All these years on Facebook and I still cannot bear to share random details of my life there. But I have written reams and reams here and back to it again, as we can see. What is it then? Secure in the relative anonymity? Or was it really always just about the writing?
As I near the two year anniversary of not having written a single word, I may be arriving at yet another mid-life creativity crisis. One thing is for certain, there is no answer to this whole work vs writing dilemma. Or none that is evident to me at any rate. I thought I could do both but have of course been proven wrong. I also thought that a room of one's own and money in the bank was the answer but I suspect that with interest rates being where they are, that might need a bit of a rejig. So here I am, thirty seven years old, grey now liberally peppering my hair, three novels on the shelves, none in the pipeline, a job that keeps me occupied through my waking hours, two children who tell me I should finish office work on weekends so that I can stay at home Monday through Friday and no sense of what I want to do next. Suggestions are welcome. Open your hearts.
Well, not so much Dilli ki gulliyan as a bookstore in a mall but you know what I mean. Toh, meherbaanz and kadardaanz, I will be celebrating my birthday working really, really hard. Launching books, talking with this lady here, and so on. Khair, please do come if you happen to be around.
I am also reading from Tuki's Grand Salon Chase at this other event hosted by the Delhi Book Lovers Club on the same day! Busy, busy. This one's in Nehru Place. Drop by?
We are hosting a small event for the launch of Tuki's Grand Salon Chase this Saturday. On the menu: chai, biskut, gup-shup, a reading by my dear friend and all-around amazing woman Kiran Manral and hanging out with friends. No celebrities, no champagne, no life-changing phenomenon. Come, say hello if you are in Bombay. You know I'd love to see you!
I got my author copies for Tuki's
Grand Salon Chase! I am glad to report that I am not a jaded,
oh-yawn-what's-in-the-mail writer yet. Once I got the news that the
books had been dispatched, I contemplated taking leave from work and
waiting for them full-time. Alas, my office is not as flexible as that.
As a result, when the books finally did arrive, I was at work. Appa and
Amma mailed me - books here, come soon, in the manner of telegrams of
yore. While I would have liked to fly on the wings of a cloud or
whatever else is the preferred mode of transportation of poets these
days, I had to wait.
I walked inside and there it was, a
brown box of the sort that comes home every other day, bearing books,
except this time, they were mine.
said she would help me open the box and brought out a chef's knife to
rip open the tape. I could have suggested using a paper cutter but then I
learnt not to argue with Padma a long time ago.
There they sat, ten copies of my book, nestled together like twins. Well, five sets of twins.
I took them out and oh, the joy. For that moment alone, the months of self-doubt and self-flagellation are worth it.
I've given a few away already but the rest, they sit there in a pretty pile on a table in the living room.
it will be out there. Readers may like it, may find it average, may
trample it. But for just a few days, this book is mine and mine alone.