Story clinic on Monday 10 December

On Monday 10 December we will meet to talk about the stories submitted for this round of WRIP. I have already sent some commented stories to you by email. The rest when we meet.

Philip Hensher at JU

On Monday 19 November Philip Hensher will be at JU in the AV Room at 10am sharp to conduct a workshop on the creation of character. Eleven people have signed up so far. There are nine places still vacant. Drop me a line if you would like to be part of the workshop. On the same day, Philip will be in conversation with Sandip Roy at Oxford Bookstore in the evening about his book Scenes from Early Life.

Philip Hensher is Professor of Creative Writing (that's a dream job description) at the University of Exeter, and he's also one of the UK's foremost LGBT figures (that's LesGayBiTransexual for all you great unwashed).

Be there.

Penny Dolan workshop

If anyone is interested in writing for children, children's author Penny Dolan is conducting a workshop on 20 November at the British Council Library, for which the application deadline is 12 November, I'm afraid. Apply with 2000 word story to aparna.bhattacharya@in.britishcouncil.org. There will be an application fee, and a possibility of gettign published by Scholastic.

Dates for Presentation

These are the dates for final presentation. Some of these people may no longer be in the course. Don't worry about that: only panic if your name should be here and isn't.
6th
Debayudh
Mayurakshi
Amita
Utsarjana
Ankita
Deeptarko
Shamik

7th
Anwesha
Kabir
Aparajita
Vinita
Kathakali
Oishani
Bidisha

8th
Aratrika
Aritra
Arshia
Pragati
Raahi
Abirupa
Moinak
Rupsa

9th
Uddalak
Upasana
Manidipa
Avinash
Ritwika
Dhritiman
Biaas
Rajdeep
Arijit

No class today Friday Sept 7

No class today. Sinus headache. Arrgh.

Choice Story

There was a boy who lived in a village in a forest deep in a mountain valley. he spent his days caring for his parents' farm, sowing the seed and reaping the harvest. One day when he was sixteen a demon came to him in a dream with a piece of wood in one hand and a glowing coal in the other. The demon said, 'Choose'. The boy chose the coal. Some months later the black carriages rolled into the village square, and the black-clad men laid out their tables on the cobbles and made all the young men line up. He had come to sell his family's fleeces, but the rough men caught him and made him stand in line. He was put in a railway carriage with lots of strangers and taken to a faraway place, where they shaved his head and gave him new clothes and taught him how to be a soldier.

He saw many wars. He saw death and destruction and horrible lingering pain. But he learned to survive and keep his head down and not to believe all the fine words that were said on the eve of battle. Even so, in spite of his care, one day he was wounded and laid up in the field hospital with a piece of metal in his leg. And then in fevered dreams the demon came again, This time it had a bunch of grass in one hand, and a clod of earth in the other. 'Choose,' it said. But the boy rose up from his bed and clasped the demon's neck and said, 'No, last time you offered me a choice and look where it brought me. You have to tell me what these things mean. The demon smiled and said, 'You're learning. You know what the coal meant, you've lived it. Would you like to know what the wood meant?'
'Yes,' said the boy.
'Had you chosen the wood, you would have gone down to the bay some day to celebrate your uncle's buying a new plot. Your father and uncle would drink all night in the tavern, and in the morning when the press gangs came they would be passed out under the table. But you would be there, and they'd drag you off to be a grease monkey, climbing the tarry ropes. You'd see many battles, chain shot flying through the air, men burning and jumping into the sea, dead men's eyeballs when the sea spits them out again. Then one day a bullet would catch your leg, and you'd be laid up in the ship's brig, and I'd come to you with grass and a clod of earth.'
'You're a talkative demon,' says the boy. 'Now tell me what these mean.'
'No. Only hindsight sees everything.'
'All right,' said the boy, and grabbed the grass because it was fresh and green.

