Nguyen Tuong Van will be hanged tomorrow. In Singapore. Because he was trafficking heroin. It makes me sad – this is in a world where terrorists go scot-free. Even people who had run concentration camps have had lesser sentences. I am against capital punishment, except perhaps in cases of the most heinous crimes. And in my books, drug trafficking just isn’t one of them. Much has been talked about Nguyen Tuong Van’s death sentence. I have nothing new to add, so I will just say “Peace be to all”.

But the incident has made me of think of Singapore today and put me in a melancholic mood. Its probably not the best time to talk well of Singapore. Yet, I feel like writing about Singapore, as I knew it.

Every once in a while friends and acquaintances, often those who haven’t stepped outside of Changi airport, decide to tell me their views on Singapore. Sometimes, they tell me it is such a beautiful efficiently run city. Some others just can’t believe how people can live in a place that has such a stifling government and care about nothing else, but their materialistic needs.

I don’t usually bother to argue. At the end of the day, its not my home country and my feelings of loyalty are, at best, stretched. But I can’t help but feel that Singapore is misunderstood. Singapore is the quiet girl in the class who gets straight As in the exams, but is never really popular in school because she is such a prude. Yet she tries really really hard to be the cool-kid. Her parents tell her that she should “seriously” have fun! Yet, they tell her that grades are all that really matters. The poor prude girl is really confused. Could anyone have known that beneath the pristine doll-like image, there is a silently troubled child, with a complicated and sullied inside, every bit as human as anyone can be.

People don’t see the real Singapore – the real Singapore doesn’t exist in the tall financial centers or the huge malls or the parliament buildings, where they make us believe democracy has some role to play. Singapore is not limited to the yuppies who aspire to buy the latest Porsche or the Armani-aspiring corporate mogul-wanna-be who couldn’t care less about what happens around them, as long as they get their 5 (or is it more now? )Cs. Thats just what is presented to the outside world. In fact, even many Singaporeans see themselves through those tinted shades.

If you want to see the heart and soul of Singapore, wander not through Millenia walk or Suntec city, but through the narrow roads of China Town or Little India or Arab street, or even the little parks around Bishan or Ang Mo Kio. The fat lady who sells you the Char Kway Teow or the little girl who brings you the ice kacang at the hawker centers, has a story to tell, if only if you had the time to listen. Singapore is not a land of boring, law-abiding people who don’t think and who work and walk like machines – its a place with as much life and emotion as any other, if only you would look beyond the surface.

If the heart of India is in her villages, the heart of Singapore is in her HDB flats. Thats where the dreams are dreamt and tears are wept. If the Singapore government doesn’t hear the collective sigh of the heartlands, they would miss out on reaching out to the real Singapore. And if they don’t let us see the real Singapore, we will all go back with our own false images. If Singapore seems to you like a land straight out of Pleasantville, its only because someone has put a thick filter which blocks out all the colours, somewhere between your eyes and the reality. And you know who that someone is. It is often one’s flaws that makes us human, and thus beautiful. As you desperately try to hide your flaws, you also hide yourself. Singapore, isn’t it about time that you let us see the real you?

The next time someone talks to me about Singapore, I just wish they would talk about not just the concrete buildings or the super clean streets or the democracy that doesn’t seem to be, but something less superficial. Lets talk about the heart of Singapore, shall we?

Comments (In the spirit of free speech, the comment moderation was off. But please note that the comments below are not my opinions)

1. Singapore, the  misunderstood child

   "Singapore is the quiet girl in the class who gets straight As in the exams, but is never really popular in school because she is such a prude."
   S beautifully introduces us to the real Singapore behind the glitz and glamor of a fishing vi…

   Trackback by DesiPundit — December 1, 2005 @ 6:56 am

2. Most Beautiful post I have seen in a along time, excellent post. Yes, every country has its hells kitchens and madhobani or as you said HDB flats. You or anyone couldn’t have presented it in a better way.

   Comment by tony — December 1, 2005 @ 8:41 am

3. Oh, your post sounds so right!

   I was there — may be about six years ago? — just for a few days. I went in with all kinds of preconceived notions about the place – about how it is all very stifling, and how basic human freedoms are neglected, and how the people must be feeling pretty bad and so on. During that visit, I realised that what I had were not personal notions, but personal neuroses. In a way, that one visit cured me!

   Having said that, I do wonder about Singapore: having achieved a great amount of financial success, is that the only end? Surely there is more to life? At what point will the people rise up and say “I have had grown enough in this — the economic — dimension, but I want to grow in other dimensions too”?

   Comment by Abi — December 1, 2005 @ 10:46 am

4. Beautifully written … I’ve visited Singapore many times, but this makes me want to go there and take a fresh look.

   Comment by anjali — December 1, 2005 @ 10:47 am

5. The sentences are always so severe there?

   Comment by Arunima — December 1, 2005 @ 2:27 pm

6. Tony, Anjali : thanks! =)

   Comment by S — December 1, 2005 @ 4:46 pm

7. Abi, thanks for dropping by. And I am glad you dropped the pre-conceived notions after a short visit. Not many people do that, even after spending time in SG..

   Financial success is definitely not the only end and I think Singaporeans are slowly realising it. I think the time is ripe now, for Singapore to rise above the economic dimension and aim for holistic development. Especially since most of the current generation haven’t known the hardships that the older generation went through – they are not satisfied with financial stability and success in itself, but seek more out of life.

   But IMO, this is also the time the Government needs to act (or maybe not act so much) in the right direction. I think the Government realises it too, but what will they (and the people) do about it ? – we’ll just have to wait and see..

