Friday 15 February 2008

Ghanshyam and Radhey Shyam

Ghanshyam was slurping a considerable quantity of noodles up his pursed lips. The noise was getting on Radhey Shyam’s not very tolerant nerves, as he tried to come up with a solution to a tedious calculus problem.
Ghanshyam had no such worries. What he possessed, that Radhey Shyam did not, was the knowledge that no effort on his part would help him solve the differential equation that had been taxing the latter for so long.
Slurp he therefore did – with much enthusiasm too, for he was a boy with a healthy appetite, and a healthier disregard for classroom lunch hour etiquette.
Nearing the bottom of his lunchbox, Ghanshyam’s slurping was reaching a crescendo. To this he added the accompanying scrape of his fork against the insides of his lunchbox. This, decided Radhey Shyam, was the point where looks of exasperation would have to give way to a more direct approach.
The soupier kind of noodle was the kind of noodle Ghanshyam liked most. The last of the soupy liquid, and a single strand of noodle, was all that was left of his lunch, and he tilted his box at an angle to get to its contents easier. Radhey Shyam, with deft use of his right wrist, ensured that the noodle got to Ghanshyam before he could get to it.
Ghanshyam was no exception to the rule that people dislike soupy noodles on their shirtfronts.
There were thirty one students in the classroom at the time this incident took place. No two agree about what exactly happened after this point.
Every version, however, ends with Radhey Shyam’s calculus textbook being rudely interrupted in its Frisbee-like flight across the classroom by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Chitalkar’s bewigged head in its path.
This, I’m sure you’ll all agree, is just about the perfect way to begin a lasting friendship. And for the better part of fifteen years since, Ghanshyam and Radhey Shyam have been the most inseparable of chums, and best man at each others’ weddings.

I wrote this around a year back, and edited it today. This brings back memories of the time Vin and I wanted to illustrate and write, respectively, a graphic novel. It involved Ghanshyam, a water gun, aliens, and Anna Nagar. I actually wrote three disjointed chapters of that, and Vin drew one very detailed panel of a marketplace. Maybe I'll put up an 'excerpt' from that sometime, with that one illustration... Vinny's moved on since - to making graphic novels with real guns.

Wednesday 13 February 2008

Merciless editing creates space for blog post

Sculpture faces one inescapable hurdle – gravity. Dennis Lillee’s statue in front of the MCG would be a bronze facsimile of his pre-delivery-stride leap if only its right foot didn’t rest on a shiny cone. Flaming hair frames moustachioed face, which looks over left shoulder at the target 22 yards, a landing, and a long stride away. It’s not hard to imagine the statue coming to life: right foot landing lightly, left foot rising, coming down, and arms whirling in perfectly synchronous motion to give the ball thrust, direction and swerve, and then, just as the follow through ends, turning around, going down on its haunches, spreading its arms wide, and imploring the umpire to point heavenwards.
That was supposed to be the intro for my interview with Dennis Lillee (Yes, you read right - I spoke to the man himself, at the MRF Pace Foundation) for Digantik (ACJ's ezine). It didn't have a thing to do with the content of the interview, however, so it went flying off that page and onto this one. The actual interview is here.

Sunday 3 February 2008

Has Ghanshyam nothing to say?

It’s been a while. Two months and eight days, to be precise.

Looking at my shoutbox, I spy three consecutive comments from Vin that read, in chronological order:

  • New blog post man. Type!!!
  • Dei, update!
  • I give up, man. I give up.... bugger

I suspect that Vin wasn’t the first reader of this blog to give up. In fact, I’d commend the lad for coming back repeatedly despite knowing that a new post would be as likely a sight as… well, some very unlikely sight… think of one yourself, for crying out loud!

As you can see, my ability to conjure up similes has evaporated.

Is my blog nearing its sell-by-date? Or is it merely in a period of transition? Will it, like a something, rise from the other thing, and take its place in that thing whose name is on the tip of my tongue?

Has Ghanshyam nothing to say?

Is this a sign that the real Ghanshyam Nairs of this world are not amused by my appropriation of their name? Is the collective angst of the real Ghanshyam community tearing to pieces selective portions of the fabric of space-time, rendering me unable to blog?

Will I always be a pseudo-Ghanshyam; a wannabe-Ghanshyam?

Will I ever again type a sentence that doesn’t end with a question mark?