In Which My Heart Fluttered For Brilliance

     As I have mentioned in a previous post, I have taking to reading at a faster pace than is usual for me. Soon after Manto's collected short stories (You can find a review here) I picked up Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys. I was acquainted with his work through a few short stories, American Gods and mostly, his blog and tweets and facebook posts. With Anansi Boys, I have truly, madly and fallen in much deep love with him and his work.
     Anansi Boys is the story of what happens when God dies and his sons are left behind. Anansi here being the god, it is left to Fat Charlie, his clumsy, very un-godly son, to reclaim the godliness and retain it for his father. Gaiman's biggest strength is the ability to compress realities and philosophies in a paragraph or two, packaged in goofy characters and gentle, embarassing yet a breeze-of-a-read humour.
    Gaiman's worlds start at the skies of heavens and dissolves into a friendly neighbourhood with one step, in his stories magic comes alive and it all makes perfect sense. He thinks like no one else, and that is a rarity with so many people and so many writers doing the rounds.
     So, excuse my fangirl gushing - Anansi dies and Fat Charlie, who has never had the best relationship with his colorful, swag of a father, finds out he is a god himself but the god-like part of him went to his brother, who was at some point a part of him. It all begins at his father's funeral where he meets his childhood neighbour Mrs. Higgler and she tells him to contact his brother, which he does.
     This brother turns out to have every bit of a magical persona that he lacks - he can get people to believe anything, trick his way in and out of life with equal parts luck and genetics. Spider, as he is called, makes life a living hell for our Charlie and Charlie asks Mrs. Higgler to make him go away, who in turn asks Mrs. Dunwiddy (think Old Nan from ASOIAF), who sends Charlie to the beginning of the world where he meets half-humans and half-gods and all of them complete animals. What ensues is an epic chase, where Tiger (who was god before Anansi) sets to reclaim his title. Don't think too much, just go read the book. Meanwhile, here is something else that happens -
     Parallel to these events, runs the very evil trickery of Grahame Coats, Charlies employer who frames Charlie in an embezzlement scheme which has just been discovered and then does everything to escape to an island.  Like it happens in stories with Gods, everything must end well. Fat Charlie shrugs off his nickname and reclaims his God-genes, finds love and makes peace with his father.
     Ghosts and Gods, Earth and Above, Evil and Good, Mischief and Anger - Gaiman leaves no emotion unfelt as you move along. It is a fast, fast read. Things happens quickly and you want to read them faster than they happen. In the process, you will think about family and love, about inheritance and about fear of control and factors of influence. His books make you think, but unlike most scholarly works, they make you smile as you think. It is a rare combination, a must-have for every child. If nothing, it is a good story. A warm, fuzzy, bed-time story. The story that a god wrote. 

On reading Manto

     It is safe to say that as readers and the reading community goes, I am perhaps on the less- read side of the spectrum, having discovered the joy of books and words, of stories and lore, a little late in life.
     This results in one of these two things - I either shut up when others speak of books or (as I have been going through) am enveloped with such an overwhelming need and urgency to devour every word and story, every written sentence and every thought that was ever put on paper as a letter or book, as a poem or a newspaper scoop.
     As the only thing that seems to be happening with any sort of direction in life, I have been reading some varied and brilliant books.
      Up first was Saadat Hasan Manto's collected short stories, translated by Aatish Taseer including such beautiful, crisp and fused-with-soul stories as 'Blouse', 'Ten Rupees' and my personal favourite, 'For Freedom'.
     As an utopian believer of maintaining the originality of any work of art, I am skeptical as translations go. As a (ironically) not-a-fan-of-English-language, anything that's converted from such languages like Urdu, which have an innate quality of romanticism in every sound, I didn't believe English would do any justice to the senses that Manto's writing would have originally invoked in the readers. While I still cannot compare for myself, it is safe to say that reading the English version did transport me to rainy evenings, protesting crowds, chawls of Bombay as and when the author wished me to. As Aatish explains in his foreword, the crispness and pace of the original stories has not been compromised, neither has he tried to improve on the authors work. And the result is as good as it gets.
      What makes Manto's stories a joy are the raw emotions and sensation-inducing scenarios he sets up and their real-to-death characters. In 'Blouse', a boy discovers puberty and the confused joy he feels without really knowing whats happening, is wonderful. In 'Ten Rupees', a child prostitute, obsessed about driving around in cars and not knowing what is it that she does, and not caring either -  is depicted with a delicate lightness.
     The important thing is that each story has underlying themes like lost love or prostitution, yet at no point do they taken away the quality of 'life' that his characters and his stories possess. Yes, little girls as prostitutes are not probably terribly lucky, yet you cannot help but forget that and participate with Sarita as she feels the sea breeze caress her (like most of her customers might never), anticipate with her the next time she would sit in a car, and feel playful with her as she sings Hindi songs with the boundless energy of children.
   My personal favourite remains 'For Freedom', capturing the momentary passions of the freedom movement that fleeted in and out of action and consciousness and the eventual 'murder' of the human body and spirit. Laced with the theme of gurus and abstinence, it is a compelling read.
    In 'Khaled Mian' he writes about the desperation of a father who forsees his toddler's death, in 'My Name is Radha', we get a peek into the Film Industry of those times.
     All stories share an ability to make you smile and to teleport you into a world filled with poetry, romance, turmoil, anger, frustration, death and the range that makes human life, what it is. 

