tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83123679595826840862024-03-13T14:32:18.342-07:00Thunderstorms in a glass caseFor now, this blog's been turned into a collection of columns I wrote for my paper, on subjects ranging from love, marriage, philosophy, to gender equality and a borderless world...and books, books, loads of books!!Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-27726094473923513142015-05-24T09:16:00.001-07:002015-05-25T03:58:50.953-07:00Do you want to die? Not if Mr De Grey Has His Way!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jg2-sbL4dSQ/VWH49BZfc4I/AAAAAAAAAkY/q1Hwiww0BYc/s1600/death%2Bdance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jg2-sbL4dSQ/VWH49BZfc4I/AAAAAAAAAkY/q1Hwiww0BYc/s320/death%2Bdance.jpg" width="296" /></a>About 10 minutes ago, I read an article on a scientific quest for immortality. It's about one Aubrey David Nicholas Jasper De Grey, "a gerontologist and co-author of Ending Aging" --I'm quoting straight from the article--who seems to think he can give us the secret to glorious immortality (insert evil sounding manic laughter).<br />
Well,not quite that way, but a rather sci-fi kind of method by which he would develop "therapies for various kinds of damage" in the human body and his SENS Research Foundation (please get your facts and stuff from Wiki. I'm not doing your dirty work) is actually working toward "changing the genetic composition of people who are already alive" ---which somehow sounds like an effort to change us all into BT Brinjal--and so people who will be healthy will stay younger longer and, naturally, stay alive that much longer.<br />
The gist of the whole long-winded interview is that this man thinks that stopping or delaying ageing will mean a corresponding delay in death. Naturally, because I lost the healthiest, tallest, strappingest, fittest and handsomest member of my family at the age of 41--my father--in a car accident, where a nine-year-old me, my two-year-old sister and delicate mom, all frail and far too weak by comparison, survived-- I know for sure that death is as much related to aging as disease is related to the evil eye. (Okay, exaggeration. Still.) My father's Life Insurance people were probably as shocked as we were because they never expected to have to pay up so soon, considering his excellent health. Point being, there are accidents, tragedies, natural disasters, and all sorts of wierd stuff including fires and floods and riots and wars and murders, that kill a giant lot more people than aging does.<br />
So Mr de Grey, I can say this with grim-faced certainty, you will certainly not be able to defeat death.Sure, you may be able to increase average longevity through increasing the quality of life. And in that, I would be your cheerleader.<br />
But this is not the reason why I felt the urge to pen my thoughts. The writer of this article posed an introspective question at the very end: Do I really wish to die?<br />
Hmmm.........................DO I? I don't know.<br />
I have never thought of immortality, because I always considered death as a given. In fact, humans do want to die. Freud described it as 'thanatos' that subconscious death drive in humans that competes with 'eros'--the urge to live. Freud actually considered the death drive to be behind our aggressive instincts and the urge to go indulge in life-risking adventure sports... the urge to want to break your back or your neck. Erm... sorry, he didn't say those words, at least.<br />
Coming back to me, I still can't decide whether I want to die. I do know what I DON'T want: to outlive everyone else that I love. Meaning, yes, I want to die--before anyone else in my family does.<br />
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But then that also means there would be someone else who doesn't want me to die. I suppose, it's not death that scares us so much, but the death of our loved ones.<br />
And I can talk with great clarity about the pull of the endless hereafter--like it says in the Quran and other religious books--an endless life. It's not so much the endless life we seek but that we'd get to be forever with the people we love. Not just that "I won't die" but that "none of the good people will die" and that we'll all be "happy forever." After all, we only wish for death when we are sad beyond measure. Nobody wants to die when they're feeling top of the world!<br />
And that again, brings me to an important point.<br />
I love the idea of the endless afterlife, because it would be (supposedly) a world free of strife. Free of not just ageing but also wars, fires, floods, murders, rapes, sexism, racism, casteism, treachery, trickery and all the rotten stuff in this world. I don't know about you, but for me, there's not much point in living forever in a world that stinks beyond measure, where so much is going wrong and nothing of it can I fix.<br />
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a pessimist or a doom-monger. I still think I have a beautiful life and that this world offers joys gallore. It's just that if I would wish for a very, very long life, I'd like it to be in <br />
a world that's worth living in. And not just for a privileged handful. </div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-8508288549974801262015-04-14T04:03:00.000-07:002015-04-14T04:06:34.654-07:00Zikr through Mugham: Tunes from Azerbaijan --The Alim Qasimov Ensemble<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sounds and tunes from around the globe are an inseparable
part of the charged atmosphere at the Jaipur Literature Fest. Spiritual notes
wafting from Azerbaijan were an unusual, savory addition this time. In the
quest to bring you exclusive interactions with authors and performers across
the world, Financial Chronicle got up close and personal with the Alim Qasimov
Ensemble—winner of the UNESCO International Music Prize for Performers— that
cast a spell on all of Jaipur. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Relaxing in the lobby of the Clarks Amer, Qasimov explains
that though his music is classical in nature, it is a form of spiritual
expression, which comes from a “deeper place inside him”. It’s not just a
performance; it is a way of doing “zikr”, much like the Sufi tradition in India.
“Earlier I was a performer,” he says. “But over the years, performing and
performing, the meanings have changed for me. Now it is a way of seeking
communion with the almighty… it’s my way of doing zikr. The music goes from me
to god, and becomes a source of spiritual cleansing. The audience feels it,
too. It creates an aura of spiritual energy around them.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Qasimov answers all questions through hand-gestures and
sparse words, even as Fargana, his daughter, conveys his meaning—and her own—
in English. Language is a problem here, since their preferred one is Azeri—a
language closely related to modern Turkish. Qasimov chides his daughter mildly,
telling her to improve her English so she can handle interviews better! Fargana
and Qasimov are the lead vocalists in the Ensemble, with the other 3
members—Rauf, Zaki and Rafael— playing the Kaman, the tar and the balaban,
traditional instruments of Azerbaijan. Rafael sits with us now, his fingers
unceasingly rotating prayer beads on a rosary. Is he praying? “No, no!” he
laughs, and says something in Azeri. “It’s his habit…just his way of passing
time,” Fargana translates. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Fargana explains that their performance is steeped in the
Mugham tradition— an ancient Azerbaijani folk tradition— where they sing old
poems by famous poets, improvising the rendition. Mugham is, in fact, a highly
complex art form recognized in 2003 by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of Oral and
Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. It combines classical poetry and musical
improvisation in specific local modes associated not only with scales but with
an orally transmitted collection of melodies and melodic fragments. The
dramatic unfolding in performance is typically associated with increasing
intensity and rising pitches. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Our first lady Mehriban Aliyera is providing a lot of
impetus to the promotion of Mugham,” Fargana says, “Not many people paid
attention to this several years ago, but due to her support, more and more
people are moving towards it. Especially young people, who used to be more
interested in modern pop music.” Fargana herself was initiated into Mugham as a child, and
joined her father in stage performances at the age of 16. Qasimov is an
acclaimed performer in his country since the age of 23. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Improvisation in music is an important part of their
performance, and Qasimov says they now also combine elements of Indian music
with their original sounds. Fargana says they greatly appreciate the music of
“Hind”. “When you go deeper, the music
of Hind, Iran and Azerbaijan, all have the same roots. We have much in common.”
So would we see any fusion performances? Qasimov enthusiastically expresses a
desire to meet Anoushka Shankar and perform in collaboration with her. “If you
meet her, please convey my message to her!”</div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-54178223323587504322015-04-14T03:54:00.002-07:002015-04-14T03:54:27.382-07:00Chills and Thrills of Crime Fiction: Hakan Nesser<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmP0Yz-1mB0/VSzwnCX7fCI/AAAAAAAAAi8/EtmDeWt21Ck/s1600/hakan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmP0Yz-1mB0/VSzwnCX7fCI/AAAAAAAAAi8/EtmDeWt21Ck/s1600/hakan.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a>Swedish and tall, armed with crisp, succinct remarks and a
ready sense of humour. That’s Hakan Nesser, with all the essential qualities
for an immensely popular crime fiction writer— three times winner of Best
Swedish Crime Novel Award. Addressing a session titled ‘Nordic Noir: The Mind’s
Eye’ along with Nils Nordberg, Norwegian crime writer, at day one of the Jaipur
Literature Festival, Nesser spoke candidly about the commercial pull of crime
fiction. In a brief stroll-and-chat with this reporter, he waxed eloquent on
how books become a binding force globally.</div>
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“The greatest discovery in my journey so far has been the
truth that readers are the same everywhere,” he replied thoughtfully when asked
about his discoveries through writing. “I went to the US where I had to do a
lot of readings, and I thought, oh, the readers would be so different here. But
I found that we all think alike. We’re all the same in the way we receive
books. And it’s a good discovery. It’s good, because you see that books connect
us all. Whether you’re from Sweden or India or the US, every reader gets the
same…well, message.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7-gtRhVZagE/VSzxZ38UX7I/AAAAAAAAAjE/SkakoquaI5Y/s1600/WP_20150121_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7-gtRhVZagE/VSzxZ38UX7I/AAAAAAAAAjE/SkakoquaI5Y/s1600/WP_20150121_005.jpg" height="400" width="223" /></a>Nesser, whose work has been translated into various
different languages, pointed out that the reason there was such a great
increase in crime fiction was because that was the genre that brought in the
money. He goes on to narrate an episode where a bookseller in Sweden actually
put a yellow dot on one of Dostoyevsky’s books—indicating crime fiction. “Well,
Dostoyevsky started selling then,” he laughs out loud. And then he tells you
that his very first story was a “beautiful, existential love story which got
great reviews but sold about 75 copies worldwide.” From then onward, of course,
it was crime writing all the way—creating his much loved characters—detective
Van Veeteren and the more recent Inspector Barbarotti.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nesser charms you with his ability to laugh at himself, and
to create mirth around things such as murders. And incidentally, he can
identify with the murderers in his books, too. Well, not quite in the way that
it sounds. “I’m not keen on a black and white way of thinking. The question
“why” is more important than “who”. You want to know why a person did such
thing. So you get to identify a little with the murderers, too… like in my
novel <i>Woman With A Birth Mark, </i> the woman is out to get four men, and you
wish, oh I do hope she gets this one!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At the end of the day, though, it’s all about
telling a good story. “My colleague used to say there’s nothing as bad as a bad
crime story, but nothing as good as a good crime story! When I’m writing a
story, a good one is the kind that I’d like to read,” he pauses and adds with a
twinkling eye, “Only thing is, I’ve got to write it before I can read it!” </span></div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-56915095398084601102015-04-14T03:47:00.000-07:002015-04-14T03:47:27.242-07:00Healing the Wounds of Abuse: Esther Austin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Even amid the riot of colours and the storm of human forms
surrounding you at the ZEE Jaipur Literature Festival, Esther Austin is easy to
spot. Dressed in traditional African attire in the brightest shades of orange
and red, complete with turban-like headgear, she is a tall woman of African
origin with a bright and ready smile. A resident of the UK and originally from
Nigeria, she gets even more interesting when you find out she’s a ‘spiritual’
healer and her book titled ‘Wounded Lives, Wounded Healers’ is going to be out
in the stands very soon—February 2015 to be precise. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So how exactly does a spiritual healer work, you might want
to know. “A spiritual healer is able to feel and sense a person’s pain and see
what’s going on inside a person’s body,” Austin explains. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She talks about her book which explores all forms of pain in
a person’s life. “In my book I've interviewed a lot of different people about
pain and handling it. The people who help others to handle what’s inside them.
