Rains & Nature

The rains arrived last night - at last! - like a woman returning from her mother's place, fussing and fuming, preparing for a quarrel with her husband. Starting from the gathering of gloomy clouds, to the slight sticky drizzle, and finally to the heavy showers accompanied by thunder and lightning, the rains returned last night.

This morning, I went around my little garden looking for the damages. How many life-forms abounded there! Crawling, slithering, jumping, hiding, hanging - spiders, flies, lizards, centipedes, ants, worms, varieties of mites - so diverse was the life forms within that little garden of mine!

Just as I walked up to the terrace, this sight caught my attention. A butterfly was meticulously laying her eggs on a branch of the moringa tree. All that I could feel at this sight was humility and awe at the vastness of Nature around us.

Let's shed our attitude of self-importance, Humans! We are just another species on this planet. There is neither anything special, nor anything superior about us. We are all one tiny part of the glorious Whole!

Book Review – Men and Dreams in the Dhauladhar, Kochery C.Shibu

When the author of this book approached me on Goodreads for a review, I was a little unsure, since modern Indian fiction is something that I stay away from. But then, the author assured me that the book is nothing like the works of the contemporary Indian authors that depend on melodrama and cheap titillation to sell their books. I agreed to read the book based on that assurance and a cursory look at the description of the book.

The first 100-odd pages raced away like a rocket. Core characters of the book were all being introduced one by one, like the notes of a Hindustani raga, each given its own gamut of emotions and elaboration. Nanda, the protagonist of the book - or, at least that is what I thought him to be – arrives for work at the hydro-Electrical project site in the Himalayan ranges, escaping a blood-soaked past of gang-wars and revenge killings that have spiraled out of control. Khusru, a Kashmiri youth, separated from his parents in childhood, is recruited by the terrorist groups in Pakistan to assist in the destruction of a dam – the same dam where Nanda is working. Rekha is a Kathak dancer, whose ancestors have all had a bitter taste of the Partition. She is dedicated to her art, a globetrotting independent woman that is willing to wait for the one who will make love bloom in her heart, instead of getting married in the routine manner and spending time like yet-another-Indian-housewife. Now, I felt promises galore in these characters. But alas, the book promises only to deceive.

First, the strong points. Character formation is definitely the author’s forte. He manages to put the reader in the shoes of the character. With vivid descriptions and simple style, the author manages to make the characters come alive. Of course, not all the characters are flawless and necessary but more on that later. Then, sincerity. The author is definitely dedicated to his craft – writing. He tries hard to convey his ideas and thoughts to the reader without any ‘transmission losses’ and it is quite evident in his writing. Also, he puts to good use his wide knowledge gained from past experiences, to depict scenes and situations to make them feel real. Accolades to him for that.

Now, there are many aspects that cause disappointment and deprive the author of a glorious debut. Most important of them all is the plot. I wish the author had given more attention to the plot as well, alongside the characters. With a promising plotline and a bunch of intense characters, he could have worked wonders, but the book does not take off ever. All you get to read are backstories and current experiences of the characters that do nothing to rally the main story along. Nanda gets pulled into a violent life of killings and revenge killings and his backstory is one of the gripping points in the book. But all that he does once he is in the hydro-project is nothing but work. What started off like a burning train ends up as a damp squib. I would have loved to see Nanda’s emotions and yearnings explored more. In fact, his entire story can be developed into a book of its own.

Next is Khusru. Not sure what I am supposed to feel for him, but empathy is definitely not the name for it. Deserted by his parents who run away to Pakistan leaving him behind in his uncle’s care, losing his uncle to the army shelling, recruited by the terrorist groups, his purpose in life is said to be to meet his family again. But his character loses steam after promising much. His promiscuity, for example, is a put-off. He marries a widow - elder than him - from his shepherd group, after saving her from marauding tribesmen.  He leaves her to visit Pakistan for training and then sleeps with his Urdu teacher there – an elder and married woman. He comes back to the group to learn about his wife’s death during childbirth. He then marries another girl from the group and consummates his marriage with her. He leaves the group again and marries another Kashmiri girl from the Indian side of the border after some ‘saving’ her. And, then he sleeps with Rekha – again another elder woman. It is as if almost every time the name of a girl pops up in the chapter in which Khusru appears, he is going to marry her or sleep with her. You don’t get to see love or intensity in any of those relationships. And, coming from a character with all the scope for an intense emotional portrayal, this sort of a sleeping around is not only unconvincing but weakens the character’s emotional integrity.

