Kolkata: Places not to be missed

Among the places mentioned in the WB tour itinerary, I was interested more in Belur Mutt for its quietness and serenity. This was how I remember it from my childhood when I had visited it and thankfully not much has changed since then.
If you have no time to see any other place, the below two more than make up for everything that the city can offer to the tourist.

 'Boi Para' on College Street is not listed in any tour itinerary but I had short listed it and boy, was I glad?!
Any book-lover will drool over the thousands of books lining both sides of the street. You have around a 2-km stretch selling study books, fiction, non-fiction, old editions...every kind of book one wants, at throw-away prices. And yes, no pirated versions...only original, second-hand books. I picked up about eleven of them. I could hang on forever but had to drag myself away for paucity of time. It is a virtual feast for a book-lover and even if you spend all your allotted time here, you'd be left hungering for more!

Boi Para on College Street, Kokata

The Mother House  is listed as a tourist attraction. We were about to give it a miss but fortunately, we did not.

Entrance as humble as the place within

Even as you enter the street leading to the Missionaries of Charity, you have people helpfully pointing to the House. It is so easy to miss the simple building. Sisters who we met, humbly joined their hands in a gesture of greeting. The entrance has a sign showing that 'Mother' is 'IN.' When you step inside, a quietness and peace seems to engulf you. Immediately to the right, you have a hall housing the last remains of Mother Teresa. You need to only step into the room and you feel some connection with Mother. A feeling of spirituality encompasses you. Your eyes see the traffic just outside the windows with their old-fashioned half-curtains; yet, you are no longer a part of the world outside; you no longer hear the noises around, nothing seems to distract you as you allow the peace within to seep into your soul. Some ethereal experience as you kneel to speak to mother.
I had a sister talk to me and pray with me. I was gifted pendants with Mother's image on it. I was given quite a few and am willing to share with anyone who wants them.
We went upstairs and saw the room that Mother spent her days in. The room was the size of a prison cell: one tiny bed that was barely enough to accommodate her tiny frame, a box, a small cupboard, a table and chair. And NO FAN in the hot and humid Kokata weather! She never had a fan installed despite the fact that her room was directly over the kitchen where food in huge quantities gets cooked.
Photographs are forbidden here but how I wish I could share the picture of her room to inspire millions of people. Even otherwise, you feel somehow that you violate the sanctity if you take pictures. Something stirs deep within when you sit there to watch the room in awe. (found the photograph here.)
You are not required to remove your shoes inside, you are not required to queue there, you are not required to pay to get a faster 'darshan'; no one pushing you or jostling for place; whether you choose to donate or no, you are treated with respect. I got a special picture of Mother Teresa as I shared my memories of meeting her when she graced our school decades ago.

People who read this post and go there to experience what I did, may/may not feel the same way. I felt a deep, deep connection. Seeing the peace on the faces of the sisters working there so quietly, overwhelms you. Is it possible to give yourself so totally to a cause wanting nothing in return?!

Ken Follett: A Place Called Freedom

I was away from Hyderabad over the weekend and took advantage of the six hours of train journey on each side by completing Follett's book, 'A Place called Freedom'. As I browsed through the prologue, I discovered, to my dismay, that I had read the book before. But thankfully, I remembered nothing beyond the prologue. I must have read this book, written in 1995, long back.
The spell-binding narration did not allow me to put the book down. The nearly 600-page novel was completed in those 12 hours of journey. The story weaves through the 1700s rendering a flavor of those times though not giving us an expansive view of the history. History has always fascinated me and to be able to live that era through this book was a delectable treat.
It is the story of a coal miner, Mack,who yearns for freedom from bondage to the mine owners. His audacity in refusing to be bound generation after generation to the mine-owners and his dream to be a free man forms the crux of the story.
In this quest, we are taken from Scotland to London where the protagonist, Mack, finds himself in a different kind of bondage. Free entrepreneurship is frowned upon and the workers are forced to be a part of the conniving nexus between greedy middlemen and the owners. This evil liaison cheats the workers of their honest wages. When Mack forms his own group of workers, he is labeled a 'communist' and, as was the norm those days, he is deported to the US, a land which was considered an isolated and unknown territory.
Mack's indomitable spirit in going through all these travails to achieve his dream of being a free man is a wondrous journey that unfolds through the pages of  'A Place called Freedom.' The easy flow of narration is fantastic.
How Follet manages to keep those creative juices flowing in book after book is surely awe-inspiring.

When you lose sleep...

over a book...
It happened to me after many years. Sat up two consecutive nights to complete "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini. I know it sounds crazy and I am up feeling groggy but was it worth it!
For all my friends who have made my head swell with their belief that there is a book in me waiting to be written, I have to say 'no way!' I cannot hold a candle to the most brilliant story telling I have experienced with this book. I cheated through a few pages, so eager was I to know what's going to happen next but then gave up and went back to my reading as I realized I wouldn't be able to sleep with this breath-taking narration waiting to happen. If it wasn't for the inevitability of the daily chores, I might have completed the book in one go.
Yes, it is again an Afghan war story from Hosseini. If 'The Kite Runner' is told through the eyes of a boy and a man, this story is told through the eyes of a girl and a woman. It is a story of a strange alliance between two women from diverse backgrounds, Laila, an educated girl and Mariam, an illegitimate girl from a lower social order, both forced to marry the same man who is much older than the ages of the two women put together. The story tells about the atrocities of the war and the results of Talibanization. Heart-wrenching to read through the tales of killing, mutilation, hanging, whipping. And... a woman's plight amidst all this.
To quote the author, “Learn this now and learn it well, my daughter: Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.”

