A Thousand Splendid Suns………

A good story is something that, when read, makes you feel you are laying on someone’s lap and the web of words is flowing into your ears. It is an effortless process. But the beauty of it is that when it ends you feel mesmerized, deeply moved and in some ways transformed. To Kill a Mocking Bird did it. And now this…….
Khaled Hosseeini’s book takes you on a journey deep into Afghanistan. Two women experience momentous changes in their lives as the world around them trembles and collapses. It shows the things a mother would do to protect her children. She will face disgrace, go hungry, accept violence and even kill.
The book is filled with moments that talk volumes about this love. Leaving her daughter Aziza in an orphanage where she could be fed and clothed, Laila holds her hand and says, “Look at me, Aziza. I‘ll come and see you. I’m your mother. If it kills me, I’ll come and see you.”
It is a story of women wronged by men. It is so full of succinct sentences that I had to stop and appreciate every now and then. Says Nana, “Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.” She even goes on to say, “a man’s heart is a wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed and it won’t stretch to make room for you.”
But don’t be misled into believing that all men are bad. There is Babi who believes in educating his daughter and is patient and loving towards his wife. There is Tariq who comes back to Afghanistan, when every one was leaving it, to rescue his childhood sweetheart. It is endearing how he says, “I’ll follow you to the end of the world, Laila.”
The story ends on a positive note. Even after the ravages caused by warring tribes and the worst possible things done by Taliban, hope floats. People gather bricks and rebuild the once great nation. Flowers sprout in the plants in old rocket shells. Rocket flowers.
The author leaves us with few lines from a ghazal by Hafez……….

Joseph shall return to Canaan, grieve not,
Hovels shall turn to rose gardens, grieve now.
If a flood should arrive, to drown all that’s alive,
Noah is your guide in the typhoon’s eye, grieve not.

Roots.....

Roots by Alex Haley traces back family history down seven generations to...Kunta Kinte....who called the guitar Ho and the river Gamby Bologna.....who grew up in a village in Africa and when he was out one day to cut wood, was captured by white men and forced into slavery.....

An interesting story that made me think about all the stories passed down generations by word of mouth. here are two of my favourites-

Durga Dutt Joshi was a Jhijharian(Jhijar is a famous muhalla near Almora known for joshis who when speak....speak so bitter.....that even the food in ur stomach gets burnt!). His father, the diwaan of Satna ensured that he had a good education. Though DDJ started off as a school teacher, he was soon promoted to the post of 'inspector of schools'. He travelled from one town to another on his white horse Chetak. Legend has it that he was very strict about the level of education imparted. So strict that after a tour his bag contained ears...yes....EARS and chutiaas(a brahmin boy's trademark bunch of hair) of truant schoolboys!!!

After retirement, being the eldest he enforced strict rules in his house as well. His younger brothers, fond of alcohol, never dared to uncork a bottle at home. They hired rickshaws and roamed around town drinking all evening, as far away from home as possible.

His grand children, taught by him, suffered the worst. On getting 95/100 in maths they were asked...in his thunderous voice......" bakee 5 number kahaan gayee??" He did not hesitate in bringing down his whip(yes he has a whip too!!) on their backs if they deviated an inch from studies.

I was shown these whip marks by my father (who, may i mention, has a flare for fiction), one of DD Joshi's grandsons, before exams and i was prompt to hit the books!

Badri Dutt Pande was very young when he lost both his parents. His elder brother supported his education and he became a professor at Chakrata, Garhwaal. But his youth coincided with Gandhi's call for freedom and he was quick to respond. Soon he became a prominent freedom fighter from Kuamon. He led the Coolie Begar Andolan and came to be known as Kurmanchal Kesari.

He was sent to jail often and his family was left to fend for themselves. On one of his jail stays, he got the news that his eldest son ,Tarek Nath(18) had drowned in the Ganga at Banaras. Two days later, more bad news followed. His daughter, on hearing about her brother's death killed herself in grief. Badridutt Pande was so overcome with sadness it threatened to engulf him too. He wrote a book called " Kurmao ka Itihaas" to emerge from the shock of loss. This book is still referred by historians.

He was offered a seat in the parliament after India's independence but he did not like the job. He was a freedom fighter and that is how he retired.

Once when he, along with other freedom fighters, decided to wave the Indian Flag atop Almora's police station, they were joined by hundreds of citizens. From among the crowd peeped a girl no more than 7 years old, with a flag in her hand. He held her up in his arms and she waved the Indian flag!!

This girl grew up to become a beautiful woman who married his youngest son Shakti Prasaad Pande. She was also his ardent supporter and companion in old age. She had lotsa children and later lotsa grandchildren. And whenever these grandchildren stepped the line or did something wrong they were told about the man who was their great grand father, a man with upright morals and undwindling determination. And given my affinity for misadventure i guess i have heard about him much more that any of my cousins.

My Cousin Rachel and other stories………..