Rekha – just as you think that this character is being woven well and thorough, it falls flat on its face. A woman who is passionate about her art and taking it to new heights, a woman who has been avoiding men all through her life, keeps her modesty intact despite many opportunities to falter, falls head-over-heels in love with Khusru, after she is separated from her pilgrimage group during a terrorist attack and abduction. Oh, she also copulates with him, because it was cold, he is handsome and he pulls off her wet clothes and pushes her down. Any normal reading will prove it to you that it is a rape. But well, he doesn’t even attempt to rape her, as she yields to that ‘musty smell of sweat and his wiry looks’. He abducted her? So what! He is a terrorist obviously? Who cares? He seems young and naïve. What does it matter?! Really??? Are women so easy to sleep with?! The author later on tries to sneak in ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ as the excuse, but that sort of an affinity develops only with some sort of interaction between the kidnapper and the victim. Not just because they kept copulating for a whole night without even knowing one another or having even a meaningful conversation. Also, their ‘love’ that the author tries to push into our brains, towards the last few pages of the book, feels at best to be infatuation or the glee of the woman at finding a vent for all those pent up carnal tensions. Please, let’s not call it ‘love’ and insult that pure emotion!

Another bane is the surfeit of characters that don’t contribute anything to the book except to the page count. Mangu Ram, Sandeep, Rajanish, Katarina, Rafiq, Mukesh, Sherah and a few more come and go, as standalone characters, without being fused into the tale in a meaningful manner. Equally tedious is the technicality crammed into the book. It would have been better if the author had kept the technicalities and jargon to the minimum or stopped with a general explanation of the hydro-electrical projects in a separate chapter. Another dreaded aspect is the italics. By italics I mean the author’s penchant for including the transliterated vernacular words and phrases every now and then. While they help in adding a local flavor to the tale and help you feel in place, they are over-utilized to the extent of your coming across them almost every other page. Beyond a point, it gets annoying to read a word in italics and its explanation filling the next couple of lines. A seasoned editor could have helped the author avoid these pitfalls and trim the book by at least 50-odd pages, improving the book’s tempo. 

Then the Dhauladhar ranges. During the run-up to the tale, the author creates a lot of expectations in your mind about the role these mountains, the stage for this grand drama, are going to play. But all that they do is to appear lamely at the end of the chapter, ‘seeming’ to say something to one of the characters and the character ‘wondering’ as to what they mean. Monotonous and lack appeal.

Coming back to the plot, a book that spends almost three-fourths of its length to build its characters cannot end by cramming all the action within two pages. That too through a character that was not given even half the importance of what was given to some of the fringe characters. The climax feels muddled and rushed, just like the writing style in those pages, lacking the smooth flow that made the book a pleasure to read in the early pages. It feels as if an elaborate symphony is rushed to its end with a quick beat of rap, instead of going for a classic crescendo.

If you’re a person that reads just for the sake of reading, to pass time, without expecting to gain much from the book emotionally or intellectually, and a fan of ‘young-adult’ fictions, then this book is for you. As for me, I am looking forward to a much better work from the author, because he shows a lot of promise and potential that remain unrealized in this book.

Spreading Smiles

Today, as I was entering a retail family showroom, the security person, a man in his late fifties, folded his hands and greeted me with a traditional 'namaste'. I conveyed my respect with the same gesture. Just as I finished my shopping and I was heading out, he repeated the gesture with a 'thank you, sir'. I stood for a moment, looked him in the eyes and said with a smile, 'Thank you, sir. Happy Diwali to you.'

His eyes lit up and his smile broadening almost into a grin, he heartily said, 'Thank you, sir. Wishes to you too. Thank you.'

Looking at his smile, his happiness, and his voice exuding genuine gratitude, I understood one thing today - Making people happy and spreading smiles around aren't very difficult things really!  :-)

Book Review – The Lessons of History, Will & Ariel Durant

‘History repeats itself’, ‘Those who don’t learn from history are forced to repeat it’ – these are two of the quips about which I had been curious for so long. Is it possible that we humans are living a cycle all through our lives? Are we repeating the same things, events and experiences that our ancestors once went through? Are we humans, so-called most intelligent species of this planet, so inept at learning from our past that we go through the same pains and pleasures, events and experiences that keep staring at our face from the annals?

