I've just returned from the 1st Junior National Bridge Tournament (held in Hyderabad), and the experience has given me a lot to think about... and not just in terms of bridge!
I've never been a person to attach much importance to winning or losing. I've always contended that when you take part in some contest or sport, it's the experience and the knowledge that you take back with you that really counts. Sure, I feel bad when I lose and good when I win... thats a natural but temporary feeling, and all too human. A simple guideline to follow: at the end of the game, think about what you've gained that's important. The answers would surprise you.
I participate in a lot of stuff (though not much of sports), and my objective is usually to learn and have fun while doing so. I pity the people who get caught up in the cut throat competition that is prevalent at the high echelons of any sport, and dedicate their lives to pushing themselves that extra bit that makes the difference between winning and losing. Personally I feel that the fun in playing gets lost after a certain point. Just think about the tactics that people employ in any sport at the international level. I wouldn't dream of bowling a leg stump line with a leg side field in a friendly cricket match.
I guess some people can't help it. For some, it's their means of livelihood. For some, it's like a lifelong addiction, and it comes with a price to pay when you're near the top. Whatever the reasons may be, I know that some are beyond redemption. But for the others, what they really need is just a change in attitude. A little shift in thinking that will change their lives: Play to have fun. Play to teach, and to learn. Reality may force you to do otherwise at some level of the game. When that happens, step down a rung. It's for your own good.
I thought about what really motivates people to play in that ultra-competitive manner. The commercialization of sport these days is one thing. But how does it all start? I think it all starts the moment one says, "I want to be the best." You climb the ladder, go from city level to national level slowly. All the time, you are so happy that you won, and proved yourself the better of others. Ask me, and I say that you are champion all right, but only a champion on paper. The real champions in the world distinguish themselves by their courage, and their selfless actions, which makes a difference to other people. They are champions of the heart. If your aim in life is just to beat somebody at something, you better step back and think about how hollow your existance is.
What does any of this have to do with the bridge tournament? Nothing actually. Just a triggered chain of thought. I'm going to keep at bridge, but for the right reasons: I enjoy it. And I want to learn more.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Down memory aisle
Now that college is over, I ran out of excuses for not cleaning up my room. And that too, my Mom insisted on a clean sweep: I had to clear out all my old stuff, either throwing them out or packing them up in cartons for stowing away in some corner of the house.
Let me tell you something about myself. I hate throwing away stuff. Especially books and any sort of written material. So I had to dig through a tremendous amount of junk lying around in several cupboards, right from my old school days. It was long, dusty work, but it turned out to be rewarding in its own way.
It was as though I were revisiting every stage of my life in slow motion. There was this cute little book on stars and planets that had gotten me interested in astronomy in class three. There was the magnetic pencil box that I thought was cool in class five. There was a ton of fact and puzzle books which I'd been crazy about right uptil class ten, books like "World Famous Supernatural Mysteries" and "World Famous Bank Robberies", and a funny book of "Amazing Knowledge" from which I'd learnt stuff like what a spoonerism is. There were books on Indian fiction for children published by CBT that I'd loved at one point of time. There was a file full of my answer papers to english exams: I used to be quite good at writing essays and interpreting literature and all that jazz. Perhaps I'll sit and read through them one day these hols.
Then there was a serious stage of my life. The "Applied Physics" textbook from which I prepared for that ill-fated speech on lasers (refer the post "No Fear"). An organic chemistry notebook taught by that prof who made terrible jokes like "In Loyola college, there are a lot of students with AIDS." (shocked silence) "I mean, Arrears In Different Subjects." (groans all around) There were notebooks on Calculus that I'd kept because I could never remember any of the formulae after I entered college. There were editions of the school newsletter for which I'd been editor.
Then, of course, comes college. I found the entries to the creative writing contest when I'd been coordinator. There was a textbook on control systems, the most horrible course I've ever undergone. There was a ton of intermediate drafts of my report for my internship at Hyundai Motors. There was an autograph of the lead singer of Mother Jane, whom I'd interviewed for the campus magazine when they performed at Saarang.
It's like turning the pages of a book, and reading the story of your life: the good parts and the bad. It left me with a kind of bittersweet feeling... I've done a lot of good things in my life; but if only I'd learnt my lessons earlier than I did....
