(in no particular order)

1. Arun Sagar – “On being a fan”
2. Sidvee – “When Dravid was there”
3. Sidarth Monga – “Hiding behind the wall”
4. Kunal Pradhan – “Dravid, who never changes”
5. Rohit Brijnath – “The beauty of waiting in Test cricket”
6. Sidvee – “Dravid and the mastery of struggle”
7. Sidvee – “Degrees of fandom”
8. Vikramjit Singh – “The Curious Case of Rahul Dravid’s Rebellion” (contributed by Supreeth)
9. Alan Tyers – “The Secret Diary of Rahul Dravid, Aged 29792 Balls”
10. Sriram Dayanand – “The Beacon”

The physical turning of a page, or the filling up of that electronic status bar. It’s all the same to me, really. At this point I just want to pick up something and read it from start to finish and I just can’t seem to do that any more.

I’ve never had to beg anybody to lay my hands on something interesting to read, I’ve been lucky that way. I remember how I felt while reading (and watching) Roald Dahl’s ‘Matilda’ – her dad ripping that book to shreds, I could feel my own eyes tearing up. Anyway, the point is there has ALWAYS been something to read , and it’s very rare for me to leave the house without a book in my bag.

But that’s the problem. I’ve become so superficial, floating from one book to another. Disrespectful, I want to cringe with embarrassment, but it’s the truth. At the back of my mind, I know there’s no time limit, no ‘form of the book’ limitation either. Earlier, I would carry only one book with me pretty much everywhere I went. This meant I had no choice but to read that one, single book when I had the chance. If it was a library book (oh, those Mills & Boons!) I would  try to not take them out of the house for fearing of losing them. So I’d end up rushing home after school or college, waiting for the moment when I could delve back into it. Now, I rarely go to libraries anymore because I  hardly read physical books.

Ebooks are wonderful. But ebooks have spoilt me. I carry them on every device I have with me – my Mac, my phone, my iPod. I have multiple forms and copies of the “current book I’m reading” – and at least 15 other ones. Hypothetically, I should be reading more books right? Wrong. I think I’m over-prepared. I’ve lost that NEED to finish a book, because I know it’s always with me.

Anyway, I just wanted to get this out of my system. It isn’t a debate on whether ebooks are good or bad. It’s just something I noticed, and something I really need to do something about. So I am going to try and write reviews of whatever I read, hopefully that will push me to actually go through with completely reading a book. Any other suggestions?

Joy is reading an article in the paper about BMTC launching a new ‘feeder’ bus service called Big Connect. Joy is spotting half of your daily route to work covered in that list of new routes. Joy is finding out that there are not one, or two, but SIX new buses on this route. Joy is actually catching that bus and reaching home a whole 45 mins earlier.

BMTC, today you have made me an extremely happy commuter. Not only me, but I saw several tired, weary people who boarded this bus burst into wide grins as we realised that getting home was going to be a lot more easier, a lot more faster and a LOT less tiring. Our bus literally trumpeted down the street, inviting people to get on board which they did very, very gladly. So many voiced their relief on learning about this new route and about its frequency (touch wood that it sticks to it).

To read more about the new Big Connect bus service in Bangalore please go here. And please, please spread the word and make it a success so that it continues!

Three years ago, I found myself walking into MCC to sit for the Communicative Studies entrance exam. I knew nothing about the course except from what the college website told me – the very website that I was looking at for information on applying for the Political Science, Economics and Sociology combination! I read about the CommE course, and I liked what I was reading. Then I remembered that a friend of Essel was in the same course, so I asked her if I needed to prepare for anything in particular and she said : No, just show up for the exam!

I liked this course already!

So I found myself at MCC, bright and early, on the day of the entrance of exam. At first, there seemed to be only a few other girls but in the next two hours it seemed like there were a 100! I filled out the application form, and then sat for the written round. I got through. Then was the toughest part – the interview.

