Feline Musings

An inconspicuous path led away from the main mountain road. Had they not been looking for it, they would have definitely missed it. Earlier, Swarna had espied a quaint looking red building at the top of a hill and encouraged Manas to find a way to reach the house, or whatever it was, so that she could take a few photographs.

“We have passed so many other brightly colored and interesting edifices but what’s so attractive about that building that you want to actually go knocking on the door?” Manas was always surprised by the obscure things that caught Swarna’s eye and how she always wanted to tread the unbeaten path. Although he readily agreed to most of her plans, he sometimes felt disconnected from her when he couldn’t share her passion for the wild and the weird.

“I was just imagining the scenic splendor that must be visible from that height. Just think, the kind of fun the people living up there must be having, enjoying the fresh mountain air and looking down at the world below.” Swarna answered animatedly.

Manas smiled at her enthusiasm. He stopped at a roadside eatery and asked the onlookers about the way to reach the red building. The bunch of local people remained quiet and then one person asked him, “Babuji, why do want to go there?”

“Just like that! In fact what is that structure?” He answered and inquired in one go.

“It’s supposed to be an old summer house of a British military officer, and has been inhabited since a long time. I would suggest that you don’t go there.”

“Why?” Swarna leaned over Manas.

“Bibiji, there are stories regarding that area, about strange sightings and sounds. Moreover, the path leading to the house is tricky and uneven.”

“Wow!” Swarna’s eyes lit up instantly. She prodded Manas, “Take the directions, we must go there and see for ourselves.”

After Manas had taken the directions, he teased her that she was a witch because she had picked up the strange vibes of the place and had entrapped him to take her there. Their conversation stopped as they started looking for the narrow path that would appear at the side of the mountain road. They nearly missed it and had to reverse the car to finally hit the path. The way was rocky, constricted and was a long uphill drive and Manas had to concentrate on the driving.

They eventually came to a fenced area, and wooden gate lay invitingly open before them. Swarna clapped in glee. Manas drove into the wicket gate, and before them rose an imposing house, that was spherical in shape. They parked the car, and walked up the steep climb to the two pillared open gateway that was the entry point to the house.

The chaste mountain sun was glaring down at them, but a cool, rather cold wind was also blowing. They thought it was the altitude but there was a distinct change in temperature since they had parked their car and trudged towards the house. The house, rather a red-brick bungalow, was at an elevation and they climbed up the stairs to the high plateau. It was a glorious sight from there. They could clearly see the play of nature, as one hill was lighted up by the sun, and another was hidden behind a growing mist, that implied that it was raining on that part of the ranges. The opposite side, had a rich growth of cacti and a mountain range dotted by dwarf-like city structures, was clearly visible. They stood spell-bound for sometime till Swarna took out her camera to take photographs.

Manas, in the meantime, surveyed the spherical premises of the building. The exteriors were clean and well kept, and on treading the narrow path around the bungalow, he came upon a flourishing flower garden. He called out to Swarna to capture the beauty of the mountain roses and lilies. Swarna’s attention was captured by the garden and then by the red house.

“This place is well-maintained. There must be a caretaker or even occupants. But that man at the dhaba said it was inhabited.” Swarna thought aloud.

“May be it’s been recently occupied, or maybe that person was only scaring us, or else wasn’t even aware of what’s going up in this misty abode.” Manas offered some reasoning.

“Let’s go and see if someone’s around so that we can get some more information.” Swarna’s eyes were lit up as if she had stumbled upon an adventure.

They encircled the house and peered into the windows, but all were heavily draped. They went along testing the doors but each one was padlocked.

The sound of a door creaking behind her made Swarna stop in her tracks. She had heard the click of a handle and the distinct sound of a door opening, very close to her, but she was sure that the door that was few paces behind her was firmly padlocked. Swarna hesitated for a moment and then carefully looked over her shoulder. A man was staring directly at her, a blank expression on his face. She wanted to scream, but only a whimper escaped her lip. Almost instantly, she saw Manas appear from the bend, and she relaxed a bit.

The man turned towards Manas and said in a clear and deep baritone, “I heard some sounds in the garden, and then you probably knocked on the doors. I woke up from my afternoon siesta, a little surprised, because no one comes this way.”

“We apologize for disturbing your sleep, and trespassing on private property. We were inquisitive and also attracted by this beautiful house that you have so high up on the mountains. But, we will leave now, and not bother you further. Come, Swarna.” Manas apologized, and gestured at Swarna to join him.

“No, no, be my guest. I get to meet hardly any people and I would like to enjoy your company. In fact, I was going to set up a barbeque and it will be good to share.” The man answered in the same stern baritone and his request seemed almost compelling because of the lack of warmth.

Manas looked at Swarna, who had regained her spirits, and was once again feeling adventurous. She also felt bad for the lonely occupant of the household. She smiled at Manas to express her approval for accepting the invitation.

“If you say, Sir, but we don’t want to intrude or trouble you.” Manas could hardly believe what he was saying. For a moment, he felt strange under the scrutiny of this man, who displayed neither emotions nor expressions, and yet, he didn’t feel like declining the invitation.

“Please, join me, inside.” The man signaled. As Swarna crossed the threshold, she glanced at the door handle, and saw a lock hanging from the latch. “So, this was it; a camouflage and I thought the door was actually locked.” She assured herself.

Inside the bungalow, they were surprised to see polished antique furniture. The house offered an old-world charm, as if they had stepped into a house that was first furnished and equipped, nearly half-a-century back. They had entered directly into the dining room, and followed their host across the room into the mahogany furnished, musky-smelling living room. The room was neat and they settled in the plush yet worn out sofas. The tables were decorated with crocheted dollies, which had taken a distinct yellow color. Gilded photo frames hung on the walls, and displayed black-and-white photographs from another era. Their host occupied a rocking chair, and fixed a steely gaze at them.

“I am retired Colonel Kamdar. This has been my home, since I came to this hillside years ago leading troops to guard the surrounding hills from the rebel Rajas.” He offered information about himself.

Listening to him, Manas, wondered about Colonel Kamdar’s age. He must have seen at least sixty decades of his sunrise and sunset, and yet, there was not a wrinkle on his face. The slight graying of the hair at the temples was the only giveaway of eventually fading youth. His hands were clean, manicured and oddly free of wrinkles, though not plump, and the blue veins were clearly visible. Manas thought that the mountain air, free of pollutants, and invigorating, was the perfect antidote to advancing age.

Their host got up and walked out of the room with steady steps. Manas and Swarna sat there stupefied and silent, only extending their hands to grasp each other’s palms. Their eyes darted over the place, looking at the  photographs, artifacts and antiquity, their reverie broken by the sound of thunder and the unexpected gush of slanting rain against the window panes. Manas went to the window, facing the garden, lifted the heavy drapes and peered outside to witness a darkening sky and heavy rains. Within minutes, a pleasant and bright evening had turned into dusk.

“Rains in the hills are sudden, but fleeting.” The voice left a shiver down his spine and he turned abruptly to face his host. Swarna got up to take the tray that he had carried into the room. The tray held a crystal decanter and three crystal glasses.

The retired Colonel settled in his rocking chair, requesting them to help themselves to the vintage drink. They politely filled their glasses and slowly sipped the grape wine, making small conversation. They waited patiently for the rain to stop, but it continued to pour cats and dogs. They debated on the danger of driving down with sheets of rain obscuring their view, but they didn’t want to overstay the Colonel’s hospitality. However, the Colonel insisted that they should stay back for dinner and spend the night at his house.

“Once the rain stops, the skies would be filled with the most enthralling view of brilliant stars, and the garden would be lighted up by fireflies. Though, we will have to make do with some light meal as my cook hasn’t come in because of the rains.” The Colonel took out a jar of pickled deer meat, loaves of bread, and dried apricots. Manas and Swarna had a packed a meal for the way, which was in the handbag that Swarna carried. They laid the table, and sat down to eat. The Colonel nibbled at his food, but regaled them with tales of valor and war.

When the conversation, slowly died down, Manas asked, “We met some locals on the way and they nearly believed that this place was haunted.” A glaze came over the Colonel’s eyes and his posture become stern and tense, as if it would unexpectedly give away under an unseen pressure. “The untaught make up stories to vile away the already wasted time in their lives.” He responded in an equally stern and tense voice.

