Tuesday, May 29, 2007

The Grinley story

This story is an original work of mine.The character names have been created.Thank You.
A tale of tales

Richard Grinley put an end to his new story, a story of deception and revenge. He piled up his papers, quite frustrated. It took twenty years for fame to dawn on him. It was exactly twenty years ago Rory Grinley was born to him and Sylvia Grinley. Rory was his source of relief. Richard shared his stories and ideas with him and Rory quietly absorbed.

Sylvia Grinley, in the other room, was lost in deep thought with her spectacles on her forehead. She always contemplated on quite a few matters, matters that meant life;never argued with anyone and loved inking her thoughts on paper. Her works were philosophical and highly influential. Fame came to her when Rory hit puberty.

Richard and Sylvia met under normal circumstances. Richard never cared about marriage. Sylvia too, unlike other girls, spent her teenage reading works of philosophy. She wanted herself to be crowned ‘The new Ayn Rand’. They married each other with a ‘Yes, I Do’ in the church without the slightest hesitation. They made their parents happy. Time passed until now when both Richard and Sylvia never interfered in their respective professions though both were writers. It was believed both share the most understanding relationship, silently admiring each others’ works and hence smiling on their success.

Sylvia broke her thought process to realize she was getting late for her morning press-conference. Richard had already comforted himself on the bed, snoring. In the morning, Richard kissed his son in his sleep and left for the launch of his latest book, a courtroom drama. Sylvia left for her press-conference. Both by their own means.

“Mr.Grinley, you have written stories about murder and tasted success. How do you think your latest courtroom drama will affect your progress?” asked a journalist. “Success comes if the work is good. My mysteries have made the readers and audience think. This drama has a similar approach. I’m confident,” replied Richard. “Mr.Grinley, your works are said to resemble Tom Clancy, Christie and a couple of others. Who exactly do you draw inspiration from?” asked another. “I read a lot of Christie. I admired Clancy’s plots. But I have my own identity now. And my stories are NOT a medley. Thank you,” replied Richard in an avoiding, proud, silent tone.”What’s your next one going to be?” asked a kid seated in a corner. “Ask my son,” said Richard with a grin on his face.

Mrs. Grinley made herself comfortable on a chair placed at the center of the stage, with several mics in front of her. The room was filled with journalists, photographers and young writers, girls dominating. “Mrs. Grinley, your work was outstanding. People loved it. I loved it myself. How do you weave a plot through philosophy which appears so complex yet so easily understandable?” asked an Englishman. “Thank you. Aah, yeah I give quite a lot of thought to it before I write. A few plots arise from personal experiences,” she replied. “Mam, may I ask with your permission, anything about your experiences?” asked a girl quite curious. “Sure you may,” said Sylvia.”Your works involve a lot of emotion and instances of tragedy giving rise to realizations, have you really gone through such a phase in your life?” the girl asked. “I am a woman of fifty now. My memory has experiences aged forty. My works are a source of relief for me. I have made people believe in my books and their content. I’m happy now.” she replied. “Mrs. Grinley, your husband Mr. Richard Grinley, being a writer himself, does he admire your profession? How do you manage to share your success? Do you admire his plots of mystery and suspense?” asked an old man.”Well, Yes. We are married for twenty five years now. We do not speak much about our profession at home. And his plots are miseries. Life and a plot to kill! Softer works are better for me.” She replied with a smile,with a touch of lie.

Rory had his Sony PS3 control pad in his hands, enjoying his vacation. He saw his mother and father return from their conferences. He paused his game to hear his father speaking to his mother in a frustrated tone, “Miseries huh? What is your book about? Life is a Bed of Roses? There might be thorns along the path of life, watch your step? Well! Here’s a thorn in your life-YOU are a LOSER!” he said slamming his study room door.

Rory quietly ended his game. He saw his mother enter the kitchen to get a can of Tropicana, her face withered. He went to his room and began writing:
“This is a story of two people- Syl Brikly and Rick Brikly. This is a story about their genius, Success, beliefs and silence. This is a story about delusions. This is an attempt to keep people’s belief intact.”
For my mom and dad
By
-Rory Grinley

Friday, May 25, 2007

D-night

Dreaming (on) the battlefield!

I like to keep it short.Brevity,I've learnt recently,has the power to expand itself :D. Short,just like a dream.Who knows how long a dream can be?If you are a lucid dreamer then...!

Dreams can be silly,pitiful,funny,rotten,pleasant(?),serious,intense,thoughtful,a reprise or blank.Most of them are forgotten.Well! almost.
From Shyamu I learnt dreams can be a mix of all :) A mixed bag.
The striking part??? Yeah,the stage was set.It was a battlefield with few people scurrying,holding M249 SAW Machine guns,yelling,fighting,fighting for survival and dynamism.
The stage was temporary.It sank without a trace,into thin air.A blink in the dream erased an intriguing picture.There was no survival.Soldiers were back home on bed.
Yes! It was pleasant.Funny.It was a victory within itself.The flag flies high.There was none to flay this act.A battle had been won with no tangible opposition!
It was a Dream night,dream that appeared hazy and vague.The battlefield,strangely,always remained the same.For ME!