In time, he healed his wound and was discharged, and limped back home along streets desolated by conflict. He found his farm burned and deserted, and in the centre of the blackened flagstones of the kitchen floor there was a bunch of green grass growing. So he sat by the old well and drank its water, which was sweet, and went into town with his severance pay and bought a plough and a horse. And in time he built the farm back, and married, and had many children and the house was full of laughter and plenty. And then one night the demon came again, and this time he had a white stone in one hand, and in the other a black.
'Oh,' said the boy, who was now a man, 'It's you. Well then, tell me what the clod of earth would have given me.'
'You would have died of your wound.'

The demon extended his gnarled palms, each with a stone on it and said, 'Choose.'
'No,' said the man. 'I've had enough of this game. Suppose I don't choose?'
'Then I will come back night after night and ask you the same question.'
The man's eyes filled with tears. 'Does this mean it's time for me to die.'
'You won't know unless you choose.'
The man took a deep breath. 'I choose the black.'

The demon smiled. 'Then I have to tell you the truth of darkness. had you chose the white, I would have had to tell you the truth of light, but no matter. You only get to hear this once.'

The demon sat comfortably on the edge of the bed and began, 'Everything you see around you is spirit wrapped up tight. This stone, your bed, this earth, it is all the blood of gods who exist far away in the heavens. These gods are so hungry they eat light, they chomp it up for breakfast lunch and dinner, these dark suns. And in their bellies, light is crushed so small it has to craft itself into matter. That is the ultimate darkness of the pit, a darkness so dark there isn't even space for light to shine between the things within it. But that darkness is within you. It's what prevents you from flying apart. It's the still centre of every grain of your body. Without it, spirit flies around like an impotent thing. When you grasp the earth, the dark in your hand is touching the dark of soil, of stone, of slime. Remember that, and maybe in your next life you will hear the truth of light.'
And the demon vanished.

Your exercise: to write a story in which three choices between a pair of symbolic things are offered to the protagonist at three crucial junctures of the story. In each case, the choice must produce wisdom, so that in effect the protagonist travels a path.

Debayudh's map

Aratrika's Map

Friday the 13th

Exercise for Friday
1. Make a character. Three levels are needed for character formation. A. a census form. Name, age, occupation, gender, place of birth, parents, language, class, income etc. B. Timeline of important events till the present. c. Value map: temperament, propensities, tastes, values, dreams, quirks. Definitely do A, and if you are feeling adventurous try B and C.
OR
2. Create a five-sentence plot outline for a horror story.

You can do either one of these.

Welcome

You have all been sent invites to the blog. Please click on the link in the invite to join. For those who were not present on Friday, we did a story exercise. I asked people to write a story outline in five sentences. As follows:

1. Introduce your main character, ie the person whose point of view you will take.
2. Introduce your subsidiary character who will interact with the main one.
3. Describe the start state.
4. Describe the destabilising force.
5. Describe the resolution.

This is the simplest story-recipe you can have.

Robin Hood Reloaded

Dear Wrippers,
David Miller of Bedfordshire Uni is doing a project funded by UNESCO on how people see the Robin Hood story. He feels this is specially relevant in these times of financial turmoil and growing poverty in the West. He wants us to help him by brainstorming versions of Robin Hood in India.These could be completely fictional, or based on a real character or person. He suggests Veerappan, but I thought our very own Maoists or Angulimala would be better models. Of course, Robin Hood in this country cannot escape caste, race and class.
Dave wants to produce a book which will have augmented reality (AR) features: that is, when you point your mobile phone at it, new features will pop up, like speech balloons by the character's heads, a hidden layer, an alternative story, etc. So we will also need to generate some visual content. He will do the technical stuff for this.
What he wants from us is storytellers and stories. I think he wants us to do this in Bangla (he hasn't confirmed yet) and with an Indian setting. He has plans for a graphic novel and various other spinoffs as well. I'll try and post his full project note (it's a pdf)
Please comment here if you want to be part of this project.

Jerome Stern, Making Shapely Fiction

Dear Wrippers,
I have a soft copy of Jerome Stern's very useful writing manual Making Shapely Fiction. Any Wripper who wants a copy please comment here and I will send it. If you are registered on the blog I should have your email address.

