Inspiration is at home

I have many things to write, but nothing is in full shape. I observed, if I keep waiting for everything to take its complete form, I will loose them for new things. So I start here showing them in pieces.

At first, I believed in Santhi's comment and thought I really could write well. My thoughts even went far to take GRE and get taught by Chitra Divakaruni at Houston. But then very soon, I belittle myself reading some very young people at 18 and 19. I understood my excitement is just like.. when my mother tells everybody that she will let me be a doctor and then I would say jumping 'Yeah! I'll be a doctor' without knowing what it takes to be a doctor.

There is so much fight about the translations of Russian books. Some people like Constance Garnette and some like Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. There is one guy who disliked a book of a particular translation but that has become his favorite when he read the other translation. Can there be really so much difference?? From this, rose my another fancy, to learn Russian! Believe me, I learnt the Cyrillic script. I liked the vowel 'Yah' which is the mirror image of R. But there is no going further unless you have a proper teacher.

I am hating my job and the people here. Specially Anil. It is mean of me to mention names. But I want him to see this. I want him to hate me and I want him never talk to me. I feel like shouting at everybody that I'm sick with them and I'm leaving for something better, probably to be a librarian. (Again I don't know what qualification is expected of a librarian..) But how would I pay for the house? I think, I won't earn much as librarian. I hate nanna for arresting my career to this earning job. I remember, two years ago, I told somebody that my present job is the best suitable job for me. I remember, I enjoyed it very much till Kiran was here. But then, could your lead effect your work that much? Isn't it a weariness of your own and who's_your_lead is just an excuse? Why am I prejudiced to hate anybody taking Kiran's place?

Hell with Kafka! Not only the first impressions are unreliable as he says. Impression is a possible-lie in itself. One can never be the same all his life. Man is weak of his character. He can neither be good nor bad for a long time. May be I'm thinking so, because I'm myself a weak person as a thief thinks everybody else are thieves at least once in their lives. Let me be like that thief. Having impressions is more infectious than love. It drives you through expectations, irritations, disappointments and ends in misery. Many times, impressions are transient and diluted with prejudices. Better not to have them. From now on, I'll try to meet everybody(even Anil) as I am meeting them for the first time only with facts and not with impressions.

I have got a strange dream. There is a writer, probably a future writer who considers everybody stupid, materialistic, un-lovable and of filthy character and considers himself an alien, not belonging to this world of puppetry. He thinks he cannot write well if he has to deal with and constantly be disturbed by these puppets. He leaves to the forests only to find the quality of his writing is degraded. He thinks, it is because of his inner fear for the wild and he is disturbed by the chirping of birds. He goes to the mountains but no luck. It has become much worse. He stops writing and goes in search of the reason why he is not able to write better. He finds a sign board on which he felt reading 'Inspiration is at home'. He strokes his head a little, and talks to himself.

How did I forget that I cannot write about trees, mountains and of birds for I don't know their language. It is my people I can love or hate and write about. I can write so much when that woman at the end of street takes out a coin but doesn't give it directly to the beggar but gives it to her kid to give it to the beggar. I can portray her either as a teacher of kindness or as a divinely drunken woman. I have the power to play with my characters.. but not here when I am myself in thirst of inspiration. I shall go back..to my home, to where I belong. I shall live among my puppets. I shall become the great puppeteer of these puppets.

There ends my dream. I think, you must have guessed who he is. I drivelled too much into my dream, and now I forgot what else I want to write about.

Old Women's Network

This was the first time I had ever celebrated Holi. It was very fun. Specially, I loved taking revenge on Harpreet. If only I knew, it would be like this, I would have joined Bhavani and Sujana in the Hostel 5 years ago and have had some practice. Though it was tough to get rid of those pink patches later, the trouble was nothing compared to the time we had. After an hour of violent holy celebration at parking place, I cleaned myself and changed the dress. I was well prepared for the evening.

