The Rozabal Line - Blurry

The Rozabal Line by Ashwin Sanghi. I wish this heavily researched book was non-fiction. It would have earned more credibility that way.

When I picked it from a friend's home-library, I was quite excited that this would give me an opportunity to move out of my comfort zone and I grabbed it. The first sixty-odd pages lead me into an exciting path on the thriller zone but what happens after that had my head spinning. I was thrown from AD to BC, 5 BC to 2012 so rapidly that I could hear the swish-swash sound effects given in films when they have to show a rapid scene cut. 

The line between real events and fiction is so thin that I was left feeling quite confused. And to have to keep turning back to references at the end of the book often left me tired (swish-shwash sounds again). I stopped reading the references after #18 or so. (there are a total of 209).  References work well in research material and non-fiction but not so well in fiction, especially when there are so many. It cuts down the pace of reading and the story as well. Also, the references were more from the internet than actual books. Credibility factor again.    

Truth be told, conspiracy theories are my guilty pleasure. I wolf up anything that comes on the internet from Elvis's death to Kennedy's assassination to the MH-370 disappearance. But this one somehow didn't have me hooked. Many portions seem extremely contrived. I've read The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown and found it quite intriguing and interesting. Maybe because it was all unfamiliar territory. I knew nothing of this theory at that time but The Rozabal Line seems to be following the same template, though going far, a bit too far from where TDVC left off.  Also, there is the Indian scenario, parts of which seemed implausible and convoluted (short of treading the path of some very sincere sounding Whatsapp forwards).  Politically and theologically, I wonder how it didn't cause any ripples. 

For it being fiction, there is absolutely no depth to the characters. They are just props for a larger theory. The ending seems very convenient and even preachy. 

While reading this book, Interestingly, I happened to stumble upon The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man by Jonas Jonasson. I grabbed it since I loved the earlier book, The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared, both parts of this story also have fact intertwined cleverly with fiction. Now, this did not confound me. I found myself laughing at the implausibility of it all.

Now, doesn't Rozabal Line also entwine fact and fiction? Though the path taken is similar, the effect is completely different. Of course, the genres are themselves different. While The Hundred-Year-Old Man is political-humour, The Rozabal Line is theological action-thriller, and a very serious one at that. Maybe it's my own knowledge (of religion) or the lack of it that makes me uncomfortable.

All that is said in The Rozabal Line is the author's own theological interpretation based on very extensive research and I completely respect him for that. I apply this to every book I read. If a writer has an idea and has the courage and means to put it in print, that by itself is an achievement. I only wish writers made better use of this privilege. 

A Suitable Boy: Just Perfect for Me

Picked up this giant of a book on a whim without pausing to think how I’d finish reading it. After a six-month struggle, I finally managed to finish it and I’m glad. (Much to the chagrin of my family, lugged it to every trip I took this year.)
On the face of it, The Suitable Boy is a story about a girl looking for a… well, suitable boy. Lata belongs to a simple but well-read family of refined tastes. The family consists of a doting but overbearing mother, a sweet sister and two brothers who are like chalk and cheese.

Set in the year 1951-1952, the book is much, much more than Lata’s quest. There are many absorbing subplots involving the girl, Lata’s extended family, including her siblings, their in-laws and their families. There are stories of politics, of music, of business and of relationships. Apart from music, I found the political references very interesting because I’ve never paid much attention to the political history of India. Seth has explored every possible kind of relationship with great understanding and gentleness, be it friends, lovers, elderly couples, young couples or colleagues.

Lata’s mother is a carbon copy of a lady I knew—an overly sentimental type who loved sending and receiving long letters and greeting cards. Someone who could hurt or be pleased with the smallest of things.
Meenakshi’s (Lata’s sister-in-law) quirky family made me happy and kept me eagerly looking forward to chapters about them.
I personally loved the plot involving Maan Kapoor (Lata’s brother-in-law’s brother). My heart went out to him and his family. Having been accustomed to romantic twists of plot, I kept hoping for favourable twists in Maan’s life. I cared much for his father, Mahesh Kapoor too. (I imagined Adil Hussain playing this role in a film/web series.)

Having lived with and invested so much in the characters, and being a die-hard romantic, I must say I'm a tad disappointed with the ending but then, every writer owns his story and has a right to end it to match the philosophy of that story.

Vikram Seth being what he is, throws the most unexpected turns at you. “Sensitive people are usually insensitive” goes a telling line in the book. More than the plot and storyline, Seth’s language and style had me floored. Like I have said in an earlier post, he has a gift of infusing poetry into his prose. And at the same time, he can convey the strongest of emotions in the simplest of ways.
Two old (and elderly) friends talking to each other:
“So, you’ll come for lunch tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. Just do me the favour of sitting silently through the meal and hearing me complain about how much better things were in the old days.”
“All right.”

