A Real Dilemma

I was reading a magazine today, the filmy kinds, and I came across an interview of Naseeruddin Shah. Along with other things he mentioned that it really irritates him when admirers/fans/the general fawning junta comes and meets him specially when he trying to grab a quite family moment, eating out with his children. In fact he goes on to say that he almost feels like punching the guy.
Unlike a lot of other people I can understand why he would want to avoid admiring groupies who will more often than not tell how they are his greatest fan. A man would want to switch off once in a while and he is entitled to that. And that brings me to my real dilemma, I mean if I ever came across him, face to face in a restaurant how will I resist the temptation to walk across to him and tell him that in fact I am indeed his greatest fan.
Having read that he hates it, it would really be unethical to still go and gush and hmm and haww and display my incredibly inarticulate groupie behavior. But then how will I not tell him that for me he is one of the finest actors that Indian cinema has seen. How will I not tell him that I loved Masoom, Sparsh, Monsoon Wedding, Mirch Masala, Katha, Jaane Bhi Do Yaroon, Junoon, Ijaazat, Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa, Omkara, Ishqiya. Infact how he is a part of almost all of my favorite movies, how his vulnerability as the helpless father in Masoom and Monsoon Wedding touched a raw nerve. How his impeccable Urdu diction in Junoon, Mirza Ghalib made me fall in love with the language, how his throaty laughter in Katha made villainy cool, how I even loved him in Tridev. How I loved Waiting for Godot only for him, how I watched the play The Prophet alone. How I marveled at how he took a superlative book to a new high.
Now how can you not call this a real dilemma, the toss between being polite, cool, suave and grabbing the once in a lifetime opportunity of meeting your hero. Yes, this is a hypothetical dilemma but real nonetheless. But since he also said in the interview that he is never rude to such gushing fans, I will take my chances.

P.S: Why is this post in theblogonbooks, because sometimes the movies can be sheer poetry.

Some of the Books I read but did not review

....over the last one year because I was lazy and sometimes intimidated and sometimes uninspired...

1. For You by Ian McEwan
2. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
3. Dangling Man by Saul Bellow
4. The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
5. Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler
6. Modern Short Stories edited by Jim Hunter
7. Nine Lives William Dalrymple
8. Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie
9. The Habit of Loving by Dorris Lessing
10. The Trial by Franz Kafka

and some more..

Have a lot of unread, half read books by the bedside, will get to them soon.
What have u been reading?

Down Under: Bill Bryson

My last review gave a sneak peak of the forthcoming review, Down Under by Bill Bryson.
Like I said, I am a book elitist and sometimes I need a lot of convincing to pick up a book that is extremely popular (plebian is what I think). The quest of the un-flippant fling however was on, after browsing through many back covers at airport book shops I decided to pick up Down Under by Bill Bryson. And I am so glad that I did, lesson learnt, sometimes the popular does not mean trashy.
This book is captivating at so many levels. It appeals to the “vacation loving” book lover in me. I say vacation lover because the one thing I have learnt from this book is that a vacation is not always equivalent to traveling and a visit is certainly not. Until you get in the alleys and the by lanes, the dark and the funny under belly, the friendly neighborhood, the quirks and oddities, the dusty museums, the long forgotten history, the off the beaten path topography, you have not quite traveled. Bryson in his book effortlessly explains the seemingly inexplicable link between the psyche of a nation and its physicality. The key word being effortless, (actually should correct myself, there is quite a lot of effort required to control the urge to giggle, guffaw or snort at the hilarity that this book is), Bryson packs so much punch in this 400 page book without it becoming a burden. He makes history and geography personal, talking about the great expeditions and the men who went about them not as historical figures but as real people complete with follies and sparks of brilliance. He brings alive the diverse and may I add dangerous wild life without being dreary. He leafs through heavy tomes about the country to condense its political quirkiness in a few words. He captures the spirit of the country and its people.
The real hero of the story is however Australia, you cannot help but be awed by this continent that masquerades as a country, by its vastness and emptiness and the fact that often Australia is far removed from the world’s consciousness. This is a country where a dysfunctional terrorist sect can conduct an unauthorized Atomic Bombing without it being discovered for four years, where scientists are not sure whether there are 100000 species or double of that because new species are being discovered everyday, where most species are poisonous, where prime ministers disappear while surfing, a country with the largest living creature, the Great Barrier Reef, with the largest monolith, the Uluru mountain, where 80% of the population lives in 5% of the landmass, a country where you are sure to die if you get lost. And you are amused by the quirks of the country, where a prime minister refuses to live in the capital Canberra, and where towns have ridiculous names like Mullumbimby Ewylamartup, Jiggalong and Tittybong and where a town called White Cliffs got electricity in 1993!
What does not work for the book, the country is diverse; it is a continent with acres and acres of semi arid desert, miles of treacherous coastline, 40 World heritage sites (India has 28!), 32000 hectares of rainforest, and the truth be told Bryson’s journey through it does seem a little hurried. His journey was 6 weeks maybe, he captures the essence of the country but often with many presumptions made. What I sorely missed is any substantial coverage of the aborigine culture and history. That the settlers ravaged an entire civilization is well known, but what is left of it also finds very little mention in the book. Bryson tries but maybe a less hurried trip is needed to unearth the people who are all but invisible.
My aha moments: Bryson’s exceptionally hilarious account of cricket commentary on the radio, an excerpt: .. “it is an odd game. It is the only sport that incorporates meal breaks. … It is the only sport where spectators burn as many calories as players….Listening to cricket on the radio is like listening to two men sitting in a rowing boat on a large placid lake on day the fish are not biting, it’s like having a nap without losing consciousness”.
The other is a horrifying account of man interfering with nature, Thomas Austin introduced 12 rabbits in Victoria in 1859 for sport, well the rabbits did what they do best, proliferate. Multiplying and eating into the natural vegetation and causing 2000 acres of land in Victoria to become barren! Rabbits even today are a menace and a threat to the natural vegetation of Victoria. And still we don’t learn our lessons
Critics don’t rate “Down Under” as one of Bill Bryson’s best. Can’t wait to read the rest.

