Kid You Not

Book Cover of Percy Jackson & Lightning Thief 

Happy new year, folks! I begin 2012 with one of my favourite topics – Books!

I was reading Rick Riordan’s blog a couple of days ago. He is the author of very popular Percy Jackson series. And in this post he writes about how adults sometimes wonder if there are others like them who enjoy “Kids” books. For those who don’t know, Percy Jackson books are purportedly for middle school students.

I, for one, have never given a damn about who the books are meant for. So, this post is about those books which lot of people I personally know call “Children’s” books. I read all of these as an adult and enjoyed immensely.

• ·     Harry Potter, JK Rowling: This 7 book series is one of the best things I have read. It may have started out with a group of twelve year olds but by the time Deathly Hallows arrived, there was no way it could have been called “Children’s” fiction. There is much too darkness, even violence (remember Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix) for it to be read by kids. There is human psychology, at least thousand shades of grey in all characters, including our hero, Harry. If I had my way, I would perhaps not let kids below a certain age read the series at all.
•     Percy Jackson, Rick Riordan: I discovered this series through a colleague’s sons. They are great fans of the books and had the entire 5 book series. I had of course heard about the book through the movie but never been too keen on it. So, when my colleague lent me the books, I settled down for some light reading over the weekend. It was light, breezy and fresh. It was fantasy. It was mythological. Greek mythology to be precise and like any other Literature student, I had read and learnt a lot the Greek pantheon. These books are told from the point of view of Percy Jackson, half-immortal son of Poseidon – a demi-god like Hercules. Demi-gods are, to put it bluntly, bastards of Greek gods and goddesses who sire them randomly with any mortal who seems to catch their fantasy. The books are set in modern times and Olympus is at the top of Empire State Building, New York. And isn’t that delightful? I loved all the Greek references, re-learning some of them, recalling others and discovering new. The books are action-packed, fun and yet have character-development. I am so glad Riordan has started a spin-off series, featuring Jackson and some new demi-gods. If you haven’t read Percy Jackson, my recommendation would be to start now.
•        Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins: When I started this trilogy, I was a little unsure. This is what is called “Young Adult” fiction. It has a post-apocalypse sort of world with twelve districts, each with a special produce and it is a basis for a new class system. Districts rich in precious metal are higher up than Cotton District and right at the bottom is Coal District – District 12. And that is where our heroine, Katniss, resides. In the fine Roman tradition of Gladiators and champions, there are Hunger Games held every year in the Capitol, to remind the districts who the bosses are. These are fight to death games; no winner is declared unless out of twenty-four participants, twenty-three are dead. The contestants kill, maim, starve – do what they can in order to leave the arena alive. The games are televised and it is mandatory viewing.  Each district must send at least two contestants – a boy and a girl. The contestants decided through (un)lucky draw. The world is morose and terrifying but slowly I was drawn into the cunning game of survival. It is written entirely in present tense and in first person, Katniss being the narrator. Again, it is not a soft world of Enid Blyton where nothing worse than being mocked by your classmates generally happens. It is extremely violent, full of machinations and bloody politics.
•    Bartimaeus Trilogy, Jonathan Stroud: And here we have Arabian Nights meeting Egyptology. This is again a modern world but where you have magicians – masters and apprentices, charmed mythical amulets, golems, Ptolemy, afreets  and djinns. Bartimaeus is a djinn. He is clever, witty and almost entirely selfish. Summoned by a twelve year old magician’s apprentice, he does try his best to dupe the kid but over a period of time, the two develop an unlikely friendship. Mind you, neither of them has any selfless motive or philanthropic intentions but they are drawn against their will in being the good guys. The books are thrilling, fast paced and throw surprises almost at every turn. And the end, when it comes, is explosive.

Do let me know if there are any other so-called “kid” books that are your favourite.

Ciao.

An Obligatory Post

Me leaving footprints behind captured by Supernova

It’s the end of the year. Seriously, I don’t know where the year went. I say it every year like almost all of you but this year it is truly true. I swear. Most of it went into the gaping maws of absolutely murderous work schedule and in all my years of working, this is probably the worst. Not because of the work per se but the sheer quantum. I wished for ten more hands, three more brains and twelve more hours in a day.