When Swarna and Manas saw that the thunderstorm had failed to abate, they reluctantly agreed to spend the night in the red house. They were led into the guest room, which once again gave a smell and distinct feel of the distant past. They quickly retired for the night and as a cold draught entered the room and the night howled outside, they snuggled into each other for safety and warmth. Thus, nestled they let the night and the wind play on the throes of their passion, and the magic of the hills beyond brought them together in pure ecstasy.

The first light of dawn woke up Manas, and he peered out of the window to witness the sky was clear, and the sun was rising from the embrace of the emerald mountains. The tree outside the window was crystal studded with the last drops of last night’s downpour hanging in blissful union with the jade leaves. Manas stretched his arms wide, took a full-breath of the air, and reached for the bedroom door, with shuffled steps. As he opened the door, his heart skipped a beat, and a cry rose up his throat.

Sitting at the dining table, staring straight at the guest room door, and now at Manas, was the glaze eyed Colonel, his white shirt unbuttoned, nursing a long-untouched drink. When Manas realized it was only the Colonel, he said a hearty good morning. The Colonel responded with a nod, and reached for the collar of his shirt, to cover up his bare chest. Manas followed the movement and for a split second he glimpsed at a raw, red, and scarred flesh on the Colonel’s chest. He gasped but when the Colonel fixed his shirt and rose in a swift movement, Manas shrug away the memory of what he saw, and went back into the room to wake up Swarna.

Somehow, in the bright light of the golden sunrise, Manas and Swarna felt an urgency to get back on the road. The Colonel also didn’t extend his hospitality further and they thought that they had already overstayed their invitation. They quickly went about their business, bid a hasty yet warm good bye to the Colonel and went down the steps to their car. As they closed the car doors and strapped their seat belts, they didn’t hear the soft click of key in a padlock, as the door to the dining room of the bungalow was locked once again.

___________________________

When Swarna discovered she was expecting, she wasn’t very happy. The unplanned pregnancy threw water over all their plans for a world tour in December. For a long time, Manas and Swarna contemplated a termination of the pregnancy, but each time a fear of karmic debt made them change their mind, for they had been deeply involved in spiritual pursuits.

So, they decided to bring the child into their world. All went smoothly for Swarna, except for the sudden chills that shook her body, and for which the doctor didn’t have any diagnosis, except for fatigue and weakness. In the second trimester, Swarna would get up in cold sweat almost every other night, and said that she felt that somebody was watching her while she slept. The doctor attributed the delusional beliefs to anxiety and sometimes to excitement. When her figure had become definitely rotund, and her belly proudly proclaimed her pregnancy, Swarna swore that she felt strange external movements on her stomach, as if somebody was caressing the taut skin. The doctor said it was psychological fear of stretch marks.

Finally, all doubts, fears, anxiety, and impending excitement, led to the birth of a healthy and active baby boy. Swarna and Manas were elated by the new addition in their family, and little Swapnil became the cornerstone of their existence. Swapnil was a strong and active child but sometimes he had a faraway look in their eyes. They attributed his dreamy nature to the fairytales Swarna loved to believe in and read during her pregnancy.

As Swapnil grew up, Swarna and Manas rekindled their adventurous streak. When Swapnil was four years old, they planned a trip with another couple to the hills. On their way back from an exhilarating and relaxing trip, Swarna recalled the red bungalow at the top of a hill. She insisted that since it was on the way they must pay a visit to the elderly gentleman, who lived there. So, they took a detour and soon the red bungalow was in sight. The house and the surrounding area looked unkempt. The garden had dried down, the fencing broken and moss had grown on the walls. Manas said a prayer quietly, and whispered to Swarna that the Colonel might have passed away. Swarna nodded her head, but went directly to the door that led to the dining room. She sadly looked at the rusted padlock, and then saw a broken wiring in the mesh of a window. She shielded her eyes with her palms and looked inside through the peephole. A wall in the drawing room was clearly visible over the hazy silhouettes of the dining chairs. The gilded photo frames were rusted, and old.

Swarna gazed at the photographs in her limited line of vision, and her eyes fell upon a photograph that she didn’t recall seeing before. It was the photograph of a young uniformed officer. What captivated her was the striking resemblance of the photograph, with some she knew. She realized that it looked like the photograph of Colonel Kamdar in his younger days of conscription. And yet, the photograph resembled someone else, too. She stood their raking her mind, and when she could place the recognition, her heart started pounding against her ribcage. She called Manas, and whispered something in to his ear. Manas also peered inside, looked at the photograph and his face grew pale. He quickly pulled Swarna aside, called his friends, scooped Swapnil up in his arms and hastened away from the premises of the red house on the hill top.

That night, Manas helped Swapnil changed into his nightclothes, and gently touched the red colored birthmark on the right side of Swapnil’s heaving chest.

Share and Show:

A weekend trip to Renuka Lake in the midst of the Swalik Hills, Himachal Pradesh, in the last week of June, was intended as a relaxing escape from the scathing concrete heat of Delhi. However, it was a far cry from the comfortable weather that one expects when surrounded by lush forests and mountains, in the premise of the largest lake in HP. When we reached Renuka Lake early morning on Saturday, the sun was glaring down at us, threatening to confine us in our HP tourism hotel rooms, but by mid-day a cloud cover allowed us to undertake the 10 km circular trek around the Renuka Lake, and visit the wild-life sanctuary. The clouds romanced with humidity and the next day of our trip became arduous because of the stamina-draining clamminess.

But when six young travelers share the motivation to make the best of their weekend break, the heat and humidity is hardly a show-stopper. So, we explored the Renuka Lake, visited Nahan, Jaitak fort and the Fossil Park at Suketi and enjoyed the brilliant photography of the enthusiastic photographers in our group. The lake had a dull green tinge and was littered, but abounded with fish of a few varieties, rich lotus growth but no ducks. Boats were docked and didn’t seem to have been used in a long time. Apparently, boating and bird-watching has ceased to be a highlight of the Renuka Lake.

The banks of the lake are dotted with temples and ashrams and colorful shops selling beads and essential articles. Fish feeding has emerged as a thriving business and recreation, and local vendors sell dough to lure the fish, which display ample gluttony to allow everyone to feed them to their hearts content. Monkeys thrive in this area, competing with the fish for their share of food, but are less aggressive than the ones we encountered in Pushkar, on our way to the Savitri temple. Strangely, for a place with so much vegetation, and greenery, it is a disappointment for the ardent bird-watcher, except for the Raven that is spotted in the lush trees.

The wild life sanctuary maintained in this area is a delight – the six lionesses and one aristocratic lion make for an interesting wild-life study. We were first scared and then highly impressed by loud roars of the six lionesses, apparently accosting their male counterpart, confined in another enclosure. The local caretaker mentioned that the females and the male fight with each other and are hence separated by barbed fences … so much for feline pride and arrogance! Himalayan bears are confined in a nearby enclosure and they made a happy peaceful family of mama, papa and baby bear. A few paces ahead an exotic but lonely leopard with brilliant eyes is caged. We were also surprised to see an entire colony of bats that inhabited some of the eucalyptus and coconut trees. Hanging upside down, these large bats looked eerie but were apparently harmless.

Nahan is a bustling hill-town and the Lytton Memorial area is primarily a bus-stop surrounded by counters for Himalayan juices and milk-products. On some distance from Nahan, a steep side trail from Jamta, leads to the Jaitaka fort, which is a red building of British architecture perched on a cliff. The fort was locked but a sly peep inside from the wire mesh in the windows, revealed a surprisingly modern household which was well-furnished and frequently visited and cleaned, or even inhabited. We could not get any information in this regard as there was no soul in sight. The scenery is picturesque and provides a wide-angle panorama of Nahan and Jamta, and the Sivalik ranges.

A detour from Jamta through Kala Amb leads to the Suketi fossil park, the approach to which is by an unpaved road weaving through a village. The dry bed of a river, visible from the road, is a sad and disturbing sight, for it hails the onslaught of receding water bodies. The Suketi fossil park also screams of ill-maintenance with most of the models that were placed here in 1975, broken and chipped. What started off with a staff of 25 people is now managed by 3 local caretakers. The walk in the wilderness would however be extremely charming, when the temperature is bearable. The drive back to Delhi is pleasing to the eye with rows and rows of Mango orchards. Thriving poultry farms are also seen along the highway.

