Macro

Bush-whacking at its best!

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”This very week in 1989, there were protests in East Berlin and in Leipzig. By the end of that year, every communist dictatorship in Central America had collapsed.”
—George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Nov. 6, 2003

As I promised in my last review, the old gujju couple were not done yet. Mid flight, just when the plane started galloping up and down due to turbulent weather, old man decided it was time to take a leak. He took a leap though. The movement of plane was enough to send the man running 3 feet away and trip over a nonplussed lady who taught aisle space meant additional leg room. After lifting him up and getting him back to the seat, I discovered to my horror that I had finished Stupid White Men rather too quickly, with another 10 hours of flying left.

When the operator announced “We will be shortly arriving in Paris” my old man quipped “Mumbai avee gayoo atle jaldi?” (“Mumbai came so soon?”). After some more pleasantries and explanation that we were still continent apart, I buried myself again into the second book I had got for in flight concentration. This was “Dude, where’s my Country” by none other than Michael Moore (The more I read Moore, I love him!).

Dude Where’s my Country?

In this second book on bush-whacking, he completely and solemnly concentrates on the dubious man, Bush. This time Moore centers his research around Bush and his bunch of cronies and how they led a nation into believing that they first scared a nation to go to war, and then tried convincing people that they were actually liberating a nation’s people. [Come to think of, the weapons of mass destruction still haven’t shown up; I wish my grand children hear of them sometime]

There are some truly hilarious chapters in this book. In 7 Questions for George of Arabia, Moore exposes how the bush family has had a tradition of oil well deals with well you guessed it the kith and kin of Bin Laden. Moore asks the very question sensible ask and (most Americans have simply forgotten) – Where is the much acclaimed Bin Laden? A nation which thrives on latest gadgets and space technology fails miserably to catch the one man responsible for 9/11.

Moore also presents exciting recipes where the main ingredients happen to be

1. A bowl of Rice
2. A dick-full of Chaneys.
3. A foul smelling duck called Donald
4. Some dried and dangerous weeds from Texas passing of as Bush.

Each of whopper meals come with ample salad dressings which can be changed and modify to suit audience tastes at different times. They include

1. I-Nuke: Iraq has Nuclear Weapons dressing
2. I-Bio: Iraq has Biological Weapons dressing
3. I-Lib: We are Liberating Iraq dressing
4. Al-Qaeda and Saddam are tied dressing
5. Oil wells must be protected dressing

Note – the above ones are my creation – Moore knows how to mix them in the right proportion and serve it to you in form. For more please read chapter 2 of this fantastic book.

Moore also addresses this nation obsessed with ‘Terrorist Threats’ and ‘God Bless America’ Syndrome. In a hilarious letter from God, Moore explains how even God must be tired of Bush acting his messenger every time he croons on TV – “God Bless America!” Moore is as fascinated by various colors and codes for threat levels as much as I am too. He suggests practical ideas as to what do with them. He tries to bring vanity into Americans into believing that their chances of getting killed in a terrorist attack are far far lower than they meeting an accident on road!

Moore also takes a dig at the Patriotic ACT 29 which was accepted in wake of paranoia in the country there by finishing any kind of privacy anyone may enjoy in the country. In the name of security, Yokun Ho! You may not speak up!

By the way the much acclaimed tax cut by the Bush actually cuts taxes only for the billionaires and not the common man. The trillion dollar tax cut meant millions of cuts for the super rich while for the common working man turned into a mere 30$ a year. So much for the cuts – Moore exposes the false ideologies behind many of Bush’s moves and that what makes it even more interesting!

[Oops a digression! In the middle of the flight, our captain announced that we were flying over Arabian ocean and should be in Mumbai in another 3 hours. The Old man who probably heard the Mumbai part of it asked me “Are we on runway?”; I shook in disbelief and asked him to take peek outside the window seat he was occupying and confirm it for himself”]

Coming back to the Bushy Adventure, Moore probably gives the best thoughts on terrorism in the middle of the book, which goes by “HOW TO STOP TERRORISM: Stop Being Terrorists!”.

And yes, he also leaves the common Americans some spring time cleaning work to do; He sets a plan for the cleaning work and how to go about removing Bushes and other types of dangerous plantations and thereby save his homeland.

I won’t digress into his writing style again – he is not a literary achiever; he simply talks to you and you simply listen and have a good laugh. That his research is pretty extensive shows from the notes and research work he mentions in the book itself. Without creating any controversy, let me state that I tend to agree with Moore’s opinion, though I will not rule out the possibilities of propaganda campaign by Moore himself. However I and Bushwhacking get along very well hehe!

In the end, is this book a worth successor to the Stupid White Men? It is! If you are planning to read that one, may I suggest you read both of these books in one go? They are supremely hilarious! I also refrain still from making any comments on his political inclination as I am still not in a position to do that.

