2.2
[Me: What did you think of Gopal then?
James Downie: I didn’t think much of him.
Me: What do you think of him now?
James Downie: I don’t think of him too much]
Anita: “Gopal didn’t take too kindly to your joke”
James Downie: “Gopal?”
Anita: “I am not falling for that one”
“Haha .. You shouldn’t have told him it was my joke”
“I didn’t”
“Oh!”
“And he didn’t find it funny?
“No”
“Oh …”
“You’re totally judging him, now”Of course not! I am just thinking …”
[Pause]
James Downie: “I guess I know why he didn’t find it funny”
Anita: “I’m all ears”
James Downie: “A pun is all about context, you know, and timing. Punctual punning, if you please”
“Ah”
“Devoid of them, a pun might as well disintegrate: from punditry to punishment”
“Hahaha … You’ve been wanting to try those lines on someone for quite a while now; haven’t you?”
“You really don’t think I am very smart”
“I think you are smart, but not this smart”
“Actually, I think I am capable of much more. A couple of spontaneous puns and a pop-theory on punning uses up hardly a hundredth of my cranial capacity”
“Your confidence is disconcerting”
“Only disconcerting? Not disturbing or, perhaps, disgusting?”
“Insightful”
“You know, that’s why I don’t think I could ever have had a full-time office job”
“You are too cocky to take orders?”
“I’d be less harsh on myself: I’m a born leader—“
“—you’ve just equated less harsh with extremely generous”
“But I detest hierarchies”
“As in?”
“I find hierarchies revolting. I’ll illustrate: I once went to a forest guest-house near Mysore, many years ago. The caretaker was this jolly, but pointedly subservient, fifty-year old man whose name escapes me now. I was twenty-eight, almost half his age; and yet, he would follow me around like a faithful puppy, offering to carry my bag, bring food to my bed, polish my shoes; and when he spoke, he always addressed me as “Sir” and spoke softly, his back bowed, his head bobbing. It was disconcerting, but I was willing to live with it. But, one day I came back early and I chanced upon him by himself in the main longue of the guest-house: sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his arms placed magisterially on the sofa’s arms, his eyes fixed on the TV, his fingers playing carelessly with the remote … The image, somehow, left me with a feeling of deep revulsion”
“Because of what society did to him?”
“You could say that-- unless we are equals, we are always actors. Society makes sure of that”
“And you think that’s true of any hierarchy?”
“Of course—Reddy! Mukunda Reddy was his name”
“Oh”
[Me: What did you think of Gopal then?
James Downie: I didn’t think much of him.
Me: What do you think of him now?
James Downie: I don’t think of him too much]
Anita: “Gopal didn’t take too kindly to your joke”
James Downie: “Gopal?”
Anita: “I am not falling for that one”
“Haha .. You shouldn’t have told him it was my joke”
“I didn’t”
“Oh!”
“And he didn’t find it funny?
“No”
“Oh …”
“You’re totally judging him, now”Of course not! I am just thinking …”
[Pause]
James Downie: “I guess I know why he didn’t find it funny”
Anita: “I’m all ears”
James Downie: “A pun is all about context, you know, and timing. Punctual punning, if you please”
“Ah”
“Devoid of them, a pun might as well disintegrate: from punditry to punishment”
“Hahaha … You’ve been wanting to try those lines on someone for quite a while now; haven’t you?”
“You really don’t think I am very smart”
“I think you are smart, but not this smart”
“Actually, I think I am capable of much more. A couple of spontaneous puns and a pop-theory on punning uses up hardly a hundredth of my cranial capacity”
“Your confidence is disconcerting”
“Only disconcerting? Not disturbing or, perhaps, disgusting?”
“Insightful”
“You know, that’s why I don’t think I could ever have had a full-time office job”
“You are too cocky to take orders?”
“I’d be less harsh on myself: I’m a born leader—“
“—you’ve just equated less harsh with extremely generous”
“But I detest hierarchies”
“As in?”
“I find hierarchies revolting. I’ll illustrate: I once went to a forest guest-house near Mysore, many years ago. The caretaker was this jolly, but pointedly subservient, fifty-year old man whose name escapes me now. I was twenty-eight, almost half his age; and yet, he would follow me around like a faithful puppy, offering to carry my bag, bring food to my bed, polish my shoes; and when he spoke, he always addressed me as “Sir” and spoke softly, his back bowed, his head bobbing. It was disconcerting, but I was willing to live with it. But, one day I came back early and I chanced upon him by himself in the main longue of the guest-house: sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his arms placed magisterially on the sofa’s arms, his eyes fixed on the TV, his fingers playing carelessly with the remote … The image, somehow, left me with a feeling of deep revulsion”
“Because of what society did to him?”
“You could say that-- unless we are equals, we are always actors. Society makes sure of that”
“And you think that’s true of any hierarchy?”