All in all, Renuka Lake, Nahan and the fossil park are still attractive tourist spots with families pouring in all over the weekend. The food in the HP tourism hotel is on the expensive side, but we discovered the Umang restaurant, around 2 kms from the Renuka Lake and enjoyed a hearty dinner followed by ice-cream. Breakfast at the HP tourism hotel was a better fare with fresh parathas and vegetable cutlets. One must keep lots of water handy to counter the heat and enjoy the long treks, even though strategically placed local shops provide snacks, cold drink, tea and water during the “parikrama” of the lake as well as the fossil park. The trek around the lake can also be facilitated by a vehicle, but that will cost an entry fee of Rs 250.

The best season to visit this place would be November to February, but a vacation at this time of the season is an eye-opener that even the hills are reeling under the effect of global warming and the natural resources are depleting in the face of human exploitation.

Share and Show:

Google Wave is a new tool for communication and collaboration on the web, coming later this year. Google Wave introduces a new platform built around hosted conversations called wave. With the Google Wave APIs, developers can take advantage of this collaborative system by building on the Google Wave platform, and allowing people to communicate and work together in new and more effective ways. The service seems to combine Gmail and Google Docs into an interesting free-form workspace that could be used to write documents collaboratively, plan events, play games or discuss a recent news.

Key Features
• Real-time collaboration – Concurrency control technology lets all people on a wave edit rich media at the same time
• Natural language tools – Server-based models provide contextual suggestions and spelling correction
• Extending Google Wave – Embed waves in other sites or add live social gadgets, using Google Wave APIs
• Emeddedability – Can be embedded in any blog or site
• Wiki Functionality – Live editing to correct, append, or add information

What is a wave?• A wave is equal parts conversation and document – People can communicate and work together with richly formatted text, photos, videos, maps, and more.
• A wave is shared. Any participant can reply anywhere in the message, edit the content and add participants at any point in the process. Playback lets anyone rewind the wave to see who said what and when.
• A wave is live. With live transmission as you type, participants on a wave can have faster conversations, see edits and interact with extensions in real-time.

What is the Google Wave API?
The Google Wave API allows developers to use and enhance Google Wave through two primary types of development:
• Extensions: Build robot extensions to automate common tasks or build gadget extensions to provide a new way for users to interact
• Embed: Make your site more collaborative by dropping in a Wave

Implications for Technical Publications:

Google Wave can have implications on authoring tools and the way technical writers collaborate with their subject matter experts, reviewers and editors. It is predicted that authoring tool vendors will use the open API for Google Waves to incorporate Wave into their authoring/publishing tools. This will give a great impetus to collaborative authoring, especially in the high-bandwidth agile mode. It will also change the way technical publications teams use Web CMS or proprietary knowledge management tools like Microsoft SharePoint for collaborative authoring, by eliminating the time taken for manually copying content from these external systems, into the authoring tool project or publishing environment.

While authoring tools may undergo changes, the other possibility is that the current core editing and publishing functionality of existing wiki and Web CMS engines are expanded to make Wave an alternative core page/article type in their system. This can be done by adding more extensive content tagging and/or styling options, adding some DITA map or AuthorIT-style structures for reusing Wave in various “books”, and enabling a push-button to take a “clean view” of any Wave in the system and push (and link) it to a standard page/article in the wiki or CMS. End users could follow a link or page control to see a sanitized version of the original Wave that was used internally for authoring, and they could begin comment threads in that sanitized Wave to provide feedback. This would eventually support the authoring and publishing needs of information development departments.

Google Wave seems all set to create ripples in Technical Publications … Take a sneak preview at: http://wave.google.com/

Share and Show:

The phrase WYSIWYG is an acronym for What You See Is What You Get, and is used to describe a system in which content displayed during editing appears very similar to the final output. This final output can be a printed document, web page, slide presentation or even 3D graphics.

With Help Authoring Tools (HATs) leveraging the benefits of HTML tags and Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) to predefine layouts, WYSIWYG editors enabled technical writers to see the output without opening a browser. As web-based products and hence web-based documentation came into demand, many WYSIWYG editors evolved to allow the results to be viewed in Internet Explorer (IE). Some editors even used an emulator for IE, which required extra tags for the WYSIWYG display to work correctly, for example, the kadov tags in earlier versions of RoboHelp HTML.

While WYSIWYG became one of the most commonly used phrases in Technical Publications, it also became a misnomer, for developers and technical writers working with various HATs, and word processors realized that many times what they actually saw in the editor didn’t usually match the results. WYSIWYG was becoming a fallacy and the reality was closer to the description of WYSIOP (What You See is One Possibility).

The term WYSIOP was coined nearly a decade ago by Chris Lilley of the W3C but is all the more relevant in the context of XML-based authoring tools like RoboHelp 7 and Flare 4.2 where output results are determined by whatever layout template is assigned at the time the results are viewed. The use of conditional tagging, multiple style sheets and single-sourcing of content, lends further weight to the usage of the phrase WYSIOP, where results are dependent on the layout definition and styling for the specified output. Thus, you can view a Printed Output, or a .CHM output, or a Java Help using the same content and the same editor. With output media ranging from PDAs to phones, and content being linked to media-dependant style sheets, it is a good time for technical writers to shake away the habit of using Wiz-ee-Wig, and including WYSIOP in their vocabulary. Its time to say hello to Wiz-ee-Op!

Share and Show:

I was surfing the internet and came across – QUEST, the Indian Express initiative covering over 50 schools in Delhi and NCR, wherein readers were invited to express themselves in 55 words. That reminded me of this literary genre of Nanofiction or 55-fiction and I decided to experiment with this form of story-writing.

I didn’t think it would be a tough job because there are a million of stories running around my head most of the time, and I am trained to write concisely by virtue of my job. As a technical writer/editor, we are supposed to be crisp, concise and precise, and I generally follow two rules –

1. A sentence should not exceed 7-8 words and

2. A set of procedural steps or bullet points should not exceed 8-10 lines.

I have tried to abide by these two rules in my professional writing and my colleagues will also agree to the fact that as a reviewer/editor, I am always chopping out words from their sentences. (They must hate me for this, as each word is very precious to a writer!)

So, when I decided to dabble with 55-fiction, I expected it be cakewalk. It wasn’t. It’s very difficult to contain thoughts in as little as 55-words, while maintaining a plot, characters, conflict, resolution and the shock element. After I jotted down the storylines, a lot of time was spent on editing and redoing the sentences to reach the magic number. I finally have five stories in place that I am sharing here.

I, am, however, enjoying this exercise, and I believe it’s a great form of self-training for aspiring writers and is also packed with intense creative satisfaction. I hope to experiment more with 55-fiction, for I have always been an avid story-teller!

NDE

Calmly she floated towards the glimmer at the end of the tunnel. The momentum was interrupted by confused voices in her head. She hung in limbo; feeling nauseated as the voices coaxed her to retreat from the tunnel. Startled, she opened her eyes. The anesthesia had worn-off. She still wonders if she had a Near-Death-Experience.

Horoscope

“Your child will never sleep hungry.” The pundit predicted. The father gratefully extended a token amount of 11 Rs and went home happy.

Mohan is a healthy 10-year old, who never sleeps hungry and frequently samples tasty food. The meals come as a perk with his regular job of cleaning dishes at Chaudhary ka Dhabba.

Coincidence

She looked around, biding time in the traffic jam, and caught his bored glance. The frequency of their coincidental meetings left a sweet pang in her heart.

“Of course, it had to be so!” she murmured when she saw him dining with his wife. She continued to wait for her husband in the hotel lobby.

Control Freak

Her death left him lost, confused and hungry. A day had passed since he had eaten. All these years he ate, slept, spoke and acted as she had commanded him to. He was afraid to fix up a meal lest she suddenly walked in and admonished him for fiddling around in her kitchen!

Lonely Lunches

He always ate lunch alone, gazing out of the glass window. She thought he was lonely and decided to befriend him.

