Of Woody Allen i know something, i have seen and loved his work. Of Sophocles, not much more than the person existed once upon a time. I have seen Match Point in bits on TV. Never saw the end, though i was told what the end is. Chris kills Nora (Scarlett Johanson) and gets away with it. And i assume the cliched. But when i see it, i realise its not a simple "getting away". There is no getting away as it is revealed that Chris is haunted by his act. And when in a very theatrical fashion the Ghosts of his slain victims confront him and Nora asks him, what about our unborn child?
He says ---> Sophocles said, "To never have been born may be the greatest boon of all."
So here i find the original of it lying on my Mac! Its from Oedipus at Colonus. For that matter it makes another connection now i know why Freud called Oedipus complex so. Here it is reproduced :)
Not to be born at all
Is best, far best that can befall,
Next best, when born, with least delay
To trace the backward way.
For when youth passes with its giddy train,
Troubles on troubles follow, toils on toils,
Pain, pain for ever pain;
And none escapes life's coils.
Envy, sedition, strife,
Carnage and war, make up the tale of life.
Last comes the worst and most abhorred stage
Of unregarded age,
Joyless, companionless and slow,
Of woes the crowning woe.
Oh and i said two Wooody Allens, caught few minutes of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, caught on to the phrase, "Chronic Dissatisfaction". Chronic Dissatisfaction.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mindwalk
A film, a long conversation. Yikes reminds of Before Sunrise!
A politician hopeful working on the candidacy of the US president, going through a mid-life disillusionment of sorts. An old friend who happens to be a poet invites him to come spend time where he is. And they bump into a physicist on a sabbatical.
Strange ways in which the human mind works, this film had such a reassuring effect on me.
Reminded me of a heated argument i once had with my Russian colleague of how technological advancements befuddle me, is it really development ? etc. I conceded and bent my extra biased view later over some time and observations.
Some talks can be so beautiful, and some can become such pain to bear and put up with. Most we perform as social enactments.
The poet has the last word. The poet was my favourite character, or rather would have been my favourite person if i was there too :). Liv Ullman as Sonia is enchanting. All the characters are endearing in their own ways. I loved the unusual reaction shots.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Saul Bellow- Seize The Day
"The great weight of the unspoken left them little to talk about."
Its interesting that i should come upon this book straight after Youth. Both are books on trounced upon optimism. Its a day in Wilhelm's life. Wilhelm who gave up a steady job, left his wife and kids in the hopes of marrying another though his wife wont grant him divorce. His father is living a comfortable life on his life's saving, but would not help Wilhelm financially. Wilhelm feels victimized by all he is closely related with except his dog whom he would like to keep with him but his wife would not allow him that too.
Wilhelm had on the words of a Hollywood casting agent left his studies to try his luck in acting. Seven years later he admits defeats takes a regular job, which at this point in his life he has quit at being treated unfairly. He was passed over for a position which he deserved . He has to support his wife and his kids, which is rapidly draining out his pockets and destitution is imminent.
Bellow has an immense grip on this mans psyche, i lived Wilhelm when i read him. Its a story from inside Wilhelms mind, from his mind, not just Wilhelm telling his story, Wilhelm living this day in his life, of course we as a reader also flit out to observe him especially at the end, looking at this miserable man. Was there any other moment we were so clearly outside? We are so caught with Wilhelm's thoughts, little trips to his past. But all of it seems like a day in the life in his head.
Its interesting that i should come upon this book straight after Youth. Both are books on trounced upon optimism. Its a day in Wilhelm's life. Wilhelm who gave up a steady job, left his wife and kids in the hopes of marrying another though his wife wont grant him divorce. His father is living a comfortable life on his life's saving, but would not help Wilhelm financially. Wilhelm feels victimized by all he is closely related with except his dog whom he would like to keep with him but his wife would not allow him that too.
Wilhelm had on the words of a Hollywood casting agent left his studies to try his luck in acting. Seven years later he admits defeats takes a regular job, which at this point in his life he has quit at being treated unfairly. He was passed over for a position which he deserved . He has to support his wife and his kids, which is rapidly draining out his pockets and destitution is imminent.
