I think one of the reasons I am disillusioned about short stories is that good short stories are hard to find. For every good short story I have found, I would have read probably ten others which I wish I hadn’t.

If you pick up a collection, you will like some of them, but not all. I am yet to find an anthology where I liked all, or even most, of the stories. Even short stories by authors I like or well-established authors are no guarantee that I will like the story. I read new writers, or new novels based on recommendations from friends whose tastes I like. But unlike novels, it is hard to find recommendations for specific short stories. For that matter, I am not even sure people have similar tastes in short stories. Do they?

I have decided that this month, I am going to read only short stories. I will try to recommend the ones I like, and if you have any you particularly enjoyed, do leave a comment or drop me note.

A google search seems to produce more links to help writers of short stories, rather than readers, but here are some links to start us off on this month: 

The Wall Street Journal thinks that short stories are finally poised to get their due:

This fall, a handful of collections from writers such as Alice Munro, Lydia Davis, Kazuo Ishiguro and Ha Jin have put a dent in the dominant view of short stories as an inferior cousin to the Great American Novel. And changing technology and reading habits have provided a boost for short fiction as more readers discover literature through online literary journals and Web sites, or download short fiction onto mobile devices

A bookseller’s view on the short story:

I love short stories for their simplicity. My tastes tend towards the spare, controlled story that turns on those inadvertent actions that all of us stumble through everyday. They are cooked in the crucible of a writer’s imagination until nothing but the bare essence is left. I think this sparseness reflects just how rich life is, how each passing moment is crammed full of possibilities both good and bad. A really good story leaves me breathless; with a need to stop and contemplate; and will crop up in my memory, unbidden, for decades. Why then if I am so seduced by their power do others not share my enthusiasm?

The art of short story at Fiction Addiction:

Paul Theroux has a useful suggestion: write a story like it has never been written before. The only way to do this is to rely on the uniqueness of your own perspective and life experiences. Psychologically speaking, each person lives in a different world. To write an interesting short story requires a temporary suspension of ordinary consciousness to tap into that world for inspiration.

I would really like a site that reviews short stories, not entire collections. But while I am waiting for it, here is one that at least focuses exclusively on short stories: The Short Review

That’s it for now, folks. I am off to dig into Ishiguro’s latest collection, Nocturnes. More on that later.

Related posts:

1. Short Story Review: Chechnya by Anthony Marra
2. Short story collections of 2009
3. Short Story Review: Departure by Alistair Morgan

The thoughts of a person who is writing are restrained by the speed of his own writing. It does not gallop like unreined wind. Instead it flows smoothly like a river flowing down a mountainside. It twists, turns and it follows different paths..but it never loses track of where it has been.

Silent Eloquence was born, five years ago – on 26th August 2004, as “a blog that celebrates the beauty and power of words.”

Life is a journey. You can choose to stay close to home or wander off to unknown lands. I chose the latter. Silent Eloquence – as I toggled between Silence and Eloquence – has been with me for the recent part of it. This post celebrates that journey, as I look at the path this blog took, through the lands covered, and the meanderings en route – the beautiful beaches, dangerous deserts, forbidden forests, wonderful waterfalls, unexpected avalanches and the peaceful valleys.

Five years can be a long time or a short time, depending on how you look at it. For me, it is a time where a lot happened. A lot changed.

As I changed, as my environment changed, as my life changed, this blog changed too. The topics I cover, the frequency in which I write, my tone of writing, my political sympathies and even my readers, changed. But I also realized that beyond all the superficial changes, there is the me that doesn’t change. No matter what you do to it – put it in a blender and smash everything to pieces – and there is that bit that just doesn’t disintegrate. The real me.

There is a reason I know that, and this is in the only “advice” I want to share with anyone who cares – try, try out everything out there that interests you. Sure, I have paid my price for it – instability, career with weird trajectories, friends spread out all over the world, family far away – but I have gained so much, so much more. Sorry for the digression, but I feel so strongly about it, I just have to say it, and repeat it. Experiment – some fail, some work. Learn and move on, to another experiment. Silent Eloquence has been a constant companion through all those experiments – a fellow researcher, an enthusiastic cheerleader, a harsh critic and most of all, a diligent documenter.

Yes, now, let’s look at that journey.

