Mohandas: A True Story of a Man, his People and an Empire - Rajmohan Gandhi

Rating: 10/10

Review:

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi is omnipresent today: the most recognised Indian in the world and a mandatory reference name for almost everyone speaking of peace. You can find him peering at his people from crisp Indian money notes, looking down from portraits in government offices, smiling from T shirts and flairs, repackaged for a new generation, and quoted so often that it would probably make him dizzy.

The simplistic saintly Mahatma (Great Soul) of our textbooks, is a depiction that does no justice to the immense complexities and controversies that Mohandas Gandhi faced and overcame. For what makes Gandhi so great is not the fact that he was flawless. Gandhi's place among the most unforgettable men of the millennium came from the fact that he was greater than the flaws that he tried valiantly to overcome. The Mahatma is an outstanding example of the greatness that human beings can aspire to.

Rajmohan Gandhi's magnum opus biography of his grandfather Mohandas is a stunning, beautiful, unforgettable, emotional passage to understanding Bapu, one that takes your breath away as it reveals the sheer magnitude of what Gandhi lived through and achieved.

Mohandas' childhood in Gujarat, where he grew up watching his mother fast on religious occasions, where his nurse Rambha taught him to recite the holy name of Lord Rama whenever he was nervous, where he resolved that he would go out of his way to make Muslim friends, even if he didn't make many Hindu friends, is far more important than people probably think. As we can see, events of his childhood instilled the beliefs that would inspire him while leading a nation. 

A fashionable Mohandas went to London to study to become a barrister. Vegetarianism, agnosticism, love and respect for friends of different cultures and religions enchanted him. He wanted all citizens of the Empire to be treated equally and many aspects of the English way of life inspired him.

But it was South Africa that marked the biggest turning point of his life. As Nelson Mandela would later say, “You gave us Mohandas; we returned him to you as Mahatma Gandhi”. Facing up to racism and injustice to the Indian community in South Africa, the lawyer Mohandas wrote to newspapers opposing unjust laws and traditions.  And more importantly, protested and mobilized several people to protest non-violently. Tolstoy farm, where 'untouchables', people of many religions and countries would live and work together, was a big inspiration for Gandhi. Traits of what India would see Gandhi present to her as solutions to long-suffered problems, are visible already. 

India soon called for her prodigal son and his return to his homeland changed India forever. Travelling third class to discover the real India, Gandhi was clear of the three issues he would focus on: Hindu-Muslim unity, bridging the shameful gap between upper caste Hindus and 'untouchables' and preparing the country, from the villages, to be worthy of freedom.  These were issues that would haunt India in the lead-up to Partition and he was prescient enough to understand that very early. Satyagraha and ahimsa became his 'weapons' of choice, as he rejuvenated a party of elite lawyers and urged the Congress to really represent the millions who toiled in the villages of India.

The political Gandhi was born out of necessity. For there was little social and religious reform he could do without sorting out the politics of India. Gandhi was the hero of Champaran, the  initiator of non-cooperation, the controversial creator of Quit India, the exquisite strategist, publicist of the Dandi March. A prolific letter writer, Gandhi wrote regularly for his newspaper Harijan, mentored Nehru, Patel and the top brass of the Congress: his political 'sons' and wore just the minimum of hand-spun cloth in solidarity with the masses of India, many of whom had nothing to wear.

His experiments with brahmacharya/celibacy (which sometimes involved sleeping naked beside women of his ashram) are no doubt as bizarre and controversial now as they were then, when Gandhi made no attempt to hide it. His usage of religion in politics has been criticised by some, but he understood the importance of religion in every walk of life in India and used it to spread only one message: that all religions preached love, tolerance and goodwill.

What makes the Mahatma incredible is not just the space and respect he gave to those who disagreed with him, but the earnest effort he made to understand their point of view and even change his opinion if need be. His conversations with  Tagore and Ambedkar are a case in point. That Gandhi practised what he preached, is what attracted the world to him. He was the change he wished to see in the world, even if the change he wanted to see, was different from what others wanted to see. Gandhi specialised in holding a high moral ground by loving his enemy. 

Churchill, who with great sensitivity asked the Viceroy when the Mahatma was fasting, if Gandhi hadn't died yet, spoke of blood, toil, tears and sweat. So did Gandhi. Except, he spoke of blood, sweat and tears shed by a man who toiled and protested with great courage, non-violently. After all, 'non-violence is a weapon of the strong'.

