The curse of reading Philip Pullman

I say “curse” because once you have read him, your barometer for good reading goes up so much that you cannot, absolutely cannot settle for anything else. I have yet to meet anyone who was not moved by reading His Dark Materials trilogy. I read – no, devoured would be a better word - Philip Pullman while in college (a friend introduced me to his writing) and have remained an ardent admirer of his craft ever since. Pullman came to me at a time when I was reading a lot of people but didn’t have one person whom I could look up to in this contemporary atmosphere.

Of course there were lots of writers I could worship like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, or be stunned by a genius like Salman Rushdie, or quietly marvel at the classicism of Vikram Seth. The other masters of English literature remain like Utopia, long idealised but rarely touched. But I did not find any one writer reading whom one felt admiration, awe, power, and sheer humility about the writing craft. In fact just writing about him – which I have been putting off for a while – is a daunting task.

Hooked – an understatement of the highest order- was what I was to his writing. His Dark Materials is a trilogy of three books: The Northern Lights (also known as The Golden Compass), The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass. A prolific writer, Pullman has written other books too. But for today let me concentrate on his masterpiece.

The story is set in a parallel world where people have an extension of their personalities in the form of what Pullman calls “demons.” This separate entity is usually of the opposite sex and has the power to change into various animal forms till puberty. After which it stabilises into a single form that it is most comfortable in. Demons are usually animals of land, sea, and air. There are certain standard associations though. For example, if your demon is a dog, then you are well suited to be in the service industry.

We meet Lyra Belacqua an 11 year old who lives in Jordon College. She and her friends have a rather carefree life. However, that carefree life is interrupted when one day, she witnesses someone poison her researcher/adventurer uncle Lord Asriel's tokay. (Tokay is the equivalent of wine in their universe.)

This event affects her life leading to a series of fantastic, fatal, and dangerous adventures where she travels from world to world, loses a friend to the Gobblers (kidnappers), helps an armoured bear Iorek Raknison regain his place among the Bears as their rightful king, gains a lifetime friend in Will Parry, learns to read the althiometer which Church elders couldn’t do, confront her mother Mrs.Coultier and her demon the evil golden monkey, finds out her plans, and blows a huge hole into her father’s plans to take over the world as well. She also displays lots of courage on the face of adversity, and a resolve that is unshaken and helps her move to heaven and earth- literally- to get what she wants. Yes, a cavalcade of characters like the aeronaut Lee Scoresby, the King of armoured Bears, Iorek Raknison, the witch Serafina Pekkala, the Gyptians, and the Shaman Joe Parry all come to her aid in some way or the other. Somewhere along the way she also helps fulfil a prophecy. And in a most un-adult like manner, she also learns to make sacrifices. Nothing comes free even in the fictional world that Pullman creates.

Pullman’s canvas is nothing but the future of humankind. And he sketches a story that shakes the foundations of many established institutions. There is been some brouhaha about how it is anti-religion. I beg to differ. And I’m sure Pullman, writing in his shed, would also agree. It’s not about magic either. You just have to read it to find out what it is about. All I can say is Pullman’s creation is a treat for all fiction fans. If you haven’t read it, you haven’t lived. Yet.

Happy Gudi Padwa and Ugadi!

To all my Maharashtrian friends, Happy Gudi Padwa!
And, to all my Telugu friends, Happy Ugadi!
May this year bring you all the love and luck that you want!

What is Gudi Padwa?

What is Ugadi?

Don't you just love old movie posters?

Metroblogging Chennai is on

Chennai's very own Metroblogging site is up now. I am one of their writers. This is my first post.

Metroblogging is an online media project. 10 to 20 writers from a city write about the city to give a broad overview of it. I represent Chennai since I live here.

You can also write for Metroblogging. It's voluntary and requires a commited 3+ posts per week. So soch lo before you want to sign up. If not, just read them. That's good fun too!

A crazy Saturday again!

What is it with Saturdays and me? In the last one, I got a “bomb.” And in this one I ended up watching two movies: The Memoirs of a Geisha and Being Cyrus. I loved both of them, even though they were diametrically different, for their sheer craft.

