A Love Poem

It's raining outside
And we've decided to make
a meaningful evening of it
We are very serious - both of us
Though we allow ourselves
Sweet sidelong glances

I pull myself a chair
and he leaps to it
'It's not for you,' I frown.
He vacates pronto, and picks
an odd spot on the floor.
Together we hear the squirrel's song
and watch the trembling leaves.

Really, he's watching all that
and I am watching him.
He's still very young
and so fascinated by it.
As the rain chuckles at us
and the wind pushes us closer,
he sends out a faint 'meow'
and looks at me to add my bit.

Make a beginning

That's the difficult part
they say,
Making a beginning

Everything else, just
falls in place

First, a sense emerges
Over all misty meanings

What looked random
then appears
all planned, deliberately done

Distractions dissipate
As do multiple ways

There is only one road thereon
And it's not hard to take

You just roll thereon
the predestined path
before you so grandly laid

There is no looking back then
That's why I am
so afraid of beginnings.

Buyers and Sellers

Don't ask me if it's good or bad
Hell! I don't even care
What's wrong with being
Buyers and sellers?
You buying me some flowers
Me buying you a muffler,
That would be nice indeed.


But what if you could buy some poise
And I could buy some courage?
Me buy your ideas And you my words, maybe?
Wouldn't that be something?


Then  would you also buy my voice?
And would I buy your truth?
Would you buy my outrage?
And I you conviction?
Doesn't matter good or bad
But would we? If we haven't already.

A THOUSAND AND ONE WAYS

Its quite easy actually,
The poetic among you
can use words
The intellectual
can use logic
The scientific
can use nature
The pious
can use commandments
The political
can use fear
The academic
can use history
And the brutish can
ofcourse use force.

There are a thousand ways
You can kill a woman
or more, now that I think of it
Why, even the foolish can use
their fool-proof prejudice
But for her to live
there is just one
impossible way
That you simply
let her be.
 

A NATION THAT FORGOT

A Woman, who was once a force,
became a fear
A Man, who was once a creator,
became a cog
An Animal, that was once a god,
became meat
A God, who was once a fact,
became fiction
A Tree, that once stood its ground,
became a log
A River, that was once a panacea,
fell ill
An Art, that was once a shastra,
became business
A Pleasure, that was once infinite,
became g-spot
A Life, that was once karma,
became a car
And a verse, that was once an epic,
became this
Because a nation, that had lived so long,
just forgot.

PAPER WOMEN

You can pour your
heart on them,
Or you can crumple
them, junk them
You can tear them,
burn them
You can cut them
into pretty things
You can paint them,
paste them, flush them
You can press your
tears them, or blood or snot
In peace, you can tickle
accords on their glistening backs
In war, they will be the weapon
or the victim at your command.

And if indeed, your bag
gets too heavy with them
You can simply leave them home
and let them gather dust. 

TECHNICAL ERROR

कुल-देशों को
मर्यादा-तर्कों को
दर्प-अर्थों को
असंख्य जन्मों से
धारण किया है हमने

गर्भ-वस्त्र में
मूक-मोह में
लाज-पुण्य में
ढांप रखा है

और मात्र
घूँट भर विष नें
सालों से कंठ
रंगा है तुम्हारा ?

Tale Spin - II

"I was so stupid as a kid you wouldn't believe it." 

Now you must understand the strange effect this statement had on me. After all I  was a kid and she was my mother. I wanted to believe that she was smarter prettier and brighter than me at my age but she wouldn't let me have that. That's why her stories always left me ruffled, disoriented, shocked 

"...always wanted to be a good girl never thought of anything beyond. After all my father, your Nana Papa, was a doctor and Nani was a graduate. In those days it was a big thing. Imagine, she had four kids when she did her B.Ed. 

She always asked me to note down answers on the question papers but I never did that. I dreaded the exams but what I dreaded even more was what happened at home after it. She kept everything aside, brought out her slate board and chalk took the question paper from me, solved the sums and calculated how many I had got right. She was really smart.

Once I lied to her. That day we had a test and I must have been talking to one of my friends. So the teacher took away my answersheet and when she reached her table she looked at me angrily and tore it to pieces. 

I came home and told Mama the story with one minor adjustment: I replaced myself with 'one girl'. So, in that version one girl had kept talking throughout the test and finally the teacher had gotten so angry that she had torn her paper to pieces. The poor girl was crying in the recess and we had consoled her that nothing would happen. Now what will happen Mama? I asked her innocently. That day my lie played out but the next morning a blabbermouth of a classmate let the secret out. So that day, later in the evening, when Mama was giving me my usual bath she picked up the laundry bat and applied it on my back: 'A cheat and a liar... hun? Cheat and liar?'

How I spent the evening after that I don't remember but the next day when the teacher gave back the corrected answersheets I also got mine. It turned out that she had not torn my copy but some other papers lying on her table just to scare us off."

It was as good as I had seen it, my naani, the teacher, the exam papers... and me in place of that one girl  whose answer sheet had been torn off.

LIFE AND TIMES OF A LONDON THUG I Lionel Asbo - Martin Amis I

In a street thick with smoke, looters smash their way into a local shop, steal whisky and beer. One man grabs a packet of cereal, another runs off laughing with four bottles of whisky. Out on the street many are pushing shopping carts full of stolen goods down the street.

