Book List

Seems the latest epidemic on FB is the Top 10 Book List. As someone who made more friends in words by unmet people than in the real world of met people, I, for one, accept Books as my greatest influencers. Despite the quick lure, I swore to stay off this one because, a) If everyone's doing something, one has to not do it! :P and b) It just looked to gimmicky and advertise-y to me...

But then K had a different take, which was that these could actually be book reccos. And that got me thinking- why not take it a step further and turn it into an investigatory reflection on the books I have or have not like over the years. I recently wrote a post along similar lines, which was more in particular about one book - Sense of Ending by Julian Barnes – but maybe it could be taken a step ahead. Why not, I say! It does let me combine two of my deepest joys – lists and reflection! :P So, here goes my somewhat autobiographical book list. (I have tried to curb my enthusiasm to listing the 10 books / authors closest to my heart, so I have had to leave out quite a few - like Feynman who is an inspiration on what an ideal Life is… like 50 Shades of Grey is a lesson on what Love in non-fictional scenarios is not! :D)

1.       I spent most of my pre and early teens besotted with Holmes. So, I’d say I discovered my ideal man pretty early in life! :P That’s my personal connection; nothing need be said on the sheer genius of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!

2.       The college years were largely consumed by Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason series. Although I enjoyed every thrilling adventure with Mason and Della Street, I’d strongly recommend young readers to read something meatier. But yes, if you ever find yourself slacking on your reading, this is a definite pick-me-up! J

3.       I wouldn’t say the years were a complete waste – I did discover Roald Dahl. This man gives new meaning to the genre of intrigue. When the ordinary is unhinged, it opens dark, chilling corridors more terrifying than any ghost or spirit. It is a deep disturbance that makes one a lifelong student of human nature! Or perhaps it is the other way around. Why don’t you read and tell me? I strongly recommend Lamb to the Slaughter as a short read to see how you take to him.
In a related aside, it came as large and late surprise to me that Dahl wrote for children as well! The gamut of this man's writing is mind-boggling.

4.       Then there was J K Rowling with the Potter Series. I refuse to accept that HP is a ‘Children’s’ Book Series. Everyone deserves a bit of Magic irrespective of age! Leaving the teens and entering into ‘adulthood’ is always a somewhat tough phase. It is a time when we’re trying to figure out too many things all at once – friends, the future, and ourselves! Harry took me flying high above the muddled muggle world; and a little perspective always helps! ;)

5.       There was a time I suspected, I would only ever enjoy the fast and funny – you see, my staple for a while was Jeffrey Archer and P. G. Wodehouse. P. G. Wodehouse continues to be the best stress-buster ever; the man is clear, mellow sunshine!

6.       But Ayn Rand rescued me. I believe Ayn Rand was a sharp turning point in my personality development. I did not completely understand Atlas Shrugged the first time I read it. But then I found Anthem – and that was my key! It was also what shaped most of my value system at that impressionable age; and I think I never did get out of that mould of thinking. Accept complete and unforgiving responsibility of oneself – for better or for worse. One other faith that emerged from Ayn Rand’s work was also this: that a woman could write serious books and become an influencer beyond her own Age. Books that touched political ideologies, economics, and the deepest understanding of the self!

7.       The other woman who cast a deep and lasting impression on my mind was fictional – Scarlett O’Hara! The woman is Steel – everything she encounters only adds to her strength! Moreover, in a world where we are constantly encouraged towards humility, it is a wonderful change to see a heroine who is vain, haughty, and proud of it!
Years later, when I re-read Gone with the Wind, it did make me wonder if it was anything more than a love story with the benefit of a complex background. I do believe it is more than that. Who doesn’t love Rhett Butler? :P But if I were to recommend the book, it’d be for the vivid descriptions that transport one from bountiful Tara, to the war, to the ravaged land in its aftermath; and the woman who stood tall through it all.

8.       Hummm... now that I make this list, I am beginning to realise my favourites feature way too many women! Jane Austen. Having read P&P, I immediately launched on a mission to devour every word ever written by her! Wherever I go, I know she will always have a place on my shelf. Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights (of course!), Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca (sigh!)… And most recently – Night and Day. Virginia Woolf sees and depicts the independent woman so much ahead of her time, yet so convincingly, that she stands true even today.

9.       If you enjoy some off-beat reading, Mark Haddon’s Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is for you! Here’s an example – ‘…it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.’ Do you find yourself smiling wistfully when you read that? J
It’s been a while since I read this one – but the impression lingers. Which reminds me - it’s up for a revision!