It's absolutely astounding to read that a man can be so sadistic and thrash, kick, whip, pummel, disfigure and hurt his wives so much. The wife is allowed to go out only when her husband accompanies her. Therefore, Laila, his younger wife  is at her husband's mercy who is not interested in visiting the daughter in the orphanage where she is abandoned due to scarcity of food at home. The son is, of course, at home. When Laila dares step out alone to visit her daughter, she is brutally whipped by the Taliban. Despite this, she goes to visit her daughter wearing three coats so that the whippings don't hurt as much. 

Despite all that's happening inside and outside home, the women exhibit extraordinary courage and resilience and fight the system to emerge victorious in their own way. 

At the end of the story, I was too numbed and had to make a great effort to bring my mind to focus on the mundane things of everyday life. I felt so insignificant and my wants so selfish. I have so much going for me and I agonize over trivial things. Tears overwhelmed me as I realized how the Afghan women have suffered through all this.
This story has an Afghanistan backdrop but war or no war, across the globe, across countries, cultures, social and economic status, we see droves of women live cowering like rats succumbing to sheer brutal physical strength day in and day out.

Some more quotes from the book: 

•  "A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing, Mariam. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed, it won’t stretch to make room for you.”  
• “A society has no chance of success if its women are uneducated...”
• "Marriage can wait, education cannot.” 

A young adult

Yes, that's me :)...after the kind of books that I have read in the last ten days and the movie I saw yesterday.

Well, the book I read last week was "PS, I love you." The novel, a debut, by Cecelia Ahern.
This 512 page book is about the pain of a young widow, Holly, whose husband Gerry dies at 30 and about how she copes with this grief. Holly discovers that Gerry had left ten letters for her, to be opened over a period of ten months after his death, one each month. Holly had been devastated and these letters give her the strength to get on in life.
While reading the novel, I had a feeling it was for a 21 year old girl and I was proved right as I found that it had indeed been written by a 21 year old. Though well written, it drags in places and, there are flaws in the plot which come due to insufficient experience of life.

Next, was the book "Twilight" by Stephenie Meyer, again a debut novel, a 433 page science fiction which I had picked up from my nephew's desk. This book is about the romance between a human and a vampire. While reading it, I felt as though I was reading the Red dragon in the Enid Blyton series ( people from my age will remember, perhaps, that in the Enid Blyton series, we were supposed to progress from the Blue to Green and then the Red dragon series). Reading the book felt exactly as though I was reading the Red dragon series of the Enid Blyton books, aimed at a 17 year old.
It's another story that both these debutants found their place in the world of movies as well.

Well, coming to movies, happened to see 'Ekk main aur ekk tu" yesterday, again a first day show with no peek at a review. Expected something from the unusual pairing of Kareena Kapoor and Imran Khan. (Reading a review would have been futile anyways as my most trusted critic, Rajeev Masand has been utterly biased to Kareena and gives his thumbs up to this one). Well, the story is about a 25 year old Imran and a 26 year Kareena. Bollywood has to have the lead pair stick to their 20s, you see. In most parts of the film though, the 32 year actress looks older than Imran who himself is 29 now. In the end of the movie, when she hugs him, she looks like his didi patting him saying 'there, there...don't worry things will be fine". We had a much more credible pairing (older woman-younger man) in  Ranbir Kapoor & Konkana in the movie, "Wake up Sid".
Karan Johar's movies have candy, heart-shaped balloons, flowers, pink ribbons and a plot. In this movie you have all the paraphernalia, without a plot!
While watching this movie, I felt it was aimed at the youngest of the young adults. The best audience for this film would be someone in the age group of Darsheel Safary. Surely, not more than a 1.5 (or a 2 for Imran's restrained acting) on 5 for this silly movie.

Well, that was my young-adult journey in the last ten days.

Two books

Read two books, both interesting enough to allow me to complete in a week's time:

1. 'Honeymoon' by James Patterson  A 400-page fast-paced thriller which I completed in about 3 days. This was one of the books bought at the fair. I like Patterson's books but this book was a slight let-down with its flimsy plot

2. 'The White Tiger' by Aravind Adiga: I had been meaning to read this Booker for some time and finally was able to lay my hands on it. Took four days to complete this approx 280 page book.This is a dark and brooding novel (though not pessimistic) and portrays the true picture of the poor villagers in India. The story is told through the eyes of a villager who has that spark in him to turn into an entrepreneur. And the most striking feature of the novel is this: getting into the skin of the character to describe the way the world is seen through the narrator's eyes. For this, either the author must have lived in those villages or done a great deal of research to be able to give this perspective. Great book.

