A big thank you

Yesterday was my birthday. Yeah! I don’t like to make a fuss, but it turned out to be a very special one. I got a lot of gifts, for starters. This is my thank you list, in no particular order.

A big thank you to

Soumya
Mrudula
Dinesh
Seena
Vrinda
Zena
Paromita
Vijay

And of course Mom, Dad, my brother Abhishek, and Anupama and Meghna for being there. I think I should stop now, because I sound like I just received an Academy Award!

Metafictional comics

Metafiction is fiction that is aware of its status as fiction. So stories or novels will make obvious references to the fact that it is nothing but a madeup story in someone’s imagination. I have read metafictional plays, short stories (written them also), as well as novels. But this is the first time I have come across a metafictional comic strip. It does not announce from rooftops, “I’m a metafictional comic; come check me out!” It’s a subtle touch but I’m glad that some people are using literary devices (maybe) without being aware of obviously using them. I have to say I am impressed. Of course thanks again Paromita for pointing it out to me. It’s always interesting to know how the creator handles the elements of metafiction within a format that does not allow for much experimentation.

PS: The image used here is representative only.

About a story I once wrote

I once wrote a story for kids. Then, I forgot about it. A friend reminded me of it and so I submitted it to the Hindu for their Young World section. It was published (hold your breath) after a whole year!!! A friend's mom called me up early one Saturday morning, when I had nearly forgotten about the story's existence let alone the fact that I had submitted it to a paper, to tell me that my story was in the paper. I couldn't believe my eyes! I checked, and yeah it was there all right! I guess the paper gets many submissions and they were all stashed away somewhere....And then the cheque came home.

It was quite a high to see my name in print. I haven't written for children that often. I want to be able to do so though. The story that I sent was long. So it was edited to fit into the column space in the paper. And I didn't like the editing though. You can read my story if you want to.

When women couldn’t wear pink socks: an informal review of Reading Lolita in Tehran

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi
Fourth Estate; London and New York, 2003
(Non-fiction; Memoir)

Literature from West Asia is usually not my type of reading. But this one is an exception. I picked it up because the incidents looked like it happened straight out of a novel! (So much for non-fiction, did u say?) It offers a fascinating portrait of Iran during the 70s and 80s when the Islamic fundamentalists came into power. Nafisi portrays the political confusion that ensures when anybody who does not align themselves with any particular school of thought other than freedom of expression makes her own decisions.

Azar Nafisi was a literature professor at the University of Tehran and one of the people who supported the new revolutionaries hoping that a better regime would come to power. Unfortunately, the revolutionaries turned out to be worse than the Shah. They imposed various restrictions in the name of of the Holy Koran. The rules became sillier and sillier by the day till women were left with no choice but to wear the burkha (parda), wear no makeup, never walk alone, stop working and amongst other strange rules give up wearing pink socks. In this reapidly shrinking outside world, Nafisi invites seven of her most promising students to Thursday morning at her house to discuss works of literature. So, they read Nabokov’s Lolita, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Henry James's Washington Square and Diasy Miller in the light of their own personal lives.

While everyday classes at the University get interrupted with alarming regularity, the Thursday discussion group goes on for many years till Nafisi decides to migrate to thew U.S because the conditions were becoming more and more unfriendly for intellectuals and teachers. Currently, Dr. Nafisi is a professor at The School for Advanced International Studies at John Hopkins University.

Along with the Thursday morning literary group Nafisi gives a very beautiful picture of Iran pre and post revolution. One character that stands out in my hand is "the magician," that nebullious, chocolate-lover of a man who always made sense. His name is never revealed; he is known only as "the magician." We could all do with a friend like "the magician" in our lives; someone we can turn to when we can turn to when we have to make tough decision.

This is really a hard-hitting read. It is part literary criticism, part memoir, part history book, part biography and completely worth reading it. A psychological, political, professional de-masking of the minds, bodies, and spirits of women in Iran at that time and how they deal with the ever-changing reality outside their home.



Rating: :* * * * * = Khallas (Deadly)

My Rating System:
* * * * * = Khallas (Deadly)
* * * * = Bindaas (Great)
* * * = Jhakaas (Good)
* * = Timepass(Okay)
* = Bakwaas (Avoid it)

PS: I wrote this review piece on 29th May but I completely forgot about it!

What's my destiny?

I took a test about what my destiny should be and this was the result:

Moushumi, your destiny is to be a Performer.
Whether you know it or not, this is the role that is most in tune with who you are at your core. As a Performer, people are stimulated by your talkative, friendly, entertaining manner and love your generous, comical, and uninhibited way. With your outgoing, impulsive, and positive nature, you can't help but be uplifting to those around you because you are constantly showing them that loving life is productive and necessary. You are always attracted to new ideas, fashions and trends, and fascinated by the possibilities that each represent. You probably listen to your senses before making decisions, but because you are generally eager to experience all that life has to offer, you should pay even closer attention. You may have a tendency to be overly self-indulgent and this could be harmful to you and the people you love. Remember that your charming social gifts can help you go far.

I wish finding my destiny was so easy!

