Today was a day without that morning rush to the office. I had time to watch the kids waiting for school bus. I cannot see their smile like always and feel happy about it. They are wearing H1N1 masks. Since a month or so, masks have become an organ much missed by evolution. Talk about creationism and intelligent design! Masks got sold like hot cakes in the initial scare days, when every news channel bombarded the country with the breaking swine flu news. I even got few masks and put it in the refrigerator so that it doesn't spread through food. Finally, a chief minister had to abscond for hours and later die, to shift the focus off the virus. The ultimate sacrifice.
I am sorry, I almost forgot the penultimate one : Rahul Gandhi travelling by Shatabdi express. Might be inspired by those numerous train journeys of Mahatma Gandhi by third class. Fortunately we don't have third class now. Or else, there would've been a stampede to catch a glimpse of the Prince. This reminds me of a small confession of Sarojini Naidu. When someone extolled the greatness of Gandhi who was always among the poor, she reportedly confessed, that it costs more to the congress to keep him among the poor than in a normal state. For security reasons, many congress workers were dressed up as poor people around the leader. These guys were good actors back then and in expensive garbs.
Rahul Gandhi would've been better off spending that time studying the Human Development Reports of various states or atleast perusing his recent election nomination affidavit, where he categorically states that he doesn't own a car. I could own a car in another year. The humble of the humbles, our former president A.P.J Abdul Kalam could own a car. Then how come Rahul baba missed it.His mom doesn't own a car. A waitress in Rome can. She missed the bus too. I think we as a country deserve these kind of illusions. We accept these things like we accept the bad smell of a dead dog in the bushes. We wait for some one to clean it or die a natural death under the sun.
We are idiots. Let's not hide this with some false affidavits. What more proof than the reported death of 140 odd people in the wake of a Chief Minister's death. I say these were more valuable as biomass than the living. This is worse than the terrorist attacks carried out in Hyderabad, two years back. Funnily, some of them committed suicide. Stupidity causes internal bleeding and it can lead to sudden death of a person or a country. The so called responsible journalism of ear-drum-breaking news suddenly evaporates in their camera flashes. They shout to be pro-active, much so in a corporate sense. They make money out of it. Do you remember any scene in the old rags-to-rugs-to-riches-to-bitches movies, where the hero as a kid cries for money to cremate his mother's remains? Next time you see that, remember breaking news.
The flowing black gowns, without much going on behind them, suddenly started billowing like Marlyn Manroe's. What is with this Justice? Is it bought out or Is there some sanity? Is it virgin? Is it still blind? Is it still "your honor"? Someone had his share of questions and filed an RTI to know how much are these guys making anyway by writing down all those affidavits? Suddenly the gowns started fumbling. There was much discussion about who should disclose what. Finally the Chief Justice came down, bent backwards and with a hood-wink, formulated the voluntary disclosure scheme. I am sure it is already practiced by the Bollywood actresses. Ladies, JJ school of arts is in urgent need of young posers for a nudity appreciation course. All their models are over 40 and there is a drop in attendance. The script begs, for once, begs for it.
I think, I can suggest a remedy to the rottenness of the current state. Why don't we all gather at Ambedkar Samajik Parivarthan Sthal(Ambedkar's Memorial for social change) in Lucknow and sing bhajans to behenji while a giant stupa is constructed over our head, slowly plastering us into bliss?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Stimulus
This is a stimulus package to uplift this blog from the dire straits it is in as of now. Things have been happening in my poetry blog all the while but prose took a back seat or rather became extinct since three months. Lately I realized that prose would help me in inculcating the very essential quality of continuity.
This is not to say that poetry as a medium has less to teach in that area. You can have disconnected images in a collage like poem and pass it off as style. But really speaking, such poetry would be as esoteric as modern art. I strongly believe that poetry or prose should be sort of story telling. Look at grandparents, narrating the same stories and yet enrapturing the child audience. I think that's a rather difficult job to do. As the same children grow into adults there is a looking glass of experiences through which they tend to accept things. Slowly the grandmother's tales lose their luster.
I would be posting here some simple stories, experiences and interesting observations which I have up my sleeve. I would assure you that this would not be a space for any boring opinions of mine. However, things happening around could creep into the stories or anecdotes that are shared here.
This is not to say that poetry as a medium has less to teach in that area. You can have disconnected images in a collage like poem and pass it off as style. But really speaking, such poetry would be as esoteric as modern art. I strongly believe that poetry or prose should be sort of story telling. Look at grandparents, narrating the same stories and yet enrapturing the child audience. I think that's a rather difficult job to do. As the same children grow into adults there is a looking glass of experiences through which they tend to accept things. Slowly the grandmother's tales lose their luster.
