My 2024 in books (goodreads)

This was my Goodreads review of the year 2024. A new year, an eagerly awaited one, most likely more eagerly awaited than any so far. Not that it was easy. But it was good. A character building one 😉, like my PhD. It was a good re-start, a difficult midway, and a rather tired but good ending with lessons learnt which had started being implemented. The restart wanted to have the character of this picture. But of course, sea sailing cannot and must not be so smooth, or demanded to be so.

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(Sometime towards the end of 2024 or the beginning of 2025)
Writing this "review" is a self-reflective process. I just want to have some free time, a couple of hours, with no intentions, no aims, and reflect; reflect and then write how my year was in books, a year I tried to let my false pride not be hurt if my heart leapt at a good thin(!) book.. but those are hard to scavenge for. So, (am) starting it now, and will keep adding to it, perhaps tomorrow(🤞), perhaps next weekend, or the one after, ... who knows(!), because otherwise it will never get done. And I know very well in my heart and in my mind (although heart just pumps blood and etc.,), that I will deeply enjoy and absolutely relish thinking about my past year in books and how my own perspectives matured during that time of a whole year regarding my own reading habits, and life, in general.
...
coming soon, my dear void ❤️, coming soon 🤞
...
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Accompanied by cheesecake and coffee. I made it! ☃️😍🥰

This was the year of audiobooks and short stories for me. As I started a new position as a post-doc, my expectations from my yearly readings were low. Probably because my usual work also involves reading, though of a different kind, more intense and purposeful perhaps. On weekdays, especially, I find it hard to read even the books I really want to and have been looking forward to read for ages. So, the first "audiobook" whose entry I added on goodreads was an audio-adaptation of 'Debi Choudhurani' by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay (my some kind of great-great-ish grandpa, and I, along with many proud members of my family, are woefully ignorant about his works, and most of us will remain so forever!). These audio adaptations, done under the famous 'Sunday Suspense' series, are done by Radio Mirchi, an Indian Bengali radio channel, which has a cult following. I don't know if they "qualify" as audiobooks as per goodreads' definition but in absence of a good audible-level curated and famed platform for Bangla, this has impacted our society a great deal. I remember the mark it left on us since 'Chander pahar' came out. So, to answer no one's question, yes, I think all those adaptations ARE very-very worthy audiobooks.

My 2023 and the start of 2024 weren't that great. I finally gave up on trying to control my neurodivergence and, somewhat associated with my neurodivergence, and somewhat due-to-other-reasons, controlling depression just-and-just based on talking therapy (CBT). CBT was a great leap of progress from trying to do it all by myself, starting late 2020. I, finally, after being implored by my therapist and psychiatrist, and NOT-AT-ALL by many people, started medications. It did wonders. I still had a lOOOoooOOOoooOOOng strings of unfinished, half-read, quarter-read, 23.456% read, 52.31% read books, but in general I felt happier and more positive, and as the year progressed, these good impacts became clearer. The second book was a book that my dear little book club wanted to read. It was 'Leonard and Hungry Paul'. At first I though it would be too "woke" for me. It wasn't. It resonated. Leonard and hungry Paul were simple, unremarkable and, from a like-to-another-set-of-likes - two definitely neurodivergent protagonists minding their own business, and not exactly fitting but still managing somehow in a world ill-designed for them. Absolutely loved it. A warm, slow bed-side read for happy sleep-times knowing that there are similar beings out there, some recognised, some not, somewhat recognised, somewhat not,
and their stories appeal to "normal" people too (I although I gave 'Normal People' a very mixed reaction), although (another!) what even is "normal"? 🤔

I finally finished Nora Ephron's set of essays. She used to feel bad about her neck! I can understand that. And as big a fan that I am of her films, I became one of her essays and her wit too. Her more controversial book is on the charts this year, let's see how that appeals to me and if it does, or will it come across as spiteful, as some people say it is. The woman usually makes a lot of sense, in a manner of speaking that is.

I read Kafka for the first time, his story of 'the Hunger artist', and now could finally understand who and what Sigrid always raved about, and she read him in German. I resorted to my Nancy Drew's and Sunday Suspense audiobooks, which I resorted to most of the times, every once-, rather, many ones-in a while during difficult spells throughout the past year. I read many filling kiddie books to increase my goodreads number (how shameful! but I am hugging and loving my anxiety these days in imperfect manners!) and discovered Amelia Bedelia, wooo! People say she was neurodivergent too! What's happening!?