From early happy stories of Womad, “It was one of those days where I couldn’t care less who was around me – it was just me, the music and the dance – almost in a trance. And it was so packed and so hot – was almost like we were in a sauna.” and my take on a gal’s nite out at Cubanitos, the place that has the best mojitos in Germany, “I felt really truly at home here – at the altstadt at midnite – and it’s a great feeling!”

I transformed to:

I wish a smaller pain would be mine than that that haunts my burning soul
Anything else but the deep dark abyss that is my heart’s eternal home.

and:

Defying life, defying all,
I give up my life, in happy delirium
For in pleasure, we seek pain,
And in pain, we find our pleasure.

before getting, abruptly, but not accidentally, to:

I want to keep smiling till my cheeks hurt all over
I want to turn cartwheels till I fall down in a heap
I want to giggle and laugh like a little five year old
Who got the keys to the world’s biggest candy store. [...]
I want to dance and have the whole world dance with me
In wild moments of celebration, that last till the end of time.

I went from an impressionable over-enthusiastic, over-energetic young girl to a cynical and tired I-feel-older-than-I-am woman and then back to a moderately-enthusiastic, a-tad-cynical (you can’t really get rid of the baggage you collect on the way), mother-to-be. I think it had a lot to do with the realization that:

life may be a box of chocolates, but whether you decide to eat ice cream instead is entirely dependent on you.

It may have been an internal realization. But many external factors triggered that.

I was in Singapore when I started this blog. During the course of our life together, I lived in Germany, Netherlands, South Africa, Nigeria and now, the UK. My jobs changed, oh what the hell, my professions changed – I went from an engineer to a banker to a strategy consultant to a wanna-be-entrepreneur to a private investor (very small scale and private, don’t email me for funding pls) and recently, a newbie writer. There are very few tangibles that have remained the same through the years. All those changed my outlook to life.

In Singapore, in 2005, I wrote about the PM’s exhortation to think out of the box, but felt compelled to add a disclaimer “The interpretations and implications are my personal opinions. If you have violent objections, please drop me an email or comment, and I would be glad to discuss this amicably.” And then wondered, “PS: I wonder if it is 10 years of living in Singapore that made me write that disclaimer..!”

As I moved and adapted to Germany, I wrote:

I like bratwursts (sausages) and potatoes. I like the carnivals and the Christmas markets and the intracity beer rivalries. And I like jogging by the Rhine. I can now successfully make the German guttural pronunciations. I can now stare at people in trams without flinching when they stare back. And I can be methodical and anal when it comes to details. As I stumble down the path to becoming integrated to this temporarily-adopted society, I wonder where all this will end.

still unsure of what lies ahead:

Is there really such a thing as a global citizen? Can you ever feel comfortable in several countries? Now, that I think is possible. The more relevant question is, as human beings, do we need to know that we belong to one country? Or can we be happily promiscuous about our nationalistic identities?

I was on a quest to find out. Netherlands was next on the trail. I ditched Silent Eloquence and wrote another blog anonymously while I was there. It was more practical stuff, such as (sorry, no links):

The first two days of our apartment hunting was just d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-n-g! The best I could have said about those two days was that I must have lost at least a kilo! Haven’t you heard about Dutch stairs? They are steep, almost vertical and seem to go on forever. And at the end of this Himalayan climb, you get to see an apartment, which is well, ancient! Just because the apartment building was built in the 1800s, doesn’t mean the furniture can’t be new!

But it was not all bad. Eventually, we found a place we loved:

A lovely two bedroom place in shiki miki Old South! They say the best way to assess a neighbourhood is to check out the parked cars – I have a feeling that the car I hope to get is gonna significantly reduce the glam of our Oud Zuid neigbhourhood.

was followed later by:

Just in case you were wondering, that car was a beautiful new BMW, and it did reduce the glam of the neighbourhood. Oh well, I tried.

I guess that was just a phase where I didn’t feel comfortable enough with myself to share my thoughts freely. Spaces in Amsterdam are tiny, no matter how fabulous. Necessity made me learn to de-clutter my life, both literally and metaphorically. I realized the truth in what my father once said to me, “If you love something, let it go. It will come back to you, if it was meant to be. If it doesn’t, it was not yours to begin with.” Some things are always meant to be. They just are.

I came back. Back to Silent Eloquence, back to my life.

