[Reader-list] Fwd: ifellow posting by rahul pandita

[khadeeja arif]

Dear Rahul,
I am really looking forward to read your post as you proceed with your work.. It all seems coming right from the heart:-)
Best of luck
Khadeeja


On Mon, 09 Jan 2006 Iram Ghufran wrote :
>posting by Rahul Pandita
>
>>I am pasting below my first post: My parents named me Rahul. After adding the surname, it becomes Rahul Pandita. I am a moody writer, poet, blogger, self-styled public intellectual, former bilingual Television journalist, trainee illustrator, Kashmiri, Indian, Brahmin - in that order. I have worked for television channels like Aaj tak, Zee News, Sahara Samay and reported from areas like Falluja, Batalik, Maisuma, Galar, Ukhrul, Tamoh and Kochar ki Daang. I am a former NEMEP fellow and the winner of e-author award for my Bildungsroman 'Chinar In My Veins'. I am currently working on a novel, which I have named 'Yimberzal', which will be based on events ranging from the 1947 tribesmen attack in Kashmir to (hopefully) the recent earthquake. As a Sarai fellow, I will be working on a project titled - Byte Soldier: The life and times of a metro TV reporter. I intend to prepare a mini graphic novel, based on the project along with a whacky, creative essay/story. The genesis of my idea can be traced to around four thousand words, which I thought would be a part of one novel, which I claimed to be working on, but later dumped the idea; at least for the time being. Here is an excerpt: Just a fortnight ago, Som had left a successful job of a television journalist. The never ending world of deadlines had made him sick. And everyday it was the same story. Another ceasefire in the northeast, another suicide attack in Kashmir, another operation to flush out militants and yet another set of accusations against a politician. It was a murky world out there – thankless and spurious. Som just decided to call it a day, one fine afternoon. He was in the office canteen, sipping coffee and looking outside through the window frame. He had felt his shoulders with one hand, pinching the flesh. Knots of lactic acid had accumulated under the layers, which were a indication of how stressed out he was. In fifteen minutes, he had to leave for an assignment. Some bloody Pentagon official was scheduled to meet the top brass of the Indian Army. The mobile phone jumped to life, vibrating like a fish without water. He looked at the number flashing on the screen. It was his Bureau Chief. Som thought of his paan masala-stained teeth and his wet lips. He would be sitting on his throne, aiming his spit in the dustbin kept under his table, with the hands-free of his mobile fitted deep into his ear canal. Suresh Jee, everybody added that suffix after his name and he made the reporters under him feel as if they were chotus working in dhabas, destined to run for errands. At the sight of Meena, a junior reporter, he would drool and if he had his way, he would make her the editor-in-chief. For her, he was a slave, born to serve her – suggest story ideas, arrange camera units and a vehicle for her on priority, write her scripts and arrange an editor for her. For others, he was the commander of the third reich. In the morning, he would even make calls from his mobile to reporters, while sitting on the pot. At times like these, his voice echoed through the phone, as if he was calling from a well. When he called Som, he imagined him with his dirty pyjamas lying at his feet, three newspapers in his lap and he talking to Som about an assignment, and at the same time pleased about how last night’s sat isabgol had done wonders to his bowel movement. Suresh Jee was still making the phone dance. Som had made his mind not to press the green button and take the call. He was no longer willing to talk to someone who referred to pastry as cake. He switched off his mobile. He just snapped every tie with his office, leaving it behind, like a snake sheds his skin. At the gate, he felt light. His shoulders twitched as if wings were sprouting from them. There was no sinking feeling in the heart either. Siddartha must have felt the same, when he left his kingdom to become Buddha, he thought. But how did it boil down to Graphic Novel? Well, I have another story to share. Since it would make the post longer, for those want to read it, they may click on the following link to read my piece 'My Mother's 22 Rooms' : http://sanitysucks.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-mothers-22-rooms.html Well, that is it for now, friends, guides and philosophers. I remain Rahul Pandita
>>
>>Rahul Pandita www.sanitysucks.blogspot.com <http://www.sanitysucks.blogspot.com> Mobile: 9818088664
>>
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