At the movie theatre, I was offered a free hair wash. (I declined. No thanks. There was 10 minutes to go for the movie to start.) As soon as the pink lab coated ladies left, another aggressive woman appeared! With a mike no less! She came charging towards me. (Do I look like a babe magnet? Yikes! There’s a line I would never say!) She wanted my funny face. Why? Apparently, you could win a digicam if your face was the funniest. (I ran away much to the chagrin of Rita and AquaM. Sorry guys, I hate being photographed!)

I came back in the evening to see Being Cyrus with my mama and AquaM. Well, she wanted to see a movie and I wanted to see this movie. AquaM jumped for a full minute because she wanted to see Saif Ali Khan. My mom agreed because I told her that Dimple Kapadia was in the movie. Mom, you see, comes from the Dimple-crazy times when Bobby was a hit and she was a schoolgirl. I warned her that Dimple looks like a hag. (Btw, she did.) And she - Mom not Dimple - hasn’t stopped complaining how bad Dimple looked and acted.

Pure Dead Fun: A review of Pure Dead Wicked by Debi Gliori

Random House: Corgi Books
June 2003
253p pb
Rs. 177.15

Even though this was the second book in the trilogy, I was willing to give it a chance. What can I say? It caught my eye. After all, I read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban before I read Philosopher’s Stone and till date think it’s the best of the HP series. The red and silver cover was also very arresting. But to be utterly convinced I checked the first line of the book. If that gets to me then, I’m game. It read: Much later, Titus was to remark that this must have been the only time in history when a dirty diaper could be said to have saved several lives. That’s it, I was hooked.

Before plunging in to the story, a few things. There are many elements that were familiar to all Fantasy readers. An eccentric family steeped in magic albeit it’s not the inherent power they have rather they depend on an acquired power from spells, magical objects etc. A rather old and haunting mansion. Household help who are clever and sympathetic towards the children. Slightly absent minded but generous and good-hearted parents. Trouble making kids. Ethically-devoid villains.

Let’s start with the characters. They are:

• Titus is the 12-year-old son of the Strega-Borgia family. He's a whiz on the computer and is in constant battle with his sister Pandora.
• 10-year-old Pandora squabbles with her brother over many things, especially his obsession with computers, but couldn't do without him.
• Damp is their 14-month-old sister who has a mind of her own especially when it comes to screaming.
• Luciano & Baci Strega-Borgia are temperamentally very different, and do have the occasional tiff, but are united in their love for each other and for their children.
• Mrs MacLachlan is the children's Nanny, a clandestine witch.
• Latch the family butler.
• Sab, Ffup and Knot: the family pets and low-tech security system, a gryphon, a dragon and a Yeti respectively. They have good intentions, but can sometimes get quite hungry.
• Nona is the family’s long forgotten cryogenically frozen great great great grandmother.

Now for the story: The old and respected magical, quirky, bizarre, Italian family of Strega-Borgia live in an ancestral Scottish castle called StregaSchloss. The family castle’s roof is in ruin because it is expensive to maintain that kind of a castle nowadays. Water comes crashing down in the library one day. The family now has to move out of the house so that the roof can be fixed. They have to move into the only inn that has offered to take the family pets in, Auchenlochtermuchty Arms about 3 miles away. Pandora’s pets the spider Tarantella, who wears red lipstick, and rat, Multitudina, along with their cryogenically frozen great great great grandmother are left behind. To complicate matters, the builder who has been hired to repair the roof is in cahoots with the local bigwig who wants to take over their land. They destroy the roof beyond repair so that the Strega-Borgias sell it for far less than what it’s worth.

Titus’s clone experiment goes wrong thanks to Damp’s help. Titus and Pandora have to look after 500 naked clones of themselves to manage without letting any of the grownups know. To know how they manage to avoid both kinds of disaster, you have to read the book. (I’m not revealing the end. I am told that’s the hallmark of any good book review.)

