The Kite Runner

“The Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini was recommended to me by a dear friend almost a year back.

For all this time, however, this book did not figure in my priority reads. I was vaguely aware that it had Afghanistan as its backdrop, and for some strange reason, my mind connected this with the boring and hugely pretentious “The Afghan” (Frederic Forsyth). I now sincerely regret this long wait of one year.

The Kite Runner is an endearingly honest and from–the–heart story, the kind one rarely comes across in the artificiality of your usual pulp fiction these days.

This is primarily a story of a young Afghani boy Amir and his various relationships –with his servant–friend Hassan, with his father, with his motherland Afghanistan and more importantly, with himself.

Hosseini has treated this beautiful panorama of relationships with amazing sensitivity and truthfulness, specially the father-son relation. This depiction of father–son relation is the best I have come across in my limited reading experience.

And the love Hosseini feels for his motherland Afghanistan is so palpable in his descriptions, which are refreshingly different from the usual western views one gets these days.

To me, however, more creditworthy is that for a first–time writer, he has been able to achieve the rare feat of making the reader intensely feel all the love, happiness, pain & anguish of the characters without indulging in any excessive verbal calisthenics.

A must read – “a thousand times over”!!

Oh Calcutta!

(Image courtesy: media-cdn.tripadvisor.com)

To borrow a cliché – cities are like people – each one with a distinct character, a different personality and of course, a very individual first impression they leave on the observer.

I recently visited Calcutta for the first time. I was armed with all sorts of prejudices – traffic jams, power cuts, militant left, pollution and poverty. It was a very short business visit of only a couple of days, with a very tight itinerary. Delhi and Mumbai were my only other metro benchmarks. Not all the right qualifications, but perfect for a snap-shot first impression.

Now, talking about first impressions, I am sure Delhi would seem like a brash young woman (okay, a man, maybe), with a very in–your–face attitude to the first–time visitor. Mumbai would be like probably a snooty glam-girl.

In comparison, Calcutta seems like a wizened old lady, who has “been there and done that”.

The majesty of downtown Calcutta is best epitomized by the huge, stately buildings with big pillars, high ceilings and wide staircases, typical relics of the Raj. Even though these buildings now house government organizations of the most run–of–the–mill–type, and private companies of different market standings, the suggestion of the administrative and financial power their occupants might have once wielded over this country still exudes therefrom.

In contrast, I passed by various seemingly derelict old houses – moss–ridden, with blackened walls and crumbling facades, which, I thought, were abandoned, till I saw families inhabit them. They might not be representative of the city, and I might be romanticizing a bit, but the contrast is too glaring to miss. I wish I would see more of the residential quarters of the city, those fabled “paras”, when I am here the next time.

With a long experience of the Delhi rush-hour traffic, the much maligned traffic volume does not surprise me. It is the fine art of jay–walking, however, which I find absolutely fantastic.

An astonishingly large number of people in crowded bazaars, lanes and main roads walk like apparitions – running, hopping, skipping, dodging and stretching – past all the traffic, including the bloated–frog–like yellow taxis, the ramshackle local buses and yes, the trams – those run-down carriages seemingly stuck in a time–warp.

Due to the nature of my trip, I was not able to interact with the real people and enjoy the authentic Bengal cuisine. I would be able to make up for this the next time I am here. Which would be sooner rather than later, I am sure.

Coffee?

“Ta Ra Rum Pum”, which I watched last Sunday, reminded me of the “espresso coffee” one is served in wedding pandals – high on froth but when you go digging for some substance, practically there is nothing to be found. The last time I got this feeling was when I watched Dhoom-2.

If movie–making is basically good story–telling, as I remember having read somewhere and what I think is correct, in my view these films should not have been made at all. Without even a semblance of a story, these movies are nothing more than a sequence of beautifully crafted advertisements, juxtaposed against each other, designed to merely titillate sans any stimulation.

Almost all such movies come from a big banner with a bigger star-cast, which succeeds in fooling one in to watching it, only to repent later. Wish the next time they could squeeze in some plain, old-fashioned story-telling.

The Last King of Scotland

I would be lying if I said that I was looking forward to watching the movie – The Last King of Scotland. I mean, tyrannical dictators & despots, assuming power by staging coups, have long since ceased to be a novelty, haven’t they?

I therefore braced myself for some boring docu-drama about Idi Amin – the long–forgotten, cannibal dictator. Thankfully, I could not have been more wrong.

The Last King of Scotland is a brilliant film, which merits a watch for reasons more than one – first, an excellent and justifiably award–winning performance by the lead-actor Forrest Whittaker as Idi Amin, and second –in spite of the small garnishing of fiction, it is one of those movies which provide one with a reference point in history

The story of the movie is from the perspective of Amin’s personal physician – Dr. Garrigan who, from being a nobody, rises to the top echelons of power, among the most trusted aides of Amin himself.

Initially charmed by Amin’s ostentatious show of concern towards the poor of his country, Dr. Garrigan later comes to know the horrors Amin & his coterie has inflicted on the masses.

But by that time, he realizes he is entrapped in the vicious quagmire and in a reversal of fortune, he just escapes being murdered by Amin’s henchmen to flee from the state incognito.

More than being a story, the movie actually scores in bringing out in detail not only the eccentricities, whims & tantrums of a dictator drunk on absolute power, but also his insecurities & fears in illuminating detail. A must watch.

Paincho!!

I remember, in my child-hood, swear & curse words being referred to as “helping verbs”. At that time, the reason for this nomenclature eluded me but now, in saaddi Dilli, I realize the aptness.

Now when my work, and pleasure occasionally, takes me around Delhi, and when my ears are treated to a wide variety of lingo – all peppered with enough garnishing of these “helping verbs”, I find that your everyday “Painchos” and “Machos” indeed do help a large number of Delhites make meaningful conversations with their fellow citizens.

So much so that there are people I know who, if their p…’s and m….’s are proscribed, would be left completely tongue-tied, devoid of even rudimentary conversation tools and skills.

So, the next time when you crib about the lack of decent language & tehzeeb in Delhi, spare a thought for those true Delhites who, but for these helping verbs, would not have been able to talk even, let alone talking properly, poor chaps!

Yuhin

This is one advantage of having a virtual absence of visitors on your blog – you can come and go as you please. This posting comes after a long time but I can rest assured of no admonitions.
While I was away there has been a whole gamut of happenings – from the positively gruesome like Nithari to uplifting ones like the Mattoo and Jessica verdicts. And yes, the popcorn fare – like Abhiash & Shilpa “Big Brother” recently.
Nithari is horrific actually – so much so that sometimes you feel you are being taken through some film plot. Wish it were so.
The court verdicts gave us hope that given a reason good enough, our much ridiculed system and public have the capacity to rise above the “chalta hai – hota hai” attitude which we are all so infamous for.
And how can I forget the very recent Abhiash phenomenon? Forgive me if your sensibilities are hurt but I must admit that I read this news on the front page before I read any other serious fare. And I was happy for both of them. Now, please do not start that bit about “begaani shaadi mein…..”
About this Shilpa Shetty affair – her being ridiculed on the Big Brother UK, what I feel about the whole issue is very succinctly presented in an article in the Hindi daily “Dainik Amar Ujala” dated 18th Jan’07. Too bad I can not paste the link here because of some technical incompetence on my part.
Will close this post here, while promising myself that I would try to be more regular.