Is a day when you learn something new.
And there is so much beauty and knowledge and wisdom in this world, that every day can be good, I say!
Well, today I was in a bookstore, waiting for a friend when I picked up a hardcover called '10 10 10' by Suzy Welch. I flipped through it and essentially she says:
"When making any difficult decision think about its consequences in 10 minutes, 10 months and 10 years."
Wow, I thought. That *is* a great rule to live by!
Now I don't plan to read the book itself (reviews are average) but the five minutes in that shop were certainly well spent!
On the way home I tried applying the 10-10-10 rule to a few dilemmas I'm facing in life. Let's take a relatively minor one, like not being able to blog that often these days.
It isn't lack of ideas, but a question of prorities. I'm trying to complete my next book and that takes all my heart, soul, discipline and determination!
So when I feel like writing a post I often just... let it slide.
For 10 minutes: It feels bad.
In ten months: It may affect this blog's readership (sometimes I wonder, if I slow down too much would I simply lose the *desire* to blog?)
In ten years: If I write a book which touches lives and ignites minds, it would all be worth it!
So, folks, forgive my long absences and silences. And think about the 10-10-10 rule, as it applies to your life! But hey, don't overdo it....
Like today I also learnt that I can eat an entire thin crust pizza (all 8 pieces) when really really hungry. But I don't think it qualifies for the 10-10-10 treatment.
Will just compensate by eating light tomorrow!
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Book review: 'Stranger to History'
'Who am I', is a question most of us ask at some point as we grow up. But after examining the evidence and experimenting with the 'other' we settle into the comfort of our cocoons. The family, community, religion of our birth.
A few, very few, have the unique position and privilege of belonging, and yet standing apart. And their quest for identity throws up questions that increase our understanding of the whole.
If you've read Barack Obama's 'Dreams from my father' - you know exactly what I mean. Aatish Taseer's 'Stranger to History' reminded me so much of that book - different locations, but similar circumstances!
Obama was born of an African father and white mother, and grew up with his grandparents in Hawaii.
Aatish was born of an Indian mother and Pakistani father, and grew up with his Sikh grandparents in Delhi.
Both fathers abandoned their sons at a very early age and were absent from their lives as they grew up.
Ultimately, each of them embarked on a journey to find out who they were; and in the process examined what it means to be black (Obama) and to be a Muslim (Taseer).
'Stranger to History' is sub-titled 'A Son's Journey through Islamic Lands' and that's exactly what it is. The story alternates between the 'son' discovering himself and Islam in its many forms.
The first 'big principle' Aatish discovers is that wherever he went, "there was some current of macho comradeship and familiarity" Never mind that he did not feel particularly Muslim, or even know the right way to pray. His name, and parentage were reason enough to be accepted by the faithful.
That belonging, or 'extra national' Islamic identity is a thread that runs through most of the book.
In fact, this project came about after an article Aatish wrote about second generation Pakistani radicals - born in Britain - who bombed London buses and trains in 2005. When he sent the article to his father, Taseer senior responded by saying that Aatish was doing his family name disservice by spreading 'anti-Muslim propaganda'.
"To me, the most interesting aspect of the letter: my father, whi drank Scotch every evening, never fasted or prayed, even ate pork... was offended as a Muslim by what I had written."
Doubtless, that sentence alone would have caused further embarassment to Salman Taseer, a prominent figure in Pakistan who is now serving as Governor General of the Punjab province!
But the question that journalist in Aatish is asking is this:"Am I Muslim because of my outward appearance and adherence to certain rules laid down in 6th century Arabia?" He seeks answers across lands and cultures...
The journey begins in Turkey, a country where Kemal Ataturk banished the fez, the veil, changed the script to Roman and ended the office of caliph in the early twentieth century.
But he finds that even in this Turkey there are now outposts where people have adopted Arabic dress and radical Islam. And young men like Abdullah who sincerely believe that "Muslims have to be at the top.. we have to determine all the things in the world, otherwise we won't be free ourselves."
From Istanbul Aatish goes to Syria, where there is no free press or intellectual life and under the watch of a fierce secret police,the mosque became the only place for people to congregate and discuss politics. He observes that important issues are raised from the mosque and then 'smothered in prayer'.
The Grand Mufti at Abu Nour seeks "to restore believers to a pure historical and political world order, free of incursions from the modern world". It's the same desire that prompts young radicals to bomb those London trains.
Aatish describes the sermons as "a long narrative of former greatness and defeat, reversible not through education, new ideas or progress but through closer attention to the letter of the Book". An example which would have been funny had it not been so... mindblowing is a man asking a priest if his wife is permitted to wear nailpolish.
"Expecting the answer to be no, he is surprised when the priest says that of course she can; why shouldn't she look beautiful? However, it is written that when she washes for prayer, the water must touch every part of her body, including her nails... So yes, she can wear nailpolish as long as she removes it every time she is at prayer: five times a day!"
