WRITERSPOINT FOR BOOKAROO'12

VIEW ALL THE PICTURES OF THE EVENT ON WRITERSPOINT PICTURE GALLERY

Bookaroo festival entered its 5th year this time. Amazed by the line up of inspiring speakers and authors, Writerspoint decided to cover all the action there on 25th November'12

So there we were at the Arjangarh metro station, from where the Bookaroo shuttle bus took us to the most beautiful venue. The place was so green and clean that you feel you are in a new world all together!

There was passion in air, enthusiasm in eyes of all and love for literature was evident! Its going to be a great day, I was sure !

Unfortunately, Ruskin Bond could not make it to the festival due to health issues. But the  organisers compensated it well enough. The event 'hot seat' which was  to be done by Ruskin initially, was done by not one but five other authors.

Hot seat at the Amphitheatre was the first event we attended and it was a wonderful start to the festival. Bookaroo put five authors on the hot seat -

 Grant S. Clark, Penny Dolan, Ranjit Lal, Shamim Padamsee and Petr Horacek.

All the authors first introduced themselves to the listeners and then the children shot at them questions that were very interesting! Some questions were so hilarious and the witty replies made everyone laugh!

Penny Dolan gave out a very interesting tip while giving the answer to How do you get ideas? She advised the little boy to maintain an 'idea box' where he should put chit of ideas whenever he gets one. She said he should go out observe people and make chits!

When someone asked Ranjit Lal, How to become a writer? He said write whatever comes to your mind, just write. Later edit it, and it will do the job! Another very interesting thing he said was - " I take revenge from people by making them insects in my stories and killing them."

Grant S. Clark who was a sports journalist said he gets inspiration from pictures and art. " I try to convert my feelings into words"

Petr, who is trained at the Academy of Fine Arts in rague before becoming a graphic designer, illustrator and painter said he does not like plain books. So his books are colourful and have pop outs and holes. He also drew Suzie the Goose from his book for the little children.

                                      _________________

Loud laughters of children guided us to the Glade, where Neeraj Jain was amusing little kids by reading out a part of a book to them. 

Neeraj Jain is a professional and a volunteer with ITIHAAS. He has also served as a member of ITIHAAS' Advisory Council. He  says he has a vast reservoir of stories to share

His expressions and the way of interacting with little ones, kept the children glued to their places as they laughed their hearts out.What I loved the most about his session was that children were an intrinsic part of his story telling. After the session, they all got a 'jaadu ki jhappi' from the stuff elephant Neeraj brought with himself. 

He told us that he has been coming to Bookaroo since the last five years and what drives him there every year are the fantastic authors, speakers and listeners.

  

Another session that really engrossed the children was the Creative Writing Workshop by Asha Nehemiah. She was very professional in her approach and yet the kids were very comfortable with her. The atmosphere they created at The Think Tank was unbelievable. She gave out techniques like 'Dive into Technique' and 'X-ray Technique' and explained them in a way that made it all so easy.

The entire purpose of the workshop- How to draw the reader in from the very first paragraph? was very interesting. Inputs from the children made the whole session worth attending.

_______________

Hachette's area was buzzing with children and turned out to be the most popular spot among them. 

There was everything- creating a buzz at the spelling bee, be a whiz at quiz, write a rhyme and book reading. And what more ? There were prizes! There is nothing more a kid can ask for!  I think it was the best decorated area, nicely done up with flags and banners of book covers.

When we entered the Pavilion,  author Imtiaz Ali's niece was reading a part of his book.  After it ended we asked him a couple of questions-

How would you introduce yourself to the readers of Writerspoint ? 

         " I am a banker turned author, who writes books for children."

Ipsita Agarwal, interviewer for writerspoint, catching up with author Imtiaz Ali 

What inspires you to write children's books ? 

" I love writing books for children. I write books on my experiences an books for children take me back to my childhood. I  find ancient Urdu literature very inspiring. "

______________

Next to join the 'Bookathon' was the very wonderful Shabnam Minwala. We missed her programme but we got her talking about her book and Bookaroo.  From all that she told us, we are sure it would have been a splendid session with a lot of fun.

How would you introduce yourself to Writerspoint? 

"My name is Sabnam Minwala. I was a senior assistant editor with Times of India. My three children got me into an even more brain scrambling job and so I left TOI. After they grew up, I got into writing. I sent my script to Hachette and got a reply from them and this is how I got into writing.

What drove you here, to Bookaroo ?

" Hachette asked me to do a session here and I was thrilled ! I flew here all the way from Mumbai. My passion of meeting new people drove me here. At the end of the day when you write a book, you want it to be read and so I came here to meet children who might like it and might want to read it."

