Sweet Child O' Mine

for S.

there are words that can't be translated adequately into other languages. the bengali 'obhimaan' is one such. no matter how hard i try, nothing in the english vocabulary comes close to capturing the mix of hurt, righteous outrage and disdain that is contained in that word. and much more.

i watched 'the wrestler' recently. an average flick, quite bollywoodish in places, but as everyone agrees, it rides strong on the back of mickey rourke's effortless performance as randy the 'ram', a jaded, past-his-prime ex-boxer who possesses the smarts of a country bumpkin.

theres a scene towards the end of the film, pretty much the last scene, where randy walks into the boxing arena amidst the usual screaming, applause and histrionics that mark WWF boxing. he has just turned his back on a chance to live again, to connect and matter to another, to do something apart from box. the exact things he'd been longing for throughout the film. there is neither anger, nor bitterness in him. just an overwhelming 'obhimaan' that there is no place for him outside the boxing arena. as 'sweet child o' mine' breaks out in the background, you feel randy's loneliness more acutely for u detect the seeds of ur own.

On middle age versus youth

Explaining he phenomenon of middle age that replaces the excitement of youth, judith warner writes, “There are trade-offs: intensity versus contentment, exaltation versus peace. And perhaps the best exchange of all: you trade in an idea of yourself for a reality that, if nothing else, can make you laugh.” Don’t know whether I should find solace in this or give in to the feeling of utter poignancy it evokes. Desolate seems a good word. Perhaps the fundamental difference is the gradual dawning and acceptance that you are neither the centre of the world, nor are things going to get much better. Life is, it will.

Notes On Goodbye Solo

'goodbye solo' is a much darker and disturbing film than its predecessors. i don't know that i can say i enjoyed it. rather, like 'million dollar baby' it has stayed with me well over the night and the days preceding my watching it. here, bahrani abandons NY & takes us to winston-salem, NC - his hometown. without preamble the film throws us in the midst of a dialogue between senegalese taxi driver solo and his white passenger william. in solo u can detect the clean lines, expressive eyes and statuesque physique of his african ancestors who probably ploughed the field in summer and sang communal songs of joy during harvest season. there is a lyricism to the african speech that is unmatched by any other. it is as if god intended these folks to sing and rap their way through life rather than lecture or speak. solo's favourite greeting 'yo dawg' with which he embraces everybody reveals a boisterousness, a joie de vivre, simplicity and a hard-to-defeat optimism that sometimes borders on grating. his irreprissible brand of bonhomie would be fine if you were in town for a nite out but completely out of place if, say, u were mourning the passing away of a dear one or had recently lost your job.

the blurb on the film's jacket says how, when william hires solo to drive him to a spot called blowing rock from where he does not plan to return, a strange relationship develops between the 2 men & that's what the film examines. solo quickly understands that william is contemplating suicide and in the days that follow, he tries his best to understand william's reasons for thus ending his life and to persuade him to change his mind. what is wonderful and something our indian directors must learn is that there are 2 areas that bahrani leaves untouched - willaim's personal history which surely holds the key to his current decision and solo's strange fixation with the white bloke who abuses him, insults him, and once, during a heated encounter even gives him a black eye. what is it that drives us and men like solo to care for another human being so deeply that social standards of privacy, esteem, space and respect cease to have any meaning? does solo's concern for william stem simply from his early observation that in his native senegal the old were cared for by the young, if required fed & carried, that families lived together and didn't abandon each other like in the white man's world? i don't think so. sure, solo feels obligated to william for some of that, but a larger part of his actions are motivated by some unnamed, inexplicable impulse that is both our cross as well as our blessing to carry. it is this impulse which makes us truly human. as simple as that.

however, it is to bahrani's credit that none of the unexplained bits jarr or play false. we accept solo's near obsessive concern for william as easily as we accept that something must have happened that has led william to conclude that he'd be better off dead. what i found a lot more difficult to accept, and bahrani keeps the suspense alive till the end, that here is a man who does everything in his power to change william's mind and does not succeed; that a human will is a strange unbendable thing - when set on a course, little anyone else does, is enough to dissuade it from following that course. such futility, such waste as is exhibited here, is hard to acknowledge and accept.

i don't know if this was my imagination but i think that part of the reason for solo's attachment towards william can be explained with a simple parental reference. in a scene towards the end, when solo sits reading the latter's diary and finds that he & alex have been mentioned, that he did have some worth or impact on william's life, there is a strange expression that lights his face. the closest i can come is an indian word 'abhimaan' or is it a small twinge of gratification that he mattered, that he counted. i can't really put my finger on it, but it is a haunting scene and the solo we meet in the last few scenes is completely different from the buoyant young man we had witnessed earlier. is it that he has become aware of his own limitations and in turn his mortality? perhaps the hard to dent optimism has given way to a more grounded awareness that sometimes, despite our best efforts, there are exams in life that one is not meant to 'ace'. and nothing about this realisation is defeatist in nature and therein lies bahrani's triumph. just like ali in 'chop shop' knows there are dreams that he must chase even if he never realises them, solo gradually comes to a wiser perception that some of our triumphs lie in our efforts, not the results they yield. gita-esque definitely but that's about all this film leaves u with.