Aatish then proceeds to Mecca where he completes the Haj, feeling like a 'fraud' and is 'found out' in a sense when at the House of God he is ticked off for wearing strings from various Sufi shrines in India. Islam, as defined by the Wahabbis, does not approve of that...
The most interesting part of the book is the time Aatish spends in Teheran. And especially in the context of the current unrest in that country, there are many insights.
In Iran, Aatish meets Muhammad Rahimi, an ITT Delhi graduate who enthusiastically participated in overthrowing the Shah of Iran. He was one of those who stormed the Iranian embassy in New Delhi and took the Ambassador hostage. But the whole night, people were drinking and partying - and the next day the same men were standing in a formal ceremony and reading from the Koran.
What kind of Islamic revolution was this? Muhammad was deeply disillusioned and decided to quit the idea of politics altogether.
"And you know what's worst? They burnt our libraries and books. They tried to kill Farsi!.. Textbooks are shortening the country's pre-Islamic history.. The youth of today are strangers to their history!"
It seems like Islam may have led a revlution but it could not win the hearts and minds of its people. "Have you seen the mosques?" says a young man called Amir."They're empty but for a few people and Basiji (militia of young Iranian men whom the regime uses to enforce religious morality)."
"If you look into their eyes, they seem like a different species. We call them Homo Islamicos."
Aatish observes that 'trifles' had become the instrument with which regimes sought to control their population. How you can dress, or eat, or whether or not you can party... And what's more the regime is completely corrupt so ultimately you can 'buy your lashes'!
Phew. From the Danish cartoons which set the Muslim world on fire, to the assasination of Benazir Bhutto, Aatish manages to experience it all. And transmit to the reader some thoughts, some ideas that linger.
"The world is richer in its hybrids', he concludes. If only religion-driven men and women of all faiths and hues realised that!
However the book is not an easy read... I think it's been heavily edited so as to not get the author in trouble because he prefers to quote others speaking, much of the time. Unlike Obama's memoir which was so much more personal, and touched me so deeply!
I also wish Aatish had desisted from showing off from time to time, by using very GRE word list type words! "Conflation', mala maayat nahi!
But I still recommend 'Stranger to History' for its braveness and its boldness. Writing about religion is a delicate and hazardous task; I think Aatish has managed it skilfully.
Lastly and quite irrelevantly, in a ruffian-sort-of-way, the guy is very good-looking. Half Pakistani-half Sikh is an explosive combination :)
Rs 495, Pan Macmillan (hope the paperback version is cheaper!)
P.S. There are multiple covers of this book. The pic featured with this review is not the one selling in India. Shall scan the Indian version and upload tomorrow!
A few, very few, have the unique position and privilege of belonging, and yet standing apart. And their quest for identity throws up questions that increase our understanding of the whole.
If you've read Barack Obama's 'Dreams from my father' - you know exactly what I mean. Aatish Taseer's 'Stranger to History' reminded me so much of that book - different locations, but similar circumstances!
Obama was born of an African father and white mother, and grew up with his grandparents in Hawaii.
Aatish was born of an Indian mother and Pakistani father, and grew up with his Sikh grandparents in Delhi.
Both fathers abandoned their sons at a very early age and were absent from their lives as they grew up.
Ultimately, each of them embarked on a journey to find out who they were; and in the process examined what it means to be black (Obama) and to be a Muslim (Taseer).
'Stranger to History' is sub-titled 'A Son's Journey through Islamic Lands' and that's exactly what it is. The story alternates between the 'son' discovering himself and Islam in its many forms.
The first 'big principle' Aatish discovers is that wherever he went, "there was some current of macho comradeship and familiarity" Never mind that he did not feel particularly Muslim, or even know the right way to pray. His name, and parentage were reason enough to be accepted by the faithful.
That belonging, or 'extra national' Islamic identity is a thread that runs through most of the book.
In fact, this project came about after an article Aatish wrote about second generation Pakistani radicals - born in Britain - who bombed London buses and trains in 2005. When he sent the article to his father, Taseer senior responded by saying that Aatish was doing his family name disservice by spreading 'anti-Muslim propaganda'.
"To me, the most interesting aspect of the letter: my father, whi drank Scotch every evening, never fasted or prayed, even ate pork... was offended as a Muslim by what I had written."
Doubtless, that sentence alone would have caused further embarassment to Salman Taseer, a prominent figure in Pakistan who is now serving as Governor General of the Punjab province!
But the question that journalist in Aatish is asking is this:"Am I Muslim because of my outward appearance and adherence to certain rules laid down in 6th century Arabia?" He seeks answers across lands and cultures...
The journey begins in Turkey, a country where Kemal Ataturk banished the fez, the veil, changed the script to Roman and ended the office of caliph in the early twentieth century.
