On books

Pico Iyer- I have traveled with him only till Argentina. ‘Lonely places’- my reading of that book stopped when I reached Argentina- oh I finished Argentina… the book is so good that I am scared to read it all and finish it! I have this fear all the time. That’s why I always take ages to finish a good book.

‘Judith Krantz”, “Danielle Steel”; “Sidney Sheldon” or any of the authors of thrillers and romances I finish almost the same day as I begin.

But when it comes to some books… like “Life of Pi” or “Mitla Pass”… I simply can’t read more than a few pages or chapters. They are so good that I want to savor the sensation of the book, of discovering all its joys… of prolonging the happiness and contentment as long as I can…

The library due date is long past for “Mitla Pass” and I don’t want to finish that book. I have read over twenty books from the time I borrowed “Mitla Pass”. Leon Uris is one hell of a writer. His Exodus and Redemption have rocked my world. I have read on Ireland and ‘Palestine’ like crazy after those two books. I will never make the mistake of reading them again. I never read books that move me passionately; twice! What if the feeling is lost the second time? What if there is no magic the second time? “Catcher in the rye”… I fell in love with the book. That’s why even though I own the book; never will I read it again… “Midnight’s children”, “Atlas shrugged”, “The fountainhead”…the list is endless I suppose!

There are some books which are supposed to be among the best of the century. Like Gabriel Marquez’s “One hundred years of solitude”. I have the book. I have not progressed beyond the first few pages. I took a break. And when I picked it up to resume my reading, I found quite to my dismay that I forgot the entire plot, the characters and everything. I read again and read more than I did before… yeah- you guessed it, I took another break. And once again, on resuming I was as lost as before. I maybe dumb; but to me people whoever claim it to be one of the best things ever written (the statistics is staggering mind you), are those who have not maybe fully read the book. Or people who thing the more complex the plot- a classic it is!

A good book should be of simple language. Sensible use of words… so that even the most complex of plots is easy for the reader to follow. Surprisingly Salman Rushdie does not do any of these-his plots are as twisted s they can get. The characters are in various degrees of insanity. But I like his writing…

I remember reading Tasleema Nasrin’s “Lajja”. It was a disappointing affair. Yes simple words… simpler language (numbers!).All she had done according to me was put down statistics on what was destroyed in retaliation by the Muslims in Bangladesh when the Babri Masjid was demolished by the Hindus in India.

I guess I cannot standardize then…

Disgrace

Booker prize winner two times around, J. M Coetzee’s book “Disgrace” (which fetched him the Booker the second time); was to me a disgrace. It talks about defeat. The books end on a defeat. Aren’t we doing it several times in real life- accepting defeat? The book left me feeling disgraced. It talks about a white woman who is a lesbian who lives in an area where the population save her is black. On how she is raped because she is white and because her neighbor wants her share of the land. On how she doesn’t complain to the police but goes over to her neighbor and asks him to marry her; doing exactly what he wanted her to- accepting defeat. I found the book ‘Disgraceful’! When I talked about this to a journalist who works in France, he smiled at me and said; “But isn’t that what the book is about? Disgrace?”

Would I have done that? Taken a beating and not out on a fight?

The question is not about winning. It’s that you don’t lose until you stop fighting….

On death and dying….

One the topics that haunt me all the time is death… it might because I have seen more of it than I care to…

Dying unexpectedly- leaving so many unfinished business… so many things unsaid… so many things wishing you said- never another chances to take it back… so many loved ones left behind…

I talked to my sister today. Her senior hung herself in her room. My poor little sister was heart broken. She was always the sensitive one. Take her to a house where someone died and even if she did not know the person she would weep more than the actual family of the bereaved… so much so that my mother a little embarrassed would pull my sobbing sister away… We stopped taking her after sometime.

Suicide is one thing that opens the doors of debate- should one take his/her life? Does one have the right? Isn’t it a sin? Aren’t they plain selfish; the people who do so- for they leave a family of loved ones behind who will never recover from this blow?

These are moral issues to which I have no answer. It never even crosses my mind. All I can think of is the trauma that person went through to do something like this. I cant imagine slicing my finger- god- I even cut my nails so carefully so as not to accidentally tear a little bit of flesh!

