Book Review: The Mystic Masseur

Set up in colonial Trinidad, ‘The Mystic Masseur’ is the Nobel laureate, V.S. Naipaul’s debut novel. It is hard to imagine how can a writer, in his very first attempt, paint such crisp and lively characters. With no extreme profundity, the book is a fun and witty take on the immigrants' society, its people, their philosophies, their superstitions and their endless beliefs.

The story traces the journey of Ganesh Ramsumair, the son of an Indian immigrant. After completing his education Ganesh is trying his best to become a great school teacher. He is sure that he is meant to do great things, write great words, preach great knowledge; and while doing all of this, becoming nothing else but great. His over the top awe of books, his belief in his ability to write and his extreme reluctance to work, contribute a great deal in his journey from a failed teacher to a struggling masseur, then a revered mystic, eventually a writer and then a political leader who, during the campaign, transforms from being a leftish politician to a right one. (heh!)

From Ganesh Ramsumair he ends up becoming Mr. G. Ramsay Muir, OBE.

Neither are the decisions made by Ganesh the sanest of all, nor are the justifications given the most logical. His philosophies and theories make no sense, but the only thing that he is sure of, is that he has to achieve greatness.

In due course, all these attributes make Ganesh the most well-known Indian in Trinidad, earning him respect, love, power and fear. In short, he achieves the greatness he knew he would. Inspite of all his successes and failures, Ganesh’s innocence and his willingness to believe in his fortune and destiny, keep adding a comic delight to the story.

The other characters in the story are also as endearing; be it the greedy and sly Ramlogan, who leaves no stone unturned to convince Ganesh to marry his punctuation obsessed daughter, Leela, and thenafter using Ganesh's success to expand his business; the skeptical Leela having endless woes about the domestic chores and her husband’s failures; the cartoonish Great Belcher, a kind of relative we all have whose prime objective is to indulge in matchmaking and then dissecting relationships; the friendly Suruj Poopa and Suruj Mooma (as they are called in the book) always ready with their advice, suggestions and help; or even those who appear for a page or two but leave an impact. They all have aptly contributed to the dry and dark wit of the book.

As one of the characters mention,

“I know the sort of doctors they have in Trinidad. They think nothing of killing two, three people before breakfast.”

The first half of the book has its own share of chuckles which, I felt, fades down a bit as the end approaches. The narrative there gets slightly incoherent, losing its charm and wit.

The entire book is in Trinidadian English- absence of proper verbs, every second sentence ending with girl or man, use of incorrect grammar (And no, I'm not being any Grammar Nazi!)

Something on the lines of,

“I does only read”

“We starting nowself, girl”

“Does he know to think himself, man?”

Now imagine reading some 200 pages like that!

Agreed that this makes it a quirky read, adds a lot to the cultural effect of the set-up on readers, however towards the end the weird dialect starts getting on your nerves so much that you crave for something on the lines of a Jane Austen. Inspite of the slight weakness, owing to the hilarious characterization and the narrator's sardonic observations, I’d highly recommend the read.

One of my favourites, as said by the great teacher-turned-masseur-turned-mystic-turned-writer-turned-what-not,

“I don't drink. I don't smoke. Reading is my only vice.”

Kafka on the Shore: Everything is a metaphor

'Kafka on the Shore' is my first Murakami novel. As a matter of fact, this is my first read in Japanese literature and I must say, I’m not at all disappointed! In a way this book is bizarre, eccentric and even obscure. Many of the readers might toss it away after reading the first few pages, thinking it to be making absolutely no sense. But but, trust me when I say this,

This Bizarreness is Addictive.
This Eccentricity is Hypnotic.
This Obscurity is Spellbinding.

The book has two apparently unrelated stories running parallel to each other.
One of the stories is about Kafka Tamura who aims to be the toughest 15 year old boy. He is a runaway from home and after a series of adventure, finds refuge in a private library at Takamatsu. Kafka is not only running away from his house and his father, but also from his past, where his mother and sister abandoned him when he was just four; and from his father’s prophecy, a curse which has been haunting Kafka ever since he understood it. His head is full of conflicting thoughts, several theories, unanswered questions, and blurred memories. He falls hopelessly in love with the spirit of a memory, with a hope of reliving it again and again, until forever.

