William Dalrymple's Nine Lives

Author: William Dalrymple
Pages: 260
Genre: Travelogue


Nine Lives: in search of the sacred in modern India

One knows William Dalrymple as a highly accomplished writer of travelogues and historical non-fiction. Over the past two decades, the author in his passionate quest to understand and explore Indian society, culture and history has given us some very fine works like The White Mughals, The City Of Djinns and The Last Mughal. Even his other books, In Xanadu and From the Holy Mountain that plunge into the discovery of other continents and people, have been equally acclaimed. What comes through is Dalrymple's immense love for travel and culture, and all this he puts together with utmost care, evident in his impeccable writing style, elegant covers and pretty illustrations which he does in collaboration with his talented wife Olivia.

With Nine Lives that was published last year (2009), Dalrymple travels through the length and breadth of the country to find the last remnants of mystic India. Given that westerners have always imagined ours to be a land of sadhus and snake charmers, it would be easy to conclude that Nine Lives is perhaps primarily an attempt at selling exotica.
Then again, religion today is seen as such a dangerous entity and divisive force that Dalrymple's preoccupation with the 'religious' in modern India can itself seem as something of an indulgence.

I took up the book with all these doubts whirling around my head. But having read it, one has to say that Nine Lives proves to be a thoroughly immersive journey. And this isn't a book about India just for the curious western reader but for many of us living in the cities as well. In fact, each story here could make for an excellent documentary film.

The book looks into the lives of nine people, living at the farthest corners of religious ecstasy. It explores various cults and sects, their rituals and practices. Importantly, it tries to understand the essence of each of these faiths and how they continue to persist amidst the country's fast changing landscape. You are acquainted with the rigourous lives led by Jain monks, with their belief in complete renunciation through the first story, The Nun's Tale. The Red Fairy is both an enchanting and telling exploration into the world of Sufis
(of Sindh) and the wonderfully syncretic nature of their faith, surviving under the threat of Talibanised Islam. The Singer of Epics brings forth the world of Pabuji worshipers and the bhopas who have been singing the epic of Pabuji (replete with tales of heroism, honour and struggle) for centuries now. The chapter also extends its concerns to the disappearing form of oral tradition throughout the world.
The Dancer of Kannur tracks the unusual lives of 'Theyyam' performers in Kannur (Kerala), where they become God-incarnate -- possessed by the deity -- while performing at temples. But it is only for the duration of the theyyam season when they are respected and worshipped. Once it's done, these men go back to their low paying manual jobs for the rest of the year. Dalrymple punctuates this chapter with rich episodes from history, folk and mythology. And as is the case with all the stories in the book where the social context plays an important role in the formation of a faith, the 'theyyam' form was a reaction against Kerala's oppressive, and rigid cast system. Many of the theyyam stories mock the Brahmins and Nayyars and criticise them for the way they treat their fellow human beings. According the theyyam performers, their practice has brought about a great change in the way lower castes are perceived and now the atrocities, they say, have greatly reduced.

Among the other stories that equally captivate you include the 'Bauls from Bengal' - the mad men who dismiss societal conventions; the 'devdasis' - once a royal tradition, now fallen from grace; the idol makers of Chola tradition - who try not to get sexually aroused by the alluring goddesses which they create.

Dalrymple is a compassionate narrator who puts the stories of the respective individuals at the forefront, while he himself remains at the background. This not only inverts the travelogue form (where the focus is always on the narrator), it also adds an element of fictional interest in each of the stories. The author seldom asserts himself strongly or questions anyone's faith. But the irony is sharp and
self-evident in each of the episodes.

Most of the faiths followed by these men and women are a reaction to the unrelenting and rigid nature of mainstream society, which pushes to the fringes those who don't fall in line with its conventions. Which is why most of these faiths speak the language of acceptance, humanity and love.

The book also points at the winds of modernity that are threatening to wipe out many of these faiths. Most of these practices are hereditary and the new generation is not interested in following their parent's vocation.
Nine Lives is about mystical India - about transcendental religion and ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. If the book moves you deeply, it is because these traditions are in all likelihood the last living symbols of a bygone era that offered a more humane and profound understanding of religion – certainly a far more liberating one from the fundamental overtones it has assumed in the present day. Also, the idea of renunciation and the search of the eternal truth is perhaps felt strongest in today's times of mindless material pursuits in the backdrop of terror attacks and other calamities.

Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest and screen adaptation

Having a Wilde time!

Set amidst the artistocratic excess of the late Victorian era, The Importance of Being Earnest remains one of Ocsar Wilde's most popular and enduring plays. The play is about two characters who take on fictitious names to escape needless obligations in their society. Algernon (Algie) and Earnest Worthing are friends, with a penchant for the good life. Earnest is in love with Algie's cousin, Gwendolen, who in turn is controlled by her imposing mother, Lady Bracknell.

Meanwhile, Algie discovers that Earnest has a young ward called Cecily Cardew living in the country side. When cornered, Earnest reveals that his actual name is John Worthing and he has created a fictitious brother called Earnest - who he comes to meet in the town - so that he can enjoy his life in London, without compromosing his respectable image back home. Algie tells Earnest that he too has a fictitious friend called Bunbury, an invalid who Algie goes to visit in the country whenever he wishes to escape his aunt Lady Bracknell's boring parties.



Gwendolen loves Earnest more for his name than anything else, she insists. She wants to marry him but her mother puts her foot down when she learns that Earnest has no living parents and in fact, was found as a baby in a leather bag at a railway station. So unless Earnest produces at least one parent Lady Brackwell will hear nothing about the proposal.

Meanwhile, Algie lands up in the country as John's brother - Earnest-- and instantly falls for Cecily. But there are confusions galore, as both Gwendolen and Cecily are now in love with two different men called 'Earnest'
The plot can appear complicated, but it is a finely constructed comedy of manners, bristling with some of Wilde's most humorous quotes.



The play was adapted into a film in 1952 and later in 2002 by Oliver Parker, who also brought to screen Oscar Wilde's other play, An Ideal Husband. The Importance of Earnest has a wonderful cast comprising Rupert Everette, Colin Firth, Frances O'cConnor, Reese Witherspoon and Judi Dench. Parker makes very minor changes to the original, retaining all the famous lines - though the use of too many wise-cracks in quick succession appears a tad forced and stilted when you hear it in a film. Parker embellishes the film with a few extra scenes - like the strip club scenes - which is needless and makes the drama too literal. On the other hand, the scene where lady Bracknell grills Earnest at her mansion is very effective.

Among the performances, Reese Witherspoon shines as Cecily. But it's Judy Dench - as the domineering Lady Bracknell who chews up the screen each time she appears. It's a delight to watch her mouth some of Wilde's best written lines, tinged with delicious irony. When Earnest refuses permission for Cecily to marry Algy, until she turns 35, Lady Bracknell asserts her view with dead-pan smugness. "London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years."
The play is ultimately a light satire of Victorian ways and upper class foibles, and a comic masterpiece that is sure to delight generations to come. The film won't disappoint you either.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's One Amazing Thing

Author: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Pages: 224
Price: 450
Publishers: Hamish Hamilton (Peguin Imprint)

Expatriate writer Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, who is best known for her award-winning short story collection, Arranged Marriage and novels, Sister Of My Heart and The Mistress of Spices (adapted into a film, the Aishwarya Rai starrer) released her new book, One Amazing Thing recently. This was my first introduction to her work and while I mostly enjoyed the novel and found it a breezy read, I couldn't help feeling that the sum of the story wasn't at all greater than the parts.

One Amazing Thing is about a group of six-seven people of different nationalities who get trapped at the Indian consulate office in US after a major earthquake strikes. As food runs out and the building starts collapsing, the characters find the boundaries between them starting to crumble down, literally and otherwise. To keep sane and avoid panicking, one of the characters suggests to the others that each one of them should reveal one amazing thing that has happened to them. Among those trapped are an elderly white couple going through a difficult time in their marriage; an Indian-Muslim man, Tariq who is disillusioned and angry with the new US; a Chinese-Indian, Jiang, who loved and lost a man in her youth; her talented grand-daughter, Lily; a middle-aged army officer haunted by his guilt; Two visa officers – Malathi and her boss, Mangalam on the verge of an extra-marital affair; an India-American student, who is confused by her parents' decision to return to Kolkata after living in US for over 20 years.

