A review of Van de Graaff Days by Ven Begamudré

Fiction
Lantzville, B.C.: Oolichan Books, 1993.

I didn’t choose this book so that it could sit on my bookshelf. You could say that the book chose me. One of my cousin’s neighbours – the Badami family (Canadian Indian author Anita Rau Badami is one of them)- were giving away their books as they couldn’t take their vast collection to New Zealand. They thought and I agree whole-heartedly that selling books will only belittle them. So they preferred to give away books to people who will take care of them. I picked up 8 or 9 books from their collection. This is one of them.

My first impression was that this was one of those books that Indians settled abroad write. But thankfully it is NOT (I repeat NOT) about lost identity or roots. It is quite unique because it deals with the relationship between father and son only coincidentally spanning three continents and three cities – Mauritius, Bangalore, and Ottawa.

G. Krishna Rao is the stern, intelligent, former Gandhian who leaves a lucratic professorial job at Benaras Hindu University to pursue higher studies in America. His equally brilliant wife Rukmini charts her own academic career in a different town. The only difference is that she finishes her Ph.d, he doesn’t. The gap that grows between them is both geographical and emotional. Caught in this emotional/geographical no-man’s land is Harishchandra, their talented intelligent son. Till the age of five, he lives with his grandmother in Mauritius. Then, Rukmini takes him back to Bangalore, where she researches at the Indian Institute of Science. The time is the 1950s and this is an unusual arrangement for a family by any standard.

Krishna leaves America for Canada and calls Rukimi and Harishchandra to join him. After much delay, they do. Unfortunately Rukmini is not the homemaker kind. When she takes up a job in Vancouver, she leaves the toddler with his rather gruff athlethic father who tries to establish some sort of connection with the child. From this point on, the novel loses focus. Is the focus of the novel the son’s growth or the father-son relationship? It’s not clear till the end. But the sections where Harishchandra’s school life in Canada is described are truly engaging.

The relationship between the title and the novel is also not clear. Van de Graaf is this device that Krishna uses in his research. He is quite obsessed with it. However, it is limited to just that. If the Van de Graaf would somehow transcend that function and become a metaphor then I would have had a richer novel on my hands. Alternatively since Ganesha is running motif, he should have considered mentioning it in the title.

The narrative in the first 1/3rd of the novel is from Krishna’s point of view. The other 2/3rds are Harishchandras’s point of view. Using multiple points of view while tempting needs to be skilfully handled. In my opinion, a 3rd person omniscient narrator would have given the novel balance.

On the bright side, when creating atmosphere, like Madras of the 1940s or describing the fragility of human relationships, Begamudré shines through. One of the most memorable images that he has come up with is that of snow angels. Harishchandra is shown by his friend Althea how to make snow angels: lie with your back on the snow and swing your arms up and down and legs from left to right. Get up with someone’s help to not disturb the angels. It’s beautiful and eerie to see Harishchandra see his own work of art – a parking lot full of snow angels.

The language in this book is kept simple. This is a serious story about a serious son and serious father and should not be disturbed by linguistic gimmicks.

It is in no secret that the author uses his own experiences in the book. History, mythology, engineering and music have been used liberally because his parents and by extension her loves it so. There’s nothing wrong in dipping into one’s life when writing one’s first novel but the impression I get is that it has not risen above that.

Written in 1993, Van de Graaff Days does not belong to that genre of expatriate writing where exotica is paraded for exotica’s sake and the eternal search for roots makes the protagonist/s question everything around them. Harishchandra and Krishna embrace Western culture without fuss. No one notices when rice disappears and waffles take their place at the breakfast table. One lesson to take home from this book would be life is so much more than a clash of cultures.

Rating: * * = Timepass(Okay)

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

Update and thanks due

Obi Wan (Anurag) has singularly helpful for finding out the name of the movie that I wrote about a couple of days back. Thanks so much! The name of the movie is "Sur Asur." And the first thing that came to my mind was Asur means a demon!

Thanks is also due to Phatichar (Ramana) who send me his Tintin in the Land of Soviets after reading what I said about Tintin. Thanks so much!

My theory

I have a theory about writer’s names and titles on covers of books. I have observed this trend over the years and come to this conclusion. When an author is first published, the name of the book is given prominence. So the name of the book is in bigger font than the name of the author. Once the writer becomes famous his name is the one in bigger font than the title of the book. In the middle, when the book and the author are becoming famous, the name of the author and the name of the book are in the same size.

Having said this, I will also say that there are exceptions. The HP books are the biggest exceptions. J.K Rowling's name hasn't been changed to a bigger font since the first HP book. But in majority of the cases, my theory still stands.

Let's look at an example cover that would prove my point.

<-The cover of Norwegian Wood, (written in 1987, translated in 1989) in 1996 - when the author was just beginning to be prominent in the English speaking world - has the name of the author and the title of the book is practically the same size.



This is the same book Norwegian Wood but in 2000. But this time, Murakami was well known in publishing circles. ->






<- When I bought the same book last year (2004), the name of the author was really prominent.