Seth knows exactly what words to use at any given time. For learners like me, his style is infused with numerous examples of 'show, don’t tell'.
Sample this: The rock-like delicacies were lurking in the other room. I will say no further.

And what caught me by surprise is his amazing sense of humour. He has used humour and wit so generously in this book that I could go on citing examples. If you are planning to read the book, look out for the incident at the bus-stop involving two wailing ladies. And then there’s the incident of a villainous but distraught Prof Mishra. He is feigning a conversation with a doctor on the phone but is actually getting the election results. Mishra asks the person on the phone, “So where can I meet you?” The person on the other end of the phone simply says, “In the casualty ward.” Oh, and of course there are the 'Kakoli-couplets' strewn amply to lighten the mood.

Seth draws up detailed character portraits of almost every character, significant or otherwise. Sometimes, he hands out every micro-thought of a character, making you awe at his insight into people’s psyche. Mr Seth appears to be one dangerous man to meet!

Another thing to look out for is the vivid, descriptive passages – ever so colourful and never boring, be it the Pul Mela or the shoe-factory episode. He writes as if he’s been there. Who knows? He might have even been there. (I've read several anecdotes about the research he does for his stories).

This book has been panned for rambling on with just a few pages of the main plot. I choose to look at it this way. It would be extremely limiting to look at the title just from the angle of Lata’s matrimonial dilemma. We have a young India looking for a suitable boy as a leader. We have the Chatterji family looking for a suitable boy to take on the reins. We have the University looking for a suitable boy to head its English Department and so on. I haven’t yet read any analysis of this book but I am sure all that research and thinking that Vikram Seth has put in is not in vain. Every anecdote has meaning and purpose and it is for us to find them.

If you have been wanting to read this book, I’d say, just take a deep breath and dive in. You are sure to find a lot of gems out there. Just have a lot of patience. I nodded in agreement when the character of Amit Chatterji says:
“But I too hate long books: the better, the worse. If they're bad they merely make me pant with the effort of holding them up for a few minutes. But if they're good, I turn into a social moron for days, refusing to go out of my room, scowling and growling at interruptions, ignoring weddings and funerals, and making enemies out of friends.”

PS: I read somewhere that Mira Nair will be making a web series of this book. I'm excited.

A line from the book

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Where book reccos go, I take it from anyone, most of the time. I feel, if someone has been impressed by a book, there must be something about it. Even if I don't end up liking the book, I look at it as an opportunity to get to know the person who recommended it, better. That's how I came across this book. It was suggested by a very young colleague. I grabbed it when I got the chance. A writer I had never read before - Benjamin Alire Sáenz. A genre I had not explored before, Young Adult Fiction. I am not telling you another new aspect because that might be a spoiler.

 
The story is about a sweet story a young boy, who seeks to unravel various secrets--secrets about his family, about his friend, about his own self as well.
Aristotle is a boy of 15, biding his time being angry with everything and everyone around him. He is angry with his parents for being secretive, at his well-meaning friends for being intrusive, at himself for being a loner. For a young boy, he has the difficult task of walking a fine balance between temper and politeness. He then meets a boy interestingly named Dante, who goes on to become his first and only friend and more. Of course, he spends a good amount of time being angry with Dante too for being so nice, happy and himself. How Ari comes to terms with his family, his loved ones, his own feelings and himself, form the rest of the story. 

We are presented with a set of six beautiful characters. Ari, Dante and their wonderful parents. Each dealing with their own personal issues, yet full of love and warmth. 

Written in simple yet beautiful language, the book explores complex emotions and various aspects of adolescence with gentleness and finesse. It took me back to my own very difficult teenage years. I now know I wasn't alone, because that's a stage when we hardly have heart-to-heart conversations with anyone, I wouldn't have known better. I have made some mental notes for me to refer to when it's my chance as a parent. But then like Ari does, it is up to each person to discover himself as life goes. The only thing we can do is, like Ari's parents do is this. Sort out or at least come to terms with our own battles, first creating enough mental space to take a patient look at a blossoming teenager's needs with all the love and care we are capable of.

The storyline might appear one-dimensional to some, even a tad too Utopian but then, I loved it just for that reason. I'd definitely recommend this book to those who never tire exploring various facets of human nature and behaviour. I'm such a person. 

The book is sprinkled throughout with many thought-provoking and smile-inducing lines. Here are some:

"Words were different when they lived inside of you."***
"Poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn't get - and never would get."***
"The problem with trying hard not to think about something was that you thought about it even more."***
"...we're thinking about things that we don't know we're thinking about and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams."