The other story is about Mister Nakata, a victim to some strange unknown event which resulted in a loss of his memories and his ability to read and write. Instead he can talk to cats, all shapes and kinds! Inspite of all his disabilities, Nakata is the one chosen by fate to set few things straight. Inspite of his warm and child-like simplicity, his ability to have a comfortable conversation with cats, make fishes and leeches rain from the sky, let the path choose him rather than he choosing the path, knowledge of the secret behind the Entrance Stone, adds up and provides a subtle mystery to his character.

Even the other characters have been sketched spectacularly.
Oshima, an extremely well-read gay trapped in a woman’s body, understands Kafka’s journey and is always ready to help and guide him in every possible way. His likeability increases with each turning page.
"Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting."
"It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story."

Miss Saeki, the library manager, has a past which somehow intertwines with Kafka’s. She is almost dead inside and is now just waiting mechanically for things to take their course.
"Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart."

Hoshino, the truck-driver who helps Mister Nakata a lot through his journey, is as ignorant about Nakata’s mission as the readers. He is more like a reader representative in the story. He asks Nakata the questions that you would want to ask. He hangs by Nakata’s each and every word and never once loses his trust in the weird, old man.
"My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime."

Little words of wisdom and philosophical learnings are powdered throughout the book, making it all the more delicious.

"With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either."

"There are all sorts of cats – just as there’re all sorts of people."

"In dreams begin responsibility."

Kafka and Nakata have the paths of their lives converging on a metaphysical level, creating an aura of endless metaphors, kept open for all kinds of interpretations. Just as the book begins, it kisses farewell to the so-called reality; and the surrealism that then follows, makes the story as alluring as possible. Even Mister Nakata starting a casual conversation with some stray cat and talking about the local weather seems to be the most usual of all things, such is the effect of the spell.
The symbolism- sandstorms, labyrinth, cats, crow and the choice of contrast between the ‘concepts’ of the evil Johnny Walker (yes, the scotch guy) and the good Colonel Sanders (KFC!), was absolutely magical.

The book is not about giving up to your fate, but is about courage. Courage to face. Courage to cherish memories, both, wanted and unwanted. Courage to know yourself. Courage to accept yourself.
What I have understood of ‘Kafka on the Shore’, in the first read, might be just a small fraction of the treasure this book holds. The Japanese traditions mentioned, the scholars quoted, the philosophical remarks, the artists mentioned, the historical relevance, will definitely offer more once they have been well researched. The book has so many riddles to be solved, so many metaphors to be deciphered. Re-reading this book in light of research will perhaps be the only key to unearth this treasure chest completely!

Concluding it in the words of Mr. Murakami, himself -

"Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. 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 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 for ever in your own private library."

Shantaram - A Masterpiece

All thanks to my state of absolute joblessness, I have been reading a lot lately. No college, no exams, no labs, so it's a kind of guilt-free read. Few days back I was reminded that my blog still exists which is waiting to be updated since long. Erm...yeah, I'm way too lazy. Now the only way to keep this place rolling is to keep adding what I'm doing the most these days, that being reading. Cutting all the crap... *drumrolls* Book Review, it is! :D

Starting with one of the awesomest books I have read lately, which I have seen/heard on almost every bookshelf waiting either to be started or to be finished, blame it all on those 944 odd pages.

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Even I had started the read with great reluctance, but as I went through the first few pages of the book I knew I'm not keeping this one down, no matter what! If one is looking for some quick filmy entertainment or a couple of hours kinda loose read, Shantaram is definitely a no-no. However if one wants to experience living through a book, plunging into love, life, philosophy, reality and encounter all the endless emotions of love, hatred, respect, camaraderie, envy, right in one's face, then Shantaram is an excellent choice.

Shantaram is the story of an escaped convict who manages to flee from a high security prison in Australia and through fraud and forgery ends up in Bombay, the city he eventually falls in love with. He arrives in Bombay as Mr. Lindsay, becomes Lin for all his friends and foes, modifies to Linbaba owing to his Marathi-speaking-firangi-doctor status among the slum dwellers and transforms into Shantaram in the small Maharashtrian village where people urge him to have a name similar to theirs. Wandering in the streets of Bombay, he comes across crooks, cops, prostitutes, mafias, beggars, actors, junkies, exiles from several other countries; each encounter giving Lin something to remember, something to learn, as he moves on escaping the law and his past.

