A sabbatical of sorts

There could be nothing more frustrating or annoying than giving up on your one-of-the-most likened things. For the last 5-6 months, my blogging had to endure a test of wait amidst all the frentic and sapping schedule of my life. Even after putting a resolve every now and then to get back to it, I was unable to devote much or rather any time to it. And sorrily, I won’t be able to give any time in future too, for at least 4-5 months.

It is all for a greater cause only; but I hope, I will come back more learned, energized and focused then.

So, it is an official sabbatical till then. Hope life continues to cherish all of us!

Reading Lolita in Tehran

Nothing other than the ‘catchy title’ holds you more on the first look of the book. With added interest in West Asian Islamic under-the-wraps feminine world, I was an instant buyer of the book. And I wasn’t disappointed. More than entertaining me though, it brought out a critical self of mine, both about the content and delivery of the book.

Ms Azar Nafisi is an erudite writer, no doubt about that; her professorship in English does give her the scholarly touch. She was present in Iran at its most happening time- the Iranian Revolution of 1979. Her teenage upbringing in US came in a direct clash with the restrained Iranian society post the Revolution. She protested against the imposed rule of mandatory veil covering, and in her fight, had to resign her job from the University of Tehran too. She took up the job again five years later in Tallameh University, but again things fell out after a few years. But her love of English literature never died down, and thus she selected a group of seven girls to attend a private tuition at her home. Nabokov, James, Austen, Fitzgerald et al were discussed in context with the ever-prowling Iranian society, and more often than not, it brought out a sense of despair, resignation and anger. She finally decided to leave Iran and move to US to start over a new life.

Ms Nafisi chose to highlight two aspects in the book: English literature and Iranian polity & Society. And she really gelled them well to fulfill the literary sense and also bring out the message across to the world. One is left fascinated by her elaborate discussion of the English writers and their books; she knows them all on the back of her palm. Her choice of words like ‘honesty of imagination’ to describe the sense of the character in Nabokov’s ‘Invitation to a Beheading’ does show her perspicacious self. The book is replete with her in-depth analyses of the characters of the famous books she has discussed. And it is indeed a delight to know them, esp. when you haven’t read most of those books.

While her literary discussion is layered with a honeyed and pleasing academic taste, her portrayal of Iranian polity does border on some extremes. She has rendered everything after the Revolution as evil. She fails to apprise us why the Revolution happened in the first place. If the Shah Rehlavi Pasha was so top-notch, why was he deposed with near unanimity by all? If the US had been such a well-wisher of Iran, why was there such a boiled resentment and anger against it? Well, things didn’t take the right turn (ala Orwellian Animal Farm, I should say) even after the Revolution. The adopted Islamic law in stead of ameliorating the societal condition worked on clipping human liberty and speech. Worse so, it acted against the feminine freedom, the most susceptible part of society since time immemorial. There was a concomitant suppression of arts, music, and aesthetics, all in the name of the religion. But even then, all this is beside the point that everything was hunky-dory before 1979 and everything catastrophic after it. That’s why critics were quick to label the book as US-aided propaganda book in support of its War on Terror, when the book was released in 2002.

The motives might be open to questions, but Dr Nafisi’s intentions are not. She wanted to pen down her feelings, and make the world sit up and take notice. And how brilliantly she has done! At least it brought out the inner self of mine to cogitate how wrong our lives can become if the ideals are not followed rightly.

2 States

I have read some Shakespeare too, but this guy, Chetan Bhagat, cracks me up like nobody else. His is a very unique style, pulling out some of the wittiest sentences I have ever read. You are reading a line, and then somehow he associates or likens it to your inner humorous instincts.

‘Five Point Someone’ was the first novel where Chetan took the grand canvass of IIT dream-study-life into a single wrap, and put it perfectly on the readers’ nerves. No wonders, every youth who read it felt vicarious about the whole story. My college buddies were loitering-enlightened selves after reading the stories of the three like-minded guys. It was such a refreshing novel for all of us in those mundane university study days.

‘2 states’ is again full of those moments when you feel life is so beautiful, despite so many harrying moments for the protagonists. Life moves on to IIM now. Krissh meets Ananya in that typical will-be-rejected mood in the college’s cafeteria. Studies bring them together more, and then love…and then sex … takes over. The courtship relationship continues for the full two years of study, and then the corporate life starts. Marriage proposal ensues, and then the drama of acquiescing the two families, from North and South India, starts and climaxes in the most cinematic way. Isn’t this the fantasy of all the youth in India right now?