As uncertainty builds over whether they will make it alive or not, the characters pour their hearts out in stories that seek to unburden them from a certain baggage of their past, and offer hope for the future. Divakurani sets the stage well and you are acquainted with atleast three of the characters before the earthquake strikes, so that later, their's are the stories you are most interested to know about. Among the rest, Jiang's story is easily the most affecting and haunting one. Her story dates back to the time when she was a smart, young Chinese girl living with her father and brother in Kolkata. In spite of her age, she handles her father's shoe business efficiently and it is at this juncture that love strikes. Jiang falls in love with a Hindu boy and there is stiff opposition when they plan to marry. They stay determined, but not for long. The Indo-China war of 1962 endangers the life of Chinese settlers in India and Jiang is hurriedly made to board a ship to the US, along with a family friend who offers to marry her. Jiang - the strong and steadfast woman that she is - continues to live her life, but not without the wistful regret of what she lost. Divakurani narrates the story with great feeling and vividness. Also, the story gives you a sense of history about the Chinese community in India, all of which adds to its appeal.

The other very entertaining story involves Malathi and her stint as a beautician in a top beauty salon. Malathi's tale is the most light-hearted one, intended to show her adventurous, brave side. She describes a rich socialite who visits their salon often, accompanied by her servant-girl. Things are perfect in the lady's life, until she suspects that her liberal-minded son has falled for the servant. All hell breaks lose then.

The other stories are a mixed bag. The visa officer's character intrigues you the most at the start, but his story --- about his impoverished background and later getting trapped in a loveless marriage with a rich heiress... all seems straight out of a Bollywood family drama. Tariq's story is again an all too familiar one --- an Indian-American, who has lived all his life in US, feels unfairly discriminated back against for being a Muslim post 9/11 and wonders if he must goto India. The other stories are readable, but nothing stays with you.

If one wouldn't have known that Divakurani has worked with refugees from Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and has seen from close quarters rita Hurricain hitting Housten (the place she resides in), causing a massive evacuation, one would have been surprised aboout her bringing in an earthquake situation out of all things.
And the Indian Consulate setting seems like a forced one to bring characters of diverse backgrounds together. Very early on, Divakaruni evokes The Cantebury tales, Chauser's celebrated epic about a group of pilgrims who narrate one story each. It's one thing for characters to narrate stories on a journey, but would they do so when they are waiting to be rescued from an earthquake affected area? The whole situation is a bit contrived.

The author's intend is to show the healing power of stories, how they empower us, how they redeem us. The stories by themselves are mostly engaging, but one is never wholly convinced about the situation they are caught into. The sense of urgency doesn't come across strongly and neither is there any plausible trigger point for the characters to narrate stories.

Individually though the stories are well-told. Divakurani is a perceptive author, who succeeds in keeping the narrative simple yet elegant. The language is graceful. Her similies and metaphors are original and interesting. "Moving to live where no one knew you, shucking off your wornout life like old snakeskin"

One Amazing Thing is certainly worth a read, though it might not leave you fully satisfied.

Monkey-man and interview with Usha K R

Author: Usha K. R
Pages: 259
Price: 299
Publishers: Penguin
Published in the year: 2010



After her stunning last book, A Girl And A River that won Usha K R the Vodafone Crossword Award, 2007, the author has just come out with her second book. Much like A Girl..., her new book, Monkey man is a pleasure to read ---rich as it in characterisation and situational drama. Usha demonstrates her love for her favourite author, Jane Austen in the manner in which she slowly goes about unraveling her numerous characters, presenting them with unmistakable irony and subtle humour. But where Usha perhaps resembles Austen less and George Eliot more is in her grim understanding of the human condition. A Girl... was both historically and socio-culturally rooted. In Monkey-man, the author attempts to portray the changing Indian urban scape at the turn of the century through the lives of different characters.

Usha bases her story in her own city, Bangalore - one whose complexion has drastically altered in the last two decades. From being a breezy city of gardens, a Pensioner's Paradise, Bangalore has gone on to become one of the country's leading IT hubs. Today, it's a highly commercialised city, one of the prime metros of the country with soaring real estate prices and crazy traffic, among other things.

Usha's choice of location for both A Girl.. and Monkey Man - Southern India - is welcome. For a change, it's not Delhi, Mumbai or Kolkata. Quite instantly, the world Usha creates feels fresh. Besides, Usha is acutely conscious of the socio-political landscape that her characters inhabit.

The novel is about four characters residing in Bangalore - they could of course be from anywhere in India. There is Shrinivas Moorthy, a senior professor, forever falling back on the virtues of Gandhian passivity, even as the world around him has changed in ways he cannot recogonise anymore. He stubbornly sticks to the tried and tested ways, looking with suspicion and unease at any new plan that his dynamic friend-turned-superior Jairam suggests.

Shrinivas's story covers a journey from 1960s to 2000. The fact that he is caught in a time wrap is accentuated through the contrasts brought out by the other characters. Jairam and his wife Geeta for example. All three of them start out as college friends, hanging around together, being part of intense political debates. Shrinivas is thrifty and somewhat timid, using his intellectualism in safe and secure ways – like the film club he runs. Jairam, the more volatile and charismatic one, goes through a brief period of intense political fevour during the Emergency days that threatens to derail his life. But luck favours him in the long run.

Many of the college scenes and fiery exchanges that Usha presents in this story are excellent. Even some of the minor characters she etches out are done with delicious irony...

“Preeti Vaidya, the English lecturer was a different kind altogether. Her husband was the head of a multinational company, whose photographs and pithy comment appeared almost every other day in the business section of the newspapers, and Preeti made it quite clear that she didn't need the job; her house did not run on her salary. She was there only for her love of English literature. Which didn't make her any less attentive to her entitlements of dearness allowance, and scale and seniority, but it edged her dealings with her colleagues with a mild condescension”

Shrinivas' character has its moments, but he seems too much of a metaphor in the end. He teaches history - literally to symbolize how he's turning ancient now. Somehow, this character didn't work entirely for me, but the scenes around him are well-crafted and the supporting characters in his story are all excellent.

The one real triumph with respect to character-creation is that of Neela Mary Gopalrao, the spiteful, but romance-yearning secretary to an influential man in a Government organisation. She treats her colleagues shabbily, creating new impediments for them everyday, withholding payments. Like Shrinivas, she is also a representative of the “old economy”, where a Government job implies complete security. Having struggled to reach where she does, Neela indulges in petty games, unable as she is to be productive in any true sense.

Neela is a highly original character and though, she isn't really a 'representative' of any section in any obvious sense, all the parts involving her are highly readable.

These are really the two characters that really stand out. The other two, Bali Brums – the hot-shot RJ and Pushpa Rani, who leaves a temporary Government job to work in a call centre – are both meant to be representatives of the emerging new generation, with new ideas about career and life. Bali Brams' arguments with his parents over not completing his engineering and taking up an unsteady job etc – are all a bit familiar. Pushpa Rani is an important character, in the sense she comes from a disadvantaged economic class, eager to prove her worth and improve her station in life. But even some of her portions involving her family appear a bit long-drawn.

So the big question? Why is the book called Monkey-man? This is an episode that happened in the year 2000, where people from all over the country reported seeing a strange monkey-like creature. Most of the above characters happen to see this 'monkey' and hence are called on Bali Brum's show.

