Author: manuscrypts

  • Irascible

    In Nayantara Sahgal’s “This Time of Morning” (review later), there is an episode (p 247- 250) where one of the characters recollects the first time he had seen the British’s Divide and Rule policy in action, in the context of religion.

    To summarise, towards the end of 1919, a Swami Satyanand, who had a reputation for his protests and fiery speeches against the British, and was a hero figure in all communities, once began a speech on the steps of the Juma Mosque in Allahabad. He said he had chosen the location because he wanted to emphasise that the name of the faith didn’t matter. With the mullah standing behind him, he began to speak of the messages in the Bhagvad Gita as a rapt crowd listened. The policemen arrived suddenly, and even as the Swami kept saying that the police were ‘our’ brothers and the crowd should stand still, he was attacked, finally collapsing beneath the arch. The mullah wept as he was carried inside, and later, when he came out to announce that the swami was dead.

    The next day, the English dailies carried the news that the Swami had died at the Juma Mosque and insinuated that the Swami had deliberately tried to incite the Muslim community and had died as a result. It also chose to emphasise that mutual seclusion was the only way to peace among the communities, and this was what the government was trying to do. The regional dailies were warned against carrying the news at all. And though Muslims and Hindus joined the procession which ended with the Swami’s pyre being lit by the mullah, none of the dailies covered it.

    The book is a work of fiction though historical figures also play minor roles. But many incidents and scenarios are based on real events, and the above incident seems highly possible. It made me realise that the only perspective we can derive of the events that happened then are from newspaper reports and in some cases, journals/books written by people who lived then. But the latter is not so easy to find, and we mostly rely on the former.

    I read this book during the time that Mr.Sibal was making his infamous censorship statements, and the internet began its #outrage. (Yes, I did 2) The above episode gave me a glimpse of what the internet has achieved in terms of documenting data and what we, and the generations to follow, would be missing out, if censorship came to life. Thankfully, even George W Bush has said “You can’t put democracy and freedom back into a box” 🙂

    until next time, Jaise Har Ek Baat Pe Democracy Me Lagne Lag Gaya Ban 🙂

  • The Inheritance of Loss

    Kiran Desai

    With two main narratives set in Kalimpong and New York, Kiran Desai’s second book is an excellent read which can be viewed from many prisms – the effect of a contact with the ‘west’ on a person used to his Indian-ness, the mess we make of our relationships, our inner conflicts, the way we see ourselves and the reality we choose to accept for ourselves.

    One of the narratives is of Sai, a teen-aged orphan who comes to live with a grandfather who barely knew of her existence, but manages to uncharacteristically accept her presence in his life. The author manages to describe situations and behaviour as seen by her, in a very convincing manner, and I found that a very endearing characteristic of the book. Sai’s grandfather is a retired judge, who after his education in England, developed a contempt for everything Indian, and became a ‘stranger to himself’. His sole companion is Mutt, a dog for whom he has a great affection. The last resident of the household is the cook, whose existence revolves around his son, Biju, who he believes to be in a ‘very good job’ in America.

    The second narrative is of Biju – an illegal alien in New York, forced to move jobs, and live in the worst conditions possible, a far cry from the rosy picture his father imagines. He fights his own conflicts – from cooking beef to interacting with Pakistanis and has a yearning to go back home, where he feels, he can belong. In between, there is also a smaller narrative of the judge’s life before retirement.

    Kiran Desai has an amazing way words – from the way she describes routine household jobs to the view of Kanchenjunga and the mountain foliage, and most importantly, human feelings. She moves seamlessly between places, and even time, and shows a deep understanding of human emotions. Her prose is such that it somehow evokes vivid visuals, and characters you can identify with at a fundamental level. The best part is how she manages to keep the prose flexible enough to accommodate its view from the character involved.

    The book is still and dynamic at the same time, as though mirroring its characters, and it seems as though the author is trying to make a point of the importance of things we choose to disregard as mundane. It is about journeys and our notion of destinations.