However as much as I tried to stir myself away from the oldies, I couldn’t ignore them. They were nice people at heart; When I was alighting at Mumbai airport, the old man and his wife thanked me for helping him out when he fell and also being patient with numerous visits to the bathrooms, the medicines, the luggage movement, the theplas, the form fillings. It was the “Thank You” that really touched me and probably why I will never forget them too.

”[A]s you know, these are open forums, you’re able to come and listen to what I have to say.”
—George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Oct. 28, 2003

Book Review: The Alchemist – Sadly Misses The Treasure…

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On trip back to the United States, by some misfortune or luck, I managed to buy just one book. That I had to still endure the Maharajah with probably another couple gave me the shudders since this was not very inspiring thought. Add to that the book I did got, “The Alchemist” was just around 100-150 pages long, thereby suggesting it would get over even before we crossed the Arabian sees! However things happen for good and luckily the seat next to me sat a good looking girl, about my age and just because you asked it, well, she was a Gujju! So while I was not chatting with her about India and she not telling me about her life, I read the book. In deed, the book lasted the whole flight and it was only near the end I finished the book. Also I need to make a trip to New Jersey soon, if you know what I mean 🙂

Now coming back to the haranguing on the book I am going to review today, first and foremost let me tell you that I prefer books over talking to people in flights. Now if this had been a such a stupendous book as it claimed to be on covers, I did have been pretty unlucky not to know her :-). Fortunately or unfortunately, the book is nothing but an average rendition of one man’s quest for himself.

THE ALCHEMIST
Likes of such books have been written a many. Richard Bach’s brilliant book ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ or the average ‘Illusions’ come to my mind immediately which debated on similar topics albeit different ways. The problem with The Alchemist it tries vainly in the later half of the book to be come something grandiose and just falls flat on itself. So what is it about?

The Alchemist is about a dreamer who decides to follow his dream. The dreamer is a shepherd who is told that he would find a treasure in the pyramids of Egypt. With a wishing from the old man, begins his journey to the pyramids. In between he meets a budding alchemist who in turn wants to meet the one (The real Alchemist) in the oasis. At last when he comes in face with The Alchemist, the alchemist then sets out to explain him about the soul of the world and the soul within. Eventually the dreamer actually reaches the pyramids to only discover that the treasure he looked for all his life lied with him back home.

MORAL
The book begins brilliantly with some really thoughtful lines hidden in the story. When author says we are always sure of how others should lead their lives, but never quite ours, you simply nod and wonder such exquisite lines. However to the book’s loss, they are far less and few, a fact that made both of Richard Bach’s works very famous. Things go downhill when the Soul of the World and such philosophies are introduced with some bizarre things happening within the book. The dreamer’s ultimate realization of the soul of the world, that is the soul of God was his own soul, doesn’t even sound satisfactory. His path to realization that God was probably his perfect self does not come across strongly enough for us to justify with the dreamer’s dream.

FATE & DESTINY
In the beginning of the book, till the later half of book, the author presents a thoughtful discussion on Destiny and Fate. We are all destined to do the work we were supposed to in our life the authors argued, however not many do it because they are simply bound by their insecurities of their fate. This probably came across as the strongest point of the whole philosophical thread of the book.

In my personal opinion, an individual controls his fate. And yet there is always a thing called destiny. Everyone is destined to do their work, and if we are destined to something, our fate too is destined with it. Conversely, my fate binds me to my destiny. It is in my fate to follow the destiny carved for me. So – do I believe in destiny? Yes! Do I believe in Fate – Yes! The book provides a good debate on this issue, and probably the only reason I ended up giving 3 stars to the book

PROSE
The prose of the book is very simple, straight and to the point. It does not try to be a literary classic in its own right, but manages to be simple. However, its far too simple – to the point that it bores you. Such a book requires the author to hold his reader’s interest throughout, however this is where it fails. One is never really interested so much in this book at any time.

FINALLY
Did I like this book? I thought this book was a pretty average book, and if I really had to recommend a book on similar lines, then I did seriously recommend Richard Bach’s ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ which is a far more superior piece of work; and yes, shorter too 🙂

Richard Bach’s rendition of the Seagull looking to break beyond the boundaries to reach his dream to the point where his prodigy learns that to know thyself was to know the one, provides more thoughtful exposition than a dreamer lost in desert.

PI
In the book ‘Life Of Pi’ towards the end when the kid explains his adventures with the tiger, the police men refuse to believe him and laugh him off. When he reiterates the same story with animals, it becomes more convincing to the policemen. I probably felt the same after finishing Seagull and the Dreamer.

Do animals teach us more about life than we can to ourselves?

Book Review: The Cobra Event – The TERROR lurks nearby

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Three days ago I woke up in the middle of the night in the Lesch-Nyhan position – my one leg and its opposite hand folded, almost like a criss-cross position. A cold sweat ran over me, and I immediately switched on the bed lights; First I checked myself whether I had bit off my fingers (I am known to bite my nails), and then checked if my lips were still all right and not tethered. Five minutes later I realized that I was probably seeing a nightmare; – no, I didn’t see a dream, I just enacted a nightmare and it was downright took me out of myself.