Yet, the novel is not really about the Monkey-man incident. Even in real life when people were terrified about the creature, there was a cloud of suspicion on whether it is was for real or a figment of someone's imagination. Usha K R evokes the creature's shadowy, hazy and mythic image as a metaphor for the dramatic, overwhelming and grotesque transformation of the city.
This is an excellent fictional device, which sounds great on paper. But in the book, the connection seems somewhat forced, not born very organically from the stories. The sudden attack of the monkey taps into the inner-most fears and insecurities of the characters. But that feeling doesn't come across as effectively as it could have.
There is an uneasy stretch in the narrative for sure.

Again, Bangalore has grown exponentially since 2000, but that is obviously not covered in this book. This might disappoint those who expected the novel to be about present-day Bangalore. But otherwise, this is once again a solid effort from Usha. In fact, while her previous, A Girl... was grim and even heavy at places, albeit a wonderfully challenging read, Monkey-man is easier and more character-driven.
Usha's language is rich and fluent, without ever getting turgid or pretentious.
Go for it!

PS: It's a quick read. I myself read it twice in the span of one week.


Bangalore Bytes

Award-winning writer Usha K R uses the famous 'monkey-man' episode to symbolise the dark, grotesque and uncertain ways in which Bangalore has exploded as a metro in the last few decades



Bangalore-based author, Usha K R has been an accomplished writer of fiction for the last two decades, but her moment of reckoning came with her last novel, The Girl And A River which won her the prestigious Vodafone Crossword Award in 2007. Her latest book, Monkey-Man, about the denizens of Bangalore, has also opened to rave reviews.

The action in Usha's book dates back to 2001, where the 'monkey-man' episode was hot news. The rumour was that a dark, monkey-like creature had invaded the country. No one could tell exactly whether it was an animal or a human being, but everyone was struck with terror, as people reported to have been attacked by it. Usha uses the 'monkey-man' episode as a metaphor for our fear of the unknown - the dark, disorienting feeling it brought. From a breezy city of gardens, Bangalore has rapidly metamorphosed into a huge IT hub, with glitzy malls, happening pubs and crazy traffic. Usha takes different characters who have to deal with the city's dramatic transformation in small and big ways. Some of them see the changes as an opportunity to break free, while others struggle to keep up with it. In each case, the 'monkey-man' is a forewarning of the dark, shadowy and fearful space they seem to be entering into.


On what prompted her to use the 'monkey-man' metaphor?

Usha K R: One of the marvels of fiction is that it seems to suggest very plausible connections between things that are logically very remote - the connections can be slight or tentative and they grow in ways not imagined or foreseen by the writer. As I was thinking about the lives of my characters in this ‘exponentially growing’ world, and how little control they seemed to have over the changes that were creeping up on them, I wondered over the possibility of a completely random element that takes over our lives and destinies and forces them to a logical end, and whether this logic is dictated by our nature or the pattern of our lives. Next in line was whether cities have their own destinies, whether sudden and uncontrolled growth can spin off a miasma, a spectral presence, and in which case what would it be. Would it be emanation of wish-fulfillment, of desire or disappointment or death or of change for the better or none of these things? Through the lives of my characters I wanted to explore these connections.

On her characters

Usha K R: The novel is set against the background of the changes that have swept through the country in the last few decades - affecting different parts and different cities to a lesser or greater degree. And since Bangalore is the pin-up city for new India, I have used Bangalore as a template for these changes. You have Shrinivas Moorty, growing up with Marxist ideals, but who is completely out-of-sync with the new dispensation; Neela, who senses the changes but without the appropriate skills to deal with them, she can only fall back on guile - these two are what I call my ‘old economy’ characters. Then you have Bali Brums and Pushpa Rani, unburdened by the past, by caste and community, who grasp at the opportunities that the new age has provided and want to live life on their own terms. These people could be there in any city or town in India.

On her last book, A Girl And A River

Usha K R: A Girl and A River was a historical novel; Monkey-Man deals with contemporary events --- and the pace is much faster. If A Girl… was a marathon, this was a 100 metre dash, or rather - a T20 as against a test match, and each form has its own rhythm, its beauty and its compulsions. Actually, I started thinking about both these novels and making notes for them almost simultaneously. But A Girl … got written first. Much also depends on how the novel suggests itself to the writer in the first place.

On Indian Writing In English

Usha K R: If IWE has to acquire a wider readership, it has to spread its wings and go beyond literary fiction as it is doing now, and that is a good thing. Moreover, readers also want to read different kinds of writing - you want to read a thriller, and fluffy romance and a more serious ‘literary’ work, perhaps simultaneously. So, there is room for different kinds or writing and writers.

- Sandhya Iyer

The Age Of Innocence (classic on celluloid)

Of all that which could have been!

When director Martin Scorsese took up the task of adapting Edith Wharton's tender, romantic classic The Age of Innocence in 1993, many thought it a rather odd choice for the maker of such male-oriented films such as Raging Bull, Taxi Driver, The Last Temptation of Christ, Mean Streets among others. But according to the filmmaker this was his 'most violent film' referring to the emotional verses physical state of being.

Wharton wrote her novel in 1920, a good 40-50 years from the period in which The Age Of Innocence is set in. The author brings to life her own close-knit, upper-class New York society, with its conservatism, artificiality and stagnancy. It's a world where America's select elites wined and dined and outwardly lived a very charmed life. Here reputations had to be fiercely guarded and a single whisper could lead to slander and misfortune. And yet, it was an age Edith was nostalgic about and she brings out this sentiment through one of her characters --- "there was good in the old ways"
In fact, the very reason she chose to write the novel was because her sense of calm and security had been destroyed after the first world war. She needed the comfort of nostalgia. Many critics found it an irrelevant subject, but The Age Of Innocence was probably one last chance for Edith to live through the momories of her youth and bring alive a time that seemed lost forever.


Edith Wharton's story is then about a passionate, illicit affair that is born in such a circumstance. But the hold of this society on the individual is so strong, its roots so entrenched, its customs and codes so impenetrable, that passion is ultimately sacrificed at the altar of convention. When the story begins Archer Newland is soon to be engaged to May Welland - popularly understood to be a perfect young woman with unreproachable repute. This picture perfect world is challenged with the coming of May's European cousin, Ellen Olenska, an aesthetic and free-spirited woman who becomes the talk of the town. Her presence is a source of mingled contempt and envy for the denizens around. Her broken marriage to a Count and her 'fallen' status makes for spicy dinner table gossip. Archer gets attracted to Ellen as he finds something very real about her.
In complete contrast is his financee May - who becomes almost a metaphor for all the shallowness and silliness that he starts to hate about his society. But his affair with Ellen does not last and both decide to bow down to conventional wisdom. They silently continue to love each other, even while leading their individual lives. When an opportunity to meet each other arises after many years, both give it up because as Archer says "it is like a pilgrimage that had been attained"
Meeting each other seems immaterial now.

If Wharton's novel is a feast of words, Scorsese's adaptation is a feast of sumptuous visuals. The film - through its marvelous art design - captures the period to perfection. The succulent food spreads in the affluent homes, the elaborate décor, luxuriant drawing rooms, the exquisite glass wares.. all lend an unbelievable sense of grandness and authenticity to this period piece.

The film is also one of the most faithful adaptations of the novel. In fact, the director uses an elderly woman as the narrator of the story and this is implied to be Edith Wharton herself. One of the chief attractions of the novel is that its language perfectly matches the ornamental world it describes. The sentences are all delicately crafted, with many succinct observations.
"Clever liars give details, but the cleverest do not"
"In the rotation of crops, there was a recogonised season to sow wild oats, but they were not to be sown more than once"
I'm not sure if these were included in the film, but Scorsese makes sure to take some of the best dialogues from the book, and use it to maximum effect.

The theme of the novel largely points at absurdity of human life, being compelled into action that the mind does not agree with. The one issue I had with the film was the pairing of Daniel Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer. Though good actors, they have very little chemistry between them.
Winona Ryder, as the passive-aggressive May is good though.
The film never scales the emotional peaks of the book, but it remains a lush, beautiful and admirable effort nevertheless.

