Am going to let you in on a secret. It’s almost like a dirty little secret. Once it’s out, some of you would go doing this

WHAT???

and then some of you would just plain laugh at me.

It’s okay. Ive braced myself. I shall not hold it against you. Here it is. For all the circus I do on how much of a bookworm I am like here,

Up until a month ago, I had not read Jhumpa Lahiri.

There. Now that it’s out, here are my impressions on:

Interpreter of Maladies:

A collection of short stories worked perfectly for me as my attention span was very short during the bad knee post-op period. I absolutely loved her style. The word play, the descriptions of characters, the settings and the smooth flow of events. What occasionally my poor brain was left stumped was the storyline or why the characters did what they did, or what they left ignored. That pretty much takes care of the fact that the author isn’t an easy read. There is a certain subtlety in the plot mainly entrenched in human emotions. Something that leaves the reader to want to reach out and fix them.

One thing that did get difficult as I went through the nine stories was the setting. Mostly set in around Boston/NY area (that’s where Jhumpa grew up) and on Bengalis of different generations, it was an overdose of it imho. I understand as a beginning writer, or anyone who dares to call themselves as writers, usually almost always delve into their own lives and surroundings for material to write upon. It is natural. You write best on what you know best. Somehow stretching it on through every short story seemed to get to me by the time I arrived at the last one.

Short stories:

1. A Temporary Matter: Tangible falling apart of marriage after the stillborn infant. There was a point where I actually felt sorry for the guy. Ending as sensitive and expected.

2. When Mr. Pirzada came to Dine: This somehow didn’t do much for me as far as story was concerned. There was extensive descriptions, overlapping between stories on Bengalis and food and customs, along with historical references to partition of Pakistan. I suppose that’s what the story was al about.

3. Interpreter of maladies: Good one. Descriptions, characters, storyline, all were in perfect sync. The best of the lot.

4. Real Durwan: Tragically read, this could be the story of any of the huge number of older women living off charity back in India. Brings tears to your eyes if you could let yourself get involved in the sentiment between the words.

5. Sexy: This is a bit freaky, creepy and scary rolled into one. You’d imagien the little boy at the end is somehow connected to this two-timing fellow, but he isn’t. Which is the twist, but the way her wheels turn in her head to actually move away, I didn’t get that part. Maybe am dumb.

6. Mrs. Sen: You feel for Mrs. Sen, you goad her, you root for her and you laugh with her. Lovely story.

7. Blessed House: Another freak tale. What is wrong with the wife, what’s wrong with the guy, and why does he have such an aversion to discoveries in his new house. What the hell is wrong with him at the end? See, I missed it all. Personally, I think the wife’s obsessed and she needed a strong thwack on her bottom.

I am so into this story now aren’t I?

8. Treatment of Bibi Haldar: Oh boy, doesn’t everyone everywhere around the world know a Bibi? Nicely done.

9. The Third and Final Continent: Poignant and well written. Liked it.

If I were to read the book again, I’d ignore the continuous Bengali influences, and lifestyles that tie them all and focus on the words. (No offence to Bengalis of any kind, I’d probably say the same if the author was Iyer and every story had pretty much the same kind of descriptive narratives.) 

Story, story will come if you want it to.

I had read Anita Rau’s Tamarind Woman a few years ago. A friend at the college allowed me to borrow it. All I remember of the book was how true it rang to me, and the fact that I finished it within a week and returned it to her the next class. So while on a recent trip to the library, I saw the book lying in the returned pile, I grabbed it, just out of recognition, and couldn’t place it back.

I have always enjoyed re-reading books. During the days of good old times as a child, and when books were scarce in availability or access, I imagine I started this habit of re-visiting the words, story and the characters, for familiarity and especially the surprises that I missed the first time around. Words and phrases formed newer meanings, ones that may have been there all along, but now jumped up and showed a different view, a hidden emotion and even a twist to the imagination.