I was seeking answers to these questions and when Amazon ‘recommended’ this book to me, I gladly accepted. Will and Ariel Durant, the author couple, are renowned for their contribution to the field of History and ‘The Story of Civilization’, a series of eleven volumes in Western history, is their magnum opus. And, when they offer to summarize all their learning in a little book, you can’t help grabbing the same with both hands. I am glad I did.

In this book, Will and Ariel, categorize lessons of the past under various faculties. The evolution of mankind, the overcoming of geological obstacles, the biological evolution and multiplication into innumerable life forms, racial and ethnic diversities, the development of our ethics and morals, the loosening grip of religion on our conscience, growth of economics, socialism, wars and the various forms of governments. They end the book by discussing whether we have progressed by learning our lessons wisely from our past or are we running around in circles. The whole book makes not just an interesting read but worthy of some deep contemplation too.

The book is written in a plain, pragmatic and unostentatious manner. They don’t claim to know it all, but acknowledge that history is just a collection of varying perspectives, depending on our cultural, religious, social background and understanding. Also, they present a neutral stance on our past, without nurturing a tender nostalgia for our past while having bleak fears about the future, or going gaga about the modern times while dismissing the past as full of darkness and barbaric beings.

The past is full of lessons for those who want to learn, and the lessons are neither hard, nor bitter. We get what we seek from our past. If you’re looking for hope, it is full of it. If you are pessimistic about human history, then past offers an abundance of excuses for that too. It is all up to us to wisely choose lessons that suit us, learn from them, use the wisdom to sail through our present, while building a rich heritage for the future generations for whom we will soon be pages of history.

A lovely introduction into the various facets of human history and a book that no history-buff should miss!

Ashok Krishna

Book Review – The Story of My Life, Helen Keller

As I was reading this book, an old Zen story came to my mind. Here it is –
 

There was once a man who was a hopeless pessimist. He thought that life had been unfair towards him and he always used to complain to everyone about it. He heard about the visit of a wandering monk to his village and decided to seek the blessings for a better life. Visiting the monk he vented out all his grievances at length. After patiently listening to it all, the monk said that he will take the man to the king and get him all the money that is needed to improve his life. 

Just as they were setting out to meet the king, the monk said ‘See, before meeting the king, let’s decide on the price, shall we?’

Our pessimist wasn’t sure, and he asked the monk ‘Decide the price of what?’

The monk replied ‘For selling your organs. The king pays good amount to the arms and legs, but he lavishes gold more for eyes, ears, tongue and brain. I can get whatever money you want, provided you tell me now itself.’

The pessimist was shocked and angrily said, ‘Are you mad?! How can a man survive without these organs? What will I do with the money if I don’t have my organs to live?!’

The monk smiled and said ‘You’re not using them much anyways. If you were, your life would have turned better long back.’ The pessimist understood his folly, promised the monk that he will start working hard and left.

Helen Keller – one of those names that inspire the whole of mankind, regardless of religion, clan or creed. Born 136 years ago, this lady lost her ability to see and hear – two of those most important faculties through which we learn the world around us – while she wasn’t even two years old. Imagine what a pain it would have been for a child to go through the formative years of her life, deprived of both these senses and with not much of a chance to enjoy the little but precious pleasures of life that we all take for granted!

But Helen was blessed to have a mother that wouldn’t give up on her child like that. Her mother, inspired on learning about the now-less-famous Laura Bridgman, who was the first deaf-blind American child to get proper education, ensured that her daughter got a worthy teacher in the form of Anne Sullivan. The rest, as they say, is history.

Anne Sullivan helped Helen get into a proper learning mode and introduced her to the beauty of life and nature. Taught by Anne to read, write and communicate, Helen went on to acquire a good education, first in the basics of literature, mathematics and various languages and then a proper college degree. This autobiography, written by Helen Keller when she was 22 years old, takes us on a journey to those critical early decades of her life.

There is something magical about Helen’s words. Anyone who reads this book cannot come away from it without developing a love for the life and nature. This is a candid book about Helen’s transition from a helpless little child to a self-confident student in college that faced many challenges in learning but who nevertheless took pride and pleasure in surmounting them all. Helen’s love for her parents, her immense gratitude for her teacher Anne Sullivan and her having taken the deprivations in her stride to enjoy life like no other person with both these faculties of hearing and seeing could, are lessons for us all to learn. I could feel an immense love and hope oozing through her words.

