2 PLOTS and 1 CONFLICT.

I have been pacing the house this morning. It happens sometimes...alright, it happens only when I haven't written anything worthwhile in a while. I was on vacation and was editing/proofreading Bootie and the Beast, getting it ready for release and stuff. Those are legit excuses for NOT WRITING. And I was catching up on my reading. Sadly, that has only inflamed my desire to write a bloody good book that I would love to read. I'm not going to mention the books that have irked me so...this post isn't about dissing. It's about conflict.

Ha! The axis of a/any story. Conflict with a capital C. Conflict is what spices up a plot. What drives the characters forward, backward or sideways. What makes the story spin until it dazzles you...the reader...and you feel as if you're watching The Christmas Spectacular from Row A of Radio City Music Hall.

My personal conflict today is that I have 2 plots bursting like firecrackers in my head. 2 very different plots for 2 very different stories. 

Plot 1 will have me continue my work-in-progress about a trio of soul mates and some self-denial.

Plot 2 is a brand new idea of a soul seeking redemption, finding it and then rejecting it.

My conflict? Which one do I work on first. And whichever one I do pick, will the other suffer from my neglect. Argh. This is why multiple personalities should be the norm and not the exception.

Any and all advice appreciated, Peeps.

(gif source: random search on internet)

HAPPY VALENTINES.

Dear Reader, in lieu of chocolates, here's an excerpt from my much-awaited Bootie and the Beast. Expected release date, sometime in April 2014.

“Want to unpack first or eat or shower?” Krish asked, poking a hole in her fantasy dialogue.

Diya shook her head, as much to clear it as to say no. She was so tired and functioning on sheer force of will, hence the spontaneous daydreaming. It had been a crazy, busy few months and the last two days had sort of bled her energy levels dry. If she was indeed the vampire the tabloid twerp had painted her as, she’d be snoring inside her coffin after having gorged on a blood-filled vein.

“I’ll get to it tomorrow—the unpacking and showering. I’m hungry. I’m sleepy. And I’m sure you need to get back to your office and resume snarling at figures of the numerical and human variety.” Diya strolled into the bedroom alongside Krish.

            

“Not really.” He slanted an undecipherable look her way. “I’ve taken the day off.”

            

“Oh! Don’t be silly. You don’t have to baby-sit me.” She flapped a hand at him. “Go to your office, play with your spreadsheets. Punch some numbers. Whatever. I’ll be fine.”

       

Krish was a Menon to the hilt—the hardest of taskmaster’s. He hated losing work-hours and became an intolerable grouch when he did. It was a testament to his regard for her father that he’d taken the afternoon off to fetch her from the airport in person and not sent a cab. To be fair, he’d sent a cab only the once to pick up his family during a visit a few years ago, due to some emergency at the office. Lee-sha and Savitri Aunty hadn’t made a big deal about that kind of deficient host behavior. Diya wasn’t so forgiving. Family should always come first. But, she was fair as well. He’d settled her in, now he could go.

            

“I’m not working today, Diya,” he said, in near exasperation.

            

Oh-kay. She’d heard what she’d heard, not once but twice. Diya checked Krish’s forehead, cheek and throat with the back of her hand. “Nope, no fever. You could be delirious. Low sugar, possibly. Or,” she paused for dramatic effect. “You were kidnapped by a UFO and are now an alien in Krish form.”

            

He chucked her under her chin. “Smart-ass. Come along, Elf, let me introduce you to your domain—the kitchen.” With a sly smile, he strode away.

            

She stuck her tongue out at his chauvinist backside but didn’t take umbrage, not when he clearly teased and when it was patently true. It was no secret she loved to cook. Besides, his previous statement trumped all other concerns for her.

            

She rushed behind him, heels clattering smartly on the wooden floor of the hallway. “I’m confused. Since when do you take days off?”

            

The Krish Menon she knew did not take days off. He worked twelve to fourteen hour days on most days, sometimes even on Sunday. Work was his religion, numbers were his mantras and profits, projections and spreadsheets were his portals to nirvana. He thrived as a beast of burden.

            

And as if that confession of sloth wasn’t shocking enough what he said next made Diya trip on the steps leading down to the kitchen and crash into his back.

            

“What?” she gasped, clutching his arms for support when he spun around to steady her.

            

Nary a smile or sneer darkened the alien in Krish form. “I have a date. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

FOUR SEASONS and some SHAKESPEARE.

