to enjoy life without money? 

As I said, this is going to be a most important week in my life. As I looked into my empty wallet, my whole life flashed before my eye. My passions, my hatreds, my previous jobs, my weaknesses, my strengths my vice, my virtues... almost each of them had involved money, directly or indirectly. Can I remain intact, physically and mentally, for a week without the green notes?

Let's find out.

Back in London

This time, with my mother.  One month of sightseeing and job-hunting. 

I don't think I will have much time to update this blog, let alone check mail frequently (I still don't have a laptop). Weekdays for jobhunting and weekends for sightseeing - a hectic schedule that is surely going to be exhauting.

But I am happy I have got some one with me to share London with. VERY Happy. 

Trust me, the more the see the world, the less you wish to see it alone. 

Leaving Kanpur

The first ever science fiction writing workshop in India (Jun 15 - Jul 3, 2009) came to an end today, with a nice party on the front-yard of Suchithra Mathur's apartment.

We sang, laughed, drank, ate, and exchanged ambitions, plans and email addresses. Full of hope and contentment, took a final midnight walk in the campus of IIT, Kanpur.

Tomorrow, I leave in the early morning to Delhi, for a shopping weekend. I have a meagre budget of Rs. 2000, but I am sure I can buy a lot in Janpath market. 

We reached our hostel and waved at the guys, who are on their way to the men's hostel. It will be a long time before we could all meet again, but for now, we smile and say good night. 

I didn't go to class today :(.

I am unwell. I feel dizzy when I stood up or moved fast, and spent the whole day in bed. Is it the heat or as my friends suggested, is something wrong with my blood pressure? Got to do something about this when I go back to Chennai.

When I had my rest and woke up, I started thinking about my writing. If not for anything, I will forever remember this workshop for making me feel good about myself. I never thought I had it in me to write fiction, yet in the past 2 weeks, I have written three stories and all three were praised (even though only one of them is my personal favorite!). I am almost reluctant to submit them to magazines, because I want to keep them in my documents folder and savour their presence... they are the proof that I have "matured" from writing for children to writing for adults...

Meanwhile, here are some well-reputed magazines that pay good money for good stories:

Narrative magazine - http://narrativemagazine.com/shared/submit.php
Pays $350-$1000

Glimmertrain (reading period starts frm July 1) Standard submission - http://www.glimmertrain.com/writguid1.html
Pays $700

The Antigonish Review (reading period starts frm Sep 1) - http://www.antigonishreview.com/submissions.html
Pays $100

Malahat Review - http://malahatreview.ca/submission_guidelines.html
Pays $40 per page

The Pedestal magazine - http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/submitguidelines.php
Pays: $.08 per word

More magazines here - http://www.pw.org/literary_magazines?apage=*

Introducing Vandana Singh

Today, Vandana Singh joined us as the 3rd instructor of the workshop.

Vandana is the "scientist" in the trio of Gurus who have been enlightening us in the past 3 weeks. Despite possessing a Ph.D. in theoretical particle physics and teaching at a small-town college in USA, she writers speculative fiction and has published a number of stories. She is also the author of the Younguncle series of children's books.

Due to an unfortunate accident in the loo, I arrived late for the class. I couldn't take part in the exercise but I really enjoyed the rest of the class. Who knew learning about gravity could be so easy? I wish my teaches back in school were this gentle and patient!

And oh, she had another interesting exercise - we had to take a proven scientific fact and retell it as a mythology story. I had a ball writing this one and my entry "The Monkey's Bargain" was praised as one of the best.

I am happy!

Of Chaats and Children

Tonight was the chaat party at the PBCEC building at IIT-K. Lots of pani puris and tikki chaats and gulab jamuns. And vanilla ice cream too!

Be it a get-together or a conference, if they are not friends or family, I don't mingle with the crowd. I know - this totally kills the concept of networking, which is crucial to a writer, especially to a broke one. But that's the way I am, and I have tried a lot, but I could never, ever make small talk or inane talk or intelligent talk. I have just come to terms with it and stopped agonising about it.

But this party at IIT-K was a slight exception. My classmates were such an outrageous lot (think ADHD kids on drugs) that it was impossible to hide from them. So while I successfully avoided mingling with the faculty (not by choice; there is something about me that makes members of academia run for cover), I spent quite some time "chaating" with Himanshu and Akshat.

After an hour, it became apparent that 8pm is the limit for IIT parties, which elicited collective groans from the aforementioned hyper classmates. Just when we were about to leave, Himashu noticed a chubby boy, around 9, sitting alone in a corner of the lawn. I had noticed him earler, and Himanshu succeeded in what I wanted to do - he steered out little group towards the boy and sat near him.