But he finds that even in this Turkey there are now outposts where people have adopted Arabic dress and radical Islam. And young men like Abdullah who sincerely believe that "Muslims have to be at the top.. we have to determine all the things in the world, otherwise we won't be free ourselves."
From Istanbul Aatish goes to Syria, where there is no free press or intellectual life and under the watch of a fierce secret police,the mosque became the only place for people to congregate and discuss politics. He observes that important issues are raised from the mosque and then 'smothered in prayer'.
The Grand Mufti at Abu Nour seeks "to restore believers to a pure historical and political world order, free of incursions from the modern world". It's the same desire that prompts young radicals to bomb those London trains.
Aatish describes the sermons as "a long narrative of former greatness and defeat, reversible not through education, new ideas or progress but through closer attention to the letter of the Book". An example which would have been funny had it not been so... mindblowing is a man asking a priest if his wife is permitted to wear nailpolish.
"Expecting the answer to be no, he is surprised when the priest says that of course she can; why shouldn't she look beautiful? However, it is written that when she washes for prayer, the water must touch every part of her body, including her nails... So yes, she can wear nailpolish as long as she removes it every time she is at prayer: five times a day!"
Aatish then proceeds to Mecca where he completes the Haj, feeling like a 'fraud' and is 'found out' in a sense when at the House of God he is ticked off for wearing strings from various Sufi shrines in India. Islam, as defined by the Wahabbis, does not approve of that...
The most interesting part of the book is the time Aatish spends in Teheran. And especially in the context of the current unrest in that country, there are many insights.
In Iran, Aatish meets Muhammad Rahimi, an ITT Delhi graduate who enthusiastically participated in overthrowing the Shah of Iran. He was one of those who stormed the Iranian embassy in New Delhi and took the Ambassador hostage. But the whole night, people were drinking and partying - and the next day the same men were standing in a formal ceremony and reading from the Koran.
What kind of Islamic revolution was this? Muhammad was deeply disillusioned and decided to quit the idea of politics altogether.
"And you know what's worst? They burnt our libraries and books. They tried to kill Farsi!.. Textbooks are shortening the country's pre-Islamic history.. The youth of today are strangers to their history!"
It seems like Islam may have led a revlution but it could not win the hearts and minds of its people. "Have you seen the mosques?" says a young man called Amir."They're empty but for a few people and Basiji (militia of young Iranian men whom the regime uses to enforce religious morality)."
"If you look into their eyes, they seem like a different species. We call them Homo Islamicos."
Aatish observes that 'trifles' had become the instrument with which regimes sought to control their population. How you can dress, or eat, or whether or not you can party... And what's more the regime is completely corrupt so ultimately you can 'buy your lashes'!
Phew. From the Danish cartoons which set the Muslim world on fire, to the assasination of Benazir Bhutto, Aatish manages to experience it all. And transmit to the reader some thoughts, some ideas that linger.
"The world is richer in its hybrids', he concludes. If only religion-driven men and women of all faiths and hues realised that!
However the book is not an easy read... I think it's been heavily edited so as to not get the author in trouble because he prefers to quote others speaking, much of the time. Unlike Obama's memoir which was so much more personal, and touched me so deeply!
I also wish Aatish had desisted from showing off from time to time, by using very GRE word list type words! "Conflation', mala maayat nahi!
But I still recommend 'Stranger to History' for its braveness and its boldness. Writing about religion is a delicate and hazardous task; I think Aatish has managed it skilfully.
Lastly and quite irrelevantly, in a ruffian-sort-of-way, the guy is very good-looking. Half Pakistani-half Sikh is an explosive combination :)
Rs 495, Pan Macmillan (hope the paperback version is cheaper!)
P.S. There are multiple covers of this book. The pic featured with this review is not the one selling in India. Shall scan the Indian version and upload tomorrow!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Book review: Eat pray love
My brother sent me a copy of 'Eat Pray Love' on my birthday and I was like "No.......! I read that more than a year ago." But how would he know? Well, agar maine blog par uska review likh diya hota to... khabar yoon hi pahunch jaati.
So, for all those of you who may be thinking of buying me a book :) or well, looking for a good book to read, here are some of my favourites reads over the past one year.
Each book probably deserves a dedicated blogpost but I shall be less ambitious and give you mini-reviews instead.
1) Eat Pray Love: I fell in love with the cover of this book and ten minutes into it, with the book itself. The writer - Elizabeth Gilbert - is obviously very 'pahunchi hui' - both in the way she writes and the way she's lived her life.
In a nutshell: Elizabeth is a thirty something woman with an almost perfect life. But on a cold November morning she finds herself sobbing on her bathroom floor and hearing a voice in her head:"I don't want to be married anymore. I don't want to live in this big house. I don't want to have a baby."
And so she walks out on the husband and the apartment in Manhattan with 8 phone lines, the friends and the picinics and the parties.