So I’ve interviewed counsellors, shamans… people doing lots of spiritual work…
they share their journey about their own emotional pain and also how they used
t<o:p></o:p></div>
hat pain in the work they did with their clients.” <br />
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Her own clients are a lot of people who have dealt with
sexual abuse and physical violence. And she also reveals the abuse she has been
subjected to. “The book in a way also reflects my life story because I’ve been
through emotional abuse and maybe some physical abuse as well. Pretty painful
expereinces. But I’ve come thru it and it’s a very powerful place to stand, and
it empowers other people to say I can stand strong in my place too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s how we deal with the pain in our lives, she says, that
creates the kind of person we are. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Her interviews are spread across 5 different countries in 3
different continents. “There are people from the States, then there’s a
gentleman from India who practices laughter yoga, and there’s a lady who’s a
shaman , so she deals with a lot of emotional pain people. In fact talking to
the guy who does laughter yoga was a learning experience, you learn how
laughter is a very cathartic and healing activity. The idea is to get a good
mix— this whole eclectic view of different experiences from people with
different capacities, a mixture of men and women and their experiences with pain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So you can also find in there a lady from the US who
practices Tantra to heal people, a lady who was emotionally abused as a child.
Not to mention an activist for whales, who also works with human beings. Austin
feels this book would prove to be pivotal in her life, and that it is a book
for everyone “who is searching for peace, for freedom and liberty—who wants to
say to life, I’m ready to explore and enjoy you. The thing is to be able to out
your pain down somewhere, instead of having to carry it around. And that is
what liberates you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-7767401973299327422015-04-14T03:40:00.002-07:002015-04-14T03:40:46.747-07:00Helon Habila: Stories Make The World Less Chaotic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8P5-xofN0xQ/VSzuPhf2koI/AAAAAAAAAig/Wc4YA3OtIbY/s1600/helon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8P5-xofN0xQ/VSzuPhf2koI/AAAAAAAAAig/Wc4YA3OtIbY/s1600/helon.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>His writing has won multiple awards including the Caine
Prize and Commonwealth Writers Prize, his latest novel <i>Oil on Water</i> being shortlisted for three different awards, too. Celebrated
Nigerian novelist and poet Helon Habila talks about the commonalities between
Indian and African writing and how African literature is the ‘new Indian
literature’ in an exclusive interaction with Zehra Naqvi at the Jaipur
Literature Festival: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>How would you
describe the ‘African novel’ if such a categorization can be made?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The African novel is a hybrid form. It is a combination of
the African folkloric tradition with the western novel form. The novel is a
western creation; it came to Africa through colonisation. The Africans had an
oral storytelling tradition. So the African novel is a new entity created by
the fusion. It uses the structure of the novel, in terms of character, the
dialogue and the setting and the folkloric such as proverbs, songs, morality
tales. You put them in the western novel and you have the Afrcian novel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>What is your greatest
inspiration to write?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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It’s been the stories I was told while I was growing up, the
folktales from my mother, the women in my compound where I grew up. See, what a
story does to you, it explains the world to you. It makes the world less chaotic,
less formless. The idea of novel is structure; you can’t have a story without
structure, because there are so many things to talk about. So a story makes the
world more structured, it becomes manageable. That’s the reason why writing
appeals to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>You’ve earlier said
that when you were writing a ‘nice, apolitical’ novel, it seemed irrelevant in
the face of the conflict around you. In a conflict-ridden region, is there
certain compulsion to write political novels?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Conflict is good for novels, it makes stories exciting! Actually,
this pressure is more internal, it’s not like someone is forcing you to do it. It’s
just me—who I am as a person. I can’t keep quiet while all this is happening
around me. But I cannot respond by going there to actively fight. So I respond through
what I know best, which is art. This is how I protest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Do you read Indian
authors? Who are your favorites among them?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The one I like the most is White Tiger by Arvind Adiga ! It’s
almost as if he’s writing about Africa, you know! I see the same bureaucracy,
corruption, the same injustice. He’s writing about the things I write about, the
things that concern me. I relate to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>What other
commonalities do you perceive between Indian and African literature?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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We both have post-colonial identities. We have the same
history—being subjugated , wanting to protest.
And we want to show the world that we are not what you think we are. We
have our own culture and our distinct identity—so you show that through your
writing. There’s a very strong historical sense in the fiction of both. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Is there a
predominant message in your writing?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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It varies from book to book.
I am influenced by different things at different times. I’m sure some
reader who would read all my books would say, oh, this is the thing you’re trying
to say! But I don’t look for unity. I always come to each new book thinking
this is something I haven’t done before. I try to challenge myself. What I really
want to do is to create more convincing characters, get better with the craft
itself. It’s not just about the message. It’s about the art, the aesthetics—what
I make the reader feel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Do you think African
literature is coming more into focus now? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Yes, it’s definitely on the rise. African literature is the ‘new
Indian literature’! Earlier Indian writers were all the rage, now it is African
writers. It’s good for us! And it’s also good for everyone else to see that the
world is complex and diverse. This is a good moment to be an African writer.
But it’s not going to last forever! So the thing is to be a good writer,
period. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-49479461362373009932015-03-28T10:42:00.002-07:002015-03-28T10:50:10.460-07:00Down the Dark Lane: The Girl On The Train by Paula Hawkins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It’s not a thriller if it doesn’t keep you up all night. <i>The Girl On The Train</i> passes that test
well. Paula Hawkins uses the same little trick so successfully utilized in <i>The</i> <i>Hangover</i>
series: getting drunk and waking up the next day without the faintest knowledge
of what mayhem you might have unleashed. Just bits and pieces that surface here
and there, aiming clever little punches at your gut, turning you crazy with
their cryptic revelations. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Except, the important distinguishing factor here is that the
protagonist is an incurable alcoholic, whose life is marred by such blind spots
of the memory. The black outs are the thread that strings the entire mystery
together. And the execution is almost perfect. Everything is revealed bit by
bit, in a strangely hypnotising backward-forward rhythm. Hawkins certainly
deserves credit for the setting and the introduction to the story. Particularly
the opening scene with the faded, discarded clothes lying by the railway track.
In accordance with the title, Rachel commutes to office everyday on the same
train, and as coincidences go, the train stops for a few minutes every day on
the same broken signal, in front of the very same house. As is wont for unhappy
people, Rachel sketches a fictional, happily-married existence for the couple
whose everyday life she glimpses from the train window-- like a movie on a
screen. And then one day, she has a fleeting glimpse of something that enrages
her, unravelling the happy narrative in her mind, creating a pitiful parallel
with her own broken existence. This house whose story she becomes entangled
with is just four doors away from her ex-husband’s house: the house that used
to be hers. Little does she know how deeply she is connected with this ‘on-screen’
couple, how her life’s edges would unravel in the desire to unravel another
person’s mysterious disappearance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The plot and the pace keep you hooked. Hawkins’ style is
clear and crisp, vividly descriptive and moving between the consciousness of
Rachel, the protagonist, Megan—the woman from the house by the tracks and
Anna—current wife of Rachel’s ex-husband. But here’s the thing—the whole novel is
too dark. Rachel is a perennially unhappy woman, obsessed with her ex-husband,
unable to emerge from the quagmire of alcohol, unable to get a hold onto her
life. You can pity her, but how do you sympathise with her? You don’t see her
growing or evolving over the course of the story—until the very end when it all
comes back to her. And her constant break downs do drag occasionally. Megan is
perhaps the one you can sympathise with, because she at least found the courage
to stand up to something in life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The motherhood instinct is a strong undercurrent to the
story, with the three women somehow connected through it. One woman with a
child she tries fiercely to protect, the second whose unfulfilled longing for
motherhood pushes her over the edge, and the third who, devastatingly, loses a
child through her own fault. The three women are also connected in other, more sinister ways,
but I’d be giving away too much if I told you what. As far as mystery and
curiosity go, Hawkins knows her stuff, for sure. The twists and turns are dexterously executed. to say the least, and the snatches of memory grasped at and slipping again make for riveting reading. This isn’t a <i>happy</i> read, though—looking inside the minds of so many disturbed
human beings. It remains bleak and desolate to the end—like a chilly grey
winter morn that sends shiver after shiver down your spine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-57423492875103054182015-03-25T05:17:00.001-07:002015-03-25T05:18:55.894-07:00On militant Buddhism and speaking for the voiceless: Samanth Subramanian<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>My interview with Romesh had spilled over, above the stipulated time. Samanth, who was next, came up to him and said-"Hey, if you say everything about Sri Lanka, what will I talk about?" At which point I couldnt help but cut in--"Don't worry, I'll have a whole new set of questions to ask you."</i><br />
<div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyqcXn1-iYg/VRKmKiSiBFI/AAAAAAAAAgc/Oe1rWEZUI_4/s1600/samanth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KyqcXn1-iYg/VRKmKiSiBFI/AAAAAAAAAgc/Oe1rWEZUI_4/s1600/samanth.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Journalist turned author Samanth Subramanian talks at the
Jaipur Literary Festival about his book on Sri Lanka, This Divided Island, and
what he calls the ‘fiendishly tough’ experience of gathering stories in this
exclusive interview with Zehra Naqvi:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:Your book contains a multitude of stories chased across the
globe. What was the experience like?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> The war ended in 2009 so going there in 2011 was dangerous
because it was a time of great flux, the government was not willing to open
itself to the scrutiny of journalists and human rights activists and so I had
to go there under false pretenses. There were various reasons why people
wouldn’t or couldn’t talk to me. They were cautious about what will happen if
they are outspoken or honest. I was told that my phone was being tapped and it
was—but I was more concerned about the safety of the people talking to me,
their lives were in much more peril. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xmBah_9cMg/VRKmMmr7pZI/AAAAAAAAAgk/M-wQdKYqG5Y/s1600/samanth%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6xmBah_9cMg/VRKmMmr7pZI/AAAAAAAAAgk/M-wQdKYqG5Y/s1600/samanth%2B2.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a><b>Me:Would you say that your Tamil roots prompted you to write
this book?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> Yes, it has a little to do with my roots as I knew a lot
about the war. But it was primarily the curiosity of the journalist. When the
war ended my first thought was—maybe an opportunistic one –that it’s a great
time to do stories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: Is it possible for people living in Sri Lanka to do a
direct, open book like this?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> I can’t think of a Sri Lanka living in Sri lanka who has
written non-fiction like this. It’s difficult to do newspaper articles
even—journalists are abducted and arrested … so a book… almost out of the
question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:Your book ends with an image of a soldier with a dove
perched on his gun. What are your thoughts on the future of Sri lanka?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b>Till last year I would’ve been very pessimistic but now
after the elections I am less so. The new President is not as much of a tyrant
as the last one. But then he too has similar allegiances to Buddhist right wing
groups. <o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Still,
its heartening that Rajapaksa lost and also cleanly departed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Me: </span>Rajapaksa was a hero of sorts in Sri Lanka.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth: </b>Was. Not any more. He did a lot of abuses of power in the
last five years and turned increasingly authoritarian, several human rights
problems emerged—not just towards Tamils but also Sinhalese and the Muslims.