Bombay through Lin’s eyes is as beautiful as it can be. As one turns the pages, the feeling of being there in the description increases even more. Roaming around the streets of Bombay at night, having endless conversations at Leopold Café, sitting on the beach retrospecting, seeing the waves crash on the walls of Haji Ali, living in the slum with a fear of demolition and rain everyday, unfolding the links of underworld, fighting each day for your survival; and all this while discovering your soul. The effect is just mesmerizing, making the readers see Bombay from a new dimension!

Our protagonist, Lin, is no hero; he is just a normal human who is suffering from Life.
He is involved in drug peddling, passport forgery, black marketing, smuggling and several other crimes. He yearns to be loved. He succumbs to the pressures of life. He makes true friends. He makes enemies. He talks. He listens. He ponders. He battles against his own luck. He succeeds. He thinks. He falls in love. He sees deception. He faces rejection. He finds a father’s guidance and pride. He finds a mother’s unconditional love. He finds a brother ready to die for his safety. He goes for a war. He loses. He fails. He cries. He laughs. He learns. He fights. He lives.
He savors each tide of life in his own stride.

Apart from Lin, all the other characters of the book also bring forth Life, as never seen; and its trivialities, as never thought.

Karla’s observations on life and love are witty and absolutely captivating. The more you read of her, the more you crave for. Few of my favorites of Karla-isms being,

"People always hurt us with their trust. The surest way to hurt someone you like, is to put all your trust in him."

"I don’t know what frightens me more, the power that crushes us or our endless ability to endure it."

"The truth is a bully we all pretend to like."

“Luck is what happens to you when fate gets tired of waiting”

Didier’s remarks make you laugh, think, wonder or even ignore. Inspite of being in a drunk state, he proves to be a true friend and almost a philosopher.

"The worst thing about corruption as a system of governance is that it works so well."

"I think wisdom is over-rated. Wisdom is just cleverness with all the guts kicked out of it. I’d rather be clever than wise, any day."

Abdul Khader who becomes a father-like figure for Lin, his friend, guide and philosopher, known for his wisdom and courage also has some great insights to offer on the purpose of life, each of which is worth a thought,

"Every virtuous act has some dark secret in its heart and every risk that we take contains a mystery that can’t be solved."

"The sane man is simply a better liar than the insane man."

Prabaker, Lin's guide and first friend in Bombay strikes a chord with the reader almost instantly. His innocence and devotion is too beautiful to be true.
Abdullah, Nazeer, Kishan, Anand, Johnny Cigar, Qasim, Ghani, they all have so much food to offer for one's thought. Their search for love, freedom, contentment and peace, and how life unfolds, is all worth a read.

Few of my other favourites from the narration of the book :

'Sometimes the lion must roar, just to remind the horse of his fear.'

'Civilization, after all, is defined by what we forbid, more than what we permit.'

'A politician is someone who promises you a bridge, even when there’s no river.'

Okay, guess I should quit, coz I can keep adding to this list endlessly, like, really! Loved the book. Would recommend this piece of art to everyone! There is so much to imbibe.

The last 100 pages less and it might have just become the most perfect of all books for me. An absolutely gripping story, nonetheless. One might not like it in the same way as I did, for what I feel Shantaram would have different levels of effect on people with different perspectives and under different circumstances. But what I can assure you is that the book won't disappoint you, at all!

Lab Gas Tragedy.

These days I’m busy working at a Toxicology Research Lab. Being a part of the assigned college curriculum, I am compulsorily supposed to be here until I get done with something worth a project.

No, it’s not one of a this-is-what-I-do kinda post, more to it.

Well working at a lab isn’t too lively a thing. This one particularly, because of the simple fact that we do our studies on rodents. (Okay, don’t sue me all you animal lovers! It could be you, instead.)
Though it’s been quite an experience working on them: picking them up by their tails, holding them by their ears, taking their weights and feeding them with drugs given in honey. Don’t pity, because those (b)rats love it most of the time, except for when the drug surpasses the sweetness of honey. In the latter case, they scream and even try biting you off. Inspite of it all, you still ought to feed them with food on time, make sure they have enough of water throughout the day and so on. Parents would understand it better I guess.