"I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life - so why did I feel like none of it resembled me?"... The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving...
But then, God spoke to Liz. And it was not an Old Testament Hollywood Charlton Heston voice but her own voice, speaking from within. A voice she had never heard before.
"This was what my voice would sound like if I'd only ever experienced love and certainty in my life". The voice said:"Go back to bed, Liz"... Go back to bed so that, when the tempest comes you'll be strong enough to deal with it. And the tempest is coming very soon. But not tonight.
The author describes this as the beginning of a religious conversation:
"The first words of an open and exploratory dialogue that would, ultimately, bring me very close to God, indeed."
Three years after this conversation, having been through a messy divorce and failed love affair, Liz sets off on her 'search for everything' across Italy, India and Indonesia.
It's important to quote the 'religious conversation' bit, because although the book follows Elizabeth's journey across three countries it's not a travelogue. This is essentially a journey within.
The Italy portion is about the pursuit of pleasure - good food, good wine, good company. Because the body needs as much nourishment as the soul.
The India portion is about the pursuit of devotion - self mastery, enlightenment, all those very Himalayan things.
And Indonesia is about the pursuit of Balance. It's also the most "geewhiz, can this really be true" part of the book where Liz finds the love of her life. (Incidentally, the two are now 'happily married').
Okay. You either absolutely and completely connect with this book, or you put it down after 5 minutes. Women, those on a spiritual trip and anyone who admires ease of expression will find 'Eat Pray Love' unputdownable.
And despite that 'God' element rest assured it is not in the least bit heavy. This is a very simply and beautifully written book with extremely tiny chapters (108 of them). The logic being that 108 is the number of beads in the traditional japa mala. Concept, isn't it?
The author also endows the book with a sharp sense of humour, pithy cultural observations and loads of colourful characters. Starting from the Italian twins Giovanni and Dario to 'Richard from Texas' and Ketut Liyer - the Balinese healer.
And yet, the string running through it all is scathing self introspection and constant 'notes to myself'. A chick-lit version of 'My experiments with truth'!
One final selling point - reading the innermost thoughts and reflections of another human being is always comforting. Because you realise - "I am not alone".
Whether we will find 'Felipe' in this lifetime or not - is another story.
Coming soon: more reviews of books I've read recently and loved. Mini review likhte likhte full blog hi ho gaya... Must do justice after all :)
Related reads: Eat Pray Love fan blog
Elizabeth Gilbert's official website
An interesting bit if trivia: Elizabeth Gilbert's GQ memoir about her bartending years became the movie Coyote Ugly. And Eat Pray Love is also being made into a major motion picture - with Julia Roberts in the lead role!
So, for all those of you who may be thinking of buying me a book :) or well, looking for a good book to read, here are some of my favourites reads over the past one year.
Each book probably deserves a dedicated blogpost but I shall be less ambitious and give you mini-reviews instead.
1) Eat Pray Love: I fell in love with the cover of this book and ten minutes into it, with the book itself. The writer - Elizabeth Gilbert - is obviously very 'pahunchi hui' - both in the way she writes and the way she's lived her life.
In a nutshell: Elizabeth is a thirty something woman with an almost perfect life. But on a cold November morning she finds herself sobbing on her bathroom floor and hearing a voice in her head:"I don't want to be married anymore. I don't want to live in this big house. I don't want to have a baby."
And so she walks out on the husband and the apartment in Manhattan with 8 phone lines, the friends and the picinics and the parties.
"I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life - so why did I feel like none of it resembled me?"... The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving...
But then, God spoke to Liz. And it was not an Old Testament Hollywood Charlton Heston voice but her own voice, speaking from within. A voice she had never heard before.
"This was what my voice would sound like if I'd only ever experienced love and certainty in my life". The voice said:"Go back to bed, Liz"... Go back to bed so that, when the tempest comes you'll be strong enough to deal with it. And the tempest is coming very soon. But not tonight.
The author describes this as the beginning of a religious conversation:
"The first words of an open and exploratory dialogue that would, ultimately, bring me very close to God, indeed."
Three years after this conversation, having been through a messy divorce and failed love affair, Liz sets off on her 'search for everything' across Italy, India and Indonesia.
It's important to quote the 'religious conversation' bit, because although the book follows Elizabeth's journey across three countries it's not a travelogue. This is essentially a journey within.
The Italy portion is about the pursuit of pleasure - good food, good wine, good company. Because the body needs as much nourishment as the soul.
The India portion is about the pursuit of devotion - self mastery, enlightenment, all those very Himalayan things.
And Indonesia is about the pursuit of Balance. It's also the most "geewhiz, can this really be true" part of the book where Liz finds the love of her life. (Incidentally, the two are now 'happily married').
Okay. You either absolutely and completely connect with this book, or you put it down after 5 minutes. Women, those on a spiritual trip and anyone who admires ease of expression will find 'Eat Pray Love' unputdownable.