"The script demands it!” - The parody as a parody of a parody

Last Friday night* I saw the funniest Hindi movie of all time. Our TV has taken a break from showing anything that we would like to see. So, Friday night, Mom decided to catch a Hindi movie on DD1 (what else?) She called me for dinner. When I was trying to eat, some chorus from the TV distracted me. When I paid some attention, I heard this song bleating out to 80s disco music:

Dilli ki billi, Bambai ka chuha,
Kuch nah kuch hua (3, 4, 5, 6, 7…. times)

Having decided to stay on, I was not disappointed. My only regret: I couldn’t catch the name of the movie. All I could recognise in it was the villain Alok Nath who played it to the hilt with caricaturish aplomb. I think I saw some NSD actors in the movie. It was obviously a film made on a shoestring budget. But what I found amazing was the use of almost all theatrical devices and clichés. Who says clichés don’t make a film? At every point, the characters exchanged repartee about and on the clichés that bind them. I am reminded of Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author at this point.

But as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself: the story first. The story itself is at once familiar and yet different. Two brothers, Harsh and Sargam, make their living by singing. They are classically trained singers who have been forced to prostitute their singing talent for mega bucks by their manager and uncle, Mamaji. Harsha and Sargam feel stifled both creatively and financially. One day, when they are asked to sing:

Jingi la la jingi la la
Pom pom, ping ping
Jhinka chiki jhinka chiki
I am the disco king!

they decide that this is the last straw. A plan to run away to lead the life they want to is hatched. However, they still don’t want to hurt their Mamaji so they leave a note promising to come back after one month, along with some health advice. (Aap kuch zaroorath se zyada mote hain, it says. Literally translated, it means, you are unnecessarily fat.)

Since Harsh and Sargam are very famous singers who have taken the country by storm, an evil genius who always dresses in black , exhibits a Technicolor effect on his face when he gets angry and is called Dr. Yes plans on kidnapping them for ransom. On the night that the kidnapping is to take place, Harsh and Sargam decide to run away. Dr. Yes finds the note and substitutes it with his own ransom note. Harsh and Sargam do manage to get away after accidentally hitching a ride with Dr.Yes’s own chauffer, Kaddu. (Kaddu means pumpkin in Hindi.) They reach a peaceful hamlet singing songs on the way. If the heroes are singing songs, can the heroines be far behind? Rita and Anita spot Harsh and Sargam and take them into their house and life. The wholesome picture is completed when they are joined by Rita and Anita’s treasure hunting Dad and an over-studious bloke – who lost his fuse - called Chottu.

Mamaji, angry at having been cheated out of his millions, calls the police. In a moment of filmi realisation, one sees the entire police force sprawled over Mamaji’s drawing room, not the least bit bothered. They only rush to the telephone when the ransom call comes through. Dr. Yes plans to plant two guys who look like Harsh and Sargam after Mamaji hands over the ransom money. Let’s call them H & S #2. Mamaji in the meanwhile has the same plan of substituting H & S #3 with Harsh and Sargam, the original pair. H & S #3 are dutifully taught to shake their booty while Mamaji plays recorded music. This is Mamaji’s plan to continue earning his millions.

Harsh and Sargam in the meanwhile are surprised that a concert is happening without them. They decide to investigate by landing up at the concert. For the ransom exchange, Dr. Yes and his cronies also land up at the same concert. In short, the public is asked to choose whom they consider to be the real Harsh and Sargam. Harsh and Sargam #3 sing a distorted version of rap and rock combined and are voted out. A rather effeminate H & S #2 do some dhinchak disco and are voted to be the real pair. Harsh and Sargam in the meantime become unrecognisable to their own audience because they have changed their style of music to something more soulful than the pop hit Dilli ki billi.

Sometime earlier, the evil Dr. Yes is shown to be a closet artist (flautist) who was forced into the criminal way of life thanks to his rather strict disciplinarian father who hated all things artistic.

When Harsh and Sargam (the real deal) and Dr. Yes are arrested and jailed, in a twist of plot, bond with each other over their shared love of the flute. A couple of plot turns later, each more improbable than the one before, Harsh, Sargam, Rita, and Anita, Chottu, and Dr. Yes – all dressed in white – sing and dance the multi-instrument, multi-cultural harmony song.

There are several issues that the movie explores. The first and most obvious one is its status as a movie. Can we call it a metamovie? (Akin to Metafiction.) During the mandatory dress-exchange routine between H & S #2 and Harsh and Sargam Sargam asks why should he changes clothes with his lookalike? Harsh’s replies, “The script demands it!” There are many things that the script demands. Some are improbable; most are impossible, yet all are finally seen.

In another scene Rita starts crying because she wants the camera to be trained on her and not on the villain who has tied her up. “Apni footage kha raha hai!” she screams at Anita.

This movie can be read as a parody of Hindi film clichés.

• Two heroines find two heroes in a forest. (Shades of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream?)
• The evil guy wears black till the last scene when he becomes good and wears white.
• The police walk in after the action is over.
• The deadlock at the end of the movie (the characters are appropriately seen moving a circle each one threatening the other in front with a gun) is removed by the god-like narrator’s voice intervening and telling the characters what to do. Definetly, deux ex machina at play.
• The only music director seen is made to look alike Bappi Lahiri complete with gold chains, white outfit and shades.
• The villain’s face changes colour in a comic-book fashion to show his emotion.

What redeems the movie are the issues and themes it considers.