Like a typical IIT kid, he was relaxed and quietly confident. He answered our questions patiently and commented casually about the heat. He had a very adult-like way of nodding his head when speaking, and I felt the familiar rush of compassion and delight that I feel these days for kids. I wanted to hug him and sit with him and play a game of chess, take him to the zoo this weekend, and may be exchange email ids and years down the lane, advice him which country to go during his gap year.

It is during times like these that I remember my age - very, very close to the big 3-oh. The clock is loudest when I see children sitting alone or being quietly brave. I never simper over babies - in fact, being the OB I am, I don't even like being responsible enough to care for babies - but older children always make me sad. In a hearbeat, they turn the corner to find Teensville and acquire precocious (even cynical) wisdom, but when they are still at middle school and believe in Famous Five, they are innocense personified, a rare feat and sight in the world.

Science Fiction workshop 2009, IIT Kanpur

So far, great.

The 1st batch is a mixture of late teens, young people, and above 30 category. We had a journalist, a lecturer, a copy editor, a moleculor biologist, few IIT students, and a newspaper columnist amidst us.

The mornings (9am-1pm) are spent in critiquing each other's stories, and the afternoons (2:30pm-5:30pm) in theory and writing exercises. This is EXACTLY what I wished I had as a college experience when I was younger. Anil Menon is an awesome workshop facilitator and I am glad, GLAD to have taken the plunge and come here from London.

Finally at Kanpur

We arrived at 7am in Kanpur but the train actually stopped at the station only at 8:15pm. It took us an hour to get from the station to IIT. On the way, the roadscape looked so dismal and dry that I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

IIT Kanpur is pretty much like the Chennai one, may be more roads and lesser area of woods. It certainly was hot. The Girls Hostel building was all squares and corridors, not one curve in sight. Our room was compact, with two single beds, as Suneetha and I were sharing the room. One plus was that it was right opposite to the restrooms (later proved to be a godsend... when the heat wouldn't allow us to sleep, we would wake up at all sorts of hours and stand under the shower...)

I kind of crashed for some time, while Suneetha went ahead and attended the inaugrual function. I, as usual, went late and entered the AC hall to find Anil Menon doing a group writing exercise. (More about the workshop tomm)

Stranded

New Delhi Railway Station. AKA The Station from the Underbelly of Hell.

The minute there were seats available in Lichavi Express in the last 48 hours, I should have suspected something foul.

It was supposed to arrive at 3pm. It came at 1am the next day.

10 hours in crowded, hot NDLS with luggage and a thousand people sitting on the platform. Sitting, sleeping, eating, and in some cases pissing and shitting too. Add to that a sandstorm in the night, where everything, including our bodies, shone yellow.

Luckily, Suneetha and I parked our bums on a bench but you have NO idea how precarious our positions were. Eyes followed our every move, calculating when we would leave our bench. Scared witless about forsaking our bench and sitting amidst limbs and arms, we didn't even get up once in the 6 hours. Yep, no food or potty break.

There must be a reason why were were put through this. If there is, I haven't found it yet.

Though I have an entirely new appreciation for the people of DUNE.

I didn't have a camera with me...

... when a 5-year old child leaned against my arm and whispered her wish to become a rock star, her face shining in trust that I would never betray her big secret.

... when she held a duck race in her pink bathtub every evening, willing her favourite duckie to win, and pouting when he didn't.

... when she lead me to the trampoline on sunny days, patiently teaching me to jump, and screaming delightfully when we played 'Crocodile grab me' in mid air.

The life of a nanny is filled with such moments. The child you wake up in the morning and tuck in at the night is not yours. You cannot kiss or hug her, since at a wrong moment, it can be percieved as perverse. There is no bond between you and her, save for the bond of employment, a crisp exchange of notes every Friday evening, in return for infinite care and affection during the week.

The real parents, often absent due to work and recreation, are such a jealous lot that you have to constantly check in your emotions and behave like a strict governess, instead of the indulgent nanny - otherwise, the child would love you more, which will render you jobless in a second.

It is impossible to take a picture of the child who has allowed you into her magical world and helped you rediscover innocence. You have to rely on your mind as the camera, and your memory as the storehouse for the pictures.

You can only hope that the pictures never get old.

What religion do I belong to?

Some of my friends wonder - am I going to covert to Christianity?

This is probably because I regularly go to Church these days.

My answer: Just because I enjoy eating in restaurants, doesn't mean that I am going to stop cooking at home. Or buy deli food and eat it in a park.