   Comment by S — December 1, 2005 @ 5:43 pm

8. Arunima, thanks for dropping by.
   For drug trafficking, yes, it is always so severe.
   For the rest, lets just say its not a very forgiving country.

   Comment by S — December 1, 2005 @ 5:48 pm

9. Singapore, the misunderstood child

   I cannot help but feel that this person grok something about Singapore–at least the Singapore that I know and call home…

   Trackback by From a Singapore Angle — December 1, 2005 @ 8:19 pm

10. Beautifully written.

    I’ve visited Singapore a couple of times. Every time, i’m struck by the efficiency and ethic, that always seems to be on the surface. Everyone’s smiling and doing their job. But there always seems to be some kind of underlying desire for something else.

    And there are little moments of madness, that you see in little India or China town…..just telling you that there’s more there than meets the eye.

    Comment by Sunil — December 1, 2005 @ 8:53 pm

11. Very poetic, and very true.

    Comment by Elia Diodati — December 1, 2005 @ 10:01 pm

12. Sunil, Elia: Thanks!

    Comment by S — December 2, 2005 @ 8:22 am

13. Beautifully written with every word well verse in its meaning of what Singaporean is about. I will spend more time on your blog to read what had been posted before and here after. Glad to know some blogger with indepth thoughts about their own country.
    Thankyou for your education…

    Comment by Kristoffer — December 2, 2005 @ 11:28 am

14. “I am against capital punishment, except perhaps in cases of the most heinous crimes.’

    Which also means you’re not against.

    “And in my books, drug trafficking just isn’t [heinous].”

    I beg to differ. You probably never have punks coming up to you, brandishing a switch blade, and asking for crack money, have you? And whose fault would it be if I’d died that day?

    Comment by phil — December 2, 2005 @ 11:40 am

15. you have romanticised singapore. it is still tinted. that’s where the problem is. if you rule, we will probably have cotton candy balls for meals. unfortunately, our constrained space and the lack of resources have produced broken souls in the heartlands.

    tired souls.

    interestingly, we are emerging a ’softporn’ industry. our hearts, concealed i am afraid, may not be too far the image of NKF.

    pleasantville we are certainly not. try taking out the first L from the word!

    Comment by goldfish — December 2, 2005 @ 1:29 pm

16. thanks…for looking deep beneath the surface, to see who really makes up Singapore

    Comment by MQube — December 2, 2005 @ 4:04 pm

17. You are absolutely right and have expressed it so beautifully.

    Comment by rana (blowin’ in the wind) — December 2, 2005 @ 5:59 pm

18. Well put, you.

    My Philipino colleagues love Singapore’s stability though. They’ve been to the much more “vibrant” Hong Kong to live, and yet, we are still better than them in many ways, especially the food!

    Whenever they talk about Singapore it’s with a comforable fondness. We Singaporeans have only gripe. Weird huh. Some foreigners prefer our country than its citizens. Darn.

    Comment by barffie — December 2, 2005 @ 6:09 pm

19. Singapore Angle: Thanks for linking, and for defending my post in your blog comments.

    Goldfish: My intention was not to romanticise Singapore and I don’t think it has even come across as such. Thanks for visiting anyways.

    Phil: No, I haven’t had punks coming up to me, brandishing a switch blade, and asking me for crack money. I am sorry if you have had that experience. But that doesn’t make drug trafficking an offence serious enough for a state to kill somoene over. You could just as easily have an alcoholic brandish a blade and demand money for his next drink. I am not saying drug trafficking is good or even that it should not be punished. It should be. But just not with capital punishment, thats all.

    Kristoffer, MQube, Rana, Barffie: Thanks for the nice comments and for dropping by!

    And just to clarify for those who seem to think I am a Singaporean: I am not. So, this is still a foreigner’s view, albeit from someone who has lived there before.

    Comment by S — December 2, 2005 @ 8:42 pm

20. You’re most welcome.

    Comment by HUICHIEH LOY — December 2, 2005 @ 10:07 pm

21. This is an excellent post! The real Singapore can only be felt when you live here long enough, among the Singaporeans, within our neighbourhood.

    Comment by DarkHarf — December 3, 2005 @ 2:14 am

22. my apology. on second read(first was a quick browse), the essense of your message was clearer.

    the fat lady who sells the Char Kway Teow should thank you!

    but then, her heart needs a check-up!

    too much ‘fat’ content!

    Comment by goldfish — December 3, 2005 @ 3:16 am

23. Amazingly well written post. I, going a step ahead, can say without conviction that this place sux big time.

    The city, unlike India or any other free country in the world spends so much on camouflaging the negative aspects of it and till date it has succeeded in wooing people frm all countries by developing the brand as the most strategic location this side of the world.

    There are lots of such sad stories, and with the media and trade unions totally taken over by the government, there is really nothing that people are exposed to. The hard sob stories go unheard…and people have accepted the way things are, bcos they are constantly bombarded with news reading how big they are in the world..

    Comment by Arun — December 3, 2005 @ 6:30 am

24. beautifully conveyed…

    Comment by dude — December 3, 2005 @ 8:35 am

25. I don’t really think you have the right perspective of Singapore. Singapore is the child who was always tiny and sickly. Her parents weren’t rich and she didn’t come to this earth with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was so poor that there was no water in the house to drink, and her neighbour squabbled about sharing water supplies. Singapore sensed that if she didn’t pull up her socks and be the hardworking, strict child, there would be no reason to give Singapore a second glance because there are relaxed, rich children around who don’t give a damn about safety and security.