I am not too much into New Year Resolutions. I never was actually. I can never decide what should I resolve that I could keep. Because it is a promise. And breaking a promise is a little like breaking a heart. Especially when the promise is to yourself.

But I did always expect that I would feel different on the stroke of midnight every 31^st December. As if I would be new. Or my life would be new. As a kid, I expected some kind of magic, a swishing of wand or fairy dust or simply waking up to a new dream. Even through my teenage years as I developed that oh-i-am-grown-up-and-therefore-world-weary air, I still secretly hoped for something new and bright to light up the rest of the year. And I think in some secret part of my weary soul, I still cherish that hope.

To return to the dying year on hand and to be fair to it, 2011 did have its moments:

•  Leaving my footprints in the sand at a Puri beach as I walked towards some unknown beacon
•  India winning World Cup. It was ours. Not my dad’s generation’s.
•  The big family reunion and the madness and fun at Agra
•  The sheer beauty of a misty dawn at Jim Corbett National Park, as we went on a tiger’s trail in an open jeep across a river and saw Bambi instead
• The rolling greens and the tall pine woods of a magical Ranikhet. Here I found the peace and the quiet joy I craved for
• Trip to Latin America. The sight of snow-covered Andes from a plane window. Meandering through the streets of Santiago. Sunday market at Bogota. And an underground wishing well.
• My first Diwali without amma. It felt a little unreal.
• My first trip to London. A lot of mad, mad work and then the exploration and walking and the cold. The history and the mall. And a hope for return.
• Lovely Christmas weekend. Walking through an enchanting Park Street. Santa Clauses beaming from all directions. A canopy of lights to walk under. The infectious joy on the roads. The fun lunch with old friends. The memories and the jokes. Priceless.

I hope that 2012 would also bring such moments for me. Some big. Some small. A forget-me-not a day would suit me just fine.

I hope that 2012 also brings you loads of moments that fill you with happiness and make you feel alive. All the new that you want and all the old that you need. Happy New Year.

Country Cousin in London: Part II

I stayed at Harrow-on-the-Hill. This place is almost like a mini-India, with Indians or those of Indian origin abounding in all hues, shapes and sizes. It is quite a bustling area during the day, with a busy mall, plenty of bakeries, cafes, restaurants dotting the place.

However, it is difficult to identify it as the same place in the evenings, after dark. And I do mean that literally. On my first day, I returned from office at around 8.30 pm – early by my standards in India. Guess what I found. The place was almost shut down, with only a few eateries open and I was told that even those would close in a while. Seriously, you gotta be kidding me. And the roads were practically deserted. The short walk to my hotel felt like an eternity. I was kind of freaked out by how there was almost no one out and I constantly felt apprehensive, as if someone would leap out of the shadows and mug me. Call me paranoid if you will but in a new city if you are walking down an area at barely 8.30 in the evening and find it deserted, I think you are entitled to feel a little uncomfortable. I had initially thought that maybe it was a winter phenomenon but I was told later by a friend who was there in summer that it was not.

So, you would understand if I felt wary of returning to the area after dark by myself. So, even when I went out for sightseeing, I tried to be back by six-ish . Maybe if I make the next trip in summer, it wouldn’t be as bad.

Anyway, back to all my doings in the city.  Sunday was my last day in London. I was taking the 10 o’clock flight next morning to return home.

Going by my previous day’s experience I knew that I would have plenty of walking to do today also and it would be unrealistic to think that I could cover too many places. So, I had to plan. I could either do the Museum circuit or try the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square or do some shopping at Oxford Street. Well, I decided in favour of starting the day at National Gallery.

It was another blisteringly cold day but I thought I was well covered. There was only one small hitch. The gloves. Well, you see, I was wearing these woollen gloves, which were great for protection from cold but made my fingers thick, clumsy and unfamiliar. Result: I could either take photographs or I could keep my hands warm.

This was not so much of a problem at the National Gallery. You are not allowed to take snaps. Problem solved.