1. The true artist cannot be evil: Dr. Yes was not presented as an artist in the beginning of the movie. But the moment he appreciated and embraces art, he is redeemed and we know he is a good man. Mamaji, the author of those inane lyrics, is the real bad guy.
2. The use of clichés and parody to parody clichés. The police are seen reading a manual called Police Behaviour Manual for Hindi Film Climaxes by Prof. M.V. Desai. One character quotes section 49, which says, “No police can or should intervene unless and until all the action is over.” (A clever take on the police in Hindi movies.)
3. The use of the God-like narrator’s voice. When the actors are challenged beyond their capacity, God intervenes. (Shades of Greek theatre?)
4. The non-replicability of true art: True art cannot be replicated. Art is original and will need original voices to express it. H & S #2 and #3 may look like Harsh and Sargam but can never sound like them.
5. The madman as the resuer: Rita and Anita’s Dad, the man considered mad and Chottu are the ones who do some brave work. Rita and Anita’s dad breaks the deadlock by invoking God. Chottu carries out dangerous errands on enemy territory.
6. Music (Sargam) and happiness (Harsh) as two sides of the same coin. One cannot be without the other.

All in all, I’m never going to forget this movie. Oh, I wish I had seen the beginning and at least seen the name of the movie.


-------------

* Friday the 25th of November, 2005.

What is fun?

It's been raining for quite a while, so in a mad rush to get out of the house and spend some time outside it for a change, I ended up watching a Tamizh movie called Majaa. Aparently, it means fun (just like mazaa in hindi). In a terrible mix-up with tickets and timings, and the rain adding its two penny worth of trouble, I missed one hour of the movie. As I entered the movie theatre, a fight sequence was on! Imagine! I thought that was the fight in the climax! But I had a good time watching it because most of the time people were yelling at each other and the rest of the time, they were singing! Vikram's colour-coordinated outfits were uber cool! I mean red dhotis and red and white printed shirts are so cooool! Hats off to anyone who can carry them off! Asin was a tad out of place in the movie. She looked like she was angry at having been cast there! Her past times including defending the hero from angry mobs, casting fake affectionate glaces at him and screaming about lost diamond necklaces after a powercut! Seriously, the script seems to have been written by a guy who was sleep-walking. The dream sequences were as good as the Hindi movie complete with foreign locales et all. Thank god! They left out the gori girls! And in the climax the hero and the hero's brother threw their father into the air like human trampolines to bring him back to his senses. What drama! What fun!

Vintage comics

I have been watching TV since the time Doordarshan was the only channel around. Amongst cartoons/comics, the only series available that I read was was Chacha Choudhary and Sabu series, who were perpetually defeating their arch anemy Raaka. And of course, their dog Rocket. [My cousins have even read them in Hindi!] I know he is still around because I saw some of them at the railway station the other day.

Today, when everything including comics and cartoons have a polythene sheen to them , these comics stand out with their ruggedness. I like the pre-globalization non-chic look. There was a certain innocence that I associate with that time. Finishing those comics did not take any time and I would forget about them once I finished reading them. No obsession to collect them haunted me. And mom used to regularly give all the ‘used’ comics to the raddiwala.

It was fun to read them then but I didn’t collect them. I regret doing that because a few years later when satellite TV came into India in the early 90s almost everyone shifted their loyalties to the flying man in blue tights. I wish I had collected the series as we used to collect the Superman series. I don’t know of anyone who does it anymore. Today, I know that they have emotional as well as heritage value.

Diamond comics did us a great service to bring us those Indian superheroes. Sandwiched between Enid Blyton and Fairy Tales, I found my love for comics. Today, I read almost all kinds of comics – from Tinkle to Tintin to The Crow– but looking back, I know that’s where it all started.

PS: Today, I plan to stop at the neighbourhood chai-newspaper ka dukaan and ask for an Indian comic.

The Bug

When I spied
on a spyder,
I got bitten
by the espionage bug.

Natural history passage # 22

The miraculous strangeness of the artic is heightened when the sun shines from due South at noon, then circles around to shine from due North at midnight. There is no frost or dew, no moon or stars - there is just immense space made out of sea, rock, ice and snow. Without familiar objects like trees or buildings for comparison, it is impossible to judge distance or size. A huge iceberg looks like a speck, a tremendous cliff looks easy to climb, a roaring torrent cutting a canyon looks like a silver thread, a pile of boulders with rocks up to ten feet in diameter looks like an ordinary sand dune. Islands and mountains shrink; they seem almost as small as those on a map. The space of the artic is continous with the space of the sky. This is the greatest untouched wilderness of nature on the face of the earth.


[This passage is taken from Walt Disney's Worlds of Nature. Various authors. Golden Press. New York. 1965.]

Some interesting news

Beware of white coats!

White coats could pose a health hazard to the world at large, according to a group of Dutch researchers. These symbols of the efficient, well-managed laboratory provide the perfect escape route for large numbers of possibly dangerous, genetically engineered bacteria. They survive on wet coats that dry at the laboratory before being sent to the laundry. The first step of a commercial wash is to soak the coats in water at 35 degrees — just the right condition to release the E.coli bacterium widely used in genetic engineering. The water, with added E.coli, is flushed straight into the sewerage system.