    Hence Singapore worked really hard at building up herself. People think it’s strange a scrawny kid does well. They think it’s strange that from nothing sprouted something.

    Our tall buildings and our clean streets tell of our hardwork and past suffering. The rich have worked hard for their money, and those currently poor constantly encourage their kids to study hard. If you look at Singapore’s best schools, you have a more than half of the students staying in HDB flats.

    Yes, Singapore is misunderstood. People only notice when you’re rich and successful and attribute it to luck. Only large countries with a long bloody history have a real story to tell, while tiny spots of land should remain unseen and unheard.

    I’ve always felt amazed that people think Singapore is exceptionally clean. I thought that is the way it should be. In fact any neighbouring country has natural forests and rivers, and should be at least ten times cleaner than us. It isn’t hard to keep a place clean, just don’t litter! I don’t even litter overseas where there are no fines for littering. So it’s not just the fines that prevent people from littering, it’s a mindset that wants to preserve the cleanliness of the place.

    Singapore also has poor people, or rather, even the rich eat at hawker centres and their offspring take the same public transport as every other person. If you think that having poor people are flaws we’re trying to hide, perhaps you live in a fantasy world. Well-off Singaporeans lead a good life, but they stay down to earth and rooted in local culture.

    Comment by ice — December 3, 2005 @ 7:49 pm

26. No matter what brickbats are thrown at you, arguably it is still a beautifully written and emotive piece. Thanks for trying to see the 7/8s of the iceberg that is hidden.

    Comment by Aristocrat — December 3, 2005 @ 7:55 pm

27. Nguyen’s brother also a convicted trafficker

    Aussie court suppressed fact that he was a drug runner and given jail term for savage attack on teen

    SYDNEY – THE brother of an Australian drug courier hanged in Singapore is a convicted drug trafficker and had been sentenced to jail for a savage samurai sword attack, but details of the case were suppressed due to fear that they could jeopardise clemency appeals.

    KHOA’S CRIMINAL BACKGROUND was not publicised in Australia, in order to avoid jeopardising his twin brother’s plea for clemency in Singapore. — EPA

    The Australian reported yesterday that Nguyen Tuong Van’s brother, Nguyen Khoa Dang, in 1998 repeatedly slashed a teenager with a samurai sword, seriously wounding the 17-year-old’s arm, buttock, ankle and left knee.

    He was sentenced to three years in jail for the attack, which resulted in the victim requiring plastic surgery.

    But County Court judge Meryl Sexton suspended the jail term because Khoa’s ‘personal situation…(had) become so traumatic because of (his) brother’s situation’, the newspaper reported.

    The judge ordered that the sentence be suspended partly because his twin brother was awaiting execution in Singapore.

    She also banned publication of case details while Australian officials repeatedly appealed to Singapore not to hang Nguyen, said The Australian.

    Details of Khoa’s conviction could be published yesterday for the first time after Judge Sexton lifted a publication restriction imposed to avoid jeopardising Ngu- yen’s plea for clemency.

    Khoa faced court in June last year, where he pleaded guilty to riotous assembly and recklessly causing serious injury.

    In December 1998, Khoa was involved in a brawl between Asian and Islander youths in a park in the northern Melbourne suburb of Reservoir.

    The prosecution alleged that Khoa armed himself with a samurai sword and struck Glen Kohu repeatedly, causing him serious injury.

    The Australian reported Judge Sexton as saying that Kohu was confined to a wheelchair after the attack, forced to leave school and had since struggled to stay employed.

    The trial took more than four years to reach the county court, partly because of concerns about the effect it would have on the Singapore trial of Nguyen, who was arrested in December 2002, according to The Australian.

    In April 2003, Judge Sexton agreed to adjourn the case because of Nguyen’s trial in Singapore.

    ‘Amongst the reasons for my doing so which I can refer to was the effect on you of having your twin brother awaiting trial in Singapore for a capital offence,’ The Australian quoted her as saying.

    Khoa is a convicted drug trafficker.

    He had also previously served time for drug-trafficking offences and was released from prison in July 2002.

    Nguyen claimed in his trial that he had been trying to smuggle heroin to pay for his brother’s mounting legal bills, partly incurred by the court case that followed Khoa’s involvement in the brawl.

    The court heard that Khoa, now 25, left home against his mother’s wishes, abused drugs and alcohol and was a frequent customer of Melbourne’s Crown casino.

    Nguyen’s arrest had resulted in ‘an increase in (the) level of (Khoa’s) maturity’ but he had relapsed into heroin use in 2003, possibly as a result of his brother’s arrest in Singapore, The Australian quoted Judge Sexton as saying.

    Khoa was in Singapore last week for the execution of his brother.

    Nguyen’s family left last night for Australia with his body.

    Mr Lex Lasry, who has been the family spokesman, addressed the media although the family members kept mum at Changi Airport yesterday evening.

    Asked about Khoa’s criminal record, Mr Lasry said he did not know about it and dismissed it as irrelevant.

    ‘I don’t have a view about it,’ he said.

    ‘I’ve got some views about Khoa and where he’s going from here and I don’t want to say anything about that.’

    Comment by Lexx — December 4, 2005 @ 8:05 am

28. Your post is the most banal and predictable one I’ve read for a long time. Come on, no country or city is as it seems on the surface as seen by packaged tours1 So, tell me another!

