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

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

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.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

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. 

Saturday, September 1, 2012

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 ?

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

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.


Saturday, August 18, 2012

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.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

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 10th 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.  

Sunday, July 8, 2012

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...