Saguna Baug – A gem of Maharashtra

The first thing I notice when I’m driving out of Mumbai is the gradual and pleasant change in landscapes. Slums and ugly, broken buildings make way for, little by little, greener lands and cleaner air. Pity our lives, we need to get away just to be able to breathe. And when you do, where do you go? Lonavala, Karjat, Pune, Igatpuri. Change your plans, next time pick Saguna Baug.

                Saguna Baug is a farm. That’s it? You, might ask. Agro-tourism may not sound like the most fun activity to indulge in for the weekend, but give it a shot. It is going to surprise you.   

We reached on Saturday late morning and the first thing we did was buffalo riding. This is a peculiar and unique feature of the place and a novel and fun experience.  ‘Honey’ as he was christened, was patient and took all of us on little joyrides of a couple of minutes each in the lake. What followed would inevitably become the high point of the weekend.

Possible only in the rainy season, this is a two kilometre trek to a waterfall. Walking on muddy soft ground, treacherous stony terrain and climbing the hilly region in the rains with slippers and sandals, we arrived at gushing waters of the fall, spouting chilly water and bringing smiles of unadulterated happiness all around. If you get lucky, you will see the sun shine down on this majestic view and on a rare occasion like this one, even kiss it with a rainbow. For those few moments, time won’t matter. Nothing but the beauty you behold. 

The path, looks more dangerous than it is and we met people of all ages, from toddlers who cannot walk to aunties and uncles who look like they can’t, everyone wanted a piece of this. There are arrows marked all along the way for guidance, and the guides themselves are excellent.

The thrilling two hours were followed by lunch of simple yet delicious Maharastrian food – roti, sabzi, gulab jamun, boiled corn and chicken and prawns (by order only). 

When amidst the wild, the first thing one thinks of is Snakes. And we got to see just those, albeit by professional snake masters Ashutosh and Shyam. It was a nice little lecture on snakes and their types and even a ‘wohoo’ evoking Cobra was brought for everyone to see. Note – 96% of snakes in India are non-venomous, however if you hear a hissing sound, it probably is one of the remaining 4% . Also, snakes react to motion. Stay still, and you might live.

 Mr. Chandan Bhadsavle, the amiable owner of Saguna Baug, then spoke about us at length about the concept of agro-tourism and the need and challenges for the same. “My father started with this after returning from the USA and we have been promoting it ever since. Apart from extra income through tourist activities, it gives the farmer much required dignity and open personal communication channels between city folk and village folk”. Emphasising on the challenges he says, “Farmers are a dying breed and the ones who stay behind do not want to move out of their comfort zone. Our efforts are directed towards retaining the youth back. City dwellers should come towards the village and interact with them; any farmer will be happy and proud to show you around. If the current trend of leaving farming for city jobs continues, there is a danger of an acute food crisis in the very near future”.

The employees at Saguna Baug are all young people helping around the farming and tourist activities. Each employee spends a one month trial test before being accepted. This includes participating in all the activities like cooking, serving, catching snakes, going in the river etc. It is a wonderful course in survival, by itself.

It would do nice to enjoy the crisp evening air and dark, yet pleasant silence after all this. However, for those who want, there is the option of mud-crab catching too. As for us, we chose to cramp in the humble, yet clean dormitories and enjoy indoor games.

The morning after was seeing the farm as it is – dairy, gobar gas plant and its functions and uses.  It was a highly educational tour and definitely a must if you have children. The place also has six ponds wear they breed six types of fishes, all edible. You can try your hands at both rod fishing and net fishing.  And if you’re lucky, you will catch a prawn too. Note – no fish were harmed. The hook goes through their cartilage and we took it out soon enough and let it swim back to life. So PETA and all you animal lovers reading this – breathe easy.