    Comment by lucy — December 4, 2005 @ 9:50 am

29. It is all a question of perspective. Comparatively speaking, Singapore is really not a bad place to live at the moment. Eventhough there are many things that’s right about the place, I can’t help feeling, the prevailing ideology embraced by its leaders will bring increase suffering to its general populace in the years to come.

    And it’s not restricted to Singapore alone!

    Comment by Icebreaker — December 4, 2005 @ 11:22 am

30. Hrm, how insightful! I can’t help but nod in agreement but isnt that the same for every country, every person living on the surface of this earth? Yes, i think it is.

    Comment by dominique — December 5, 2005 @ 6:54 am

31. interesting essay you wrote. i live in singapore and i’m a foreigner and i have many things to say that make singapore feel like home and the meaning of illusion. I can say i’ve experienced every part of singapore. eating at sarangoon gardens to partying at every place possible from zouk to MS to screaming at a store owner in sim lim to sell me a phone for $60 to realizing i need to learn chinese in chinatown(i can understand singlish perfectly, slangs included)to getting my drivers license in angmokio. I’ve also lived the illusion that singapore offers such as international school to condos to partying at New Asia at the swiss hotel and the materialistic bullshit. It has it all, but it lacks something. a love for the country that is REAL. Just about every Singaporean i’ve talked to (very local ones and foreign wannabes) seem like they want to get out of singapore. The only freedom they have is money and to spend. you watch tv and unless you have cable, its brain washing media corp. all movies/news are censored (even scenes which are very meaningful) and aside from ads and commercials, when do you see a singaporean idolizing a local star? its always a foreign one. just walk into far east or heeren and its so obvious. now they’re gonna ban smoking in bars and clubs and newton and all hawker stalls and every place possible!?!?!?!? are they kidding? lets hope that all teh uncles and aunties there don’t give a crap. singapore used to be a nice place. but singapore is changing at incredible speed in front of our eyes into something where paranoia sits in our minds like a bad itch you can’t reach. everything that makes the “cultured” parts of singapore are being destroyed and renovated for corporate shit or preserved only for tourist attractions. i love singapore. Even though it’s small n all, it has a lively atmosphere that i can’t help but love. but this has been changing over time and seeing the direction its headed, i can see that opinion changing.

    Comment by splashes — December 5, 2005 @ 8:46 pm

32. the movers and shakers in that nation doesn’t want to accept the reality that they are but a very small country with a very small dwindling population(locals)with tremendous odds against them so they keep harboring the hope of being big, as in being extremely competitive so as to achieve no. 1 status in as many fields as possible, because to them, that’s how this small city state is going to survive and the people generally believed it!

    but poor thing, most are dead tired. many can’t get out of the rat race. many can’t afford to stop working to enjoy their twilight years. probably many will face financial problems later as the populace ages!

    most of their problems are self made. they have this philosophy of protecting mega enterprises at the expense of the people and at all costs! to them, the survival of enterprises is the survival of the people because jobs are involved! however, my personal view is that, that wisdom in the long run has many social repercussion. unfortunately, there are billions of dollars at stake in those enterprises and many VIPs involved. so i do not foresee they would want that change.

    so the pressure will always be – first, the survival of corporate entity over the individual entity. the individual then becomes a digit in such a city state.it purpose is to feed the corporate entity.so from the day the individual is born, he/she is given a number or a value to the day he/she dies. in other words, the individual will be graded for life! either in performance or how much the person has in his/her bank account,owns,possess etc.

    why?because the movers and shakers cant think beyond the marketplace! they are trapped in that place eventhough they are sincere about seeking an even distribution of wealth. but that’s not going to happen any time soon because, the elites favor a trickle up system lead by their powerful businessmen!

    the final discourse will be very suffocating at the bottom! many young today do not know better because, they still have their youth to enjoy. but the fruits are beginning to show. if they don’t change the current course, i think, they have to accept the erosion of everything pure and sacred which they once held dearly!

    from gold to silver to bronze to iron and clay. such a ruler can only be degenerative!

    that’s my personal view

    Comment by nano — December 6, 2005 @ 5:26 pm

33. Thanks, everyone, for the comments. Appreciate the different views on the topic.

    Comment by S — December 10, 2005 @ 6:37 pm

Related posts:

1. Random notes on Singapore
2. Think out of the box, Singapore!
3. Singapore in Germany?

A heart-rending story  (via Bloomer) -

“ […]Her family was hungry, but her neighbors had rice; the smell of it was tormenting her. So her mother hugged and comforted her, which made her realize that her mother’s smell was so much more important to her than that of the rice. Then her mother died, but before she did, she asked her husband to take some of the little money they had, to buy her daughter some rice. She wanted her daughter to have that comfort.[…] ”

The original story is at the Afghan Women’s Writing Project website.

There is no worse fear for a mother than the fear of not being able to feed her child. It’s been only fifteen days, but I know.

Someday, I should re-write this tale from the mother’s POV.

No related posts.

The story, set in South Africa, is about a couple, Anna and Miles who are checking out the venue for their upcoming wedding. From the start, it is obvious that they are not madly in love with each other, as you would expect a newly engaged couple to be. We soon know why, with some back-story into their life in England. The “story” starts with a drunk man literally running into their car. Anna insists on getting him to a hospital, even though Miles would rather leave him to the care of the companions. At the hospital, they meet the young doctor, Miranda who invites them to her house. The rest of the story revolves around the events in her house, and subsequently a visit to the hospital to check on the drunk man.