I am not an atheist - it cannot be all a big fat co-incidence. I do believe in a Higher Power. What I don't believe is giving it a name, restricting it to a certain colour and entering it in a race ("Who is the best of all?")

I like the bits and pieces from each religion.

I like to be in a Hindhu temple because of its serenity, but I do NOT like it the concept of a punishing God or when menstruating women are not allowed inside. I HATE it when saffron-clad swamijis live like Kings and own Benz cars, while middle class people donate their ancestral lands to religious organisations, in the name of donation.

I like the sermons of a Church, but I do NOT like when it preaches that Man is a sinner and he has to repent all his life for his sins. I don't buy that. If Man sinned, why hasn't God just destroyed the whole world in a rage? If He can be angry enough to banish His children from Eden, why not just terminate it all and start afresh?

I like Islam, because it is actually a peaceful religion. The Quran says "...whosoever killeth a human being... it shall be as if he had killed all mankind, and whoso saveth the life of one, it shall be as if he had saved the life of all mankind... (5:32). But I do not like the burka, or the fact that it is the cradle of modern terrorism.

Buddhism, Jewish principles, Native American Beliefs... I pick the good things from all religion and shape my spirituality. Only in this way, I can get as much as possible from all religions.

This may sound blasphemous for some, but it is what works for me the best. I firmly believe that each person has to form his/her own manner of prayer and worship to his/her God.

Farewell to my 10-year old cat

The second I heard my mom's quivering voice on the phone, I knew you were dead.

It is crazy that you chose to die of kidney failure just one month before i was due to return back home.

I’m so heartbroken for not being there with you… I am wondering what bad karma i had, to be excluded from your last moments on earth...

I have always been pragmatic about death. I probably would not cry if any of my friends or family dies. It is pointless to even cry, because we all are going to die anyway.

But I never even imagined a situation where I would miss the moment of farewell. That, to me, is worse than death, and trust the Fates to know that beforehand and use it to cripple me...

I am so angry at my personal situation that required me to be in London during the past few months, away from you...

I am feeling guilty because mom told me how much u missed me the past few months and I didn't think about u much bcos of my study commitments...

I am feeling terrible bcos I remember how many times I went straight to my room from work, without giving you a cuddle... and the times you had to sleep alone in the living room, when you wanted to sleep in my bed, I wouldn’t let you bcos you shed too much... I am so sorry about that too...

Jojo, mom is crying non-stop bcos she feels that she should have noticed the symptoms earlier and taken you to the vet... and here in London I am unable to cry bcos I KNOW I caused your death... had I been in India, I would have whisked you off to the vet the minute you looked unwell...

And my one wish to have you cremated, so that I can have your ashes in a urn, was not destined to come true... you were buried in a community cremation ground... and the stupid laws in India forbid women to enter there... so it looks like I won't even be able to look at the spot you were buried...

i am wondering... is this a punishment from god for the way i have been slacking off in the past few years? I'm sure it is. Otherwise, why would you leave me so suddenly, after being my only companion for the past 10 years? My only friend who didn't care that I was fat, average and lived a life full of mistakes?

I know u lived a happy life with us, u certainly wouldn‘t have lasted more than a year in that neughbourhood we rescued you from… but it really hurts that I was not able to give you so many things that you deserved to have… like balanced food or regular vet visits... u never had a garden to run about or a toy to play with or a brush just for yourself... i'm very very sorry for that... this is one of the few times I hate being middle-class in India… where pet “expenses” are considered a sin and a nuisance…

At this stage, I can only mourn for what i didn't do for you... may be, when this pain becomes a little more bearable, i can think about the happy times I spent with you... how grave and zen-like you normally were yet would comically do some stunts to make us laugh… the way your heard would droop enduringly when you fall asleep sitting… and how you loved to snuggle in our armpits… and the way you hissed and boo’ed at the street dogs, from safety of our balcony…

And how you “spoke” to the crows and pigeons in our terrace… how you will jump on us if you can smell food from our palms, as we come home from a restaurant… how you would terrorise my mom if she was cooking fish, bullying her so much that she would give you the lion’s share of it… and the way you terminated the rats in the neighbourhood, holding them in your jaws and making everyone run away from you ferocious gait into your corner in the house…

And the most happy memory of you I have is how I used to pick u up and keep you on my chest, while I lay on the sofa, watching TV… how mom used to shout it was unhygienic and that you might scratch me… and how wild it drove her when I kissed you on your nose or head… but I’m so glad I didn’t think bloody hygiene, am so glad I have you some love, in return to the unconditional love you have me for the past 10 years…

Farewell, my sweetie, my purr bucket, my mojo jojo… named after the cranky monkey of powerpuff girls, which you used to see with us when we were kids… all I can ask for is your forgiveness… for leaving you alone during your twilight years…

In case you ever wondered why I was gone… if you are being born again, please come into my life once again… I will know it is you if I can ever bear to touch another cat again…

------

A sign... may be?

