Wordless Wednesday #109

A Week about Awareness, Mindfulness thus leading to Gratitude and Thankfulness for every Bounty we Enjoy!

Mantra for today: Being Thankful leads to Complacency and Satisfaction.


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Bullet Dancing

Angie was miffed at the bank clerk, 'Sign this, Sign that. Crazy laws and regulations. What does she think of herself!' she could not stop cursing while stepping out of the bank. 

'Now I will make her dance to my tunes once she steps out'  she said while revolving her finger around the trigger guard back and forth in her right hand. With her cowboy hat crooked as it blocked the rays of the sun, she stood on the corner and waited for the clock to strike 5 pm to avenge her thirst of being laughed at over her clumsiness. 


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 In 99 words (no more, no less) write dance into your story. Twirl your characters round and round or stomp your plot onto the page. Use dance in any way that comes to mind. Be specific or free, tango or disco.
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Spotlight on A Thousand unspoken words by Paulami Duttagupta

A Thousand Unspoken Words 

By 

Paulami Duttagupta 

Publisher: Readomania 

Blurb 

A hero, a person who displays great courage for the greater good, can also fall. But what happens to a fallen hero? A Thousand Unspoken Words is the unique journey of a hero who falls. 

The champion of the underdogs, the writer who uses the nom de plume Musafir is famous in Kolkata. His incisive criticism of the injustices around him earn him many enemies but he holds his ideals above all else. Scathing attacks at his books and a night of hide and seek from political goons leads Musafir unto a path he never liked, faraway from his ideals. He runs away and chooses the comforts of money over the travails of following one’s ideals. The hero falls. 

But Tilottama, passionate fan’s hopes don’t. When he comes back after many years, emotions, love and lust take charge and an affair brews. Will she bring back her hero? Will he rise again? Or will the thousand untold words, the many stories of the ideal writer be lost forever?

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Excerpt

Wahan kaun hai tera, Musafir jaayega kaha’, the retro radio show played the SD Burman classic. Tilottama looked at her radio once and tears blurred her vision.

‘O Sachin karta this song reminds me of him.’

Tilotamma quickly wiped her eyes and turned the radio off. The day had been taxing enough. She needed to unwind, get Musafir out of her mind. How crazy could some people get? He had just written a fictional piece. How could fiction humiliate a government in power with an absolute majority? Wasn’t this a democracy? How could the supporters of a faith or political party get all insecure and burn his books?

The object of Tilottama’s despair, Musafir, was a writer supposedly based out of Kolkata. He wrote books at irregular intervals, and hid behind the veil of anonymity. His pieces were mostly social commentaries and satires on the state of Bengal. They were all fictional but had come under severe criticism in the past few months. Little paperbacks in funny covers, his books were available in old, rambling, bookstores across the city. Some were also available with the book vendors on the footpaths of the city.

When the news of the pulping of Musafir’s books had reached her a couple of days ago, Tilottama hadn’t thought things would go beyond a protest or two. The people of the city wouldn’t let go of things without a sign of protest. They got agitated at trivial things like who was included in a cricket team, and burned effigies and tyres in protest. They took out processions for Vietnam and Gaza. They could protest against him; but there would also be scores who would come out for her Musafir. They did when Firaz was hounded for his paintings of Goddesses.

‘And when they come out in large numbers, these goons will realize what it feels like standing before a civil society. They just can’t stifle Musafir’, she had confidently told her friends. What she did not realize was Musafir wasn’t exactly popular with the masses. His works were mostly literary and catered to niche readers. Her admiration for him had made her assume he was more popular than he really was.

Things had happened much faster than expected and spiralled out of control. Musafir’s printing press was vandalized and set on fire. Even as she and other Musafir fans watched, his books were dumped into that raging fire; words and hopes lost. The hundred odd fans tried to put up a bravefight, sang songs of freedom and stood with placards. But nothing worked. A couple of local channels had tried to stand by them in solidarity. The protest ended as a camera was smashed by the hoodlums on the road. People started fleeing fearing more violence.

‘They would kill us if they could’, Tilottama angrily spat out. ‘We were just so outnumbered. These were organized cadres. Yes, they were. Their bosses just can’t pretend to be innocent.’

A handful of policemen stood by pretending as if nothing was happening. The printing press was in one of the dingier parts of North Kolkata. It mainly did odd jobs like printing leaflets and bills, a few little magazines etc. and would print Musafir’s books on the sly. That is where he gave shape to his voice. The place was reportedly registered in the name of a man long dead, and people were left guessing who Musafir was. Some said the owner was a refugee who was avenging years of discontent. Some said his son was murdered by members of the ruling party. Some said he was just a frustrated man using the medium to lend himself a voice. To some other the entire idea was amusing and fascinating.