National Gallery, London

The entry to the Gallery is free, though visitors are encouraged to voluntary donate any amount they want to the museum. I thought it was a very nice system and wondered why we could not try something similar back home. The Da Vinci section, however, required tickets and only a pre-decided number of visitors were allowed in a single day. Unfortunately for me, the tickets were sold out for the day. Regardless, I was fascinated by all the art that I did see. The Biblical theme was predominant with Christ, Mary, the Apostles and Parables portrayed in so many different moods. Bold colours, vibrant strokes somehow made even the most austere of moments seem pagan.

And then there were some which were unabashed in their sensuality. Delilah betraying Samson or Venus seducing Mars. There were moments of quiet contemplation too. A perplexed gaze looking out of a window or visions in dreams. Stern, family portraits of royalty and nobility – the kings and princes, the ladies and their corpulent husbands, noble children trussed up and made to sit still for the paintings. They were all there. I wanted to sit and stare at some of them for hours but time was a luxury that I didn’t have.

Plus, my feet were killing me again. But there was no help, I had not even gone out to the Square yet.

So, I walked down first to the Gallery shop and bought postcards of beautiful paintings, sternly lectured myself against buying something totally beautiful and extravagant like a deck of playing cards with Van Gogh’s Sunflowers printed on their back. I still think about them.

Christmas Tree at Trafalgar Square

Countdown to the Olympics

I walked out to the Trafalgar Square and found that the sun which had peeked in the morning had gone AWOL again. Yet, that didn’t quite dim my excitement. Here I was. At Trafalgar Square. There was a huge Christmas tree, which was a gift from Norway to Britain. A clock showing the countdown to London Olympics. Families with squealing kids enjoying a Sunday outside. Tourists too. Like me. I wanted to sit here and soak in the atmosphere. This famous place. And here I was.

Trafalgar Square

You could also take the Jubilee walkway from this point. It was a pathway designed to commemorate the Queen’s silver jubilee in year 1977. I started to walk along it but I couldn’t keep up. The cold and the fatigue were catching up with me fast and I still wanted to visit Oxford Street.

I alighted at Oxford Circus and stepped out into an almost enchanted place. There were lovely Christmas decorations all over the place. The streets were bustling with revelry and shoppers. I got hailed by a random someone who claimed to work in a fashion house and complimented my coat. Well, thank you very much. That is all I could say even as it all felt quite surreal.

I roamed around the streets, walked into a few shops. Looked at some very quirky and colourful merchandise. Animal shaped clothes pegs and dish holders. Collapsible dresses and rings the size of two fingers.

There were lights stringed across the roads. Santa and sleigh cut-outs smiling merrily at you. All it needed was white snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground to turn the enchanting into magical.

When I boarded my flight next day, I felt happy to be returning but I also left a wish behind. To come back again. Do all that I could not do this time. And somehow I had this feeling that I would be back. Amen.

Country Cousin in London: Part I

Last evening in London on my first trip to the city. It’s freezing outside, though my room is quite toasty. I am exhausted and looking forward to returning home. And also hoping that I return here again with some more leisure on my hand.

And you do need leisure to explore London. I am here for a business trip. The whole week was extremely busy with nary a moment to spare. Thankfully, the work went more smoothly than we expected and therefore, the weekend was mine.

I had first thought, quite naively as it turned out, that in two days, I would be able to cover all the London staples like Buckingham’s, Tower of London, Madame Tussaud’s, Natural History Museum, Westminster etc. But boy, was I wrong!

The primary reason for this is that in London you have to walk quite a lot. Apart from the fact that I am not used to walking quite so much, the unfamiliar boots and the heavy coat that I had to wear to keep the cold away made it all the more difficult to walk around. It took me six hours to cover the entire Tower yesterday and four hours to go through National Gallery, Trafalgar Square and parts of Oxford Circus. And at the end of these hours, even though I have a little more time to kill, I don’t have the stamina to do it.

Anyway, let me start at the start. We landed on Tuesday morning and within an hour of reaching the hotel, we were off for a meeting. The rest of the week went in really late night and early morning working, peppered with presentations to clients and meetings. Though in between this all, my boss – a London veteran – and some of my other colleagues took the time and trouble to explain to me how to move about in the city and how should I plan my exploration.

