Coincidence

--talk about it.  I am reading Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier.  It is a novel that involves a lot of reflection on the life one has settled in.  As I was reading through, I realized that the story was similar to the certainty principle elaborated in Mark Tully's book I've written about below.  

Raimund Gregorius, a professor of classical languages has been living a mundane routine life till the moment a beautiful lady crosses his path.  She utters the magical word, "Portuguese", and this drives the professor to travel all the way from Bern to Lisbon.  No, he isn't searching for her.  This chance encounter with the Portuguese lady leads him to a bookstore where he gets enthralled by the words of Amadeu de Prado.   Raimund begins to question whether the life he has led all these years is his life as wants to continue till he dies.  

I shall write more about it once I've completed reading it.

Cheers!

A Love Song to India

India’s Unending Journey by Mark Tully is a love story of uncertainties and paradoxes that abound in India.  While the globe is teetering on the edge of energy and food crises, countries –developed or developing—are trying to find a balance between unbridled expansion of trade and keeping the planet safe for generations to come.  “Nothing is constant but change,” said one wise person, and so true it is. 

India has always been a kaleidoscopic fascination for the West, in spite of the servile nature of India during the British Raj, the abject poverty post-Independence and the current trend of migration to other parts of the globe, particularly the United States.  Walt Whitman and Emerson, iconic figures in American culture, drew inspiration and truth from Indian spiritual texts.  It was the German scholars who managed to decipher the ancient Sanskrit texts. 

For hundreds of years, the developed world saw the average Indian as a

half-naked fakir on a bed of nails or a snake-charmer lost in the throes of his flute.  Today the 21^st century has brought about a change in the world’s outlook towards India.  Today it feels exhilarated as well as threatened by the Indian IT worker, the scientist, the researcher, the manager.  With leaps and bounds in economic progress, how does India maintain a balance between new wave consumerism and the irreducible spirituality embedded in the Indian subconscious?

 “This book is about the uncertainty of certainty, about accepting the limits of what we know, and being willing to question our beliefs…”

 Tully lauds the virtues of pluralism without ignoring its manipulations and dangers.  Regarding fundamentalism, Tully reiterates the clash of civilizations that Samuel Huntington wrote about in the beginning of the 21^st century.  I would like to present here a poignant question Karen Armstrong has posed:

 “Shouldn’t the United States and Europe take the time to consider whether their culture might appear to be aggressive to Muslims, just as Islam appears to be aggressive to them?”

 I have recently read US presidential candidate Barack Obama’s Blueprint for Change.  In his ‘Plan to Secure America and Restore Our Standing’, Obama talks about fighting terrorism and “…reaffirm American values.”  I pray that he has a sensible policy towards the Iraq and Iran issue keeping in mind the sensitive ground he is treading on.

 Tully has extended his love song to the Indian ethos be it the corruption or the bombings or the secularism that exists in India.  After all, he says, India knits all communities together and no matter what, they re-unite after a violent hiatus.  Corruption, which walks along the corridors of power and government offices, has been dealt with disinterestedly and pragmatically.  For instance, when speaking about the Union Minister for Railways, Mr. Lalu Prasad Yadav, turning the loss-making Indian Railways into a thriving profitable national asset, Tully quotes Lalu;

             “If you don’t milk the cow fully, it falls sick.”

It is surprising though, to see that Tully has called cricket our national game when it is not so.  Perhaps, hockey has really taken such a beating this year that it is on the verge of being erased from public memory.

Another issue that seems to peeve Tully is the hype on products of B-schools.  He states 

            “It is a culture that believes business is a science whose findings are as conclusive as those of the physical sciences and therefore, like them, should not be questioned.”           

Finally he ends with Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in the world.  It is a confluence of Hinduism and Islam and no where can we find a better co-existence.  When the bomb blasts occurred on 7^th March, 2006, the Mahant of the Sankat Mochan temple, Veer Bhadra Mishra, and the Mufti of Varanasi, Abdul Batin Nomani together maintained harmony and prevented any faction from stoking communal fires.

All in all, a great book understanding what India does not represent and acknowledging that India is always in a state of flux.  That is its strength.

Sir Mark Tully, born in Calcutta in 1935, was Chief of Bureau of BBC, New Delhi.  He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 2005, and knighted in 2002.  He has written several books on India, including No Full Stops in India, India in Slow Motion (with Gillian Wright) and The Heart of India.

 

 

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

It took me a real long time to pick up Shantaram. It would stare at me from the bestselling section of Crosswords and I would pick it up, read the back cover and put in my basket along with a dozen other books to spend some time with. At the end, it would still be in the basket while I walked with one or two other selections to the counter. I guess the rejecting factor was the size of it--a whopping 936-page novel in fine print.

Nevertheless, "que sera sera...", I finally bought it and was instantly hooked from page 1 till I orphaned it in the rickshaw on my way to office. I couldn't bear to miss out on the book. So I picked up another copy and read it to its end.

