Saturday, August 27, 2016

Book Review: The Hungry Tide By Amitav Ghosh

Pg 400, Harper Collins
Gripping Beginning, Mundane End

The novel set in the beautiful archipelago of Sunderbans has a riveting start. Kanai, a translator by profession spots Piya, an American-Indian cetologist on a train platform. They strike a conversation and Kanai invites her to visit him in Lusibari. His aunt, Nilima, fondly called as Mashima runs a Trust in Lusibari and has invited him especially to hand him over a parcel marked for Kanai left by her late husband, Nirmal who was a radical. From the beginning you would start feeling a curiosity for that packet found after years of Nirmal's death. Those do become a central point of the novel unveiling the plight of squatters in Morichjhapi, existence of fresh water dolphins and a legend of Bon Bibi, the guardian goddess of the tide country. However, Nirmal writes them with an urgency, as a reader you might not feel an urge to read those. Piya has come to India for her research in rare species of Irrawaddy dolphins. She meets Fokir and her son Tutul when the forest guards, the typical crude 'sarkari karamcharis', throw her out of the boat, Fokir saves her life. Since this time, Fokir and Piya would develop a special bond surpassing language barriers. Piya spots some of the rarest pair of dolphins and Fokir's knowledge about them becomes key in her research. She decides to return to the waters again after reaching Lusibari and Kanai accompanies her as a translator. They hire local fishermen Horen's Bhonbhoti and they set on their voyage.
The novel has a natural flow of events but there is a disconnect in the plot throughout. It seems each parallel story described by Ghosh here either has an abrupt end or doesn't relate to the main story. For eg: Kanai had known Fokir's mother Kusum when he had to come to Lusibari in 1970. It seems he develops a friendship with her but then later on when he gets to find out through Nirmal's notebook how she died and Fokir is her son, he seems unaffected.  Another is Horen and Kusum's unexpected love for each other which is revealed towards the end. Horen also hints that Nirmal might be in love with Kusum which doesn't relate to Nirmal's character. Basically, there are loose ends in establishing characters' relationships with each other.
Like Ghosh's other novels (I have read The Sea of Poppies & The Glass Palace) set against the backdrop of history, this is about a time when the Indian government had cracked its whip on squatters coming in and settling near Sunderbans. It also gives a picturesque view of a fictional island, Lusibari and Sunderbans and the rare dolphins are described through Piya's research.
Almost each chapter alternates between pages of Nirmal's notebook and the present. It drags on at quite a few places, definitely not a page turner. Some parts are interesting like the letter written to Piya by Kanai is beautifully metrical. "The firewood was wet and the pots would not boil - tears were the result of his unrewarded toil."
The novel is largely about how the characters like Nirmal are in an identity crisis. There is a 'tide' turning in each one of them. Nirmal, a radical since the beginning always has an itch to revolutionise but fails to help the settlers. Kanai feels the same when he is confronted by a tiger or he feels he saw a tiger. There is an abrupt change in his ways after that. Fokir who is illiterate but knows the river well, has a keen eye but isn't anything substantial in his wife's eyes, Moyna who want to become a qualified nurse.
But unlike it's gripping beginning, the novel doesn't have a gripping end. 

Friday, August 26, 2016

The Kohinoor: Our Mountain Of Obsession

The Kohinoor, the famed and fabled gem called as the Mountain Of Light, has also consumed mountain of energy and time on countless arguments of getting it back to India. A country like India which has so many problems to look at, the top brass of the nation invest their time in diplomatic high level talks on how to get the elusive diamond back. If it's about restoring India's artefacts then it is quite baseless. India is not interested in other cultural artefacts that were taken by other rulers. Getting it back might instil some pseudo pride in us but well, it serves no purpose. Indian diplomats should better debate about the real issues plaguing the country rather than just whiling away time on something which doesn't even have a legal standing. The diamond didn't belong to Indians originally and other countries like Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan too can lay their claims on it. Whether a gift or taken by force, Kohinoor does not belong to India now and we should not obsess ourselves with it.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

एक अधूरी कहानी

रेत में किसी के पाँव के निशान की तरह
कुछ अधुरा हम सब की कहानी में होता है

कुछ अनसुना, कुछ अनकहा, अनछुआ-सा
जिसे अपनेआप से भी छुपाना चाहते हैं

किसी के आंसू , किसी की मुस्कराहट
किसी की दुआ, किसी का अभिशाप

जाने कितने मर्म इस रेगिस्तान के सीने में दबे हैं
जहाँ वो सदियों से दफ़न हैं

कभी तोह एक हवा का झोंका आयेगा
किसी के राज़ खोल और किसी के छुपा जायेगा

क्यों ?

