Sound?sound fascinates me. It makes me feel--calm, anxious, worried, and sometimes, crazy. But, never angry.

The first time I noticed sounds around me was when I was a baby in the crib. The leaves of the cherry tree out side my window whispered to me. When I cried to be picked up at night, I heard angry sounds--my parents fighting. The flower vase crashing onto the wall and breaking into pieces that sprayed into my crib. Then, I'd hear my own scream penetrate the night. I'd pause for a moment just to hear the lack of sound which I?d then break with another piercing scream. My parents seldom interrupted their own noise to pick me up. As I exhaust my lungs I'd hear another rhythm rising out of my baby chest. Yes, I listened to the sounds of my own heartbeat that raced through the pitch blackness of my crib. My heartbeats gave me a steady momentum. It was the only thing I could count on among all my erratic movements: chubby, flailing arms that waved like antennas of a sea anemone--arms, which often boxed me with clenched fists. Fat legs that kicked in protest desiring to run away from those angry sounds at night. But, it was the whispers of leaves which wafted into my crib through the open window that lulled me to sleep. Even the humidity of my room did not disturb me as I lay in sweat soaked blankets.

They told my mother that I was different. I was slow, slower than children of my age. I am five years old. The "test lady" told my mother that I was a three-year old inside my five year old body. I know it's not true because I am smarter than my three-year-old baby sister, Maggie. No one knows this. Although, she did show me how to button up my shirt straight up the front of my belly, right up to my throat. I have fat fingers that act like melting butter. I can?t hold pencils, crayons or buttons "correctly". My mother told me I needed to hold tight until I'd get a good "correct" grip. I don?t know what that means.

Color dominates my actions. Red paint, red nail polish, red cloth, red crayons and even red lipstick make me react. My mother smacked me for eating her red and orange lipsticks. My teacher punished me for biting bits off the red crayons she had sorted for the children to draw a sunset with. The "talking lady" told my mother that I was "oral" and that I would outgrow it. But she does not know me. She does not know the power "red" has over me. She has not seen me jab my finger with a paper clip until red oozes out. A slow trickle, first and then a welling of red--bright- ruby- red, pigeon-blood- red as it runs over the dent of the jab. While I watch, the first drop falls in slow motion as it splatters onto the concrete in a perfect circle with jagged edges. Almost like a small setting sun. Through practice I have learned that the angle of my wounded finger makes the splash a circle or even an oval like a rain drop. "Oval" is the shape I learned in school. Oval rain drops, oval tears, and oval blood drops. Then, with a small stick, I trace red shapes and stick figures of my mother, baby Maggie and me. I know I can hold a paper clip correctly when I draw red. But, I don?t draw my father.

...............To be continued

SITARA,

I second isolated freak's take on the way ahead in terms of advancing to the next level. I genuinely think that you should actively try and seek the attention of the publishing world with a view to having your works reviewed and subsequently published. That said, I wouldn't easily discount the possibility of Sajha's forums to act as a potent medium to sharpen my perspectives. Sajha readers may well lack the technical expertise to comment on your literary works but whatever you can draw together from their inputs will be useful in terms of keeping with the flow and momentum. Even an occasional word of encouragement or thanks can be very helpful especially during when one gets succumbed to those defeatist fits - the feeling of getting nowhere. A pat on the shoulder is what one needs and Sajha does just that if anything at all - a pat on the shoulder.

About the piece. Enjoyed the read. A few observations:
The story has that very impressionistic feel to it - very much a product of the 'stream of consciousness' if I can quote William James. Details such as the 'piercing' screaming cries and the pulsating 'heartbeats' of your young narrator (the narrator is presumably an adult recounting her past from the present) reflect one readily visible and perhaps the key element of the story in my opinion - its auditory quality. The title says it all. The narrative then moves from the auditory to the visual in the concluding paragraph. The primary colour 'Red' denotes boldness on the narrator's part - a boldness in her expression of the self perhaps. The dripping blood reminded me of stigmata depicted in many of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings with religious subjects such as Christ's crucifixion. This is straying away from the main point though - thought I might insert an aside so as to stress the visual quality of the narrative. The narrator's thoughts are poured onto the page as if in torrents and this multitude of thoughts allows the narrative to produce the decidedly impressionistic simmering imagery. The first person narrative helps to heighten this. Many of Virginia Woolf's short stories have that quality, such as 'The New Dress'.

The story also has a feminist aspect to it - my own interpretation again. For example, the narrator harbours a secret desire 'to run away from those angry sounds at night', a resolve to break free from the shackles of a dysfunctional patriarchy-dominated domestic setting; the father has all the excuses to quarrel with the mother, hence the main source of misery that the narrator is having to put up as a child. I think, the concluding line 'I don't draw my father' is clearly a bold indication towards the narrator's attainment of independence and of the power to stand up to and face the scourge of social demands brought upon by a patriarchal authority.