So, how was the response you received?

"It is just great! I did a long session yesterday also and it was so much fun. We did a lot of great activities like making charm bags and our own charms. For me magic is something that you wish to do to get what you really want. In my book little children want to use magic to prevent their new neighbours to cut down a couple of trees in the garden. And we also did the bad neighbour dance !" (laughs)

How would you describe the place to the readers who could not attend the festival?

" Bookaroo is fabulous! It is so clean and open ! I mean you children are so fortunate that a festival like Bookaroo is happening in your city. It is great to see so many children here for their love for books."

_________________

Meanwhile, Kalash, Ipsita and Kngana, interviewers for 'Writerspoint covers Bookroo'12' attended Nevedita Subrimanyam's book reading session at Kahani Tree.

 Kangana told me  that she was very interactive and kept the children engrossed. It was a delight! How she made a simple story Monkey Maythem so interesting even for adults, was amazing.

How would you introduce yourself ?

"I am someone who loves picture books and comics."

She is excited by the possibilities of picture books and comics, and enjoys photography and illustration. She has worked as a creative writer and s currently an associate editor.

She told us  she has a special thing for story telling because it involves interaction and makes a book come alive.

She said she always wanted to write books for children.          

                                 _____________________

Paro Anand, an award winning author of children's books was, for me, the highlight of the day ! She was at the amphitheater making poetry easy for every kid who struggles with rhymes and rhythm.

She had so much to give, which she did and awed everybody! She gave children some easy recipes that made poetry simply delicious for them!

The best part was when, cute little children , at the end of the session, walked up to her and said, " I will write poems from now on!" So the session really worked and personally, I loved it.

At the author's desk, she was children's favourite as so many of them came running to her for her autographs on their books.  We were right there, when she was signing the copies and the excitement and passion in her so overwhelming that you cannot help but get inspired! She was so warm, so friendly, she made sure she makes every child smile! 

The interview I enjoyed taking the most was of Paro Anand, excerpts from the interview-

How would you introduce yourself to the readers ?

"I am a writer, performance story teller and a world record holder of helping children make the world's longest newspaper!"

                            What brings you to Bookaroo? 

" I love being with kids, I love this place and meeting others who do what I do."

What change have you seen here, at Bookaroo ?

" I have been attending Bookaroo since the last 6 years. The change I have seen is young children gaining confidence.Now they interact more. Six years back they were shy and used to ask me the same three questions. But now they ask me wonderful questions, just like you are asking and that is what I treasure!"

_____________

 Credits-

Kangana Pandya, Sardar Patel Vidyalaya.

Ipsita Agarwal,  Sardar Patel Vidyalaya.

Kalash Pandya, Sardar Patel Vidyalaya.

Thank you for helping me with the interviews and photos and for attending sessions. 

WRITERSPOINT TURNS ONE THIS DECEMBER!

Like every journey, my journey of blogging started with both apprehension and excitement. I was surely excited because it was something new, something I had never explored but something that had always strangely attracted me. But more than this zeal was a weird apprehension. Would I be able to write something my readers would enjoy, and more than anything would I be able to get any readers at all ? 

When blogger asked me for a name I randomly wrote - Writerspoint, it was an experiment after all. But today Writerspoint has become a part of me. I know I don't write so often and update it only once in two months, but my seldom tryst with Writerspoint always help me grow, explore my thoughts and gives me unparalleled joy!

On 26th December' 12 Writerspoint will complete an entire year and celebrate its week long 1st birthday.

And now with so many people to thank, friends who made me believe in it and appreciate what  I wrote, I have something exciting for them on Writerspoint's birthday week.

That week, we will feature some simply beautiful stories and articles by people who excel in their fields and have experiences and tales to share that are inspiring and wonderful to read.

 All the details and the list of guest bloggers, photographers and editors will be posted here very soon. 

Thank you for all the support.

Keep reading!

DARK AND PROUD- Letter from a Dark Skinned Father to his Daughter

Dear daughter,

I have seen dismay in your eyes, when you look 

at yourself in the mirror. What do you see? Is 

that dismay because of your brown skin that

 clings to your bones?

Remember, you are not fair, but you are lovely.

  Just like fair girls, you have a heart and a 

soul that have no colour. Just like those fair 

girls, you have immense potential in you to be 

whatever you want to be, don’t feel left behind 

in the race, just because you have a different 

color.  You have a gorgeous smile and a 

vibrant personality that is much beyond your 

skin color.

I believe you live in an imperfect world, just

 like me and your mother. You have grown up

 in a society, where colour of your skin is 

considered a better indicator of your beauty 

than the person within.

 People will avoid you because you are darker 

than them but only you can change it. Be 

proud of what defines you, what completes you

 and what you always carry with yourself.

