The Joy Of 'R' and 'R' without the agony of the third 'R'

As a young child, I had a lot of reading material available. I gorged on every written word, from the child's magical world of Enid Blyton (I pronounced her Gnid Blyton those days coz of the strange way she signed her name and also thought she was a man), to adult stuff such as "The Blitz" and "The Illustrated Weekly" (then edited by the venerable Khushwant Singh - now defunct). The Phantom and Mandrake comics in The Times of India were a daily treat. I even remember my father trying to explain the wit behind the "I don't know Son!" cartoon series that appeared in the Blitz but it didn't make much sense to me at that time.
Spurred on by these wonderful writings and the magical world they created, I too was induced to try my hand at writing. I wrote a notebook full of stuff about a hero who was much like Tarzan except that he had a wife called Viola (my father suggested me that name when I bugged him to name the heroine of my story - Viola is a tropical flower and my father being a Post Graduate in Botany what better name could he suggest?). For my youngest brother who was seven years younger than me, I created a fictional character called "Supremo" who had a lot of magical powers at his behest and was more powerful than Mandrake and Phantom put together.
Another interesting thing I remember doing was writing general knowlege tests for my younger brother and our unsuspecting friend, Shishir, who was our neighbour as well as classmate. After that, like a real life teacher I would correct the answer papers and assign grades, till one day both my "subjects" got fed up of it and that was that.
We read Enid Blyton, Dr. Dolittle, Freddie and Flossie and then graduated to Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books. I remember carrying a load of books as high as my head from the school library to my home during the summer vacations.
Once the school librarian decided that he would not issue books on summer holidays. But we snubbed him by approaching the school principal who gave us special permission to get books issued from the school library, holiday or not.
So enchanted was I with mysteries that once I begged my father to give me a mystery to solve. Non plussed he told me he had lost a bunch of keys, could I solve that mystery? Going by the book, I asked him to give me for some clues. When none came, I decided it was not much of a mystery after all.
Asterix and Tintin comics were such a glorious treat(as it is still now), that every time I re-read one, I found something I had missed in an earlier reading.
All this took place in my early primary school years.
As I passed on to higher classes, my interests shifted to encyclopedia, science books - especially the "Understanding Science" Series.
But I whipped up a masterpiece just before my final Secondary School Board Exams. I wrote a short story about two teenagers who solve the mystery of their kidnapped professor by alien forces. The story was printed in the childrens's section of a popular Central Indian magazine in serial form and I would have won instant fame, if just half the adults/ children who resided in our housing colony read magazines/ books.
In later years I was reduced to writing just an occasional letter to the editor of local newspapers. Now, after discovering blogging I find the a new found joy in penning all the mundane thoughts that come to my mind.

