Desicritics Category: Culture: Books - Fiction

Book Review : The Lady in Blue by Javier Sierra

Shantanu Dutta — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:33:15 EDT

The Lady in Blue is a book that is part history, part fantasy and part mysticism set in the framework of fiction. The fiction is not all that great but this is another book that sells a chunk of history that one could easily pass over. The context is the seventeenth century and the locale shifts from Rome and the Vatican, the Rio Grande region of New Mexico and Los Angeles. The backdrop is the unusual conversion rates among certain Indian tribes in the area.

The conversions have been apparently aided by apparitions of a lady in blue - who has been appearing to the Indians and urging them to welcome the Roman Catholic missionaries when they come to their lands and has thereby been helping the work of evangelization by spreading the seed. This by itself is not new - Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin, an indigenous Mexican had reported an apparition of the Virgin Mary as Our Lady of Guadalupe in 1531 and so there was a precedent.

But the lady in blue unlike the earlier apparitions at Guadalupe had appeared to masses of people and several people had claimed to see them leading to an investigation by the Church authorities. The apparitions were largely attributed to a cloistered nun named Sister Maria Jesus de Agreda who it would seem appeared to Indians in the Southwest, but she never left her home in Spain. So how did she do it ? Enter the realm of miracles, mysticism and miracles. The nun in question had apparently the gift of bilocation – the ability to “transport” her body to great distances while still remaining within the gift of the nunnery. Apparently this was aided by a particular harmony of sound produced during a religious chant, although she had mystic abilities since birth. It would appear that “María paid more than 500 spiritual visits, sometimes two or three a day, to the Indians, she said. She instructed them in the fundamentals of the Faith, speaking to them in their own language. Her spirit carried rosaries from her cell to give to her charges. She healed the sick. She won converts. She urged them to contact Franciscan friars at the missions of the Río Grande pueblos and to solicit the construction of new missions for other tribes. If necessary, she would give her life, she said, to save a single Indian soul.

Church intrigue of the Roman Catholic variety abounds in the book, with the author recounting the rivalry between the many Catholic priestly orders to curry favor with King Philip IV of Spain so that they could obtain sole concessions in the newly discovered territories – both to harvest souls as well as to exploit natural resources and mines in the territories.

The book also shifts to the twentieth century as a bunch of Vatican scientists aided by the CIA attempt to recreate conditions in which Maria Jesus de Agreda “bilocated”, so that the techniques could be used for military purposes – similar apparitions could then be “Parachuted” into enemy lines for spying not conventionally possible. The scientists also look at techniques like “chronovision”, a method to apparently make it possible to visit the past and photograph events of past days and record sounds also from the past.

The historical bits of the novel are good – a nun by the name of Maria Jesus de Agreda did exist and it was said of her that she was the “lady in blue” who appeared to Indian tribes for several years and was in fact investigated by the church for complicity in witchcraft. But the other pieces set in modern times – with priests, scientists and the CIA trying to reproduce ancient miracles in modern times – well that bit comes through as nothing more than a lot of mumbo jumbo. The book is fit only to read as an illumination of a spot of history and no more.

Book Review: Gorilla by Shobasakthi, Trans. by Anushiya Sivanarayanan

Vinod Joseph — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 00:12:34 EDT

There are various ways in which an author can tell his story. It can be in the first person, solely from the narrator’s point of view. It can be through an omnipresent third person who sees and knows everything. Anthony Thasan, a.k.a Shoba Sakthi, a.k.a Rocky Raj, uses a third method while narrating his own story. Most of the novel, a fictionalised autobiography described by the translator Anushiya Sivanarayanan as autofiction, is described in the third person, though the narrator is also the author and the main character. Events unfold just a few feet from the reader and you get the feeling of being trapped inside Shoba Sakthi’s head, with eyes glued to the empty sockets.

The main story is set in a dalit colony in an island near Jaffna in northern Sri Lanka. Civil war is raging between various Tamil nationalist movements and the Sri Lankan army. The LTTE is fighting and decimating other Tamil movements. On top of all this, Rocky Raj’s father is a violent goon who has earned the sobriquet Gorilla. The narrator’s unsentimental and matter-of-fact language gives the reader no respite from the all pervading violence. As I read this novel in a single four hour sitting, my head was repeatedly dunked into a cauldron of war, poverty, prejudice and cruelty. Everybody is cruel to each other. Rocky Raj’s father is cruel to him and other family members. The LTTE is cruel to its recruits. The Sri Lankan army and its Tamil supporters are cruel to Tamils who are perceived to be LTTE sympathisers. The French police are cruel to illegal immigrants. There is no quarter asked for and in any event, none is given.