Bellow has an immense grip on this mans psyche, i lived Wilhelm when i read him. Its a story from inside Wilhelms mind, from his mind, not just Wilhelm telling his story, Wilhelm living this day in his life, of course we as a reader also flit out to observe him especially at the end, looking at this miserable man. Was there any other moment we were so clearly outside? We are so caught with Wilhelm's thoughts, little trips to his past. But all of it seems like a day in the life in his head.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
The Youth
A maths major from South Africa determined to get out of the provincial life in his small town moves to London, to bask in its glory, to read poets and talk them, to write his masterpiece. The unparalleled optimism of Youth and what it boils down to. Loved the book. Strange Coetzee.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
An End to The Suffering - Pankaj Mishra
Pankaj Mishra. Its like this place is where i come to profess my ignorance. Yes, its that again. I had not heard of him. Yes i sound repetitive. Its serendipitous the way books find me these days :).
This time i picked up "An End to The Suffering", from this wonderful couple's place. Lovely people. Meeting them was so unlikely and now that i think of it i have spent quite a lot of time at their place, more than any other house in Bangalore including my relatives.
He is scarily understandable and mighty high and knowingly unapproachable at the same time. Beautiful penmanship. Emotions quietly stated, and so identifiable. I had to return the book, i wish it wasn't so.
The book is about Buddha and the writers studies, observations, personal experiences and cultural exposures that led him to conclude that Buddha is a contemporary "spiritual/social/political guide". I am not sure if he used that word. The book is a sometimes seamless, sometimes abrupt blend of travelogues, and more personal travelogues. It also has Buddha's life with the historical facts, his relation to contemporary figures like Bimbisara, Ajatashatru, his political and administrative capabilities and his humanizing and psychological traits. All this added together convey Budhha as a person in flesh and blood not some mythical indescribable being.
Mishra explores his own head, his life, experiences and mental states at all the times he encountered Budha as a concept or a possibility of ideology or a historical figure. My personal favorites were of course all the times in small cities of India, his time in Allahabad, Mashobra but not Kashmir so much. These bits piqued my curiosity but were strangely familiar at the same time.
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Good Night
A film whose DVD was accidentally sent to me among a bunch of DVDs returned to me.
Penelope Cruz says at a point , "Jeez i barely know you and you are making me feel like i am breaking up with you". Ever get that feeling and had been smart enough to articulate it too? If not aloud at least to yourself.
Penelope Cruz says at a point , "Jeez i barely know you and you are making me feel like i am breaking up with you". Ever get that feeling and had been smart enough to articulate it too? If not aloud at least to yourself.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Last Temptation - maybe
Last Saturday in the middle of my search at CED I got a call from an unknown person asking for me. As i walked away from thick dusty folders of brittle yellowed pages, I immediately ruled out the possibility of it being a sales person or a prank call, because the voice didn’t seem to fit into any of those. The voice declared, It was someone from my previous company and stopped at that. He insisted on creating an atmosphere of mystery but i knew it was a person of authority. Well it was sort of the new big boss of the team I used to work in back there.
The reason for the call he said was in a nutshell: I am being called back. It went for half an hour or so. Starting with the pats on the back and flattering things he had heard about good work I had done while I was there, several ppl in the US team had highly recommended me including my boss back there (these of course got my attention and time away from work, and kept me hooked to the call). And that the Co wasn’t the same anymore. Not with him there. Things were different now that he was there and they will just keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will …keep…getting ..better…. I didn’t get a cue where to end the call and so knew I had to wait for him (years of servitude brought me to my submissive self in few minutes to a person i have never worked with), and it came half an hour later. I was flattered but confused, disoriented.