(Not quite) The World According To Bertie

I must confess, I am a bit of a book elitist. I will judge you if you tell me you have read any of the Chetan Bhagat atrocities. If there is one thing I am prejudiced about, it is this. I have an aversion to fly by night authors, both Indian and international, who bank heavily on marketing gimmicks of over paid PR professionals and latest trends rather than insight, inspiration and sometimes even grammar. Don’t get me wrong I am always on the look out for some comic relief in my “literary” pursuit. A fling of sorts to take me away from the brilliant authors who ask for a concerted emotional, intellectual and time commitment. But I do have exacting standards that way, my fling has to be meaningful, in a sense it is this oxymoron, an un-flippant fling, if you will. To cut a long story short, I am always on the lookout for authors who provide a breezy quick but meaningful read.
One such author is Alexandar Mcall Smith, creator of the charming Mma Ramotswe, Botswana’s No. 1 Lady Detective. I bought the first book in the series for reasons of allegiance and nostalgia. Having spent the 1st five years of my life in Botswana, I had to pick up this book that put the country on the world literary map. I was charmed by the book, the simple yet delightful stories and by Mma Ramotswe, herself. A colleague introduced me to 44 Scotland Street , the other series written by Alexandar Mccall Smith. I picked up the 4th book of the series, The World According to Bertie hoping to add another charmingly funny book to my collection. Did I find the much needed comic relief I was looking for? I am not quite sure. The book took 75 pages to grow on me, for me to get the flow of it. Too many characters flitting in and out, without an obvious or even obtuse connection. The book is about the residents of 44 Scotland Street and how their lives interconnect in a friendly neighbor kind of way. At the center of this book should have been Bertie, a six year old boy, suffocated by his over bearing mother, a liberal yoga lover, painting his room pink and forcing him to be friends with the most insufferable young girl in his class. There is also this trauma of discovering that his baby brother Ulysess looks a lot like his psychiatrist, yes his mother takes him for regular therapy sessions at the age of six. Bertie is smart, funny and perceptive. Ala Adrian Mole this could have been a potential plot. But that was not to be, Bertie gets totally lost in the mayhem of 44 Scotland Street. What follows is a narration of sorts of the life of the key residents of 44 Scotland Street. Sometimes lucidly funny, sometimes quite banal. There is the quintessential Cassanova Bruce, the rich ready to settle down heiress Julia, earnest Matthew and absent minded artist Angus. No character is developed completely. No sub plot builds adequate excitement. No one incident or one person is captivating enough to redeem the book. The book tries very hard to be funny, trying to build in the wry British humor with its scatter brained characters, tries to imitate P.G. Wodehouse in its mad house humor but fails miserably. All in all, a totally avoidable book, disappointing because I had enjoyed No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency.

P.S: The search for an “un-flippant” fling took me to Bill Bryson, delighted to have found him, he appeals to the vacation loving book lover in me. A review will follow soon.

Shantaram: (Un)Inspired by the K Sagas

I was reluctant to pick it up, gifted by a friend (who made me pay for it!), my first instinct was to avoid the book. Well lesson well learnt “Trust your instincts. They know better than you do”.
It is a lengthy book, I have nothing against lengthy books, my favorite book is “The Suitable Boy” which is as lengthy as it comes. What I have a problem with is long- winding, boring and insipid books. Unfortunately Shantaram fits each one of these descriptions perfectly.
The book is about a fugitive from Australia, escaping into oblivion into the chaos that is Bombay and India. Unfortunately not only does the plot sound trite, the trajectory it follows in the never ending 945 pages is as predictable and boring as it can get. He loves India (of course he does, it allows him to get lost and get loaded), lives in a slum, plays the firang messiah to sick children and gets involved with the underworld. Till this point the book reminds you of a Bollywood blockbuster complete with its clichés and melodrama, the protagonist a tall, white, handsome, not so young man. In between all of this he also manages to make enemies and swears bloody revenge. This is when it starts imitating the oft maligned K serials on the telly. There is misunderstanding, miscommunication and the chaos that follows is what the plot thrives on. Actually it will be unfair to say that the plot thrives in any manner whatsoever. There is an Afgan war thrown in between to breathe in a change of setting, making the book even more tiresome if possible. As he struggles through the difficult terrain, you pity his naivety and wonder why he trusts a man who so obviously is the perpetrator of the crime against him. But like all K sagas, logic and coherence are abandoned early on, however unlike the K saga viewers I could not find the heart to forgive that and like the book. Like K sagas, you can skip a few (or many) pages and the story will be still at a stand still. Despite being the most die hard Bombay fan that I am, the long evenings at Leopalds and his jaunts across South Bombay could not warm my heart.
However what makes this book utterly aggravating is Karla, the woman that Shantaram falls in love with. Danille Steele like descriptors of her beauty are annoying and Shantaram’s fascination for her is juvenile. The cherry on the cake, her pearls of wisdom (in 3rd person) which go like.. when the world around you is collapsing, run under an umbrella or something as lame as that. Whenever Shantaram has nothing clever to say (which is very often), he breaks into a Karlaism, gyan about the world in 3rd person. Those of you who have ever watched a K saga, will be familiar with this modus operandi, only on the telly the gyan is accompanied by literally a sad (what was meant to be soulful) soundtrack.
Will keep this review extremely, extremely short because somewhere the law of averages has to apply, someone has to compensate for the over abuse of words and papes and time that this book has under taken. Aha moment, somewhere along the 50th page when I knew the book was completely worthless. But seriously, there is this one sentence where a slum dweller tells Shantaram, that the reason that India survives, thrives despite all the chaos, limitations, dearths, differences was Love. Love makes this country go round. I had to agree, (its totally not worth leafing through the tome to find the exact words).
P.S: Jhonny Depp, good call, don’t touch this one with a barge poll. Will have to stop loving you.
P.P.S: Don’t judge me, have only ever seen a few episode of the K sagas, but that is enough to get the drift