No, it’s not even a this-is-how-rats-behave kinda post, more to it.

(By the way, due to dealing with rats since the last so many days, my Mom now calls me when she sees a dead rat after the Mortein Rat-Kill effects. Life’s certainly turned hell with this research!)

So coming back to it, last week we had a terrible accident in our lab. (Yes, I did a Facebook status update and now a blog post to it! xD)
To start with the day, we reached the ‘Animal House’ the first thing in the morning, as always, to check up with the water level and food content in the cages. No sooner did we step in, the stench made it enough for us to almost retrace our steps but responsibility took its toll. We rushed in and as soon as we checked those cages, we got the source of the wonderful odour.
Dead Rats!
We went to report it to the seniors and got the expected "Oh My God!", "What?", "How?" and "All your fault!" out there. That was one of the total chaotic moments in the lab. They rushed in and out trying to chalk out the reason for the sudden deaths. Drug overdose, maybe?

One more thing to add to the Rat behavioral chart, they exhibit cannibalism, which means eating their own kind. Okay I know I’ve done dissections in my Zoology lab, but the yucky part there was nowhere compared to seeing half body parts lying about in the cage. Gross!

Fine, I’ll spare you the gory details.

However, standing there with the bile trying its best to gush out, I tried distracting my mind and gave a casual remark, "It’s damn hot! Whatever happened to the air conditioners out here? I thought they’re supposed to be always switched on."

My remark was met with absolute shocking stares from almost ten to-be-called-doctors.

I don’t particularly enjoy being the centre of attention, for heaven’s sake!
"Umm…What? You guys cold?"

"It’s the air conditioner! That’s why they died!", came the completely out-of-sync chorus.

Well no surprises there... considering the heat, I was close to death myself.

After the commotion died and people returned to their senses, the guy who looks after the cleaning of that room, Shankar, was summoned at once. He came with a cup of chai in his hand. When asked about it, he said in a very relaxed tone, "Yeah, there was a problem with the AC few days back. The servicing was due since the last 15 days but I thought kuch din aur chal jaaega."

The researchers there were baffled. They had their experiments going on since 6-7 months. All of it gone down the drain, or rather, all of it wrapped up in paper bags and kept right there in one corner with their limbs and/or heads hanging out.
Ugh! The bile again!

After a bit of more expression of utter disbelief, they arrived to the conclusion that the tragedy had occurred over the night and there wasn’t much that could be done then. They all agreed that the best way to get off this mayhem was by giving the families of the deceased a good compensation. (Even if those families ate their dead relatives' heads off, they were indeed a family!)

The compensatory amount included trainees (count me there) transferring them to a clean cage having some fresh husk, nice food, clean bottles, fresh water, air conditioners switched to a good temperature and no drug for the next few days. Life was no less than heaven for the living ones. Had it been possible for those seniors, they would have even made us rock those rodents to sleep with the aid of a lullaby!

Anyway, the next day Shankar was put in the trial room, where he repeated his previous day statement with utmost ease. As soon as I heard him, I expected a good scene there and got pretty sure that hell is waiting for him. But surprisingly enough, noone dared to object his action, perhaps because of the fact that he was the one who took up all the responsibility of those animals over the entire weekend.

As he came out of the room, victorious, I asked him if his last name was Anderson.

He asked me the reason for it, to which I replied, "It was a gas tragedy, accompanied by a massacre and then such an easy escape for you. Trust me, you’ve got all the traits of being an Anderson!"

As it’s usual with my words, he got nothing of it. He simply stared and blinked a couple of times.

I sighed and heading towards the animal house, started wearing my gloves to give those sleepy creatures their share of compensation, Day 2.
After all, this is all they get!

The 'Saurus' Quotient

‘Saurus’ is a Greek word for Lizard, and it has been most commonly used in the names of reptile-like creatures that once thrived on Planet Earth, Dinosaurs. The common names being Megalosaurus, Spinosaurus, Tyrannosaurus and so on; notice the saurus part in all these names. However here I’m not at all interested in discussing evolution before or after the Jurassic period. (Can’t help not using the geeky part!)
What I’d want to mention here is something equally terrible, equally dreadful and as huge as these Dinosaurs.