I would be posting here some simple stories, experiences and interesting observations which I have up my sleeve. I would assure you that this would not be a space for any boring opinions of mine. However, things happening around could creep into the stories or anecdotes that are shared here.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Milan Kundera
Books :
The Unbearable Lightness of a Being
Slowness
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting
There are books, which you read a bit and then look out of the window at the distant view. I do that to cushion the effect, such books have on me. There is a restrained violence that is packed into words in such prose. Un-put-downable is generally a word used for novels having chases and fights on the streets of couple of European or American cities.But, Milan Kundera's works are no where near the mad chases. Still they are un-put-downable.
An urgency in the story makes you flip the pages without knowledge. There's an erotic side to the characters in his stories. Words which are not generally associated with eroticism find their place in his work, in describing the chemistry between the characters. Sometimes , it makes you think of the helplessness of the protagonists that drives them to such permutations of extra marital art. The setting being the containment of freedom in the Russian occupied Czech republic, there might be very few freedoms beyond the scrutiny of the central committee or the Party. Sexual freedom might be one such exception which is never a threat against the state. Kundera's characters traverse in such a latitude. It is a world that's bounded artificially by the dictates of the state.Strange gestures take birth in times of emergencies like in the game of dumb charades. The conversations in his works signify a constant innovation of communication techniques to the reader.
Metaphors are another delight in his novels. From the toilet described as a water lily to the fur hat on the dictators balding head, everything is a metaphor. They are striking, intelligent, comical, quaint and beautiful. You would never look at something the same way after reading some of his metaphors. This is poetic prose. These days Poetry , as a free verse, might only hold out due to the abundance in metaphors. This is like beauty which has shed it's disciplined form of verse to a more wanton sexiness. Kundera makes you feel so.
He is honest, ruthless, ugly, rustic, stylish and satirical in his works. There is a simplicity that will make the reading easy. Some of the theories he propounds might be confusing but they are beautiful in their description. Read them and look out of the window then.
The Unbearable Lightness of a Being
Slowness
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting
There are books, which you read a bit and then look out of the window at the distant view. I do that to cushion the effect, such books have on me. There is a restrained violence that is packed into words in such prose. Un-put-downable is generally a word used for novels having chases and fights on the streets of couple of European or American cities.But, Milan Kundera's works are no where near the mad chases. Still they are un-put-downable.
An urgency in the story makes you flip the pages without knowledge. There's an erotic side to the characters in his stories. Words which are not generally associated with eroticism find their place in his work, in describing the chemistry between the characters. Sometimes , it makes you think of the helplessness of the protagonists that drives them to such permutations of extra marital art. The setting being the containment of freedom in the Russian occupied Czech republic, there might be very few freedoms beyond the scrutiny of the central committee or the Party. Sexual freedom might be one such exception which is never a threat against the state. Kundera's characters traverse in such a latitude. It is a world that's bounded artificially by the dictates of the state.Strange gestures take birth in times of emergencies like in the game of dumb charades. The conversations in his works signify a constant innovation of communication techniques to the reader.
Metaphors are another delight in his novels. From the toilet described as a water lily to the fur hat on the dictators balding head, everything is a metaphor. They are striking, intelligent, comical, quaint and beautiful. You would never look at something the same way after reading some of his metaphors. This is poetic prose. These days Poetry , as a free verse, might only hold out due to the abundance in metaphors. This is like beauty which has shed it's disciplined form of verse to a more wanton sexiness. Kundera makes you feel so.
He is honest, ruthless, ugly, rustic, stylish and satirical in his works. There is a simplicity that will make the reading easy. Some of the theories he propounds might be confusing but they are beautiful in their description. Read them and look out of the window then.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Silent Raga by Ameen Merchant
The starkness of kanakambaram (fire-cracker flower) and the fragrance of jasmines is woven into a garland called “Silent Raga”. The descriptions follow a light rhythmic pattern of back and forth but never over done.
The book starts off in a reflective tone mixed with the early morning freshness. The freshness which can be described only by the sprinkling of water to make way for a new kolam in front of the house. The book is divided into many parts of a raga. Like Varnam, Alapana, Krithi....and in the end Mangalam.
The novel, is about Janaki, a musical prodigy in a small town of Sripuram, not far away from Madras. It is mainly set in the Brahmin community of the town. To manage the house ,Janaki stays away from the school after the death of her mother. Though away from school she doesn't stop taking music lessons which becomes her escape from the daily chores. Gayatri, her aunt ( mother's sister), pays regular visits from Madras to Sripuram. The coldness between Gayatri and Janaki turns deep rooted when Janaki discovers an affair between her father and Gayatri. How she faces this truth and the after shocks in terms of her escape to Bombay is an interesting piece of story. Her return to her past which she dissociated ten years back is the theme for the later half of the book.