I really enjoyed reading this book. But there were certain things that could have been improved upon like the plot. I felt that the first half of the book was a series of incidents. There was no cohesiveness to the whole thing. Many things were happening which were led to the climax by the hand of the invisible author. The problem was I could see that invisible hand. And certain questions were not answered at all. Like why was Titus trying to clone his sister considering that he always fought with her?

In the second half, the momentum of the events propels the plot towards its end. But there were no surprises at all. When I compare this to the HP or even Eva Ibbotson, I can see holes on the tablecloth.

On the up side, I found the writing very easy to follow and nothing too complicated to break your head over. It’s a good time pass. One more thing: there were also one theme which I thought was a very important one for children’s fiction: ecological conservation. The villains are shown opening flouting environmental laws and using plastic. I think this gets a positive message across. Read the book because you are a fan of fantasy not otherwise.

If you can't beat them, join 'em!

Zee did it. AquaM did it. So if I can't beat them, join 'em! So this is what I did: Took another personality test.

You are an Advocating Creator

You are a Creator

Your imagination, confidence, willingness to explore, and appreciation of beauty make you a CREATOR.
You are independent, and you enjoy your self-sufficiency.
Defying convention, you are very innovative, and you have a vivid imagination.
The look of things is important to you, and you have a keen eye for aesthetic beauty in multiple arenas.
You have a strong interest in what is new and exciting—and that includes forging ahead with new ideas, not simply discovering what is already out there.
Your eagerness to seek new and varied experiences leads you into many different situations.
You're not set on one way of doing things, and you are creative when it comes to finding novel solutions to complex problems.
You trust yourself to be innovative and resourceful.
Your confidence allows you to take your general awareness and channel it into creativity.
You're well-attuned to your emotional state, and not afraid to use your feelings to guide you. You tend to be cooperative, rarely contradicting others, and always considerate of their feelings.
You tend to do things on the spur of the moment, not sticking to a set schedule.
You have a strong sense of style and value your personal presentation - friends may even seek your style advice from time to time.

You are Advocating

Being social, empathic, and understanding makes you ADVOCATING.
Some people find being around others exhausting—but not you! You are energized by spending time with friends, and you are good at meeting new people.
One of the reasons you enjoy conversation as much as you do is that you often learn about yourself while talking things out with a friend; you realize things about your own beliefs while discussing them with others.
You have insight into what others are thinking and feeling. This ability allows you to be happy for others, and to commiserate when something has gone wrong for them.
You are highly compassionate, and being conscious of how things affect those close to you leaves you cautious about trusting others too hastily.
Despite these reservations, you are open-minded when it comes to your worldview; you don't look to impose your ways on others.
Your sensitivity towards others' plights contributes to an understanding—both intellectual and emotional—of many different perspectives.
As someone who understands the complexities of the world around you, you are reluctant to pass judgments.

PS: The pic is not of me.

Personal Space and Public Transport

Girish Karnad once said that Indians have no concept of personal space. By that he meant that the social structure in India was and is such that the social is given more importance than the individual. Western society on the other hand is the exact opposite: the individual is elevated to an almost-god-like status. The reason I am talking about personal space is because it’s all what I think about when I use public transport.

Have you ever tried buses in Chennai? It’s not bad. Actually, it can sometimes be quite worse. But it could have been different. First of all, the structure of the bus does not exactly inspire confidence. The green coloured sometime rusted exterior seems almost dangerous to get in. There are newer buses but they are few and further in between. Some of them are so chockfull with people, they remind me of sardines in a green tin can. During peak hour it is not uncommon to see a bus titled to one side with the weight of the passengers who sometimes hang dangerously from the footboard. I don’t even go near such buses. But I know lots of people who do.

We have local trains but they are not as prevalent like in Mumbai. I remember the one and only time I went on a local train here in Chennai. I was returning from listening to a lecture by Susan Gubar. (Of Gilbert and Gubar fame. They wrote the only most influential Feminist literary theory tome of the 21st century called The Madwoman in the Attic 1979). Nothing happened to me on the train. The train ride was pleasant. But I got my pocket picked on a bus ride to Madras Christian College, which is on the outskirts of the city. So my whole trip was scarred by it. But I digress. Let me get back to the topic at hand.

