NaNoWriMo 2006

Getting ready for NaNoWriMo, I have gleaned a couple of references to free programs / gizmos for writers. There are lots more, which you can find by browsing the Nanowrimo forums. Go and sign up -- the time to write your novel has come!

Papel - 'the intuitive tool for creative writers'. I just started to use it, and it's wonderful. I've made one 'papel' for my novel, and another one as a kind of idea dump - for blog, poetry, short story ideas. It has a desktop with text documents which can be moved around, as in mind-mapping - for scenes, characters, notes, or whatever you want.

A cute pocket storyboarder.

Noisy Keyboard makes your keyboard sound like an electric typewriter. Turn it on or off, according to your mood.

As to my novel, I've decided to have fun, and not to worry about being intelligent, or about who might read over my shoulder and sneer at me. Maybe I'll actually finish this year.

Lightning

A terrific thunderstorm last night. I saw a bright flash, as if a light bulb had exploded, and glass flying and clinking on the floor. A window had blown out. I photographed it as if I were a reporter at a crime scene, and tried to sweep up the shards. (In the morning Lakshmi found more, 15 feet from the window.)

I looked out the door where the watchman was sheltering in the porch, and said, "What was that?" He said, "Minnal" - lightning. "Is that so?" I nodded, and went back inside.

Still Here

I’ve been so down about the image-less state of this blog – and by extension, the fragility and futility of the world, etc. etc., that I was on the verge of chucking it. The blog, that is. Then R persuaded me not to.

I was driving through driving rain today: it’s been going on for several days now; parts of the city are flooded, and everything is a soggy mess. I was listening to Ernst Bacon’s Remembering Ansel Adams, for clarinet and orchestra, and it became apparent that the inside and outside of the car occupied parallel but completely different universes. It was a dangerous illusion, given the need of the driver (me) to pay close attention to the splashings and swervings; but so pleasant, being cocooned in cool and meditative sound.

Beyond that, life goes on in its usual soggy and messy way. We saw a very good film, Indian but mostly in English: Being Cyrus, with a good cast, and excellent acting by Saif Ali Khan. Divali, the festival of lights, came and went, with some squibs dampened by rain, but enough remaining to create a continuous wall of noise from morning to night. Oh, and I painted a shell that I like. That’s about it.


My husband's take on the same shell.

Coconuts and Poochis 2

Back in March I wrote about how we had applied a medicinal poultice to the crowns of our three coconut trees, because insects were spoiling the young coconuts. And whether because of our efforts or not, the next crop was superior. Now our newish gardener has declared that the coconuts need another dose. He's from the countryside and knows farming - certainly our garden has never looked better - so we have obeyed. In addition to what we had applied in March: rock salt, mothballs, sambrani (a kind of incense), turmeric, and edible camphor (used here in some sweets), we have now added asafoetida and a fragrant bark called (I think) vaasambu. Lakshmi, Ethiraj the gardener, and a coconut-tree climber worked to pound the ingredients between two stones in the ugliest part of our house, the area behind the kitchen:


The coconut-tree climber has an interesting looking container hanging from his belt to hold his machete. the rope over his shoulder is his climbing sling. He wrapped the pink cloth around his head to make an informal turban, shinnied up the trees, cut off excess leaves (how does one determine this, I wonder?), cleaned the crowns, applied the poultice and shinnied back down again. Now let's see.

Two French students by Ramesh Gandhi

An Elephant Crackup

There's a fascinating / scary / terribly sad article in today's New York Times magazine: An Elephant Crackup? It is primarily about African elephants, but it mentions Indian elephants as well; and the problems are apparently evident among all elephant populations:

... today’s elephant populations are suffering from a form of chronic stress, a kind of species-wide trauma. Decades of poaching and culling and habitat loss, they claim, have so disrupted the intricate web of familial and societal relations by which young elephants have traditionally been raised in the wild, and by which established elephant herds are governed, that what we are now witnessing is nothing less than a precipitous collapse of elephant culture.

It has long been apparent that every large, land-based animal on this planet is ultimately fighting a losing battle with humankind. And yet entirely befitting of an animal with such a highly developed sensibility, a deep-rooted sense of family and, yes, such a good long-term memory, the elephant is not going out quietly. It is not leaving without making some kind of statement, one to which scientists from a variety of disciplines, including human psychology, are now beginning to pay close attention. ...

Several Things

It's fever season. We always have malaria and typhoid, to greater or lesser degrees; this year we have chikungunya. I'd never heard of it; it has emerged after 37 years. And more recently, there's dengue. Dengue is usually more prevalent in the north, but I heard from someone here a couple of days ago that he had been diagnosed with it. Both are carried by a day-biting mosquito.

When we sit out on the lawn at night and I get bitten, I think, "Never mind, it's a night-biter," and if I get bitten during the day I think, "Never mind, this one isn't likely to be carrying anything." So far, this primitive magic has worked.