In a Forest, a Deer - Ambai

In a Forest, a Deer is a collection of short stories written by famed writer Ambai, translated from Tamil by Lakshmi Holmstrom. I had been intrigued by the writer with this beautiful nom de plume for a long time. And this book came to me as a Christmas gift from a dear friend.

The book is a collection of eighteen interesting stories. I dived into the stories headlong, deliberately without reading any of the introductory notes. With new authors, I usually like to do the ‘discoveries’ myself. And what a revelation it was! Free of all feminist tropes, these stories are fresh, contemporary and very relevant. These are not stories of wonder-women but regular, everyday women who sparkle in their quiet, mundane existences.

Ambai uses a wide variety of themes and styles. One and Another explores unusual relationships. Vaaganam is a humorous take on the strong desire to own a vehicle, which in turn translates into freedom. Wrestling and Journey 3 have poignant thoughts wrapped in an organza of humour. A Rat, a Sparrow is a fantastic story about a ‘Madrasi’ trying to settle down in Bombay. Ambai walks us through communal tension in Direction and A Movement, a folder, some tears. A Movement… was a very difficult read, despite creative styles and techniques like flashback, an email and even an email attachment. My personal favourite is Parasakthi and Others in a Plastic Box, about the gossamer bonds that weave a mother and her two daughters together. It moved me to tears. Here again, she uses the medium of letters to tell us the story. Forest is perhaps the best example of the brilliant literary spark of this writer. It flits gracefully between mythology and contemporary.  Though all stories have a broad theme, each story delicately spreads out bunches of different thoughts, ideas and sub-themes, just like beautifully set pleats that enhance the grace of a saree.  Ambai’s storytelling has an almost lyrical quality to it, with generous use of images and metaphors.

Ambai’s women are quirky, strong, independent and free, in their own capacities—physically, mentally or at least spiritually. There’s a tiny little story within a story in Direction, called For Lakshmi too, an Adishesha. Read that and you will understand the strength of Ambai’s unbridled imagination. Goddess Lakshmi is tired of sitting at Vishnu’s feet all the time. She is miffed about all the unfairness around her and feels she deserves her own Adishesha too!  I have never read anything quite like it. Another thing I will not forget about the characters is their very Tamil names, not of Goddesses but of nature and human virtues. There is Kumudha, Shenbagam, Thangam, Dhanam, Thirumagal, Chendhiru, Senthamarai and many more. The men have more regular names. 

Every time I read a translation, I stop for a bit to think about the translator. I will say it now and will say it again, translation is one of the most difficult forms of all writing. Lakshmi Holmstrom has done a wonderful job of it in this collection. I don’t know if it was about the translation or if it was because I happen to know Tamil, but I found myself re-translating the lines back into Tamil in my head as I read the first couple of stories. It all settled down beautifully after the third/fourth story and they read like stories originally written in English. A pond filled with lotuses. Each lotus as wide as mother’s lap. Each lotus made up of a thousand, thousand petals is a gem of an expression. I am now curious to find out what it was in Tamil and if it was as beautiful. There’s another place where she says, “as white as white can be” which I am sure was “vella-veleyr” , an adjective peculiar to Tamilnadu. Having grown up listening to such local peculiarities, I never imagined it could be expressed in English so well. What I also like is a neat little glossary at the end of the book and sometimes at the end of a story. The editors have thankfully not messed up the pages with a mosaic of symbols and legends. I am curious to find out why the translator has chosen to use the Hindi word choli to describe a blouse that is worn with a saree. Also, why did she choose to spell the musical instrument Veena or Veenai, as Vinai and Vina in some places? Doesn’t Vinai, with the short i sound connote an evil deed? The names of some actors are also incorrect like M T Rama Rao for N T Rama Rao (they got it right in the second instance) and K P Sundarambal for K B Sundarambal. I shouldn’t nit-pick.

I believe that those who’ve been fortunate enough to travel much (by circumstance or choice) stand to gain a wide knowledge of languages, customs, religious practices, quirks of different communities and also become open to appreciate different styles of cuisines and music. Then there are those who learn and develop all of these without stepping out of their zipcode. These are people who read extensively. And if a writer has one or both these opportunities, the writing becomes truly rich. Even while I was reading the stories, Ambai seemed to be doubly blessed thus.  Only when I read her biography after completing the book did I learn that my guess was right. She has travelled much and is a voracious reader. Somehow, luckily for me, many books I have been reading these days have copious references to music. So does this book. The references range from Raavana’s Kambodhi, Tiruppavai, Andal Paasuram, Bhimsen Joshi to Gangubai Hangal. Oh and she loves talking in detail about food. Be it paruppu thogayal or a Maharashtrian millet roti. The kitchens are not the domains of only women. A character’s father could make a hundred varieties of chutneys. Ambai’s protagonists believe in God but are not god-fearing. They are highly spiritual but not very religious. The ring-side views and the first-person accounts do give a pleasurable intimacy but somewhere at the half-way mark, the mind craves to see a wider canvas. As if the writer/editor has read your mind, things begin to get interesting soon.

