Last week, Mridula Koshy launched her book If It Is Sweet in Bangalore. Mridula was as delightful as her book and I much enjoyed her infectious chatter at the launch and afterward at dinner. The audience was larger than usual, about 60-70 people, which is rather good for a book event. Mridula read bits from her story POP and in between, she was in conversation with novelist KR Usha. Some interesting things — she compartmentalises strictly between writing and life, taking chunks of time off from one to attend to the other; she never starts a new story before finishing one; and she writes in cafes.
It was a bit of a shame that the audience was so muted during the Q&A. Of course, I’m hardly one to talk since I suffer from atrophied vocal chords at such times but Mridula is one of those writers who really has a lot to say and is not pompous or boring while at it. In fact, there was a strangely honest, intimate, even vulnerable, air about her when she talked about what drives her to sit at cafes, watching people outside plate-glass windows, collecting details. So it would have been nice if the audience had asked more questions.
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I watched Kaminey over the weekend and enjoyed it. Somebody asked me if I found the stuttering and lisping distracting. I didn’t. The plot was gripping, the action was slick and everybody was very hot — Priyanka, both versions of Shahid Kapoor, and the Bong villains. Heh. Not sure about the last actually. But I was just thrilled to see Bong villains at all.
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A friend has asked me to compile a list of must-read poets for his edification and entertainment. I also have to put down three poems under each poet. I feel like TIME magazine (100 poems you must read before you die…). But seriously, I think it’ll be a fun way to remember favourites and familiars. Poem suggestions most welcome.
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I recently read Wetlands by Charlotte Roche, which is all the rage just about everywhere for its bold content and sexual freedom. I wasn’t terribly thrilled. The book sort of leaps from one sex-filled, gunk-filled detail to another. It left me wondering why I should be so interested in someone’s propensity to eat her nose boogers.
I’ve also been reading Kay Ryan. I like the way she packs in a tight, focused thought in such a compact space. Some examples: ‘Carrying a Ladder‘, ‘Flamingo Watching‘ and ‘Repetition‘.
And finally, I got very smashed after ages last weekend. It was a friend’s farewell party. There were disco lights and a guy dressed as Mallika Sherawat with fake butterfly wings pinned to his back. There was Shahrukh Khan cavorting on the ceiling via a projected screen. There was lots of drink and some other things. The next day, I could hardly move. I’m getting old.