Rajorshi Chakraborti Coming to JU

My good friend Rajorshi from Edinburgh is in town to launch his new book Mumbai Rollercoaster. He's going to be at Worldview on Friday 25 Nov at 3pm for a little interactive talk on the book. Please come down and meet him, all you Wripers.

Here's the official notice from Hachette

About the book:

Everything had been going swimmingly for Rahul and Zeenat. OK, so they had to hide their relationship from disapproving parents, and could only meet at specified times up in that abandoned building. But at least they saw each other regularly, which is saying a lot here in Mumbai, where privacy can be a priceless commodity.

Until Rahul went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like —I found a body. And adding, I think I know who did it, so let’s try and get him.

As events unfold with unstoppable momentum, Rahul and Zeenat grow to recognize the reach and power of their adversary, and understand that the only help they can call upon is from a poor twelve-year-old boy, who would himself be in desperate trouble if his connection to them was ever revealed.

Soon their families are in as much danger as they are. Under such pressure, it seems inevitable that they will also lose each other. Will Rahul and Zeenat be able to save anything they love? What is the true nature of the organization they have uncovered? And, just as importantly, what will they learn about themselves during the trials by fire that follow, as old loyalties shift, and there are as many temptations as threats.

About the author:

Rajorshi Chakraborti is an Indian novelist, essayist and short story writer. He was born in 1977 in Calcutta, and grew up there and in Mumbai. He has also lived and studied in Canada, England and Scotland, and worked, between 2007 and 2010, as a lecturer in English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh. He currently lives in Wellington, New Zealand.

Rajorshi is the author of four novels so far, Or the Day Seizes You, Shadow Play, Balloonists and Mumbai Rollercoaster. Or the Day Seizes You was shortlisted for the Vodafone Crossword Book Award in 2006, and was translated into Spanish as La Vida Que Nos Lleva. Shadow Play was originally published in 2008 under the title Derangements.

Rajorshi has also published reviews, short stories and essays in several periodicals and anthologies, including the Edinburgh Review, The Istanbul Review, Excess: The Tehelka Book of Stories, Why We Don't Talk, Too Asian, Not Asian Enough, The Edinburgh Introduction to Studying English Literature, and The Popcorn Essayists: What Movies do to Writers.

Do join us for refreshments after the event. Look forward to seeing you there.

Final Reading by Lav Kanoi

Lav Kanoi will be reading his story Femme Fatale on Monday 14 November at 3pm. We'll probably be in the UG1 classroom. All are welcome.

Tale of a Girl

In the rolling grasslands of the Turkmenian Karakum there roamed a pretty young Bedouin girl called Amira. Many a mad wind of the Hindukush having roared down the mountains with fierce pleasure, have reached the valleys, where, taken aback by the sudden greenness of the grass, the tinkle of bells on four hundred sheep and the scent of Amira’s hastily tied hair, the fierce winds have calmed down to a gentle breeze and have blown over Amira’s face, causing the drops of her brass earrings tinkle against each other in mild appreciation of the world. In situations like these, Amira was foolish enough to laugh aloud to herself and to fling whatever she was holding up in the air, simply for the pleasure of watching the wind carry it away.

The sight of such silliness gladdened Amira’s many grandparents who, seated outside their tents, chuckled quietly among themselves but fell silent as soon as they caught a glimpse of Amira’s father herding his animals across the fields. Amira’s father rode a fine Arabian steed, owned 3 wives, 14 children and a gun which he has never been seen to use but which he polishes regularly and keeps in excellent condition. It was said that he had once made a whole tribe of the deadliest of Tatar bandits flee with a single roar. However, Amira and her brothers and sisters who had almost never heard their father speak, only sniggered among themselves while listening to these stories. With every passing autumn, Amira’s father spoke lesser with humans and more with his animals. He longed to be able to read and this longing produced in him a strange sadness that found no place in the valleys cradled by the harshest of the hills. But since no one in his family had ever believed that a nomadic horseman could desire anything other than a life of valour, they thought that the sadness in his eyes was because of the fact that he had 9 beautiful daughters to marry off and everyone knew that in the valleys where the nomads roamed free and the mad winds calmed down to tease the sequins on the blouses of young girls, eligible grooms were impossible to find.