London is large and well connected through tube and buses. There are cabs but these are quite expensive. My colleagues generally book them in advance when needed. Even the tube is quite costly if you buy a ticket everytime you take it. So, you buy Oyster cards. My boss showed me the ropes the first day and I felt so much like the gawky, awkward country cousin. it was the same when we visited the client’s office, which was this really beautiful, sophisticated, grand and awesome building in the Temple area. This client has its own security and protocol system and it can be quite overwhelming if you are visiting them for the first time. Country cousin, that was me!

Friday night after the final presentation was over, we went out for dinner and a late night movie. Sherlock Holmes and the Game of Shadows it was. A highly stylized Holmes, essayed by Robert Downey Jr. and Watson by Jude Law, this Guy Ritchie movie was interesting but I found it a little surreal. In my head, Holmes has always been more cerebral rather than this really well trained action hero.

Saturday morning, I set out on my own. It was drizzling and the wind felt like some vengeful witch with a broom wanting to eat me alive. I went down to Tower Hill and spent the day gawking at the beautiful sight of the Tower Bridge stretching across Thames, listening to Yeoman’s tour of the Tower and gawking at all the echoes of all those centuries of History. It is a painful place, where traitors – either real or imagined – were imprisoned, executed or murdered. The Tower is also home to the Crown jewels – they are majestic but I could not help but recall how a lot of their glory is at the expense of nations like ours.

Yet, my favourite part of the day was at sunset, when with really aching feet, I walked down to the pier, where you can take a boat trip. The royal blue and stone grandeur of the bridge silhouetted against a sky turning a pale crimson that bled out into the blue, as Thames undulated underneath, as if smilingly saying, “So much water under the bridge. Yet here you are!”

Tower Bridge at Sunset

Dear Author, “What’s wrong with you?”

Inheritance, Book 4, Christopher  Paolini

I have just finished reading the fouth and final book in Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance / Eragon series. Finally. And boy, was it a chore! It is an extremely popular series and loads of people all round the world apparently love it. I don’t. I read the final book simply as an obligation.

There are several other wildly successful and loved books which I barely can tolerate and some I outright dislike. I know saying such things aloud is blasphemy (grins) but I think I would dedicate this post to such books / book series. The books are in no particular order and some may even have started out promisingly before crumbling into a heap of illogic, no resolutions and plain ol’ ‘get-it-over-already’.

• Twilight Series, Stephanie Meyer: Okay, don’t shoot me. Part I of the final book’s movie version, “Breaking Dawn” released earlier this week and is apparently generating mass hysteria and wild-eyed frenzy all over the world. I, for one, have difficulty understanding the lure. The first book starts off with an interesting plot. Girl moves to a new place, new school. Girl is attracted to a mysterious, good-looking class mate. Boy likes her back though he has a strange way of showing it. Turns out he is a vampire – a vegetarian vampire, if you will – and he tries to resist her because he wants to protect her from his kind. But it’s true love for Bella Swan and she is willing to sacrifice everything for him. After an abduction and rescue from another psychotic vampire, all’s well in their world. Okay, the girl – I can’t call her heroine, she has to display some guts for that – is plain insipid, whiny and clingy. Edward – the vampire hero - is intriguing and noble, the shining knights kind sans the armour. But it’s all a little different, so I like it. Then the horror starts in the second book. All of a sudden, you have vampire royalty threatening to kill our oh-so-delectable heroine. The werewolves come to party but there is just one problem – they are arch enemies of vampires. And then there’s Jacob, Bella’s best friend, who turns out to be a werewolf and in love with Bella. Guess, what happens next. In one truly cringeworthy and incredulous scene, Bella is camped out in snowy mountains with both the vampire and the werewolf – they are united in their goal to protect little Ms. Damsel-in-perpetual-danger. I can’t precisely remember why. And because she is freezing and her boyfriend Edward being vampire is cold to touch, she sleeps – literally – with Jacob to get warm and here’s the whopper, with Edward’s permission. He is a saint, ain’t he? But the final cake is taken by *spoiler ahead* when Jacob finds himself mated for life with Edward and Bella’s daughter literally the moment she is born and just like that the triangle becomes a weird set of parallel lines! “spoiler ends* 

• The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho: I read quite often how celebs cite this book as their favourite. A fabulous read which in a way opens their eyes to the truth of life. Me? I found it difficult to finish, despite its slim size and simple language. Because it moralizes. Preaches. And I hate that kind of tone. It reminds me of Moral Science lessons in school and I couldn’t stand the subject. At the end of every chapter, there is almost a moral of the story kind of lesson. It does have its moments though. I especially liked the concept of how the entire universe conspires to help you attain the one thing you truly desire. The story is simple but pretentious – a feat that I have not seen many authors accomplish and I am not too sure that I like it.