- Sandhya Iyer

The enduring charm of Pride And Prejudice

Why is it that Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice enjoys such a place of pride in the history of literary annals? The book has been re-imagined for the screen at least thrice, once as mini-series on BBC, which is still considered the most definitive adaptation of Austen’s classic. Yet, the fascination for it prevails and this eighteenth-century novel remains as one of the most widely read texts in the world.

So what is it that attracts filmmakers to keep revisiting Pride And Prejudice, as director Joe Wright last did with his Keira-Knightley film in 2005? Is it because Austen's heroine in the novel - with her pluck and wit - appeals as much to modern-day men and women as she did in her period?

Now, much has been made about Austen being a feminist and so on. Beyond the fact that the author liked and rewarded her heroines for being less superficial than the rest, it must be fairly stated that there was no real attempt on Austen's part to drastically break away from the prevailing conventions of her time. She was very much part of the patriarchal set-up and didn't really bother herself with the gender politics, though she was keen and discerning enough to understand that it existed. Her stories faintly hinted at injustice towards women, wherein they could not own property or pursue a real career, but she adapted to the time she lived in. If anything, she laid some stress on her female characters negotiating their space and freedom in their given circumstances.

One of the reasons that keeps this classic so fresh is that to this day a great premium is laid on matrimony and a woman finding the perfect match for herself. Also, the Darcy- Elizabeth love-hate relationship remains one of the most romantic happenings in literature. There is something curiously exciting and even gratifying about a man of pride, position, and privilege humbling himself before love and being so vulnerable to the emotion. This is precisely what readers across ages and generations have found so endearing about the debonair personality of M. Darcy.

The other reason for the novel to remain relavant is the character of Elizabeth (Lizzy), who in her own way, refuses to entirely comply with the conventions of her time. The pragmatism and cynicism of the age she lived in does not prevent her from being a romantic idealist. It is this quality that Darcy finds incredibly attractive. But as we know, Lizzy, for all her bright wit and exuberance, is charmingly naive. She makes an error of judgement with respect to Darcy, hating him with a passion, only to find herself in the wrong and then getting violently drawn to him.

Considering that the BBC mini-adaptation absolutely nailed the book, capturing every word and emotion to perfection, there was nothing really left for the next screen adaptation to do but approach it slightly differently. What Joe Wright and the makers do in the 2005 version of the film is to concentrate more on recreating the ambience, mood and visuals, rather than going too deeply into the characters or the story. The makers have gone with the assumption that most people already know about the story. Right from the first scene, where Keira Knightley, presented as the free-spirited Lizzy walks towards her home with a book in hand, the camera gorgeously moves capturing the pretty countryside in all its glory. The attempt is to bring alive the mood and magic as depicted in the Austen novel. The evening balls have been splendidly recreated and every setting is pitch perfect with a warm, lived-in feel to it.

Also, in spite of the film covering an entire novel in just a little over two hours, it manages to look not too hurried. If anything, it is a bit languorous and sometimes even audibly problematic. The characters seem to say some key sentences in an off hand way.



Yet, all the key scenes have been retained with some changes being made to make the experience more cinematic or impactful. Like for example, there is that scene where Lizzy and Mr And Mrs Collins are dining with Lady Catherine. The latter asks Lizzy some pointed questions in her patronizing way, to which Lizzy's answers are both witty and unflinching, much to the shock of Lady Catherine. In the book, Mr Darcy is not part of this scene. But in the film, he is. This is a good choice because it helps you understand in quick time why Darcy could have been enamoured with Lizzy. Also, this is a very well-done scene , with Judy Dench as the domineering Lady Catherine in full form.

Again, the famous proposal scene between the leads happens outdoors in the rain to heighten its impact. In fact, many scenes are shot outdoors to give the film a visually sumptuous feel. The other change that has been made is that when Lizzy visits Pemberley, she sees Darcy with his sister in an exaggerated joyful state. The original has Lizzy taken by surprise to see Darcy there, and both experience a rare moment of ecstasy. Like the novel says, “Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush.” This should have been ideally retained in the film.

Also, the character of Collins - the infamous cousin of the Bennet sisters - has been lampooned only by way of his shortness in the film. If not for his midget-like appearance, his face and manners carry the impression of him being a perfectly respectable and decent young man. Never does he really come across like the pompous and irritating man Austen intended him to be. Of course, he mouths all those funny lines in the proposal scene, but he comes across as more pitiable than ludicrous here.

The casting for Lizzy’s character was the most important one, but somehow Keira Knightley just doesn’t fit the bill. The makers probably wanted a today’s version of Elizabeth but what you get is a rather flighty, giggly female, with not an iota of the grace that is so essential to Lizzy’s character. The others are adequate. Matthew Macfadyen, as Darcy, looks odd at places keeping a stiff upper lip, but he also exudes a certain vulnerability which is charming.

Overall though, this is a fine adaptation. And must not be missed for its luminous visuals and stunning recreation of a bygone era.

Collected Short Stories Vol 1 Somerset Maugham

Pages:536
First Published in: 1951



There are some writers who once you sample their works, you cannot give up until you have covered a fair share of it. With Somerset Maugham, the challenge is both thrilling as well daunting. Thrilling because here is an author I am so happy I discovered and with whom I almost feel a kindred spirit - in terms of the themes he takes up and his so called cynicism - which is really not cynicism, but a certain astounding ability to discern human weaknesses. He's realistic about people, knowing well that human beings are inconsistent and complex. Also, he realizes that seemingly incongruous traits can exist in the same person. This prevents Maugham from either eulogizing a person too much or berating their depravity. According to Maugham, he could never judge anyone too harshly or be too shocked by sin, precisely because he was guilt-ridden about many things himself and understood only too well that perfection is a myth and that we all live extremely flawed lives. He said, “I take the goodness of the good for granted, and I am amused when I discover their defects or their vices. I am touched when I see the goodness of the wicked, and I am willing enough to shrug a tolerant shoulder at their wickedness.”

The above, in many ways, is the overarching theme of all his stories. The author gives voice to his own thoughts when one of his characters in The Fall of Edward Barnad says, "Perhaps we make too much of a difference between one man and another. Perhaps even the best of us are sinners and worst of us are saints"
His friend in the story is not willing to buy this argument and counters by saying, " You will never persuade me that white is black and black is white"
But almost every short story in this collection - and this quality applies to all the author's works in general - the writer points at the utter futility of catagorising people as good or bad, evil or virtuous. And to establish this truth, he puts his characters through all kinds of situations, delving deep into the recesses of their heart, acutely discerning their motives and the complex emotions that drive them.

There are about 30 stories in all, and each story is a wonder in character creation. And Maugham unfolds them with great relish, layer by layer – like the peeling of an onion. Many of them were written when he travelled far and wide – some of them were British colonies. Quite a few of the stories are based in London and are anecdotal . The Luncheon, Louise, The Promise, The Voice of the Turtle...all are delightful, and bristle with charm and ironic humour. There are some others which raise fundamental questions about religion, love and freedom.

As Maugham says in his book, The Summing Up, - themes came to him very easily. He could be talking to someone for an hour and he could envision a story revolving him. Such was the fecundity of his mind! Maugham’s characters are not entirely unusual, but they almost always have a quirk, which the author used to the fullest. He has a very fine sense of drama, so that you are always curious to know what happens next.
Mackintosh, for example, is a story that rests on his ability to sketch out the characters of the chief, Walter and his assistant, Mackintosh. The latter feels a strange mix of envy, hatred and derision for his boss. Walter is a loudmouth, a sadist, uncouth, but not without a roguish charm and a skill for repartee. He rules over the natives with an iron hand, but he also looks out for them like a tiger does for his cubs. Maugham is simply marvelous in his creation of these two persons.

Then there are other stories, where Maugham's skill with characters comes to the fore. The Mother is a poignant tale of a woman, who turns resentful and sullen after spending years in jail. Her only bundle of joy is her handsome son, whom she loves with a rare ferocity. But things go wrong again, and come to a tragic end.
The matriarch in Home is another gem of a creation. Equally enigmatic is the character of the laconic judge in The Happy Couple.