Good that I read this book which restored my faith in contemporary Indian writing. Had read 'The Suicide Banker' a while ago and had despaired...the book was more like a documentary on rural banking with some bizarre twists to the story and was such a yawn. It took me about three weeks to complete the thin volume.

Falling prey to the marketing strategies of today: a Rs. 135/- worth lesson

Look at the cover of the book and  the blurbs at the back. Make a note of your impressions from both.

If you agree with my first impression, I'd feel redeemed of deciding to buy the book based on these impressions. (Notice the 'National Best Seller' tag on top of the cover?)

My impressions from the cover was that the book is about the enthusiastic abandon which infuses the lives of the college-going youth. I felt it was a light and one time read. When you turn to the back of the book, it gives you glimpses of naughty-naughty happenings. (Eg: Have you ever experienced what happens when a porn movie is mistakenly played in front of your grandma and the CD player refuses to stop?). I can cope with such stuff... I thought. What I got instead was mind boggling to say the least. 

Two things ought to have warned me. The dedication of the book to all his family etc. "who always thought I was good-for nothing." Second, the title of the first chapter says '36-24-36.' This too didnt set the warning bells ringing.  It took me all of three pages to decide that this book was a bore. Yet, I plodded on as I didnt want to give up on a book on which I had spent my hard-earned money. 

I am not sure what language the book is written in? British English, US English, Indian English? Who is the intended reader? The grammar and punctuation pale in fright at being repeatedly assaulted and mutilated. Even the basic noun-verb agreement meets with a royal disdain. Lacking a command over the language, yet seeking to impress...so what does the author(?!) do? Right-click, substitute with bombastic sounding synonyms or perhaps words from the thesaurus which actually make you ROTFL with their absurd connotations. But of course, the author promised you a hilarious story in his gimmicky blurb, didn't he?

In the middle of the book, he turns a CB, envisaging the book turning into a super- hit movie. He holds all the pages in his hands and like the clerk at the post office, with a relentless frenzy starts stamping sex sex sex on each page. The moment a woman...any woman... appears on the scene, our hero is ogling, touching, kissing or having sex with her. When the maid was mentioned, I thought in my mind...not her! But then the hero spares none. And this despite having a steady girl friend. But then such trivial things don't stop our Casanova. In the middle of stamping sleaze all over the plot(?!), he perhaps realizes that a movie requires something more than sex, so the next is a murder, a suicide, a sacrifice... think of all the elements of a C-grade movie of the 80s and you have all the shit ( I didn't say it, it is the author). A good measure of gross thrown in as well... just in case, you know. To top it all, refer to the author's blog. The atrocious language, the chat lingo asking you to " Don't judge whether it is right or wrong, just keep your head by your side, and keep reading" I have definitely lost my head after reading this book.This is not all, at the end of his write-up he threatens ..." i will try my level best to entertain you in the future." To that,  all I can say is, "Oh Shit, Not Again!' 

Sleaze by any other name would smell equally awful.

Hyderabad Book Fair, December 2011

I must admit that for a self confessed book lover, I haven't been regularly visiting the book fairs in Hyderabad. A lack of awareness of when they are held also kept me from visiting them as often as I would like to. Well, yesterday I happened to visit the book fair at People's Plaza.
I walked to the place from the Necklace Road MMTS station, about a kilometer and half away. Taking the walk was a good idea as not only did it give the body the much needed physical exercise but also did away with the hassles of finding a parking slot for the vehicle.
Just outside the entrance, you have a few food stalls selling the 'chaat' stuff, coffee & tea. I passed over the temptation to have some tea as I was more eager to get lost in the vast ocean of joy that awaited me inside. The meager Rs. 5 charged towards the entrance ticket, is, I guess, more to keep a count of the number of visitors rather than actually charging you any.
The stalls were set up in a vast area. I haven't kept an exact count of the number of stalls but I did notice stalls numbered 170 onwards. My guess is that there were about 180 of them in all. There was tea and drinking water but no food stalls inside the premises.
What does the fair have to offer for the book lovers?

• Management books (most of them more popularly known as personality development or self help books) .
• Religious, spiritual books and CDs: (there was also the Nitayananda's stall, lol! )
• Books for the students: the regular sciences, GRE, TOEFL etc.
• Some of them had the kids' stuff like CDs/DVDs playing the rhymes, cartoons etc.
• A few stalls selling stationary
• For people like me who dig fiction, there definitely was much to offer as nearly 40 % of the stalls had the stuff.

Second hand books abounded with many of the popular titles being offered for as less as 50/-. The new ones had discounts of about 10%. But later I realized that we could bargain further there. A word of caution for the people who already are equipped with a list of new books that they want to buy. Don't! Flipkart offers it at much cheaper rates than the fair does. Second, do check the print inside before buying. Some of them are Indian reprints and the quality of print is poor. You get the original version in flipkart.

But for the second-hand stuff, if you are lucky, you land up with some really good picks. You just need to have the patience to delve through. The true book lover can get lost in this world as the look, touch and feel of the pages in his hands can give a heady feeling.

