Reading in difficult times

 One has to admit that reading is a highly inclusive and individual activity which cuts one off from the immediate environs and of course the world outside. While it is a worthy and much commended activity, it also reeks of privilege and a certain 'social uppity.' I realised this the past year and pretty much this year too. I could not read! I could not allow myself to wander and get lost in the pages of a book. It felt snobbish and unkind. I did not read much. Every time I had allowed my self to open a book, I had to close it after a few pages. A disclaimer here: I did admire those who could read and complete books during these grim times and I do not intend to cast aspersions on them. 

For me, it felt heavy to relax with a book and complete it. If I did pick up a book, I took lot of time to turn the pages and sometimes body fatigue got the better of me. Go to see, reading is definitely an act of privilege - that one could cocoon oneself with a book sans care, sans time and sans many aspects stands testament to that. Here I am not even including the privilege of education, ability to possess and borrow books and afford the luxury of knowing good books. 

In spite of all the privileges and sense of escape that books offer, I could not see myself as anyone else but one who loves a good read. I have read through sickness, through my doctoral journey, my heartbreaks, my anger, my feelings of being incompetent and many other such predicaments. But all these also do not prevent me from seeing the point that books are meant for a time - every time cannot be reading time. Of course, there might be many who would argue otherwise but this deliberation belongs to me and how I see them. 

The last two years (Beginning 2020 March) has been particularly difficult for me in terms of reading. I haven't been reading as much as I would have liked to but I do pick up an occasional book only to crawl through the pages rather unwillingly. There are times when I would want to lose myself and shut the world off deliberately and hence I read. Sometimes I read because I start panicking whether I would lose my love of the written word and therefore I shouldn't keep away too long from reading. But could one forget to read, I wonder. Common sense says 'no' but my inner compass admonishes me.

Of late, I forced myself to pick up Albert Camus' The Plague - a fitting volume for the present day and time. And after long, the book engaged me enough that I did not put it away. After all, it's a mirror to the times that we are living. It is unputdownable for the reason that Camus seems to have imagined every single aspect of the pandemic in great detail. Every situation and sentiment in the book made me think of the present day predicament and it has been captured so well. Nothing goes unpredictable. Every single thought that has been described by the narrator has oft covered my mind - the feeling of exile, the thought that this phase is temporary, the despair of not being able to travel, the longing to connect to a loved one far away - it’s so eerily similar that I started feeling that if even one of our political leaders had read this book, they would’ve been able to understand the workings of how to handle an epidemic.

I’ve still not completed the volume but whatever I have read is enough to write this. I forgot to add - this book was picked up when we were in the midst of a power cut which lasted for 63 hours.

Has the pandemic altered your reading habits?

The curiosity that was Perumal Murugan

Ever since news of Tamil author Perumal Murugan flashed the internet, I was curious to read and probe as to what provoked the saffron brigade. I finally ordered my copy of One Part Woman and keeping aside The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, I started yet another journey into a different historical time and space. It was soothingly familiar as I identified largely with the local lingo, peculiarities and cultural nuances found in the book. Needless to say, it was a stark contrast to cold, pale and distant Japan. Inspite of having completed a good number of pages, TWUBC  is still to ''wind my spring" (a phrase from Norwegian Wood).

Murugan's story is that of Pona and Kali, a childless couple who are sexually and emotionally quite compatible with each other. They have a strong desire to have a child and not being able to bear one drives them to intense anguish and pain. The story is set in Tiruchengode and in the pages, mention of various temples, deities and other cultural markers are liberally strewn. I completed reading the book rather quickly and to my amazement, I was quite engrossed in the story that I forgot to notice the red signals that might have provoked the touch-me-nots. I tried recollecting portions from the book that created such a furore that made Perumal Murugan swear never to write again. What a waste of talent! I then furiously started hunting Google pages to read up on the various incidents that coloured Tamil Nadu after the release of this book. I finally found that the touch-me-nots were incensed by one practise that Murugan has mentioned in his book. I quote from the blurb for better clarity -

"their hopes come to converge on the chariot festival in the temple of Ardhanareeswara, the half-female god. Everything hinges on the one night when rules are relaxed and consensual union between any man and woman is sanctioned. This night could end the couple's suffering and humiliation. But it will also put their marriage to the ultimate test."