Rocky Raj runs off from home and joins the LTTE. He is stripped of his individuality and brutalised. In a telling scene, as the new recruits wind up their training, they are taught how to evade the Sri Lankan army and withstand their interrogation if they are captured. I wondered what sort of tips they would get that would teach them how to withstand torture. There are no tips. Rocky Raj and other recruits are brutally beaten up as a graduation present.

Rocky Raj gives the LTTE the total dedication it demands of all its followers. But the LTTE is not only brutal, it is also internally corrupt. Rocky Raj’s honesty results in him being tortured and forced out of the LTTE.

Later the scene shifts to France, where the narrator is shown applying for asylum even though he has being rejected many times. Ex-fighters cannot get asylum and so the applicant has to come up with a plausible story that will hold water. In the midst of asylum applications and story fabrications, one starts to hear voices of moderation, tolerance and peace. The virtues of Gandhi and Mandela are extolled. We hear Anthony Thasan being told by Lokka, ‘we need to combat opinions with opinions, not with fists.’

‘What kind of opinions, Lokka? If I looked you and said that I wished to ……... ’ here Anthony Thasan says something really vulgar, something no one would put up with. But Lokka looks Anthony in the eye and says, ‘yes, that’s an opinion too.’

Does Lokka live up to the noble ideals that he extols? Or will he succumb to a fate that is not much different from the fate of many Sri Lankan Tamils? Do read this remarkable novel which has many references to facts and actual incidents that took place in northern Sri Lanka in the 80s and 90s, and find out.

The author Shobasakthi (nee Anthony Jesuthasan) is based in France. Once a LTTE child soldier, he has lived in France for over ten years. Shobasakthi works as a dishwasher at fastfood places from time to time. He has written a second novel Mmm... (describing the way Sri Lankan Tamil nod their heads at everything the Tigers say), a third called One Way, three collections of short stories, and most recently, a collection of non-fiction pieces.

I understand from various interviews given by Shobasakthi that when he initially wrote Gorilla over seven years ago, he lived in fear of the LTTE and its supporters in France who tolerate no dissent. Shobasakthi is now part of a network of Tamil Diaspora writers who propose alternatives to the fascist LTTE. All the more reason to read and promote this book.

Book Review: The Amnesiac - The Art of Forgetting

The Buddha Smiled — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 09:03:09 EDT

Writers and philosophers often ruminate on memory and the art of remembering - perhaps because in so many cases the creative process itself is a means of commemorating a past, and the act of creating a story is often the path to remembering something. Over the past two hundred years, authors ranging such as Kafka, Kundera, Borges and Murakami have spent a great deal of intellectual horsepower on what it means to remember, and what it means to forget.

Following this noble and illustrious line of storytelling is The Amnesiac, by Sam Taylor. The narrative opens in Amsterdam, where the protagonist, James Purdew, is recovering from a broken ankle. Living an apparently satisfactory life (he has a stable job, a loving girlfriend, an apartment in the heart of Amsterdam) his veneer of contentment is perpetually ruffled at the edges by premonitions of his past, and the fact that he has no memory of approximately three years of his life. What happened to him when he was a university student in the English town of H.? Why is he haunted by the strains of a tune that he cannot remember more than two lines of? And above all things, who is Anna?

Ankle healed, relationship with Dutch girlfriend Ingrid terminated, James returns to H. (why can’t we call it Hull and be done with it?) to try to find out more about his past, and to (both figuratively and literally) find a key to unlock his past – because of all the diaries he’s ever kept throughout his life, the ones pertaining to the three years he cannot remember are in a locked black box, and he cannot find (or even remember) where the key is. From here on the novel begins its tortured tour through the past of a life that is at once fascinating and also equally dull and pointless. For Purdew’s life is very bourgeois, with all the trappings of a traditional English childhood in the seventies and eighties – the bad hairstyles, the quaint television shows on the BBC, the agony and the ecstasy of first love, sex and death. Add to this mix an ongoing renovation project that Purdew takes on (how could a novel so thoroughly English leave out the persistent English obsession with home equity?) and you have a classically English novel for our times. Through all these events, clues towards unlocking the past slowly accumulate; references (almost tongue in cheek) zip past as we hurtle along the narrative as the author throws in clues to the denouement.

