Book Review : 'The Book Thief' by Markus Zusak

It has been a long time since I took the time to write. I mean really write. Words had stopped flowing from my fingers, thoughts refused to touch my mind.

Was it the end?

It seemed so until that day when I walked into a bookstore. And I saw it. It wasn’t doing much. It just lay there probably placed by somebody, who was tired of browsing, placed by someone sickened of reading about death, left behind by a reader who read the blurb, and never gave it another thought. 

But I think you, my dear book and I should not give it such an abrupt end. Because then how would I have found you? I just happened to be there, just going through the books, while you lay in the corner, never asking, and never begging, for me to read you. But what was it about you? What was it, that drew me back to you at least three times, and what was it that forced you into my hands? 

I do not know, now would I want to, just that you are in my hands. You were literally placed into my hands; I was forced to run my fingers across your pages. Never in a hurry was I to finish you.

I have never heard of the author, much less read any of his stories. Why do I have you? Was it you, Death, who wanted your story told to me, was it you? I’d like to believe so.

I felt pretty much like the Book Thief, when I had finished it here in this room, a week later. I did not pay for you. Yet, you are here. With me, on my bed, and in my slumber, haunted by words, haunted by your words, Markus Zusak. 

Do you want me to thank you then, do you want me to say the words that have been hovering on my lips for days, do you want me to tell you that if it wasn’t for you, words would probably never have come out again? Do you want me to tell you that your book did not make me cry? I did not shed tears, nor did I feel like telling you to go on and on filling my nights and days? Do you?

I think I just felt you telling me that you were there for me. That you would not rest, and would not stop. I have a feeling that I must tell you, that this book has probably filled my life, emptying the emptiness out of it. And asked me to never be scared again, of anything. 

When Death told me this story, I had to listen, really had to. Nazi Germany, an orphaned child, a best friend, parents and love, all just things which came in the way of you telling me this story. 

So, read it now if you must, and tell me if this story has touched you. Not your heart, or your mind. But, if it at any point, truly touched you.

So, why did you come to me, you book thief, you?

Book Review : 'The Sins of the Father', by Jeffrey Archer

Jeffrey Archer’s second instalment of The Clifton Chronicles is a rarity. A rarity, not because of Archer’s usual literary talents, whether in jail or without. What he managed to build carefully, composedly, and methodically in his earlier book, ‘Only Time Will Tell’, all comes apart carefully, composedly with the same method, in this one. 

What made it so brilliant was the end of the book. I personally felt there could not have been a better finish. Though sad, it managed to touch you. You could not imagine it better, even though you would have liked a different but happy ending, you wanted Harry to marry Emma, yet you could not wrap your head around it. Sadly, neither could Archer.

He wrote, ‘The Sins of the Father’ and used the same care to ruin the effect of the first book. In the first book, he wrote about Harry Clifton, a truly nice guy (there are no better words to describe him, I could say a lot, but it would not take away, that much), who unfortunately is the victim of circumstances, leading him away from his almost wife and into jail. Again, I was saddened a little more because of the fact that he landed up in jail, when he could have met his maker. 

But unfortunately, this maker laid his hands on him first, Archer i.e.

And led him away from death into another series. Which, fortunately had quite a bit of Archer’s notes from jail, the only saving grace of this part of the series. It is with remarkable understanding, and empathy does he write the notes, which only he could have, thanks to his stint in jail (Remember his Prison Diaries).

It was a truly a tragedy, that which described Clifton and Emma Barrington’s lives. Clifton in jail and then released thanks to Emma’s efforts and his newly found talent (that of a writer). Now, we will have to wait to see what Archer does to his protagonists. I thought that life in jail had made him more sensitive, which I found in the first part, as well as his earlier book, ‘Paths of Glory’. They had a certain empathy to the nature of his characters. 

Here’s hoping for the best, in the sequel, hopefully his last bid at saving Clifton’s life and the book!

Never give up: Fairness Creams in India??

Earlier, there was a time when I'd watch a fairness cream ad and roll my eyes, and change the channel. Sigh and give up. Now, I am just mad. 

Yesterday I was at a lunch, where a lady was describing her perfect daughter-in-law. She should be fair, she said. While her dark husband was nodding, beside her.

Now, I know, that's an age old line and we must be tired of it. But what I fail to understand is why? Why would you want your daughter in law, or your daughter, or niece, or friend's kid to be fair?? 

Why the hell is it your business? Or even the business of television?

Every day, I am put through a series of ads, Vaseline, Fair and Lovely, Garnier, etc. I guess the best you can say is that, in these ads, they are not trying to discriminate. Men and women are treated equally alike. They are all supposedly looked down upon because they are all dark! So, SRK 's Fair and Handsome or Priyanka's Garnier are pretty much the same piece of crap!! Or perhaps, a better job, or success at different events! All because of your daily fairness cream.

And then they are our only chance at love too! Because, from what I see, that is the only chance we have. Be fair and lovely and automatically, you can miraculously find your fair and handsome man! Or else... 

Or you could make coffee best, if you are white enough! As the wife does for her husband in some silly powder ads, for a whiter tone!!! Drinking Coffee can cause darkness too, I think, so why not come with a white coffee?

White, fair! I think it is high time we realised that Indians could only be wheatish at best, or even better, dark or the colour of chocolate! (Or maybe white chocolate, perhaps at the rate at which the ads are going.  As if we have no dearth of photoshops to make us all look fair.)

The problem with these ads is that they are failing to serve their purpose! That is to show that darkness caused by tanning can be lost by using these products, temporarily! It is a different issue, if you are fair, naturally! What are these ads trying to tell us? Kajol, who is of dark skin, and who once proudly wore it, is now a victim of a product, which automatically makes her fairer! Seriously, if one saw the ad, one can easily tell! The use of a graphic editing program, is eye boggling! The product does offer much more, but the entire purpose is lost considering her 'fair' skin. You are left wondering what is what!

Otherwise, we can all just sit at home and give up our taste of  Vitamin D. The sun rays strike the skin and stimulate the forming of cholecalciferol. This can be imporatant, and is best in the early mornings or late afternoons. Not in the afternoon's blazing sun, mind you!

Cholecalciferol is a vitamin D3. Vitamin D can help absorb calcium from the stomach and for the  calcium functioning in us. It can be used in treating or preventing conditions of the skin or bones. This is only an example, but my point remains.