Even if people had thought him distant and out-of-sync with reality, it was Gandhi who healed some of the many wounds of Partition. Fasting for peace, especially when Delhi was in the throes of horrifying Partition violence, was his ace card of sorts. While Dandi and Quit India might have become the most popular expressions of Gandhi and his triumphs, his greatest moment, without a doubt, came while visiting areas tormented by religious violence.

Be it Noakhali, Bihar, Delhi or Calcutta, wherever Bapu (Father of the Nation) went, he cured the insanity of communalism, he healed wounds with his overwhelming humanity, he spoke the language of love to those who had seen devastation on a scale that would crush India. He made Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims who attacked and killed members of the other community repent and promise him that they would protect each other always. His prayer meetings where chants from all religions were recited, whispered peace to ears that had been plugged by the shattering noise of violence. And such was his impact. Sample this excerpt from the book:

Interviews conducted in Noakhali in  April and November 2000 (53 years after Gandhi had been there) found residents retaining precise memories of Gandhi...many recalling him spontaneously recited or sang 'Raghupathi Raghav Raja Ram..Ishwar Allah Tere Naam'

Rajmohan Gandhi writes with a neutrality that is incredible for a man writing about his grandfather. His writing is simple, evocative and poignant, quoting from myriad sources, interpreting and drawing parallels with great sensitivity and shedding light on the lesser known aspects of Gandhi's life, such as the troubled relationship that Gandhi had with his sons. Rajmohan captures the legendary sense of humour of the Mahatma, as also his relationship with the men who would go on to govern India. Mohandas: A True Story of a Man, his People and an Empire is a masterpiece that every Indian ought to read and I have no hesitation in saying that Bapu would be very proud of his grandson's work.

Incessant tears poured down my cheeks throughout the last pages of the book, the ones dealing with Gandhi's assassination and the world's response to it. In death as in life, Gandhi united Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims, both in India and Pakistan. Indians wept in grief and normal life was forgotten, for 'the light has gone out of our lives and there is darkness everywhere'. Many Pakistanis skipped their meal that night, to mourn the loss of a remarkable human being. Said Pakistani leader Mian Iftikharuddin, "Each one of us who has raised his hand against innocent men, women and children during the past months, who has publicly or secretly entertained sympathy for  such acts, is a collaborator in the murder of Mahatma Gandhi"

If I had to condense the life of Mahatma Gandhi, three words would do it: he loved everyone. That overwhelming, incredible, majestic, ever-flowing love for men, women, children; Harijans, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs; Englishmen and women, Germans, Americans, Africans. The world was his family and he couldn't stand a single act of violence that would harm his family. And that reasoning, is possibly why 'generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth.'   To all those protesting peacefully in every part of the world for what is right, be it during the recent 'Arab Spring' or under the guidance of Martin Luther King Jr, Aung San Suu Kyi or Nelson Mandela, Gandhi's message is worth remembering: 'My life is my message'. This book is an unforgettable journey to understand that message.

Reader, Writer, Reviewer: Mahatma Gandhi

I quite believe in judging people by the books they read. And when it comes to great personalities, understanding their reading tastes and the books that inspired them, goes a long way in helping us understand these men and women.

I'm now reading Rajmohan Gandhi's brilliant biography of Mahatma Gandhi: Mohandas: A True Story of a Man, his People and an Empire. Of all the many remarkable things about this great man's life, what strikes me is the importance that he gave to books and how much they influenced his life and ideas. Gandhi was a great reader whenever he found the time for it: for instance especially when he was imprisoned (He read thirty books in the three months he was jailed in Pretoria, South Africa)

Mohandas Gandhi's first trip abroad was to study in London and the young man was anxious to understand himself and what he actually believed in, when confronted by those of different cultures and habits. Books helped him immensely in this pursuit. Henry Salt's A Plea for Vegetarianism, which Gandhi says he read 'from cover to cover' helped him become a vegetarian by choice. [Remember here that the teenager Gandhi had once believed that the puny, vegetarian Indian couldn't stand up to the meat-eating British man]

A Gandhi toying between atheism and all religions, Hinduism in particular, read Helena Blavatsky's Key to Theosophy, Edwin Arnold's translation of the Bhagavad Gita, The Song Celestial (a book he would recommend all his life as the best English translation of the Gita) and Arnold's book on the Buddha, The Light of Asia. Ever-fascinated to get to know different religions, Gandhi also read the Bible and George Sale's translation of the Quran.