It so happened that one plain summer afternoon, when the wind was engaged in a merry game with the clothes hanging by the stream, Amira who was sitting nearby and mending a hole on a rug, came to the conclusion that the time was ripe for her to get married. And immediately, the mind of this wandering nomad who had learnt since birth that for her survival she was not to attach herself to any earthly constant, descended with unnatural firmness upon the prospect of losing itself to a man who would be the prince of her dreams. The wicked wind of the valleys murmured their approval and immediately began to flirt with the red silk thread with which Amira was working, making it flutter frantically quite like Amira’s foolish little heart.

The following night, long after all the fires had been put out and the sheep were snoring in their pens, Amira woke up with a start. As the cloth window of her tent flew open at the command of the conspiring winds, Amira saw the shadow of a man standing by the river. Driven by curiosity and shielded by the protection only the innocence of youth can provide, Amira brushed her sister’s sleepy arm off herself and crept out of the tent for a better look. Her eyes followed the moonlight which in perfect harmony with the scheme of the winds led them to the stream. Amira’s heart leapt to her mouth. There was a man standing with his horse on other side of the stream. In the faint light cast by the moon, he appeared to Amira like a warrior prince who had travelled across the mountains and braved the deserts to win her heart and steal her away to his kingdom. His face, half-lit by the moonbeam, showed off the rugged beauty that Amira was convinced came only after having fought many a brave battle. She had only heard of princes like these in stories recited to her by her many aunts and which she herself had recited to her younger sisters more than once. Little did she know then that her heart would one day beat as fast as a galloping Bedouin steed for a prince who could only be found in the fairytales of the nomads of the grasslands. As her knight lifted his face, his eyes, Amira felt, beheld her in the way Husrev’s eyes first beheld Shirin as he watched her bathe, in the fables of Nizami. It was beyond Amira to translate the maneuvers of the mysterious wind of the valleys and so the faint rustle of her skirt, the gentle tinkle of the water of the stream and the murmur of disquiet in the lone camp fire’s flickering light together reached her ears as the quiet and deep voice of her gallant groom to be.

‘Come with me, Amira,’ she heard him say. ‘Marry me and we will ride away to happiness.’

Amira’s cheeks were warm with emotions that had spent a million years rehearsing in preparation for this very moment. Her palms were sweating like the time when she had been caught stealing a sweetmeat by her father. The cunning wind was meanwhile whispering in her ears more words she thought were being said to her by her stranger of a suitor.

‘Fear not, Amira,’ she heard. ‘Only the stream lies between us. Come to my arms. I have been waiting for you since time immemorial.’

A thousand storms raged inside Amira. Outside the sly wind fell quiet in greedy anticipation of her actions. Amira clutched at her scarf, looked at the reflection of the prince on the stream and as if convinced by the promise of the shadow on the flowing water, slowly started walking towards the stream. At the edge of it, she stopped and looked up at her fabled warrior. In the one moment that passed before he silently stretched his hand to help her across the water, Amira felt herself hesitate. The most abnormal feeling of uncertainty strangled her for a moment and she stopped and looked back at the tent she had been sleeping in until a little while ago. The night was deep and though her family was fast asleep Amira felt everyone beginning to stir in realization of her absence. She paused anew driven by the sudden recognition of the fact that she could not swim and the waters were perhaps too turbulent for her to wade through. As if acting on cue, the wind orchestrated every sound in the valley to enter Amira’s ear for a third time as the voice of her beloved.

‘I yearn for the moment when we will be united, my princess. I have travelled far and wide in search of you. I am weary and thirsty. Will you not allow me to drink the water of the stream from your hands?’