We have the Numaish exhibition in Hyderabad every year. The crowds jostling for space, the long ques for tickets had put me off. To compare, the crowds here are no where as thick as the ones at Numaish, yet what's redeeming is that there were crowds. There were kids, of course and grown ups mostly 30 years upwards. There were very few of people in their 20s buying the real stuff (that is apart from the study material). I almost felt like hugging one such young girl who was seriously browsing through the novels...real novels and not just some chick-lits. There is still hope for the continuing of the culture of book reading, I thought.
There was also quite a handful of Telugu literature.Though I don't have an in-depth knowledge of Telugu literature, I recognized some reputed names in the old world of Telugu fiction/ poetry by Sri Sri, Chalam, Yendamuri, Ranganaykamma... Telugu children's books were there but I wonder how many of our kids have even heard of the Budugu books. I heard some of the kids clamoring for 'Cinderella' books though. I also found few of the famous English novels translated into Telugu.There were a couple of stalls selling Hindi literature too.
I felt quite heady in this environment which was breathing and living books. The sight of so many books, the sound of books being discussed...

I made a very conservative purchase of two books : Ken Follet: 'A Place called freedom' and James Patterson: 'Honeymoon' Safe buys both...known authors, bestsellers.
'Roots' by Alex Haley has been my favorite and I had read it when in my college. Since then I had wanted to possess the book. When I saw this book, all discretion set aside, I went ahead to buy the book for 300/- ( I found out later, available cheaper in flipkart). The fourth book was a book which had the feel of a junk-read. 'Oh Shit, Not Again!' By Mandar Kokate: unknown author, unknown book...what you buy as 'what- the- heck' kind of novelette. Will find out when I read but for Rs.130 for a new book, it is ok, I guess!
Though far from being satiated, nevertheless, the possession of new books in hand is invigorating.
The foodie refuses to remain quelled even in a blog about books. Well, so here's to that foodie:
I visited Water Front at the end of my experience. As I stepped in, it was so dark that I almost couldn't see my way around. As I was one of the earlier ones to arrive, I got a place by the lake-view which I admit, was awesome. The ambiance of the place, the view, the prices in the menu, everything was superlative! Though I had to read the menu by my mobile torch, lol! The vegetarian curries start at Rs. 250. There is a section of Thai and also cocktails and mock tails (160/-)
As I was in a bit of hurry to catch my train back, I didn't order for anything exotic or elaborate. Also the fact that I was alone and would not be able to down the regular order of North Indian fare without getting some of it packed. Ordered a simple Hakka noodle ( 253/- with taxes) which was good in taste, decent fill per plate. May reserve this one to visit with the family for a leisurely visit later as I have read good reviews of this.

My companion for life

When you sit to write about a topic you are deeply passionate about, where do you begin? There seems to be so much to write about.Well, I talk about something that fascinates me...books! Just as a foodie salivates at the thought of eating, so does my mind at the idea of reading. The mind immediately conjures images of rows and rows of books of varied thickness, different writers, different genres of writing! My secret fantasy is to remain locked inside huge book stores like the Crossword, Odyssey etc. and lie sprawled amongst all those books...all mine and keep reading and reading. I don’t think I’d be tired of the activity ever.

Where did this journey begin? I have no recollection. The farthest that I can throw my mind back is to reading the Chandmamas when I must be 7-8 years of age . We kids not only read those interesting stories but also remembered the names of the artists who used to so painstakingly paint each of those pictures within. Gradually, that interest spread to comics. The Amar Chitra Kathas were devoured with gusto even before they lost their new smell. This time it was not only the artist but details like printer, publisher…all were memorized!

There is an interesting story about our reading the Amar Chitra Kathas. For our vacation, being in Rourkela, we had a long distance to travel to our native in AP. We had no other means of travel other than the Bokaro Express. The berths used to be made of wooden planks. 'Bedding' consisting of bed sheets for us all was one of the regular features of travel. We kids weren’t fazed by the hard berths or the long 24- hour travel because at the beginning of our journey, we were each given a rupee and asked to go and buy a book each. Three comic books amongst the three of us! Those books were read and quickly exchanged and exhausted before the end of the journey. A little later when I was in my teens, we had the Konark Express and imagine what! It had a built-in library where you could keep borrowing books throughout your journey. That sure made the travel tremendously exciting!

Well, the appetite was whetted and then there was the fact that we lived in the Steel Township and as any township is, we were a close group, socializing across languages and cultures. The movie halls numbered only 4 in all for a population of about 4 lakh! So one can imagine the interest that the people had for movies. Moreover movies were considered ‘bad'. Only selected movies, and that too only after passing parents' certification, were allowed to be watched. But I don’t recall ever longing to watch movies. Perhaps 2-3 movies in a year were all we watched. Well, I seem to digress...the point I am trying to make is that with no other source of entertainment (no TVs those days either) all that we kids were left with were those HUGE playgrounds to play on (quite enviable and unimaginable for the kids of metros these days) and books to read. Most of us were voracious readers and none of the township parents had dispensable income those days. The books were therefore preciously preserved and then exchanged for more with neighbors and friends.  And most of the time, they would find a way back to the owner though a little dog-eared. There were some fights over the condition of books, I remember, if returned torn.