One night, very late, there was such a thunderstorm that it was like a very austere musical composition: concerto for thunder, with the soloist right overhead, and supporting thunder all around. It was so beautifully spare a piece that the only frill was the percussion of rattling windows. By the time the rain started, I had already gone back to sleep.


Petrol bunk red:

For Once, Then, Something

I suddenly wanted to read poems by Robert Frost. I had read him in high school, then did not for many years. I found this poem, which I had not known before, but which I found beautiful:

For Once, Then Something

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven, godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths-and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.

Good News and Bad News

Regarding my recent disappearance from the airwaves, Blogger has sent me this note:

I have some good news and bad news for you. The good news is that your blog is now back online and publishing correctly with all your posts and archives intact. The bad news is that everything you have uploaded to your page such as pictures and images have been lost. We deeply and sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.

Once I get over being stunned, I will begin to try to replace those images. Anyway, here I am. Blogger has pulled me out of the hat. Tada.

Several Things

August 22 is Madras Day, the (368th) 'birthday' of the city of Chennai, which was called Madras for almost all of its previous birthdays. Kutcheribuzz has a Madras Day website, and Chennai Metroblogging has a number of posts connected to the city and the day.


Going through newspapers that had piled up in our absence, I found an extremely interesting article about professional mourners in the Tamil fishing community. Their art, of wailing and singing songs for men who have died, is called oppari. I Googled oppari, and found this article: Professional Weeping: Music, Affect, and Hierarchy in a South Indian Folk Performance Art.


This looks very cool (via Lifehacker): a free yoga class delivered each day by podcast, from Yoga Today. Unfortunately, you have to have really broad broadband, and unlimited downloads, to benefit from it: I've been trying to download one hour-long program for hours, and it's coming very slowly. The site suggests that if you choose the higher-res download (1 GB), you leave your computer on all night, so that it will be ready for you in the morning.

At the Bar

So we're vacationing in Bangalore, and we're in the bar, and sitting at another table is Feroze Khan, who was a filmstar once, and who is a producer, and whose son is acting in films. He was drinking with someone who seemed to be a pal of his. A little blonde girl, the child of one of the foreigners who are staying at the hotel, and who looked to me to be about nine years old, all dressed up in churidar-kameez, with a dupatta and everything, and probably feeling very grown up, went over to his table. My first thought was, Where are her parents? Then I looked again, nosy/curious, and saw that she had draped a loop of string around the pal’s hands, and was showing him how to play cat's cradle. She was very intent on the loops and twists, and when she was done both men applauded. I looked again a few minutes later, and she was sitting in the chair next to FK's, and he was showing her what looked like sleight of hand, a magic trick. He looks dramatic, a shaved head covered with a long scarf. He was doing magician-like hand movements with flourishes, and she was trying to copy him, and the light was shining down on both of them, and it looked charming. Then it was over, and she ran back to a stool at the bar, where her father or someone was waiting for her.

Independence Day

August 15 is Indian Independence Day. Last night someone from Guest Relations called us and said that the hotel was having a flag-raising at 8:00 this morning, and invited us to attend. To my surprise, R agreed – he avoids ceremonies of any kind, and we never get up before 8:30. But we duly walked up to the hotel gate at five minutes to eight. A group of employees was arrayed around the flagpole; the security guards in their uniforms were trying to look military. Coffee and Indian sweets were kept ready at tables to one side. One of the staff came up to us holding a tray covered with pins in the colours of the Indian flag: saffron white green. R picked out a flag pin, I chose a small rosette shape. Then we waited. A few hotel guests trickled in, but most were staff. 8:00 came and went and R, always obsessed with time, began to be impatient. Finally, at 8:10, a car drove in the gate: the Manager had arrived. He drove a little beyond where we stood, got out and hurried back to the flagpole. As he passed us, R showed him his watch and said, “Independence came late to India.” (He told us afterwards that he had attended the Chief Minister’s flag-raising, which had been late.)

The flag was already at the top of the flagpole, folded into a small bundle. The Manager pulled the rope and unfurled the flag, from which flower petals showered onto the watchers below. Everyone applauded, and a tinny recording of the national anthem was played. The Manager shook hands with the assembled staff members, and we went to breakfast.

In the afternoon we will fly back home. When we scheduled our return for Independence Day we didn’t think twice about it; now, with the new state of high alertness, and an additional warning for today, we are dreading the prospect of delays at the airport. All passengers must now arrive at the airport 90 minutes before the flight time (for, in our case, a 20 minute flight). We don’t know whether we can carry on the laptop, my camera, R’s camera bag crammed with lenses – none of which we would like to pack into our suitcases.

It will all happen, one way or another. This day will slide into the past, and tomorrow morning I will wake up in hot Chennai, and walk downstairs to start the day, as if this place, with its concerns and ceremonies, never existed.

