The mystry begins to deepen

November 8, 2009 by krissnp

I am fascinated by the power of fiction. It is among the most enduring of the various art forms. It is history and the future, as you see it. Finding a writer that you tend to agree with is rare but a remarkable discovery. Once it happens the life begins to change.

Your most memorable moments of life may include the time you spent reading the work of your favourite author. Which could remain with you when you are lonely, apart from a few other memories.

It is about thoughts, ideas, emotions and a vision. Remembering, recalling, contextualising, realting and so much else. All these need very little instruments that are visible. The mystry begins to deepen.

Feel, felt, and felt

October 31, 2009 by krissnp

I was trying the feel what I felt about the discussion I had with a friend the other day . But I felt I am not sure how I feel about what I felt. Feeling so unsure, I feel there could be another way to go about it: to feel what I felt that time. This effort was lumbering on my feelings and I feel I will never feel what I felt. I also feel I better leave unfelt what I am not able to feel after working so hard.  

I wonder how anybody would feel for what I had not felt.

The Fortuitous?

September 17, 2009 by krissnp

Having read a little of the translation of the stories of Prem Chand by David Ruben, it is heartening to know that he not only was the contemporary of Maupassant but also was inspired by him.

Then there was the similar theme of ‘Mange ki Ghari’ of Prem Chand and ‘The Neckless’ of Maupassant. That apart both the stories richly describe the context and the time in which the two great writers created their work. So it was fortuitous on many counts for the of them.

Oh My Car!

June 1, 2009 by krissnp

 

 

I thought I was the only one

who owned and drove my car:

The symbol of finally having arrived,

of a middle class.

I found the whole economy and the system

riding on my shoulders,

while I rode my car.

They appeared collapsing like a house of cards,

When I decided to give up my car.

Oh my car!

Now everybody is coming out to help me

keep on driving my car.

Oh my car!

The jobs, elections and sexy models;

and the endless news hours will be lost,

If I lose my car.

Oh my car!

Nik Korpon Review

May 22, 2009 by krissnp

www.nikkorpon.com

The Work of Nik is available at www.outsiderwriters.org , a remarkable literary web site organised by a few vosionary  editors and contributors; among others.

City Women and the Ghost Writer

I have to keep reminding myself that I’ve never been to Nepal or India. I’ve never trekked through the mountains or eaten curry for a few rupees or bathed in the small river behind my house. Damn you, Krishna Bhatt, for confusing my already easily distracted and malleable mind!

City Women and the Ghost Writer collects observations and idiosyncrasies of Nepalese and Indian culture like an entomologist collects exoskeletons. Like a bug doctor, it examines these cultures with a neutral, sometimes detached, affect, but its fondness for the subject is evident. It floats through six-hut villages, over rivers crisscrossed with cattle, through the alleys of cities packed with village ex-pats scraping for a better life, and occasionally peeks its head up in a foreign country, a smug smile etched across its face.

Krishna Bhatt oscillates between nostalgic spectator, societal psychologist, and purveyor of scathing rants. For most of the book, an assortment of vignettes, (fictional?) short stories and musings, he relays everything with such an evenhanded, unexpressive tone that’s so voyeuristic, you almost feel guilty for intruding.

 

In Desires, a father toils for years in order to start a hotel, hoping to pass the business along to his sons. He begins: ‘I never thought my son would dump me into this hotel at my age, when I have broken my leg[…] I thought he was expanding the business, when he started building this hotel, but like other works he does, this too he left incomplete.’ Which pretty much sets the tone.

In Terminated Abortion, a pregnant woman is given an ultimatum by her family to kill the child or be excommunicated. She’s already has too many daughters, and the ultrasound is, well, less than promising. Her husband teeters between his unborn child and the security of her wealthy family. Then the story takes an unexpected turn…

Bhatt mixes rants and musings with the vignettes, to a surprising effect. While the stories remain neutral, there’s still a subtle hopefulness there, just barely. Or maybe it depends on your mood while reading. But these other pieces lend such a frustrated tint to the overall book that it causes you to reevaluate your entire perception of the book.

At times, they’re humorous, as if he has enough time and/or money to get so worked up over people underlining passages in the Hornsby-esque Underlining Borrorwed Books Overruled! (when only a few pages previous, the couple contemplates abortion.) Other times, he’s contemplative, ruminating on the relationship between reader and author. Sometimes he’s sarcastic, wondering why English has become the lingua franca, then relaying an incident with a friend who ‘does not purchase the [English language] newspaper to read, but to put it on the seat of his bike’ when it rains. The friend suggests that Bhatt do the same. He becomes outright furious as well, railing against the biased media and fellow countrymen whose concept of success is being able to move to another country.

