Pujas! What a feeling. The streets in Calcutta seem to throb with life, and the words 'Festive Spirit' seem to add a new dimension to themselves. Every single thing that you do seems larger than life.

So I went home for the Pujas. After six years. I mean, I went to Cal in between, but I went specifically in time to see and experience the Pujo after a period of six long years. The journey to and fro meant I read two books, both by Indian authors, both very different from each other, and both surprised me - they were not the typical 'Indian author' literature. First was 'The Hungry Tide' by Amitava Ghosh. The last creation I had read by him was quite some time ago, called Calcutta Chromosome, and though crisp, it wasn't really strung together. To call it vague is an understatement. Going by my usual antipathy towards Indian writers, I expected the hungry tide, a fat book with a green cover and silhouette of a small boat and its rower on the cover, to be as depressing as other Indian authors are - moving from one tragedy to another in the tale of the unlucky main character. Thankfully this was not another tale of Indians in another land so I would be spared the misconceptions about an India that does not exist (or perhaps never existed, but I wouldnt know that) and the useless hindi mixed with wrongly spelled language smattered in between. No thanks, Ms Roy and Ms Lahiri, your writings dint move me.
So back to the tide that was hungry. Why did I pick up the book if I dint want to read it? Well, thanks must be given to M, who handed it to me - and since she is not usually the one to thrust fat books into other peoples hands, I took it and read it on this day-long journey. A beautiful book based in the Sunderbans, it spans intermingling events in the life of three very different individuals. One, a Bengali who is poor and lived in Sunderbans all his life, another a Calcutta Bengali who is affluent and a third (OK here it comes) a bengali girl born and brought up in USA who has come to India (Sunderbans) for some specific research on Gangetic Dolphins. But there is no unnecessary language intrication, a few Bengali words here and there but inserted quite naturally, and a moving tale, which is essentially optimistic. I liked it. A first for an Indian authored-book.
On the way back I read one of the books I bought. From the Gameworld Trilogy, the first part - the Simoqin Prophesies. Ok, so initially the book was a difficult read with confusing names and complex stories behind the plot, but soon I got the hang of this Indian-named mythology-based-fiction and quite enjoyed it. At parts it was distinctly Harry Potter and at others (yes, coming from me, its objectively true) like Lord of the Rings - but both mixed equally. In fact, I found quite a bit of it using Terry Pratchett's Discworld as a convenient base, not excluding the smart quips. However, most of it was well written and original. The best part was, I dint feel like I was reading a book with Indian names and mythology - it was well written, the story was tight and I did not realise I was reading a work of fiction by an Indian author - of course, the names came easily to me since not only were they Indian, they had a tinge of Bengali to them ;) Also, the story was quite predictable with smart quips here and there calling the man who would be the hero for the tale a "Hero" and adding lines like "Maya was attracted to him due to forces much stronger than she had ever known. The Law which states 'The Hero always gets the girl". (The line is from memory, so may not be an exact match to that in the book)

So I reached Calcutta. The excitement in the air is palpable. There was no loud noise, or excessive decorations two days before the actual Pujas began. The malls were as they usually would be, nothing as large and garish as the Diwali decorations - you saw a couple of diyas here and there, but nothing garish or large. But this was just the malls.
On the roads it all seems the same - the shops open, people running around, usual vehicles running, no decorations on shops etc, except the odd bamboo pole sticking up on the road. Then you notice there is a method to the madness. The people seem to be running around from shop to shop, purchasing, pulling their children - and they move fast. Something not very common in the shopping areas of Calcutta. The shopkeepers are extremely busy catering to an unending stream of customers, selling their special Puja wares - some on discount and some at extraordinary prices. The buses and trams (yes, Calcutta has trams which people use for travel) are full to the brink. The bamboo poles have people on top of them fixing electric lights and converting them into massive decoration pieces, just for four days. The excitement in the air was palpable, feverish. The Pujas were here, and the preparations just did not seem to get over.

The Pujas are celebrated in Calcutta as what is called "Sarbajanin" or "Baroari" - which essentially mean 'community affairs'. Durga Puja being too difficult to be performed by one small family. The families which perform the Puja at home are essentially joint families with extensive branches. So the neighbourhoods get divided into communities who then fund the Puja to be held there, with anything ranging from Rs10 to Rs 1000, depending upon payability and size or esteem associated with that particular Pandal. And the gap between the collected amount and the cost of the lavish festival is filled up by sponsors. This year it seems the gap had increased too much to be filled by even sponsors thereby making the Pujas a comparatively tame affair with smaller, not so lavish Pandals. Darn Economy! ;)

The Pandals! Made with bamboo, cloth, and other items like thermocol (or jute or other innovative substances and sometimes papier mache) these are made over less than 5 days at the location. The planning for what is to be made can take up as much as 6-7 months (and top secret). And they are broken down within two days, right after the last day. Sometimes I wonder, if the Pandals were kept intact over the years, considering no two pandals are similar, and there are new ideas every year, and they are all spectacularly beautiful with amazing attention to detail, what would the place which stored them look like? Every year the community decides on a 'theme' if they are big enough, anything right from a small village to even Hogwarts Castle replete with the famous train.