I am not quite sure why I like this story – yes, admittedly, I often have that problem with short stories. But it kept me reading, from beginning to end. If you ask me questions like, “What did the protagonist want?”, “did she get it in the end?”, “what was the conflict?” – I would probably just say I am not sure.

But the suspense remains throughout the narrative. And the language is beautiful. I am a sucker for good descriptions, and there are quite a few of them peppered through the narrative.

“He reached over the gearstick and squeezed Anna’s thigh through her skirt. He held his hand there for some time, steady and firm, like a sailor keeping his hand on the tiller in rough weather. ”

“Although Miles could recall some of the song’s lyrics, he couldn’t remember who the singer was. It was like meeting a forgotten acquaintance whose face he recognized but whose name had slipped loose from his memory’s grip.”

““Miranda, I want it off. Just take it off!” Anna was writhing inside the dress like an animal trying to shed its skin. “

Now, Alistair Morgan is definitely not known for writing the most PG of stuff, and you would not read this story expecting it. But even then, there was a certain passage which made me think that when my daughter grows up and starts reading, I wouldn’t want to leave this issue lying around. Bordering on the perverse, but definitely within the limits of artistic, there is a beautiful depiction of Miles imagining a sexual episode with the young doctor while she and his fiancée are having a conversation.

Living in a small town, Miranda was telling Anna, was a major adjustment after the city, but she was enjoying the work in the hospital, especially as she was one of only two doctors in the town. It must be difficult at times, said Anna, as Miles moved behind Miranda and gently pushed her facedown onto the table with one hand, while slapping her buttocks with the other.

Why else should you read it? A non-formulaic tale that keeps you entertained. And if you are the kind who reads award-winning stories, this one won the 2009 Plimpton Prize for, as the Observer puts it, “uncommon dedication to plot: “stories that are actually stories, full of event and surprise.”

Related posts:

1. Short Story Review: Chechnya by Anthony Marra
2. Short Story Month
3. Review: Everyman

Tim October summarizes the story thus:

This story is about 7,000 words long and it is really three stories which sort of “center” on the character of Sonja, a doctor in a nameless¹ Chechen city. Sonja is a doctor in the city hospital who has a mysterious man arrive with a small girl. The story follows the man² and his quest to protect the little girl he brings to the hospital, Sonja as she finds in the little girl a reason to go on, and on Natasha, Sonja’s sister and one of the reasons³ that Sonja is so damaged.

It is a reasonably simple story – the first line tells you what the protagonist wants (she has been ravaged by war and is struggling to find meaning in life) and the rest of the narrative has been carefully crafted to lead us to whether she finds it or not, complete with the several conflicts and resolutions along the path. Every new character introduced and back story told somehow contributes to the resolution of this MDQ. I am one of those who believe that such formulaic story telling ruins the beauty of a story, but somehow in this story, it works. I wasn’t even aware of it, till I started looking for it to write this review.

The characters are sympathetic. The circumstances are cruel. And I found myself transported into a world I did not know much about. A short story that satiates my craving to be a virtual tourist – excellent!

Related posts:

1. Short Story Review: Departure by Alistair Morgan
2. Short Story Month
3. Review: The Reluctant Fundamentalist

I think one of the reasons I am disillusioned about short stories is that good short stories are hard to find. For every good short story I have found, I would have read probably ten others which I wish I hadn’t.

If you pick up a collection, you will like some of them, but not all. I am yet to find an anthology where I liked all, or even most, of the stories. Even short stories by authors I like or well-established authors are no guarantee that I will like the story. I read new writers, or new novels based on recommendations from friends whose tastes I like. But unlike novels, it is hard to find recommendations for specific short stories. For that matter, I am not even sure people have similar tastes in short stories. Do they?

I have decided that this month, I am going to read only short stories. I will try to recommend the ones I like, and if you have any you particularly enjoyed, do leave a comment or drop me note.

A google search seems to produce more links to help writers of short stories, rather than readers, but here are some links to start us off on this month: 

The Wall Street Journal thinks that short stories are finally poised to get their due:

This fall, a handful of collections from writers such as Alice Munro, Lydia Davis, Kazuo Ishiguro and Ha Jin have put a dent in the dominant view of short stories as an inferior cousin to the Great American Novel. And changing technology and reading habits have provided a boost for short fiction as more readers discover literature through online literary journals and Web sites, or download short fiction onto mobile devices

A bookseller’s view on the short story:

I love short stories for their simplicity. My tastes tend towards the spare, controlled story that turns on those inadvertent actions that all of us stumble through everyday. They are cooked in the crucible of a writer’s imagination until nothing but the bare essence is left. I think this sparseness reflects just how rich life is, how each passing moment is crammed full of possibilities both good and bad. A really good story leaves me breathless; with a need to stop and contemplate; and will crop up in my memory, unbidden, for decades. Why then if I am so seduced by their power do others not share my enthusiasm?

The art of short story at Fiction Addiction:

Paul Theroux has a useful suggestion: write a story like it has never been written before. The only way to do this is to rely on the uniqueness of your own perspective and life experiences. Psychologically speaking, each person lives in a different world. To write an interesting short story requires a temporary suspension of ordinary consciousness to tap into that world for inspiration.

I would really like a site that reviews short stories, not entire collections. But while I am waiting for it, here is one that at least focuses exclusively on short stories: The Short Review

That’s it for now, folks. I am off to dig into Ishiguro’s latest collection, Nocturnes. More on that later.