London was woken out of bed with reports of such scenes on the night of August 7, 2011. The cops called it copy-cat criminal activity.
Local leaders dissociated their communities from the “hooligans and greedy criminals”.
As the dust began to settle, one thing became clear, these were unrestrained youth, as young as 10, with complete disregard for authority and fearlessness of the outcome.
Lionel Asbo, the central character of Martin Amis’ eponymous novel, is also the product of London’s underclass that became conspicuous in the aftermath of the August riots. Lionel gets his first restraining orders at the age of three and takes up ASBO (Anti-Social Behaviour Order) as his proud title, in place of the family name Pepperdine.
Shaven-headed Asbo is a 21-year-old violent criminal with a penchant for pitbulls and a complete contempt for the law; someone who takes pride in being stupid on purpose. He serves time off and on offences mostly related to extortion and stolen property.
Asbo’s prime concern is the “morals” of his mother Grace Pepperdine. Grace, who had a “mischievous” youth, was a mother of seven by the age of 19. Of all her children no two had the same father except Asbo and Cilla, who were therefore called twins. A grandmother at 39, Grace is having an affair and Asbo gets the wind of it. He wants to dig out who it is and “deal” with him. “Noises”, “groans” and “giggles” are reported from Grace’s apartment. One of the most frequent visitor’s to her house is her grandson, Cilla’s son and Asbo’s protégé Desmond and Asbo asks him to keep on a lookout.
Terrified Desmond is guilty of incestuous relationship with his grandmother. Asbo corners Rory Nightingale, a younger schoolmate of Desmond for having a fling with Grace. Rory goes missing and nothing is heard of him again. Desmond lives the rest of the story in fear of the day Asbo finds out about him and Gran, particularly when she slips into dementia and starts babbling about her various relationships.
Lionel Asbo: Sate of England is Amis’ 13th novel.
Set up in a fictional London borough called Diston where no one lives beyond 60, the novel is as much a satire on London’s underbelly as on the celebrity-obsessed society. Amis is best known for his 1984 novel Money: A Suicide Note which is about the debut film venture of John Self, a slob and constantly drunk director. Among other things, Self is a consumer of pornography and prostitutes much like Asbo who uses his Mac only for watching porn and tries to inculcate these “values” in his nephew: “With the Mac you can have three new bunk-ups every day — by using your imagination”. Sexual revolution, spiritual vacuity, physical and moral decay are some constant notes of Amis’ works. His last novel, The Pregnant Widow, received much acclaim after a success-deprived decade. In The Pregnant Widow Amis went back to Keith Nearing, who had appeared in his first and much loved novel Rachel Papers.
The story of Lionel Asbo gets a twist when Asbo, who is serving time in prison, comes to know that he has won a lottery of £140 million. With a fortune behind, this time he secures an early exit from the jail and checks into a high-profile hotel in Soho. While the lottery becomes his short-cut to class jump he becomes the mandatory front-page tabloid puller for his irreverent antics.
Gradually, as he gets wrapped in publicity concerns, he and his glamour-model girlfriend plan abortion as an exit-strategy to sell their break-up. His nephew, Desmond, however charts a different life altogether. From a boy who was thrashed for watching Crimewatch (as it asked people to tell on criminals) and encouraged to smash some windows instead of writing poetry, Desmond grows to become a crime reporter, gets married to his childhood sweetheart and becomes a father, much to the dismay of his uncle.
Martin Amis’ father, the famous writer Kingsley Amis had found his son’s writing “onanistic” and liked it “sporadically”.
Martin, who has not won the Booker yet, has often cited the “taint of heredity”. Following harsh reception of Yellow Dog (2003), Amis had moved to Uruguay for two years. He is currently located in New York for family reasons.
While Amis’ current novel draws an interesting array of characters, including Asbo’s girlfriend Thernody and Grandmother Grace, the story itself is severely emaciated. The use of language, styling of humour and satire are Martin’s strong points but he falters for the want of consistency as he expands his narration.
In an age when Asbo can easily watch porn on his laptop, the lottery notice is delivered at his home in a letter and milk is still delivered in bottles at the door step. Desmond’s journey to becoming a father is stretched like the Indian soaps programmes that pause and zoom in on expression with the sole purpose of delaying the climax. Though, Asbo himself is a master character, you only wish that Amis had not digressed.
However, what has particularly not gone down well with Amis’ London readers is the sub-title of the novel State of Nation.
Asbo is an anti-intellectual thug who breaks up weddings, beats up old men at pubs and traumatises the syntax of his native language. His family is severely dysfunctional and his life is without meaning or redemption. Clearly, calling that the “State of Nation” is not kindly looked upon, notwithstanding the fact that similar simplistic and touristy descriptions of India are usually hailed as insightful and often bestowed an award or two.

HOME I TONI MORRISON I

On Sunday afternoon, June 25, 1950, broadcasters in the US interrupted regular radio programmes to report the first fragmentary dispatches disclosing that the Communists had  invaded South Korea.  President Truman, enjoying a quiet weekend in Independence, Missouri, rushed back to Washington and committed American troops to combat in Korea. Over 36,000 US troops were killed in the Korean War. This number was however much less compared to the 58,000 who were killed in Vietnam over the next two decades. The Fifties is indentified today as the decade of Marlyn Monroe,   Elvis Presley, launch of Sputnik, and the civil rights movement. It is associated more with the exhilaration of a new era than the return of war-scarred soldiers. Toni Morrison goes back to her memories of the decade in her latest novel Home and her impression of it is neither nostalgic nor euphoric.

The protagonist, Frank ‘Smart’ Money is a black man who has returned shell shocked from the Korean battlefield. It is his journey home to Lotus, in Georgia, and a subsequent discovery of it that forms the slim yet very visual story. Home engages readers at several levels and in varying degrees of complexity through a richly variegated narrative. Frank wakes up tied in a “nuthouse” and makes a quick escape. His journey, marred by his frail mental condition, is aided largely by the kindness of strangers. It is the memory of his sister Ycidra (Cee) that keeps him going despite painful black-and-white flashes and “visitations” from a zoot-suited man.  He must reach Cee soon or as the note threatened him “She be dead if you tarry.”

Morrison’s works are characterized by her attempts to tap the inner dissonance and demons. When Morrison was very young her parents fell behind with the rent and the landlord set fire to the house in which they lived. Writing her 10^th novel at 81, Morrison continues to draws heavily on her experiences of loss, uprooting and love.