I threw away a lot of stuff, but I think I kept more than I threw away. I guess I'm still not ready to let go of some things. There were a lot of factors in my upbringing that have made me who I am today. They are lying in 5 neatly packed cartons stowed into an overhead rack in my room. I bet I'll glance up there now and then, and think about what a naive little bookworm I used to be. And tell myself that I still am one.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Let me tell you something about myself. I hate throwing away stuff. Especially books and any sort of written material. So I had to dig through a tremendous amount of junk lying around in several cupboards, right from my old school days. It was long, dusty work, but it turned out to be rewarding in its own way.
It was as though I were revisiting every stage of my life in slow motion. There was this cute little book on stars and planets that had gotten me interested in astronomy in class three. There was the magnetic pencil box that I thought was cool in class five. There was a ton of fact and puzzle books which I'd been crazy about right uptil class ten, books like "World Famous Supernatural Mysteries" and "World Famous Bank Robberies", and a funny book of "Amazing Knowledge" from which I'd learnt stuff like what a spoonerism is. There were books on Indian fiction for children published by CBT that I'd loved at one point of time. There was a file full of my answer papers to english exams: I used to be quite good at writing essays and interpreting literature and all that jazz. Perhaps I'll sit and read through them one day these hols.
Then there was a serious stage of my life. The "Applied Physics" textbook from which I prepared for that ill-fated speech on lasers (refer the post "No Fear"). An organic chemistry notebook taught by that prof who made terrible jokes like "In Loyola college, there are a lot of students with AIDS." (shocked silence) "I mean, Arrears In Different Subjects." (groans all around) There were notebooks on Calculus that I'd kept because I could never remember any of the formulae after I entered college. There were editions of the school newsletter for which I'd been editor.
Then, of course, comes college. I found the entries to the creative writing contest when I'd been coordinator. There was a textbook on control systems, the most horrible course I've ever undergone. There was a ton of intermediate drafts of my report for my internship at Hyundai Motors. There was an autograph of the lead singer of Mother Jane, whom I'd interviewed for the campus magazine when they performed at Saarang.
It's like turning the pages of a book, and reading the story of your life: the good parts and the bad. It left me with a kind of bittersweet feeling... I've done a lot of good things in my life; but if only I'd learnt my lessons earlier than I did....
I threw away a lot of stuff, but I think I kept more than I threw away. I guess I'm still not ready to let go of some things. There were a lot of factors in my upbringing that have made me who I am today. They are lying in 5 neatly packed cartons stowed into an overhead rack in my room. I bet I'll glance up there now and then, and think about what a naive little bookworm I used to be. And tell myself that I still am one.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Free...
So, finally... it ends. Five years of life in IIT... and such an anti-climax to it all... I mean, it should end with a party, not with a panel of profs bombarding you with questions.
As for how the review went... 5 profs locked me up in a room and attacked me for half an hour. I came out with holes in my shirt... I hadn't realized that facts and logic aren't good enough for body armour when you're trying to explain 8 months of work in 15 minutes (yeah, it was 15 mins presentation + 15 mins questions). When it took me 4 months to understand what I was doing, I don't know what made me believe that I could explain to someone else in 15 mins. I mean... sure, it was a barrage of questions, but they were *dumb* questions.
Still, preparing and presenting for the viva voce is a piece of cake compared to the marathon month of work that I had to put in for writing the thesis. After careful contemplation I have come to the conclusion that all people who want to do a Ph.D. / are doing their Ph.D. are MAD. Who in their right mind would go through that one more time... that too in much more excruciating length and detail? But sense has nothing to do with it... it's a challenge, and I'm game. So I think I'll take it up... PSU awaits me...
So, now that I spent the last one week day dreaming about what I should do when the hols start... I have finally come to the decision that I'm going to volunteer to continue working on the same project for GM over the next two months. I have some ideas to further my work... plus I feel an obligation to take the project beyond its present stage since I may not be joining GM to continue the work in an official capacity. Screwed up logic? Crazy idiot for giving up the hols for continuing to work on the same damn thing I've been working on for 8 months? Yes, and yes. What can I say, I'm incorrigible.