A quantity of the compound, Melanin, which is present in our skin determines our skin colour. Melanin is up in areas, where people live close to the equator or where the climate is hot, receive a lot of sunlight, and with sunlight also come the UV rays. Due to this exposure to sun, the skin protects itself, through the process of melanin production. This gives the skin, a colour. In fact, the blacker your skin is, the less the chance is, of you getting skin cancer!

A chemical compound called  hydroquinone, which is found in most of the lightening creams and acts as an inhibitor. So, basically, melanin does not appear as fast if you use this. But the use could cause skin diseases, which is why it has been prevented in European countries.

 

Alternatives to it could be mulberry, white mulberry, paper mulberry, fruits, kojic acid, vitamin C etc. They inhibit the melanin production or take out a layer of the skin and in turn exposing new skin. You could try reading this up on http://www.thegeminigeek.com/do-fairness-creams-really-work/ for more.

Reasons such as wounds or genetic problems could also be the cause of us being dark. We can stop blaming the dark parent!

 

Why should we be fair? If we can find a superb way to still be ANY colour or if we can find ways to show that such products are superficial, and colour would show up, when you stop using them, that would be a brilliant ad. And I look forward to them. Kudos to Aish Rai who refused to so such ads!

Apparently, there are ads for skin whitening to the private parts as well! Just when you think you have said enough! Really? You want this too?? Next, we should be bleaching them too...

When I was in school, I remember reading that we would not be discirmainted based on colour. Then why this? Rascism at its best! It is not funny anymore, though I was put through a lot of hilarious ads, websites, and writings on the topic, from which I have liberally taken to make my point. But, I trust and I hope that people do see my point and if you do, see the anger behind all this.

You must realise that people look good, whatever colour your skin or private part takes! So, screw the fairness creams and the bleaches... coz at the end of the day, we all do look good! And we will not be discriminated based on the c word! Colour!

View from the Top

I was wondering while looking at the view today. Pinks, greens, blues dotted with whites and oranges. Lovely colours clashing with garish. Also, little houses they seemed, some built Indian style, a few Chinese and a few others, just built to provide shade.

How lucky, I thought. To be under the shade, in this hot, hot sun. It spread my view, to the beyond, into other worlds, it seemed. Underworld, I wondered, and upperworld I was told.

But am wondering if they go beyond this. If they are always stuck deep down in the mud and the dirt? Never to go anywhere. Never to be thought about again. How lucky I wondered, never to be asked a question again, never to be told off.

But then, I knew deep down that I would not be the same again, if I wasn't asked a question, or told off, or yelled at. Because then, life such as it is would cease to exist for me and I would be left staring at the dead, at the graveyard. Never to return, never to stay.

The written note

Well, here we are again. I kinda told myself I'd start writing now, I kinda did, but not here. It was back to square one, it was back to a newspaper! I do not know if I should be thankful for it, to the friend who led me back. Not for this, definitely, but writing! Allowing me to see it all over again, and feeling everything I did, when I first started to write. Write, write, write!

I know my handwriting sucks, but hey, I am writing. And to continue writing, I will feel it again, the touch of the crisp, white paper and the feel of that black pen, its nib out like it is ready to strike. I want to hear it, the sound of the rustling paper, waiting all this while...waiting for me, perhaps, it seems to come and write on you again.

The sounds of writing, do you hear them? I hear them as clearly as I did when I was but ten staring out of the classroom window, at the lovely green trees, with their yellow flowers. I hear the scramble for pens, and I knew then, that this would be my dream, to write!

I have found writing to be not just that. It has helped me through days of boring classes, through the times of similar meetings, through days of endless happiness as it did through moments of tears. It has been my solace and my strength.
Nothing has changed! Times are the same... nothing really had changed! So, then why should I forget to write? Why, when it has been everything for me? I do not mean writing for the job, I enjoy it sometimes.

I mean, writing for myself. Weaving stories out of imagination, out of dreams and hopes. I find it difficult to talk so I write, I find it difficult to think, so I write, I find it difficult to express myself, so I write. I find it difficult to write, so I write... I write... in secret.

Eyes Wide Open...

Wondering. Dreaming with my eyes wide open, I am. I wish things were a little different. I want to change them, but I cannot. I am not asking for much, but just those few wishes, I dream of them, sometimes of the gardens, I had walked before in, of the gates I have walked through. Almost, always looking back.

Do I like the present or the past, but I really do not want to live in the past. But, then again, it had its moments, I miss them. My mind is full of dreams, dreams of a wonderful future, dreams of a beautiful present, and yes, dreams of the haunting past too. I cannot choose, which I like best, I do not want to, anymore. We'll watch it, as it unfolds, be a part of it, even.

Some things never change, and we are glad of it. Like those, times, when we used to sit and blabber on into the night, all those times we laughed, and all those people who made us laugh. Like those sunsets, I would watch, at almost every hill station, wishing for the moments to be captured in my mind.

My mind's eye can still see them. Like those beaches I went to, like those sea shells I collected, like this castles I built, in the sand and in the air. Like those thoughts, which would come to me, and stay on as dreams. The book stores, I went to. All those books, I bought, to help me build my castles further. To help me breathe in the fragrance a little longer, to touch and feel the very essence of all those thoughts.

To see it come to life, the very thought, that very feeling, to hear the sounds of laughter, the sounds of grief, and the sound of silence. To have me look on into the distance, and still see those very thoughts come to life. I dream on, then, because they are all I have to hold on to. To help me, through it all. To help me see the sun, rise again.

Raavan --- A miracle watch.

Now that I think of it, have to give it marks for its natural beauty. I felt like going and sitting in the rains, some more. I think it might have done better if it was released here in the summer, considering the heat, people would have love the rained out look. Full marks to the technical team. :)

But also, full marks on the perspective that Mani Ratnam has on Ramayan. Ram (if not born in that era, would probably have had the kind of anti-hero kind of characterization.) I felt Aishwarya Rai was ill-suited for that role. She was expressionless, almost. Except in a few scenes even her beauty has failed her. The stunts by Aishwarya were pretty commendable, (if she did them herself like they claim).