Such was the effect of this book – The Cobra Event by Richard Preston on me after reading this brilliant novel on bio terror. Even Prey with all its technical geek didn’t give me the shivers as this book did; its not a horror novel, but simply a possibility of a horror affecting our lives. A horror more powerful than a nuclear bomb; a horror which really threatens humanity as a whole. And to think it all begins with one little DNA strand; a strand of A, T, C, and G all in different formations, different structures, from different diseases. All it takes is a strand of 100,000 or more or less A, T, C and Gs to make up a DNA of the virus strand which only electron microscopes have had the ability to see. And to imagine, humanity may simply be challenged by it.

Witness a shockingly descriptive narration of a school girl dying in the prologue. It takes ten pages to imagine the symptoms – and when you do it, a picture emerges in your mind of horrifying impact a single genetically modified molecule can have on a human body. The chilling start only begins to expose a thrilling novel, on the possibilities and the reality of bio terrorism in our lives

The Cobra Event is story of a mysterious virus in New York which begins to take people’s lives in a matter of few hours. The unexplained deaths became a basis for exploration for a group of people who must delve into the deeper aspects of biology to uncover exactly what was the virus made up. You as a reader join them on their pursuit of not only finding out exactly what the virus is all about, but also about finding ‘who’ exactly leaked it out. You travel through forensic sciences, the symptoms decision, and the pursuit of that elusive strand of the virus. You are thrilled some exciting moments and some tense moments good enough to keep your midnight oil burning. One notices how damn realistically it all could be possible – and we are never as safe as we had always imagined ourselves to be.

The next day after I got up, the day went smoothly at the office. As I climbed the shuttle I was going to take back home, I noticed there was a pungent smell in the bus and I couldn’t figure it. The bus was packed, and I had to sit at the far end where the smell was the strongest – it was kind of medical smell, as if someone was putting on a Vicks on their face. And yet, I thought what if some one had caught a ‘different’ kind of cold? The cold is contagious, has 100 different strands of its own and one of those which does not have a vaccine. What if someone had sprayed something in the bus – nearly three people seemed to be running a nose. How was I sure that some idiotic insane decided to run a bio test on live humans right in this bus? Could it be possible? Well, very truly yes – after all how many would actually notice in 5 billion people on earth about such a measly group of people in a bus. I told myself, I was again enacting a nightmare and all is still definitely well with world.

The Cobra Event itself is a work of fiction, however the background isn’t. The background research is not a self thought of situations, but rather an extension of what has already been achieved in bio terror research and what is being pursued currently. The story is fictional, and yet the historical rupture is not. The historical notes on different important events of bio terror weapons being tested in the world secretly makes for a quite a shocking read, which not only thrills you, but leaves you cold. The authenticity of the research only makes it a more compelling read.

Allow yourself to ask questions – ‘Is AIDS an experiment gone horribly wrong?’ – ‘Why is Anthrax so powerful?’ – ‘Is man creating the ultimate weapon against himself?’ – ‘Do animals spread virus to human bodies?’

In an era where thrillers have ceased to become movie scripts, this book comes a welcome change. Here is a thriller written as a book and not as a trashy script – thereby increasing the thrill element. The author uses a lot jumbo vocabulary in biology enough to split your head. Unless with a preliminary knowledge of biology, it would not be very easy to follow the book – however anybody with a secondary degree though should understand the concept of the book.

All in all, this one is a must read books on the real terror behind biological weapons and how in itself man seems to be creating the ultimate weapon against himself.

For the past weeks I have been hearing about the spread of Bird-Flu amongst people in Thailand. Inherently a chicken disease, there are cases of people being affected and dying rather too quickly. The virus spread across a few more countries by this week; the WHO is worried about the virus and its possible mutation with a common cold. The results could be ghastly – what started as a dangerous disease in chickens might just turn out be a nasty mutated virus affecting humans rather too quickly and become a highly infectious disease. A fully functional vaccine against the virus is still nearly six months away; hopefully that’s not too late.

Now comes the point – is this yet another experiment gone horribly wrong? Or am I just enacting another nightmare?

Book Review: Life and Times of Michael K

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Meet Michael K, a 30 year something with a harelip, with shortened intelligence and goes about his daily life as a gardener. He doesn’t expect much from life or society and doesn’t understand very basic things in life. Yet his heart desires freedom and the freedom of having a lived a free life; free not from the war, but from his soul.

Witness South Africa raging in a civil war. Not many places to actually live. Loot, arson and war camps are the order of the day. You are captured and put into war camps because you want to live. You want to see the end of war; not by putting an end to it, but by staying away from it.

Experience the pathos of the doctor trying to understand his patient. He yearns to know the story behind Michaels resistance. In understanding Michael, he understands himself – that in a vestibule of life, Michael K, the nameless soul is freer than himself. Sympathize the plight of an individual who has chosen to live a life of service to humanity and yet without freedom.