Taylor does well in creating a haunting reality, almost Camus-like in his emphasis on duality; his one passage on how hope and fear, light and dark, are potentially merely two sides of the same emotion is very reminiscent of The Absurd. Taylor veers between different times and narratives, choosing to work in several voices (the hidden observer, the narrator, the first person) to move the story forward. Over the course of nearly four hundred pages, Taylor moves (sometimes smoothly, other times not) between genres, going from nihilistic twentieth century self-reflexive novel to Robin Cook-like medical thriller involving large sterile corridors and doctors with mind-altering chemicals speaking in hushed tones through to nineteenth century Victorian murder mystery, tracing its path through the narrow side alleys behind Waterloo.

But alas, that is where the good times end. The extended references to Borges are cute to start with but soon belabour the point, and there are sections where he insists on discussing philosophy that could have been handled with more subtlety; either readers will already know about solipsism, or they will have the good grace to find out; you don’t need to explain it a la Philosophy for Dummies. And perhaps most disappointingly, after all the build-up, the denouement is completely unsatisfactory; loose ends come together a little too neatly, the whodunit solved cleanly, all the pieces falling into place too well, but the overall conclusion is like the English football team (who also make an appearance, albeit tangentially, alongside Doctor Who) – just not good enough. And if you rely on Borges’ trick of nothing being as it seems, surely there was some way to keep the ending as engaging as Borges?

Despite its flaws, The Amnesiac is an engaging read; Taylor writes cleanly, albeit a little too consciously and cerebrally, and his prose is crisp and engaging. One has to acknowledge that despite the shortcomings, The Amnesiac is better than a lot of what passes as literary fiction these days, and Taylor knows how to dot his literary i’s and cross his cultural t’s; he just needs to do it with a little more aplomb. Maybe he’ll remember that for next time?

(The Amnesiac is published by Faber in the UK and Penguin the US)

Book Review: Unimagined by Imran Ahmad

Vinod Joseph — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 02:19:59 EDT

Unimagined is the growing-up story of Imran Ahmad, whose parents migrated from Pakistan to England in the early 1960s when Imran was a year old. The story, told in the first person in very simple and elegant English, consists of a series of anecdotes from Imran’s life, which get more and more mature as Imran gets older. Most of the early vignettes are set in Imran’s school, after which the cameos are taken from his college and later his work place.

Imran’s parents are shown as hardworking migrants who came to the UK with the hope of fitting into middle class England, only to find that they are at the lowest rung of society, just below the Irish. However, they work hard and slowly move up the social and economic ladder. Those were days where racism was rife in the UK and Imran experiences his share of it. Imran is academically bright and does well at school, even though a few teachers and students don’t like him on account of his background. Imran is one of the few coloured pupils in school and he knows he is very different from other students. For example, unlike other children, Imran’s parents take him to Pakistan for vacations. Imran tells us how once as he walked past a classroom full of senior boys, a few started shouting ‘Enoch, Enoch.’ The reference here is to Enoch Powell, a politician who sought the compulsory repatriation of all coloured people from the UK. A teacher saw what was happening and did nothing other than apologetically tell Imran, ‘Sorry about that.’

In certain respects Imran’s school is not much different from schools in India. There’s an interesting description of a competition for credits between Imran and an ethnic Chinese classmate.

But Imran’s tale is never one-sided. There’s a story of how Imran’s father is angry with an Irish oil tanker driver who, having brought oil for their boiler, refuses to park the tanker as per Imran’s father’s directions. ‘Send me another tanker, not another Irishman,’ Imran’s father shouts into the phone as he calls up the supplier.

Imran gains admission to a good medical school, subject to the condition that he gets certain minimum grades for his A Levels. However, Imran takes his A Levels too lightly and does not get the necessary minimum grades. In a sense Imran is relieved. He never really liked the idea of studying medicine. Given a choice, he would have studied the classics and philosophy, but if he did that, how could his parents face the rest of the Pakistani community in London? Imran goes to Stirling University in Scotland where he studies Chemistry. I found it amazing that the pressure on Asian children to study medicine and engineering persists even when they are brought up in the affluent west.

As Imran grows older, his stories mainly involve girls and cars. In both these respects, Imran is not much different from other children. Imran doesn’t have much success with girls. This is partly because he is very different from others in his class and partly because he is very shy and introverted. Imran loves cars and is willing to work during holidays to save money for a car.