Maugham has written how he enjoyed the format of a short story, because he didn’t have to live with a story for too long. And yet, he believed that these stories no matter how small should be complete in themselves. He didn’t want any of them to trail off. This is partly a characteristic of Maugham’s writing – which is not only lucid, it never fails to make a point ever. This enables his stories to be engaging and dramatic. The flip side to this is that some of the endings to the stories appear too sudden and somewhat unconvincing . For example, in Rain – an otherwise powerful story about religion and its tyrannical propagators - it is never quite clear why the missionary Rev Davidson commits suicide. What are his motivations? The situation in the story and what you know of his character never lead you to believe what he does finally. Quite a few stories have an instance of a death or suicide at the end, but unfortunately, that decision at most times seems born out of the need for an ironic suggestion. You never quite understand why Mackintosh ends his life suddenly. Yes, human being are complex and contradict themselves often in action and words, yet, that can’t explain death/suicide so easily.

A few critics have also pointed towards racial undertones in a few of Maugham’s stories – one of them being The Pool. The story is about an English man, Lawson, an officer in the British colony of Apia. He falls in love with a beautiful native called Ethel and even marries her, much to the disapproval of the White community living there. But things don’t work as per his plans. He slowly loses his sway over the natives, has to bear the humiliation of working for a native owner. Seeing what a groveling lover he is, Ethel starts to despise him. The story ends with Lawson giving up his life, drowning himself in the Pool – the very place where he was first entranced by the native girl. If one has followed Maugham’s work keenly, one would be less inclined to read the story as a racial one. The theme is tied to the author’s belief in the idea that most women become heartless towards men who are unusually devoted to them and are willing to make any sacrifice. Maugham’s idea is that women will accept a man’s cruelty, but she can’t bear him being subservient. Of course, The Pool can be interpreted as a White man’s fascination for the exotic colonies he ruled over. The author could be suggesting that while it’s nice for the White man to admire the native land and its people, he must not allow their worlds to collide.

As expected, Maugham’s displays what a fine craftsman he is. The words are elegant and precise, with a wonderful sense for cadences - so that every now and then one feels like saying out a sentence aloud and relishing its ring. The delightful turn of phrases, the ironic wit, the keen insights – all ensure you don’t have a single dull moment with Maugham.

-Sandhya Iyer

The Moon And Sixpence

Author: Somerset Maugham
Pages: 215
Publishers: Vintage Classics
First published in the year: 1919


A Moon and Sixpence is a story that Maugham wrote inspired from post-impressionist painter Paul Gauguin's tumultuous life. There was a sense of notoriety around Gauguin because he left his regular job and deserted his wife and children just like that! He rejected European civilization calling it 'artificial and conventional' and moved to the island of Tahiti where he created paintings that went on to become masterpieces after his death.

He was drawn to primitivism as an art form and his paintings -- characterised by bold experimentation of colours and geometric designs -- changed the course of modern paintings and after his death, Gauguin became one of the most influential artists of his times. (his painting below)


Having only recently read Maugham's Ten Novels and Their Authors and The Painted Veil, I for many reasons felt he was combining the themes of both these books in A Moon And Sixpence. In Ten Novels.... Maugham describes with great fascination the life of famous authors and what went into the making of their classic novels. It is with the same sense of curiosity and ear for scandal that he approaches the life of Gauguin. The other important theme in the book - much like The Painted Veil – is marriage and entrapment. Maugham is decidedly cynical about the institution and every couple he describes in A Moon And Sixpence has a secret sorrow and is caught in a trap of undefined misery. This is a constant theme with most of Maugham's works where a marital union never really reaches fruition because one of the partners feels dissatisfied.

The first few pages of the novel are a bit difficult to get by,
as they are somewhat turgid. But once the story begins and takes a sharp turn with the disappearance of Charles Strickland (modelled on Gauguin), you are gripped by the narrative. His desertion of his comely wife and adorable kids is shocking to everyone who know him. The story is described by Maugham himself, who much like Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby is the sincere, wise but detached narrator-character in the book. He is not an active participant in the tumultuous lives of the people around him but he is a trusted confidante and each character reveals their innermost feelings to him.

The story takes you through Strickland's unconventional life – he is brusque, loutish, cruel and eccentric to a maniacal level. Having foregone his cushy life, he lives in the most wretched conditions, striving to paint and give vent to the artist in him. He borrows money constantly as if it wer his right. In spite of his brutal ways he still finds enough people to care for his undiscovered genius. One of them is the goofy Dirk Stroeve, an inferior painter, who can recogonise superior art. He provides home and shelter to Strickland when the latter takes violently ill. But his compassion means nothing to Strickland who makes no effort to resist Dirk's wife, Blanche when she falls for his roguish charm. What others think of him means nothing to Strickland and he doesn't bat an eyelid when Blanche dies.

His happiest and saddest days are in the gorgeous island of Tahiti – where he is somewhat at peace with himself. While everywhere else his behaviour is considered deviant, in Tahiti, odd balls are accepted for what they are since there are many around. Tahiti also brings a painful end to his life when he is struck by leprosy. The book says that Strickland created dazzlingly beautiful paintings on the walls of the house he lived in. But when he was about to die, he asked his wife, Ata (who he married there) to burn it all down.

It's hard to say how much of the novel is entirely based on Gauguin's life, and Maugham has said, he took the basic framework of the painter's life and worked around it. Maugham's book materialised when the author went to Tahiti and spoke to people about Gauguin.
As it stands, Strickland is so abominable, cruel and so wholly negative that it's a bit difficult to accept him as a real character. Also, his life prior to being a painter is never clear. Maugham could have at least given some indication of his artistic bent of mind but he's portrayed exactly as the opposite. His sudden transformation as an artiste is not convincing. Even Gauguin in his life as a stockbroker, is understood to have painted on and off, so it's surprising why Maughan could not incorporate that aspect into the story. This is a jarring point in the novel, one that threatens to ruin the experience of the book.

Yet, the novel offers an incisive, penetrating view into what possibly goes into the making of an artist, his unique temperament and his unrelenting search for inspiration. Still, Strickland cannot be a representative for all artists since Maugham's portrayal of him is deliberately sketchy and overly negative. It's like knowing only one part of a story.
Amidst the outrageous and tragic events that unfold, what keeps the narrative rooted and real is Maugham's sane, controlled presence. His vivid description of characters, his acuity in identifying their nature and compulsions, his ability to spell out universal human truths, makes the novel a compelling read.

The book, like most of Maugham's other works teems with quotable quotes. This is what he says of women and the perverse thrill they derive from suffering. "A women can forgive a man for teh harm he does her, but can never forgive him for the sacrifises he makes on her account"

On his inability to be angry with Strickland for too long, Maugham says, "It is one of the defects of my character that I cannot altogethr dislike anyone who make me laugh."

Apart from this, there are countless reflections on art and life - which are all profounding inspiring.

Shashi Tharoor's Bookless In Baghdad

Author: Shashi Tharoor
Year Of Publishing: 2005
Price: 325
Publishers: Penguin



Shashi Tharoor in his present role as Minister may have come under sharp attack for a variety of reasons. When he recently put himself up at a five star suite for months on end because the government bungalow was not ready, many thought it was unbecoming of a public representative. I felt the same. The intellectual elitism and the accompanying lifestyle that perfectly complimented him all these years while he worked for the United Nations started to stick out like a sore thumb in his new role.

However, what emerges clearly from reading Bookless In Baghdad is Tharoor's acute literary bent of mind. One is aware that he has constantly stolen time from his busy schedules to write all his books – most of which have won rave reviews. And Bookless... which is a rare and exceptional collection of his literary columns over the years, doubly confirms his deep passion for books. He himself mentions it more than a dozen times saying his literary pursuits are as important to him as his (erstwhile) role at the UN. He couldn't possibly give up or live without either. In any case a true literary enthusiast can be sniffed out only by another – that unique breed that can't pass a bookstore without entering it. The kind who are thrilled by a clever turn of phrase, or a refreshing epigram. That is certainly true of Tharoor.