That was that.I had not in the least expected this, i was taken unawares but i didn't say no because for the past few weeks or a month or so i had started contemplating part time software job or something like it to compound my earnings. Now that I had spent six months away from my previous job the only thing that I didn’t like was the way my bank account was getting more and more sickly instead of blossoming and fattening up like it was doing earlier. And that dissatisfaction was the thing which got me to participate in the call. It was a strangely unsavoury feeling i had after the call. I heard myself in flashback again, the affected gratitude and expressing the desire to be willing to consider the offer. Remarking on whatever changes that were mentioned had taken place as very exciting. Affirming "it sounds exciting". I had spoken the voice of reason. The voice which would make my actions approving of all the near and maybe-not-dear ones.
Thus followed 3 days, I didn’t think much about it except how to say no, and when to say no and say it so this generous offer stays open so that the day I come back crawling the doors are open.
Sad.
The day i was to return the call, i was on my way back home with Mummy from Tirupati and the bus kept braking down and delaying our arrival to Bangalore. Sitting in the front seat of Volvo i watched the rocky hillocks, the green villages pass me by. I felt good, away from city always puts you at ease. Maybe because this is always the shorter stay. As day ended our bus stopped again for close to an hour and it was nearing eight now. I began to wonder maybe i should just sneak away from mom and make a quick call and end it. But secretly i didnt want it to be quick, i wanted to talk out my uncertainities and nobleness or god knows what that i did not make that quick call.
And it was when we were back in Bangalore waiting for a car to pick us up that i got the dreaded call. For i was suddenly unprepared. I apologised for not having called, and thought i would call later. But the call continued there on the pavement for half an hour. I hate myself for letting it drag on. I let myself be talked into what i do and him mentioning that these kind of jobs barely get you any money. He said and made it sound like an admission that he did his job to pay his bills. I know people in US admit it all the time, but we Indians would gape at such a "confession". But his confession made me think maybe this is what i could do too.
The call had to be halted abruptly as the car arrived and i could not continue talking this in the presence of my mom and other strangers.
The ride home was a cascade of thoughts clamouring around in my head, because now i really gave a thought to being back there. Six months back there could double my bank balance. My new boss is promising me 40 hours week. I could work hard the rest of the hours and do "something". But what i am doing now isnt work which is done out of the comforts of your home. I had to go places and commit my days to people. I could not finish that work in the off hours i get, rather i wish i could give my off hours to make money. Not the other way around. I realised the fool that i was being from all sensibilities by saying no now. Now when i was required, when i could have negotiated and got things at my own terms. I said no and a dear friend hoped i had not said "no out of resentment". I feared i might have said no out of the strongest reasons of sticking to my decision 6 months back and staying true to the conviction which i had then though reality would have told me otherwise. And that was the reason when i was leaving i had made it clear i am not taking a break, but choosing a different path. So that the day i get all weak and want an out, I would know what a fool i would look to my previous me.
I got home it was barely a minute long call, i said no. I was wished luck. And that was it. The war was over for now.
The reason for the call he said was in a nutshell: I am being called back. It went for half an hour or so. Starting with the pats on the back and flattering things he had heard about good work I had done while I was there, several ppl in the US team had highly recommended me including my boss back there (these of course got my attention and time away from work, and kept me hooked to the call). And that the Co wasn’t the same anymore. Not with him there. Things were different now that he was there and they will just keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will keep getting better. And they will …keep…getting ..better…. I didn’t get a cue where to end the call and so knew I had to wait for him (years of servitude brought me to my submissive self in few minutes to a person i have never worked with), and it came half an hour later. I was flattered but confused, disoriented.
That was that.I had not in the least expected this, i was taken unawares but i didn't say no because for the past few weeks or a month or so i had started contemplating part time software job or something like it to compound my earnings. Now that I had spent six months away from my previous job the only thing that I didn’t like was the way my bank account was getting more and more sickly instead of blossoming and fattening up like it was doing earlier. And that dissatisfaction was the thing which got me to participate in the call. It was a strangely unsavoury feeling i had after the call. I heard myself in flashback again, the affected gratitude and expressing the desire to be willing to consider the offer. Remarking on whatever changes that were mentioned had taken place as very exciting. Affirming "it sounds exciting". I had spoken the voice of reason. The voice which would make my actions approving of all the near and maybe-not-dear ones.