Shantaram is a novel about an Australian convict hiding out in Mumbai. While he is at it, he learns Marathi and Hindi (complete with its vulgar words), starts a cholera clinic while living in squalor in a slum and indulges in the foreign currency black market before being arrested and thrown into an Indian prison. His rollercoaster life then takes a sinister twist when he joins Khader's underworld and eventually the mujahadeen in Afghanistan. Amidst all this, he finds time for love and not once wavers from loving all around him, be it his well-wishers or his torturers. The reader is fully supplied with doses of masala, romance, action, machoism, philosophy and history. The last bit did not strike a chord with me--I wonder why did Roberts have to include a lot of history about Indira Gandhi in the conversation between him and Didier.

Here's one of the excerpts to the existential astrophysics of our lives. Lin is questioning his own actions in the light of good and evil and Khader gently gives him this--

As the universe expanded and cooled down, these very tiny bits of things came together
to make particles. Then the particles came together to make the first of the atoms. Then
the atoms came together to make molecules. Then the molecules came together to make
the first of the stars. Those first stars went through their cycles, and exploded in a shower
of new atoms. The new atoms came together to make more stars and planets. All the
stuff we are made of came from those dying stars. We are made out of stars, you and I.
Do you agree with me so far?

Apart from it being a saga of one man scuttling around in search of identity and freedom, the consistent strain running through each facet of protagonist Lin's life is the affirmation of love and the indomitable human spirit. And which better place in the world to set it at than the hustling bustling chaotic rush of Mumbai.

Dr. Suess Horton Hears a Who

Directors: Jimmy Hayward and Steve Martino

Voices: Jim Carrey, Steve Carell, Carol Burnett, Isla Fisher

A person’s a person no matter how small !

I first saw a Dr. Suess book at a humble book exhibition in Panjim.  I had just finished teaching English grammar to a bunch of wannabe medical transcriptionists and was walking down to the Kadamba Bus Stand when I noticed a little door and peeked in.  Amid the sneezing that attacked me, I browsed through piles of books with no particular novel in mind.  That's when I saw How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I had watched the trailer of the film adaptation and liked it. Yuppie consumer that I am, I decided to pick it up—never regretted it.  My little brother and I read it together and he coloured all the Whos in the most fantastic colours imaginable.  So when I heard of Dr. Suess’ Horton Hears a Who, how could I not watch it?

Just to give an idea of this wonderful movie—Horton finds a speck and takes pains to safeguard it against all possible dangers.  Why?  He believes the speck contains living beings in it and assumes the responsibility to keep it safe.  Well, he is right.  After he is able to communicate with the mayor of Who-ville, things get rolling. More than keeping nature’s forces away from the speck, he has to deal with his own ‘unfriendly’ neighbours, particularly a certain female kangaroo complete with child in pouch.  Can Horton stand against his own folks for the sake of a speck that only he knows is actually a world?

The whole movie is entertaining down to your gut and can send you into ripples of laughter.  One thing I did find strange is how come Horton hears a cry for help from the speck when it is clear that Who-ville is blissfully unaware of their precarious condition.

I had a ball of a time watching this animation.  A major part of the previous century was grappling with the fact that human existence may after all be inconsequential in the scheme of the universe.  Dr. Suess’ Horton however stresses the idea that no matter how small or minute a life may be, it has the right to go on no matter what.  It perfectly fits into the grand music of the universe.

I am Legend

Last month I watched I am Legend, a futuristic movie placed in 2012 New York. Dr. Robert Neville, his dog, a lady and her son are apparently the only people alive to fit the definition of human being. A plague has spread throughout the globe and mutated most humans into zombies. The theme is almost the same as 28 weeks, 28 Days Later, Resident Evil and the like.

Scientist Robert Neville (Will Smith) is the only human alive due to an immunity he possesses. He captures samples (read infected humans) and experiments on them to find a cure. It doesn’t matter that the sample mostly perishes and there is no lobby to protest his undertakings. His dog is his only companion. He transmits signals every day waiting against hope for a response from another human. He waits for what seems ages till he does get a response. It’s a lady and her son making their way to a protected enclave illustrated in a teen’s diary. In the meantime, the zombies have somehow become resistant to the sun’s rays and Robert has almost found the cure. But how will he ensure that the trio reach the enclave safely with the cure?

The desolate landscape is quite captivating and at times you can enjoy the total absence of rules and responsibilities or Big Brother is watching you. Now that is fun. However, the desperation that greets Robert once the sun sets, the slow dawning of yet another day gone by without seeing a human face (in spite of the mannequins) or hearing a human voice (in spite of Bob Marley), hits straight home.

When I read the synopsis of the movie I was stunned—not by its theme, though. Perhaps, in retrospect, many people do fantasize being the only one alive or dread it, but nevertheless imagine it.

