My Pen. Your Power.

I did not want to be late. I needed to attended the ELF event and write a synopsis about it.  A synopsis covers the entire plot or event arc.

I pressed my accelerator to catch the green signal before it turned red. I navigated the arc and took the U-turn quickly.

A synopsis also covers the twists and the major turning points.

I was stuck again, right in front of the Al Serkel building. Ahead of me, the GMC truck was stuck too in the narrow curve. Someone was trying move his vehicle front and back. I became restless and worried. This was my first ELF event and would not want to missing anything.

The email from ELF had reminded me to come early and grab the parking space. There was bumper to bumper jam. The truck moved ahead finally and to my luck someone vacated the parking space too.

I squeezed in my car, switched off its engine and hasten towards the Fikr Institute.

Just as I walked in, the I-Pad guys closed in towards me to check my reservation> He  checked me in and pointed towards the pantry area.

“ You may grab your coffee Sir”, said Carl.

I thanked him and move towards the Kabayan who was seated behind the table.

“Black Tea”, I said.

“ Sugar?”, she narrowed her brows with a bland face.

“Medium”, I said wondering what was aching her.

She took her own time to stir the sugar. I must admit that was best black tea I had ever. With my tea in hand, I roamed around the Fikr Institute. Fikr in Arabic means ‘thought’, and I became became indulgent in my thoughts. Fikr Intitute was a mini Babylon of books. A million books in every hue and size.  My pride as a writer took a beating while I stood in front of the mini wonder. There is so much in Dubai one would not know.

At about 40 feet,  on the top rack, I could notice the bold cover, “ How to make a slave”. Challenging it was another book, “Flight to Freedom”, an amazing contrast.

I looked around to see if there were familiar faces. Vishnu, Nicole, Nuha, Marina. None. Not a soul to smile at, not a hand to shake.

I moved my head around and glanced at the attendees. Fair faced elite, who looked like they had penned a thousand books. They chatted with each other as though they each other for years. Smiles, gigles, gossips. Many of them were women.  I sensed the intimidation in me and setted in the corner, just like other men.  Somewhere I had read about the ‘imposter syndome’. I refused to be its victim.

The program started at 7 p.m.  the ethereal Ahlam Bolooki took the microphone to welcome the guest with her opening remarks, briefing us the achievement of ELF and the participants. Her charm, elegance and simplicity revealed that was at ease with every responsibility she had shouldered. Some people have that natural ability.

Then Saba Brelvi and Annabel Kantaria walked towards the stage. Anna was Saba’s mentor. It was a proud moment for both of them to launch Saba’s book, “The Squatters”.

Annabel carried an aura around. The more she tried to suppress it, the radiant it became and made her presence felt in the event hall.

Saba was at ease. She wanted to make everyone feel that she was newbie in the arena of literature, but I refused to believe. She delved into the journey of participating in the Emirates Liftfest, how she got selected, then the first time of everything, the manuscript, the engagement with her mentor, the literarary agents, the publishers, everything.

“You don’t have to write too much. Let it trigger the imagination of your readers”, Will Eaves, the renowned British Novelist had advised her.

“Then how I tell my story in few words”, that was a challenged I would have to overcome.

Anyways, Saba had paid for that advise and we got it free along with the sandwiches.

Annabel’s questions were scripted, perhaps to draw the attention towards Saba. The audience straightened while Saba started to flip through the pages of “The Squatters”.

Hajira, the character in the novel, was in the process of delivering her baby on the boat. That evoked passion in the audience. I did not for me. I have seen women delivering babies on pavements in India. I write thrillers. I needed a shark to follow to the boat.

Dalia, the protoganist, was in semblence with Saba Brelvi herself. Perhaps, Saba had masqueraded her own facts into a fiction, one would never know. But as a writer, I know. There about an abundant room to live ourselves on the pages of the books we write.

I was more keen to know about Saba herself.  A masters from John Hopkins and twenty years as a social worker helping the homeless, the marginalized said it all. No wonder she was at ease at whatever she was doing.

The event finished. Saba went to sign the copies before presenting it to her eager readers. There were more than thirty people in the queue. That was heartening to see.

The Synopsis of a book should capture the end part of it. But this was a new beginning for Saba.

Some day, we all look forward to the same. To be seated next to Anna, with our novel in our hand. In everyone’s hand.

For me it has begun.