I also read my first Philip Pullman, 'Lyra's Oxford'. The book had appealed to me since I live in Oxford these days, and walk everyday the street beside the one he write most about i.e., 'Turl street'. I went to Turl street, now-a-days between an amazing Italian restaurant 'Gusto' (there are many Gustos though, we were once fooled) and All Saints' Church, and tried to imagine the architecture, the nature of the spires that he put down on his paper. His writing style isn't something I took an immediate fancy to, (maybe I have become too old for that?) but the charm of Oxford in his writings makes my everyday life more beautiful. It makes me feel fortunate and thankful. I attended a book launch where he was a speaker. It was not a book of his, but most people had come to see him. Not surprising. he signed my copy, asked my name and said if he can use my name for one of the characters in his books!!! whOAAA!!! How wonderful! One of those instances in life that you don't forget. But I didn't give him the note with my name written down on it, and I am worried he might forget it. Or worse, he couldn't actually pronounce it and was just being polite! Or worse-er, what if he remembers and it is a villain? Or, fAAAr worse-er-er, a character not much needed killed-off rather soon as a plot element! Ah, okay, okay! Let me not get too much ahead of myself and just be happy that he heard my name, and gave it the most wonderful compliment. I find it often very difficult to make people pronounce my name correctly. I think after being in the UK for so long, even I have forgotten how to pronounce my own name when I introduce myself sometimes. I say what the British do. Woah, unreversed-unreversed-so-not-reversed colonialism! Even in India, outside Bengal it was so, and I used to adapt a pronunciation more suitable to people there. In the UK, I have done the same, but keep reminding my closest friends from time to time though, although less often than I ought to! 😉

I read the much hyped 'Lessons in Chemistry'. I understood why it became famous and what I liked and disliked in it. In a way, the book is for patience-less people like me, courtesy its pace, but it lacked a depth that I had expected from it. Also, a story about a woman in science, is a concept I absolutely love, that it became so famous is even better news, but I wish it had more maturity in its plot and lines. 🫣

I also heard 'The Testament of Mary', and fell in painful love with Meryl Streep all over again. I loved her voice, her emotional orations as Mary, so much that it is difficult to comment on the writing. I cannot separate her voice and her ability to emote through her voice from the writing and its quality. Downing of this realisation and critical perspective is something that my favourite audible books, which are always autobiographies, could never provide. I also finished Michelle Obama's 'Becoming' on my third try (I think). It was whitewashed (the irony!) for sure, but you cannot take away from the part of her life that she has chosen to show. It is worth a hear (or an ear or a listen, or WTF!). There were moments, even with my cynicism, when I had tears in my eyes.

In autumn 🍁, I became part of the goodreads short-story club. Oh, what a wonderful online book club. I didn't know what I was missing! I discovered Lord Dunsany there. Being a fantasy writer some generations removed, I had thought his stories would be predictable (dated will not be the right word here). Many were not. What an amazing surprise. I read some stories, got to know about writers like Alex Comfort, whom I never would have read by myself and all added something to my life. A BIG hug for the club. 💞❤️

This year I tried to not feel guilty that some of my entries were short reads, or basically short stories, or kid's books, and only with their help did I manage to finish my reading challenge. It was an even bigger challenge not to feel guilty. Then I remembered the words of wise reminder from my friend Matt that I read for pleasure and knowledge, for my own gain and happiness, not to prove a point or finish a challenge. Easier said than done, but I tried, and progressively succeeded. As long as the read adds to your life, it is a countable book for a "challenge".

Overall, the volume was less this year. That, as I mentioned above, was in itself a personal challenge to overcome - that associated guilt! But now as I look back from the other side of the year, it was a good year of reading and growth and happiness through reading. Maybe without the heavy burden of expectations, and finally being able to be away for good from the video medium (which I count as perhaps 2024's greatest victory, yaya! 💃💃💃) which has been my worst addiction, nothing less, making me progressively unhappy, and with the practice from 2024, maybe I will be able to be less anxious and read more enjoyably in 2025. Let's see!🤞 I am hopeful. ❤️

Happy reading, my dearest void (not that I am ghost, and progressively less like Ben)! 🙃

Church Bells and Darjeeling Tea

A very happy and pleasant book, if you are looking for one.

I picked up this book from a stall in the Bangladesh hall in Kolkata Book fair 2023. It was strange to have picked up an English book from the Bangladesh arena as per some of my friends. But the one random page that I opened of the book, its illustrations, its cover all just seemed so charming. They echoed and promised the same Ruskin Bond-ish charm but from Darjeeling and from a female point of view that belong to both India and Bangladesh. And I am so so glad that I picked this book up. It is just so charming. ❤

Not that anyone cares (:P) but I would share one experience of mine with this book. I was sitting in a  beautiful cafe the day before yesterday at the heart of south Kolkata surrounded by warm lights, my Ma's favorite black and white marble flooring, white-colored and heavy old iron chairs and slightly cool unexpected Kolkata summer evening. Reading this book with a flat white and a brownie made that evening just perfect. The perfect happy book at the perfect happy place. It was a very good evening. ❤

(Sorry for repeating) This is such a charming and happy book that I am glad I picked it up. True to what it promised at the first glance in the book fair, the flavor for Darjeeling presented here is partially, not entirely, similar to what Rusty's is for Dehradun and his school days, for all Ruskin Bond fans out there. It talks about the history of Darjeeling, of Loreto convent interspersed with  the history of pre- and post-independent India, how the culture of the British Raj was entwined in the Indian culture, Zeena's nanna, her family, histories of many other famous family's whom you will recognize if you are a Bengali. It is a walk down the memory lane, the nostalgia of a romantic age that is now lost to time. The illustrations add to the charm.