There was a whole climate of uncertainty. He isn't the hero he was considered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:What about the common
people. Is there better integration among them now?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> Colombo was always cosmopolitan city even at the peak of the
war, and that hasn’t changed. There is more interaction now in terms of
Siunhalese people travelling from the south to the north, areas they never
visited for the last three decades. But then that’s also a bad sort of
integration. There are stories of how Sinahlese people have been given incentives
to travel to the north and set up farms. So the next time a Sinhalese person
stands for election in the north, he has a better chance of winning, because of
the changed demographic. That kind of integration isn’t good for anybody
because it builds resentment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: Do you think that conflict is inevitable in multicultural,
multireligion societies?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth</b>: Well, no. India has survived fairly well. I mean we’ve had riots and
problems of intolerance but at least not full scale civil war. When I went to
Sri lanka I thought you have just two languages it’s so easy to solve! India’s
an example right here! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:Perhaps just two adversaries fight harder…rather than
multiple groups fighting!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> Absolutely, this is what I figured out later, theorized on
my own. In India there is a certain balance. No single group is predominant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: You’ve said that Indians wear their problems on their sleeve
but with Sri Lanka you need to peel off the “beautiful polished skin to find
the toxic bloodstream within”. What do you mean by that?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b>India’s problems are out there in the open. We debate about
religious tolerance, freedom of expression, there’s a certain messy openness to
India. In Sri Lanka this isn’t there. On the surface it seems extremely
peaceful. Nobody talks about the problems. They fester under the surface,
simmering. And then all of a sudden it explodes. (Pauses) I’m thinking on my
feet now…Perhaps its because Sri Lanka has always been presented to the world
as this beautiful Island nation… they feel the pressure to keep up that image
of beauty and serenity… but under the surface all sorts of tension boil.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:Your book talks about militant Buddhism—militant monks even—which
is a surprising image. Could you talk more about that?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> The clergy has always been influential in Sri Lanka, and
they were empowered by the war. In fact there was this very rabid monk who you
read about in the late 19<sup>th</sup> century whose writings are still studied
by right wing Buddhist monks… about a pure Buddhist nation. And now there are a
number of right wing groups that you could call the equivalent of RSS or the
Bajrang Dal. They have money and muscle power and connections to government and
make life miserable for the minorities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: Your book seems to have more Tamil voices than Sinhala ones.
Is that deliberate?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Samanth:</b> Sure. The job of a writer such as myself is to give voice to the
people that don’t have a voice. And that is always the minorities. <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Sinhalese by virtue ofbeing majority have always spoken out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s
very little room for the Tamils to express themselves even now. </span>But do note
that the Tamils don’t talk about sufferings at the hands of the Sinhalese only,
but also at the hands of the Tigers. <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Muslims too have suffered</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">at the hands of
both. </span>But I was careful to include the Sinhalese
voices because it’s interesting for me to see what their rationale is, behind their actions.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-54235553498831689892015-03-13T09:04:00.005-07:002015-03-13T09:04:47.064-07:00The Songbird in Spring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spring is the season that makes poets out of ordinary
people. There’s something about the breezy, blooming abundance around you that
makes you light hearted and romantic, dreamy even. Just like Love. The way the winter
frost gives way to warm sunshine and chilly gusts make way for a benign,
luscious breeze is so much akin to the pure bliss of being in love! It melts
the gloom around the heart, making you smile for no reason at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nature is a giant magnetic force, pulling the soul toward
itself, compelling poets like Wordsworth, Shelley, Tagore to pay homage to the
pure joy that bubbles forth in its presence. The British summer has a presence
that’s a lot like the spring here. It’s what prompted Shakespeare to compare
his love to a ‘summer’s day’, but then quickly elevate the muse higher by
proclaiming: “Thou art more lovely and more temperate”. Perhaps, then, he ought
to have witnessed the Indian Spring. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-op7hGuZ6re0/VQMKUawMw-I/AAAAAAAAAgM/9X0kkgaY7mg/s1600/songbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-op7hGuZ6re0/VQMKUawMw-I/AAAAAAAAAgM/9X0kkgaY7mg/s1600/songbird.jpg" height="172" width="400" /></a>The abundance of birdsong brings to mind a beautiful line
from <i>Star Signs</i>, the more esoteric
and metaphysical of Linda Goodman’s books. “It would be a sad and quiet, lonely
forest if no bird sang except the nightingale.” It’s a profound statement that
ought to be the mantra of life, because it expresses the fullness and
complexity of the universe so simply. The Nightingale, like the ubiquitous Koel
in India, is the bird whose song is rivalled by none. But for a moment, close
your eyes and imagine a world with all other birds falling silent—no twitters,
no clucks, no cooing, screeching, or throated warbling… Mornings would be
lonely and evenings desolate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The symphony of the world depends on every little bird
chipping in with its unique voice, no matter if it’s not the best singer
around. Pretty much the same way that the brilliance of the universe depends on
the variety of its creatures—the variety of humankind, too. Just because the nightingale is the reigning
queen of birdsong, the other birds don’t feel threatened; they’re not hesitant
to pour forth their own melodies. It is us, humans, who feel threatened by the
abilities of others, ever comparing them to our own selves and feeling
insufficient. The universe would be a dark place if only the brightest light
were allowed to shine. Every little lantern is important to the world. It
doesn’t matter that there are people whose abilities outshine your own; you
must not be hesitant to put your offerings before the world. It might not be
life-altering or earthshaking, but it is important nonetheless. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each one of us was born to fulfill a distinct purpose. It
might not be a seemingly grand one like running the country or a global
corporation. The bee is one of the most humble creatures in the world, but who
could imagine its immense importance in keeping the world teeming with life? The
BBC website puts them “top of the list as far as important species go”. It
explains that “they pollinate 70 of the around 100 crop species that feed 90%
of the world.” Without bees, there’d be no pollination and very soon the
animals that feed on those crops and even the human race would be gasping their
last. They’re not magnificent or beautiful or adorable. But their importance to
the universe is undeniable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In much the same way, each of us brings a unique enhancement
to the universe. Let us take pride and pleasure in putting it forth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be the songbird in the spring of life. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-77382933194365491452015-03-11T14:01:00.000-07:002015-03-11T14:01:04.207-07:00Romesh Gunasekera: Using windows doesn't mean you have to love Bill Gates<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a beguiling magic in having an excerpt from your
current favorite novel read out to you by its equally beguiling author.
Especially when that author is Romesh Gunasekera. His voice, the perfect read-aloud
one—soothingly gentle and just the right intonations— belies the dramatic,
intense persona he assumes on stage. People, winds, oceans, all come to life as
the author strides theatrically on stage in a dramatic rendering of his own
words. You realise there’s a lot more to this man than what meets the eye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZYn4xiflYHA/VQCnQ_qMZeI/AAAAAAAAAfs/ktNmkgb21IY/s1600/WP_20150122_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZYn4xiflYHA/VQCnQ_qMZeI/AAAAAAAAAfs/ktNmkgb21IY/s1600/WP_20150122_002.jpg" height="400" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice In Wonderland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the Jaipur Literature Festival this past week, I caught
up with the Sri Lankan author--whose book <i>Reef
</i>has been on the booker shortlist and who's been a judge for several literary prizes--for a heart to heart talk on writing, languages,
his book Noon Tide Toll and all things Sri Lankan. His session, like all others
that day, had been reduced to half on account of the mayhem created by rain.
“But we can rebel!” Gunasekera had suggested, giving you a glimpse of the man
behind that placid exterior. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the two of us sit atop the terrace at the Diggi Palace,
he answers all questions patiently and smilingly. Yet, you can’t shake the
nagging feeling that even as he spoke, there were thoughts beyond your reach ‘neath
that silvery mop of hair: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- Let’s talk about
your book, <i>Noon Tide Toll</i>. The myriad
stories you created in there—all of Sri Lanka from North to South— were they
real life stories? What kind of research/journey did you have to undertake to
write them?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b> - Well, it isn’t a
reportage book so it’s not that I went on any journey to write that book. Whatever
I write is out of my imagination. They are fictional journeys. And they are all
about the reality that I live in. If I want to write a story set in Jaipur, I
could write a story set in Jaipur. I can stay in my room and write about Moscow
if I want. But they do have a basis in
something that’s true. The fort in Jaffna <i>is</i>
destroyed; the library <i>was</i> burnt down
in1981 and renovated later. I have been to all the places that I wrote about. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-What about the
story ‘Scrap’ where you show us big ‘dumpyards’ of confiscated vehicles from
the LTTE… that you compared to ‘frozen pandemonium’? What impression did that
create on you?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>- Well, yes, three years ago, you would have found big
dumping yards of trucks and bicycles…
the thoughts that came to my mind were the ones that you could hear from
Vasantha (the van driver in his book). I have been to other places where they
had wars… you look at these places, the relics of the past… you look at the
ruined tombs in Delhi and you understand they aren’t naturally this
way…something happened here. You go to London and see the places bombed in the
second world war. They all create an indelible impression on the mind. I had
never been to Northen Sri Lanka before so it was quite a shock to see the scale
of the war. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- The stories in
Noon Tide Toll all have a dark subtext but the way you go about writing them
isn’t dark. It’s hopeful, happy even. Is that a deliberately created contrast?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jpf5Bpja87s/VQCo_rdyhLI/AAAAAAAAAf4/7Cjh-7sJueg/s1600/romesh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jpf5Bpja87s/VQCo_rdyhLI/AAAAAAAAAf4/7Cjh-7sJueg/s1600/romesh.jpg" height="400" width="241" /></a><b>Romesh</b>-Yes, I think it is a deliberate mixture of both things
because it’s not a book looking at the immediate results of a war. It’s more of
posing a question… all the characters in this book are trying to understand how
to carry on with their lives, given what has happened in the past, given what
might happen in the future. If it was going to be entirely dark then, you know,
everyone would have to commit suicide! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- Is there a
predominant message that you wish to convey through your writing?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>- I don’t think
fiction can convey messages really. All fiction can do is present you with
something for you to understand. To some extent you could say that a novel like
this is presenting a set of mirrors. If you look at it you will see yourself
and your own reactions. If you’re a Sri Lankan Reading it you will have certain
sorts of reactions, if you’re not a Sri Lankan you will have different
reactions, expectations. The only message in my books would be that reading
fiction is something worth doing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- Though you are a
Sri Lankan, you don’t live in Sri Lanka (He lives in the UK at present). What
is the image of the country that you carry with you?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh- </b>The image I carry is the one I do convey in the books a
lot. It’s all probably not very different from the image of someone living
there. You’re not from Jaipur. But you have an image of Jaipur, and its valid
and true to what you know of it. It probably shares something with what people
who actually live here also have of it. There will be differences and there
will be some similarity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- There’s been a lot
of Sri Lankan literature coming through in the past one year. Is there a
particular reason for Sri Lankan writing coming more into focus now? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>- It’s a growing phenomenon. Sri Lankan writing isn’t new,
it has the same vintage as in India – writing in different languages as well as
writing in English. Sri Lankan writing in English goes back to the early 1800s—same
as in India. In fact a lot of editors from India have been editors in Sri lanka,
a lot of Sri Lankan editors have been editors in India of major newspapers. So
the history is not that different. Writing Fiction in English also has quite a
long tradition. The earliest novels in English would have been written around
the1930s but what the difference has been in the later period of the20thcent— the 60s 70s and even 80s—
there was more writing in English in India generally, though still a very small
proportion. In the80s you wouldn’t be able to do this (gestures around him
indicating the thronging crowds at the fest). It’s the same process in Sri Lanka.
But because of the war there hasn’t been a lot of writing in Sri Lanka—writing
has been curtailed and publishing isn’t as big, but now maybe in the last 5-6
years there’s been a lot more international writing. There’s a very big Sri
Lankan diaspora around the world that’s also writing, so I would expect to see
a lot more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me- You’ve talked
about your upbringing being chiefly English-language-centred in a country that
was increasingly shunning that language. Language is, I believe, a sore issue
in Sri Lanka. So how would you view the role of language in the politics and
integration of a nation?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>-It has a big role to play and one of the big divisions in
Sri Lanka has been because of the language policy— fundamentally, I believe a
mistaken language policy. But it’s an understandable mistake. They wanted to reverse
the neglect of particularly Sinhala during the colonial period and that led to,
understandably again, in the 50s lots of talk of nationalism—and therefore a
boost given to Sinhala, but at the expense of the other languages. It’s true that your identity’s link to your
language is very, very strong but the mistake was to keep it in compartments .
