How the books spoke

A stocktaking of the books I read in the last three months

Life of Pi - Yann Martel gave that imaginary sweep and depth of research. 

This divided Island - Samanth Subramanian, that meticulous industry and a gradually unfolding narrative. 

The Book Thief - Markus Zusack played with history and suffering. 

The song of the magpie robin - Zafar Futehally narrated his story with gentle, aristocratic sophistication. 

Fallen Leaves - Will Durant laid down wholesome thoughts and disruptive insights. Yeah, there. When Will Durant speaks, it is as if the truth has been there with us and he has given it a tangible voice. There is excellence and there is simplicity. 

Wings of Fire - Abdul Kalam was full of drive and integrity. 

Lajja - Taslima Nasreen called out the duplicicty and petitioned for justice. 

Joy in the Morning - Wodehouse played around, funnily in funny situations, free and English-like. 

I am yet to introduce myself to Malala Yousufzai. Meanwhile discussions have thrown up Milan Kundera, Italo Calvino and Harold Bloom.  

Weekend travel

Spiraling down the NH22 from Shimla to Chandigarh, one tries to think of anything that won't turn the stomach. One must definitely try and ignore the the musky diesel fumes. Any imagination that makes one wonder if the excess oil from the chola bhatura that was devoured for breakfast would be processed by the roundabout travel to become a petrochemical product or paraffin wax must be checked. Nor should one concern himself about the narrowness of lanes suspended on alarming precipices supporting a disproportionate number of vehicles whooshing past at high speed. Hunting for the silver linings, at such scenarios, is but a natural thing to do. Apart from noting down the places we passed through in a notepad -from Shimla to Shoghi to Kandaghat and then on to Solan and Barogh till we reached Pinjore- there were also other fine things to take note of without a dashed notepad. Travelling in hills gives unusual vantages and lightings to appreciate the landscape. A slice of orange sun here, a deep cliff there, hill ranges, fields in valleys. The diversities are sharp and the landforms are closely packed. The forested hills at times appear like sheep clothed in green wool on the northern slopes. The bushy trees uniform and fluffy, covering the hills snugly. The southern slopes are barren, the cold winds and lack of sunlight not allowing vegetation to take root.

Chandigarh, the planned city in the plains was a stark contrast. Le Corbusier's 'open hand' greeted us as we entered the UT.  Neat and spacious, spreading wide and even, it felt like the earth had freed up its muscles and was stroking the pacemen freely in mid-season form. When we are going on about pacemen and being in form, let me also state the reason for our descent to the plains. We were to play a cricket match there in the ground in Sector-16. A day-night match it was and was played enthusiastically. A spectacle of sorts for most of us, making our debut in an international ground.

Later at night, we took a stroll outside our hotel. Right opposite was CAT (central administrative tribunal). We went round the shops, crossed the lanes and kerbs and parking lots. A city that looks near perfect to the tourist, the planned modernisation, breezy traffic. An exemplar of what Indian cities could be. If we go about arranging our cities in our living room, Chandigarh would take the best shelf in hte showcase. Anyway, after the match, we could walk only for a few minutes. W eessentially only went a few paces sniffing around the CAT bulding and a few shops. After the CATwalk and banter, had a sound sleep. Woke up and made our winding way back to Shimla. To the clean and cold air again. There, in the auditorium, watched India beat Pakistan at the Eden Gardens. All that remained was to snuggle up under the sheets with a Wodehouse paperback. Right Ho! 

Some pictures of the match

On learning

Curiosity and questions scan the horizon,
for quiet observations to bring answers


We fail and try again
Fail again and laugh aloud
Lest we take ourselves seriously


A teacher offers his heartfelt lessons
and earns an enthusiastic silence

A place to thrive in

Sitting in the library surrounded by books gives a feeling of comfort. At the same time, it also stimulates the desire to read more, know more. As I was reading Rajmohan Gandhi’s ‘Mohandas’, something of the spirit of sacrifice and service that was in the book seemed to enter the surroundings momentarily. When I came back to my room, my roommates were rearranging the study tables. So I joined in. I started the exercise hesitantly. But when it was finished, it opened a new space in the room where we could study peacefully. Cut off from the beds, facing the beautiful lawn of the academy and natural light coming through the windows, it was a place that would tempt anyone to come and spend a few minutes there.

So after the arrangement was done, we all sat together and began studying. The weather was simply disarming. It rained and a moody mist engulfed the hills. The scene from the window was perfect. Study progressed slowly. The seemingly trivial task of arranging the table and chair at a good place and giving some thought to what we need and setting up the room accordingly facilitates actions such as studying or being active so much more. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the day as much had I been studying from my bed. 