On its cons, sometimes the historical descriptions are rather dry. I did not mind it as in general I am interested in the history of the hill station but it might be a turn-off factor for many readers. There is no particular order or structure apart from Zeena Choudhury's school timeline, and that choice justifies the organization for me as well.

Overall it made me smile almost continuously and cry once or twice. The book is a happy autobiography of the writer's childhood spent at the Loreto convent. A very happy and light reading for one of the stressful work nights.

Happy reading! :)

Do you need a watchman?

I will confess I am one of those people who bought 'to kill a mockingbird', read a few chapters but never finished it. My justification? When I tried, I was perhaps too young and didn't like the pace. I started 'go set a watchman' a few days back. The pace was slow at first, and I again doubted if I will be able to continue added to the guilt of not having finished its predecessor, the book of the century even by some people. But I was IN almost as soon as these doubts of mine began to surface.


In spite of all the negative reviews on that book, I really liked it. Might be more so because I haven't read the 'original'. So me not finding the original masterpiece enticing enough in my 'youth' wasn't a bad thing after all! Ah, life! ;)

When I as reading and starting to enjoy 'go set a watchman' I thought it would be interesting to play the reverse game. My friend ho has read both and like the second but adored the first says that if I like this book, I would absolutely adore that first one. He is quite a reliable person, so I trust him. I will still keep a gap of a few months or a year between the two, so maybe at the end of 2023 I will finish the year with a mockingbird. Soooooo excited! 🤩 Can't wait to gain that view and perspective.

Some, not all and not-exhaustive or a complete set of, bits that stood out-
some fun excerpts, some emotions, -

“ ...
The question, gentlemen—is one of liquor;
You ask for guidance—this is my reply:
He says, when tipsy, he would thrash and kick her,
Let’s make him tipsy, gentlemen, and try!
”
😳

“…
(Would You Speak to Jesus If You Met Him on the Street?
…”
😂

“…
Jem reversed his field and tackled heaven: heaven was full of bananas (Dill’s love) and scalloped potatoes (her favorite), and when they died they would go there and eat good things until Judgement Day, but on Judgement Day, God, having written down everything they did in a book from the day they were born, would cast them into hell.
...”
How sweet! 😂❤️

“…
I don’t know if I can tell you, honey. When you live in New York, you often have the feeling that New York’s not the world. I mean this: every time I come home, I feel like I’m coming back to the world, and when I leave Maycomb it’s like leaving the world. It’s silly. I can’t explain it, and what makes it sillier is that I’d go stark raving living in Maycomb.
...”
Ah!❣️

"...
Something that looked like a giant black bee whooshed by them and careened around the curve ahead. She sat up, startled. “What was that?”
“Carload of Negroes.”
My first book of this kind, of this aspect of history. I can’t express what I feel. Strange! But definitely not surprising.

I absolutely loved and connected a lot to Jean Louise’s discovery of Atticus and Hank in the court. The after effect on her seems a bit over-dramatic but still quite beautifully written. My takeaway was that I must, must, absolutely must read the “original”. If this controversial and slightly hated one is so good, how great the original must be!

“…
and was thumbing through it again when he said: “Scout, if there’s ever anything that happens to you or something—you know—something you might not want to tell Atticus about-
Huh?
You know, if you get in trouble at school or anything—you just let me know. I’ll take care of you.
Jem sauntered from the livingroom, leaving Jean Louise wide-eyed and wondering if she were fully awake.
... ”
💔❤️

“...
Blind, that’s what I am. I never opened my eyes. I never thought to look into people’s hearts, I looked only in their faces. Stone blind … Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone set a watchman in church yesterday. He should have provided me with one. I need a watchman to lead me around and declare what he seeth every hour on the hour. I need a watchman to tell me this is what a man says but this is what he means, to draw a line down the middle and say here is this justice and there is that justice and make me understand the difference. I need a watchman to go forth and proclaim to them all that twenty-six years is too long to play a joke on anybody, no matter how funny it is. ”
Chapter 13, unlike its previous two chapters started off rather slow, but then as the conversation between Hester and Jean Louis’ started with the latter's own monologue as well, it was ❤️.

Following parts were great too but I didn't make any updates or notes.

Recommended. Even more so if you haven't read the preceding masterpiece.

Happy reading! :)

A quick short review of 'The Woman in Black' by Susan Hill

The book is one of the few relatively modern engaging horror novels. It is not a psychological thriller, but being written from the point of view of the protagonist gives it a flavour if being so, and I really liked that about the book.

