In fact, I am not going to name twenty-five (25!) writers whose work has influenced mine. First because I don't consider that I have enough 'work' to claim influence; second, I mean seriously - 25 fucking writers?! No way.
In any case, how to detect influence? I'm a weather vane like that and if I talk to you long enough I'll begin to sound like you and in that case everything I've ever read influences me.
Finally, what about what one sees or hears? What if the biggest influence in my writing was the films of, say, Bresson (note to self: watch again A Man Escaped) or Buñuel?
Besides, I don't think I could tag 25 people and have them remain friends.
Sorry Aditi. (But y'all should totally read Aditi's blog).
*
Talking about what this post is not, I was chatting with Black Mamba yesterday and the subject of submissions and rejection slips came up. From there we moved by easy stages to origami pelicans*. I admitted to being puzzled. BM reminded me of this essay by Naeem Murr in Poetry that I have blogged about. Apparently it had not only starlings and monobrows and cancer of the left ventricle (fiction has to be specific, Murr says), it also has origami pelicans.
I love origami pelicans and other paper wildlife.
And I miss the orgami pelicaniness in the blogs I read.
So here's the deal:
This is not a tag.
But it is a prompt to write the most outrageously funny, silly, weird, fun, unwistful, unangular, unagsty, chortly post ever.
Anyone, everyone who reads this blog and is weighed down by the burden of life and would like nothing more than it lay it down, here are your bootstraps:
Story, play, conversation, graphic/comic, poem, audio clip.
Write, link, I'll link back.
What? What else do you need? You have eight or nine words above. For other inspiration there's the Poet and her Amuse.
Make those paper pelicans fly, folks.
*
Black Mamba is writing love letters or something.
And Menaka Raman, who is drawing for a rainy day.
Falsie, in the meanwhile, is taking tentative bites. (btw, where did I say this had to be only visual? Not that I'm complaining, but I'm wondering what happened to Chotu-Motu's Mandarin classes.)
Here's Surabhi dreaming that she's painting John Abraham's face with yellow butterflies (it becomes more surreal when you realise that's it's the Amma Ariyen/ Odessa John Abraham).
If this is not a tag, what I get is not an origami camel. According to Dipali.
*You'll find it's a swan, BM.
Showing posts with label tags. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tags. Show all posts
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sank or Set Things I Know About Her
I've been tagged. According to Lekhni, this is supposed to be an easy one. Ha! What's easy about trawling through the archives and being made to choose one post over another. Go read 'em all, I say! You don't be lazy so I can be.
Sigh. Here goes. These are the rules:
Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better.
(Cut paste this when you're tagged, so you don't have to, you know, make it up as you go along and play chinese whispers with the tag. And everyone cheats with the number of posts, so don't let it worry you.)
Family: When my grandfather died.
Friends: I've just realised I don't do friends often. I quote people without their permission, yes, but I rarely talk about them. I mean, what if they've been downgraded to acquaintance? Would I still want to talk about - or even to - them? Clearly, I do. Of course, I like it better when friends do things for me. That's what friends are for: stealing stuff and being ready to take the fall.
Me? I just want to disappear, you know. Leave no traces.
What's the next one? Oh, yes: My Love. Er...like how? The love of my life? Person? Passion? What I love? I love Rafael Sabatini. The colour pink. (hell, I'd make the word itself pink if I could but they have some ridiculous excuses for the colour). I love hanging around and doing nothing, just watching the wheels.
Like (why are Hate and Adore treated like step sisters? I demand we expand the tag.) What a lukewarm word. What do I like? Watching films? Can one merely like watching cinema? God knows. Haneke. Kiarostami. The way what's memorable is often just a fleeting moment. Lizards.
Phew. That's enough, no? Now to get all sadistic.
Here are the people I tag:
Veena (who is going to find everything easy. She'll just have to find one Scenes from a Marriage post and it will have everything in it.)
Black Mamba (who'd better spill some deep dark secrets before she turns up here!)