The story has stark breaks in continuity at two instances- One is the disappearance of Gayatri from the story line completely and almost suddenly. The story between Janaki and Asgar ( Janaki's actor husband) during her initial days in Bombay is not touched upon at all. These are either discontinuities in the story or too focused an approach on the main characters.
All in all, Silent Raga is a novel which delves into the subtlety of human relations. Metaphors and good description dot the story frequently in the beginning but become sparser towards the end. Happiness has no metaphor, may be?
Not to mention the fabulous cover art would be a mistake. It was the first thing I liked about the book !
The book starts off in a reflective tone mixed with the early morning freshness. The freshness which can be described only by the sprinkling of water to make way for a new kolam in front of the house. The book is divided into many parts of a raga. Like Varnam, Alapana, Krithi....and in the end Mangalam.
The novel, is about Janaki, a musical prodigy in a small town of Sripuram, not far away from Madras. It is mainly set in the Brahmin community of the town. To manage the house ,Janaki stays away from the school after the death of her mother. Though away from school she doesn't stop taking music lessons which becomes her escape from the daily chores. Gayatri, her aunt ( mother's sister), pays regular visits from Madras to Sripuram. The coldness between Gayatri and Janaki turns deep rooted when Janaki discovers an affair between her father and Gayatri. How she faces this truth and the after shocks in terms of her escape to Bombay is an interesting piece of story. Her return to her past which she dissociated ten years back is the theme for the later half of the book.
The story has stark breaks in continuity at two instances- One is the disappearance of Gayatri from the story line completely and almost suddenly. The story between Janaki and Asgar ( Janaki's actor husband) during her initial days in Bombay is not touched upon at all. These are either discontinuities in the story or too focused an approach on the main characters.
All in all, Silent Raga is a novel which delves into the subtlety of human relations. Metaphors and good description dot the story frequently in the beginning but become sparser towards the end. Happiness has no metaphor, may be?
Not to mention the fabulous cover art would be a mistake. It was the first thing I liked about the book !
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
River Of Fire by Qurratulain Hyder
Time flows with the words,sentences and sometimes between the lines too, in this epoch novel. If you could see the passage of time in a dry leaf floating away in a stream, then there are many streams and many leaves representing lives in this book. It transcends time and makes you think how insignificant we are (when placed in that big picture) and especially of what we think are the significant actions.
The book spans across 25 centuries and the interlacing of the stories is done very well.Though the partition of the Indian subcontinent is the backdrop for the last quarter of the book, it never details the blood-bathed incidents. Instead the essence is translated into the lives of protagonists which gently stirs you and moves you.In a dynamic setting, such as this , death loses it's meaning and is often substituted by a more telling story.
The book spans across 25 centuries and the interlacing of the stories is done very well.Though the partition of the Indian subcontinent is the backdrop for the last quarter of the book, it never details the blood-bathed incidents. Instead the essence is translated into the lives of protagonists which gently stirs you and moves you.In a dynamic setting, such as this , death loses it's meaning and is often substituted by a more telling story.
Monday, June 9, 2008
In the clouds
The last weekend was fun. We went for a small but beautiful trek at the Sinhgad fort, roughly thirty kilometers away from Pune. We got up around 6 in the morning and equipped ourselves for the trek. (with snacks, water and fuel in the bike). Then we went to a friends place to start as a group from there. Like always, few of them were in deep sleep when we broke their doors open. Each fellow then got up and lazily finished the morning chores rather quickly I should say. I was half expecting that the trek would be canceled as the clouds had invaded the sky and there was slight drizzle. But we started anyway. The ride was lot of fun and more so because I was a pillion rider who was shielded from the drizzle and the cutting wind on the NH4 highway. We fumbled a bit with the route in a couple of places but finally managed to get on to the right road and met with the earlier group. As we took the road off the high way in the direction of the hills the air was totally dank and we could see the fresh green leaves sprouting from the branches which must have dry till the arrival of monsoon. We walked a bit and then we were on the up slope towards the fort.
The fort itself was not visible from the foot of the hill. It was blanketed by a thick cloud. We started on a stony path whose gaps were filled with water marks. Little trickle of water started flowing along them. In the drizzle we went for a little while and the rain started to increase its pace forcing us to put on rain coats and walk. An experienced trekker among us kept us in the right spirit, by telling us each time what beauty lay ahead. So we were constantly on the move. There were few points on the path where I kept thinking, how we would climb down on such slippery mounds. The rain made it even more slippery. The best thing about trekking in a fairly large crowd is the group mentality. The lack in the individual confidence is often compensated by the group’s confidence as a whole. So we made our way ahead and reached a thatched roof where lemonade was sold. We realized we needed some instant glucose and ate some of the snacks we got from home. There was more than half way to go and the path got steeper, bit by bit.