Spread over 40 essays, Bookless In Baghdad offers Tharoor's excellent commentary on all matters literary. He talks about the authors he loves and dislikes, offering delightful anecdotes. He expounds on topics like literary criticism and reviewing patterns. Also, for those who have read his earlier books like Riot, Show Business and The Great Indian Novel, there's a great deal about them here, where Tharoor explains the themes he tried to tackle and even puts up a spirited defense for one of his books that was not well-reviewed in India.

One of the things to admire about Tharoor's writing, besides his immaculate language, is his ability to make a definite point at the end of every essay in the most lucid manner. And even if the book focusses on writing and books, it is underlined by Tharoor's serious concerns about society, culture and politics.

The author acquaints his readers with the utter joy he derived from reading books all through his childhood. He started very early. At 3 years he was reading Noddy and soon moved on to other stories by Enid Blyton. He says he preferred British books to American ones in his growing up days. “We had access to Bobbsey Twins and Hardy Boys, but there seemed to be something brash and spurious about them. British books, we were brought up to believe, set the real standard,”

The other great British passion for Tharoor is P G Wodehouse for whom his admiration and warmth brims over. He analyses Wodehouse's popularity in India when elsewhere in the English speaking world, he is no longer much read. Is it because of a lingering nostalgia for the Raj? Tharoor doesn't believe so. He says it is precisely the lack of politics in Wodehouse's writing, one based in an idyllic world...a never-never land with stock figures, almost theatrical archetypes that charms and attracts Indians to his books.

The other very interesting essay is his observations on R K Narayan. Tharoor does not hold back from expressing his utter disappointment with Narayan's prose, calling it 'flat and monotonous' among many other things.
“Some of my friends felt I was wrong to focus on language – a writerly concern - and lose sight of the stories, which in many ways had an appeal that transcended language. But my point was that such pedestrian writing diminished Narayan's stories, undermined the characters, trivialised their concerns.” he writes.

That is no malice in Tharoor's observations, merely candour and straight-talk.

There is an essay on Winston Churchill, where Tharoor calls him an 'overweening imperialist” whose fame primarily rests on his bombastic speeches – revisionists since then have called it 'sublime nonsense'
Then there is a sharp criticism of the late Nirad Chaudhari for his nauseating allegiance to the British, while looking down upon his own people.

Tharoor pays rich tribute to authors like Pablo Naruda, the Russian author Pushkin and V S Naipaul. But his most passionate and heart-felt essays are those about Salman Rushdie, who he respectfully addresses as “the head of my profession”
He expresses his deep anguish about the fatwa on the writer who he says revitalised and stretched the boundaries of the possible in Enligh literature. “Mention Rushdie, and some see a stirring symbol of the cause of freedom of expression in the face of intolerant dogma, others, particularly the Islamic word, find a blasphemous crusader for secularist social subversions. Neither image may be inaccurate, but reducing him to this emblematic figure has only served to obscure his true literary contribution”
He also regrets him being reduced to “a haunted symbol of Western literary freedom under assault from Oriental despotism”

From the 'illiterate' reader of America, to the French who know how to honour their literary geniuses, Tharoor offers a complete world-view of the literary scene.

But the most touching chapter is the title one, where he describes his visit to Baghdad and a book bazaar where a cornucopia of books were laid out for sale. Crippled with US sanctions and with their greatly diminished currency, many Iraqi families were selling off their precious books. Many things come to light in this chapter. For one, the Iraqis are a highly literate population and lovers of books. There is something very poignant about this essay, where Tharoor had gone as representative of the UN, but the book lover in him was clearly moved by what he saw.

The author's sharp wit comes in full force when he defends his second book, Show Business, which many believed was a comedown for him since it wasn't as ambitious as his first, The Great Indian Novel. Tharoor uses the opportunity to talk about reviews and critical assessment, all of which makes for great reading.

This is a must read for those who love books, authors and all things literary. There is a tremendous wealth of knowledge, insight and ideas here.

- Sandhya Iyer

Hanif Kureishi's Intimacy

Author: Hanif Kureishi
Year of Publishing: 1998
Pages: 155

Hanif Kureishi is known for his controversial, soul-baring and highly sexed up prose. The way Kureishi sees it, life is the proverbial Wasteland, everything is ‘fu*ked up and there is no way out.

Kureishi started out by writing pornography. He went on to write novels. His relatives and people close to him constantly complained how personal details of their life cropped up in his stark novels. His book, Intimacy was especially embroiled in controversy, because it was intensely personal and the events that happen in the book are supposedly what Kureishi went through himself.

Intimacy is about a man on the verge of leaving his wife of ten years and two adorable sons. His idea is to slink away quietly in the darkness of the night and never come back. In the very first page, the protagonist (Jay) makes his intentions clear. The whole book is in fact a long emotional outpouring of male angst and the unbearable loneliness and emptiness that has crept into his marriage and life. Jay's emotional response is to bid goodbye to this meaningless existence where he feels claustrophobic, unloved. His wife Susan, by Jay's own assessment is a dexterous woman, who can cope well with things. Her range of feeling is narrow and hence she can keep things simple. Like most busy mothers, robust practicality overrides other concerns for Susan and her toughened stance on daily matters stands in contrast with the protagonist’s lax, carefree, desultory mind that wants to escape the grind of domesticity and its accompanying rigours.

There are deeply affecting thoughts and incisive enquiry into the human heart with passages such as these, "Susan often accuses me of lack of application. It was what my teachers said, that I didn't concentrate. But I was concentrating. I believe the mind is always conentrating - on something that interests it. Skirts and jokes and cricket and pop, in my case. Despite ourselves, we know what we like, and our errors and distracted excursions are illuminations. Perhaps only the unsought is worthwhile..."

In most of the book, the protagonist is making a case for why he should leave his marriage. His cynical mind argues the futility of a social bond in which no love exists any more. The thought of his sons holds him back, but he convinces himself that they will be fine.
He compares his life with two of his friends, Alex – a committed married man, who has learnt to live with the occasional unhappiness in his domestic life. He’s proud that he’s sticking by one woman and advices Jay to do the same.
At the other end of the spectrum is his friend Victor, who has left his wife and is currently enjoying his promiscuous life as a bachelor.
Jay's mind is also occupied with thoughts of Nina, an attractive, young girl who he has been dating. But now he doesn't know where he stands with her either.

The author Hanif Kureishi has been a student of philosophy in London and expectedly he takes the opportunity to dwell on the institution of marriage and how ultimately it becomes an entrapment, extracting a heavy price through the denial of personal hope and dreams.

Kureishi is most assuredly cynical about his marriage and the institution in general, but he's also conscious of the larger human condition where loneliness is inevitable. Even if he were to leave his wife, would the love he finds outside last at all? "Suppose it is like an illness that you give to everyone you meet," he asks.

The book teems with quotes on marriage, desire and life in general. Talking about his parents' relationship, the protagonist says, "Both he and mother were frustrated, neither being able to find a way to get what they wanted, whatever that was. Nevertheless they were loyal and faithful to one another. Disloyal and unfaithful to themselves."

His protagonist's act is clearly irresponsible, but there is a touch of poignancy in his need to be accepted and loved. He says he will not leave, if only his wife were to touch him in bed tonight and make him feel wanted.

Writers always express best that which is close to their heart. Intimacy could only have been written by a man who felt all those emotions and who lived through a period of moral, social and personal dilemma.
At less than 150 pages, the book is an intimate and personal exploration into a man's mind, torn between conflicting feelings. The book was possibly written at one go in a stream -of-consciousness narrative, wherein thoughts travel back and forth in time.
The book puts forth questions but attempts to provide no real answers. It's one person's point of view from a singular prism, which means it eschews the larger issues in marriage. This book confirms your worst fears about marital bonds but there is no larger exploration of the institution in today's context.