And despite that 'God' element rest assured it is not in the least bit heavy. This is a very simply and beautifully written book with extremely tiny chapters (108 of them). The logic being that 108 is the number of beads in the traditional japa mala. Concept, isn't it?
The author also endows the book with a sharp sense of humour, pithy cultural observations and loads of colourful characters. Starting from the Italian twins Giovanni and Dario to 'Richard from Texas' and Ketut Liyer - the Balinese healer.
And yet, the string running through it all is scathing self introspection and constant 'notes to myself'. A chick-lit version of 'My experiments with truth'!
One final selling point - reading the innermost thoughts and reflections of another human being is always comforting. Because you realise - "I am not alone".
Whether we will find 'Felipe' in this lifetime or not - is another story.
Coming soon: more reviews of books I've read recently and loved. Mini review likhte likhte full blog hi ho gaya... Must do justice after all :)
Related reads: Eat Pray Love fan blog
Elizabeth Gilbert's official website
An interesting bit if trivia: Elizabeth Gilbert's GQ memoir about her bartending years became the movie Coyote Ugly. And Eat Pray Love is also being made into a major motion picture - with Julia Roberts in the lead role!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Yeh kitaab kyun likhi gayee...
Is what I had to ask after I somehow finished reading it. The review explains why you shouldn't!
Once upon a Timezone
- Neelesh Misra (Harper Collins - Rs 195)
One page 1 the author proclaims: I am just a storyteller and a storyteller is an imperfect god. So don't blame me if things go wrong.
Well excuse me, then who should I blame? Because this book is all wrong. It has no story to tell in the first place!
If you thought 'One Night at the Call Centre' was a new low in 'People Like You and Me' fiction, here's a piece of news: Once Upon a Timezone is the Marianas Trench of bad writing. I have no idea how it's received a clutch of pretty favourable reviews.
First of all, the characters are completely uni-dimensional.
There is Neel Pandey, desperate to go to the US but thwarted by Yamaraj - the God of Visa Interviews.
Father Ravi Pandey is a clerk in the Prime Minister's Office. And oh, he is Prime Minister at home as well.
Narmada is the long suffering wife, mother, wannabe beautician. 'Living her unfulfilled dreams through her only son' type.
OK, so such characters do exist but the writing is so uninspired, so stilted. In polite terms, it's 'textbookiya' English. Sample this:
Neel was also a deep admirer of American values. Every little thing he sa, and every little thing he read about America made him compare it to his bustling country of a billion. It made him wonder why his nation, that had given the world a sixth of its people, was able to produce only a tiny fraction of its wealth; why the nation that had some of the world's best software professionals or doctors or engineers was competing for development indices with tiny faraway blobs on the map run by tin-pot armies and crackpot despots.
Phew! That's Neelesh Misra, the journalist speaking - not his fictional character. I mean Neel "I'm the man" Pandey would hardly be bothered about 'development indices'...
The other weird thing is the author using shuddh English for all the conversation between Neel and his very desi parents. Especially the mother. Again, it does not ring true.
I suspect Neeleshji thought he was writing for an 'international' audience. Call centre theme and all that.
Which brings me to the ludicrous plot of the book. Neel, after being rejected for a US visa, joins a call centre because it's the 'next best thing'. One fine day he assists a dumb chick in New York who's having trouble opening 'MS Word' and thunder! lightning!! ek nayee love story ki shuruaat.
Ms Angela Cruz is a college graduate who says, "What's an icon? The only icon I know is Abraham Lincoln. Can you please talk in non-geek?"
Yeah right. And she gives Mr Neil Patterson her name, age and email id because you know, those American chicks - the young and beautiful kind - are generally lonely loser types anyways.
The next chapter is titled 'Love Virtually'. And well.. you get the drift. When the premise is so convoluted you can imagine how it contorts itself into a climax. But I don't know how many readers will get that far.
Other characters in the circus include an Indian chick called Meenal whose parents think Neel is a great catch. Even when he's sitting at home jobless. The complication is that Meenal is a lesbian. As they say - when in doubt about where to take your plot - include a gay angle.
Then there's Mr Rocky Randhawa, 'Chief Liaison Officer, Money's Worth Immigration Services'. A visa fixer who fools innocent abroad jaanewaale with Photoshop pics of himself posing with the US Ambassador in his seedy office.
And so on and so forth, ho hum, ta dumb.
My most charitable observation is, this book is 5 years too late. In the first flush of the call centre craze, it might have found a few takers. Today, it's just completely out of sync. Even a loser like Neel would know what a call centre is. Par nahin, he actually calls a friend to ask!
Like I said at the very beginning, reading this book will make you appreciate 'One Night'. Its last few chapters were corny but at least Chetan Bhagat got the atmospherics right.