This book ranks as one of those that clearly is “un-put-downable”. If you had the luxury of cozy-ing into a chair next to a window cocooned in a silence around you, and allow yourself to be transported into the journal, the experience is complete in all ways. Then of course there are the others, like me, who are forced to go at snail’s pace not out of choice, but the distraction around is so heavy that it would surely be a crime to read such a beauty half-heartedly.

For the most part, I imagine, readers love, hate, or are indifferent to a particular book or literature (fiction especially) purely on how much they can relate to it. Are the characters one can relate to in real life, can one imagine the words, do they ring true, believable. Do they appeal to one’s inner muse? Is the story believable? Even in fantasy? Is it identifiable?

Tamarind Woman does just that. With just a handful of characters and spanning two generations of strong women, each from their own childhood, youth and then as adults, the book sways you in and out of time. The initial two-thirds of the book is all about the daughter. The daughter’s autobiographical journey as she tells us in flashback of the events that twined her life with her mother. The details, the small yet important facts, memories, the conversations, and the yearning. The story shifts again in first person but this time the mother – the tamarind woman – racontes teh verys ame events from her perspective. The present is now a journey on a train as the mother spins her life’s weaves into occasionally shocking but spell-binding and interesting tales for an audience.

What I especially liked about Anita Rau’s storytelling was that she made it all seem very real. This isn’t a feel good, loving story of a happy traveling family, but mostly very common placed for an average Indian household of the 80’s. The customs, traditions, though not elaborately told and described, all form an intricate pattern into the larger picture. The conversations, the words the author uses throughout, are quite Indianised in may ways, but that is besides the point. Considering the numerous dialects and languages we all come from, one can easily translate the words into any local language and it would ring true. It would be hard not to have met someone who fits the bill, or to close one’s eyes and almost hear a voice from the past who would speak those very same words.

The Mother – Saroja – in many instances reminded me of my mother, a few times of me, the relationship between the two reminded me of how I would talk with my mother. It’s all a big time-space-relation warp. For folks who’ve lived in “colonies” back home, this book would be a trip down memory lane. By colonies I mean, by virtue of being a Central Govt employee or a bank employee, the living quarters are all within a scheduled area called a campus. A place where there is a heirarchy designated by the rank of the husband/dad’s role at work. The luxuries, the issues and the challenges that come out of sharing space and to be on a constant vigil of one’s own behavior as the repercussions are stronger than just a ripple in the  lake.

So yes, read it if you can. You will laugh, smile, wince, marvel, gasp, admire and be surprised, but you have to watch out, as things are not clearly laid out for you all the while. Reading between the lines brings the essence of the fine visible words one actually reads.

Truly wish the author would write again. She seems to have stopped after Hero’s Walk and Tamarind Mem.

Just about the time when I was wondering what I would write on, not that I lack on ideas or stuff to work on, but more so on the mood of the post, A Muser tagged me moments ago.

So with all acknowledgments in place, and since this is a tag that encourages folks to pick up another book and read and not to mention the fact that am reading a fine book, I figured, no time like the present to work on the post. Also, I’ve eaten 1/2 sleeve of crackers with spinach dip and hunger pangs are at bay and what with dinner on the stove, I have a few moments before I go running off to the daughter’s chamber Concert.

The rules:

Pick up the nearest book.
Open to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences.
Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you

Well, nearest book is a floor upstairs but anything for a good book, so here is the book.

“Tamarind Woman” By Anita Rau Badami (yes, the very same book you see at the top). Ive read this before – a few years before and all I remembered was that it was fascinating, so here I am reading it again. This time enjoying the nuances too..

As we grew older, I stopped trying to show Roopa the hidden worlds that seethed beneath the surface of the ordinary, for it seemed that she had , in her mind, closed the doors that opened into imagination. If she could not see a purple rose on a bush or a peacock on the front lawn, she declared, it couldn’t possibly be there.

“I have rubbed the peel of a ripe Nagpur orange on this card” wrote Ma. “Right now it smells as fresh and tangy as the fruit itself. I hope the smell has not faded by the time the card reaches you. And if it has, all you have to do is imagine.”