Source: New Scientist no 1813


Cuba engaged

Each year 60 million attempts are made to telephone Cuba from the US; only 500,000 get through. Just 79 lines are available because, since 1962, the US has prohibited all commercial dealings with Fidel Castro’s government. Since 1966 the Cubans have not received their share of the price of the calls, estimated to be worth at least $60 million. Now American Telephone and Telegraph (AT&T) wants to open up communications with Cuba, and with Vietnam and North Korea too. If accepted, the AT&T offer would make possible 750,000 calls to Cuba using an outdated cable salvaged from beneath the Atlantic, where it once carried calls between the US and the UK.

Source: The Economist vol 322 no 7751

Quizzes again!

Thanks to Jewel Rays I'm hooked onto some more quizzes.

Your Blogging Type is Confident and Insightful

You've got a ton of brain power, and you leverage it into brilliant blog.Both creative and logical, you come up with amazing ideas and insights.A total perfectionist, you find yourself revising and rewriting posts a lot of the time.You blog for yourself - and you don't care how popular (or unpopular) your blog is!

What's" Your Blogging Personality?

*I agree*

Your Ideal Marriage Proposal Is

You asking him when you're ready (after turning him down many times!)

What's" Your Ideal Marriage Proposal?

*Hmm... I don't know..yet!*

Family Court by Ogden Nash

I was inspired by the Duck of Destiny to post a Nash poem.

One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one's own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.

Dances of the Yaks

In an earlier time, when Tibet was an independent country, Tibetans used to visit Calcutta the port city which was the only gateway for Tibet the land locked country. Tibetan trade office was based in in the hill station Kalimpong. Young Tibetans came to Calcutta in the quest of modern education; they studied in St Xavier's college and Shanti Niketan and then returned to their home in the mountains.

Tibetans used to come to India on pilgrimages to Bodh Gaya and Banares. Indians used to go for parikrama around the holy mount Kailash and receive darshan of the Manasarover. Much trade happened on the width and stretch of the Himalayas.

Ever since the Chinese occupation of Tibet from 1949, that peace was disturbed. Now the Tibetans are suppressed and persecuted for insisting on their culture. Millions of Chinese have settled in Tibet making Tibetans a minority in their own country, threatening the very existence of Tibetans as a people and culture. In exile, the Tibetans have found a second home in India. Here the Tibetans dream of a free Tibet. A dream which is nurtured and now growing with every new generation of Tibetans. Tibetans in India have a chance to preserve their traditonal culture at the same time learning new things from the new world.

Ganjong Doeghar, a Tibetian cultural initiative, is one such effort by exiled Tibetans to preserve their culture, which is being systematically destroyed in Tibet at the hands of People's Republic of China.

Friends of Tibet (India) brings yaks, snow-lions, the Tibetan gypsies and a host of other Tibetan dancers and singers to Kolkata for an evening. The Tibetan programme includes Dances of the Yaks. The programme will begin with a heart wrenching film Escape from Tibet which tells the story of two brothers escaping their homeland and surviving in a daunting situation.

The evening will witness Gangjong Doeghar Dance troupe from Kalimpong descend down to Kolkata and do their usual magic by winning the hearts of the audience with their dance and music. Do come and bring along your family and friends, or just inform those who can come for the Tibetan evening.

Sunday 5pm 27 November 2005
Sujata Sadan, Near Jatin Das par Metro Station 7 Hazra Road Kolkota-26
Contact details: Mobile:(0) 9831017148
Email: support@friendsoftibet.org / tentsundue@yahoo.com

Source: Friends of Tibet newsletter

Tintin

There are a few things in this world that rival a Tintin comic. I started reading them when I was very young and used to spend my summer holidays in Calcutta. One comic a day was my regular quota. Even though I have read almost all the Tintins avalable which does not include the older ones like Tintin in the land of the Soviets or later unfinished ones like Tintin and Alph-art, I am ashamed to say that I haven't finished collecting all the Tintins available in print yet. Earlier, I used to lend them out and that has let to many of the Tintins disappearing. Of late I have come across this book that seems to be every Tintinologist's fantasy come true. But the hefty price tag ensures that it stays only on my wishlist as of now!

By the way, since my birthday is over this year, I'm not really averse to a new year gift! *cheeky grin*

The quote that gets my vote

Artists are those who can evade the verbose.

-Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore.

Pinky and the Brain: The cartoon as a critique of globalization

Sometime in the mid 90s, Cartoon Network started airing a series about two genetically engeneered mice called Pinky and the Brain. I was hooked. They were completely different from the other cartoons on air. For once the protagonist was not someone who was trying to save the world but someone who was trying to take over the world!

Pinky and the Brain – both albino lab mice - live at the research facility called Acme labs. Pinky is the rather dim-witted lab rat who utters nonsensical words like “troz” or “zort.” The Brain is the intellectual heavyweight whose scienctifically-precise plan rivals rocket science in its methodology. In every episode, Brain come up with a new plan for the two (led by him) to take over the world, which ultimately ends in failure. All episodes are parodies of whatever is happening around us.

I remember vividly how in one episode, Bill and Hillary Clinton made a guest appearance. Pinky, the Brain, Hillary, and Bill were dining over a deal. The topic of the conversation was nuclear waste. In exchange for a favor, the Brain, who set himself up as the representative of some elusive Scandinavian country, was haggling with Bill over the amount of nuclear waste that can be legally dumped in that country. They started with a rather shocking number and came down to 5 billion tonnes.

