Yashas Mahajan's Blog, page 43
October 12, 2016
Book of the Week #28:
by Sudha Murty
Of all the books we have featured here, this one probably stands out as the only non-fictional anthology.
In general, I am not overly fond of non-fiction, especially autobiographies. I mean, who wants to hear someone rant about their lives for 400 pages, right?
And what I do is not the same, okay…
However, this book is different, as it serves as a memoir, wherein the writer recounts fifty colourful episodes of her travels through our country.
As the head of Infosys Foundation, these are probably some of the many things that you see while working with the underprivileged sections of our society.
Despite the nature of stories, the narrative style is not preachy, which is a big relief. She just tells you what she thinks, and not she wants you to think.
The difference seems subtle to the writer, but to the reader it is often stark. And yes, I have some very specific names in my mind, who tend to cross over the line. Does that also include my own, I am now forced to wonder.
Another positive is that the length of the stories, roughly four pages each, allows you to read them at your pace, with minimal investment.
The impact this book had on me as a writer was astonishing, partly because I could not see the same change in me as a person.
Yet, somehow, it did inspire me to write an anthology of my own. Of course, since I never go out and meet new people, it has stagnated quite a bit. Another reason could be the major overlap my sister’s life has with mine; she tends to poach some of my best stories.
I cannot get into a copyrights lawsuit with my sister. As the first born, she probably gets dibs on Dad as her lawyer…
Well, while I continue working on mine, you could read this one here.
That is all for tonight, I guess.
Thank you…
October 11, 2016
Word of the Week #28:
Okay, let me just take a moment and say that the choice of word has nothing to do with the date. I do not intend to follow the overplayed Good vs Evil theme.
Instead, let us talk about the very concept of comparisons…
Now, comparisons are obviously important. You cannot know how good something is, unless you have had something else, be it better or worse. However, is comparison really necessary? And to what end?
For instance, if you eat a bowl of Maggi noodles, and then rant about how Stir-fry Udon Noodle with Shredded Roast Duck and XO Sauce you had at Hakkasan was infinitely better, and how you will never eat noodles anywhere else ever, you sound like a big douche.
If you have to compare Maggi with something, do so with Top Ramen, and see if it stacks up. I don’t think it does, but well, to each his own.
On the other hand, if you think Maggi is the best thing in the world since sliced bread, then I don’t even know what to say, but weep for the future of humanity.
Of course, this is a literary blog, more or less, but the analogy does hold true…
Now I return to my Top Ramen…
Stir-fry Udon Noodle with Shredded Roast Duck and XO Sauce, at Hakkasan, NY[Image Source: Miss Fiora’s Blog]
October 4, 2016
Book of the Week #27:
What is so special about Week #27, you ask? By itself, probably not much…
However, if you look closely at the date, and examine the rest of the blog, you will realise that it has been exactly six months since we began, here.
Happy Semi-Anniversary!
And what better way to celebrate this day, than by giving our readers the first look at our upcoming book, and the sequel to Arrkaya: Origins.
If you have not read Book #1 yet, do not worry, this contains no spoilers.
PS: Yeah, this will be a fiery one…
Immortals
[Arrkaya, Book Two]
Prologue
The Phoenix Rises
Cough! Cough!
She wiped the soot off her face, without pausing for a moment.
The cold valley was filled with mist and smoke. She ran up the slope, through the dark night. Her feet were bare and bloody, and her chest was heaving. She slipped in a pool of blood, and fell headfirst onto the charred remains of a man. With a loud shriek, she darted away, covering her mouth with both her hands.
Her tense skin, taut as that of a drum, could feel the air heating up around her. Drawing on every ounce of her strength, she raised herself to her feet, and continued scampering up the hillside. The grunts of her pursuer grew louder, and air around her grew more and more stifling. She slipped again, crashing down to her knees. With a quick stroke, she wiped off her tears, as a moan escaped her mouth. She did not need to turn around and look, to know that it was already too late…
Warm flames enveloped her body, caressing her, comforting her. She could hear her hair sizzling, as the fire singed her skin. She could feel the inferno around her, consuming her flesh and calcining her bones. And yet, she felt no pain. The fears and the sorrows in her heart seemed to have been burnt away. For the first time in her life, she had found peace.