I will try and keep this review short and sweet (and hopefully tech savy). Well as I mentioned in my last post this book is heart warming and delightful and funny and inspirational all together. The book is the memoir of American school teacher Frank McCourt,winning the Pulitzer Prize for this book, his debut novel. It is a heart felt account of Frank McCourt’s impoverished childhood in Ireland, how he survives and actually thrives despite what fate has in store for him and his family.
Humor and wit (and sarcasm I guess) are definitely the best defense against tragedy, and does Frank McCourt prove that right. Growing up in Ireland, Frankie is the eldest son of the very poor Angela and Malachy. His father Malachy is plagued by the Irish epidemic of alcoholism while obviously being a doting but extremely irresponsible father. Angela though enraged by her husband’s total lack of commitment to anything he does and his gross non contribution to the running of the household, is in love with him. Throughout the book you feel the love and the laughter that keeps the Mc Court home running.
Having grown up in India, living in India, I have gone through the cycle of being shocked at and subsequently getting used to poverty, for me the concept of poverty in a first world country seems incongruous. But the vivid and the grimly comical narrative of the abject poverty in the biting cold that Frankie and his three brothers fight out shocks me. Survival in the cold winters of Limerick without much food and warm clothing is not easy and Frankie discovers that the hard way as he loses people he loves on the way. McCourt Sr. finds it difficult to find and keep a job as Frankie spends many evenings looking for his father in the Irish pubs, straining to hear the Irish folk songs a sure sign of his drunken father having a good time somewhere inside. While his days are spent at the stairs of St Vincent de Paul seeking state dole with his mother to keep the hearth running quite literally. Through the hunger and cold, sickness and death the McCourt family keeps their sense of humor intact, together on the bed (six of them sometimes), where “away from grandmothers and guards, Malachy could say ye ye ye and we could laugh as much as we liked”. And it is this which makes this book charming and often poetic. With the beginning of the war McCourt Sr. moves to England in search of a better job and a steady income, however neither the money nor McCourt Sr. return back to Limerick, to the 3 boys and the mother. He fades away but what I found so completely refreshing is that fact that no where in the book is there bitterness against him. The boys and the mother love him as he regales them with stories of the Irish hero Cúchulainn (Frankie claims that it is his and only his story to tell).
What also makes Frank different from so many children born into abject poverty all over the world is Angela’s complete and utter dedication to her children’s education. She sends them to school and they study through all that life is putting them through. In Frankie’s intriguing life, school and religion play an important role often pointing him to go in completely impractical directions.
This tale is also about the coming of age of Frank McCourt, his resourcefulness and willingness to take risks while not taking his extraordinary circumstances too seriously. He helps his mother as he drives the carriage for poor crippled Mr Frank Mocggoin and writes threatening letters at the behest of Mrs. Finucane. He falls in love, sins and confesses, fights with his mother all the while keeping the McCourt sense of humor and observation intact.
Pick up this book not only to be shocked and intrigued, to expect things to go wrong when the worst has already happened, but also to be charmed and fall in love with the story of Frank McCourt. He is a master story teller, the details of his life as he tells them come from a place in his heart that is honest and lyrical and poignant.

What have I been upto

Well this post goes into the abyss of the virtual world that does not care too much about what I write or read.. but that has never bothered me too much. So what have I been reading..

1. Angela's Ashes: Brilliant, inspiring and warmed the cockles of my heart. Will review soon.

2. In Cold Blood: Capote is a genius, this book completely different from the rest he wrote but the method to that book and how it all comes together is just amazing

3. Shantaram: There was a reason this book was languishing in my book shelf gathering dust for 3 years, mostly because it sucks! It is self indulgent, incredulous and just plain boring. Another reason I will not pick up books written on India to charm the stupid westerner.

Oh did I add did all this while I was on a trip to Ladakh, magical magical place.

Currently reading nothing, started Dangling Man by Saul Bellow yesterday. But currently I am kind of dangling in there my self. Not sure how will life unfold... not sure what I want to do...is the angst worth it or should I just enjoy the ride?
I know deep deep questions, I mean I am pretty philosophical myself... mostly my thoughts are around what's the new excuse not to exercise.But this doing nothing is growing on me dangerously.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

This has easily been one of the most powerful books I have read in a long long time. It blew me over. Reading the book was reminiscent of the heady feeling of drunkenness that overwhelms you on discovering new love, on listening to Pt. Jasraj live in an auditorium for the first time, on having the first furtive kiss, on seeing the sun dance on the water to make way for the moon on the banks of the Ganga for the first time. The book was almost cathartic in how it forced me to slow down for a second to absorb the enormity of what I had just read.
Milan Kundera is a genius and “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” is perhaps his most recognized work. I have read “The Art of a Novel” and “Identity” by him earlier, had my aha moments with both of them but now they just pale in comparison.
The book like many of Milan Kundera’s work does not follow a time or a narrative continuum rather it follows an emotion continuum. Various incidents, people and places figure in the book as and when they are indispensable pieces of the jigsaw puzzle of the emotion that is being explored. But nothing is incongruous or disparate, all characters, all subplots and all subtexts come together harmoniously to create this wonderful story. Something completely distinctive (that perhaps makes this book a masterpiece) about Milan Kundera’s style of writing is that he defines characters not by how they look or what they wear, not even by what they say but by what they think and why they think and how they think. Finally the backdrop of the book is the chequered and tattered life of East European communist nations, but in this great book political theory plays second fiddle to the people and their emotions that get affected by politics, politics almost becomes personal.
Enough said, will complete the review with some of the gems that stayed back with me from the book. I don’t think you need a context to appreciate them but if you do then don’t forget to pick up the book.


“For there is nothing heavier than compassion “

“If mother was sacrifice personified then a daughter was Guilt with no possibility of redress”

“Of course I am happy.. The only kind of woman who can say that is very… limited. .. Not limited, very anachronistic.”

“But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak have to be strong enough to leave.”

“Love was not an extension of public life but its antithesis.”

“Music was the negation of sentences, music was the anti word.”

“The first betrayal is irreparable. It calls forth a chain reaction of further betrayals, each of which takes us farther and farther away from our first betrayal.”

“Because love means renouncing strength”

“What fell to her lot was not the burden but the unbearable light ness of being.”

“Indeed, the only truly serious questions are the ones that even a child can formulate.”

