Encounter: A Different Set of Students

It is not all about fiction…

I am teaching a group of students who are studying marketing and advertizing as their main subject. This batch belongs more or less to the age group I usually teach, i.e. post-graduate students aiming to hone their writing skills. The difference here is that their aim is not to become 'writers’, but to have such a skill as an added advantage when they sally forth into the business world.

Well, I geared my talks keeping their interests in view, and as they learn from me, I also learn that each group of students is a different kettle of fish altogether. Delightful, yes, but quite different in their selection of waters for swimming.   

For example, there is great bonding in this group because they are exactly the same age, give a year here and there. They are interested in marketing, advertizing and public relations. Creativity and writing is a part and parcel of their greater pursuits. Despite the bonding, they come from different backgrounds, some have studied literature and some have studied commerce. They are dead serious about the classes, and almost everyone is present.

As we sit  in the sun in the ampitheatre (the cold chill of the class had prompted us to move out and it has been a good decision), the sound of the airplanes that fly overhead often disturbs us. So does the carol singing of the young kids,  preparing for the Christmas show, in the garden above the sunken ampitheatre. Despite the constant noise of some kind on the other, we manage to communicate and are happy in the warmth.

So we discuss books. What kind of books do they like to read? The feedback is revealing. One does not read at all, another watches 'only' movies, a couple of them read 'only' biographies and autobiographies. One of them says she does not like fiction at all, and then says she enjoys reading books by Amitav Ghosh! Turns out she is mixing fiction with fantasy.  So she likes reading fiction but not fantasy. Not one of them like any kind of fantasy, and all of them hate Harry Potter (especially the books). Now that is shockingly revealing! There is one book-worm amongst them who reads everything from Chetan Bhagat (all the novels) to the new breed of young Indian English writers (“ I Hate to Love You” and “I Too Have a Love story” types) to Sidney Sheldon and more. But she is the only one. A couple of them like ‘Sybil’ and recommend I read it, and one of them mentions "Love Story" and how passe it is. Someone asks me about "Catcher in the Rye" and what it is about.

In totality, the impression I got was of students who do not read a lot. And they acknowledge it with grinning nods. And ask me about the books I read. Hopefully, and I can see the hope reflected in their eyes, they will read some more now. At the moment,they are aware but not absorbed…regarding books. But ask them about advertizements and they will roll them off their tongue. We like the “daag achey hain” and  “get lost” and “jid karo, duniya badlo,”advetizements but we can’t understand the logic of this one and hate that one and so on. They are pretty vociferous about advertizements, so I guess they are in the right program. The ‘Creative Writing’ student groups (and there have been several) were into creative writing and reading and mentioned books they had read like flipping coins one after the other…non-stop. Much like this batch does regarding advertizements.

I love their smiles, enthusiasm and willingness to absorb and learn. They pay attention despite the distractions. They are a close-knit set with pen drives and netbooks and tight jeans and a certain degree of cockiness. And I just love to connect with them as they talk after class about a game called ‘sun’, ‘moon’ and ‘home’ and jump up and down the steps of the ampitheatre, playing the game and laughing like a bunch of school kids. Books are the furthest from their mind as they begin talking about a marketing survey they need to do.

I head out to lunch with my mom where the sarson-ka-saag, makki-ki-roti  and adrak-chai is waiting along with more of this sun and laughter.

*****

Indiblogger Meet …an Encounter worth the time!

I decided to attend the Indibloggers meet at the Park Hotel  on Sunday, the 11th December, for several reasons. One was to connect with some of the bloggers whom I knew  online and second to connect with some I did not know at all. It was also the convenience of both the time  (afternoon) and venue  (Connaught Place) for me. 

I can say that I was rather apprehensive about the meet, since I had not attended any before, and also because I could get lost and lonely in the milieu. So it was more of an impulsive whim and a desire to meet fellow bloggers that propelled me there. The Park is a familiar venue for me, so that offered a level of comfort.