“Of course—Reddy! Mukunda Reddy was his name”
“Oh”
[Pause]
“Anyway, I am a writer now, so that lets me get away from such nagging contradictions. No more feeling like I was born to enjoy being in power, but hating the very idea of power itself. In a sense, I have no leaders and no followers”
“No leaders, yes. But, followers? Aren’t fans followers too?”
“Maybe … But of a different kind. They aren’t answerable to me; On the contrary, to a large extent, I am to them. Whether consciously or not, a lot of my writing keeps the audience in mind”
“It doesn’t come across, you know. Most of what you write seems too personal—someone who cares lot about what people think of him would hesitate to put so much of himself into their novels”
“No leaders, yes. But, followers? Aren’t fans followers too?”
“Maybe … But of a different kind. They aren’t answerable to me; On the contrary, to a large extent, I am to them. Whether consciously or not, a lot of my writing keeps the audience in mind”
“It doesn’t come across, you know. Most of what you write seems too personal—someone who cares lot about what people think of him would hesitate to put so much of himself into their novels”
[Pause]
Anita: “That sentence didn’t sound right, did it?”
James Downie: “Always on the button”
Anita: “Haha”
JD: “But, coming back to my writing—“
A: “—Pankaj was right; you really love talking about the way you write”
“Of course, I don’t. But, coming back to my writing … ”
“Haha”
“I don’t think I referred to content as much as style when I said I keep the audience in mind. What I say is for myself, how I say it is for the readers”
“Hmmm … And I think you write best when you don’t think of how you are saying what you are saying”
“Distracted?”
“Distracted!”
*****
James Downie: “You know why I talk of my writing so much?”
Anita: “Why?”
“Because it’s my job. Everyone makes conversation about their job, it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I appear narcissistic because my job only involves myself”
“I don’t talk about my job”
“Everyone who loves their job will talk about it; I, of course, live my job”
“Breathe work every millisecond”
“Nanosecond”
James Downie: “Always on the button”
Anita: “Haha”
JD: “But, coming back to my writing—“
A: “—Pankaj was right; you really love talking about the way you write”
“Of course, I don’t. But, coming back to my writing … ”
“Haha”
“I don’t think I referred to content as much as style when I said I keep the audience in mind. What I say is for myself, how I say it is for the readers”
“Hmmm … And I think you write best when you don’t think of how you are saying what you are saying”
“Distracted?”
“Distracted!”
*****
James Downie: “You know why I talk of my writing so much?”
Anita: “Why?”
“Because it’s my job. Everyone makes conversation about their job, it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I appear narcissistic because my job only involves myself”
“I don’t talk about my job”
“Everyone who loves their job will talk about it; I, of course, live my job”
“Breathe work every millisecond”
“Nanosecond”
[Pause]
James Downie: “And you don’t talk about your job because you don’t have one”
Anita: “Not for long, James; not for long”
“Why don’t you have a job?”
“Because I’d be a disaster at a conventional work-place”
“Self-deprecation— you’d make a great fisherwoman”
“I was not fishing for praise there; I was simply stating facts”
“Okay, why will you be a disaster? I think you possess, in healthy amounts, all the necessary attributes to make a fine consultant”
“You don’t know me too well”
James Downie: “I’d like to”
Anita: “You would?”
*****
2.3
Anita: “Not for long, James; not for long”
“Why don’t you have a job?”
“Because I’d be a disaster at a conventional work-place”
“Self-deprecation— you’d make a great fisherwoman”
“I was not fishing for praise there; I was simply stating facts”
“Okay, why will you be a disaster? I think you possess, in healthy amounts, all the necessary attributes to make a fine consultant”
“You don’t know me too well”
James Downie: “I’d like to”
Anita: “You would?”
*****
2.3
[Me: Did you expect the call?
James Downie: I did. But, it’s somewhat like the time when people tell you it’s going to be a bright, sunny day. And it turns out to be a bright sunny day, except, it pours too. Simultaneously.
Me: Thank God for the rainbow?
James Downie: Thank God for the rainbow, however brief][Phone rings]
James Downie: I did. But, it’s somewhat like the time when people tell you it’s going to be a bright, sunny day. And it turns out to be a bright sunny day, except, it pours too. Simultaneously.
Me: Thank God for the rainbow?
James Downie: Thank God for the rainbow, however brief][Phone rings]
James Downie: “Hi! What a pleasant surprise!”
Anita: “Why?”
James Downie: “’What ‘why’?”
Anita: “Why did you write that short fiction piece?”
James Downie: “I write because I have to make a living”
Anita: “But, why a piece based on me?”
James Downie: “Did you not like it?”
Anita: “Why?”
James Downie: “’What ‘why’?”
Anita: “Why did you write that short fiction piece?”