She shared her meals with him and she shared her heart and soul. He also adored her and specially invited her to his wedding.

The new recruit always saw her eating lunch alone…

Flight

The incessant tapping on the window was distressing. I cautiously flung the door open. It remained oblivious to the escape route, ardently struggling against the glass pane.

Suddenly, with a flutter of wings the pigeon hovered around the room, saw the open space and flew away. A broader perspective is indeed required to notice prospects.

 Long-Distance Relationship

We kept in touch through chat messengers. I enjoyed innumerable, private chats, always imagining his expressions and demeanor.

Three months later, he returned from his trip. I was shocked to meet this stranger. Over time and space, my mind’s eyes had cradled an impression of him in my own likeness, not as he actually was.

________________________________________

These stories are also cross-posted on: http://55-words.blogspot.com/

Share and Show:

William Faulkner, Nobel Laureate and American short-story writer and novelist, advocated self-training as the best method of acquiring writing skills. “Read, read, read. Read everything – trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out the window.” As a professional technical editor, and an aspiring author, I have tried to imbibe these words in my daily routine. I read, and read a lot – including the instructions on shampoo bottles, recipes on spice packets and witty lines on truck tails. I connect to the world through social media and read what others are saying. I read on recommendation, I read by choice, I read after careful research, I read because a book is available at a throw-away price, and I read just because I can surf the internet for free in office. Needless to say, I have always been astounded by the amount of readily available information and the number of authors traversing time and space, topics and genre, to compete for a reader’s time and attention.

Off late, I am overwhelmed by the number of young Indian authors, who are getting published. The emerging trend is in favor of bloggers, who decide to get published, after honing their writing skills through years of dedicated blogging, and on receiving encouragement from their “bleaders” (blog-readers). Faulkner’s words seem to be inspiring one and all. Ardent bloggers have either been approached directly by publishers or they have contacted publishers, not with manuscripts in tow, but with a URL in their signature. Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, got a book deal with Penguin India via her blog - The Compulsive Confessor. To quote Hemali Sodhi, GM-corporate communications, Penguin India – “We’ve been tracking Meenakshi’s blog for quite a while. There are a whole lot of talented people out there who can write well and they’re doing it online through blogs.”

Blog communities and forums are also coming forward to publish writings by bloggers. Norwest Venture Partners funded Indian community site Sulekha.com has launched a series called “The Sulekha Book Series”, wherein the site is publishing a book containing writings by some of its bloggers. They plan to release two books a month – one will be a single author book, the other a collection of works by bloggers around a particular theme. The first book is Subbu Chronicles – A Series of adventures by BS Keshav. Caferati, which has a writers’ forum on Ryze has published Stories At The Coffee Table. Oxford Book Store has an annual online writing competition – E-Author, and two past winners – Madhulika Liddle of Delhi from e-Author 4.0, and Devi Yashodharan of Chennai from e-Author 3.0 – are reported to have received publishing offers.

The list of bloggers turned writers has been growing – Advaita Kala, Karan Bajaj, Dilip D’Souza, Amit Verma - marking a major cultural shift in the styles and content of what’s being published. Books by bloggers are becoming a cultural phenomenon and a trend, and so is populist writing. Any blogger with a blog that will entertain and amuse the public has a chance to get a book deal. The appeal of a blogger’s personality and the passion for a subject becomes an attractive force for publishing houses looking for long-term commitments and sustained zeal. Aspiring authors are even coming out with e-books that can be downloaded from their websites and blogs. (I am reminded of Paulo Coelho’s web-based marketing wherein he releases some chapters of his forthcoming publications on his website, and regularly contributes small pieces of writing on the online newsletter – Warrior of the Light.) Today, such marketing concepts are being well-utilized by the tech-savvy, young and ambitious Indian writers!

The influence of blogging on Indian authors has been growing. Even authors, who have been previously published, are entering the blogosphere and their writing style and approach is taking on the colors of blogging. For instance, when I read the introduction of Anita Nair’s latest book – Goodnight and God Bless – it suspiciously sounded like a collection of blog posts – “A sparkling collection of literary essays, each one a bedtime rumination, Goodnight and God Bless is about books, writers, book events, mice, mothers, airport hotels, the wind and other such unexpectedly thought-provoking subjects, snugly interwoven with a warmly personal and anecdotal history of the author and her assorted family members.” I may be wrong in drawing this conclusion, but we cannot deny the fact that blogging (and sustaining a blog) has become intermittently woven into the life of an author – published or aspiring. Ashok Banker, author of Byculla Boy, and the recent Ramayana series, has a blog on Indian English. Samit Basu, author of India’s first science fiction novel in English, The Simoqin Prophecies, uses his blog Duck of Destiny to promote other Indian writers. Jaideep Varma, author of Local used blogging as a tool to publicize his work. My own baby-step as an author with a maiden work published in a collection of short stories by bloggers – The Eleven – was possible when author and publisher, Aarti Honrao from Sai Kiran Publications, browsed through my blog.

However, with the latest trend of Indian chic-lit and populist writing, I, as a conventional writer have started having serious doubts about my aspirations to be a published author. Populist writing is like a Govinda or a Priyadarshan movie – the masses love it, the classes shrink from it; but at the end of the day slap-stick comedies and garish masala movies are the ones that rake the most moolah. And somehow, this trend is emerging in what people are reading and enjoying. With younger readers, in stiff competitive worlds, always running short of time and with stress levels bursting at the seams, we cannot deny them the pleasure of their “quick-bus-ride” or “light-after-dinner” reading material. Chic-lit and populist novels are selling like hot-cakes, pointing to the facts that many people are reading, and publishing houses are ready to experiment and cater to changing audience and reading habits.

Amidst all the shifting trends, I am wondering about the whereabouts of the serious (aka mature) reader and the serious (aka literary) writer. I am wondering whether books with expletives and references to casual sex get publishers and readers just like quarrels and misgivings on a reality-show garner the maximum TRPs. I am wondering whether good linguistic appeal is not significant anymore and mere ramblings can be converted into coveted best-sellers. However, I also know that thanks to the young breed of Indian authors, the world can today read about contemporary India straight from the horses’ mouth, probably making travelogues by foreigner’s as sources of information on India, as passé. I am proud to see so many books by Indian authors lining up book shelves and I dream to be one of these names. Till then I seek solace in my dilemma about an appropriate writing style and subject from another of Faulkner’s quotes – “Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.”

Share and Show:

One of the most effective ways of securing and sharing information is through writing. When the Early Man realized that speech is lost and memory fades, attempts were made to record thoughts, ideas, memory and most importantly knowledge and instructions, through the mode of writing. From the Stone Age to the Space Age, from pictographic depictions to the evolution of the language and the alphabet, human progression has been primarily defined by the success and evolving complexity of his ability to communicate and to share knowledge.

While cavemen inscriptions are the earliest attempts at instructional communication, in deserts west of the Nile, Egyptologists have found limestone inscriptions that they say are the earliest known examples of alphabetic writing. From symbols to alphabets, historians have charted the growth of the written word to Ancient Greece and Egypt, but Ancient India has also not been left behind. Epics like the Mahabharata refer to, describe and explain about Vimanas or ancient aeronautical devices, and ballistic weaponry. It is believed that The Indian Emperor Ashoka started a “Secret Society of the Nine Unknown Men” – great Indian scientists who were supposed to catalogue the many sciences.

The first great English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer’s work “A Treatise on the Astrolabe” despite its medieval roots, used deliberate organization and thorough content, along with a simple style and personable tone, to create a quintessential sample for technical documentation. ” The Treatise still serves as a model for incorporating coherent organization, appropriate content, accurate and precise descriptions, personable tone, effective metadiscourse, and varied sentence structure and length in modern technical writing.” The scribbling, drawings, and notes that accompanied the inventions and theories of Copernicus, Hippocrates, Newton and Leonardo da Vinci are in fact examples of technical documentation.