क्यों हर वादा पूरा होने से पहले ही टूट जाता है?
क्यों हर रिश्ता पक्का होकर भी कमजोर रह जाता है?

क्यों हम आज की हकीकत पर कल की बुनियाद खड़ी करते हैं?
क्यों सपने टूट जाने पर हम हर किसी को कोसते हैं ?

क्यों हर बार ठोकर खाकर भी संभल नहीं पाते ?
क्यों हर बार भावुक होकर गलत को ही चुनते हैं?

क्यों हर मीठी याद बीते कल की याद दिला जाती है?
क्यों जिंदगी हर मोड़ पर ठहर जाती है?

क्यों हम औरो के साथ खुद को भी धोखा  देते  हैं ?
क्यों हमें हमेशा झूटी तसल्ली ही दिलासा देती है?

क्यों किसी का साथ छूट जाने पर ही हम ऐसा सोचते हैं ?
क्यों हम सब कुछ आशावाद पर ही बुनते  हैं?
 
क्यों एक छोटी सी बात समझ नहीं आ पाती ?
क्यों ये ज़िन्दगी हर सवाल का जवाब नहीं दे पाती ?

Friday, September 30, 2011

With a few droplets on my palm


Sitting by a window-side,
Cool breeze rustling across my face.
I think of the bygone days.
With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I watch the rain flood the street.

A thread flew out of the window
and settled on a tree
It will never be dissolved in the wind,
Just like my memories which will never wither way

pure…white…serene…the memories will always stand out.

With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I watch the rain flood the street.

I had watched the rain flood the street,
It was a “rainy day” for school.
I remember how my sister made a study table out of bedding
I remember how we sat in our den, in our comfortable surrounding
Reciting and dictating
Fighting and giggling

For one hour I was her teacher,
For another hour I became her student
Pointing out each other’s slightest error gave authority
Counting those red circles on each other’s copy gave satisfaction

When would all break into a game,
Only the guilt of ‘posing’ to study would tell later.

Burying our heads into books
discovering a game in them was tricky.

It got dark
It got confusing
But the game continued,
We pondered
We concentrated like never before
Not a word to be missed
Not a letter to be left
We continued to play
We continued to accuse

Then the rain stopped,
Then the game ended.

The night promised another “Rainy Day”
But the terrible sun rays pierced my window the very next day
It had to be a “school day”

Nudging each other all the way
Taunting each other on the defeat when actually none of us had won the game
She was a “cheater” for me, I was a “loser” for her


Grudgingly we got down from our Auto-Rickshaw

She wouldn’t forget to bid good-bye
I wouldn’t forget to give her a smile.

With a few droplets on my palm,
With a few droplets on my cheek
I would wait to watch the rain flood the street again.


They say I am tied to my memories,
They say I am a prisoner of the past

I smile and say,

        “I remember the people who made me what I am today.”




Sunday, August 28, 2011

"Inconsiderate lot"

We all are inconsiderate in some or the other way.... The level at which we are inconsiderate is different. I have been thinking about it and if we look at it, almost all the crimes, big or small, arise from just one thing- inconsideration!


On seeing war documentaries different emotions arise like pity, anger, sadness, depression and pleasure. Pleasure? Yes, you read it correctly. The last type of feeling comes from, what in my parlance is the "inconsiderate" lot.

A man shot in head and blood streaming out or when the head being chopped off and the body falls still wriggling as if life is refusing to go out of it.... There comes a chorus  from the viewers"REWIND"

These are documentaries...footage of the incidents that happened in real life and not fiction. Place yourself in that situation and see your kith and kin being shot right in front of you and then have the guts to say "REWIND".

We don't feel the burns until fire catches our own home.

Textbooks change with change of the CM!


It is illogical but the content of textbooks is changed with the new Chief Minister. Ms. Jayalalithaa is striking off any reference of former CM M.Karunanidhi in school textbooks. A green sheet or a permanent marker id used to struck off the references. However, in the process, the names of many great Tamil scholars are also removed. Even, C.N. Annadurai, the founder of DMK party is also out of the books. Sadly, all this got an administrative approval.

The question is what right do politicians have to add or delete content of textbooks? Politicians can at least spare school children from their vengeance.

Very unfortunately, nobody seems to take this as an important issue. The media is too obsessed with "Anna Hazare".