2017 in books

2017 has again been a year of great reads, with my discovery of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's books being the highlight of the year.  Be it Half of a Yellow Sun - a compelling narrative of the horrors of the Biafran war that shamed me about my ignorance and filled me with horror and sorrow - or Purple Hibiscus, which shook me with an account of domestic violence in the backdrop of opulence and faith - or Americanah, a remarkable account of immigrants in a "new world" far away from home - every book by this lady is a big 5 stars.  Engrossing stories that I highly recommend.

Half of a Yellow Sun

For the sister who would be searched for every day but never found, and for the sister who was found, but more dead than alive.

For the sons who never got a chance to bury their mothers, and for the parents who had to bury their children.

For the people who tried to stay positive even as they poached rats for lunch, and for the mothers who forced protein tablets into the mouths of unresponsive infants.

“Red was the blood of the siblings massacred in the North, black was for mourning them, green was for the prosperity Biafra would have, and, finally, the half of a yellow sun stood for the glorious future.”   

"The world was silent when we died", says the author.  Death, be not proud...

Purple Hibiscus

Half of a Yellow Sun enthralled me, and I picked this book up with a lot of expectations.  

It far exceeded those expectations.

This story made me flinch in a lot of places, with a remarkable setting of domestic violence in the backdrop of opulence and faith.  It had me silently screaming "Bravo!" for Aunty Ifeoma and her children, admiring Jaja's bravado and strength, pitying Mama, and relating to Kambili - her shyness, her lack of self-esteem, her quiet nature - I love how beautifully the author develops her character and her inherent strength.

5 big stars.  A masterpiece.

Americanah 

After the masterpiece Half of a Yellow Sun and the stunning Purple Hibiscus, my expectations of Americanah were high.  

The book did not disappoint.  The importance of a good education.  What life is like as an immigrant in a foreign land.  To what depths of despair unemployment can drive one.  What colour means in a modern world.  What it is like to bring up children born in a country far away from home, who have never seen the land of their people.  How the meaning of love evolves with age.  And, most importantly - how is it when one returns to the country of one's birth after years spent abroad?  What is it like to revisit one's home through the eyes of a "foreign-returned" person?

And then there was The Light Between Oceans that made me shed copious tears with its take on "right and wrong and how sometimes, they look the same".

The Light Between Oceans

"Soon enough the days will close over their lives, the grass will grow over their graves, until their story is just an un-visited headstone". 

We all know there's a lot of grey between "right" and "wrong", but rarely does a book make you question yourself - what if what is evidently, completely RIGHT for someone is tragically WRONG for another? 

Set in a remote island far, far away from the mainland - an island with one majestic lighthouse and two human beings - The Light Between Oceans simply swept me away. When a tiny boat sweeps up, carrying a man - dead, and an infant - miraculously alive, the couple on the island has to make a choice that will have devastating consequences - not just in their lives but also on a number of lives far away on the mainland.

This book made me seethe with fury. This book made me cry unashamedly. Some parts had me weeping like a baby. This is a story that will stay with me for years.

The Catcher in the Rye is a genuine masterpiece with its imagery, play of words and sheer poignancy. This is a book I am going to re-read many times.

The Catcher in the Rye

Someone asked if I've ever had a crush on a fictional character. Oh yes. Holden Caulfield. "Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone". I mean, a teenager who thinks and says this stuff - I have definitely had a crush on him since the first time I read The Catcher in the Rye, and still do. And this - "Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad". Until I read this masterpiece of a book, I thought I was the only person weird enough to feel this way. Hell, my eyes get moist almost every time someone is kind to me! "I know he's dead! Don't you think I know that? I can still like him, though, can't I? Just because somebody's dead, you don't just stop liking them, for God's sake--especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that're alive and all". I think this is the point at which I get something in my damn eye whenever I read this book. I’ll stop with this - "It's not too bad when the sun's out, but the sun only comes out when it feels like coming out". I take my hat off to you, JD Salinger. What a book The Catcher in the Rye is. I recommend it to everyone who hasn’t read it yet. Please do, and be awed.

I'm ending the year with Chaos by James Gleick, which quite accurately sums up my current state. 😉

I hope everyone has a great year ahead with plenty of books!

Black Hole

"A THING OF BEAUTY'S A JOY FOREVER".

She stared, unmoving, at the words, painted painstakingly by hand, on the display board of a ladies' parlour.

A thing of "beauty". Beauty... The one thing every girl wishes to possess...

She managed to snap out of her reverie. Her eyes fell on the words written with chalk on a dusty blackboard outside the parlour - "Eyebrows at Rs. 30 only".

"I don't have any eyebrows to worry about, at the very least!"

Smiling slightly, she walked on... now used to the stares that followed her. People stared openly, continuously, at any time, at any place she went to. "Ah well, no one gets to be poker-faced when they see me", she thought - and the thought made her chuckle slightly.

She was approaching her old school now. The prim, elite, all-girls school with its verdant lawns and "Girls, you must be graceful here too" playgrounds... She paused at the gates, the words uttered by her Principal, so long ago, again echoing in her ears - "You're a smart girl, dear, but you must learn to groom yourself better...no man likes just brains in a girl! Appearances do matter!"