Whatever the reason behind the act- all I can think of is the desperation of the person… that someone who could not live that one day in the hope of a better tomorrow…. That tomorrow when all the problems if not solved would not appear to loom as scary as today…

It’s so easy to pooh -pooh the reasons and point at the most obvious course of action the person had to take rather than this disastrous turn.

On hearing all the cases I put the question to myself; “Would I have done so had the person been me?” To all the times I have so far, the answer that returned was a no… Then I thank whoever or whatever, that I have the strength to endure something that someone else did not…

My best friend’s blog…

I never was a source of what one would called ‘inspiration’ and in the good sense! Look what I have 'inspired' Sowmya to do...

http://asbpoonakutty.blogspot.com/

Here’s her blog- she chose to name it “Memoirs of my life!”

Gulp! Sowmya- something’s in life are best left unsaid sweetheart! She’s not had it for more than 48 hours and the poor blog has already been chirstned and re-christened a number of times!

Sowmya....

I met her when I did my engineering. The first glimpse of her I had was of a girl with freshly washed hair coming out of the bathroom, bucket in hand.

Sniffing I asked her; “Wow! Your hair smells really nice. Vatika?”

Looking at me with those scornful eyes, she said snobbishly (oh yes, you did- don’t you argue now!), “Uh?”

We went on to be the best of friends. Without her I probably would never have completed my four years of engineering. No…not that she helped me study. The place was awful. We rubbed the wrong side of all the staff almost immediately. The seniors were a terror! Our batch boys were the sickest that ever graced the earth- cat calls, rude whistles, ruder nicknames, anonymous letters, vulgar writings on the wall… a lot of drama- which we could have very well done without… we were the centre of a lot of bad attention…

If not for her… I would have discontinued the course, I swear!

Long walks to the beach every evening… sitting by that bench we marked as ‘ours’… listening to the lapping of the backwaters against the embankments… the gurgles of the fishes… we sat contentedly in silence… Sometimes we would listen to some great music on the walkman.

I am very selfish when it comes to sharing- especially myself. I knew that love leads to pain… so I stayed clear from that emotion- both from boys and girls alike…

But with her….I learnt what it is to love and be loved …completely and unconditionally.

Lonely places…

I am reading a book by Pico Iyer called “Falling off the map”. He talks about lonely places- places that are not on international wavelengths, do not know how to carry themselves and are lost when it comes to visitors they are shy, defensive, curious places; places that do not know how they are supposed to behave. He then goes on to talk about his visit to Argentina, North Korea, Cuba, Paraguay, Vietnam … and a host of other places.

All exotic to me- who’s never seen any of these places… and I won’t tell you which places but some of them I had to look up the map to determine their location! So now I can at least proudly claim to have seen it all- thanks to world maps!

Was he traveling looking for these places… or did he actually visit them and then found them to be lonely? Or did he have an idea that these places will be lonely places and went on to confirm his hunch? Was the title written first and then the chapters? I wonder…

There are more lonely places. “Would you care to visit my room?”, said Poornima to Mr. Pico Iyer.

True, it is geographically insignificant… A tour would cost you nothing. And you would end before you begin the walk! But it’s a lonely place for sure…

See what the leaving of a person can do! Not that he ever spent more than half an hour on the whole, in my room…

I guess then I am not talking about my room anymore….

Well sorry Mr. Pico Iyer- I guess I’ll have to look for an author who’s written about lonely people!

Letter to a lover who loves me no longer...

This was one of the innumerable letters I've written but never posted... You know who I have written to... I know who I have written to...