The touch-me-nots imagined that Murugan had interpreted the practise in a manner that defiled the religious intentions of certain groups. Well, Murugan is not only a writer but also a teacher of Tamil who has done extensive research on the topic before writing the novel but alas! all that did not matter. What mattered was the 'sexual union' which was depicted as part of the ritual. If set in a modern context sans the deities and temples, the practise would resemble an orgy of sorts where coupling with strange people is part of the whole fun or perhaps a disco which is another refined form of an orgy albeit in a slightly different set-up or perhaps swapping partners for benefit. One can actually try placing certain age-old customs and rituals in today's context of course, with a different set-up. Kali and Pona could easily be a couple who are working in a software company and after twelve years of childless marriage decide to experiment in order to bear children. These and few other parallels were colouring my mind as I traversed through the lives of Pona and Kali.  


On another note, I am glad that the book was banned, otherwise people like me, though belong to Tamil Nadu would have never heard or read a gem like Perumal Murugan (the angst of not being able to read in Tamil is another story for another post!). I have missed reading another banned book, The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie who is another writer who courts controversies much like young models and actresses! Maybe I will soon start a club with the abbreviation BBC (Banned Books Club) and when I do, I will sure put up an invitation for you to join.

Have you read any banned book? Do share your experience.
 

A heady concoction of cricket, politics, quantum physics sprinkled with an abundance of thrill

While the BB pins were doing the rounds in Facebook, another BB kept me engrossed on tenterhooks. The reference is to Suraj Clark Prasad's debut work of fiction, Baramulla Bomber. Starting to read the book, I thought that the figures and scientific explanations would impediment my interest in the flow of the narrative but I was proved wrong. Prasad's narrative is taut and keeps the reader's inquisitiveness alive as he guides us through the story. 

An illustration from the book

A map showing the location of action

Many readers have already written about the racy style of Prasad's resembling that of Dan Brown's and they cannot be truer. The story which is a heady concoction of politics, cricket, quantum physics added to a love story, involves many sub-plots which finally merge together in the main plot making the reader wonder and wander.

The cover page of the novel

What strikes me about the book is the additional information that is meticulously put together by Prasad at the end of the book. He provides links, articles and various trivia associated with names, incidents and places. The hungry reader who strives to dig deeper into some of the mentions in the book is greatly satiated by the information and being curious, I even looked up some links which enabled me to appreciate the research done by Prasad.

Kashmir, Pakistan and China are some of the places that have never ceased to intrigue the minds of discerning citizens of India and Prasad very tactfully spins his tale around these places alongside adding an exotic Sweden to the ring of operations. The development of the characters, the advancement of the plot and the minute details of various happenings capture the attention of the reader and ensure that the momentum remains the same throughout the course of the novel.

Clark mentions in his book that BB is the first in the Svastik trilogy and the readers who have gotten a taste of BB, I'm sure are awaiting his second and third books. 

Suraj Clark Prasad

Do you remember your WORDS?

Burying myself in the watery landscape of Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide, I lift my head to wonder when Piya asks a question, "How words are lost?" The line, for a moment, tore me away from the tides and made me ask myself, "How do we remember words and how do they inhabit us?" The question has been rising up and down in the undulating terrains of my mindscape much like the tides in Gosh's novel. I wonder when the word, 'scintillating' find root in me or when did I caress the word, 'reverie?' Books? Perhaps. Teachers who sprinkled their lessons with lovely-sounding exotic words? Maybe. Newpapers, magazines, TV, blogs - Gosh, I wonder how each of this medium has made way for a new word to enter and dwell in my system.