I attended the sunday mass today, at El-Shaddai, Golders Green.

I was blown away by the sermon.

It was my first sermon, in a church that celebrated god with music and dance. When I entered, I was surprised to see that the interior looked like that of an opera hall. Huge TVs hung from the cerling, and an orchestra played in the stage. Then the worship started. Beautiful songs praising Jesus and the God. I can always appreciate a religion which includes singing and dancing in its worship.

After worship, the sermon started and for the first time in my life, I listened to a 2-hr lecture without yawning once. That, by itself, is an achievement!

Secondly, the topic of the sermon. Lately, I have been praying for some sign that I am on the right path... and I think I have been answered. The topic was about how God has specific plans for us, and he leads us from one place to another, which may seem confusing and pointless to us, but is all a part of the big plan for us.

Because we may be blown away if we see the big picture too soon, God leads us slowly, haltingly, from one place to another, over the course of days, weeks, months. It may seem frustrating, it may seem tedious, it may even seem fruitless, but if we are patient enough, we will be rewarded one day.

I have to tell you - I could kiss the pastor for this sermon. No one in my life before has EVER said anything this positive, this encouraging. Sure, this is a Christian sermon, but I don't care - for me, God is God, without fancy names. He can be called Jesus or Krishna or Buddha, but for me, God is the humble pastor in a church, who plants hope and joy in the hearts of desperate people.

El-Shaddai International Christian Centre
http://www.elshaddai.org.uk/thechurch.htm

29...

Happy birthday to me.

No. of Gifts: 3

Gifted by: Myself

----------------------
Gift no. 1: A (free) haircut
----------------------

It is a well-known fact that hairdressers in London are desperate for hair models. Gumtree.com is full of emails from the salons, looking for people to offer their (head) hair as a canvas for trainee hairdressers. The service is entirely free and perhaps my only chance on earth to use the services of top-end salons.

So I decided to volunteer my tresses and get a new look for my birthday. It took me nearly 20 minutes to find CITY CUTS. After alighting from St. James' Park, I stuttered and stumbled my way to the salon, which in reality is only a 5-min journey from the tube.

I admit, I was quaking when I sat on the salon chair. I have had so many horrifying haircuts in my life that I have almost lost any hope of getting a good one. Am I going to spoil my birthday now?

But it proved to be a great experience. Though the training happened in a cramped basement, the senior stylist was this cheerful guy who called everybody "darling" and immediately put me into ease. He listened patiently when I told him what I want for my fine, flyaway, super-thin and super-problematic hair, and he instructed an Italian intern to give me a graduated bob.

Yep, I had one.

And yep, it was sensational.

I am NEVER going back to long, stringy, limp hair. Ever.


----------------------
Gift no. 2: Buffet Lunch
----------------------
There is a road that's adjacent to Artillery Row (SW1), which is some kind of a flea market. I had a buffet lunch there, for 5 pounds. Not great, but not bad either - good enough for a fiver. I did miss not having dessert.


----------------------
Gift no. 3: The cheapest and most fabulous clothes shop in London
----------------------
Best part of the day - I discovered this great little shop FRENCH KISS, which had the most amazing clothes, all costing.... 5 pounds.

I am SO hitting it again as soon as I get my salary next week...

One of my fav web comics (quick read)

The Right Number is a projected three-part online graphic novella about math, sex, obsession and phone numbers presented in an unusual zooming format.

http://www.scottmccloud.com/1-webcomics/trn-intro/index.html

How do you really know if you are on the right road?

I am frustrated.

Because I do not know where I am going.

How do you know? Who shows you the path? Who tells you the way? What sign is revealed to you?

And how positive can you be that your eyes and ears will be open when some one shows you, tells you, signs you?

The more I progress, the more I get restless. The progress seemes increasinly meaningless to me.

So I can write. So I can write well. So I am published. So I am good looking, healthy, affluent... SO WHAT?

What is the purpose of it all?

I pray everyday for some sign, that I am here, in earth, for some kind of purpose. I hope I get it soon. There is no wait as torturous as waiting for your destiny.