The plot isn't a GRRM styled one in terms of excruciating details and intricate plotlines but I didn't miss the presence of that element. Perhaps it could also have been written as a short story, though I liked the length of the book. It is not grotesque but delivers the senses of fear through the perceptive senses of a rational, and I would say brave human being and relates simple but powerful descriptions of the natural occurrences, though mostly unrelated in logic but in the essence of fear with the supernatural occurrences, I would argue. But as you reach the end of the book, you do understand the enormous danger in the subtleties of fear with a heartbreaking consequence and end which I was literally dreading. Why that had to happen!?

The book is not completely unsympathetic to the perpetrator of the horrors. She had a terribly distressed and sad life, and there is an understanding of that pain. But understanding doesn't mean forgiveness or an open clearance to mad revenge and injustice. (On a completely different note, when I try to understand the workings of faith and religion this is the thing that I can never make understand both the parties- the ardent religious people and the hardcore atheists. Why, I wonder? May be there should be a little bit more patience in both the logical and illogical beings of the earth.)

I liked Susan Hill's style and perhaps would read more of her now.

I give this book 3.5 stars.

Happy reading! :)

P. S. I think I am quite liberal in my ratings and try to accept first and then inspect if that makes any sense! :P

Musings on 'The Ice Dragon by G. R. R. Martin

A sweet little story, but a little different ending would have satisfied me more. I was expecting the ice dragon to return to her someday, healed, from the lands of always winter.

She became a summer child! Why couldn't she be a laughing and crying(perhaps) winter child? Is it all metaphors or is it real? Well, the song of ice and fire seems more real than this story of little Adara and her loving, faithful Ice dragon.

I was wondering if she liked winter and the ice dragon more because it was the time her father hugged her?
 Was it all because of the absence of any apparent love and care in summer, and it all returned when the shock of loss or fear jolted her senses and brought her back to her emotions? Her feelings which were always deeply buried within her unknowingly from her fourth year when she had heard that conversation between uncle Hal and father and which now the fear of loss had finally let out on the surface?

Guess we will never know but will keep wondering...

That's the beauty of a short story, isn't it?

I give this story three and a half stars... :D

Dear void, happy reading! :)

Thoughts on 'Born a Crime' by Trevor Noah

You can tell that this book is not written by a professional writer but by a BRILLIANT SPEAKER. (Am I being dramatic? Not the first time.) It is AMAZING and you MUST read it. You can tell that the writer as a really honest descriptor. I love his perspective. It perhaps helps when you think critically without bias and find amusing some of the most horrible and saddest things that have ever happened in the course of the world history. Apartheid! From a child's point of view, and then an adult's.

This time was barely two or three decades removed from now in the past, and today when we talk so much about the human rights violation on the internet, as here now, somewhere these things are still happening in one form or another. Some of the times I was reading I was amused and chuckling here and there (Hail the great comedian!) but suddenly my eyes would tear up and the sadness remained. But still, I am not depressed. The best part of the perspective of Trevor Noah who indeed was born a crime is that in spite of the tragedies shaped up his life and which he writes (or in my head, speaks) of, he still had fun and you are still hopeful about the future.

Below I quote some of the most touching lines which sometimes stand on their own (for being wise or in other words plain T-shirt material :P), and my feelings on them (not that they matter! But perhaps they do too! :/ )

Born a crime by Trevor Noah

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“... It’s you and me against the world. ...”
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“... I chose to have you because I wanted something to love and something that would love me unconditionally in return. ...”
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The bond that Trevor and his mom share with each other is endearing. He was there because his mother wanted someone to call her own, just her own. Beautiful, and strangely sad with the hint of a tinge of a smile, isn't it? I am amazed by the personality of his mother. What an amazing woman!
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“... Why do all this? Why show him the world when he’s never going to leave the ghetto?” “Because,” she would say, “even if he never leaves the ghetto, he will know that the ghetto is not the world. If that is all I accomplish, I’ve done enough. ...”

... But I was blessed with another trait I inherited from my mother: her ability to forget the pain in life. I remember the thing that caused the trauma, but I don’t hold on to the trauma. I never let the memory of something painful prevent me from trying something new. ...

... Being chosen is the greatest gift you can give to another human being. ...

... It taught me that it is easier to be an insider as an outsider than to be an outsider as an insider. ... try being a black person who immerses himself in white culture while still living in the black community. Try being a white person who adopts the trappings of black culture while still living in the white community. ...
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I want to ask Trevor Noah about Teddy. What happened to him? What is he doing now? Where is he now? How did that incident affect him and Trevor's friendship - best friendship - with him?
(My goodness! Is it the story of his school or the story of a black market smuggling business!?)
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... In society, we do horrible things to one another because we don’t see the person it affects. We don’t see their face. We don’t see them as people. ...
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(What an amazing book! The truths of life, his observations- they make me cry and laugh with joy!)
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... I chose to live in that world, but I wasn’t from that world. If anything, I was an imposter. Day to day I was in it as much as everyone else, but the difference was that in the back of my mind I knew I had other options. I could leave. They couldn’t. ...
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(It is amusing and funny, but heartbreaking at the same time. But the good thing is that it doesn't leave you with a sense of hopelessness.)
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... Because there were some black parents who’d actually do that, not pay their kid’s bail, not hire their kid a lawyer—the ultimate tough love. But it doesn’t always work, because you’re giving the kid tough love when maybe he just needs love. You’re trying to teach him a lesson, and now that lesson is the rest of his life. ...

