Excerpts of Experiences with my First Expert

The pity of it is that we never considered her an expert at anything. Well, we did but we were only being tongue in cheek.

We considered her an expert at booby-traps. She’d arrange things such that, if you moved one item, a whole pile might come crashing down. Ever since she passed away, I suspect she now resides in me as I’ve become that kind of expert these days. Fact is she was adventurous as you can see from this photo.

The bond with my first expert began long before I was born. She was so eager for me to manifest and be guided by her that she cherished a song from Navrang in the late months of pregnancy when a mother-to-be gets really impatient for the surprise gift to be unwrapped.

And, when I finally popped out, she made much of me, tending to me with all the keen care of a mentor. I was massaged and cuddled and, even before I acquired language, I was aware of how much I meant to her.

This expert had all the fervour of a connoisseur of diamonds. For her, I was Sunday’s child, dhanishta nakshatram who could turn all things to gold, I was her doll, I never peed or shat without warning and, so, was always a clean baby-thus my expert systematically brainwashed me.


All through infancy, my expert provided me with all the warmth of her love. Until I got married, I always slept tightly embracing my expert.


My expert was also my bodyguard. On a nightly basis, she protected me from ghosts and geckos. When I had to pay the toilet a late-night visit, my amma was there to walk sleepily with me, thus warding off bogeyman and his hordes. At the toilet, she had to go in first to ensure that no gecko was lurking anywhere. And, should there have been one, she would manfully drive it far away from me.

From my expert I found out a lot about beauty, inner and outer. Alas, she was living the life of an ascetic when I grew into womanhood but it is from her old photos that I came to know that she was an expert in the use of cosmetics. Though I let my hair grey now even as she did, were she still here today, I'd have taken her to a salon on Mother's Day and coloured our hair just for kicks.

While grey is good, and it's not do or dye, I'd love to have seen my expert's long hair gleam with magic. Perhaps I'll work up the courage to do it alone-for her.



When I was a teenager, we once had to walk to a clinic close to midnight, as my father was hospitalised there. On the way, a man got off his cycle and blocked our path. My expert proved her worth as she instantly recognised danger and pushed me behind her and surged forward with her slipper in hand. I suspect that man was an exhibitionist for he whimpered and promptly rode away into the night.

Teenage heartbreaks were always unquestioningly soothed by the expert who knew the greatest truth: just hug, just wipe away tears, just be there…All my secrets were safe with her-she knew me inside out.

Thanks to my expert, I topped all exams, from school final to my BSc. And I realised her worth only when I did not top after parting from her.

What was the secret? My expert would listen to me mug up my lessons, however tired she was. Often, she was so exhausted by all the household chores that she would fall asleep while listening to me read aloud. I would then scold her and she would apologise and assure me she was paying full attention.

No film was worth watching without my expert. We saw many Hindi, Tamil and English films together and my expert never failed to bring a greater enjoyment to the experience. Again, we had another “our song”, listening to which we both got lumps in our throat.

It is from my expert that I learned to cook, to clean, to study, to be a wife and mother, a friend, and all the many essential roles of life. From how to wear a sari to how to care for a pet, my expert was there to take me through all the steps.

All this light stuff apart, my expert taught me all that has helped me survive, all that has made me who I am, all the strengths needed to face life.

And, as is the way with the best of experts, she did it via example. The example of selfless service, of the ability to listen without judging, of offering, instantly and without reservation, a pair of cuddling arms.

My expert taught me all that is needed to practise Dasya Bhava.

Maa, tujhe Salaam! 

Stupid Guy Goes To India - A Graphic Novel

Stupid Guy Goes To India by Yukichi Yamamatsu is my first manga. While my desire to read manga grew in direct proportion to my increasing engagement with Japanese doramas and films, most of which are based on manga, I did not know where to begin. By this time, I had even forgotten my excitement at seeing this book at a Comic Con in Delhi, some years back.

So, I was justifiably thrilled to see it at my library. With my new strategy for catching up on reading, including a self-imposed challenge, I finished this graphic account yesterday.

It is hard to say if I would have enjoyed it as much had I not been such a fan of J doramas and films. Perhaps I would still be enchanted with it as my recent search is for books from other voices.

Even today, most people, the world over, read "White". Most best-sellers, most books which get some exposure, are either by authors of European origin or have been endorsed by bodies in lands with European origin population majorities.

Of late, I'm on the lookout for authors outside this circle and for accounts by non-White authors which explore other non-White cultures. One reason for this is that we have been brainwashed to think that we, the victims of racism, are the most racist. It is pointed out that we behave most intolerantly to the other. This is not so well borne out by traveler accounts from among our many nations which pre-date colonialism.

Published by Blaft Publications Private Limited in association with Tranquebar, this 230 page book reads from right to left and from back to front. That, in itself, made this a gourmet experience.

Author Yukichi Yamamatsu, was already a recognized name in the world of Japanese manga when he first came to India. The result of this visit is his autobiographical account, first published in Japanese in 2008.

Translator Kumar Sivasubramanian, an Indian-born Canadian, who has translated over sixty volumes of manga to English,  has done justice to the incredible task at hand.

The cover, it seems, has been changed to avoid the usual Hindu fanatic uproar.

In 2004, 56 year-old mangaka, Yukichi Yamamatsu, who, very uncharacteristically for a person from Japan, cannot even use a cell phone, comes to India to introduce us to mangas by getting them translated into Hindi and selling them. This book is about the trials and tribulations that he faces in this Herculean task. He has scant funds and an even scanter knowledge of either English or Hindi. He has diabetes and some terrible bowel condition.