Vikram, knowing fully well about his lack of knowledge of the Hindi language, could not give the extra edge to his role. Coming to Abhishek Bachchan, well, what can I say… he was funny when he was supposed to be scary. He was funny when he was funny when he supposedly intense. Let’s just say, he was funny… did not expect him to be so bad, guess the characterization was too sketchy.

Other than that, Govinda’s role was almost nothing. I mean the character, which could have been powerful, was reduced to a comic nothing. He is the only guy who managed to get to Raavan’s lair, and got to do something. His role, as the funny guy, in which he jumps everywhere, was finished in the first bit when they introduce him. Ravi Kishen ? was alright, in whatever little role that he had.

And the story began, (well, whatever little they could muster) only in the second half, and ended there. What a waste of time.

I thought that it would be alright, in spite of whatever I heard, but I have never felt like getting up and walking out of the theatre for any movie as I felt for this one. That too, a Mani Ratnam movie!! Still, it did not get me to walk out. So, three cheers for that??!! :)

Book Picking!

Picking a book. What happens when you pick a book? What are you expecting from it? Are you expecting joy or sadness, or are you wanting to find out the best of nature or sciences? Or better yet, are you just expecting a good read?

This, perhaps is probably one of the few things one expects in books. Why do you say you loved a book? I hated ‘The Wuthering Heights’ when I first read it. Is it because I did not see anything in it? Or perhaps I did not want to see anything in it? Same with ‘Tess of the ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’. These literary giants, both in terms of writing and the emotion they can make you feel are perhaps the qualifying factors in reading these books.

If I hated ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’, then its purpose was achieved. Thomas Hardy’s purpose was achieved. I hated everything about Alec d'Urberville, his very character was enough to make me hate an entire book. How, then had Hardy managed to achieve it? The same with Wuthering Heights, the same with Heathcliff. What a character he was. He was ruthless, yet he managed to have so many people love him and hate him at the same time. Again, why?

Perhaps, I repeat, both these books have achieved their purposes. There are ‘happy’ books, such as those by Jane Austen or Louisa May Alcott, who have managed to write incidents from their pasts, and yet managed to have the happy themes going. Why did I like them and hate the former ones? It is simple. I liked everything, but just thought I hated some, not because I hated the authors or even their styles of writing, both of these which were excellent.

If Hardy wanted me to dislike Alec and Bronte, Heathcliff who am I to disagree? So, I did. I disliked, even hated these two characters. By moving me, emotionally to dislike these characters, the authors have managed to make me react. React beautifully, to everything they were writing with the passion they felt, perhaps at that time.

So, when I go to pick a book now, I do not know too much about it. I just walk into a book store and pick up books, randomly. Probably, just read the blurb, if at all, I cannot decide. And this has led me to find possibly some of the best books, even by authors, I did not know. A book also depends on my mood, so ideally I would pick book depending on my mood, that day. But, hey a book is a book is a book. Love it, hate it, but you just can’t live without it.

Fighting in Parliament? What for?

As the parties are battling it out in Parliament, it could truly be a Mahabharat. Essentially, this should have been something we shouldn't even be fighting over, let alone in the Parliament. In fact, there should be a bill which should well be passed, which says that women, should have at least 50% reservation in both the sabhas.

As we go on talking about women taking a lead in this and that, why in the world are we put in a position, where we have to ask for our place under the sun? But, well, so much for our country and all it ups and downs...

If certain people feel so bad about other sections of the community which, we call India being left out, then perhaps they should step down and put up someone from these 'communities', who are not allowed to jump in. People, who probably do not have enough 'political mileage' to suit the requirements of the parliament. Because, these people are definitely not answering my call or perhaps even the call of at least, half the country's population.

Again, they seem to be missing the point. That is that, this sort of reservation is present only in the Panchayats, which represents one of these so-called socially and economic backward communities. The panchayats are from the villages, how come they have the intelligence and do not have to fight our politicians, like the way we do?

A mere 33.3% is only what is being asked for, when truly, at least we should have proportional reservation. If what happened yesterday, is an example, then we truly need women in there. I hope there would be a time when we stop bickering about such things among ourselves, and start fighting the real fights.

Cracked calling Karthik!

I think it's high time, we all stopped cribbing about all the time wasted on Hindi films, because that's the way it is. Something for everyone ;).

Like in 'Karthik calling Karthik' for example, everyone missed the fun of the movie, which was essentially the phone calls. Of course, there was all the romance and of course, there was all the song and dance. If you sleep through the first half, the movie magically appears in the second half.

I liked the movie. I agree Farhan Akhtar over does the creepy bit as if he is in a horror flick or something, but hey, he is good in the rest. The movie is essentially about him and his odd disorder, and his capacity to cope with it. Of course, that definitely wasn't a part of the movie, but we are to understand that he coped with it. That is definitely not what the director is trying to do. You get it, coz he spends zero time trying to explain the disorder, except that Karthik needs help.

The crux of it, I felt, was Karthik's ability to deal with it, minus his friends and relatives. He shows his willingness when he manages to almost deal and vanquish it, when he disappears, by himself and takes his 'alter ego' with it, before resurfacing again.

Deepika Padukone was pleasant and all the other characters were good too, providing the romantic, comic and the important parts of the movie. Of course, I did miss his parents, where were they? Or were they dead and did I miss that? Completely unnatural, when they disappear so willingly in the second half and show up now and then, don't you think? Oh, did I mention his doc just runs away? :) Kinda funny?

Ok, we get it. It's Farhan's film, and Deepika's so, she comes back to his relief. This movie can be truly enjoyable, both in the positive sense and also in the negative sense. See, the first is the good parts that is when they show how and what is wrong with him. If you like it, there it is. But if you like my bad part, ie when they go overboard over the romance, taking their own sweet time for the kill, then well, there it is too.

But, I do not know if Mr Lalwani meant for me to interpret it differently. As in talking about his willingness to kill the beast by himself, despite his not realising it. It actually could be that way. I mean, a guy would resist something to a point, but then if you have someone to hold him back, only then would he be willing to take the last step and keep with it.

Farhan was pretty good in the movie, restrained and subtly does his acting come out. Deepika, by the way, despite the really silly reason on her ex-boyfriend's bit, comes in to her own, every now and then at least, because the script does not really call for it. Vijay Lalwani did a pretty neat job of it, 'very slowly' managing to develop his character, by that I mean the phone's not Farhan's.