All Diseases Cured

Still on vacation, and still updating my arts blog with sketches and findings and such: fire star arts

Photography at Sepia

It's always interesting to see what Sepia Gallery, in New York, is showing. Their current online exhibition has eight photomontages by Vivan Sundaram, called 'Retake of Amrita.' According to the description:

...'Retake of Amrita' ... fuses photography, painting, family history, and autobiography into multi-faceted contemporary fictions. This series of digital photomontages utilizes images from his family archive, including photographs taken by his grandfather Umrao Singh Sher-Gil...; the primary protagonist of the series is his aunt, the painter Amrita Sher-Gil (1913-1941).

Take a look at the section on past exhibitions as well.

Several Things

I'm on vacation, first of all. Hurray for wi-fi!

Secondly, a few days back I was able once again to see the blogsites which had been banned by the government earlier - blogspot, typepad, geocities. Many ISPs had lifted the ban earlier; mine, Hathway, was apparently one of the last to let go. No notice of imposition, and none of lifting: one day it was all just there again.

Thirdly, I am amusing myself with a little pamphlet I made out of old wedding invitations:



I'm filling it up and posting the pictures on my sketch blog, for those who are interested in this kind of thing: fire star arts.

That's about it, I guess. It's so lovely in Bangalore right now - soft air, a breeze making the most beautiful sighing sound in the branches of the trees, birds with more melodious cries than those of my household crows. As in the beginning of every vacation, it's hard to imagine ever leaving.

Interim

The blog ban continues, even though it's increasingly clear that it was all a mistake.

My hard disk crashed, and the people who are trying to rescue its data are ominously silent. The worst loss for me will be ALL of the pictures I've taken on my not-so-new digital camera, and the scans I've been making of R's old black and white negatives, and my slides from travels here and there. At least I can re-scan the latter, though the thought of going through it all again is depressing, to say the least.

I'm listening to a CD someone gave me yesterday, A Sufi Voyage, with music by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Abida Parveen, Pathaney Khan, and the Sabri Brothers. Rollicking, wonderful stuff. Almost enough to make me forget my hard disk. (Mera Ishq Vee Toon!!! I don't even need to speak Saraiki to love it. Makes my hair stand on end.)

I'm trying to write a short story, and finding it hard going. It didn't help that my first draft was on my -- did I mention this? -- hard disk.

Ghulam Farid Sabri, whom I wrote about here

update: My computer person tells me that he is able to direct my hard disk, which has to be good, right? That Sufi voyaging must have helped. So Inshallah I am hoping that by Monday all will be well. Mashallah. And I'm installing a second disk so that I can back up from one to the other. Someday I really will become a Luddite, really -- but then how will I be able to listen to beautiful music by inspired qawwals?

Bitterness 2

I'm revisiting my baby bitter gourds. This is the vine, outside the kitchen door. The rectangle of light is the height of a brick laid flat. You can see a yellow flower, and a new baby gourd growing from the base of a second flower.

Bitterness

The blog ban continues, but I’m not going to write about it – others are doing so.

Instead, I present here the latest fruits of our garden, called bitter gourd or bitter melon. They are usually cucumber-sized, but because we are lousy gardeners baby vegetables are fashionable, these are tiny. The vine on which they grew was as fine as a thread. Are they not beautiful?

Clampdown 2

According to NDTV 24X7, an Indian news channel, the clampdown on blogsites (and some websites) is NOT connected to the recent blasts in Mumbai, but is an effort to curb the propagation of religious extremism on the Net. If that's true, the ban may not be lifted any time soon.

If it's not clear from what has been said so far, the Indian ban applies to ALL blogs from these sites, not just those originating in India: ALL blogspot, typepad, geocities blogs worldwide. If you have a blog from one of these providers anywhere in the world, I cannot read you.

It's odd that we can still post to our own blogs, and read the blogs that we have had the foresight to subscribe to through RSS. These loopholes may well be closed soon, if this is to be a long-term policy.

Meanwhile, there's a workaround which allows me to read Blogspot blogs, but it's getting a lot of publicity, so it may not last long. It doesn't seem to work for Typepad. Movable Type is not affected -- no religious extremists there, apparently.

Sigh.

Clampdown

Since last night, I'm able to post to this blog, but not able to see the results after they are published, except through my RSS reader. According to Boing Boing, the Indian Government has asked Indian ISPs to block certain blog providers such as Blogspot, Typepad, and Geocities, without any explanation. I called my service provider, Hathway Internet, to confirm that that was my problem, and they hung up on me.

A couple of years ago, the government had blocked access to all Yahoo Group sites, then as in this case because of perceived security threats.

I naturally support all efforts of the government to fight terrorism, and realise that they have a difficult task right now, after the Mumbai/ Srinagar bombings on the 11th. I wonder if this is the way to address the problem.

More:
India Blocks Access Major Blog Sites
India blocks Blogger, TypeAd and Geocities blogs and websites
Blogs, websites go blank