Category: Thoughts uncut

What I Saw

She stood in front of a mirror, her eyes fixed on her reflection. Her lips curled into a disapproving sneer, as she cringed at what she saw.

“What do you see?”

She saw a huge brown forehead, cowering underneath bushy black side bangs. She saw a pair of sharp black eyebrows, hovering over round blue eyes.

A long nose with a pointy end and pale lips dry to the surface.

An over-stretched pored  skin and a blunt chin with a dent on the side. Streaks of straight short hair tucked behind meaty ring-less ears.

She thought she saw a shadow of a cheekbone. And a pair of squared glasses enclosed in a plastic frame of black with a sliver of red.

I said nothing.

I looked at the woman who ignored drooping eyes to stay up all night nursing my chicken pox.

I looked at the woman whose eyebrows curved as she concentrated on keeping my egg yolk runny.

I looked at the woman who told me I wasn’t crazy when I wanted to get my ears pierced. The woman who stood by my side when the world turned its back on me.

And I saw the woman I cherished.

To Define…

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It’s not about studded shoes and decked dresses or dinner parties with seven wines.

It’s not about fresh bills in a Coach, Chopard on the wrist, and stacks in the account.

It’s not about lean legs, tiara-topped heads, or Louis Vuitton handbags.

It’s not about bedside pools, or poolside bars, or bayside resorts.

It’s not about dabbling in pearls, or dawdling in Rolls.

It’s not a trendy summer vacation, a honeymoon destination, or a cruising expedition.

Not about the glitter, the possessions, or positions.

It’s the hot chocolate on rainy days, the comforting book on bad days, and an extra scoop of ice-cream.

Luxury is contentment in the small things.

I Wrote a Novel

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder. What would it be to be a published author? I’ve wondered that since I was 13, and now, I have a chance.

Inkitt.com is running a contest, and they call it Story Peak Novel Contest. I’m in. And so is my novel, Praveena.

I posted one chapter of it a day last November during the National Blog Posting Month. Whether you read it then or not, you can now.

And if you do like it, please consider reserving a copy. The best three novels that get 100 readers or more will have a chance to get published. It’s a small ray of hope I’m clinging to.

I’m counting on everyone of you reading this now to help me get there. I’d appreciate it a lot.

Read it here: My novel on Inkitt.

Again, if you think it’s good, please reserve a copy for yourself (and tell everyone you know to reserve their copy, too).

Life Goals

She was twenty-five already, and all friends were settled for life. A high-earning fiancée, a well-planned wedding, a fancy honeymoon, and a lifetime ahead of baking and eating. They had the money, they had the luxe, they had the looks. When days were free, they went to the movies, shopped for love, and selfied their vanity. Life was busy.

She still lived in a dingy lone apartment. She’d wake up each morning, work out, walk to work, get worked up, and walk back home to her books. Some weekends she’d get drunk and binge on Friends. And when she felt like it, she trekked untrodden ways and chased sunrises. Life was good.

Understanding  Metamorphosis

I’m not sure what brought it up, but a colleague mentioned Franz Kafka wrote the saddest stories ever. A pathos fan myself, my interest was piqued. My colleague recommended and lent me the ebook version of Metamorphosis, a supposed stunner.

It was a small book, and I managed to tolerate reading it on a screen. I finished it last night and gave it a two-star rating on Goodreads. And then I scrolled through reviews to see what other readers had said thought about the book. I was stunned; a lot of people had given four or five stars, and words like “wonderful,” “amazing,” “deep,” and “emotional” jumped out at me.

I scratched my head. Huh?

Jack

It was as if they had read a different book altogether. I wondered if my copy had been just the preface, and if there was more to the tale than I had read.

I had expected dramatic change, something that would topple the lives of all the characters. I know all that did happen, still, it was too matter-of-fact, like.

It’s not that I didn’t like the story, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was well written, sure. It had an uncanny plot, yes. And an unconventional ending. But other than that, I didn’t feel the sadness ebbing from the words, I wasn’t moved to tears, my eyes didn’t burn, my nose didn’t stream, and my neck didn’t hurt from crouching.

It was a good story with a beautiful narrative. It wasn’t gripping or as sad as I had hoped. Nevertheless, the comments on Goodreads unsettles me. I feel almost inhuman not seeing what’s so intriguing about the book.

Have you read Metamorphosis? Pray tell, what did I miss?