What they should have done, and which I think in India they did do, to some
extent, is to dwell much more on bilingualism or trilingualism. To make sure that
children in school didn’t just study one language, they studied two or three.
Unfortunately that didn’t happen there. For several generations, you were
schooled in the language of your community. And that just reinforced the
separation. The justification given was that we can’t teach everybody in English
because that’s a foreign language. But that was because people only thought in terms
of one language. Had they looked around the world they could have seen that it
was entirely possible to have an educational system that encouraged two or
three languages. And they’re beginning to understand that now, all over the
world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-So multilingualism
could, possibly, be a good way to integrate a country’s citizens better… <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>-Yes, it’s very simple… you know if we didn’t have English
you and I couldn’t even speak right now… we’d have to have a translator and we
wouldn’t know what they were interpreting! English shouldn’t be problematic! India
managed quite well… though people get quite worked up still. I had a big
argument the other day when someone was complaining about the English language
a great deal… and he was actually a teacher of English language in India! So
it’s a bit ironic. I could say that my first language is English…and the
language I’m comfortable with is English. The thing is, I don’t think it ought
to be a national issue. You know, just because I use Microsoft Windows doesn’t
mean I have to fall in love with Bill Gates!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Q-Writing tends to
become more and more political in places that face these problems. Would you
call yourself a political writer?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>- I don’t see myself as a political writer. But I do not
exclude politics. I do think it’s important. My books are appreciated by people
who may not have any interest in the political dimension. A novel has to work
beyond politics, but I don’t think it can ever exclude politics. It’s very much
a part of all our lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-What are the books
that you like to read?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>- There’s quite a wide range. I was involved in picking out
the best of British novelists two years ago. That’s a very famous list now, of
young British novelists. There’re 20
people we’ve picked and they’re all very different. Some of them are quite
surrealistic, some are experimental writers, some write very traditional novels
and some are very political. For me to like a novel, I have to feel that the
writer is interested in using language to its full potential. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-And what would be
your favorite kind of <i>reader</i>?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>-There’s two ways of answering that. Obviously my
favourite readers are the ones that like my books! But then, the ideal reader
for me is somebody who has an open mind, a sense of humour and a little bit of
imagination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-I think that
description would apply to a good writer too!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>-Yes, any good writer should have a sense of humour. I mean
there are some who are very… serious. I admire them, but they’re not my favourite
kind of writers! But when I say humour, then for instance Dostoyevsky had a
fantastic sense of humour, but you think of him as a very serious writer!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Q-Writing is a
journey of discovery. What has been your greatest discovery so far? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A-My greatest discovery was the fact that I was able to
write a book to begin with! I didn’t think I could. But beyond that, the
greatest discovery is probably that there are readers! It is very heartening to
know that there are people interested in reading in the world as it is now. Readers
are a very special group of people. I know when you are in Jaipur and you say
there are 300,000 people here… even among those not all are readers. And the
people who like reading fiction are actually a very small group in the world.
So the greatest discovery is that there are people who like to read. And
eventually a good book gains those readers. Not immediately, but eventually it
will.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me-Would you say that
literature serves to set the agenda for discourse?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Romesh</b>-It does . It allows space and scope for discussion to take
place. And discussion on literature is a very good area where issues come up
but that’s a different thing from saying when you’re writing a book should you
be setting the agenda for whatever… that’s not the way it works. It would be
nice that my book had some effect on how people were thinking in the
presidential election— I doubt it very much— but it might have had one or two
people think something new is possible. What literature does do is to give a
sense of what’s happening globally. All these writers who have come here to India
will go back with a different view of the world, and particularly the
realization that reading and literature seems to be very important in India. I
am sure a lot of writers who have come here don’t realise that. You have crowds
of people coming here like this…you don’t get that in most parts of the world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(This last <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
line caught me by surprise. Didn't it surprise you, too?)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-75936811909399068042015-03-11T09:17:00.000-07:002015-03-11T09:21:53.380-07:00Eimear McBride: It's loaded being inside a woman's mind !<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AC8gaufztZY/VQBl8jidq6I/AAAAAAAAAfc/8ndQqVGQuD8/s1600/WP_20150121_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AC8gaufztZY/VQBl8jidq6I/AAAAAAAAAfc/8ndQqVGQuD8/s1600/WP_20150121_001.jpg" height="400" width="222" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Being in the midst of real,live authors that you only ever knew through their books is an unforgettable experience for a bibliophile! Here I am with Eimear McBride. Here's the story:</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
It’s ironic to hear the author of A Girl Is A Half-Formed
Thing and winner of five awards, including the Baileys Prize 2014 and the
Goldsmith Prize 2013, talk about feeling like a failure. But that’s what Eimear
McBride had to go through when her book—written in just six months— waited nine
years to get published, eventually emerging into the sunshine with the help of a small
publishing company, Galley Beggar Press. <o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b>How does it feel to have your book rejected for nine years
and then suddenly receive all these awards?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eimear:</b> Wonderful ! (Laughs) It’s wonderful to not feel like a
failure anymore. With all the previous rejections, I understood that the book
might never be published but I was still a writer. My duty was to keep on
writing. It was very hard to keep on, despite thinking I was writing another
book for the drawer. I feel insulated by my failure. This session (which she
addressed along with Eleanor Catton) talked of ‘early triumphs’ but it was no
early triumph for me! I feel incredibly old! (grins mischievously)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> How did you come to choose the unusual ‘stream of
consciousness’ style for writing your book? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eimear: </b>I was very interested in it for historical reasons, you know,
James Joyce’s Ulysses was written in the same style, and there are a lot of
historic examples. But most of all, this book is about a woman’s mind. It’s
very loaded being inside the mind of a woman. A woman should be able to speak
her mind. And that’s what I wanted—to lay bare the mind of a woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Is this book autobiographical in nature? Does it have some
elements from your own life?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eimear:</b> Well, I lost a brother that way. Quite early… to illness. So
in a way that loss is reflected in the A Girl Is A Half-Formed Thing. But the
boy in the book is not my brother, I haven’t modelled him after my brother, and
the girl is not me either. The book isn’t really autobiographical. Just this
one thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> There’s a lot of controversy around the Baileys Women’s
prize—people question the need to have a women’s-only award at all. What is
your take on this?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eimear:</b> I think we do need a women’s award. Sexism still exists. A
women’s prize needs to be there until sexism has been stumped out. Because
people talk about books on a common platform—they don’t really talk about what
women are writing, what they are speaking out about. So yes, we definitely need
a women’s award, because there needs to be something to level the playing
field. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(From Jaipur Literature Festival 2015)</div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-53650242606161307302015-03-11T07:25:00.002-07:002015-03-11T08:30:16.903-07:00Eleanor Catton: All Great Stories Are Love Stories! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
</h4>
</div>
<h4>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1e3j2eeDxA/VQBQSYeIBhI/AAAAAAAAAfM/tzBn5UDAmXU/s1600/eleanor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d1e3j2eeDxA/VQBQSYeIBhI/AAAAAAAAAfM/tzBn5UDAmXU/s1600/eleanor.jpg" height="400" width="278" /></a></h4>
<h4>
<u><i>Catching Catton</i></u></h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Eleanor Catton looks stunning up close. The blonde hair and the blue eyes (well they looked blue to me)... I could probably gaze at her for a long time, and I am neither a man nor a lesbian! However, I had very little time to gaze at her as I spoke, because the PR people at the Jaipur Literature Fest had expressly stated--"No interviews with Catton." Case closed. </i></div>
<div>
<i>Really?I don't think so. I was there to talk to her, and talk to her I would.</i></div>
<div>
<i>Eleanor stepped down from the stage as her session ended. I probably galloped like a horse to the front of the crowds, and hooked her interest with a question that made her think. Those precious 5 minutes with her led to this story: (Published In Financial Chronicle, January 22, 2015)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Star attraction at the Jaipur Literature Fest 2015, winner
of 2014 Man Booker Prize Eleanor Catton wishes it were easier to portray the
female perspective as ‘default’ and not ‘alternative’. At the sidelines of her
session, she had an informal chat with Zehra Naqvi about her discovery through
writing:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>Writing is a journey of discovery. What has been your
greatest discovery so far?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleanor :</b> My greatest discovery has been the realization of the
importance of a love story. All great stories are, in the end, great love
stories. That’s what I have learned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>What kind of effort goes into creating a mammoth work of
historical fiction like The Luminaries?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleanor:</b> Reading is 90 per cent of a writer’s work. I read lots and
lots about the gold rush period in New Zealand to find out about life in that
age. Well, actually, all I wanted to do was write a murder mystery! But in the
end, all novels always speak to the time in which they are written. A
historical novel does not make a statement about the past. They are talking to
the age they are in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> You’ve talked about your desire to balance ornate structure
with an active plot, as you have done perfectly in your book. How does one
achieve that kind of balance?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleanor:</b> It’s very important in a book for the form to match the
content. As for this book, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write such a book
again! (Laughs)You can’t separate the two and look at it –you can’t separate
what someone is saying from how they’re saying it. The two go together.
