For the young who want to

By Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don’t have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.’s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else’s mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you’re certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

Writers Anonymous: A 3 Step Program (Quentin Huff)

[Step One: Resentment]
Hi, My name is Quentin.
I’m a write-a-holic.
I can’t control it, can’t curb
the urge to write.
I need help.
I want my life back.

[Step Two: Commitment]
I write poems on fast food napkins,
with toothpicks, using ketchup for ink.
I jot ideas for poems
on my arms and legs. When I run out of space,
I use my shoes.
I make motions
similar to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk
when I need to erase.

I make up stories
while making love to my wife.
She left me. Who needs her?
She was suffocating my creativity.

I await submission replies
like an addict, hands trembling,
head shaking in disbelief.
Not another bout with rejection!
I’m manic depressive.
I’m happy to be here.
No I’m not.

I live for revision.
Instead of sex, I have poems.
I eat feedback.

[Step 3: Contentment]
As a recovering write-a-holic,
admitting my problem
has provided a much needed catharsis.
Joining this nurturing group has

(Excuse me,
but are you going to throw away that paper cup?
That’s good paper!)

taught me to reconcile my past
and move forward.

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Film for Pratham

We recently made a film for Pratham, an NGO dealing with education. Here’s the English Section of the film. Looking forward to your feedback!

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Close Encounters of the Fake & Capital Kind

It is 1.30 am on November 23, 2005. A thirty-eight year old man and his wife are traveling on a luxury bus from Hyderabad to Sangli, Maharashtra. A friend by the name of Tulsiram Prajapati is accompanying them. The bus driver is trying hard to stay awake, when a Qualis swerves in front of him. He brakes hard. Another car, a Tata Sumo, pulls up beside him. Five ATS officers dressed in plain clothes storm the bus. They tell the driver to stay calm, they are simply conducting a routine police check. The man is dragged out of the car. His wife screams, begging for his release while insisting that she remains with him. Both are taken away, along with Prajapati.

Within a few days the man is shot dead. He is labeled a terrorist, an agent for the LET, conspiring to kill political leaders including Narendra Modi. His name, Sohrabuddin, suitably fits the profile of a terrorist. The woman is alive for a few more days, after which she too is killed, her body burnt, her remains missing forever.

The friend is safe – for the moment. On December 28, 2006, a little over a year later, he too is shot dead. Police claim he was a member of the Sharif Pathan gang. In actuality, he was a witness to police terrorism.

It is now 2010. Rajkumar Pandiya, one of the IPS officers accused of killing Sohrabuddin, is brought to court for a bail plea hearing. Through his counsel, Ram Jethmalani, he says that he “should have been honoured and not hounded” for eliminating a notorious terrorist. He continues, somewhat ironically, Sohrabuddin may have been “killed in a fake encounter, but for that the process of law cannot be subverted.”

On the same day, another man is brought to court in Mumbai. He is accused of a similar charge. Shooting innocent civilians at a point blank range. His name is Mohammed Ajmal Amir Kasab – the lone surviving terrorist of the Mumbai attacks in 2008. It is yet to be decided whether he will be sentenced to death.

The similarity between the so-called protectors of the nation and the so-called enemies of the nation is uncanny. The point is there is always a justification. Always a few words which can make an action seem right. Whether it is a corrupt police officer staging an encounter, a young man with an ideology and an AK-47, or even a court of law sentencing a criminal on the basis of verifiable evidence, everyone has a reason.

Without going into the finer details of what is justice, I believe it is safe to say that there is no ‘honour’ in killing. If Ajmal Kasab can be sentenced to death for killing, I believe the Indian state is guilty of the same crime. Should the Indian state then be sentenced to the same punishment?

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