The night was now quiet. The smoke was beginning to lift from the valley, revealing scorched buildings and charred corpses. The entire town was still. Then, from the ashes of his own mother, arose a boy. His fiery red hair, like wild flames, waved in the breeze, a grim look on his alabaster face. He took a fistful of the ash, and smeared it across his forehead. With steady, confident strides, he moved down the hill, until he stood in the centre of the valley. For the very first time, he opened his smouldering eyes, like a pair of glowing embers embedded in his skull.
“I am sorry, Mother,” he said, his voice calm, unwavering, “but it is not my fault. It is my nature to consume.”
He spread out his arms, feeling the heat around him. Drawing from the ancient voice within his head, he started absorbing energy from the scorched buildings and the charred corpses, draining them of all heat trapped within. The breeze suddenly changed direction, and grew chilly. The few surviving blades of grass wilted, as they began to glaciate.
His eyes were ablaze with this newfound power. Throwing his head back, he let out a roar that rumbled through the valley.
“I AM AZAZEL!”
October 3, 2016
Word of the Week #27:
Not to be confused with Martian, though the two do share a word root, or with Marshal, though the two sound quite alike…
Or that French guy who plays for ManU, whatever his name may be…
Now, I specify that because, as a kid, I would often get confused between the first three, and I was already smarter than many of you can ever hope to be.
Anyway, speaking of stupidity, I must assume you have seen people flooding the social media, somehow trying to tell us that war is the best thing in the world.
To such people, I only say one thing: “Have you never had Lasagna?”
Now, some people think that war is an away game. We go there, kill some guys, loot some towns, acquire some oil wells, and hand the host country a large serving of debt and democracy. Yeah, not all wars go that way.
Wait a minute… Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq… Huh?
Oh, wait, I was thinking of the country that would drop nuclear bombs over civilian populations, and then claim to lead the war against terror.
Well, good for them…
Anyway, let us see what greater men than myself have to say on this topic:
Wars are poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows.
– Martin Luther King, Jr.
Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform; he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.
– Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.
– Ernest Hemingway.
It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder.
– Albert Einstein.
So basically, all you need to remember is that war is never the answer.
If you see it as one of the options in an MCQ paper, feel free to ignore it.
Just finish the paper and go to a nice bistro. Order a Lasagna. Pair it with a rich wine. Eat. Drink. Live.
And then get a cab home…
PS: If you confuse the word with Marital, we can definitely understand…
September 28, 2016
Book of the Week #26:
by Agatha Christie
So, this is the third time we are featuring Agatha Christie in this list.
Only third? That is quite surprising… When I began, I intended to feature at least 20-25 of her books. So many wonderful books, so little time…
What is even more surprising is the fact that this is the only book I read after I watched the movie.
Now, let me start off by saying that I intend to keep this one similar to my favourite fictional detective: slightly short.
A lot of what I need to say has already been said, or will be said, in the other Agatha Christie posts, anyway, so…
Okay, well, now we begin the discussion by first talking about this train. Running between Paris and Istanbul, or was it Constantinople at that time, Orient Express was the epitome of luxury in long-distance travel, in a time before civilian aircrafts became the norm. And, as one can expect, the route and the layout of the train does play a part in the story.
One of the things I love about Agatha Christie’s books is the way she incorporates the setting into the plot, and this book is an excellent example. Of course, I cannot go into any details, because, you know, spoilers.
Still, I can say that a blizzard is not entirely unexpected while travelling through Central Europe in December.
The one supreme theme to this book is that of Justice. This story does force one to reexamine one’s understanding of justice, and how it differs from vengeance. It also makes one wonder if all that is just is legal, and vice-versa.
The plot itself is pretty much classic Christie: seems implausible and inexplicable at first, only to be revealed to be extremely simple, once you can see through the usual trappings and red herrings.
In conclusion, if you haven’t read this book, you should. You can find it here.
And if you really do not want to read it, well, the movie is good enough.
Well, that is all for now.
Thank you…
September 27, 2016
Word of the Week #26:
Such gross, right? Well, that is how I am…
And, to be very honest, that is what this week has been about, so by my twisted logic that only a few can understand, this does make sense.
You see, it is just such an important part of my life, and I have to share it with everyone I know.
Well, I should probably name my autobiography The Taking of Phlegm 123, you know…
I would like to say this is just the consequence of the sudden rains, but those who know me at all would catch my lie.
More than anything, it is just a measure of my awesomeness; I just have so much of it that the surplus tends to ooze out…
And, anyway, I have grown accustomed to it, over the past eight years. There are even times when I end up feeling weird, just because my nose is uncharacteristically clear.