Durga pooja is around the corner!

Durga pooja is around the corner! I can't believe the year has gone so fast. We Bengalis live from Pooja to Pooja. Since I'm a probashi Bengali, we celebrate it in a slightly different manner. For starters, there is no pandal hopping. The cultural programs are worked on with zest from months ahead. Shopping of course starts as early as possible. A big part of pooja is the shopping. We are supposed to wear new clothes each day for the pooja both in the morning and the evening. Couple that with the fact that the pooja goes on for minimum 5 days, and you know why I love pooja!

I love the idols, the decoration, the hoi-choi (roughly translated, it means madness; Hindi's "hulchul" comes close), the loud shouts of "Durga Mai ki joi", the dhotis that uncles wear, the smiles, the dancing, the fights (oh yes! that's there too!), the gossip, the music, the kids running around, new clothes, the competitions, the flirting...you name it, pooja has it.

This time the Durga pooja is from 9th Oct to 12 Oct. We all have responsibilities: mine is to conduct a Quiz program for all age groups. Wish me luck!

Murder Most Medieval

I must admit I would not have picked out this book in a bookstore. But I’m glad that somebody else did. My first P.C. Doherty and I am not disappointed. I wonder why I didn’t come across him much earlier? Doherty makes for an excellent read for anyone with a taste for history, adventure, and mystery.

Obviously there is a detective Hugh Corbett (infact the sub title of the book puts it succinctly, “A Medieval Mystery featuring Hugh Corbett”) and a Watson called Ranulf. The other characters are flamboyant, including the victim. But it’s the description of the setting that is very creative. It is evident that Doherty has researched his subject. I often wondered how a medieval mystery might work but that was before I read this work. The Medieval Ages in Europe especially England were also known as Dark Ages with little respect for law and order. So the moral authority of the detective, which is a must for him to uncover the mysteries, would be questioned. But Doherty manages it amazingly. He raises the stature of the detctive and uses the King’s authority as well to commission an investigation into the unexplained murders.

Now to the story: Lord Henry Fritzalan was killed on the eve of the feast of St. Matthew in 1303. Henry had few friends and fewer good qualities. When Corbett is asked to find his murderer he is faced with the task of not just finding the suspect but choosing among many.

Doherty excels in creating the medieval atmosphere of intrigue in the courts, amongst nobles and the taverns. The pace of the story is unbelievably racy. The characters are also etched out well. If only people would write more books like that.

Rating: * * * * * Khallas (deadly)


My Rating System:
* * * * * = Khallas (Deadly)
* * * * = Bindaas (Great)
* * * = Jhakaas (Good)
* * = Timepass(Okay)
* = Bakwaas (Avoid it)

Mystery Egyptian Style

What would life have been like in Ancient Egypt? Would people then have been less like us or just like us? If P.C Doherty is to be believed, the Eqyptians were no different than us when it came to basic human nature. Doherty’s chosen story is a fertile ground of intrigue, murder, and suspence.

The Horus Killings refers to a spate of seemingly inexplicable murders that take place in the Temple of Horus in Thebes. The volatile political scene is to be blamed. The widow of Pharoah Tuthmosis II, Hatusu (the short form of Hatshepsut) has defeated the dreaded enemy from across the desert, the Mitanni, which makes her very popular with the people. But she has yet to establish herself as the supreme Pharoah Queen because many people, especially the Priests, do not believe that a woman can rule Eqypt. Along with a few supporters among which is her lover and Grand Vizier Senenmut, Hatusu seeks to root out all opposition by convening a meeting of all the powerful High Priests of Eqypt in order to ask them if there was any precedent that a woman ever sat on the throne.

One of her friends is Amerotke, the Chief Judge of Egypt. He is – for want of a better term – the detective of the story. He arrives at the truth after sifting through many murders and much intrigue.

Doherty captures the atmosphere of Ancient Egypt with dexterity. Once you get over their exotic names, the characters come alive. Of course, it helps that the pace of the story never slackens. The author seems to have followed the rule of having a surprise at the close of each chapter. Well, it works! I was hooked!

This book is eminently read-worthy. Doherty, an Oxford scholar of History, specializes in mysteries of the Ancient world. This is not my first Doherty: The Demon Archer is. But having read two works set in diametrically different civilizations, I have come to one conclusion. That Doherty is a true master of the historical mystery genre.

Rating: * * * * * = Khallas (Deadly)


My Rating System:
* * * * * = Khallas (Deadly)
* * * * = Bindaas (Great)
* * * = Jhakaas (Good)
* * = Timepass(Okay)
* = Bakwaas (Avoid it)

Rain in Chennai

If you could ignore the roads, (and slush and mud) the rains are a great viewing experience in Chennai. Below are some of the photos that my colleague Gautam Gupta took on a rainy September day.

Oh Calcutta!

I can’t say Kolkata unless I am speaking in Bengali. And Calcutta it has always been to me. Many people say that I’m in love with Calcutta because I’m a Bengali. I disagree. Lots of people who aren’t Bengali still love Calcutta for what it is. One such person is Vir Sanghvi, who lives in Calcutta by choice not birth. Today, another Bengali (Thanks Paromita!) send me this article by him. I’m not sure where this is from. If any of you know, please let me know. I can give proper credit to the right party then.

