DISCLAIMER
the mind is impressionable, heart is impressionistic and words are intended to create an impression

Sunday, July 26, 2009

THE BELL JAR: SYLVIA PLATH


It’s a scary book especially for those who have known ‘lows’. It tempts you in a strange way to descend down the alleys of sanity. It’s like standing on the edge of a building top one is tempted to jump. The Bell Jar is Sylvia Plath’s only novel and one which is understood to be highly autobiographical. It is believed that Esther is based on Plath herself who had faced mental breakdown in her early life. Like Plath, Esther wins a magazine scholarship. Her benefactress is also largely based on the character of Olive Higgins Prouty whose scholarship took Plath to college. Parallels are also traced between Plath’s medical history and Esther’s decline. Though Esther is shown to be on the path of recovery, at the end her fate is a maze, perhaps it becomes clear in the light of the fact that Plath committed suicide few months after the publication of The Bell Jar. The novel is also premonitive as Buddy’s both girlfriends land in asylum and one ends her life. Ted Hughes’ second wife also committed suicide later, in the same manner as Plath.

Neurosis is a subject well-explored in literature right from greats’ like Dostovesky to lesser known names. But here the cause of neuroticism is very close. It’s not a murder or a fixation or betrayal that sets in neurosis. A high grader must find what course to take before she looses out the race. The decision she needs to take involves not only her career but also the larger question of her place in the setup of life. While learning shorthand typifies what she should do but doesn’t want to, creative writing on the other hand is what she wants to do but is unable to. Sexuality and virginity are weights that hang around her neck and that she wishes to get rid of. Hyped and mythified, sex, seems to her a milestone that changes one forever. The veracity of this she finds in the course of the novel.

Falling in the genre of a buildungsroman, it actually traces the gradual deterioration of a ‘promising’ young girl. What is most striking is how close the reader is brought to neuroticism because she/he empathizes with Esther and partakes in the breakdown. Esther is a bright ‘scholarship’ girl from small-town. While she refuses to make ideological compromises the road begins to narrow in on her. What seems logical and practical course of action disillusions Esther.

Sexuality is a powerful theme in the novel and one which contributes a deal to Esther’s breakdown. She believes in the ‘purity’ of body but is drawn into an abyss of confusion when she finds her boyfriend had lost his virginity. She must now loose hers before she allows herself love again. She looses it with a haemorrhage, perhaps symbolic of the load that she sheds along with her virginity. Sex here is a dispassionate ‘act’ with no strings attached except for pleasure.

Whereas male-female relationships in the book are shown to be essentially flawed, female relationships make up for it. So Dreen is one way for Esther, a way that she refuses to take; Betsy is another, one she thinks defines her identity; and Joan is something of an alter-ego one who ends up where even Esther could have ended.

One cannot help reading The Bell Jar from a feminist perspective. It rakes up issues that are dangling in society for lack of words, expressions and emotions. The birth of a baby in the first half is one such. Esther’s mental reaction at the pill that made the mother forget the birth pains typifies the feminist angle. “Here a woman was in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it, or she wouldn’t groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, while all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless, windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.” The brand of feminism here hides unfullfilled rightist aspirations. Esther is a simple traditional girl who must find her place in a world whose values and structures have changed. She doesn't feel the need of a boy-friend till it threatens somehow to become a brand of he freakness. Neither does she believe in casual sex but she forces herself into these. It can either be read as a step to fit-in or an act out of desperation to abandon her own values for which she finds no takers.

Yet more than the essential female eyes are the artistic words that haunt Esther. It is the artist’s anguish that forms the core of the book. From this angle all ends fall in line as do all of Esther’s explorations from sex to suicide.

“How could I write about life when I had never had a love affair or a baby or seen anybody die?”

Friday, July 24, 2009

NO MYTH, OUR SISYPHUS



Our man Sisyphus, one day, found himself rolling a stone up some hill. Now, he did not know why he was there or why he was doing it. It was strange because he could just not stop doing it and he did not remember anything, neither where he came from nor what he was going to do, all he knew was that he was rolling a stone up a hill. Anyways, he thought, maybe this is what I am born to do, destined to do, so let me just do it nicely. And while he was thinking of all this he realized he had come to the top of the hill, he felt happy: One, the task had ended (so it seemed) and two, now there would be something else to be done, something new. Well, what do you think happened? The silly stone dropped off the hill. Sisyphus was so disappointed, how idiotic is this, he thought, only when I had come to the end of it. He walked back to the foot of the hill, sad and listless.