Like a wildflower tossed in a winter gust, Amira threw herself on her suitor’s arm as if the very question of her survival depended on it. Clutching at it, she crossed the stream, the cool waters of an unnamed river caressing her ankles as if to say goodbye. She forgot about her father, her sisters, her grandparents, and about the colors in the carpets she and her family had made off the wool of 400 sheep. In front of her stood the traveler, her hand in his, his eyes upon her. The wind, mad once again in raucous celebration, became a fierce gale, blew out the camp fire and made the tents sway to an unheard rhythm. In one of these tents, Amira’s oldest grandfather sighed in his sleep and turned.

-

The next morning when Amira’s father woke up to the cry of one of his sons, the winds smirked and blew over Amira’s raped and lifeless body for one last time before heading southwards.

Soumashree Sarkar, UGIII

Monday Readings Postponed to Tuesday

As I have to attend a Ph.D. viva at 3pm, the Monday presentations are postponed to Tuesday, 3pm.

Presentation Schedule

Group A Monday 17 October 2011 PG2 20 Sejuti Roy UG3 24 Anuj Raina UG3 14 Vikrant Dadawala UG3 13 Dipankar Lahiri UG3 Soumashree Sarkar UG3 15 Anushka Sen Group B Wednesday 19 October PG2 34 Lav Kanoi PG2 30 Shreya Sarkar Dhruva Lal UG3 4 Deeptesh Sen UG3 49 Piali Mandal UG3 5 Amrita De Group C Monday 24 October UG3 2 Trisha Ray UG3 50 Lopamudra Chatterjee UG3 38 Dipabali Dey UG3 32 Sreyashi Mukherjee UG3 42 Barsha Saha UG3 19 Safdar Rahman UG3 6 Shinjini Chattopadhyay UG3 44 Amrita Dutta
Very sorry for having left out Amrita Dutta.

Dipankar's Character Sketch

And I mean sketch
Life and Times of Shoshi Thakur-
Internal Timeline in square brackets.
Born Malda Town, 1970, as Ravi. Bihari father fugitive from law. Suspected of plotting to assassinate President. Bengali mother, who marries to escape village squalor.[Learning to stand on own feet early, learning to trust few people.] Till age 9, family of 3 move about from Malda to father's ancestral home in Giridih and from there to Benaras, staying for a few years at each place.[Sees and listens to people from many places. Learns never to settle down, to always be on the move]
Age 10, father is apprehended and shot 'accidentally' while trying to escape, in Benaras ghats.[Responsibility of a mother to look after toughening up Shoshi] Mother and Shoshi come to Kolkata under new names. Mother works in houses for a living, managing to send Shoshi to a school. Shoshi discovers a flair for football and debating.[Finds joy in comradeship in muddy fields and in being listened to by audiences in non muddy rooms] Age 18, enters Presidency COllege. Runs for student elections at 19,winning by big margins.
Age 22, jailed for protesting against police action of lathicharging students at a gathering.Acclaimed student hero.[Popularity, sees good and bad people from many sections of society. Obstinately dreams of changing the world.]
Age 26, runs state elections against the ruling party. Garners support,publicity. People talk about a wind of change. Identity of father discovered, allegations of corruption thrown at Shoshi by ruling party. Shoshi loses elections, resigns from party.[Ashamed at having a secret past he thought unimportant dug out. Devastated that a minor fact as that could remove him from people's favour.]
Age 27, Shoshi marries.[Seeking escape into the domestic.] Age 28, Shoshi leaves wife behind and goes to Tibet. Gains admittance to a monastery in North Tibet. Stays there in a room of his own and writes poetry secretly.
Age 32, Shoshi slips off mountainside and dies while on a search of a lost dog that used to live with him.

Times of Sochu---
Thwarter. Born Martin Goodson in 1930,London to Catholic parents.
25, takes up job of schoolteacher.
40, travels to Ichitaga in North Tibet.
44, Ordination to Sochu.
50, made Chief Abbott of Ichitaga Temple.
68, finds Shoshi dying of dysentery in a Tibetan house. Shoshi's delirious talks of philosophy and history attract him, and he takes Shoshi to his monastery, nursing him back to health and giving him a place to stay.