That’s when I started thinking; we could look at this cartoon not in the rather simplistic way as it is presented but rather as a critique of globalization. Pinky symbolises all those lackys that run around the big boss the Brain, whose intelligence is far superior to them. The Brain symbolises anyone in power who may not be so influencial in the big scheme of things (as seen by his position as a lab rat) but then can plot to take over the world nevertheless. Eventually, none of his plans ever come to fruition. Like some automative machine, the Brain starts plotting methodically after every foiled attempt.

It’s been some years since I have seen any episode of this thought-provoking cartoon from Spielberg’s production stable. It would be great to have the odd couple back on air. Given that we have so many political scenarios to parody, this cartoon strip would have a very bright future indeed.

Cell phone culture

While most of the articles avalable on the Internet are pop-ish and nothing to write home about, here are some that looks serious enough to be taken seriously. These papers were presented at the MIT Communications Forum.

Cell phone culture

Is popular culture good for you?

The future of digital commons

Spinners and bloggers: political communications in the digital age

Between the sublime and the ridiculous

How do you balance the sublime and the ridiculous?
Do you laugh out loud at scatological jokes?
Do you nod when Plato is discussed?
I do all of these. Maybe that’s why
I don’t know how to balance
the sublime and the ridiculous.

Do you miss a party to read a book?
Do you go to plays and understand them?
Do you dance when popular numbers come on?
I do all of these. Maybe that’s why
I don’t know how to balance
the sublime and the ridiculous.

Do you discuss books in your blog?
Do you post unwanted quizzes?
I do both. Maybe that’s why
I don’t know how to balance
the sublime and the ridiculous.

Do you like Neruda’s poetry?
Do you like Rahman’s music?
Do you laugh at forwarded jokes?
Did you try your hand at poetry?
I do all of these. Maybe that’s why
I don’t know how to balance
the sublime and the ridiculous.

Julius Caeser on KBC

Manoji Majumdar wrote this amazing piece about Julius Caesar on KBC. What really got my attention is the Chorus. This is what it said:


Yeh hein Mr. William Shakespeare
Likhte hazaron cheezey without any fear
Likha pehle Hamlet, phir likha King Lear
All this tragedy left the audience in tears
Par inka likha editor ko pasand na aata
Jo bhi ye likhte kisi publisher ko na bhata
Ant me apne man me inhone li thani
Likhenge ek great speech by Mark Antony
Aaj bhi hein…aaj bhi hein pakre ye ummeed ki dori
“Don’t Lose Hope” is the moral of the story
Jisne seekha inse life mein kabhi bhi na jhukna
Is stage par milega bhaiyya… ummeed se dugna!

Eta amaar Kolkata

Photo courtesy: A. K. Sircar

I'm Bill Clinton!!

According to the quiz that AquaM took, "What famous leader are you?", this is my result.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Surreal sunday afternoon dreams

I usually don't remember my dreams but when I do they are very vivid and very puzzling. Like the one I had this Sunday afternoon. In my dream, there's a new government rule that all houses must have a wire fence. Even if the house already has a wall, it should add a fence. So, while I'm hanging out with a friend of mine, I spot an old College professor making her way over to me. I recognize her with a pang of guilt that I haven't kept in touch with her. I wait for her to come over so that I can ask how she is and what she is doing etc. But she walks up to me, sternfaced and asks, "Have you applied for a fence yet?" I reply, "No, we have a wall." The question remains unchanged, "Have you applied for a fence yet?" she asks again.

I don't remember anything after this.

Talking Heads and the Legend of Zorro

Unlikely combination right? On the way back from the movie The Legend of Zorro, I picked up a CD of a group that I have heard of only in books, Talking Heads. Haruki Murakami talks about a Talking Heads fan in Dance Dance Dance. I was very tempted to pick up Rush’s The Spirit of Radio but didn’t. Already, I was way off budget. The budget being zero. It’s very easy to shoot it!

I will post the review of the movie soon.

Cultural faultlines

Today has been a very eventful day. I started off by having a rather enlightening discussion with some of my colleagues on why Tamil film heroes do not look as good as their heroines. Well, actually Rita's casual question started it all! The heated debate that ensured (remember I'm in Tamil culture's hotbed, Chennai) I would rather not go into the details but suffice it to say that I was shocked, enlightened, and angered at the same time.

To cool off, Zee and Rita suggested that we three go for a walk. On the way back, we were spotted by a TV channel TIMES News anchor Dhanya who wanted to talk to us about what we thought on the arrest of Abu Salem. Thank god, I just had spotted the news that Abu Salem and Monica Bedi were arrested on rediff! Anyways, that over, Rita then took us out for lunch where the next eventful thing happened.