A clear trend towards the emergence of technical writing as professional field can be seen during the World War I (1914-1918) – and later during World War II (1939-1945) – when there was a growing need for technology-based documentation in the military, manufacturing, electronic and aerospace industries. Needless to say, the golden age of technical writing started with the invention of the computer and the internet. Joseph D. Chapline is considered to be the first technical writer to introduce software documentation to the rest of the world. Early in the 1940s, while working for Eckert and Mauchley, he became the first technical writer employed to document the way an operating system worked. He first wrote the Binac Computer User Guide (1949) and later an eight-page pamphlet called Technical Writing (1950).

In 1953, two organizations concerned with improving the practice of technical communication were founded on the East Coast of the United States: the Society of Technical Writers, and the Association of Technical Writers and Editors. These organizations merged in 1957 to form the Society of Technical Writers and Editors, a predecessor of the current Society for Technical Communication (STC). Today, STC is a global organization with many regional chapters, including STC India.

By 1960, the continued growth of technology, particularly in the electronics, aeronautics and space industries, nuclear and medical discoveries, created a big upsurge in demand for technical writers. During the sixties and seventies, numerous publications appeared in which their main concern was technical writing, and including journals such as the Journal of Technical Writing and Communication with its first issue in 1971, all of which have provided information to professionals on writing for technical purposes.

The 20th century is the age of structured authoring and optimizing information reuse. Interactive media, content and learning management systems, authoring tools, and the need for diverse and multi-output documentation to support the upsurge in application development, as well in consumer-focused mechanizations, have given end-user based technical documentation a professional status. The proliferation of social media and learning communities, and the continuous expansion of the blogosphere have opened avenues for more and more writers to connect, share, learn and talk.

In modern terms, many writers believe that technical communication is an evolved state of journalism, backed by the power of online and new publishing media. To quote from the blog by Anne Gentle, a senior technical writer at Advanced Solutions International.  “After all, in software, technical writers are like the journalist is – finding the relevant story for a particular audience, interviewing to get the facts, presenting in a fair, nonjudgmental manner, and writing to a deadline.” And I believe this is what defines the future of technical communication.

As writers, it’s our responsibility to help customers connect with other customers to share and learn from experiences is a critical criteria for companies to make effective use of social media to drive customer acquisition. The modern day technical writer is part writer, part community manager, and part user experience advocate for their products, leveraging the benefits of social media, portals, blogs, and wikis. The art and science of technical communication has evolved; it is now time for the writer to evolve and adapt to the new demands of end-users, craving for better, easily-accessible, crispier and worthwhile information.

Share and Show:

Having been wary of ready Indian women authors, with writings centering mainly on diaspora, I was pleasantly surprised and entertained by Anita Nair’s The Better Man. Choicely recommended and lent to me by a friend, I picked it up with suspicion but was slowly engrossed in a wonderfully written tale of one man and his fears, and tryst to discover his self-worth and identity.

The pitch and flow of the novel is rhythmic. More than a novelist, Anita Nair comes out as an adept storywriter, because she has intrinsically woven many small stories into a striking tapestry of a novel. Characters are introduced throughout the novel with eloquent portrayal. Gradually the characters are shown to play a role in the life of the protagonist, Mukundan Nair, a retired government employee, forced by circumstances to return to his native village. All the “episodes” move in perfect tandem to reach the culmination point of the novel.

Anita Nair has a knack for crisp and complete characterization and is also an accomplished prose writer with liberal rendering of the scenic and daily life of a small (and fictional) village in Kerala. She has touched on many controversial and sensitive subjects, but all with extreme grace and subtlety. She talks about untouchability, casteism, cultural and religious bias, occult, adultery, exploitation and disregard of women, dominance of power and money, bureaucratic red tapism, and even homosexuality. While the novel’s protagonist is a man, the storyline has ample women characters, but unfortunately most of them are depicted as the weaker sex, facing disregard, mental and physical humiliation, and neglect in the face of single-minded pursuits of the individualistic ambitions by the men in their lives. Only a few of these women are able to break the barriers of male subjugation, albeit after years of suffering.

In spite of portraying some of the bleaker aspects of everyday society, Nair’s work is never depressing. There is always a promise of hope and the language is very uplifting. In fact nearing the end of the novel, she even depicts redemption for these overbearing male characters, when Krishna Nair, the lifelong caretaker of a Tharavadu, decides to return to his family, with the realization – “All these years, I was caught in some absurd slavish love. I squandered the best years of my life, but perhaps I can still make up for it. A lifetime is what I wasted.” Mukundan is also shown taking steps for the redemption of his troubled soul, while Bhasi, another escapist from the world of realism is suffering from the desire to belong, seek social acceptance, find his roots and build everlasting relationships.

I have called Nair’s work as entertaining because it has its humorous moments, for example, the incident related to Mad Moindu, or the story of Power House Ramakrishna, or the erratic Philipose, and is filled with a lot of spice – from ghosts and murder, to secrets in the lives of the characters to intelligent conversation. The pace is endearing, the prose captivating, and the story mature and fulfilling. She has also amply used her knowledge of myths and there is a generous sprinkling of mythological references and even comparisons in the various episodes. All in all, The Better Man is a good and satisfying read and has inspired me to get my hands on her first novel – Ladies Coupe.

Share and Show:

Visionary writers like Jack Williamson, Aldus Huxley, Isaac Asimov, and Carl Sagan to name a few, have written about futuristic societies, where genetic engineering is a predominant science. It’s a common thread that binds most writings that foresee the evolution of human society. Genetic engineering, as the cornerstone of future societies, refers to the science and practice of improving the nature and texture of most living organisms, with the prime motive of eradicating and eliminating genetic diseases. The concept is not new – ancient history has seen the rise of the Spartans – a Greek society that was based on the systematic purging of the weak in mind or body. It was a preliminary form of genetic engineering, where the DNAs were not manipulated, per se, but the aspects of heredity and choice-breeding were woven into mate-selection, child-bearing and child-rearing activities.

The earliest codes of conduct regarding marriage in Vedic societies were based on “marriages outside one’s kul-gotra” or clan-lineage. ‘Gotra’ is a patrilineal classification and identification of various families of a caste amongst the Hindus. This was designed to prevent marriages of siblings and was a measure of preventing genetic anomalies that can creep in when close relatives or kin intermarry. In the Hindu custom of horoscope-matching for matrimony, one of the biggest factors that determine whether a boy and girl can marry is the “nadi-factor”. There are three nadis or birth constellations in astrology Aadi, Madhya and Antya nadi. The partners should not have the same birth constellation, else they can have nadi-dosha or affliction, and it can result in problems related to birth and progeny. During horoscope matching, marriages with nadi-dosh are discouraged.

Selective breeding has also been a well-practiced science in both zoological and botanical worlds. We get to know of genetically engineered better, bigger, stronger species of animals and plants. In fact, when we think of it, Hitler’s call for a predominantly Aryan society and the genealogical extermination that followed was close to the Spartan concept of society. Charles Darwin’s “Survival of the Fittest” is an assertion of the fact that the genetically “better, bigger and stronger” will ultimately rule the Earth, or for that matter the Galaxies.

What was visualized has actually come to pass! Advancement in science and specifically in radiology have given parents-to-be and doctors’ the choice of taking educated decisions concerning birth of “unfit” babies. Nature, itself has a method of check in place – it’s believed that most early miscarriages and first trimester losses are due to chromosomal defects in the implanting embryo. Many parents are going in for genetic counseling and second trimester genetic profiling to ensure that the fetus doesn’t suffer from abnormalities such as Down’s syndrome.

While social activists and the moral brigade reckon these tests and ensuing decisions, like informed abortion, as a violation of the unborn child’s right to live, many parents and doctors see it as an effective way of eliminating life-long suffering for the child-to-be-born and the family. Ultimately, we have derived our own formula for a Spartan society. We may not be so ruthless or unreasonable, but the desire to have healthy offspring is a reflection of the highly competitive world that we live in, where only the best will survive.

Thinking about a competitive world, I can relate these thoughts also with our professional lives. Modern organizations have a performance appraisal system based on relative ranking, where a bell curve determines who is at the lowest rung of the ladder. In times of crisis, such as we face today of recession and shrinking profit margins, the relative ranking brings into effect the elimination of poor or average performers from the system. When the average performers are eliminated, in the next appraisal cycle, an attempt will be made to relatively rank the remaining good and best performers and once again eliminate those who trail behind the rest.