Called Indo e Baka ga Yattekita, the outcome of that visit was translated into English three years later by Blaft Publication, in Chennai, as Stupid Guy Goes to India.

His irreverent humour which does not even spare himself peppers the book. Delhi and its denizens are described most mercilessly, yet with incredible affection. Right from the word go, he is swindled, but he learns to bargain fiercely, travels in all forms of public transport, gets lost and meets many bizarre adventures in his quest.  

The graphic narrative follows his search for a place to live, food to eat as our food is too spicy for him, locating a clean latrine when his bowel condition needs attention or buying sandals and many other mundane pursuits which turn out to be almost phantasmagorical.

And then he has to locate a translator. From landlords to auto drivers, cops to shoe sellers, he meets all kinds of typical Delhi "namoonas" (specimens). It's an education in itself to go through his struggles to find a translator, paper, to get the manga printed and to find out how and where to sell it.

Reading the many Indian reviews on this book, I smile. The slightly shocked tone shows me that they have not cut their teeth on Japanese humour.

I can imagine an Indian fuming at his representation of our typical head shakes, his "graphic is right" description of our toilets and even getting apoplectic at his depiction of his visit to a brothel.

The remarkable contrast between Japan and India comes through as he finds that Indian cello tape is not easy to peel off and otherwise handle for his purposes and other instances where perfection is not a priority in India. Obviously, he invents a cheap solution but no one will buy it just as he can find no takers for the manga.

It's soon apparent that he has done no homework for this visit, but with all the dreadful misunderstandings, he finds time to play marbles with urchins and even bet on horses.

Mostly, it's an account of all that goes wrong: a bewildering time at the airport on arrival, frustrating interactions at the first hotel he had booked into, cow dung on the streets, greedy guides and auto drivers.

The manga he's trying to get translated into Hindi and sell here is Hiroshi Hirata's Chi Daruma Kenpo (“Bloody Swordplay”), which seems fairly obscure even by world manga standards.  

All he has is a Hindi phrase-book and, for some time, a kind of guardian angel to bolster him against all sorts of mishaps in putting the translated Hindi words into the speech balloons, and delays, publishing goof-ups, the cost of paper, trouble with fonts, missing colours and oily smudges. The Samurai confronts the mighty Indian Chalta Hai.

“Aren’t Indian people interested in anything? What’s going through their minds?”

I could not put better this fine balance between his outrage and the real bonding that happens between us, the "others", than these lines from Rrishi Raote

"Indians in these drawings often look angry and appear to be shouting. The mangaka illustrates his incomprehension by showing Hindi words as little geometric symbols. But the settings, whether streetside, indoors, in a marketplace or a small businessman’s office-workshop, are closely observed and credible. One doesn’t feel the sting of an outsider’s summary judgement."

I wonder why we get hurt at his view of us. After all isn't our view of the Japanese as jaundiced? 

And I wonder why he did not head for the arty farty sections of Delhi but all my admiration goes out to him for finding the real people and coping there.

Convulsively hilarious are his attempts to make money - manga drawing classes, producing, or trying to sell little tin things to tear cellotape at Rs 10 each.

We have to admire his persistence and perseverance though he achieves nothing on this trip. Well, his six months here were not entirely fruitless as his manga did well in Japan.

And we now have a sequel.

Writer Rites-Part 1

Today's writer can't afford the proverbial ivory tower. It's a hard struggle to get published, even with the new phenomenon of self-publishing.  And that's a good thing because there're loads of writer resources out there to get the ink flowing. 

On Twitter, Facebook, Stumbleupon, Pinterest and other social media, you'll find a host of tips and tricks of the trade. I'm an ardent follower of many such links.

It's not that you'll start rolling in money by merely reading them, or even if you adhere to their instructions.

Even if you're published, there's no point if no one pays a penny for your thoughts.

Besides writing worthwhile content, you've got to get it out there and get it read. And that's not enough these days. Not many copies will sell, piracy or not. This is the depressing truth.

So, should you give up?

No.

All is not lost. Look at it this way: writing is your passion, right? Your passion rarely pays your bills. However, your passion can help fuel a following. A faithful readership of your blog and other output, can be called into action, when the time comes, to buy (rare and difficult to achieve) your books and to prove to sponsors that you've a sizeable following.

Everyone wants to be a someone. Failing which, everyone wants to be seen with someone. If you can manage to work up the confidence, get into the public eye. It's not that difficult if you put some sweat into it. There's always a need for speakers at some event or other-keep a look out for such opportunities. Workshops can work wonders to promote a non-entity to a certain level of stardom-craft one and fill the public need for something or the other. Schools and colleges, libraries and many other organisations often need "fillers". Tweet about your talk or workshop, Face Book it, blog it...

Once you're a somebody, your output is a conversation piece, coveted coffee table décor.

I don't know if I'll ever make it but, with the help of free resources for writers, I'll get cracking, at the very least.

Most of these resources are put together by writers of some contemporary success and a lot of them lay bare their various trials and triumphs.

So, though I write regularly, I'm, as of now, setting myself an agenda.

A good first step is to follow the Ray Bradbury Challenge.

The Ray Bradbury Challenge is based on advice Ray gave to writers. Part one is to read one short story, one poem, and one essay every night for 1000 nights. Part two is to write at least one short story every week for a year or more. He said it's impossible to write 52 bad stories in a row. It must therefore also be impossible to write over 140 bad stories in a row!

If you'd like to keep up with what I'm reading for this challenge,  follow me on writersrites.
Access resources on my Pinterest Board Writer Rites.