'Once upon a timezone' will, I hope, bring down the curtains on call centre inspired books. Books written only to cash in on a current 'hot trend'.
Writers, please look for ideas elsewhere. More importantly, concentrate on your characters and quality of writing. The rest will then fall in place!
This is the last in series on 'books which remind you of other books'. Previous installments:
Earning the Laundry Stripes
Above Average
Once upon a Timezone
- Neelesh Misra (Harper Collins - Rs 195)
One page 1 the author proclaims: I am just a storyteller and a storyteller is an imperfect god. So don't blame me if things go wrong.
Well excuse me, then who should I blame? Because this book is all wrong. It has no story to tell in the first place!
If you thought 'One Night at the Call Centre' was a new low in 'People Like You and Me' fiction, here's a piece of news: Once Upon a Timezone is the Marianas Trench of bad writing. I have no idea how it's received a clutch of pretty favourable reviews.
First of all, the characters are completely uni-dimensional.
There is Neel Pandey, desperate to go to the US but thwarted by Yamaraj - the God of Visa Interviews.
Father Ravi Pandey is a clerk in the Prime Minister's Office. And oh, he is Prime Minister at home as well.
Narmada is the long suffering wife, mother, wannabe beautician. 'Living her unfulfilled dreams through her only son' type.
OK, so such characters do exist but the writing is so uninspired, so stilted. In polite terms, it's 'textbookiya' English. Sample this:
Neel was also a deep admirer of American values. Every little thing he sa, and every little thing he read about America made him compare it to his bustling country of a billion. It made him wonder why his nation, that had given the world a sixth of its people, was able to produce only a tiny fraction of its wealth; why the nation that had some of the world's best software professionals or doctors or engineers was competing for development indices with tiny faraway blobs on the map run by tin-pot armies and crackpot despots.
Phew! That's Neelesh Misra, the journalist speaking - not his fictional character. I mean Neel "I'm the man" Pandey would hardly be bothered about 'development indices'...
The other weird thing is the author using shuddh English for all the conversation between Neel and his very desi parents. Especially the mother. Again, it does not ring true.
I suspect Neeleshji thought he was writing for an 'international' audience. Call centre theme and all that.
Which brings me to the ludicrous plot of the book. Neel, after being rejected for a US visa, joins a call centre because it's the 'next best thing'. One fine day he assists a dumb chick in New York who's having trouble opening 'MS Word' and thunder! lightning!! ek nayee love story ki shuruaat.
Ms Angela Cruz is a college graduate who says, "What's an icon? The only icon I know is Abraham Lincoln. Can you please talk in non-geek?"
Yeah right. And she gives Mr Neil Patterson her name, age and email id because you know, those American chicks - the young and beautiful kind - are generally lonely loser types anyways.
The next chapter is titled 'Love Virtually'. And well.. you get the drift. When the premise is so convoluted you can imagine how it contorts itself into a climax. But I don't know how many readers will get that far.
Other characters in the circus include an Indian chick called Meenal whose parents think Neel is a great catch. Even when he's sitting at home jobless. The complication is that Meenal is a lesbian. As they say - when in doubt about where to take your plot - include a gay angle.
Then there's Mr Rocky Randhawa, 'Chief Liaison Officer, Money's Worth Immigration Services'. A visa fixer who fools innocent abroad jaanewaale with Photoshop pics of himself posing with the US Ambassador in his seedy office.
And so on and so forth, ho hum, ta dumb.
My most charitable observation is, this book is 5 years too late. In the first flush of the call centre craze, it might have found a few takers. Today, it's just completely out of sync. Even a loser like Neel would know what a call centre is. Par nahin, he actually calls a friend to ask!
Like I said at the very beginning, reading this book will make you appreciate 'One Night'. Its last few chapters were corny but at least Chetan Bhagat got the atmospherics right.
'Once upon a timezone' will, I hope, bring down the curtains on call centre inspired books. Books written only to cash in on a current 'hot trend'.
Writers, please look for ideas elsewhere. More importantly, concentrate on your characters and quality of writing. The rest will then fall in place!
This is the last in series on 'books which remind you of other books'. Previous installments:
Earning the Laundry Stripes
Above Average
Thursday, July 12, 2007
'Above Average': book review
My long promised review...
It is unfair to review a book by constantly comparing it to another one. But it simply can't be helped. Chetan Bhagat's 'Five Point Someone' (FPS) was such a definitive moment in Indian 'youth lit' that any book which is also about 'coming of age' and set on an IIT campus will only be referred to as 'Is it better than FPS?'
The answer is yes, and no. Amitabh Bagchi's 'Above Average' is a 'better book' but it is less readable. Bagchi is a superior writer, but Chetan is a great storyteller.
FPS is written like a screenplay, with the plot revolving around a few prominent characters. Above Average is more like life. Where you have 'building' friends, 'college' friends, 'wing' friends, 'department' friends. But in a book, that can get rather confusing.
