Friday, March 23, 2018

Simple and Stunning Account of Familial Turmoil

My trysts with my blog have become few and far in between but I never thought I would leave a gap of more than an year in writing down something here. Also the bibliophile in me has taken a different avatar; I have started collecting titles for my 5 year old and buried myself in his stories.

Ghachar Ghochar has brought me back to my blog and also redefined my scope of reading. This book popped out and grabbed my attention from an Instagram account, good reviews it garnered and the mention that it is about 120 pages long made it an apt pick. 
Smaller books meant sustainable attention and a better promise of on-time completion.

Ghachar Ghochar by Vivek Shanbagh (translated from Kannada by Srinath Perur) is a skilfully written account of familial turmoil that arises in wake of newly acquired wealth. Never through the length of the book does the reader feel that there are too many subtleties discussed or too many details omitted. Rightly paced, correctly dense, the narrative cannot get more concise and intriguing. The translation by Perur is elegant without hiccups thereby throwing open this impressive work in Indian fiction to many like me.

The book is divided into seven chapters and starts with the narrator sitting at a Coffee House - an airy, spacious, high ceilinged bar and restaurant mulling over many things. This place serves as a retreat for the him when his head has a thousand wheels spinning in it from what transpires at his home daily. An oracular waiter working here, Vincent, is not just the narrator's confidante but his well wisher and soothsayer too.

In the chapters to follow, the author maintains immaculate precision in introducing members of the narrator's family in order of their importance linked to their financial status.
Chikkappa or Venkatachala, the narrator's father's younger brother steers the family from a life of modest means, cramped but dignified existence to abundant riches by founding and successfully running a business in spices called Sona Masala. Seemingly, he is a messiah who raised the family onto a higher socio-economic pedestal but inevitably is the harbinger of utter chaos into which the family is gradually pulled in. 

The narrator's father is scrupulous man, a salesman by profession, his income though minimal meets the family needs. The narrator states "we did not desire what we could not afford , when you have no choice, you have no discontent either." The episodes before they became affluent - a description of the house they lived in, their wars with endless columns of ants in there, their daily activities are described in right depth. 

It is when the narrator talks of his elder sister as a pile of gunpowder waiting to go off, we infer the damages improved finances bring along apart from many lavish benefits.You cannot agree more when he says - It is true what they say,its not we who control money, its money that controls us. When there's little, it behaves meekly; when it grows , it becomes brash and has its way with us.  

The narrator speaks about himself and his wife Anita only towards the end, their marriage and finding love is described sans obscenity in crisp prose. Post marriage, he has trouble dealing with the real right stuff and purportedly right stuff which is essential for peace and unity in family. Anita's brutally forthright nature stirs up dirty waters and raises a lot of muck. Does the narrator deal with these issues, if so how, and what binds this family together despite lack of moral principles? 

One might dismiss this book based on a subject featured round the clock on television as dull and unnecessary. But what is noteworthy is that even on such a banal topic, the author weaves intricacy, packs thrill, leaves things unsaid, gives reader ample scope to interpret and conclude; this makes him outstanding and his work an excellent piece of fiction. 

Don't turn your back on this book Ghachar Ghochar since it deals with familial problems, but read it to know how well balanced a work of fiction can actually be. Words after all are nothing by themselves , they burst into meaning only in the minds they have entered, the author says in one of the chapters, asserting the importance of perception and interpretation, and that rests with the us who read this work. 

Friday, March 10, 2017

The Mother of All Debates

For a long time now, I have refrained from writing on this topic.. Finally, I had to write on it after reading many articles on this topic over the last few days, seeing people fight tooth and nail on this subject and literally snarl at each other on social media

This raging topic carries a lot more impetus than many constructive political, socio-economic and humanitarian topics. And the rage builds up exponentially when special occasions like Womens' Day and Mothers' Day draw closer and in its immediate aftermath. 