•  Eragon / Inheritance Series, Christopher Paolini: I just couldn't get over how ambitious it tried to be while finding its inspiration in two exceptional and unparalleled worlds that Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien created. The quest to defeat an all pervasive evil ruler - Galbatorix - with the help of various magical species from elves to dwarves and dragons (the last alone were a new addition to this world) seems like a pale imitation of the epic battle that Aragorn (see how even the name is similar), Frondo, Gandalf and others wage against Sauron in Lord of the Rings. In fact, there is a hint of Hunger Games also in the last throes of the book.  And Eragon is no epic hero. The secondary characters like Roran, Nasauda and Murtagh are more interesting. In fact, it is one of my peeves that Paolini leaves so much unresolved when it comes to these people.  Eragon is insipid and is only a circumstantial hero. He would have been very ordinary if a dragon had not hatched for him. He whines quite a lot. He has no true ties except with Saphira, his dragon. He pines for Arya, the elf but never has the courage to speak to her freely. Roran, on the other hand, is a self-made hero. Here is a man, a hero who wins his battles through sheer courage, ingenuity and wit, without magic. A true master of his fate. This holds true of Nasauda too. A young girl, barely older than Eragon, she leads an epic army into a war against the greatest evil. She has no magic in her. But she is gritty, a great strategist and an astute leader. She has her moments of vanity and regret but they quickly pass. And Muratgh! I wish Paolini had taken more time and effort to sketch that particular strain. Even Galbatorix - when we finally - see him comes across as quite ordinary for a villain competing with the likes of Voldemort or Sauron. Trust me when I say that the climax was quite anti-climactic. Plus, the book could have been half in length. 

•  Books by Chetan Bhagat: I have read two and have no intention of reading others. At least, not because I want to. It could be because my sister has bought one and for the lack of anything better I do so. I have read One Night at Call Centre and Three Mistakes of my Life. If I were to write about all the things I dislike about his books, I would never stop. But for starters how about the stories themselves, which are like bad Bollywood potboilers in English. Phone call from God, anyone? And what about romancing best friend’s sister and sleeping with her on the terrace? That’s certainly original. Then there’s the writing style and language. Which is not too bad, if you were a seventh standard student writing in school magazine. Then it would have shown potential. I know a lot of people like his books especially because the language is everyday, simple English but I would direct them to the inimitable R. K. Narayan to see how the same tool can be used to greater and beautiful effect. 

• A House for Mr. Biswas, V. S. Naipual: No! I can see you gasping in horror. It is a classic. Critically acclaimed. A literary gem. Sorry, I didn’t like it. I felt no empathy for Mr. Biswas or his miserable little quest for a house. And not because his life has no grandeur of an epic or the shine, no matter how brittle, of a posh sophisticated society. Simply because, his character seems like one drawn out torture with no little moments of happiness at all. If you have read the great Hindi author Premchand, you would see what I am talking about. he also writes about the common man – the farmer, the daily labourer, the shepherd – but there are moments in his stories, even when they end tragically, where the characters see hope and for a shining instant, all’s well with the world. Naipual’s book lacks that. 

That’s it for now. There are some others that I could talk about but I see the length of my post and realize that it is a potential sleeping drug. :-) 

But I would love to hear about books that you did not like and then we can compare notes.

Until then, ciao.

Ukraine Unexplored

So, I am back home after a trip to Ukraine. Yes, you heard right. Ukraine.

When I was first told about the trip, I was like “Huh?” I mean who goes to Ukraine, right? I was proven wrong when I had to go down to their embassy in Delhi to apply for visa in person. You wouldn’t believe the rush that had come to apply for visa. Dancers, students, businessmen galore. That was an eye-opener.