Mrudula, AquaM, Zee, Vee, Rita, and I went to this Chinese restaurant called Shogan. While we were waiting for our order, a couple with a child and a domestic help walked in. She was old and shrivelled up. No one paid any attention to her. No one but us, I mean. While the couple made themselves comfortable, she was ignored. My heart (and all the others mentioned too) went out to her. She was in an old crumpled saree highly uncomfortable in such an environment waiting patiently sitting at another table. She couldn't share her table with her employers, you see, or is it the other way around? No waiter poured out a glass of water for her. No one spoke to her. She was as good as invisible. It was too much to bear. So Mrudula decided to do something. While leaving, she left a note with the woman of the family. It said:

I am appalled, angered, and shocked at the way you treat your help. I would have come up and said this to you but I don't want to make a scene.

The woman came running after us till the door of the restaurant. Of course, she couldn't take it. She started yelling. "Did you know who I am?" she asked. Mrudula was a picture of restraint. She folded her hands and said, "I don't care! You could be the Queen of Sheba or the President of India!" That really stunned that callous woman. She showed the note to the restaurant owner who did not know what to do. Eliciting no response from the manager, she then complained to her husband and child who soon joined her. The man did not know how to react. So he said, "Get lost!" We were all stunned onlookers. My hands went ice cold. I wanted to say something and leaned over to AquaM and said, "We should get in!" Mrudula said, "Stay out of it!" I suppose that was the right thing because it would have become a slinging match then. All the other guests looked helplessly. They were, I'm sure, wondering what the matter was. In my opinion, we shouldn't have stayed. But now that we did, I told Mrudula, "Let's go." Staying there did not serve any point.

While leaving, when the couple were shouting, I said, "This is no way to talk to her." But my voice was ice cold and not loud and possibly they didn't hear. So we left, five shaken women and one hero! I really will not forget this day.

Can people be so callous? I'm really scared for the child who will imbibe such values. What kind of cultural faultlines we have to cross each day, each hour, each minute.

What classic movie are you?

I am Schindler's List according to this quiz.


What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Let me die a youngman's death by Roger McGough

Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death.

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
May I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports caron my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
my rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death.

Quiz buffs ahoy! II

This is the next installment of the quiz questions.

1. According to a series of Hollywood films, which character's father is a reclusive archeologist called Dr. Henry Jones?
2. In the days of the Raj, what was popularly called the "curry biscuit"?
3. What office did Pope Gregory institute in 1231 for the apprehension and trial of heretics?
4. Under what title did Edmund Dantes take revenge on his enemies?
5. In the Mahabharat, who is the only sister of the Kauravas?
6. What in Japan is "Cha-no-yu"?
7. Who created the characters of "Goopy" and "Bagha" used in Satyajit Ray's films?
8. Created by a Russian immigrant Morris Michton in 1903, what toy was named after a sitting American President?
9. What is Italian for "pie"?
10. What item of stationery did Hungary's Lazlo Biro invent?

Answers

1. Indiana Jones
2. Papad
3. The inquisition
4. The Count of Monte Cristo
5. Dusshala
6. Japanese Tea Ceremony (The phrase means "hot water for tea.")
7. His grandfather, Upendrakishore Raichoudhuri
8. Teddy bears
9. Pizza
10. The ball point pen.(The French still call it "le biro" literally "the biro.")

Death is a jackal-headed Egyptian God - The Anubis Slayings by P.C.Doherty

Despite all my resourcefullness, this book is not my find. I have borrowed it from Mrudula to read. (Thanks!) The Anubis Slayings stands put because life in Egypt is portrayed in detail along with a whodunnit mystery. The detective is Chief Judge Amerotke who with his friends Shufoy, Prenhoe, and Asural.

Hatshepsut or Hatusu, the Pharaoh-Queen, has ordered an enquiry into a spate of myterious killings in the Temple of Anubis. What makes the political situation volatile is that the Mitanni, who were defeated in the last battle are stationed in the same Temple as they have come to sign a peace treaty. The first mystery is the murder of Nemrath and the missing Amethyst called "The Glory of Anubis." Minor herrings dot the bookscape to divert Amerotke as well as our attention like the deaths of some fishes and a dancing girl. As one by one the Mitanni get killed, Amerotke is at his wit's end especially since none of the people murdered show any sign of physical distress. In a complicated and twisted plot where Amerotke is almost killed by desert lions and the lady Norfret helps in the investigation, the person behind the killings is revealed. But a unique justice is delayed till the last page.

Murder and poilitical intrigue is captured in a manner that does not make the characters alien. We identify with the characters because they are one of us. I loved the way Hatusu is shown as a temperamental flirtatious woman. In one memorable scene, she flirts with Amerotke,

Hatusu: Do you lust after me Amerotke?
Amerotke: I lust after my wife not a goddess.
Hatusu laughs: Always the one with the right answer!*

The Pharoah-Queen Hatusu in the previous Egyptian mystery The Horus Kilings seems to have grown in character. She is seen as a warrior, a friend, a woman, and a goddess. The scenes in the desert have been etched well though I did smart when I read the death sentence that took place in the desert! Violence, however well-written, is not my cuppa tea!

All in all, I would regard this book highly for the plot, the characters, the atmosphere and the mystery. I would definetly recommend this book to everyone.


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

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


[This dialogue is rendered from memory and might not be the same as in the book.]

The Signs of our Times

I don't know if it is me but I have a thing for signs. Not the cosmic ones, not the traffic ones, not the historical ones either: I'm talking about the signs that are put up at restaurantsts or public spaces to either encourage or discourage people from doing something. Someday, I want to collect enough signs and write a book based on them. I fee that they are a wonderful indicator of people anywhere. Sign watching is a bit like people watching but without the people in it! They tell a story albeit a story that can be read in as many ways as you want. I have here some signs, which I thought were very entertaining and amusing.