Anyway, I will be preparing hard for the junior bridge nationals on the 20th. But definitely I will be blogging more often now, and I promise I'll try not to say "thesis" or "project" again!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
As for how the review went... 5 profs locked me up in a room and attacked me for half an hour. I came out with holes in my shirt... I hadn't realized that facts and logic aren't good enough for body armour when you're trying to explain 8 months of work in 15 minutes (yeah, it was 15 mins presentation + 15 mins questions). When it took me 4 months to understand what I was doing, I don't know what made me believe that I could explain to someone else in 15 mins. I mean... sure, it was a barrage of questions, but they were *dumb* questions.
Still, preparing and presenting for the viva voce is a piece of cake compared to the marathon month of work that I had to put in for writing the thesis. After careful contemplation I have come to the conclusion that all people who want to do a Ph.D. / are doing their Ph.D. are MAD. Who in their right mind would go through that one more time... that too in much more excruciating length and detail? But sense has nothing to do with it... it's a challenge, and I'm game. So I think I'll take it up... PSU awaits me...
So, now that I spent the last one week day dreaming about what I should do when the hols start... I have finally come to the decision that I'm going to volunteer to continue working on the same project for GM over the next two months. I have some ideas to further my work... plus I feel an obligation to take the project beyond its present stage since I may not be joining GM to continue the work in an official capacity. Screwed up logic? Crazy idiot for giving up the hols for continuing to work on the same damn thing I've been working on for 8 months? Yes, and yes. What can I say, I'm incorrigible.
Anyway, I will be preparing hard for the junior bridge nationals on the 20th. But definitely I will be blogging more often now, and I promise I'll try not to say "thesis" or "project" again!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, April 29, 2005
The *Real* Acknowledgements
Phew! Thanks to a string of all-nighters, I've finally gained myself a day's worth of time to relax. Long way to go yet; there's a lot to be done before I stand in front of the Viva panel on the 9th and present 8 months' worth of work in 30 minutes, and pray they at least understand what on earth I am talking about.
A word about the conclave of profs who comprise the Viva panel. They are notorious for being virtually impossible to please. The three possible results of the Viva are:
1) They harrumph and nod and pack me off out of this campus with a decent grade.
2) They prod into all the holes in my thesis, real or imagined, and ask vague questions just to express their displeasure. Then they conclude that I've at least worked reasonably hard and that is enough to earn my degree, though not a good grade.
3) They rag me for the half hour and make me cry and "grant" me an extension.
I'm praying that they choose option one and save us all a lot of trouble.
Anyway, I'm nearly done with my thesis, and the only page in which I say less than I want to say is the Acknowledgements page. So I felt that I should mention here, that I want to thank....
... my project guide, Prof. Ramesh Babu, for being cool about my work the whole year and not exerting any pressure. Having known him for over two years, I call his behaviour uncharacteristic and inexplicable. Perhaps he's going to jump a surprise for me this week and make me get an extension for lack of results or something?
... my guide at General Motors, Sriram Ranganath, for bearing with my lack of systematicity in my work. He's been extremely sweet an I'm wondering why the hell people are not harrassing me for doing a formal verification project without the required background and hence doing a botch job of it all.
... my parents, for understanding that I don't want to come home longer than a few hours per week at a time like this.
... the Nestle stall at Gurunath, for my customary cup of tea at night.
... Ravikanth, for accompanying me whenever I go to get that cup of tea, and for being as late in his work as I am for a change. Nice to finally feel academic comradeship with this branch-topping MIT-going stud!
... Baal, for constantly jeering at my predictions of completing some portion of my work or the other. I think I might have worked harder than I would normally have, just to get the satisfaction of spiting my best friend. Note: I never did manage to finish a single thing at the predicted time.
... the Center for Industrial Consultancy and Sponsored Research, for mandating that I will not be paid a sou beyond the HTRA amount that every graduate Joe in this institute gets automatically (even though mine is a sponsored project). This way, I don't feel guilty for not having earned the money.
... Coldplay, for providing the right kind of music that won't distract you from work and helps you to stay awake.
... Kirthi and Vc, for a stream of semi-nonsensical blogtalk (the nonsensical portion of it being Vc's) that for some weird reason lifted my spirits during this whole ordeal.
... all the people who cared about me enough to wish me good luck for my thesis.
In the last three weeks or so, I've worked and slept and eaten at the vaguest of hours and shot my biological clock to hell. But it's not over yet, and with due apologies to Robert Frost, I thought I'd add this verse:
The night is lit by the moonlight cold,
And the window reveals a sight to behold.