Anyhow, after spending almost an entire working day convincing them that I had no nefarious motives in visiting Kiev, I finally got the visa about a week back.

I reached Kiev on Monday afternoon and left yesterday morning. Since I spent most of my time in meetings, working and presenting, I had no time to explore the city, except on my way to client’s office from the hotel and back and on the way to the airport.

The glimpses I had of the city made me really wish that I had more time. It is a city rich in history and endowed with breathtaking natural beauty also. It is late autumn in the city currently and the temperature is generally below 10 degrees. The lovely gold, russet, green and orange of the falling leaves, crunching under feet reminded me of Keats’s ‘To Autumn’, though I suspect that not everyone in the country see this time as “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”.

The architecture clearly was similar to what you would expect in the Russian cities. The hotel I stayed in had a beautiful old world facade and the interiors were gilded opulence without going over the top.

Since I do not have more details to provide about the city, I leave you with some pictures that 

I managed to capture from my hotel balcony and cab windows.

Until next time, ciao.

These black and gold angels watch over the city

View from my balcony

View from my balcony

Lobby at Opera Hotel, Kiev

I am lovin' it!

It’s that time of the year again. The time of glorious festivals – Durga Puja / Navratri and then Diwali. Now, while Diwali is a nationwide phenomenon, Durga Puja / Navratri is big in pockets of India like Bengal, Gujarat etc.

Anyway, I love this time of the year. The city is decked up bright and beautiful. Everyone’s in good spirit – well, mostly – and I get four days straight of holidays for the Pujas!!! And that my dear, is why I love the Pujas the most.

My neighbourhood Durga Idol - last year

When I was a kid, I used to really enjoy gallivanting around the town, staring up at the gorgeous and huge idols of the goddess and her children, the menacing visage of Mahisasur, the breathtaking splendour of the pandals and the yummy delicious food. It was one of those rare times in the year, when I went out. And I was not alone in this regard. Most of my friends, cousins were also in the same situation. Remember, these were the days before parents used to give humongous amounts of pocket money that could be spent in multiplexes, coffee shops and shopping malls. We were no models of obedience but we definitely did not have the freedom that kids these days have.

But, I digress. The point is that I do not like this pandal hopping anymore. I have not done this for more than a decade now. I no longer have patience for the jostling, pushing crowds, where some creep would always try to grope and feel and some overbearingly fat lady would always be stepping on my toes. And I have one of the biggest pujas of the city right next door practically, which incidentally makes the lives of the neighbourhood residents quite difficult with all those big barricades.

Yet, I love these four days. Ever since I have started working, I think I live for these long holidays. Puja is one of them. For these four days, I do not step out of my house. I just laze around, read, eat, watch TV, sleep, enjoy the view of brightly dressed throngs of people from my balcony and while away my time. And this year, these four days have followed a weekend – so in effect, six days of doing nothing! You have to be me to appreciate the beauty of this, after the really, really terrible time I have had this year at work.

So far, I have spent half of this time catching up on sleep – getting up at 11 every morning – reading anything and everything (from Tagore to Gibran to fantasy Romance), cleaning my room (my only useful but back-breaking exercise), watching Masterchef Australia religiously and relishing my solitude. (Even as I write this, my mom is sitting next to me and berating, “God knows, what’s wrong with you! People go out and enjoy at this time and you do not even feel like doing this!” )

My black bean bag is my throne these days. I loll about it in it and plan my wardrobe for Diwali. Now that is my favourite festival. The lights, the crackers, the family get-together, the jokes, the samosas – I love it all. I love decking up – I especially shop for a sari for the occasion. I love artistically arranging the candles and diyas around my house. I adore the time spent with my family, laughing and pulling each other’s leg. It is during such occasions that I cannot help but thank my lucky stars that I have all these wonderful people as my family. Although this year would also be a little sad. I will miss my grandma but I hope she would be watching us.

So, while all you busy people go about your business, I am going to drag my throne in from the veranda, put my feet up and do nothing. Just nothing at all!

Happy Pujas.