J. M. Coetzee novel in 180 pages speaks more like a volume and an epic saga of one mans quest of freedom. That a mere 180 pages is all it took for Coetzee to pen something so brilliant is an indication of how good this author really is. Twice booker winner (one for this one and other for Disgrace), one quite understands that he deserved them more than anyone else.

Coetzee spans across an epic of a country torn by war and the indulgence of one mans quest for a free life. Michael K doesnt understand much of this world rather he is one of the stupidest persons to come upon on earth; yet in Michael we see that a simple idea of life is worth living a life for.

Michael teaches us that by removing ourselves from the complexities of life and looking at the bare simplistic demands of life, what one yearns for is freedom. The freedom to be free from the soul; that a free life in a bonded society is probably not worth it; that a man bonded in his soul is not quite free. And that if one tried to look beyond the wall – it was not very hard living that life.

Bombs may have cracked and fell that water pump, but Michael derives pleasure in finding water at the end of the bore in the ground. In his pleasure of finding enough water in a spoon he displays his thoughts of deriving a better life even in the times of hatred. That looking further, it was the water contained in spoon that mattered, not the war ravaged surroundings to make man happy.

Coetzee writes with supreme élan – The language flows beautifully in the book; there are no overtly complicated prose nor is there over done third person. Note the change in stance and perspective in different parts of books – at one time a third person narrates Michael K, at others a doctors perspective takes the story forward, and then yet again Michael himself takes himself ahead all blended in an intricate manner.

As with most Coetzee books, this one too broaches upon darker aspects of life. A pretty disturbing book like Disgrace on the outset, but leaves the reader to delve upon the deeper meanings of the book. And like Disgrace, the moral of the story is clear at the end.

In a teasing style, Michael K himself discovers the moral of his story. I refrain, please read this magnificent book. Simply not to be missed.

Its difficult being kind to a person who wants nothing in life
— Excerpt from the book

Book Review: A Fine Balance – Tales From a Bygone Era.

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Reading this book is like viewing one of the overtly oppressed and done a million times rehash of village thakurs, dowries and common man’s struggle against corruption, tragedies at every step of life in the movies of the late 70s and early 80s. Flimsy characters, almost out of those very movies, arise of this book and lead their lives in terrible tragedy, as if in effect themselves paying tribute to the script writers of those movies by mouthing inanely cliché done dialogues like “Will you not hug your father?” or “After all I did for you, you do this” and such. The characters almost behave like the oppressed villager awaiting his messiah to free them, the bastiwalah fighting for their life or the low class oppression against gangsters, landowners and every single terrible efficacy there is to life. Almost panoramic in its view, the book in effect is a standing tribute to the cinematic scope of myriad stories of the bygone era.

However that would be looking at one view of the book. It is in those very characters that a tale breathes of tragedy, friendship, self discovery, and over all a sense of that obsessive looming failure about to strike that next road to them. In the characters you discover not only the pathos of the characters trying to strike that fine balance between finding solitude in chaos, friendship in lies, family in disoriented characters, or perhaps just striking to find the balance between their lives and their past. As however cliché many pages over and over again may sound to you, as yet how many ever times you seem to almost predict whatever is going to happen, and perhaps as many times you may have almost gathered the next few lines of the book, yet, the book keeps coming back to haunt you, keep you engrossed, keep you traversing the characters lives, and perhaps in the same vein, try to bring about the fine balance within yourself, wondering whether you loved this book or loved to hate the book for progressing nothing but the banalities of life.

But perhaps, that is the strength and the weakness of this magnificent book – a book that tries to draw a fine balance between story telling and flimsy characters, between characters in almost always tragic scenarios with the little gushes of happiness, or between the lurid details of emergency to the memories which refuse to give up long after they are gone. In essence, what remains then of this book once it ends are nothing but memories of a bygone era and the pathos of the characters. Its not the characters themselves who stay put in mind, but it is their underlying struggle to find their balance which keeps you haunting, and to a very shocking disturbing climax, which quite literally had me moist.

Perhaps, reviewing the story of this book itself is a meaningless exercise, for in reality there isn’t anything story worthy. Its not about a story trying to reach a goal, nor is it about docu-journey of life in the big city. Its just about a year, a certain year which changes the lives of four characters in the book – bound together by dependence on each other, beginning with a doubts of trust to never ending love and bound by memories hard to relinquish. A six hundred page saga set in a single year, manages quite brilliantly to cover three backgrounds from three eras to a culminating pothole of life. Diverse in backgrounds, all and I mean all backgrounds neatly end up supporting the anguish of character’s life – that the author wastes quite literally half a book is proof evident that the author never intended this story to be happy.