10.   While most books / Authors influence what we read next, Jerome K Jerome influenced how and what I wrote! Oddly, while I’ve enjoyed his side-splitting novels – Three Men in a Boat and Three Men on a Bummel, the influencers are his slimmer works, like: Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow, Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow, Told after Supper, etc.

11.   I have exhausted my list of 10, but I can’t help but add this if we’re talking recommendations! I insist that every child should be introduced to Tintin and Asterix as soon as possible! The world can always use some more ‘Pun’! :P

Restless Routine

Riverscapes

A river flows some little way out from my home. At least- I call it a river. After each dam that blocks her way has claimed a part of her for itself, she is little more than a trickle by the time she finds her path to freedom. Some have even taken to calling her a stream... or ‘Naalaah’. (But we meander… and we will go far afield if we do! :) )

It is to this river I often head when I’m seeking a quiet evening to myself. My usual trajectory takes me up one side of the river, across the bridge, and down the other bank. The river is always playing witness to a diaspora of human emotion and conversation. All along the bridge are faces as similar and as distinct as pebbles on the river bank.

Walking along, I catch snippets of conversation… glimpses of a familiar emotion on an unknown face. It is strange how we reveal a little bit of our deepest emotions to an unknown pedestrian, simply through the connection of being human. A couple seated on the stony steps- her head bowed; he seated next to her… ready to comfort her, yet giving her the space to recover her strength. I walk on in haste lest I intrude into a private moment; but the briefest picture reveals the entire story.

Groups of youngsters animatedly discuss the day’s events. It is quite entertaining how each of us imagines that all that we think, feel, experience is brand new and unique to us! It is- in a way. So when a 19 year old holds forth eloquently on her life plans and sees no possibility of them not working out, the confidence is only slightly amusing and a lot more inspiring. For that moment, a fresh energy surges through the mind cleaning the slate for some brand new drawings! For a moment one becomes 19 again, forgets the exhaustion and disappointments and smiles a real smile.

Looking away, my eyes rest briefly on a mother and daughter in earnest conversation. The words are few, the emotions many. The young age of the girl, the flowers in her hair, the shiny new Mangalsutra (Hindu equivalent of a wedding ring), and the expression on her mother’s face make for a poignant picture. Youth bubbled over to express itself; Age looked on with patience - recognizing similarities, noticing differences, and coming to terms with a growing, independent reality. Such a moment -what more could one ask for in one's pursuit of the picturesque on the banal landscape of routine.

And yet, the river flows on. She doesn't pause to eavesdrop. She doesn't whisper her own advice. She does not mock the futility of it all.  Somewhere along its banks lovers whisper… somewhere a debate flares… somewhere two friends enjoy a dialogue of perfect silence… and somewhere a lonely heart tells the universe its sorrows. Next time I visit my river, I shall listen closely- for I might hear an unexpected gurgle of mirth… I shall look closely, for I might just discern two recently shed tears joining the tide.

Turning pages..

It is not every day that we come across a creation that completely engrosses us, cuts away every thought and makes us inhabit a different world - or perhaps I am hard to please. But I take heart in the fact that at least every once in a while, this does happen.

As recently as last week, I think I ran into my book equivalent of a soul-mate. While Ayn Rand has been a consistent love in my life, and Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters have been like-minded friends; somehow nothing had ever resonated so closely as did Mr. Julian Barnes’ words in ‘Sense of an Ending’. Perhaps, these are the workings of time. At the point when I read this book, it was like meeting the little person who lives inside my head. It also made me wonder if those are the books we like most- the ones that make us feel, ‘if I wrote, this is how I’d sound’. This was a book where I savoured each idea, each word- and comprehended each as clearly as if it were my own. Does that happen to you? Does it happen that for once, you are not eager to force your eyes and mind to run through the words because you can’t wait to see where they take you; instead- you wish to amble, retrace, loiter. The author’s ideas of life, art, history- I wish I could have them all by heart to cite at every appropriate instance (while we’re wishing- I wish I’d written them!). The book has several intertwined threads of separate lives wound around the recurring themes of philosophy, history and their relationship with reality – which, when woven together, wrap one is a blanket of seamless beauty. There are some works of art you can reach out and touch, and then there are some that envelope you with their many, many dimensions! Just as meeting your soulmate makes you wonder about all the past worthy and unworthy dalliances you've had, so did I find myself reflecting on my reading choices over the years.