By now, most would have got close to the subject in discussion, no prizes for guessing - Stay at Home Mother vs Working Mother , who makes a better mom? I must admit that starting from Womens' day till today, I have read a huge line up of  articles from various news platforms and personal blogs. 

Why do we have this question at all in the first place? 

A mother decides to stay at home full time to take care of her little one or go to work and do her mommy duties alongside based on a core set of circumstances. In addition to these circumstances that define her environment post delivery, she has an innate nature and some priorities in head, right from the time she plans to start a family. This set of factors, unique to each lady, makes her decide on her way of parenting. She is free to go back on her decision any time she finds gaps in estimate v/s reality. But the whole subject is not as simple as it sounds because we have a million people around the woman in question judging her for every activity and decision. 

I can tell you without batting an eye that for the last four years, after my son was born and after which I decided to call it quits from the semiconductor/hardware industry in which I had a job for 7 years, every friend and every acquaintance has asked me why I took this decision, how I could so suddenly turn my back on my job, dreams, career and ambition. Fair enough, a little curiosity is always essential to make life interesting and informative!

The problem starts when these questions do not stop and the session gets more intriguing for these unknowns or barely known people in a park/mall/supermarket that you happen to visit with your kid figure out where you last worked, what was your job profile there, what salary you drew, which college you graduated from, which school you studied at and even your percentage score in 10th grade and 12th grade. Yes, some have the audacity to elicit these finest details. By now, an impression is formed by the interviewer and his/her (its mostly 'her') reaction can vary anywhere from one of pity to one of absolute disgust.

When people get judgmental, then comes out the basic trait of defense to our rescue. As we answer questions, it appears we strive hard to defend our decisions. And if the interviewer chooses to differ, we try hard to remain polite but when the pressure builds up after repeated Q and A sessions, we go out to malign "the differently thinking group" and question their intent. It is this sequence of actions that has sparked off the super debate of Stay at Home Mum v/s Working Mum , who is better?. We fail to understand that no Omniscient God will come down to earth and crown us with a tiara or adorn us with a beautiful cape for the role we choose/chose. 

The stay at home mum does not choose to leave her career (if she had one before) or remain full time at home because she is lazy to do work, is unambitious, is complacent, is not good at multi tasking. It is not only because she has a husband who mints money in crores that she takes up the luxury of staying indoors. It is not always a luxury, it is a conscious decision. 

Similarly, the working mother manages to do as much as possible for her little one in the time she has at home, delegating remaining work to others of help in her absence and toils at workplace. She goes to work for many reasons, not always because she is a victim of huge financial crunch and is fated to toil. It is her conscious decision to do so, for many reasons best known to her and her partner.

Women are hands-down winners when it comes to judging other women around them, on all topics under the sun. If a woman churns out yummy looking delectable dishes in the kitchen for her family everyday, many are quick to dismiss her as a dull headed lady who has resigned to her masala dabba. If a woman heads out to work and comes back late, leaving her kitchen chores to other people at home, then her very purpose or existence is questioned. 
It is not required that we plant an extra pair of horns and provide an exalted status to a woman who is a super cook at home for her excellent culinary skills or dismiss her as a boring, routine monger. We all earn so that we can have good, healthy food at the end of the day, let's just stop at that. Let's not over define cooking as an art, hobby, necessity, stress buster and classify/characterize people who do it and don't do it under different heads. Likewise, your child needs you for sure, how you choose to handle this need of your little one without taking too much stress on yourself is left to you and your partner, not for the world to judge and pass opinion on. 

A Women's day will be best celebrated under an ideal situation when women stop judging other women, when women stop asking other women questions like "When are you getting married?" , "When are you going the family way?" , "Why aren't you thinking of a second child?" and scare them with the cons of delay in making up their mind. Just to relax from that overly Utopian like situation - ask questions if you share required level of comfort with the person in question, but don't make it the very conversation in entirety causing agony and irritability and push it to an extent that the subject leaves a bitter after taste and becomes fodder for debate. And the day when women manage this sincerely, at least half of her daily problems will be solved. 

