One day, two weeks back: Rash goes and interviews famous person.
Evening, same day: Rash thinks of writing the story that very evening after the beta sleeps, like a true-to-her-job-reporter. Thought stays for less than one fleeting second. Rash reaches home, puts beta to sleep, has a glass of wine with the husband, watches some Reese Witherspoon movie, remembers story in the middle of movie and decides to definitely write it the next day.
Process repeated everyday (except weekends, when Rash excuses herself from her backbreaking workload)
Finally, one everning, two weeks later, she decides to put finger on keyboard.
7 pm: The beta is sleeping. Rash decides to sit with a nice relaxing mug of coffee before starting work.
7.10: Checks blogs. After all, he doesn't sleep at 7 every evening, does he?
7.30: Checks mail. Replies to every friend who has ever written to her, including person who assigned story.
7.50: Chats with friend in London on Skype. It's important as friend has exams and needs that goodluck wish.
8.30: Ooooops! oooops! ooops! That's quite a lot of time gone! Goes and checks on beta. Adjusts his blanket, checks the speed of the fan, opens one window, shuts another, dumps toys in basket, smiles fondly at beta. Repeats process.
8.35: P is home.
8.45: Decides to spend some quality time with P. She sits and reads the India Today's Bangalore supplement. He watches football highlights. They decide to have beer. It needs to be chilled. Rash goes and switches off the computer. Decides to restart work (which she hasn't started yet, except open the notes she scribbled during the interview) after dinner.
10.30: Switches on computer. Checks if there are new comments on her blog. Reads eight blogs. Chats with friend on gmail. Goes and checks on beta. Rerun of 8.30 action.
10.45: Has minor fight with P over possession of computer. Tells P she is working against a deadline and NOT BLOGGING. Writes a two line intro to justify her claim (and to show P in case he returns to check).
10.55: Tries to decipher own handwriting from interview notes.
11.10: Figures out most of the interview and decides to start. However, there's a blog in her brain. It's itching to be written. Now. Rash brushes thought of blog from her mind and gets back to story. Writes two lines.
11.30: Itching gets stronger. Rash tries to visualise person who assigned story as meancing, nasty editor standing with deadline stick over her head. Giggles.
11.34: Giggles some more at the imagery.
11.37: Non-stop giggling.
11:40: Itching stronger than ever. Rash is not a procrastinator. She decides to blog. Her brain needs to be free to concentrate on the story after all.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
I miss my bookshelf. Back in Gurgaon I had an open bookshelf right in the living room. Yes, not a good idea I know but when we moved in, there was this empty space on the wall and it was just shouting BOOKSHELF.
I love books just the way they are. I don't like it when books are bound and when books are encased in meticulous protective covers. And I don't like it when books are inside a closed shelf or almirah, usually with a wooden door. It makes me feel like I'm cut off from my books. I need to see them as I pass through, go about my daily work, cook, have a coffee, fight with husband, babble on the phone....during everything. Practically speaking, open shelves gather dust and there are more chances of people walking away casually with your books (especially when shelf is in living room) and never returning them but then being practical isn't everything, is it?
When I was a kid, one of my aunts would always gift me books with little notes scribbled on them. She had been an avid reader and if marriage, motherhood and the demands of a trying joint family had put reading in the backseat, she always tried to buy me something she herself had loved. Yet another aunt (dearly loved, except for this) would insist I cover the books she brought me to protect them from dust. In fact, once she put hideous platic covers on most of my books when she came to visit us in Orissa. I waited for her month long visit to be over and then proceeded to gleefully yank the covers off.
This is why I terribly miss my open shelf back at the flat in Gurgaon. I'd only one but there were plans to cover one whole room with such shelves and then go bookshopping to fill it up.....
Out here I have no dearth of storage space. But it is all closed in, very practical. This keeps my books from being spotted by flinching friends, cobwebs and dust. And sometimes, even by me.
I love books just the way they are. I don't like it when books are bound and when books are encased in meticulous protective covers. And I don't like it when books are inside a closed shelf or almirah, usually with a wooden door. It makes me feel like I'm cut off from my books. I need to see them as I pass through, go about my daily work, cook, have a coffee, fight with husband, babble on the phone....during everything. Practically speaking, open shelves gather dust and there are more chances of people walking away casually with your books (especially when shelf is in living room) and never returning them but then being practical isn't everything, is it?