    Mixing a backdrop of Gorkhaland militancy with hopeful teen infatuation and managing to convey the facile nature of how we view ourselves – through the main characters, as well as the lives and perceived realities of minor characters like Lola, Noni and Father Booty, and the desperation in them due to the events that surround them, this book seems seeped in misery and unacknowledged yearning, but still manages to give some vague notion of hope, as though there is a basic version of the self that connects all of us, and keeps us ticking.

  • A life less lived..

    Quite a while back, I remember writing about people who, despite their circumstances, continue to plod on through life, not giving up on it. I ended it with a quote from ‘The Hurt Locker’ by James ‘Everyone’s a coward about something.‘ I added that sometimes it’s life, and sometimes it’s death.

    I was reminded of this when I read about the Goa couple‘s suicide and another one closer home – a person I knew, if only for a few months – one which came as a rude shock. In the first case, Anand Ranthidevan and his wife Deepa took a very deliberate and seemingly well thought through decision to end their lives, planned down to the last detail. The label I’ve heard several times in conversations – real and virtual – is disturbed. I don’t subscribe to that, it’s probably the reaction from a society which just cannot accept that people without any troubles could really make a conscious decision to end their lives. I can actually identify with it because in conversations with friends, I’ve toyed with the idea of driving off a cliff at say 55-60, when a life has been lived fully.

    But just like the question in the earlier post – why people continued to plod on, I am interested in the flip side too. Why do people choose to end it? In situations where the individual is troubled by something – physical/emotional/under the influence of a drug, there is probably a point where he/she feels the problem cannot be solved, and chooses to end the journey.

    The Goa incident is different because the individuals were in their prime, at least in terms of age. When sports personalities, actors etc retire at the ‘right’ time, they sometimes use the ‘Why retire now vs Why don’t you retire now’ line. Can one think of life that dispassionately? Probably, if one knew what lay after, or if one didn’t care, or thought it wasn’t worth the effort. Or when one felt that one’s existence didn’t matter to anyone but the self. Or maybe there when there was no problem worth solving. What do you think?

    until next, life </span>

  • Dugout

    Dugout has been on our radar ever since we read about the buffet dinner. But it all came together only on a Sunday afternoon, despite it being located in our regular hangout area – Koramangala. On the Jyoti Nivas College Road, Dugout occupies the top 2 floors of the building that also has Oyster Bay on the ground floor. (map) The building has basement parking for most wheel combinations, and the parking lot next to Empire is nearby anyway.

    The restaurant is on the rooftop and the sports bar is on the floor below. The furniture is functional but we felt the ambiance could’ve been better – from the placement of tables to how the buffet was presented and even in terms of cleanliness. It probably looks much better during dinner time.

    The weekday buffet (lunch and dinner) is priced at over 300 and its weekend version, with live pasta, chaat counters etc, is priced roughly double of that. But we chickened out at the last minute and decided to go a la carte from this menu. The Cream of Chicken soup is not shown on the menu, but since it was part of the buffet, we asked for a /2. It required an extra helping of pepper, but was otherwise quite good. They did scrimp on the cream, but this was taken from the buffet spread, and that probably explains it.

     

    For the main course, we ordered a Diavola Pizza and a Creamy Tomato and Smoked Chicken Pasta (farfalle). The pasta was really good, and this time there was no stinginess on the cream. Despite the looks, the tomato flavour was subtle. In fact, it was a creamy spice (paprika?) that dominated. Awesome Indianised pasta. The pizza had chicken in the form of sausage, salami and pepperoni, though it seemed that the spicy tomato sauce mentioned had taken the Sunday off. But the thin crust, cheese and chicken did their job efficiently, so it turned out to be quite tasty, especially after we helped ourselves with the (diluted) Tabasco, HP sauce, chili flakes and the (doctored) olive oil.

    Since there were many dessert options in the neighbourhood, we skipped the desserts section. The service was quite helpful as they gave us a tour of the buffet and were quite prompt on delivering the order. All of the above cost us just over Rs.850. In all, this is a decent place to hang out, especially since there’s alcohol available too.

    Dugout, 77/A, Cygnus Chambers, 3rd Floor, JNC Road, Koramangala

  • Kochi Chronicles – Part 2

    ….continued from Part 1

    Much as Willingdon Island has remained unchanged, Cochin itself has a completely different story to tell. As I’ve mentioned before, each time I visit, I am presented with a new landmark and a demise of an older one which belonged to an earlier era.

    For lunch, we decided to go to a trusted old timer – Tandoor. At Chillies (1st Floor) they serve an excellent Andhra meal. It’d been a while since I tried the Chicken Biriyani, so I chose to have that while D and the other M hogged the meals. No meal in Tandoor is complete without their special Kadai Chicken, so we shared a half plate. Amazing as it has always been.

    Chillies hasn’t changed a bit though Tandoor downstairs keeps changing the decor. A dimly lit ambiance that somehow manages to freeze time. Helped by the huge photos from a long gone era. (the owner is related to the Travancore Sisters, so you can find many like these featuring them and MGR/Sivaji Ganesan)

    The plan for the afternoon was ‘Beautiful‘. A movie we missed in Bangalore. We watched it at Padma, one of the several ‘feminine’ theaters Cochin is famous for. Most of them have survived, though the multiplexes have begun their march. Beautiful lived up to its name, and I loved the way they have quietly, but wonderfully shot the city and Fort Kochi in the movie. The day before, the other M had asked us to note a house in Fort Kochi – the one that had been featured in the movie.

    In the evening, I met a friend whom I knew from Bangalore. K suggested the Cocoa Tree on MG Road, a place that has consistently ticked me off whenever I have visited, but is still a fave hangout for many in Cochin. She had moved to Cochin only a while back and I quizzed her on her first impressions. A city in transition, we both agreed, and something that reminded her of Bangalore a couple of decades ago.

    To me it was still a small ‘town’, where most people still knew most other people. I probably bored her, talking of old landmarks and routes to school, and how the skyline has changed since then. I told her that I’d never felt a Cochin culture, something I could sense strongly in Trivandrum, Kozhikode, Trichur etc. Cochin has always been Kerala’s big city, changing too fast to have crafted an identity beyond that. She showed me the photo of her house with an awesome balcony view. Once again, I began thinking of where my final home would be. Oh yes, it would be fun to walk the roads as an old man – to walk past the Public Library, where I have spent so many hours, the CISF grounds whose pitch has seen many of my ‘spin experiments’, the school and its surrounding areas which has seen me transition from walking to cycles to a motor vehicle, Foreshore Road, where a dimly lit university computer room hosted my first forays into the internet, and so many many others. But would they be the same? A thought that crossed my mind when I walked back home, seeing familiar faces that had grown older, same people, doing the same things, even as time passed by. A mirror of a different sort.

    Dinner was at Kahawa, the owners were the other M’s friends. A coffee shop+ with a distinct character. Hand painted wall art, a book lending mechanism ( a tie up with another of their friends) and reasonably decent food. They also have a section upstairs which is opened on days that Manchester United has a match on. Also available are group discounts and discounts for the Mayor on Foursquare. 🙂

     

        

    We tried the Mango Italian Soda, which could have done a better job with the fizz. The Choco Chiller was significantly better and so was the Mint Hot Chocolate.

     

    In the main course, K had recommended the mashed potato and Meat Sauce, but the Roast Pork was too tempting. But sadly, it just about passed muster, as did the Chicken a la Kiev. The best dish was the Grilled Fish with Mornay Sauce. Once again D was the one who got lucky! There were a few options for dessert, but nothing that we really fancied.

    Before we left for the airport, we stopped at Malabar Chips – banana chips for Bangalore. Familiar faces, though they didn’t recognise me. Except for one person. 🙂 I wondered if this was the idea of home – a place that you can come back to after several years and still be  recognised, a place that thus gives you a sense of belonging.

    As we passed the North Bridge, we saw the first signs of the Kochi Metro construction. There was a line that stayed with me long after ‘Beautiful’ – “Maturity is the loss of innocence” It probably is true of cities too, and I wondered if it was only incidental that there were huge hoardings of a TOI launch on Feb 1st.

    We detoured through the University, and though the place shows small signs of transformation every time I visit, there are parts of it that refuse to change. Islands in time. Places where I could stand and travel back in time, because the settings were the same, all I had to do was remember. But I had a flight to catch, and a journey to end.

    until next time, timed travel