The first few baby steps with the Amar Chitra kathas led to Archie’s, Tintin, Phantom and then my first novel—of course, Enid Blyton—the blue dragon, the green dragon, the yellow and then the red series indicating that that particular Enid Blyton was for the elder kids. Hardy Boys followed, and then Nancy drew. Perry Mason, Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Hailey, and who can forget the most important book for the teenage girl—the Mills & Boons series... we girls used to be hopelessly lost and come out starry-eyed after reading those Mills & Boons. The classics were not spared with the reading of Emily Bronte, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Somerset Maugham, Pearl.S.Buck and then later 'adult' books like Harold Robbins, Sidney Sheldon. The passion for reading was such that the newspaper that the samosa- seller used to wrap the samosas in wasn’t thrown away until we ensured that there really wasn’t anything worth reading on it.

In the later years, I read Taslima Nasrin, Kushwant Singh, John Grisham, Salman Rushdie and even Shobbaa De (!!!)

The books that have made an impact are:
1, The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy
2. Roots by Alex Hailey
3. The Good Earth by Pearl.S.Buck
4. The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum
5. Carpetbaggers By Harold Robbins

After marriage I was again in a small township with its own infrastructure and you guessed it… with its own well -equipped library! For someone as passionate about reading as I, that was a God-sent gift. My job required me to travel 3 kms and with no traffic, a 10 min drive. If I left home at 8 am, I was back by 4:30 pm. And that left me plenty of time to read…at least one novel a week.

In Hyderabad, I travel 60 kms each day to and from work taking around 4 1/2 hours to travel and very little time to read and enjoy books like I used to. And for the first time in my life I am distanced from a regular supply of books from a library. Human beings adapt and that’s what I did too.Books were replaced by online reading. All the classics are available online and that’s how I finished reading ALL short stories and novels written by my favorite author— the inimitable PG Wodehouse!

These days I have discovered the world of blogs and find many interesting blogs to read...each of them displaying such different genres of writing. The skewed laptop screen has replaced the book in bed and I curl up with it now reading all those blogs.The medium has changed but the habit stays on...hopefully never to be cured. :)

PS:I still have with me all those Amar Chitra Kathas  read in my childhood. :)

The Taxidermist and other Telugu stories

I was brought up in Orissa and had the advantage of learning four languages: English from school, Hindi from surroundings, Telugu at home and Oriya from the domestic help and as part of learning third language at school.

My parents were very much in favor of our learning and speaking the MT at home. In the course, we were taught how to read and write the language. The Telugu guide called 'Pedda Bala Siksha' was considered a Bible and each day we were asked to learn a part of it...it could be names of months of Hindu calender, the alphabet, numbers...all this and more. Strict punishment awaited the one who could not memorize and recite the same to father when he asked.

The learning was reinforced through buying of the monthly magazine for children, the Telugu 'Chandamamas'. Always hungry for stories, we kids used to look forward patiently to the issue every month and greedily lap up the contents. By this process, the MT got reinforced in the most delightful way.

The flip side was that a knowledge of the language when combined with an appetite for stories finds no stopping. The next target were the Telugu weeklies that my mom used to get at home. I remember her subscribing to three Telugu weeklies called the Andhra Jyothi, Andhra Prabha, Andhra Patrika and a monthly one called Yuva. We as kids were forbidden from touching the 'adult' magazines. My very obedient brothers never dared defy the orders but I being the rebel in the family, used to read the magazines on the sly. It was a wonderful world that had opened up for me through those magazines. There were serials, short stories, a mini novel (with Yuva), most of them containing the forbidden and banned 4 letter word 'LOVE'.

I was exposed to the world of love stories, one of which I remember as 'Prema lekhkalu'(love letters) by Sulochana Rani which was later made into a movie. I also remember the outrageous 'Maidanam' written by Chalam.Perhaps these unknowingly sowed seeds of awareness of the rights of a woman. Chalam advocated the thought that a woman has a mind , a body and a heart and these deserve the right to choose and be free. In the society which is still highly prejudiced against women, these thoughts were surely very rebellious in those times.

Also one of the short stories read in those days was one called 'The Taxidermist' about a set of parents wherein the husband plans the career path of his two kids, saying that the son would become this after growing up and the daughter that. I don't remember the exact details of the short story but I remember how much of an impact it made on my mind. At an age where I was not too good with difficult words in English, I was exposed to the word taxidermist and had to look up the dictionary to find out its meaning. In the story, the wife laments as to how the husband gradually brainwashes his children to give up what they are passionate about and to walk on the path which he chooses for them. Taxidermy, I came to know is the art of carving out the insides of the animal and re stuffing them to give them a life-like appearance and mount them for display.

The philosophy enunciated above finds its substantiation in Chalam's philosophy which finds a mention in Wiki.
1. He believed that the barriers created by the society precluded love and mutual understanding from human relationships.
2. In a society that believed in the children being indebted to their parents, he proclaimed caring for and bringing up of children as the fundamental duty as parents.
3. He was widely shunned during his times especially for his advocacy of women’s rights and his total rejection of the family system.

