The catcher in the Rye

If you have ever lied to a stranger in train, bus or flight or just twisted your truth a little in order to avoid a banal conversation taking an uncomfortable or unwanted turn.. Because you thought they wouldn't understand anyway...... then The catcher in the Rye is a book you cannot afford to miss.

Holden Caulfield is a young  pr-

-otagonist of this wonderfully written novel. Through his character writer has portrayed what a complex creation an individual is and how weird at times our own existence might seem when seen from a child’s eye.

Holden feels alienated and confused at the way world around him is constructed, convoluted; he seeks refuge in children younger to him. It is clear throughout the narrative that for him, adults are corrupted and only purity lies with children.

The entire book’s story takes place within a span of just four days, and yet so minutely has the author taken us through those four days that by the time we end the book it seems we have known Holden, Phoebe, DB, Ally, Ackely, Stradlater, jane and Mr. Antolini for years.

Another very striking feature of this book is that somehow, character of Holden, despite all its limitations as an individual, inspires a lot of sympathy in minds of readers. So far as confused yet compassionate and adorable protagonists are concerned, Holden from the Catcher in the rye is probably at par with Hamlet.... perhaps Holdens of the world outnumber Hamlets by fair margin.

The fact that he is suffering from some sort of mental imbalance, which is visible through conduct and opinions but intractable medicinally, perhaps makes readers relate with him, because secretly it reflects some of our own deepest conflicts and complex dilemmas.

The other prominent theme of this novel is constructed by Holden’s attitude towards sex. More than half of the story, he tries to lose his virginity, in fact more than once he comes closer to it however fails to make the cut in the end.  He later takes solace in the banal expression, repeated countless times in the novel “one has to be in right mood” for such things! He is unable to hold two conflicting ideas that revolve around sexuality – one that of romantic love that is built on care and respect and the other involving kinky fantasies for one’s partner. Little does the Holden know at the time, perhaps, that this was merely starting of a life-long dilemma we all face as adults!!

Bitterness that Holden has towards the rest of the world is in part really the bitterness he feels for his advancing age, moving life and its fickleness.  His frantic search for permanence is not only childish; it is also misplaced – miserably. And this gives a rather cantankerous and immature character a tragic touch which is a hallmark of adult lives.

The book stands out for its impeccable narrative, compact storyline and powerful characters. Some other most powerful events, such as the record bought by Holden for Phoebe, his deceased brother Ally’s baseball glove with lots of poems written on it, suicide of one of his schoolmates, visit to museum and Holden’s opinion for his elder brother DB add a classic sub-plot to the entire story and keeps readers engaged.

The fact that Holden HOLDs on to his childhood even while the world around him is trying to grow him into an adult brings out a fascinating story which is highly recommended reading for anyone interested to understand oneself a little better!!Top of Form

Acknowledge!!!

It was 11:30 PM, I was walking back home after a long day at work, clouds had been gathering in sky as if they would burst into a heavy downpour any moment and a cold Bangalore breeze was blowing just enough to make the atmosphere mildly intoxicating. Silence in the street, added a tinge of anxiety to the overall calm surroundings.  Just then I heard a car approaching from behind, just where I was walking it slowed down and window slid down.  The car was impeccable, looked like coming straight out of the show-room, spotless and shining!

The couple in the car looked visibly worried; they asked me if there was any hospital around. I replied there was one and directed them towards the nearest hospital. Just as I finished, I realized they had probably been new to the locality and did not fully follow the directions given quickly. I explained them again, slowly and with a couple of more landmarks to guide them through the way. They thanked me and vroomed off towards the hospital.   

Next day, I decided to go to work a little late than my usual time as I had returned late on previous day.

While walking on the footpath on way to the office, I came across an old beggar. He came close to me and tried saying something that I could not understand. Without even acknowledging his presence, I made way and passed him by.

A few steps ahead a thought struck me, what if the old beggar had to actually ask something as genuine as the couple previous night? One possibility led to another, Wasn’t it possible that the old man just wanted to tell me how bad day he was having?  Or “What time of day it was?”  

 A pang of guilt covered my mind; however I kept on walking ahead, feeling completely ashamed of the cold ignorance I had shown to the old beggar. The incidence did not subside in the usual routine and kept coming back to mind.  