Saying that Rohinton Mistry, critically acclaimed author who manages a booker shortlist every time he pens, demonstrates amicably why he doesn’t make it. When compared to the likes of J.M. Coetzee, Mistry becomes simply a pale shadow of Dickens era. While his prose is superior and keeps you always engrossed, his prose never quite delves till the near end – in effect, he nearly doesn’t affect his readers, until the final two chapters, when the saga takes a different turn – quite particularly, Misty positions himself for a brilliantly written yet disturbing final chapters. However I couldn’t say that for most part of the book. Nonetheless, he is definitely a superlative author whom I am looking forward to reading more.

Despite the flimsy characters, I was most pretty much impressed by Maneck’s character, a character trying to find his balance in life by weighing his past – at many parts in the book I could absolutely relate and feel myself in Maneck’s steps; particularly and not shockingly to my readers, but I almost had the same pattern of thought towards the end. His struggles in his mind at many places reflected a personal struggle within me too. His was the most prominent character I liked and probably more because of the proximity within me.

Saying that the characters do remain flimsy – and explaining the difficulties between how they are flimsy in themselves and then telling about how personally moving they are is like a contradiction itself. Forgive me; I cannot draw that fine balance between when the characters begin to look flimsy and when they start moving you to tears.

However yet despite all this, one question which reiterates my mind writing this review. Why are such books written? At one point, it was almost as if Mistry had a preconceived notion of presenting the gory details of every heinous society ill in Indian life – to the point that at different websites, a few readers are proud to be American / Britons after reading this book and appreciate their life? Why do international Indian authors delve upon subjects of utopian era? Why can’t we have more people writing about better part of our lives? Is it so difficult for these authors to present – or tragedy in itself is an easier topic to write on and our background only makes it easier? Where are the R.K.Narayan’s of today who knew the art of looking back at life in a much more hope than these authors? Maybe then I too finding that fine balance of finding that right author.

Overall
Excellent book – worth a read once; I am sure you won’t pick it up again.

Book Review: Such a long journey – Such A Boring Story

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How many times in your life do you come across a book, after reading you simply frown and wonder “Gosh! How did I waste my week behind this one?” or “What was the point of this story?” or “Why the hell I didn’t stop after 100 pages?” Rohinston Mistry’s first work Such A Long Journey evokes similar emotions, and lets you feel terribly disappointed and wonder how author of a excellent book such as A Fine Balaance could come up such a amateurish, contrived and boring story; that too in his debut!. In essence, Such A Long Journey is left nothing but as Such A Boring Story.

Such a boring story
And hence as this is a review, I must bore you too with the boring details of this book. Meet a boring family which will make your ancestors come alive and kicking out of their graves; the protagonist has a boring personality; neither does he represent the common man, nor does he represent his religion. Meet Gustad, the headman of a Parsi family working for a boring bank filled with mundane characters and boring idiosyncrasies of life. Meet his wife Dilnavaz who seems to have been created out of primitive era – a lifeless soul just there in the story to expose superstitious beliefs amongst women rather a character in the story. Meet their children a daughter who remains perennially ill, a son who is a misnomer in the story, and the eldest son whom remains pretentiously the most boring character of the book.

As if these many tired characters weren’t enough, Mistry allows himself to build a chawl with cliché characters, dogs, rats, cats and the rest. Then he mixes his ingredients with a culmination of rather strange incidents in books for no rhyme or reasons, people emoting for no reasons, people dying without purpose, and most importantly people on soul searching without much purpose. One never gets into the thick of things; one never feels for Gustad or his trials; at one point I was wishing Gustad kill himself to save the bore for us, however I was not the author.

Tragedy is the author’s forte, this much I have gathered, but forcing a tragedy is like making Devdas drink alcohol in spite of being married to Paro. The requiems of protagonists’ life fail to make any contact with your heart after the last contour in the story. The suspense track which has been tried hard to be kept, is seemingly crooked and devoid of any thought process or execution. Tragedy must strike characters out of nowhere, this much the author assumed, and as if to prove it out then goes on a killing spree, making extras catch an emotionallydrainingmemoriesfillewithcolossallosspathos effect on the protagonist.

Oh did you wonder why I haven’t told you the story? If there was any I did let you know. Whatever was bored me to death and I will save you the trouble.

Such a boring prose
Admittedly, one might unfailingly ask – “why the hell did finish the book?”. The answer is, Mistry is one of those authors who manages to keep your hopes alive by some skill. While most of other authors I did be throwing the book back at the wall, authors like Mistry and John Irving leave that door open with a little hope that a book might get better; alas that doesn’t happen. The author’s prose is arcane; It is as if he set down to write something else initially, and gradually then it turned into something else. He is also eccentric with some brilliant moments delved in the book, only to be surrounded by vagaries of mundane existence. His take on the holy gods and wall ceremonies are humorous and well handled.

Such a boring review
Forgive yourself for reading this boring review, and forgive me for writing such a boring review as well. It is as if I am in the hang of the book – a listless feeling has swept over me, and deprived me of any skill in writing. My only determination was to warn all my fellow msians against this book, and save your precious money.