Bhatt never resorts to yellow journalism. Even when angry and offended, he writes in measured sentences that are more or less objective. It draws the reader into his world and allows them to mix alongside the farmers, the scammers, the prostitutes, Brahmans, entrepreneurs, beggars and vendors. It’s the secure voice an accomplished author uses to pull you along, and you never realize he’s done it until you’re already in the heart of Kathmandu.

A Newsless life

February 5, 2009 by krissnp

Do not tell me what the news is

I do not want to spoil my day.

Miserable and unsurprising;

and I keep them at bay.

Sticky blogs!

June 23, 2008 by krissnp

Some of them never go away from your screen, though you frantically click the next button. Or they return while clicking the Next, if you some how are able to push away them for a moment. Who promotes them, the blogger or the web?

Two Fathers of modern short-story

May 8, 2008 by krissnp

‘Father of the modern short story’ is a name given to Guy de Maupassant. There is no contesting the fact that he wrote those stories so well in his short life. They describe the spirit of French resistance well and the hypocrisy of the society. These qualities are no more emphatic elsewhere than the story -Boule de Suif- in the which a prostitute flees along with a few noble Frenchmen – one of them because of being an illicit son of an aristocrat - and women, and two nuns and a Democrat politician, the occupied territories by the German soldiers, for the fear of being molested by them. In the vehicle they all travel the courtesan is treated badly and reminded of the class she belonged to, by the others, after she is recognised.

But her food is devoured by them, when they run short of supply. But no one offers her food when she ran out of it. But a lot happened in the meanwhile.

And there is the French noble man, noble for being rich out of selling bad wine at a high profit, travelling with her wife, trying to keep an eye on who enters the room of the courtesan when they all stay at a hotel during the night.  He finds the republican politician soliciting the favour of the courtesan, in the gallery into which all the rooms open. A favour she denies for her hate of the enemy Prussian soldier sleeping in an adjoining room. The politician is convinced and satisfies himself with a kiss. 

Then the courtesan finally had to offfer herself to the German soldiers, who denies them progressing further in their journey without this singular favour from the courtesan, for the next two days. But only after a lot of persuasions from her travelling mates -noble men and their women - including the nuns, except the republican politician. The politician is ridiculed by all, and they all laugh except the nuns till they become sick, when the nobleman divulges the secret of his attempt to enter the room of the courtesan on the first night of their stay in the hotel.

But later even the republican denies to share with her food, while they all eat from the provisions they carry, that the courtesan forgot to keep, the next morning she surrenders herself to the German soldier to keep their further journey possible; who is liked by the Noble women, for his sparing them for being married ladies. The courtesan weeps in silence.

An equivalent of Maupassant we had in India Named Prem Chand. He worked coincidentally during the same time as the former, but in Hindi, a language not followed much elsewhere like French. The spirit of resistance of Prem Chand is no less strong, if one considers the fact that India was under the firm rule of British colonials during that time he wrote. But Prem Chand created his work beautifully displaying the Indian way of life and its hypocrisy, and the resentment they felt for the colonialist. His life would have been at stake through out, a brief life that never enjoyed any comforts in life and remained a crisis. His work delights to the reader even nearly a century later, today, while India seems to have changed, but only a little of it. One could still find the countryside or town-life unchanged in much of India, that Prem Chand described, and the attitudes and hypocrisy. But that is how India is different than France. There are many novels to his credit apart from many volumes of short stories.

So if modern short story had if any, it had two fathers described here, who lived and worked during the same time, but in very different societies and the cultures. Defining a great writer in terms of Father or Mother is an inappropriate use of words. As it renders the later contributors to the position of sons or grandsons only. And one has to look for grand fathers or great grand fathers to describe the ones better than fathers.

The Kite Runner : Ironies, tragedies and No humour

December 11, 2007 by krissnp
This book that I read a while ago, by Khaled Husseini, had been a good read. It already is a best seller and a movie based on it is about to be released with or without the rape scene described in the story. The writer, a physician by profession, seems to be a humble guy who said recently that it was very difficult for him to get the Literary agents read his work before it was published.

The Afghan culture of the time just before it was occupied by USSR is richly described in the book, in the earlier part. It reveals the cruelty and violence prevalent in the society, against the weaker sex and the minority hazara community, which is perhaps Shia sect, though the life looks peaceful to the main character, living a protected life in the -what could be said to be- the upper middle class of the city.

But life begins to change as the hidden conflict in the society escalates and the King deserts the people, and the USSR troops occupy the nation; later facing a stiff resistance from the people of it after the rise of Taliban. While the ones with a wherewithal and connections leave to or through Pakistan. The truck drivers extort big money from these fleeing people, while a Russian troop could not rape the wife of a refugee, while the father of the main character intervenes -to his dismay- to protect the honour of a lady; and the soldier’s officer, later, apologising for the incident. A refugee commits suicide as soon he lands into Pakistan after the difficult journey, and the anguish and humiliation.