Structure and form can’t be different. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> You’ve said the writing of your book changed you. In what
way?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleanor:</b> Each new book teaches you to write all over again. This one
was so different from my first book. With each new work, you find a whole new
way of writing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me: </b>This is your first visit
to India. How has the experience been so far? Would you think of writing a book
set in India?<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleanor: </b>The experience has
been delightful! But I’d have to live here for a long time to be able to write
a book set here—take in the life, the people… everything…and there’s a lot to
take in!<b><o:p></o:p></b><br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
(From Jaipur Literature Fest 2015)</h3>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-58899911302355176772015-03-11T03:54:00.003-07:002015-03-11T03:54:57.088-07:00Nature Worship: Wordsworth and Tagore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(First published in Financial Chronicle on March 12, 2010)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYjGbxpEjL8/VQAer8ne2tI/AAAAAAAAAe8/4pPr-HGPZo4/s1600/spring%2Bflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYjGbxpEjL8/VQAer8ne2tI/AAAAAAAAAe8/4pPr-HGPZo4/s1600/spring%2Bflowers.jpg" height="249" width="400" /></a>March is the month when nature unveils her warm charms, bringing a sigh of relief to the cold-weary masses. It's a time when you would want to stop and smell the flowers, or maybe experience the rumblings of poetry within the depths of your soul.<br />
<br />There's nothing quite like poetry for singing a paean to nature. Among the many celebrated nature poets, William Wordsworth is probably the most famous. What sets his work apart from others is that his poetry was, in fact, an act of nature-worship. Wordsworth perceived the presence of divinity and healing in nature, the presence of a higher spirit that he considered a `balm' to weary souls.<br /><br />His poem, Tintern Abbey, depicts with much lucidity the unity that he found in all animate and inanimate objects -"A presence that disturbs me with the joy...a sense sublime / Of something far more deeply interfused," the peace that they bring to him -"To them I may have owed another gift...that blessed mood...In which the heavy and the weary weight, Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened" and his confession to his worship--"I, so long a worshipper of Nature, hither came / Unwearied in that service with far deeper zeal / Of holier love". This act of worship was not confined to Wordsworth alone, though. Another poet who excelled in the linking of divinity to nature was Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. His words work with much greater subtlety, like the `gentle breeze', which he is so fond of mentioning. "The world speaks to me in pictures, my soul answers in music."<br /><br />Tagore defines nature as the thread of communion between the human and the divine, a bond of tenderness. His most famous work Gitanjali is full of songs to the higher spirit, with nature as a messenger. "The sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs."<br /><br />You can identify more shades of this bond in Crossing: "Rebelliously I put out the light in my house and your sky surprised me with its stars". To him, nature holds the secrets to a higher truth and has lessons to teach us -"The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies," and "Tiny grass, your steps are small but you possess the earth under your tread."<br /><br />For Tagore, the physical union too is an act of spirituality, and this again he finds in nature --"I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has put out the lamp", and "The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth". He makes it the channel for attainment of enlightenment, not in the manner of the sage who renounces life for wilderness, but in the manner of the lover who embraces the pulsating life around him.<br /><br />Food for the senses becomes food for the soul, as in these lines from Gitanjali --"Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight...No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight."<br /><br />Sensual delights abound in the season around us now; maybe a little poetry might lead us to the doors of enlightenment.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-75190885453381846702014-12-17T06:34:00.003-08:002014-12-17T06:34:36.248-08:00Many Roads Through Paradise: Anthology of Sri Lankan Literature<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s difficult to believe that an entire nation can be
contained within one book. But <i>Many Roads
to Paradise </i>is just that: an encapsulation of the essence of Sri Lanka;
with its history, its social fabric, its heart-wrenching tragedies,
slow-healing wounds, rising hopes … it’s all there. This book absolutely teems
with life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c6KxkNTySYY/VJGUUH1d5mI/AAAAAAAAAdU/fVhR7VwzV7Y/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c6KxkNTySYY/VJGUUH1d5mI/AAAAAAAAAdU/fVhR7VwzV7Y/s1600/download.jpg" height="400" width="261" /></a>This an anthology of Sri Lankan literature, compiled by
Shyam Selvadurai , who has many awards in the US and Canada, his works
translated in seven different languages. When you read the introduction you get a sense
of its direction and purpose: the compiler has carefully pieced together the
entire broken heart of the nation. The book contains works of Sri Lankan
writers in English, and others translated from Tamil and Sinhala. As Selvadurai
says, “In a post-war situation, this anthology provides an opportunity to build
bridges across the divided communities…of which they have remained largely
ignorant due to linguistic differences.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s divided into four sections, but “To promote this ethos
of unity, I have not, as many previous anthologies… divided the work by the
three language streams.” The sections have separate themes: social structure and classes under The
Chariot and The Moon; wounds of displacement in No State, No Dog ; passions of
differing natures under Love in the Tsunami and Healing the Forest “devoted
exclusively to the ethnic war from 1983 onward,” in the form of quiet yet
piercing poetry. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first section gives you a bird’s eye view of the
class-divisions in Sri Lanka. The opening poem, from which the section draws
its name, is the perfect introduction. The translated poems, in fact, read much
better than the translated excerpts from novels. Even though this reader isn’t
familiar with either Tamil or Sinhala, it isn’t too difficult to pin down the
stiffness in narration to the loss of flow in moving from one language to
another. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘The Perfection of Giving’ is a poignant story about a
servant girl, employed and brought up by a self-righteous spinster. It touches
you deep down with its echoing refrain of ‘karma’. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘No State No Dog’ gives you a glimpse into the lives of the
poor Tamil estate workers unceremoniously packed off to India… uprooted from
their soil, feeling the ground slip from beneath their feet. The image of the
dog waiting tirelessly at the edge of the road is one that stays with you long
after.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Hole-in –the-Heart’, an excerpt from ‘Love Marriage’ is a
beautifully written story that describes love and conflict with equal ease. But
then, conflict is a recurrent theme in Lankan literature, where the war and the
Tsunami provide the background to most of the stories. But the displacement
depicted in ‘The Homecoming’ certainly catches you unawares: a woman who goes
to work in the Arab states for two years with dreams of creating joys for her
family, upon her return finds her dream in splinters and herself looked upon as
no more than a “whore”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the biggest punch is reserved for the last: poems—each
spilling out like a once-beautiful scarred body… one whose poet disappeared in
the war in 2009, another whose poet—editor of a major paper—assassinated for
speaking out, a third a German Jew who lost her family in the holocaust… here a
poem that speaks of dead, young bodies floating up on the rivers… there a
mother who faces her son returned from war.. “His heart had turned to stone”…
and wonders “Won’t he one day/Believe me to be his enemy/And bury me too?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The book ends with the spectacularly vivid poem The Moon at
Seenukgala as Epilogue, posing as balm for wounds too deep to heal…but with an
extension of hope that “This, is the way home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite having so much to offer, for the non-native this is
but a prelude that whets the appetite for more offerings Sri-Lankan. It makes
you want to reach out to your neighbor, and share the pain captured so
singularly.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-82882776923893786112014-12-17T06:26:00.000-08:002014-12-17T06:26:19.187-08:00It's only words... Poetry of Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e4wGI4zgRl4/VJGP-Hc_EaI/AAAAAAAAAc4/HPo-wMEOn1M/s1600/pure%2Blove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e4wGI4zgRl4/VJGP-Hc_EaI/AAAAAAAAAc4/HPo-wMEOn1M/s1600/pure%2Blove.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a>Here we are, face to face on the day of love. I’m going to
play cupid this time and give you something for <i>your </i>valentine: Handpicked poems of love— a timeless gift never
outdone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could begin with this stanza from Shelley’s <i>Love’s Philosophy</i> – an ode to the
presence of love in nature, and a plea for the meeting of hearts. It speaks of
the winds and waters of the earth all mingling to become one:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing in the world is single,</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">All things by a law divine</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">In one spirit meet and mingle -<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Why not I with thine?</span></span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there’s Keats’s <i>Bright
Star! Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art</i>, sensual lines that weave images
and lay bare the eternal desire of the heart. It alludes to a star watching
over the earth, “like Nature’ sleepless Ermite,” gazing forever over oceans doing
their “priestlike task” of cleansing the earth’s shores. But that’s where love is
ever more steadfast; for all it wants is each breath spent in love’s embrace:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>Pillow’d upon my fair love’s
ripening breast<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>To feel for ever its soft fall and
swell, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>Still, still to hear her
tender-taken breath,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i>And so live ever --or else swoon
to death<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Closer home, Tagore love poems are an act of complete submission;
the offering of heart and soul in entirety and without restraint. There is a
fragile quality to the emotion, which never asks, only gives. He often compares
the offerings of love to flowers or songs— both objects that create the feeling
of an act of worship. This one is taken from <i>Lover’s Gift</i>:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I filled my tray with whatever I had, and
gave it to you. What shall I bring to your feet tomorrow, I wonder. I am like
the tree that, at the end of the flowering summer, gazes at the sky with its
lifted branches bare of their blossoms.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>But in all my past offerings is there not a
single flower made fadeless by the eternity of tears?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Will you remember it and thank me with your
eyes when I stand before you with empty hands at the leave-taking of my summer
days?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In contrast with the vulnerable, quiet nature of these lines,
Oscar Wilde’s <i>We Are Made One With What
We Touch And See </i>is a joyous celebration of love, with image upon image
bursting forth. In the last stanza he talks of them as notes of the universe’s symphony,
their love merging with Nature itself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And all the live
World's throbbing heart shall be<br />
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years<br />
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,<br />
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IN-0veLV3sQ/VJGSSIZqltI/AAAAAAAAAdI/rkR1_J2_IlU/s1600/taj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IN-0veLV3sQ/VJGSSIZqltI/AAAAAAAAAdI/rkR1_J2_IlU/s1600/taj.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a>But none can speak on immortality like Amir Khusrau, with
his lines drenched in mystic love: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Man tu shudam, tu man shudi/Man tan shudam, tu
jaan shudi/<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ta kas na goya bad azan/Man deegaram too
deegari<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have become you, you have become me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have become body, you have become soul<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So that no one can ever say<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am other than you, you other than me. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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This, then, is the utmost offering of love: the longing to
be <i>fanaa </i>— to be destroyed… lose
yourself within your lover…the union beyond earthly realm. At the end, isn’t
that what we really seek?</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br /></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-44198969072041279412014-12-17T06:07:00.002-08:002014-12-17T06:07:31.010-08:00Life After Life: Spinning in Confused Circles?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L1So9VprmDE/VJGNvL_1gII/AAAAAAAAAcs/2rxlGifb8nQ/s1600/life%2Bafter%2Blife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L1So9VprmDE/VJGNvL_1gII/AAAAAAAAAcs/2rxlGifb8nQ/s1600/life%2Bafter%2Blife.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a>Kate Atkinson’s Life after Life is a book much
written-about. Winner of the UK’s Costa Novel Award, it has been the focus of
attention for its intriguing technique that lies somewhere between
reincarnation and time travel. A tale
where there is one life after another, where the protagonist Ursula, a Briton
from a comfortably wealthy family, is born again and again and again, but in
the very same life, living it differently every time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone who’s talked about this book has obviously dwelt on
the novelty of the entire schema. However, I was struck by much more than this.
Yes, Atkinson gives her protagonist many different lives, but in doing so,
doesn’t she give the others different lives, too? How about the people Ursula saves
along with herself? Her sister Pamela, first, and then her brother Teddy, and
their maid Bridget from the epidemic of Spanish influenza? Ursula makes
numerous failed attempts, ultimately succeeding by pushing Bridget from the
stairs so that she is unable to attend the festivities in London where she’d
catch the flu in the first place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, this poses a question, too. Is Ursula consciously
saving herself? Or is it just destiny? For instance, the second time she drowns
in childhood, she is saved by a stranger. That is obviously not an effort on
Ursula’s part. Or, when she has started living with Crighton, the army man, why
does she go back to the place where she died in a bomb raid? Why does she just
not stay away? The author doesn’t seem very clear about whether her protagonist
has conscious control, or is it just fate. Then again, the part where the end
catches up with the beginning—her shooting of Hitler to prevent the war from
taking place— since she dies again, the universe starts all over again and
nothing really changes. It’s a confusing and a rather silly kind of paradox…..
it’s not Ursula being born again and again, the entire universe is caught in a
time warp. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, I believe this is just a foil to what Atkinson has
really written about, and that is life coupled with war. War features
throughout the novel, resplendent in its horror. Atkinson shows you myriad
views of misery, from every angle possible—the ground, the air, the savior, the
saved and the unsaved. There is no getting away from it. In fact, one of the
most brilliant parts of the narrative—and ironically, the part that most of her
British readers have found “unnecessary” is the life of Ursula in Nazi Germany,
after her marriage to a man who becomes a Nazi officer later. That is truly the
view from the other side, and hats off to Atkins for bringing that to us.
