Saturday 28 July 2018

My Last Duchess

For a long time, I was of the opinion that any form of art has to be purely original. I couldn't just bear to see any kind of resemblance from another work revealing itself in someone else's creation and somehow I was quick to note this kind of theiveries which bothered me and also discouraged me from showing any kind of reverence to the work, leave alone appreciating it .

I even remember having long conversations over a period of time with someone, debating that this was not right and the artist was just a thief who needed no form of recognition whatsoever. This applied to movies, songs, novels or any kind of art for that matter. And somehow I was deaf to whatever she had to say because of my overwhelming sense of self-righteousness at that point of time. One fine day, this other person must have come to the end of her rope and as a last attempt gifted a book by Salman Rushdie named "Haroun and the sea of stories" for my birthday and let it go. This was her final words, " If you read this book you'll understand that no form of art is 100% original". 

It's been ages now since this happened and of late I am in a way coming to grips with this whole idea of "inspiration" and the more I keep my mind open, the more I feel justified of the notion that no kind of art can be "unadulteratedly original". ( By the way, there's a world of difference between getting inspired and exactly reproducing someone else's work and claiming the credit for it.)

Now, a series of events had led me to the re-reading of the poem "My last duchess" by  Robert Browning. After reading the poem I realised that today the way I see whole the poem has completely changed. Today, I tend to see the duke objectively without judging him, which in turn has inspired me to come up with a story idea! I've been working on it for quite some time now and in the process of putting it to paper. And no, it's not going to be an exact reproduction of the duke's story or a retelling of any sort but I accept that it will be "inspired" by the poem.

Maybe the duchess also had a story to tell.. maybe the duke was having a bad day when narrating the story... maybe it's all right to say that all is fair in love and war....

And maybe getting inspired after all is not such a bad thing and could be totally unintentional too!

Lucrezia de' Medici, by Bronzino, generally believed to be My Last Duchess - source Wikipedia

Like I always tell "Every moment has it music" . I somehow relate this song to the story of the duke.

"A Time For Us"

Wednesday 28 March 2018

How to name it?!! :/

"அந்த சாலையில் நீ வந்து சேராமல்
6 degree-யில் என் பார்வை சாயாமல்,
விலகி போய்  இருந்தால் தொல்லை இல்லை,
இது வேண்டாத வேலை ...."

Sunday 11 February 2018

My first Kindle book

 I have published my short story on Kindle. 

Following is the blurb of my story,

It's 2920 A.D. The world hasn't still recovered from the devastation of the Great War, which was fought 400 years ago, killing billions of innocent people.

The South-Asian Union comprised of ancient India and China are ruled by the "Brotherhood" - a patriarchal society formed by veterans of the Great War.

In a society that considers women to be the fragile and weaker sex, Ruthra - a volatile combination of fire and beauty and her sisters are literally outcasts who look out for each other.

She has managed to kidnap Tommy Yeung - a corrupt and devious cop who has a dirty secret.

Who is Ruthra? What is she upto? Will she succeed? Can she be catalyst for a revolutionary change in a world that undermines women?

Read on. To meet Ruthra and her sisters and to join them on their quest.


You can read the sample pages for free by clicking on this link.

https://read.amazon.in/kp/embed?asin=B079JX2W3V&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_NNaGAbJN6WZKV

Thursday 9 November 2017

Poems written for "A girl I'll never understand"


" Your look sets my heart on fire,
Your indifference freezes me to death..."

***************
You hid the love you have for me,
behind a carefully constructed facade.
The reason for which, only you and God know...

***************
They tell me about phoenix,
They don't know how much you've hurt me
In spite of which I keep coming back to you every time...



Thursday 5 October 2017

Notice of Migration..!


I have decided to post my stories only on Wattpad. This blog will continue to remain active but it won't have my stories or poems. If you want to check out my stories please copy and paste the following link:

https://www.wattpad.com/478224778-a-girl-i%27ll-never-understand-chapter-1-aftermath

I 've started writing a new story series titled "A girl I'll never understand". It's a story about high school love. The following is the blurb of my story,

Is it true that  Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus? Are they really so different from each other? In this story Aisha, an easily offended  girl and Shiva, a thick-skinned guy meet up at a school. Shiva likes her but he doesn't know if she likes him back. She doesn't makes it easier for him either.

With a turn of events promising him nothing encouraging, the question still prevails, what does a girl really mean when she says no?