“It is a tragicomic fact that our proper upbringing has become an ally of the secret police. We do not know how to lie”

“Human time does not run in a circle, it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy, happiness is the longing for repetition”

Rabbit Run

As I read Rabbit Run by John Updike over the weekend, I was reminded of a similar week 13 years ago when I completed Gone With The Wind in 3 days straight. Like Rabbit Run, I picked up Gone With The Wind many times, only to be dissuaded by the details of the party Scarlet had to attend, once I got over the tedium of the first 50 pages there was no stopping me. Scarlet and her tale fascinated me at so many levels. Inadvertently Scarlet aroused empathy, intrigue and admiration. Her cry for “I shall never be hungry again” resonated strongly, the realization that the American nation had changed for ever at so many socio economic and political levels after the Civil War while searching for parallels closer home took me back to the book many many times. The similarity with Rabbit Run, once I got over the tedium of the first 40 pages where Rabbit plans and fails to run away from his family, the book gripped me and I finished in a day and half flat.
Rabbit Run is the first of the series by Pulitzer Prize winning author John Updike and often considered to be the best in the Rabbit series. The protagonist is Harry” Rabbit” Angstrom, the quintessential Peter Pan, married with a child and a semi responsible job, steadfastedly refusing to grow up. The backdrop of Rabbit’s struggle is the dark underbelly of small town America, often the tedium of life in the small town adding to Rabbit’s real or imaginary woes. The book covers 5 months in the life of Rabbit, his family and his mistress and is quite limited in its field of vision both in terms of time and the landscape. What makes the book a page turner is one the intrigue the author manages to create through crafty situations and perceptive dialogue, of what shall happen next to Rabbit and his life that he specializes in messing up. More importantly it is the insight with which the author captures the struggles of the quintessential modern day American Peter Pan. 26 year old Harry Angstrom refers to himself by his childhood nickname Rabbit, symbolic of his yearning to get back to the high school basketball court probably the only place he ever aced at. Rabbit is out of sorts in the grown up world, never quite knowing what he wanted his life to be but sure he hates what it is now. Updike through a collage of conversations, insights and reminisces explores the angst that Rabbit goes through trying to be a father, husband to alcoholic (and pregnant) Janice and responsible employee when all he would rather do is shoot hoops at the court, the angst that finally forces him to run out on his family and seek refuge in a hurried (but seemingly) happy affair. One such conversation is my aha moment in this book where Rabbit says, “When you have been best at something, being second best is just not good enough”. The world from Rabbit’s vantage point does seem unfair and the author manages to not make you hate Rabbit for his juvenile longings and irresponsible running away. You regale a bit as he enjoys the simple things that life has to offer with his new found mistress however the tables turn as soon as there are signs of distress and Rabbit confused again chooses the path of least resistance.
What John Updike manages to create through the mastery of his craft is a mélange of characters in Rabbit’s life who project a quality Rabbit himself does not possess.
So in his alcoholic wife Janice rabbit sees probably the personification of all the seven deadly sins, she is sloth, greed, lust and all the evil that emotionally stunted rabbit can perceive. He loves to hate her, so much so that when Janice puts her best foot forward to reform he pushes her to the same bad habits he hates her for. His coach Marty Jo manifests for him the desire to win which he once could and the desire to inspire which he knows he fails miserably at. His mistress Ruth in an obvious paradox is the prostitute who for him represents the good and pure life. The preacher is his voice of conscious, his connection to God, which for most part is absent, only surfacing to add to his already prolific confusions. Through the maze of all these people who pull him in different directions, Rabbit aimlessly wanders from crisis to crisis.
I enjoyed reading Rabbit Run, what works for the book is the insightful journey through small town America, the firm etching of characters through master strokes of conversations, reactions and incidents where not even a word seems wasteful. However having said that will I ever get back to it or will I ever attempt to read the sequels, I am not to sure about that. And that is why the book does not work for me completely. It fails to create empathy or sympathy for Rabbit. Rabbit does not evoke pity, interest or even sufficient anger. As the book ends you are just a trifle irritated with Rabbit and his juvenile search for the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And when his coach asks him “Does it even exist”. . you tend to agree.

Underground:The Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche

Well I am back after a month and a half hiatus, having lost the 3 readers of this blog in the process. Well why was I away, loads of work, no time to write and no time to read also. And also no peace of mind, no particular reason to be cranky and that made recovery even harder. Finally the clouds lifted last Sunday, nothing had changed except I decided to smile (of course the husband’s tickling helped). While I was not writing I was constantly thinking about this blog and should I even come back to it especially after I am so so behind. With peace of mind, skip in the step and song on my lips restored not coming back seemed like a moronic option. I mean who cares about how far behind I am on the challenge, I read a book and I shall inflict the review on the greater world.

So what’s the book : Underground by Haruki Marukami. Picked it up from Chennai airport, the book is about the 1995 Tokyo Gas Attack and the affect it had on the nation’s psyche. The book originally written in Japanese is a compilation of interviews of survivors of the tragedy and family of the victims. The author sites putting a face to victims rather than hide the pain behind figures as the reason of wanting to write the book. Also the long lasting effect that the tragedy has had on people who were ill fated to be on that train that Monday morning.