In spite of discovering his sense of irony in his writing that is so essential for an aspiring writer – in his school days, at home, with the help of one of the friend of his father, as he finds his father indifferent to his feelings though he throws lavish parties to celebrate his birthdays, and takes him around in the city Kabul, as he lost his mother while he was very young – the chief protagonist has failed to explore circumstances that the safer world like the USA too is created and maintained by people, to which he would run away in his childhood along with his father, from the turmoil at his home; and be educated there enough to write the stories that the world would read and appreciate.

In this world the writer will also find his large refugee community, living, to meet a girl -one who had fallen out of a brief marriage to a drug addict and is a daughter of another Kabul elite- to do the courtship in an as orthodox, inhibited way, as in his home, Kabul; and will play the music so loudly to celebrate his marriage that the neighbors would have to call the police late into the night, to shut it.

However, the jealous psychology of a young motherless boy is splendidly described in this novel, who finds his father’s love for an orphaned boy with a cleft lip difficult to live with. He conspires in a way that the boy, with corrected lip now by an Indian doctor, had to leave their home, and feels guilty for it ever since. Later he discovers that the boy, who collected the kites for him with his uncanny talent to predict where a one would land after being cut by another, was actually a half-brother of him from a pretty lady of the hazara community, with whom his father had an affair, while she was raising him after he lost his mother so young. The lady is sexually exploited by many men including a few from the army, as she belonged to the minority and had little protection, before his father brought her home to marry and live with their servant. On the birth of a boy with cleft lip she is disappointed – hysterical as her character is depicted, for being exploited to the extent she is – and runs away to only return to take care of her grandson from the boy: The Kite Runner. The servant of the family of the main protagonist and her husband raises the boy and the main protagonist. The Kite Runner too was once raped by the boys belonging to the majority community of the main protagonist, those who vy to collect the defeated kites with the two: the kite runner and his young master and friend. He watches this scene helplessly.

Later he returns to look for The Kite Runner, leaving behind a wife he could not make pregnant, on realising that he was his half-brother. The frustration of having sex while knowing that it will not result in a pregnancy is well described in the novel. He finds that his country is totally destroyed by the civil war he escaped, though the USSR troops have left, after he reaches Kabul with a great difficulty. He discovers The Kite Runner – who is later murdered by the Talibans for being a hazara – and also that his young son is in the captivity of Talibans. The revisiting of the town and the home, both are though nearly in ruins, where he passed his childhood days, are poignantly described in the story. His sense of loss appears profound.

It turns out that the boy who raped The Kite Runner was the leader of the captors of his son as well, and sexually exploits this boy too by dressing him as a girl and make him perform dance after he becomes inebriated with alcohol and drugs. The chief protagonist finds that the old enmity against him was not forgotten by this war-lord now, while they competed to collect the Kites. Who was incredulous that he returned from the USA to look for his half-brother from a lunatic hazara woman, out of an illicit relationship of his father. Also is described in this book a horrific scene, in which a young man and a young married woman are stoned to death for committing adultery. A death that the man does not resist while the woman does everything to mean that she did not agree with the justice.

Some how he manages to take this boy away from his childhood enemy, surviving a violent confrontation and injuries, into Pakistan, where he was delayed while he receives treatment and the USA embassy takes its time to arrange visa for the young boy. In the meanwhile the boy tries to commit suicide and is rescued with great efforts by the Pakistani doctors. The proceedings in the hospitals -earlier also, when he tries to treat the infertility of his wife,in the USA- are described in fair details, as the author is a physician by profession. His frustration of the USA embassy in Pakistan is portrayed in length, apart from the Afghan people living as refugees in Pakistan – a difficult life full of conspiracies, intrigues and crimes.

The Book amply displays the turmoil and violence in the societies in Afghanistan or in Pakistan, and the destruction the years of civil war has wreaked in Afghanistan. The sensitive way the story has been told may leave a reader choking with emotions. Though the author has acted in a correct way by not exploring much the political dimension of the tragedy, that is the life of the main protagonist, who appears to be at a fault to have been a victim. Being a hero he bears every indignity and tyranny with grace and style. He almost appears like a paragon of virtues, ironically.

Trivia

December 5, 2007 by krissnp

“Make sex safer!” read the heading of a letter to editor of a daily newspaper, on the next day of world AIDS day.
“Have nothing to do, why not to become a writer and write your own books? We make you writer within … weeks” so read an ad in the newspaper.

The writer trained to write the headlines like above.