View from the window

The Gangtok Girl and the Shimla Security

This story was related to me by a person who had traveled widely. Once he was travelling in Gangtok in a bus with fellow tourists. When they were coming back from a visit in the bus, one of the passengers had a bout of nausea. So the bus stopped and the person got down to puke. When he finished, the passengers realised that there was no water left with anyone in the bus. There was no shop nearby and it was night time. Just then, a little girl, aged 8 or 9 walked through. There were a few houses nearby and she probably lived in one of them. One of the passengers asked her if she could fetch some water if her house is nearby. The response she gave reflected an outlook that is precious and pure. She asked, simply, 'Warm water or cold water?'.

After a few minutes, she was standing near the person who had vomited with a jug of warm water and a glass. He took around 10 minutes to compose himself and get back to the bus. She went back to her home.


In the Mall Road of Shimla, a couple of decades ago, a prominent personality went for a stroll. He lit a cigarette as he walked. After a few steps he casually discarded on the road and walked on. The security personnel, in charge also of enforcing the cleanliness rules, saw the littering done by this famous personality. As a typical Himachali would, he walked and caught up with the famous personality and told him humbly 'Sir, you have dropped something of yours behind.' The famous person spent a moment taking in the meaning of the statement, slowly walked back, picked up his dropped cigarette and dumped it in a dustbin. Both the security and the person went their separate ways.

James Allen, in his famous work 'As a man thinketh' says 'Of all the beautiful truths pertaining to the soul which have been restored and brought to light in this age, none is more gladdening or fruitful of divine promise and confidence than this—that man is the master of thought, the moulder of character, and the maker and shaper of condition, environment, and destiny. Thought and character are one, and character can only manifest and discover itself through environment and circumstance'.

And events such as the above two, which bring together circumstance and character in a kaleidoscopic beauty, throwing light on beautiful values and their genial expressions, the human experience is momentarily lifted to a higher level of appreciation and awareness. Stories they may be or hearsay, yet they give the common mind something lofty to hold onto.

The floating moment

In the rumble and tumble of events, there are moments when a combination of external circumstance, internal serenity, absence of any lingering bitterness or future anxiety, all combine to produce moments of fine leisure. Sitting in the deck of our academy, incubated in the cool spring sun and surrounded by mature minds, my mind was floating like a butterfly sheltered in Shangri La.

   

Hanuman House

Came back home for three days. Chennai. Had forgotten how sultry and oppressive it could get here. Met many relatives. A few were designated family trolls. Smiled sheepishly at their provocations. The youngsters, of course, were the redeemers. Had good fun with them. Like the stranglehold Mrs. Tulsi keeps over Hanuman House, Mrs. S hovered over things here. Add a new element to the already spicy concoction. My wife. Although she was a mute audience in the proceedings, enduring her time stoically, conversations revolved around her and kept coming back to her. Many people, varied levels of childishness, some understanding eyes, lots of drama. Two more days to sit back and ride the roller coaster. 

Witnessing a house in session

Last of the three days in the parliament. Witnessed an hour's proceedings in the Lok Sabha. Went smoothly. Later paid our respects in Rakaab Ganj Gurdwara opposite the parliament. India has finished its 20 overs of batting in the series versus Bangladesh. Dhoni came in to face the last two balls of the innings. The first ball went for an awkward 2 runs. After a smile and an understanding nod at Sir Jadeja, he lifted the last ball nonchalantly for a six. In Lok Sabha TV, discussion on the recent turmoil in JNU has come to a close after a detailed clarification from Minister Smriti Irani. Things stand there. Where are we on the Oscars list? Out of the eight movies nominated for Best Picture, four I have watched. Brooklyn, Mad Max, Room and The Martian is left. Will have to choose one to watch today. Bye. 

Parliamentary bagpipes

Two days inside the parliament has taught me how to listen to foolishness without a smartphone under the table to help out. The classes were sloppily organised and the speakers were generally putting on a talk show without substance. All was not gloom and doom though. There were a couple of redeeming sessions. They were bot informative and engaging. One faculty talked of the Somnath Chatterjee-era. When he was speaker, he had admonished Shivraj Patil, then Home Minister for not being present during laying of papers. Shivraj Patil had to tender a public apology after which the House carried on its business. There was also an incident of the Indira Gandhi government resigning because of the failure of the Privy Purse constitution amendment bill. The bill failed to get the two-thirds majority by one vote. And incidentally, one Congress MP was busy in the outer lobby when the voting took place. If he had been present, the bill would have sailed through.

The delicacy and finesse of having a Rajya Sabha was also elaborated on. A check for democratic tyranny. A Lok Sabha majority would be not just enough. The federal structure is represented in the council of states. The founding fathers, though mostly from the Congress, had the foresight to put it in place over riding objections to constituting an Upper House on the lines of the House of Lords. One objection by an Englishman was interesting. If the Upper House agrees with the Lower always, he said, it is just superfluous, if it does not, it would be mischievous. Why then, have it?