In a Forest, a Deer is overall, a wonderful compilation of enjoyable and thought-provoking stories. A must-read if you are looking at exploring a new ethos, a new voice that is strong and vibrant but not shrill. Will I be right in saying she is India’s (or at least Tamilnadu’s) answer to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie? While I do my research, I will leave you with some quotes from the book.

Brahmacharya, samsara, vanaprastha and sanyasa—must these all happen at separate times and stages?... Why could they not all be mingled together?

***

Everything comes down to sruti, getting the pitch right, doesn’t it? We speak of sur, being in tune. Who then is an asur? Not someone with crooked teeth and ten heads, but one who is ignorant of sur. A-sur. Because such a thing as sur isn’t resonating within them, they run away with themselves without subjecting their impulses or their strength or their direction to any discipline. They are not reined in by their sur.

***

There was another friend who insisted on telling jokes after having downed three pegs of rum. ‘I’m going to act like a Madrasi’, he proclaimed loudly….He laughed at his own performance. Nobody else laughed with him. Vijay went up to him and whispered something. He looked at her and said, grinning away, ‘It was only in fun. I like the temples in Tamil Nadu very much. Then dosa, vada, idli,’ he drawled stressing the ‘d’. “Saniyane,’ she said…Only Amulyo understood what she said.

***

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. What an experience it has been! My first Murakami and I’ve never read anything quite like it. The storyline twines itself around a 15-year old boy, an adorable old man and his equally adorable companion and an enigmatic lady. All of them are in the process of letting go of something and gaining something else in the process. Now, would I classify the book as fantasy, philosophy or something else? I would not get there. There’s no point trying to jam something as fluid as this within the confined spaces of genre. This book, like I said at the beginning, is an experience. I do not venture out to 'review' this book because that would be doing it injustice. I will only share what it did to me. The beginning was like sitting on a flight, venturing on a holiday to a foreign country for the first time. There are mixed feelings of fear and excitement. As I go deeper into the book, I get into a dreamlike state—a feeling of being led by the hand while sleepwalking. I feel the dream makes sense only to me. It might sound vague and meaningless if I relate it to someone. I see beautiful things, feel beautiful thoughts about belonging, memories, metaphors, books and music. I chuckle at the sweet, innocent moments (Nakata’s“Liter ady” and his understanding of idioms). I cringe at the violence and underage sex but thankfully, it is just a dream and I know these events will end soon. Once again there are gentle emotions that envelope me with warmth. At a point, I know the dream is ending, I don’t want it to. It gets exciting. I don’t exaggerate when I say I feel my hands trembling at the turn of each page. I read some parts twice. I don’t want to miss anything. I hear myself saying aloud, “Oh no…” “Kafka, just go.” “Hoshino, please do something.” “Oh damn, it’s him!” And then, it was all over and I wake up with a sigh, unable to think of anything else for the next few hours. I then thought of the author himself. How fatigued, yet exhilarated he must have felt to give shape to all those thoughts and ideas. I must have been something like childbirth itself. Perhaps all authors go through their own struggles, but I felt it for the first time. It takes a lot of strength, courage and brilliance to be able to put abstract thoughts in words.

Interpreting a beautiful dream is as important as the dream itself. So, I think a large part of the credit must go to the translator for putting words into a wonderful order, without disturbing the original pattern. Just like it happens in the book, someday, I’d like to discuss this book with someone—the hidden meanings, the references, the parts that I didn’t quite grasp, parts that made me feel I’m “…not very bright, dumb”. And mull over “the accident” and “the murder”. Thinking about it, how nice it would be to come across people, including strangers willing to discuss films, music, books and even philosophy with us. Now, that would be a dream-come-true for me.

A few passages from the book that I loved:
About first impressions: “…a shadowy smile playing on her lips whose sense of completeness is indescribable. It reminds me of a small, sunny spot, the special patch of sunlight you find only in some remote, secluded place.”

About books: “When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers.”

About parental pressure: “When they're treated like that, children start to crawl inside a shell and keep everything inside. It takes a lot of time and effort to get them to open up again. Kids' hearts are malleable, but once they gel it's hard to get them back the way they were.”