A worthy read and a must have for your home-library. In fact, I am thinking of gifting this book to all my friends. Especially to those that have much to complain about their lives!

Book Review – Karma Cola, Gita Mehta

Poverty, Chastity and Piety – search for the basic code of conduct prescribed by any religion for its spiritual seekers, and you will find these three aspects standing out. While piety is more internal and is not for others to see or judge, the first two aspects are for all of us to view and verify. But, just as all things change with Time, these too are thrown in the wind and religion has got into the hands of those who have desecrated these principles and manipulated religions for their own selfish ends.

Saints (!) these days lead lifestyles that can make the rockstars fade in comparison. Swanky mansions, sleek cars, globetrotting habits, private islands, gatherings that can fill huge football grounds to the brim, sprawling ‘ashrams’ – any and every aspect of luxury that an ordinary person can only imagine are at the disposal of these modern-day ‘gurus’. These people have literally started peddling spirituality and god in affordable packages. Affordable for those with bank balances the size of their own egos, that is. There are some of the spiritual ‘gurus’ whose photographs are updated in social media with a frequency that can put a narcissistic adolescent girl’s selfie craze to shame. Then, there are those who perpetrate and permit all kinds of sleaze in the name of ‘spiritual fervor’. Some of these ‘gurus’ have even performed acts that puts them on par with professional pornstars.

As these sacrilegious things continue growing alarmingly these days, there sprouts a question in my mind as to who is to be blamed for all these abominable deviations from the path of the Ultimate Truth. Should we blame those fake gurus and spiritual leaders that charge obscene amounts of money for their mere ‘darshan’ or should we kick those gullible masses that have forgotten what it means to feel silence and solitude in their purest forms.

Gita Mehta’s book deals with one such topic here. India, considered the beacon of spiritual wisdom, has long been the haven for spiritual seekers from around the world. Since the ancient days, travellers from faraway places have flocked to India to partake in her spiritual fountain. In the last century, the advent of air travel has helped more and more such seekers in visiting this mysterious land of snake-charmers and super-power sadhus. While the inflow was comprised equally of those in real spiritual quest and those souls that are simply confused about the course of their lives, India has offered counterfeit ‘teachers’ that can adeptly manipulate the gullible ones for having their own fill of the coffers and coitus.

Gita Mehta displays an amazing sense of sarcasm and wit while writing about the many ways in which these gurus exploit the seekers. Right from the funny encounter of a Western aristocrat that ended up drinking the urine of a sadhu (said to be pissing rosewater) to the painful truth of foreign women that are sexually exploited under the influence of narcotics, this book, written almost three decades ago, holds true to the modern day atrocities committed in India by the fake saints.

Having had the benefit of a Western education, Gita has the advantage of both worlds. At one end, she can discuss threadbare the nature of the seekers that end up in India. Not everyone is thrilled just by the confluence of life and death at the ghats of Kashi. Some of them seek the thrill of the chillum too. On the other, she flays the monks, saints and hermits, having the knowledge of not just the blissful but the banal as well, for exploiting the foreigners in terms of the material and mundane. Drug induced trances, sexual orgies under the guise of spiritual evolution, stupid practices in the name of dynamic therapies - Gita explores the whole razzamatazz that goes in the name of spirituality these days. It informs us also of the sad plight that these foreigners end up in, having lost their all here, forced to sell whatever they have or they can, from pieces of clothes to their flesh to make a living, with little or no chance of going back to their lives in their own countries.

The book is, though, more like a bunch of columns put together than any coherent work. She has put together a lot of anecdotes and observations without a complete flow. While it is obvious that she is writing about Osho and Mahesh Yogi, I wish she had written more plainly about the other such ‘gurus’ too. Also, I found her snobbish attitude a little annoying to be candid. Couldn’t help but feel that she is another of those high-society NRIs with a bit of aversion and contempt for the Indians and their ways of life.

To sum it up all, it is a good book. It goes on to vindicate my feeling that Indian ‘saints’ have thrown the three basic principles of poverty, chastity and piety to the wind and replaced them with the two principles with which the Batman operates – Theatricality and Deception!