Have you ever ever stood in a queue? Assuming there is one though. I find that people tend to lean into my space. This is very discomforting for me. I cringe like hell. To many people, (I am talking about people here in India) the idea personal space is alien. I don’t know why.

I know I probably am the only one who feels this way but I have seen many people violate my personal space and stand too close. And I feel real uncomfortable. There are certain people who are ALLOWED to stand close like family and friends but I have no clue why I should allow a co-worker (male or female) into that space. It took me a long time to get used to the fact that some people out there don’t mind any kind of intrusion into their private space. My first job was especially taxing in this sense. My current work place thankfully is okay.

Now, can you imagine travelling in public transport? In there, no one has any sense of personal space. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that India is a crowded country but seriously, does it have to be so crowded?

A small digression here. When I used to travel regularly to college, my favourite pastime was identifying what kind of traveller people were. There were the very common variety of lecherous men, lower class, lungis hitched up, a lewd leer in their eyes. Then there were the somewhat good Samaritans who actually moved to make space for me. The funniest were the college guys, so shy that they could be shut up with a hard glare. Amongst college kids were the bold ones who might smile and even sing a song for you. But all ‘admiration’ was at a distance, which I fine with me. The worst of course were the middle-aged men who thought that any college kid could be molested. However, nothing could beat a few people whom I started calling the Pushers.

Who are the Pushers? A Pusher could be identified by her distended belly. The belly was an advantage that could be fully used only in the bus. The belly kept people away and was used to push their way into the crowded bus. It functioned like an extra arm. The worst place to be in the bus is to be seated and a Pusher’s belly distended right in front of your face. It’s suffocating and takes immense patience. All Pushers are women. And because they are women for some god-forsaken reason they think it is okay to stick to my body. TIll date, I have no clue why.

Back to the topic. When I say personal space, I mean that little breathing space around you which is sacred. I once read that the WHO had prescribed a 6 inch all-around space as your personal space violating of which could be taken to be an offence. Many social movements have been geared to explain how we have a right to our bodies. I suppose it would be a natural next step in the same direction to have people explain what is personal space and why it is sacred.

Image courtesy: The Hindu

New Look

In one of my earlier posts, almost everyone wanted to know if the image was that of me. No. That is not me. But it got me thinking. Maybe I was due for a new look. I thought that I could start with my display pic. I drew this one myself. I think it looks quite like me minus the glasses. I wear black geeky glasses. I didn't add them because I thought maybe the image would look rather crowded.

Your comments are welcome.

The Guilt Meme

Beth has tagged me after a long time. Here's my long overdue post on the Guilt meme.

Culinary Guilt: I don’t cook. Not that I can’t cook. I have cooked in the past and it’s been okay. I don’t know if this is a being-a-woman-therefore-have-to-cook thing. I don’t eat healthy enough food. I eat meat and enjoy it.

Literary Guilt: I am not reading the books already sitting there on my shelf. (Just like Obi Wan.) I am not pursuing a literary-enough career.

Audiovisual Guilt: I actually like movies like "The Princess Diaries."

Musical Guilt: I don’t listen to music, as much I would like to.

When I was 13, my mom took me to this guy to learn Rabindrasangeet. And then she realised that I can't read Bengali fluently. So she sang along. Rather it was like I was an outsider in my own singing class. My mom and the teacher had a great time. I didn't! I refused to go for subsequent classes. I only wish I could have. Today, I would know at least something. I can hum along and maybe even sing a very few lines. But I can't sing a complete song in Bengali.

Celebrity Guilt: When I look back, I wonder how I did it but I did. I have taken autographs of movie stars. This is where I whisper: Sridevi and Sunny Deol.

And the following categories have been added because I am really guilty about them.

Fashion Guilt: I use leather. My feet are especially sensitive. They crack in non-leather footwear. And I have an embossed leather wallet as well. And I don't intend to give any of them up!

