The Art of Reading

I am quite sure you are not here to learn from me the art of reading.

Since that's settled, I can confess I have no idea about the art of reading.

I write more than I read. In other words, I hardly read. But, once in a while, I arm-twist a friend or two to read what I write. 

They are good readers. They teach me a lot about how to improve my writing. But, I never learn.

If I had listened to them, my short stories would have been much better.

It is not that I don't listen to them at all. Because of them, I have really cut down or even done without the 'flowery' stuff. Oh, you know, the part where writers go ga-ga, lyrical and descriptive about Nature, moods, etc..

There is one tangential issue I should note. How much do readers affect a writer? 

Some writers carry their own life, character and even acquaintances into the world of their writing. 

Some stay away from their own life, preferring a well-researched setting outside one's own world.

Is that because of the readers they expect?

So, what does all this have to do with (the art of) reading?

After a long time, I have picked up a few novels to read. Last night, I picked up one. I was still in the short-story mode: expecting a quick ending by the end of the chapter, my editing eyes cutting out stuff that would not be there in a short story, impatient when I reached chapter two.

Worse, with short story or novel, I read like a person who knew the author.

I will pick up another novel today. I will try to forget the author. Take each page as it comes. Try not to expect the ABCDE short story structure in every chapter (it is not a structure I personally use). Remain objective. Mildly critical. And, most importantly, try to get lost in that world.

A Love By Any Name...

Recently, I googled "what lovers call each other".

Flashback:

In school, in the pre-Internet era, my gang discussed the same. To be ready for life 10-15 years ahead. We made a list. Even ranked all those synonyms of sugar, baby, dearest, etc.. 

We were thorough. We also talked about what would happen after. That part ended with a collective horror we called nightmare on M-street. What if the first night ended with "Theernno, Chetta?" ("Finished, bro?")? 

(Chetta is one of those ambiguous labels Malayalee ladies use. It could mean elder brother. It could mean husband.)

Back to the Future: 

The lover in my gang (1 out of 8) refused to divulge his mating call. He has 4 kids. The last as recent as 2 years back. Not one a mistake,  he says. My religion forbids protected sex, he adds wistfully.

The raconteur, on his first night, regaled his spouse with his best performance. She suffered a stitch in the side. Called him, "Po Da!" ("Get lost!"). Affectionately though. The consummation had to be postponed till her side mended. What did you call her, we asked. I never got to that part of any story, he said.

The silent one admitted the position mattered more in his case. After many a hit and miss, the silence between them was turning out to be the stuff of art movies (with a script from a prolonged writer's block). They placed the bed beside another window, for better visual sans audio. Till dawn, they lay lost longing. With first light, the cock crowed. They assumed the bird-on-top position. His wife, an amateur ornithologist, twisted and turned. "Look! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" she exclaimed. He lay there, silent still satiated, wondering if his wife had picked up that sweet call from Shakespeare's poem 'Spring'.

The MCP and the fascist did something right. They got four full meals every day.

The communist's wife, in orgasmic frenzy, cried, "Kuttaaaa." (A local version of "Baby.") His father knocked at their bedroom door and asked, "Yes, moley (daughter)?" He had forgotten to tell his wife that her father-in-law's pet name is Kuttan.

The liberal got divorced. He is a lost cause now. I kept it simple, called her darling, he says. We didn't tell him his darling rhymes with Worli, with 3 r's and 4 l's, a capital of each included.

Then, me. I am googling, didn't I say?

A love by any name may not remain as sweet.

(Did the nightmare on M-street happen? It must have, to all. The best horror leave us stunned and silent, don't they, with shivers running down the spine with every reminder: girl with long hair ('The Ring'), doll ('The Poltergeist'), young boy ('The Omen'), etc..)

Phew! Water! Alas!

 A week back, I decided not to trouble my friends ever again with my water woes.

I stayed away, saving you from that depressed grumpy unwashed self with small worries like how to take care of an old mother without water in these coronatimes.

If the times were different, we would have just taken a flight to Goa and stayed in a resort for a month or till the government supplied water.

Last night, we got 800L of water. Phew! 

Now, I can deal with the lighter things in life like fascism, communism, freedom of expression, even basic human rights.

Alas, no! I promise not to touch that basic human right called water. Never again!

Water Crisis

 Major crisis at home (the first of 2021)

KWA water supply in 2021  (Jan 12-19, 2021): 2290L

KWA meter also ran due to AIR (Jan 1-Feb 7): 2600L

Corporation tanker filled sump on 8 days between Jan 1-Feb 7, the last time on Feb 2.

Now, due to sewerage works, even that tanker can't approach the house. (Not even a fire engine! God forbid!)

 

From e-Petition to CM on Feb 7, 2019 (exactly 2 years back):

"Personally, I have given up hope. And, this will be my last letter to

you all regarding this. I guess this will also be forwarded to the MD

of KWA and discarded in some bureaucratic cesspit.