Falstaff (I have visions of him trawling through his 700 odd posts to find the right ones for the tag. All this when he's busy.)
??! (No recipes. Not unless they involve humans you love. Oh, all right. Like will do. Oh - and about throwing prizes your way: will tags do?)
Cheshire Cat (this one is such a long shot, I couldn't resist. Most likely he won't do it at all. If he does, it will be so cryptic it will be a pleasure to read. And once that's done, there's no saying it will stay put on the blog.)
Sigh. Here goes. These are the rules:
Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like). Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better.
(Cut paste this when you're tagged, so you don't have to, you know, make it up as you go along and play chinese whispers with the tag. And everyone cheats with the number of posts, so don't let it worry you.)
Family: When my grandfather died.
Friends: I've just realised I don't do friends often. I quote people without their permission, yes, but I rarely talk about them. I mean, what if they've been downgraded to acquaintance? Would I still want to talk about - or even to - them? Clearly, I do. Of course, I like it better when friends do things for me. That's what friends are for: stealing stuff and being ready to take the fall.
Me? I just want to disappear, you know. Leave no traces.
What's the next one? Oh, yes: My Love. Er...like how? The love of my life? Person? Passion? What I love? I love Rafael Sabatini. The colour pink. (hell, I'd make the word itself pink if I could but they have some ridiculous excuses for the colour). I love hanging around and doing nothing, just watching the wheels.
Like (why are Hate and Adore treated like step sisters? I demand we expand the tag.) What a lukewarm word. What do I like? Watching films? Can one merely like watching cinema? God knows. Haneke. Kiarostami. The way what's memorable is often just a fleeting moment. Lizards.
Phew. That's enough, no? Now to get all sadistic.
Here are the people I tag:
Veena (who is going to find everything easy. She'll just have to find one Scenes from a Marriage post and it will have everything in it.)
Black Mamba (who'd better spill some deep dark secrets before she turns up here!)
Falstaff (I have visions of him trawling through his 700 odd posts to find the right ones for the tag. All this when he's busy.)
??! (No recipes. Not unless they involve humans you love. Oh, all right. Like will do. Oh - and about throwing prizes your way: will tags do?)
Cheshire Cat (this one is such a long shot, I couldn't resist. Most likely he won't do it at all. If he does, it will be so cryptic it will be a pleasure to read. And once that's done, there's no saying it will stay put on the blog.)
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Alok's book tag
This one's been doing the rounds for some time, and when Alok lazily tagged everyone who's on his sidebar, or anyone who has ever commented on his blog, I thought, what fun, so long a sI can vary things a bit here and there.
So, here I go.
Total number of books owned
Let's start with the tough ones, why don't we. I don't know, but somewhere in the region of 3-4,000 is what I'm guessing.
I had a wonderful opportunity that I didn't take, to count about a year ago when I took out every book from every shelf, cupboard, kitchen shelf and coffee table there is, dusted all of 'em, cleaned the shelves, cupboards etc, put fresh paper and neem leaves (to keep the silverfish out), re-ordered books by author, genre, country and unavailability (most precious and out of print books were hidden away in top cupboards to discourage borrowing). At that time, I had piles of books all over my bedroom floor, so that the only way to get from this side to that was to climb over the bed.
Ok, so I'm bragging a little. But mostly I'm in a panic, because I'm remembering books I know I have but can't immediately recall where I've put them. Like that book without a cover that I picked up at Abids one Sunday more than a decade ago, called A Pocketful of Ribaldry. Once this starts to happen I'm in trouble, because it usually means waking up at 2am in a cold sweat and wondering if, in a fit of madness, I'd agreed to lend my copy of, say, The Film Till Now to the local film club.
(I'm kidding. I don't lend books. To anyone.)
Last book bought
The Speaking Tree by Richard Lannoy. At Fountain. Of course, the only Speaking Tree I knew anything about until five years ago, was that very annoying column in The Times of India. Then, when I was editing a journal which had a paper by Richard Lannoy, I heard of this book. Haven't started to read it; wonder if it might have dated in the 36 years since it was written. I shall find out, shan't I?