His love and respect for Leo Tolstoy's writings, that would influence him enough to name his 'ashram' in South Africa Tolstoy Farm, began with reading  'The Kingdom of God is Within You' which Gandhi says overwhelmed him.

Sometimes, Gandhi sought refuge in books and great writers to see the arguments against and approval for some of his ideas. His interest in the works of Henry David Thoreau who he called 'one of the greatest and most moral men America has ever produced' is a case in point. Thoreau's statements on civil disobedience seemed to Gandhi to confirm and approve of his belief in satyagraha.

In a prison reading spree that would be a recurrent feature of his reading life, Gandhi read the following books during a two month imprisonment in South Africa: Thomas Carlyle's Lives of Robert Burns, Samuel Johnson and Walter Scott, Francis Bacon's Essays, Plato's Socrates. He later read Edward Carpenter's 'very illuminating' book Civilization: Its Cause and Care and also read Charles Dickens' David Copperfield 'with avidity'.

Perhaps no book captivated him as much as John Ruskin's Unto This Last. He resolved to put to practice the 'social equality and simple life' presented by the book, and bought a farm in Phoenix to reside with his family, friends and other members of the Indian community in South Africa.

Gandhi's own book Hind Swaraj (Indian Home Rule), put into words his long-held ideas of self-rule, civilization and how Indian civilisation is embedded with the concept of non-violence. He acknowledges in his preface to the book the inspiration that he received from reading Tolstoy, Ruskin, Thoreau and Emerson. Leo Tolstoy, with whom Gandhi was now corresponding, wrote back having reading Hind Swaraj, that the book was 'of great importance not only for India, but for the whole of humanity.'

In a rather remarkable trial in India (that deserves a post of its own), Gandhi was sentenced to six years in prison for 'inciting disaffection towards His Majesty's Government' in 1922 in the aftermath of the tragedy of Chauri Chaura. In Yeravda jail, Gandhi read a brilliantly diverse set of books sent by friends or from the jail library, devoting six hours a day for reading.  

He read Edward Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Kipling's songs of Empire, the Mahabharata, Plato, Jules Verne, Macaulay, Shaw, Walter Scott, Faust, Tagore, Wells, Woodroffe, Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; histories of Scotland, of the Sikhs, of India, of birds, of cities; biographies of Pitt, Columbus, Wilberforce, Paul of Tarsus, Kabir; several Christian, Muslim and Buddhist books and a series of Hindu texts; writings of Vivekananda, Dayananda Saraswati, Aurobindo and Tilak.

Writes Rajmohan Gandhi of the Mahatma's varied reading list: 'The Empire's Challenger is thus also, in his mid -fifties, a scholar with an appetite'. Gandhi sometimes also reviewed books for his newspapers, notably Katherine Mayo's controversial book Mother India about India's 'insanitation and other defects' where she claimed 'The drains are India'. Gandhi notes that the book was 'cleverly and powerfully written' and that it is 'a book that every Indian can read with some degree of profit'.

India's 'Father of the Nation' was a reader, writer and a book reviewer too; always open to understanding different, even extreme, opinions and weighing them with his beliefs, never afraid to learn from them. The books he read influenced his ideas, his policies, and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say they ended up influencing the nation and the world. 

The Great Partition: The Making of India and Pakistan - Yasmin Khan

Rating: 9/10

Review: 

For long, most of us have thought we know about partition. The story that our textbooks taught us was a simple one: Pakistan was carved out of India as a land for many Muslims and a partition occurred, one of the largest human displacements ever, and there was a lot of violence in which a lot of people died. We mourned those who died in the violence of partition for a sentence, not even a paragraph. And quickly moved on to celebrate our Tryst With Destiny, often forgetting that we kept our date with destiny after immense pain, bloodshed and hatred.

If only things were that convenient or simple to the people who lived through the traumatic violent months that were the ominous precursors to India and Pakistan's birth. The Great Partition: The Making of India and Pakistan is a stunning book, precisely because it shatters the convenient myths that India, Pakistan and Britain have maintained as history. Yasmin Khan brings to light the confusion and chaos that prevailed during the 'transfer of power' from the British Raj to the Indian and Pakistani governments. 