I’d love to chat more, but I really need to go find a new, clean handkerchief…
Sigh.
September 21, 2016
Book of the Week #25:
by Patrick Süskind
Translated by John E. Woods
He succeeded in being considered totally uninteresting. People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.
Let me start off by saying that this is a weird book… And coming from me, that is quite something.
The second most important theme of this book, the first probably being obvious from the title, is the general disdain, even disgust, towards humans, which is probably not alien to any of us. After all, each one of us have, at some point in our lives, considered leaving behind this deplorable world and moving to the top of a volcano.
No? Is it just me? Well, never mind…
I believe it is also worth noting how much a book like this reflects on the author himself. Süskind, despite his literary success, has been unusually inactive over the past few years, and now lives as a recluse. Little is known about his personal life.
Also, it does not come as a surprise that the translator of the book, John E. Woods, received the PEN Prize for translation in 1987.
Now, when you start reading the book, the most important thing that leaps to the foreground, is the emphasis laid on scents. From the very first page, the primary sense used to lay the scene is olfactory; and it is used with extreme efficacy, might I add.
There are instances where the reader, especially one who shares the protagonist’s heightened sense of smell, and his disgust of humans, is overcome by nausea, by the revolting accuracy of the descriptions.
It is strange how dependant we have grown on our sense of sight that we tend to ignore the other, almost equally effective senses. After all, while travelling home in a crowded bus, it is not the sight of the sticky, sweaty bodies, but their stench, that makes you gag… Ugh!
Set in pre-revolution France, the story begins in Paris, described by the author as the city with the foulest stench, where an unusual child is born. His mother, a fishwife, is executed for the infanticides of her previous children, leaving him to be raised like cattle by the emotionally stunted Madame Gaillard.
The unusual part about the child is that, oddly enough, he seems to have no smell whatsoever. Perhaps, by the bizarre combination of these factors, he is left with a phenomenal sense of smell, a complete absence of humanity, and a deep disgust of humans, the three being deeply intertwined.
Quite frankly, the first part of this book is pretty much a How-To guide for turning a somewhat weird baby into a complete psychopath.
Now, imagine, in this disgusting world, you encounter a fragrance so exquisite that you cannot imagine your life without it. What lengths would you go to acquire it? That is, basically, what the story is about, as the protagonist’s obsession grows, and he travels through France learning the art of creating perfumes.
Ironically, the protagonist is named Jean-Baptiste Grenouille after Saint John the Baptist who, like Grenouille’s mother, had been beheaded.
Since Grenouille is, as one can suspect, not the most expressive of characters, the entire story is driven by a highly-descriptive style of narration.
Oddly enough, this book has been adapted into a movie, and while the cast seems promising, I have not yet had the opportunity to watch the movie. Nonetheless, turning a narrator-driven story about a psychopath obsessed with smell into a movie seems like an implausible task.
Of course, if any of you have seen the movie, do tell me what you thought of it.
Now, to whom would I recommend this book. That is a tough question to answer…
In general, if you like weird stuff, or dislike people, you would like this.
Anyway, you can find the book here.
Well, that is all for today.
Thank You.
By the way, have you ever been to a SwapBook Meet? You should. It is fun.
For one, that was how I was introduced to this book…
September 20, 2016
Word of the Week #25: [Guest Post]
NemeSis:
Have you been to public places in Delhi? If yes, you have probably seen them.
Deceptively normal looking females with shopping bags in one hand and a huge handbag in another, walking at you… yes, at you. Even if you were a wall made out of solid steel, they would smash right through you and probably not even notice.
Have you had conversations with men who think they know everything—including what you did last summer? Then you have met them. Your interjections, interruptions, interceptions and interests are ignored while the monologue continues. I usually close my eyes during some such conversations and my brain tricks me into believing there are seven men arguing with each other in that room you are in; in reality, there is just one man.
Often, I pause and wonder about these creatures and what probably goes on in their brains; assuming there is one in there, in most cases. The weight of the entire world or the said shopping bags or the massive accumulation of knowledge probably has all their sensory receptors switched off. It is possible that they do not see you or hear you at all.
Your presence diminishes considerably when you are in a shiny place with shiny shops selling shiny things; or in closed spaces with just one exit door; it is true; but these creatures just refuse to accept your existence. That hurts.
What hurts more? Not jumping out of their way at the right time.
Have you looked into the mirror recently?
Did you see a wall or did you see yourself?
What do you want?