Here we go…It’s kinda long, but please read it. It is well worth the time spent on it.



Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and (unless of course, you are speaking to Bal Thackeray) he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously. Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc. And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay.

But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is about is to recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more, no Bengali minds you saying that. Rather,he is proud of the fact. Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character. It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think of the drawbacks as strengths in their own way). Calcutta embodies the Bengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed; the complete transparency of all emotions, the disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human existence.

That's why Calcutta is not for everyone. You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi. You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught beer; Bangalore's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta.

When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't remember the things that people remember about cities. When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park. When I think of New York, I think of the frenzy of Times Square. When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee. But when I think of Calcutta, I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah 'Bridge'. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget - or replicate - the people of Calcutta?



When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I learnt about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learnt other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect.

I learnt also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion. In Bombay, a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world. Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry. And for him, religion and culture will be in inextricably bound together.

Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.



The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic expression and yes, the cult of the goddess.

It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw
inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta, the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country -is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking?

To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta. And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy. Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you let Calcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever. Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal. It's a feeling that'll never go away.

Books I am excited about

My neighborhood bookstore has gone crazy! It's giving me books at super discounted prices. Which makes me very happy of course. These are the books that I am really excited about. They are not all best sellers nor are they published recently. They excite me because of what they have to say.


The Biographer's Tale by A.S. Byatt
A postmodern enquiry into the nature of biography. According to the Random House site, it has been hailed as, "...an ingenious novel about love and literary sleuthing: a dazzling fiction woven out of one man's search for fact."


Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
A travelogue and murder mystery with the American South as the background. Has also been made into a movie.


In the name of Salomé by Julia Alvarez
A historical novel that traces the evolution of the Dominican nation state through the eyes of two women; one a mother and a National poet, the other a daughter and a teacher. I have finished reading this novel.


The Sugar Island by Ivonne Lamazares
This one comes from Cuba. A novel about a mother-daughter relationship with the Cuban revolution in the background.


The Demon Archer by P.C Doherty
A medieval murder mystery that has all the suspense, thrill, intelligence, and awe of a 20th century detective story. Doherty excels in bringing out the atmosphere using small details. Of course, don't forget the pace.


The Horus Killings by P.C. Doherty
I have yet to read this one. But I am looking forward to it. Doherty does a U turn and tackles murder in ancient Eqypt. I have the book in hand and if it is anything like The Demon Archer, I know I will be enjoying it a lot. If you are interested in Ancient historical fiction or mystery, especially if you are into all things Egypt like I am, you will like this novel too.

Why can't poetry be a part of everyday life?

I always wonder why poetry, that most ancient form of artistic expression and storytelling can’t be made a part of our everyday life? I enjoy reading poetry at all times. But since the market for poetry has gone down, the number of poetry books published of late has gone remarkably reduced. It is times like this that I wish that an experiment like the Poems on the Underground project could be replicated here in India and maybe in my own city. I know it is too much to hope for.

The public arts initiative launched in 1986 has been compiled onto several editions of books as well. Is it some kind of elitism that prevents us from painting poems on the eyesores that call themselves public transport buses? I thought if people were to be exposed to poetry this way, then maybe the poetry market can be influenced forcing all those talented poets out of the closet whether that be lack of opportunity or the hallowed halls of Indian academia.

The good thing about this poetry project is that due to space constriants the poems have to be small. Small poems that can be read when you cross the road. (But be careful please!) Nissim Ezekiel himself said that he is not interested in reading something that one can’t finish in one go. I agree with him. Since we lead such a fast paced lifestyle, hoping that anyone other than commited academics should read long book-length poems is heinous. I don’t. However, reading poetry itself gives such pleasure, I wish I could share it with everyone. My favourite as of now is Pablo Neruda.

Lost in the forest
by Pablo Neruda

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
As if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

Ryu Murakami

Since I have shaken off the write rust, I realise that I do have so much to say. Of late, I have stumbled onto this interesting short story site Zoetrope. And from there, I read this interesting new writer (new to me that is) Ryu Murakami (no relation to Haruki Murakami). He is a very cutting edge writer and I am trying to get hold of his 1976 novel Almost Transparent Blue. All I know of him is what I have tried reading up on the net. And this is what I have come up with.

· He is the enfant terrible of Japanese literature.
· His characters live in a hazy world of sex, drugs, and music. (At least in Almost Transparent Blue, they do).
· His novels have interesting names like Coin Locker Babies, another novel of his.
· He is a very popular writer in Japan.
· Not all of his books have been translated into English.
· He hit the headlines with a controversial new book, Ano kane de nani ga kaeta ka (What could we have done with that money?), about the 7.4 trillion yen the Japanese government paid out to struggling banks in 1999.
· He’s won numerous awards that I cannot list here.
· When he is not writing, he is making movies.

Has anyone read him or heard of him?