Related posts:

1. Short story collections of 2009
2. Short Story Review: Chechnya by Anthony Marra
3. Short Story Review: Departure by Alistair Morgan

While trying to figure out what I should change, I hop over to Nathan Bransford’s blog post on the topic. Here’s one of the comments on his blog by Kimber An:

Ug, I’d rather have root canal than write a synopsis. The only nice thing I can say is it’s easier and less painful than childbirth.

This was really the last thing I needed to read. Now I don’t know what I should pray for – the baby comes before I finish the synopsis (so I can finally walk instead of waddle ad breathe instead of gasp) or she waits till I finish the synopsis and query letter (in which case, that comment is tempting me to procrastinate it for a very long time). Where’s my dentist when I need her?

Oh wait, that’s another contraction! Arrghh!!! Looks like the li’l one has a mind of her own, doesn’t really matter what I pray for.

No related posts.

Junot Díaz at Oprah on trying, and failing, to write his novel every day for five years (via @allvishal):

a writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway

Books are not babies – a great read on revising a novel over.

My three main tools at the moment, as I work through the rewrites, are: a synopsis; a chapter-by-chapter breakdown; and a page of character notes. I have found them all unbelievably helpful for keeping me focused.

And if you like the little word counter on her blog, you can get it at Writeropia. Copy paste into the template and fill in the appropriate numbers. Thanks @impossiblecat.)

A hilarious read at the New Yorker on the current state of book publicity  (via @adropofwisdom):

We use CopyBuoy via Hoster Broaster, because it streams really easily into a Plaxo/LinkedIn yak-fest meld. When you register, click “Endless,” and under “Contacts” just list everyone you’ve ever met.

Neil Gaiman is Crowdsourcing a Story via Twitter. How cool is that! (via @prathambooks)

This talk is fantastic. Chimamanda Adichie talks on Tedtalks about the danger of a single story . A balanced view on how we are all influenced by stereotypes.  (via @spotjogger)

Earlier in the week, I asked for websites where I could order t-shirts online in India. Thanks all for responding. Here is the consolidated list:

Inkfruit
Pringoo
Scopial
Bluebustees
Dilsebol
Craft my gift
iTasveer
Tantra

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She glanced at her watch. No, it had been seven days, twelve hours and fifty minutes. To be a bit more precise. Not really precise. To be really precise, she would have to go into seconds. She considered whether it would be too anal to delve into that. “Is something wrong?” his voice woke her from her momentary lapse. She should not let it bother her. Eight days ago – we are back to being imprecise now – she had decided that she could live without it for eight days. And she was almost there. Just this dinner and then the night and then by mid-morning, she would have it. Again. Available. Anywhere. Anytime.

She hated being so addicted. As a kid, she had heard stories about alcoholics. How they had no control over their lives. How they squandered their money, beat their wives and eventually ended up bankrupt and homeless. She had read about drug addicts in the newspapers. She had wondered why anyone would voluntarily give up control over their own bodies, their own selves. How anyone could give in to hallucinations and speed trips and be at the mercy of dealers. She had scorned at smokers and the scary statistics about the damage done to children because of the parents’ chain smoking. In fact, she had even helped out in the Quit Smoking campaign in her office, all the while not quite understanding why people couldn’t wake up one morning and kick the habit. In fact, she abhorred addictions of all kind.

She refused to admit that she was addicted. She stared into his deep dark eyes and tried to think of the eight blissful days they had just had. She wanted to focus on the beautiful beaches they had lounged in, the charming chateaus they had slept in and the quaint French streets they had wandered in. But she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. And that led her back to it. Maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of it too. No, this is anal. She chided herself. It is just 8 hours, 7 minutes and 12 seconds more. Oh darn, she had done it. Precision was a sure give away for obsession.

“Cafe, mademoiselle?” she was jolted out of her trance again. She resolved she won’t let herself be addicted. She won’t think about it anymore. She will have some good coffee and then, some fine conversation will now follow. She will look around and enjoy the wonderful art that was on display at the restaurant. She will have a wonderful time. She imagined a thick black blanket in her mind. She covered her obsession in it, tied with a thick blue rope, placed into an solid copper box, closed it with its ornate heavy lid and pushed it into a dark corner of her mind. Not to be opened again. Until it was time.

And then, it was time. 8 hours, 7 minutes and 12 seconds were over. She clicked on the small orange icon with the three small men. She entered the eight magical numbers, clicked OK and waited. She felt the joy of watching a lotus blossom. And then there was light. You have new mail. Happiness. Bliss. Joy. Contentment. Was it wrong to feel happy? She looked across the table. His face radiated the happiness too. He looked up and smiled.

Some obsessions are just not worth fighting.

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The thoughts of a person who is writing are restrained by the speed of his own writing. It does not gallop like unreined wind. Instead it flows smoothly like a river flowing down a mountainside. It twists, turns and it follows different paths..but it never loses track of where it has been.

Silent Eloquence was born, five years ago – on 26th August 2004, as “a blog that celebrates the beauty and power of words.”

Life is a journey. You can choose to stay close to home or wander off to unknown lands. I chose the latter. Silent Eloquence – as I toggled between Silence and Eloquence – has been with me for the recent part of it. This post celebrates that journey, as I look at the path this blog took, through the lands covered, and the meanderings en route – the beautiful beaches, dangerous deserts, forbidden forests, wonderful waterfalls, unexpected avalanches and the peaceful valleys.

Five years can be a long time or a short time, depending on how you look at it. For me, it is a time where a lot happened. A lot changed.