Words that in retrospect have been inscribed with clarity and meaning - like 'Pakistan', 'independence' - were vague words, the meaning of which differed from person to person in that era! Some questions rang in the hearts and minds of people: 'What exactly was Pakistan going to be? Where would its borders be?' 'Who is a Pakistani? Who is an Indian?' 'What would independence really mean to the poor?' And before they could understand the magnitude of answering these questions, religious violence and ethnic cleansing broke out, partition happened. India and Pakistan were born, leaving behind thousands dead and thousands confused.

Yasmin Khan chronicles the months and events that lead to partition, the terror and trauma that men, women and children went through before two countries came into existence. Dr.Khan analyses with impressive neutrality and encourages the reader to grapple with cold facts and form opinions on what partition actually was. Some incidents that she quotes in her book made my heart beat fast and brought tears to my eyes. For instance:

Urdu journalist Shorish Kashmiri writes: ‘Some young people, whose parents had been butchered and whose sisters and daughters had been left in Pakistan, surrounded Panditji (Jawaharlal Nehru). One young man lost his temper and gave Panditji a resounding slap; a slap on the face of the Prime Minister of India. But Panditji said nothing to him. He just placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. The young man shouted: ‘Give my mother back to me! Bring my sisters to me!’ Panditji’s eyes filled with tears. He said, ‘Your anger is justified, but, be it Pakistan or India, the calamity that has overtaken us is all the same. We have both to pass through it.’

Understanding partition in just an academic point of view is impossible without confronting the emotions that come your way when you read of months of madness and slaughter. Neighbours slaughtering each other, people who once differed with each other on their political beliefs - Congress or the Muslim League - suddenly seeing each other as Hindu or Muslim 'enemies', women, almost 83000 of them 'abducted' on both sides of the border, rape being used as an instrument of war against communities, some politicians and parties aiding and abetting violence, British troops abdicating duty  and simply watching as people died, in a land which they had exploited for more than 200 years and hastily declared independent.

Yet there were also those who at great danger to their lives, saved the lives of friends from other communities. There are inspiring stories of the many social workers and volunteers who set out to heal wounds, wipe tears, rebuild lives, even when their own lives had been torn apart by partition.

There is no doubt about the great tragedy that Partition was. And yes, it ought to be capitalized, just as the Holocaust is. Understanding Partition is crucial for anyone who wants to understand India, Pakistan and indeed their relationship with each other. It saddens me that Partition is used only as a one-word, one-sentence reference, as though it was an event that ought to be remembered, but only as a small axis point. It shouldn't. Partition and its many victims, perpetrators need to be fully understood in the context of the situation in the subcontinent at that time. We need to make our peace with the truths of that turbulent time. 

The Great Partition is mandatory reading for anyone interested in India, Pakistan or the British Raj. It doesn't deal just with the politics of Partition from the elite Delhi perspective, but delves into the heart of the common man, from Lahore to Noakhali to East Bengal, who paid the biggest price for Partition. The book is not written in a racy, fiction-style format and therefore might not be the easiest of reads, but it is a wonderful, thought-provoking academic work that I highly recommend.

I hope to post more excerpts from Dr.Khan's book in the coming weeks, as part of A Passage to the British Raj. 

Fasting, Feasting - Anita Desai

Rating: 7/10

Review:

Fasting, Feasting has long been on my list of books I've wanted to read, for two reasons. One, because Anita Desai is considered one of the best Indian writers and it seemed almost blasphemous that I had never read her books. Two, because this book was shortlisted for the Booker prize in 1999. Fasting, Feasting didn't disappoint me, but it isn't the flawless masterpiece it could have been either.

Set for the most part in India, Fasting, Feasting starts out as a chronicle of the life of Uma, the first child, the unattractive, clumsy, pitiable daughter who is a burden on her parents MamaPapa conjoined beautifully as they are more of a single entity than two separate lives. The mishaps, tragic occurrences of her life make up most of the book, as she battles it out being the far-from-perfect, plain daughter whose attempts at marriage end in a disastrous fashion. Indeed Uma is the 'unmarried commodity' in a society where it is acceptable for a woman to be a failure at education, but sacrilegious to be a failure at marriage. Neglected, lonely, craving for company, left to do her parents' bidding as though she is their slave not child, Uma is the central focus of the 'Fasting' part which takes up most of the story.