That colour hugs your soul and makes you 

what you are and you should love it back. Why?

 Simply because it is yours. You were born with

 it and you will die with it.

You have the colour of the rich chocolate you 

love and so does everybody else. 

As a child you always craved for brown eyes.  So

 what makes you sad about your beautiful 

brown skin? Your dark skin is the right skin 

and your brown color is the color of beauty.  

Take pride in being different, respect your 

color that reflects grace and love yourself.

 Fair and lovely? Blah! Be dark and proud!

Love you always

Your Daddy.

THE SAME ROOTS, THE SAME GROUND- YET DISCRIMINATED !

The hot evening silence was broken by the creaking sound of an old rusty gate. A lady of about sixty stepped out and tied her hair in an untidy bun.  She looked to the sky, the sun melted a part of her neck into sweat which she wiped off with her handkerchief.

She was lucky that day, a rickshaw stood right in front of her house. She pushed up her golden rimmed glasses up her nose bone and woke the dark rickshaw waala, who was surprisingly basking under the ridiculously hot sun.

“Bhiya, A.P market chaloge”

“Betho” he replied in an uninterested voice.

“kitne loge”

“25 lagenge”

And this, predictably led to an argument that lasted forever, but then the old woman gave up. Holding the nicely painted red rod, she managed to climb up the rickshaw with a great difficulty.

The hot loo hit her wrinkled face as the rickshaw waala peddled as slowly as he could. Twenty five rupees was not reasonable at all and she was not someone who would not care. She was certainly angry, a cold frown on her criss-crossed face drip disgruntlement.

The rickshaw stopped at her destination. The lady slowly brought her thin feet down to the ground. She turned to the Rickshaw waala and handed him two notes, of ten rupees each.

He looked at them and then her, his eyes were enough to tell her that he wanted five more rupees. For the lady, it was not just about money, it was about what was moral. Like every elderly person, she had a lot “good things” to tell the rickshaw walaa, which she did but then the whole thing ended with a five rupee coin!

She looked around the market to find ‘Sharma Dental Clinic’ where she had an appointment for a root canal.  

While the dentist did his job, the clouds outside wrapped the sun in them and a cool breeze set out for a walk.

The lady came out of the market to look for a rickshaw. For it was a lucky day, she spotted one near the nariyal pani waala. She raised her arm to call him but then she suddenly stooped.

She re fixed her spectacles. That man’s head had a Taqiyah, his chin was covered with a bushy beard. He was a Muslim! By no means was the old lady going to travel in a rickshaw of a Muslim!

For fifteen minutes she waited for another rickshaw to come and then she spotted one on the other side of the road. To catch it before another lady walking towards it, she tried to walk a little faster but the poor old lady twisted her ankle!

And now she had no option. She buried her ego and strict anti- Muslim sentiments deep inside her and quietly took a seat. He looked at her and asked where she wanted to go. She pursed her lips  and precisely told him. Not a word more than that! How could she talk to a Muslim? She started planning a good bath and a prayer after she reaches home to get rid of all the ‘impurities’. She fished out twenty five rupees out of her little purse. She did not want to argue with a Muslim for five rupees!

When her house was in sight she asked him to stop, she got down and in haste handed him the money from a distance. She turned around to pace towards her house when a decent voice stopped her. It was the rickshaw waala. Her feet stopped but she did not turn.

                                                     “Aapne 5 rupe zyaada de die”

She was stumped. She turned around and within that span of two seconds, all her negative opinions about Muslims ascended out of her into the endless skies. She was too moved to say anything. Taking that little coin, which transformed a strong headed woman, she walked away.

This time, the old rusty gate stood there to welcome a new lady, who had just realized that-

We all have a soul and a heart, we just look different. We all believe in a supreme power, we have just given it different names. We all love, live, smile and cry, we just have different names.

THE SAME ROOTS, THE SAME GROUND- YET DISCRIMINATED !

   

  

THAT GIRL IN A RED DRESS

That was a bad morning. I was woken up by the squeaky voice of my maid, who wanted to make my bed.
Before I could tell her not to disturb me, she pulled away my sheet and started jerking it so hard, that I had to wake up.

A bad start to my day usually turns me off. But then it started raining and rain always make me feel happy, ALWAYS !
I pulled up the blinds of my window. The roads were all silent, but there was a  blissful bitter batter of falling raindrops. Everybody had taken to some shelter, except  a girl in a red dress and a few other girls. She was neither dancing in the rain nor taking shelter.
I reached for my glasses on the side table, so that I could see more clearly.