However, Imran is different from other youth in one respect. In addition to girls and cars, he is also interested in religion and theology. Imran is not particularly religious even though he slowly gets into the habit of praying five times a day. When Imran is sent to a ‘Sunday school for Islam,’ he hates the idea of memorising the Koran in Arabic, but he is very keen to understand Islam. Imran’s school has religious studies and Imran is constantly comparing Islam and Christianity. Which is the true religion? Imran wonders constantly. Is it Islam or Christianity? Imran is very much impressed by evangelical Christians. Their die-hard faith in their version of Christianity terrifies him. What if they are right and he is wrong? They warn him that people who get the opportunity to know about Christ and reject him will be condemned to eternal hell. Islam, he is told, is a conspiracy by Satan, to mislead people like him. Dinosaur bones are also apparently a part of Satan’s design to mislead people.

Imran’s interest in religion is carried over to college. He requests for a single room on the grounds of ‘religious privacy’, meaning he needs to pray. A single room is also convenient if he needs to meet girls. If you think Imran sounds like a person willing to use his religion for such purposes, you are right, but Imran does it in a genuine way that you will not find any fault with him. Imran’s interest in theology, especially whether Christianity or Islam is The True religion is also equally genuine. At Stirling Imran spends a lot of time with an evangelical Christian named Magnus who tries to convert him. One keeps wondering why Imran doesn’t ignore Magnus, but Imran just can’t bring himself to do that. He digs around in his quest to find the truth, even though his studies suffer badly and he does not get his honours degree.

Slowly, Imran builds up his case for Islam. It is the irrational fanaticism of evangelical Christians which finally convinces Imran that Islam is the true religion. Once again, I need to emphasise that Imran does not come across as a fanatic. For example, while discussing Hinduism, initially Imran talks of how Hindus have multiple Gods and Goddess, something unacceptable to monotheist Islam. Later he tells us that Hindus also believe in the oneness of God, even though there are thousands of manifestations of God. Imran never becomes too religious, though he doesn’t drink and prays regularly. He also starts fasting during Ramadan.

After Imran fails to get his honours degree, he finds himself a job selling advertisements. Initially he likes the job, but soon starts hating it since he is forced to act in a manner that he does not find to be very ethical. He goes back to college and gets his honours degree. He then enrols for a Ph.D in Chemistry. But his heart is in theology and not in Chemistry. He spends much more time researching theology, especially Sufism, rather than Chemistry. Finally, he decides to chuck his Ph.D and find himself a job. His application to Unilever is successful. He is hired as a trainee in the audit department.

Imran’s parents want his to marry a Muslim from Pakistan. The idea of an arranged marriage revolts Imran, though after he gets a job, he goes for various ‘viewings.’ Till the end of the book when Imran quits Unilever to join GE, there is no mention of a wedding.

Even at work, Imran stands out from his colleagues. He is not willing to drink. He does not enjoy vulgar jokes. He continues to be interested in comparative religion. And the novel ends on that note.

It is impossible not to compare Unimagined with The Islamist. There are many differences between Imran and Husain. Husain was brought up in relative comfort by middle-class parents. Imran’s parents on the other hand, struggle with finances during his early years. Imran talks of racism at school in detail. Husain does not mention any instance of racism directed at him by his teachers or classmates. After primary school, Husain goes to a boys only school dominated by migrants from Bangladesh. Imran on the other hand, always studied in schools where he was one of the few coloured pupils.

The main difference between Husain and Imran is that Husain became a fundamentalist. Imran never even considers violence against any other community. In fact, he is distinctly uncomfortable whenever he sees signs of creeping Wahhabism or fundamentalism. In one instance, when there is talk of a global Islamic state, Imran is shown to be hoping that it never materialises. He wants the West to remain as it is. It is very tempting to theorise and say that if Husain had been exposed to a diversity of people and views during his youth as Imran was, he would not have turned to fundamentalism. Maybe if Husain’s parents were less well off and Husain had a less economically secure childhood, he would have focussed on his secular studies and not turned out to be an Islamist.

However, in certain respects, Husain and Imran are similar. Both Husain and Imran hate doing jobs which they think involve unethical practices. Husain gives up his job with HSBC and Imran quits selling advertisements. Both of them have no answers to how Muslims can integrate into a society where alcohol is the fuel for most social interactions. Neither of them even suggests that it may not be unIslamic to drink socially, provided one does not get addicted to liquor. When Imran goes for Karate classes (while at college), he is uncomfortable with the bowing that is part of the Karate culture. Bowing is unIslamic, he feels, since Allah made all men equal. It is quite unfair for me, a non-Muslim, to judge the degree of compromise Imran and Husain are willing to make in order to integrate into British society and so, I shall say no more.

All in all, this is a very readable book, a lot lighter than The Islamist, which does not have much in the way of humour. I guarantee that Unimagined will make you laugh out aloud many times before you reach the end.