Africa was next, as I spent the better part of last year in South Africa and Nigeria. Terrible, terrible internet connections meant that I couldn’t blog much, but I had a lot more time to read, and African literature started featuring more in my reading lists and reviews. From Kapuscinski’s Shadow of the Sun, which I read

because I was on my way to Africa for the first time, I was alone and a bit scared of what awaited me in the dark continent and I mistakenly thought the book might make me feel better on the flight.,

I became a fan of Ben Okri, Doris Lessing, Nadine Gordimer, J.M.Coetzee, Chimamanda Adichie, Waris Dirie, Laila Lalami, Chinua Achebe, and now am reading, Karl Maier’s The House has fallen.

UK, where I live now, is yet to feature in my writing. It will, soon enough. For now, I am absorbing and analyzing.

India, though I didn’t live there during the five years I wrote this blog, kept popping up here, starting from figuring out what it means to be an Indian – my definition was, “I think I am an Indian, therefore I am an Indian” – to indignant replies to ignorant journalists “NRIs moving back to India is not the solution to India’s problems and let this not be the scapegoat that everyone turns to when they need one.” to my sad realization that India still is not “A nation where I would feel safe. A land where all is fair and just. A country where people are more happy than sad.” But eventually, when you write about your own country, pride and nostalgia trumps everything else:

“The quiet, thick rubber plantations, the tappers who toil almost camouflaged among the trees and even the queer smell of the drying rubber sheets are part and parcel of Kerala’s evergreen beauty.”

Just in case changing homes were not enough, I travelled as much as time and money would allow, perhaps even to the point of weariness, as I realised :

“There is something incomparably liberating in the incessant passing of the greens, the occasional cow on the field or the lone passer-by. I love the silence, when long forgotten thoughts are pulled out of my memory and restacked after much deliberation. No idea is too stupid. No thought is too random. I am the philosopher that I never get to be.”

I met many interesting people in my travels. As I did on this blog too. Readers, commenters, fellow-bloggers – they have been the unexpected reward of my blogging journey. Five years is a long time to try and trace back, especially in this age where not many have maintained blogs for that time period. So forgive me, if we were blog-buddies once and I forget to mention you, it’s not about you. It’s just me.

First shout out goes to Srijith. He, after all, introduced me to blogging and let me try it out on his blog. Hyde’s cynicism annoyed me enough to keep writing in the early days. Nanopolitan, OneMoreReason, Varnam, Venkat, Nimbupani, BalancingLife, Vulturo, WindySkies, Pramod and SurrealReality were some of the early readers. Chakli read my blog even when no one else did. Desipundit and Blogbharti encouraged me with links. Mridula, Shobana, Shamly, Al-avalathi, 30in2005, Sig11, Girlwithbigeyes, NishantH, Witnwisdumb and SandsofChange came by at some point. You all made my journey enriching, in ways I couldn’t have imagined. A standing ovation to you!

What is life without love and family? The blog, after all, started as way to cope with the sudden loneliness that comes when a husband moves a few thousand miles away. I pined, “My life begins at 2.30 pm!” because there was a time difference of 6 hours that separated us, “its a funny comforting feeling – knowing that he is awake too and that I can mail him or call him or chat with him if need be…” . I wrote:

“The silence is broken only by the sporadic typing on my keyboard and the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. An occasional car on the street claims to create some noise around me. Yet it is the silence that is deafening.”

That didn’t last long, I was in Europe soon after. But that moved me farther away from home, and the rest of my family. About ten years after I moved out of my parents’ house, I admitted:

“My father would fill ink in my crooked Hero pen every morning before I went to school. First it was because I used to get ink all over my hands. And after that it was because he didn’t realise I had grown up.
[...]
On most days, long after the alarm has gone off and after many angry faraway shouts from my father, I would still be sleeping. My mother would make her way up the stairs to my room. She would kiss me on the forehead and I would wake up with a smile. Even now, when I wake up in the morning, I often think of my mother.”

and my parents finally got to know, for the first time ever, that behind the facade of fierce independence, there was still a little girl who wanted to say:

“I miss you. Terribly. Every single day. And it doesn’t get any better just because I am all grown up. Nor do I get used to it just because its been a long time.”

A short story I wrote following that train of thought, “Check-in”, was my first one to get published.

Srijith and I did the long distance thing again, when he went to the US a few years later. I learnt that I will never learn to cope with it:

“Some things are never said, no matter how easy they should have been. Telling someone that they are the center of your universe is one of them.
Some things are never easy, no matter how many times you have said them before. Goodbyes are one of them.”