Credits- Hari Menon Photography

 She was a short, young dusky girl with a basket of bright yellow flowers in her hands. She was not pretty, rather she was very shabby but her eyes were beautiful. She was selling those flowers. The next thing I remember is that she started singing to attract people to buy her basket of flowers. Her voice was enchanting, though I could not understand what the song actually was. The language was unknown to me.
It rained for long that day, but she kept standing right there with undying hope. Her clothes were dripping water and her hair were all wet. But the yellow flowers were washed and bright!

                                                               X- X -X -X

My maid pushed me aside to the sweep near the window. She would never let me live in peace! After it was dry, I came back to the window. The rain had stopped and the roads that were deserted a few minutes back were flooded with cars and scooters. The girl in red dress would have been lost in the hustle bustle of the city, but my eyes found her. A middle aged lady with curly salt-pepper hair was buying flowers from her. I noted that she bought the whole basket. The flower seller was pleased, so much so that her dry lips parted for once to flash her teeth. She smiled for the first time since I had been observing her.
A long truck obstructed the view for a minute. From beneath the truck, I could see her bare feet  making way for themselves. She suddenly tripped and fell. A few kind people helped her get up, and then I realized -

   She was Blind !
I felt so sorry for her. The eyes that kept me captivated for half an hour could not see, see the world around her, the  blossoms she was selling and the vibrancy of her red dress.

                                                               X- X -X -X


Next evening, I watered the money plant near my table and opened the window to find her right there, yet again, in the very same red dress. It was a marriage in the colony  that day, so the streets were decorated.
 This time, her left cheek had a big cut. The blood was dry though,  I am sure it would have been hurting her. That day I saw her talking, for the first time, to a balloon seller standing by the lamp post next to her. They became friends, I think,as they chatted for long.

Credits- Audi Photography

                                                               X- X -X -X

She was there everyday for the next one week. Listening to her songs and waiting for her to pack, gelled into my routine and became a part of my everyday.
Out of curiosity one day, I couldn't stop my self from asking her name, but I got no answer, just a faint smile.
I bought a bunch of flowers from her. She was trying to hunt for change from her little bag, but I told her to keep it with herself.
I tried communicating with her after that, but maybe I was too shy.
But now I regret that because she never came back with her basket of flowers after that. She just vanished.
I did not know anything about her. Who she actually was? And maybe I will never get my answer.
I remember  those days when I observed this girl whose name I never knew, with a sigh.

                                           For me she is ' That Girl in a Red dress'

Credits- Audi Photography

                                                       

AN ART CALLED 'CREATING'

Enter a carver's workshop. You will see a place too simple, lit up by a bare bulb, filled with  chisels, axes and blades, ruled by an eye for intimate detail.

Around the place, you will find, the works of the master, each of them dripping thousands of emotions. Works so splendid, it seems like creations of some spirits.

                              His chisel work among the stone,

                                        Persuading it of petal or of limb

                                     Or starry curve, till risen anew there sang

                                        Shape out of chaos, and again the vision

                                     Of one mind single from the world was pressed

                                        Upon the daily custom of the sky

                                    Or field or the body of man.

       But what gave birth to the splendid carvings is the stone.

A stone that would never catch someone's eyes, until it comes to rest in the magical hands of the carver. He carves out emotions from a mere rock and turns it into a mortal masterpiece that says a hundred stories and reflects a million feelings.

That is the art of creation that transforms something very insignificant to something that can leave anyone astonished.

Now step outside and enter the street just adjacent to it.

  Enter any one of the hundred small mud huts and you will be carried away by the beautiful fragrance of Incense sticks.

It is quite fascinating to realize that a mere black thin stick can take you to a land where fragrance takes birth, where scent and aroma live and where redolence drifts with the wind.

In a corner of the hut you will find some ladies rolling ugly yet aromatic plant material into thin sticks.

Under the stiff and still sunlight tip-toeing through the window

sat a lady in pink and gold, her wrinkled hands making sticks

turning the rolled plants into a house of essence

breaking the black walls spread the aroma

making her a magician !

This is the art of creation that can give rise to something that holds within it million experiences

Now let me take you to this place where garlands are made.

Short bamboo sticks hold the blue plastic sheet making a satisfactory protection from the sun.

Behind the site is a huge temple of Goddess Pullikaringali.

A basket flooded with pink tender flowers is disturbed by sun tanned fingers of a lady. She picks up one of them and pierces it with a needle.

She pushes it down the thread and it joins the other flowers, making it ten times more beautiful. 

 One by one, the needle of the garland maker 

   goes through a flower and soon it becomes a garland

which is much more alluring

much more admirable

and much more sublime.

This is the art of creation that hold the power of making something pretty, prettier.

It not a task, not a job, it is an art.

An art called 'creating'