Tilottama grimaced and wiped her face clean. She was cutting a very sorry picture indeed, covered in grime andtears. All she could think of was her Musafir. She fought back her tears wondering what could have happened to her hero. For the past couple of years a strong wind of incumbency was blowing and Musafir’s voice had become stronger. Everything came under Musafir’s attack; from Dhaniajhapi to the burning of monks, the ban on English in government run schools, the apathy in the use of computers and much more. However, recently he had become vocal against all forms of religious appeasement and challenged the special religious laws. He had also set the stage against land acquisition bills, mismanaged industrialization plans and pre-election harangues. Musafir wrote as many books as possible bringing the discrepancies to light. And that is what brought about his downfall.

Tilottama sat on her bed and hugged her knees to her chest and went over the events of the day. She bit back the memory of the man who had asked her to let go of her placard, but that face would just not fade. 

‘What had he called himself,’ she wondered, ‘Ayushmaan . . .no Riddhimaan.’

He was a photographer! How dispassionate could he be?He had watched the carnage, merrily taken snaps and asked her to throw away her placard. If even the press did not come out in support of Musafir, then who would? Weren’t both of them fighting to make the pen immortal? Why was the media silent now; because Musafir didn’t have international backing, or corporate sponsors? She was upset that Poltu had shamelessly praised the man. Riddhimaan and the likes of him would give importance to writers only if they had a South Block or Writers’ Building backing.

‘I wish this government goes down. They will go down. I promise you Musafir they will,’ she told herself.

The loud banging of her window pane broke her reverie. The rains had lashed Kolkata with all their fury that evening. 

‘Even Mother Nature is angry. Drown the city, drown all of us. Since we have nowhere to go and hide our shame,’ Tilottama said aloud.

She continued to rant as she shut the window. She had hurt her finger in the process. Then she walked into her bedroom looking for the first aid box. As she cleaned the cut, the antiseptic made her skin burn and her thoughts drifted to Musafir. There was no way to divert her mind. Maybe reading Musafir would help, or maybe writing. Musafir always said he wrote to look for answers. Maybe she could do that too. But nothing gave her peace; maybe she was obsessed with the writer. The gag on Musafir was beginning to become a personal loss to her.

About Paulami Duttagupta 

Paulami DuttaGupta is a novelist and screen writer. She shuttles between Kolkata and Shillong. She has worked as a radio artist, copy writer, journalist and a television analyst at various stages of her life, having been associated with AIR Shillong, The Times of India—Guwahati Shillong Plus, ETV Bangla, The Shillong Times, Akash Bangla and Sony Aath.As an author, her short stories have appeared in various anthologies and literary magazines. A Thousand Unspoken Words is her fourth book. Paulami also writes on politics, social issues and cinema. Her articles have appeared in Swarajya, The Forthright and NElive. 

Paulami is associated with cinema and her first film, Ri-Homeland of Uncertainty received the National Award for the Best Khasi Film. Her second film Onaatah—Of the Earth is at post production stage and will release in 2016. She is currently working on her third screenplay. A short film tentatively titled ‘Patjhar’ is also in the pipeline.

Paulami is a complete foodie and is almost obsessed with watching one film every day. She also loves reading—political and social commentaries are her favourite genre. Literature classics and books on cricket are also a part of her library, apart from a huge collection of romances. Jane Austen’s fictional character Mr. Darcy is her lifelong companion. She is an ardent fan of Rahul Dravid and has been following all news about him for almost twenty years now.

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The Mind-Body Connection

"Faster Faster, Are you a Turtle?" she spoke in an aggravated tone

Turtle!

© iStockphoto.com/mrPliskin

Those words echoed in my ears, and that made me race like a hare and dash past the ribbon with hands over my head as I rejoiced the inevitable thanks to the strong words of encouragement from my coach.

I was not the fastest runner, but words of inspiration, encouragement would stimulate my mind, and that would make my body react once the mind-body connection would be made.

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"Kick her hard! Take out all your frustration on her!" the instructor squawked

Hard! Frustrations!

So Be it!

Frustrations were in plenty esp. as a teen. So Be it!

The Mind-Body connection was used again to use my legs to its full potential to get my colored belts in Tae-Kwon-do.


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No doubt each part of our body is vital, but when overused could also make it weak (my thoughts!)

I used these appendages to my full extent, which no doubt gave me the confidence, the assurance of "what you desire, can be attained if worked hard" but eventually I felt they became weak too. The muscles were not properly toned, or maybe I overworked them, or maybe it is just plain destiny!

When auto-immune disease struck me, the joints in my legs got affected the most. The hips, knees thus, making me walk with a limp and some effort now and then.

No doubt, I still make a mind-body connection but not to race or compete with an opponent or contestants but this time I wrestle within as I walk to any destination. The journey is mindful as I take each step towards it.

The hardship I am most thankful for is my weak legs that used to win medals earlier. Thanks to them I still live a mindful life!

Thanks to them, I am mindful of each step. The journey is full of awareness as I try to walk towards my destination. That makes each and every harbor a memorable one!

Mantra for today: Mindful living is the key to Gratitude.