Men might relate to the book more, most women will despise it. Intimacy is like reading only one half of a more complicated story. But for what it is, the novella gives you a penetrating, insightful view into the male psyche and to that extent, it is a worthy read.

PS: The book was adapted into a film by Patrice Chereau, titled, Intimacy

Two States - The story of my marriage

Knotty affairs

Author: Chetan Bhagat
Price: Rs 99
Year of Publishing: 2009
Publishers: Rupa
Pages: 269

Like all his last three works, Five Point Someone, One Night @ A Call Centre and 3 Mistakes of My Life, his latest, 2 States - The Story Of My Marriage, also leaves you with mixed feelings.

Chetan Bhagat's simple theme, rooted in middle class sensibilities and the ordinariness of life will once again appeal to his fans --- a sizeable class of emerging mid-brow readers. But let's be clear that it is the author's funny bone that saves the day for him again. His nonchalant wit gives a point to his observations and lends a perky liveliness to an otherwise not-so-great book.

Even if one were to lower the literary bar considerably, it's hard to ignore the numerous banal and trite elements here. Chetan's construction of dialogues at many places (especially involving women) is cringe-worthy, as are many of the situational turns that he introduces in the book. His sense of drama comes straight out of trashy Bollywood potboilers. Some scenes are so hackneyed and over-the-top, it could make Ekta Kapoor seem restrained! Chetan actually has a dowry scene where a bride's father keeps his pagdi at the in-laws' feet. In any case, the story has a Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge flavour to it. But since this is partly an autobiographical story, we'll give that to him. It's derived from Chetan's own experiences when he married his wife, Anusha (pic below).

2 States begins where Five Point Someone ends. After his (mis) adventures at the IIT – where he loves and loses the professor’s daughter – Krish goes to IIMA to pursue his management studies. He falls in love with Ananya, a bright Tamilian Brahmin girl, who seems on a rampage to break every shackle imposed by her conservative upbringing.
She drinks once in a while, has no qualms with pre marital sex or even living in with Krish. But once marriage plans come into the equation, both realise they have an arduous task before them.
Krish’s Punjabi mother won’t let "some Madrasis" trap her son, (the Tamilians are referred as ‘those black people’ by various North Indian characters a douzen times! There’s no malise in Chetan’s description, but it does start to jar after a point), while Ananya’s parents are stuck up on their Tam Bram 'we are so educated and cultured' credentials. How both sides eventually come around and accept the match is what 2 States is all about.

The story is clearly dated, because, the events are inspired from Chetan’s own love story and this was a decade ago! Much like in Five Point Someone, the tackling of the campus romance between Krish and Ananya is pedestrian here too. The exchanges are drab and the female character, in particular, behaves with a strange aggressiveness that is altogether unappealing. There are a few snatches of humour here and there, but not enough for you to be reassured about the rest of the pages ahead.

But in a pleasant surprise, the book comes into its own when Krish applies and gets a job in Chennai. Suddenly, he’s thrown into a new place and has to use his time and charm to get to know Ananya’s parents and make them like him. Chetan’s humour gets unleashed in full force, as he talks about various aspects about Tamilians he finds puzzling. He finds it curious how everyone here wants to be up at the break of dawn. He notices their sparse, functional homes – contrasting with the obscenely lavish and ostentatious homes of the Punjabis. He refers to the Tamil snacks as ‘spirals’, observes the funeral-like silence when they have their lunch or dinner. In the description of his boss - Bala, Chetan sharply brings out the propensity for sycophancy found among people of the community. But he also sensibly subverts this aspect with the character of Ananya’s father, who grudges the fact that his work doesn’t get him the appreciation he deserves, because he does not speak up. Chetan alludes here to the excessive sense of decorum and protocol ingrained in many South Indians.
The author’s penchant for humour makes these portions immensely readable and to his credit, even though he points at several of the community's idiosyncrasies, it’s done out of a genuine feeling of bemusement rather than to poke fun.
In fact, the author is far more brutal with his description of the Punjabis – with their love for showing off, their lack of subtly, their pretentious living.

When it comes to observations of these two communities, Chetan displays his natural flair as a writer. However, his characterization and plot development are less than impressive. The parts where Krish tries to win over Ananya’s parents are interesting, but it spirals downwards when the girl comes visiting Delhi and stays in his house. This is the weakest section of the book. Then the whole chapter where both sets of parents meet at Goa is downright bizarre. Also, some of the exchanges between the parents are so rude and direct, it’s a little hard to believe that people would converse this way in real life.

The book bounces back in the final section, where Krish goes though a depression and in an unexpected turn of events, things falls in place. The part where Krish's boisterous extended family come to attend his wedding in Chennai and are shocked that they have to be ready by six in the morning for the rituals is genuinely funny. "Is this a marriage or torture?" someone asks.

The biggest plus for the book is the choice of narrator – which happens to be Chetan himself as Krish. He comes across as level-headed, sharp-witted and genuinely nice so that even when the action starts to slacken, you remain interested in the twists and turns of his life.

Finally, as I mentioned, it’s 50-50 deal. Lots of laughs and light moments, but enough that is puerile and commonplace as well.
So where does one place this one among his earlier works? This too has many of the weaknesses of the other books, but it's probably more palatable than his last two works in terms of plot, because this is a straight-forward, episodic book.
It’s quick to read, which should mean something at a time when people run out of patience and time so quickly. And yes, full marks for the humour.
- Sandhya Iyer

Megastar - Chiranjeevi and Telugu Cinema after N T Rama Rao

Author: S V Srinivas
Pages: 240

Price: 695

Publishers: Oxford

Film studies, as an area of interest to many of us, is not really a well-explored field in India. In spite of the fact that the country produces the largest number of films in the world, the various critical aspects vis a vis, its changing forms, trends, socio-cultural impact have rarely been written about at any great length academically.
Which is why, one ought to welcome any book that attempts to understand cinema in its larger context. S. V Srinivas chooses an extremely interesting, relevant and hitherto unexplored aspect of southern cinema - the mass film, the fan culture and its intimacy to politics.

It's intriguing how every big politician in the South - from N T Rama Rao to M G R from Jayalalitha to Rajkumar in Karnataka to now Chiranjeevi have played a definite role in mass mobilisation achieved through their screen images. This is the overarching theme of Srinivas' book and he goes about explaining this complex phenomenon by understanding the role of fan clubs, the mass film movement and the various elements facilitating the genre to achieve this.
What is unfortunate though is that even though the book delves into an interesting area of study, it does so in a drab, academic fashion.
It requires the reader to summon up a great level of concentration and patience to actually get by this. It's jargon-heavy, technical and approached with a tone of high seriousness, that sucks out a lot of the fun in reading it.
Also, the book tends to give you important pointers about various aspects of the subject, but there's also a certain lack of focus, which means there is too much repetition and you don't get an adequate sense of what the author intends to say finally.
Yet, for a book that solely focuses on Telugu cinema and its socio-political impact, it's obvious there will be a good deal of observations and insights about the industry in it. The author does not explain why such mass adulation is mostly a South phenomenon. My own understanding is that regional cinema is developed in the Southern states more than any other part of the country. The influence of Bollywood is limited here, unlike in other states.
Screen idols, I would imagine, are always born out of a certain sense of identification that the audience feels with the actor - the son of the soil factor. Thereby this sense of intimacy and bonding with a star is achievable only in the regional context mostly. The rare exception to this rule in Hindi is Amitabh Bachchan, but otherwise, the appeal of celebrities has been restricted to adding glamour to political campaigns.
This aspect is not really explored in the book, but Srinivas does point at a peculiar aspect of how a fan looks at his idol - his affinity to the star could be based on class/caste (though most fan clubs deny this!) which is where the question of identification comes in. So the star is viewed as “one among them - but also someone who is superior to them”, as he's blessed with special abilities. Another aspect about fans is their sense of “entailment” wherein they have definite expectations from the star and his films. This often led to what the author calls as a 'blockage” for the star-actor who could not explore new forms of narratives. For one, he could not die on screen at all!