Every book has a personality; it is like meeting a person – oddly enough, a personality born of the reader’s perception, and not the author’s! In effect, every book is a rendezvous. There are some narratives that are familiar as an old friend – thoughts heard once before; in fact, hasn’t it happened to you that you can almost hear an entire narrative in a dear friend’s voice! Then there are those pacy, whirlwind affairs that we rush into, where logic takes a back seat and it’s a pure head rush. Remember Perry Mason? And of course, almost all of us have gone through a 'Sidney Sheldon phase'! My favourites over time have been those books that are like friendly banter on a lazy afternoon… words that swing you on a hammock with sunshine and good cheer for company. A languid Summer’s day that seems like it’d go on forever, yet, all too soon is over- but not without leaving a lingering warmth. That’s how I feel when I am idling on Corfu with Gerald Durrell or taking my imagination for a stroll at Blandings Castle. :) Some other books I’ve ‘met’ are enigmatic and wary… they reveal themselves slowly- and so do they exert their power. It is not until you’ve reached midway that you realise you’re inextricably hooked. Sartre’s Nausea did that to me – I was labouring through word by word, digesting each idea, wondering if I really had the appetite – and then suddenly at some point, there was a connection. This is the love we savour slowly – a love that almost wasn’t to be; but is

Some books, or entire genres, are so unlike ourselves that we really don’t expect to like them. Biographies – Auto or otherwise- was a genre I had stayed away from, on these very grounds. Why should I be interested in someone else’s real life? My own life as a protected and pampered child was sailing so smoothly, that I could only turn to fiction to learn of its vicissitudes. I hardly expected any person’s real life to match, let alone surpass, the romance and adventure of fiction! In fact, I recall I once took up Feynman and did not get beyond page 20. Shocking, I know. But you see, back then- I read about the radios, and I thought- “This is just mechanics!”. Today, I can see a curious mind, a passion for the world we live in and above all- the zest to experience Life! I was always an avid reader, but my poison was the classics! It took me a couple of heartbreaks, struggle for  acceptance and a taste of the real world to begin relating to stories of other peoples’ lives - to appreciate that truth is indeed stranger than fiction! That’s when I started appreciating Biographies. That's also when I realised, whether you're reading a book or writing one, empathy is perhaps the most important constituent. When they speak of the ‘pain’ you need to create beautiful art, they speak of experiencing battle, emerging with war wounds and painting the epic for the world to see. Your paint may be pigment, your brush may be words, your strokes may be dance- but the life in your art is always that unspent anger, unspilled joy, that resonates within you and everyone who has experienced Life!

I am Special

Are you at some chronological point between 25 and 35, at a financial place we like to call ‘upper middle class’, and in a state of dissatisfaction?

I know I am- most of the time- dissatisfied that is; the age and economics are pretty much stable! And sometimes by myself, sometimes in cahoots with similarly oppressed friends, I try to find out the root cause of this unnecessary, inexplicable distress.

Based on my own judgment of my life thus far, some thoughts have evolved.Sharing my ideas with you good people in the hope of a better understanding of this non-dilemma!

I am including pretty much everyone between 25 and 35 in this group. Given that the gaps between generations keep getting deeper and closer together, I am not sure how right this is. But based on purely subjective experience, I am going to continue with the same demographic sample.

Most of us in our late twenties are either single children, or one of a pair. As such- we have received more than our fair share of attention. While a good education was ours by right, most conveniences too were only an ask away. Not all of us were the best of students, but then the alternative areas of achievement were many. Some played badminton, some danced, some swam, some sang- most of us did more than one of these! It was basically very doable- thanks to a mixture of comparative affluence, perceived ability, and of course- peer pressure! So what I’m driving at is- we’re quite an ‘accomplished’ generation. All of us have had a growing up phase liberally sprinkled with achievements - a district tournament here, a music award there. And since parents had only one or two children to focus on, the appreciation was abundant too.

And then we grew up.

Where once we were a ‘superstar’ for every 50/50 in Maths, small appreciations became hard to come by. I guess we assumed adult life would be an extension of the individuality we had always enjoyed. Each of us stood out from our peers in some way or another, and it was only natural to assume that the ‘individual identity’ would continue. However, as adults, we found ourselves working at something a thousand others do, struggling through courtship and marriage like everyone does, getting caught in traffic with a hundred others.

Nobody’s special.

I wonder if that's the reason we're seldom 'mad-happy' in adult life. We have taken our ‘awesomeness’ for granted and assumed others would see it too. Well, I’m sure each of us is very special in some way, but not enough to set us apart the way a ‘1^st prize in athletics’ did in school!

Perhaps we miss that.

And we look for it in the minor victories that life has to offer.

But it’s just not the same, is it?