And to go with the pandals, are the idols of Durga and her sons and daughters - Lakshmi, Saraswati, Ganesh and Kartik. Not to forget the most important person - the Asur. The reason the Pujas happen. It used to be the other way round sometime in past - where the idols were more important than the Pandals, but I guess you can only do so much with innovation over five human figurines compared to the place that will house them. However, it is a wonder to watch what the innovations can be! Faces are different as are the placement - sometimes standing alone with separate backgrounds, sometimes under a common background. Sometimes they look Aryan, sometimes Burmese, sometimes plain normal. Dresses vary from the real cloth saris and dhotis to 'daker shaaj' - clothes made of shola which is basically think slices of tree bark, ornately carved and extremely fragile (the much thicker variety of which can be called thermocol). Then there is the art of bringing paintings to sculpture. A paint artiste may show Durga in forms where the whole family stand atop the horns of the buffalo horns only and then that is brought out by the mixture of hay and clay - what constitute the idols - into a 3D pasterpiece. Sometimes Durga looks serene and happy, sometimes she looks blazing angry. And so people flock from Pandal to Pandal - called Pandal hopping, getting high on food and drinks (no Bengali celebration is complete without food and drinks) through the day and night to look at her varieties and temporary houses.

The festival demands everyone gift clothes to their relatives - no one buys for themselves (rare) and one is supposed to wear new clothes on at least two days - shashthi (first day we start celebrating) and Ashthami (the most important day as the Fight between Durga and Asur gains intensity). However, we like to dress up every single day, including Mahalaya - which happens seven days before Shashthi.

The atmosphere everywhere in the city becomes tense. All revelry has to be crammed by people in those short four days. They need to look their best, travel, socialise, see as many pandals as possible, eat as much exotic food as they can, say hello to people known and unknown. Soon feet are sore, stomachs are full yet there is not a moment to waste, because its just four days. People are radiantly happy and roads are full of human beings walking. There are also tempers on the verge of exploding - it is not uncommon to hear mothers scolding and men-women having verbal fights over small issues while pandal hopping - the excitement does it all. There is almost no point taking a vehicle around - most roads will be either chock full of people or half blocked by a small pandal. Four times in a day one gets to hear the Dhakis belting out peppy traditional beats off their huge Dhaks (drums) laden on their back and and highly adorned to the accompaniment of conch shells. People stock up in afternoons with the bhog from the nearest pandal - a simple fare of khichudi and subzi (called laebra) followed by chaatni (usually of Indian olives) and payesh (not the usual elaborate meal still served everyday at my grandparents). The evenings are spent in stocking up on rolls (chicken, mutton, egg), 'fish chop', fish fry, etc. - bengali junk food. Not to mention the phuchkas and churmurs! (yum!)

The pitch gains a feverish intensity by the second last day - the navami. It is afterall, the last day that they can spend in the festivities. By the last day people are tired and only too happy to make social calls, wishing each other the happy Bijoya (Victory) of good over evil. I went out on the roads on the afternoon post Dashami. It was as if the lights had been extinguished in a large party hall after the party guests left. The electric energy keeping the city up 24x7 had died, and the roads were suddenly empty. Those going to work had gone, and those staying at home were sitting at home - relaxing their tired feet and alimentary systems. The builders were back to the pandals - dismantling their lovingly created, delicate creations. With the last dhaak beats of 'thakur thaakbe kotok-khon, thakur jaabe bishorjon' (how long will God stay, God will go away and be immersed) people had bid adieu to Durga for another year, and they slowly walked back to normal life.

If you have ever been to a grand wedding, the Pujas are something like that. Feverish excitement leading to the deadline with shopping and mega preparations for the place of event. Loads of logistics, planning and re-planning. Uninhibited enjoyment for the duration of the event with loads of eats, and then picking up the leftover pieces, limping back, trying to remember what it was like before the event happened. A part of you is born, and given away with the end of the Pujas. And unlike a wedding, here the effect is visible not on one small family, but the whole metropolis of Calcutta - sweeping away those who visit the city, and even those who do not believe in God. Because more than religion, more than the Goddess, more than the worship - the Pujas is about enjoying yourself with your near and dear ones, any way you want to. Nothing is taboo. And for one of the few times, it is really, about family and friends and not the events.

How many times have you emerged from the world of the book wor are living in to act and talk like your characters for a minute thereafter?
Often i say for myself. For putting down a good book is not the end of the book. It lingers in your mind as you go about your activities in rote after you put it down, obligatorily (for apart from being interrupted why else would you put a good book down?), you find your mind lost in transition between reality of your real life and that of the people you involved yourself with within the pages now closed. Seconds before you emerge from the self created dream and drag yourself, bemused to reality and mundanity!

I enjoy reading. In fact, I love reading. In my opinion, books can be broadly classified into fiction and and those based upon reality. Autobiographies, histories, etc fall into the reality segment, and though I enjoy it, there is nothing as enlivening as to read a book of undiluted fiction. It is, indeed, even more interesting when the fiction is based on reality. A merger where after a point you cant differentiate between what really happened and what the writer imagined. At the point one is forced to look up the real history and demarcate for oneself the line which the writer so successfully blurred.

There are many people who prefer to read real stories. I should not call them stories, because the moment they are the real thing, they happened, they are portions of history. Portions of someones life. Something that really happened, through the eyes of the writer. Ordinary events, extraordinary events, real people and their responses to situations. Books based on reality are so often on extraordinary real people. They are about stimuli and responses to stimuli which are different from everyday life. As for the book language, since these are real events, rarely does the writer have the free hand to draw up an extraordinary portrait, give detailed thoughts, or delve into the significance of a certain portion of the life. S/he has a time limit, and, unless an autobiography, a severe curtailment of insight. The authors work remains to faithfully catalogue and present before the reader the Truth, inasmuch as is possible. This requires a skill set which is admirable, and distinct. It is almost the work of a historian. This is documentation at its best - a formation of history for all future generations to read, and understand the world we live in.

