Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Muddy eddies and unclear waters
BOOK REVIEW
Book: The Muddy River
Author: P. A. Krishnan
‘When the river is flooded, its water is muddier than at any other time, but when the flood has subsided, it becomes clearer than it was before.’ This quote is attributed to Gandhi at the conclusion of The Muddy River, by P. A. Krishnan. The plot is very much so – muddy, at this quote at least, strives to bring some clarity.
There is a novel within this novel, and a plethora of characters, who weave in and out of the narrative at will. The story of Chandran and Sukanya who have lost their child Priya is at the heart of this story. The relationship of the protagonists is like a theme song, an undercurrent running through. Streaks of brilliant narrative flash through like lightening on a dark stormy night. But on the whole, The Muddy River is a narrative that moves in fits and starts, and as Sukanya’s mails to Subir and Herbert echo, it is a narrative that does not tell the story perfectly.
The culprit you could say are the fonts in the book, the myriad fonts that muddy the reading so much, that you have to return after the first few pages, to figure out that one represents the book in the book, one represents real time and there is more.
Besides, there is some confusion as to the Voice at a particular point. On page 31, Sukanya is reading letters from Subir and Herbert. ‘She’ reads the letters. ‘She’ eased him on the sofa. And a couple of lines later, ‘I haven’t asked him who this Raman is...’ This ‘I’ pops up at a few more places but I have trouble placing the identity of this first person character.
The story hops between Guwahati, Calcutta, Delhi. Ramesh Chandran, as Chief Vigilance Officer, Power Transmission Corporation, a government entity, finds himself thick in negotiation for Ghosh, an engineer of the corporation kidnapped by a militant group.
There are some truly delightful characters who weave in and out – there is Bura, the contractor; Raman who dies in the arms of an ‘escort’ in the company guest house, Bhuyan, the cop; the Power Minister; the Power Secretary. The machinations of these last dignitaries are familiar, deliciously repugnant and corrupt.
It is a tale within the tale, and Ramesh writes out his life, it appears, to purge the guilt of the death of his child. Or is it?
We don’t know. Interestingly, Ramesh remains a mystery despite the first person narrative. He hides more than he relates, even as he shares with you his observations, his irritation, his anger. As the novel concludes, it is Anupama, who takes up a good part of the Assamese narrative who offers us a glimpse of the real Chandran, and then there is a tantalising possibility – did they have an affair?
There is pure gold in the plot of this book and its characters. But it is lost in the muddy eddies of the fonts and the back and forth telling, the he’s and the I’s, the italics and the bolds.
This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!
Book: The Muddy River
Author: P. A. Krishnan
‘When the river is flooded, its water is muddier than at any other time, but when the flood has subsided, it becomes clearer than it was before.’ This quote is attributed to Gandhi at the conclusion of The Muddy River, by P. A. Krishnan. The plot is very much so – muddy, at this quote at least, strives to bring some clarity.
There is a novel within this novel, and a plethora of characters, who weave in and out of the narrative at will. The story of Chandran and Sukanya who have lost their child Priya is at the heart of this story. The relationship of the protagonists is like a theme song, an undercurrent running through. Streaks of brilliant narrative flash through like lightening on a dark stormy night. But on the whole, The Muddy River is a narrative that moves in fits and starts, and as Sukanya’s mails to Subir and Herbert echo, it is a narrative that does not tell the story perfectly.
The culprit you could say are the fonts in the book, the myriad fonts that muddy the reading so much, that you have to return after the first few pages, to figure out that one represents the book in the book, one represents real time and there is more.
Besides, there is some confusion as to the Voice at a particular point. On page 31, Sukanya is reading letters from Subir and Herbert. ‘She’ reads the letters. ‘She’ eased him on the sofa. And a couple of lines later, ‘I haven’t asked him who this Raman is...’ This ‘I’ pops up at a few more places but I have trouble placing the identity of this first person character.
The story hops between Guwahati, Calcutta, Delhi. Ramesh Chandran, as Chief Vigilance Officer, Power Transmission Corporation, a government entity, finds himself thick in negotiation for Ghosh, an engineer of the corporation kidnapped by a militant group.
There are some truly delightful characters who weave in and out – there is Bura, the contractor; Raman who dies in the arms of an ‘escort’ in the company guest house, Bhuyan, the cop; the Power Minister; the Power Secretary. The machinations of these last dignitaries are familiar, deliciously repugnant and corrupt.
It is a tale within the tale, and Ramesh writes out his life, it appears, to purge the guilt of the death of his child. Or is it?
We don’t know. Interestingly, Ramesh remains a mystery despite the first person narrative. He hides more than he relates, even as he shares with you his observations, his irritation, his anger. As the novel concludes, it is Anupama, who takes up a good part of the Assamese narrative who offers us a glimpse of the real Chandran, and then there is a tantalising possibility – did they have an affair?