THE FOUR SEASONS:

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed,Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.(Sonnet 104) 

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o’er the green corn-field did pass,In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;Sweet lovers love the spring.(As You Like It, 5.3.15-20)

SUMMER

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade 

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest: 

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, 

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

(Sonnet 18) 

AUTUMN

The childing autumn, angry winter, changeTheir wonted liveries, and the mazed world,By their increase, now knows not which is which.(A Midsummer Night's Dream, 2.1.116-118) 

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,

Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease.(Sonnet 97, 6-8) 

WINTER

Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.

(The Taming of the Shrew, 4.1.10)

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall 
And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
Tu-whit; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw 
And birds sit brooding in the snow 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
Tu-whit; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
(Love's Labour's Lost, 5.2.916-31)

WHAT AN AWFUL BOOK!

I love reading. I always have, I always will. I've read my share (and possibly shares of eighty seven other individuals) of books in my life. Not all the books I read make me weep with joy at having read them. I understand and have experienced (far too often) that not all books will speak to my soul. But the last two that I read, that I'm reading, have left me completely gobsmacked...in their awfulness. To the extent that I spent two days wondering what the hell was the matter with the writers of said books, the publishers and editors of said books and finally the readers of said books...myself excluded.

I picked the novels up in India. Both are adaptations of the Mahabharata, an epic close to my heart, and the only reason I bought the books in the first place. The authors had nothing more to do than rework an old legend on a new-ish premise with a fresh spin. Sadly, both books failed miserably to do any kind of reworking, remolding or spinning...in my eyes. And I was outraged by their utterly cavalier disregard for good writing.

Notice I said WAS. I am over my outrage. And here's why.

I've realized in my forty-eight hour pout which began with the almost desperate need to grab a pointy, sharp blade from the knife block in the kitchen, flying non-stop to India, hunting down the publishers, editors and authors of said books and hacking them to pieces for destroying this beautiful legend that is the Mahabharata with their rubbish. The murderous urge ended in an anticlimactic, self-induced opening-of-the-eye. 

I have realized since that a successful book need not be good. More astonishingly, a "good" book need not be well-written. And even more astonishingly, my parameters for a successful book, good book and well-written book could be the exact opposite of yours. What I consider good or well-written or successful is but my own opinion of it. Of course, best-seller lists and awards do validate certain books. But here's the thing. Some of those great books on those best-seller lists have not appealed to me in the least! And we all know of a certain atrociously penned trilogy that broke best-selling records not two years past.

So, there goes the theory that a good book should have universal appeal. 

That being said, isn't it the duty of the author, the publishing house and the editor to provide its reader with the best possible product?

I am so confused. What do you think? To each book his own worm?

(Source of gifs: random search on Internet)

MEHENDI: color and scent

Henna: हेन्ना 

Freshly applied henna paste

Drying henna paste. Once it dries, it starts flaking off.

the herb - Lawsonia inermis - that brings color and perfume to life, is a symbol of joy and celebration in many cultures around the world. The flowering plant grows best in hot climates and dry soil and has a cooling effect when its leaves are crushed into a paste and applied on the skin. Cooling effect aside, it emits a lovely and I think intoxicating scent of well-being. The reddish-brown stain  henna paste leaves on organic surfaces is due to the lawsone (reddish-brown dye) present in the plant, which reacts and bonds with the protein on skin or hair it's applied on.

The color beneath the paste. 

Henna, also called Mehndi मेहंदी in Hindi and Urdu, has been in recorded use for the past 9000 years. It's reason of usage varying per age, culture and region of the world. 

Because of its natural medicinal properties, past and present desert cultures use/d it as a topical salve for burns, stomach ulcers, headaches, as a fever-reducer, sunblock, for skin diseases and as an hair dye. Because of the lovely-scented temporary tattoo it left on skin, Henna started being used as a decorative medium too. Elaborate and repetitive motifs of flora and fauna or geometrical designs are usually applied for a number of occasions from engagements and weddings to happy religious occasions, or simply for luck and cheer.

Darkening color.

I, for one, love to apply henna on my hands and feet and even sitting around for hours on end to that effect doesn't irritate me. Once the paste has dried and scraped off, an orangish stain is left behind which slowly darkens into reddish-brown (black in some cases) over three days as it oxidizes. OMG! Have I mentioned how divine it smells? It's a strong herbal scent with just a hint of metal, a teensy hint. I find it incredibly soothing. 

It takes about one to three weeks for the stain to fade completely. "They" say the darker a bride's mehndi color, the greater her husband will love her. Or, the longer a bride's mehndi takes to fade, the better she will get along with her mother-in-law. 