The welcome was warm. Introductions were in full swing among the women at least and I soon joined in, introduced myself, and found that there were all kinds of bloggers. I blog on ‘encounters’, and this covers a gamut of situations. Two popular bloggers whose blog names were being thrown around were Cyber Nag and Indian Home Maker. Cyber Nag was gentle and friendly and Indian Home Maker was smart and camera-wielding. So the titles did not ‘really’ fit in real life, but must be doing so in their blog avatars. I have yet to find out, for I have many blogs to visit now. I met a quiet Anshuman who blogs about ‘random resistance’ , Sangeeta Khanna who has 4 blogposts on desi food, Santosh Bangar who blogs on simple healthy cooking, Purba Ray, Pallavi, Rachit, Vineet, and a host of others. Someone intorduced himself as “not from Jalandar” (to refute his introduction on- screen as being from Jalandar). I met Dr. Maurice Ryder who writes on Himalayan adventure and action, on animals and on…many things. Ritu Lalit and Aabha Midha I met in person for the first time, and it was great to do this eventually. Hiren Gogoi, a young student from Amity, obliged by clicking several of our photos from the several cameras handed to him!

There was a blogger who blogged on liver transplants, and another who did the same on finance.  Jaspal said he made lakhs from his blogging, I think we all need to know the secret of his success. There were blogs on the mundane and the unusual, but blogs galore, take your pick!

HPoriginals emphasized the value of the original over the copy. We talked on plagiarism, and I spoke of how some of my poems had been pasted once without attribution to me. A young lady, who spoke about her blog on liver transpant being completely copied by someone, won an HP Printer.

The introductions over, the games began. Team work, treasure hunt. So the team with the most number of ‘original’ (guess what) finds, won! And individuals who found an ‘original’ also won…a printer!

High tea. Chole-bhaturey and pakoras and other mouth-watering goodies.

The Discussion is On !

Another game of writing comments on flat boards carried by the participants on their back (I got a couple of really sweet commentsJ), and some lucky ones won again. The last event was where a mock panel of Kapil Sibal, Mark Z., Sonia Gandhi, Digvijay Singh, Suhel Seth, a Yahoo and Google rep. etc., faced the audience. With  the bloggers’ own version of Rajdeep S. manning the show, we had a humourous and enlightening time. Someone in the audience said that Sonia Gandhi should not be mocked, and he was asked whether Veena Malik should? Touche. Thank god for freedom of speech, that is all I can say. Each one of us can speak and be heard.

Well, the cars and autos and buses were waiting. We took our T shirts (yes, that too!) and bid our goodbyes to new friends made and old friendships strengthened.

Thank you Indiblogger and HPoriginals for a really good time. Oh yes, I learnt how to use the QR App. too!That is an added attribute.

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FLASH BITES : A collection of Flash Fiction by Abha Iyengar

Available as an e-book on smashwords 

 http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/59782

Review by: BishalThapa on Aug. 29, 2011 :     

Ever stood under an Indian Monsoon after a hot, sunny day? Flash Bites might let you experience that sensation. 

Each raindrop is unique. Some are big heavy drops that hurt you when it lands. Some are small light drops that tickle you when it lands. Yet others are just illusionary drops that disappear somewhere on the way down. Some drops hurtle straight down; some sideways; yet others have no idea which way it wants to go. A rain shower contains many such drops.

Taking in Ms. Iyengar’s book is like standing under an Indian Monsoon after a hot, sunny day. Each drop has its unique character. But it is the rain shower that drenches you.

I would recommend not bringing an umbrella.


(Bishal Thapa is Vice President with global consultancy firm works on energy and environmental issues, though he would rather be reviewing books than climate policies.)

With Due Respect to Those Who Eventually Find Their Way

Streets, Signs, Directions…

I am known as one who reads the signs. That is the only way I know where to go.  I am the quintessential ‘wanderer’ in the sense that I will wander very often because I do not know the direction that I need to take. It embarrases me to admit this, but I may have traversed a road often enough and still not know whether I need to turn right or wrong, sorry, left , from there. And this is not a case of senility taking over, I have been like this from the day I began  to venture out on my own.