Before I talk of the writing, here's a quote from the book about Uma's sister Aruna

'Here was Aruna visibly ripening on the branch, asking to be plucked: no one had to teach her how to make samosas or help her to dress for an occasion. Instinctively, she knew. The pale, pale pink sari, the slender chain of seed pearls, the fresh flowers, the demure downcast turn of the eyes, the little foot in the red slipper thrusting out suddenly like a tongue, and the laughter low and sly'

Anita Desai could write anything and I would read it. She is an enormously gifted author who does not feel the need to use complicated words or a laborious turn of phrase to convey her point. She writes simply, beautifully, vividly and paints a tragicomic picture of  first a dysfunctional Indian family and then a dysfunctional American one. Several reviews said that Desai wrote like Austen, with a keen passion to observe and comment about society and I definitely agree with that assessment. There's no pretentiousness in her writing, something which in my humble opinion, her daughter Kiran Desai's writing suffers from. 

This book is a must-read if simply for the brutally painful, important feminist observations on Indian family life. There is the daughter who is considered a big failure if she cannot land a good husband, the brilliant, beautiful, brainy cousin who isn't allowed to go to Oxford, with more focus on preparing her for marriage, a state of affairs where being beaten up by the husband and the in-laws is considered nothing unusual, nor worth acting over. The book soaks in tragedy and the helplessness of its characters might annoy you a lot, but the sinking realisation that this situation is a reality to many women, makes the book a gripping read.

My problem with the book, if I can call it a problem, is the rather abrupt need for the 'Feasting' part which chronicles Uma's brother Arun's time in the U.S, living with an American family during holidays. The boy has been brought up with the sole aim of studying, and studying well, finally being sent to study in the University of Massachusetts. Arun is quite a disappointed, weird lad and an absolute loner. Suddenly to prop him up as the main character in the final 'Feasting' part of the book seemed out of place to me. The pity and sympathy I had for Uma had fast evaporated by the time I got to Arun's sad story. The American family seemed more like a caricature - the overbearing mother, the son obsessed with fitness, the bulimic daughter. All of this succeeds only in making the reader as uncomfortable as Arun.

In all, Fasting, Feasting is definitely worth reading, but prepare for tragedy, pain and unhappiness. Judging by just the excellent 'Fasting' part with its unforgettable images of the society's expectation of women and their roles, I would almost give the book a perfect ten. But the abrupt 'Feasting' part reduced my appreciation for the book. Regardless, I look forward to reading Anita Desai's other books and I'm glad I finally got around to reading another wonderful Indian writer.

P.S Delighted to be back blogging about books! I sure did miss being at Pemberley and look forward to catching up with all my favourite book blogs :)

Rest In Peace, Uncle Pai

For every Indian child, books would mean only one thing: Tinkle. My Grandma, cross at me reading 'comics' with small images and text that might harm my eyes, would scold me for reading Tinkle. And I would argue with her valiantly. Any criticism of Tinkle felt like a personal criticism. Excellent performance in exams, good behaviour would be rewarded with a special copy of Tinkle or Amar Chitra Katha. Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha made me fall in love with books and today, I cannot imagine life without books.

Uncle Pai, as he was known by every child and teenager (who wouldn't admit he/she still reads Tinkle but enjoyed it tremendously), is no more. After seeing that Indian children seemed to know more about Greek mythology than Indian mythology, Anant Pai launched Amar Chitra Katha, India's largest selling comic book series which told to a young India stories from its past. Mythology, history, fables, epics, the colourful pages of Amar Chitra Katha were the Indian child's guide to understanding India and her rich, vibrant past.  

One of the most vivid images I have of my childhood is of lounging on my bed and seeking refuge from the searing heat during summer holidays, through the way I knew best: flipping through the pages of Tinkle Summer Special. Anant Pai's Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha came to define many of our childhoods. A friend recalls how fashionable and important it was to possess a copy of the latest edition of Tinkle digest. 

Long-winding train journeys with noisy kids would usually be a nightmare for parents. But a copy of Tinkle, bought hurriedly at the railway book stall, would reduce tension for a couple of hours at the least. So addictive were these books that before every exam, my mother would confiscate my copies of the books. Only to discover more hidden editions of Tinkle every day. Tinkle was smuggled into school bags and kept between the pages of text books and stealthily read while a particularly boring Biology teacher droned on and on. 