Thus followed 3 days, I didn’t think much about it except how to say no, and when to say no and say it so this generous offer stays open so that the day I come back crawling the doors are open.
Sad.
The day i was to return the call, i was on my way back home with Mummy from Tirupati and the bus kept braking down and delaying our arrival to Bangalore. Sitting in the front seat of Volvo i watched the rocky hillocks, the green villages pass me by. I felt good, away from city always puts you at ease. Maybe because this is always the shorter stay. As day ended our bus stopped again for close to an hour and it was nearing eight now. I began to wonder maybe i should just sneak away from mom and make a quick call and end it. But secretly i didnt want it to be quick, i wanted to talk out my uncertainities and nobleness or god knows what that i did not make that quick call.
And it was when we were back in Bangalore waiting for a car to pick us up that i got the dreaded call. For i was suddenly unprepared. I apologised for not having called, and thought i would call later. But the call continued there on the pavement for half an hour. I hate myself for letting it drag on. I let myself be talked into what i do and him mentioning that these kind of jobs barely get you any money. He said and made it sound like an admission that he did his job to pay his bills. I know people in US admit it all the time, but we Indians would gape at such a "confession". But his confession made me think maybe this is what i could do too.
The call had to be halted abruptly as the car arrived and i could not continue talking this in the presence of my mom and other strangers.
The ride home was a cascade of thoughts clamouring around in my head, because now i really gave a thought to being back there. Six months back there could double my bank balance. My new boss is promising me 40 hours week. I could work hard the rest of the hours and do "something". But what i am doing now isnt work which is done out of the comforts of your home. I had to go places and commit my days to people. I could not finish that work in the off hours i get, rather i wish i could give my off hours to make money. Not the other way around. I realised the fool that i was being from all sensibilities by saying no now. Now when i was required, when i could have negotiated and got things at my own terms. I said no and a dear friend hoped i had not said "no out of resentment". I feared i might have said no out of the strongest reasons of sticking to my decision 6 months back and staying true to the conviction which i had then though reality would have told me otherwise. And that was the reason when i was leaving i had made it clear i am not taking a break, but choosing a different path. So that the day i get all weak and want an out, I would know what a fool i would look to my previous me.
I got home it was barely a minute long call, i said no. I was wished luck. And that was it. The war was over for now.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Beam me up Scotty
2 roomies back, my roomie had a Tee, which she wore more frequently than ever.A bright lively yellow. It had a stick figure kinda girl raising her hands up to a UFO "Beam Me Up Scotty". Well those who know, know, i didnt. Saw Star Trek yesterday and i want one T too, which goes "Beam me up scotty" :). Loved the film. Brings me back one full circle to "movies should entertain". Movies are everything right; from art, industry and yesterday .. before anything ... entertainment.
Actors are taking their jobs just as seriously as can be possible without overwhelming the audience with character portrayal. Whats with me! This film is veering me away from "arty" films.
And HellBoy tata, i have another to replace you in Masala Fantasy, Full Paisa Vasool, Low Brainer-Entertainer category. It beats you more in the Low Brainer, lighter-on-character-sketches hence more appeal category for entertainment.
Actors are taking their jobs just as seriously as can be possible without overwhelming the audience with character portrayal. Whats with me! This film is veering me away from "arty" films.
And HellBoy tata, i have another to replace you in Masala Fantasy, Full Paisa Vasool, Low Brainer-Entertainer category. It beats you more in the Low Brainer, lighter-on-character-sketches hence more appeal category for entertainment.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Book Attack
I had entered the library with all the determination that I am not picking any book by any author who won a nobel/booker/pullitzer/whatever. I am targeting chick lit. The Bridget Jonesy kinds , the re-hash of pride and prejudice. The last time I read one the same bad taste in your mouth , like you picked up something that everyone else seems to enjoy and you cant understand why. What is wrong with me??? Oops, a very big , universe-encompassing question.