In February 2004, I was travelling by an overcrowded Virar local. I had boarded the train at Borivali. When the train reached Dahisar, one lady got off and 15 ladies were trying to squeeze themselves into the already packed compartment. By the time the shouting and screaming reached a crescendo, the whistle blew and the train started. Ten managed to get in. Out of them, a 20-something girl, for reasons best know to her, bit a lady in front of her. The lady retaliated by grabbing hold of her hair. We only came to know of it when the din was pierced by a blood-curdling scream. Suddenly there was an empty circle in the middle of the gangway. Some ladies were trying to separate the two. A shiver went down by spine while I could actually see the roots of the girl’s hair. The lady had teeth marks on her forearm.

The situation was very tense. I felt that one would manage to throw the other out of the speeding train. Thankfully, the intervention by other passengers calmed the two. How could two strangers savage one another like that I could not even imagine. Was it the heat, or the crowd, or an accident? I’ll never know but the sheer inhumanity of it reminded me that at gut level we are all animals, no less. I got writing and here’s what I wrote—

Why did God create mankind? Was s/he feeling lonely? What would one do if one was the only being alive? What would I do?

What if I woke up one day in Mumbai and found it totally devoid of life? No human beings, no street dogs or cats or cattle or goats or pigeons or crows, no flies or mosquitoes or bugs, no spiders or lizards, no ants.

It would feel like time itself was frozen. Silence—no automobiles running, no trains chugging, no cycle bells tinkling, no buses honking, no rickshaws zipping by, no body brushing past you, no rat scurrying away, no sparrows chirping anywhere. What if there was no sound of industry, no hum or electricity, no buzz of connectivity, no babble or cackle of humanity? Just the sound of the breeze, the rush of the oceans, the boom of your heart beating and your body breathing.

What if every house, flat, duplex, bungalow, zopadpatti, chawl, factory, call centre, office, company, amusement park, zoo, garden, disco, restaurant was empty—like no one ever used them or inhabited them?

Would it be a dream or a nightmare? Would it be scary or peaceful? Would you feel lonely or come to terms with yourself? Would all the money earned, degrees obtained, friends won, success achieved matter anymore? With each move you make, would you feel intensely alive or numbly dead? Would your voice be yours or seem strange? Would you walk down the road dazed or walk in search of hope? Would you feel lucky or doomed? Would clothes and creams and powders matter anymore?

Would your memories replay the joy and sadness at a degree intense or would they cause you heart to constrict with no one to share them with?

God! Were you so alone?

My Blueberry Nights

Director: Wong Kar Wai

My Blueberry Nights is the simple and beautiful love story of Lizzie and Jeremy. It does not rush you into a whirlwind romance of flashy smiles, twinkling eyes, huffs and puffs.  It takes you by the hand and leads you through the life of Lizzie and the insights she gets from people we would love to admonish.

Lizzie (Norah Jones) has just had her heart broken and Jeremy (Jude Law)...well he is serving his time in heartbreak hotel. Jeremy runs a patisserie and God knows what Lizzie does for a living.  No sparks fly when they meet; no stolen or lingering stares when they talk; no fumbling and jumbling with words as they talk.  Just one lights the other's cigarette and smokes into the cold New York night.  

Lizzie runs away and sends Jeremy postcards from wherever she is.  He is desperate to find her  but sits right there in New York while Lizzie bartends in Memphis.  Meanwhile Lizzie encounters certain people who heal the wound in her heart.  An alcoholic by night, a cop by day, Arnie (David Strathaim) and his temptress wife, Sue (Rachel Weisz) teach Lizzie that love burns out but the embers remain.

I have seen Rachel Weisz in The Mummy 1 & 2 and in The Constant Gardener where she plays an empowered gutsy woman.  However, her crass yet vulnerable character in My Blueberry Nights is phenomenal.  Most notable is the scene where she recounts to Lizzie her grief and the loss that she cannot understand.  I don't cry at English movies but this scene moved me.

Under the alias of Betty, Lizzie meets lady gambler Leslie (Natalie Portman) one fine dry Nevada night.  Leslie strikes a crazy deal with the simple little Betty who takes the bait and then embarks on a journey to "Sin City" Las Vegas.  (I must say the Jaguar is uber-sexy.  I can't blame Betty aka Lizzie for giving in.)  Through the long drive Leslie instructs innocent Betty on the harsh world yet fails to recognize her father's love for his daughter.  

All in all, the story comes full circle with a reconciled Lizzie and Jeremy 

re-uniting over a delectable blueberry pie.

Watching this cinematic delight, I could not help but say loud--

Ay, in the very temple of Delight 

    Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, 

        Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue 

    Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; 

His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, 

        And be among her cloudy trophies hung. 

--   John Keats

                     Ode to Melancholy

Happy Birthday to my new morn blog.

It's 10 past 3 in the morning and I am happily typing away the first posting here.  Let's just say this is the ravings of an insomniac cinephile and bookworm.  Allow me to rant...

I read in the Times of India yesterday that sleeping actually helps you reduce weight.  Now that's sweet!  All these days of waking up early and going to the gym, when I could have slept more.  Come to think of it, I sleep very little.  Ah, that's why the extra kilos.  

As you can see,  I'm posting for the sake of posting here.  Will come back with something good tomorrow.  

Goodbye and Goodnight!