By the way, what in-film advertising!! Very nice, except the phone's. Am sure I am not getting that phone, for sure.

I liked it, in spite of all its shortcomings! :)

Poem? Limerick? :)

You said Moo...

I said Boo...

You ran away, scaredy-poo!

On a mission to save the world... from Aish Rai

Old advertisements on the internet. What else could I do? Beyond spending the evening watching and laughing at them? Nowadays, there isn't much to watch. Of course, the interest in ads still stays, I know I bring the place down about switching channels, even today. And I can see it not waning away anytime soon.

Yet, the interest was something, which came to me only with the older ads. Today, I know that I cannot remember a single advertisement. Ask me the last Pepsi or Coke ads, no clue, totally blank.

But then, I used to remember the latest ads earlier, even a year down the line. Ask me of the Maaza ad, I remember something. The Coke ad, which had Aamir Khan in it and not to mention Aishwarya Rai? Loved the Lakme ads which had her in it too... The ads then were something... which were ideas, which one could aspire to. You had actors telling you to have only the 'best' Seemingly, important. Even if it wasn't, you still could aspire to do it, becasue, well, an Aamir or a Kapil Dev asked you to do so...

But, now it's a joke. You have everything from washing powder, (Salman Khan telling you to buy one) pens (Amitabh, Sachin and Shah Rukh telling us to go get them), or even L'oreal products Aish Rai claiming to save the world, in bright red lipsticks and red skirts and shoes. Gawd, really?

I'd go red in the face, just talking about it. ( No product necessary for that one.)

I know that I liked the Lakme stuff a lot better, it was then a matter of getting something exclusive, if she was advertising for it. Now, it's just a matter of getting anything off the shelf. Exclusivity, be damned!

Besides then, there were ads, superstars notwithstanding, which came to your mind. Probably because of a really nice jingle, the sense of humour...

Now... missing.

There seem to be very few ads, which show these... enough to remember them by, at least for a few days. I'm not complaining about the varieties we have in them, not mentioning to you the different tooth pastes and their tastes. I know that I won't remember them as days go by.

I understand the need for change, but I do not understand the need for change in intelligence. What are we talking about? Is it the so called models in ads, is it the products and their varieties in ads or is it the product itself? I would not know, because if you are going to show them, they had better be smart or funny perhaps both, otherwise, well, what is the point?

Because I am asking for a shortage of all these ads. If not, well, I'm confused, hope I'm not getting conned and fused at the same time.

Lead on...leader!

Leader! Saw it today, went there expecting a wonderful movie. It was. And I wasn't at all disappointed. Oh yeah, Suhasini, subtly and in a very understated way manages to have the wonderful screen presence, she is known for.

The story, though somehow impossible, did manage to strike a chord. It had all the elements of a true, honest movie. Sadly, only a movie. I actually wished for a leader to be exactly like that. You wish and wish for something like that to happen. So, Shekar Kammula deserves all the points for that one.

The story, I felt was very powerful in its own right. It comes at the right time too. However, somehow the shoulders on which it rests on, does not give us a reason to watch it again. The movie went on very slowly, gaining strength though, and finally manages to reach complete power, right towards the end. That pretty much is when it happens, when it manages to touch you, right at the end.

It lets you feel a plethora of emotions in the last twenty minutes. Quite a bit of screen time wasted though, I felt.

Oh yeah, did I mention the item number? It was thankfully, the most decent item number, I've ever seen.

The actors were excellent, but then we have always managed to see, whether it was a Suhasini or a Kota Srinivas Rao come out with good performances. Rana Daggubati has an impressive screen presence, his height and his entire personality add to the movie. He does seem like 'The Leader', which the movie was supposed to have. One can imagine very few people in his place. But, unfortunately that is all. He does not bring anything else to the 'CM's table'. His face was blank, almost throughout the movie. But his personality carries him through. His face has a shadow of brilliance, which should come through, eventually.

Harsha Vardhan's role was good and he does his bit with full justice. End Note about the heroines. It was rather nice watching Priya Anand on the screen, she was funny. On Richa, she was alright, too. Really did not have much to do, but I felt and wished she could have done much more in her few scenes. Some scenes were cut, I guess.

An excellent start. I hope there will be more movies like this, with good story lines, sound tracks and performances. :) Because... god knows, we need them.

Oh yeah, Belated Happy Holi people!! :)

Now, for some fun!!

I think we all (my 4 odd readers and myself) have had enough of me dishing out my own philoshophy. I notice that my comment rate increases at least. :) Anyway, after all the philosophy, I think I am through with that for a while... for a long, long while anyway. Though the phase was there and lasted long enough, (2-3 months) I reckon, it is time for some fun.

So, read some Calvin and Hobbes, bring on the Magadheera type movies, and some din chik din chik moves. Or Jatak Matak, whichever you prefer and sing smelly cat, smelly cat. :)

So, let us see now, Magadheera, which was a howlarious movie was all it promised, it was superb fun, of course you cannot miss the fact that it was too loud and did get boring half way through, but hey, it got me, my three (I think) hours of entertainment. While the books, not Calvin, sorry, l'il too expensive for me. Anuja Chauhan's The Zoya Factor is my fantasy, well... almost, in a book, while Chetan Bhagat's 2 States was a joke. So, overall, last week was bit of both. Started off with all the seriousness it could muster, and ended with jokes all round.

Now, for some work! Let us umm..ahh... power on? :)

Change!?

Change! There it is again. Why is it so hard to find? And when we find it, why don’t we like it, not very much at first? Are we too scared? Why are we so hesitant? Why is it all weird and so much done to stop it from happening?

I’ve changed in so many ways, I can’t keep count. I resisted it but it has found me, again, again and yet again. So, I gave in and I have changed. Learnt to like it…learnt to realise it, and learnt to find the many beauties of it…

I have found in the past that whatever change has brought about, it has brought about sanity, perseverance, and most importantly, and weirdly enough, self preservation. Do I like it now? Do I like its many effects and its never ending after effects? Maybe not at first…but I know for sure, I did.

Especially, when I start to realise change, I also realise the silly things change can make you do. Silly? Perhaps to everyone else but not to me, not now. Specially, because this very change has brought me here, saw me through everything, and will see me through this as well.