So anyway, here I am in the library looking for what I am supposed to be looking , trying to remember who wrote “Devil Wears Prada” and then i see the book catalogue Kiosk. And what do i type? Dasgupta , i am looking for Rana Dasgupta. Good they dont have it, now move on. I start my walk along the bookshelves, my gaze stops at Jennifer Elkridge something, my hand pops out, picks it, (sigh) , Bingo ! , Nobel Prize Winner. Nope, PUT IT BACK! I look down , noooo not Milan Kundera, I loved him in The Joke that I finished a week back. I tear my eyes away. Hari Kunzru ; I have always wondered what he is about, maybe I will find out today, NO, NO. Doris Lessing. Argh! Help! Whats going on? The conspiracy , THE conspiracy. How do these books find me, now that I think of it even my roomie has been making sure that my supply of heavy reading stuff is maintained.
I came victorious in the end. Armed with “Pillow Talk” , (Title in nice flowing pink and the water colour and ink drawing of a of a lady with big eyes and eyelashes) and TinTin. I did it. I have been a member of this library for close to a year and now I come victorious. Lets just see how palatable I find em. How lasting the content? ??? Wrong expectations? Why cant a fun book be lasting as well, a work of art too. Why is a work of art always leaning to the morose?
So anyway, here I am in the library looking for what I am supposed to be looking , trying to remember who wrote “Devil Wears Prada” and then i see the book catalogue Kiosk. And what do i type? Dasgupta , i am looking for Rana Dasgupta. Good they dont have it, now move on. I start my walk along the bookshelves, my gaze stops at Jennifer Elkridge something, my hand pops out, picks it, (sigh) , Bingo ! , Nobel Prize Winner. Nope, PUT IT BACK! I look down , noooo not Milan Kundera, I loved him in The Joke that I finished a week back. I tear my eyes away. Hari Kunzru ; I have always wondered what he is about, maybe I will find out today, NO, NO. Doris Lessing. Argh! Help! Whats going on? The conspiracy , THE conspiracy. How do these books find me, now that I think of it even my roomie has been making sure that my supply of heavy reading stuff is maintained.
I came victorious in the end. Armed with “Pillow Talk” , (Title in nice flowing pink and the water colour and ink drawing of a of a lady with big eyes and eyelashes) and TinTin. I did it. I have been a member of this library for close to a year and now I come victorious. Lets just see how palatable I find em. How lasting the content? ??? Wrong expectations? Why cant a fun book be lasting as well, a work of art too. Why is a work of art always leaning to the morose?
It Happened Again
That somewhat panic attack kinda thingy. I dozed off at three, not three in the morning like most of ex-colleagues, ex-collegemates e.t.c would be doing but ya in the day. And after 40 odd blissful minutes I woke up, “Woah! Woah! I am sleeping , THIS is what I am doing in my life!” and then those creepy thoughts started attacking me, they go like --> “You should get a job!”
AAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, HEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAALPPPPP
Not a S/W job, but some donkey work job with a production house or a director. But a job , to dupe myself. To lull myself into an “occupation”. Keep me busy, so my head doesn’t get to any mischief. No, I think more out of the guilt that I am “sitting” at home. Though I do go out once in a while on the research thing for this second documentary , but ya its such a cake-walk and non-taxing that I feel like I am not doing much on that.
But as is always with the wars in my head as of now I have decided …. Again …. For now…. That this was the right thing to do. Leaving my first stint with the school which took 6 days a week and choosing to work a third or maybe a lesser amount of time , but in a freelance fashion. Lets see how it goes.
AAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, HEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAALPPPPP
Not a S/W job, but some donkey work job with a production house or a director. But a job , to dupe myself. To lull myself into an “occupation”. Keep me busy, so my head doesn’t get to any mischief. No, I think more out of the guilt that I am “sitting” at home. Though I do go out once in a while on the research thing for this second documentary , but ya its such a cake-walk and non-taxing that I feel like I am not doing much on that.
