Category: Favourites

  • The Catcher In The Rye

    JD Salinger

    Its perhaps a book that I should’ve read a decade and a half back, only because I could’ve related more then to the angst that permeates it. The timeframe and the narrative style would make the work seem small in scope – the book is set in about three days (not counting the recollections) and is told from the point of view of a teenage boy, who has just been expelled from his school (not for the first time) and instead of going home, spends the next few nights in a seedy hotel.
    But what makes this book unique is Holden Caulfield’s (the protagonist and narrator) way of distilling the thoughts and emotions of a teenager and making you feel for him. Indeed, there are many moments in the book that made me feel infinitely sad, though the ending seems to indicate that this is only a phase in life.
    The title is based on Holden’s mishearing of a poem by Robert Burns – Comin’ Through The Rye. Holden creates a fantasy on it – with himself being the guardian of kids who are playing in a rye field on the edge of a cliff, entrusted with the task of saving them if they are in danger of falling off.
    His attitude towards children – his sister Phoebe in specific, and adults would seem to indicate that he understands that at some point, kids will lose the qualities he likes them for (which are missing in adults) and he wants to be the heroic figure to prevent this from happening. A turning point in this role is his conversation with an English teacher of his – Mr.Antolini, who says that the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for a cause while an immature man would die nobly for it. Later Holden gives Phoebe his hunting hat, probably the symbol of his catcher identity.
    Its probably a book you need to be patient with (though its only about 190 pages) since (I felt) its only towards the end that Holden really manages to suck you into the idea of the book.

  • Bear with me, Mother – Memoirs and Stories

    MT Vasudevan Nair

    “Bear with me, mother” is a collection of memoirs and short stories from arguably the finest writer that Kerala has ever produced – MT Vasudevan Nair. The book has 16 memoir pieces and half that number of stories.

    Though its against the flow of the book, it might be a good idea to read the stories before the memoirs. This is because many of the stories have a touch of autobiography/ reality in them, and it might take away a little from the stories of you read them second.

    The memoirs work amazingly well because it takes the reader back in time. Even for a Keralite like me, it seemed like a different culture. Temple festivals replete with folk arts, ten days of Onam celebrations, communities which hadn’t split into religion based factions all point to a Kerala that was markedly different, and this was only a few decades back. The change is visible in geography too, as the author agonises over the fate that befell the Nila river.

    The author walks the journey of his life with us, with anecdotes from his school and college life as well as his early working days. In them, we can see many characters that made it to his fictional works too.

    The stories offer excellent glimpses of the author’s craft, and works like ‘The Soul of Darkness’ will stay with you for a long time. In yet others like ‘Firecrackers’, ‘Karkitakam’, and ‘Elder Sister: Oppol’ we see the world through the eyes of an innocent child. It is amazing how even in the translation, I could imagine what the original Malayalam words must have been and marvel at the wordcraft.

  • No God in Sight

    Altaf Tyrewala

    Somewhere in between a relay race and ‘six degrees of separation’ lies the narrative style of this excellent novel. And just like the city it showcases, it sets a scorching pace. But its not just a microcosm of the city, its also a take on social issues – from religion to class differences to a clash of the old and new. And somewhere in between is a subtext of man’s search for where he came from and where he is going, and the series of connected lives and the sheer weariness that prevents them from being able to think beyond their immediate existence, somehow points towards the title – ‘no god in sight’.

    From the millions that make up the phenomenon that’s Bombay, and gives it a ‘spirit’, the author manages to create a few characters that give us a glimpse of the individual lives. He begins with a seemingly nonchalant treatment of what might be considered a moral issue – abortion, and thus captures the pulse of a city and the thought process and credo of a new generation. But amazingly, there is a universal nature to it too, and more often than not, the author manages to walk this line with balance, despite the majority of characters being Muslim. Featuring the famous local trains, the cop who expounds the logic of his sense of justice, the men who share a name with a terrorist, the book is quintessentially Mumbai, and yet, from another perspective, they’re just human stories. If we juxtapose the allusions to ‘my mumbai’ and ‘your mumbai’ in the corporate executive’s story and the ‘to be comfortable with discomfort, one must banish all contact with ease’ in the butcher’s story, we see two sets of people figuring out their own ways to cope with what the city and life throws at them. Sometimes, they can’t, and all they want to do is escape, like Amin Bhai.

    In just about 170 pages, Altaf Tyrewala creates not just the characters who make Mumbai, but even manages to represent, even if its just through a few examples, how they got there. Can’t even complain about the lack of character development because the snapshots almostd efine the characters. Another great rendition of Mumbai, and a must read!

  • First Darling of the Morning: Selected Memories

    Thrity Umrigar

    Its difficult not to like a book that starts off with a reference to ‘The Sound of Music’. After all, for a generation, there are so many memories attached to that movie. It serves as a good snapshot for what the book holds in store, a ‘Wonder Years’ kind of nostalgic trip, one that I could immediately identify with, and one that supplies many lump-in-the-throat moments. The book is billed as ‘Selected Memories of an Indian Childhood’ and has done an excellent job of it.

    We are with the child when she discovers how the world has different rules for adults and children, when she thinks that she would never grow out of Enid Blyton, only to switch loyalties to Mills & Boon years later. We see her move on to Herman Hesse and becoming obsessed with Van Gogh. We are with her as she grows up and realises that the people around her existed long before her, and are part of stories she never knew.

    Though the story is primarily about her growing up, the author manages to cover a lot of other ground and link it very well with her life. The story of a city that was united across classes by cricket, the story of a middle class that is mostly in denial of the poor that surround them, but also makes unwritten rules for transactions with them. The story of the various strings that pull us, some visible, some not so.

    As she looks back on her life after finishing college and realises the paradoxical importance and unimportance of her relationships with the various people and things in her life – music, books, politics, parents, teachers, relatives and friends, and slowly tries to put them in perspective, I saw a story that could in many ways describe most of humankind and the lives we create for ourselves. And that perhaps would explain why I consider this a must-read.

  • 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.