Book Review: The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid

Vinod Joseph — Sat, 5 Jul 2008 13:00:23 EDT

This monologue of a novel traces the journey of an upper class Pakistani-Punjabi youth from Lahore to Manhattan – and back. Changez, the protagonist, wins a scholarship to Princeton, lands a dream job at Underwood Samson, a very reputed valuation firm, dates Erica, a trophy WASP girl, rubs shoulders with the best of America, identifies with New York, and then gives it all up and returns to Pakistan.

Why does he do that? Because Changez realizes that he is a mercenary, not unlike the Janissary soldiers of the Ottoman Empire, trained from childhood to fight for the Sultan, even against their own homelands. Changez’s revolt starts after 9/11. When the World Trade Center towers fall, Changez is in Manila on work. Until then, Changez has nothing but admiration for Princeton, Samson Underwood and America in general. But when the twin towers fall, Changez is surprisingly happy. It takes him a bit of time to sort out his feelings, but soon he realizes that he identifies more with Pakistan and Muslims than with Americans or even New Yorkers. The antagonism towards Muslims post 9/11, America’s unwillingness to shield Pakistan when India threatens to invade Pakistan (in retaliation for terrorists attacking the Indian parliament) makes it easy for him to make the journey back to his roots.

The narration, addressed to a visiting American in a Lahori restaurant, is almost lyrical at times and is brilliant. Changez the protagonist does not make any attempt to understand the other side’s point of view. Not once does Changez find any fault with the Taliban or with Pakistani society, which is hardly egalitarian. While constantly blaming the US for not standing by Pakistan when threatened by India, the author does not for a moment pause to wonder whether Pakistan invited some of the trouble on itself by training the terrorists who attacked the Indian parliament. Until 9/11, Changez’s values are solidly rooted in the can-do liberal spirit of New York. But after the attack, he quickly slides into feudal values. Changez’s people have been attacked and he will have nothing more to do with the attackers. By staying on in New York and working for Samson Underwood, he will be helping America continue its attack on Afghanistan. So, even though he needs to hold on to his job very badly (so that he can help his once elite family stay on its feet), he quits his job and goes back to Lahore.

If Changez had lived in the US all his life instead of having moved there after finishing school in Pakistan, would he have behaved as he did? This is one of the numerous questions left unanswered. However, these gaps do not do the novel any harm as it unashamedly projects a single point of view in beautiful prose.

This novel is Mohsin Hamid’s second book. The first one, Moth Smoke was published eight years ago and won various awards and prizes, including the Betty Trask Award. The Reluctant Fundamentalist was (quite deservedly) shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 2007. I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to understand how a human being may react when his collective ego is hurt or his nationalistic feelings are bruised.

Short Story Review: A Brown Man by Prasenjit Gupta

Shantanu Dutta — Sat, 5 Jul 2008 03:52:05 EDT

Vijay teaches in the English department in a small American town in Prasenjit Gupta’s short story “A Brown Man”. He is single. His mother in India wants him to marry an Indian girl; no foreigners were to be trusted. So Vijay found Asha his girl friend for three years until her – more liberal in her ways than even the white girls his mother worried about, left Vijay for a hippie.

Vijay is single and lonely and his departmental senior Philip and wife Sharon are good friends and they are trying to act match maker; but that is not going to work for Vijay is very conscious of parental authority and won’t do any thing that will offend his mother, but then Philip and Sharon do not know that of course. So they introduce to Vijay, a distant cousin by the name of Amy who is on a short vocation and staying with them. Vijay is not too interested; remember his mother is wary of white girls out to seduce her son, but out of courtesy to Philip and Sharon who are good people, he agrees to spend some time with Amy and “show her around” the town.

Amy is a good enough girl but Vijay is not interested; he has already been hurt once and remember; his mother has warned him to wary of the white girls. “Don’t bring home a foreigner” was the unambiguous message. Though they go out several times and though they get along well enough, there is no trace of romance. He shares about the Indian girl who left him and she in turn tells him about the boy who left her. Slowly he is falling in love with a white woman despite all the warnings that he has received. On one of his monthly phone calls to his mother, he crosses the Rubicon by telling his mother that he has been seeing a white girl. She sighs into the phone. A sigh of hopelessness.