Rather than just focus on the grief of the British, she turns the focus to the
other side, showing the greater tragedy, the much greater disaster that befell
the ordinary German caught in the war. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, she shows you how a different route might change the
place of people in your life. Such as the change in her mother’s behaviour, from
loving to downright acidic, when Ursula gets pregnant as a teenager, even
though it was the result of rape. And the capricious aunt Izzie, forever the
‘bad fairy’ but somehow always the one Ursula turns to in peril. It does, in
the end, make you think of what would have happened if your own life had
unfurled this way or the other… which suddenly destabilizes the world as you
know it. I suspect that was the plan all along.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-68693466150911479502014-12-17T06:02:00.000-08:002014-12-17T06:02:21.378-08:00The Scatter Here Is Too Great: Through The Cracked Windscreen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5hUnt2_f_uw/VJGMeMN37KI/AAAAAAAAAcg/hNbJILhIY3M/s1600/scatter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5hUnt2_f_uw/VJGMeMN37KI/AAAAAAAAAcg/hNbJILhIY3M/s1600/scatter.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every now and then comes along a book that needs to be
savoured in detail, a book whose language flows like fine poetry and whose
metaphors create a world unseen. Bilal Tanweer’s literary debut <i>The Scatter Here Is Too Great</i> is a book
of this kind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tanweer begins by creating an image before you, that of a bullet-smashed
windscreen , where “the hole at the centre throws a sharp clean web around
itself and becomes crowded with tiny crystals.” This is how he will show you
his city—Karachi, “broken, beautiful and born of tremendous violence.” And when
he says to you “Listen,” you do, spell-bound. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The narration is done by different voices, speaking of the
experiences of different people which make the book seem like a collection of
short stories, but with all of them converging at a single event: a bomb blast
at a station in the heart of the city. Tanweer keeps the poetic but combines it
with the grotesque, creating a shocking mixture.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little boy who gets teased for his teeth and who spews
abuses that he cannot recall later; Comrade Sukhansaz, an old communist poet who’s harassed on a
bus; Sadeq, the man whose job is to snatch cars from people that have defaulted
on their bank loans; Asma, the young girl who spins tales for her little brother
to conceal her own heartbreak; Akbar, the ambulance driver who has seen two men
at the blast site that nobody else noticed—men that he is sure are Gog and
Magog, the two fiends mentioned in the Quran who will appear on the Judgement
Day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are stories within stories, and they bring a certain
ethereal quality to the writing. It hangs like a cloud—seemingly surreal but the
keeper of promises to the earth. The promise that Tanweer upholds here is of
making the reader see the violence in Karachi—indeed, the violence for which
Pakistan is so in the news—from an angle that the newspapers and headlines
wouldn’t ever be able to show.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One way to give you this account is to ‘name the streets
and number the dead’. Another is to give
you this scatter I have gathered… read the crystal design on the broken
screen.” That’s Tanweer’s promise to you and that is what he does. He takes you
beyond the blast of a bomb going off, into the silences in the crevices around
it—“These stories, I realised, were lost. Nobody was going to know that part of
the city but as a place where a bomb went off. The bomb was going to become the
story of this city.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not if he has his way. This book is Tanweer’s ode to
Karachi, a love letter signed in blood. It is his ode to the people, their
folklore, their beliefs, their struggles, their sufferings, their loves and
their joys. Stories, he says, “were reasons that allowed us to connect
ourselves to the world, to compose ourselves in ways that others could read.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are listening, he says. Yes, we are.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-33331880549025284972014-12-17T03:57:00.000-08:002014-12-17T03:57:31.109-08:00Stuck in traffic-- Mental traffic.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_rh7mpEtVM/VJFutayk2xI/AAAAAAAAAcI/i1iWqGGMnCw/s1600/traffic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_rh7mpEtVM/VJFutayk2xI/AAAAAAAAAcI/i1iWqGGMnCw/s1600/traffic.png" height="276" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A recent post I saw on Facebook went thus: “You are not stuck in traffic—you are
traffic.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s not a single one of us who has not experienced the
phenomenon of being ‘stuck in traffic’. But how many times do we realize that
we are, in fact, part of the traffic that seems to make our lives miserable?
This simple statement of fact puts our place in the world into perspective. We
tend to view the world from a “spotlight” angle, making ourselves the focus and
centre of the universe. To each of the billions and billions of Homo sapiens
roaming the earth, the spotlight is always on them. Hence the appropriateness
of the traffic example—every person honking away in that jam is ‘stuck in
traffic’ and every other person is the cause of the hold-up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s a microcosmic representation of the entire story of
our lives—there’s always something bad ‘happening to us’; pumping up our
frustration levels and making us desperate for ways to get out of the
situation. But when we zoom out and see the larger picture, we get an aerial
view of the truth: we are an integral part of the problem. It’s not just
‘happening to us’, we are part of the reason it’s happening at all. The
Facebook post was, on the face of it, a pro-environment one, and had a very
simple solution to being stuck in traffic: get a bike, break free! Applied to other facets of our life, it
simply means: can we stop banging our head against the problem hoping for it to
break down, and look for a way around it instead? Can we, for once, imagine that it’s not just
happening ‘to us’; it’s happening ‘because of us’—so maybe if we could change
the way WE think, or the way WE behave, we might be able to change entirely
what we’re going through?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1O9ubHXbg9Y/VJFuvpNdVTI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/UP1JtBtb9Yw/s1600/traffic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1O9ubHXbg9Y/VJFuvpNdVTI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/UP1JtBtb9Yw/s1600/traffic1.jpg" height="193" width="320" /></a>Zooming out to get an aerial view shows you things you never
saw before: the simple truth that what’s happening to you is happening to
everyone else, too. That’s the part which is hardest to accept: every incident
in your life is not about you. People with a high need for achievement—the
winners and the go-getters—find this the bitterest pill to swallow. Sometimes
when we fail, or even when we miss the top spot (for some people, second is
worse than last!), the depression is overwhelming. But just for once, we could
step back and see the larger picture. Maybe this wasn’t our moment of triumph
at all. Maybe, in the vast, complex scheme of the cosmos, this was another person’s
moment of truth. It wasn’t something bad happening to us; it was something good
that just happened to someone else. Of
course, that doesn’t mean we must stop searching for our own moment of glory;
it just means being able to accept and appreciate when that moment belongs to
another.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each one of us is the hero/heroine of his/her own life’s
story. And that’s the way it ought to be too. (How could you go around playing
a supporting role in your own story? Definitely not acceptable.) But sometimes,
without knowing it, we become a part of someone else’s life story, and at that
point we are no longer the leading man or lady. Playing a supporting role can
be frustrating to our spotlight sense of existence. But that’s the secret to
living life gracefully: knowing which moment is yours, and which is just yours
to applaud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-37022016083883614142014-12-17T03:48:00.000-08:002014-12-17T03:48:49.832-08:00Pain is a proof of love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T6YZV6KSues/VJFs_joVvXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/BXcUdrRkbpw/s1600/pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T6YZV6KSues/VJFs_joVvXI/AAAAAAAAAb8/BXcUdrRkbpw/s1600/pain.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pain. The countless hues that make up the universe and all
that is within it are encapsulated in this singular, all-encompassing emotion.
Despite the fact that above all human desires is the wish to be free of it, pain
is an inseparable part of our existence. The very act of giving birth is one of
unspeakable pain. Not just for the mother, but also for the baby—hence the use
of the phrase ‘birth trauma’—even without any actual damage or injury. We can
trace our very origins to this least desirable of all feelings. The truth is:
there is no life without pain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most people identify the idea of pain with mostly that which
is physical: a gunshot wound, an accident injury, a malfunctioning of any of
the body’s constituents, and the most dreaded among the ordinary ones: a visit
to the dentist. But pain, like any other feeling, is all in the mind. It is not
the intensity of the assault but our capacity to tolerate it that defines the
pain we experience. That’s why different people have different ‘pain thresholds’—the
point where you begin to feel pain. And that is also the reason why our
mind—and therefore our body—can be trained to expand its ability to absorb pain.
Soldiers are the perfect embodiment of this. And so are stoics—unflinching in
the face of whatever life brings their way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Acceptance of pain is considered to be a step towards higher
spiritual elevation. And it does not merely refer to pains of the physical
variety. The pain of loss is a bigger, more enduring injury than anything that
can be inflicted upon the body: loss of love, loss of a home, loss of dreams,
loss of a vision and sometimes even the loss of an illusion. The stoic
philosophy teaches the mind and heart to take loss with calmness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, perfect acceptance of pain is perhaps possible only
in ascetics that have renounced the world along with the joys it extends. Just
as we need to be acquainted with darkness to appreciate the radiance of light, it
is when we expose ourselves to extreme pain that we can truly experience the
burning ecstasy of extreme joy, extreme delight. Agony of the heart has been
known to produce some of the finest poetry, literature and music compositions
in the world. In fact, pain itself can
be a cherished emotion sometimes; as Julian Barnes says in <i>Levels of Life</i>, there is a point when you just wouldn’t let go of
the throbbing in your heart: “If the pain is not exactly relished, it no longer
seems futile. Pain shows that you have not forgotten; pain enhances the flavor
of memory; pain is a proof of love.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, there is something beyond a person’s individual
pain—reaching a state where we feel the pain of another. When we can feel that
which we have not experienced, when we can work for those we have neither known
nor loved, when we can move out of the shell of our own misery and expose
ourselves to the agony of the universe; that is the moment of the spirit’s
triumph. People who are remembered for treating humanity as their own—and
people who could not be remembered for they let no one know about what they
did—became one with the universe because they shared the pain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, the pursuit of happiness is, and forever will be, the
crux of all human desires. But, as Kahlil Gibran says, “The deeper that sorrow
carves into your being, the more joy you can contain”.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-62795213927466859052014-12-17T03:41:00.000-08:002014-12-17T03:41:43.586-08:00Self Actualisation: not just better than others<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1zTtChjA99A/VJFrG1_LmAI/AAAAAAAAAbc/Zp22AKubTj0/s1600/self%2Bactu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1zTtChjA99A/VJFrG1_LmAI/AAAAAAAAAbc/Zp22AKubTj0/s1600/self%2Bactu.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a>What’s new about this? How is it unique? What makes it
different? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These questions float around in our ether, sizing up, cutting
down and sealing the fate of ideas, concepts, things and people. The world is
driven by the desire to stand out and to excel. From the very beginning of
life, we feel the pressure to be faster, stronger, sharper—better in some way
than the rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, there’s the key phrase—‘the rest’. The need to be
something special seldom stems out of an aspiration to rise to our fullest
potential. In a world that thrives on looking down upon others, most often it
is just a desire to remain a rung higher than others on the ladder. It is not
about what makes you shine best; it’s just about shining better than others. To
move or even to imagine beyond those borders is to risk leaving the security of
the herd. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Humans probably picked up from animals the assuring safety
of being in the herd. Because the world is an unpredictable place, there is
security in large numbers and in belonging to a group. Belonging, of course, is
an indispensable need of the human heart—to have some place and someone to call
your own, because nothing comforts us like the familiar. However, beyond the
intimate circle of belonging, there are larger concentric circles that do not
so much invite us to belong as they squeeze us to fit in. Beginning from the
peer group at school to colleagues at work, or members of the religious/cultural
group we belong to, everyone is constantly pulling to remould us to the
structure of the herd. Even the choices we make—our goals, our loves, our
destinations—are shaped by the forces of fitting in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lk_yNWRXHBg/VJFrHbU7loI/AAAAAAAAAbg/DqEvnAG5d4c/s1600/selfactualization.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lk_yNWRXHBg/VJFrHbU7loI/AAAAAAAAAbg/DqEvnAG5d4c/s1600/selfactualization.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a>And then comes the pull to stand out. Because we possess the
need for achievement as much as we possess the need to belong, the human
heart—and the human will—is forever torn between fitting in and striking out.