Sign #1: NO SMOKING STRICTLY PROHIBITED

I saw this sign at a restaurant in Colaba, Mumbai behind the historic Taj mahal hotel, right next to the world-famous eatery Bade Miya. The hotel was a small one with white Formica topped tables and chairs, incredibly dirty walls, very warm and happy waiters in dirty khaki uniforms. One of them turned out to be a Bengali called Bishu. My cousin, with whom I went, was on a first-name basis with the waiters . It was raining when I went there. My cousin, who was showing me around town, and I ploughed through roti, fiery-red chicken, and chilly beef. I looked up in the middle of the meal and saw this sign on the wall. I was really tickled. Someone had tried to be really professional by using words like "prohibited" but had gone horribly wrong in their enthusiasm. The meaning is simply "Please don't smoke" but comes out sounding exactly the opposite!


Sign #2: NO FOOD WILL BE SERVED TO AN OVERDRUNKEN PERSON

Another sign at the same establishment. I almost doubled over when I saw this one. I'm not sure what an "over drunken person" is but I think I have a fair idea. Sometime during their restauranting business experience some "over drunken person" would have walked out without paying anything. And that would have led to this sign being put up. However, I still have one question: does this sign mean that food will be served to a "drunken person?"


Sign #3: NO COMBING

A sign above a washbasin in a restaurant on the ECR, Chennai. I was quite puzzled when I spotted it at first. What could possibly have prompted anyone to put up a sign like this? Then it hit me: Oh! People comb their hair in front of their mirror leading to hair falling into washbasin and clogging it up. This could possibly be because the ECR Road is considered (as a friend pointed out) Chennai's equivalent of "Lover's Lane." I did spy a rather shy couple at the restaurant, come to think of it.


Sign #4: LIQUID NOT ALLOWED

A sign at Food Village on the ECR again. As usual I was stumped! Liquid? Do they mean like water? Of course not! What they meant was "No drinking inside the restaurant!" Phew!


Sign #5: MILK NOT FOR SALE

At a Pizza Hut outlet on R.K Salai, Chennai. I was at a Pizza outlet! Who on earth would ask for milk there? But it looks like something like that did happen. Or the sign wouldn't have been put up there! Would some parents have asked for milk? Eve so, why would anyone think that milk is for sale at Pizza Hut? And the other side of the question- why is milk "not for sale?" Does that mean that if ask for milk, I'll get it without having to pay for it? I'm still a bit perplexed!

That's all for now. If I find any more such signs, I'll definetly post them.

Pie-eating Contest

Since I am in a very festive mood after all that mithai and bhakarwadi, here is an online Pie Eating Contest.

Let's see how you can finish that pie in 15 bites!

I tried it, and it's fun! My best is 18 bites!

Update: 17 bites!

I have been tagged!

AquaM has done it again! Managed to get me involved in something that I thoroughly enjoy – making lists and forgetting them! Any idea if I can tag her back?

Seven things that I plan to do:

1. Learn horseriding, swimming, paragliding etc
2. Have a library of my own
3. Travel around the world
4. Write books
5. Make my millions ethically
6. Live in an eco-friendly house
7. Make my living doing something I like
   

Seven things that I can do:

1. Make a good omlette
2. Write a review
3. Chance upon good poetry
4. Answer an SMS almost as soon as I get it
5. Worry
6. Get gifts for others
7. Mix my drinks and be okay

Seven things I can’t:

1. Shed extra weight
2. Grow my hair long
3. Keep my lipstick on all day (No hidden meanings in this!)
4. Get enough of books
5. Calculate and get the right result
6. Give up hairdryers
7. Say no firmly

Seven things I say most often:

1. Yikes!
2. Ewww!
3. Nah re!
4. Uuuuf!
5. Hmmm?
6. Hmmm...
7. Yeah!

Seven people I want to tag:

1. Somik Raha
2. aristera
3. Vrinda
4. Zena
5. Flying High
6. The Shah of Blah
7. Poornima

A Japanese jazz symphony: a top-of-the-hat review of South of the Border, West of the Sun by Haruki Murakami

I have always liked jazz music but I don’t think I qualify as a fan. But this book seems like a jazz symphony to me (I’m kind of clueless about jazz. Is there something like a “jazz symphony?”) It’s smooth, mysterious and leaves you thirsting for more.

I firmly believe that you don’t choose your books; the books choose you. Yeah, I’m one of them people who think that there is no such thing as a coincidence. So, this SOTBWFTS (short form, bidu) was a gift from a friend on my birthday.

Anyways, I jumped on the novel like a piece of cake: long denied, much remembered. Since it’s a slim volume, I’m done with it in 9 hours with equally slim breaks in between.