It is the end of Amy’s vacation and they are going out for their last outing. Amy has never looked more beautiful and Vijay knows that if he must propose, this has to be the night. As they are settling into their meal, a white man comes and sits down opposite their seat and looks disdainfully at him and admiringly at Amy. Vijay shrinks within himself as he remembers the many times he has been snubbed at by white people over the years. The dinner ends with the proposal never uttered and Vijay drives a very visibly low Amy back home. The next day, as Vijay drops Amy to the airport, she casually mentions that her old boy friend wants reconciliation and she was open. Vijay shrivels further inwards as he bids her good bye … for the last time and heads back home.

Is racism for real or is it an imagined shadow that Vijay seems to see every where, often without any substantial basis. His colleague Philip and his wife Sharon cared enough about him to notice his loneliness and try and do some match making and Amy as she went out with him, evening after evening dared to hope that the man she had come to love and to admire would one day propose to her. But though he skirted edgily around the subject, he never did. He was haunted by his own mother’s demons – that white American girl was bad though Vijay’s own experience was to have been let down by an Indian girl trying hard to be “Western”.

Now that racism is no longer institutionalized, it is obviously that much more difficult to track down and identify. And how much of it is real and how much of it is magnified by past experiences, mental imagery, perceptions –true and imagined that we end up interpreting wrongly and often with tragic consequences as happened with Vijay? Vijay’s interpretation of what a white woman would be like was largely conditioned by what his mother whispered on the phone as they talked every month and indeed in India, even before he had left the country’s shores to go to America. Although he had enough caring white people in his life, he still could not bring himself to trust himself and trust them when it came to the defining moment of his life and that moment eventually passed him by.

We talk often of stereotyping – racial and ethnic and religious and others and imagine that these flawed judgments that we make of others harm them, discriminate against them, and deny them opportunities….. But stereotyping is actually like a boomerang it comes back and denies us the very same joys that we imagine others are losing out on.

Book Review: One Night @ The Call Center

heartcrossings — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 11:50:01 EDT

By when you make it to page twenty of Chetan Bhagat’s One Night @ The Call Center, you see a Bollywood screenplay pretty much writing itself. Had I been more Bollywood-savvy I would have figured the entire cast - a younger Rahul Bose seems perfect for Sam, the narrator. I don’t say this is a demeaning way at all. In the right directorial hands, this is a story ripe for being Bollywood-ized.

The material is fully ready waiting merely a couple of item numbers to be shoe horned at the right spots. There is love, sex, heroes, villains, vamps, God (though God knows why) and a long suffering Indian wife who catches her husband cheating on her even as she slaves to make the perfect Badam Milk for his mother. Plot elements are borrowed from sources on cyberspace and elsewhere – probably a natural thing for something that has Bollywood stamped all over it.

Though the God element in the prologue was intriguing, I did not get the point in the end - especially in the epilogue. Other than that the story is quite readable actually – just like some Bollywood flicks are entertaining and watchable. Some of the stereotypes about the average American customer calling 800 numbers are rather lame - but then that is the nature of most stereotypes.

At any rate, Bhagat warns the reader very early not to expect a work of Naipaul or Rushdie. That is a very useful disclaimer as it turns out. Talk about excellent reader expectation management. Whether or not Bhagat is a writer, he is a salesman par excellence. Reading the Wikipedia entry confirms my first instinct : Bollywood has been quick to snap up the rights.

Short Story Review : "Supriya at Fifty" by Prasenjit Gupta

Shantanu Dutta — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 12:38:28 EDT

Supriya Moitro is a girl born in a well to do Bengali civil servant family in Gorakhpur in 1935. She grows up in Moradabad and then goes to college in Allahabad. Against mild parental unease she then moves to Delhi to study for her MA in Hindi. Their unease is partly because of the daughter leaving home and partly that she should have chosen to study Hindi, a language generally looked down upon by the Bengali educated classes. From there Supriya moves to Aligarh where she joins as a lecturer in Hindi and where the first bend in the river occurs. Supriya falls in love with Ashok Dixit, a colleague and a non Bengali. Her parents come rushing down mortified at the thought of their daughter’s cross cultural marriage but return with a reluctant blessing.

Shortly after they get married, they move to the United Sates and effectively settle down there, though they will never admit that truth to themselves. Their only son Subodh knows no other home but the US and on their increasingly infrequent visits to Kolkata, he is distinctly uncomfortable. Not that Supriya herself is very comfortable. Each visit to Kolkata finds her retired parents, older, greyer and frailer and less able to cope for themselves. Though Supriya has a sister and other family, each visit leaves her groping with guilt about the choices she and her husband have made.