Sometimes I wonder if I was cut into two, how many words would tumble out and wriggle free from the thoughts and memories. The idea thrills me. But the thrill soon disappears when I think of the million words that haven't met me. No matter how much I try, my vocabulary will still be wanting. I try hard to recollect the time when I liked to pronounce words which sounded lovely to hear - sen-su-ous, dil-ly-da-lly, bour-geois, . . . I can go on with words as these. I remember the times when writers always added an extra dash of beautiful words in their works of art. I had to curb myself from running to the dictionary to find the meaning of a word that was lost to me. I never did go to the dictionary. I tried to decipher the meaning by myself by reading and reading the lines. Most of the times, the meaning unfurled without any fuss but then how will I remember that beautiful word in the future. Will I be able to use the same when I write or talk? Then in a casual conversation, the word gingerly drops itself in an appropriate conversation. I am aware of what I has just uttered. I ask myself: "Really?" I smile at the knowledge that the word had somehow taken to me and has decided to grace my language with its presence. What more? The word makes its presence felt and in some cases, for the word to be used the situation is created. It's not long before the word has built a permanent residence in me. Then the romance fades. It becomes another word in my vocabulary.

Like the smell of blood alerts the senses of a Bengal tiger, a new word lurks somewhere there, waiting for me to attack and relish it. I read a blog - the blogger has used a fantastic word. Like the previous times, the word is new, fresh and sounds good to pronounce as well. I flirt, cajole, and before long the word is nestled in the safe havens of the mindscape.

But then, as Piya remarks, words can be lost as well. Some words don't get flushed off the system that easily and those are the ones that has appeared in various parts of the chronological self - memories, nostalgia, letters, conversations, speeches and lectures. But there are the other words - which just disappear. What is that word for that wee opening? Crevice? Oriface or Orifice? Strange how words are remembered and forgotten like incidents that are vague - ones whose smells are remembered but people forgotten.

Do words have an independent existence apart myself. Of course, not. Words cannot be on their own except for a receptacle like me or you or a book or a blog. Words are parasites that mingle freely with our existence. They are parasites in a nice way, maybe not always. There are times when we can wriggle ourselves free of those words by choosing silence, once in a while.

But they say, even silence is a language. Now, I don't remember when along with words, I also learnt to embrace silence. Perhaps another post maybe.

Do you remember how words came to inhabit you?

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

In retrospect: It All started with Europa

In spite of scoring good marks in History while at school, I was not a great fan of the subject. Why? My History teacher! All that I remember of him is the way he used to quiz us on dates (years, of course) which would eventually be followed by caning if we gave the wrong answer. Now I got the most canings. I could not remember the dates with exception to the ones experienced by me!

Now why this sudden talk of history, you would wonder. It all started when a blogger friend requested me to get two books from Belfast, out of which one was It all started with Europa by Richard Armour. Just flipping pages to browse through, I found myself reading from cover to cover. What a way to record history! If only I had been taught history this way, I would have never got caning and would have remembered every single detail.

It all started with Europa by Richard Armour

Armour employs liberal dosages of pun, satire, humour, wit and irony to describe people and events; This makes the otherwise dry and mundane details worth remembering. Back in my school days, studying the causes and impact of World Wars I and II were excruciating as there were so many details involved. I tried quickly reading on World Wars I and II in Armour's book and as you guessed, I was thrilled to bits by the manner in which he describes the two wars.

I was left wondering as to how good a history teacher Armour would make. And I can bet that everyone who read the book would have thought along the same lines. 

I am delighted to quote some lines from the book so that you could get a feel of what the book is like.

Other Great Greeks (Pg 17)

Not all the Greeks were sculptors and philosophers. . . . Yet another was Damocles, who walked around with a sword suspended over his head. (The suspense was terrible.)

The Legacy of Greek (Pg 18)

We are indebted to the Greeks for Greek theaters, Greek fraternities, Greek restaurants, and such Memorable Expressions as "It's all Greek to me."

Italian Patriots (Pg 94)

The most colourful character in the struggle for unification was Gary Baldy, an Italian general who suffered from a receding hairline.

I would gladly give many quotes but I stop here as I would like you to read the book sometime when you have access to it.

Finally some excerpts from the last page 'About the Author':

Richard Armour is one man, although he seems to be atleast three. . . . A Californian, Dr. Armour is now Professor of English at Scripps College and the Claremont Graduate School. He has, as he says, two costumes, "cap and gown and cap and bells."

Book picture courtesy: Amazon.com