Confessions of the Average Joe

Invictus is a great poem. McVeigh sent it to the papers before he was executed.

Invictus
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods maybe
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishment the scroll
I am the Master of my fate
I am the Captain of my soul.

-- William Earnest Henley

Harimau, it was a thing that I had genuinely done. I had an old pair of jeans which I insisted on wearing despite my mom`s protest. I was particularly in love with the poem then (and am as much, even now). To `decorate` the pants I had written `Invictus` on the left leg of the pants in the front.

Re-read the name Lien Sitarsh, you might notice something interesting about it. :)

``Why, he even wrote “Invictus” on his pants!``

On the front or the back? ;-)

Samina: Gesture Life sounds interesting; look forward to reading it. Thanks!

Neil: I believe it was Naguib Mahfouz who said, ``As you love, so you shall be judged.`` I hope Chaman Charlie grows up to recognise true love, in whatever shape or form it may choose to meet him.

Regards,

Aamir

Amir,

The unreliable narrator (as diffentiated by the destabilized narrator) is a great literary device. Ishiguro and Chang Rae Lee`s Gesture Life have used this- Lee`s effect was profoundly moving. In Gesture Life, A Japanese American elderly man is keeping at bay the memories he had of being a soldier during WWII and his love for a young Korean comfort woman who is brutalized- as comfort women were. His unreliability underscores his trauma at being witness and forced participant in male, militarised Japanese history.

Other unreliable narrators- Humbert in Lolita, Martin Amis has many- but his narrator in Money stands out to comic effect are two that immediately come to mind.

Samina Shah: is that a recognised theme in contemporary literature, the unreliable narrator? I recall Kazuo Ishiguro`s When We Were Orphans also being based on the same idea.

Invictus,

re: ``I sent this story to a few friends of mine. A select few who I thought would understand what I was trying to say. Suprisingly (or may be not) no one did...``

Perhaps you need more discriminating readers :)

I`d be interested in reading Maya`s version.

I recall a similar story titled ``Nuns and Tawaifs`` that ``Solitude`` wrote on Chowk. That story developed the predicament of a young man coming out of Pakistan to an American university, bringing with him his concepts of how men ought to look at women that are not hgeir mothers and sisters. He runs into a local girl and the prospect of intimacy forces him into a confusion. The attraction of the opposite sex - and guilt about the three lettered word.

That guilt about accepting that one wants sex, is what makes teen age interesting. Things fall into perspective once th mystery is over. But until that happens, the mind gets caledoscopic in interpreting the intense feelings and thoughts. Decades ago, children got married early, had their harmonic pressures catered to in a reasonable timeframe. Now what we have is what psychologists call ``psycho-social moratorium``. Where the body is ready for it, but real or imagined societal pressure says otherwise.

The western society pulled the plug on such ``problems`` in the sixties by liberalizing male female intimacy, and not restricting it to a married relationship. For the young ones it is a way of life. For those who belong to the older generation, well they are obliged to be philosophical about it.

But the two authors sure andled the theme well. Good job, Neil.

cipram:

``with the passage of time you would be able to exploite every kind.``


Actually, `exploiting` anyone is usually not on AJ`s agenda.

He`s in love with a self-created image of the other...seen thru a veil of glamour. He usually notices just the face and some external mannerisms...some unexplainable cosmic combination that triggers something deep inside him...something that opens a hidden well of very pleasurable fantasy.

Neil gets it perfectly:

``Maya has light brown eyes, and her complexion is flawless. But no, that’s not what I noticed; it wasn’t her lovely brown hair. No I guess I was just smitten. It’s a feeling one can’t explain.``

Then, like a drug addict, he returns to drink at that fantasy well, time and again...sometimes well into his 40`s or 50`s.

Confessions of average Joes are similar. They fall in love with the soul, hardly ever find the soul and reject the dreams they see in their sleep. An average Joe will not be average only if he calls a spade a spade. It is the body you love, soul is what the body creates. Going beyong your body is only a falsehood.

Re: Cipram #5 is that what most males look forward to? exploiting all types of girls?

I sent this story to a few friends of mine. A select few who I thought would understand what I was trying to say. Suprisingly (or may be not) no one did.

I got a whole lot of sympathetic responses. The ``Hota hai yaar!`` kind, which was absolutely not what I was looking for! So I guessed I must`ve have faltered somewhere in the narration.

I wrote this story after reading two books, and speaking to a few people. The books were Ayn Rand`s Atlas Shrugged and John Fowles` ``The Collector``. (For those of you who haven`t read the latter, it`s a recommended read.)

The general impression that I got was there are two kinds of people, the ones who are proud of their liking, not afraid to speak about it, (though not the loud shout-from-roof-tops kind) and then there are the others who will keep it to themselves. Our Joe is in the second category. The ``Dil hai CHOTA sa, CHHOTISI asha`` kind. The kind who will baulk at thinking big.

Saminasha got it bang-on. It was the hypocrises of the narrator that I wished to bring to the fore.

The immediate stimulus for writing this story was a comment by one of my classmates. He said: ``Arrey, you know what? Aishwarya Rai has had SIX abortions! And damn! I always thought she was a virgin!``. For some reason I wanted to laugh out loud, though propriety demanded that I sympathise with him.

That said, some of the fantasies were indeed mine, especially about the house in the suburbs. (Though now it`s grown manifold to a bungalow by the lake-side).

And I do prefer the intelligent girl to the pretty ones, but I have been lucky enough to meet a few rare ones who combine both, and those are the ones I worship. Maya was based on such a girl that I have in my college, a junior, very intelligent and yet very sociable.

I think the bane of the story was the fact that I didn`t know how to end it. I could have written reams and reams more, but it had to stop somewhere, that probably did the story in somewhat.

Thanks for your responses everyone.

What`s interesting about this is that the writer shows readers the subtle hypocrisies and contradictions of the narrator`s attitude towards a woman he is infatuated with. There is an slight acknowledgement of the Virgin/Whore dicotomy that seems to distort male/female relationships past honesty or equality into something more illusionary/fantastical than anything else.

Are we meant to sympathize with the ``nice`` young narrator? Yes and no; his desires are seemingly noble and humble...but there is a great deal of self deception and prejudices here-and developed properly, this could be the beggining of a very interesting unreliable narrator...nice start, author.

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lesson of the story: have all the unchaste thoughts and fantasies before the image gets ruined!

Neil, enjoyed it very much. Brought back memories.

``I dream of my own little house in the suburbs, where I come in after a tired day, she she’s there, with her saree tucked, and a little worked up, and I go quietly from behind and grab her. How incredibly romantic!``

Sheesh man! You too!

I hid that one somewhere in the lowest basement of my mind...along with other embarassing stuff.