Okay enough said. SITARA, the woffle above is merely a reflection of what I think when I read stuff. So my observations hold no critical merit, so bear that in mind as a caveat. It's been talking. Have a good weekend.
Carpe diem.

Hi Humdrum, thank you! thank you! (AAA)! That's the first hatrick I've made this year! The last time, my car was towed by (AAA)! ;)


Woooooohooooooo Sandhurst ji! Pray do not scare the daylights out of this wannabe writer by reaching beyond the narrator into the psyche of the author! :) Boy am I impressed by your analysis! You see, I do get wonderful and constructive feedback from Sajha. :)

Referring to the story: The first person narration is a POV (point of view) I like to use for short stories. Despite its limitation and one dimensional journey into the mind of a narrator, I find first person POV to be powerful and intimate. In this case where Danny is a mentally ill child where he perceives everything sensorially, I thought a third person omniscience view would create a distance in appropriate for this type of story.

One of the most powerful first person narrations I've ever read is "Lolita" by Nabokov. If you've read him, I'm sure you were drawn to his power of narration where he seduces you as a reader to hear him out as he "logically" justifies his perversions .

As for me, I am just dabbling in primary colors! :)

SITARA,
Morning. Lovely to start off the morning by reading your posts as ever.

Thanks for the quick resume of the stylistic anatomy of your prose in 'Sounds' - I thought the narrator was a 'she' as opposed to a 'he'. Very dangerous that is - little knowledge. You might perhaps append the remaining part of the story to this thread if there is one.

Yes, the first person narration allows little latitude in the way of focalising other characters' perspectives - but then, as you rightly point out, it is the intimacy with which a writer feels most and readily at ease when expressing the deeper emotions of his/her characters - something the third person 'omniscient' narration perhaps, to a greater extent, fails to achieve . Reaching beyond the kernels of truth as it were. What I find fascinating about the short story genre though is the stylistic diversity that many generations of writers have brought to it - female writers in particular since Bloomsbury's foremost luminary, Virginia Woolf. Take Jamaica Kincaid's 'Girl' as an example. You have absolutely no idea of who the narrator is, though we eventually know that there are two female voices. The story if you have not read it already is a very short one, an A4 page long; the complex narrative - internal monologue - is broken down by sporadic dashes, semi-colons, comas, and ends with a question mark as opposed to with a full stop. So there is very little sense of forward movement but its effects are massive. It's the charged intimacy with which Kincaid presents her subjects' inner feelings - you can feel the mother's rant to her daughter and vice versa. There is quite a bit of sensory perception at play there just like in 'Sounds'. A fine use of the 'stream of consciousness' technique. Talking about this narrative form in novels, one novel springs to mind immediately: Alice Walker's 'The Color Purple'. Wonderful prose - it's amazing just how eloquently her most celebrated character, Celie, expresses her inner-most feelings in her letters to God; only the first person narration could have achieved such effects and meaning. We see and all too readily sense, through her letters, the enormity of her misery and the oppression meted out to her and other female characters by the patriarchal authority and also enjoy seeing her achieving womanhood and thus her ultimate emancipation from the shackles of all the social ills. Her independence from 'the multiple jeopardy' - race, gender and social status. Okay, I have got to stop there - going off tangent again!

SITARA, I might perhaps discount my deduction on the feminist element in the story - I was a little overboard there, I suppose, now that I know, the germ of the story predominantly rests with the child's sensory perceptions as well as his development. My Derrida deconstruction does really need some fine-tuning, mind you!

No, I haven't read Nabokov; have read a few of his predecessors, the likes of Turgeneve, Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn etc. Oh, some Akhmatova and Brodsky poetry as well. That's all. Have seen the film though - Lolita. Only Jeremy Iron could do it. Iron is one of my fav English actors. Iron steals the show as an English poet in Bertulucci's 'Stealing Beauty'. You must have seen the film. Worth a watch - some fantastic Tuscan scenes. I know, I have this obsession with Tuscany and Italy! Might talk about it at some other time.

Have a good day. Carpe diem.

Oh, SITARA,

Forgot to metion on thing. You said:
********************
Pray do not scare the daylights out of this wannabe writer by reaching beyond the narrator into the psyche of the author!
********************

Could you do me a favour by dropping 'wannabe' from your sentence in toto . Then only will I be a happy man!

Carpe diem.