Mehndi can get much darker than this, but I like it so.

DIVINE CHILD MYTHS

A vast majority of the world's myths and religions prescribe to the idea of a Divine Child who might be a god, demi-god, hero or savior come to change the world (the triumph of good versus evil). The Child is most often not conceived naturally. The Divine Mother has an encounter with a ruling deity or pure spirit and gives birth (again most often not naturally) to the god-like child, often of royal lineage. 

Fascinatingly, there are a horrendous amount of such births in the world's cultural collectives (a terrific number in Indian myths alone). I am going mention those I know, if you know more, then I'd love to hear about them.

1. Jesus Christ - Son of God, virgin birth to the Virgin Mary. (Christian)

2. Horus - son of the Sun God, divine child born to the virgin goddess Isis. (Ancient Egypt)

3. Krishna - Reincarnation of God Vishnu born to the royals Vasudeva and Devaki in prison. Secreted out of prison in the middle of the night and raised by cowherds Nanda and Yashoda. When he came of age, he went back to free his parents and assassinate his evil uncle, Kamsa, who had his parents imprisoned. (Hinduism)

4. Greek mythology is full of strange births from the Titan Cronus, to his son, Zeus, to Zeus' offspring Athena, Perseus, Dionysus, Heracles (Hercules), Helen of Troy etc.

5. Romulus and Remus - Vestal Virgin, Rhea Silvia gets impregnated either by the God Mars or Hercules and births the twins. Her evil brother, King Amulius, orders their drowning in the twins in the river Tiber. The twins survive somehow, and are found and adopted by a she-wolf. She nurses them as babes. A woodpecker feeds them as they grow older and they are finally adopted by a shepherd. They grow up, kill their uncle, restore Numitor, the rightful king-uncle to the throne, become heroes and found Rome.

6. The Indian Epic, the Mahabharata, has a countless number of such births. It is supposedly an accounting of the ancient kings of India. 

Kunti's offspring. Kunti is a key figure in the epic, the mother of the heroes. Mother too, of one tragic hero, her first-born, Karna. She was given a boon from the Sage Durvasa, a boon to be used after marriage as it summoned Gods from the Hindu pantheon to impregnate her. She foolishly chanted the mantra as a young girl and accidentally summons the Sun God, Surya. He impregnates her and she gives birth to Karna, through her ear, as she must remain a virgin to be wed honorably. She abandons the child in the river.

The second, their and fourth times she summons Gods, its within the sanctions of her marriage and on behest of her husband, the weak and impotent, King Pandu who has abdicated the throne.

She gives birth to Yudhishtira by Yama, the God of Death. Bhima by Vayu, the God of Wind and Arjuna by Indra, the God of War and Thunder. Her husband's second wife begs for children and using the mantra gives birth to Nakul and Sahadeva, twins by the twin gods, the Ashwins.

The rival Kuru family could not remain ordinary in such circumstances. Thus Queen Gandhari after a two-year pregnancy gives birth to a lump of clay, which is then on the advice of sages and gods, separated into 101 lumps of clay and left to gestate in bowls or vases. They grow into the 100 Kaurava brothers and their only sister.

The five demi-god Pandava brothers, all marry the princess of Panchal, Draupadi, who emerged fully formed from a fire with her twin brother, Dhrishtadyumna. 

Okay, I'm tired of writing as I'm sure you guys are fed up of reading what is essentially the same concept over and over. There's an interesting version of why such myths exist that has to do with our spiritual and psychological evolution or awakening or rebirth or recreation, our Kundalini energy. But I won't go into that just yet.

EAST vs WEST

East is East and West is West and what's the reason that twain doesn't meet eye to eye?

Answer: PERSPECTIVE.

In absolutes...

If you're an Easterner you are part of the Cosmic Whole. Your life is a journey towards eternal realities. Your Universe is cyclical in nature, constantly recurring. Your world lives inside you in your soul and you seek to liberate your worldly "Me"  from the true "Me."

In contrast, if you're a Westerner you are a part of the Divine. Your life is a service to others: God, people and work. You have but this one life and must live it to the fullest. Your "worth" depends on external factors. Your salvation depends on God, your success depends on your business or your boss.

I believe that nothing is absolute and East and West draws ever closer to become One.

One of the best authors, mythologists and TED talkers: Devdutt Pattnaik. Its a 20 minute talk but well worth the time. IMHO.