The book is not lyrical in its style of writing. The beauty of the book does not lie in its beautiful prose but in the way it brings together the truth of many lives, both the victims and the perpetuators of the violent act. It is journalistic in the way it presents points of view and facts without interpretation and judgment. It allows the reader to absorb and interpret the tragedy and its manifestations without being weighed down by the judgment of the author. The first part has many accounts of the victims, each different in the extent of damage and method of coping with it. What stays behind and totally flips your view of such disasters is that its quantum cannot be measured by the number of lives lost (13 people died that day), even one death is one too many. The heartbreaking story of the expecting widow or the dutiful brother stays behind even as you finish the book. For me it was also a sneak peak into the Japanese people and their way of life. Their commitment to work was evident in the number of people reporting back to work despite signs of discomfort (arguably increasing the damage caused by Sarin), also the number of hours people work and the general sense of propriety towards work was well almost intriguing. As in the case of individuals’, a people’s reaction to a tragedy is a true reflection of its personality and in this case everyone reacted methodically with calm, without hysteria. People seemed to act more out of duty not empathy, the reactions specially as in the accounts recorded nearly 2 years after the tragedy were so measured and to my melodramatic Indian soul almost cold. The hatred however, towards the perpetuators of the crime, the Aum Shrinkyo is unequivocal and intense.
The fear of the unknown haunts these victims, the simplicity of the crime and the extent of damage it caused (measured by the thousands of people who complain of headache, nausea, loss of sight etc etc) and the potential damage is infact chilling. Though the world has moved on since 1995 and in these 15 years terrorism is in everyone’s backyard, the fact that a few demented minds can wreck so many lives without any effort still manages to shock me. Finally what clearly runs as a common theme through all these accounts is the “Us vs. Them”, most victims and indeed Japanese post the attacj refused to recognize the members of the Aum cult as part of their very own society. Even with no demographic, socio economic or linguistic definitions separating the Aum members from the rest of the society no one acknowledged that they were infact part of the same social fabric. Imagine how hard it is to share the burden of the crime when nationalities, religions and languages create a barrier.
And this brings me to the second part of the book, titled appropriately “The Place That was Promised”. With this part, the book completes itself making it a must read for having presented both sides of the coin in the most unbiased way it is possible. This is a collection of the interviews of members from the Aum. Marukami delivers on the job when he presents the human side of people you hate in the first part. Most interviewees have lives similar to that of the victims, they could have been neighbours for all you know. What sets them apart is their uni-dimensional pursuit of what they think is the “Truth”, their inability to fit into society and their supreme faith in the logic of their beliefs. Their loneliness forcing them to seek solace in the “guru’s” wisdom, wisdom that slowly takes away all their sense of reality. There is no room for grey in their minds and anyone who does not comply with their school of thought is wrong. A thread that runs so commonly across all right wing and left wing terrorists. It is when you do not allow a little room for a little doubt that being inhumane does not seem wrong. All Aum followers were by products of the same society that they sought to destroy. Harukami establishes his craft, while interviewing the Aum followers, probing a little deeper, forcing them to share insights far bigger than they initially intended to. The second part of the book is an addendum, but a befitting one that completes the book for me. You end up hating the perpetrators of the crime in the first part but at the end of the second one you are not so sure.
The criminals are nothing but victims themselves.

Focus: Arthur Miller

I should not have waited for so long to write this review. I read the book almost a month back and kept postponing the review writing till I had something spectacular to say. I was busy and that added to the procrastination.
But here I am a month later falling terribly behind the goal of 1 book a week and still struggling with what to write.
It is safe to say that the book did not evoke extraordinary reactions from me. The book is not mediocre however my reactions to it are moderate, which cannot be coincidental given that the book deals with extremism and moderation. The book set in 1940s New York is almost a biographical account of Anti-Semitism from the great playwright Arthur Miller.
The protagonist of the book is Newman, a middle class American in his early 40s working in New York during the Second World War. Miller does an excellent job is creating the character of Newman as the quintessential middle class average bloke who well quire literally treads the middle path. Like a middle class person anywhere in the world at any given point of time, he is very sure of his moralities. He is neither the perpetuator of wrong neither is he is the savior of the destitute. He lives his life reassured of his indispensability to society and is not too perturbed by the evident lack of extraordinary progress in his career. Since the book is about social and cultural; prejudices, Newman’s social interactions are pivotal in understanding his character and the changes that will happen in due course of time. Newman maintains a respectable distance from most people, completely comfortable in the skin that he is in. As a white collar Christian worker he does not need anyone to ratify him, he goes about life stereotyping people and cultures, interacting with them through the mirror of those stereotypes.
This is what I definitely like about the book, it has a timeless appeal, the people and their insecurities, reactions and quirks did not seem dated to me. I know that somewhere in the backyard of America/India a character like Newman still exists. The grounds of discrimination also remain the same: “The Kikes will take away our jobs.
A twist of fate and a pair of spectacles later, Newman is forced to face life looking like a Jew. Though seemingly incredulous Miller builds this element in the story quite effortlessly and soon as the reader accompanies Newman on his travails as a Jew she forgets that is the spectacle that makes Newman look Jewish.
The fact that Newman is now looking like a Jew, turns his life (and his garbage can) upside down. From a detached fence sitter on the sidelines of the rising Anti Semitic sentiment, Newman is forcefully thrown into the middle of it. The transformation of Newman from a confident, assured and sometimes even politely brash citizen of the city to a tentative, apologetic and self conscious man, who is hoping to squash fewer toes than his mere presence does, is what to me the AHA moment of the book is. Miller superbly captures the confusion of Newman as he goes about recalibrating life as a Jew. His takes his loses in his stride and tries the supreme “middle class tactic” of staying out of trouble. You feel sorry for Newman as he tries his best to fit in, as he valiantly tries to prove he is not Jew, he ensures he has nothing to do with the other Jew on the street and much to his dislike even tries to be part of the Anti Semitic hooliganism. The book chronicles his journey till he finds peace with his new found existence.
The book is insightful as it captures the nuances of discrimination well; anyone who has been on the other side of the bargain is quick to notice the subtle but strong signals that
”normal people “give. I can say this with some experience for at least I have always felt discriminated against as a person who struggled with her weight for most of her life! Real or imagined, the fact that I thought I was not normal specially during my teenage years was enough for me to be super sensitive to what people said, or how they stared sometimes even blaming myself for the eve teasing that is a way of life for young girls in small town UP. You do what it takes to be normal and that’s what Newman did.

The book is to my mind is Arthur Miller’s attempt of making sense of the madness around him. He uses this incredulous situation of a normal Christian American suddenly transforming into a Jew overnight to steer his path on how to deal with the madness of it all. It is simplistic in how it seeks a solution to the ever increasing hate and its ramifications. Maybe this is the reason why the book fails to create the kind of impact I expected it to, it is too simplistic, insightful but ended as Arthur Miller finds the truth for himself.
What works for this book is its timelessness, most evident in the passage where Newman puts the face of Finkelstein his neighbor, on all the vices that Jews supposedly have. He struggles to find Finkelstein guilty of even one of them and yet is unable to let go off his own prejudices. The people and places have changed, yet the fact that the Muslim the world over, the Indian in Australia, the North Eastern student in Delhi, the North Indian in Mumbai all struggle to defend themselves individually against crimes they have committed collectively as a culture.
Will I recommend it, it is moderate in the impact it creates but yes it is a piece that will probably help in understanding that prejudice is not new hopefully how we will deal with it can be.