Recently, I had a discussion with someone on reading books. He mentioned an interesting reason to support reading books based on reality vs fiction. As per him, factual books are exactly that. Facts. The story of the book does not rely on a particular incident in a particular paragraph. Instead, it is a steady flow of material and information, towards an almost-known end. Thus, it is possible for a reader, who is not exactly an avid reader, to miss a paragraph here or there, be interrupted and yet continue to enjoy the book seamlessly. Hm. Quite a reasoning.
Then again, there are those of the school who just dont find anything that "didn't really happen" not worth spending time on. Whats the point, they say, to read about the story of Mr X, if he never existed? So what if it is a prejudiced memoir? At least its true. Better read Mien Kampf than an Ian Fleming.
There are others who consider it an inspiration. An "If Akio Morita could do it, perhaps so can I" feeling. Still others who think of it as getting a chunk of history in a highly readable form - the life of Babur for example. And still others who just want to know more behind something - people who would read The Google Story, for example. If "Maverick" wouldn't have been there, perhaps the world would have seen a few 100 less entrepreneurs (those with the seed capital of course)
Celebrity books form a different category altogether, and really, sometimes their lives are just too spectacular for fiction to take its place. Same goes for gangsters.

Yet, Im a devoted fan of Fiction. Nothing like letting your imagination soar, entering the lives of people, because they are fictitious. These are normal people. And you dont know what they do later. In so many books you will find the main character to be just like... your neighbour. A person who never did anything spectacular or memorable in his life. Yet, his day to day life can become a part of yours. His thoughts depicted by the author in all his splendour, unrestrained by not knowing. The skill of of the writer comes to the fore, to describe people, thoughts, places. Since you have never seen Dorian Gray, the credit to imagine what that young man looked like belongs completely to Oscar Wilde. And until the last page you do not know that he lives or dies. And, if he really existed, would Wilde have managed to give us those lively dinner conversations? Would he have depicted so wonderfully the turmoil in the mind of a man siezed by an unimaginable power? And most importantly, would the fantastic story have ever existed?
Willy Wonka and his famous chocolate factory would never have been there to tempt Charlie or his poor grandfather. Oh! How lovely to go to a chocolate factory like that?!
Where would one place God in reality books? Highly disputable, it would be a preaching book else one for an Aethist. Nowhere except in Fiction would someone manage to seamlessly merge paralell universes with God and Angels, like in the trilogy - His Dark Materials (movie to be released tomorrow - yippee!)
What about a world consisting of elves and, yes, Hobbits?
What would you do without a Sherlock Holmes or an Hercule Poirot? Surely crime solving is not that fashionable in real life?!
What about a Kafkaesque imagination?
And really, where else would you get an option of meeting Foul Ole Ron whose smell itself has a personality?

And again, we have the extremely sordid real tales. Made more real than reality because instead of an outside opinion, in the writers mind they exist. Oliver Twist and David Copperfield may be fictional, but the real versions of them did exist somewhere in the world. They were not important enough for some author to document their lives and write a book on, but as far as Dickens was concerned, they were real, young boys. And they were real for the readers too.

When Camus wrote the Outsider, he wrote of a very real man. When he wrote the Plague he put a mirror to the face of humanity and society, with a very real problem - the plague.

Fiction is the one thing that makes reality even more interesting. Would crime be as interesting if Godfather was not there? And, would anyone really know the real world of Italian Crime masters of the 60s without it?

A reader of Arthur Hailey comes back to reality with a full knowledge of airplanes, and one of Alistair Mc Lean with an enviable knowledge of spies and ships. Who can forget the ammunition of Forsyth? or the legal know-how of Grisham?

Sure not all are masterpeices. But some reflect history as well, and probably better than a real book ever can. Anne Frank may be the story of a very real girl, but its real fame lies in her penning down her very thoughts. Yet, a book about a fictional girl is a more compelling read because it is not limited to a single incident. It is unlimited in its reach.

As for Hero worship? Well, sometimes its best to emulate a character from a book - there is no scope of hidden surprises. A very real character with very real flaws can exist inside covers of the best fictions, because they come out of minds of people who live in real the world.
There is no scope that the person does not live upto your expectations at some time in their lives - after all, real people are, human.One of my childhood freinds adored Darrel of Malory Towers fame. And why not? Darrel Rivers would never do wrong, never speak lies, take the right decisions, and had a character a mind a young girl can be envious of. Enid Blyton painted a lovely school life and the friend was free to be whatever she wanted to be when she exceeded Darrel's age, or when she was beyond scope of what Darrel did in the books. She would only think 'what would Darrel have done in a situation like this' and not have to look up a book for a real example, or Gasp! an bad example.

As for History based fiction. Well, the life of Alexander would have been a dry read were it not for the imaginations of Valerio Massimo Manfredi's trilogy. And would sculpting or painting have reached such divine proportions if we did not read the wonderful life and works of Michelangelo through the eyes of Irving Stone in The Agony and the Ecstacy? (If given a piece of marble I would have started sculpting then and there)

Ah well, a lot said, for books are one topic I just cant get enough of.

Sure, reality is interesting, infact sometimes it surpasses fiction. For what some people do in reality, an author researching and imagining cannot. However, when it comes to reading, fiction is what takes the cake.

And, if do not want to miss anything important by skipping a few paragraphs? Well, pick up a fiction where it makes not the least difference. Else, pick up a book which does not have paragraphs you would want to skip anyway.

Wow, traversing through Wikipedia, realised that todays the kind of day that inspired someone eons ago to make the Alice in Wonderland.
The real Alice heard the story today, for the first time ever (or maybe not for the first time since Dodgson apparently had told it to her sisters earlier) in 1862. Gosh! That was So Long Ago!
And to think, the book till date enthralls the reader, not matter what age.

I have always found the controversy make the book more interesting. Not because of the controversy, but because it made me read the book in more ways than just a child/ a grown-up. As a child its a wondrous, frightening fairyland. As an adult, it is cruel satire to real life, but with this twist, you can almost try and imagin what would be the real life story to inspire this chapter, and that. When Dodgson was the friendly guy, when the cruel. How he scared Alice (if at all) and when he was kind to her.