To this day, I don't regret reading those Telugu magazines. On the other hand, I am grateful to the awareness that they brought me. I learnt what I as a woman am and what I am capable of.
Thank you, Telugu literature!

Khushwant on life, death & happiness

As said in an earlier post, I do really love this guy and here is one of his articles. I dont think I am even remotely qualified to pass a judgment on his writing. Yet, cant help say that he has proved to be so articulate once again:

Death is rarely spoken about in our homes. I wonder why. Especially when each one of us knows that death has to come, has to strike. It’s inevitable. This line from Yas Yagana Changezi says it best: Khuda mein shak ho to ho, maut mein nahin koi shak (You may or may not doubt the existence of God, you can’t doubt the certainty of death). And one must prepare oneself to face it.
At 95, I do think of death. I think of death very often but I don’t lose sleep over it. I think of those gone; keep wondering where they are. Where have they gone? Where will they be? I don’t know the answers: where you go, what happens next. To quote Omar Khayyam,

“Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing...”

and,

“There was a Door to which I found no Key
There was a Veil through which I could not see
Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
There seemed—and then no more of Thee and Me.”

I once asked the Dalai Lama how one should face death and he had advised meditation. I’m not scared of death; I do not fear it. Death is inevitable. While I have thought about it a lot, I don’t brood about it. I’m prepared for it. As Asadullah Khan Ghalib has so aptly put it,

“Rau mein hai raksh-e-umar kahaan dekhiye thhamey
Nai haath baag par hai na pa hai rakaab mein
(Age travels at galloping pace; who knows where it will stop
We do not have the reins in our hands nor our feet in the stirrups).”

All my contemporaries—whether here or in England or in Pakistan—they’re all gone. I don’t know where I’ll be in a year or two. I don’t fear death. What I dread is the day I go blind or am incapacitated because of old age—that’s what I fear—I’d rather die than live in that condition. I’m a burden enough on my daughter Mala and don’t want to be an extra burden on her.
All that I hope for is that when death comes to me, it comes swiftly, without much pain, like fading away in sound slumber. Till then I’ll keep working and living each day as it comes. There’s so much left to do. I have to content myself by saying these lines of Iqbal:

“Baagh-e-bahisht se mujhe hukm-e-safar diya tha kyon?
Kaar-e-Jahaan daraaz hai, ab mera intezaar kar
(Why did you order me out of the garden of paradise? I have a lot left to do; now you wait for me).”

So I often tell Bade Mian, as I refer to him, from time to time, that he’s got to wait for me as I still have work to complete.
I believe in these lines of Tennyson:

“Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea...
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness or farewell,
When I embark.”

I believe in the Jain philosophy that death ought to be celebrated. Earlier, whenever I was upset or low, I used to go to the cremation grounds. It has a cleansing effect, and worked like a therapy for me. In fact, I’d written my own epitaph years ago:

“Here lies one who spared neither man nor God
Waste not your tears on him, he was a sod
Writing nasty things he regarded as great fun
Thank the Lord he is dead, this son of a gun.”

                    
        I hope that when death comes to me, it comes swiftly, without much pain, like fading away in sound slumber.         
                    
I had even written my own obit in 1943 when I was still in my twenties. It later appeared in a collection of short stories, titled ‘Posthumous’. In the piece, I had imagined The Tribune announcing the news of my death on its front page with a small photograph. The headline would read: ‘Sardar Khushwant Singh Dead’. And then, in somewhat smaller print:

‘We regret to announce the sudden death of Sardar Khushwant Singh at 6 pm last evening. He leaves behind a young widow, two infant children and a large number of friends and admirers. Amongst those who called at the late sardar’s residence were the PA to the chief justice, several ministers, and judges of the high court.’

I had to cope with death when I lost my wife. Being an agnostic, I could not find solace in religious rituals. Being essentially a loner, I discouraged friends and relatives from coming to condole with me. I spent the first night alone sitting in my chair in the dark. At times, I broke down, but soon recovered my composure. A couple of days later, I resumed my usual routine, working from dawn to dusk. That took my mind off the stark reality of having to live alone in an empty home for the rest of my days. When friends persisted in calling and upsetting my equilibrium, I packed myself off to Goa to be by myself.

I used to be keen on a burial because with a burial you give back to the earth what you have taken. Now, it will be the electric crematorium. I had requested the management of the Bahai faith if I could be buried. Initially, they had agreed, but then they came up with all sorts of conditions and rules. I had wanted to be buried in one corner with just a peepal tree next to my grave. After okaying this, the management later said that that wouldn’t be possible and that my grave would be in the middle of a row and not in a corner. I wasn’t okay with that—even though I know that once you are dead it makes no difference. But I was keen to be buried in one corner. They also told me later that they would chant some prayers, which again I couldn’t agree with, because I don’t believe in religion or in religious rituals of any kind.
Though I’m quite fit, I know I don’t have much time left. I’m coming to terms with death, preparing myself. And since I have no faith in God, nor in the day of judgement, nor in the theory of reincarnation, I have to come to terms with the complete full stop. I have been criticised for not sparing even the dead, but then death does not sanctify a person, and if I find the person had been corrupt, I write about it even when he’s gone.