Compliments and complaints

It happened again today. I was called downstairs around 9pm and shown some juice stains on the floor. "I know it's late and that this is a bit anal, but I pay a cleaner and I don't want to come home to a dirty kitchen," said my employer. "You have GOT to make sure that the place is spic and span after the kids' tea time."

I admit, I was caught off-guard. I thought of the countless number of times I have cleaned up in the past 3 months, both on weekdays..... and many weekend mornings too, when I am not paid to do it, just because I wanted to make their weekends a little easy. I thought how the kids would always ask me to make their tea and breakfast even during weekends, when I'm not working and how I gladly obliged them.

I thought of the way I spend a pound every week to get sweeties for them because they always ask me what I have got for them when I come home from a sunday outing. I thought of the times I went without dinner because her husband would come in from work just when I was about to eat and express interest in the food and I would have no choice but to offer my share.

Lastly, I thought of how my legs would ache after I run around every day, making dinner for three hungry kids and tidying up the kitchen as much as I could possibly do while helping them do their homework.

And I have to confess that I almost lost my temper.

But if my employer was anal about cleanliness, I'm anal about confrontations. I just gritted my teeth, smiled and told her, "Sure, I will clean it up tomorrow."

I realise now that what I should have said is, "I always tidy up everyday after tea time EVERY SINGLE DAY, but if the kids make a mess in the kitchen AFTER I retire to my room, there isn't much I can do."

Well, I will save it for another day. I really don't understand... How can a juice stain on the floor on the DINING ROOM mean a dirty kitchen? How can any one hope for a spic and span kitchen all the time when there are 3 children in the house?

And - this is a same-side goal, I know - WHY is it that one doesn't find any pleasure in routine compliments but gets upset on an occasional criticism? Yes, my employers have told me frequently that I'm doing a great job with the kids, and till now, all their (polite) complaints have been on the housekeeping part of mine.

But this is the best I can do! Seriously! I have never cleaned up so religiously in my entire life!

Oh well.

London Book Fair - nearly 30% off for online registration

The London Book Fair is the global marketplace for rights negotiation and the sale and distribution of content across print, audio, TV, film and digital channels. Ticket price is £40, but if you register online, you get £15 off!

Event schedule
http://www.londonbookfair.co.uk/page.cfm/Action=Seminars/t=m

I will be there on all four days, except for April 18.
Special guests:
James Patterson, bestselling author
Vikas Gupta
Anita Nair
William Darlymple
and many others

Registration at -

http://www.londonbookfair.co.uk/page.cfm/Action=Team/t=m

Resisting the urge to... advice

Some time ago, I emailed a writer, a fellow acquaintance, quite successful in the world of commercial writing. We used to be `email` pals so when I read her submissions in a critique group I belonged to, I wrote to her about how similar our lives are. I am a few years older than her, so I saw her, in the pattern of her life now, living in a situation which will be a huge impact on the next few decades. So I added a few sentences in my email about certain good and bad decisions I had taken in my life, and basically telling her to weigh in all pros and cons.

I certainly wasn't interfering or telling her what she should do with her life. I wish all the time that some one mentored me when I was young and stupid, so I really didn't think that I had crossed any limits - in my mind, I was simply sharing tips with a fellow writer from my country. She and I used to be quite pally-pally in the early days when we both were struggling freelancers, so I assumed that it's not out of line to send an email like that.

But I received no reply at all for that email, and since I knew the writer was relocating to another country during the time I mailed, I thought she was just too busy to keep track of her things. But I was surprised - I knew her email was working, so I always wondered what was up with that. Did I offend her with any of my comments?

If yes, I hoped she had replied back to me, instead of acting like a school girl. Because I found recently why she didn't reply my mail for a long time. I read a post in her blog, which was basically a rant against all people who sent her unwanted advice in email. It was obvious who she was hinting at - yours truly.

Now, possibly this person did get unsolicited email about her personal life and she has every right to hate them. Still, I was really hurt that my email - which, I swear to God, wasn't about gossip but was every bit genuine and full of friendly advice - too was classified as one of the irritating ones. If that was the case, then I would have appreciated a reply that said `Drop dead, Rads`, instead of a roundabout post in her blog, mocking all the people who emailed her (yes, she got a lot of emails - but that's what happens when you talk about your choices and your personal life all the time).

After reading her acerbic post, I wandered around a few days, feeling as if kicked in the shin, and gradually recovered. It is her loss that she is so full of herself she can't differentiate between genuine emails and gossipy ones. I have learned time and again that people change once they taste the fruits of success. It was my mistake to assume that this person would be the same as before, when she was up and coming.

And I, obviously being the wiser one, should learn to mind my business more.