... But I remember standing there watching my mom, flabbergasted, horrified that these cops wouldn’t help her. That’s when I realized the police were not who I thought they were. They were men first, and police second. ...

... It is so easy, from the outside, to put the blame on the woman and say, “You just need to leave.” It’s not like my home was the only home where there was domestic abuse. It’s what I grew up around. I saw it in the streets of Soweto, on TV, in movies. Where does a woman go in a society where that is the norm? When the police won’t help her? When her own family won’t help her? Where does a woman go when she leaves one man who hits her and is just as likely to wind up with another man who hits her, maybe even worse than the first? Where does a woman go when she’s single with three kids and she lives in a society that makes her a pariah for being a manless woman? Where she’s seen as a whore for doing that? Where does she go? What does she do? ...

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(And the gold!)
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Trevor Noah with his mom
Courtesy: Sowetan Live

... People say all the time that they’d do anything for the people they love. But would you really? Would you do anything? Would you give everything? I don’t know that a child knows that kind of selfless love. A mother, yes. A mother will clutch her children and jump from a moving car to keep them from harm. She will do it without thinking. But I don’t think the child knows how to do that, not instinctively. It’s something the child has to learn. ...

For my mother. My first fan. Thank you for making me a man.
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His narrative had made me understand an aspect of apartheid which my history books failed to teach me. I know it was slavery and racism of the 20th century, but I didn't still know what it actually was and was capable of. Hailing from a developing country myself, some instances are too familiar and so are some imprints of a fair-skinned rule even almost a century after freedom, and the inherent racism that we accept even though we were the victims.

I LOVED this book, and would recommend everyone to read it, even the not-so-voracious readers! It's frankness and the ability to try to keep moving forward provides you with not only a much-desired understanding somewhere but also gives you hope and a lot of chuckling smirks (that make you wise, eh!? :P )!

I give this book FULL FIVE STARS! :D

Happy reading! :)

Book Review : Death under the Deodars by Ruskin Bond

Finally a new Ruskin Bond this new year!

"The night has a thousand eyes
And the day but one
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun."
The book was published in October 2016 and I read it today. And yes, Rusty is back! Back with a bang!

There has never been any doubt about the goodness of Ruskin Bond's fiction, but I have never read anything so deep in this genre by him. Crime, thriller, paranormal, murders of passion or out of pure evil - a long tired list of topics people try to popularize their novels, stories with, most of the times the trials being honest may be, but disappointing.  I was slightly skeptical of what this genre might feel like, but the outcome was lovely.

Ruskin Bond has always maintained an image of Mussoorie - a scandalous and promiscuous town sitting in the beautiful lap of the Garhwal Himalayas. This book, nevertheless, is a living epitome of fiction that will sew in your mind deeper threads of such an impression through the experiences of Miss Ripley Bean. Starting from the 1920s and continuing till around 1970s(perhaps), the stories are enchanting. They are the light-reads as Ruskin Bond is famous for but thrilling and captivating. And those readers who have sunk deep in this genre, do not be scared. The endings are not predictable. Rusty manages to surprise us.

Aunt May is no Miss Marple but can be her younger sister who gathers material for her and sometimes makes a good call regarding impending judgments. She intelligently guesses what might be happening and how the thread of reason is seeped into the human psychology and their daily natures and preferences. Her observations are light, easy, confident and at peace with herself sometimes even to the extent of being lazy mainly because that is a second nature to her. Her attitude, perspective give you a glimpse of the life in hills during her time and maintains Rusty's perspective that we have known all through these years in a most amusing and new way.

The nature lovers will not miss the beautiful descriptions of flowers and the hills, but one who is reading only for that you will be disappointed. But nonetheless, give it a try. This book is worth your time. And the Rusty fans, rejoice! :)

I give Ruskin Bond's "Death under the Deodars" full 5 stars! :D
(No surprise there! :D )

Happy reading! :)

Book Review - "Tales of the Open Road" by Ruskin Bond

  There are great writers in this world who have given something new to the world in the form of their writings. Among them there are two classes : one whom you can't help but admire for their beautiful penmanship, and the second with whom you, unconsciously, fall in love. For the second class, admiration comes after love. The speciality of writers like J. K. Rowling and J. R. R. Tolkein is that you can't help but fall in love with their writings, the worlds that they have created, beautifully crafted and designed. You marvel at their ingenuity and their ability to grasp your soul with a brilliant involvement.