The real story will perhaps never be found, hopefully it is not close to the rumors. However, it does add to the lure of the legendary books, timeless and intriguing.
A book made more interesting than the Wizard of Oz simply by the third angle. Though of course, you can think of the Pink Floyd Connection when talking o fthe latter.

Alice and the Wonderland had stunned, and then continually thralled me in the wild, pulsating, ceaseless adventures caused between them. Of course, it all continued in Through the Looking Glass, but preffered Vol 1 ;)

When I first read the book, I loved the poem A Boat Beneath the Sunny Sky, spelling out Alice's full name by the first letter of every line.

To think, it all apparently started by a fairy tale told to a 10yr old girl more than a century ago, idyllically, on a boat.

I recently read the book ‘First Among Equals’ by Jeffrey Archer (my first JA in so many years). To be precise, I finished it day before evening. The ending was a surprise in the last line, and quite reminded me of his short stories ‘Quiver Full of Arrows’ and ‘A Twist in the Tale’ (both compilations I enjoyed right from my school days).  The book was interesting, with a little bit more of politics than I cared to read about, but I found myself more interested in it than I expected.

What was more interesting however was the read on Wikipedia. You see, being an MP himself (I think he was an MP), I was curious whether the character of Simon  in the book closely resembled his life…to an extent. Instead, what I discovered was that he changed the book ending for Europe and the US as per the market dynamics. i.e. as per what people expected.

<I don’t care about spoilers, as I don’t think ull read it after this post, but here’s a warning anyway>

Whereas in the original script meant for the british audience, Raymond becomes the PM, in the US script, Simon manages the win.

<that is the main spoiler, though the rest of my post will mainly deal with this, so…>

This in itself is quite a surprise, though logically it shouldn’t be. It showcases how the political scenario is a direct reflection of the social structure of a country. The type of person that people would root for and uphold. Simon and Raymond are very different, from different backgrounds and have undergone different events through life. The support they get is from almost mutually exclusive parts of the society. Hence the preference of one candidate over another in two different strata of society is only logical.

However, it is a little unusual to notice that the end of the book is different in the two books.

Not that its rare I think, still, it was kind of surprising.

Live in New York city once
But leave before it makes you too hard
Live in Southern CAlifornia once
But leave before it makes you too soft.

I dont know what NY or SC are like, first-hand, but I can guess.
Ahmedabad for more than 3 yrs, and now to Bombay. a city with a reputation worse than it is I think. California has happened, I hope im not soft for New York, though I doubt it.

But then there must be a reason for the same :)
It is interesting that apart from my MBA time in Delhi which was 2yrs, and my class 12 in JOdhpur which was barely a yr, my life span in any city has been 3 yrs. THough i can attribute most of that to my father and his transfers, i cant say the same for his after retirement time.

So, now im in a bank, pretty new one at that, in the swanky corporate office. and on the same floor as the MD no less. doing what most ppl love to do - corporate branding. bullshit i say, since i dont find it worthwhile...at least as of now. let me see. filhaal to, at least ive reached bbay and moved out of ahmedabad and pharma - for now. i like my colleagues and the general atmosphere, though its a bit bbay types - superficial and forced formal (cant help that can we?) the colleagues are nice. till i get down to actual work, i wont comment further. still goto like the work.

so after frantic searchign and lots of travel for abotu 5-6 days, i finally found a place to park myself for the coming 12 months.
and Oh! did I search :) it was a nice experience in tis way, but I would have gone bonkers with another day of it. seeing houses, travelling through the whole of bombay "town" area and nearby (as it is called), meeting brokers, looking for the best deals. I mean my phone was constantly on my ear and ringing the moemnt i finished a call. and i was continuously on the move. yesterday evening i saw this place which seems decent enough, though small, but a very good locality and easy accessibility from most critical points - my office being one of them.
that makes me happy enough, and im left wondering what do i do today evening :) im sure lots will crop in, with finances to be arranged and agreements to be made.

yesterday was a holiday here - Gudi Parva..one of the advantages of being in a bank - you get more hols!...which made my house huinting finalising simpler. only thing - i dint get to enjoy one of the few 2 day weekends ill be getting. its 5.5 days working a week here.
Whats gudi Parva? well, its the Maharashtrian New yr, the day on which small businesses also open their ledgers for the yr. pretty auspicious day to begin business dealings also.

so I read this book, was a pulp novel, a light read, and really stupid storyline, but fun in between alll the physically and mnentaly stressing out work and house hunting - not to mention informing ppl of the change in phone number and organization.
called "Girl Alone" i was suggested it and given it by N, whom I met on saturday over a movie - Apolcalypto - followed by a late night ans few hrs sleep at her place.
Written in a finny manner, the book is full of quips, and based in bbay with origins of cal and fleeting mention of delhi, a "homely" book. though, unlike most Indian authors, was not depressing and dint use italisised hindi words forced in. all in all, an interesing read - i guess mroe for women. since i t was written by one, in first person. and enough references and idolisation of rock to keep me happy.
"Im a quiet feminist. NOt the burn-the-bra kinds. I never really understood that. the only thing thats goos for is sag."

On sunday I also met M, who was travelling through the city. We met after around a year, and well, like with close frnds whom ur in touch with, it jest felt like a few weeks..or days. Meeting her over coffee was the most normal thing to do, with catching up to do only on frivolous yesterday things.

Afternoon I met SA, now SM for the past 5 yrs, but i still think of her as SA. ANyway, it was decent to meet her, but she irked me with a confusing bit of information. After which i was eager to move on and meet the next broker. and yeah, her husband had a hard time coping with my quips. poor guy.

its been a rather eventful weekend, and week to come. im expecting my uncle tomorrow, and weekend is also booked with frnds here. then to contact ppl in bbay whom i spoke to for houses! sigh. busy weeks ahead :) not that i mind.

so well, thats that for now. regarding updates. will move on to propah 'posts' henceforth.