Out of all the people who had made it to the second round – I think roughly about 70 odd – I was the last but one to go in for the interview. By this time, I had seen several excited girls squealing ” I got in! I got in!”, and I found myself thinking okay, no way you’re going to get in now, they are probably just going to go through with the interview just to be nice. I hadn’t eaten since 8:30, because if you missed your name being called out, you missed your chance to sit for the interview. So I was hungry, tired and now pissed off.

Finally, my turn came. I walked in and sat down. I vaguely remember talking about Om Shanti Om and Hugh Grant. Blur. Then..

“Okay, you are in”

Um. WHAT? Maybe they meant I got in on the second list?

No. The first list. Out of all those girls, 30 girls were chosen. And despite being the last but one to go in, I was one of those 30 girls! I faced some opposition, my father wanted me to go to law school. I liked the idea of being a hot-shot lawyer, but I knew that there was a whole lot of commitment I had to give, and my 18-year-old self didn’t relish the thought one bit. Later, I realised what a big deal it meant to be a C girl. A lot of people hated you, were jealous of you, but everybody knew the C girls!

And that was how I got into the best course in the whole damn world.

My three years at MCC have been the best ones of my life. I would listen to a lot of my friends in other courses around me grumble that they hated their course, their college and you know what? That thought never crossed my mind. Not even once. I never regretted giving up the chance to go to law school. I loved the course so much, that I found that I was pushing myself to do better all the time, something I never did in school.  I was so afraid that after going to one of the best schools in the city, I would be lost in a sea of nameless faces in college but CommE never let that happen.

And the best part – my class! I’ve had the privilege to be in a class filled with the most amazing set of people. We worked as a team every single time, we all knew each others strengths and weaknesses and I don’t think there was ever a day when anybody felt like they didn’t belong there.

So it is with utmost pride that I say that I am a CommE girl, and of course, I am a Carmelite!

Now, I’ve been a big fan of Wil Wheaton – not for the fact that he played Wesley Crusher, or for his blog – but for his adorable pet ‘tweets’ that he put up now and then. As a fellow pet owner, who also has dogs and a cat, I find myself relating to these quite a lot and I always find myself laughing out loud, thinking ‘I KNOW, RIGHT?’ every time he tweets about these pet ‘incidents’. So I thought, ok lets give this book a shot.

From the second he introduced me to Prove To Everyone & The Voice Of Self Doubt, I fell hook line and sinker for this book. Mr. Wheaton, I have no idea if you are ever going to read this, but your book changed the way I look at myself. You see, for the past couple of months, these two have been my constant companions as well – and I’m only admitting it now. There were quite a few moments – really long, rough ones – when I thought that I couldn’t be a writer, it just wasn’t me anymore. Which is ironic because everyone around me seemed to think that it was perfectly natural for me to think about getting into writing full-time. But it seemed like I wasn’t in love with writing any more. I felt like I was writing for the sake of writing – something I promised myself a long time ago that I would never, ever do.

But here I was, doing exactly that.

‘Just A Geek’ made me realise that if you’re a writer, there’s no running away from it. If you’re meant to write, it happens. This book made me fall in love with writing all over again. Words have always had a powerful effect on me, but I think I was taking them for granted and this showed in my attitude towards my own writing. ‘Just A Geek’ made me take a harsh look at what I wanted from myself as a person, and more importantly, from myself as a writer.

So, I don’t know what’s in store for me, or my writing, or this blog. I don’t know if I’m going to get a job, or not (this might seem a bit random but just stay with me here). But I’ve learnt that it’s ok to admit that I’m scared. It’s ok to put my feelings into this box, and hit publish and let the world see me and my insecurities.

Because, at the end of the day, I don’t want these words to be sterile, and useless. I don’t want them to be fake, and show that I’m in control all the time, or that I’m not worried or scared.

I just want my writing to be me.