But as is always with the wars in my head as of now I have decided …. Again …. For now…. That this was the right thing to do. Leaving my first stint with the school which took 6 days a week and choosing to work a third or maybe a lesser amount of time , but in a freelance fashion. Lets see how it goes.
The White Tiger, SlumDog and Hemingway
Pardon the title, pardon my head. This is how thoughts wrestle in my head. So when i read White Tiger i could not help but think of Slumdog Millionaire, you know poor India and all. Hemingway ... welll i cant talk or write about him but i could not help think about him. I had finished my first Hemingway just before picking up White Tiger so i could not help compare.
My roommate hands "The White Tiger" before heading out for work. The door closes and the book opens as i plonk down on my constantly bean-spewing bean bag. And i finished it in a day, if it werent to meet a friend for lunch, i would have finished it in one sitting. About the book, its about India, the "servants" in India. How a driver is not just a driver but a servant. The accusations levellled at Slumdog for showing only the ugly side of India, selling it to westerners, i cant help but notice such tiny ones creep up in my head for The White Tiger. Nothing prominent and fist-raising kinds. I cant be certain as i am doubtful as to how a driver (or someone at that economic level) would feel or think, a driver from darkness, lets say UP or Bihar. Sometimes feels like an eye opener. Sometimes you do wonder at the level of the exaggeration.
Gurgaon! the place has threat written over it right ? The only time i went there was at night and this shining city rises out suddenly scross the highway. And i was like whats happening, what happened, why is India letting this happen! Then a week later you are at Delhi Railway Station clicking the snaps of good old rats prancing around the platforms. Mules still being used to lug construction material across at the station. The gap is huge.
And i remember having thoughts in the initial days in Bangalore, you see the glitz, the money, hear about the thefts , "they" think its rightfully theirs. "They" see us spending so much money on cells, cars, malls, clothes, flights. It would not kill us if they swiped a little. I would mentally calculate the cost of the items, watch, cellphone, shoes clothes etc that i was carrying on me and wonder does the vendor across the street make that much in 3 or 6 months? My thoughts felt little exaggerated. And this book feels for certain brief moments seems exaggerated too. But in a country of millions isnt that a possibilty. It definitely is, but ya i do wonder maybe now after Arundhati, Rushdie, Adiga would someone have a tale from India to tell which didnt always tight-rope walk on destitution, rage and disappointment? A tale which the world will consider worthy of recognition?
This is where Slumdog comes in, though it showed slums, the whatever that pissed people off, it showed them happy depite of all. They were so alive and had such a desire to live ! And thats what you sense feel and know in India. Ya the big cities might drain that exuberance out of you, but strangely it stays alive in the lower stratas of society. Its strange. The other day a very staid BBC reporter/anchor interviewing a family in the slums of Dharavi and while she is interviewing the man of the house, the lady of the house can barely suppress her smile and the moment the camera is turned to her, she acquires a poker face, she talks of water, schooling etc as her parameters for choosing the next Govt. But she still seemed miles happier than a guy who would want huge tax shields from the Govt. That is the mystery that India offers . Doesnt it? But it is so huge and disparate that you can never say what could or could not happen. So though we have lot of films on happy go lucky stories and melodrama in Bollywod in Indian Cinema, we havent read stories of warmth and smile which abounds here when it comes to textual material.
As for Hemnigway, i read my first one, courtesy rooomie again. Its the Garden of Eden, a book published posthumously. So not cent per cent Hemingway. But this book preceded White Tiger hence the comparision. No i shouldnt. Nope i would not. All i know is Hemingway was intense. No i should not compare. Just because i read it before White Tiger i would not. Hemingway was a master, i feel inadequate to write about his writing. There is so much exploration of the psyche without the superfluosness. His thread bare simple sentences sink so deep. It was a pleasure and i would love to revisit it. Being slightly auto-biographical adds so much more to the novel, just the character of David Bourne and the later part of the book. No its a little too mammoth to compare Hemingway with _______ anything right now.