Three Cups of Tea: A Review

Well I get delirious in a book shop and like many who cant get out of a shoe shop without a shoe, I can’t get out of a book shop without a book. Often even without being in a hurry, I pick up books like the chocolate deprived child who has gained access to Charlie’s Magical Chocolate Factory, in a hurry never knowing when the alarm bell will go off putting an end to the escapade a little too soon. Often in this hurry I pick up books I can never read, books which are well boring.
I entered the Chennai Airport Book Store and hoped that I would find something read worthy (airport book stores are normally hopeless). I looked and looked and found an interesting title “Three Cups of Tea:, my friends will know I can never go past a book titled that. Picked it up and was intrigued enough by the jacket description. A book about a climber who goes back to the villages at the base of K2 to build schools. In a super exited state I picked that up along with Haruki Marukami (hopefully will review that by Tuesday!)

Anyway I got onto the plane, abandoned Darkness at Noon (what is with that book and me.. cant seem to get beyond the 100th page each time I pick it up). As I relaxed and began leafing through the book, an important detail caught my eye. This edition was the “Young Reader’s” edition. With my other books packed away in the luggage rack, I reckoned (was dying to use that word for some reason) no harm will be done if I read a few pages of this book.
And so I started a little curious, a little doubtful. But I was captivated. Goes to prove a good story, an inspiring hero and an honest account maybe meant for anyone but is loved by all. The story is about Greg Mortenson who vows to climb Mount K2 as a tribute to his sister Christa. He gets lost on his way up and ends up in the small small village of Korphe. The simple villagers and their chief Haji Ali take him in as an esteemed guest and play host to him with the best of their very limited resources. Moved by their hospitality and the fact that the young children had only an empty field and a teacher 3 days a week for a school. He saw the children diligently practice their multiplication tables in the dirt without a teacher and vowed to build a school for them. Many of us go through moments in life where a cause greater than us inspires us and most of us return back to our real worlds cherishing the memories of that inspiration but little else. What makes this story heroic is that he actually came back to build the school. Greg Mortenson was not one of your quintessential rich American boys who had a stash of cash piled away at home. He came back, was unemployed, homeless and wrote 250 letters to celebrities trying to enlist their support, nothing came around. He persevered and finally got the money to build the school, reached Khorpe only to discover he had to build a bridge first.
The book then takes the reader through the remarkable journey of Greg’s first school and then many more through the establishment of the Central Asian Institute. The tough terrain, lack of resources and even a kidnapping could not break Greg’s spirit as he trudged through North West Pakistan building schools for little girls and boys.
Greg endears himself to the local population and it is with their support, their land and their hard work he builds schools. He forms lasting friendships with the people often learning more from them than he could ever hope to teach.
In the end this book though meant for children left me feeling inspired and awed and recharged, a feat many books aimed for people my age fail to do. What makes this book special is the fact it makes an attempt to acquaint children with the reality of what is happening in the world. Often I read how parents are torn between exposing their kids to the cruel reality too soon and keeping their children protected too long. I think this book is the perfect medium to introduce children to the reality of war, refugee camps and unschooled children as it does not fill them with despair but equips them with hope and a tool to help. The book introduces the “Pennies for Peace” program run in schools across the US. On a completely unrelated note I know two very special girls who collected their pocket money to make stationary sets for children who need them. I hope this book will make more such kids come forward.
My two aha moments in this book, Greg is in the middle of a school opening in Pakistan when 9/11 happens. The old village chief on learning this gave an honest speech; he knew that terrorism is not because of evil but mostly because of poverty and no education. Greg after the speech says “I think all who think “muslim” is another way of saying terrorist could have been there that day. The core tenets of Islam are justice, tolerance and charity”. I wish we all could just open ourselves a little and get to know people before we label them.
The second one came pretty early on in the book, as Greg saw the children study on the frosty ground he wondered “Can you imagine a fourth grade class in America, alone, without a teacher sitting there quietly working on their lessons?” I know what he feels; I have seen too many bratty and whiny 8 year olds. Whatever little time I have spent with underprivileged kids I am yet to see anyone of them complain. Compare that to your average 8 year old.
Actually there was another aha moment in the book, Jahan a young girl says “ I could not take my eyes off the foreign ladies, they seemed so dignified…… one day Allah willing I shall be a great lady too”. It reminded me of what education means to a lot of people.
I will pick up the grown up version of the book very soon, and if you have a young reader at home I have a spare copy. This is one book I would not mind lending.

Summer Crossing: A Review

As I review Summer Crossing, I realise that this review cannot be a critique as much as it needs to be an appreciation of the evolution of the genius of Truman Capote. The fact that this was the debut novel of Capote was more than enough for me to pick this book up during my ten minute book buying spree at Blossoms a couple of months back. What made it even more interesting was the fact that the book was published by Truman's friends after his death post an accidental discovery of the unedited manuscript. I read the afterword to the novel before I read the story. The afterword makes it clear that publishing this novel was perhaps not Truman's wish as much as it was his friends desire.
I fell in love with Capote's work with Breakfast at Tiffanys and even as I read the first few pages of Summer Crossing I knew that this one was no where close to it in technique. The depth of insight and brevity of expression that endeared BAT was totally amiss in SC. The technique may be awry but there are traces of a brilliant story line. The novel written in the 1940s still finds a place with its universal theme of teenage angst and first love.
At the centre of the book is Grady, a stereotypical poor little rich girl. The daughter of wealthy New York parents, she is a rebel without a cause or a pause like teenagers are wont to be. Absorbed in her own world, for an inexplicable reason Grady resents her parents and the world they represent. The fact that Clyde is the antithesis of her parents is what seems to attract Grady to him. What follows is a somewhat predictable struggle of the heart vs. the head, compounded by the fact that neither Grady nor Clyde seem to know what is it about the other that makes the struggle worth it. The book uses New York and its diversity as a backdrop and at times the narrative becomes tedious with descriptors. However what could have potentially made this a novella worth its salt is how Capote captures the dilemma of a teenager caught between two worlds, two sensibilities and two completely opposite desires. Grady hopes for adventure as much as she yearns for the staid, she appreciates the sophistication of her friends and is infatuated by the raw Bronx. What touches the heart however is the depiction of isolation of a teenager, the loneliness that eats into a teenager's soul, childish to adults but intense for her. The despair and helplessness that Grady feels about the mess she seems to have got herself into is made worse by the impermeable cocoon she builds around herself, where even her partner in crime cannot be her confidante .
Will I recommend the book maybe yes for a quick read, definitely maybe for a Capote fan to understand his evolution as a writer.
Finally for my aha moment, there were two. The first one when the narrative shifts from Grady's vantage point to Clyde's. Till that point Clyde was a gold digging buffoon ridiculed by all but adored by Grady. As the narrative shifts gears Clyde emerges as a confused young man struggling between aspiration, expectations and reality.This crafty twist was an aha moment. The second is this line "....for the P-somethings, made innocent by the world's goodwill, could not feel a shadow. As always go figure.