Last book read
We're not counting Greenwitch, are we? That took me all of an hour and a half. Let's see...ah yes. Kamila Shamsie's In The City By The Sea. This must be one of the few times I've started at the beginning of a writer's work (when they've written more than one book and one can choose, of course. I'm not talking about first books where, by default you begin at the beginning).
There's this lovely bit towards the end of the book, where the young boy, Hasan, is in a thoughtful mood. His cousin, Zehra, is not very encouraging; especially not of potentially purple poetry. I've been wanting to post this for a bit, so here it is:
‘There’s something really wonderful about this,’ he said. ‘I mean, its so simple, it’s moving, you know?”
Zehra raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh god, you’re going to turn into one of those boys who write poems entitled “For I Have Seen The Miracle Of Sunsets” at the age of sixteen and never have more than three words in a line.”
This three-words-in-a-line indictment is something I'm going to use very soon, somewhere. I can just feel it.
Five books that mean a lot to you
I'd rather amswer the question, What's your favourite colour. I mean, really! 'ean a lot'because of what the book's about, or because of how rare it is, or because of what someone wrote in it, or because what it cost you to buy it? All of these things make of a book something more tahn its contents. But whatever...
Eric Rhodes' A History of the Cinema.
In class 9, when reading history for fun was a very startling idea, we had to do a project on any subject of our choice. Three of us chose Film, because we thought it meant sitting and watching films for one week, and what could be more fun? We were right. But we also had a lot of reading to do, and history never read better. Every title, every name was a litany, an enchantment: Berlin, Symphony of a City. Murnau, Caligari, Kuleshov, Vertov, Einsentein, Pudovkin. Even today, I know I will recognise these films, should I ever manage to see them, just by their descriptions. I will know early Surrealist Cinema; I will see UFA in early German cinema and expand it in my sleep into Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft.
Scaramouche (first edition)
The long story here
Letters To A Young Poet, Rilke.
What can I say? There are some books that are like Bibles. I know some people who have claimed that Jonathan Livingston Seagull was their Bible. Thankfully, I am not of their number.
The Archy and Mehitabel Omnibus
For the longest time, when I was in college, one pavement seller, I think in F Block, CP, used to have Archy and Mehitabel. I used to pick it up each time, turn it over, read a poem or two and ask the guy how much it was. His answer never varied, no matter how pathetic I looked, and it was always unaffordable.
Two years ago, when my friend, Sampurna came to stay for a few days, I told her this story. What are the odds that among the few things she was carrying in her shoulder bag (for a stay of five days! How does anyone do it?!) was this book? And what are the odds that she would feel generous enough to give it away?
*CHEATING ENTRY AHEAD*
All the Saints, Edgar Wallaces, Sabatinis and some other books
No really. How to calibrate the worth of these rare - if low-brow - books? In this category are also the children's book you won't have even heard of: Chronicles of Pantouflia by Andrew Lang and At The Back of the North Wind by George McDonald; the Richard Armours - It All Started With Eve, It All Started With Columbus (though, to my eternal regret, not Twisted Tales From Shakespeare). And Sellar and Yeatman's wonderful 1066 And All That.
Who Do I Tag?
Anyone who wants to take it up. Just let me know, though and I'll link it up.
So, here I go.
Total number of books owned
Let's start with the tough ones, why don't we. I don't know, but somewhere in the region of 3-4,000 is what I'm guessing.
I had a wonderful opportunity that I didn't take, to count about a year ago when I took out every book from every shelf, cupboard, kitchen shelf and coffee table there is, dusted all of 'em, cleaned the shelves, cupboards etc, put fresh paper and neem leaves (to keep the silverfish out), re-ordered books by author, genre, country and unavailability (most precious and out of print books were hidden away in top cupboards to discourage borrowing). At that time, I had piles of books all over my bedroom floor, so that the only way to get from this side to that was to climb over the bed.