But I have work to do, and deadlines to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
A word about the conclave of profs who comprise the Viva panel. They are notorious for being virtually impossible to please. The three possible results of the Viva are:
1) They harrumph and nod and pack me off out of this campus with a decent grade.
2) They prod into all the holes in my thesis, real or imagined, and ask vague questions just to express their displeasure. Then they conclude that I've at least worked reasonably hard and that is enough to earn my degree, though not a good grade.
3) They rag me for the half hour and make me cry and "grant" me an extension.
I'm praying that they choose option one and save us all a lot of trouble.
Anyway, I'm nearly done with my thesis, and the only page in which I say less than I want to say is the Acknowledgements page. So I felt that I should mention here, that I want to thank....
... my project guide, Prof. Ramesh Babu, for being cool about my work the whole year and not exerting any pressure. Having known him for over two years, I call his behaviour uncharacteristic and inexplicable. Perhaps he's going to jump a surprise for me this week and make me get an extension for lack of results or something?
... my guide at General Motors, Sriram Ranganath, for bearing with my lack of systematicity in my work. He's been extremely sweet an I'm wondering why the hell people are not harrassing me for doing a formal verification project without the required background and hence doing a botch job of it all.
... my parents, for understanding that I don't want to come home longer than a few hours per week at a time like this.
... the Nestle stall at Gurunath, for my customary cup of tea at night.
... Ravikanth, for accompanying me whenever I go to get that cup of tea, and for being as late in his work as I am for a change. Nice to finally feel academic comradeship with this branch-topping MIT-going stud!
... Baal, for constantly jeering at my predictions of completing some portion of my work or the other. I think I might have worked harder than I would normally have, just to get the satisfaction of spiting my best friend. Note: I never did manage to finish a single thing at the predicted time.
... the Center for Industrial Consultancy and Sponsored Research, for mandating that I will not be paid a sou beyond the HTRA amount that every graduate Joe in this institute gets automatically (even though mine is a sponsored project). This way, I don't feel guilty for not having earned the money.
... Coldplay, for providing the right kind of music that won't distract you from work and helps you to stay awake.
... Kirthi and Vc, for a stream of semi-nonsensical blogtalk (the nonsensical portion of it being Vc's) that for some weird reason lifted my spirits during this whole ordeal.
... all the people who cared about me enough to wish me good luck for my thesis.
In the last three weeks or so, I've worked and slept and eaten at the vaguest of hours and shot my biological clock to hell. But it's not over yet, and with due apologies to Robert Frost, I thought I'd add this verse:
The night is lit by the moonlight cold,
And the window reveals a sight to behold.
But I have work to do, and deadlines to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Work
I'm nearing the end of my M.Tech, and it looks like I'm actually going to be busy!!! Thesis work and all. So I'm going to be off the blog world for a while. Wish me luck people!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Memories and Dreams
Sometimes, life finds a way of contradicting your firmest beliefs. More often, life has a way of reducing to zilch your strongest resolutions.
I guess I must not be surprised, then, that something as inherently childish as resolving to forget some events of the last couple of years didn't quite work out. I nearly fooled myself into thinking I'd managed to forget things and put them behind me, as even when standing in front of the central object of those events, I managed to keep calm and smiling. And dash it all, I didn't count on the indirect things. One familiar gesture from someone else I know, and it triggers a flood of memories and emotions, setting off a chain reaction of sorts, leaving me numb, gasping for breath, reducing me to tears.
I have a pretty poor memory regarding past events, in general. Whenever I try hard to remember what a person said or did in some particular context, I come up with no more than a vague recollection of sorts. But I guess the subconscious mind knows more than conscious. When I least expect and least want to remember some things, they crop up in my head.
Some of my friends, Prathyusha in particular, have excellent memories. I can imagine her in my situation, only she doesn't need a trigger to remember things, she has every single thing at the top of her head. What a curse it must be, not being to forget, or even push to the back of your mind, the worst events in your life.
At least, the subconscious does have its way of combating memory-triggered depression. I just go to sleep, and let my dreams wash away the harsh realities of life. I never actually remember my dreams; I just remember waking up with a lingering sensation, or emotion, of what I had dreamt about; sometimes, I wake up confused or scared, but most of the time, I wake up with a pleasant feeling... as though my dreams took me to a happy place, clearing my thoughts, refreshing my soul, and wiping the worried furrows off my forehead. I know I don't dream of fantastic or alien things; just a world that is less cruel, less imperfect than the real one.