In the winter of 1999, lying on a charpai, under a blanket, on Mrs. Jha’s terrace in Patna, I read Rebecca. It thrilled my very core and chilled my spirits. The ghost of Rebecca haunted me wherever I went. The line ‘we found her’ echoed in my head. The shadows of Drogheda mansion loomed large on my life. For days I excitedly related the story to Sarmishtha in class, lessons be damned! I bowed to the genius that was Daphnai du Maurier.
In 2002 I read Jane Eyre. Again the same reaction took place. The cruel orphanage, the huge dark mansion, the mad lady locked in the room. Ah! It killed me. Again I bowed to Charlotte Bronte`.
In 2004 I read Wuthering Heights. The ghost of Catherine Lintol Earnshaw took over. In the maddening heat of summer I felt the chill. The pure evil of man’s soul was laid bare and ‘infernal lads’ danced in my head. It was witchcraft and this Bronte` sister knew how to perform it.
Few days back I finished My Cousin Rachel. The setting is the same as is the intent but the witchcraft is gone. The chill begins but does not reach the deepest recesses of one’s heart. The burning of Drogheda mansion seems appropriate but when cousin Rachel dies falling off a scaffolded area it seems too deliberate. This genre of writing….whatever it is called…. is very powerful provided the author knows how to play with it.
I am looking forward to another novel that ‘scares the living spirits outa me’ and makes me a devout yet again……any suggestions??

Our continued discussion on Desiree and everlasting love……

“Nothing lasts forever and we both know hearts can change,
And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.”………guns and roses

Dear Don……..
Napoleon loved Desiree and it was very nice while it lasted. After moving to Paris he made a different choice. He married Josephine…..why? Because he thought it was the best thing for him to do. Maybe he thought that Desiree was not fit for the journey he was about to embark. Yes, he broke her heart but did it for the best. Maybe his way of doing it was wrong but the motive was not wrong.
He, in the course of his life, turns to her again and again. I don’t think it is out of love but something nobler…..friendship. The friends of our young days can somehow understand us more than anybody else.
Why is it that we choose to shun practicality when it comes to love? Why must we always associate it with great sacrifice and suffering? Why can’t we enjoy it while it lasts and the set it free? Why can’t we digest the fact that it can not be everlasting always? If it lasts…good, if it doesn’t….good enough…….
What say you??
Yours always
Capo

Writing all this reminds me of the conversation I had a few days back about the dwindling of a certain ‘utopian idea’…..a certain pact. If you are reading this Sir, I want to say sorry. I identify with Napoleon in strange ways. Six years is a long time and the memories and bonds formed cannot be zapped into nothingness, especially when they were so good. Yes, some things have changed but please let the others remain……..

Desiree…..
Annemarie Selinko

Desiree is the story of a silk merchant’s daughter told through diary entries. Hmm….what makes it so famous then? Well, this girl just happens to be Napoleon’s girlfriend. He leaves her to marry someone with money and power. Desiree Clary chalks the path of her own life which has many ups and downs which make for interesting reading. The link that these two established as young people lingers all their lives and they come to rescue each other often enough.
Finally she becomes the Queen of Sweden and Napoleon dies in exile. The most heart wrenching moment is their last meeting when she goes to him as the queen of Sweden and asks him to surrender. They sat on the same bench they used to as lovers and he gives her his sword……

Catch 22

It was love at first sight…….not with the chaplain but with the book…..there it stared at me from the Wheeler’s book store. Rs. 250….just the amount of money I had for the journey home. Fine I’ll go hungry….but I’ll have the book……
That was one year ago….I remember when I started it……the first reaction was that of shock…the shock one experiences with anything utterly new……….
There was Yossarian with his magnetic charm......major major major major with his insecurities…….Orr, Dobbs, Dunbar……..and god himself…..MILO……..
First time I read it I left it after 400 pages…..biggest mistake of my life…..
2 months back I picked it up again…..and fell in love all over again……
It is a different book with lotsa things thrown at you without any pretext….but therein lies its beauty……
Then there are the moments of soul searching questions………like Yossarian discussing god with his whore…….or Yossarian being the only sane one because he wanted to survive……or the very nature of catch22…………..
Yes, it helped me cure my sleeping problems………morning noon or night….I just had to pick it up and start reading….I would get the sweetest sleep ever……I am in no way trying to undermine the nature of the book……..may creepy maggots eat me alive if I do…….this is just what happened
So what is the book actually about……a lot of things….world war 2……life of combatants……various human personalities………..and catch 22 which says you can go home if you say you are crazy…..but if you say you are crazy you no longer are…………..go figure………

More books…….

The Eye of the Needle: Ken Follet: read while babysitting Paarth and as the roof fell over our heads……german spy steals an English secret for fuhrer that could change the course of WW2. Mostly cat and mouse game between the police and Die Nadel. Can’t help loving him for his efficient ways. At last dies because was foolish enough to have sentiments for a woman.

Day of the Jackal: a man without a name or nationality hired to kill the French President. Jackal plans everything to the minutest details, fools the police of 3 nations and single handedly gets his shot at the president. But luck fails him when he needed it the most…..the moment he takes his shot the president bends to medal someone. Phatach! The commissioner gets him. The day of the Jackal had come……….

The Catcher in the Rye::

Read it on a 27hr train journey. Finally, a very realistic book about adolescence. Though a bit too realistic. The protagonist is perpetually in a state of depression because everything around him is ‘phony’. There are only two things that give him pleasure- his little sister and his childhood friend. These two are just what they seem. Other than this there are themes of moral degradation and dissatisfaction from life……..my final word……SIGH!!!