The irony of the situation is that the cyclic process will bring even the good and the best under close scrutiny and analysis. Even the best can buckle under such intense performance pressure. The same holds true for the code of life – the DNA – how long can it sustain the pressures of genetic mutation, transmutation, isolation, insertion, splicing, elimination and engineering. What if our quest for the best is unwittingly leads us to excessive elimination amounting to forced extinction?

Share and Show:

…. And some days before IPL2 , Man created the ZooZoos in his own image. They were both men and women, and they also had children. The ZooZoos soon became the buzzword of the Ad-world and there name and fame spread far and wide…

Nearly, everyone is talking about the ZooZoos these days – from wondering about how they got their name, to expressing astonishment at the revelation that these are not animated characters but actors in body-suits – ZooZoos are one of the many reasons why people are watching the IPL matches. And the ZooZoos have not disappointed as yet, with new advertisements popping up every other day and competing with the previous ones in style, execution, concept and comic appeal.

What makes the ZooZoos click so well with the audience? I believe it’s the combination of innovation and innocence. It’s the ability to laugh at oneself and the innate Indian quality of the concepts. Ogilvy and Mather (O&M), the advertising agency behind the ZooZoo ads have previously also created the “Happy to Help” ads for Vodaphone, featuring a pug-doggie. The characteristic of this ad also was ordinary real life scenarios and an intelligent and emotive pet. O&M has recast the magic of this formula in the ZooZoo ads. The ZooZoos have childlike exuberance, live the lives of ordinary people, and are extremely emotive. I believe that the ZooZoos have defined a new cult in acting, may be in the league of the art of Mime, with body language pre-dominating the entire theatrical experience.

The immense popularity of the ZooZoos is also a defining trend in audience choices. We live in times where children are made to act and talk as adults and adults are indulging in lousy slapstick comedies, and distressing soap operas, and fashion is all about size zero and tons of make-up. The ZooZoos defy these trends – their minimalism, their pear-shaped figures which mock the fad of hour-glass and v-shaped figures, and the child-like innocence in adult characters, which even children have been forced to forsake these days – is a sub-conscious effort to revive the magic of simpler days, simpler people, and simple pleasure.

ZooZoos are lovable because they read the pulse of the audience. They are magical because each ad is able to tell a story in 30 seconds, and not once missing out on attention to detail. Each time you see a ZooZoo ad there is some small action that takes your heart away. I have favorites in each one, for example, in the Beauty Tips ad, I love the way the little ZooZoo is peeping in from the threshold when the mummy ZooZoo struts in to see what’s scaring the kids, or in Recharge Anywhere ad, the way the girlfriend ZooZoo has a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder as he is happily driving away, or the wringing of the hands in the Fashion Tips ad…. there are so many more details to observe and enjoy and each one can find their favorites.

My personal favorite in these ads is the Mobile Games ad. This was the only ad which invoked sadness. On seeing the little ZooZoo playing alone on the see-saw, and never getting it right, my initial reaction was – “Aww! That poor thing is so lonely!” Hubby, of course, said that he is not lonely; he is enjoying himself. It’s astonishing how a 30 second act can touch your heart and how two people can see the same thing in different perspectives; it’s amazing how quickly you can fall in love with a ZooZoo – proving the adage that one can fall in love at first sight.

Discussions on the origin of the ZooZoos center mainly on the concept of aliens. But, the first time I saw the ZooZoos, I thought these were animated Smileys. And the thought has stayed with me that maybe the creative directors wanted to create a Smiley land, with smiley-expressions doing the talking!

ZooZoos are here to stay – going by the commercial trends, we can accept ZooZoo movies, comic books, merchandise and memorabilia – but may be these will sap away the mesmerizing effect the ZooZoos have on us. India has had its own share of loveable characters – Shaktiman, Chacha Chaudhary, Billu and Pinkie, Jaadu, and now the ZooZoos – it is always an innocent take on life that wins the heart of the audience.

…. As suggested by Snigs, I have tagged five people to write about their favorite ZooZoo ads or moments – Snigs, Sanjukta, Amit, Rahul and Bharat.

Share and Show:

I have been suffering from blogstipation, or rather not able to gather my wits together to be able to pay attention to my blog. The thought of my ignored blog was pestering me and though the mind-mills are churning out ideas, the inspiration to actually get down and write is weak. I, however, have continued to experiment with baking and I decided that the best way to get back to blogging was share this approved recipe (dear friend, Hitesh, and hubby, have drooled over this ebony delight).

Ingredients:

•  
  • 1 cup refined flour
  • 1.5 cups white sugar
  • 1 cup (50 gms) unsweetened cocoa powder
  • I.5 cups boiling water
  • 1 cup vegetable oil or 3/4 cups ghee
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/2 cup ground almond (with the outer skin)
  • 1 ¾ teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon powder
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract (optional)
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt

Method:

•  
  • Preheat oven to 180 degrees centigrade. Grease and flour a 9×9 inch pan
  • Pour boiling water over cocoa, and whisk until smooth. Let mixture cool.
  • Sieve flour, baking powder, ground almonds, cinnamon powder and salt, mix well and keep aside as the dry mixture
  • In a bowl (or in the juicer jar of the mixer) cream together the sugar and butter/ghee
  • Beat in the eggs, one at a time, then whisk in the vanilla extract
  • Add the dry flour mixture alternatively with the cocoa mixture, to the creamed mixture and whisk again
  • Stir in the milk until batter is smooth
  • Pour batter into the prepared pan
  • Bake for 6-8 minutes in the preheated oven (at 180 degrees centigrade).
  • Lower the heat to 170 degrees centigrade and bake for another 6-8 minutes.
  • Check with a fork to see that the cake is cooked inside.

To decorate the cake, try chocolate glaze.

Share and Show:

“This is the original piece of the article that appeared in the April volume of TechCraft, a newsletter of the yahoo group – Technical Writers of India (TWIN). It was slightly modified for TechCraft.”

Many members of the technical communications fraternity fret over their career progression, especially when managerial positions are few and in the passing. If involved in such a discussion, I usually assert that the next logical step for a technical writer or author is to become a technical editor or reviewer. I take this stand by reflecting on two prominent aspects: firstly, the significance of review and editing for quality deliverables in documentation, and secondly, the recognition of reviewing and editing as a competency that is developed and enhanced over a period of time.

I believe that the field of technical review and editing is not only professionally rewarding but also adds immense value-add to technical documentation. It is a benchmark for a writer’s maturity and competency, and also a position of immense responsibility. Contrary to popular myth, editing is not only about marking corrections, or fault-finding; it is about total involvement in a documentation assignment, including planning, collaborating and defining best practices.

A brief overview of the responsibilities of a technical editor includes:
Planning:

•  
  • Understanding the aim and audience of a documentation assignment
  • Planning a documentation assignment including styles, standards (editorial policy), templates, content, table of content, and approach
  • Defining the review strategy, such as creating review checklists and defect log templates
  • Identifying technical, functional and peer reviewers

Collaborating:

•  
  • Coordinating efforts and activities of all the reviewers and collating various review comments
  • Mentoring new technical writers to bring them up-to-mark with the existing documentation team
  • Ensuring adherence to the defined “editorial policy
  • Maintaining stringent timelines

Writing:

•  
  • Writing for the product
  • Restructuring content, making it more readable and organized

Editing:

•  
  • Undertaking editing tasks such as checking grammar, general word usage, and spelling, and language-based edits

Reviewing:

•  
  • Checking technical and functional accuracy of the content (in consultation with a SME, or by referring to the collated review comments of the technical and functional reviewers)
  • Document Testing

Analyzing:

•  
  • Preparing best practices document based on the defect logs
  • Analyzing defect logs and preparing strategies for reducing defects and improving the document quality

The planning, collaborating and analyzing responsibilities provide on-the-job training for a documentation manager’s role. It opens one’s perspective to challenges of good documentation, the need and pressure of working with various stakeholders within specified deadlines, collating and analyzing data to generate appropriate metrics, and most importantly, accountability for the quality of a deliverable.