Saying that Mistry is not a bad author; his second work was almost brilliant; I only hope he gets better with time. And as for me, my boring existence has left me with no new authors to read – thus I now take my sheathing brain towards Family Matters. Hopefully, that should get me back!

Meanwhile, avoid this one.

Book Review: The Inscrutable Americans

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”In my judgment, when the United States says there will be serious consequences, and if there isn’t serious consequences, it creates adverse consequences.”
–George W. Bush, Meet the Press, Feb. 8, 2004

( I have a devious desire that this idiot gets elected again as the president. That way I will be assured of another four years supply of Bushisms! ).

In a nation obsessed with ridiculous debates whether gays should marry or not (come to think of it, it sounds so very silly when people start claiming Christian values, religious sentiments, conservative bullshit to support their claims against, when it is as simple as two individuals choosing to like each other and staying with each other!), it is impossible to spend a day watching TV without the mention of Sex, Sleaze or anything equally sensational on TV. Janet’s nipple-gate event only proves the heights (or rather depths) this society has reached; Britney Spears forms an icon to generation here, and that only indicates the shape of things to come. Sometimes, Saas-Bahu serials provide the mental relief from such sordid surroundings!

The first things I want to find out about The Inscrutable Americans is whether Anurag Mathur is related to Spookdum Swami. If he is, kripaya bathaye! Secondly, I really want to know the inspiration of the hero and his friend came from. A village gook named Gopal meets a sex-starved hyper active Randy (whose name suspiciously sounds funny) when he comes to study at the United States. The Inscrutable Americans is a hilarious take of one man’s journey in the land of supposedly free, democratic and blessed by the lord!!!

Per se, The Inscrutable Americans is an average book, but it is in its simplicity and not trying to achieve too much that appeals you. For example, Anurag Mathur doesn’t aim to provide nostalgic saga of immigrants, but simply a year in the life of Gopal when he comes to United States to study. Along he meets his first friend and probably his last friend too – Randy – who tries his best to get him laid but to no avail. In essence, the book is nothing but one boy’s quest of the glory hole, and in between interspersed with Gopal’s own observations of American College life and its bundle of eccentricities it brings with it.

Having myself been at heart of college life here, its impossible ignore Gopal’s shrewd observations about Americans in general – a fact I am sure which germinated within author’s head when he too stayed as a student here. His observations of Americans confused between their personal privacy and their public privacy had me in complete splits! There are some supremely well crafted incidents in the book, but the one which had me in complete howl right in the bus was Gopal’s stint with a Pimp who offers him vegetarian cats. (gosh gosh – enjoy the pun). Subsequently, his frustration at having dished out 75$ for a Swedish massage had me in fits too; I can easily sympathize the situation there!

Along with the hilarious insights, Anurag Mathur cleverly digs at several issues raking this country like racism, color problems, the hypocritical views of the conservative idiots, and general American lowness in IQ when it comes to knowing about outside world.

But probably the funniest parts of the book belong to Gloria (the hostel care taker) and her ridiculous poems, along with Gopal’s letters to his brothers. Note the language he uses, and the ever slow increase of American idioms in his letters, especially when he coolly mentions – Take it easy now.

The writing isn’t anything literary or great, but makes for a very comfortable reading. On the flip side, the book does tend to go overboard in reciting Gopal’s experiences, and while at times seems to drag too. However as said earlier, it was not meant to be a literary classic, so just enjoy it as it comes.

Overall
On the whole, The Inscrutable Americans is a good enough book to be picked up, and finished in a jiffy! While its observations may strike non-experienced readers amused, its really the ones who’ve pursue the holy grail and tread the path to cats that will find this book interesting!

One word – mood for light reading? Pick this one!

The above comment on Bush is not to be taken very seriously! The world will be much happier and safer places without Bushes and his bunch of cronies out.

”More Muslims have died at the hands of killers than — I say more Muslims — a lot of Muslims have died — I don’t know the exact count — at Istanbul. Look at these different places around the world where there’s been tremendous death and destruction because killers kill.”
–George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Jan. 29, 2004 (Exactly what was the point?)

Book Review: Scenes From The Past – 2 [ Youth ]

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It might be perhaps intentional or unintentional, but there is a remarked difference in the two novels even though they are quite literally the same. In fact, the prose, the style and the writing never ceases to change, and yet the change in both the books comes across to you. Perhaps, that is the biggest strength of writing of this author.

Discover a very emotionally written Boyhood filled with incidents that simply linger on in your mind; at the same breadth, you are bound to get struck by the raw emotiveness of Youth. Smaller incidents and smaller questions mark the boy’s life – “Why am I not normal?”, “Why will aunt not stay with us?” to his sexual awakening as an adolescent. At Youth, discover john asking himself “when will my time come”, “why can’t I write”, “Where am I going?”.