I never studied in IIT or IIM, (though my professors insisted IIITM was IIT+IIM :) or had a girlfriend as cool, confident and cute as his. But it seemed he was revisiting the life around me. Consider these:-
• Krrish writes about the tragedy of the students having names starting with letter ‘A’. He was talking about his girlfriend ‘Ananya’, but instantly my mind wandered to my fellow mates who pulled up such big and meek faces when they were asked first to show their projects, reports or assignments
• Krrish wasn’t able to concentrate while studying with Ananya. The reason: every guy’s fantasy – “He wanted to kiss her”. Hey, isn’t that so real?
• Krrish and Ananya loved their parents and relatives very much, but couldn’t reconcile with their views on region, religion, caste, feminism etc all the time. Both knew the people around them were really good at heart but also products of their time. So, the couple didn’t have any qualms over drinking beer, pre-marital sex etc, but they also believed in national integrity, work ethics, morals of life. This is an exact replica of ‘Work Hard, Party Harder’ theme of everyone around me.
• And what about the brilliant description of corporate life? The financial experts and the ever esoteric jargons of them. And the fatuity of all the stuff. The people in Software, Banking, Insurance etc know how shallow the grandiose show is.

While describing these, he also dropped in some of the most risible lines, drawing boisterous guffaws from me. I wanted to quote some here but they are too many, and actually they will be more enjoyable when read with context. So, what are you waiting for? Go beg, borrow or buy the copy, and have a perfect post-siesta time of the weekend.

The Last Symbol - Where ???

While writing this, I re-read my own piece written about two years back. I didn’t mention it here to highlight how much I like (d) Dan Brown’s novels, but to set the kind of expectation I had from his latest novel ‘The Last Symbol’. Neither am I going to do a review of the book, as that is the job of the scholarly nit-pickers.

But I must tell you, reading an eagerly waited novel, as watching a highly anticipated movie, is a tough job. More often, the exercise fails as has happened with me umpteenth times. The Last Symbol wasn’t such a damp squib, but it wasn’t a lighter of awe either. After the onslaught of so many historic thrillers in the aftermath of Da Vinci Code, you have to gauge in these terms: What different does this novel give to me? Does it tell different things or tell things differently? I couldn’t excite myself totally on either front.

Unlike other novels of his, it was a slow starter. Robert Langdon was grilled so badly by the CIA head that he hardly looked a hero. How often have we seen him running away from the authorities, as in Paris? The story did pick up though with the unraveling of the villain, Malakh’s story. How his translation happened was a different chapter from the all mystic stuff of the Masons going around in the novel. I also enjoyed the depiction of Washington DC in full glory, as I have visited DC very recently, and the images of White House, Capitol Hill, the Smithsonian Museums are still vivid in my mind. The story had a grand culmination on page 447 (sorry for the spoiler and don’t turn to that page if you haven’t read the novel fully). Somewhere I had read that, the secret that was voted the greatest in a movie was in ‘Star Wars: The Return of the Jedi’ when Darth Vader says to Luke ….. Hope you can fill in the rest. I had the same kind of great-secret-unfolding excitement while reading that page. Actually I am giving a clue (or symbol) here what that secret could be. Think!

Even after that 50 odd pages were there in the novel. I was riveted expecting some brilliant ending. But it slithered to a very odd and general ending. On hindsight, the ending looked a well-chosen and probably the only available one, but it lacked the drama it should have. All in all, a good read (7 out of 10 by me) and a must read. But be within the boundaries of your expectations. Dan Brown can’t dish out Da Vinci Code every now and then. Times are different now, and so are our likings.

मधुशाला

मृदु भावों के अंगूरों की आज बना लाया हाला,

प्रियतम, अपने ही हाथों से आज पिलाऊँगा प्याला,

पहले भोग लगा लूँ तेरा फिर प्रसाद जग पाएगा,

सबसे पहले तेरा स्वागत करती मेरी मधुशाला।।१।

प्यास तुझे तो, विश्व तपाकर पूर्ण निकालूँगा हाला,

एक पाँव से साकी बनकर नाचूँगा लेकर प्याला,

जीवन की मधुता तो तेरे ऊपर कब का वार चुका,

आज निछावर कर दूँगा मैं तुझ पर जग की मधुशाला।।२।

प्रियतम, तू मेरी हाला है, मैं तेरा प्यासा प्याला,

अपने को मुझमें भरकर तू बनता है पीनेवाला,

मैं तुझको छक छलका करता, मस्त मुझे पी तू होता,

एक दूसरे की हम दोनों आज परस्पर मधुशाला।।३।

भावुकता अंगूर लता से खींच कल्पना की हाला,

कवि साकी बनकर आया है भरकर कविता का प्याला,

कभी न कण-भर खाली होगा लाख पिएँ, दो लाख पिएँ!