I obviously don’t know how to count as I managed to type more than the tag asked me to, but hey, a little insight and some amount of marketing for the book didn’t hurt anyone. It’s a fine book folks, read it if you can.

This time, deviating from the norm of not tagging folks, I shall OD on tagging and here are my 5, of each!

1. Gradwolf

2. Baphomet

3. Anantha

4. Psyriac

5. Naren

6. Sush

7. A-Kay

8. Neha

9. Laksh

10. Mystic Margarita

There, feeling very smug. Now who’s gonna beat me in the turnover rate of doing a tag? *grin

When I picked up this book, I had no idea that the whole entire story would be told to us through notes left between the daughter and mother. I’d imagined it to be something along the lines of “Letters to a young poet” by Rilke, but no, this is what the title says. Little sticky notes and snippets of conversation that the reader threads along to make sense of the characters and the lives they lead.

That to me is as brilliantly creative as they come!

Someone was returning the book at the library and I picked it up off the pile. I wanted something light and it looked like it would be easy on the mind. I came home and searched for a review [I am so bad with being patient in books!] and found a couple. It was interesting, though one claimed it was a dumb book and one said it was sensitive and reflective. With an opinion so split, I had to find out find out for myself what it was all about.

It is 240 pages long, and each page has no more than a couple of lines. Imagine little notes you’d leave for each other, at work, at home, they aren’t long letters per se, but just small condensed messages we write to send the message across. That’s how the story is told to us. The conversations between mom and daughter, through the mundane chores, through breakups and relationships, through sadness, through parenting, respect, of comfort, and love and finally through strength as they face a crisis together.

This book can be read in two different ways. You can either finish it in one sitting, if you have an hour or two and are a fairly good reader, you’d be done with it. The second is the sensitive way. Where you read the pages and look through the lines, between the words, the feelings that seeps out through them and better yet try to identify yourself with either, or of the characters. Alice does a good job of keeping the language and style consistent. 16 year olds do talk the way she writes, in fact some of lines I could imagine them in my own tween’s voice.

There was a part that was personal. Well, it’s actually the whole basis of the book, but when it is first introduced, it was raw. To me. The discovery and the process of losing it. Goosebumps while reliving the cold metal plates.

But yes, it’s a nice book. As simple or as intense as you want it to be.

Simply put, Shoba Narayan’s Monsoon Diary reads like a blog. Especially for all us bloggers who love to hop skip and peek into each other’s lives laughing at follies and empathizing with our faux-pas’ , enjoying the memories stretching from food, to dressing, to parents, to colleges and then beyond as adults.

Her writings are peppered with some basic recipes. Comfort-food recipes, strongly rooted in South Indian menus and just reading through the simple menus makes your tongue water. Makes you want to keep the book aside, rush to the kitchen, start the stove making it and relishing the food as you then continue on with her tale. She makes us part of her tale. Almost like a grand mom handing morsels into cupped hands as they tell us a story. Not that she sounds like one, not at all. There is an underlying humor and wit in the words and her style. There are times when you can’t help but giggle and laugh out loud when you see yourself in her shoes. I suspect it’s very hard for any woman/girl of Indian origin to not find at least a part of her life cross Shoba’s.

You’d enjoy the book:

1. If you are a Tam Bram, or one or the either. Knowing one or the either more than qualifies it as well.
2. If you’ve been raised in the south [of India, that is].
3. If you are a woman, mid-30’s and have grown up during the time when India and the conservatives were still struggling to let girls fly coop. The frustrations of being shackled and the parents dilemma in wanting to satisfy the daughter, yet the fear of the unknown holding them back is more more than palpable without any drama or histrionics.
4. If you love food and look at its preparation and the art and the science of it as a chemistry, and as a fulfilling experience.
5. Growing up, if you rather preferred boys company and played cricket and climbed trees than indulged in girly games.
6. If you’ve had dreams of making it out to the US and striking it on your own.
7. If you did manage to come out here as a student and struggled through some questions, simple and complicated and adjusted ultimately to the lifestyle that America’s offered you.
8. If you sat through an arranged marriage scene and wished the guy’s folks could say ‘yes’ so you could say ‘no’ just to hold onto a semblance of pride.
9. If the terms Elliots beach, WCC, Mambalam ring a bell.
10. If you like reading personal blogs. :–)

There’s more, but letting the reader discover the nuances is what a book like Monsoon Diary is all about. It’s personal.