Moments haunting you long after appear in both the books, but perhaps, it is the largeness of the surroundings that make Boyhood richer in terms of story setting and discovery. In a bus, besides his mother, he lets something go in the wind – nothing dramatic about it, but yet so poignantly recalled. At his school, he doesn’t know what he is – A Christian, a Catholic, A Jew or someone else; and a price he pays for being one of them. His turmoil not only stems from his own family, but also due to the surroundings or probably the lack of them.

Conversely, an older John needs to find himself first. His questions and his world is limited to him, his poetry, and his ambitions. Perhaps, it’s the smallness of the surroundings of Youth and the remarkable process of self discovery which has its own moments. While, not many moments strike you, yet his discoveries on appropriate behavior with the Indian couple, or his inner feelings when he beds a woman he doesn’t want to stay with. But perhaps, it is own self in the other Indian that is the most memorable part of the book.

Coetzee writes without inhibitions and without any premonitions of writing a well sounding completely justifiable autobiography; which is the strength of both the books; He is not writing about how he made through his life, nor does he aim to preach you anything. He merely recites his journey, allowing you, as a reader to make judgments about him. Nor does he overcome all his fears or all his weaknesses, but then he didn’t need to be.

Like in any other Coetzee book, (or maybe the resemblances to others these two books have) is the ending. Like his other works, the books just end; just right, just about time, as if its almost Coetzee knows its about time wrap up.

Overall

Boyhood and Youth, are a very well written memoir of a very distinguished author of our times. Its difficult writing reviews on both of them, for they must be read – first Boyhood and then Youth in that order only.

Overall – yet another must – read books from Coetzee.

Book Review: Scenes From The Past – 1 [ Boyhood ]

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Talking about two novels, written differently in time Boyhood and Youth in two separate reviews is pretty difficult, since they are one and the same book; the latter is a continuation from the end of Boyhood. I have come to believe now that J. M. Coetzee is simply one of the very best writers around in this world, who all books are challenging, and yet subtle in nature of their own. The two books, aptly tagged as “Scenes from Provincial Life 1” and “Scenes from Provincial Life 2” provide an insight into the author’s past from his boyhood till his youth, when Coetzee discovers what he wanted to do and become in the world.

Boyhood

Meet John, aged 8 sometime in the 1940’s in South Africa. His family has shifted from hustle and bustle of Cape Town to a country side village – a place where all streets are named by tree names, and yet no trees actually grew there. Elsewhere a World War II rages on in the other parts of the world, though he doesn’t understand exactly how it that they are involved. South Africa is a nation in turmoil, yet he doesn’t exactly know what is so paining the African nation.

At school, John is always first in his class – not because he is clever and wants to, but because he is scared of failing and getting beaten by his teachers. It’s a fear which refuses to let him go – the fear of not being a normal boy like others; not being a normal child like his classmates. He resents his dad; he adores his mom, and yet cannot wait to despise her and leave her for good. His brother too is a normal child, but he is bound by fear of things going wrong, and fear of him doing things wrong.

In an environment besieged by violence, turmoil, guilt, arrogance and self pity, John grows up to his adolescence. Boyhood is the journey to his adolescence.

Youth

A young man wants to leave his home badly. He has left his mother and his sordid past behind him. He studies his graduation at a university, while working to consolidate his living. He has a dream, of going to United Kingdom. He also has his real dream – of being a Poet. He convinces himself that London is the place where he can become a poet.

He still hates his mother; he still loves her as well – she is overbearing, over concerned and over loving – whilst, he needs to break away from her mould. He has discovered that he is not as clever as he was in his boyhood in schools; mathematics is interesting though not something he really wanted to do.

His relationships don’t last long. His flings with women don’t seem to last long. He needs to get to London, to find his inspiration in form of love, and then to become a poet; as he believes all artists need true love to motivate them, so does he wait for his love and his moment to besiege him.

Instead, he must work to live. He must work like a normal man, earning daily bread. Though he lands a luxurious job, he is still awaiting his love, his inspiration and his moment when he will set out to write the poetry he always dreamed of.

In a world of self consciousness, bereft confidence and the anguish of not leading a life he wants to, he passes the Youth of his life. At times a discovery, at times an anguish and at other times fear of losing that he still possesses from his boyhood haunt him.

Youth is this journey from his adolescence to a man.

Hail To The QUEEN!

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So, finally after all the brouhaha about India Shining and Feel Good factor, it all boiled down to the un-shining and the felt-bad sector of the country which cost the BJP the mandate to lead India once more. Its ironic though, we are probably voting away a government which was actually doing good work – or perhaps, to put it politically correct, was doing great work for a section of society in India. While its debatable whether Vajpayee did or did not deserve another term at the office, one cannot possibly argue the power of rural vote in India. And here is an example, where the rural vote was yet once again deceived (again, debatable), and another party has come to power to lead India, ironically by a European – or make that Indian perhaps.

Instead of looking at what Congress did right in these elections, it is more interesting and important to look what BJP did wrong.