Why don’t you have it yet?
What walls do you need to break through?
Have you met my little brother? Have you met me?
September 16, 2016
Character Origins #6: Rolf and Carlos
Bleda
“—and now, we can all but pray that his soul finds, in his passing, the peace he sought through life.”
The words were met with an obscure murmur of approval, as he placed a flower on the nondescript grave by the side of an old tavern.
The two soldiers, standing towards the end of the crowd, looked at one another, wondering if attending this particular funeral had been a good idea. Despite the many reasons to not come, they had inadvertently ended up here. The ceremony had been brief, and the words earnest, and it was almost time for them to leave.
“Hullo, gentlemen,” a young man greeted them, his face lips into a weak smile. “How did you know Uncle Arnold, pray tell. I had not expected any soldiers here, today.”
“Ah, well,” Carlos begun, trying to piece together an answer, “we were just passing by—”
“You are not on duty, then?” he enquired, as the realisation dawned on his face. “You! You were the ones who arrested him! How dare—”
“Calm down, Reiner,” a slightly elder man interjected, running his fingers through his friend’s unusually blond hair. The soldiers recognised him as the last man to speak, in the funeral. He looked much younger than his words would suggest.
“I am Leon,” he continued, extending his arm for a shake. “Forgive my friend. He is in grief, as are we all. As long as you come to share our grief, you are welcome here.”
“Thank you, Leon,” the taller of the soldiers replied sincerely. “I am Rolf, and this is Carlos… And yes, we were the ones who had the misfortune of arresting Arnold. I have never felt more hatred for myself, than when we were escorting him to the gallows. I just HAD to come here and pay my respects.”
“Then why did you get him killed!” Reiner yelled, causing the entire gathering to turn and stare at them.
“It was an order, kid,” Carlos responded, his voice completely nonchalant, though he gave Rolf a long glare. “Even if we hate it, we have to follow orders.”
Sensing the precarious situation, Leon led the two men closer to the tavern, leaving Reiner and the rest of the crowd behind. The small building’s wooden door was hardly visible behind the overgrown shrubbery, and the months’ worth of cobwebs and dust.
“It has been a while,” Leon said, his brown eyes growing misty. “I cannot imagine the scrubbing it will take, to reopen it anytime soon.”
“It cannot reopen, kid,” Carlos replied, leaving him astounded.
“He was executed for a very major crime, Leon,” Rolf explained. “All his property, including the tavern, has been seized. I am sorry.”
“But he was innocent!” protested Leon, his calm exterior finally showing cracks. “You know that, do you not? The priest was lying. He could never hurt a fly, let alone burning down a cathedral.”
“But he was found guilty,” Carlos stated, “and that is all that matters.”
Leon made his way to the window; its glass had turned opaque. A puff of dust rose into the air, as he placed his palm on the windowpane, reminiscing the happy days he spent inside.
“What about the kids?” Leon asked. “I cannot let them go back to begging on the streets. The younger ones… They will not last long, without a roof over their heads…”
Carlos took a deep breath. He had heard quite often, over the past few weeks, how Arnold took homeless children into his home, and how he looked after them. Leon, the youngest among them, was already a man, but with no land, there was no way he could look after a dozen young children.
“There is one thing you can do,” he spoke, after letting out a huge sigh. “Yes, you cannot claim ownership of the tavern, but you can live inside an abandoned building. Just, be discreet, and you could survive.”
Leon replied with a dismissive grunt, returning to the deep confines of his warm memories. The soldiers took his leave, and started walking away.
“You lied to him,” Rolf muttered, presuming Leon was out of earshot. “That is not all that matters, does it?”
“I needed to know the truth,” Carlos replied, “but he did not. And now that I do…”
“So a noble did pressure the magistrate… Did you find out who?”
“Yes, I did… It was Sir Marley.”
In the distance, a young man’s brown eyes narrowed…
Characters:
Image credits: Rinmaru Games
September 13, 2016
Book of the Week #24 [Guest Post]
by Rick Riordan
Yashas:
Let me begin this post by saying that I have not read this book, and the chances that I will read it remain slim.
In fact, that was one of the major reasons why I asked Riya to write about it: No risk of overlap…
Okay, now, we should probably talk about Riya, before we start talking about the book…
Firstly, she is often referred to as TheEditorGirl’s little sister.
Secondly, if you ever refer to her as “little”, she WILL kill you.
And thirdly, she is actually nicer, and smarter, than you would imagine.