"
Why did you do it? Why? Did I not love you enough? Didn’t I amuse you, entertain you enough? Wasn’t I caring enough? Why then…?
Was it…was it that SHE loved you more? Never…never can anyone ever love you more than I do…. did I mean. Useless issues at this point of time…but still…
You knew it didn’t you, as to how much I loved you…
I was so happy. For once in my life I was truly happy. I wanted to be a part of your life ever so much…
True, it was only I who felt all these. You always played safe. Nevertheless, I’d made my feelings clear, didn’t I?
There were ever so many dreams…. so many wishes…so many prayers…
The postman would see a girl flying towards him, a trifle breathless, with expectant eyes and ask him, “Any letters?” Smiling his toothless smile he would then hand over your letters to me. Ah…even he understood.
All of a sudden they stopped -your letters I mean. Still I continued to run to collect the post and ask hopefully, “Any letters?”. Sure there were- for the others at home. Handing over the pile, the postman would regretfully mumble, “No… not today…”. Keeping my chin up and biting on to my trembling lips, I would smile and run inside…lest the now unstoppable tears flow out…
You never told me…hints there were, but I was too blinded by love too see them then. Now, it’s only them that I can see. Do you know how I felt when I heard about…about you and HER? I could not believe it…I still cannot. Why…?
Is she prettier? Where did I fail? What did I do wrong? What did I lack? Why did you do it…?
Do you know the number of times I’ve run behind strangers who to me looked like you? Ah, the number of people who look like you…. Do you know that the mere mention of your name makes my heart skip a few beats? Each time I passed your house, I would resolutely turn my head the other way- but in my mind’s eye I could always see you, hanging by the gate…
Do you know the number of times I’ve asked your friends and acquaintances, as if I never cared, as to how you were, where you were, what you were doing…? Do you know the number of times I’ve thrown abuses at you in front of others- when at the same moment, hearts of hearts I’ve apologized a thousand times?
Do you realize the hurt? The pain? Those terrible sleepless nights? The sorrow? The frustration? The longing? The emptiness? The loneliness? The sense of failure? Each of this is just words to you- I lived through each!
True, you never promised me anything. You might easily ask me “Why love me so…. when I don’t care a damn about you?”. Ah…it isn’t that simple. Just because you ditched me, dumped me and walked out of my life- unceremoniously…. how do I stop loving you? Love is no bargain. Love is no deal. My love was true and so for a long, long time I continued to love you…
Do you realize how much I have changed? Gone is my innocence. Gone is my feeling of trust. I live on…in a world where I am suspicious of everybody and everything. I firmly promise myself, “Never, never again will I let anyone hurt me so…”. Do you realize how scared I am of loving again? Do you realize how much a part of me you have taken away?
Lastly, do you know how much I hate myself for having loved you? How much I hate myself, because a part of me, no matter how much I try, still continues to love you….?"

On prayer and worship

The bus was inching by slowly…the curves were numerous and I sat patiently in the bus waiting…. Kodaikanal was a beautiful place and there was a pleasant air blowing about which ruffled my curls and caressed my cheek. I was happy and sat contentedly in the bus. We stopped for the hundredth time for a cup of tea and I got out of the bus to stretch my legs a bit.
I did not want a cup of tea and after asking the driver how long the bus stopped there, I went for a short walk. The place suited me fine- no pollution and not so many vehicles- I hated the dust that was ever present in the metros where I stayed.
I loved taking photographs and was happily clicking off to glory with my lil camera. It was then that I saw a tree. It was a normal looking one- one which you wouldn’t glance twice at- come on, there were innumerable ones on the way side…. But this one had an additional decoration to the rich leaves and the colorful flowers which adorned all the others trees. It was coated with saffron and turmeric at the lower end and there were some threads tied on it. Curious I walked over to it. There was an old woman who sat near by. Seeing me walk over she smiled at me- I was obviously another tourist who would click anything that was on sight! I went over to her. She must have told this story a thousand times and will probably tell it again to a thousand more travelers who stopped there.
“ It is a mighty sacred tree”, she told me. Any wish one made out there would come true. “Try and see…” but one had to tie a thread dipped in turmeric and saffron and then make a wish. If the gods were pleased with you then your wish would come true. I smiled to myself and walked away.
There were temples and there were temples. There were so many places of worship. There were huge ones and there were little ones. People desperate to believe anything and everything moved over in search of something that they felt was denied. A prayer would solve that out. New temples were built and others destroyed for reasons best left unsaid. It was all the faith that mattered. People who went in for the famous places of worship and spent hours in queue, pushed past throngs of people for a glimpse of the ever elusive “god” were driven by that naughty fellow called ‘Hope’. Well, there had to be something that made life worth looking forward to- so hope be it….
Little did people realize that a little tree on the corner of a road side in a curved lane offered as much hope to people as the huge temples, mosques and churches built elsewhere……..