Saturday 11 March 2017

Aaromale, my beloved // Chapter 2 - Flashes



The flashes from the cameras almost blinded me, the  photographers didn't seem like they were going to stop anytime soon. I was forced to put on my shades to reduce the impact on my eyes. Gurumann was briefing me on how to politely proceed with the meeting . He  knew that I was like a volcano ready to erupt anytime. I was so distracted  by Avishka's presence, that I wasn't able to pay any attention to Gurumann. I couldn't stop myself from glaring at Avishka. He seemed relaxed and displayed  his Asian championship belt on his left shoulder, which actually  should have been mine. "Fucking cockroach!" I muttered. "Did you even hear a single word I said?!" Gurumann asked in an exasperated  tone of voice.

 
"I am… I am" I said. Avishka squinted at me while the promoters were presenting the reporters with the match details. He was 32 years old, had a dusky complexion, was muscular and had a Mohawk with a beard. His looks were intriguing, but this is not a Street fight and neither am I an amateur to be intimidated by these theatrical gimmicks! Appearances matter the least inside the ring. I knew that this clown was not comfortable in his own skin. I knew it because the bastard would not look me in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time, I could sniff his insecurities from yards away. During our last fight, while the referee listed the rules of the match, we were glaring  at each other like two dogs inside a pit, who are going to maul each other, it was at that moment that I noticed him turn away for a second. That one gesture spoke volumes, I knew that I would beat him. Eyes. they tell you a lot of things about a person.

"We'll start with Avishka," a reporter in the front said, "Avishka, how does it feel to hold Asia's greatest title? Did you believe that you would own it today if not for the accident?" I snickered. "It has been my dream to eventually hold this title one day, and obviously I am so glad that my dream has finally been realized. As for your other question. Yes, you idiots seem to  think that it was because of freak luck that I won this match but I'll prove it to each and everyone that it wasn't. You guys seem to have forgotten that  I  became the number one contender and have the most number of KO's in the last two seasons, more than your hero here". "But Dhruvah was in a hiatus then", the reporter didn't seem to give up. "There are no ifs and buts , don't give me your analysis, I've defeated him and the referee raised my hands up. If that's not enough then wait till December."

" Dhruvah, Dhruvah ..."  A bunch of reporters yelled at me  "one at a time please" Gurumann requested. A woman reporter shot her question at me "Dhruvah everyone knew how the fight progressed and who would have won, if it were not for the accident, how do you look at it?" "Well! That one fight gave me insomnia, but if you look at the bigger picture we Tamilians are used to being low-blowed. We have witnessed backstabbing on several occasions, just take a look at our history! Nothing is new and sadly nothing has changed. But now my heart is fixated with the upcoming match. I want to make  a statement this time, not just win the match" "Dhruvah, do you think that you can regain your title, fighting a mighty opponent like Avishka?" A reporter hurriedly raised a question. " Yes! there you are, I was expecting for at least one moron to show up from the league. I tell you! I don't give a damn how many pounds he weighs, you all saw me roasting him last time. He's got no technique and his footwork sucks. He can probably visit  Chennai to learn proper boxing. Our kids will be more than happy to teach him, but he'll have to give them guruthakshana and  fall at their feet!" saying that, I grinned. Gurumann shook his head in disapproval. Boiling with anger Avishka stood up from his chair and roared at me.

"The sport doesn't need trash like you,  I'll make  arrangements for a proper send off  after it's all over" I shouted. Pandemonium erupted. Gurumann was trying to pull me away from approaching Avishka, "in the ring, in the ring, not here!!!" he shouted. The bouncers came in between us. Unable to control the fury, I threw my shoe at him, it hit him right on the cheek !! He got into a frenzy, and screamed like a mad man, punched a couple of bouncers and tried to approach me but somehow they managed to make him leave after some more commotion. "I ll make sure this will be your last fight" Avishka screamed at the top of his lungs as he stepped down. "Poda baadu" I retorted, showing him my middle finger. Gurumann looked at me with a straight face "Dhruvah , Dhruvah, why won't you ever listen to me? Sometimes you behave like a teenager" he said. I didn't bother answering him, I was content that he was humiliated in front of everyone. The beast inside me was chuckling. "You better leave I have to speak with the promoters" he said.
https://ssl.gstatic.com/ui/v1/icons/mail/images/cleardot.gif

When I left the building it was raining quite heavily. There were puddles of water scattered here and there. The rain water and moisture had condensed on the window of my car. I kept driving, quiet satisfied with the proceedings at the conference. There weren't many vehicles on the road as it was past 10 P.M. and also because it was raining. My sound system was playing "Kanmani, anbodu" an evergreen Ilayaraja hit! Suddenly, from nowhere a bike drove alongside me, it was a sports model bike, two guys were on it and I could see in my rear view mirror that another bike was fast approaching, some punks were holding a bike race in the rain.