Ruskin Bond
Picture Courtesy : Rusty's Photo

Among them in my list there is another guy who isn't a fantasy writer but who is so much in love with his own world that you must also fall in love with the world that he pens down and the view that helps him and you, through him, access the vista of that world. That guy is none other that our dear old Rusty or Ruskin Bond. His writings soothe your soul when you are down and give you a hope that apart from all the bad, there is another aspect of life which is always going to remain beautiful and pleasant no matter what. Those things are nature's bounties, its people, their general goodness, animals in the wild, rhododendrons of the mountainous valley, glitters of dew on them with the freshness they bring, a little girl who is very happy to see all this and an old soul who has found himself after being lost in these. When you read a Ruskin Bond, in all there experiences perhaps you have never been there, but you find yourself becoming a Ruskin Bond.  I have been in love with whatever he pens down from the time I have started to appreciate the small things in life amidst all the crisis we face everyday. The bad thing in this love, as in any other love, is that I can't find a flaw in him which as a book critic, that I am trying to be on this blog, I should be, as the tradition dictates. But I generally don't do that well in presence of a dictatorship. SO, please pardon me if you find lack of criticism boring or un-deserving but such is my love for Rusty. I apologize for the length as well! With your forgiveness, lets move forward. :)

This post is dedicated to 'Tales of the Open Road' by, yes, our dear old Ruskin Bond. As would be anyone for to guess, this book is a collection of travel pieces. It has been written over a time line of fifty years, and hence is as rich and as varied in point of view as fifty years of experience may entail one to, but united in the essence. The spirit is that of a wanderer who is in love with his wanderings and his places and peoples of wanderings...

The book starts with tales of highways and the GT Road, and Rusty takes us to those silent corners of the well trodden dusty road where he just spotted a cheetal, or just missed a leopard who was supposed to be there as per his driver. He, then, narrates his own story of running away from school with his friend Daljit, how they posed as tourists to avoid detection once and some long lost sikh relative of a friendly truck driver another time to make that journey which will just be a start to their grand voyages to Rome, New York, Dubai, London and so many exotic places in the world. He discovers in his journey the people of India and added to the cunning they let grow in you, he realizes some soft but some bitter truths about the roads , less or more but, travelled and unforeseeable surprises when the supposed and real ends do not meet. There are splashes of joy, spatters of disappointment, marvellous young ideas of adventurous school boys and a simple innocence that bind you to the tale. Rusty's roads are more about the bliss of travel rather than the ecstasy of the destination which not many times end in joie de vivre.

Picture Courtesy : Book Cover

Then follows the plain tales of the plain towns. Beer at Chutmalpur or the Rose Rum Factory of Shahjahanpur which brings back the forgotten nostalgia of Bond grandfather on his fore-passed road tales before 1857, and a cheer(s)-ful remembrance to the to the famous Solan Brewery in Simla. He talks about the lesser known Monsoon in Meerut in a crummy guest-house that belongs to sole survivor of the forgotten tribes of lost Englishmen in independent India. He talks about his summer road rages in Delhi. How he could never fall in love with Delhi but found a temporary respite in scorching summer walks in the city and how he always yearned for the hills while being there. Then he goes to Agra, but remembers more of the kites and the kite-makers and the endangered species of kite-fliers; not the Taj Mahal and its grand tribute to 'love'; but a lazy afternoon conversation with a young boy he met while searching for a shade beside. Then he ascribes the pilgrims' of Ganga, the devotees of Rhishikesh and Haridwar, his inquisitive friend Kamal and the Delphic sadhus they met on their travel. Oh so much of India! Can you take it any more?

Finally he comes back to the hills. He is at peace there. He reflects full of nostalgia on the changes that have hugged the high himalayan hills of India. Once sitting on an erstwhile rat infested royal chair in a wayside teashop, he tries to understand its owner whose life, health plans are all dependent on a road that will be build in god knows how many years and a few buses that will pass through that road; and how there is still hope till there are a few bank managers in unknown villages who get all excited about a freshly blossomed flower. Passing along a moonlit dark alley in his city he comes to tryst with one of the profound truths about humanity and succumbs to his Hillel-ian ethics that say,
“If I am not for myself
who will be for me?
If I am not for others
what am I?
If not now, when?”

Now coming to it, what do you think of Ganga? A holy river revered by Hindus, embraced by Indian customs and beliefs of rituals and purity although ecological reports differ! But how does Rusty's Ganga looks? She is not just a river, but almost a character full of fun and frolic, dangerous and lovable. She almost imbibes the personality of the path it traverses ('or is it vice-versa?') before pouring herself down at the Bay of Bengal. The gradient of her character and transformations, somewhere smooth and somewhere abrupt, amazes the reader. Alaknanda geographically the true-born one is the more atrocious one. She moves with an unrest and roars as the thunder on her way to Devprayag. She is as scary as she is temperamental. Whereas Bhagirathi, traditionally the more respected one due to her patience and control and choice of the path that reflects her beauty and greenery, is as if the elder sister, the calmer one, who finally meets Alaknanda and both assume the character that the plains' devotee worship as mother Ganga. You can almost feel his love and admiration for the attractive Mandakini ('the river, not the actress though both lovely beauties to look at and admire!' ;) ).