William James had written on this phenomena way back in 1984, “no more fiendish punishment could be devised, if such a thing were physically possible, than that, one should turn loose in a society and remain absolutely unnoticed by all the members thereof. If none turned around when we entered, answered when we spoke or minded what we did but if every person we met, cut us dead and acted as if we were non-existent things a kind of rage before long would well up within us from which cruellest bodily tortures would be a relief. “

I think none we meet deserves this kind of cold ignorance, no matter what class one belongs to. The difference in my behaviour to the couple driving in a car and asking for direction close to midnight and the beggar whose motive to interact with me, I did not even care to notice is not defensible. Of many things around us, I believe if we change this and at least acknowledge, everyone around us, we will spread some more relief and happiness.

This is not at all to say that we should give money in alms to beggars, but at least we should politely decline – thereby noticing and acknowledging their presence.

Book Review - The shadow of the wind

If a writer’s book is read by only one person, and it transforms the reader’s life, is he successful writer?

At the age of ten, Daniel is a loveable kid, just like most other ten year olds. He has lost his mother a few years back and lives with his loving father who constantly tries to make up for the Daniel’s mother.  Daniel has a great fascination for books, and aspires to become a writer some day. Daniel’s father runs a book shop and is a man of modest means.

Daniel gets his hand on a book named “The shadow of the wind” by an author called Julian Carax. This book enthrals Daniel and he sets out to find more about its author. The search that would eventually transform his life completely, and link him to so many individuals’ lives in a breathtaking way.

Julian Carax is little known name in Spain that had seen a terrible war during his lifetime. According to some account, Julian was dead, for some he had fled to Paris long back and lived an anonymous life there.  Daniel’s search leads him to many dark secrets of war time, and puts his life in risk as well. However gritty as he is, he continues to peel off the layers of mystery that surrounds Julian’s life.  

The novel presents some of the finest characters, Senor Sempere – Daniel’s father is portrayed as a fine gentleman who always stands by his son, even while his physical strength and capacities are on decline due to advancing age.  Fermin, an accomplice and friend of Daniel also comes across as a very interesting character; at one point he says “The man who used to live in these bones died Daniel, sometimes he comes back in nightmares.”    The character of Antony Fortuny, Julian’s father is also very well depicted. Beatrice’s character is a little too make-shift, I believe it could have played some more role in the novel.

The book is replete with some stunning observations and messages which cut through the boundaries of the plot and are relevant to all readers even in their personal lives, for example – the short message on war delivered through a character goes like this – “Nothing feeds forgetfulness better than war Daniel, we all remain silent and they try to convince us that what we have seen, what we have learnt about ourselves and about others is an illusion, a nightmare that will pass. Ware has no memory, and none has courage to understand until there are no voices left to tell what really happened. Until the moment comes when we no longer recognize them and they return with another face and another name, to devour everything that they left behind.”

Or the following, “An old man waited for me almost every thrursday and offered me pastries and coffee that he scarcely touched. He spent hours reminiscing about Julian’s childhood, how they worked in the shop. He would take me to Julian’s room which he kept as immaculate as museum, he took out old notebooks and photographs with enthusiasm without realizing that he had shown them to me just on the previous visit, that he had already told me all those stories  - he seemed to be reconstructing the past that never existed. Until one day when I went there and found the doctor going out, “How is the hatter?” I asked. Doctor looked at me strangely and asked “Are you a relative?”

It is a bulky book of 500 pages, for those who think thrillers have to be quick read and pointed this book is a good case study to support alternative argument.

Shadow of the Wind is thriller, historical fiction, occasional farce, existential mystery and a passionate love story – all at once.

Why I was not Mr. Nishant Gupta that morning....

“This is the last and final boarding call for Mr. Nishant Gupta, travelling to Delhi by Indigo flight 6E254” announced the crew member holding the list of passengers in her hand and looking anxious to find this last passenger so that the flight can take off at scheduled time to its destination.

It was 5 AM of a Monday morning and I was half asleep sitting on a bench, waiting for the announcement for my flight to Bangalore, the call for Mr. Nishant Gupta did reach my ears however remained distant as it was unrelated. Since I was half asleep, I did not realize that place where I was sitting was quite close to the place from where crew member was announcing for Mr. Gupta.