There is pure gold in the plot of this book and its characters. But it is lost in the muddy eddies of the fonts and the back and forth telling, the he’s and the I’s, the italics and the bolds.
This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
A Civil Society Bill?
What if there is truly a civil society mandate? What, if those who are opinion makers, and those who have the power to make the change grab the bull by the horns, and create a Civil Bill that underlines certain requirements that the Common Man asks for, from those they have to vote for?
This Civil Bill, among other things can create a Code for the politician, for the man who wishes to stand for elections. Of course, the age of retirement should be a given. If a man has to retire at 60 or 65 years to give way to new talent and new energy, in politics too, this should be the norm. The Bill can set this and others like:
1. Every aspiring politician should have a minimum education level. Papers to this effect, double ratified, not by a random notary, but by the educational institution and the university, should be presented in the public domain. This will eliminate fake degrees and certificates as well as proxies sitting in for exams.
2. Every aspiring politician should have put in say about a year of ground level social work. He should live in the area where he works, travel on local trains, visit the shanties of the poor and the homeless and have tea with them, without the press and the media being present. There should be an everyday system, perhaps with the new computerised UID support, to ensure that the year of work is clocked, say about 9am-5pm. No excuses, no hospitalisation please.
3. The area of social work can cover any field from education to social or civic support/services.
4. At the end of this year, the aspiring politico shall present a paper on his work, with suitable statistics and other information to the university of the state he belongs to. He shall then immediately be awarded a doctorate, if the quality of his paper passes muster. This short cuts the unnecessary need to get to power, pull all strings, and after two decades of struggle to stay in power, just to have some random university award him a doctorate.
5. This year long social work experience shall be the criteria for standing for any kind of elections. Without this experience, a candidate’s application should be declared null and void.
6. Once elected, the candidate should be eligible for accommodation and other incentives that will average the income levels of his constituency. For example, if the poor in the constituency are surviving on Rs.32 a day quite easily, it would be ridiculous for its elected representative to live in a villa, with Z-category security and move about in an entourage of 10 Ambassadors and a personal SUV.
7. An elected representative cannot act in a film, even if before he entered politics, films were his calling. It would be rather fitting that he should opt for reality television instead. It would connect him instantly to the viewing public, and eliminate any selfish motives of amassment of personal wealth, name or fame - since as per the Civil Bill, he would have to plough any gains thus accrued into the betterment of his constituency.
The above is just a sample of some of the codes that could well cleanse the system of its black sheep. Building on this, it would be needless to say that those accused of murder and corruption, and who may not have been convicted, still cannot apply. A clean slate is a mandate to getting to be our leader.
This Civil Bill, among other things can create a Code for the politician, for the man who wishes to stand for elections. Of course, the age of retirement should be a given. If a man has to retire at 60 or 65 years to give way to new talent and new energy, in politics too, this should be the norm. The Bill can set this and others like:
1. Every aspiring politician should have a minimum education level. Papers to this effect, double ratified, not by a random notary, but by the educational institution and the university, should be presented in the public domain. This will eliminate fake degrees and certificates as well as proxies sitting in for exams.
2. Every aspiring politician should have put in say about a year of ground level social work. He should live in the area where he works, travel on local trains, visit the shanties of the poor and the homeless and have tea with them, without the press and the media being present. There should be an everyday system, perhaps with the new computerised UID support, to ensure that the year of work is clocked, say about 9am-5pm. No excuses, no hospitalisation please.
3. The area of social work can cover any field from education to social or civic support/services.
4. At the end of this year, the aspiring politico shall present a paper on his work, with suitable statistics and other information to the university of the state he belongs to. He shall then immediately be awarded a doctorate, if the quality of his paper passes muster. This short cuts the unnecessary need to get to power, pull all strings, and after two decades of struggle to stay in power, just to have some random university award him a doctorate.
5. This year long social work experience shall be the criteria for standing for any kind of elections. Without this experience, a candidate’s application should be declared null and void.
6. Once elected, the candidate should be eligible for accommodation and other incentives that will average the income levels of his constituency. For example, if the poor in the constituency are surviving on Rs.32 a day quite easily, it would be ridiculous for its elected representative to live in a villa, with Z-category security and move about in an entourage of 10 Ambassadors and a personal SUV.
7. An elected representative cannot act in a film, even if before he entered politics, films were his calling. It would be rather fitting that he should opt for reality television instead. It would connect him instantly to the viewing public, and eliminate any selfish motives of amassment of personal wealth, name or fame - since as per the Civil Bill, he would have to plough any gains thus accrued into the betterment of his constituency.