पाठकगण हैं पीनेवाले, पुस्तक मेरी मधुशाला।।४।

मधुर भावनाओं की सुमधुर नित्य बनाता हूँ हाला,

भरता हूँ इस मधु से अपने अंतर का प्यासा प्याला,

उठा कल्पना के हाथों से स्वयं उसे पी जाता हूँ,

अपने ही में हूँ मैं साकी, पीनेवाला, मधुशाला।।५।

मदिरालय जाने को घर से चलता है पीनेवाला,

'किस पथ से जाऊँ?' असमंजस में है वह भोलाभाला,

अलग-अलग पथ बतलाते सब पर मैं यह बतलाता हूँ -

'राह पकड़ तू एक चला चल, पा जाएगा मधुशाला।'। ६।

चलने ही चलने में कितना जीवन, हाय, बिता डाला!

'दूर अभी है', पर, कहता है हर पथ बतलानेवाला,

हिम्मत है न बढूँ आगे को साहस है न फिरुँ पीछे,

किंकर्तव्यविमूढ़ मुझे कर दूर खड़ी है मधुशाला।।७।

मुख से तू अविरत कहता जा मधु, मदिरा, मादक हाला,

हाथों में अनुभव करता जा एक ललित कल्पित प्याला,

ध्यान किए जा मन में सुमधुर सुखकर, सुंदर साकी का,

और बढ़ा चल, पथिक, न तुझको दूर लगेगी मधुशाला।।८।

मदिरा पीने की अभिलाषा ही बन जाए जब हाला,

अधरों की आतुरता में ही जब आभासित हो प्याला,

बने ध्यान ही करते-करते जब साकी साकार, सखे,

रहे न हाला, प्याला, साकी, तुझे मिलेगी मधुशाला।।९।

सुन, कलकल़ , छलछल़ मधुघट से गिरती प्यालों में हाला,

सुन, रूनझुन रूनझुन चल वितरण करती मधु साकीबाला,

बस आ पहुंचे, दुर नहीं कुछ, चार कदम अब चलना है,

चहक रहे, सुन, पीनेवाले, महक रही, ले, मधुशाला।।१०।

जलतरंग बजता, जब चुंबन करता प्याले को प्याला,

वीणा झंकृत होती, चलती जब रूनझुन साकीबाला,

डाँट डपट मधुविक्रेता की ध्वनित पखावज करती है,

मधुरव से मधु की मादकता और बढ़ाती मधुशाला।।११।

मेहंदी रंजित मृदुल हथेली पर माणिक मधु का प्याला,

अंगूरी अवगुंठन डाले स्वर्ण वर्ण साकीबाला,

पाग बैंजनी, जामा नीला डाट डटे पीनेवाले,

इन्द्रधनुष से होड़ लगाती आज रंगीली मधुशाला।।१२।

हाथों में आने से पहले नाज़ दिखाएगा प्याला,

अधरों पर आने से पहले अदा दिखाएगी हाला,

बहुतेरे इनकार करेगा साकी आने से पहले,

पथिक, न घबरा जाना, पहले मान करेगी मधुशाला।।१३।

लाल सुरा की धार लपट सी कह न इसे देना ज्वाला,

फेनिल मदिरा है, मत इसको कह देना उर का छाला,

दर्द नशा है इस मदिरा का विगत स्मृतियाँ साकी हैं,

पीड़ा में आनंद जिसे हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१४।

जगती की शीतल हाला सी पथिक, नहीं मेरी हाला,

जगती के ठंडे प्याले सा पथिक, नहीं मेरा प्याला,

ज्वाल सुरा जलते प्याले में दग्ध हृदय की कविता है,

जलने से भयभीत न जो हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१५।

बहती हाला देखी, देखो लपट उठाती अब हाला,

देखो प्याला अब छूते ही होंठ जला देनेवाला,

'होंठ नहीं, सब देह दहे, पर पीने को दो बूंद मिले'

