“Can he write?” is the question my parents and others very close to me have had to deal with since the day my writing aspirations started trickling into the public domain.
The first instance I remember is of the Special School I’d joined in my mid teens. Those days the physio mat and the Principal’s table were in the same room. I was kneeling holding the walking bar behind her and could hear her talking to some prospective donor about me: “he is very intelligent, we’re preparing him to appear for SSLC in a year or two. We’ll seek a scribe who’d understand his speech or provide him with a typewriter. He writes well and a small typewriter would do him good”. But the donor’s question may have stumped her: “does he understand the concept of ABCD?” I don’t remember how the conversation ended as in my mind I’d started laughing thinking of the futility of my beloved teacher’s efforts.
Such instances have kept happening thereafter. Sometime they are hurtful and humiliating. But most of the times they’re fun; like once (in pre-internet days) I’d written in a review that a topless shot of the hero and the heroine was there just for titillation and signified nothing in the context of the story. I was mischievously asked how I know what that scene meant and I bluntly said it meant that they were #@%$ing.
It is more fun when I show my efforts in fiction writing to my friends; how do you know that a cigarette would burnout if not used quickly enough? Or how do I know what happens on the first night of the marriage? The reply I itch to give is; “I peeped into your bedroom on your first night”. But that would be gross.
Such anecdotes can fill a chapter in my autobiography (if ever I wish to write one).
If you’re wondering why this sudden hyperbolic rant; nothing serious, I just read a sweet story about a ten year old spastic girl Jemma Leech winning a prestigious essay competition in the Houston Chronicle
PS. I thank everyone who appreciated, contacted and praised me after reading this. I must tell you that I’m not a role model material. If you really need a role model, please chase Alexis Leon, it is his indirect influence that writer Paresh exists.
And, for you doubting Toms: “Hey man/lady, life may not have given me the capability to experience everything. But, God/Nature has not deprived me of the faculty to observe and understand anything. So, I’m fit enough to write about anything.
The first instance I remember is of the Special School I’d joined in my mid teens. Those days the physio mat and the Principal’s table were in the same room. I was kneeling holding the walking bar behind her and could hear her talking to some prospective donor about me: “he is very intelligent, we’re preparing him to appear for SSLC in a year or two. We’ll seek a scribe who’d understand his speech or provide him with a typewriter. He writes well and a small typewriter would do him good”. But the donor’s question may have stumped her: “does he understand the concept of ABCD?” I don’t remember how the conversation ended as in my mind I’d started laughing thinking of the futility of my beloved teacher’s efforts.
Such instances have kept happening thereafter. Sometime they are hurtful and humiliating. But most of the times they’re fun; like once (in pre-internet days) I’d written in a review that a topless shot of the hero and the heroine was there just for titillation and signified nothing in the context of the story. I was mischievously asked how I know what that scene meant and I bluntly said it meant that they were #@%$ing.
It is more fun when I show my efforts in fiction writing to my friends; how do you know that a cigarette would burnout if not used quickly enough? Or how do I know what happens on the first night of the marriage? The reply I itch to give is; “I peeped into your bedroom on your first night”. But that would be gross.
Such anecdotes can fill a chapter in my autobiography (if ever I wish to write one).
If you’re wondering why this sudden hyperbolic rant; nothing serious, I just read a sweet story about a ten year old spastic girl Jemma Leech winning a prestigious essay competition in the Houston Chronicle
PS. I thank everyone who appreciated, contacted and praised me after reading this. I must tell you that I’m not a role model material. If you really need a role model, please chase Alexis Leon, it is his indirect influence that writer Paresh exists.
And, for you doubting Toms: “Hey man/lady, life may not have given me the capability to experience everything. But, God/Nature has not deprived me of the faculty to observe and understand anything. So, I’m fit enough to write about anything.