About anger: “Are anger and fear just two aspects of the same spirit?”

About the unsaid: “Putting (the answer) in words will destroy any meaning.”

About memories: “If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody forgets.”

“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”

The book is full of such gems and I couldn't make note of all of them. But I don’t worry because I know I am going to revisit it one day.

A duet of two loves

Vikram Seth's An Equal Music. One of the most satisfying reads in ages. The last page of the book felt like a warm hug. I closed the book, held it to my chest, closed my eyes and smiled.

If you ask me if it had a happy ending, I would counter it with, "what IS a happy ending?"
The life of every individual is sprinkled with unique experiences.  Each person perceives those experiences in a unique way and deals with them in a manner he/she knows the best. This is the quality of humans that I love and enjoy. However similar they might appear, every individual on this earth is as different as the stars in the sky.

It is this uniqueness of human character that is so wonderfully painted in An Equal Music. There are love stories and then, there are, well, love stories. What we have here is just that but dealt in such a beautiful depth that you wonder if some of it could be autobiographical. Perhaps and perhaps not, and therein lies the strength of a writer. To make you wonder how in the wide world does he know all this? How can a person be so perceptive? I think it has got to do more with a very deep level of understanding and intuition than plain research.

The story is all about love and loss...and gain. Michael Holme, a gifted violinist in a quartet is our protagonist. His routine that hangs between clefs, staves and a sheet of recurring painful memory, suddenly gets jammed into a few discordant notes. He hears music in everything - be it the song of a lark, the church bell or the hum of a fridge that emits a note "stuck irksomely somewhere between G and G sharp."

The two loves of his life are off to make a quick exit, threatening to leave him loveless, musicless and maybe lifeless. What does fate offer him finally? The way he embraces his destiny, is the wonderful last note that the author leaves you with. "The rain has washed my earlier tears away." (Part 8)

The novel has just a few but endearing characters, all of them with a life of their own, with a truth of their own. Michael, he sometimes tires you but hey, he's not a superhero. He's just another man on the street with his fears, doubts and an unstoppable train of thought. Julia Hansen, Michael's past, is fast becoming the most important part of his present. A talented pianist, she is beautiful, affectionate and oh, so real - a woman caught between her heart and her head. She has a certain gift and a challenge that I've never read about anywhere before. I must say, her character 'resonates' with me on more than one level. The way Michael goes so deep into the said challenge is a tad annoying but looking it at from a musician's point of view, it sure is justified.

Then, there are the members of the quartet, each with a charming quirk and a life of their own, again so true to life.

The author's note says "Music to me is dearer than even speech." As for me, I'd never be able to choose between music and the written word, speech ranking a close third.
This book has been personally so enjoyable not just because it is a beautiful romance fiction but it is a duet of two of my own loves. Language and music. And An Equal Music is full of these two things, in equal measure. Though I love Western Classical Music, my knowledge doesn't go beyond a few symphonies and composers. It was a pleasure discovering so much more while reading the book. I found myself googling pieces, names and notes. Reading the book with The Art of Fugue  playing in the background was an experience by itself.

"I put my hand on my shoulder where your head rested. Then I say your name once, twice, a third time, a fourth. Some nights I sleep like that, remembering you; some nights I only sleep as dawn comes in." (Part 7)
I am partly ashamed and partly glad that is my first Vikram Seth novel. His style and use of language...is it prose with generous poetic touches or poetry in the garb of prose? The Golden Gate more openly claims itself to be a novel in verse. But An Equal Music just springs pleasant lyrical surprises. Vis-a-vis a filmmaker, to think that all a writer has are words to explain the workings of the human mind, a palette of emotions - pain, joy and confusion. And to do all this with clarity and precision is indeed a gift put to a fantastic purpose. No image or camera technique can match the effect of such lines.
"The phone rings maddingly, maddeningly. I let it ring."

Seth also uses wit and humour at every suitable opportunity with a charming deftness. The sweet-silly scene with the critic Nicholas Spare and the punch; the scene in the aircraft about the green and cream sandwiches will take me some time to forget.

It gladdens the heart that the book is by an author of Indian origin, without any of the mysticism that many writers with an India-background indulge themselves with.

Normally my choice of books depends upon the experience of the last book that I have read. But for now, I think I just want to snuggle between some cozy sheets of music.
"Music...is a sufficient gift. Why ask for happiness and hope not to grieve? It is enough, it is to be blessed enough, to live from day to day and to hear such music  - not too much, or the soul could not sustain it - from time to time." (Part 8)

My library copy that I postponed returning as long as I could