I mean, there are all kinds of travellers in the world, aren’t there? Do note here that despite this apparent lack of direction, I am one gung-ho traveller. There is a place to see in the world…just lead me to it. I am a taster of strange waters and listener of stranger talks and I just love it like nothing else. There is a sense of wonder in travelling and seeing a new place. The fact that I may not find my way home is very far from my mind when I venture out. Foolish? I would say not. I have an enquiring nature and am willing to stop every furlong and ask for directions. Thank god I can read the signs. Sometimes I just have to read them, remember them, and then move on.

But I know the reasons for this lack of street sense. I can enumerate them and perhaps will find a few who will sympathise and empathise. As a child I travelled in a chauffeur-driven car, and in the point to point travelling, I never looked out of the window. Even when I did look out, I never noticed anything, least of all directions. I was either day dreaming, or had my nose in a book. I never felt the need or desire to watch the world go by. Strange,for now I see and look and watch. Then, after marrriage, I travelled with my husband, and once again, I moved blindly, in complete faith and trust, not bothering about directions. It is only when I began travelling on my own for work that the issues got raised. Left or right or straight ahead began to be big questions that loomed on the horizon for me. If I wanted to reach that horizon, I had to know how to get there.

I agree that I cannot hold the exterior environment as totally responsible, I did say that I am a day dreamer and a reader. I had to change all that when I began to travel alone. It has made me become aware like never before of streets and signs and landmarks for destinations. I also know that many people who daydream or read while travelling will still know how to reach a place. Alas, I am not so gifted. I have to din the directions into my head. And of course, I can read signs, and thank god for them popping up everywhere.

I once gave directions to a friend who was pick me up from my mother’s house. We were a group of writers from all over India who were meeting after a long time and all of us were looking forward to this meeting. My friend arriving safely at my mom’s place to pick me up in time. I patted myself on giving him good directions, you could just see me beaming as I hugged my fellow writers. Imagine my chagrin when he said, “Abha, I just went in the opposite direction of your instructions. That is why I have reached here.” The fact was that he lived in New Delhi and had soon figured out that whatever directions I had given him would not land him at my mom’s doorstep, but in the market behind it. Now how could I react to this? I could be upset in his proclamation of this in front of my other writer friends, or just be happy that he had arrived. I swallowed my pride and took his remark with grace, got into the car and pretended I was not smarting at all. I was, though. It is difficult to admit to one self that one is not purr-fect. Especially when people usually tell you that you are quite a cat. Such statements help you see you for what you are. Okay, so cats have their quirks.

And at least I can read signs and behave smart in front of certain auto drivers who insist on stopping at every traffic light  and asking questions like, “Madam, do you want to go right from here or left?” with complete innocence. As if Madam knows. Yet, at any such driver query, I nod sagely and tell him to take the fastest route,  since I want to get to the place in time, and surely he knows the way, being an auto driver and all that? And I hate him forever for trying to see whether I do. Delhi auto drivers can give you a good merry-go-round of the city if they get a whiff of uncertainty from you.

What happens in places where the signs are in a different language? Or the people speak a different tongue? I look helpless and throw words around, go through the guide book, accost a stranger and see if s/he knows the languages I do. Someone always come as an answer to the silent prayers I send out. Like in Ponidcherry, where they only speak Tamil or French and I I didn’t know either language, I was often in a fix. However, I would always find some auto driver who spoke English,  what with so many foreigners visiting Pondicherry.  And, I even found one who spoke Hindi whose mobile number I took immedaitely, so that I could call him for my expeditions into the city. In Bangalore, I found it very tough, though, for Kannada (the local language) stumped me and my languages stumped the drivers there. So then it was just clear enunciation of the destination street name, and then trusting the signs and the gods.

I wartch carefully now, spot and remember landmarks. I also guage distances and directions of movement. I note which side of the road I got off on, so that I cross to the other side for the return ride. I have found that I am not so helpless when I am on my own, I do find my way back everytime, whether on the tram in Paris or the autobahn in Berlin. Or on the Metro in New Delhi, my hometown. So I do know that the Metro blue line goes from East to West Delhi, the yellow line from Central Delhi to Gurgaon, and so on. There is also a purple line, and that is so exciting, since the colour purple makes me go green with delight.