I believe I qualifed almost all the pre-reqs, bar one, or rather half of one.

Palace of Illusions – By Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

We hear Draupadi’s voice. It’s Draupadi’s life story, from her birth through her childhood, dreams, ambitions, and hesitations all through her decidedly sad life till the end. A fictional autobiography offering a detailed sketch of what could have been running through Draupadi’s mind as she plays a role in an epic. A role she accepts with trepidation and immense discomfort, and grows into ultimately reveling in the knowledge that such a dramatic fate is indeed her destiny.

If each of her thought and action was a pearl, then the silver cord that strings Draupadi’s life together is Karna. Not any of her husbands, not her brother [what a fine surprising character he turned out to be!] and neither is her part as a queen, but it starts with Karna very quickly in the story and ends with Karna. As huge as a surprise that came for me, I vaguely remember my grandma’s storytimes from a lifetime ago, when in passing she mentions Karna as suitor that Draupadi liked and had wanted as her beau, but destiny dictated that she married Arjuna and hence on. Maybe it was just a mention in the original epic, and this author ran with the thought as most writers do with a small figment that could potentially open up some grand avenues. In this case a whole 300 page novel. Or perhaps it is indeed written somewhere in the grand novel – Mahabharatha. With the sheer volume, intricate sub-plots and tales attached to each character, it is hard to keep track on the whos and whats where. Maybe Karna just got lost. But then again, highly improbable considering the importance he is given and a gentleman that he’s sketched out to be.

What spurred me on in the book was the style of writing reflecting the very modern thought process that Draupadi’s voice spelled. When I say “modern” I realize I use it quite loosely. There is really nothing modern or 21st century about her thoughts. Perhaps to a slight extent in the way she was expressed and not what she expressed. Fiercely independent, strong multi-dimensional, women characters have always stood around in our mythology. Women who stood for their husbands through loyalties and duties, women who stood against their husbands, women who ruled with their head and not their hearts and women who made a difference in the way history was shaped.

It is quite admirable to see how the author managed to squeeze in almost all of the notable small tales that are linked to the main novel. She also does an admirable job in keeping true to the theme of biography. If an event occurred without Draupadi’s presence, she’d raconte it to us in retrospect as in hearsay. Considering that Draupadi’s claim to fame is the court scene where she gets disrobed you’d think that the author would use that as a main central theme and spend a couple of chapters on describing details, but it will come as a surprise that what happens before Draupadi gets dragged off is told to us in a mere small paragraph. The emotions are vividly portrayed, but also what puzzled me was the order to disrobe and where it came from. All along in our epic and stories I’ve read and played on, it was Duryodhan who asked Dusshasan to do the needful, but here it showed Karna to utter the fateful words. Is this fiction? It should be. How else could a woman of such respect, dignity and caliber continue to yearn for such a person’s affection, and want to be an object of interest to him? Especially when she considers it to be the highest of insults and even goads Bheeshma up until the very end of his breath on why he could not prevent it, or at least condone his grand nephews.

A few situations deserving mention:
1. Draupadi and Kunti’s relationship and the typical mother-in-law, daughter-in-law tensions.
2. Her love and devotion to Krishna without understanding the whys
3. Her pride in the Palace she gets built according to her whims and fancies.
4. Loving portrayal of how Bheeshma became Bheeshma the hero, uncle and an object of envy and misunderstanding.
5. The kurukshetra and the vision she did not want.
6. Of course the grand underlying unrequited love (?) or obsession with Karna.

There are more of such little puzzles and Chitra does a fine job in filling gaps with imagination and brings in dimensional value to Draupadi. It is indeed a page-turner nevertheless, sketching a depth into Draupadi that may or may not have been there. An enjoyable read.