Sitting on the drawing room sofa, eating HOT luchis (Bengali Puri) with kosha mangsho  (meat cooked over period of time in deletable spices) and patali gur (special Bengali Jaggery) with my mom, while watching "Yes Minister" quite made me feel back at my Calcutta home, even if a few, no, quite a few years ago.

So My Mom is here for a few days. She arrived on tuesday (the day after Christmas), when I saw her enter home and left for office immediately thereafter. Took a hol for the next two days instead of staying over at the manufacturing facility for some work. (Yes, I know thats bad, becaue I would have learnt a lot there, and it would have been interesting, but still.) It has been quite some time since I met her, and calcutta is pretty far away, and she does come only once a year. But oh! how long that visit seems. I love my mom. But 24 hours multiplied by however many days shes here can get to be a little too much for the two of us in each others' company. Infact so can 12 continous hours. Nerves fray and tempers rise.

Both of us are quite used to living on our own terms, and private spaces. Sitting in each others company after so long can be fun, but also draining. We are, afterall used to a few minutes' conversation a few times a week!

Once she comes she rearranges my house as per her preferences, thereby meaning I travel through the whole house, room to room looking for that pair of jeans which eventually I find either in the washing basket or neatly folded and piled under some random pieces of clothing. The easily locatable object from the random reckless higgeldy-piggeldy pile is quite difficult to find in an arranged setup. I enter the kitchen and cannot for the life of me locate a spoon to pour the coffee into the missing cup!

Yes, she does make life simpler on some counts. things I had forgotten the existence of are taken out because, well, in a running household they are commonly used. And yes, thankfully she is not the type who goes around arranging everything. Only a few places, but even those tend to add up to a small timber in my steel-spoked tyre. My maid is extremely happy though. She finally htinks the house is being used when my moms here! As if I dont!! I live here!! She visits here!

We both like quiet moments on our own, and after a full day in each others company, well, all I wil say is, it is good that I go to office.

The best technique therefore that has been implicitly agreed upon by us is that we shall entertain ourselves, out of home. We shall go out, tire ourselves, and suitably enjoy each others company without getting too wishy washy over the whole thing. grab a bite out most of the times, sometimes junk, sometime a good meal, and be home for the parting words before sleep.

Lack of places to go to was adjusted last time when we went to the trip to Jamnagar sanctuaries, and before that short trips to Lothal and Mothera and the Calico Museum. Which effectively left nothing this time round. Especially considering my absence of leaves and preoccupation with this stupid new job, where not only does the bb not give leave, but also postpone the stupid budget meeting to a sunday morning which also happens to be the last day of the year! Talk about ... Sadism?! So, anyway, I could not/did not plan/make an effort to plan anything this time. WHich is OK enough actually cosidering her long touring this winter (if I can call it one) including my brothers in Cal.

The trips not been too bad however, with me more or less prepared for her whims on her trips, and her being tired. Sudden realization struck as to how time has flown since the days of sitting at home after finishing schoolwork to sitting in my house after office work...well, not quite after.

Sunday evening she leaves, and though it will be sad to say bye for another long tenure, and a return to my regularly irregular routine, it will also be kind of nice. Moms are nice. They really are. But in short doses. And then again, she will leave just in time for me to get ready to celebrate 31st December.

PS - I really should thank sashdude for the Yes Minister tv series CDs on my request! Awesome. Brilliant piece of comic writing. Every time I read the books (Yes Minister and Prime Minister) Im filled with admiration and delight. The acting in the TV series is almost faultless, you cannot imagine the minister, private secretary and personal secretary to be anybody else. The puns and jokes, the deep sarcasm and the innocence as well as cunning of all of them while continually mocking the govt system, not to forget using the drivers network is just too good and realistic. Reading it is a delight. A lot of take aways and a lot of humour, the Yes Minister series can easily be classified amongst my favourite comedies between the Blandings Series of PGW and Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K Jerome. Almost perfections!

I am reading Catch 22 (still) and that cannot cannot, simply cannot be missed in the above list, but then its American, probably the few American humors that are funny. Hence a different line dedicated to it.

And before I complete, I must say Guy Ritchie is one hell of a director. Lock, Stock and two smoking barrels is wonderful. Snatch does not compare. Right up there with Rodriguez' Sin City, and Tarantino's Pulp Fiction. Hmm.. I think I have a taste for idiotic gangsters who (accidentally) kill a lot of people cold bloodedly. And are cool.

Luxury is... spending a day on your own time, own terms. With nothing specific to do. And no phone calls/smses/mails.

Im re-reading Catch-22, the last time being when I was a young lass in school. Needles to say some of the aspects had been a little "above" me then. NO more now. It is as hilarious as a pathetic true mirror to life. Exaggeratd? Not really.

The book couldnt have been named better. Lifes Catch-22. Go find out if you dont already know what it is.

This has effectively put my other books on hold.

Saw Memoirs of a Geisha yesterday. Seeing it wth a freind who hadnt read the book made me aware of the gaps in the movie. The book takes you into the life of Sayuri. Of Japan, its pride, and its poverty. Of life before World War. Of an unexplored life, of the mysteries known as Geisha.
The movie somehow does not manage to highlight all that. It comes down to the love story of Sayuri and the Chairman. It is undeniably correct wrt the book, but misses out the essence of it. The author had introduced the Chairman for the sake of a string on which to tie the beads of the story, but the movie makes the thread too important and fat for the beads to stay on. The subtle politics, the importance of the bid, the arts of Geishas and enmity between Mameha and Hatsumomo are belittled as compared to their rivals from the book. The basic character of Sayuri remains skeletal, not the woman we learn to hope for in the book.