I was a film maker. I agonized over the story, the casting, the music, the editing. I spent a couple of evenings hiding in the editing room with my group, huddled up in front of the Mac as we fixed last minute glitches. There was even an evening where one nice member of the support staff let us stay on, on the condition that we needed to keep all the lights off as it was way past gate-shutting time. I sat on location with my shot-breakdown and screenplay, changing dialogues and re-changing them. I yelled and screamed when things didn’t make sense. The night before screening day, I didn’t sleep, I spent the night wondering what reactions we’d get. I cried when I watched my film being screened in front of a full auditorium. I felt pride when I heard the praises, and took deep breaths to calm myself down when I listened to the critics.

I was an editor. I read, and re-read. Sentences were snipped off, probably written with so much passion, but they were eliminated. New words were nudged in, my words mixing with their words. I hoped the writers wouldn’t kill me. Whole paragraphs were relocated, until everything made sense. Spell check was ruthlessly enforced. My editors sense constantly fought with my writer’s conscience. How much to change, how much to interfere, always an uphill task but when I was done, it always seemed to be the best I could do. Holding a copy of the final product is the best feeling in the world!

I was a radio show producer. Sat in the studio for hours, all other sounds blocked out. Planned out segments, ads, PSA’s and what songs to put in where. Watched my RJ try to sound as unartificial as possible, and smiled when she got it right Battled with Pro-Tools, tracks, time limits and sound effects.

I was a graphic designer. I battled with making the tools work in Gimp as efficiently as they did in the tutorials. I cloned, and cloned, and cloned, and cloned some more. I looked for the perfect bases, the perfect brushes and the PERFECT font. I put my work up for criticism, and smiled when people said ‘Oh! So pretty!’. I went to the printers, hoping there weren’t any mistakes that would get magnified, and nearly cried out with joy when I saw our beautiful film poster and invitations ready!

I was an intern. My first day at work, full of apprehensions. Would I be the girl who makes the coffee? I can’t make coffee! Would they notice me at all? What if I screwed up? Then, the friends that I made. The nice ones who helped me out, the mean ones who sniggered as an attempt to cover up the fact that I seemed to doing a better job than them. There were people who invited me to sit with them at lunch, gave me advice on how to deal with the boss, the work and life in general. There were other interns, some who thought they knew everything and fell flat, others who smiled nervously and soon became “my work buddies”. Learning to deal with office politics and policies.

I was the author of a research paper. Reading up on methodology and pouring over literature of previous studies. Studying subjects, preferences, attitudes. Creating sample groups, analyzing data and working out tables and charts and explanations. Formatting the paper into MLA style. Printing it out an hour before submission deadline, racing to college bleary-eyed and sleep deprived but OH SO PROUD.

I was a speaker. I slaved over my slides, obsessed over making them pretty but not flimsy. I stood in front of an audience and made eye contact. I talked, asked questions, hoped people would laugh when I needed them to (and they did). Applause is such a wonderful thing.

I was an actor. I put on a costume, got on stage and played Su Li from Mind Your Language. Like most actors love to say, in my case acting really DID happen by accident. Make-up, green room chatter, the nerves that hit you just before you walk on stage. Did I mention applause is a wonderful thing?

I was a writer. I wrote articles, business proposals, invitations, press releases, creative briefs, poetry, flash fiction, short stories, features, news reports, television news scripts, screenplays, exams, tests, formal letters, editorials, essays and notes.

And through all of this – I was me! And that’s the best thing of all!

Last night, I watched Dhobi Ghat, a film by Kiran Rao starring Aamir Khan,Prateik Babbar, Monica Dogra and Kriti Malhotra.

You know what? I’m not going to even try and be objective. I LOVED IT. I don’t care if I sound like a squealing tween. That’s the truth. The movie hit every chord so perfectly that it took my breath away. Throughout most of the film, I watched Aamir Khan act. For the very first time, I didn’t think of AK from QSQT, Lagaan, Dil Chahta Hai etc. I watched Aamir act in a situation where he was not all that I was seeing – you know what I mean?