The other key difference is that Five Point Someone was a book which focussed on the underdog whereas Above Average, as the title suggests, is about a guy who is superior to the aam junta. The underdog invariably captures the popular imagination - perhaps because there are so many who identify with that state of being.
Whereas 'above average' is almost like saying 'genius' but with a pinch of modesty.
Having said all this I would add: I liked the book. Or at least many portions of it. From the very first page, the words pitter patter, thoughts flow and dialogue is easy and natural. The first chapter captures the tension that the average IIT aspirant goes through. Right from the fact that few even know why they're taking the exam.
"I must have decided at some point in my time at school that I should try to get into one of the IITs. But when I made that decision, if I ever made it consciously, I could never remember."
Then there is the description of the fellow JEE toppers invited by Agrawal classes for an all expenses trip cum felicitation to Bombay (the book is set in the 'pre-Bansal classes' era). "Such shadys," is the verdict of our protagonist.
"We would measure ourselves against each other for years after we graduated, just like we would measure our grades against each others' in the four years we spent together. (how true!) But at that time I had no inkling that this bunch of shadys were my future."
The cover picture - a wide eyed, innocent looking boy with a measured indifference is very apt. Because this, is the underlying tone of the book.
"The battle for grades and academic achievement was just one small part of the larger war, the others being the battles to appear unconcerned, in control, well rounded, self confident. Accustomed all our lives to being lauded as exceptional, we were all scared that the true measure of ourselves, our unremarkable selves, would emerge one day."
Yup, IITians are as 'normal' as anyone else - but given the halo around their heads it would take another 20 books and movies for that idea to sink into the public consciousness.
But back to the book. Sadly, from page 25 the story slips timezones into the Mayur Vihar colony where the Chief Character grew up. As someone who's also grown up in a colony I'd say Bagchi describes the claustrophobia of that kind of life perfectly. But, perhaps that could have been the subject of a different book.
The rest of the book is devoted to Arindam (aka Rindu's) stay in IIT - and a little of what happens beyond. Forming a rock band is one of the high points. The fact that being a rocker is not just about love of music is captured beautifully by Bagchi:
From that first roll to the end of the song was the one time in my life when anything seemed possible, when everything I did seemed exactly right, totally in sync; the one time when I was not a bespectacled Bengali computer scientist sitting in a small room in Mayur Vihar, but Mitch Mitchell himself, the master of the drumset,the king of percussion..."
Then there are the small joys of IIT life like 'shagging contests'. The coolness of Hindi as lingua 'IIT' franca. And even a stab of regret at not being part of DU ('where your friends are growing their hair long and acquiring girlfriends').
The most interesting, sub plot revolves around a professor called Kanitkar. Every college has a professor who is revered and looked upto. Kanitkar was one such God. A prof who thunders: "You miserable dolts... you don't deserve to be in IIT.. you should all have gone to Roorkee. No, no.. you should get your computer science from NIIT!"
You see, Kanitkar's classes dealt not in ratta but funda. Which is what separates the men from the boys at an IIT.
"... Ideas mattered more than knowledge, of this we were fairly certain. There were classes in which learning by rote was the only challenge. Doing well in such a class was not a major achievement. In fact, there were people like Neeraj who made it a point to do badly in such classes.
But to do well in classes that required conceptual clarity, a funda class, was what marked you as smart and led people to say that you had clear fundas. And if you could do well in a funda class without having studied much, then you were in a league of your own. And no class was as much of a funda class as Algorithms taught by Kanitkar."
The friendship/ rivalry between Rindu (the 'above average') and Neeraj the 'genius') is the final moving force of the book. Neeraj, the guy from a government school who dreams are bigger than his Bata chappals... "There's no point in doing research incremental research. You can't get the Turing award by making small improvements to existing results."
But at the end of the day, Bagchi makes the point that 'success in life' is as much about talent as desire.
"We aren't what we do or what we achieve or what we acquire or about what we become, we are and we always will be what we want."
Amitabh Bagchi, a boy who grew up in Delhi, studied at IIT, did his Computer Science PhD and came back to teach at IIT D wanted to write a semi-autobiographical book. And he did.
It could have been more impactful, more memorable, if he hadn't meandered around so much.
In the final analysis, FPS, is junk food for the mind. Tasty at the time but quickly gulped down and forgotten. Above Average is a lovingly cooked meal, although some portions are too bland/ undercooked. Yet, provides some food for thought while chewing on it.
Rating: Above average but not outta-this-world
More opinions and reviews here.
It is unfair to review a book by constantly comparing it to another one. But it simply can't be helped. Chetan Bhagat's 'Five Point Someone' (FPS) was such a definitive moment in Indian 'youth lit' that any book which is also about 'coming of age' and set on an IIT campus will only be referred to as 'Is it better than FPS?'