Ecological Guilt: I use paper, petrol, and plastic. However hard I try to be eco-friendly, it’s yet to catch up in full mode here. The self-proclaiming eco-friendly shops are too expensive to be used on a daily basis.

Blog Guilt: I don't blog often enough. I haven't been able to visit those nice people who come over and comment on my blog for a rather long time. I haven't checked ALL the blogs on my sidebar for I think ever!

The Guilt(y) relay race baton goes to (5 other people):

Abaniko
AquaM
Rita
Soumyadip
Zee

Note: My tagged sweethearts, you don’t have to do the categories that I added. Just do the regular categories.

Search words that lead to my blog

I have seen almost every blogger indulge this bit of narcissism. So here go the words that led to my blog.

· Google search: Nadira in Spanish (I found that someone actually translated a post of mine into Spanish to read it. I am flattered.)
· Google search: my name is red pamuk storytelling
· Google search: did shekure marry black?
· Google search: blogger templates medieval
· Google search: south of the border
· Google search: rang de basanti controversy
· Blogger search: west of the sun
· Google search: from heaven lake travelogue
· Google search: south of the border west of the sun movie
· Google search: bengali caller tunes for hutch connection
· Google search: butterflies and magic realism
· Google search: Pulchritude used in a sentence
· Blogger search: atul kulkarni
· Google search: kabhi alvida na kehna
· Google search: lyrics "i am the disco" "danger"
· Technorati search: Sharad Haksar
· Google search: NOTES ON THE TIME TRAVELERS WIFE

Thanks Sitemeter!

Saturday Morning Surprise

Have you seen one of those movies where the girl or boy whose exploits it follows are always surrounded by people who are dysfunctional and funny? Well, on Saturday I felt like one of them. Why? Long story. So let me tell you.

Saturday morning, I get up late. It’s a lovely hot day in the way that summers always are. I can hear people running around. I’m semi-conscious to the world. I tumble out of bed and hear Dad saying, “M____, there’s a gift for you! From Germany.” I wake up. No time for semi-conscious languorous lolling in bed. What was he saying? A gift for me? I was so surprised. I ran to the drawing room where I see Dad sitting next to the phone cradling this brown carton a little bigger than a cake box. Mom too was hunched over trying to make sense of things.

All the three of us looked at each other. Who would be sending me gifts? Before I could think who it was, my Dad helpfully said, “First they send you postcards, then gifts and finally they would want to come here and stay!” He was still thinking of my Postcrossing Project. He is always afraid of opening the door and finding a firang backpacker asking for me. And his perpetual worry is where to fit in his imaginary firang backpackers into our two-bedroom apartment. Don’t ask why he thinks so. That’s my Dad. I have stopped asking why a long time ago. It saves time.

My mom reserved her comments. It was a neat brown paper carton with duck tape around it. And white labels on it. I turned the box over and saw the label: Sure enough, it was addressed to me. No mistake.

Look what my dad does to me. He makes me think like him. I too started thinking that it was a spill over from the Postcrossing Project. Is it that woman from Germany that I last send a card to? Could it be Christine Wilhelm? Even if it was her, why on earth would she send me a parcel rather than a simple postcard, as the project requires. My mind was racing in a thousand different directions.

I shook the box hoping for some clues. A dull thud thud noise came from it, which didn’t help. Maybe whatever was in it was packaged well not to make noise. Well, there was only one way to find out. I’d have to open it. I looked around the brown box for a place to hold and yank out a part. There were no jutting edges. It was a very neatly packed brown carton. My practical Mom ventured, “Take the knife from the kitchen and use it.” I was going to laugh at the suggestion when I realised that was the only way to do it. I got the knife and looked for a place to start.

That’s when my very helpful Dad went again, “Do you think it is a bomb?” He was sitting across the room from Mom and me, near the telephone. I looked at Mom. Both of us looked at Dad and gave him a look that said “Thank you for your help. We are doing great. Without it!” But you know what he had done. He made us think of the bomb! Now, I was not only curious, I was scared as well! And I had to open it because my name was written on it! I braced myself and took the knife and cut through the central groove made by the two joining flaps. All along I was wondering if it was not a bomb, could it be anthrax? And if it is anthrax, it’s probably too late. But then who would be sending me anthrax?