Time goes on, Subodh finishes high school and goes on to University. On one of his phone calls, he announces that he is bringing his fiancée Janet home (Oh mom, we met at grad school!). Supriya and her husband with the same perplexity and unease they had gifted their parents all those years ago. Supriya at fifty is the semi autobiographical reminiscence of Prasenjit Gupta masking as a short story through the persona of Supriya looking back on her life on her fiftieth birthday. Gupta is a Delhi University graduate now living and writing from Iowa. Through the character of Supriya, he asks many questions about identity that continually confronts people who have left their roots behind and attempts some answers.

The results for third culture people are mixed. As Supriya would recall, as a Bengali brought up in UP and later settled in the US, she was well versed in three languages: Bengali, Hindi and English: she was as comfortable reading Tagore as with Premchand or later Shakespeare or Wilt Whitman. Quite an accomplishment considering most of her erudite friends and those of her husband knew one language only – English and nothing more. It is possible for her to be equally at home in different parts of the globe without any discomfort in her campus apartment in the American university as in the gullys of Uttar Pradesh or the decaying bungalow of her father in Kolkata and that was more than could be said of her son, who had never been to the small towns of UP and found even a week in his grand parent’s house too suffocating.

Yet Supriya realized, she truly fitted nowhere. She lived in the US and yet she was not quite American. In the early years, her husband had encouraged her to switch from saree to skirt but she had demurred. She spoke English fluently and yet taught Hindi in the local university and cooked Bengali food like Doi Mach at home. She and her husband had so wanted to find a nice Bengali girl for their son before he surprised them so. Christmas meant nothing to her and yet she felt so nostalgic at the time of Pujo, the Bengali festival corresponding to Dusshera when the whole of Kolkata would dance with delight.

There is a certain intangible part of humanity that is associated with one’s own soil, culture and norms that is irretrievably lost as one moves to be a citizen of the world from being the native of a town. The process is enriching, yet the loss of what might have been, the friendships that might have been cultivated that have been lost, the bonds that have shrunk because distance and geography played their part, the opportunities that have been gained and the opportunities that have been lost all come together in one giddy cocktail. As Supriya would put it “ …her experiences, her culture, her traditions have dissipated themselves in three different ponds, whereas if all her life had been spent in one language, think how large a lake it would be, how deep, how profound ,with all the consecrated wisdom of her ancestors…”.

On the whole, life has been good to her. She has had a good husband, a good son and is on her way to have a good daughter in law for after the initial misgivings, they have grown to be fond of the girl their son would marry and who has gone to great length to accommodate and adjust to her fiancée’s parents. But in reverse, she has been away in the pivotal moments of her family’s happenings in Kolkata, there is a very obvious disconnect that she experiences as soon as she lands in Kolkata. People have married, have had children, the children have in turn married, the older uncles and aunts whom she knew and loved have gradually passed on and to the new generation, she is just another aunty from far away who comes now and then but will never be in any sense be ever a part of their lives.

So much has been gained because of the choices that she has made and yet so much has also been irretrievably lost that Supriya at fifty. Half a century into her life she can no longer draw any conclusions. She decides that she will live that for posterity to judge and hopes that she will not be found wanting.

Book Review: Dragon Queen - An Ancient Mirrors Tale

AJ — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 14:33:21 EDT

The Dragon Queen is the first part of the Ancient Mirrors Tale series by Jayel Gibson. This tale, based in the fantasy world of Ædracmoræ (pronounced Dracmor), is the story of the guardians Yávië and her companions Nall and Rydén resurrected and sworn to protect Ædracmoræ along with the help of other guardians who also become part of the central group of characters.

The book starts off with an interesting background describing the destruction of this world and its subsequent shattering by the Sojourner Alandon. However, Alandon, who is also Yávië's father establishes prophecies for its rebuilding. Along with the shattering, the souls of the guardians are sent into the stars in a death slumber, awaiting their reawakening. Once resurrected by a group of ancient beings called the Ancients, the first part of the book then deals with the training of the three guardians and certain quests they must perform and gain command of the Dragon Clans (referred to as Flytes) inhabiting their world.

In a similar vein, they go through a variety of tribulations and challenges to reach their eventual goal, the rebirth and reuniting of the shattered pieces of Ædracmoræ. There is another quest which is revealed in the middle parts of the book, the quest for Yávië to regain her birthright, that of the Dragon Queen of Ædracmoræ and finally to resurrect Ædracmoræ by reuniting the seven worlds

The book is fairly long as most fantasy books go but is divided into small comfortable and easy to read chapters. They are not overtly long and usually centered around individual tasks/mini-quests, which are closed within that chapter. However that is the story's undoing to an extent as well. But more on that later.