Change because life is never constant and life should not be, or you may be left standing in the same place, when everybody else, has gone ahead. Resist it, until you find reason enough for you to leave it behind. Trust it, because you know that it could never be wrong…however difficult it may seem at first.

As tomorrow comes we leave yesterday behind, but we have some wonderful memories of it, some happy, some sad, but wonderful all the same. So, change we must. Change. Now.

Book Review: 'Paths of Glory' by Jeffrey Archer

Rarely comes along a book, and takes you with it, especially nowadays. But this time, I have found it. Jeffrey Archer’s ‘Paths of Glory’, is one such book that takes you along as it goes, first at a slower pace and then makes one rush along wanting to know, what happens. To climb, mind you, nothing less than the Mount Everest. And it takes us up it in minutes, considering the pace at which it lets you read the book.

Starting off at a leisurely pace, it slowly weaves an extraordinary tale of adventure and one of love, all wrapped in a subtle sense of wit. Banters, which one cannot miss between Thackeray Turner and George Leigh Mallory or even in other conversations that Mallory has with his wife and various people.

George Leigh Mallory is the ‘lead man’, perhaps in this book, followed closely by his wife, Ruth and his many friends, who are willing to risk lives to climb the Everest.

The matchless self expression presented through dialogue and the letters which Mallory and Ruth exchange with each other is truly beyond comparison. Letters, unimaginable nowadays, in which one can see the love and the respect written with such humility that can only be imagined. You could truly wish you could write them like that or not write them at all!

It slips into the real adventure describing the humorous, for lack of a better word, George Finch and his adventures. Along with sherpas, and the mules, our journey up the Chomolungma, begins then. As they skirt along the mountain, eating something I have personally never heard of, but my mouth waters every time it is mentioned now, is the Kendal Mint Cake.

You are almost as disappointed and hurt as Mallory at the prospect of not reaching the summit and a sigh of relief cannot but help escape your lips when he does, the second time round. It is almost as if you had sat with Mallory’s children, waiting and anticipating for their daddy to climb the mountain.

This book needs at least two readings, of this I am sure. If you are the kind who reads the end before you finish the book, then I urge you to continue reading it. This book is one, which would go beyond all your anticipation and imagination. Knowing the end and still wanting to read it, is a gift, Archer can create for you. Though the mystery was never solved, it does in Archer’s book and in your mind, that George Leigh Mallory did indeed conquer the summit.

Much as I have enjoyed Archer’s short stories, to his novels and even his prison diaries, this book is his best. The ease with which he moves from year to year is indeed, amazing. So, to Jeffrey Archer and his book, which is inspired by a true story, I have only this to say, ‘Hear, Hear’.　

Reality!

I was looking forward to tomorrow, yesterday. Will tomorrow be any different, I asked myself. Will it be different from what I have always seen, always heard, always felt? If so, how different? What is the difference?

I woke up, not to birds chirping, not to the sun shining, not to a lovely dream. I woke up to something very different, something which would not keep me safe, something which would hurl me into space, and wait for me to hit earth.

I woke up… to reality.

Why would I want to be here? Why, when I seemed to be having a pretty wonderful time? Why would I choose this?

I had but one choice. To go back to sleep, or to wake up and face it. No, not the harsh reality, but the real reality.

The reality which would be a little different, a lot more adventurous and would require a lot more courage. So, here I am, ready to face you, my reality.

Ready to face the one thing, which has given me everything I have and everything I have not.
I have chosen the real reality. And I have but one wish.

And when this reality comes true, I will have no one to thank for it, but myself. And for that day, I will wait.
　

Remembering Goa…

I remember the breakfasts in Goa. Cornflakes and milk, toast and omelets, not to mention milkshakes, sausages and porridge, baked beans on buns, rounded off with a steaming cup of hot coffee. Yum yum… Why am I remembering all these?

Also the long walks, all the way to Calangute, the beach houses, the sand and the sea, not to mention the lovely sunsets we used to see, dolphins in the distance. The mehndi tattoos, the lovely shopping at the market, not to mention the half closed flea market. The long drives too. The damn rains, the crowded parties at night, the late nights.

The awesome shacks at the beach, what lovely chairs! Why in the world am I remembering these? Maybe its time I went back or at least to a place very like it. :)

Did I just see a Monkey?

There were two monkeys in my house. Yes, you heard right. We have always been used to monkeys. My grandpa’s house was famous for monkeys, they used to drop in for a visit and if they didn’t find the trees good enough, they always used to find something in grandma’s larder.

Grandma was once sitting on the terrace, and one actually came down to sit, just like a proper guest, I believe he was busy eating something, all the while watching grandma, who sat stiffly, not moving, just to watch it leave. The second one who dropped into her kitchen, was shocked at how loudly my grandma could actually shout. A frightened old lady she seemed so docile, the monkey must have thought. She sure could bring the house down and the scream was so loud, that scared us for sure, but the monkey was out of its wits too!

One cute little monkey, who ran off the second she came face to face with my dad. Poor child, she must’ve been scared out of her wits, and my poor dad who hadn’t done a thing was mighty pleased with himself, am sure for managing to scare it off, by not so much as lifting a finger.

Of course, will never forget the monkey who came into out kitchen when we were staying in an apartment, strolled ever so nonchalantly into the kitchen , and ran off with a bottle of pulses. He got it open, tried to eat it, found it too hard for its liking, and ran off, leaving behind the sorry bottle on the roof of our neighbours house. They had a full half a kilo of dal that morning, and the lovely smell that came from the house, must have been my favourite yellow dal. :)

Monkeys have followed us here as well, it seems. They are in almost every house, just like cats.

I saw two monkeys today, and they made off with fruit from our tree. It’s not new, they’ve been here before, but much before all the construction had begun around our house. Maybe they came back to reclaim their natural habitat. But unfortunately, we can’t offer them that, the most we could offer are fruits, which they happily helped themselves to. I saw them leave with a smile, well, at least it looked like a smile and a wave. Or maybe it was just them trying to get hold of the branches of the few trees...hmmm…

Next time, cats. ;)

English. The ultimate language. (For me, at least. :) )

Have started Funny Side Up. Am not trying to review it or something, it does not require one, because it has been written by Ruskin Bond. I do not know or understand why this man has not gotten all the awards in the world. His books are simple, humorous, and nostalgic and many other complimentary adjectives to go with them.