James Downie: “I write because I have to make a living”
Anita: “But, why a piece based on me?”
James Downie: “Did you not like it?”
[Silence]
James Downie: Oye, I’m sorry; but it was such a lovely piece, so happy, so true!”
[Silence]
James Downie: “I’m sorry”
Anita: “I don’t ever want to be reduced to a public spectacle. I like my life the way it is and I wish there was a copyright violation on persons. I should sue you”
James Downie: “But, I spoke of you in such glowing terms. I even—“
[Engaged]
*****
3.0
Anita: “I don’t ever want to be reduced to a public spectacle. I like my life the way it is and I wish there was a copyright violation on persons. I should sue you”
James Downie: “But, I spoke of you in such glowing terms. I even—“
[Engaged]
*****
3.0
[Me: She called back?
James Downie: Yes
Me: And?
James Downie: She apologised; she was sweet, warm, funny. I remember thinking it was a distinctly pleasant conversation
Me: I see
[Pause]
James Downie: But now, I don’t quite know if it indeed was. Some of the pauses seemed odd; and she did seem in a hurry to finish the conversation. Maybe I am imagining it; maybe I have gone over the memory so many times and from so many angles that I’ve lost all sense of objectivity”
Me: What happened next?
James Downie: You know she told me this queerly profound thing once about nostalgia: she called it ‘sweet poison’. In fact, I wrote it down somewhere … Let me get it for you]
James Downie: “Good memories are like costly wine, they get better with time. And like wine, they leave just a little sourness in the mouth; an overdose can lead to an overwhelming sense of sadness”
Anita: “That’s quite some impromptu passage”
James Downie: “It’s not impromptu. And I didn’t write it. Some random student whose essay I’m judging”
Anita: “He must win, for that passage alone”
JD: “I want him to; but most of what he says has nothing to do with the theme of the essay. Beauty needs no context, but, unfortunately, victory does”
Anita: “That’s so true of the world at large. Everything needs a context, a space, a history, a trajectory that chalks its path into the future”
James Downie: Yes
Me: And?
James Downie: She apologised; she was sweet, warm, funny. I remember thinking it was a distinctly pleasant conversation
Me: I see
[Pause]
James Downie: But now, I don’t quite know if it indeed was. Some of the pauses seemed odd; and she did seem in a hurry to finish the conversation. Maybe I am imagining it; maybe I have gone over the memory so many times and from so many angles that I’ve lost all sense of objectivity”
Me: What happened next?
James Downie: You know she told me this queerly profound thing once about nostalgia: she called it ‘sweet poison’. In fact, I wrote it down somewhere … Let me get it for you]
James Downie: “Good memories are like costly wine, they get better with time. And like wine, they leave just a little sourness in the mouth; an overdose can lead to an overwhelming sense of sadness”
Anita: “That’s quite some impromptu passage”
James Downie: “It’s not impromptu. And I didn’t write it. Some random student whose essay I’m judging”
Anita: “He must win, for that passage alone”
JD: “I want him to; but most of what he says has nothing to do with the theme of the essay. Beauty needs no context, but, unfortunately, victory does”
Anita: “That’s so true of the world at large. Everything needs a context, a space, a history, a trajectory that chalks its path into the future”
[Pause]
A: “And nostalgia is not good wine, its sweet poison”
JD: “Surely you didn’t say poison?”
A: “I most definitely did”
JD: “Surely you didn’t say poison?”
A: “I most definitely did”
[Pause]
A: “I’ll explain. Nostalgia’s a very strong presence in my life, at once my greatest strength and weakness. I am overcome by nostalgia in waves, in short, strong bursts, that transport me to worlds long forgotten. This is where she is sweet—“
JD: “Who?”
A: “Nostalgia. This is where nostalgia is sweet. But, sometimes she is everywhere: in the wooden panelling on the floor; in the medals hung on the wall; in the blooming Gulmohar in summer; in the darkest depths of the nights. And every scene is a memory, and reality merges seamlessly with remembrance; certainty and chance are twined to form a strange, almost cosmic puzzle that leaves me completely drained … And these are the days I sketch; just like it is for you, intensely personal art is an escape”
JD: “Who?”
A: “Nostalgia. This is where nostalgia is sweet. But, sometimes she is everywhere: in the wooden panelling on the floor; in the medals hung on the wall; in the blooming Gulmohar in summer; in the darkest depths of the nights. And every scene is a memory, and reality merges seamlessly with remembrance; certainty and chance are twined to form a strange, almost cosmic puzzle that leaves me completely drained … And these are the days I sketch; just like it is for you, intensely personal art is an escape”
[Pregnant silence]
JD: “It sounded good—and dark”
A: “But?”
JD: “But it also went over my head”
A: “Mull over it. After all, most of life leaves your cranial capacity untouched”
*****
3.1
A: “But?”