The name of my post says it all, The ‘saurus’quotient, or simply, Thesaurus quotient!

Yes, the same li’l (?) book that contains all those similar meaning words placed together, which has no better a use than to be looked upon while playing Scrabble or solving Crosswords. It has some irritating magical powers to convert the simplest of all monosyllabic words into such polysyllabic alternatives which can scare even the bravest of the lot to death. This saurus is even worse than the Tyrannosaurus for the simple reason that it’s not extinct, yet!

To be honest I appreciate people who love words and put them into use. Kudos guys! But what I flounder comprehending is the ulterior motive which reclines in instigating the dispensable adhibition of such words as a part of a perfunctory conversation. Err…in better words, why the heck should you use such words while having a casual talk? Use them to flatter your English professors!

Infact what I dislike (and the reason behind this post) is the fact that almost all the aspiring poets these days write poems which can never be deciphered until you fall in love with a thesaurus. I had been going through few poems lately and c’mon guys, why so serious? I mean even the most famous and memorable of all poems have been as simple as reading your own thoughts. Frost, Keats, Milton or even Shakespeare, all used simple words and transformed them into pieces that struck a chord with the readers immediately; that’s where the beauty of a poem lies. Have a look at some of the famous works:

But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep.

Or

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

See, who says plain casual words can’t bring about the impact? Here, as I go about these lines I can draw out the meaning and interpret it beautifully, rather than looking up for the words in thesaurus and in the end flipping the poem away!

Today, the way these budding poets are using the esteemed word list, the poems might change completely.
Take a part of the famous poem ‘The Road Not Taken’,

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This would be rewritten by modern day poets as,

I shall be concurring this with a suspire
Somewhere aeons and aeons subsequently:
Two boulevards swerved in a wood, and I--
I acquired the one meagerly perambulated by,
And that has begotten all the distinctness.

A great display of your rich vocabulary, I’d say, but *poof* disappeared the simplicity of the poem, that it is most remembered for. ‘Unsaid words speak the best’ might be an exaggeration, but simple words touching your heart certainly do convey the best.

More than for these poets I actually feel bad for the kids, for when these thesaurus obsessed people become teachers, guides and parents they might even modify the utterly simple ‘Jack and Jill’ nursery rhyme into something on the lines of:

Jack and Jill trekked up the hummock,
To fetch a repository of water,
Jack plummeted down and wrecked his crown,
And Jill came hurtling after.

Yeah, though it might be interesting to listen to the tiny-tots singing or rather pronouncing this down!

However in the evolution of English as a language, I just hope the Jurassic period of the reign of the-saurus ends as soon as possible and that era arrives where simple, sensible, syntactically sound sentences flourish. Err…just the grammatically correct ones I meant! ;)

Welcome Me! ;)

So, I’m finally starting my own blog. Yay! :D
Yes, be surprised, be shocked.

I know starting a blog is pretty much last decad’ish, but blame my extraordinary talent at procrastination for the extreme delay. Even my previous attempts at it got buried under the dust of time, or wait, was it just the dust? Yeah, actually the latter I guess. But 'dust of time' somehow seems more apt for something as important as a blog, rather than saying plain ol’ dusty dust. Yeah, what a mess. So dust of time, it is.

However, finally my laptop has given up, declaring ‘No Free Space Available’, clearly indicating that I have to get myself a new place to whine, rant, and scribble, and later on laugh upon them all.
Now before one of you technically sound people start giving me advice on how to deal with the space issue, I better mention the other reason for being here. The most important one that is, being ‘forced-and-convinced-by-friends’.
Though I wouldn’t mind flattering myself thinking they were keen on reading what I manage to write in here, but perhaps it had more to do with keeping me busy in one way or the other! I hope they succeed and instead of keeping this off my priority list yet again, I do keep on updating this space every now and then. :)

Well well…and it’s now that I realize, it would have been great had I made a grand entry with some flashy post, but *sigh* guess it would have to wait until I get a hang of this place! ;)