Morrison, wrote her first novel, the Bluest Eye at the age of 39. This was the story of an 11-year-old black girl wishing for her eyes to be blue that highlighted sense of self-loathing induced by the prevailing concepts of beauty.  With the Bluest Eye Morrison touched a new aspect of black writing. She wrote as an insider, not one standing with the white audience but essentially sticking to her experience. Over the years she disagreed with Ralph Ellison’s positioning of the race in Invisible Man, “Invisible to who? Not to me,” she maintained.

Her 1973 novel Sula and 1987 novel Beloved, received much critical acclaim. While The Bluest Eye drew upon the memory of days when black was not beautiful, Sula and Beloved focused on the experiences of black women. In Beloved a mother prefers to kill her daughter than see her become a slave and in Sula the story traces the bond of friendship between two women. In 1993 Morrison was awarded the literature Nobel for “novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality.”  She was the first black woman to receive the award.

Home is Morrison’s 10th novel and her first book after the death of her 45-year-old son Slade, from pancreatic cancer.

Morrison’s novels work at multiple levels simultaneously. At one step you will find her characters living out a complex black existence. At another you find them struggling with their roles as women or men. Take a step ahead and you find them denizens of the American nation and at another they are but humans complete with common emotions and an uncommon sense of honour. 

While it’s hard to focus on any one of these aspects, it’s nearly impossible to read her novels without the sense of history with which she writes. So if you are not on your guard you might miss the fact that Frank has to find his way at the back of the bus partitioned away from the “white folks”; a sign at the public lavatory dissuades him from using it and he is forced to relieve himself behind the bushes; a stranger helps him with a list of right type of lodging from where he won’t be turned away. A kind pastor warns him: “Listen here, you from Georgia and you been in a desegregated army and maybe you think up North is way different from down South. Don’t believe it and don’t count on it. Custom is just as real as law and can be just as dangerous.”

While Frank makes his way to Cee, we journey backward and relive the troubled times with the family that is driven out by the landlord. Cee is born in a church basement and as Frank takes charge of her the first word she learns to speak turns out to be “Fawnk”. Over the years it is the elder brother who protects her from a vicious step-grandmother and deceitful boys. But as Frank and his friends enlist for war Cee is left on her own. She runs off and marries a “rat” named Prince who leaves her soon after. She gets a job at Dr Scott’s clinic and as we find her looking at books on eugenics in the doctor’s library we know that she’s going to get into trouble. 

Frank finds and carries Cee, who is bleeding to death, back to Lotus. While the story is about finding a home on one hand it is also about redemption on the other. While Cee has to move out of her scared, scarred past, Frank has to make peace with the terrible war memories. Both incur irreparable losses and yet they struggle to make peace with their lives.  There are two voices in the story, one of a narrator and the other of Frank who time and again corrects and converses with the narrator. It is almost as if the character was speaking to Morrison and taking it upon himself to add to or correct her rendition of his story.  

Tale Spin -1

Its hard for me to say when she started telling me all these stories. They have been just lying in my brain like the first words I must have heard. For a long time I thought they were my stories. They would materialise out of nowhere striking upon my memory like some lost songs.
Often they annoyed me as they were not simple tales of gods-goddesses, animals or king . They annoyed me more since they sounded like they were my stories. They were stories of a girl, not sad or happy or motivating, but just incidents that hung there in time, sounding like stories because she told them like that.
She had away of telling those "no-stories". Sleep-time made her garrulous. She would yawn, grind her eyes, pick her nose, rub some cream on her hands, and talk on with or without an audience. Her skin was clear but I could always see the pores. There was a slight pink on her cheeks that was missing on mine. I was pale, almost green with veins running down naked along my chin and over the eyebrows. She would stretch her arms  and blow an " Oh Hho" through her teeth and rattle off... 

Crushes on wrong people: LGBT and a questioning Q I IN ONE PERSON by John Irving I

In a town called Little Sister in Vermont a 13-year-old boy is taken to the town library by his soon-to-be stepfather. The young boy Bill, who has a secret crush on his mother’s boyfriend, asks the librarian for a book on crushes on wrong people.