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Spotlight of Karmic Kids by Kiran Manral

Karmic Kids  The Story of Parenting Nobody Told You ! by  Kiran Manral  Synopsis  Move aside Tiger Mom and forget Helicopter Parenting, Karmickids is the view from the other side of the fence – of laid back parenting, of giving in to food jags, of making unstructured play time mandatory and of not bursting a blood vessel when your child’s grades are not something you might want to discuss in public. A roller coaster ride of love, laughter, and a few tears, Manral takes you through the beautiful chaos of the early years of parenthood. Written in a gently humorous style, this home grown, hit-the-ground-running account of the chaos of day-to-day parenting is peppered with anecdotes, reminiscences, a little practical advice and is a non-preachy, hilarious take on raising a spirited child while retaining one’s good spirits through it all. Grab your Copy  amazon.in | flipkart  What others say about Kiran Manral  “I enjoy reading Kiran’s books. The genre of easy reading and happy reading with inevitable style, she keeps you hooked on the book from the first page to the last.”-- Tisca Chopra, actor “This quick paced, fun new book had me enthralled.”--Tara Sharma Saluja, Actress and Co-producer and host of The Tara Sharma Show “Kiran's writing style is witty, humorous and makes you think. She has a penchant for making even the most mundane, interesting because of the razor sharp observations, served with a dollop of dead-pan humour.” --Preeti Shenoy, bestselling author “Kiran's writing is that rarity in today's world - the ability to be really good without taking itself too seriously. This is writing that is effortless in its humour and also its fluidity. It asks not for heavy literary criticism but for a certain laid-back enjoyment.” --Parul Sharma, bestselling author "Kiran's stories are fun, engaging and always fresh - and her droll style, of course, inimitable!"-- Yashodhara Lal, bestselling author “Kiran's writing is delightful, her wit inimitable and her sense of romance untarnished by cynicism that is so typical of our times.”— Shunali Khullar Shroff,  bestselling author “Kiran Manral's sparkling sense of humour leaps off the page, every page. Her blog posts, books and columns have given me great joy over the years. She has a distinct original voice that brought a breath of fresh air in the world of Indian Writing in English.” – Devapriya Roy, Bestselling author   About the Author  Kiran Manral worked as a journalist with The Asian Age and The Times of India before she quit full time work to be a full time mommy. One of the leading bloggers in India, her blogs were listed in Labnol's list of India's top blogs, and her parenting blog, Karmickids, was ranked among the top five parenting blogs in India by Blogadda. She was also a Tehelka blogger columnist on gender issues. She was listed among the 10 non-celebrity 'social media stars' on twitter by the TOI and IBN Live named her as among the 30 most interesting Indian women to follow on twitter and among the top 10 Indian moms to follow on twitter in 2013. Fashion 101.in named her as amongst the most stylish authors in India. Womensweb.in listed her as one of the 20 women authors from India to be followed on twitter. Post the 26/11 terrorist attack in Mumbai, she founded India Helps, a volunteer network to help disaster victims post 26/11 and has worked on long term rehabilitation of 26/11 Mumbai terror attack victims and 13/7 Mumbai bomb blast victims, amongst others. She was part of core founding team behind Child Sexual Abuse Awareness Month (www.csaawarenessmonth.com) and Violence Against Women Awareness Month(www.vawawareness.wordpress.com), two very well received social media awareness initiatives. Her debut novel, The Reluctant Detective, was published by Westland and her second novel Once Upon A Crush, was published by Leadstart a couple of years later. Her third book All Aboard! was published by Penguin Random House in August 2015. Karmic Kids is her fourth book and first nonfiction book. She has one more book due for release in 2015. She is on the planning board of the Kumaon Literary Festival, an advisor on the Board of Literature Studio, Delhi, an Author Mentor at sheroes.in and a columnist at iDiva.com. She was awarded the Women Achievers award by Young Environmentalists Group in 2013. She currently blogs at www.kiranmanral.wordpress.com and is on twitter @kiranmanral.

Wordless Wednesday #108

I got an opportunity to observe the retiring of the US Flag via Boy Scouts.

Loved the Sentiments, Respect, and the Attitude of the Boys while doing the above.

Mantra for today: One Country many beliefs, but when it comes to admiration; minds coincide!


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Café Noir

Tamara gulped many times but to no luck. The saliva refused to ingest. The excitement was making her sweat as she circled around the cafe.
"Tammy" 
She froze, blinked a couple of times to register, and picked her Latte. 
Stared at it
Walked holding it with both hands.
'I missed you' she whispered as she took a small slow sip and savored it with closed eyes while giving out a tremble.
'Duty took me away from you. The war was full of turmoil and vitality that caffeine was not needed. Glad to be back!' she muttered to the cup.
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In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a place of comfort that is a refuge. Have fun with it, like a pillow fight between best friends at a slumber party or newlyweds in search of the perfect mattress. Or you can go dark and write about unusual comforts, like a bad habit or a padded cell. Play with the idea of comfort and refuge.

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