After having read the book ages ago, I still remember the nuances. After having waited for the movie for so long, I will remember the photography and the good cast. But not a movie Ill recommend. Go read the book, I say.

Alas, not for the first time, the book outdoes the movie...not that I mind ;)

Privacy is such a relative term. For those living in slums in open areas in chawls it will so different from those who live in single homes as well as that from people in the eye of media..and joint families. yet it is surprising to see privacy levels change within one strata of society.

I am totally smitten by Sigur Ros. I find their music beautiful. I think no other term can describe it better. Nyja Galif is my fav. And then of course are the rest...Svefn, glosoli, etc. Not that I have many.

The other day Dk was mentioning how poets have pet subjcts - like death is a perennial favorite. So is misery. These are so sad topics that they lead to inspiration in rhyme.
In fiction love is everywhere. If we discount the love factor (we have to. It is there everywhere. Someone would think its the prime raison-de-existence) we come up with some other things.
Time travel for one. Its such a pet subject.When you cant do anything to present, when today anf todays world is just too restrictive, and imagination is not wild enough or an alternate universe, might as well travel in past/ future. However, those writers who try to reconnect to present always lose out on the logic. It is difficult to conceptualise the effects of past on present, its a cycle a little on the outside edge of comprehension. You see, to understand that past effects the present and fturemakes for a very convincing theory. The three Ps move in tandem. So where is the problem? IT is in linking. To make a sotry one-off about future or past is good enough. However, to try and link it is suicide. Isaac Asimov, the logical, famous Sci fi writer also got totally caught up and lost in this. YOu see, it is a little difficult to explain butteryfly effect. So imagine the effect of coming bad to past from future, just the presence itself can make so may changes...which mill in effect make the future you come from different, thereby making your travel to past in future improbable.
We usually make stories keeping ime linear, a constant. However, if we are to make time fuid, we have to make another constant. Which, is something most writers are yet to fathom. because people who are born by linear time equations and other human activities cannot be the constant feature.

The other feature is society. This is understandeable. We live in society and it is only natural that you think about it and write about idealistic or less than idealistic environments.So you have Ayn Rands writing about capitalism and Dostoevsky's about typecasting of society, and morals. And Jean Paul Sartres about society as is.

Then of course religion. Who can escape it? It is all around all encompassing. Right from compulsive books about the corruption and innocence in it like Keys of the Kingdom to books refuting it.

Fantasy land holds innumerable promises. Toyland today, or Utopia tomorrow. Actually, 'Utopia' direct translation means "nowehere", the word we want to use here is "Eutopia"...the wonderland.

There are fantasy lands where things are just as in normal earth, only a little different and a lot wilder - LOTR being a prime example. And other fantasies which borrow from theology and ancient theories to make fantastic satires on present humans like creations of Terry Pratchett.

Some authors get philospical and write metaphysical tales of human lives like Kafka, or even Camus.

Human relations other than love feature in books of one-book wonder authors of different eras, usually of France. Psychological we can call them.

But above all these autho writing styles, surpassing technological books, love relationships, hero books, psychology, theology, socialism, we have authors who believe our world is the best. That nothing can be better. That striving towards perfection breeds only a single colour out of the spectrum of life. Whch will disbalance things and create discomfort. Humans being what they are, they will never be satisfied with a monochromatic life, and it is dangerous to put into practice the theoretical concept of Utopia (or Eutopia). They make the worlds of dystopia.
Perfection, yet the riding disbalance. Unlike hero books, no one can save anyone here. The hero (male/female) will realise discomfort and an urge to "break free" wich will usually come to a tragic end. 1984, Brave New World, We, are prime examples. These books combine all aspects of previous writers, dwelling equally on society, philosophy, technical revolution, love, psychology,...and end up showing us how much better off we are as we are. A pet subject, it has shot every one of the writers (of a well written such piece) into instant fame - positive or negative. if you write a convincing book with a decently new point of view on the same premise, you are bound to be critically acclaimed.

Dystopia. A perfect world gone wrong. A simulation of eutopia. A goal we all want to reach, but end up at Dystopia.
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As I write this over a period of time I find my thoughts muddled, but then it was never meant to be comprehensive eitherway.

There are some books that you compulsively read, that catch your attention and make you erad till the last page, the last line. Even when you want to tear away from it. When you dont want to remember you started reading it. Books like these are either grimly written or are about grim subjects. Sometimes they can be extremely sweet live stories with something not quite right. Books like these tell you what may be the truth somewhere which you cannot comprehend.
Stories about people, events, which might not happen to you but which draw you in, like the spiders web aruond the living fly.
The writers manage to engage your attention. It may be that the writing style is so definitive, so distinctive, that you cannot help but get mesmerised. The reader becomes a compulsive page turner. In some cases the readers leave the book half read. However, here, it becomes difficult. REading becomes a necessity, like a slow addiction. A need to be fulfilled. A need that may not be quite enjoyed, but a need nevertheless.
Sometimes the story may become gripping in its own way. That being, nothing really happening in it. A book being a faithful mirror of non-activity. The compulsion then is to read the end, and to know how the end makes sense - by reading the rest of the book.
In some even rarer occurences, the story becomes interesting. You really dont go for the authors style or inactivity of the book, but you become interested in the story. However, the story is something you rather not know. It is an assault on yoru senses. Something totally radically new, presented in a way which makes it difficult for you to accept it. And yet, makes you glued to it. You want to read it to know what happens next. What such a situation is like, and at the same time await the last page eagerly.

Finishing such books is a relief of sorts. A task accomplished. A curiosity fulfilled. A book that usually does not leave you with a view of 'good' or 'bad'. It is rather, an 'interesting' book, or an interesting writer.