Hilarious story of an inter-state marriage by Chetan Bhagat

Well, here's another review of a Chetan Bhagat Book. Excuse me, but I never get tired of writing on him. This time it is "2 states", a possibly semi autobiographical part-fiction novel about an inter-state marriage - Punjabi vs Tamil.
The fact that the book is about the contrast between two states and not two religions is something that could well have avoided Chetan from being in the midst of a controvery and the probability of his book being banned -a la Taslima.
Chetan takes a hard dig at South Indians - in particular Tamil Brahmins, their traditions and their mentality, but I find it not a least bit offended, inspite of me being South Indianer. He balances this by making fun of Punjabis too - he has a Punjabi background.
You can of course take his opinions expressed through the book in good spirit, as he makes it known that he himself is married to a Tamil ex-classmate and expects his writings to be taken that way.
That Punjabi women come in two sizes - the overweight, obese elderly Pujabi women who tend to push wads of notes down their cleavage; and the young anaemic Punjabi girls who go for the zero size salwar kameez, is funny to read.
The strange rituals of Tamils, and South Indians in general is sometimes really weird, I agree, for I myself had the experience of being served water poured from a tumbler into a glass reserved for visitors, when I visited a Tamil Brahmin friend's house - to prevent the home from being desecrated by a non-Brahmin, probably a meat eating one too!
Chetan says South Indians have a love for rules, and feel safe when there rules to adhere too. I agree to that, but I also want to note that North Indians in general have a disdain for not only rules, but also the law and experience strange satisfaction in bending them, even breaking them.
That elderly south Indians tend to speak in monosyllables while addressing the not so old, and their great love for newspapers that they read from end to end, is a non-dispuatable fact. In fact Malayalees, be it the auto rickshaw driver or the filthy rich, go for the newspaper and do some heavy duty reading on local politics first thing in the morning.
And in fact I have several uncles, who when I go a visiting, say "sit", "come", "eat" - as if they were addressing an alsatian dog!
In all, a very wholesome book, that would satisfy a regular reader as well as an occasional one, thanks to the simple way in which he writes, and the fact that he writes not for a global audience, but an Indian one, who can relate well to what he writes, and have a good laugh at his black humor too - he claims he has sex with his wife for the sake of national integration! He brings out pretty well the contrast between South Indian vs North Indian culture and the mutual disdain these two groups have for each other.
Chetan is a man to watch out for, particulary after "5 point someone" was made into a box office hit, recently.

Digested, Discarded....

Just a little time back a small news item made its way into local magazines. Reader's Digest was filing for bankruptcy and was on the verge of closure. It just made my eyebrows a little but I was not really surprised. Read it here.
Reader's Digest was my favorite reading material for a long time. It always motivated you, inspired you and made you think. It was not exactly a self help mag but what could rather be called a reality guide. It didn't ask you to do things to do better in life or even live a happier life, but told inspiring stories of those people who fought impossible odds and achieved all these.
I was so fanatic about RD that when I was in college I collected all past issues of RD dating back to the 60's from roadside book stalls selling second hand books. And I didn't regret spending my meagre pocket money on that.
Once I got hold of a copy there was no putting it down till I was through. The stories of other people in far away lands seemed to happen right in front of my eyes, so mesmerising the language was.
There were stories of people who had insufferable physical disabilities and how they beat the odds, ordinary people who achieved great feats or performed amazing tasks with just hidden inner strength as armor. There was entertainment too, with lots of word games, quizzes and puzzles and the inevitable jokes sections.
If anyone of you is/was a fan of RD I need not describe more.
Then I sensed the quality of RD declining. It was as if there was nothing more for them to write, or as if all the good writers had left RD lock, stock and barrel. The only stories they ever told was of people lost in some blizzard or some person fighting some animal in the Arctic wilderness, or surviving a dangerous avalanche or snowstorm. These stories I could not relate to, but RD kept repeating the theme again and again till you got dead bored.
I have never seen snow in my life and I could not visualize what agonies some person was undergoing in sub zero temperature. But what piqued me was that RD started having little variety from then on.
Late into my twenties I stopped reading RD completedy save for a copy or two a year, and even then I felt I was not missing anything much. RD had already dug its own grave.
And finally came the story of the collapse of the great RD.