I think it would be appropriate to sign off with this wonderful bit of prose written by my friend:
Did the night fall or did I shut the harsh world out by closing my eyes? My mind can finally go to places close to my heart; the world has closed in, pushing me into my world of dreams... - Anushya Chandran.
Cheers and wish you sweet dreams,
Prashanth.
I guess I must not be surprised, then, that something as inherently childish as resolving to forget some events of the last couple of years didn't quite work out. I nearly fooled myself into thinking I'd managed to forget things and put them behind me, as even when standing in front of the central object of those events, I managed to keep calm and smiling. And dash it all, I didn't count on the indirect things. One familiar gesture from someone else I know, and it triggers a flood of memories and emotions, setting off a chain reaction of sorts, leaving me numb, gasping for breath, reducing me to tears.
I have a pretty poor memory regarding past events, in general. Whenever I try hard to remember what a person said or did in some particular context, I come up with no more than a vague recollection of sorts. But I guess the subconscious mind knows more than conscious. When I least expect and least want to remember some things, they crop up in my head.
Some of my friends, Prathyusha in particular, have excellent memories. I can imagine her in my situation, only she doesn't need a trigger to remember things, she has every single thing at the top of her head. What a curse it must be, not being to forget, or even push to the back of your mind, the worst events in your life.
At least, the subconscious does have its way of combating memory-triggered depression. I just go to sleep, and let my dreams wash away the harsh realities of life. I never actually remember my dreams; I just remember waking up with a lingering sensation, or emotion, of what I had dreamt about; sometimes, I wake up confused or scared, but most of the time, I wake up with a pleasant feeling... as though my dreams took me to a happy place, clearing my thoughts, refreshing my soul, and wiping the worried furrows off my forehead. I know I don't dream of fantastic or alien things; just a world that is less cruel, less imperfect than the real one.
I think it would be appropriate to sign off with this wonderful bit of prose written by my friend:
Did the night fall or did I shut the harsh world out by closing my eyes? My mind can finally go to places close to my heart; the world has closed in, pushing me into my world of dreams... - Anushya Chandran.
Cheers and wish you sweet dreams,
Prashanth.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Impressions
I've often smiled to myself secretly (half-smile, half-smirk, as some of my friends call it...) when I see someone who prides on himself/herself being an independent person, when I, myself, can see that he/she is still an unwitting slave to the things that the person admires and idolizes.
True, we simply define independence as the ability to not allow oneself to be influenced or confined by what society tells us is the right thing to do. It follows that a person who is independent in thought and action is automatically a kind of iconoclast, but an objective one.
Still, it amuses me to no end that even these people are often predictable, and just happened to be influenced by people or things that are slightly offbeat as far as most people in the world are concerned. All of us are, in some way, slave to the idols and ideals that we grew up believing. Certain things make deep impressions on certain people. To me it often seems that there is really no such thing as free thinking (barring the advancement researchable in Civilization 3).
But even these thoughts couldn't shield from the shock of discovering that the same thing applies to me. Not that I didn't know it already. It's just not the same, knowing something and experiencing something for yourself.
A necessary digression now in order to explain this properly.
I've long held a wish to write a novel - a series of novels actually - in my favourite genre, fantasy fiction for young adults. Some years ago I started writing it. I wrote three chapters and didn't understand why they made for such boring reading. I continued till seven chapters at a later point of time, thinking that the experience can only be instructive. It was, and I realized that I had to apply some of my experience in theater for writing the novel, as my characters lacked depth and individuality. I mean, they were all turning out to sound like me.
Ok, one obvious error in writing style discovered. I started over and wrote upto ten chapters this time. I still didn't like what I was seeing. It struck me that I'd completely neglected to build a picture of the world I was creating. In fantasy, this is even more important because you are talking about something that people are not familiar with. My characters don't live on Earth as we know it. I must pay more attention to describing places, landscapes, people, objects, etc to bring out the feel of the world I am creating. Back to the drawing board.