As I changed, as my environment changed, as my life changed, this blog changed too. The topics I cover, the frequency in which I write, my tone of writing, my political sympathies and even my readers, changed. But I also realized that beyond all the superficial changes, there is the me that doesn’t change. No matter what you do to it – put it in a blender and smash everything to pieces – and there is that bit that just doesn’t disintegrate. The real me.

There is a reason I know that, and this is in the only “advice” I want to share with anyone who cares – try, try out everything out there that interests you. Sure, I have paid my price for it – instability, career with weird trajectories, friends spread out all over the world, family far away – but I have gained so much, so much more. Sorry for the digression, but I feel so strongly about it, I just have to say it, and repeat it. Experiment – some fail, some work. Learn and move on, to another experiment. Silent Eloquence has been a constant companion through all those experiments – a fellow researcher, an enthusiastic cheerleader, a harsh critic and most of all, a diligent documenter.

Yes, now, let’s look at that journey.

From early happy stories of Womad, “It was one of those days where I couldn’t care less who was around me – it was just me, the music and the dance – almost in a trance. And it was so packed and so hot – was almost like we were in a sauna.” and my take on a gal’s nite out at Cubanitos, the place that has the best mojitos in Germany, “I felt really truly at home here – at the altstadt at midnite – and it’s a great feeling!”

I transformed to:

I wish a smaller pain would be mine than that that haunts my burning soul
Anything else but the deep dark abyss that is my heart’s eternal home.

and:

Defying life, defying all,
I give up my life, in happy delirium
For in pleasure, we seek pain,
And in pain, we find our pleasure.

before getting, abruptly, but not accidentally, to:

I want to keep smiling till my cheeks hurt all over
I want to turn cartwheels till I fall down in a heap
I want to giggle and laugh like a little five year old
Who got the keys to the world’s biggest candy store. [...]
I want to dance and have the whole world dance with me
In wild moments of celebration, that last till the end of time.

I went from an impressionable over-enthusiastic, over-energetic young girl to a cynical and tired I-feel-older-than-I-am woman and then back to a moderately-enthusiastic, a-tad-cynical (you can’t really get rid of the baggage you collect on the way), mother-to-be. I think it had a lot to do with the realization that:

life may be a box of chocolates, but whether you decide to eat ice cream instead is entirely dependent on you.

It may have been an internal realization. But many external factors triggered that.

I was in Singapore when I started this blog. During the course of our life together, I lived in Germany, Netherlands, South Africa, Nigeria and now, the UK. My jobs changed, oh what the hell, my professions changed – I went from an engineer to a banker to a strategy consultant to a wanna-be-entrepreneur to a private investor (very small scale and private, don’t email me for funding pls) and recently, a newbie writer. There are very few tangibles that have remained the same through the years. All those changed my outlook to life.

In Singapore, in 2005, I wrote about the PM’s exhortation to think out of the box, but felt compelled to add a disclaimer “The interpretations and implications are my personal opinions. If you have violent objections, please drop me an email or comment, and I would be glad to discuss this amicably.” And then wondered, “PS: I wonder if it is 10 years of living in Singapore that made me write that disclaimer..!”

As I moved and adapted to Germany, I wrote:

I like bratwursts (sausages) and potatoes. I like the carnivals and the Christmas markets and the intracity beer rivalries. And I like jogging by the Rhine. I can now successfully make the German guttural pronunciations. I can now stare at people in trams without flinching when they stare back. And I can be methodical and anal when it comes to details. As I stumble down the path to becoming integrated to this temporarily-adopted society, I wonder where all this will end.

still unsure of what lies ahead:

Is there really such a thing as a global citizen? Can you ever feel comfortable in several countries? Now, that I think is possible. The more relevant question is, as human beings, do we need to know that we belong to one country? Or can we be happily promiscuous about our nationalistic identities?

I was on a quest to find out. Netherlands was next on the trail. I ditched Silent Eloquence and wrote another blog anonymously while I was there. It was more practical stuff, such as (sorry, no links):

The first two days of our apartment hunting was just d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-n-g! The best I could have said about those two days was that I must have lost at least a kilo! Haven’t you heard about Dutch stairs? They are steep, almost vertical and seem to go on forever. And at the end of this Himalayan climb, you get to see an apartment, which is well, ancient! Just because the apartment building was built in the 1800s, doesn’t mean the furniture can’t be new!

But it was not all bad. Eventually, we found a place we loved:

A lovely two bedroom place in shiki miki Old South! They say the best way to assess a neighbourhood is to check out the parked cars – I have a feeling that the car I hope to get is gonna significantly reduce the glam of our Oud Zuid neigbhourhood.

was followed later by:

Just in case you were wondering, that car was a beautiful new BMW, and it did reduce the glam of the neighbourhood. Oh well, I tried.

I guess that was just a phase where I didn’t feel comfortable enough with myself to share my thoughts freely. Spaces in Amsterdam are tiny, no matter how fabulous. Necessity made me learn to de-clutter my life, both literally and metaphorically. I realized the truth in what my father once said to me, “If you love something, let it go. It will come back to you, if it was meant to be. If it doesn’t, it was not yours to begin with.” Some things are always meant to be. They just are.

I came back. Back to Silent Eloquence, back to my life.

Africa was next, as I spent the better part of last year in South Africa and Nigeria. Terrible, terrible internet connections meant that I couldn’t blog much, but I had a lot more time to read, and African literature started featuring more in my reading lists and reviews. From Kapuscinski’s Shadow of the Sun, which I read

because I was on my way to Africa for the first time, I was alone and a bit scared of what awaited me in the dark continent and I mistakenly thought the book might make me feel better on the flight.,

I became a fan of Ben Okri, Doris Lessing, Nadine Gordimer, J.M.Coetzee, Chimamanda Adichie, Waris Dirie, Laila Lalami, Chinua Achebe, and now am reading, Karl Maier’s The House has fallen.