Bestselling author Stephanie Meyer’s phenomenally popular creation—the benign,
brooding, intense ‘vampire’ Edward, observes, in a moment of reflection, the
irony of humans’ deep, clawing desire to outshine others, even as they scuttle desperately
to blend in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The true meaning of the human longing to be unique, however,
is what Abraham Maslow defines in his Pyramid of Needs as ‘self-actualisation’. It is to realise the true purpose of yourself
and to explore the horizon of your capabilities. It is when we stop taking the
success of others as a parameter, and try to chart an unexplored path, a path
that is not merely ‘different from others’ but one that is our very own. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It is to break through the boundaries of our own fear; the
fear that keeps us within the protection of the herd. Todd Skinner, the
mountaineer, said it well: “If you are not afraid, you have probably chosen too
easy a mountain. To be worth the expedition, it had better be intimidating.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Can we stand out without succumbing to the pressure of
fitting in? Can we move our goals beyond being shinier, bulkier, speedier than
the rest of the herd? The point is not to say: I will do this better than it’s
been done before—no matter how great the ‘doer’ was. The point of Self-actualisation,
of being truly unique is: If it’s the true fulfilment of my potential, I’ll do
what’s never been done before.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This, then, is the answer to those questions floating on the
ether—I’m not just different, I am who I was meant to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-58613280133696163012014-12-06T05:51:00.001-08:002014-12-06T05:52:55.763-08:00The Sense of An Ending: An old column I wrote and forgot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfvwvrT-3bc/VIMJ6dP4oCI/AAAAAAAAAak/YOoTiSt8mng/s1600/julian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfvwvrT-3bc/VIMJ6dP4oCI/AAAAAAAAAak/YOoTiSt8mng/s1600/julian.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Memory is a strange thing. It’s perhaps the only basis for your construction of life as you’ve lived it. Apart from the actual physical records — the diaries, the letters or photographs, now also emails, blog posts and Facebook updates, most of the sense that you make of your life is based on your memory — and that of others who shared bits of it with you.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">So when Julian Barnes talks about memory being like “the black box aeroplanes carry to record what happens in a crash”, you can’t help but smile in agreement. “If nothing goes wrong, the tape erases itself. So if you do crash, it’s obvious why you did; if you don’t, then the log of your journey is much less clear."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">That’s where every person can, in some measure, relate to The Sense of an Ending — we all know that the ‘crash’ parts of life are often much clearer in our heads than the safe landings. Of course, being more human and less machine, our brain might decide to go into defence mode and erase the crash part altogether. But that’s a completely different scenario.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Barnes’s Booker prize winning book essentially explores memory and the chinks in it, and how, when old episodes resurface, you might have to change the way you looked at your life. The book begins with intriguing, unexplained images from the memory of Tony Webster, the narrator and protagonist, followed by his more intriguing observation that “what you end up remembering isn’t always the same as what you have witnessed”. The story, though, begins with Tony’s description of his school days and his troika of friends to which is added the serious and scholarly Adrian Finn. Part one of the book follows the ups and downs of Tony’s life and loves, with reflections on history and its making and, among other things, on the philosophy of suicide. Most importantly, it introduces us to Veronica, Tony’s first girlfriend, the woman that he could never ‘figure out’ till the very end.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">But it’s part two of the book that holds the real surprises; part one is just the stage being set. The twist in Tony’s life occurs when he gets a letter containing a message from Veronica’s mother. That episode sparks off a series of events that lead Tony back into his past, making him rewrite some pages of his life’s history, as constructed from his memory.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">When you come to the end of the story, one of the things you’ll wonder about is the title. There can, in my opinion, be two ways to look at it. One — that it’s the endeavour of an ordinary man to create a satisfactory ‘ending’ to his life fast approaching conclusion, a man whose final sense of the ending of life is very different from what he had imagined.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">The other way is in what you feel at the end of the story. There is, actually, no real ‘sense of ending’. It leaves you with a feeling of unquenched thirst, unanswered questions, of things you still want to know. But that’s how life is — you might never get the answers, even at the end.</span></div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-50457486273306662822014-06-20T02:48:00.004-07:002014-06-20T02:48:51.724-07:00NOON TIDE TOLL: The blood flowing in the veins of Sri Lanka<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qE-TlXwEXgQ/U6QDSIrLhjI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/sPab0VNyMe8/s1600/noontide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qE-TlXwEXgQ/U6QDSIrLhjI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/sPab0VNyMe8/s1600/noontide.jpg" height="224" width="400" /></a></div>
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What happens to a nation when a war that has raged on for
thirty years comes to a full stop? What do people do with the sudden silence,
the blank peace? What happens to a place that has been wiped out by a tsunami?
What do people do with the ‘clean’ open spaces? Romesh Gunasekara takes you on
a ride aboard a van across the north and south of Sri Lanka, picking up tales,
dreams and heartache in the wake of events that make lives collapse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Noon Tide Toll reads almost like a collection of short
stories, strung together by the voice of Vasantha, the van-driver who carries
people of all colours and shapes across the country to their respective
destinations. The book is divided into two sections—North and South—and begins
with ‘Full Tank’, ending with precision at ‘Running on Empty’. The chapters
have curious, beckoning titles that echo in your mind as you finish one after
another… ‘Deadhouse’, ‘Scrap’, ‘Roadkill’, ‘Ramparts’, ‘Turtle’, ‘Humbug’…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every single story carries a wealth of meaning and an ocean
of emotion. More appropriately, a mutli-hued universe of emotion. The
characters are as varied as a Chinese delegation looking for ‘economic avenues’
and their young translator; a priest and an acolyte-who’s-really-a-reporter
hunting down a war-criminal, a soldier who has killed his sweetheart’s brother
in the war and his haunted by the act forever, a nightwatchman who is ‘lucky’ because
he survived the tsunami…even as all twenty-two members of his family perished.
You can’t really choose your favorite section from the book, because every one
of them will linger on in your mind like a distant, unforgettable aroma. <o:p></o:p></div>
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However, I’ll be a bit partial and point to ‘Scrap’ as the
one that astonishes the most, with descriptions that you’d scarcely ever read,
much less ever see. It is the ‘scrap’ that the Chinese executives are
interested in, which is really whole fields full of confiscated vehicles from
the LTTE. “If architecture is said to be frozen music, then what was before us
was frozen pandemonium. Cars, vans, lorries, cycles, scooters, every kind of
vehicle jumbled up and abandoned in creeks and ditches”…. “It seemed as though
the transport of a nation has been gathered here and turned to scrap.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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The chapter ends with a scene at the beach, at a wrecked
ship captured by the Tigers earlier; but the most astonishing image is that of
a pop-video being filmed in the foreground. That’s Gunasekara’s metaphor for
you; the future being created on the rubble of the past. How the scrap of the
past gets recycled into a shiny future. But,
and this is the little voice that runs through each of the chapters, asking the
nagging question: can the past really be erased? As Vasantha asks himself, can
there really be a clean slate? Can you really, like Dr Ponnampalam who returns
to his country—after almost half a century—with his son Mahen, reconcile
yourself and create life anew amid the ruins of the old?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfEKpWuO9Xc/U6QDSh6XYXI/AAAAAAAAAZY/tC-EV5eJWpA/s1600/romesh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfEKpWuO9Xc/U6QDSh6XYXI/AAAAAAAAAZY/tC-EV5eJWpA/s1600/romesh.jpg" /></a>These are questions that he leaves for you to answer.
Neither despondent nor overly hopeful, Vasantha is a man who reflects and
observes, and has a hundred questions he wants to ask…questions that Gunasekara
waves as reflection points for his reader. His pen moves in simple, serene
strokes. With a steady, silent rhythm like a van’s moving wheels, the story is
like an actual roadtrip for you, steadily swaying from side to side as you take
in what the road has to offer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Gunasekara chooses to end with hope. <i>Mr Van Man, bring me a dream….<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-77708517489854173142014-06-20T02:30:00.003-07:002014-06-20T02:30:45.794-07:00TOMS RIVER: The small town that drank poisoned water<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uie6QFpcvwA/U6P-tpoWeUI/AAAAAAAAAYw/KZ_xVG6W43U/s1600/toms+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uie6QFpcvwA/U6P-tpoWeUI/AAAAAAAAAYw/KZ_xVG6W43U/s1600/toms+river.jpg" /></a></div>
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How would you feel if you were told that the water you’ve
been drinking every day for several decades contains toxic waste from a nearby
factory? And how would you feel when you’re told that this was known by the
companies in question but nobody bothered? And then, how would you feel if a
child in your family is born with brain cancer because his mother drank the
water while she was pregnant? This, in short, is the outline of the skeleton
that tumbles out of the closet in New Jersey’s small town of Toms River. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A Pulitzer Prize-winner is a book that needs no other
recommendation. But even so, a book like <i>Toms
River</i> is a treasured possession nonpareil. On the face of it, it’s the
story of one town’s battle for answers—answers to why the dreaded tentacles of
cancer were enveloping its children at a starkly alarming rate; a battle
against toxic dumpers and apathetic state agencies. But this isn’t the story of
one town. It’s the story of the world we are living in, it’s a story that is
much more chilling than any supernatural horror tale or gory serial-killer
saga, because it’s the kind of slow, invisible horror that could attack anyone
anywhere. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is amazingly in-depth investigative journalism by Dan
Fagin, which traces almost the entire evolution of cancer research and the
case-study of clusters to correlate the causes, along with the sixty year saga
of polluting of a town’s river, soil, air and groundwater by callous industrial
behemoths —Ciba Geigy and Union Carbide— who refused to comply with state
regulations or build waste-treatment plants because those things would incur
huge costs and eat into their profits. That the cost of these profits would be
borne by children getting blood, brain and spinal cancers was a point that
didn’t seem to matter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vslOO8C9624/U6P-yNFaIvI/AAAAAAAAAZE/HcD-Gk4NXHE/s1600/toxic+dump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vslOO8C9624/U6P-yNFaIvI/AAAAAAAAAZE/HcD-Gk4NXHE/s1600/toxic+dump.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
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Among the industrial ‘villains’ that feature, Union Carbide
is a name that Indians can never forget – for the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. The book
highlights the very tragic reality that under cover of providing ‘mass
employment’ and ‘economic growth’, industrial giants are allowed to get
away—literally—with murder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Fagin hits you in the gut with the tons upon tons of stomach-churning
details, but never a dull page would you find. Every line is worth poring over,
because Fagin’s astonishing writing prowess alternates so superbly between the
emotional, the medical and the criminal. Every chapter is replete with facts
and research yet has the quality of a fast-flowing page turner. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But sadly, unlike a regular thriller, there is no
retribution at the end. The families battle it out, waiting for scientists to
establish that the companies’ pollution did indeed lead to their children’s
suffering. But statistical tools and scientific research prove inadequate and
whatever little progress is made is outshouted by lobbying and business clout. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There were, of course, victories: like the clean-up
operation which treated ‘343,000 cubic yards of soil’—“enough to cover twenty
seven football fields with six feet of tainted dirt”, the charging of Ciba at
various counts and the “the largest legal settlement in the annals of toxic
dumping.” Yet, the feeling at the end is that of rage and helplessness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3bFUWkaEbxE/U6P-wGBVYLI/AAAAAAAAAY4/HEKClzdbpAg/s1600/Ciba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3bFUWkaEbxE/U6P-wGBVYLI/AAAAAAAAAY4/HEKClzdbpAg/s1600/Ciba.jpg" /></a></div>
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You read the book with eyes popping out and mouth contorted,
wondering how much of this could be happening in the place you call your own.
Particularly when time and again, the book says that dye-making
operations—complete with killer gases and carcinogenic wastes—have moved to
Asia on account of cheaper labour. It ends, in fact, with exactly the same
happening in South China. You and I have reason to shudder, especially when the
blackened Toms River reminds you of the scarred Yamuna frothing sickly at the
mouth… <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is a book that simply must be read, if only to shake us
out of our ‘growth-induced’ stupor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-64804880781166704232014-05-29T05:07:00.003-07:002014-05-29T05:07:32.601-07:00May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears – Nelson
Mandela<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4gSLsDcmV1E/U4ciiI3FDXI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/KHTl9tEOcNA/s1600/mandela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4gSLsDcmV1E/U4ciiI3FDXI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/KHTl9tEOcNA/s1600/mandela.jpg" /></a></div>
Fear is one of the strongest emotions—in both humans and
animals. One of the greatest motivating factors for the decisions that we make
is fear. Fear of the future, fear of the unknown, fear of being rejected by
society, fear of losing out in the race, fear of losing your loved ones. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And then there is the fear triggered by an immediate danger,
which is so overwhelming that your body secretes alarm pheromones in the sweat.