At first, you wonder where is the story going? But I’m as usual getting ahead of myself. The story is of an average man, Hajime, who cannot forget the superbly mysterious and beautiful Shimamoto (ironically, he can’t remember her first name: this is her last name.) Hajime meets Shimamoto in kindergarten and they both bond over the fact that they are “only” children of their parents. It’s a beautiful friendship with music playing (quite literally, since they listen to music most of the time) a major part in their friendship. Polio-infected Shimamoto is the one girl who makes a very deep impression on his young mind. When Shimamoto moves out of his life, Hajime goes on with his life in a very on-the-surface manner. He does the regular things: school, high school sweetheart, college, a dead-end job, find the girl who would be his wife, dabble in business, and become successful. But you get the feeling that something is missing. When one day a stunning woman walks into his club on a rainy evening, everything changes. The woman is Shimamoto. Now, looking more stunning than ever. Hajime is torn between an average life and his prospects with Shimamoto. She appears on rainy evenings to tantalise him. One day, just when he makes a choice, she disappears forever.

Hajime is the everyman in this novel. It’s his life we identify with. Shimamoto is the symbol of all that we want and cannot have. She appears from time to time in our lives teasing us with the prospect. But she is like the rain: she can appear but she cannot stay. If she does, she will destroy everything. And the novel is a testiment to the fact that her short stay was quite destructive for the protagonist.

This novel is considered to be one of his most mature works. I couldn’t help but compare it with Norwegian Wood. The youth flavour of Norwegian Wood is not to be seen here. But what you can see is a mature writer and a mature man. It’s like a sequel to Norwegian Wood. Naoko grows up and become Shimamoto. Toru and Hajime are the same – the passive protagonist –appearing again and again in all Murakami novels. Even in a very adventurous novel like The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, the protagonist remains the calm guy who makes spaghetti. All Murakami protagonists wait for life to happen to them, somehow calm, somehow untouched like the eye of the storm.

All the references to music especially Jazz are there usual. It makes the story all the more poignant. This is not one of them rambunctious novels that use mind-bending narrative pyrotechnics to tell the story and grab the attention of the reader. It’s one of those quiet books that makes a deep impression on your mind. It sure did on mine.

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

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

Murakami - a visual treat

I found something that is quite unusual. It’s a visual interpretation of Haruki Murakami’s story On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning. It looks very interesting.

Half an inch of poetry

Most of us lead such hectic lives that poetry comes so way below our list of priorities: somewhere between our dead dreams and disposable wishes, I guess. Whenever I read a poem I like, I can literally feel my soul soar above in the skies and breathe free. I leave the pollution and worries of everyday existence when I encounter a tiny poem. I feel free.

We don't make time for poetry. And it is our loss. Reading and writing poetry is such a joy! Yesterday, I gifted myself a book of poems. It's a tiny one called The State of Poetry by Roger McGough. I haven't finished reading it yet, and I'm not even busy! I wanted to carry it to office so that I could finish it. It had to be stashed between Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie (which I promised to give a friend to read) and some chiffon salwar-kurta material (which I have to give for stitching sometime today). It did not take up any space at all! Maybe half an inch. Most of us don't make time and space for that half an inch of poetry.

If only we did.

How true are we to ourselves?

This is a question that has been plaguing me a lot: do we lead fake lives? How true are we to ourselves? Do we lie a lot? Or do we use a comfortably couched answer that is diplomatic? In giving a diplomatic answer are we moving away from ourselves? Living life, in a way where we are true to not just the others but to ourselves as well is becoming increasingly rare. I try to be as true as I can be to myself but then there are times when I am forced to be the "opposite." For example, if someone asks you if you like XYZ (it could be anything - a book, a movie, a pair of shoes, or any idea), do you have the courage to say it as it is? To call a spade a spade to borrow a very well-worn cliché? These questions plague me from time to time.

In many ways I am what I am, no one can change that but in many other ways I don't call a spade a spade. I tell "white lies." Sometimes, not to hurt people and sometimes not to hurt myself. Does that still redeem me? Everytime we white lie, and to extend that, everytime I make a choice that seems like a white lie, am I leading a fake life? Am I not being to true to myself?

Sometimes, when I say something that is "comfortable", "non-injurious", I feel sick inside. I feel detached from myself. As though, my skin and I have separated. And yet this is a price that we pay for being here and now. What I want to know is this: is it okay to live like this? Should I have to make a compromise always? Should I let this nagging feeling be, so that in time I may be completely detached from my skin, and will not "feel" a thing? Are the pressures of living worth giving in to? Or should I be true to myself?

Pls Note: This is one of my many ruminations on the self. They might make sense or may not.

Kali Pujo

While the rest of the India - and wherever Indians are - celebrate Diwali, we Bengalis celebrate Kali Pujo. The charcoal-colored goddess with the supra-red tongue which is said to have been slipped out of her mouth after she steps -accidently of course- on her husband, Shiv.

I fasted for Kali Pujo. A 24-hour, no-side-effects fast. Water and fluids keep me going till the anjuli is over after 11 at night. I have been fasting for the last 3 years. I'm a little hazy on the details: this may be my 3rd year or 4th year of fasting. I have no sense of religiousness even though I fast. I fast because (a) I wanted to see if I could fast (b) because no one tells me to. Once I discovered that I could fast, it's a no big deal now. I fast and wear a sari (charcoal-black with musturd zari border, a Poona cotton this time; keeping Ma Kali company in the color sector). Very abnormal behaviour according to my friends....

It was quite a non-happening Pujo as my brother and mom weren't here.