Irresistible books, I am sure most adventurous book readers have read them. One of my firsts was The Great Gatsby. Irresistible. A mirror.
And then there came many. God of Small Things and Jhumpa Lahiri being some of the prominent ones.
However, the first time I came to share the experience was with a book my ex-flatmate V had got - by an Indian author, it was dark, mysterious, vengeful and depressing. Something all three of us (M, V and me) wanted to read, yet not read. Yet i cannot remember the name of it now. Something about 'Dusk'...ah! 'Last Song of Dusk'.

Even as I read 'The Sopranos' by Alan warner, I get drawn back into the same cycle.

One thing is definetely true about them all. They are well-acclaimed books, underlining their compulsive readability.

For some unkown unfathomable reason...or maybe not so unknown of unfathomable, for afterall nothing is unkown AND unfathomable or is it? Well, never mind. What I meant to say was, for reasons best not mentioned here perhaps, i woke up by 9 on a Sunday morning. okay...so it was 9.30. am. Fine? No. Not fine. It was a Sunday. and I usually cant wake up that early on a sunday. For once I didnt have pending things to do...and well, having a full day ahead with not much on a to-do list can be a little ... er... confusing?
Anyway, after reading the paper and drinking coffee for more than an hour, I finally tired of home, and a rumbling stomach. Finally deciding upon a heavy brunch, went to this place which serves 'Sunday Brunch'. Usually nice, and heavy. My bad luck. This particular sunday they were busy with some catering order, so were serving only the regular menu items. Anyway...had a HUGE triple layer chicken, cheese and colesaw, and,...
anyway, finished up with a refreshing cup of piping hot coffee and decided to spend the rest of the day at the book store. Picked up a few books but finally, my attention was caught by a Coelho. Now, i should mention that i have read 2 pauolo's...Alchemist, and another which Im happier forgetting. Dont know thought why I picked this up. Something about the title interested me. Then I read chapter one. This was not the usual giving gyan jingbang. This looked like the author really didnt know what he wanted to say...almost. For Veronika of Slovenia, decides to die, and does so sytematically within the first few pages of the book.
So I settled into te book...about Veronika, and the story of her death. Like any book which mirrors what the author thinks it was a tad strechy at times, but interesting. The end could have been a million things, but as real stories go (and it apparently is based on one), I cant complain if its true.
A good book, of a different flavor than the usual Paulo Coelho's and I return him to authors with scope...rather than those who stick to one topic and one type...monotony in differeny flavors, which I can accuse Richard BAch of (not that the two compare). But, now I will think twice before saying ...u read one Coelho, u read em all.
however, like 'We the ppl' of Ayn Rand, this book had a touch of his own life in it and maybe that is why it was different. And so maybe, Coelho is just as repetitive, but basically, this was one out-of-the-route for him. whatever it is, it has to be another book before i judge him :)
Thus Spake Dippy (now that didnt sound quite as grand as Zarathustra, but Ill have to make do for now!)

Well, after being the typical book reader I am, finishing the book in the store (wghere I as it is spend too much money buying books...Books should be free you know. The authors should automatically be sent some money for writing, but basically, books in this world should be free.) i went home, to hear my Mom talk about the awesome Book Fair in CAlcutta.
Sigh! How I love the book fair of Calcutta!
Anyway, saw Narnia in the night. The Adventures of Narnia....the lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe (or something like that). Good enough. Not spectacular or amazing, but good enough. Wish Id read the book. Saw it in the bookstore. But it was too thick for an afternoon. Will read it someday. SOoner i think.

SO that was that. Quite a lazy, relaxing sunday. Making me wakign up early again toady. GEe! Now im scared! I got the wake-up-early disease :) Or is summers advancing?

Graphic Storytelling. An art on its own. Just like telling a story a story, the themes may vary right from being totally irrelevant to tackling the core issues of World/Nation/person. However, it is something we simply cannot do without.

Those who read the daily newspaper just impulsively turn to the comics section, and the assortment of 4/5 comics mentioned there seem to finish before they can give enough pleasure. It is always too less. And if it’s a rerun, well then…!!

Starting in a certain sequence, a daily comic reader never follows the sequence as given by the editor. It is personal choice – whether you want to save the ‘best’ for the last, or vice versa. Time constraint? Never for ‘sequential art’!!

 

Everyone has their favorites in newspaper comics, magazines, etc. Howver, the main intention of almost every strip is to lighten the moment, to tell a situation and to make the reader laugh. This is done with the aid of words and pictures. The type of character defines what is being said, and how it will be tackled. There are some comics which can be understood only when you have grown up a wee bit. The humor is dry, and a child simply cannot understand it. Wizard of Id being one of my prime childhood agonies.

 

However, there are some which are just so endearing, and transcend all time-age barriers. Calvin and Hobbes being one of them. Teen life can never be complete without the issue of The Archies, the teen love and high school triangle with funny situation always brings on a smile. Poor Dennis, the misunderstood naughty child has never grown, but always manages to be ‘cute’. One of my favorites, Beetle Bailey always manages a spoof on army life, if not normal existence of countless others outside the rigidity of routine.

 

Political cartoons are another category all together, but frankly speaking, none other than Laxman with his common man have managed to keep me interested.

 

There are new comics. Some endear immediately, and some are plain boring.

So what is it that differentiates comics? To me apart from the characters, the interest is spurred by the

1. narrative – it has to be easy to follow,
2. drawing – interesting yet neat
3. fun factor – witty or endearing, the point is it should be worth noticing

 

My present comic strip favorites can thus be summarized as below (not in order):

1. Calvin and Hobbes (yeah, who can beat this WILD imagination)
2. Beetle Bailey
3. Archies (may not be funny, but good fun anyway)
4. Hagar the Horrible
5. Garfield
6. Dilbert
7. The Ellington way (my latest interesting find)

 Apart from these, I keep trying to discover good ones, and have found The Meaning of Lila interesting, though the topic is common in all the strips. Perhaps that’s why I like it…the diverse angles of the same plight – finding Mr. Right for herself and a nagging Mom – is fun.