I may be dumb with directions, but then, ask me where Rykjavik is, and I can tell you on the map. How many can? And if I know where it is , rest assured I can get there, for I know all about streets, directions and tell tale signs. I also have a woman’s instinct and am loaded with intuition. More than enough to get by on any street I choose to make mine at any time in my life.

As for finding my way back from my adventurous outings…I did mention I am a kind of a cat, and cats always find their way home. Purr-fect.

Return Encounters of the Class Kind

I am writing this after a long time, have had several classes in between but somehow had not felt like putting it all down, maybe it was just that I was so busy completing my novel. It is done. I am happy, and taking a breather, not thinking about the next stepping stone yet: you got it, the publsihing of the novel!

Meanwhile, to saner things.

The class was back again to being interesting. Good turnout, and the airconditioning  on full to kill all hot and humid feelings from the flesh. What was hot and churning was the brain. The topic for the day was dialogue writing, and there was much to be discussed here. The initial exercise was of a mother telling her 14 year old son or daughter to change his/her clothes which she considered unsuitable and the child’s reaction. This was to be in the form of a dialogue. Some responses were more narration than dialogue, one lady misunderstood it to be a father telling the child off, but apart from such gaffes the exercise had its high points. There was a story of how a girl refuses to take her dupatta to cover her head in the gurdwara, saying she will pick up a scarf at the place instead(a compromise of sorts but also getting her way), another one where the child accepts  being left behind at home rather than change her clothes. In another tale, the child is told  that even though he thinks he looks like Farhan Akhtar dressed for the Tomatino Fair in Spain, such an outfit would not go down well for a grandparent’s birthday party. Here,the mother tells the son he looks like a Holocaust Survivor while he thinks he looks like a film star. She also says that his outfit would not go well with her kanjeevaram saree, so it was a funny one, this one. In four out of ten stories, there was talk of ‘banging doors’ in anger as people stomped out or into their rooms. So we had a discussion on the banging of doors and someone said that in her house they cannot bang doors, and someone said his dog bangs the door for them, another said if the door banged, the walls would fall, and so on. ;)

We then did an exercise where one of the girls, a 9th class student , wearing tight jeans and strappy purple sandals, braces and spectacles, and hair in pony tails, was made to stand in a Shringar Mudra pose (which she learnt as a student of kathak), and 2 of the paritcipants were asked to walk in the garden (imaginative), and chance upon this sculpture. They had to  comment on this ‘sculpture’ supposedly placed in the middle of the garden. The comments were funny to say the least, they were astounded at this post-modernist piece of art with the girl dressed in jeans and adopting a 'shingar' pose.(one hand holding a mirror in front of the face, the other hand putting a mark on her forehead, one leg bent behind the other and a hip stuck out). Then each one wrote the dialogue down as their version, as they thought it would happen, and once again we had some good pieces. There was a conversation between a hip- hop dancer guy in the US who found the statue yuck and funny and not dressed as it should be. He was with and Indian  girl named Shakuntala, called ‘Shat ‘for short , (I squirmed at this),who thought that the hip-hop guy should appreciate a dance form since he was a dancer, even though the dance form (kathak) is not known to him.

We then went into the nitty grity of dialogue writing, the punctuations etc., and this the class found to be a real learning experience. They were busy noting down the points and getting their doubts clarified.

The next class was equally interesting, but that is another story!

Recent Review of 'Flash Bites' e book

"Relationships seem to be the basic theme that weaves into most all of yor stories. Poignant are stories of broken relationships. But the most beautiful part of your stories are the IMAGERY. It is rich, graphic and all pervasive. It makes the reading not only powerful but also pretty and oh, so touching."


~Vasudha Gupta (Ph.D.)
Licensed Psychologist, USA


Link to Flash Bites: 
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/59782

My film Parwaaz can be viewed on youtube

My poem film, Parwaaz, means Flight.  It showed successfully at several international film festivals in Germany, India, Zimbabwe, and won the Special Jury Prize at Patras Film Festival, Greece.  With subtitles in English, it has been directed by Biju Viswanath. The Urdu poem is written by me and translated into English by me. I also act in the film and the voice is mine.

This film is now available for your viewing pleasure online on you tube.

Do watch and comment here.