With regard to the responsibility of writing, remember there is nothing that stops a technical editor from getting involved in the actual writing process. In fact, a good technical editor can be a fine mentor by virtue of his or her own deliverables. Many technical writers get promoted to editorial and reviewer roles and their greatest asset is the knowledge of a particular product or domain and hence, they can immensely contribute to a document by writing the descriptive sections or adding to the information provided by the writer.

The challenge in the current industry scenario is to recognize the significance of technical editing and reviewing. Documentation teams have to move from self-review and peer-review based methodologies to a more professional approach where technical editing is developed as a competency. Organizations, which want to witness serious and substantial growth in their technical documentation portfolio, should focus on creating a level for technical editors in their designation-competency matrix.

Talking in terms of challenges, there is another that waylays the path of the enthusiastic technical editor or reviewer – resistance from within the documentation team. It is a bare fact that not many people are open to scrutiny and defect-identification in their writing. Most technical writers are used to working independently, and as typical to writers of all genres, deem what they have written as correct, precise and comprehensible. With due respect to all technical writers, the other bare fact is that we all make mistakes!

If you are a technical writer, you cannot deny that there are times when you revisited a document and caught a little mistake here and a tiny glitch there, or just muttered under your breath, “I wish I had more time to self-review this document, but for that ghastly deadline ….!” It is here that a technical editor can be your knight in shining armor and help you eliminate oversight, improve the usability and quality of documents and also provide you a handy reminder of errors and mistakes that you can easily eliminate in your next deliverable. You remain in-charge of your document with the safeguard of professional edit and review. The better your track record as a technical writer, the sooner your chances of becoming the technical editor or reviewer for a documentation team!

On the whole, successful editing is dependent on the organization’s culture and the editor’s relationship with the writer. The organization’s culture can provide status, authority and a progressive growth path to a technical editor or a reviewer. Collaborative team spirit shared with the technical writer(s) provides motivation to the editor, and supports the symbiotic relationship between the writer and the editor. The ends define the means, and whether it is the writer or the editor, the true stalwart of technical documentation has only one aim – to deliver the right information to the right people in the right way!

Share and Show:

I was supposed to attend training on April 10, 2009. I withdrew my nomination, as I realized that Good Friday was on the given date, and I was entitled to apply for a leave in the optional holiday category. I wanted to keep my options open to take an off, in case the work load was manageable. I casually mentioned to some one that I will not be able to attend the training since it is scheduled on “Good Friday.”

“Can it get funnier than this? He responded. “If there is a training on Monday, you will say it’s a “Good Monday” and I am in no mood to spoil the day by participating in a training session!”
“No, no! Good Friday is a festival of Christians and it’s followed by Easter Sunday that is on April 12, 2009.” I replied.

While I am not a typically religious person, I was flabbergasted by the apparent lack of awareness about Good Friday and Easter. All of us learn about the festivals in India, during our early schooling. Christians have only two festivals in a year – Christmas and Easter – which is not a long list to remember. For that matter, how many people actually know that prior to Good Friday, Christians keep a fast of forty days, similar to the Ramzan of Muslims. This period of fasting and repentance is called Lent and always begins on a Wednesday, known as Ash Wednesday. The Sunday prior to Easter Sunday is known as Palm Sunday and is a commemoration of Christ’s last procession into Jerusalem before he was tried and crucified by the Romans.

Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent and gets its name from the practice of placing ashes on the foreheads of the faithful as a sign of repentance. The ashes used are gathered after the Palm Crosses from the previous year’s Palm Sunday are burned. Ashes were used in ancient times, according to the Bible, to express mourning. Dusting oneself with ashes was the penitent’s way of expressing sorrow for sins and faults. Many people may be aware of “Mardi Gras” or “Fat Tuesday” – it is a celebration, sometimes called “Carnival,” practiced around the world, on the Tuesday prior to Ash Wednesday. It was designed as a way to “get it all out” before the sacrifices of Lent began. New Orleans is the focal point of Mardi Gras celebrations in the U.S.

Lent is actually a forty-six day period of prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial. It is a season of grief and fasting, which is punctuated by breaks in the fast on Sundays, and necessarily ends with a great celebration of Easter. The forty days represent the time that, according to the Bible, Jesus spent in the wilderness, where he endured temptation by Satan.

Good Friday is the day of Christ’s crucifixion, and is observed as a day of mourning. The obvious question is that if it is a day of mourning, why it is called “Good?” In archaic English, “Good” is a synonym of “Holy” and hence the nomenclature. It also symbolizes the fact that Christ was crucified for our sins, and the humiliation, pain, and death are His sacrifice on our behalf. As a sacrifice for humanity and the cleansing of the sins of man, this day of mourning holds tidings of redemption.

Interestingly, the Easter day is determined by the Moon Calendar and it falls on a different date, each year, but always on a Sunday. The Roman Catholic Church used a complex formula to calculate the “moveable feast” of Easter and this formula is called Computus. Easter falls at some point between late March and late April each year, following the cycle of the Moon. Easter is the day of resurrection of Christ from the dead, after his crucifixion and entombment on Good Friday, and his ascension into Heaven. It’s a day of joy and feasting and a spring festival filled with the promise of life and redemption, tulips, lilies and Easter bunnies and eggs.

The Easter eggs and bunnies come from age old traditions. The goddess of springtime and offspring, Eastre, was worshipped by the Anglo-Saxons through her earthly symbol, the rabbit. In fact, the use of term Easter comes from this pagan festival which was celebrated around the same time as the Christian observance of the Resurrection of Christ. Christian missionaries slowly spread their message amongst the pagans and encouraged them to celebrate this festival with a more religious and spiritual fervor, and in a Christain manner, as Easter.

The Easter egg predates the Christian holiday of Easter. The exchange of eggs in the springtime is a custom that was centuries old when Easter was first celebrated by Christians. From the earliest times, the egg was a symbol of rebirth in most cultures. Eggs were often wrapped in gold leaf or, if you were a peasant, colored brightly by boiling them with the leaves or petals of certain flowers.

More information on the traditions and stories surrounding Easter abound on the internet. I have put together the basics that I learnt as a member of a Protestant Christian family and as a Sunday school-goer. I may have not have been penitent or fasted during Lent, and I may not take an off on Friday to go to Church, but in my own way I have tried to create awareness of a tradition and about a community about which little is known.

Share and Show:

“Memories and dreams are the stuff that stories are made of, and of course distortion.” I answered after a moment of contemplation.
“Distortion!” He quipped.
“Yes, distortion. For memories fade with time and dreams become blurred after the morning dose of caffeine. All that a writer has are remnants of hazy memories, and lost dreams, and then the process of distortion sets in. The writer manipulates these memories and dreams, sprinkling them with ideas, ideologies, experiences, and of course unfulfilled wishes, wrapping these around characters, situations, and giving life to something that may or may not be there.” I elaborated.
“Interesting.” said my friend, as he navigated a sharp turn. He had asked me what it takes to write a story.

Silence set in. He was concentrating on the sudden twists and turns around the low mountains, while I reflected on what I had just said. Memories and dreams, yes, these were the two elements in my life. I swayed between the two – sometimes relegating into a past that may or may not have been there, and pondering on the meaning and interpretation of my dreams, almost always filling in the gaps with my imagination.

We were on a less treacherous road. He diverted his attention towards me.
“You have interesting ideas. But you think too much! Maybe that’s why you are so crazy.” He smiled.
“This crazy mind has a lot of stories to tell.” I smiled.
“Why were you so reluctant to join us on this trip?” He changed the topic.
“I don’t know. I have become quite reclusive. I find it difficult to gel in a crowd.”
“But we need to be with friends, we need to enjoy, to freak out and we need to think less!”
“Yes, yes! Don’t start of again. Aren’t I finally with you, ready to spend the weekend with a bunch of strangers, who will be laughing at my fear of water, tomorrow?”
“You will like them. They are nice people. It will be a change for you, after …” He let the sentence trail. He self-consciously fiddled with the CD-player having treaded on what he perceived as sensitive ground.