I opened the flaps and waited for a second. Nothing happened. Phew! I mentally screamed. And then it hit me! I know what this is! About sometime last year, I had answered a quiz for a cultural programme that I used to watch called Arts.21 on DW TV, the German TV Company. I didn’t get anything for it though later, the same people got back to me asking if I would mind answering a survey of theirs via snail mail. I agreed. I got the survey and send it this January. So that’s what it is! In the brown box, harmlessly lying at the bottom was a set of 5 Classical music CDs of Bach, Beethovan, Chopin, Vivaldi, etc. I was ecstatic! It’s an exclusive limited edition of music CDs put together especially for DW TV. I read the letter, which accompanied it: I was chosen amongst many other submissions in a draw! I was so surprised. I turned and looked triumphantly at Dad. And laughed.

I have gone book berserk!

All you guys who have been coming here for sometime know that I LOVE books. But even you guys will be surprised to know the rate at which I have been consuming and buying books. At about a book a day, this is what the last known tally looks like:

Books bought in the month of March in random order:

1. Adventures of Tintin: "The Black Island", "King Ottokar's Sceptre" and "The Broken Ear" v. 2 (Tintin Three-in-one Volumes)
2. And the Answer Is a Pineapple: The King of Fruit in Folklore, Fabric and Food by Claudia Hyles
3. A Villian’s night out by Margaret Mahey
4. Pure Dead Wicked by Debi Gliori [This one is a gift. But I was going to buy it!]
5. Terrible Times (Part 3 of the Eddie Dickens Trilogy) by Philip Ardagh
6. The Roald Dahl Treasury by Roald Dahl
7. Boy and Solo by Roald Dahl (Two books in one: A biography of Roald Dahl)
8. The Frasier Scripts by David Angell, Peter Casey, Christopher Lloyd
9. The Beasts of Clawstone Castle by Eva Ibbotson
10. The Caretaker / the Dumb Waiter by Harold Pinter

I don’t remember anymore. If I do, I might fit in an update. The ones in bold are the ones that I have finished reading. I will not try and justify why I bought all or each of these books. They appealed to me, so I got them. What did they say? I am an eclectic reader!

PS: The image is not of me.

Argentinan-American-Australian Soup

There is something vaguely foreign about me. I get exited by all things that have nothing to do with my culture. Brazilian samba rhythms make my body dance; Iranian films touch my soul; Japanese rock garden and neon signs make me want to move to Japan! During one of my regular browsing stints, I came across this new author whom I’m dying to read, Marsha Mehran.

Mehran’s life is a litany of cross-continental journeys. I feel dizzy just reading about it. Marsha Mehran is an Iranian who has lived in over 3 continents and as many countries. Her parents left Iran to escape the Revolution and settled in Buenos Aires for a while making a living by running a Middle Eastern café charmingly called “El Pollo Loco” (the Crazy Chicken). Mehran in the meanwhile attended a Scottish school. A few years down the line, her footloose family loved to California where her father worked as a sous chef and her mother sold Mary Kay Cosmetics. When she was 14, her parents divorced; Mehran followed her mother to Australia where the rest of her maternal family had moved. But such cross-continental trips leave a mark. As soon as she could, she moved back to NYC with 200 dollars in her pocket. While she worked many kinds of jobs, she indulged in her writing. The result of which is this Iranian Like Water for Chocolate, her first novel Pomergranate Soup. Oh, did I forget to mention, in the midst of all this she has married an Irish guy and lives in Ireland and Brooklyn.

Now, you see why I want to read her novel. I hope it’s half as exciting her life!

PS: You can't miss the UK cover of her book on the left and that's her on the right.

Sharad Haksar's photography

Everyone must be familiar with Sharad Haksar's photography. Usually, they are the unsual ones with a fresh perspective on the content. To me, he seems to be commenting on the state of affairs as well. Remember the Drink Coca-Cola ad? (Colourful buckets of water and in the background a painted sign that says "Drink Cola-Cola.") It ran into controversy soon enough with the Cola people. I'm not surprised. Anything that challenges the system usually does. Here's just an example of his witty different style. You can't help but SMILE!