I do not know why the (Residents Association) and community leaders do little to help my

old parents. Is it because they think their job is done if the

majority are happy and a small minority are expendable?

I do not even want to think that caste and religious considerations or

base financial/real-estate interests have played a role, even

subconsciously. Even if that is not in play, the 'apartheid' or

discrimination or step-motherly treatment seems to indicate some such

despicable idea."

From mother's letter to Kerala Water Authority and Councillor on Feb 5, 2021:

"I request your assistance. I am an old lady of 76. We are observing

reverse quarantine in this Covid crisis and that is why we can't come

and see you personally... 

In January, we got water supply (for an hour or so before dawn) only

on these dates: Jan 12-19, 2021.

We have been depending on the Corporation tanker for many months for

water...

 

Since yesterday, the approach roads (on all sides) have been dug up

for KWA sewerage works.

The Corporation tanker can't come to my house. And no one knows when

it will come again...

Everyone cites the elevation as reason for the water supply problem to

our house. But, it is not just because of that. The KWA officials are

well aware of the issues in the neighbourhood and how some people here

oppose equitable distribution of water wanting more for themselves.

My son had sent an e-petition to the Chief Minister two years back (on

Feb 7, 2019)... In that, he also mentioned the

step-motherly treatment we have faced in this area for more than 10

years with regard to water supply.

At that time, I was looking after my ailing husband and without water

supply, it was very stressful (and it remains so). My husband died on

April 14, 2019. We could not even hold his last rites here in my

husband's house because there was no water supply. I am still sad

about that."

From mother's letter to Kerala Water Authority and Councillor on Feb 6, 2021:

"My house received NO water supply last night either. Instead, the

water meter has advanced by 500L because of AIR. Meanwhile, neighbours

seem to be enjoying good water supply. They are busy pumping to

overhead tanks all day long and wasting water we would have loved to

have.

The overhead tank is emptying fast and I do not know what to do other

than to beg to you all.

...there is some talk of a dedicated line...If that happens, it would be good. 

But, as in the past, people in this area would use their connections and power to divert from such

a line. For more than 10 years, they have been torturing us by

depleting our water supply. They do not want us to touch the water

they enjoy. We are untouchables of the 21st century.

Before considering the dedicated line, I request you to consider the

cheaper way of correcting errors of the past:

1. In 2019, the KWA installed a valve in front of house *** for

such emergencies. Sadly, neighbours blocked that with concrete. The

police have not yet found those culprits. If you could close that

valve completely once or twice a week for adequate time during this

phase, our sump might fill. Please do not leave the valve partially

closed (as done earlier)--that might benefit only one house and harm

everyone else including us.

2. 6 years back or so, the *** Residents Association... 

decided to deplete our supply even further by diverting water to house

*** and nearby houses. There is another line running in front of

those houses but their boring point is still from our line with

inadequate supply. Could you please shift the boring point so that

there is more water in our line?

3. 10 years back or so, when this line was put, we received normal

24-hour supply for a week. Then, the line was opened to a downhill

portion serving house *** and nearby houses. The mistake was that

no valve was put before the downhill section. They enjoy unlimited

supply at the expense of those slightly elevated compared to that

downhill area. Overnight, our supply reduced to an hour or so in the

early morning.

Will someone please listen to a desperate old lady's cry for help?"

A Dog's Life

 

I think I loved a girl I called Big Dog.

She had a Labrador. Then, a Great Dane. We used to look at each other, the dog and I. Pedigree mattered there. Even the dog did not wave goodbye.

I think I also loved a girl I called Small Dog.

She had those small types: Pomeranian, Chihuahua and such. Then, she had six of those. The first one and I used to have the same look. Why not me? Why do the others get everything?

I know I loved my Uncle's dog.

Not that Uncle with the boxer. That dog tried to save my Uncle from a cobra, got bit instead and died. A lot like me. The other Uncle had a lovable mongrel. He knew his good relatives and bad relatives. He used to chase the latter. A lot like me.

I know I did not get along well with my wife's family dog.

The first time I went to her house (to see her for the first time, to propose for the last time), we (the dog and I) came to an understanding (the same I have with kids). We need our space and we don't like dirty talk (koochi-koochi-kute, etc.). We also knew we shared the same fate. A short life. And a big drop in the priority list when old age and new entrants like babies came along.

I think I preferred the Bombay dogs to the Bangalore ones.

Once, near the D-mart at Hiranandani, I was near a bunch. A couple of middle-aged ladies too. They were scared of the dogs (and me). Like a gallant knight, I stood in front of my kind and the ladies walked by. Not even a word of thanks from them. I looked at my lot. Us poor migrant workers just cannot bite a royal ass in Bombay, we thought. Our Bangalore cousins could.

What is that old adage? Ah yes.

It's a dog's life every day.