This is year 1955. The visit to the library is a moment of awakening for Bill and Miss Frost, the librarian, becomes the centre of his awakening for the next seven years.
Spoiler alert: It is impossible to write about this book without giving away the best, early surprises. After all, the story hinges on a process of discovery and acceptance of sexual choices. John Irving is not the writer for those who blush at the word sex. Draped in Irving’s words, sex and desire are powerful, unapologetic and unrestrained. So watch your step!
In One Person is Irving’s 13th novel. The story, as narrated by a bisexual male, is as much about sexual differences and tolerance as it is about his personal life and experiences. From being the story of a boy and a transgender the novel takes the whole town and several boys and girls who are “different” in its wake. It grows further, crossing cities and continents, attempting to become the voice of a period and of a silent battle for recognition.
As a young boy Bill has crushes on several people: his stepfather Richard, his school senior Kittredge, his best friend’s mother Martha Headley and not to forget the librarian Miss Frost. Bill hasn’t seen his father and is dolled out conflicting stories about his birth. His mother, he learns in due course of time, is somewhat sexually naïve. His aunt Muriel and grandmother Victoria are prudes who feel everyone else is below them. (Aunt Muriel keeps fainting at every mention of the word sex). Bill’s grandfather, who is a lumberman, competes with his daughter Muriel for female roles in the town theatre productions. Surprisingly, he is often preferred over Muriel. Cross-dressing grandpa Harry’s performances are loved by many but also equally reviled.
The Favourite River Academy, is a boys’ boarding school with its typical homo-hating culture. School psychiatrist Dr Grau tells the boys they are in “a polumorphous-perverse phase” and that they were experiencing “pregenital libidinal fixations”. The much-hated Dr Harlow, on the other hand speaks to them about “treatable afflictions” including “an unwelcome sexual attraction to other boys and men.”
While Bill’s life at the boarding school is occupied by his conflicting crushes, it is also occupied, in equal measure by theatre. Bill is cast in the role of “sexually mutable” Aerial while his nemesis Kittredge is Ferdinand and grandfather Harry is a female Caliban.
Bill has a speech difficulty. While The Tempest is being played, he is unable to say “Thou liest” or later the word “shadow” in King Lear. Miss Frost helps him with these two effectively but his difficulty with the word penis stays till the end. Kittredge, the seemingly alpha male, is the cause of much distress to Bill. He is a great wrestler and an equally good actor but he is also a bully. He calls Bill “Nymph” and is effortlessly mean to both Billy and his friend Elaine.
Bill is forced to come out with his sexual differences after a scandal that follows Bill’s discovery of the one-time unbeaten wrestling champion Big El. Soon after, Bill also cracks the puzzle about his missing father Franny Dean. Bill is barred from meeting Miss Frost who is suspended from the library and forced to relocate. Miss Frost leaves, but not before teaching Bill a wrestler’s “duck under”, preparing him for the fight he was yet to face. In 1961, Bill’s school life ends after a brief Europe tour with Tom Atkins who constantly yearns for Bill’s attention. Bill never sees Miss Frost again. But Kitteredge and Atkins resurge later, both with their pack of secrets and tragedy.
The story branches out into Bill and Elaine’s numerous experiences. In the 80s, “the plague” strikes. Bill loses several friends to AIDS. While Larry, once his professor-lover, toils to help the ailing, Bill watches from a distance. It is only when Larry falls ill that Bill takes charge and owns up responsibility to those like him.
Irving gives it the perfect ending with Bill resolving the most crucial and yet unexplored aspect of his life. The story is told in a tragi-comic light. While it is not what one would call a “simple story”, the humour brings in the sense of simplicity in a complex world. The cliché-encumbered grandmother, the aunt who doesn’t want to be stared at, the Norwegian lumberman who has a passion for drama or the “damaged” mother who is easily seduced, provide the essential breathing spaces.
In the novel, sex is crucial and bold. While it is kept between two people; man-man, man-woman, man-transsexual; sex here is more about individuals and their specific requirements and responses. Irving is not short of words while writing about sex, but in each case his purpose is clear. Far from being either comic or gagging, the sex scenes make you sit up and savour, irrespective of who is involved.
The ending sees a somewhat heroic return of Bill. He does for a “work-in-progress” girl what Miss Frost had done for him. A revolution comes of age as the girl introduces herself “Gee will do for now… but I’m going to be Georgia someday.” Moreover, its not just LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender), but also a Q for questioning.

BEGINNING OF THE END

The shadows are becoming stronger, darker, angrier. So quickly the day is lived, from the time you gleefully stamp it under your foot till it expands and dwarfs you. It’s one of those mundane events that you never notice but you always know about. But there are other shadows that dwell in the mind. Malicious, vengeful, ugly shadows. Lurking behind every dream, every joy and every thought. You can see them but you will not know them. 
You can’t crush them, can’t tear them and you definitely can’t kill them.   
I can see the future. Not yours but mine. Most clairvoyants will tell you they can see 
your future, not me. I can’t see your future because I can’t see the shadows in your mind but I can see mine. I hate calling them "my" shadows. After all I didn’t build them or invite them or rear them. They’ve just been there encroaching into my space. But then they decide my future so they aren’t anything but mine.


I am watching the deserted shore. The water has receded several kilometers. The seabed lies naked, still warm from the night’s affairs. Someone’s scared voice is calling out to me to run away. Am I not scared of the end? Don’t I want to live? Of course I am. 
I watch the giant wave crease the skyline.  I want to see what the sea looks on the underside. I think the view would be worth my life. 

Singapore’s Inspector Singh lands in Mumbai I INSPECTOR SINGH INVESTIGATES: A CURIOUS INDIAN CADAVER by Shamini Flint I

A Sikh cop in Singapore police is bullied into coming to Mumbai by his Indian wife. Inspector Singh is a murder specialist and the minute he reaches the flat of his wife’s cousin he knows something is afoot.
Shamini Flint, a Singapore-based author of the well-known series Inspector Singh Investigates, brings Singh’s investigation to India in her latest book. Singh is a turbaned Sikh whose father had left the country years ago. Mumbai, with all its tell-tale squalor and con-men, is a shock to him. His Google-savvy wife is more at ease though. The Singhs, who have come to attend a wedding in the family, soon realise that they have stepped into the middle of a crisis: the bride is missing. Instantly, Singh, who had
resigned himself to Indian hospitality, is back in his elements. He says what everyone suspects, "Perhaps she ran away". The grandfather of the girl is furious with Singh as are her two brothers. But their prime concern is to keep the cops at bay, so Singh is assigned the task of finding the girl. Ashu Kaur, the missing bride, is the favourite grandchild of Tara Baba, a reputed industrialist.
While Singh investigates, the cops report a charred female cadaver. Ashu’s elder brother Tanvir identifies the body by its ruby earrings. The family breaks into mourning. As Singh investigates, several skeletons pop out: a Muslim boyfriend, Ashu’s work at a slum near the factory where she was employed and a mysterious ailment, a money trail.
The final blow comes with the post-mortem report that says Ashu was pregnant. By now everyone seems to have a stake in Ashu’s death and Tara Baba trusts Singh with the task of bringing out the truth.
Singh finds that on the D-day Ashu had secretly met her boyfriend Sameer, visited her boss about the factory and was picked up by her younger brother who was out looking for her. As the mystery deepens Tara Baba himself is killed on the day of Ashu’s funeral and Tanvir swears to boot out the meddling Singh.
Flint weaves an exciting story with its fair share of twists, turns and drama. Singh makes an interesting investigative officer with his wife as his self-appointed assistant. The husband and wife, identified only as Mr and Mrs Singh, also bring in the essential comic relief. Singh fails to understand why anyone will ask for a washing machine in dowry as his wife explains the tradition to him. He is also at a loss why a girl may be killed for marrying outside her religion. Despite his pot-belly Singh is smart and agile. He picks up clues and hits it off with the local policemen. Flint’s novel is a quick and entertaining read and for the romantics at heart, it has a happy ending too.