Living in the aftermath of the 2013 Uttarakhand tragedy, you can relate to how the characters of these rivers, just as Rusty described, were fateful in deciding the destiny of the devotees. That is the genius of the writer and the prowess of his observation. The description of the deodars, silver-firs, spruces along the coasts, the silky rocks polished by the raging river, and a writer's judgment on her character, the usual Indian tourist trivialities and so on are what attracts you to this trail of Ganges, and you will always feel that connection re-establish when either Rusty or you return there one day.

You can read Mr. Ruskin Bond's tales as if you were there, beside him, as a silent observer on these trails, and then the wanderlust strikes you. If you once fall in love with Bond, there will always be a part of his character that will live inside you no matter where life takes you.

I give Ruskin Bond's “Tales of the Open Road” full 5 stars.

So, you are packing your bags now, right?

Happy reading! :)

Book Review - "Servants of India" by R. K. Laxman

The second review again is aimed for another 'Laxman-flavour'-ed book titled "Servants of India". The reason of this line of succession is because I am reading his works one after the other at this moment. So, pardon me if you get bored.

Going by the title, anyone accustomed to R. K. Laxman would assume this to be a book on the esteemed politicians of our country, but it is not so! This book is basically about the most important person in the Indian household - the servant, something that is even unheard of in our western counterparts of similar social status. For Indians, the servant of the house is of utmost importance for the plethora of activities they perform at lower rates which constantly seem to rise, and the topic is worrisome as well due to their unpredictability, inefficiency or sheer unavailability. And our dear Mr. Laxman tries to write by hand a picture of the helping hand.

In a single sentence, it is a nice little book. So, this review is going to be a short and a crisp one. The first two stories were amusing enough. A crook handyman and another cook who emerge as a priest and motivational speaker after taking a well-informed leave respectively. The following stories are ordinary incidents narrated with Laxman's signature satire and sense of humour. They do give you his perspective and Indian people's outlook of the servant condition of India, but I would especially mention (not spoil!) two of his servant stories which I actually loved very much.

The first one is 'Iswaran the storyteller'. It's eerie as is supposed to be, and the writing is well suited for that purpose. Apart form that, the remarkable quality of the writing lies in the fact that the writer never looses his sense of humour throughout the narrative. So, the great interest for you is that at the the end of the story you are not only uneasy but also chuckling.

After that follows a nice descriptive narration with the essence of the unusual style of the cartoonist in 'Narsimha the terrible', you reach another story - 'The Saga of Ramaswami'. Here Laxman is marvellous, as he gets to describe various landscapes and diverse people, not just limited to the household arena as in the rest of the book, with his confident flair of a caricaturist-turned-writer. The imageries are really well constructed and the story, though quite simple, appeals.

An American or a European might find this particular collection of writing very odd due to the topic it deals with. Being not accustomed to the way things are done in India, as the author unabashedly mentions, might arise a question like, "Why the hell!?" For example : a child of eight came in as a domestic help and the family, though was an educated one with the bread-earner being a writer- an intellectual great, never admitted the boy to school; instead his job was to play with their own kid who subsequently goes on to school. But this relation, in spite of its sheer inequality and injustice, goes along healthily and happily for a long time. One might criticise this aspect of the book, but this system of household servants is still there at large. Child labour, cheap labour rates are a handful of the big, major issues faced by India today. One has to understand that the caricaturist is just writing about the reality, what he saw around himself with a stroke of satire on the attitude of those who are around.

So, on the whole if you are not bothered by the above fact, the book is a nice quick little read, and some of the story-titles are really nice. The middle section of the book is a bit boring and repetitive which gives me the impression that due to poor choice of many similar, weak stories in a book concerned with a very domestic and non-exotic topic, the effect of writing remains a bit powerless. It seems a good story teller choose a bad story to tell. But still a few are really nice, funny and great to read.

So, for me R. K. Laxman's "Servants of India" earns 2.5 - 3 stars.

Happy reading! :)

Book Review - "The Distorted Mirror: Stories, Travelogues, Sketches"

I love reading, and it is one of the best habits of my life. This is a blog I have opened to start doing book reviews on a proper basis as I often have something to say about the books I read. So why not let this vast expanse of populated void, called the internet, know them too? Now that was idea behind starting this. I hope people who might make the mistake of reading this will forgive me for being too romantic and too emotional in my reviews, because that's how I am. :)

This book review is for "The Distorted Mirror: Stories, Travelogues, Sketches" by the most revered and loved cartoonist of our country R. K. Laxman - the man who chronicled India's first sixty years of independence from the point of view of a 'common man'. His cartoons spoke all that an 'aam aadmi' ever felt. But what the larger population doesn't know is his prowess as a writer. And I will give you a partial idea about that in this post.