Sandhurst, sire you put me to shame with your impressive repertoire of Literary readings. As for me, I have not made it to many of the stories you've mentioned. This, because I tend to lean towards novels and a very select group of authers. I do however, enjoy Woolf, Kincaid, Lamott and contemporary novelists like Picoult, Chevalier,Russo... and the list goes on. One of my BA's was in Literature and having to disect Shakepeare, Russell, Chekov burned me out. I washed my hands off critical analysis for a period of almost 15 years sinfully submerged myself into pleasure readings. Now, I'm back again "reading like a writer" because I have taken up writing. The deconstruction of any prose kills the romance for me but I have no other option, if I want to understand the craft of writing.

Thank you for your interesting commentary. Always a pleasure reading you.

Good afternoon SITARA. Like you, found and still find Shakespeare, Milton et al mighty tough. Enjoyed Chekov though - was part of my honours. Three Sisters is cracking. Once been to a West End production of the play with Indira Varma in it. Lovely.

Let's do some small talk. Whereabouts are you in the US??

Ooh Sitara, where art thou? Long time no see... Such an eloquent piece as always. I will comment more later.

Keep it up

Hellbound:)

Hellbound, gentle sir, what a pleasure to get a glimpse of you! You know, I had a good mind to put out a "search and rescue "thread for Hellbound and his gazals. Actually, I was thinking about your piece on "chatting" and how well you described the subtle/not so nuances of your friend's addiction... was a great piece.

Sandhurst; I am from MD, USA... I gather your maps, traps, GPS and sacks may be require retiring. So, No wildgoose chase from this end of "my center of the world"! :P

Sitara ji,

arko piece khoi? :-) euta kahatara anecdote/vignette (sp?) lekhna paryo ni...i'll buy you a cup of steaming cup of Java latte or a tuborg/san migue/carlesberg, how's that?

Your's
IF (in a great mood today!)

Hey hey IF!

Lovely to see you in a great mood. Java latte would do. Thanks! Will trigger memories of Java Cafe...where ther Java dudes hang out with Bali (Belly?) Babes in Thamel! :P

Ok A vignette in another thread! No school today, my sweet. My mood is as great as yours! :)

Awesome. Great. I am just hap[py today. Seeing your good friends after 5 years and drinking with them, believe me, its the best feeling in the world. It wlould have been even more awesomwe if you were here.

happiness knows no bounds!

bali babe always on my mind!

SITARA, good to see you. Afternoon or is that morning there in Amrika now? Anyway, me still stuck in my cosy sanctum of brick walls and what have you, working my way though the two trays that lie haphazardly on my table. The mapple leaves outside my office window have gone all yellowish and dangly - looks like the winter has set in early this year. So, sipping my freshly brewed cuppa to finish off the day and head home happy and rejuvenated. The weekend is going to be a dark dreary one apparently, so nothing else planned, well except brew more of those cuppas and tug under my Scottish rug and watch some good programmes on tele for all night long.

Oh, about Java cafe. Rearlly good. Did have some of those lattes when I was home in January.

Iso Freak - you in Nepal currently? Lucky man. Have a good time - hey, drink some more of those lattes for me, will you!

Have a good weekend SITARA and IF. Cheerio.
Carpe diem.

Oh SITARA, the 'wild goose chase' is still on by the way with my sacks, GPS, maps and what not still in tact. Oh yes, but sadly, (:() your 'centre of the world' is way too far for this yours sincerely. So, he had better be happy with Scandinavia and Europe proper. :) But you'll never know!

:O missed this thread ki kyaa ho??? ____

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!! Must Read it soon... ooo!!!

Sitara hazur, Throw that shovel down please, u are scarin' me... padhchu, hau, padhchu!!!

Polythene ko bag, ploythene ko bag...
Bag bhitra 2 mutha raya saag...

(g2g ahile) :D

Cautious man Sandhurst! Smart is he who sticks to one side of the pond before treading on to deep waters! :) Have you read Rushdie's new book..."shalimar the clown" BTW?

Hey Donkey, monkey Kalanki! Kaam payena? Long time no see!

IF enjoy your precious moments. Perhaps, coming summer for me.

Looks like Sitara mama is a real freak. Mama, hope you don't pick up acchi thnking it's a donut.

Oh My! Lalupathey...Poinsetta...Crimson leaves, Such a beautiful mind you have to match that beautiful name! May you bloom to your fullest capacity!

Thanks for dropping by. :)

Sitara mama, by circumstances I happened to chek out an artilce on nepali Maoists on National Geographic society recomded by one of the sajha people, to my horrow, I saw some of people..........can u guess, Sitara mama, what was my feeling? But I decieded not to drop some of that ...........

Mama, are you a well known Nepali novelist?

Lalupathey, novelist...? not even close! Just a wannabe writer... a novice... an ardent admirer of writers and their imaginary world. :)