He is what I would call the ultimate designer writer. If there ever was one, we have found him. His stories have all the necessary frills and lace and are as smooth as silk.

I remember as a kid, sitting in school, trying to read up collections of short stories and novels in literature class. Boy! I hated that. I feel today, when I read them, there is magic in those words, the simplicity in the language is perhaps the most exquisite. I liked reading outside of school, why then did I hate reading it for school? It was simple. I had to study then. I prefer reading to studying.

Now, after all these many years, after school that is, I find everyone of those words in those English books, which I had not found then. Shakespeare and Hardy and Austen. Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, and O. Henry. John Grisham, Robin Cook and JK Rowling. The discovery never stops. Does not take a pause.

I was in a book store the other day, and my cousin, who was kind enough to get me a gift voucher, was not surprised when I exceeded it. He believes that giving me one of a higher amount would be silly, because I would still manage to exceed that as well.

I find that English cannot be taught, it has to be discovered. Then begins our voyage. Into a world, so vast and its splendour, so varied. So, let the exploration begin… and my own self discovery with it.
　
　
　

Whatever...

I finally saw a movie, of which I do not know, if I have an opinion about. I do not know if I like it or hate it. New York was a decent movie, why did I get bored, then? Did I not like the actors? They were okay, I guess, considering their limited capabilities as actors. Irrfan Khan …(wait, did I get his spelling right?) was good, though.

Did I not like the story? That could be a reason. Hardly, anybody paid much attention to the conspiracy that the terrorists ran. I guess the movie was then based on friendship, which does not come across, once the first quarter of the movie is through. Love? Hardly at all, so I will not mention it.

I’m guessing the movie was a combination of criticism and praise. I did not feel good or bad for anyone. Both factors had their say, but then again, not enough. I never for one moment sat up and watched the movie, it was just going on and I continued to watch it. I guess the happy factor is that I never felt like walking out.

Oh yeah, I’m reading the Secret Seven series again. I love them just as much as before. :) But I doubt if I would go for New York again :)
　

Far Away?

The Faraway Tree collection is a very good book, not just for children but for adults as well. I am not saying that just because, I am reading it again now, and because all kinds of people are gushing over it. ;)

I am saying that because it creates a completely perfect world, far, far away.

• It talks of a good environment where all the kids live in clean and green surroundings.
• It talks of a world free of pollution, no smoke, no dust and no grime and no dirt.
• It even simply talks of innocence, which we hardly get to see from children nowadays.
  

So, is it a philosophical or a politically motivated book? As I read on, I am beginning to be convinced of its environmental significance, it starts off with the polluted city, going on to talk of cutting trees and also, trees dying. Enid Blyton tells us of what is to come, back in the 1930s(?), and how we can save our plants and trees.

Probably, Enid Blyton had no such intention when she wrote this book, or maybe she did, and which is why she creates a whole new world, free of all the above.

Here’s hoping that Enid Blyton’s world comes true. :)

David Yates comes of age :)

Wow! This really is a Harry Potter movie. Now, we are talking.

David Yates has finally got it all right, he has made a brilliant movie, in which he has bid adieu to his own dark side. This movie has subtly delivered the message, it is supposed to deliver. Voldemort can finally be very careful.

While the earlier Chris Columbus versions were childish at most, Alfonso Cuaron did only one movie and the last David Yates flick was gloomy, this one promises a terrific climax.

While Richard Harris remains the best Dumbledore, playing the character with ease and élan, Michael Gambon has finally hit all the right notes, in this movie. Enacting Dumbledore in probably the right mode, he has brought out the character in the book to the screen. Finally.

The others all have smaller parts. Coming to the true essence of the film, Ron and Hermione have blink and miss roles here. Harry’s character has to come to the fore in this film, something which he misses out on, I felt. Malfoy was really good, specially towards the end, where he has to be the confused death eater, that he actually is in the book.

It is of course, definitely worth a watch or two perhaps for the coming together of the film, the characters and their roles. David Yates, take a bow.

PS: Did I mention the language of the movie? I have not heard such words like ‘albeit’ and ‘whilst’ in ages, it was wonderful and in a movie like this it seemed more than apt.

Birthdays! What the heck!?

So, anyway, I am turning a year older on August 1st. :) So usually, a day of great mourning and grief. But, now I’ve come to realise a few things.

1) I’m tired of crying each year, since 25, so this time I am going to be happy. ;)

2) Nothing is going to be different? Whatever happens, happens for the good.

3) Where the hell are my gifts? :) 15 days to go, phew.

Of course, I love birthdays, did not like them too much these past few years, but hey, time’s running out. I mean the time to not like them is running out, so well, this year we begins the time to love the happy birthday time.

I don’t care if I don’t get any gifts (I would do a U turn if someone gave me tickets to the latest Harry Potter flick. Or even if they got me of ‘Before Sunrise’ and ‘Before Sunset’ CDs. I don’t care if no one got me yummy cake, if I didn’t do anything for my birthday (Hint, Hint)

From this year on, It’s all going to be good. Oh yeah, I still hate the line about age being just a number. :p

So, 15 days, power on. To me :)

:)

Reading and writing remain two of the most important things in my life. If you think about it, almost everyone has a story to tell, of their lives, even anecdote from it, an incident, or even a complete phase. This is what is and will always remain fascinating to me.

Stories of adventure, of passion, of mystery, of emotion, even of fear and comedy.

I love the funny story bit. I like it best when a story can inspire you to smile, not laugh… just smile, it could be funny, or even sad, but it should make you smile. So, I plan to achieve that. Almost ever story should make you smile. Otherwise, what is the point of movies, or books, or even life? :)
　

Who? Me?

A friend recently told me that I am such a romantic, and I took up arms at that. I said I wasn’t and that she should get her eyes checked. :) But anyway, I thought about it and well, I could see her point.

My stories always talk of nature and its beauty, most of my stories have a touch of humour and romance (I do not mean the kind of silly romance one gets to see in most movies) but well, it means a little adventure and nostalgia, fantasy and a sense of excitement. So, well , I thought, ‘I am a romantic. And why the hell not?’

Also, apparently, I am getting a tad philosophical these days. Well, I cannot help it, because I believe. I believe in everything good, I try and avoid the bad stuff if possible, books, movies and talk.