And now, after weeks of negotiation, deliberation and procrastination, we finally have a post to share. And to be honest, it could not have come at a better time.
Riya:
As his raft skimmed over the water, taking him back to the mortal world, he understood a line from the Prophecy better— an oath to keep with a final breath.
He understood how dangerous oaths could be. But Leo didn’t care.
“I’m coming back for you, Calypso,” he said to the night wind. “I swear it on the River Styx.”
Bob ruffled her hair. Smile lines crinkled around his eyes.
“That is good. Until then, my friends, tell the sun and the stars hello for me. And be strong. This may not be the last sacrifice you must make to stop Gaia.”
I’ll keep it short. I swear it on the River Styx.
The House of Hades is the penultimate book of the Heroes of Olympus series, hereafter referred to as HoO, written by Rick Riordan, a guy who claims it’s a children’s book but throws the protagonists in the bottomless pit that is Tartarus. Cruel, right?
For mortals who have no clue what Tartarus is: Tartarus is essentially hell— there, the air is acid, water is misery, and ground is broken glass— so in a nutshell, it is a nuclear blast zone.
Furthermore, I never found it to be an infantile series for if a reader understands the true depth in quotes like these, the reader is anything but a kid.
“But magic is neither good nor evil. It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil.”
Though I won’t vouch for my memory, I started reading HoO over two years back. Being an engineering student—and I hope The Writer Guy backs this claim—we become utterly lazy sloths in vacations.
So in the course of my second year vacations, my daily regime, Eat-Sleep-Repeat, was immutably transformed as I stumbled upon an image which sadly I cannot find. Anyway, that image made me read the entire Percy Jackson and Olympians series, followed by the Heroes of Olympus, and eventually the other creations by the author.
Note:
To all my wonderful readers, sorry about the spoilers you are about to witness. I have tried my best to keep it down, though.
The series is based on a prophecy which winds up with either the victory or defeat of Gaea, or Mother Earth.
No matter how calm and peaceful mortals have been portraying Mother Earth, trust me, you want the latter outcome.
In this book, Percy and Annabeth are plunged into Tartarus and are on a quest to find the underworld side of the The Doors of Death, while the other five have to track down the mortal side in the temple House of Hades.
Now you ask why take such pains? Well, Gaea has decided to wake on the Feast of Spes (Day of Hope) and to, ironically enough, destroy all the hope. So if The Doors of Death are not closed, the world we know would disintegrate.
I actually spent a lot of time pondering over which of the books to do, since the space is too damn (sic.) small to critique the entire series. The House of Hades has always been a special book for this book makes the characters undergo through a lot of hardships, yet the characters remain upbeat and, well, sassy. *wink wink*
The other reason is it features the selfless ‘Bob the Titan’. Bob is the Titan Iapetus, who, after losing his memory (long story), is made a janitor in Underworld.
The tone of the book is utterly sarcastic and totally makes the readers roll in the aisles. Being divided among the seven protagonists, the narration of chapters and the narrative voice differs quite significantly; such an arrangement, according to me, keeps each of the character and their story in the spotlight.
Also, I find it quite interesting that Rick Riordan introduced a gay character; it asserts the fact that sexual orientation is not a choice that can be changed at will.
Well, apart from raising my dating standards incredibly high, this book diluted my pessimism; now, I try staying optimistic while facing the ordeals of life. Also, it made become more grateful for this wonderful life. I wish the readers would give it a try.
Reading this series is like cheering for the German Football Team at the FIFA World Cup—”Romans! Graecus! Die!!!”. Read it anywhere you like—in a bus, or a train, or a lecture—people are going to turn their heads to look for the guffawing maniac that you’ll seem to be.
You probably shouldn’t read it in a lecture, then.
Lastly,
Keep Reading, Keep Rocking!
P.S. Did I go on for too long? No? I don’t think so, either. Love you guys!
Yashas:
So basically, it seems like a good book, eh? And I have always been fond of this genre in general, and of Greek mythology in particular. It is filled with immoral immortals…
But I still would not read the book, for the simple reason that I am not willing to make the commitment required complete a series more filled than theatres showing Baar Baar Dekho… Yeah, I checked…
The best time for me to start it would be when my kids are old enough to read, and that, despite my best efforts, would probably take a while.
Still, if you do have the time, and the desire, to start a big series, this one is definitely a worthy contender.
Do read it and tell us what you think.
Well, that is all for today.
Thank you.