Then there’s Prateik Babbar. Oh man. There were so many nuances to his character, and he just kind of encapsulated all of them and looked so amazingly drool-worthy the entire time!

But most of all, I think the best part of the movie was Kiran Rao. The story was simple, so beautiful and so concisely edited. There wasn’t a frame that was a waste, not an emotion that was overdramatic, and not a second that stretched unbearably. Everything seemed to fit in like pieces of a puzzle, nothing jarred and that’s what I love. There was a smoothness, a finesse to the entire film that spoke of experience, of thought, of careful construction.

There’s no two ways about it – she may be Aamir Khan’s wife but that definitely isn’t the whole definition of who she is!

"You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself that my father bought me. They are better than human beings, because they know but do not tell" ~Emily Dickinson

The Rules – Don’t take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors, poets included, who’ve influenced you and will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag a few friends, including me, because I am interested in seeing what authors you choose. To do so, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.

So I thought I’d give it a shot, and this is my list. Following my friend Chandrika’s example, I decided to add reasons why I’ve picked the following people:

Part 1

1. Jane Austen – Pretty obvious choice for me. She gave me Darcy and Edward. Elizabeth and Elinor. She is one writer who’s books will have a special place in my library forever.
2. Tanuja Desai Hidier – TDH has written exactly one book – Born Confused – but what a book it is! It was  recommended to me by a friend when we were in the ninth grade, and since then I have told at least twelve other people about it, and every one has loved it. This book gave me Karsh, made me reflect on the various Gwen’s present in my life and taught me to be proud of my heritage in a way no part of ‘Indian culture’ ever has or ever will.
3. Anuja Chauhan – The Zoya Factor is a book that made me laugh, cry and squeal ‘I know exactly what she means!’ It is amazing, the way Chauhan has incorporated everyday ‘Indianisms’ into a delightful book that is about THE INDIAN CRICKET TEAM and even has SRK in it! What more could I ask for?? She recently came out with her second novel, Battle for Bittora, which although was quite interesting (purely for her style of writing), the characters were not as lovable as The Zoya Factor‘s Nikhil Khoda et all. But I still love her!
4. Sylvia Plath – I admit, I’ve been far more enamored with Plath’s personal life. However, I got to study her poem Metaphors in my first year of college, and after that Daddy last semester. Her writing, though not complicated, makes me feel heavy and weighed down. A feeling I sometimes need when the world becomes too sickly sweet. She evokes a lot emotions, and half the time I imagine her standing behind me while I read, watching me with a wane smile on her face. I am halfway through The Bell Jar right now, although I need to take breaks now and then, so that I don’t slip into a mindset that only she can cajole me into.
5. Chitra Divakaruni Bannerjee - A friend gave me Sister of My Heart for my sixteenth birthday, and I fell in love with it. Bannerjee writes with grace and smoothness, and captures the moods and emotions of characters so well that they stay with you, and you might even recall people who resemble them in your own lives. They are believable.

Richard Castle

Sometimes, I wish I had one of those jackets that Richard Castle has which state what he is, in loud bold letters for the whole world to see – WRITER. I say this because, even if at the most superficial level, it’s some kind of identification. It sets him apart from not only his non colleagues but maybe even his peers.

WRITER.

See? So simple, so confident. It just rushes off your tongue like a gush of air. Whoosh. Powerful, yes? But it’s not so easy to identify with. Okay, so I write. But I don’t just want to be a writer. I want to be a (here we go again) WRITER. One that I can identify with the confidence that I WANT to have, that I often find myself wondering if I will EVER have.

I write all the time. I write tweets, poems, blog posts, essays, tests, exams. I write my name. I write my address, my college, my class, my section. I’ve written in slam books, on restaurant feedback cards. I’ve written on Facebook walls, on real walls. I’ve written my number on a boy’s hand. I’ve written love letters, hate letters, official letters. I’ve written apology notes, thank you notes.

But this I could be You. And I don’t want to be You. I want to be Me.

Me, the WRITER.