 

I sometimes follow PreTeena, a nice strip about Pre-teens. And Janes Worlds Classics holds much promise, if only the writer puts in some more effort. Paige Braddock seems to get bored ever so often, and wanders off to an unnecessary tangent without giving the story much impetus…quite boring believe me.

Beau Peep and Dennis the Menace are also interesting reads when I find one with me, and I still like Blondie. However, Blondie is something that I find only in the Sunday magazine of The Telegraph, Calcutta; but that is a one page feature, which I love. Mom is so nice so as to cut and file them away for me.

 

Believe it or Not is also an OK read. As is Peanuts (I’m sorry to hurt sentiments here, but I just find it too dismal). To the OK list there are many more (Moose and Molly, etc.), but since I’m forgetting their names, I don’t think they are worth a mention on my post!

Pigs before Swine and Candorville could not hold on to my imagination for long.

 

Such is the story (as of now) if my love relationship with comic strips. Mind you, Im not talking of comic books and magazines, or cartoons here. That will take up another few pages!

 

So, what is your comic?

One of my favorite funnies, is 'Yes, Minister!' The poor minister tries to do so much good, go against policy, and yet is thwarted almost everytime by it.
The book has an amazing take on beurocracy and policies, not to forget the Civil Services. That the systems of India and UK are so similar, makes the book(s) even more amazing. Watching it on TV as a kid, and later reading the book, I figured it was fictional only when I reached class 9 or so!

Today, there is an article on Times of India which I chanced upon, which reminds me so much of Yes Minister, its not funny...well, almost!
Name of the article? 'Saudi paint for Jama Masjid repair?' IT talks about how the offer of the Saudi King to paint the Jama Masjid and also sponsor education in India has made Govt security agents 'diffident'!
( Read the article here )
Its just too unreal, and well, stupid. Whether the fact that it made it to the newspaper is funny, or the hot debate is, it needs to be considered that perhaps the Saud King did think of repurcussions before the offer, or is he another Minister James Hacker?!!

This song now somehow reminds me of Alexander - inspired by the novel series Alexander by Valerio Massemi Manfredi- a trilogy. Child of a dream, Sands of Ammon and Ends of the Earth
A book which Im reading - read part I, waiting for part II which Ill get from home, Part III is here with me, but dont want to break the chain.

This is what I wanted when I was a kid...and still hope to have someday. I really love the way Blyton caught my fancy, in fact triggered it.

I can attribute my love of books to Enid Blyton (discounting my genetic predisposition of course!). After graduating from Disney comics, or rather, while I was still into reading them, I walked into the world of Blyton, and British children. I still remember the cover of my first Enid Blyton when I was in Nasirabad (Rajasthan), which I read myself - The Mystery of the Strange Bundle, barely understanding anyhting, at the age of 7.

Then began my voracious EB reading - right from the Green Story Books to the complete Mystery and School series.

There are many critics of EB. But she was right when she said criticism from someone older than 12 yrs of age didnt count. As a kid, it was more important to read about the freinds, the way they teased each other, their jokes, the fun, disguises, the food...than the actual mystery, which began after half the book was read.

I personally think there are very few writers who have managed to make hostel and school life as interesting as she has. Making each character one dimensional also helps a young person identify with any one of them. Who can forget the thrill of reading about the pool side midnight parties, the games of lacrosse, petty quarrels, and ambitions.

She actually wrote about youngsters who will be adults, and are shown in a fun way the right and wrong ways of thinking. THe importance of freindship. Romance will come with age. No need to make the kids read about it! Let them enjoy with animals and disguises, food and travel, adventure and mystery, and the most sought after thing - being smarter than an adult! (or in case of the school series, learning how to behave like one)

My favorites were, and are, the Mystery series and Malory Towers...apart from the faraway trees, and Enchaned forest...those cme uder a different head altogether.

I like the way she wrote. No fuss, it was about a gang of kids ahving fun. No morals pushed down your throat. Crisp, without too much language, correct English, and just that much information as kid may find interesting. YEp, she caught my attention! Here were a bunch of real life kids having more fun than me!

Her language was just right - not too complex. No big words. and if anything mildly difficult came up, there was Bets to help you. I remember being flummoxed by 'Ventriloquist', but thankfully, Bets helped me out, as with 'Disguises' and some of the french!

Yep, I still love Enid Blyton. There are people sho have said she was a child molester. Well, I dont know about that, and will not comment. I will say she was a Darn Good Book writer!

Then of course, with this age and day, who can avoid being called a sexist etc. So has EB. I will say I got fairly bugged by her girls always being told to stay back by the elder brothers and frnds. But then in the time and age she was writing, I think she tried being as fair as possible. In the school series the girls all do everything themselves. Never meek, helpless or too engrossed with ...basically not being the un-liberated woman. Then in the famous Five series was George. Poor Georgina, born in a time where only men were the strong ones allowed everything, it was OK for her to want to be a guy! I empathise!

In my mind she covered almost every aspect of childrens writing - mystery, adventure, fantasy, short stories, toys, farm based stories...anything and everything!

If at her time there was as much media and well, globalisation as today, I wonder what would have been her sales volumes...and thr number of movies. As it is, there have been enough TV serials and movies made on her books. Or maybe she would have been effectually unnecesasry criticism, and accusition of racism etc.

Whatever it is, I am and will be a loyal fan of Enid Blyton  my childhood companion provider. It is too little a space to write about all that I can say about her books!