The first bike overtook me and the other guy was trying hard to catch up. I had a feeling that either one of those punks were going to die tonight. Then out of nowhere a puppy appeared right in the middle of the road, it was probably trying to cross the road and the two bikes had scared it frozen. Whimpering, it stood in the middle of the road perplexed! I pulled the brakes as I myself drove at a high speed. My car wobbled, skirted, and then totally went out of control and ran over the median. Finally, it lay topsy - turvy. The airbag protected my head but something had hit my ribs, I felt a hot sharp pain searing through my left leg and there were scratches all across my body. My favorite car was ruined. Well, at least the puppy was safe, I thought to myself. So, I lay there in the middle of nowhere, inside a car that was lying upside down with the music system playing "Ninaivo oru paravai" by Illayaraja. My vision slowly dimmed, things were turning black... I wondered 'Am I dying?' Its the last thing I remember thinking....


- To be continued

Friday 3 March 2017

Aaromale, my beloved // Chapter 1 - Redemption


The traffic lights just turned to amber as I approached the stop line. As a law abiding citizen should I stop or go?!! "To be or not be"?!! After musing briefly for a couple of seconds, I concluded that I should stop.  This happens with me many times, especially when I am scheduled to be at a place at a specific time and am running late. In fact, I was late for my very first inter-university boxing match which was one of the most crucial nights in the history of my life. I can never forget how my coach bellowed at me as he hit me on the head in front of the entire squad! Yes, I am late most of the times and I don't regret it, not anymore. I've gotten used to the feeling.

My music system played the song "Kings never die" by Eminem which boomed and resonated within my car as I waited in the traffic trapped at the junction. The signal displayed 300 seconds for the lights to turn green. I looked out through the window into an evening that was lit up with the colorful lights of nearby shops. The road was congested. On the pavement, I saw a mother spank her little boy for not wearing his jerkin. He protested a bit but with convincing hand of yet another spank he put it on hesitantly.
I was already able to visualize Avishka de Silva at the Madison boxing hall, sitting on the dais along with the promoters and his manager, with a row of microphones lined up before him and a swarm of journalists all fired up and ready to raise all sorts of questions about the re-match. The thought of his name alone made my blood boil. A deep sense of repugnance filled my heart. The look in his eyes when they announced him to be the winner made me hate him all the more. I could not somehow convince myself to look at this particular match as just a sport. The hatred between the Sri Lankan government and us the Tamilians has been ever growing since the war. After witnessing the ruthless genocides, atrocities and the humiliation inflicted upon the Sri Lankan Tamils, by the Sinhalese government, anyone would agree that nothing could remain the same between us anymore.

I remembered our last fight, how in spite of Gurumann's repeated warning I went at him like a bull that was released from "vaadivasal" and  annihilated him with my blows. The beast that was silently lurking in the depths of the abyss of my heart had somehow broken all the shackles and surfaced that evening. Unfortunately, in spite of everything I delivered, Avishka managed to seize the title from me that night with his cheap moves. During the fifth round, I was going all out on him with consecutive punches. He very slyly moved near one of the poles and dodged one of my punches which made my hand ram straight into the pole! The demonic velocity with which i intended to punch him resulted in me almost fracturing my right wrist. It was so swollen that my hand had gone numb yet I had to continue fighting the bastard with just one hand for the next 5 rounds. I pondered, if it had always been this way when it came to the fights between us. The Sinhalese weren't ashamed to use unethical moves.

"You are lucky in a way" Gurumann consoled me after the fight. "Looking at your aggression, I thought you were going to murder him and end your boxing career" They can only cancel my boxing license and impose a huge penalty. A trial for murder was out of the question, as the terms of the agreement made it clear that if death ensues while inside the ring that no legal proceedings would be entertained.
Gurumann Singh is my coach. He has been with me for the past 7 years of my fighting career. He is of an average height, muscular, has a dense beard and looks quite young for a 50 year old guy.

As I thought about everything I clenched the wheel of my Audi car in sense of frustration. My cell phone buzzed. It was Gurumann, it was late, no wonder he called. The traffic lights turned green, so I didn't bother to pick up his call as I was driving straight to the Madison boxing hall for the press conference to see my adversary once again.

- To be continued