Ok, so I'm bragging a little. But mostly I'm in a panic, because I'm remembering books I know I have but can't immediately recall where I've put them. Like that book without a cover that I picked up at Abids one Sunday more than a decade ago, called A Pocketful of Ribaldry. Once this starts to happen I'm in trouble, because it usually means waking up at 2am in a cold sweat and wondering if, in a fit of madness, I'd agreed to lend my copy of, say, The Film Till Now to the local film club.
(I'm kidding. I don't lend books. To anyone.)
Last book bought
The Speaking Tree by Richard Lannoy. At Fountain. Of course, the only Speaking Tree I knew anything about until five years ago, was that very annoying column in The Times of India. Then, when I was editing a journal which had a paper by Richard Lannoy, I heard of this book. Haven't started to read it; wonder if it might have dated in the 36 years since it was written. I shall find out, shan't I?
Last book read
We're not counting Greenwitch, are we? That took me all of an hour and a half. Let's see...ah yes. Kamila Shamsie's In The City By The Sea. This must be one of the few times I've started at the beginning of a writer's work (when they've written more than one book and one can choose, of course. I'm not talking about first books where, by default you begin at the beginning).
There's this lovely bit towards the end of the book, where the young boy, Hasan, is in a thoughtful mood. His cousin, Zehra, is not very encouraging; especially not of potentially purple poetry. I've been wanting to post this for a bit, so here it is:
‘There’s something really wonderful about this,’ he said. ‘I mean, its so simple, it’s moving, you know?”
Zehra raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh god, you’re going to turn into one of those boys who write poems entitled “For I Have Seen The Miracle Of Sunsets” at the age of sixteen and never have more than three words in a line.”
This three-words-in-a-line indictment is something I'm going to use very soon, somewhere. I can just feel it.
Five books that mean a lot to you
I'd rather amswer the question, What's your favourite colour. I mean, really! 'ean a lot'because of what the book's about, or because of how rare it is, or because of what someone wrote in it, or because what it cost you to buy it? All of these things make of a book something more tahn its contents. But whatever...
Eric Rhodes' A History of the Cinema.
In class 9, when reading history for fun was a very startling idea, we had to do a project on any subject of our choice. Three of us chose Film, because we thought it meant sitting and watching films for one week, and what could be more fun? We were right. But we also had a lot of reading to do, and history never read better. Every title, every name was a litany, an enchantment: Berlin, Symphony of a City. Murnau, Caligari, Kuleshov, Vertov, Einsentein, Pudovkin. Even today, I know I will recognise these films, should I ever manage to see them, just by their descriptions. I will know early Surrealist Cinema; I will see UFA in early German cinema and expand it in my sleep into Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft.
Scaramouche (first edition)
The long story here
Letters To A Young Poet, Rilke.
What can I say? There are some books that are like Bibles. I know some people who have claimed that Jonathan Livingston Seagull was their Bible. Thankfully, I am not of their number.
The Archy and Mehitabel Omnibus
For the longest time, when I was in college, one pavement seller, I think in F Block, CP, used to have Archy and Mehitabel. I used to pick it up each time, turn it over, read a poem or two and ask the guy how much it was. His answer never varied, no matter how pathetic I looked, and it was always unaffordable.
Two years ago, when my friend, Sampurna came to stay for a few days, I told her this story. What are the odds that among the few things she was carrying in her shoulder bag (for a stay of five days! How does anyone do it?!) was this book? And what are the odds that she would feel generous enough to give it away?
*CHEATING ENTRY AHEAD*
All the Saints, Edgar Wallaces, Sabatinis and some other books
No really. How to calibrate the worth of these rare - if low-brow - books? In this category are also the children's book you won't have even heard of: Chronicles of Pantouflia by Andrew Lang and At The Back of the North Wind by George McDonald; the Richard Armours - It All Started With Eve, It All Started With Columbus (though, to my eternal regret, not Twisted Tales From Shakespeare). And Sellar and Yeatman's wonderful 1066 And All That.
Who Do I Tag?
Anyone who wants to take it up. Just let me know, though and I'll link it up.
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