Trashy Remnants of Stupid Thoughts: Interlude ( or a little something I cooked up for ...

Piali's other story...

Trashy Remnants of Stupid Thoughts: Interlude ( or a little something I cooked up for ...: words of inspiration: FLOGGING, HONEY, HIGHWAYS, HAND OUT, FELLOW-WARRIORS     As the final and twelfth chime of the clock faded away int...

Map Exercise

Ecin- Political Location- 2000 Km South-West to Australia Shinjini Chattopadhyay Each colour coded area represents a province (like the ‘states’ in India) and the little black circle in the middle of each province is its centre (which are known as ‘capitals’ in India).

Stratlin

Centre- Leninopolis.

Area- 88,752 km²

Population- 91,347,746
When all the communists were driven out of Europe and America in 2020, they came to Ecin. The inhabitants of Ecin did not give a shit about communism and let the expatriates stay in a sparsely inhabited area of the country.

Unicornolium

Centre- N.A.

Area- 21,081 km²

Population- N.A.

This is the land of all the fantastical creatures from the fairy-tales of the world. You can find the unicorns, the fairies, the princes and princesses. They are all real in Unicornolium. Every inch of the soil of this province is enchanted. The creatures cannot cross the enchanted boundary. If they do they just disappear into thin air. And outsiders cannot enter Unicornolium either. The invisible enchanted boundary creates a barrier for anyone who tries to get inside the land of magic. The magical creatures are visible only from a certain distance.

Dwarfistan

Centre- Dopeynabad

Area- 94,163 km²

Population- 103,804,637

This province is populated by one of the native tribes of Ecin, called the ‘Tringeedipitee’. They are not dwarfs as the name of the province might suggest, but none of them scale a height of more than 5 feet. Hence the other tribes of the country assigned their province the said appellation.

Ѐcrancortum

Centre- Babel

Area- 38,863 km²

Population- 33,387,677

The inhabitants of this province are obsessed movie-buffs. They name everything in their province after movie-stars or directors or movies or anything related to movies.

Plutony

Centre- Haidrocloristopolis

Area- 22,347 km²

Population- 2,721,356

This province is known for being the cradle of many ground-breaking scientific inventions. All the budding scientists of the country head for Plutony.

Greeneland

Centre- Grainagogue

Area- 308,252 km²

Population- 75,697, 585

This is the agricultural hub of Ecin. Most of the farms of the country are located in the rich soil of this province.

North Vagiconland         

 and South Vagiconland

Centre(s)- Kalapakkam (North Vagiconland)

                 Bitchiathipore (South Vagiconland)

Total Area- 243, 286 km²

Total Population- 199,581,477

Until two months ago Vagiconland used to be a united province. Vagiconland has been known for its strict gender boundaries. If anyone wishes to have sex with anyone he/she will have to file a petition with the administrative body of the province. Unmarried men and women are allowed very limited interaction. Homosexual activities are strictly banned. People are not allowed to go to the beach before the age of 40years. The net providers have been given strict instruction to block any sort of porn site. Movies are considered as a bad influence on the youth. The inhabitants of this province have a strong disapproval for the culture of Ѐcrancortum. Many of the inhabitants of Vagicon have been seen to shift base to Plutony.

    Five months ago, a group of young people demanded that the age of going to the beach should be lowered to 30 years. While they got many supporters, again many went against them. Before long, the whole province was divided into two opposing factions. In order to avoid civil war, the government of Ecin decided to take matters in his own hands and divided the province between the two factions. The ones who had come up with the demand got North Vagiconland . The ones who were for preserving the age-old traditions got the Southern portion and decided this was the best solution because mixing with the ‘progressive’ mass would inevitably lead to decadence of the society.

Ecin- Important cities

 Ports

 Industrial Area

 Agricultural Hubs

1,2  Important Cities

Ecin- Natural

Mountainous Region 4500-6000 meter

  

             Plateau 1500-2000 meter

Plain Land 150-250 meter

  

           Plain Land 0-250 meter

                Lake

                River

               Desert

Shinjini Chattopadhyay

UG III