Let me post a poem, till I write again

Engineers' Corner by Wendy Cope

Why isn't there an Engineers' Corner in Westminster Abbey? In Britain we've always made more fuss of a ballad than a blueprint ... How many schoolchildren dream of becoming great engineers?
-- advertisement placed in The Times by the Engineering Council

We make more fuss of ballads than of blueprints --
That's why so many poets end up rich,
While engineers scrape by in cheerless garrets.
Who needs a bridge or dam? Who needs a ditch?
Whereas the person who can write a sonnet
Has got it made. It's always been the way,
For everybody knows that we need poems
And everybody reads them every day.
Yes, life is hard if you choose engineering --
You're sure to need another job as well;
You'll have to plan your projects in the evenings
Instead of going out. It must be hell.
While well-heeled poets ride around in Daimlers,
You'll burn the midnight oil to earn a crust,
With no hope of a statue in the Abbey,
With no hope, even, of a modest bust.
No wonder small boys dream of writing couplets
And spurn the bike, the lorry and the train.
There's far too much encouragement for poets --
That's why this country's going down the drain.


___

`Engineer's Corner', from Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis by Wendy Cope, © Wendy Cope 1986

Long time, no quiz

I took this quiz today about What Kind of Reader I was. And this is the result:

Your Reading Personality: Eclectic Reader!

You read for entertainment but also to expand your mind. You're open to new ideas and new writers, and are not wedded to a particular genre or limited range of authors.

My art

I drew this. Actually I copied it. I will get back with some textual post soon!

The times they are a-changing!

So today is women’s day. Is that supposed to be different from other days? I don’t know. I didn’t think so. But oh yes, I had the lovely surprise this morning. My mom insisted on talking about marriage this morning. So my mood is a bit off. She doesn’t get it that I have no inclination to get married. Soon. I’m still a bit shaky professionally and so would rather spend my time getting my professional life in tune rather than go “see” boys or worse be seen by them. Anyways, I find the process rather uncouth with a whiff of the grocery store about it. One doesn’t shop for one’s life partner. I am not against marriage but I haven’t told her that. Yet. Or she would be up in arms whispering to every aunt, uncle, cousin, family friend within 500 miles that her daughter is “ready for marriage.” Oh! The very thought of it!

And what’s making this period worse is that my cousin, all of 3 years younger to me, is getting married. To a man 8 years her senior! And my mom is ecstatic about it. The shy girl who refused to talk to strangers because she didn’t have anything to say has grown up. Or so she thinks. The guy is a “bhalo chele” (good boy) but somewhat dark, screamed my delighted younger aunt on the phone all the way from Calcutta. He earns an obscene amount of money, I was told. She will have to move to Bombay after her marriage. Yes, I suppose money is the great cushion on which all marriages survive. Does it?

25-year-old Deb has very clear priorities in life. She is educated and has a master’s degree in, I think, Economics. She doesn’t want to work and wants to lead a happily married life. I don’t know what to tell her. (Even if I want to I can’t. I haven’t seen her in over 10 years, which makes us quite estranged even to talk to about the weather.) If I could, I would say there is no such thing as happily married. If you can just about tolerate your husband, I would call that a great marriage.

I am Deb’s anti-thesis. I suppose I should tell her that she should work for a while. See how nice it is to not ask anyone for money. To be independent. To tackle so many situations at work. To work so hard that you don’t feel like eating when you home. To make out-of-town trips. To see the world from a very different perspective. To be able to walk into a shop and pick up any reasonable book you like and buy it. Not many people get an opportunity to get educated. Don’t throw it all away. There are women who would give their right arm to be in your place. Of course, there are the bad times, the pressure-cooker times, the depressed times. But you live through it all. And it makes you a better person. And you feel so confident at the end of the day. But somehow, I don’t think she will listen.

The times they are a-changing!

As Bob Dylan says,

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.