Five Point Someone- A perfect 10

It seems I have been moving from Chetan Bhagat's (India's most widely read English author according to TIME magazine) less promising books to the better ones. I started off with One Night at the Call Center; on which I commented because I felt I had to, on his take of Indian Call Centers, since I am familiar with the BPO industry; moved on to his latest book, The 3 Mistakes of My Life, which I felt was utter trash and did not deserve comment, but finally discovered a gem in his first book, Five Point Someone - a book which he describes as, what NOT to do at IIT.
This book is well written so I wonder how I missed reading it in the first place. The plot and storyline of his book comes out as pretty realistic which describes life in the IITs but could pretty well be a scenario in any one of our Indian colleges.
The college where I studied in fact had many similarities to what he describes in his book.
Our college principal's daughter, was something of a college starlet and there was not a single desk in our college classrooms that did not have her name inscribed on it with pen or carved out with a blade by some daydreaming Romeo in the middle of a boring college lecture. Chetan Bhagat's character Neha, who is Professor Cherian's daughter in the book could pretty well be her equivalent.
Then I know a close friend of mine who never wrote a single exam without having a nip of whisky in him (just to loosen up his tension as he said!). But unlike our protagonist, Hari, in the book who found that vodka in him before the college vivas was an utter disaster, this friend of mine passed every exam that he wrote with flying colors!
The book pretty well captures how domineering, intimidating and bookish college professors can be, except for the rare one who truly inspires and will go to any lengths to help out a hapless student. He pretty well describes how boring college life, with inane lectures would be, without some of the colorful characters you would find around any campus.
The book is pretty well a mish mash of romance, comedy, dark humor, passion and a lot of laughs and he uses language pretty well to his advantage, sometimes resorting to Indian English. His mastery over description is captivating. For instance there is a scene in which Chetan describes Hari's interest in Neha's bare legs against her car's brake pedals on their first encounter- writing "how erotic a girl's naked feet on metal can be"!.
On the whole, a pretty wholesome book and I can say one of the good books that has come out of an Indian author without being too academic or classic. I would say populist literature without being too cheap. Worth a read, once, maybe twice.

Call Center Nights Tales

My take on India's best selling English author, Chetan Bhagat:

It was after a long break that I actually got down to read a book and that book had to be ON@TCC(One Night @ The Call Center) by Chetan Bhagat. Spurring me on to read it was Chetan’s worthy credentials as a highly educated person who as one would think might have a really good viewpoint of things in general.
It's all about a night at a call center when God himself makes a call to a call center called "Connexions" where our protagonist works.
Well the book failed horribly in every aspect. Though he does touch a raw nerve on the subject of Call Centers some of the points which he raises I admit are almost as true as if GOD himself might have enlightened poor Bhagat, but it seems Bhagat did not get the message completely correct.
Hence a poorly conceived story line, things happening without any rationale and one event leading to another without any "connexion"(forgive me the pun).
I would rate it as a book fit for kids (around the age range of 10-15) but the story and the language used would hardly suit that.
The only thing that makes one keep on reading is that there must be some treasure at the end of the rainbow (which the blurb so enticingly promises) - turns out to be a mirage.
One fact, the rationale of which I could hardly understand was Chetan voicing Xenophobia or US- bashing through one of his more admirable characters, Vroom.
Could have been a good book.
After the editor edited and rewrote at least two thirds of the book
Any way best of luck Chetan.
You might get better at this stuff someday. Keep trying.

They flash upon that inward eye

Long back in primary school, we students of a rather inspiring English Teacher, let me call him Mr.A, were instructed to learn by rote classical poetry of days long gone by. We did this dutifully and sometimes the words were so stuck up in the back or our minds that we even mumbled them when asleep, so our parents joked.
Until one day I questioned this teacher's wisdom of rote learning.
"What use is learning-poetry-by-heart", I asked. "Its not going to supplement our knowledge in any way!"
At this point Mr. A's eyes turned grave.
And then his eyes shining bright, he said, "Boy, you know, once you are out of school, out of college, out of university, the one thing that you will remember long after you have forgotten the theories of Einstein and complex mathematical equations, will be these poems you have learnt. And even if you do remember a lot of the stuff that you did learn, the only one thing that is going to give you pleasure right to your old age will be these poems and you will look back at them in an enlightened way."
Pondering over the wisdom of Mr. A's words now, I guess he was right. I might find the theoretical stuff of science and maths, I learnt back in the school days useful in some aspsects at certain moments of my life, but the poetry I learnt has given me pleasure and a blissful kind of satisfaction at times both high and low.
And sometimes I find myself subconsciously wording Wordsworth's line "They flash upon that inward eye....which is the bliss of solitude.." And I smile to myself at the truth in Mr. A's words.
Yes, even when I grow old I shall remember those soothing ,calming words of classical poetry and appreciate the gift it is to mankind.