She'd taken offence then, with all the indignation of youth... but had long since made peace with the fact that it is impossible for everyone's opinions to match, that it is futile to try and make everyone like or respect you. A proud “average-looker”!

"My school did teach me one most important thing about life - that it goes on!" she reflected, as she moved past the old granite school buildings, still standing strong, past the shining malls that were once a source of awe to the children in the school and now so mainstream, past the cool, fragrant flower market, and reached the housing colony where she had lived ever since she was born.

Nothing much had changed here in twenty-five years. The paint still peeled off the walls and myriad items of clothing were hung out to dry on the railings of balconies, on the grills of windows, on sagging ropes tied between doors. The vintage Premier Padminis and Kinetics still stood proudly. It was time for dusk, and a heavenly amalgamation of aromas - chicken biryani and mullangi sambar and bhindi fry and Maggi and fish curry - wafted towards her. Voices called out to the children to get back inside, even as the little ones ran around chanting "Ice Pice!". Adults were returning home from work, bringing home small treats... Tiny boxes of rasgullas or family pack sundaes or a packet of gobi manchurian.

Time seemed to have stood still inside this haven. Yet something had occurred, five years ago, inside this very place, that had shattered its peace and changed her life forever, irrevocably...

She fished her keys out of her bag and stepped into the house, sighing inwardly. "Home certainly doesn't feel complete without mom and dad in it", she thought. Yet she had been the one who forced them to take that trip to Uttarakhand they had been dreaming about for years. They had both initially refused to even talk about it - after all, they had not let her spend a day alone since the day her world - and theirs - had plunged into a black hole, but she had, after days of arguments and negotiations, managed to convince them to go on holiday for a week and spend their 30th wedding anniversary together.

"Papa, remember what you taught me when I was a child? Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift, which is why we call it the present! I'm no longer stuck in the black hole into which an animal pushed me in the past, Papa. I'm focused on the present - and it's time for you to be too!"

The day I was pushed into a black hole.

That was how she always thought of that evening. She had been walking back home, a packet of hot samosas, purchased at the evergreen Nathulal's outside her housing colony, inside her lunch bag - a surprise for mom and dad. There was a skip in her step and a grin plastered on her face...no, there was no special reason, but then she was a happy-go-lucky girl, full of joy at the thought of the upcoming weekend and the picnic planned with her parents and extended family.

It was then that it hit her. On her face. On her hands that rushed to her face. On her neck.

Acid.

Her life plunged into a black hole, with no light visible at the end of the tunnel. The next few months of surgeries and procedures were a blur to her; though disjointed, sudden, sharp images kept coming back.... Her samosas, having slipped out of her bag, lying forlornly in a pool of red chutney… her eyes, her skin, her whole self, seemingly covered with a film of red. The ambulance orderly who vomited. The nurses with their red eyes. Her parents, screaming and running, refusing to take their hands off the stretcher. The sharp, painful flashes of light from the photographers' cameras. The arrival of an eminent plastic surgeon, made a royal event by the staff, who could not hide that first jolt of shock. Her mother's trembling hands whenever she was pushed in for anesthesia. Her father, the all-weather jogger, constantly collapsing into chairs. Her cousins, always so

bubbly, hesitating at the door. Her little nephew, who burst into tears when coaxed into her hospital room. Her friends, unable to hide their pity. Her teachers, whose strained smiles spoke more than the well-meant encouraging words. The specialists, who shook their heads when they thought she wasn't noticing. The orderlies, who always tried to clean her room without having to look at her. The other patients and visitors in the hospital, who often crossed themselves when they saw her, as if saying, "God, put me through anything but this"....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And then the journalist, who changed her life again with her question - "What do you plan to do next?"

The whistle of her neighbour's pressure cooker brought her back into the present. Shaking her head at the time she had wasted lost in the past, she quickly freshened herself up and sat at her desk. Her third volume of poems was due at the publisher's the next day! Popping a few groundnuts into her mouth, she reviewed the last couple of lines of her newest poem:

“THE ANIMAL HAD HIS PLAN BACKFIRE

FOR NEVER SHALL I BE TRAPPED IN A QUAGMIRE

FOR A BRIGHTER TOMORROW, I SHALL ALWAYS ASPIRE

I MAY HAVE BEEN PUT THROUGH A TEST OF FIRE,

BUT STILL! OH, HOW BLUE IS MY SAPPHIRE...”

Content, she moved to the window, looking at the fascinating formations made by birds flying home to their nests. Her mother’s words on the day she finally came home from the hospital and stood, aghast, in front of the mirror echoed again in her ears…

“Beauty is indeed something every girl wishes to possess, and certainly should! But aspire for the beauty that’s measured not according to your body’s proportions, but is rather based on your personality’s dimensions! That, my dear, is the kind of beauty that not only impresses, but endures…”

“Mother was absolutely right”, she thought. "I might have been put through what can be called a living hell, but I will definitely pave my path out of it.