A good warning for all is that I am a devoted fan of Mr. Laxman (pardon me for referring to him that way; it's a really bad habit of mine to call my favourite authors sometimes like this!); and thus, I might be a bit more elaborate on his good side. I will try to be equally critical of his shortcomings (thanks to Amal for advising me to do that).

The book has an easy, lucid language. Extensive readers might guess from his writings that his style exemplifies typical Indian English but, as I feel, as long as it remains a pleasure to read and that depends on the content, newness, etc., that is never the problem.

The book starts with short stories which might more properly be the character of sketches, with brilliant minute observations perfectly conveyed, rather than a conventional package of stories. They are quite abrupt without a proper trimming and lack the power of narration. With so many great short stories we have, Laxman's ones simply fail to amaze as much as the accompanying cartoons. I personally feel that they should have been published under "character sketches" or something like that. But after all they are short stories, so a new 'Laxman-flavour' is not unwelcome there, and they get over quite fast. :(

But as you move to his travelogues, the power of a brilliant observation made strikes you in a better way this time, and you can appreciate the strong imageries of 'Laxman-flavour' in a better way here. The descriptions are authentic, personal, the reminiscences powerful and witty. My first great moment of pleasure came as I was reading his travelogue 'Darjeeling', and just a page later suddenly encountered a happy observation- "How similar are his observations to me!" And that connected a chord. So, I will go into a bit extensive detail about his travel pieces. Please skip the next four paragraphs if the narrative gets too boring to be digested without medicine.

As I was reading 'holiday in the islands', I was transported back to the days when Laxman visited, when the tourism of the Andaman and Nicobar islands were lost in oblivion after the British left. I could almost smell the moist grass, tread on the forgotten, mossy islands where forgotten leisure houses gloated in their ruin. What an amazing descriptor! No doubt that his cartoons could speak. No doubt he is a legend.

While writing of Australia, even though I know that my reflections on visiting the same sketches, if I ever visit them, would be different, I can still agree and ponder on with his outlook, impressions, writings of the untouched blue of the isolated continent, of the enthusiastic gold miners of leisure hours, and of old millionaires of the sheep. His pen is almost visual with the flair and confidence of an established cartoonist who is damn serious and honest in his witticisms.

Of Mauritius and Kathmandu, his pen describes all that would be evoked in the mind of any 'Indian-ish' Indian. The surprise of a familiar ancestral Tamil speaking French-accented English, the descriptions of nightmarish corals that give you the creeps, the king typhoon unsettling the peace till it is forgotten in a cycle of stormy aftermaths. All remind you a bit of yourself taking these impressions as if it were you in the tiny island country. Also the parting where he is filled with a necessary grief born out of an experienced intuition showing the fate of an ever-desired industrialisation that would secure but kill the paradise of a now vulnerable nation dependant only on the sweetness of sugar-cane farming and its friendly people; but he is still hopeful, maybe very pessimistically as he dreads the shadow that kills his imagination to play with the clouds, as he boards the plane to return to India. For Kathmandu the nature of impressions are his amusing musings after overcoming the initial shock and disgust. How a king's courtyard is filled with grass sellers and dogs reminding him and the reader of India! How foreign tourists are fooled and sold the idol of goddess Tara that to them becomes the Buddha! :/ He almost always is chuckling darkly and so are you. But still the observations of a similar Indian are much more favourable of a Kathmandu than its pretentious casinos and nightclubs. You agree, don't you?

But Laxman is at his best and magnificent at his sketches, for a less obvious thing his literary sketches. The charismatic caricaturist is at his best framing those sentences, especially if the sketches are describing a political creature, or a humble hypocrite or simply a bored commoner for whom both the aforementioned caricatures are as true and real as the next day. His writings show us the potential of a cartoonist and a political satirist who is honest and funny in his views, narrations and sketches. The humour, satire and the wisdom in choosing those are the superlatives of that class. I have fallen in love with his writings of a caricaturist-turned-writer while still retaining the effortless, visible humour, irony and satire of that brilliant observation-ist and comparision-ist alive in every sentence . The metaphors, direct comparisons are just too great to be missed. Literature isn't just great words or grand sentences, but something new and brilliant of an idea to offer to the existing mass, and our dear Mr. Laxman does that seamlessly.

The last piece of this collection is a caricaturist's self-reflection. He vividly recalls what is the impression of the impressionist, what questions he is asked and how he replies. He also ponders along deep whether and to what extent his profession as a cartoonist has effected his outlook. Though it does less to ease the effects of rising prices of onion or the irritation of sticky jams but having a frame of humour in mind perhaps does a lot to ease the journey. And that funny, witty but serious and satirical journey of one hundred and sixty pages were one of the fastest and most amusing that I have ever had. The read is very light but not forgettable. A 'Laxman-flavour' definitely stays with you and impregnates your outlook. Hail the cartoonist and his witticisms! Hail Mr. R K Laxman, his pen, his mind and his observations!

I will give R. K. Laxman's "The Distorted Mirror: Stories, Travelogues, Sketches" 4 stars.

Happy reading! :)