There are things you just can’t do and then all you can do is quit trying. By then you know where your priorities lie and what you need to do, as clear as the bottom of a lake when a sweltering summer drains all the waters away. The new found clarity reflected in my writing:

“If you can cross every mountain, swim every sea, just to see someone smile, that’s what they call love. If you can give up all that you held dear and fought hard for, just for a glimmer of hope that it might make someone else a little happier, then it must be love.”

And for the things you can do nothing about, I discovered fiction. I wrote about how a little bird left the nest the mother-bird had painstakingly built, and concluded:

“I smiled at the cruelty of nature and the inevitability of her rules. And I shed a silent tear – for the goodbyes I have said in my own life.”

The same cruel nature, though, works in mysterious ways, as I recently tweeted:

The inside of my tummy must look like a football. The kicks seem to go on and on. Not to mention the occasional head butts.

It is handing me the chance to build my own nest, as I look forward to the next phase in my life and my new beginnings.

The journey has been long and arduous. It has also been beautiful and unexpected. If you have stayed with me through it, or been fellow travelers during some parts, a big thank you to you. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.

I hope you stay on. After all, it is only the beginning. There are, for better or for worse, many more miles to go before I sleep. So, stay tuned to Silent Eloquence and be part of the conversation – let me know your tucked-away thoughts, your silly scribbles, your cutting critiques and your daily doodles.

Surya has not left the building.

No related posts.

(image:gaping void)

If I don’t reply to comments, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you..:)

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Vishu, the harvest festival, the beginning of a brand new year. Konna, the beautiful yellow flowers that adorn every garden and every house. Kani – a platter  arranged with utmost care the previous night so it would be the first thing you see in the morning. Waking up to start the new year with gods and gold and glory. Paddakam – the exciting thrilling, and often dangerous firecrackers.  I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could be cool like my older cousins and light up a firecracker in my hand and toss it gently, heedless of the dangers if it were to burst while still in my hands. Malapadakkam – my personal favourite, a collection of many firecrackers strung together, but probably more dangerous. Vishusadya – the one meal of the year where my band of fourteen cousins would get together, and eat a feast befitting any royal family. Pudava – brand new clothes, usually made in white and gold, to celebrate and usher in the new beginnings. Best of all, the kaineettam – the pocket money every kid gets in the morning, to spend as he or she wants, no questions asked.

It’s been fourteen years since I celebrated Vishu. The memories are as fresh as if they happened yesterday. Something tells me this is the last year of my “Vanavas”, the fourteen years Rama spent in the forests, while he was banished from the land. I look forward to celebrating the next. Till then, I hope you had a nice Vishu and I wish you a great year ahead.

Photo courtsey: Challiyan via Flickr

Related posts:

1. Happy Vishu!

Nanopolitan for Best Topical IndiBlog
Mridula for Best Travel Blog
Varnam and Falstaff for Indiblog of the year
Indian Writing for Best Entertainment Indiblog
Shoefiend for Best Humanities Indiblog

The blogosphere moves so fast, there are so many blogs nominated that I haven’t yet visited. This should serve as a great surfing list when time permits.

Related posts:

1. Diversity problem in the blogosphere?

Here is my view of Generation Y. They are just like all the generations that went before, only they have got smoother skin and less experience and spend more time on Myspace. As employees they want the same things as everyone else: a good salary, interesting work and recognition. Any company that makes clear it is offering those things may find some genuine talent – young and not so young – comes knocking at its door.

I bet its not as simple as that. What DO we really look for in our jobs?

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Related posts:

1. Happy Vishu!
2. Happy Onam

This blog turned out to be a much better experience than I could ever have imagined, mainly because of the many unexpected visitors and commentors I had. I appreciate it, thank you.

Some of you emailed me and we continued our conversations beyond the comments on this blog. Drop me an email, if ever you feel like. I think I would really like that.

Some of my long lost friends found me again after they stumbled upon my blog. Lets not get long lost again.

As I realise and accept once again that change is the only thing that is constant in life – the silence of silent eloquence will just be yet another change.

Auf wiedersehen..and I pray our paths will cross again.

Related posts:

1. We are the good guys
2. A good read : Economist’s survey on International Banking

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

Shakespeare (Hamlet’s Soliloquy)

Update: And the answer is..Not to be.

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“ If mathematically you end up with the incorrect answer, try multiplying by the page number”.

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