A big hug and a copy of Tinkle was the best way to say sorry to me. My head was always immersed in a copy of Tinkle, leading my Grandma to scold my parents for spoiling the child by always getting her these comics. For all my love of Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha, I never really knew or read about the man who created these books. 'Uncle Pai' was just a name, a friendly name. I was more interested in reading the actual books.

Of course, at one point, it became 'fashionable' for me to read non-Indian authors. As I grew older, Enid Blyton and Carolyn Keene captivated me and my huge collection of Tinkle books was left forlorn. But no beautiful building exists without a strong foundation. Anant Pai's books were the firm foundation of my love for reading.  I would have never really become a bookworm if not for Mr.Pai.

To every Indian child who grew up reading his books, his death will be a personal loss. For several hours of glorious reading, for the unadulterated joy of running to the neighbourhood newspaper shop and getting the latest edition of Tinkle, for memories that were born out of reading Amar Chitra Katha, for the nostalgia-tinted thrill that sighting a rack of Tinkle books brings to me even now, I cannot thank Anant Pai enough. I am forever indebted to you, Uncle Pai, for lighting the spark of reading in me. Your books remain with us all, bound to be gifted from generation to generation of Indians. You shall always remain 'Uncle' Pai to me, the friendly uncle who helped a child discover books. May you rest in peace. 

Battle for Bittora - Anuja Chauhan

Rating: 6.5/10

Review:

After tackling the first big passion of India - cricket - in her hilarious first book The Zoya Factor, Anuja Chauhan bases her second book on India's second biggest passion - politics. Battle for Bittora is the story of Jinni (Sarojini) Pande and Zain Altaf Khan, friends, childhood sweethearts, and now, Lok Sabha candidates fighting their first election. Against each other. 

If Patrick French would start classifying fictional Indian characters, Jinni would be a hyper-hereditary MP (HHMP) whose grandmother is the incorrigible Pushpa Pande, three time MP from 'Pavit Pradesh' and the scion Zain would be slotted as 'Royal Family'.

The premise is definitely interesting - this is a tale of love and the Lok Sabha. Yes, you read that right. It's easy to draw parallels with Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries where Mia Thermopolis must become Princess of Genovia after her exasperating Grandmere forces her to. But the theme, a light, funny take on Indian politics, is still promising.

Politician Margaret Alva's daughter-in-law Anuja Chauhan has that uncanny ability to make her reader grin, smile widely and even, laugh out loud. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the 'Grand Old' Pragati Party with the Indian tricolour on its flag and the IJP (Indian Janata Party) with the saffron flag and marigold symbol references. Indeed that is the strong point of the book - Chauhan's exquisite popular culture and political culture references that are laden with wit. Nobody is spared - from Rahul Mahajan to Rahul Gandhi, there are enough references to make you chuckle. There are wry remarks about Fab India sarees, white kurtas, the penultimate decision - to ignore or accept a Facebook friend request. Sample some of them:

'Because if my life really had turned into a bad Madhur Bhandarkar film (Called Politics, you know, like Corporate and Fashion and Jail), I had to play this smartly'

'Whichever way you look at it, it can't be denied that, with about three and a half exceptions, Indian pollies are an unbeautiful lot'

'Bitiya, marrying into a minority community is a good idea,' Rocket Singh volunteered. 'It will increase your vote bank and show ki you are a progressive. But be practical, please choose a large, healthy minority! There's no such thing as a Parsi vote bank - they're practically extinct.'

'But they're rich,' interrupted Our Pappu, with a worldly wise air..'

But all the charm, sarcasm and fun falls flat because of mundane, repetitive scenes. This is a problem that I had with The Zoya Factor too. There are several scenes that add little to the story and serve only to dampen its pace and annoy the reader. Also, Chauhan's heroines tend to be similar - Jinni from Battle for Bittora and Zoya from The Zoya Factor - are both chirpy, pretty women who are prone to massive crushes. 

Zain Altaf Khan is  a typical charming, suave, gorgeous hero, the kind women love to read about and the kind a Bollywood hero would look forward to playing. This is a book that is more than 400 pages long and I think crisp editing would have made it better. Nobody is expecting Chauhan to keep us guessing at every stretch, but predictability can be forgiven only when the book captivates you. 

I much prefer The Zoya Factor to Battle for Bittora, despite the fact that I enjoy political fiction more than sport-related fiction. However, I still look forward to reading Chauhan's upcoming books because her wonderful sense of humour (Here's a salute for Shaadi, Khaadi aur Azaadi!) shines through her books.