Shyamu,how did you steal it from me? :D
Yeah,it was Sweet.beloved beast does it again :D


PS:Gosh,lemme not dream ON the battlefield.Lot is at stake.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Early bird

A Volery of...

I never made a post as early as this.Early morning reminds me of the serene landscapes(this finds a place only in dreams these days!),the chirping of the birds,silence and mere freshness.But there are people,sedate,unwilling to adapt themselves to this early morning bliss.True melting moments that clock in are scene-stealers!

Little did we know what was in store for us this summer!Out on an stroll in the park there are thoughts so rivetting and feelings so delectable.But just as the Sun begins to blaze in glory,just as its flares trigger the sweat glands,the coziness that oozed out of the stroll begins to get concentrated with salty waste.Sadly!

A month of piercing heat is the worst nightmare.There is demand for cold.Refrigerators are filled with bottles,bottles of water and drinks; Air coolers/Air conditioners are set to low temperatures,though unsatisfactory; juicy seasonal fruits are sold at elevated rates;hill-stations are mobbed resulting in poor accomodation availability; train AC tickets unavaliable for atleast three months;and sun-screen lotions!!!
Heat waves sweep the country taking lives so precious.Merciless! If there's something that can be used to protect ourselves in winter, What's the summer equivalent! Is there anything that is for summer!

Only an early bird can experience the evanescent givings of a morning.One thing that remains carved in mind is the sight of a volery of birds against a picturesque backdrop that not only beautifies the pre-sunrise vision, but also purifies our senses. Chirping that pleases the ear goes dead at the Sun's outburst most cruel.

Shall we call it a woelery?
Blurr.Mute.Dead Silence prevails even in the heat...



Thursday, May 10, 2007

Writers' Guild

Hands of Writers...

"We have something to say to people,we weren't just kids in a class anymore,we were writers with our own voices,our own stories and even if nobody else read it,the book will be something to leave behind us,said 'we were here,this is what happened,we mattered,even if it was just to each other' "

--- Quotes by a Freedom Writer

THE FREEDOM WRITERS DIARY,published in 1999.
[Erin Gruwell and the Freedom Writers started the Freedom Writers Foundation dedicated to recreating the success of room 203 in classrooms throughout USA.]

This movie is pure magic!Watch it.You'll know it.
Links for a diary on:
"I have a dream.My dream is to be free.We are gonna work it out now........"

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Shook!

What makes a wedding gift!
Speed movie reminds of the thrilling elevator scene. People stuck,tensed,fearing a free fall and EXPLOSION.Well! I had an experience as good as speed.The differences are-there wasn't any bomb,neither was jack [grin]

I always cursed the area I've been to last night.Dilsukhnagar.Quite some history to it.Goes down to a few decades.There's this hotel called 'Swagath'."Famous",I was told.I went there with my radar notes in hand.My distant cousins were like 'Hey YOU!studying! Shock!". "Dude,making use of time you see!" All this happened on the ground floor.There's a Banquet Hall on floor-5. Why the hell did my studying happen on the ground floor? It was because the lift got jammed midway just when i pressed the button.Shook 1.

Just when the lift said "alright,place for ten",I stepped in.A couple entered behind me."I know them". Shook 2.

Just after a few seconds,the lights inside the lift went off and there....Stuck.Stranded.Sweating,Breathless. Shook 3

"Talupu tee ra kodakallaraa...Evadra ee lift maintain chesedi.Tosi padesta em ankunaro!",shouted the one beside me(Some cursing happened) .Shook 4.

It was about twenty minutes later we stepped out.I mean jumped out,after some manual pulling of the high tension wires by the security personnel.Tension in every sense.I spent those twenty minutes in the dark talking to the couple I knew.I initiated the conversation. "I know you Mr.X"..........
I entered the hall to see a lady. "I know her too.From where? on TV?" "Yes! a television actress" .Shook 5

I hogged.Nothing excess though.Struggled to eat with papers in hand.Challenged my mom "That lady is an actress.Confirm and tell me.She's looking so beautiful" ."Neeku ela telsu ra.Aina aa ammayi em bavundani chudatanki! "("How do you know?That lady isn't beautiful anyway!") .Shook 6

I picked my icecream cup.Just then I got a message which shocked me! "Whoa! Am i worth this sweetness!" .Shook 7

All through the evening, I had my eyes of observation on three people.They really interested me:
1. A little girl who refused to eat without sitting on a chair.Her dad looked like a decent man."Plate patkuni baitaki ranamma.Nuvellu parledu.Nenu chustu unta le" ("I don't wish to come out of this place while eating.You go.It's ok.I'll look at you while you eat (A wall separates the dining and the hall)
2.An arab who had different dishes on different plates.So it effectively meant multiple rounds of hogging.How much did this cost the host! .Shook 8
3.A group of engineering students having a ball of a time chatting,occupying the last row of seats.It was fun.

So it took 8 different Shooks to make the gift. And I didn't hand it over to the newly married couple. [grin]

How DIFFERENT!