POCKETS FULL OF POETRY I Indian Poetry Festival organised by Sahitya Akademi I

The human world is styled in words. While nature provides the style, it is the poets who provide the words. A vibrant cosmos of words emerged in Delhi last week at the Indian Poetry Festival "The World within the Word". Shaping of words was the first act of poetry, said vice-president of Sahitya Akademi, Vishwanath Tiwari, who opened the festival. Poets, he said, are creatures who thrive on words, "Poets like Tukaram eat, wear and live on words." Having said this he paused, "This is the day of poetry, so we will keep prose at bay," and briskly drawing out his papers, he presented two of his
poems in Hindi: Jagah (Place) and Aatma (Soul).
Nearly 25 poets from different languages and different parts of the country followed and a master symphony of ideas and emotions emerged. Poets presented at least one poem their native language and the rest in translation.
Eminent Hindi poet Kedarnath Singh drew attention to the poetry of international expats in India. He said it was a genre which had not received enough attention. Citing the example of Tibetan poetry, he read out lines from a piece by a young Tibetan on exile in India: I am a Tibetan-Indian/ I live in India/ I dream of dying in Tibet. With the constant struggle for identity at its core, the poet, a young man, narrates in simple words how he must carry his certificates to prove his identity and how easily he is mistaken for someone from India’s east or north. On the power and life of words, he presented a poem
Shabd (Word). "Words don’t die in cold / it’s the lack of courage/ that kills them." Kedarnath said that considerable growth is taking place in poetry but on the fringes. New voices that challenge and break the centre are emerging. "These voices must be heard if one has to understand the reality of the 21st century India," he added.
In the vein of Romantic poets, well-known Dogri poet Padma Sachdeva emphasised that only that which emerges from the heart qualifies as poetry. Her verses carried an acute awareness of nature and projected its forces as alive and communicative. In one of her poems titled, Air, she says the villagers had "packed’ some of it for her as they had bid her farewell. She carries the village air around with her and uses it whenever she missed home. The pristine village air with its unique aroma of incense in the morning, crops in the afternoon and wet soil in the evening is a part of the heritage that she has received and wishes to pass on to her daughter. In another poem, she is the sky that says: I am not the king without an heir/ My lap is filled with children/ I am India’s sky.
Another poet who brought the inanimate to life through her verses was Varsha Das. Two of her poems were titled Mitti and Daraaj. While in Mitti (Soil) she spoke of a dead soil made fertile by a person’s dreams, in Daraaj (Drawer) she gives a beating heart to a piece of furniture. In Daraaj she is an old woman who keeps misplacing her things. To solve this problem her daughter gets a cupboard with several drawers. The drawers are labelled alphabetically so that: the job is just to set/ specs in S/ watch in W/ and pen in P. But things get complicated as the watch lands up in another drawer that has a throbbing, loving heart.
Tamil poet Salma came up with poems on women issues and sensibilities. In a moving piece she drew upon the life of Somalian women who suffered the terrible tradition of sewing up of the vagina to prevent their "pollution". The subject of each recital was unique and as a result the poems ranged from the Berlin Wall to Irome Sharmila, from a key to a wall, and a stammer to a secret. While one poet
like Subodh Sarkar (Bengali) came up with politically charged free verses another one like Nisar Rahi (Urdu) broke the pattern with witty and insightful couplets. Each poet took you to a different journey into a different world lighting the way with his words. The event, organised by Sahitya Akademi, was thin on audience. However, those present were serious fans, shedding an occasional tear or breaking into a frequent "wah wah".
Looking at the audience Padma Sachdev recounted her young days when iconic poet Ramdhari Singh "Dinkar" would moan that perhaps the era poetry had ended. But he was wrong, she said, we still write poetry and there are people who can’t have enough of it.

A SIMPLE TALE OF BASEBALL, TOLD IN STYLE I Calico Joe by John Grisham I

The basics of baseball are simple but the game is complicated. There is a pitcher, a  hitter and in this case there is an 11-year-old boy too in a crowd of 55,000 at the stands.  But this is no ordinary match. It is the last match that the two will play and the last that  the third will watch. It is also the match that will haunt the 11-year-old Paul Tracey years  later when he is a happily married man.

John Grisham, known for his best-selling legal thrillers has another passion: baseball.  The first book in which he infused the verve of the game was A Painted House. Calico  Joe is the latest work of fiction from Grisham in which you can "watch" the game.  Grisham knows his curveballs from fastballs but doesn’t expect you to know the same. He doesn’t assume that you will know or should know or will find out about the game.  Infact, he provides an engaging introduction to baseball. This is an introduction unlike any other and must not be skipped. He puts you on the home plate, gives you the bat  and makes you face the pitch. You find yourself hitting home runs, throwing a drag bunt and cutting a ground ball. By the end of these pages you are singing baseball. From this happy start, Grisham takes you to the middle of a family tragedy: A father on the death bead with pancreatic cancer. The father here is Warren Tracey, who once played for the Mets. The news of Warren’s impending death causes no stir in the lives of those around him. His daughter and first wife want nothing to do with him but his son Paul has a score to settle. While it seems to us that he has set out to meet his dying father, he has a different plan up his sleeve. He is in Calico Rock, Arakansas, where he must go with an alias. The town hates his father Warren Tracey who had "beaned" Joe Castle. As a result of the throw, Joe is maimed for life as are all hopes in Calico Rock. Paul decides he must coax, compel and even blackmail his dying father to come to Calico Rock and say sorry.

Warren Tracey is a hardened man with a failed career in baseball; a philanderer, given to drinking and violent behaviour. Meeting his son is another of the life’s formalities that he is forced to go through. But the moment Paul reveals his real purpose, he throws off all garbs of civility and digs his heels in. Going to Calico Rock is a big no. The book is named after its third and most important character, Joe Castle. In his early twenties, Joe is the best thing that has happened to baseball in a long time. He is a hitter and an extraordinary one. On his first day of a league match, he thrashes half-a-dozen records. With him the Chicago Cubs look formidable, almost invincible. But one unfortunate game watched by Paul and pitched by Warren changes it all. Joe is also my only serious problem with the book. He gets to say the least and as a result hardly looks real. While the story actually revolves around him, it hardly attempts to looks inside him.