A Change Too Late: the Challenge Hillary Clinton & We All Face

During Hillary Clintons much publicized trip to Congo, she was asked by a student in Kinshasa what her husband thought about congo’s trade deal with china. The nurse ratched-like always-cool-under-pressure ice queen reacted most unusually. She snapped at the hapless guy, “'You want me to tell you what my husband thinks? My husband is not the Secretary of State, I am.” With this the nation’s media went beserk and blogs, podcasts, columnists, etc have laughed and jeered so much that I suspect even George carlin’s shows never have generated as much entertainment as ol’ hilly did. The American media has always hated her; it was as if only by denigrating her credentials, could one show solidarity towards obama. Fox TV anchors are having a field day with most of them going overboard using & this as an opportunity to dissect feminism, demanding apologies, perceiving the seeds of her crumbling marriage and reading signs of early dementia. At least one of them must be true. After all Hillary rodham, the fullbright scholar from Wellesley, the first woman to propose a radical healthcare plan and a highly successful NY senator, couldn’t be all perfect, could she?

I have observed that whenever a woman asserts her intelligence or independence to the world, it has to be couched in terms of an apology. The sense of wrong, pretended or real, is as much for those virtues that came to her instead of the spouse or brother, as the burden of lifelong success that such virtues usually promise.

Currently, as secretary of state, Hillary is focusing on rehabilitating the condition of women in Africa who have been raped, infected with HIV and left to die in the unending civil wars that plague the continent. She has to fight ignorance, fear, poverty, taboo, militancy before she can make any difference. But before that she has to fight her personal battles of womanhood – that insidious, murky, crippling institution of male chauvinism that survives by virtue of trivializing its women. Pls note, this is not an affront to men; just a sad legacy that many of us still content with frequently.

In order to truly emerge as secretary of state in her own right & not the wife of the ex-prez, she must lash out as she did at the African student for sometimes u have to speak louder for the hard of hearing. Perhaps, what makes this whole issue so ignoble is the idea of pitching a perfectly matched gifted couple against each other. A Rhodes scholar and one of the finest minds on international affairs, bill Clinton is more than a match for ol’ hilly. But no, it has to be either her or him. Media pundits now intuit that she snapped because of the publicity that bill garnered by negotiating the release of the two American journos from north korea.

If such is the dogma the modern woman has to fight, what role do we really seek for ourselves? One of insulation and segregation or the more challenging role of integrating our positions within the society that polarizes us? The hubby thinks sexual harassment is the worse a woman can face in the workplace. I disagree. Fighting the bastion of male domination & trivialization of female roles is a far greater menace. It is subtler, more powerful, infinitely more demoralizing and definitely far more widespread.

Women’s empowerment won’t be delivered at the end of a gun or through economic sanctions or even overt criticism, unless it can supplant accepted cultural practices with an independent order that recognizes merit over gender and virtue over beauty and incentivizes powerful women instead of laughing away their efforts. Are we really getting there or merely comforting our daughters with a dream?

Meaning of Life

Was reading pico iyer’s wonderful piece in the NYT and hence this blog. This is the part that moved me the most, “The first words the Dalai Lama said when he came into exile, I learned not long ago, were “Now we are free.” He had just lost his homeland, his seeming destiny, contact with the people he had been chosen to rule; he had been forced to undergo a harrowing flight for 14 days across the highest mountains in the world. But his first instinct — the result of training and teaching, no doubt, as much as of temperament — was to look at what he could do better. Now.”

I read Dale Carnegie rather late in life. Yeah, some 4.5 yrs ago to be precise. I was 29 & pregnant in my third trimester & my baby had stopped moving. Doc Maity, the old curmudgeon who ultimately delivered D, told me curtly, ‘Ask god to give u the strength to bear things which u cannot change; ask him to give u the power to change things which u can.’ Saying this he thrust a dog-eared copy of carnegie’s definitive ‘How to Stop Worrying and Start Living’ into my tear-stained face. I couldn’t quite hate him for he’s a surrogate pa for me, but curse his blithe spirit, I sure did.