I don’t believe in rebirth or in reincarnation, in the day of judgement or in heaven or hell. I accept the finality of death. We do not know what happens to us after we die but one should help a person go in peace—at peace with himself and with the world.
I’ve lived a reasonably contented life. I’ve often thought about what it is that makes people happy—what one has to do in order to achieve happiness.

First and foremost is good health. If you do not enjoy good health, you can never be happy. Any ailment, however trivial, will deduct something from your happiness.

Second, a healthy bank balance. It need not run into crores, but it should be enough to provide for comforts, and there should be something to spare for recreation—eating out, going to the movies, travel and holidays in the hills or by the sea. Shortage of money can be demoralising. Living on credit or borrowing is demeaning and lowers one in one’s own eyes.

Third, your own home. Rented places can never give you the comfort or security of a home that is yours for keeps. If it has garden space, all the better. Plant your own trees and flowers, see them grow and blossom, and cultivate a sense of kinship with them.

Fourth, an understanding companion, be it your spouse or a friend. If you have too many misunderstandings, it robs you of your peace of mind. It is better to be divorced than to be quarrelling all the time.

Fifth, stop envying those who have done better than you in life—risen higher, made more money, or earned more fame. Envy can be corroding; avoid comparing yourself with others.
Sixth, do not allow people to descend on you for gup-shup. By the time you get rid of them, you will feel exhausted and poisoned by their gossip-mongering.  
                    
Seventh, cultivate a hobby or two that will fulfil you—gardening, reading, writing, painting, playing or listening to music. Going to clubs or parties to get free drinks, or to meet celebrities, is a criminal waste of time. It’s important to concentrate on something that keeps you occupied meaningfully. I have family members and friends who spend their entire day caring for stray dogs, giving them food and medicines. There are others who run mobile clinics, treating sick people and animals free of charge.

Eighth, every morning and evening devote 15 minutes to introspection. In the mornings, 10 minutes should be spent in keeping the mind absolutely still, and five listing the things you have to do that day. In the evenings, five minutes should be set aside to keep the mind still and 10 to go over the tasks you had intended to do.

Ninth, don’t lose your temper. Try not to be short-tempered, or vengeful. Even when a friend has been rude, just move on.
Above all, when the time comes to go, one should go like a man without any regret or grievance against anyone. Iqbal said it beautifully in a couplet in Persian: “You ask me about the signs of a man of faith? When death comes to him, he has a smile on his lips.”

(Excerpted from the forthcoming Absolute Khushwant: The Low-Down on Life, Death & Most Things In-Between (Penguin). The book will be launched on August 16.)

A day well-spent (and money too)