The books speaks a great deal about the prevailing “mass film” and how it is structured entirely around the superstar to evoke a response from its target audience. The author says the “foundationally populist” nature of this cinema ensures that the narrative moves ahead according to the audiences' expectations. Using various films of Chiranjeevi, the author delves into different factors that go into making a mass film. Most of the actors earlier films, he says, established him as a subaltern, threating the prevailing feudal order. This phase also saw the rise of the 'rowdy' in the mass film, where “the ordinariness (of character) and distinction (of star) are intertwined.” Using the example of films like Gharana Mogudu (Mannan in Tamil and Laadla in Hindi), the author analyses the inherent politics of these films and the conflicts they seek to resolve. The subaltern taming the haughty, upper class heroine and so on.
(Interestingly, I noticed Hindi cinema's definite influence on Southern films and vice versa. I got to understand that Chiranjeevi is called 'Vijay' in some of his films in the 80s– Bachchan's screen name in maximum films. Similarly, the whole feudal culture/ authoritative patriarch figure seen in Hindi is mostly derived from the South films).

The author also talks at length about one of Chiranjeevi's most controversial film, Alluda Majaka, that came under a lot of flak for having several obscene sequences. Srinivas first delves into what constitutes obscenity and concludes how it “exists because it recogonises our worst fears” --- in the sense that someone else is enjoying what is so obviously offensive and embarrassing to a particular class of people. He also adds that a lot of the masses who enjoyed the obscenity did so because they saw nothing in it to hurt their sensibilities. The film was also important for the mass mobilisation it brought about. When several organisations asked for the film to be banned, the actor's fan associations organised themselves for the first time to aggressively stand up for him.

Alluda Majaka, and the events around it set the stage for Chiranjeevi's future moves in politics. The actor's career plummeted in the mid-90s, and when he came back with his film Hitler, he had also changed his image. What you had now was the tragic, authoritative figure of the patriarch, who resolved not just familial issues but also those concerning the state. Many of the actor's films around this time, says the author, addressed a mass of people within the film itself.

The book touches upon a great many points and these are divided into many more sub heads. The authorial voice does not guide you well enough through the complex tapestry of themes that are brought forth. The language is excellent though academic and goes about its business in a matter-of-fact manner. For a book on cinema and mass films, one could have done with more anecdotes and preferably a racy style of writing.
-Sandhya Iyer

'He's Just Not THAT Into You'

I happened to read this while casually browsing at a book store, and found it uproariously funny.

It's typically about women's love problems (there are always so many of them no) answered in the most atypical, and succinct manner by two people called Greg Behrendt (he's the deal here!) and Liz Tuccillo. You have women coming up with all kinds of questions relating to men whom they are interested in and Greg answers it with characteristic sauciness and wit. So a woman asks, “I've been overweight lately, so my BF tends to ignore, ill-treat me... What should I do?” So the answer reads, “Girl, the only weight you need to get rid of is that 150 pounds of lump staying with you” or something to that effect.

Yet, too much of brutal honestly does not work, especially if you are pinning hopes on a guy to reciprocate, because this book dissuades all such women. Greg's take is that any man who wants a woman badly will never let her down. He won't do the disappearing act, he won't miss her calls, he won't ignore her, he will introduce her to his friend....all that and more. So a guy who defaults in any of this is simply not THAT into you.

He is merciless with some of the questions and rips apart any illusions you may have of your man...sometimes taking it too far. This could be a problem, because obviously there aren't any perfect guys out there. But the book believes they exist!

It's a wicked, fun read, even if it makes the women look quite desperate and silly. One of the females even asks Greg with some irritation why he didn't consider writing a similar book titled, 'She's just not that into you' that would make the men seem equally foolish.
But Greg rules out any suggestion of chauvinism by saying such a book for men wouldn't sell even 8 copies. Not because men don't fall as violently in love or don't go through heartbreaks. But simply because men have other ways of dealing with love failures. They'd simply hit the bar, he says.

Rohinton Mistry's Tales From Firozsha Baag

Author: Rohinton Mistry
Published in : 1987
Pages: 303

Neighbourhood nuggets

This was my first introduction to an author who made it to the elite club of NRI writers in the 80s--- all of whom made a definite impression in the world of literature and gave Indian Writing in English the prestige it enjoys today.
Rohinton Mistry is primarily known for two of his works, Such a Long Journey and Family Matters. Yet, I'm glad I was introduced to his writing with Tales From Firozsha Baag - a book of short stories where Mistry recounts life in a middle class Parsi colony in Bombay in the 80s. Reading it makes you believe many of these experiences are the author's own childhood memories, as many of the stories relate to young boys and their growing up days. The author describes inhabitants of Firozsha Baag in splendid details, letting us into their various quirks and living patterns.

There are eleven stories in the book, each one highlights one character or a family in the colony, but essentially all the stories are intertwined. So most of them make a passing appearance in every story. This is precisely what lends a lot of charm and uniqueness to the book. There is such a lived-in feeling about the setting that you almost get the wafting smell the fish fry that is cooked in these homes.

The author does not spend too much time with any character or any one particular story, so as a reader you are not really invested in any one person. In that sense, the book is episodic, offering a slice of life. In this Bombay apartment, there are several colourful characters – and many of the anecdotes and incidents that the author narrates would be familiar to anyone who has lived in a co-operative society.

So in the first chapter, Auspicious Occasion, you are acquainted with the cranky, supercilious Rustamji, who won’t relent to contribute for the painting of the building. The chairman Nariman Hansotia decides to teach him a lesson by getting the workers to paint the rest of the building, leaving out the exterior of Rustamji’s flat alone.

One Sunday introduces you to other occupants of the colony. One of them is Najamai, who is the sole owner of a refrigerator in the colony. Another fine story is The Collectors, that describes the reclusive, shy Jahangir who would rather sit alone with his books on the steps than join the colony’s rowdy boys gang headed by the notorious Pesi. Mistry describes Pesi’s character with great flair and irony.

Another very interesting story is Squatter that talks about a boy from the colony, who goes to Canada and dreams of becoming a foreign citizen in every sense. Except that there is one small problem. He finds it impossible to perform his ablutions in the western manner in a commode. He has to squat on it, treating it like an Indian toilet, which frustrates him no end. It’s funny yet a poignant story of a man who cannot leave behind the baggage of who he really is. The author does not hesitate from sharing extremely intimate details or habits of his characters. And he has a definite penchant for scatological humour, as can be observed from many of the stories.

Exercises is about Jahangir and how he gets caught between the love for a girl in his college and his parent’s objection to the match (for no apparent reason as such).

Rohinton Mistry not only excels in giving the reader a perfect sense of the place and its characters, he describes them pithily with language that is accessible yet immensely rich. Take for example, these lines in Exercises, where he describes Jahangir’s situation at home over the girl he is dating.
“Dinner passed without any real unpleasantry. But not for many nights after that. The dinner-table talk grew sharper as the days passed. At first words were chosen carefully in an effort to preserve a semblance of democratic discussion. Soon, however, the tensions outgrew all such efforts, and a nightly routine of debilitating sarcasm established itself.”

Most of the stories give an acute sense of the increasing gap between the old and the emerging new world. That is essentially the theme of the book. As the younger generation grows older, seeks greener pastures, you see the established order being eroded slowly, thereby causing confusion and conflict. Jahangir’s parents are upset when he chooses his own partner. This is less to do with the girl and more to do with the older generation’s puzzlement over their children charting their own paths. Bombay itself becomes a character in the book, because the city has always struggled to keep its identity and old world charm alive amidst pursuit for progress. Not to forget, Bombay is home to the largest number of Parsis in the world!

All of the author’s stories are about the nostalgia associated with the past and the celebration of the future. Many of the piquant observations of on quotidian life and characters make Tales From Firozsha Baag a highly enjoyable read.

-Sandhya Iyer