Another interesting event was a visit to the Parliament Library. It housed the original copy of the constitution which was kept inside a nitrogen filled chamber. It was on the first floor, inside a tiny room. Above the entrance of the room, a print out was pasted with cellophane tape saying this room housed the original constitution. Inside a copy of the constitution was covered with crudely cut dark green silk cloth. The edges came out in strings. It wasn't exactly disrespectful but it didn't have any sanctity either. It looked a little sidelined, the constitution, a reflection of the times perhaps.

There was a session by Murli Manohar Joshi on financial committees of the parliament. The real work is done in committees, he said. When in session, the politics is played out for the gallery. He said another important thing. Inside the houses, the game is between the ruling party and the opposition. In committees, it is between the politicians and the bureaucrats. What he meant was, the committees are the forums where the accountability of the executive is taken stock through seasoned parliamentarians.

The parliament complex is filled with statues of great men. Mahatma Gandhi himslef, sits as a mammoth statue outside the main entrance. The soul of great men, however, is hard to find. It feels like a badly orchestrated show business performed by uninterested actors and impatient, haphazard support staff. There are some high profile cameos though. Tomorrow there is a visit to both the houses. Hopefully, it won't be adjourned before we make it inside. 

Fraternity

Have I taken writing seriously enough to cultivate a bit of doggedness, I wonder? To keep at it consistently I would need a certain amount of grim determination to go with the interest and intention.

Our team had a cricket match with senior colleagues today. A pleasant time of the year for outdoor sports. There was an easy relationship without much fuss or hierarchical control. The game went well though we lost. The driver was in a hurry to drop us and head off home. It was an hour's drive from the cricket ground, he drove skilfully but there were a couple of close calls. And of course there were children begging at a few signals. When we reached our institute, he said to us 'Sir, sign this, let me go home also. I reported at 6 a.m. today.' It's like that song. 'Them that's got shall have, them that's not shall lose.'

After the match, I had a long nap in the room. When I got up the pleasant afternoon had given way to a dull evening. I had a sore back and a mild headache. But a hot shower and a sushi dinner fixed that. Would now hit the Oscars list again. 'The Big Short' today. A heavenly weekend. 'God bless the child that's got his own'.   

Lunch, Dinner, comaraderie

To write well, one has to live well. The tingles of excitement in anticipating ironies, in discovering subtleties and in measuring rhetorics, there lies the rub. Having decided to write every day, I often had to pinch myself into attention and observe things at least a a tad more deeply than I usually do. I went to have lunch with a friend today at his house. It was a hazy afternoon in Delhi. I got into the cab with a kilo of apples and looked out into the smog. It was, by Delhi standards, an easy ride of 18 kms through NH8 and Dwarka road. The sites along the route were the standard sites you would see all along Delhi. A profusion of people, cars and buildings, customary trees along the road and in apartment complexes and public institutions coated with thick layers of dust, elevated metro corridors and inescapably, a couple of flyovers en route.

After greetings, we had a fragrant ghee rice with just the right flavour, boneless pepper chicken with mild flavours and onion raita. Then there was steamed rice and rasam. The good food and conversation made for a relaxing atmosphere. Three hours slipped unnoticed. Time to leave. Again a cab, again the dusty highway and back to my room. The day had been just a little sultry and my room was cool and welcoming. From the balcony, there was a constant chatter of birds. The mynas and parrots were chirping and tweeting away. The two pigeons which had made their nests on top of my room's air conditioner were oorh-ing and clucking. A busy weekend for the birds. Unfortunately there was no cuckoo but now and then there was an odd crow cawing distractedly.

Watched Spielberg's 'Bridge of Spies'. Exquisite sets. Marl Rylance was fantastic as Rudolf Abel. Has got a nomination in this Oscars for best supporting actor. Would have to wait till 28th to know. Then a lovely dinner in Dana Choga's Kitchen with another friend. The touch of ginger in the mixed vegetable gravy, the smooth makhni and the layered and crisp toasted lachha parathas were fabulous.

Photos of the parakeet and pigeon

Here we are

Distance and leisure gives a person sober eyes. The scene seems a little less cluttered, the way seems visible a little further. I have been attending classes for the past 50 days. Classrooms usually leave some elbow room for imagination. The speaker addresses the general audience and there are hardly any specific responsibilities. So sitting in class today, I was taking stock of myself.


Health: Fit but not robust
Wealth: No cheer there
Career Prospects: Comfortable
Marriage: Solid


Not a bad square to be in. But from here, where do I want to go? That was not very obvious. Hence the thought of recording the next hundred days' experiences here. Decisions are tough without analysis. Analysis is vague without data. So for empirical reasons, we start the 'One hundred pages of personal observations', shall we call it? Or 'diary' will also do. Except it is out in cyber space. Not a very cosy choice for a diary to be out parading in public.


Nevertheless, the journal of a hundred entries begins with the first one.


Ciao.