And how ironic it is to have the mother of all debates deal with "mothers"?

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Money often costs too much

The Big Bang ...

The scenario in my country for the last one week has left me mulling over a few questions and thus brings me to writing this post on my blog. I could not find a better title for it than a quote by noted American poet Ralph Emerson - "Money often costs too much".

Indians turned their heads a little away from internal affairs for a brief period to keep tab on who was winning the race to become the next American President when a big bang was announced by their own Prime Minister Mr. Narendra Modi, just hours before the day - Nov 8, 2016 came to a close. Indian currency with value 500 and 1000 were no longer legal tender starting from midnight that day. Rules were tabulated for the citizen on what they could do with old 500s and 1000s at hand. New 500 Rs notes and a new denomination - Rs 2000 were set to replace them soon in market.

Prima facie, it appearedthat the government had a sharp agenda and a firm plan in place to root out corruption, eliminate black money and fake currency notes; thereby crack the whip on all wrong doers, from tax defaulters to terrorists. 

Why no new 500 Rs notes?

What started as a "wow" feeling about the demonetization announced slowly downgraded to a "Hmm .. I don't understand" when new 2000 Rs notes came into circulation but new 500 Rs notes were amiss. Even as I write this post, new 500 notes are not in circulation. This gargantuan gap from Rs 100 (the highest valid denomination from old currencies) to Rs 2000 (newly announced) could not be bridged by a simple leap of faith. In a country, where providing change for Rs 500 after a purchase from market/small shops invites complaints from vendors and leaves them scowling, introduction of even higher denomination 2000 made many mad. And its introduction into market before its less valued but more often used partner Rs 500 made matters worse. The "something is better than nothing" formula does not work for cash in hand all the time. 

             A cartoon by a friend depicting the fall out of demonetization - "Cash crunch or Compassion crunch"

Physical re calibration of ATM machines, could this have been avoided?

The whole operation of demonetization soon landed up in bitter taste when realization struck that new notes, now smaller in size were not compatible for ATM dispensation and trays in machines had to be physically replaced by workers for process correction. Any sane citizen can gauge the mammoth effort and plentiful time required for this task completion. ATM s remain shut LARGELY, even as I write this post. Citizens have no choice but to stand in serpentine queues outside banks for withdrawal of money needed for their daily chores. If ATM s were equipped to handle withdrawals with minimal delay, at least in urban and sub urban areas for many possess cards here, stress on banks and its officials would have largely reduced. This , along with timely release of new 500 s could have improved the efficacy of demonetization implementation and made the PM's brainchild a noteworthy success.

Why I fail to find sense in what the Finance Minister says?

If P Chidambaram in the role of Union Finance Minister during previous UPA regime irked me thoroughly with his rigmarole like answers interspersed with many pauses and a composed "I can never go wrong" attitude, the current Union Finance Minister, Arun Jaitley too seems no less. He foresees a cashless way of economic life unfolding soon but could do plainly nothing to put existing set up of ATM s to optimal use to ease unrest among card holding public. A commoner residing in India knows that to bring everyone from a local tea seller to ones who run small road-side eateries to use digital wallet and replace use of small value currency notes with it is a Herculean task and highly preposterous.And what makes one think that hi-tech digital stuff is the answer to all worldly problem and being error free. How can one eliminate human error when these technological inventions and innovations are created by man himself? Not to forget, a few weeks back, about 3 million debit cards were hit by a massive hack and a plethora of faulty transactions created alert . 

Everything is not digital logic 

From recent conversations with friends and acquaintances in person or over social media, I have understood it is all either black or white, no, I am not talking about currency here. 

If I raised questions on implementation of demonetization, I was quickly dismissed as a fan of a buffoon named Rahul Gandhi, an admirer of All time Anarchy Party (AAP) leader Kejriwal or a victim of media foul play and its exaggerated negative projection.