My roommate hands "The White Tiger" before heading out for work. The door closes and the book opens as i plonk down on my constantly bean-spewing bean bag. And i finished it in a day, if it werent to meet a friend for lunch, i would have finished it in one sitting. About the book, its about India, the "servants" in India. How a driver is not just a driver but a servant. The accusations levellled at Slumdog for showing only the ugly side of India, selling it to westerners, i cant help but notice such tiny ones creep up in my head for The White Tiger. Nothing prominent and fist-raising kinds. I cant be certain as i am doubtful as to how a driver (or someone at that economic level) would feel or think, a driver from darkness, lets say UP or Bihar. Sometimes feels like an eye opener. Sometimes you do wonder at the level of the exaggeration.
Gurgaon! the place has threat written over it right ? The only time i went there was at night and this shining city rises out suddenly scross the highway. And i was like whats happening, what happened, why is India letting this happen! Then a week later you are at Delhi Railway Station clicking the snaps of good old rats prancing around the platforms. Mules still being used to lug construction material across at the station. The gap is huge.
And i remember having thoughts in the initial days in Bangalore, you see the glitz, the money, hear about the thefts , "they" think its rightfully theirs. "They" see us spending so much money on cells, cars, malls, clothes, flights. It would not kill us if they swiped a little. I would mentally calculate the cost of the items, watch, cellphone, shoes clothes etc that i was carrying on me and wonder does the vendor across the street make that much in 3 or 6 months? My thoughts felt little exaggerated. And this book feels for certain brief moments seems exaggerated too. But in a country of millions isnt that a possibilty. It definitely is, but ya i do wonder maybe now after Arundhati, Rushdie, Adiga would someone have a tale from India to tell which didnt always tight-rope walk on destitution, rage and disappointment? A tale which the world will consider worthy of recognition?
This is where Slumdog comes in, though it showed slums, the whatever that pissed people off, it showed them happy depite of all. They were so alive and had such a desire to live ! And thats what you sense feel and know in India. Ya the big cities might drain that exuberance out of you, but strangely it stays alive in the lower stratas of society. Its strange. The other day a very staid BBC reporter/anchor interviewing a family in the slums of Dharavi and while she is interviewing the man of the house, the lady of the house can barely suppress her smile and the moment the camera is turned to her, she acquires a poker face, she talks of water, schooling etc as her parameters for choosing the next Govt. But she still seemed miles happier than a guy who would want huge tax shields from the Govt. That is the mystery that India offers . Doesnt it? But it is so huge and disparate that you can never say what could or could not happen. So though we have lot of films on happy go lucky stories and melodrama in Bollywod in Indian Cinema, we havent read stories of warmth and smile which abounds here when it comes to textual material.
As for Hemnigway, i read my first one, courtesy rooomie again. Its the Garden of Eden, a book published posthumously. So not cent per cent Hemingway. But this book preceded White Tiger hence the comparision. No i shouldnt. Nope i would not. All i know is Hemingway was intense. No i should not compare. Just because i read it before White Tiger i would not. Hemingway was a master, i feel inadequate to write about his writing. There is so much exploration of the psyche without the superfluosness. His thread bare simple sentences sink so deep. It was a pleasure and i would love to revisit it. Being slightly auto-biographical adds so much more to the novel, just the character of David Bourne and the later part of the book. No its a little too mammoth to compare Hemingway with _______ anything right now.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
J M Coetzee and A S Byatt
Coetzee and Byatt are two enormous writers whom i have accidentally come across. I will grapple but still try to explain what is it about their prowess which struck me.
My flatmate was reading Coetzee's 'Disgrace'. That is the first time i heard of him.
I read the initial 20 pages with a sense that this a fast paced read with some pithy statements emdedded in between. But by the time i finished, which i did faster than ever in last few years, you are in awe of the man: the author. The character David Lurie is strangely at moments idealistic, predatory and most interestingly unabashedly honest. Honest to himself; again at moments. You know its one person but there is no predictable fashion in which a person behaves, not in real life, in fiction yes.