Grisham is not the most insightful of the writers but he knows how to tell a story. He has a simple tale but tells it in style. Baseball is the heart and soul of the narrative. One can feel the rush of a packed stadium, the focus of the pitcher, crush of the ball against the skull. He doesn’t delve into the recesses of human mind but makes his story authentic and gives all actions an arguable reason. Given Grisham’s brisk style, Calico Joe makes an interesting read. It puts the thrill of a game on the larger canvas of life. The argument that baseball is a game for children spoiled by adults holds true for this book. Followers of the game will of course find a lot meat and the faithless will be dreaming home runs before the last page is reached.

DRIFTER, CHARMER, ACTOR, CHEAT I The Flying Man by Roopa Farooki I

Some battle for a normal life, others fight against it. The "flying man" in Roopa Farooki’s novel belongs to the latter.
Sunny, alias Maqil, alias MSK, alias Mikhail Lee, is a freak genius and an anti-hero. For him, what is normal is redundant and hence repulsive. He goes through his life like a play act and dares to change the script mid-way. He will not suffer boredom and throws away both fortune and love in his persistent bid to escape lichés.
Born in Punjab of 1931 he is Sunny for his parents and Maqil for the family in which all first-born sons bear the same name. At 16, Sunny is dashing, glamorous and street-smart; the star of the family. A train of fans from urchins, servants to his own parents follows him everywhere. He is the Pied Piper and everyone is happy to step up to his tune. He is already blackmailing his school seniors into loaning their father’s Bentley and is advising the bookstore owner to sell tea and coffee along with books.
This is the only section where Maqil’s character sounds forced and stalk-type. Hereon, Ms Farooki builds with force and remarkable consistency. Maqil emerges as someone who’s foremost motive is to surprise his audience, whatever the cost.
In America, where he goes to study, he is MSK, a mystery, a phenomenon of sorts. No one knows where he is from and when asked he says, "Everyone knows who I am and if they don’t , they should."
In 1965 he is Mehmet, married and settled with a job in Egypt. He leaves for work one day and never returns to his wife, never writes or calls for the simple reason of being bored. Maqil’s arguments are unnerving for their cold, murderous simplicity. Ms Farooki handles this complex character with great craftsmanship. One can’t resist liking him despite his almost criminal egotism.
In 1969 he is at the blackjack table at a casino in France. From a few thousand francs he swells to a hundred thousand. Wining is too easy for him but he loses too just to get that symphony of oohs and aah from onlookers. He loses till he is left with a sparse scattering of chips and celebrates with champagne his narrow escape from fame and fortune.
In 1970, he is back in Lahore where he meets Samira. She is a Bengali Christian; skinny, espresso-skinned and very glamorous. Love strikes Maqil. Samira is an unusual woman, hence, a perfect match for him. In another three years the  two are married and have moved to London.
One of the best achievements of Ms Farooqi in this book is her characters. They are all unique, almost eccentric yet convincing and endearing. Samira is no sweet-talking, innocent chick with haunting eyes. She is the "modern" woman with cosmetics in her drawer, brands in her wardrobe and wits that can outsmart Maqil. Samira is perpetually on diet and has trained herself to throw up food after plush
parties.
Maqil and Samira are made-for-each-other but that’s too simple a script for Maqil to play. So he decides it is time for him to be a father. Samira is of course too smart and knows him too well to let that happen, so he cheats her, switches her pills and soon she is pregnant. With the twins between them Maqil soon has to move ahead but not before attempting to trick Samira out of her money. But Samira is never a damsel in distress and can see through the act he puts up for the world.
From London he goes to Madrid, then to Marbella-Spain, Hong Kong, Paris and finally Biarritz. He swindles people out of their money, dabbles in forgery of art and passports and crosses continents till too many people are on lookout for him. He marries a third time to a matronly Bernadette in Hong Kong but Samira is always the only love of his life. His twins grow up angry and estranged.
The vibrant milieu of this novel ensures there is never a dull moment. Ms Farooki is an expert at getting inside the characters and making them speak. From Samira to the twins to Bernadette and even the minor characters are intriguing but not elusive. The story is written as a letter by Maqil at the end of his life. He is old and broke and has refused persistent efforts by his children to take him home as that would be too simple an end.
He sticks to his fight for a life lived unusually, till the very end. The letter writing though gets forgotten in the tide of the story. The initial few pages are quickly forgotten and seem to be somewhat disconnected from the rest of the novel that is remarkably well-knit.
After you finish the novel the lines on the book cover also begin to sound strange: "I was once a son, a husband, a father. And now I am a storyteller."Maqil never played the role of son, husband and father with conviction. He is always a storyteller.
The Flying Man may strike some as a story of a highly-selfish man. Maqil has little regard for others in his life. He seems almost Camusian in his disrespect for all that is established and acceptable. A man who sticks to his flawed vision of life till the end causing immense pain to all he knows.
He comes across as almost heartless. But that’s not entirely true. In his life filled with depravity, Maqil has just one acute regret. Quite like her creation, Ms Farooki’s surprises the audience, and gives a story unlike any other.

An Afghan’s odyssey I In the Sea There are Crocodiles by Fabio GedaI

At the age of 10, Enaiatollah Akbari sets out with his mother from his village Nava, in Afghanistan. After a perilous journey, they arrive in Quetta, Pakistan. She makes him swear three things: Never to use drugs; never to use weapons; never to cheat or steal.
This advice is all he has when his mother leaves in the quiet of the night to return to her other children back in Nava.