Jayel Gibson has described the world of Ædracmoræ beautifully, spending lush words in describing its beauty. Even the physical description and skills of the guardians are described in detail, which give a good idea about the guardian being described. The tale itself is very good and holds a lot of promise and creates anticipation within the reader and covers a lot of ground in encompassing three major quests and wrapping it up nicely with the ending suitably closed but open ended enough for a sequel.

The writer however does not satiate the anticipation created in a quest entirely. To ensure the short chapters, a lot of the plot points and tasks feel too rushed. Many of the tasks defined to be "extremely" difficult are achieved with ease and very quickly. It is like Gibson takes us on a crescendo and then let's go abruptly.
And while the character development is quite good and tight, sometimes they behave inconsistently with their defined characteristics and make the reader feel if they are reading about the same person or someone else entirely.

It would be unfair to compare this book to some of the classic fantasy books but nevertheless; this book stands on its own. It is a good book to read on a long weekend and will provide ample fantasy elements to satiate the reader. However, do not expect the plot development like done by say, Tolkien.

My ratings

Story 4/5
Writing 2/5
Characters 3/5
Overall 2.5/5

Downtime, Uptime: 10 Suggested Activities

Varun P — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 12:01:59 EDT

Off late, I've found myself with plenty of time on hand and not much work to do. Not being used to sitting idle, I indulged myself in a host of activities to ensure that I keep myself busy. So, here is a list of 10 things to do during your free time in case you too end up idle like me:

1) Think of ways to earn money - more & more money:

Ha ha, this is the best way to put your skills to test and use - in case you are a blogger, you can try and enhance your blog with additional features that help you retain visitors and get regular readers. Some of these features can also help you improve your site's visibility - check here or do a google search for features/articles that inform you on ways to increase your reader base.

An alternative case could be for you to think of ways to spend money: one such thing could be going bungee jumping or maybe parasailing!

2) Read a book:

This is one of my favourite past times - when faced with the option of no work, I simply head over to Crosswords, pick up a book whose title / cover catches my fancy, grab a comfy seat and simply lsoe myself into the book. The latest book that I've picked off the shelves is Karen Rose's Scream for Me.

Alternatively, you can buy a book and head home, make yourself cozy and then proceed to immerse yourself in the book. You may also go bargain-hunting in the second hand bookshops. A couple of places in Kolkata like the Free School Street or the book stalls under the Gariahat flyover are great places to get an awesome bargain!

3) Head for the gym:

Most of the times, we have plenty of excuses lined up for not workng out and staying fit - hence, this will be one of the best ways to ensure that all you workout-phobiacs put your idle time to some fat-burning use!

4) Pamper yourself:

Idle times have a bad way of coinciding with times when we are at our wits's ends or are feleing a bit under the weather. Your greatest asset (or atleast the second best one) is YOU - so why not throw a treat in your honour? Who needs another reason to celebrate life - say cheers to life for who you are! Go shopping else go binging on ice creams or cakes!

5) Hunt for a job:

There is nothing more depressing than going on a job hunt and not finding a single job that suits your profile! This will in turn make you go back to the rest of the activities to occupy your time.

6) Make all those phone calls that you had been avoiding - catch up with long-forgotten acquiatances, old friends, relatives and all those aunties, uncles and cousins.

7) Grab a bunch of friends and go partying:

Well, I rather prefer to sit down with friends and recount tales of our times spend together, indulge into arguments, trade knowledge of the latest happenings in town or in someone else's life - all while sitting around a few hot cups of coffee and some soothing music in the background.

8) Do something special for your family, loved near and dear ones:

Give someone special a surprise, take your family out for dinner or a movie or simply express your gratitude for their support, love, care - Do not hesitate to tell those who matter to you that THEY MATTER! Some things are better left said than assumed - oops, sorry if I didn't get the phrase right but I know that you get my drift.

9) Switch off your phone, draw curtains across your windows and lock yourself up in your bedroom and doze off to glory:

So many of us are running low on sleep, so simply take a day off and recharge those old batteries.

10) Go & enroll yourself in a langage/computer/martial arts course - Dude, do somthing to kick some butt man!

Basically, don't just sit twiddlign your thumbs and wonder what you should do - do what you want to, what you haven't had time to off late (like practicing your guitar); more than anything else, do something close your heart, something therapeutic like playing with kids (word of caution: some kids can send your blood pressure soaring - avoid such kids at all costs!)!

Well, there must be a lot more activities that I may have missed in my short post here (e.g. watching movies) - so why don't you go ahead and update me with the activities that you do in your idle time. Looking forward to your valuable suggestions...