Ok. Does it have anything with the above? Am I the tomboy, I was then?

Well, yes and no. Because, I still hate to wear saris and all the girly stuff there is. I hate lipstick and make up. I still love the jeans, of course, the tops may have changed. :) Basically, I am still a pain for my mother.

So, the central point is this: I am a romantic and I am proud of it. And people do go through change and I can see it happening in me and around me. It was a little difficult to get at first and to deal with, but well, this is what it is. Now, if I am a little embarrassed at first, when I meet you, deal with it. :)

Did I make sense? Well, I don't care what you think :p　

Is this English? Really?

Today, I happened to read an article on how a lot of schools do not mind the odd American spelling. Students, apparently prefer the all-American spelling because it is shorter!

I find it shocking that schools, which usually preferred the ‘old’ English, are today, ignoring what we used to treat as mistakes in the earlier day as perfectly correct. Why am I not at all surprised, by this? Shocked but not surprised.

Call me narrow-minded, but this kind of thing is what irritates me the most. ‘But hey, it is shorter. You can miss the odd use of letters just as long as they fit in.’

While we have used the British spelling for years, and the Americans have used their kind of spelling for ages, I do not understand why we have to change the way we learnt our English. While we cannot be strictly distinct about our English, we have still managed to write in with our bit of flavour. Why then should we leave it behind, and use the American spelling?

Today, we find a lot of Indian writing in English, writers are preferring the use of this ‘adopted’ language. Should we change it? Should I change my honour to honor? Or perhaps the colour of my language to the color of theirs?

While many Indians in the US and finding it difficult to write ‘colour’ , as opposed to color, we in our own country are preferring the use of color to colour? I have enough trouble changing it on MS Word, I would not want my teacher correcting me, too. It is not that I am against the use of the American spelling, use it, but use it in their country.

I guess many would disagree with me, but English is at its best the old way, the all Indian way. It always was and always will be my favourite mode of writing, not my favorite mode of writing.

Literature in Language or are we asking for too much?

This blog is just me wondering, I am not trying to criticize anyone, so please try and read. :)

Yesterday, a friend asked me to read a paragraph of Paulo Coelho's. I said I do not like him but that got me thinking. If the language is good enough would I ever forget the subject? Or would I give importance to the subject over the language? Is it possible to ignore one over the other?

I have always given importance to the language, but was left wondering about the subject. How are we defining a good book? I almost always read a book depending on the subject, because I expect the language to be good. 7 out of 10 times, it is good, or well, at least I think it is good. I am not just talking of the spellings and the grammar, I am talking of the language as a whole.

Nowadays, I am not just looking at the blurb, but am actually reading it for a couple of minutes, before I buy it. Because I am looking for literature in the language. Where is it? With books adapting the so-called modern language, are we not missing out? Perhaps, yes and no… I’m not trying to deny the expression of the language as it is, today. That is the way people talk and that goes, but I still wonder.

And so, while I continue to read a Saki and a P.G Wodehouse, which thankfully have both good language and good subjects, I am also reading a John Grisham and a Mathew Reilly wherein, we have given importance to the subject over the language.

And this is because I do not want to keep wondering about all the books I would be missing, which perhaps have bad language but good content. And here’s hoping that I would never have to choose between the two. (By bad language, I do not necessarily mean bad words, it just means giving importance to one over the other.)

Language is the expression of literature. They should go hand in hand, don’t you think?

And, by the way, I did happen to read Paulo Coelho's, ‘The Alchemist’ and ‘The Warrior of Light’. Have to say, they have both good language and good subjects, but I have never gotten to like him, somehow. :) More to wonder about, perhaps, hmmm…
　

Are you getting published, today?

A friend recently asked me if I don't get frustrated every time I have to see a rejection slip from the publishers. Well, of course, I do, but that's all there is to it. You get frustrated, you let it go. And then tomorrow again, it is another day. I keep feeling happy that I have not yet got as many rejection slips that some of the famous authors, today have got. And so, as time goes on, I keep on trying. Have coffee, will try. :)

And of course, it is a long drawn process, I have understood that. Of course, at times, I do get more irritated at the letter which says next to nothing, whenever they have to reject my book. I keep trying to ask them, but hey, what is the use? Is it the book, or the text in the book or the style, what? At least if I knew, I could, in the least, try. :)

Because, I do not believe that it could be my writing. Because I feel and I know that my writing is good, and it can only get better. Old-fashioned perhaps, but, we live in a funny age, where we learn so much from the book of an earlier age and yet books of today are so differently written, a whole new language.

Is it necessary that every soul has to write in the brand new manner that we read now? Is it necessary that we completely and totally forget the language we learnt and picked up? Its beauty and its charm?

Because, English to my mind is a wonderful and powerful language, where one can be naughty and serious at the same time, happy and sad, or even romantic and morbid at another. So, it has been this wonderful language that I chose to pen my words in.

So, here's looking for light at the end of this tunnel, for a tube light at the end of this power cut, because I can, definitely see some. :)

English… far far away!

When my father first built this house, I was wondering how far, far away... it was. He very smartly, built it, while I was far, far away in Bangalore, so I only found out about it much later. So, basically, they missed my entertaining cribbing.

Anyway, I have stopped cribbing about the distance I have to travel, since, well, I did not have too much choice and since I have discovered the lovely English that is written here. So, well, here are a few words for sampling:

• Corpenter
• Hair drassers
• Battan center
• Ladie’s
• Jents
• Bangil store

With such lively use of the language every half a minute, while I am traveling, who the hell am I to complain? I only hope my English does not go the same way as this. :)

Walking from Sunrise to the Sunset...

Before Sunrise (1995) and Before Sunset (2004) are two movies that I just got to watch on TV. I loved them, both. Especially, the second one. What makes them interesting is perhaps, not so much the romance, as it is the conversations, which really makes the movie go round. And the walking! God! How much they walk!

I loved it, almost every second of it. It’s probably the topics they picked and the smooth transition with which, every subject moved from one to the other. And also, the sense of romance which is present through out, without being obvious.

I felt like I, myself was walking all around the city, whether it was Vienna at first or Paris, in the second movie. Walking and talking is something most of us do, but I doubt any of us, would have given so much thought to it. It is something natural and in this movie it is kept both natural and aesthetic.