There is no middle path. I am one among those who voted Narendra Modi (or better said his party, BJP) to power and I look up to him as an able leader, a great orator and a smart administrator. His announcement on 500/1000 note ban instilled in me confidence that my decision, my vote was purposeful. But watching his plan unfold into action gives me credible doubts. Unquestionable, blind faith in an elected leader is not an essential quality of being a nationalist. 

Demonetization has created a huge wave of change in buyer-seller relations in my observation. To me, I have temporarily shifted my loyalty from local, small time vendors to supermarkets where I can swipe my debit card and imposed a restraint in buying stuff that needs me to part with small value notes, I possess few of them and for now see they are difficult to procure. 

People; most importantly, the bank officials are highly patient and extending full support to the government's move of demonetization. The commoner will begin to shed his/her skepticism and feel positive about this change only when some of his immediate discomfort is minimized at the earliest possible. A clear reflection of this change , its promise for a better future will be visible only when murky waters on the surface give way. The government can rest assured that sensible citizens of the nation meantime will neither be swayed by Rahul Gandhi standing in queue for currency exchange nor emotionally moved by Prime Minister's old mother doing the same. 

Note: The cartoon that features in this post is by my friend, posted here after due permission.

Friday, July 29, 2016

Virtual Reality

A veteran Tamil actress/comedian in one of her movies desires to eat some chicken biriyani, and true to her portrayal of being miserly in that movie, she hangs a picture of a chicken in front of her and relishes plain white rice with immense satisfaction. Virtual reality, I must say, this is. I don't know why this scene from an old movie flashed in my head as I read articles of Pokemon Go becoming a rage among youngsters and  this made me think more. 

Long gone are the times when people of a family clung together while visiting fairs and exhibitions, now there is no fear of getting lost in huge, milling crowds. The mobile phone comes to our rescue almost all the time; we dare not step out of our home without it. I would have got scolded more often for leaving my phone in silent mode than for all other mistakes summed up. Long geographical distances pose no impediment in communication with phones, chat/messaging apps, video conferencing techniques becoming popular in full blaze, we virtually stay connected all the time with loved, known and unknown ones. This definitely is a great advantage without which we cannot imagine getting strewn around across the globe. However, we become owl-like to beat the disconnect in time zones, crave for eating one meal at peace without having to answer the phone midway, earnestly hope faces do not glare at us when we leave our phones ringing inside a temple/hospital/library. We are expected to talk even when we drive, with a phone neatly tucked into our helmet; we talk hands free and look quite like a lunatic. In name of working from home, we try hard to juggle between personal and professional spheres of life having allowed them to mingle too much.  

Facebook, Twitter and other online platforms ensure we stay connected with dear ones. Admittedly, we've got complacent maintaining virtual friendship links and sharing a slice of our everyday life with others through 'likes', 'follow' and 'share'. We express our opinions like never before to run into trouble at times with some governmental and non-governmental agencies checking if we committed an act of sedition in name of free speech and expression. The Internet provides information of all kinds and suits all tastes, one does not really need a dadi maa to know ' dadi ka nuska'. However, plagiarism, piracy and breach of someone's privacy make things shoddy, that thin line which demarcates right from wrong is fast disappearing. 

While on one hand we boast about access to a million songs from different genres across all languages in the world at just a finger touch, we silently adore one who possesses a collection of old LP records, few recorded TDK cassettes and a bunch of HMV ones. We deem him/her to be a 'real' and fine connoisseur of music. 

Pages of old photo albums from trips during our childhood times show us how carefully we spent 34-36 snaps on a camera film roll on only precious shots. Now, we virtually have thousands of snaps clicked without a second thought for every single trip, all cached in sectors in hard disks or memory cards, to see them with a quick click or a swipe, we do not have time at hand. 