Hindi Russi bhai - 2

Why this title, well I am reading short stories by Prem Chand and plan to re start Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler.
The stories by Prem Chand are sweet and short and are intriguing me because of the language, hindi is my mother tongue but the usage seems very alien (mind you prem Chand is supposed to be the simplest and most colloquial of all hindi writers). Also the setting is very charming early 1900s India. Will write more about it once I am finished with it. The next book on my list Darkness at Noon, gifted by my brother, his favorite and close to our hearts because of my dad's socialist leanings. Have never got around to reading it completely. Though Koestler was not russian he does write about the struggle of a man with the interpretation and execution of socialism in Russia. This time I shall complete it. Meanwhile it is avery very busy week at work and i still have to post the review of the book i read last week. So what are you reading??

Lady Chatterley's Lover

I can understand what the fuss must have been about. Lady Chatterley’s Lover must have created quite a stir when it was published in 1928. The furor was enough to prevent publishing of the book in England till 1960. The book is replete with fairly descriptive sexual encounters, usage of what must have been uncharitable language back then (folks in the 1930’s did not have the benefit of gansta rap to acclimatize them to words like bitch et al). But I don’t think the indignation was about the presence of sex in the story, neither was it about the fact that most perceived the central theme of the book to be sex, ignoring the many more themes and undercurrents that weaved this good story. To my mind the ado was about the unapologetic presence of sex in the lives of the protagonists, the unabashed acknowledgement and enjoyment of (female) sexuality, that sex was not a thought to be buried deep down in the crevices of one’s imagination but a sentiment worthy of appreciation, that sex was not the excuse of a delinquent, not means to a devious end but in a way the end itself.
Today I am glad that I live in 2010 (as I am most of the times, are you kidding me healthcare sucked in the 1930s) and not 1930. That hopefully liberates me enough to enjoy the book in its entirety and not just obsess about one of the many, many themes that this story dwells upon.
At its heart Lady Chatterley’s Lover is a story about love and how love transcends the boundaries of class, judgment, morality, righteousness and convenience. The backdrop of this love story is a concoction of industrialization, aristocracy, war, class conflict etc etc. But you know a classic from the rest when not only are the central theme and the sub contexts dealt with a studied authority but also every conversation and observation in the book is a valuable (and not easily available or manifested) insight. Each page in the book is to savor and never does any detail seem like an interruption to the story. By this standard, Lady Chatterley’s Lover is sure a classic and is a book that makes the journey of reaching the culmination as enjoyable as the culmination itself.
Lady Chatterley (or Connie) is married to Clifford, a minor aristocrat who has inherited coal mines from his family. Clifford is paralyzed in World War I and is rendered impotent post which he settles down in Wragby. In due course of time he becomes a successful writer. Connie remains married (though not faithful) to him during all this time, contributing significantly to his literary success. Clifford cannot imagine his life without Connie. However what is striking, is the lack of love in the marriage. Connie does not love Clifford, in fact does not even like Clifford in most parts. There is also no memory of love and the past that they share, that keeps Connie going on in this love less, lackluster marriage, and ironically there is no sense of duty that bounds Connie to Clifford . There is just habit and the fact that Connie has no idea what to leave Clifford for. On the other hand Clifford is neither in love with Connie nor is grateful to her for uncomplainingly being his companion, nurse, brainstorming partner and trophy wife. He holds on to Connie with a brute selfishness, tying her down by being totally dependant on her, clinging on to her as the only connection to normalcy, as the only antidote to his impotency. It is this selfishness that Connie tries to run away in her dalliances with other men however ends up with men (and consequently runs away from them) consumed by their own demands.
Connie makes the beginning of severing the stifling mess of entangled ties, by hiring Mrs. Bolton to take care of Clifford and his everyday needs. The ease and urgency with which Mrs. Bolton replaces Connie in her role as nurse and companion to Clifford is a testimony to the fact that for Clifford, Connie was no more than just a nurse and companion, a little more dignified and qualified albeit.
A chance encounter in the woods leads Connie to Mellors the game keeper on Clifford’s estate. And thus begins the saga of their clandestine and passionate love affair teeming with many descriptions of their uninhibited and unaffected sex. Connie is intrigued by the unique combination of provincial wisdom and sophistication that this man presents. The rigid class distinction of those times forces her to seek familiarity in Mellors through his background of an army lieutenant or the books he reads. Finally what draws Connie towards Mellors is the equality of their relationship, summed up when she says “I liked your body” and his response is “Well, then, we’re quits because I liked yours”. The serenity, peace and the candid earthiness that the venue of their rendezvous offers is in infact a metaphor to how Connie feels when she is with Mellors. For Mellors Connie is the perfect combination of intellect and allure, independence and compassion.
Like most love stories this one too has a villain, class conflict being the one here. Clifford has no trouble in having an heir for his estate through one of the frivolous love affairs of Connie, presumably with a noble man. But cannot deal with the idea of Connie wanting to have a child and stay with a man of the working classes. This to him it is an ultimate defeat to the serving class, a thoughtless mass of animals fated to be ruled by industrialists like him.
For me one of the most fascinating passages in the book is where Mellors carries Clifford in his wheelchair and Connie views the two choices she has in contrast with each other. Clifford fazed by his dependence on one of Mellors’ kind, brings out his brutish best while Mellors is patiently struggling to help Clifford out of humanity and not servitude. This act for me is the essence of the story, where love, hatred, tension and bondage all come into play.
Mellors also, to my mind is finally committed to Connie only after his long separated wife comes into the picture, the tawdry and loud Bertha Coutts. Both Bertha and Clifford oppose the union of Mellors and Connie not so much for the pain that it brings them, but because they cannot fathom the happiness that this alliance brings the two protagonists. The book ends with Mellors and Connie embarking a journey towards each other and away from their past. As I wistfully finish the book I know it is about how life is complete only when you have someone you love to come back home to.
As for my Aha moment, it came pretty early in the book when Connie wondered “What was the good of discontented people who fitted in nowhere?”.
Lady Chatterley’s Lover is a must read and I think its enough to say that it felt like I had read a “real” book after a long long time.