I started afresh and got till approximately the same stage. And, you guessed it, I was still unhappy with what I was reading. I was not striking a balance between making the book interesting in a continuous, absorbing manner; and building up the story according to the big picture, the overall plot of the tale that I had in mind. Worse, it appeared to be very similar to existing works of fantasy fiction. I know the overall story is quite original, but as I read it, I couldn't help but feel as though I've read all this before.
Nearly two years after I abandoned the project for some kind of a flash of inspiration or enlightenment, I finally understand. I just re-read Magician: Apprentice by Raymond Feist and realized that I've been subconsciously copying his basic characters in that story. That particular book was one of the first books I'd read in the fantasy genre that really made a huge impression on me (I'm leaving Tolkien out of the discussion for now...). And I know now, that I just have to change a couple of basic ideas and I'm all ready to start writing again. And revise it any number of times it takes to get it right. So far I've written about 30,000 words over all these attempts. I have no doubt that I will require at least that much effort again before I can get past those first ten chapters and be satisfied with what I'm writing.
Unfortunately I've already made other plans for my life over the next few years. Perhaps, by the time I'm thirty or forty I'd have written one complete book. For my satisfaction alone. I don't care if it's never published. But I know that I will write. It's as though it's in my blood. As though it's been prophesied.
Impressions.... they creep in, unnoticed, unannounced. They make us what we are, they make us believe what we believe. Perhaps it is only for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
True, we simply define independence as the ability to not allow oneself to be influenced or confined by what society tells us is the right thing to do. It follows that a person who is independent in thought and action is automatically a kind of iconoclast, but an objective one.
Still, it amuses me to no end that even these people are often predictable, and just happened to be influenced by people or things that are slightly offbeat as far as most people in the world are concerned. All of us are, in some way, slave to the idols and ideals that we grew up believing. Certain things make deep impressions on certain people. To me it often seems that there is really no such thing as free thinking (barring the advancement researchable in Civilization 3).
But even these thoughts couldn't shield from the shock of discovering that the same thing applies to me. Not that I didn't know it already. It's just not the same, knowing something and experiencing something for yourself.
A necessary digression now in order to explain this properly.
I've long held a wish to write a novel - a series of novels actually - in my favourite genre, fantasy fiction for young adults. Some years ago I started writing it. I wrote three chapters and didn't understand why they made for such boring reading. I continued till seven chapters at a later point of time, thinking that the experience can only be instructive. It was, and I realized that I had to apply some of my experience in theater for writing the novel, as my characters lacked depth and individuality. I mean, they were all turning out to sound like me.
Ok, one obvious error in writing style discovered. I started over and wrote upto ten chapters this time. I still didn't like what I was seeing. It struck me that I'd completely neglected to build a picture of the world I was creating. In fantasy, this is even more important because you are talking about something that people are not familiar with. My characters don't live on Earth as we know it. I must pay more attention to describing places, landscapes, people, objects, etc to bring out the feel of the world I am creating. Back to the drawing board.
I started afresh and got till approximately the same stage. And, you guessed it, I was still unhappy with what I was reading. I was not striking a balance between making the book interesting in a continuous, absorbing manner; and building up the story according to the big picture, the overall plot of the tale that I had in mind. Worse, it appeared to be very similar to existing works of fantasy fiction. I know the overall story is quite original, but as I read it, I couldn't help but feel as though I've read all this before.
Nearly two years after I abandoned the project for some kind of a flash of inspiration or enlightenment, I finally understand. I just re-read Magician: Apprentice by Raymond Feist and realized that I've been subconsciously copying his basic characters in that story. That particular book was one of the first books I'd read in the fantasy genre that really made a huge impression on me (I'm leaving Tolkien out of the discussion for now...). And I know now, that I just have to change a couple of basic ideas and I'm all ready to start writing again. And revise it any number of times it takes to get it right. So far I've written about 30,000 words over all these attempts. I have no doubt that I will require at least that much effort again before I can get past those first ten chapters and be satisfied with what I'm writing.
Unfortunately I've already made other plans for my life over the next few years. Perhaps, by the time I'm thirty or forty I'd have written one complete book. For my satisfaction alone. I don't care if it's never published. But I know that I will write. It's as though it's in my blood. As though it's been prophesied.
Impressions.... they creep in, unnoticed, unannounced. They make us what we are, they make us believe what we believe. Perhaps it is only for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
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