Over the next few years I have read, pored over & saved countless articles/blogs which essentially talk about the same thing. Whether it’s the fable of the glass being half empty, the serenity prayer, or inspiring tales of people who have turned their lives around despite upheavals, nothing touches me more than these anecdotes of unknown people who exhibit such outstanding instances of courage. We talk of wonders & the paucity of them in the modern world. Isn’t the existence of such people a wonder? Isn’t the ability to feel awe & genuine respect in the face of relentless cynicism, a wonder?

Finally, why are we really here on this earth? A great fate & immortal fame is guaranteed to only the select few. But when u get down to brass tacks it is indeed thoughts of future generations of mankind that must keep folks like u & me going. How else can I explain your impulse to propel the rain-water harvesting initiative in your building? How else can I explain your selflessness in agreeing to tutor those smelly slum kids twice a week? Why is someone like bill gates even championing the cause of Functional Foods to combat global malnutrition? It is about posterity. Sabyasachi Chakravorty who plays the role of a terrorist leader in mani ratnam’s ‘dil se’ tells fresh recruit manisha koirala, “It’s not imp that we are born in a perfect world; what is important is that we leave behind a better dawn for the children who follow when we die.’ How simple, yet how profound.
Is this all getting too mushy? Ok, let’s touch upon some rudimentary economics. All of what I’ve said above is not merely some grand moral singsong. It is also grounded in fundamental economic principles. Would you begin to build an empire that u know couldn’t anticipate the business needs of tomorrow’s consumers? If social media integration stopped with orkut, would we all be poring over twitter feeds from gul panag and Nicholas kristof? Definitely not.

While the capitalist desire for profit making is fundamentally self-absorbing, I do believe once the immediate need for bottom lines & shareholder profits is fulfilled, companies drive innovation not merely to improve P/L accounts but also to leave something behind for posterity. America’s greatest museums, university scholarships & libraries, science & literary awards are funded by private philanthropists, not government sponsored. Our home grown Tata’s are another case in point. i once had the good fortune to visit a Piramal plant in rural Himachal Pradesh that was fully run by women! Yes, a machine component plant that was 100% manned by women workers and this was a deliberate decision taken by the senior management aimed at uplifting & empowering the women in that region. Those words from ‘dil se’ words make sense now?

Friends and Lovers

When i started this blog, i'd thought i'd keep writing about the countless people who inspire me in passing, who give me reason to celebrate & hope, not always rant. sadly, it hasn't happened as planned. which is why sandhya and amit are indeed a special story that needs to be told. there's not too many people who read my blog, but for once i am hoping many many folks come & tune in to the story of this wonderful couple.

i first heard of sandhya via my colleague jayant. he told me of them and i remember telling A about them over ISD. jayant's cousin is married to amit's elder brother. the 2 brothers live with their spouses and parents in gurgaon & have been featured on CNN-IBN.

sandhya is a qualified software engineer who met with a terrible road accident a few months after the families had formalized her engagement to amit. after all the two were seeing ecah other for the past 4 years. onlookers said there was almost nothing left of sandhya's maruti 800 after it'd been hit by the truck. how they managed to extricate her out of the wreck is anybody's guess.

when many many arduous months in the hospital & three surgeries later, a 45-kg, shaven headed, pale, quadraplegic sandhya emerged from the hospital, most of the people present silently wished that the gruesome accident hadnt spared her. sandhya told me yesterday that even her parents didnt wish otherwise; they merely put up a brave front for her sake.

from fighting bed sores, to learning the use of breathing techniques to minimise the risk of pneumonia, to learning to eat with her own hands and ease into the wheelchair, she did it all. amit continued to visit and help her as much as she permitted. he confessed quite frankly that at that point he didnt know what the future held for them, for everyday held its own immediacy and urgency that had to be conquered. he didn't entertain any thoughts regarding marriage; all he knew was that she was in terrible pain and he had to help her as much as he could.

almost a year after her release from the hospital, sandhya & amit got married. sandhya weighed a mere 46 kg & the sticthes on her neck still glowed angry.

today sandhya works from home as a software developer and amit in an AMC. they have a full-time maid to help sandhya, plus undiluted love and support from other members of amit's family. by the time she was telling me about amit's dad who insists on learning java from his daughter-in-law, we were both crying like the morons we women are.

i am one of the most cynical people i know and have scant respect for sentimentality.thats the single most reason why i deride myself more often than not. in sandhya's place would i have been able to trust amit with my dependency? in amit's shoes, would i have dared take a plunge that had all the markings of disaster? i think not. i dont think i have changed markedly after my encounter with them. i am just so awfully grateful that i got to meet this wonderful couple, that their generosity allowed them to accomodate me in their lives and share it with a complete stranger. i am touched that jayant remembers me from delhi where he's now relocated and knew how touched i'd been when he'd first told me about them. i am sad that no matter what, sandhya cant wipe the darness in her eyes; i am happy that amit treats her weight gain post marraige with the teasing banter most men do.

i think these are guys i am gonna love interacting with.