Author: D.H. Lawrence

The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole

As I struggle to keep to my self declared and in all probability only self followed and self tracked challenge of 52 books in 52 weeks (yikes I am already lagging behind!), I decided to cruise through an immensely enjoyable book “The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole” (hence referred to as TGPAM) even as I was reading (and let me add enjoying) “Lady Chatterley’s Lover. I knew TGPAM would arm with enough material and inspiration to write a quick, short and hopefully funny review of the accurate, poignant and humorous account of Adrian Mole’s teenage existential angst.
I had read the first book of the Adrian Mole series and had instantly fallen in love with the protagonist Adrian Mole the serious, earnest and inadvertently hilarious British Teenager, who like teenagers all over the world is struggling to understand and “fit in” to this world that dysfunctional adults seem to be handing over to him.
I was looking for a breezy but not mindless, funny but not silly book and “The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole” did not disappoint me.
The book is a compilation of Adrian’s Mole diary as he painstakingly writes about the trivial and not so trivial incidents that seem to plague him in his 15th year. Action does not seem to be missing in his life and one cannot help but laugh out loud (no literally I did laugh out loud) as Adrian writes about the significant and scandalous changes in his household and parent’s marital relationship. What endears him is the fact that Adrian Mole writes from the vantage point of being a self occupied teenage, with dysfunctional parents being in charge he is mostly struggling to keep himself above board without pondering too much about the morality, righteousness or sometimes sheer injustice of his circumstances.
Adrian Mole displays true teenage schizophrenia as he plays the following roles extremely effectively:
(Frustrated) Intellectual: Adrian is disdainful of his fellow high schoolers who seem to not know or care too much about the Falkland War or Jack Kerouac. He writes poems (of course they don’t rhyme) and unfazed by rejection keeps sending them over to the BBC in hopes of a creating a program dedicated to his poems. He loves using words like “nihilistic” and pines for the day he becomes a famous author.
(Fatherly)Son: Adrian is undoubtedly the most responsible of all the Moles, he isn’t upto too many untowardly shenanigans and very valiantly takes care of his pregnant mother and baby sister while his father is forced to abandon the family. Even in the best of times his parents don’t seem to help his flailing self confidence, at the slightest provocation go to great lengths describing what they imagine their perfect son to be (believe me he is nothing like Adrian), don’t seem to notice his impending nervous breakdown and much to his chagrin don’t get hysterical when he runs away!
(Enthusiastic) Care Giver: Unlike selfish teenagers Adrian really cares about the nonagenarians Bert and Queenie and does his best to lend a helping hand, strike thoughtful conversations and take their smelly vicious dog Sabre out for walks, however in typical Mole style also finds it “funny to think that old, smelly, unattractive people can be sentimental”.
(Doting) Brother: Adrian Mole is completely adorable as the 15 year old brother who dreads his sister’s arrival but totally and nonchalantly falls in love with Rosie (who he claims has a “split personality; calm one minute screaming like a maniac the other”) so much so that the love of his life Pandora tells him that his “sister’s feeding pattern isn’t of great interest to her”.
(Unrequited) Lover: Pandora is the love of Mole’s life, the perfect combination of beauty and brains (strangely for a clever she can’t spell his name right even after a year of being together). Adrian’s raging teenage hormones come in the way of their relationship and his psychiatrist classifies Pandora as “insoluble problems”
(Surprised) Consistently Mediocre: He struggles and studies conscientiously and is sure that there is a mistake when yet again he is only somewhere in the middle of his class.
Poverty Stricken Teenager: Due to the marital and moral upheavals the Mole household finds itself in, there is a perpetual money crisis compounded by the inefficiencies of the Welfare Department. Adrian’s mom, Pauline in her inimitable style stages an abandoning and gets the government to work for her. Adrian watches and writes with bated breath about how he needs money desperately, notably to pay two month’s library fines.
Renegade Gangster: Adrian is charmed by the ignorant bliss that Barry Kent and his gang members seem to be living in, takes a fancy to being a part of the “gang” presumably been driven to it by his “existential nihilism” however soon bores out of it but isn’t sure he can get away from the gang alive.
(Eager to return) Runaway: In a last desperate bid to grab his parents attention (who are busy watching Rosie develop manual dexterity) Adrian plans to run away. Meticulously makes a list of all things he might need on his escapade, escapes and then leads the police to discover him.

What makes Adrian Mole and his Growing Pains a delightful read is the fact that Adrian is not emotionally constipated, deals with his not so ordinary circumstances with a wry English wit, writes about details that only interest and affect him, is wisely naive and while trying too hard to be an intellectual is thrilled by the number of Valentine cards he gets. The reader is forced to “guffaw” (out loud may I add) at his brilliant one liners and come backs. My AHA (or rather HA HA HA ) moment in this book was not just one but all of his liners (and the book has many).
The book is not just a casual read, not a mindless “chick lit” dealing in fantastical fantasies. This book is real and is rife with political and social innuendos. Adrian Mole and his escapades are highly highly recommended for this is Calvin and Hobbes, The Family Guy and Wonder Years all rolled into one sweet 200 hundred page 300 odd entries book.