The above is just a sample of some of the codes that could well cleanse the system of its black sheep. Building on this, it would be needless to say that those accused of murder and corruption, and who may not have been convicted, still cannot apply. A clean slate is a mandate to getting to be our leader.
We get raped every day, but we don’t know it
Every day there is a new scam, a new leader, administrator, politician behind bars. Every day there is someone who ought to be giving to society, taking from the economy instead. Every day, the people who are hired/voted/in positions to protect us, disappoint us, leaving the stage open for someone new, appearing to bring in hope, to step into the limelight. Apathetic, we watch the drama as mere spectators.
Considering the kind of news that is being presented to us on television and in print and in every other form available, life has become very difficult to live. You cannot step out of your house for any of the below reasons:
1. Petrol price hike every two months.
2. Attendant price rice of vegetables and essential provisions, you don’t dare go out shopping for you may not have money to pay in your purse.
3. Eve-teasers who bully women and kill men who try to protect them
4. Apathetic policemen
5. Drunken cadre who abuse motorists like the professor who drove slowly on a Chennai road blocking their path.
6. Apathetic policemen
7. Dustbins spilling stinking rubbish on the roads
8. Apathetic corporators
9. Speeding motorists liable to hit you and drive on
10. Speeding buses
11. Murderous water lorries that don’t look behind when they reverse...
You can add yours to the list...
But the fact remains that either which way, you and I lose, despite our fasts and candle-light vigils, in large groups where we feel warm, cocooned and safe. The shivering spectators who watch vicariously, with no guts to intervene are us. We have no excuse. Every day we get raped, and we don’t know it.
Considering the kind of news that is being presented to us on television and in print and in every other form available, life has become very difficult to live. You cannot step out of your house for any of the below reasons:
1. Petrol price hike every two months.
2. Attendant price rice of vegetables and essential provisions, you don’t dare go out shopping for you may not have money to pay in your purse.
3. Eve-teasers who bully women and kill men who try to protect them
4. Apathetic policemen
5. Drunken cadre who abuse motorists like the professor who drove slowly on a Chennai road blocking their path.
6. Apathetic policemen
7. Dustbins spilling stinking rubbish on the roads
8. Apathetic corporators
9. Speeding motorists liable to hit you and drive on
10. Speeding buses
11. Murderous water lorries that don’t look behind when they reverse...
You can add yours to the list...
But the fact remains that either which way, you and I lose, despite our fasts and candle-light vigils, in large groups where we feel warm, cocooned and safe. The shivering spectators who watch vicariously, with no guts to intervene are us. We have no excuse. Every day we get raped, and we don’t know it.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
You have heard the Voice
We the People are so busy trying to make ends meet, that we have forgotten what it is to think. Mostly, our attitudes unconsciously reflect our desire to be left alone to lead our lives – we want someone else to do the dirty work.
So here we are, watching on national television, and on our streets, the frustration of the collective. Suddenly, there was the septuagenarian, who has miraculously emerged from the mess, to allow us to see what we were.
So in a surge of oneness, the Great Indian Middle Class is out there, showing its strength. For the first time in 64 years, it discovered its Voice. However, in the melee, in the comparisons to Gandhi, one thing is emerging slowly, that some of the commentators are piecing together and putting into words. What everyone missed and what everyone is discovering now.
The ruling class across polity is not just a bit confused. They have lived in a time warp, feasting on the cr̬me of the country, while the drones worked their butts off to make a living. They ensured that the drones did not get anything free Рthat every bit of education, medical care or essentials of basic living, were fought for tooth and nail, thus allowing those in power to feast on, uncontested.
This ruling class is yet a leftover of the children of the Midnight Generation, who probably saw Freedom happening but were too young to participate in the building of a nation. So without the pain of hard labour, they grew into understanding power and what it could achieve. Now in their sixties, seventies and eighties, these illusionaries, our elected representatives, wise in experience - stand there bewildered not understanding the actual truth of what is happening out there. And Anna was visible, they targeted him; fell flat. Every party in the opposition is glad they aren’t in the hot seat.
But this isn’t about Anna at all. This is about the Voice that has been emerging, a Voice we see every day, we have nurtured them, brought them up and allowed them to grow into the New Generation. This New Generation is not really looking for the privileges of stepping into the shoes of their fathers, mothers, grandfathers or grandmothers like the Leaders who try to be role models. They are discovering new things to do, new things to enjoy and new experiences to explore. In fact, this is the Generation that sees little beyond themselves and their concurrent life circles, the Generation that believes that they are their own role models. Freedom and Gandhi then, were things they read in history before the 11th standard.
This Generation is from the Great Indian Middle Class, looking for good educations, for better degrees, better paying jobs, good lives, well-furnished homes and happy experiences. This is best epitomized by the current Airtel ad so brilliantly interspersed between the news on channels capturing the Voice, where groups of youngsters sing to let you know what their different friends are and how these friends are important to them. And they are the Voice – they are right in front of you and they will not listen to what you say unless they themselves believe in it or are convinced about it.