When my aunt showed me letters written to her by my grandfather from inside a torn envelope with postage stamp clinging to it, I could not refrain from thinking if I should take a print out of some recent emails written by my dad before I accidentally deleted them or my mail account got hacked. 

e-books and Kindle allow us to carry our bookshelves everywhere; being light weight and travel friendly, any time-anywhere access provides a big boon for book lovers. But a bibliophile will never shy away from accepting that the smell of mold from old books, towering racks stashed with many titles in shops, sight of a silverfish wriggling inside an old copy and the crackling sound of actually turning the pages give unparalleled joy. 

This 'virtually' real aspect which technology has provided us with has overtaken all realms of life. The convenience it imparts, the ease of use, a sense of appeal creates dependence. It gets menacing only when the dependence grows into an addiction. Our parents had only one idiot box named TeleVision to deal with but parenting in today's times is no less than a Herculean task with idiot box type 1 version 1, idiot box type 2 and 3 with multiple versions for every hardware/software fix/release. Many youngsters do not want to swap the comfort of playing games on a console inside defined precincts with actually sweating it out and playing real games with team mates. And, if Pokemon Go answers the sedentary aspect of computer games, it carries untold hazards with it. 

The quality of 'virtually real' is erasing all fine lines. No doubt, there are benefits with each invention that technology puts forth for a lot of thought and innovation goes into making them. However, to exercise restraint in use and keep check/control is a painstakingly difficult job. It is the need of the hour for when the reverie breaks it should not be hard for one to accept that what was on the plate all through was just plain rice and not biriyani.  

Monday, January 4, 2016

Lost in Translation? (Part 2)

It was quite right on my part that I decided to review the book "A Clutch of Indian Masterpieces" compiled by David Davidar in parts. The year 2015 was a tough one, I was unable to turn my attention away from my 3 year old son for a good part of it, bought a few books with a certain urge to read, however they lie piled up in my cane shelf untouched, my blog page too gathered dust with very few visits from me. My reading was hugely discontinuous and as a result this review post comes after a significant gap, it deals with what impressed me, what failed to in a new set of 11 stories from the book.

In the first part of the review,  I shared my opinion about the first 10 stories of the total 39 in the book (Part 1 of Review). In this set of 11 under discussion, 9 are translated works. For the sake of argument one may quote the "Ship of Theseus" concept, that the original with all its components replaced is not quite the original. However, the act of translation has only helped in unraveling some impeccable works of fiction and get me more acutely interested in Indian literature.

Stench of Kerosene by Amrita Pritam, translated from Punjabi by Khushwant Singh has a very commonplace premise - the terrific necessity of becoming a mother after wedlock for an Indian woman and the stigma associated in case of a failure. How this banal premise is woven into story of a married couple Manak and Guleri wins attention. I liked the translation done by Singh much more than his original work in this book.

Gold from the Grave by Anna Bhau Sathe, translated from Marathi to English by Vernon Gonsalves  narrates the tale of Bhima, a villager who moves to Mumbai in hope of a good pay packet and adequate food for his family, he works in a quarry and manages a decent living but its closure leaves him to hunt for gold in the ashes of corpses. The story dunked in irony deals with brutal reality of unemployment in big cities.

The Man Who Saw God by DBG Tilak, translated from Telugu by Ranga Rao is a simple tale, speaks volumes on benevolence and forgiveness and how through these qualities one actually sees the Almighty and not merely by reading scriptures and idling in temple premises.

Three stories down, good but passable, their content fit to be made into short films but none left a deep impact.

And then comes the interesting piece - the next short story - Inspector Matadeen on the Moon by Harishankar Parsai, translated from Hindi by C M Naim. The story is a fanciful account of Inspector Matadeen's trip to the Moon who makes his visit under the Cultural Exchange Scheme to represent India, the Government of Moon makes a written request to Government of India (which has an established Ram Rajya) on how despite being an advanced civilization, the police force is inefficient and requires help from fellow Indian policemen. Sounds preposterous, right? What unfolds is an excellent laugh riot, a satirical account so full of imagination that it unleashes life to the whole book. It is three cheers to the author for his sense of creativity and humor and bigger , many more cheers to the one who translated it for capturing the essence so well without hiccups, it is a task next to impossible. This story is a definite masterpiece. 