Her repeated calls disturbed the tranquillity of the early morning that I had preferred but they also set me thinking subconsciously, about Delhi, and also about this Mr. Gupta who was the sole recipient of all the attention of this beautiful crew member at 5 AM of a Monday morning.

Delhi had always been a city that fascinated me, despite all the things it remains infamous for. It was the city that I had been planning to visit since the time I left it after completing my post graduation but had never been able to visit. It remained home to many friends and irrespective of emphatic invitations and countless expressions of “Ab ki baar pukka kuch plan karte hae” Delhi remained elusive from me. I had ceased to chase the goal actively but latent desire was present, I imagined how T3 would be – metro rides, streets of South Delhi etc. Counting on friends I wished to meet, I made a mental list and thought how many of them would really have time on a Monday, if I catch that flight instead of Mr. Gupta – and before I could reach a certain number, trail of thoughts was further interrupted by a near war cry.

Crew member who could have easily been mistaken for an upcoming model now looked like a restless mother attempting to find her child lost in faceless crowd. She was walking around in haste, transporting messages to her colleagues and checking one final time if she could find the man she was looking for that morning.

I switched my thoughts back to Delhi and sat relaxing with closed eyes, feeling a little sadistic happiness at Mr. Gupta’s absence! Just, then I felt a tap on my right shoulder – startled I shook up straight and looked up.

“Are you Mr. Nishant Gupta?” I remained silent for a few seconds. “Going to Delhi?” came another question, without quite waiting for an answer.

Looking at her insistent efforts to find a man I had never known, flying to a city I really wanted to go since long, made me want – for a moment - to impersonate Mr. Gupta and tell her that I was the one she was looking for and go to Delhi.

I soon realized that my silence irritated her, and quickly I told her that I was not Mr. Gupta. She went away quickly, disappointed at having wasted her time without a positive outcome.

And I regretted the fact that I was not Mr. Nishant Gupta on that Monday morning.

The Night watchman

Weather was bad, conditions were overcast. Drizzle was being faded away only due to the force of strong wind – clouds were gathering overhead and making the afternoon seem like dark evening.  There was a silence in dressing room, openers were just going out and everyone was saying their silent prayers for them to just bat through the day without any casualty.

The captain walked to him steadily and said “Pad up Jim, in case of a wicket, you will have to go and weather it out till end of day’s play.’’

Jim was playing in that team as a fast bowler, however he loved batting too – and did not like to throw away his wicket. He was gritty by nature and a team man to the core.  A chance to go out as a night-watchman in troublesome weather was exactly the kind of challenge that he loved to take up, something that is unnerving but exciting at the same time.

Innings started and soon it came out that it was going to be a rough ride. Not only was the weather making it difficult, the pitch was also vicious – lots of irregular bounce and two paced behaviour. It was an openers’ nightmare.  The look on their face said that worst of their nightmares had come true.

Fall of wicket was merely a matter of time; it seemed to Jim, he was all set from the word go to go out there and fight it out for his team.  He had done that in past and backed himself for repeating the feat. As he sat with his safety gears on, the images of that innings flashed across his mind – it is surprising how vivid memories are!

A sudden roar from the opposition team brought Jim back to present, he realized there was an appeal – ball had taken up sharply from good length and put the batsman in awkward position and also took an edge of his glove.

“Take it easy Jim” – he heard as he stood up after seeing the umpire raising his figure to indicate the fall of first wicket.

Jim was a dear friend of mine and I was supporting his team, praying for him to salvage it for a few overs so that umpires can probably realize how bad the lights were and call it a day. There were some fine batsmen in his team and I wanted to watch them bat tomorrow in bright day light. As a fan of the game, sight of glistening red cricket ball under the sunshine was one of the finest views I had cherished – the overcast conditions were ruining it.

Just as I saw Jim walking out, a fantastic analogy struck my mind of how much I shared with him at this particular moment.

Indeed, being fan of Indian cricket at this point of time is akin to be a night-watchman. The dark secrets of corruption, poisonous accusations of conflict of interest, politicization of the game’s governing body, suppression and misrepresentation of facts from various entities leave us all in a very fragile state – just like that of a night watchman walking out to fight out on a difficult wicket and weather conditions.