The answer is yes, and no. Amitabh Bagchi's 'Above Average' is a 'better book' but it is less readable. Bagchi is a superior writer, but Chetan is a great storyteller.
FPS is written like a screenplay, with the plot revolving around a few prominent characters. Above Average is more like life. Where you have 'building' friends, 'college' friends, 'wing' friends, 'department' friends. But in a book, that can get rather confusing.
The other key difference is that Five Point Someone was a book which focussed on the underdog whereas Above Average, as the title suggests, is about a guy who is superior to the aam junta. The underdog invariably captures the popular imagination - perhaps because there are so many who identify with that state of being.
Whereas 'above average' is almost like saying 'genius' but with a pinch of modesty.
Having said all this I would add: I liked the book. Or at least many portions of it. From the very first page, the words pitter patter, thoughts flow and dialogue is easy and natural. The first chapter captures the tension that the average IIT aspirant goes through. Right from the fact that few even know why they're taking the exam.
"I must have decided at some point in my time at school that I should try to get into one of the IITs. But when I made that decision, if I ever made it consciously, I could never remember."
Then there is the description of the fellow JEE toppers invited by Agrawal classes for an all expenses trip cum felicitation to Bombay (the book is set in the 'pre-Bansal classes' era). "Such shadys," is the verdict of our protagonist.
"We would measure ourselves against each other for years after we graduated, just like we would measure our grades against each others' in the four years we spent together. (how true!) But at that time I had no inkling that this bunch of shadys were my future."
The cover picture - a wide eyed, innocent looking boy with a measured indifference is very apt. Because this, is the underlying tone of the book.
"The battle for grades and academic achievement was just one small part of the larger war, the others being the battles to appear unconcerned, in control, well rounded, self confident. Accustomed all our lives to being lauded as exceptional, we were all scared that the true measure of ourselves, our unremarkable selves, would emerge one day."
Yup, IITians are as 'normal' as anyone else - but given the halo around their heads it would take another 20 books and movies for that idea to sink into the public consciousness.
But back to the book. Sadly, from page 25 the story slips timezones into the Mayur Vihar colony where the Chief Character grew up. As someone who's also grown up in a colony I'd say Bagchi describes the claustrophobia of that kind of life perfectly. But, perhaps that could have been the subject of a different book.
The rest of the book is devoted to Arindam (aka Rindu's) stay in IIT - and a little of what happens beyond. Forming a rock band is one of the high points. The fact that being a rocker is not just about love of music is captured beautifully by Bagchi:
From that first roll to the end of the song was the one time in my life when anything seemed possible, when everything I did seemed exactly right, totally in sync; the one time when I was not a bespectacled Bengali computer scientist sitting in a small room in Mayur Vihar, but Mitch Mitchell himself, the master of the drumset,the king of percussion..."
Then there are the small joys of IIT life like 'shagging contests'. The coolness of Hindi as lingua 'IIT' franca. And even a stab of regret at not being part of DU ('where your friends are growing their hair long and acquiring girlfriends').
The most interesting, sub plot revolves around a professor called Kanitkar. Every college has a professor who is revered and looked upto. Kanitkar was one such God. A prof who thunders: "You miserable dolts... you don't deserve to be in IIT.. you should all have gone to Roorkee. No, no.. you should get your computer science from NIIT!"
You see, Kanitkar's classes dealt not in ratta but funda. Which is what separates the men from the boys at an IIT.
"... Ideas mattered more than knowledge, of this we were fairly certain. There were classes in which learning by rote was the only challenge. Doing well in such a class was not a major achievement. In fact, there were people like Neeraj who made it a point to do badly in such classes.
But to do well in classes that required conceptual clarity, a funda class, was what marked you as smart and led people to say that you had clear fundas. And if you could do well in a funda class without having studied much, then you were in a league of your own. And no class was as much of a funda class as Algorithms taught by Kanitkar."
The friendship/ rivalry between Rindu (the 'above average') and Neeraj the 'genius') is the final moving force of the book. Neeraj, the guy from a government school who dreams are bigger than his Bata chappals... "There's no point in doing research incremental research. You can't get the Turing award by making small improvements to existing results."
But at the end of the day, Bagchi makes the point that 'success in life' is as much about talent as desire.
"We aren't what we do or what we achieve or what we acquire or about what we become, we are and we always will be what we want."
Amitabh Bagchi, a boy who grew up in Delhi, studied at IIT, did his Computer Science PhD and came back to teach at IIT D wanted to write a semi-autobiographical book. And he did.
It could have been more impactful, more memorable, if he hadn't meandered around so much.
In the final analysis, FPS, is junk food for the mind. Tasty at the time but quickly gulped down and forgotten. Above Average is a lovingly cooked meal, although some portions are too bland/ undercooked. Yet, provides some food for thought while chewing on it.
Rating: Above average but not outta-this-world
More opinions and reviews here.
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