Especially, natural with both the lead actors, putting in their pen. Aesthetic, because whatever they talk about, one actually imagines. Imagines their beauty and their appeal.

Also, both movies came with around a ten-year long gap in between. But, somehow, you do not get the feeling that they actually did, because the conversation with which the story holds fort, is completely smooth moving from one movie to the other, with equal ease and charm.

Both movies are excellent, and can stand their own, but I did get the sense that the movie is more appealing only with the other. I reckon, I would be happy if they had more sequels, however, with 10 years in between, of course. I feel like right now, I am missing a very interesting conversation. But, that’s just me.

Does it answer questions? No. it does not. Probably the beauty of it. Well, did that make sense? I don’t care, if it didn’t. I know that I like the movie and urge you, to watch it if you can.
I have had conversations like the above, but again never given it much thought. I hope that conversation like that is not dead. And I hope, I get to have a true conversation again, some time soon. :)
　

Dream Holiday?

What would your dream holiday be like, I wonder? I know that my holiday would not be in an exotic location, like a France or a Switzerland or anywhere else. But right here, in India. There is so much to see and so much to do. But, all I would like is a tiny cottage, with a stream nearby. Boy, wouldn’t I love to sit near the rocks and just stare into space. I wouldn’t like to think of anything at all.

On the other side of the river, there would be hills and oh yeah, there would be a waterfall at the end of my river. The bright rays of the sun, would stroke the earth gently, making the dew on the grass, I’m lying down on, shine like little gems. Did I forget to mention the rainbow? Well, far into the distance, I would love to see my own little ribbon of seven colours.

I’d love to sit right there on the spot, leaning against a tree with its broad branches enough to have you swing on or even climb on. I loved climbing trees, as a kid. Wonder how I’d do that now, but hey, this is my dream holiday so in this dream, I am climbing the tree.

Just like the one, I did as a kid, climbing another branch, each year. It had the broadest branches, (none to swing on though), and it had pink flowers. And large green leaves and it had the best cubby holes in which I could hide a few tiny things. All those tiny buttons in the world found their way into the cubby hole. Going off the topic again, I see. Basically, I’d like a tree. :)

I’d also like to either read a book, or to not think. It’s just beautiful. Just the thought. It is said that anticipation is better than realization. Well, I doubt that. I have been to places, always with family or friends, where I’ve seen, well, almost seen, spots such as the one I described. I’d love to go back there. Alone though. So, I’m not telling you where. :)

Restarters :)

Reliving old times is probably the best way to start or restart this blog. I have come to a point in my life, when yesterday makes a lot of sense, and possibly shows me the path to tomorrow. As I sit here and go through photographs, letters, and notes, text books of yesterday, then tomorrow seems more clearer and funnier.


Photographs, for the obvious reasons, I specially love the ones where I am standing in front of my father’s jeep, in my pants and shirt, because it reminds me of how early in life I was a tomboy, I kinda miss those days. :)


Letters, because they have their own sense, not emails or anything but true, solid handwritten letters from friends and cousins. I wished in those days for clearer handwriting in the form of typewriters. How I hate the keyboard now.


Notes, are funny because they have so much to say of what went right and wrong, especially at holidays, far away from home. I’m reminded of my two cousin brothers and the many buffaloes they kept calling bulls. They talk of adventures and mysteries which, I had taken upon myself to solve and go through.


It reminds me, of the young man fishing at the creek. I do not know why, I remember him. Probably, because he seemed so much at peace with himself and the world. I wish I was like that, all day, everyday.

Text books, not for all the learning we picked up from it, but for all stupid lines and drawings we made in them, just to kill the time. I’m reminded especially of a poetry book with every other English poet, for whom we drew… moustaches, beards and hats, which we deemed right to draw. It still gives me the best laughs, ever.


Through memories alone, will my stories be remembered forever and though stories alone, will I always have these memories. :)

Hair cut ya ego cut?

Another trip to the hair salon, another day of bruised egos. I do not think that I have gone even once to have my hair cut and not come back feeling miserable. For me, a hair cut is a huge event, I mentally prepare myself for a week, I tell friends so they can be my moral support too. I usually take a friend along, in case of a nervous break down.
I walk in feeling extremely nervous, and ask politely, in fact almost meekly for a hair cut. The stern looking parlour lady takes me in and says wash her hair!! In the hope of saving a few rupees I swear before the gods that I have indeed washed my hair that very morning. One stern look at my hair is enough to convince me that I haven't done so in a week's time. I follow her to have my hair washed.
Next in the hot seat... I am interrogated! Nervously I take my place, placing my crowning..ahem.. glory (mane more like) in the professional hands of a scissor user. For the next half an hour, she can make or break my fate, confidence and ego. Thumbs twiddling, eyes looking around for a place to hide, in case it gets dangerous.. I meekly spell out what I need. Something different please I say.. Step cut for you. Nothing else will suit your face. (ego brusies begin- she really means, don't expect me to waste my time on ur silly mane)
For the next five minutes I stare at myself in the mirror to scared to move, stiff and embarassed, as she snips away behind my back. When was the last time you got a hair cut? umm.. 3 months ago, You should get it cut every month, it'll grow faster (her cash reserves she means) Why don't you go in for hair treatment? umm..no time..what about evenings? too late, what about sundays? You better come in on sundays..umm..ok. your hair is too weak.. Do u oil it? You are compelled to answer yes even though you are not.Which shampoo? Which conditioner? Nervously you are trying to remember names from all the ads to go with the brands, that particular salon is sponsored by. If you answer wrong, you are put through a five mintue lecture on what is better for you. Kind of like your mother.. At the end of this gruelling session, she qucikly dries and pulls your hair, almost scalding your scalp with the hair dryer, and one little yelp of pain is ignored.
Next she sticks the mirror behind you and shows you the hair cut.. briliant you say, nervously knowing full well that tomorrow when you wash it, it's gonna look the same when you walked in half hour ago. You pay the exorbitant amount, i think they charge for making u sit, the lecture, the air you breathe in and the dirty looks before they usher you right out. Pockets are lighter and ego is brusied!! Go home to come back for another ego ruin three months later.. in a new parlour, hoping against hope for something diferent.

at 12.25am

Some people are luckier than others. I want to be among them.