 Due to time constraints we couldn’t visit the actual agricultural activities. But we did get to see the emu-farm, where emu are bred for eggs and meat and skin.  The road from there to a local damn was a walk through Middle Earth and yet again, I found myself looking at the vast expanses of scenic beauty, gaping in awe.

 Among other options available are horse-riding lessons, archery and air rifle shooting, bullock cart rides and other bits and pieces that make your stay enjoyable. On your return, you can also buy various items like cane chairs, farm produce, emu-oil, ‘kokam’ sherbet etc.

The trip cost us, a group of twenty five people, Rs. 2500 each. If I was in Mumbai on a regular Saturday evening, I would hit a club or good dinner place and spend this and a little more to pass a night that included nothing new, nothing noteworthy - just some loud music, some beer and a whole lot of whining and complaining about life.  It is wondrous to know how the food we eat is grown, how the makers of our life live theirs. Have no illusions, they are not poor ‘dehatis’. They have degrees from Switzerland, drive the same cars, watch TV from the same Tata Sky or Videocon d2h. They just remained true to their roots and I think it’s time we all went back to ours.

Mind your language!

         The NDA government has completed a month in office and newspapers are filled with the month that was. Increasingly I see that most news stories are this - speculations, records etc. It is about what was or what will be. Seldom of what is, and what should be done. 
        
Digressions apart, I am sure most of you will be aware of the recent controversy regarding the directive to the ministers issued by the PMO stating that Hindi should be given a priority over English as the language of use when writing on social media. This sparked of a huge debate, no surprises there, about the practicality of such a move. On one hand there were the Guardians of Indian Heritage saying that Hindi, being the National Language, it was only proper to use it before others. On the other hand were the progressive thinkers saying that Hindi didn't unite the north, east, west and south of India like English did and that it was more prudent to use English. But I think the question to see here is our Ministers' and bureaucrats' competency in either language. It is essential to be articulate in speech, a direct by product of a good understanding of the language of communication. Shashi Tharoor speaking in English makes sense, Mulayam Singh or Lalu Prasad trying to do the same is a redundant effort because they will not get the point across. Whether our politicians have to will for such clarity is another question. I will ignore it for now. 
         
The English v/s Indian language debate has been often played out, with parents from all backgrounds scrambling to get their children enrolled in English medium schools. That is an apparently natural step to growth and development at a micro level. Increasingly, Vernacular medium schools have shut down and admissions in these schools drop drastically. But before we seek to 'modernize' our education system and bring it at par with western schools, I think we need to step back and think what good education means. 
          
I am Gujarati and as a kid, everyday I would come home from school and get my day's work re-learnt from my elder brother or my mother. This was done because of the simple reason that I being in a convent, everything was taught in English and to understand concepts to their very core, I needed them to be simplified and taught in my own language. I grew up speaking English and now I even do my thinking in the same language. I thought that was enough to now be taught new concepts in this adopted language but it wasn't so. In junior college, accounts in college were taught in impeccable English, those at the tuition in a mix of Hindi and Gujarati. It is the latter that polished my basics. This proves that the language of your parents, your mother tongue is inevitably and very closely linked with your understanding of the world around you.  And I am not the only example, I know many kids who do.
           
 One may argue that A new generation of parents has cropped up or is cropping up. Those who studied with English as their first language. But can the absolute efficiency of these English speakers be taken on face value? Conversing fluently with correct pronunciation and grammar is one thing, understanding the language intrinsically, quite another. You could try this out for yourself - take a paragraph explaining Quantum Mechanics in English, simplified. Then read the same in your native language. 
         
 The problem magnifies when the parents who don't know the language themselves. It creates a huge parent - child divide and has a negative impact on imparting the correct attitudes to a child. How do you correct him if you will never know he is wrong? Communication gaps will arise. And I am not even bothering with the cultural aspect of this - speaking a foreign language, and English is foreign no doubt about that, disconnects you from ground reality. It is not hardwired into your system, just an external attachment.Time is up to make a clear distinction between literacy and education. It is fine to measure national literacy using a unifying measurement, but for education - we need to take a more focused approach over the one-size-fits-all.
          
Speaking of India specifically, our English is as screwed up as our sense of identity and it would be a good time to chose a side and then master that. English is essential no doubt to maintain the global advantage. But if it comes at the price of losing understanding of what we are taught, of rote learning for the exams and then forgetting the meaning behind these, is a waste of precious years. Combine this very neurological shortcoming with average teachers, huge classrooms, parents who can't wait to send you off to tuition - I think India is will have to look forward to a really messed up future. There is a need for correction in this system - it could be done at the school or home level. What is important is that people understand this issue. Or it will turn out to be like the Internet, no one knows how it works, we just know how to operate it according to a set of rules. Language was never that, and it never should be. It is the primary mode of expression, it should be a part of us. It is about our cognitive development, the strength of the Human Race. If we fuck with this, all too soon, robots won't be needed. Humans will be available.