My prayer is as much for myself as it is for Jim, I hope we both bat out this tough time safely without any further damage so that we can see that red cherry shining under bright light in days to come! 

Holi – The morning after

Did any colour I splashed on you, leave a stain? Somewhere on you?

Blue that we used in beginning briefly,

or the yellow that I loved to see on you so much?

Red, used with passion of both - love and anger?

Or the running water of time has cleansed every corner of your existence completely?

The lowland By Jhumpa Lahiri

The Lowland offers a different perspective to one of the most intriguing macro level socio-economic problems of modern India through a micro level narrative. It is a story of a young man, a man who is both – a martyr and a traitor both at once. What makes the story more poignant is the fact that consequences of his choice continues to haunt and impact all those whom he loved dearly, even after his death.

With every character the writer successfully brings out deep existential anxieties and eccentricities to the fore. It is this masterful ability to present layers of personalities of her characters that makes Jhumpa Lahiri such an accomplished story teller.

Unable to reconcile with rumours and revelations of their son’s activities after his death, Udayan’s parents chose to find peace in insanity and lost the touch with real life just because it had become too hard to handle for their deprecated bodies and minds. Indeed, seeing one’s son being killed in front of their eyes would not have been easy. His father simply turned ignorant and mother forgetful. Their life was debilitating and disturbing on the east coast of India –and when contrasted with the life Subhash led on the east coast of America, it gave Subhash a pang of yearning for taking better care of his parents.  He felt deeply betrayed by his own self, unable to justify and accept that steps that seemed to righteous at the time he took them turned so unjust and even heinous as time passed.

 Subhash and Udayan – central characters of the story were inseparable brothers as children. However, as they grew up their paths diverged, Subhash went on to Rhode Island to pursue his doctoral studies and Udayan let the communist ideology consume his life, completely. Subhash always felt a touch inferior to Udayan, even though he was elder to him – he felt Udayan always had a little more of everything than he had. In his attempts to involve Subhash in the ideological battle he was fighting, Udayan asserted himself even more fiercely, causing Subhash deep existential anxieties. Subhash wasn’t able to understand if his inability to join the movement was mere cowardice or something else.

After Subhash departs Udayan’s life takes a new turn when he met a girl named Gauri, another important character of the novel. Udayan married Gauri – on receiving the news, Subhash felt a mixed emotion – that of happiness for his brother and a feeling of having been overtaken – as per Indian family tradition being an elder brother he should have married first. Udayan’s parents don’t accept Gauri and though they had no courage to oppose Udayan and let her live in their house, they always stayed recluse from her, Gauri too made no attempts to bridge the divide – they continued going farther away with each passing day.

Feeling a need to anchor the troubled family life Subhash decided to marry Gauri – giving a rationale of the future of unborn child. Subhash’s mother admonished him warning that Gauri wasn’t mature enough to become a mother and that she should be the one who would take care of the child. Subhash did not pay heed to his mother, married Gauri and took her to America. Gauri also accepted the step, more because of lack of option than by choice.

Their marriage was never easy, Subhash pained with inferiority complex, even with his wife and Gauri pained with sense of infidelity towards Udayan’s ghost cannot offer each other any comfort. Their only hope was Bela – Gauri’s daughter.

 Subhash made Bela the sole purpose of his life and though scared by the fact of Bela’s discovery that he was not really her father but only uncle – he really proved himself a better father than Udayan could ever be. Gauri constantly found herself to be inferior parent as compared to Subhash and left both of them to pursue her studies of philosophy.

After Gauri left Subhash raised Bela – initially with great troubles and deep impact on child but later both adjusted to the situation and helped each other fill the deepest voids of their lives.

The Lowland, alongside of a macro level issue of Naxal movement, describes very personal story of struggle of each of its characters minutely. It provides just enough details and leaves the conclusions to the readers. There are numerous occasions where readers are likely to get judgmental about the actions characters took, in the story, however seen from the point of view of these characters they only seem natural and real reactions.

In an ideological struggle of our times, we too have choices, and perhaps the strongest point this story makes is that our choices have impact on lives that are irrevocably related with our own, could this realization help soothe the sharp ideological battles we see?