I wouldn't recommend this book to those who aren't acquainted with India, because the book is at its best with its in-jokes and the Hindi accented words will be tough to understand. But to all others, this is chick lit that is worth a read. It won't be extraordinary, but will almost certainly brighten a dull day.

Serious Men - Manu Joseph

Rating: 9.5/10

Review:

I've been waiting to read Serious Men for ages. I saw nothing but good reviews, and judging from his articles, I knew I would like to read Manu Joseph's book. This is a book that does not get bogged down because of the hype. Serious Men is a fantastic satirical tale of two men: Ayyan Mani, a Dalit who has had enough of being looked down upon and leading an unremarkable life, and his Brahmin boss Arvind Acharya, a remarkable scientist whose power and authority receives a severe blow after a scandal. 

Through them, Joseph sketches a shatteringly realistic portrayal of modern day India, her people and the idiosyncrasies of science. The book is also a blunt reality check of the influence of the 'c' word - caste - on the minds and politics of the people. The two characters upon whom this novel rests are incredibly three dimensional and are developed with several shades of grey. 

Ayyan Mani wants the glory that he feels was denied by the upper caste Brahmins to his ancestors, who were treated as Untouchables. He starts playing a dangerously exciting game by building a web of lies to present his son as a celebrated 'genius'. The more popular his son becomes, the more dangerous the game is. Ayyan Mani is definitely one of the most complex, memorable characters I've ever read. He's an underdog who can stoop to any level to achieve what he wants. There are sudden flashes of sympathy, affection, even compassion, but all of these emotions are secondary to Mani's ambitions of giving his family a good future, no matter what.

Arvind Acharya isn't as original a character as Mani, but is constructed with such skill that you can picturise Acharya sitting across you and pondering about the big questions of the Universe. In the hands of a less talented writer, this book could have been boring. But Joseph is, quite simply, a treat to read. His dark sarcasm, even darker humour and dispassionate assessment of Indian society are bound to stay with the reader for long. Joseph is an amazing observer who describes the little things that we often shrug away, to make the larger point. 

I would read just about anything he writes because he possesses the rare talent of recreating harsh realities, stripped of the fluff, and doing so without being pretentious. To the very sensitive reader, many parts of this tragic satire could be controversial or shocking. This is not a perfect book - some of the final portions of the book were a little too convenient, there weren't many fully-fleshed female characters. But this is far too important a book to ignore.

Joseph's treatment of Ayyan Mani did remind me of Booker winning writer Aravind Adiga's characterisation of his protagonist Balram Halwai. Both of these characters are underdogs who have been the recipients of the worst of what India has to offer. But Ayyan Mani is more complex, entirely too fascinating - sometimes scary, sometimes saddening.  

There are whole passages of sheer brilliance. I started marking the good quotes and stopped after a while, because I didn't want a book full of dogears. Joseph's exquisite turn of phrase and easy yet vivid writing style makes him an author who is a joy to read. I'm including a couple of my favourite lines from a very quotable writer:

'In the twilight that was now the colour of dust, in the fury of horns that was a national language because honking had telegraphic properties..'

'The dedication of passwords was the new fellowship of marriage. To each other, couples had become furtive asterisks.'

'And one day, very soon in fact, Adi would be an adolescent. An adolescent son of a clerk. A miserable thing to be in this country. He would have to forget all his dreams and tell himself that what he wanted to do was engineering. It's the only hope, everyone would tell him. Engineering, Adi would realize, is every mother's advice to her son, a father's irrevocable decision, a boy's first foreboding of life.'

'On the pavement by the side of the road was planted a banner two storeys high. Even in the blow-up the celebrity appeared stunted. He stood in a safari suit, his palms joined in greeting. His face was a light pink because poster artists did not have the freedom to paint his face black. His little mop of hair was spread thinly over an almost flat scalp. And his thick moustache had sharp edges. Just above his head was an English introduction in large font - DYNAMIC PERSONALITY. A thinner line that followed said he was the honourable Minister S Waman. It seemed appropriate that it was at Waman's black shoes the author took credit, in Marathi and in diplomatically-chosen small font - 'Hoarding Presented by P.Bikaji'. 

'A mysterious character of UFOs is that they are sighted only in the First World,' she said, 'and no alien conquest of Earth begins until the mayor of New York holds an emergency press conference. When Mars attacks, it attacks America.'