They are our children, our grandchildren – and no – their Voices are not that of merely the rich and the powerful or those in the media. They are the Voices of those who live next door, who catch buses, trams and autos to college or to work, without the media making them into youth icons. They take loans to get them through college, they aspire to study or work elsewhere in the world and in their own eyes, they are global citizens, yet contemporary Indians.
So is this about Anna? Not at all. This is about the Voice everyone missed, and the Voice that the Wise, in their elected confidence are completely disconnected with. This Voice votes/or not votes, but they are in touch with reality. They have always known what they do not want. (Have you tried persuading your child to do something against his/her wishes? You will understand what I mean.)
So when this pristine, grandfatherly man, who seemed sincere and who suddenly emerged talking Jan Lokpal exhorted them to be there with him, they needed no encouragement. Like a dam burst, they are there flooding the streets.
The Wise Ones have retreated, licking their wounds. They Youth Politicos cannot help them for they themselves grew up in the lap of privilege, acquiring easy educations in Harvard or Cambridge, touring the world young and cocooned in security.
Anna is merely the metaphor, a strong one nevertheless. The voices on television grow stronger, and they are from the Voice – now not shy from showing a Face. There will be others who will speak as loud.
So here we are, watching on national television, and on our streets, the frustration of the collective. Suddenly, there was the septuagenarian, who has miraculously emerged from the mess, to allow us to see what we were.
So in a surge of oneness, the Great Indian Middle Class is out there, showing its strength. For the first time in 64 years, it discovered its Voice. However, in the melee, in the comparisons to Gandhi, one thing is emerging slowly, that some of the commentators are piecing together and putting into words. What everyone missed and what everyone is discovering now.
The ruling class across polity is not just a bit confused. They have lived in a time warp, feasting on the cr̬me of the country, while the drones worked their butts off to make a living. They ensured that the drones did not get anything free Рthat every bit of education, medical care or essentials of basic living, were fought for tooth and nail, thus allowing those in power to feast on, uncontested.
This ruling class is yet a leftover of the children of the Midnight Generation, who probably saw Freedom happening but were too young to participate in the building of a nation. So without the pain of hard labour, they grew into understanding power and what it could achieve. Now in their sixties, seventies and eighties, these illusionaries, our elected representatives, wise in experience - stand there bewildered not understanding the actual truth of what is happening out there. And Anna was visible, they targeted him; fell flat. Every party in the opposition is glad they aren’t in the hot seat.
But this isn’t about Anna at all. This is about the Voice that has been emerging, a Voice we see every day, we have nurtured them, brought them up and allowed them to grow into the New Generation. This New Generation is not really looking for the privileges of stepping into the shoes of their fathers, mothers, grandfathers or grandmothers like the Leaders who try to be role models. They are discovering new things to do, new things to enjoy and new experiences to explore. In fact, this is the Generation that sees little beyond themselves and their concurrent life circles, the Generation that believes that they are their own role models. Freedom and Gandhi then, were things they read in history before the 11th standard.
This Generation is from the Great Indian Middle Class, looking for good educations, for better degrees, better paying jobs, good lives, well-furnished homes and happy experiences. This is best epitomized by the current Airtel ad so brilliantly interspersed between the news on channels capturing the Voice, where groups of youngsters sing to let you know what their different friends are and how these friends are important to them. And they are the Voice – they are right in front of you and they will not listen to what you say unless they themselves believe in it or are convinced about it.
They are our children, our grandchildren – and no – their Voices are not that of merely the rich and the powerful or those in the media. They are the Voices of those who live next door, who catch buses, trams and autos to college or to work, without the media making them into youth icons. They take loans to get them through college, they aspire to study or work elsewhere in the world and in their own eyes, they are global citizens, yet contemporary Indians.
So is this about Anna? Not at all. This is about the Voice everyone missed, and the Voice that the Wise, in their elected confidence are completely disconnected with. This Voice votes/or not votes, but they are in touch with reality. They have always known what they do not want. (Have you tried persuading your child to do something against his/her wishes? You will understand what I mean.)
So when this pristine, grandfatherly man, who seemed sincere and who suddenly emerged talking Jan Lokpal exhorted them to be there with him, they needed no encouragement. Like a dam burst, they are there flooding the streets.
The Wise Ones have retreated, licking their wounds. They Youth Politicos cannot help them for they themselves grew up in the lap of privilege, acquiring easy educations in Harvard or Cambridge, touring the world young and cocooned in security.
Anna is merely the metaphor, a strong one nevertheless. The voices on television grow stronger, and they are from the Voice – now not shy from showing a Face. There will be others who will speak as loud.
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