From humor and satire, one journeys to the other end of the literary spectrum to utter darkness, blatant reality and serious overtones in the story Draupadi by Mahasweta Devi, translated from Bengali to English by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. The protagonist is a tribal woman, Draupadi Mejhen, referred to as Dopdi in the story (the Santhali name and not the Sanskrit one), the most notorious rebel in the villages of Jharkani forests. Straightforward account of Special Forces chasing tribal leaders, set against the backdrop of an Operation Bakuli in Bankura, Burdwan and Birbhum districts of Bengal, the operations' repercussions and the trail of destruction it leaves. The story takes the guise of a factual account, in some ways I felt I was watching snippets of the movie Bandit Queen.

Countless Hitlers (originally known as Alekhun Hitler) by Vijaydan Detha, translated from Rajasthani by Christi A Merrill and Kailash Kabir is another gem in the book. (One can read the full text of the story here) The story deals with five men, some younger, some older, all farmers, all cousins of near about the same stock, their trip to Jodhpur to buy a tractor, their speed adventure with a certain cyclist on the way back home and the picture they left behind them on the road. Not so simple as it sounds, an intense tale with a gripping narrative.

Mirror of Illusion (known as Maya Darpan in Hindi) by Nirmal Verma, translated from Hindi by Geeta Kapur deals with the extreme solitude a young, unmarried girl Taran faces living amidst her widower father, widowed aunt in a dismal house, she's always lost in reverie and nostalgia. There are hopes and aspirations for a cheerful life, better future outside but will Taran muster courage to get out like her brother did is what the story handles. Thsi emotion soaked tale was made into a movie way back in 1972.

Reflowering by Sundara Ramaswamy, translated from Tamil by S.Krishnan is a simple tale of how man is meekly replaced by machine at times. The protagonist Ibrahim Hassan Rowther does bills in a cloth shop, his mental arithmetic is lightning quick though he is not blessed with eyesight and this sharp mathematical acumen makes him indispensable to the business till one day a small machine takes his life by storm. How Rowther regains his lost ground in the shop and by what means forms the rest of the tale, uncomplicated but highly impressive.

Mouni by UR Ananthamurthy, translated from Kannada by HY Sharada Prasad is an account of lives of two men, rather two enemies in business, Bhavikere Kuppanna Bhatta and Sebinakere Appanna Bhatta, a simple, passable tale, though not rudimentary as the story of Ram and Shyam we read in our primary school, apt for recreation into an art movie and as mentioned in the epilogue it was made into a critically acclaimed movie in 2003.

Old Cypress by Nisha Da Cunha - the longest short story in the collection by far, packs highs and lows in itself. A deserted house in a hilly tea estate, mist laden overgrown garden,  an unused tennis court and an old cypress tree in a corner of the garden, a setting that sends you slouching in your chair as you begin, then the lives of a couple in early retirement who look to shift from Mumbai to this hill estate bungalow makes you sit erect for a while before the long, cumbersome paragraphs of many conversations weigh heavily upon your shoulders and send you slouching once more. Nothing remarkable in the tale except Raymond Carver's poem. (refer poem)

The Blue Umbrella by Ruskin Bond, a favorite tale and a favorite author, both packed in one can only prove wonderful. The story is about how a pretty, blue silk umbrella changes the lives of a village girl Binya and an old shopkeeper Ram Bharosa. A beautiful tale set in the hills and Ruskin Bond's lucidity makes the reader feel one among Neelu, Gori, Bijju, Binya, Rajaram and Ram Bharosa, one among many simple souls living in the hills. A movie based on the story directed by Vishal Bharadwaj is a visual treat and quite faithful to the source.

These short stories form an eclectic blend, penned originally in different regional languages and English by some great minds, these carry abundant local flavor and an imprint of societal structure of that region. Eighteen more stories to go and this time I promise myself to get back fast for what possibly will be the last part of the book review. Happy New Year to all!