Animals, of course, have long been known to have the ability to ‘smell fear’.
From a purely scientific standpoint, though, what they smell are the ‘fear’
pheromones. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For a long time, it was a matter of speculation whether
humans can smell fear, but a team of researchers at Stony Brook University in
New York showed through experiments that people cannot just smell the
pheromones secreted during fear, in fact the emotion can be ‘contagious’. The
team taped absorbent pads to the armpits of 20 novice skydivers - 11 men and
nine women - on their first tandem jump. The pads soaked up sweat before they
leapt from the plane and as they fell. This sweat was transferred to
nebulisers and volunteers for the brain scanner (who were not told about the
experiment) were asked to inhale it. The results, as published in New Scientist
magazine, showed that the volunteers' amygdala and hypothalamus - brain regions
associated with fear - were more active in people who breathed in the
"fear" sweat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The research was, in fact, funded by the US Defence Advanced
Research Projects Agency - the Pentagon's military research wing—which fuelled
speculation that they were trying to isolate the fear pheromone for use in
warfare; to induce terror in enemy troops. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even without the research, it’s not difficult to see that
fear is indeed contagious. Rumours of impending doom are known to travel like
wild fire: a case in point was the widespread fear of the year 2012 because the
Mayan Calendar ended right there. It takes very little to spread panic— even
without pheromone-tactics. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In fact, the difference between animal and human brains can
make fear a potentially deadly emotion for us. Because of the greater
complexity of our brains, the fight-or-flight response initiated under threat
can cause the brain to misfire—causing us to be in perennial defense mode. That
is, we would be imagining threats and dangers all around us, forever feeling
insecure, which becomes extreme in mental disorders such as schizophrenia. But even ‘normal’ people have a tendency to
fret too much about potential threats and situations that may or may not arise.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exhDr6FSZZI/U4cifxwJv9I/AAAAAAAAAXI/drVZCaA3UN4/s1600/nelson+mandela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exhDr6FSZZI/U4cifxwJv9I/AAAAAAAAAXI/drVZCaA3UN4/s1600/nelson+mandela.jpg" /></a></div>
Perhaps that’s what Mandela meant when he exhorted us to
base our decisions on hope, not fear. It isn’t that we must give up being
rational or prudent, or not evaluate the risks of our decisions. It doesn’t
mean you skip that seatbelt because you hope you’d never be in an accident. Simply
put, it means envisioning the things we’d like to see transformed to reality,
and consciously taking initiative towards them. It means filling our minds with
positivity for the future. That way, we wouldn’t be falling prey to the
constant tendency to imagine the worst. We also wouldn’t be losing out on
opportunities that we missed due to fear of a bad outcome. Coming from a man who led an entire nation
towards their hopes, you have good reason to apply it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-88475184927352506552014-05-29T04:41:00.000-07:002014-05-29T04:41:09.935-07:00The Mouse Charmers: stories of the pioneers of digital enterprise in India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YuId1psHj4/U4ccdIONgDI/AAAAAAAAAW4/6zOJFOvu9G8/s1600/mouse+charmers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0YuId1psHj4/U4ccdIONgDI/AAAAAAAAAW4/6zOJFOvu9G8/s1600/mouse+charmers.jpg" height="283" width="400" /></a>From snake-charmers to mouse-charmers: that’s how Anuradha
Goyal sees the evolution of brand India in her digital-entrepreneurship based
work The Mouse Charmers. Goyal, who earlier co-authored CII’s India Innovates
Series, has produced a masterpiece on what she explores and elaborates best:
business innovation. The book is essentially a case-by-case exploration of some
of India’s best and most popular online businesses—and encompasses everything
from their origins and modes-of-operation to their revenue models and
technologies involved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has clubbed the digital innovators into three distinct
categories: commerce, content and connectors—based on the purpose that they
serve. The commerce category stars some of India’s biggest online businesses:
Flipkart, MakeMyTrip, CaratLane and BigBasket, while the content category
features names like Zomato, ImagesBazaar, Games2Win and Chai with Lakshmi. The
connectors mentioned are Shaadi, RangDe, CommonFloor and IndiBlogger. Enterprises
such as RedBus and Edewcate receive brief descriptions, too. There’s also a separate
chapter devoted to the entire ecosystem that makes it all happen at the speed
of a click. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goyal’s research is thorough and detailed. She finds out how
high-end e-tailers like CaratLane sell precious stones online, how they manage
the now ubiquitous Cash-on-Delivery option, and how they even provide upto 5
options to be selected for trial at home. On the other hand, she also finds out
how online grocery store BigBasket fulfills orders for perishable food-stuff
whose quality simply cannot be ascertained by the user online. BigBasket is
particularly a very intriguing study, simply because of the nature of products
that it sells. How they maintain the inventory of different types of produce
with different types of shelf-life— from packaged FMCG goods to fresh fruit and
vegetables, how they manage their procurement and logistics and the kind of
customer service they deliver makes for engrossing reading. The author recounts
an experience that perfectly illustrates the personal touch: she had to reject
an order of bananas because they were too ripe for consumption. A credit note
was issued to her account, but what’s more, the local service manager sent her
another bunch at no cost. When she enquired, he said, “Ma’m you wanted bananas
today and though I may have returned your money, your need is not fulfilled.
So, I have sent you bananas.” That’s some customer service!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Technology, of course, plays a key role in the interactive
user-experience that boosts these portals. The book shows how most of the
online enterprises prefer to keep the technology innovations in-house. Most of
them tried outsourcing, but, as is the common refrain, the pace of innovation
required to keep things simple and business-attracting is possible only with an
in-house team. You’d be amazed at the numerous types of customized systems
developed to suit each enterprise’s unique nature. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The book hasn’t focused only on the retailers, though. The challenges
faced by content sellers such as Zomato and Games2Win are well documented.
You’d be interested to know how the former ensures authentic reviews for your
palate, for instance, or how the latter created Indianised games, one of which
features our Prime Minister and how they actually wrote to the PM’s office to
try it! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Goyal picks some very interesting cases of social-impact
entrepreneurship, too, such as RangDe, which picks up from Mohd Yunus of
Grameen Bank fame, providing microfinance through crowdsourcing. Their amusing
and extremely creative campaigns are a great feature: World Cup Fever where you
could make whacky pledges on cricket outcomes and win a prize or the Mother’s
Day Campaign where you lent money to mothers for their children’s education and
the site send your mother a greeting card mentioning the good work that you are
doing!<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is a book offering great insights into the world of online
entrepreneurship, and is ideal for those wanting to study it as well as those
wanting to create their own space in it. For the rest, it is an intensely
satisfying experience to look ‘behind the page’ and involve ourselves more
closely with it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8312367959582684086.post-13963962079717079382014-05-29T04:25:00.000-07:002014-05-29T04:25:44.308-07:00The Mountain of Light: Story of Kohinoor, biggest brightest diamond ever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cU2znUxAZVI/U4cYTVxbyEI/AAAAAAAAAWk/qVQsAyrhrbw/s1600/koh-i-noordiamond2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cU2znUxAZVI/U4cYTVxbyEI/AAAAAAAAAWk/qVQsAyrhrbw/s1600/koh-i-noordiamond2.jpg" height="267" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A drawing of the original, uncut pride of India</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The Kohinoor Diamond was one of the most coveted objects in
Indian history, its romance and splendour unsurpassed, its form hidden in the
mist of swirling tales. The Mountain Of Light by Indu Sundaresan is a history
of the path traced by the 186-carat diamond all the way to the crown jewels in
England. This is a true historical account, rendered fascinatingly by
Sundaresan, who explains in the Afterword what parts of the book are based on
real episodes and which ones are the embellishments of her imagination. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The first recorded account of the diamond comes from Mughal
Emperor Babur, who received the stone from an Indian Raja. From there it moved
to Persia and Afghanistan, where the name Koh-i-noor was bestowed upon it by
Nadir Shah. Our story begins with Shah Shuja, deposed King of Persia, in a
wrestling match with his companion Ibrahim, in the Shalimar Gardens, where they
are living as “guests” of Ranjit Singh, ruler of the Punjab. Ranjit Singh has
been promised the Kohinoor by Wafa Begam, wife of Shah Shuja, in return for the
Shah’s freedom from imprisonment in Kashmir. How Ranjit Singh extracts the
diamond from this woman of supreme intelligence is a tale that immediately
charms the reader into the story. Ranjit Singh is the man who breaks the curse
of the Kohinoor—that only a woman could safely possess it; no man could hold it
and keep his kingdom. This man kept the Kohinoor for thirty years, and kept the
British at bay, too. With his death came the annexation and the slow movement
of the Mountain across the seas to another woman: the Queen of England.<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fr1hlVJ_yaY/U4cYQzcyZ4I/AAAAAAAAAWc/riYVfQqSXuo/s1600/kohinoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fr1hlVJ_yaY/U4cYQzcyZ4I/AAAAAAAAAWc/riYVfQqSXuo/s1600/kohinoor.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kohinoor, after being recut in Amsterdam</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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From the first page, Sundaresan transports you far back in time,
to fountains in pools with the base strewn with jasper, agate and carnelian
“which created a glitter of colours under the water”, a minister with a set of
false teeth made from ivory after he lost his own teeth in an attack, tent
poles studded with rubies and emeralds and the Koh-i-noor itself—the stone that
could feed the entire world for a day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sundaresan’s writing gives you the feel of watching an epic
movie, so visual is its quality. From the British encampment fashioned in the
style of <i>Ain-e-Akbari</i> to the scene of
the Governor General and his sister stuck on an elephant that refuses to budge
from the river even as it sprays them with water, every line flows fluidly. The
emotions are refined with the same elegant hand, every chapter carrying a different
set of characters and a different tug at the heart. In the latter half, the
book changes scene and moves to England, with Dalip Singh, Ranjit’s son—who is in
the care of the Logins and has accepted Christianity, being showered with a
multitude of titles and favours by the Queen. In the end, though, rejected as a
suitor for an English girl, he bitterly realizes that even though he’s Indian royalty,
he’s “not good enough for a young British woman of little fortune and no
pretensions to nobility.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-diYDeS3QV5w/U4cYWtUc8YI/AAAAAAAAAWs/PMpVg4Eelmw/s1600/queens+crown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-diYDeS3QV5w/U4cYWtUc8YI/AAAAAAAAAWs/PMpVg4Eelmw/s1600/queens+crown.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the crown of the Queen of England</td></tr>
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Although Sundaresan does not pepper the book with
patriotism, objectively showing both sides, the darkness of colonialism and its
deceitfulness is on full display. The Kohinoor, which is the connecting thread
of the various fragments, reflects the fortunes of India’s royalty. At the very
end, the Queen has the diamond recut and when Dalip holds it again, it’s been reduced
to 106 carats from 186. “It is weightless upon my hand, its heft cut away…this
is not a mountain anymore but a mere bump in the horizon…it isn’t the Kohinoor
diamond…” So too, of course, the grand royals of India faded into oblivion, devoured
by the British empire. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This book is a splendid work of art, a grave tale told with
much romance and subtle meaning. You would take a long time to come back to
reality.</div>
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Zehra Naqvihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090501765543143023noreply@blogger.com1