ऐसे मधु के दीवानों को आज बुलाती मधुशाला।।१६।

धर्मग्रन्थ सब जला चुकी है, जिसके अंतर की ज्वाला,

मंदिर, मसजिद, गिरिजे, सब को तोड़ चुका जो मतवाला,

पंडित, मोमिन, पादिरयों के फंदों को जो काट चुका,

कर सकती है आज उसी का स्वागत मेरी मधुशाला।।१७।

लालायित अधरों से जिसने, हाय, नहीं चूमी हाला,

हर्ष-विकंपित कर से जिसने, हा, न छुआ मधु का प्याला,

हाथ पकड़ लज्जित साकी को पास नहीं जिसने खींचा,

व्यर्थ सुखा डाली जीवन की उसने मधुमय मधुशाला।।१८।

बने पुजारी प्रेमी साकी, गंगाजल पावन हाला,

रहे फेरता अविरत गति से मधु के प्यालों की माला'

'और लिये जा, और पीये जा', इसी मंत्र का जाप करे'

मैं शिव की प्रतिमा बन बैठूं, मंदिर हो यह मधुशाला।।१९।

बजी न मंदिर में घड़ियाली, चढ़ी न प्रतिमा पर माला,

बैठा अपने भवन मुअज्ज़िन देकर मस्जिद में ताला,

लुटे ख़जाने नरपितयों के गिरीं गढ़ों की दीवारें,

रहें मुबारक पीनेवाले, खुली रहे यह मधुशाला।।२०।

Why blog?

Well, for me, blogging to a great extent remains a literary exercise. It is my sketch board, a reflector of my ideas and my words. I do get embroiled into it sometimes, writing more for others than for myself. And that is when I write the worst.

But surprisingly and unsurprisingly both, many of the bloggers do the same. They write to advertise rather than deliver. So, we don’t get a real picture of them. But it is human psychology, and we can’t fight it.

A friend of mine had said something like this, “Today’s men have lost that sense of association that they have to declare before world what and how they feel. Where have the good old days of bonding and talks gone?” It was right to the core, and made me cringe, for he was speaking the truth, even if partial. Projecting on my life, it indeed has some case. I can’t speak many things, so I blog. Part of it is my compulsion, and the other choice. But this is how our every aspect of life has shaped into now? What price the modern day life?

So, as I read, I find that sense of desperation in most of the bloggers. Some Indians telling their stories of success, some expats narrating their new-life in India, some Arabs harping their case of injustice, the Westerners celebrating their rich life etc. But everyone has to tell something – to the listeners – to appreciate his or her view and nod in agreement. It is a fact.

Of late, I too have started growing that feeling. One of my objectives has always been not to write for others. I don’t want to make my blog a highly-listed one on everyone’s list, India-blog directory etc etc. It is my diary, even though public. So, why now I feel that urge to be acknowledged?

The White Tiger

I was appalled by the sheer level of grimy detail Aarvind Adiga has got into to describe the underbelly of India. It is right to the core – the dilapidated house, the unkempt street, the roaming buffalo, the chirping tea-shop, the overcrowded bus, the unscrupulous landlord, the hapless rickshaw-puller …. The list goes on. Actually I can’t list them all; the whole book is full of these.

Aah! This, the depiction of the under-stratum India, is the first thing that strikes everyone, Indian and non-Indian alike. But what should I say more? I lived my childhood in the same district, Gaya, which he is talking about. I can’t refute even a single thing that he has written. It makes it worse.

Balram Halwai is the ubiquitous Indian. Simple, gullible, moral … and then the converted cunning, opportunist, immoral. The story of a fallible Indian in the current scenario. He starts in his world, full of sloth and poverty, and wonders from there how the other rich and supposedly good world has gone bereft of scruples of life. He ultimately gives up his ideals too and mingles with the rest. There are many twists and turns depicted in the whole story to bring forth this transformation. His method of narrating story to Mr Wen Jiabao, the Premier of China, through a series of letters is unique. The portrayal of Stork, Mongoose, Ashok – his landlords, is right to the point. Even the subject of his crime, Mr Ashok, is brought out in full contradictory terms. He is not the villain; in fact, he is the only guy who reasons, but ultimately subsides before the society without putting into practice that reason. Mr Ashok is each one of us, and hence the culprit.

Aadiga has thus likewise brought out many subtle things in his novel. There is definitely an Orwellian touch to it. None more appreciating is his simplicity in the complexity of words or number of pages chosen to deliver the message. It can’t match the linguistic magic of ‘Enchantress of Florence’- one of its competitor in Man Booker Prize 2008 competition, but it has a more powerful setting, and hence the winner for me too. In short, leave aside the dark pessimism it grows about India, just consider it a revelation or reminder about us and surroundings, and you will find it a masterpiece. Simply unputdownable.