UK, where I live now, is yet to feature in my writing. It will, soon enough. For now, I am absorbing and analyzing.

India, though I didn’t live there during the five years I wrote this blog, kept popping up here, starting from figuring out what it means to be an Indian – my definition was, “I think I am an Indian, therefore I am an Indian” – to indignant replies to ignorant journalists “NRIs moving back to India is not the solution to India’s problems and let this not be the scapegoat that everyone turns to when they need one.” to my sad realization that India still is not “A nation where I would feel safe. A land where all is fair and just. A country where people are more happy than sad.” But eventually, when you write about your own country, pride and nostalgia trumps everything else:

“The quiet, thick rubber plantations, the tappers who toil almost camouflaged among the trees and even the queer smell of the drying rubber sheets are part and parcel of Kerala’s evergreen beauty.”

Just in case changing homes were not enough, I travelled as much as time and money would allow, perhaps even to the point of weariness, as I realised :

“There is something incomparably liberating in the incessant passing of the greens, the occasional cow on the field or the lone passer-by. I love the silence, when long forgotten thoughts are pulled out of my memory and restacked after much deliberation. No idea is too stupid. No thought is too random. I am the philosopher that I never get to be.”

I met many interesting people in my travels. As I did on this blog too. Readers, commenters, fellow-bloggers – they have been the unexpected reward of my blogging journey. Five years is a long time to try and trace back, especially in this age where not many have maintained blogs for that time period. So forgive me, if we were blog-buddies once and I forget to mention you, it’s not about you. It’s just me.

First shout out goes to Srijith. He, after all, introduced me to blogging and let me try it out on his blog. Hyde’s cynicism annoyed me enough to keep writing in the early days. Nanopolitan, OneMoreReason, Varnam, Venkat, Nimbupani, BalancingLife, Vulturo, WindySkies, Pramod and SurrealReality were some of the early readers. Chakli read my blog even when no one else did. Desipundit and Blogbharti encouraged me with links. Mridula, Shobana, Shamly, Al-avalathi, 30in2005, Sig11, Girlwithbigeyes, NishantH, Witnwisdumb and SandsofChange came by at some point. You all made my journey enriching, in ways I couldn’t have imagined. A standing ovation to you!

What is life without love and family? The blog, after all, started as way to cope with the sudden loneliness that comes when a husband moves a few thousand miles away. I pined, “My life begins at 2.30 pm!” because there was a time difference of 6 hours that separated us, “its a funny comforting feeling – knowing that he is awake too and that I can mail him or call him or chat with him if need be…” . I wrote:

“The silence is broken only by the sporadic typing on my keyboard and the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. An occasional car on the street claims to create some noise around me. Yet it is the silence that is deafening.”

That didn’t last long, I was in Europe soon after. But that moved me farther away from home, and the rest of my family. About ten years after I moved out of my parents’ house, I admitted:

“My father would fill ink in my crooked Hero pen every morning before I went to school. First it was because I used to get ink all over my hands. And after that it was because he didn’t realise I had grown up.
[...]
On most days, long after the alarm has gone off and after many angry faraway shouts from my father, I would still be sleeping. My mother would make her way up the stairs to my room. She would kiss me on the forehead and I would wake up with a smile. Even now, when I wake up in the morning, I often think of my mother.”

and my parents finally got to know, for the first time ever, that behind the facade of fierce independence, there was still a little girl who wanted to say:

“I miss you. Terribly. Every single day. And it doesn’t get any better just because I am all grown up. Nor do I get used to it just because its been a long time.”

A short story I wrote following that train of thought, “Check-in”, was my first one to get published.

Srijith and I did the long distance thing again, when he went to the US a few years later. I learnt that I will never learn to cope with it:

“Some things are never said, no matter how easy they should have been. Telling someone that they are the center of your universe is one of them.
Some things are never easy, no matter how many times you have said them before. Goodbyes are one of them.”

There are things you just can’t do and then all you can do is quit trying. By then you know where your priorities lie and what you need to do, as clear as the bottom of a lake when a sweltering summer drains all the waters away. The new found clarity reflected in my writing:

“If you can cross every mountain, swim every sea, just to see someone smile, that’s what they call love. If you can give up all that you held dear and fought hard for, just for a glimmer of hope that it might make someone else a little happier, then it must be love.”

And for the things you can do nothing about, I discovered fiction. I wrote about how a little bird left the nest the mother-bird had painstakingly built, and concluded:

“I smiled at the cruelty of nature and the inevitability of her rules. And I shed a silent tear – for the goodbyes I have said in my own life.”

The same cruel nature, though, works in mysterious ways, as I recently tweeted:

The inside of my tummy must look like a football. The kicks seem to go on and on. Not to mention the occasional head butts.

It is handing me the chance to build my own nest, as I look forward to the next phase in my life and my new beginnings.

The journey has been long and arduous. It has also been beautiful and unexpected. If you have stayed with me through it, or been fellow travelers during some parts, a big thank you to you. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.

I hope you stay on. After all, it is only the beginning. There are, for better or for worse, many more miles to go before I sleep. So, stay tuned to Silent Eloquence and be part of the conversation – let me know your tucked-away thoughts, your silly scribbles, your cutting critiques and your daily doodles.

Surya has not left the building.

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