Not since i read Anna Karenina have i come across such an astute observer and portrayer of the workings of human mind, of how society and institutions' web tightens and molds you into what is deigned acceptable. Both for David and David's daughter. Though David does not bend, he casts himself off. As for the daughter, inspite of the cruelty inflicted upon her she seems to be calmly content accepting a primeval role for herself.
The helper, the animals finish the portrait of Luries months from and after the 'disgrace'.
I came across A.S Byatt browsing through the bookshelf of our hotel in Pokhara,Nepal while i was waiting for my dinner to arrive. And it rescued me. Those two days the 'touristy' feel of Pokhara had left me cranky and pissed off. The Matisse Stories trasported me to the sketchy and vivid world of a middle-aged woman, her visits to her hair dresser who is tired of facing age at some level, of a sense of panic, of exasperation of trying harder than ever to keep 'her looks together'.
In one hand there was the banality of experiences in Pokhara or maybe my dislike towards having companions while i travel, on the other was Byatt! Even while i would be reading her story, i would stop go back the last few sentences and then scratch my head. How did she create all that she did! I went looking for a book of hers in my library just to figure out how she does it, but they seem to have misplaced the only book of hers they have.
I read "The Chinese Lobster", in a little clearing on my way to Kahun Danda, top of a hill in Pokhara. By the time the villagers had directed me to the base where i should start my climb for Kahun Danda i was beginning to lose my excitement to get to the top. And more disappointing was the fact that it was dust road, of the finest powdery dust.
"Medusa's Ankles" was more intoward. I remember it as the tired taut thoughts of Susannah and the chatter of Lucien the hair dresser, the cracks in her thought from within. The walls and the pink nude. The change in Lucien's design of the salon. And all the scared floating thoughts, glances and thoughts in between. It was also the first piece of Byatt that i read. Hence the novelty.
My flatmate was reading Coetzee's 'Disgrace'. That is the first time i heard of him.
I read the initial 20 pages with a sense that this a fast paced read with some pithy statements emdedded in between. But by the time i finished, which i did faster than ever in last few years, you are in awe of the man: the author. The character David Lurie is strangely at moments idealistic, predatory and most interestingly unabashedly honest. Honest to himself; again at moments. You know its one person but there is no predictable fashion in which a person behaves, not in real life, in fiction yes.
Not since i read Anna Karenina have i come across such an astute observer and portrayer of the workings of human mind, of how society and institutions' web tightens and molds you into what is deigned acceptable. Both for David and David's daughter. Though David does not bend, he casts himself off. As for the daughter, inspite of the cruelty inflicted upon her she seems to be calmly content accepting a primeval role for herself.
The helper, the animals finish the portrait of Luries months from and after the 'disgrace'.
I came across A.S Byatt browsing through the bookshelf of our hotel in Pokhara,Nepal while i was waiting for my dinner to arrive. And it rescued me. Those two days the 'touristy' feel of Pokhara had left me cranky and pissed off. The Matisse Stories trasported me to the sketchy and vivid world of a middle-aged woman, her visits to her hair dresser who is tired of facing age at some level, of a sense of panic, of exasperation of trying harder than ever to keep 'her looks together'.
In one hand there was the banality of experiences in Pokhara or maybe my dislike towards having companions while i travel, on the other was Byatt! Even while i would be reading her story, i would stop go back the last few sentences and then scratch my head. How did she create all that she did! I went looking for a book of hers in my library just to figure out how she does it, but they seem to have misplaced the only book of hers they have.
I read "The Chinese Lobster", in a little clearing on my way to Kahun Danda, top of a hill in Pokhara. By the time the villagers had directed me to the base where i should start my climb for Kahun Danda i was beginning to lose my excitement to get to the top. And more disappointing was the fact that it was dust road, of the finest powdery dust.
"Medusa's Ankles" was more intoward. I remember it as the tired taut thoughts of Susannah and the chatter of Lucien the hair dresser, the cracks in her thought from within. The walls and the pink nude. The change in Lucien's design of the salon. And all the scared floating thoughts, glances and thoughts in between. It was also the first piece of Byatt that i read. Hence the novelty.
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