When I was a kid, one of my aunts would always gift me books with little notes scribbled on them. She had been an avid reader and if marriage, motherhood and the demands of a trying joint family had put reading in the backseat, she always tried to buy me something she herself had loved. Yet another aunt (dearly loved, except for this) would insist I cover the books she brought me to protect them from dust. In fact, once she put hideous platic covers on most of my books when she came to visit us in Orissa. I waited for her month long visit to be over and then proceeded to gleefully yank the covers off.
This is why I terribly miss my open shelf back at the flat in Gurgaon. I'd only one but there were plans to cover one whole room with such shelves and then go bookshopping to fill it up.....
Out here I have no dearth of storage space. But it is all closed in, very practical. This keeps my books from being spotted by flinching friends, cobwebs and dust. And sometimes, even by me.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
In Which I Bitch
I was at this quiet Daily Bread store in Indiaranagar the other day, debating between yummy Mediterranean Bread v/s equally yummy Garlic Bread and generally feeling happy at the sight of so many desserts, when the door opened and in walked a strong waft of VERY EXPENSIVE PERFUME. She insisted on buying only chocolate donuts as 'Maira' loved them, or so I figured from the conversation she had with VERY EXPENSIVE RAYBAN, her hunky companion.
There was only one choco dounut left, which resulted in a mini and goodnatured tantrum. At this point Rayban insisted on driving her anywhere just to get the donuts. 'Ok wait let me check with Maira,' trilled Perfume and snapped out the tiniest of mobile phones. Rayban watched worshipfully. So did all of us.
I suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia: this is so, so Delhi, I thought. I could've been standing outside Big Chill in Khan Market watching dressed-to-kill-diva throwing a tantrum on being asked to wait. Then guess what happenned? Daily Bread guy gave Rayban directions to their Church Street outlet. Perfume trilled again before wafting out: 'But where is Church Street? We're not from here. We're from Delhi. Let me ask Maira's driver.'
See how well I knew that city? I could've cried. But I laughed instead. And not because four choco donuts were already in my goodiebag.
There was only one choco dounut left, which resulted in a mini and goodnatured tantrum. At this point Rayban insisted on driving her anywhere just to get the donuts. 'Ok wait let me check with Maira,' trilled Perfume and snapped out the tiniest of mobile phones. Rayban watched worshipfully. So did all of us.
I suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia: this is so, so Delhi, I thought. I could've been standing outside Big Chill in Khan Market watching dressed-to-kill-diva throwing a tantrum on being asked to wait. Then guess what happenned? Daily Bread guy gave Rayban directions to their Church Street outlet. Perfume trilled again before wafting out: 'But where is Church Street? We're not from here. We're from Delhi. Let me ask Maira's driver.'
See how well I knew that city? I could've cried. But I laughed instead. And not because four choco donuts were already in my goodiebag.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Coorg
Photoblogging is so much easier. I could have written on and on about our drive to the Tata Coffee plantations in Coorg on a very rainy weekend, but the somewhat cranky beta (he's teething) has slept and there are scores of blogs I want to read.
So I'll just post some pictures. From driving out on a rainy morning to the greenery that almost made my eyes hurt.
It rained all the three days we were there, so we stayed put at the guesthouse most of the time, sipping endless cups of chai/coffee, increasing our girth by hogging whatever was offered (did not love famous Coorgi Pork curry much)and driving out once in a while. Would've loved to have done some nice walking round the plantation but hey, it's only six hours away. And rain or shine, with a view like that, how could you even complain?
So I'll just post some pictures. From driving out on a rainy morning to the greenery that almost made my eyes hurt.
It rained all the three days we were there, so we stayed put at the guesthouse most of the time, sipping endless cups of chai/coffee, increasing our girth by hogging whatever was offered (did not love famous Coorgi Pork curry much)and driving out once in a while. Would've loved to have done some nice walking round the plantation but hey, it's only six hours away. And rain or shine, with a view like that, how could you even complain?
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