JD: “But it also went over my head”
A: “Mull over it. After all, most of life leaves your cranial capacity untouched”
*****
3.1
[Me: It’s cloudy
James Downie: It’s been like that for some time here. I find, increasingly, that the weather mimics my state of mind. Grey, with occasional rays of bright, mad light … Maybe I am the weather God.
Me: Been reading the Guide lately?
James: The Guide’s the book that keeps me happy]
Pankaj Kishore: “James! A distinctly inopportune time to barge in—you are true to form, I must admit”
James: “I’m certain you’ve realised that I have not barged it; that it is pouring where I stand now, and I do not have an umbrella and am as wet as a whale”
PK: “Am I supposed to invite you in, now?”
JD: “Don’t tell me you have a woman who is not your wife in there with you and you need some privacy”
“My wife’s here; she’s up and fuming. She hates being awoken at ungodly hours”
“Exactly why I came; now move aside, I need to go in”
Meena: “James! My children are sleeping, so I need you to be soft. And get out as soon as possible”
JD: “Could you make me some tea, Meena?”
Meena: “Tell him to get lost, Pankaj”
PK: “You can tell him yourself. This is as much your house as it is mine”
M: “Get lost Downie and good night. I am going to bed. Pankaj, get rid of him fast”
[Sound of footsteps receding]
JD: “She never got over the fact that I asked you not to marry her. Dude, it’s been fifteen years”
PK: “What do you want, James?”
JD: “I want her address”
PK: “Anita’s?”
JD: “No, Surpanakha’s. I have forgotten what street Ravana’s palace is on”
PK: “Gopal is a second-cousin of sorts to my wife, James. I don’t want to have to do anything with this”
James Downie: It’s been like that for some time here. I find, increasingly, that the weather mimics my state of mind. Grey, with occasional rays of bright, mad light … Maybe I am the weather God.
Me: Been reading the Guide lately?
James: The Guide’s the book that keeps me happy]
Pankaj Kishore: “James! A distinctly inopportune time to barge in—you are true to form, I must admit”
James: “I’m certain you’ve realised that I have not barged it; that it is pouring where I stand now, and I do not have an umbrella and am as wet as a whale”
PK: “Am I supposed to invite you in, now?”
JD: “Don’t tell me you have a woman who is not your wife in there with you and you need some privacy”
“My wife’s here; she’s up and fuming. She hates being awoken at ungodly hours”
“Exactly why I came; now move aside, I need to go in”
Meena: “James! My children are sleeping, so I need you to be soft. And get out as soon as possible”
JD: “Could you make me some tea, Meena?”
Meena: “Tell him to get lost, Pankaj”
PK: “You can tell him yourself. This is as much your house as it is mine”
M: “Get lost Downie and good night. I am going to bed. Pankaj, get rid of him fast”
[Sound of footsteps receding]
JD: “She never got over the fact that I asked you not to marry her. Dude, it’s been fifteen years”
PK: “What do you want, James?”
JD: “I want her address”
PK: “Anita’s?”
JD: “No, Surpanakha’s. I have forgotten what street Ravana’s palace is on”
PK: “Gopal is a second-cousin of sorts to my wife, James. I don’t want to have to do anything with this”
[Pause]
JD: “Okay”
PK: “Okay?”
“Thanks for helping. I knew I couldn’t count on you”
“What happened?”
“She isn’t answering her phone; it’s pouring outside”
“For how long?”
“It’s been pouring all week; she hasn’t answered her phone for almost a week now. No reply to messages, no nothing”
“I’ll see what I can do”
“No wonder you’re such a champion government official: I’ll see what I can do”
*****
[Me: Are all artists escapists?
James Downie: You mean, are all of us escape-artists?
Me: Haha!
James Downie: I think most non-artists are escapists; the world is an escape from within. Immerse yourself in reality and forget who you really are]
[Me: Are all artists escapists?
Pankaj Kishore: All artists are border-line mental cases; James is not. He crossed over a long time ago.]*****
[To continue]
PK: “Okay?”
“Thanks for helping. I knew I couldn’t count on you”
“What happened?”
“She isn’t answering her phone; it’s pouring outside”
“For how long?”
“It’s been pouring all week; she hasn’t answered her phone for almost a week now. No reply to messages, no nothing”
“I’ll see what I can do”
“No wonder you’re such a champion government official: I’ll see what I can do”
*****
[Me: Are all artists escapists?
James Downie: You mean, are all of us escape-artists?
Me: Haha!
James Downie: I think most non-artists are escapists; the world is an escape from within. Immerse yourself in reality and forget who you really are]
[Me: Are all artists escapists?
Pankaj Kishore: All artists are border-line mental cases; James is not. He crossed over a long time ago.]*****
[To continue]
1 comment:
"The world is an escape from within. Immerse yourself in reality and forget who you really are."
Sigh.
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