With most of the odds against him, chances of Enaitollah’s survival in a new, hostile country are bleak. But he survives to tell his poignant tale. The story is told by Fabio Geda as a series of conversations with Enaitollah. These conversations between the author and the protagonist are spread through the narrative. Written in Italian, the book has been translated into English by Howard Curtis.

Abandoned in Quetta, Enait picks up odd manual jobs. Even when he is reduced to a mere street urchin, he misses his days at school and Buzul Bazi, a dice game played a bone taken from a sheep’s foot after it’s been boiled. He listens to the children playing during school recess, longing to join them but is forced to go out into a world where a simple request for water elicits a scathing reply: First tell who are you? Are you a Shia or a Muslim. By now Eniat has learnt his lessons as he shoots back, "First I am a Shia, then I am a Muslim. Or rather, first I am a Hazara, then Shia then a Muslim." Hazara, inhabitants of Ghazni province, are identified by their almond eyes and flatter noses. While some claim to be descendants of Genghis Khan’s army others claim to have come down from Koshans, the legendary builders of the Bamiyan Buddhas. "Some others say we’re saves and treat us like slaves," says Enaitollah. Fed up of being treated badly, he decides to go to Iran, where he had heard "things were much better". Here begins  Eniat’s association with people traffickers, cramped trucks and the constant fear of Telisia and Sang Safid, the immigrant detention centres. At the Iranian city of Isfahan, he picks up the job at a construction site, which is where most of the illegal migrants worked. But with the constant police raids and the sword of deportation hanging on his head, Eniat decides to move again; this time to Turkey. This journey is far more challenging than anything he had been through. From Salmas, the last city in Iran and
closest to the mountains, begins a 27-day trek across snow-capped mountains.

On arriving in Istanbul, it becomes clear that there was no work to be found there. A journey further ahead to Greece is imminent. Here ensues a voyage in a dinghy which ends in his landing at a Greek port town without any clothes. The journey to Mytilene and thereon to Rome is largely aided by kind-hearted people. Enaitollah’s tale is a real-life account not a fictionalised narrative. His journey, that spans from Nava to Turin, may bring to mind the century-old adventures of Kipling’s Kim. This is however a much more realistic account pared of all the romance of adventure and powered by the sole grit to survive. Enaitollah refuses to name most of the people and places. "Facts are important," he tells Fabio, "The story is important. It’s what happens to you that change your life, not where or who with." While debating if they should take the journey to Greece in a dinghy, a fellow Afghan mentions the threat of crocodiles in the sea. The only answer available at that time to the group of young boys in desperate search of a better life is that there are no crocodiles in the sea. A postscript to the novel notes that Eniat, who is now 22 years old, and has received asylum in Italy, has discovered that there really are crocodiles in the sea.

The circus of dreams I THE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin Morgenstern I

In 1886 a circus arrives in London: Le Cirque des Rêves (the Circus of Dreams). A notice at its entrance announces "Opens at Nightfall, Closes at dawn". On the night of October 13, the gates of the circus are thrown open. One steps into a world of wonder. Everything in the circus follows a pattern of black and white colours. As people move from tent to tent, they admire the curiosities. From painfully slow-moving human statues to a giant clock that turns itself inside out, everything in this circus touches the point of bizarre. Nothing is out of step, everything is too perfect. As the clock strikes midnight, a giant bonfire is lit by 12 archers. As each of their barbs produces a different colour at the bonfire, two people in the circus realize the "game" had begun.
The "game" is a challenge between two magicians Hector Bowen and AH, who swore their students into a battle of magic. The rules of the game are not clear perhaps because there are no rules. The students Celia and Marco, are mere kids when their "preparation" for the challenge beings. While Marco spends cold, comfortless days in intense study, Celia is subject to painful exercise like her fingers being cut up so she can repair them "magically".  
The Night Circus is Erin Morgenstern’s first novel. Morgenstern, who lives in Massachusetts and is also multimedia artiste, describes all her work as "fairy tales in one way or another". Morgenstern’s peculiar brand of imagination works on details: frill and cut of dresses, smells that bring back memories, rain seeping slowly into clothes. The details present themselves through the magical world of the novel.  
The night circus is the stage where the challenge of wizards is played out. Celia is the illusionist in the circus and Marco is the owner’s assistant.  While, the bonfire lit by Marco powers the circus, Celia is the one who transports and "holds the circus together". The other members of the circus, including its owner Chandresh, have little clue about the real magic in action. The challenge involves a series of move with the two players adding their own magical tents to the circus and trying to gain control of it. Both Marco and Celia find themselves increasingly in awe of each other’s skills. By now the circus has tents like cloud maze, pool of tears, wishing tree, ice garden, desert world, to name a few. A steady group of fans known as rêveurs, follow the circus around. They dress in the trademark black and white of the circus but with a flourish of red. Meanwhile, the members of the circus don’t seem to age and begin to suspect something is wrong.
The admiration between Celia and Marco blooms into love soon, followed by the realization that the challenge would never end as long as both of them are alive.    
There is nothing ingenious about the story, given the rush of fantasy fiction in the last decade. While the magical challenge of Marco and Celia is played out in the world of muggles it is not clear how the two worlds interact.
This book would have been an ordinary work of fiction but for its stylized narrative. The story beings with the declaration: "The circus arrives without a warning." As you read the first chapter, you know Morgenstern is not in a hurry to tell her story. She lets the story breathe, slowly. Though, at 387 pages, it means a lot of breathing, but her prose has a lilt to it that accounts for more magic than all the charms in the book put together. She commits her blunders too, losing her rhythm to adjectives but pulls herself together.
Love between Marco and Celia is not something you see coming, given their detached rivalry. It does not sprout at the spur of the moment but evolves gradually, culminating to the point where both create breathtaking illusions for each other. A particularly interesting scene is the one where the two meet face to face as opponents for the first time. There are no pretences and secrets as the two wizards share details of how each controls the circus and what they are capable of. There is no love interest, but a
compulsion of having been unwillingly bound together by fate. While Celia stabs her hand with a dagger and heals it, Marco recreates a garden: What had been little more than a stack of rough stones moments before is now set and carved into ornate arches and pathways, covered in crawling vines and speckled with bright, tiny lanterns.
Contrived, yet compelling.