The rocks became sparse now but still were enough to serve as foot holds when required. I climbed placing my foot carefully against the rocks and climbed slowly. We reached more than half way now and we could here distant howls and screams of another trek party which had supposedly reached the fort on the top of the hill. We shouted, whistled, did some pre-nomadic communication and got along with our ascent. We reached a place from where we could see the clouded fort from near. The path got steeper and again we took rest for some time. The rain had stopped now and we were feeling stuffy in our jackets and raincoats. So we removed them and felt the cool breeze which occasionally wafted across the hills.
Finally we reached the steps of the fort and were completely tired. We ate and drank whatever we could spot-mangoes, boiled pea nut, cucumber, hill fruits and provided some good business for the stalls that waited just for us. Then we started the slow tour of the 16th century fort (or rather what was remaining of the fort) . It was indeed a spectacular view from the top and we were in clouds now. The clouds came in batches and screened our view of the valley and we waited patiently till they skirted away and had the view again. We went to a wind point where the chill wind was cutting through the cloud to reach us.
Few of us chatted away the time. Few contemplated and few just kept framing the view in their memory. After a while no one talked. We were absorbing the images, the nature, everything there.
The fort itself was not visible from the foot of the hill. It was blanketed by a thick cloud. We started on a stony path whose gaps were filled with water marks. Little trickle of water started flowing along them. In the drizzle we went for a little while and the rain started to increase its pace forcing us to put on rain coats and walk. An experienced trekker among us kept us in the right spirit, by telling us each time what beauty lay ahead. So we were constantly on the move. There were few points on the path where I kept thinking, how we would climb down on such slippery mounds. The rain made it even more slippery. The best thing about trekking in a fairly large crowd is the group mentality. The lack in the individual confidence is often compensated by the group’s confidence as a whole. So we made our way ahead and reached a thatched roof where lemonade was sold. We realized we needed some instant glucose and ate some of the snacks we got from home. There was more than half way to go and the path got steeper, bit by bit.
The rocks became sparse now but still were enough to serve as foot holds when required. I climbed placing my foot carefully against the rocks and climbed slowly. We reached more than half way now and we could here distant howls and screams of another trek party which had supposedly reached the fort on the top of the hill. We shouted, whistled, did some pre-nomadic communication and got along with our ascent. We reached a place from where we could see the clouded fort from near. The path got steeper and again we took rest for some time. The rain had stopped now and we were feeling stuffy in our jackets and raincoats. So we removed them and felt the cool breeze which occasionally wafted across the hills.
Finally we reached the steps of the fort and were completely tired. We ate and drank whatever we could spot-mangoes, boiled pea nut, cucumber, hill fruits and provided some good business for the stalls that waited just for us. Then we started the slow tour of the 16th century fort (or rather what was remaining of the fort) . It was indeed a spectacular view from the top and we were in clouds now. The clouds came in batches and screened our view of the valley and we waited patiently till they skirted away and had the view again. We went to a wind point where the chill wind was cutting through the cloud to reach us.
Few of us chatted away the time. Few contemplated and few just kept framing the view in their memory. After a while no one talked. We were absorbing the images, the nature, everything there.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
"Friends?"
Just a question - “Can we be best friends?” .
It happened while we waited for the bus. I never realized what prompted me to ask that question. It was one of those wacky moments where you land yourself into some slosh. The coolness of the mud would have its effect slowly. Anirudh said that we will be best friends and told me when his birthday was. I did not know this norm. I just reciprocated at the instinct. I reflected later that best friends should start like that.
I knew that Anirudh came by the crowded bus which stopped near our house. But I always took the less crowded one that arrived 5 minutes later. I wanted to surprise him and took the crowded one that day.
From that day, it had always been the crowded bus.
Sitting in the same bench, sharing lunch, notes and jokes soon followed.
It happened while we waited for the bus. I never realized what prompted me to ask that question. It was one of those wacky moments where you land yourself into some slosh. The coolness of the mud would have its effect slowly. Anirudh said that we will be best friends and told me when his birthday was. I did not know this norm. I just reciprocated at the instinct. I reflected later that best friends should start like that.
I knew that Anirudh came by the crowded bus which stopped near our house. But I always took the less crowded one that arrived 5 minutes later. I wanted to surprise him and took the crowded one that day.
From that day, it had always been the crowded bus.
Sitting in the same bench, sharing lunch, notes and jokes soon followed.
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