He sat on the boulder and thought what was to be done now. Then he realized that the job was not complete yet, maybe he needed to complete this task before he could move ahead. It had been so easy last time he hadn’t even realised when he reached the top, he could do it again no doubt. He decided he was going to take the boulder up and finish what was at hand. So with one heave the boulder was climbing the hill again. Sisyphus was happy somehow, that he had taken this decision. At least he was not a coward; he had not turned his back on his job. He liked to think of himself as persistent and determined, and indeed he was. But it happened again on the top and again and again and again, till Sisyphus was completely tired and broken. He rested for some time and decided he was not going to do it anymore. No, not me, he thought, not anymore. But he soon got bored of sitting like that so he thought he might as well take a walk up the hill without the rock, a leisure walk. Up he went humming, taking his time pulling fruits from this tree and that till he saw something that made him jump. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Far away in the horizon, he could see, another peak like his own and something like a man rolling up a boulder. Sisyphus ran. He ran without a break till he had reached the mountain. There he saw the boulder running down, just like his own and a man running after it. The moment the man saw Sisyphus, he halted. Both could not believe the other was for real. They were so happy. They ate together and joked about the boulder. And when the night came they slept under the same tree but after a few days this also began to seem tiresome to both; as tiresome as rolling the stone. So they decided to find others like them for adventure’s sake. After they had travelled some distance they found another one rolling a stone up a hill and he told them that some days ago he had found another one like them. This sounded exciting, they were not alone. Infact everyone they found was just like them. Stone-cursed, they joked. The third guy also called the fourth and they all sat and conferred. What was to be done? Someone came up with an idea which others found brilliant. They could all roll their stones together! Why not? It would be fun.

So four stones went rolling down the hill together and the four men stood on the top of the peak laughing themselves crazy. And they created such a ruckus that from far and wide others also came from their hills to join them. By now there was quite a crown rolling their stones on the peak. So far so good. But soon they found the peak was too small for so many people to do the rolling business together. One is left with no peace and privacy, everyone thought. People kept stepping on each other and running into each other. So once again a conference was called. Many ideas came up. Some suggested ways to discipline rolling , others said some should roll while others should rest but nothing fitted well. At last they decided. Everyone would return to their peaks like in old days.

So back they went, everyone of them. And back on his peak, now, Sisyphus once again rolled his rock alone. Waving now and then to the guy on the nearest peak. The guy would also wave back and holler something that always got lost by the time it reached him. But Sisyphus always hollered back something, anything, though he knew it would never reach the other.

The boulder kept going up and down, up and down.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

EPIPHANY


असल सवाल

'सच' नहीं

'झूठ' है

की कौन सा

झूठ अपना है


डर है

ब्रह्म-भ्रम का

अनंत का

छूटने का

गुमने का ?


पर हम भ्रमित हैं

और छूट गए

हैं, एक अनंत

सागर में

गुम हमसब


निरर्थ अथाह

यह, पार हुआ

तो अपना

और ले डूबा

तो भी.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?


Between me and them…

Every word is

Every gesture

Existent… non-existent

Said… unsaid

Everything is.

So sound is a problem

as silence is

And no is a problem

as yes is

And of course dreams

are always a problem

theirs and mine

On days they bang

my room shut

and on nights

I want to

shut them out

Yet, when they are

asleep I want to

wake up their souls

and ask

what the problem is?

Gender is a big problem

Though they wouldn’t admit

Voice is another

As money and style

Caste and comfort

Compliance and control

Power and rule

Need more?

Yet understanding

is so close, when

a mere look could

bridge the chasm

it is but

another problem.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

THAT ROOM


God what a mess!

this room,

spattered and sad

dirtied and crazed

Let me set it

back again

Got my hands

full, you see:

Plaster-of-hope

first on the walls,

then painting

choicest dreams.

Ideals, idols

up again

and then

Love’s antiques

to be dusted

and redone.

Oh I forgot

the floor, see?

Where do you

go without truth

beneath your feet?

And finish with

a fine spray

of kindness.

The room’s done

For everyone

To come and

Leave it

Crazed again.