… After … after my break up! I completed his sentence in my mind. But I was not a victim; I was the reason for my recent break up. Memories and dreams had once again overplayed on my emotions – I was afraid to let go of all that I believed made me independent and creative. Even if it meant letting go of the one person, who had become the cornerstone of my existence, and my stories, promoting my crazy ideas, mulling over my scripts and believing in me more than I had. I was, however, afraid! Afraid of attachment, and letting domesticity take charge of my life. I had a commitment phobia and I drove him out of my life engulfed in my fear of losing my creative streak in the wake of a settled family life. He understood, but he didn’t stay back and slowly moved away from my life but not from my heart. I became more reclusive, living on memories, and in the hope of attaining a spiritual high, which I believed could never be attained by attaching myself to another soul.

“We will be there in another half-an-hour.” He lowered the volume of the CD-player as he recognized the road signs. I had known him since quite some time and we had enjoyed many leisure and adventure trips as members of a travel group. Slowly, the original group had dispersed due to various reasons, but he and I had stayed on. I had also withdrawn from most activities of this group as new faces started to join, but he remained an enthusiastic traveler. He had emailed me about this white water river rafting trip to Rishikesh and persisted that I join, even if it meant making new friends. I had relented, finally, thinking a trip may bring up newer ideas for the collection of short stories that I was working on. He was happy to have me, as a traveling companion, also hoping to bring me out of what he called “self-imposed seclusion.”

Evening was drawing to a close. The sky was sprinkled with hues of red and blue, and the atmosphere was filled with the gurgle of the Ganges. The group, to whom I was introduced by my traveling companion, was a refreshing bunch of youngsters, reclining on the sand, after a game of beach volleyball. Beer bottles were being dug in to the sand to be chilled naturally. As the stars would cover the horizon, the beer bottles would be dug out and passed around with music, and laughter filling the air. I strolled around, soaking up the enigmatic ambience. Rishikesh always did this to me, I thought, always brought about a natural peace. I relished the indolence, the silence, the independence, and the oneness with nature.

“So, whats the new story?” He smiled as he joined me.
“Nothing!” I shrugged my shoulder.
“Good, I haven’t interrupted a story in the making then.”
“Not as of now.” I sat down beside him as he flopped on the beach.

The hues darkened and in the horizon the silhouette of the mountains became predominant. Flickering lights of motorists passing by appeared and disappeared, on the curved roads, as if the mountain was bedecked by glimmering stars.
“Quite romantic!” I sighed.
“Romantic! Is it? He said absent-mindedly.
I felt a vague irritation rising in me.
“Does romantic always have to be something to do with a man and a woman? Is your connotation of romantic always love or the consummation of love?” I expressed my irritation.
“Yes, for most people it is.” He answered.
I took a deep breath.
“Why are you always taking up the cause of your friend? Why do you  think I wronged him by not expecting his proposal? Why do you always believe like a male chauvinist that a woman’s place is only with a man?” I spent my breath.
“I never said that. I never believed in this school of thought. Had I believed in it, I would have settled down instead of being a vagabond, enjoying wanderlust.” He seemed surprised at my insinuation.
“Why then do you think I am not happy on my own, or I cannot romanticize the stars and the sky?”
“Because, I can see that you are not happy. You have an undefined quest. You rejected steadfast companionship and now you are lost and forlorn.”
“That’s how you perceive it to be. I am very happy, sir, and enjoying solitude and silence is the hallmark of a spiritually enlightened person.” I snapped back and got up in a huff.

To avoid the discomfiting conversation, I moved towards the group. Somebody waved at me, I responded, and walked towards the camp. A shrill whistle was directed towards my traveling companion, who took the cue and decided to join us. I stayed with the group to divert his attention from me. Somebody was stringing the guitar, and the beer bottles were being dug out. The mood was joyfully somber. The mountains and the river do this to you. They shuffle your soul and senses and bring out contradictory emotions. The guitarist started humming along and a soulful number permeated the ambience, with the audience swaying to the musical notes. I relaxed, enjoying the music and the breeze and the slight knot in my throat.

We spent hours of joyful banter and singing. I exchanged a smile with my traveling companion, burying the hatchet. And yet, it was true. I felt lost and forlorn, in spite of vehemently denying it. Dinner was served and slowly the group dispersed, rather couples dispersed. My friend sat down with the guitarist discussing the nuances of music. I grabbed a few bites, preoccupied with my thoughts. I recalled a old Hindi song that translated as “I was so alone, even in the midst of a crowd,” and a wry smile escaped my lips.

“When you want to marry someone, first ask yourself, whether that person will make a good parent to your children.” He spoke suddenly, closing his laptop, and sipping his coffee.
I had looked at him in astonishment. Children! I had never thought about children. I was surprised that a man actually had an opinion on child upbringing. In fact, I was surprised that he thought about marriage. I toyed with the idea thinking he wanted to suggest the premise of a new story.

I must have been silent for quite sometime, for my reverie was broken by another thunderbolt of a statement, “Do you think I will make a good father?”
“Yes, yes, why not!” I fumbled.
He seemed pleased by my response. He held my hand and said, “I think you will make a wonderful mother!”
I almost choked on the tears that suddenly welled up. He hugged me, thinking I was overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions. He was wrong. I was shocked and shaken and had an inkling of where this conversation would lead. I was going to lose a business partner, one of the most indulgent publishers, whom I had ever trusted. This conversation was the beginning of the end.

I had systematically alienated myself from him after this conversation. Rather I had treacherously alienated myself, for I started negotiations with a new publisher. I was too pragmatic to let somebody’s romantic inclinations wreak havoc with my next project, in fact, my entire writing career. Marriage, in-laws, and children – how can a writer sustain creative impulses in a web of stifling bonding! I was born free, thought freely, wrote freely; I was on a spiritual quest through the power of the word, my end being a celestial flight on the wings of imagination. I was seeking God through my writings, and deep contemplation. Human bonds would restrict me on a material plane. My place was not with a man but beyond the horizons.

The sky and the sand had become one, embracing darkness as if jealously guarding a lost love, who would disappear at dawn. The river whispered endearingly to the wind blowing over the silver sands and the shimmering water, and the soft breeze responded in melodious murmurs. A hot drop trickled down my cheeks. I looked up. It was not raining. It was a clear, star-studded night. A green hue kissed the skies, and blue jewels embellished the firmament. It was not a rain-drop. It was a tear.

Why was I crying, I asked myself, a weak throb in my heart? Was my traveling companion right in saying that I was unhappy with the decisions I had taken for myself? I pondered. I tried to shake away the thought, but it lingered. I peered into the darkness in front of me. It was frightening because just a couple of steps ahead of me a dark and deep river flowed. An unsuspecting stranger could walk right into the embrace of the waters, so close it flowed. I shivered at the thought. Another fear, the fear of water, shook me.

I was wrong, I thought. Life and the stories of life are not made up of memories and dreams, but of fear. Distortion is the result of this fear. We distort our perception to make these memories and dreams acceptable and bearable, for we fear the truth and reality. I had feared commitment and walked away from it believing that I would find joy and relief in pursuing my individual goals. And yet my heart yearned and my soul admonished me. I remembered, I recalled and I realized.

The dark waters beckoned me, urging me to conquer my fear. I got up and took the few paces to the rocky edge. I dipped one foot into the icy-cold water, and the other foot followed. I walked on the rocks, and then I was submerged waist-deep into the river. A chill went up my spine. I ignored it. I hastened my steps, and then I lost ground. I floated. The river slowly overpowered my movements. I let go of myself, and my fear, and the river slowly took me into its folds, into depths unknown, where fear was vanquished, once and for all.

Share and Show:

Baking is addictive. Having experimenting with various cakes over the weekends, I finally decided to move on to the next stage in sinful culinary mechanisms - decorating the cake. As always the first favorite is anything to do with chocolate and I experimented with chocolate glaze this weekend. I first baked the tried and tested Coffee-Cinnamon-Vanilla Cake and then followed this recipe for the glaze:

Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons of butter
• 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder
• 2 tablespoons of sugar
• Half a cup of full cream

Method:

Whisk together the cream, sugar, and cocoa powder. In a pan, heat the butter and then add the whisked mixture. Continuously stir on low heat for 7-10 minutes. Turn the heat and allow to get lukewarm. Pour over the cake and then decorate the cake with chocolate shavings and other condiments. Set the cake aside. To serve, microwave the cake slices for 10 seconds.

Share and Show: