Author: manuscrypts

  • Tales From Firozsha Baag

    Rohinton Mistry

    A literally crappy beginning does make you wonder how this book is going to play out, but in a few pages, you understand this was only literally. However, what it also points out is the author’s ability to make the mundane very interesting. Eleven intertwined stories that create a vivid world whose unique characters the reader is able to identify and relate to, though they might be far different from the self or those around.

    A theme that I felt was running strong through all the stories was one of identity – at both collective and individual levels. There is obviously the Parsi way of life, and their interactions with the world at large. Without really resorting to stereotypes or tropes, the author is able to bring out the way of life and the struggle between its past and future through various characters, and their relationships and interactions. At an individual level, for example, Jaakaylee who was Jacqueline identifies herself as the former after 49 years of working among Parsis who called her that. Many stories bring out the tussle between generations as children grow up and understand the need for changes in their way of thinking and living if they are to survive in the world, even as parents cling on to traditions and cannot understand the need for change. The author uses Kersi’s character at both the personal and collective levels to show how life shifts with time.

    Two of my favourite stories are “Of white hairs and cricket” and “Lend me your light”. Both star Kersi and are points in his life that make him realise how the world he inhabits is constantly shifting, and he cannot always hold on to the things he thought were eternal. The last paragraph in the first story is something I could wholly relate to – when one feels precious things slipping through fingers and is powerless to stop it. I think anyone who has had to leave a place they considered home will be able to relate to the second story – the array of mixed feelings when one has to leave, when one has to visit even for a short time, and the idea of being a stranger in one’s own home.

    There is an excellent skill of observation that has been put to good use in all the stories, and a remarkable sensitivity that is evident in the writing. The writing technique somehow feels rich even when writing about the ordinary days of a life, and somehow, despite that, or maybe because of it, one feels that these are people one might actually know already.

  • A plan to be

    One of my first posts this year was Certain, simple frames, in which I had written about my lapse-of-reason episodes, and my methods of overcoming them. I had also mentioned in the post the insight I got about myself – the lapses of reason were triggered by my fear of it upsetting the plan. The Plan is financial freedom for D and me – we shouldn’t have to work for the sake of earning for current or future needs and wants.

    In this context,  I found a quote by Ramit Sethi that succinctly conveyed a perspective that I have touched upon in at least a couple of my posts – Prisons of Happiness (conscious choices of freedom and understanding the trade offs) and Please Find Detached (on delaying stimuli and minimising lifestyle creep) – a rather distinct definition of frugality.

    quote-frugality-quite-simply-is-about-choosing-the-things-you-love-enough-to-spend-extravagantly-ramit-sethi-64-20-74

    I have been doing this for a while, but the catch, as I have experienced, is in “choosing the things you love enough”, and it exists because of the intent behind that ‘love’. The usage of the word “love” is important. In my view, it is used to distinguish the things that one really wants.

    But it is difficult to be objective about one really wants. Paradoxically, at different points, the intent could be a desire to belong, or a desire to stand out. A fundamental human need to connect and share that drives the first. A basic ego stokes the second. A desired destination here could be a kind of “reflective equilibrium”. Easier said than done!

    The ego first derives from societal benchmarks, the projected self, and then self image. Getting beyond the last one is extremely tough. And if one does get close, there is an immediate realisation that there are no markers, no play books, no goals. There is no unseeing this either. “And once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally. ”All very difficult to get used to, especially when the mind continues to ask, “Is it going to be ok?”

    To quote Bill Bonner, “There’s the standard of living, which can be measured in dollars, and there’s the quality of your life, which can’t be measured at all.” The Plan is built on financials, and is therefore aimed at tackling the first part. The second is indeed an intangible, and speaks probably of a contentment that comes from being comfortable with one’s decisions. That’s why the plan is also an attempt to iron out the terms of one’s interaction with the world, and just be. The hope then, is that belonging will take care of itself because one is actively pursuing the wants that really matter, without money having a real say in it. The desire to stand out? Well, it will be forced to sit out!

  • The Old Fashioned Bar

    I have now figured out the right time to travel cross-country in Bangalore – long weekends. So when it was clear that shopping would take us to Koramangala – shopping the good old fashioned way that is – we decided to mix it with our other favourite pastime – eating (and drinking) out. Choosing a place in Koramangala, especially when the number of restaurants in the neighbourhood is inching closer to the number of people living there, wasn’t an easy task. But I liked the name ‘Old Fashioned” and a quick look at the food menu gave me enough choices to suggest it to D.

    It was only on the way that she informed me that they had more than a dozen kinds of Old Fashioned – my favourite drink! She also had her eye on a special Christmas menu they had. They have a typical old-school pub set up – plush seating, dim lights – and unfortunately, a hat tip to current times in the form of a giant screen. I know, I sound old! 😐

    The place has two floors but the upper one would only open at 9, we were told. Towards the end of our visit, we did go upstairs to use the restroom. A few tables were occupied, and it was hardly 7.30! We did get a nice, small table overlooking the road though. Meanwhile, D was miffed because the staff seemed unaware of the Christmas menu (which was on Zomato!) Thankfully, the menu had enough options for us to still make a good meal out of it.

    After much deliberation, I chose the 1881 Old Fashioned. D’s original choice – Buttercups – wasn’t available, so she went into Hulk mode and asked for a Gin Basil Smash. D had told me that the 1881 was the strongest Old Fashioned they had, but my first drink was fairly mild. The second one (thanks to a Zomato Gold 2+2 on drinks) however was strong. D’s drink had lime juice in addition to the obvious ingredients and packed a punch.

    (more…)

  • Never Let Me Go

    Kazuo Ishiguro

    This is only the second Kazuo Ishiguro book I am reading. But I found at least a few parallels from The Remains of the Day. For starters, both books left me incredibly sad. Some of it is for the plight of the characters, and some of it is do with the other commonality in both the books – the awareness of what could have been. Another thing I noticed is how the principal characters of both books develop a different perspective when they drive through the English countryside.

    Barring this, the books are quite different. (mild #spoilers ahead) This one is set in quite a dystopian future – humans are cloned for organ harvesting, raised in environments that don’t allow a lot of interaction with the outside world, not really made aware of their future, and are not even considered to be real humans capable of feelings and emotions. The focus of the book, though, is on three characters , their relationship with each other, and the world around them.

    It doesn’t really start off with a lot of intensity. The beginning, though it alternates between different phases in the narrator’s life, has a very Malory Towers feel to it (I thought) with different teachers (guardians), the institution and its myths and norms, and the relationship between them and the students, and between the students themselves with their friendships and rivalries. But even that early, one can catch the difference – a clear one being the exhibitions and the “gallery”, both of which are a forum for the students’ creative expression – and this does turn out to be an important theme in the book. The book then traces the life of these students as they step out into a different environment and progressively take up their prescribed roles in society.

    It left me thinking on quite a few things – these humans cannot have children of their own. Is their art supposed to be a means of immortality? But contrast that with how the author dismisses the value of art a couple of times. What are the ‘carers’ and ‘donors’ an allegory for? Is there some sort of parallel for our roles as children and parents, and how both of them, in a way, contribute to us not being a version of ourselves that we could be if they weren’t in our lives? And to end, the bittersweet irony of humans without emotions becoming carers and donors, and exhibiting a complex set of feelings that are on par, if not rival that of the humans they are ‘serving’.

    This is one of those books that drew me in, and without a lot of fuss and theatrics, engaged me in a deep way. Loved it.

  • MeMo

    It’s been a while, but that’s the way it always has been with us. I am posting this on a day when I know I’d have heard from you. Some years you’d call, some years you’d WhatsApp, and the last couple of years, you took to Twitter just so you could needle me.

    Twitter was our playground. We had our own language, I remember people getting irritated by it! I was always in awe of you, and your sublime words and ideas. It didn’t begin on Twitter though, it began with a comment on a blog. But it did end on Twitter, and it speaks about how out of touch I was, that I got to know when someone added me to a conversation.

    On that day, many people reached out to me, asking me if I was ok. I was, but I wasn’t, and ironically, I felt you’d be the only person who could understand what I was going through.  But I went through the motions – I tweeted about you, retweeted those posts about you, and signalled normalcy. (more…)