A Story sung by an ulcer.

             

Celebrating Life

Before I get to writing about the book, here is a small piece of advice. For anyone battling low concentration levels, try reading a book for one and a half days straight. A good book, that too. You will learn to avoid distractions of all kinds. I undertook this Herculean task for a class assignment - from Monday evening to Wednesday morning, the day of submission, I read, read and read. Now I can go hours without looking at my phone, doing what I must rather than browsing twitter and favouriting articles which I don't end up reading. Try this, it is a stunt in its own right.
              The book here was Animal's People, Indra Sinha's 2007 Man Booker Prize nominee. It is a story set against the background of the Bhopal Gas tragedy, speaking about the life of the citizens twenty years later.
             The narrator is Animal, an orphan who was affected by the gas leak, when his spine was bent so badly that he walks on all fours for the rest of his life. It is the story of the residents of Khaufpur, how they cope with life after the tragedy or as it is referred to by them, 'that night'. Animal lives with his foster mother Ma Franci, a french nun who lost her powers to understand any language but her mother tongue and his dog Jara in the poisoned compounds of the factory. His friends include Zafar, a social activist; Nishi, musician Somraj's daughter, Zafar's girlfriend and Animal's saviour. Also among major characters is Elli Barber. More on her later. 
            This 'basti', or part of Khaufpur also has some endearing characters, stereotypes that invariable exist in any cluster of humans. There is Chunawala, who thinks about only money. Bhoora, the auto driver. Farouq, Zafar's best friend from the family of local bullies. And then there is the 'kampani', the culprits of the gas leak who got away too easy, the 'government' - corrupt as usual and the benevolent, generous Elli Barber whose kindness is so selfless that even music maestro Somraj, of the purest of souls, finds it difficult to understand why an Amrikan would leave everything to come serve a bunch of poor people in India. It's exactly the kind of skepticism that humanity is bound in today, the sheer disbelief that no one can be truly and fully altruistic. 
            Reading the book is like listening to Yoda-meets-English/French/Hindi/Hinglish speaking Indian. The words have colloquial sounds, the sentences are inverted, the articles feature rarely - this is idiosyncratic of many Indian books I have read. It captures the authencity of the Indian English dialect bang on and if you are Indian, will instantly relate to everyday  speech. At the same time, Grammar Nazis will argue that it destroys the authenticity of the language. Which is more important, is a subjective thing.  
           The characters are beautifully etched out. Zafar will fill you with hope and respect with his unending struggle to go to the courts and patiently wait for justice to come by. He is saintly, always composed, always generous and helping. 
Nishi, his girlfriend is his shadow, his support, his weakness. The love story between a Hindu and Muslim with 20 years between them kills two tabboos at once, and speaks a lot for the Khaufpuri stand that religion will not divide them, they who have been united by extreme tragedy. 
Somraj, the singer who lost his voice is, succinctly put, a "madman who finds music in the croaking of the frogs". His loves story with Elli Barber - the Amrikan who wins over the Khaufpuris, their love and trust is yet another landmark of the narrative. 
           But above all, it is Animal a four-footed human, his unending desire for sex, his foul mouth and free spirit that win you over. Everyone is going 'fishguts' and they are all 'buggers'. His raillery with Farouq is so hate-filled, you know instantly that they will be *turn on screechy voice* - BFFs. He laughs inspite of his misery, and in turn teaches you to laugh at your own. And just when you think he is going to be single forever, he finds Anjali, who likes him despite his uniqueness.
           The book has some very beautiful thoughts on music, love, justice, freedom, sex - what is it to be human? Animal, isn't an animal. It is not our form that defines, it is what we think of ourselves. There is especially one part I like where Elli Barber is telling someone that the shanty looks like it was made out of an earthquake. Animal over hears this and has an overwhelming urge to flee this dirty place. It tells us how only an outsider changes our perception of things we are too familiar with. Indians have had this medicine all too often.  
          Go read the book. I didn't like it initially, it reminded me of Life of Pi by Yann Martel, also a Man Booker Prize Winner. But as you progress, you're sure to fall in love with these filthy yet very human Animal's people.

PS: Don't miss the four line poems along. Also, Thanks to Flipkart for their fast delivery. 
Buy it here - http://www.flipkart.com/animal-apos-s-people/p/itmdx92yfjcevhyp?pid=9781416526278&otracker=from-search&srno=t_1&query=Animal%27s+People&ref=600bb0a0-b867-4662-95c2-2e13d816d65f