Serious Men is a remarkable book. It's not the kind of book that you read, review and forget. It's the kind of book that you yearn to discuss, debate, analyze and always remember. Indian literature will be proud of another amazing new entrant to its ranks, an author who can rip apart the double standards of society to provide the raw and very real picture. 

Needless to say, I'm adding Serious Men to my India - Book Recommendations.

P.S Apologies for the length of the review. I just couldn't resist adding all those great quotes.

Thursdays With Tagore - December 9

This week on Thursdays with Tagore is a poem I've known by heart and have sung ever since I was a child. It was one of our daily prayer songs in school. I used to just recite the words those days, focusing more on coming to the end of the poem and opening my eyes, than savouring the words. Today though, when I read through the words, nostalgia strikes me alongside pleasure at understanding the simple and compassionate meaning of the poem.

This is my prayer to thee, my lord — strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.

And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.

What a beautiful message to teach everyone, especially children!

Thanks to Mel U at The Reading Life for sharing this link which has the English version of Tagore's Nobel Prize winning Gitanjali along with a wonderful introduction by William Butler Yeats. Do check it out!

From this week onwards, I will be posting a couple of end-of-year lists including my pick for Book of the Year (Fiction and Non-Fiction). Do look out for that!

Next Thursday, I will not be posting a new poem, but I'll be re-posting a couple of poems featured in Thursdays with Tagore and will be asking you to vote for your favourite Tagore poem among those. I know that is an awfully tough task, but I'd love to find out your pick among the several poems I've shared with you this year. I'm excited and I hope you'll enjoy voting :) 

Thursdays With Tagore - December 2

This Thursday, I dare you to not smile while reading this poem:

When I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints - when I give coloured toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance I truly know why there is music in leaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth - when I sing to make you dance.

When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice - when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling, I surely understand what the pleasure is that streams from the sky in the morning light, and what delight that is which the summer breeze brings to my body - when I kiss you to make you smile.

This is a wonderful, heart-warming poem where Tagore understands the ways of nature through his affection for the child. The comparisons are simply, yet delightfully done. This is a beautiful poem that made my evening! How about you?

Thursdays With Tagore - November 25

The poem I'm sharing this week is probably my all-time favourite Tagore poem and definitely one of his most popular poems. It has a lot of personal importance too because this is the first and  only poem that has brought tears to my eyes so far.

I'm sharing it this week for two reasons. First, this is one of those poems that I believe everyone ought to read. I don't know of anyone who's read the poem and not liked it. This poem finds its way into most speeches addressed to Indians or about India. Recent samples being President Obama's speech at Parliament and PM Dr.Singh's speech in the Hindustan Times Leadership Summit. 

Second: On the eve of the second anniversary of the 26/11 Mumbai attacks, something that shocked, startled and pained many of us, I think this is an important reminder of a great man's dream for his country. A dream that might sound Utopian, but one that is worth putting our heart and soul in to attain.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high 

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments 

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way 

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee 

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

I am not going to try analysing the way simple words are used exquisitely or the wonderful metaphors. Because this poem is all about the emotion. Read it again, again, again and experience it. This poem, like many of Tagore's poems, is not restricted to India alone and fits just as beautifully for any country. 

Thursdays With Tagore - November 18

This is a beautiful poem where Tagore touches upon subjects that we're familiar with from many of his other poems.

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wines of various colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.

My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple.

No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.

Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.

I love the metaphor of the earthen vessel being filled with the draught of the colours and fragrance, a recurring element in his poems. Sample: 'This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life'.  The crux of this poem is one that Tagore often speaks about; the need to see, experience, live and love and not renounce. He is scornful of meditation and remarks  "But I meanwhile, with hungry eyes that can't be satisfied, shall take a look at the world in broad daylight." The final line of this poem is a beautiful, fitting conclusion.

Thursdays With Tagore - November 11

This week's Tagore poem is very different from the rest I've posted, because this reads like a story. So simple and seamless. 

I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings!

   My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end, and I stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on all sides in the dust.

     The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say, "What hast thou to give to me?"

        Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then from my wallet I slowly cook out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee.

    But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on the floor to find a least little grain of gold among the poor heap! I bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to give thee my all.

This is such a beautiful parable of sorts! It has a nice little twist in the end and is of the type that I would like to read to children. Again, the sheer variety of Tagore's writing is amazing.