  • BJP didn’t really do badly, but somehow they got carried away in their own reform ideas and trying vehemently to put India on global map, even before putting their own people under their confidence.
    • I have never supported BJP ultra soft approach to NRI brethrens and resulting political fiascos. While their “Yatri Divas” program was much indeed novel idea to promote tourism, their “NRI Divas” was as dumb as a dead cuckoo. If only BJP had devised something like “Farmer day” or “Rural Day” in addition to their fancy dress competition of NRI divas, they would have been more balanced in their outlook.

    • BJP certainly needs to get over the foreign origin issue which it has kept harping and harping about incessantly. Agreed, Sonia Gandhi may have been (and may still be) a foreigner, but truth of the matter was, Sonia reached out to people with BJP didn’t during the campaign – and it showed. BJP was given a chance in these 5 years to bring a bill preventing people from foreign origin to hold an important post, though they didn’t, and well it backfired. As for me, Sonia Gandhi looks dumb to me, and is unfit for the post of PM, and that’s about it; whether she is Indian or not is simply a secondary issue. BJP could have instead questioned her political experience and qualification she had for the post rather than harp and cry about her foreigner issue.

    • Pro-Reforms but where? India Inc definitely has shown promising results in the last five years, and yes a lot of credit does go to the BJP. And yet, BJP/TDP in Andhra Pradesh could not explain farmer’s suicide, the state’s burgeoning deficit bill and overall state of the state’s rural areas. I personally consider Chandra Babu Naidu to be a visionary and fit enough to lead our country, but his over enthusiasm of developing a Silicon Hyderabad cost him dearly. Same applies to S. M. Krishna. He wasn’t bad either – however one city centric reforms cost him the election. It’s the same at the center as well – the urban centric approach.

    • BJP’s change of stance change from pro-Hindutva to secular party spoiled a good part of their vote pie for them. While the minorities still preferred to vote otherwise, BJP cut into its own skin by keeping away RSS, VHP and others at bay. I no way support VHP or RSS for their ridiculous activities, but the fact is, even if RSS / VHP and likes could convince 5% of their own people to stop supporting BJP, that still meant that BJP lost a chunk of their own votes. Its to BJP’s fault that the Ram Mandir issue has flameballed into something so communal and ridiculous; what was on their agenda 5 years ago, well, remained there – A costly move that cost the BJP.

    • One of the best things BJP did for the country was to start building Roads, the much necessary building blocks of a nation. Vajpayee’s dream project does deserve that mention, and it was indeed something the nation needs badly. But BJP had to defend itself from issues of Dubey’s murder and such likes. Unfortunately, and very unluckily for Vajpayee, he spent the better part of his PM time settling Amma’s and Mamtas of our country. On that accounts, yes he has been very unlucky. Congress doesn’t have any great shakes. With their rates of scandals hitting the TV with ferocious regularity, neither do they have great allies and friends within whom I am sure Sonia Gandhi or whoever will become PM will have a nicety to.

    • While the top rung of the BJP did have some really good people, they had their own share of fanatics and show stealers too. I have never liked Sushma Swaraj, however intelligent she showcases herself to be. Half the time she spent bringing adult call centers and adult channels and the likes down. I don’t say she didn’t do a good thing, but there is something called freedom of speech and freedom of democracy – over doing it is not appreciated by all and sundry. But what went really wrong for them was the Murli Manohar Joshi and his IIM fiasco. BJP were targeting the middle and upper class sensibilities – how could they even miscalculate Joshi’s jingo on the election? Not only in India, but people out here too were amused by the fiasco, which in many ways hurt the image of BJP. The issue could have held till they had been reelected, at least!

    • Godhra Riots was a big face downer for the BJP. Whether it was intentional done, or unintentionally done, the fact of the matter is that BJP had to make do with all the blame game and all the shame of the incident. Objectively thinking, BJP had a lot to lose from the incident; even their excellent political gamble of selecting Kalam as President didn’t work at all.

But then, the verdict is clear. Congress will probably be able to form the next government, and the dumb lady will become our next Prime Minister. More than anything else, it’s the fact that an absolute unqualified person is going to sit and rule is the worst thing to happen to India. If Congress were sensible, then they did grab the opportunity by both hands, and possibly elect a dignified personality like Manmohan Singh to lead the country. BJP has proactively led many projects, be it reforms, tourism or development – Congress have the best possible opportunity to build upon the pedestal already laid for them. It remains to be seen, 5 years later where it all leads to.

As a parting quote, I am neither for congress nor for BJP. But, I think in the current political scenario of corrupt and deteriorating Congress, BJP deserved another chance. I think we as public of India were rather rude on the party by not even giving them a much needed second chance to prove their mettle, while we are the very same people who have tolerated a dynasty for nearly 5 decades. Perhaps, nothing makes more sense to me today than these golden words –

“Bad politicians are elected by good people who don’t vote”..

Next time, I will make my vote count!

For now, a nation waits…