Thoughts on The Alchemy of Desire

If you really think about it - what is that single notion or idea or fact that we can conclusively define as ‘real’ in a world ruled by mirrors, illusions & make belief – it is only kindness & creativity. Both are immeasurably priceless & achingly rare. To read tarun tejpal’s debut novel The Alchemy of Desire (TAOD) is to be reminded of this.

It is powerfully creative & has passages of such beauty & poignancy that one is reminded that indeed, more than beauty or brilliance, it is kindness that makes people or incidents memorable. Take for instance the foll passage where the narrator describes his mood after 2 truck drivers who had hitherto never ventured beyond gethia, a small town near nainital, are completely disoriented at their 1st visit to delhi’s chaotic wonder & decide to escape home in the middle of the night:
“But now I wanted to sit down in the street & cry.
It had to do with the thought of the two of them hurtling back home in the night, furtive & alone. The fineness of their spirit & the meanness of the world. I know how large-hearted they were; and how easily they could be overwhelmed. It was the story of the rural & the tribal everywhere. The tale of all-who-will- be-swiftly-dispossessed. They approach the new world armed with a generosity of spirit – as can only be reaped from working the land. but the modern world has no value for it. They are stranded on the crossroads of history; quickly overrun by the surging traffic of development & growth; stopped by the red light of new fangled laws & economic thesis; impounded by the gendarmes of corporate kings………………………….they are left to play a game the did not choose. With rules they do not know. The world survives by those who have generosity of spirit. But is owned by those who have none.”

In another place, he writes of his mother:
“I could sit & talk to her for hours about her childhood, her college years. The kind of stuff that breaks the heart of most sons if they only stop to listen……Even now, as I write this with everything long over I just have to think of her in pigtails, laughing, flashing her bangles, & a wilderness fills my mind. I have to get up from my desk & go for a walk. Climb up to the waterpoint , gaze at the valley, let the calm seep back into me. I have trained myself to not think of her. Sorrow must not be cultivated. It is a poor lifestyle choice.”

Nowhere else is the reader more aware of the narrators essential humanity, his capacity for unbridled compassion, than in these passages & perhaps that’s why it leaves an indelible impression on us.

This rich, layered & colourful novel was released in 2005, won some funny French award (prix millepages) & most notably was endorsed by Naipul as “ new and brilliantly original novel”. Coming from someone who barely acknowledges half the work being done in the English literary scene today, this is high praise indeed. Now, a little digression regarding my thoughts about the book before I embarked upon it. The past few years have been extremely distressing for me as a reader with me not quite enjoying a huge variety of celebrated & original authors like pamukh, rushdie, murakami, anne enright, to name a few. For someone whose lust for books is as endless as the tejpal’s narrator’s for his effervescent wife Fizz, this spells serious trouble. Just as TAOD begins with the deterioration & gradual demise of a once-upon-a-time passionate, life giving & defining relationship, I have also been beset by doubts, a vague undefined sadness & occasional bouts of self directed anger at my inability to appreciate such wonderful book which everyone else seems to be raving about. I had actually begun to imagine that I’d no longer come across a book that would make me want to mark passages, read out sections to someone close, stroke its spine lovingly like one would a lover’s back, or simply keep it close under the pillow as I slept. Don’t imagine this is neurotic for I have felt thus about umpteen books in the past. I don’t know how to explain this but there’s a gradual feeling of dilution, of being washed away, when one of the most defining loves of your life doesn’t grant u complete satisfaction. It casts doubts on ur selfhood, period. This is exactly what was happening to me as I trudged, over the years, from rushdie to pamukh to murakami & failed to scale the previous highs that I’d known in my affairs with mistry, roth, hardy, greene, updike, ishiguro, among others. And then, I discovered tejpal’s Alchemy.

It’s been a fortnight since I have read the novel & I keep longing to start it afresh knowing fully well I won’t. Nothing can measure up to the thrill of discovering an author novel (u will go on to enjoy immensely) for the first time. Any true bibliophile will tell you how disappointing it always is when u tackle the same book again, imagining in your mind the sudden discovery of several bits of treasure that u missed out the first time. Even when u do discover those treasures, they seem tawdry & trinket-like in the face of the original sea-chest u uncovered the 1st time u read the book. Such is the power of a great book.