Excerpt from my First Book .
This story is more of a lesson, more of a value, which is purely an experimental effort by a yearn-to-learn Writer whose perception on humanity, hard work, knowledge and many more tough lettered words had completely transformed by an Educated Rag picker.
I do not consider this experience as a life-saving drug; rather I take it as a life-changing drug. Seems a bit colloquial, but I completely disagree to my own inner- word. Speaking to the point, I sometimes feel that a life –saving experience is nothing but a temporary solace, where as coming to the life – changing phenomenon, it is more of an erudition. Therefore, I could raise my head up and confidently agree to the second point. If a question of curiosity repeatedly knocks my door, I would say – ‘Go and experience for yourself’. That is the best way to shut the door. Isn’t it
It takes a lot of pain to convince your ego, which is actually the main reason for the ‘Big – fall’. However, it is better to have wide ears; rather than having bloated mouths. Nevertheless, that does not mean you have to pay heed to whatever shit is been blurted out; instead, look upon to the latter’s opinions and buzz off to your businesses. This would not only reduce your energy but in turn, the peace of mind will definitely make its presence.
I normally prefer penning in a dark tranquil room with presence of a night lamp. That does not mean I am a nostalgic person; instead, I presume to look upon to this procedure, as it brings out the best emotions from the writer. Let me make this clear – the above statement is just my opinion.
As per the Google – Christ Stats, a human mind has occupied with an average figure of 70,000 thoughts per day and I would proudly say that, even my grey matter shouts a five – digit figure.
Moreover, the figure solely relates to my Writing and Creativity, as I am inclined towards it.
The Dark Bedroom,
July 18th 1999,
The squeaky voice of the door irked my pen’s flow.
Who is that?
It was neither Sherlock Holmes nor Hercules Poirot; it was my Father.
Dad, what makes you enter my room? Moreover, its seventeen past two
Did you come across an insomniac encounter like me?
Yeah Karan, where on earth, did you learn such behavior?
Moreover, it is too late. Better, go to bed.
I am not squandering my time away; I was just penning an anecdote.
Oh, c’mon Karan, do not give me a Hemmingway right now. Just sing those puppies to bed and buzz off. Nevertheless, I have got no time left in my pocket. There is a short story competition coming up next month and I normally prefer booking down before the dawn as it brings out the best out of me. Oh, really, when did all this happen?
Dad, this ain’t a knee-slapper moment and I am literally serious. Do not take it lightly, as holding a pen is my raison d'être.
‘Well, Sorry. However, do not keep yourself awake all the night. Have a peaceful slumber.
Thanks and I have a surprise for you too.
Oh, what is that?
I will be leaving to Coorg next morning. Are you just trying to pull my leg Karan? No, I am serious as always. The anecdote, which I am writing about shouts a rural – backdrop, ergo I have to make it. There is nothing to dwell on; I will be back in a week’s time.
Fine, do you need some money for the trip?
Not necessary, my purse is a bit heavy and I could manage with this dough as of now.
Good night and have a safe journey. Thanks Dad. Love you.
Like – Father, Like – Son lustrous
I guess the last time my father penned a novel was 20 summers back and now it is my turn to ring the bell. However, he was not a fulltime writer.
He was at his twenties when he got his first métier. In early 1980’s, a matriculation passed out had the same value compared to the other aspirants. He completed his graduation and his higher studies in correspondence. A business idea was on the cards. He wanted to start a weekly – tabloid; so that it would publicize his articles and content.
The work was indeed very rigorous. He had to shuttle around between his part –time and regular work. The tabloid business turned to be an overhead. It showed no progress in the beginning. He started doing over – time, slowly the momentum was back and simultaneously the writing idea did not fade away .I guess he had written a novel in this period. However, the book could not work out due to the tight schedule. The business ran more than a decade and finally made a pause.
The tabloid – racket turned out to be a lesson for me; it gave me a clear insight about Business and the Man – power. My experience with the tabloid made me a writer. It taught me no skills, but I had seen the up’s and down’s in the lot.
However, the ‘how-do-you-do’ part is nothing but the procrastination of your book. This is where many writers feel bogged down with their pens. All I can blurt out is - ‘It just has to happen’. At the age of 21, I was been left to choose upon my Writing and Engineering careers and my decision was adamant and I chose to hold the pen.
I PICKED THE TICKET ON The floor…. I could only see a picture with an I-d number. I threw the ticket, as it was no use to me.
Six hour hunt…
The bus journey is literally a painful butt- journey. It is a place where you come across all kinds of strangers. I had a perfect start to my innings. I was near the window. A better picture of the outsight turned out to be helpful to me.
However, this trip was for my research about the reasons of the common blows happening everyday in the so-called middle class families.
Mr. Rasamalai Subramanyam was one such of a character who could describe my point of view according to my perception. I found this specimen smoking marijuana near some isolated farmhouse in the outskirts of Coorg.
I swear to god, there was nothing fascinating nearby. Without a second thought, the curiosity made me pounce from my seat to go have a word with him.
Mr. Rasamalai has the habit of chewing his gutkha after a dose of hash believing it would give him some positive vibes.
He was a philosophical snob. It was then I realized the value of travelling and meeting new breeds. Mr.R hails from Chennai, however settled his butt near the outskirts of Coorg.
Dressed up in a white dhoti and blue khadi shirt with a thick moustache, he was more or less an Orthodox - Tamilian look – alike.
THE REASONS TO FIGHT – THE LOOPHOLES in the ORTHODOX HOMES
Mr.R was a 6th grade dropout, but learnt lessons throughout his life. He had observed people, their interactions, cultures, habits and finally the so – called Politics. I am normally a person with wide ears and broad eyes. I felt both of us are sailing in the same boat with a broken oar. To make it more precise, we had similar ideologies with questions popping on many topics.
However, the topic here was about the common disputes in the orthodox families of the Middle – Class.
I thought he could be the best species to aid me in my research.
#1 –The Food Quotient
Wife prepares idlies like rose petals. Meanwhile, husband is very busy watching the news hour in the night. With great affection, she hands over the plate to her hubby.
Husband finds a long grey hair in the hot sambar, which makes him go wild and throws a punch on her face.
#2 –The unexpected at the wrong time
After a hectic week of studying the parabolas, the alcohols, the electromagnetic fields, Mr. Average wants to have a break from his college and comes home with an enthusiastic face to enjoy the weekend.
However, the next morning, his aunt abruptly makes a call and tells her son has topped his exams with 98%.
The planned weekend goes for a toss as the atmosphere in the family starts heating up and the voices of comparisons increases.
#3 – I am always right. OK! – The EGO CLASH
“Son, - Do not give me this idiotic shit. I might be wrong at any cost, but pay some respect some to your Father”.
EGO is a feeling where it puts you in a cornered situation and sometimes you will have to accept the fact that 2*2=5.
#4 – The Whisky Effect
A Workaholic husband comes home after enjoying a six – pegs whisky session with his friends. Lo and behold, he finds his wife with a sick face and the next morning the Broomstick Session begins.
After concluding the research, I immediately blurted out a question.
Mr. Rasamalai, Why do you smoke Hash?
I am a Nature Lover – he replied.
© Written by Vishal Aryan Komara