Nashi called me as I invited her home in the morning. I almost forgot about that until she called me as it was not fixed but was only a vague plan. We planned to meet at Panjagutta. I left at once and went to Odyssey for Anna Karenina, Classic Library Edition. as Kafka's America is finished. A few days before, I made a call to Odyssey to find out if they have the CL edition. It feels good to read in those well bound books in brown covers. That anonymous receiver of my phone call said, they had it in Jubilee Hills branch and he would follow me up when they get it from there. That was a week ago. But I haven't received any call. I have checked it myself. They don't have it. I tried for any of Dostoevsky's and found none. "What! Not even one? Vikrampuri Odyssey is much better than this. They have at least few of Dostoevsky's. They play good music too. The boys at the counter were also obedient and not like this fellow whose is giving me nasty looks every time I squeeze my nose.." I thought.

I went to Himalaya Book Centre. Nashi joined me after sometime. I searched for AK, CL edition. They also don't have it. Then I instantly changed my plan of reading AK and wanted to read Notes from the Underground. But pity me! They also don't have Dostoevsky. Nashi consoled me saying that they might have arranged the books with first name and searched for 'F'. Nashi went to a lady who looked like who knows where everything is and asked for Dostoevsky. After many requests to repeat the spelling, she ran away somewhere completely unmindful of our presence. So we did her work and searched in the catalogue for Dostoevsky with both first and last names. He is nowhere to be found. I hate them all not for only not having Dostoevsky but upon that for having each book of Robin Sharma, John Grey and Sidney Sheldon and so like..

We went back to literature shelf in the corner with disappointment. Then I convinced myself, why do I care if the cover is brown or blue until the letters are always black on white? I picked up an Indian edition of AK and went for a last stroll along the book shelf.

Then Nashi took me little farther from the guy who was browsing at our shelf. She asked me "How is he? Did you like him?"

"What!?" I asked her to repeat though I have heard it clearly.

This is the effect after my mother had a private talk with her. She tried to talk it over, but I refused to listen to anything in this matter. Later, she sent me a very lengthy mail, must have spent at least 2 hours to compose that. But I cruelly left it half-read. That time, I told her that anybody who could appreciate Dostoevsky is fine for me just to escape further counselling. Now I found out, she took it seriously!

She hurried me asking "Tell me, If he is OK for you, I would talk to him.. Quick baby! He would leave."

I said "But he is not looking for Dostoevsky!"

She replied "That I will find out. See, he is there and I think he will mostly pick up Tolstoy first and know about Dostoevsky and appreciate him like you did".

"That's very less probable! he is not even picking up Tolstoy. Let's get out from here before you make me embarrassed." I sighed at her.

We took 49M and got down at Patny. Then she asked me something I am afraid of what she would ask me someday. Because two of my close friends have already caught me at it. I am happy for she asked me that. Of course, friends are the real mind spoilers at it, but I longed to be happily spoiled.

PS: Title means a network which spreads secrets and personal status of a concerned person to the whole world. (ade telugulo.. Gaali vaartha antaaru kadaa..) With this network, Nashi and me hoped for a day when everybody knows Dostoevsky better than Chetan Bhagath.

Ruined in reformation

Dostoevsky, Do you know that you have ruined me? If I keep believing in your reasoning, I'll loose my esteem and soon I'll loose myself too. Though you make fun of Madame Khoklakov, I'm like her, so many uncertainties, so much self-hatred but highly pompous. How aptly you made her say -The more I love humanity in general, the less I like man in particular. That's exactly the case with me. Kindness is not a service, Kindness is not a peace-maker, Kindness is a weakness. Don't we have to consider whether the other person is worth the kindness we are going to shower?? Without this kindness of yours, I atleast would have loved myself, but because of you, I feel trapped.. like a little mouse. Do you think with this kind of people, peace is possible? I say it's impossible even if you can make the Sun rise in the west. I hate you right now at this moment for making me take all the guilt upon me for you said.. everyone’s guilt before all and for all..