I am, therefore I am [ WELCOME TO AMERICASTAN by JABEEN AKHTAR ]

There are three stages experienced by one coming face to face with someone from Pakistan, explains Samira, the protagonist of Welcome to Americastan. First, disbelief that someone from the world’s most notorious brown country

ended up in the same room as you; second, fear and excitement that this Pakistani could have sinister ties with some of the terrible news events; third, the formulation of a bone-headed comment: You gave Bin Laden a house before our boys took his left eye out. Or, what an interesting time to be from Pakistan. With all the terrorists being from there and all.
There is method in the crazy humour.
I caught up with Jabeen Akhtar when she was in Delhi last week for the release of her first book, Welcome to Americastan. Akhtar is light-hearted, “cool” and surprisingly clear-headed. “It’s okay. We can survive people laughing at us,” she says before breaking into a giggle.
“It’s important to just sit back and laugh at ourselves and let other people laugh,” says Jabeen. “Humour is missing in any idea or literature about Pakistanis and Muslims. All the heavy elements on the subject have been out there for some time now, I wanted this book to give a kind of fresh
perspective.”
Welcome to Americastan deals with a peculiar Pakistani family that she calls “almost dysfunctional”, with each member seemingly headed in a different direction, with zero idea of what’s right or wrong.
It has a dramatic opening, throwing us right in the middle of a mother-daughter brawl. “Haramzadi! Awara! Bewaqoof!” Samira’s mother screams at her. Samira, or Sam, has come home, in Cary, North Carolina, after losing her job and her boyfriend of eight years in Washington, D.C., besides managing to get her name on the FBI’s terrorist watch list. None of this is known to her parents who think their daughter is home for a weekend. She bargains with her siblings to help her tow in her luggage secretly but is caught red-handed.
Here is a bizarre family in a state of disarray. Samira’s sister Meena doesn’t mind giving a blow job to a stranger at a party to get some weed for her heartbroken elder sister. Later she brings a female date to the elder brother’s Muslim wedding. Khalid, the elder brother who is about to get married, can think of
little other than videogames. He blows up the money saved up
for his marriage to get a fancy gadget.
The parents on the other hand carry deep memories and a longing for Pakistan. The father narrates how his date of birth was “estimated” after his mother
said he was born around an epidemic in India, on a cold rainy night with ber littered around trees. The children are unable to relate to any of this.
A new trend in the expatriat community comes across. “The concept of identifying with geography is becoming more and more irrelevant for second generation children in the US,” says Akhtar. “You don’t get a sense of ‘I belong to this country’; it’s more like I’m just out there, floating about in the world’.”
The author, who was brought up in the US, says she had been in Pakistan for less than a fortnight in her entire life. “It was nothing like I had imagined it to be. I had thought people there would look like me, think like me, be cool... but it was nothing like that. A lot of things I did there were inappropriate.”
Much like Akhtar, her protagonist also rejects being classified as either an American or Pakistani or Pakistani-American.
Back home, Samira looks for ways to recover from her heartbreak. She begins to help her father at PAC-PAC, a civic organisation he started in the aftermath of 9/11.
Samira has a brush with racism at a store when an angry woman swears at her, “F***ing Arabs”, and then adds, “Welcome to America.” Samira is surprised to find people around her more angry and upset at this than she is. Despite being the “victim”, she has to comfort and pacify the crowd.
Later she thinks of the retort that would have trounced her opponent, “Hey b***h, didn’t you hear? It’s called Americastan now.”
Still unable to get over her ex-boyfriend Ethan, Samira ends up in an affair with a guy at her gym. Meanwhile, at PAC-PAC things begin to get difficult as some members oppose helping non-Muslim Pakistanis through the organisation. At one of the meetings the debate even turns into proving who is a better Muslim.
The fact that Samira had been put on the FBI’s terror list is revealed to her father at a crucial PAC-PAC meeting. The author puts Samira’s brush with law in a comic light: After realising that her boyfriend had left her for her bestfriend, she chases them and tries to run them over. She is caught by the cops and becomes a terror suspect. However, when she returns home, nothing troubles her more than the end of her relationship with Ethan. Being on the terror list seems to be the last thing on her mind. “It would be difficult for someone who thinks about his/her identity all the time to come out of such an experience,” says Akhtar. “But for someone for whom identity is not an issue it would be a joke.”
Meanwhile, Khalid is going to get married to his girlfriend, a white catholic, much to the dismay of his parents who insist on a Muslim wedding by a maulvi from Pakistan.
At the wedding Ethan is also invited and Samira prepares for the final faceoff.
The story has a young, hip tone. This is the view of the world from someone who doesn’t listen to newsroom debates or reads winding editorials.
The narrative does begin to lag towards the end, sounding nothing more than a girl’s pursuit of her ex-boyfriend. But humour being the touchstone, it keeps the story together.
Akhtar takes an unapologetic view of Pakistani expats. She doesn’t feel the need to “appear” American or even Pakistani. Like her, Samira belongs to an increasingly threatened brand of liberal-minded people. But her beliefs are not shaken either by the “terrorist” label or by a peer group that doesn’t share her views. Neither does she come across as a smug rebel. “Rebellious?... Oh, it’s nothing that glamorous. We’re just suburbanites,” she says.
Akhtar cleverly inserts thought into a largely humorous novel. She often manipulates farce and gives it a surprise sentimental twist. The father, for example, time and again uncovers his “Partition-era” scar for the children to see. The display is followed by a “scar speech” to remind them how hard the struggle was and how privileged they had been. This comic family scene takes a sharp turn in the end. “It is a part of me,” father tells Samira, “and it follows me wherever I go, but all I have to do is put on a shirt, you see. Cover it up and I can start over… that is why everybody comes to America.”