As planned, I set out today for the bank. I was instructed by the pea-brained call center executive that if I needed to close my FD which matured on the 3rd of April, it could be done only by visiting that particular branch. I drove all the way driving a total of 36 kms today.
I started out at around 11:45 am. Luckily, the weather was quite good after the showers on Tuesday night. When I reached the 4th fly-over on SP road, I was very pleased to see that the narrow flyover had doubled its space. The two lanes had merged into one and there was a new road running parallel which was for the incoming traffic. This gave one of the oldest flyovers in Hyderabad the much needed respite from the heavy traffic. I often used to wonder how that old bridge (it cannot be called a fly- over) could stand the load of the heavy traffic!
After crossing, there was the new Punjagutta flyover, the longest flyover in Hyderabad. I am sure that this new flyover is the Hyderabadi driver’s delight. I guess it is around 1 ½ kms and is quite empty. Driving at 60kmph in Hyderabad IS an experience by itself. At that speed, I only had to be careful on the numerous twists and turns on the long flyover. This flyover ended at the Chutneys at Punjagutta. Crossed this, still maintaining a speed of 40+ and reached the bank at Jubilee hills.
Had a very pleasant experience with the lady executive there who was quite polite and patient. There were two things: one, I had to close my FD and get it transferred to my savings account. Second, because this branch was so far from my house, I had to transfer that account to the one closer to my house. But to my dismay, I found that the account transfer is actually as good as getting a new account…not to speak of the loans whose EMIs were linked to my savings account. I also spoke to the loan accounts guy about the procedure but he wasn’t too helpful with the information. Miffed, I marched straight to the Branch Manager’s (Uday’s) room. He gave me all the required information. And when I asked him about a locker facility, he said that there was no point in having a locker at Jubilee hills which was so far from my home. He called up the Manager (Nitin) at Habsiguda branch and spoke of getting me a locker! Though the trip was actually wasted because neither did I get my FD closed nor the account transferred, what was not expected was getting a locker! I was astounded to say the least. Getting a locker in a bank in Hyderabad and that too in the heart of the city was unheard of!
I was feeling quite liberated as I had no pressure of time and therefore when I came out of the bank, I went to a second- hand, road- side book shop and got myself two books. One, ‘The three mistakes of my life’ by Chetan Bhagat; Two, ‘Blindsight’ by Robin Cook.
Bargained but didn’t get much off. Yet, Rs.150 for the two books was quite a steal. When I set out from home, I had actually thought of buying myself a white Chikan kurta. But already having spent 150, I put that plan on hold. Going to Punjagutta and not eating at Chutneys was unthinkable. But as I was returning, I eyed the KFC opposite LV Prasad eye hospital. I immediately put a brake to my scooter. I was hesitant to take the long U-turn and therefore went inside the hospital to park my scooter, crossed the road on foot and went straight to the new Cinemax to see if there were any movies. Thought of seeing a movie on the spur. But the only movie that was screened around 3 pm was 8x10 Tasveer.. .too scared to try it, I gave it a miss and went into the complex to try out the food there. When I saw KFC, I also saw a food complex separated from KFC called Rhapsody. It had 6 eateries inside and when the Chaat Bhandaar caught my eye, I gave a miss to the rest and bought myself a coupon for a Chat Combo consisting of Tikki Ragda, Dahi Puri and a Coke. Cost me Rs 106. Wasn’t anything great or special or different from a road side eatery…except perhaps the hygiene of the place.
My brother called me towards the end of the meal congratulating me on the take over of Satyam. I assured him that that’s why I was celebrating today as I don’t know if and when the next salary would come.
After this, I again set out, feeling immensely sad at giving the favorite Chutneys a miss…again back on another new flyover and the wide SP road.
I went straight past my home to go to Habsiguda branch of the bank. Saw to the left on the Tarnaka flyover and was surprised to see a BIG Bazaar! I thought Tarnaka too is wakening up to commercial prospects! Went to the Habsiguda branch and spoke about the locker brandishing Uday’s business card authoritatively as though I knew him well. It seems I am a ‘good’ customer with a good record and therefore, I am eligible for a locker. When I was skeptical if I could get a locker without an account, I was told that lockers were given based on relationships! I don’t know what relationship I had but whatever…the Habsiguda branch manager , Nitin, wasn’t there but another lady officer took my details and called me within 40 minutes to assure me that she had spoken to Nitin and that I could come on a Saturday and get my locker ! I nearly jumped with joy at this confirmation.
Meanwhile, as I came out of the branch, I saw Café Coffee Day and thought why not add to the reckless mood I was in and splurge a little more. Went in to order cold Café Frappe @ Rs 61. I don’t know how they get the exact taste of coffee which isn’t too strong or too weak with a blend of vanilla ice cream. They got it just right…not too much ice cream or coffee. With this final binge of spending, I returned home satisfied at having explored beyond my usual 5kms radius. (Yeah, one liter of petrol lasts a month for me usually…)
I don’t regret the money spent today when it gives me a good high at spending after a long time on food and books. As far as time is concerned anyways, I have plenty on hands!

Learning happenes anywhere

One of the days last week, I had to go to the office a little early in the morning. It was before 8 in the morning and as I drove, I took a U-Turn under the flyover. Just at the bend, I saw a road sweeper, pause his work, the wheel- barrow resting beside him, the long-handled broom leaning against it. He was sitting sprawled on the road reading the regional newspaper spread on the road.
A simple scene but it left me feeling deeply touched to see learning happening amidst the dust and dirt on the road. Even if it is a drop, it still makes the ocean richer by that drop…

We are reflected in others

I am currently reading a book "The Zahir" by Paulo Coelho. The following is an excerpt from the book. I felt somehow stirred when I read this. The following conversation is between the author and the lady in his life. A very simple but deeply thought-provoking dialog.

"Let's suppose that two firemen go into a forest to put out a small fire. Afterwards when they emerge and go over to a stream, the face of one of them is all smeared with black while the other man's face is completely clean. Which of the two will wash his face?"
"That's a silly question. The one with the dirty face, of course."
"No, the on with the dirty face will look at the other man and assume that he looks like him. And vice versa. The man with the clean face will see his colleague covered in grime and say to himself, "I must be dirty too. I`d better have a wash."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I am saying that I was looking for myself in the women I loved. I looked at their lovely clean faces and saw myself reflected in them. They, on the other hand, looked at me and saw the dirt on my face and however intelligent or self-confident they were, they ended up seeing themselves reflected in me and thinking that they were worse than they were. Please don't let this happen to you."

Khushwant Singh-- I adore you!

Khushwant Singh: We grew with this man. Those were the days of glorious periodicals, namely, ‘The Illustrated Weekly.’ Unfortunately, many of those weeklies have fallen by the side. And along with the decline of magazines, we have lost potential compositions of many of our erudite writers.
Thankfully, Khushwant still writes. Every Sunday, I eagerly turn towards the column 'With Malice towards one and all’… the one column that I have been faithfully reading for all these decades. The acid pen hasn’t changed one bit.
Being born in 1915 makes him 93 now. When I feel lazy about typing these 200-300 words in my blog…I wonder how this person who continues to write by hand day after day all these years is a source of inspiration to us all. I admire his spunk and his tongue- in- cheek comments on the social issues in India.
Second, I like his open admiration of women. He was known to have had his fair share of 'friendships’ those days. His pen continues to sing praises of the fairer sex.
Frail of body but not of mind!