All of us live with our past. All of us allow it to shape our future. But some of us know how to shrug the past. I think that is who I am....."

She had emerged, ever stronger, out of the black hole.

Snippets

The Fear

"It'll do you good to be around people", they insisted
"Why don't you want to get out of the house?"
Little did they know it was not about a lack of energy
It was a fear of sympathy.

The Eyes of the Beholder

After the fall, astonishment dominated her face as she looked at the person who had come running to her first
"But I thought you were such a snob" she thought, almost aloud.

Impressions are rarely the truth.

Predictions

"Shall I ready her horoscope??" the relative asked excitedly, even before actually holding the newborn.  "We can easily predict her future..."

"No." smiled the infant's grandmother. "We'll let her make her future..."

She continued gently, "Haven't you read Ghalib's couplet?

हाथों की लकीरों पे मत जा रे गालिब,

नसीब उनके भी होते हैं, जिनके हाथ नहीं होते" 

My culture is in my character and not in my clothes!

Come holidays & I begin to resemble a cave-dweller - disheveled, wearing old jeans & older T shirts, hair combed in a hurry (and this last only because my grandmother keeps comparing me to a pishaashi). 

One 'fine' day i was on my way to my dear library - my 2nd home these days - when i was accosted by a 'well-meaning' family acquaintance right in the middle of bustling Malleswaram. 

"Whaaaat happened to you?! Are you sick?!" he shrieked. 
"No Uncle! Why do you ask?" said I, trying to smile. 
"Look at you!! Walking on the streets wearing jeans & a T shirt!! No earrings also! And no bindi?!
Look girl. This is not done. How can you step out like this?? You look terrible without ear-studs. (well then i look terrible almost everyday, Uncle. -_- )  And does your mother know you go outside without wearing a bindi?! This is totally against our culture, child! Never do this again!" 

These last 2 sentences were delivered in such a high-pitched tone that everyone one the footpath stopped to stare at us - wondering what sin i had committed, perhaps. Mumbling some non-committal reply, I wished him a good day & scrambled away (almost right into the path of an oncoming 276 :P)

Later, however, back home in one piece, i began to think about what he'd said. 

Culture is NOT defined by the clothes one wears! And i have nothing against dressing ethnic - i love Indian wear, earrings & bindis too - just not all the time. 
Does that make me a bad person? 
Does that mean i'm 'against' our culture? 
Nope. 
I love & respect my culture. I also believe that one's culture is in one's character - not just in the way one dresses. One's culture is in respecting others - not just in one's appearance. One's culture is in working honestly & sincerely - not just in one's choice of clothes! One's culture is in knowing how to dress, when & where! 
Cheers. 

The Hospital

It has been said, 'A hospital sees more prayers, more tears, more joy, more anger, more peace, than any other place in the world.'
How true!
Not even a place of worship would see more fervent prayers...
Not even the departure or arrival lounges of an airport would see more tears - of sorrow AND happiness. For yes, while you see dozens of people sobbing in grief - you also see people shedding tears of joy & relief...
Nothing could come close to the joy you can witness in a hospital - the joy when the surgeon says "Success!" outside the OT, the joy when a nurse comes out with a little bundle in her arms, the joy when a test report reads 'Normal', the joy when a patient opens his eyes & smiles...
Anger. A patient's anger, a doctor's anger, families' anger... Anger is inevitable. But the miracle is, you see peace too! Patients sleeping peacefully, knowing that all will be well... Families smiling in peace, having full faith in the doctors... And best of all? The peace on the faces of the doctors & nurses, knowing that they've done their job well...

The most touching incident i've witnessed in a hospital is this. The head surgeon stepped out of the OT after a marathon surgery, to be fervently thanked by the parents of the little girl who underwent it, for having saved her life. "We only heal. He saves" said the surgeon. "Thanks is not needed.. Your faith is enough."

Probably it would be apt to end with a quote from Erich Segal's Doctors -
"He had spent most of his lifetime studying the art of medicine and realized now that he would never really understand its mysteries.
For medicine is an eternal quest for reasons - causes that explain effects.
Science cannot comprehend a miracle.” 

And I stumbled across Erich Segal.

Having heard only about one book of Erich Segal's, the magnum opus 'Love Story', never did i think i would take a look at his books - assuming, rather arrogantly, that they would all be 'just' love stories which i had absolutely no interest in reading.
On one particular day a week ago, however, i stood forlornly in my library, having exhausted all the available titles by my favourite authors of detective fiction/ thrillers/ crime/ just anything by Jeffrey Archer.
It was then that my eye fell on the shelf holding Segal's books.
I, rather typically, immediately dismissed Love Story - ignoring the librarian's excited "we usually keep 10 copies in stock, kid, it's a miracle you found one" - and instead picked up a book titled, The Class. Rather - no, very - reluctantly.
I finished it overnight.
I loved it.
Since then, i've finished another of his books - Doctors. Loved, loved, loved that too.

The Class

A compelling saga of the myriad set of students who meet, for the first time, on the steps of Harvard University one grey morning. A complete page- turner, the book chronicles their lives, the relationships they form, the competition, the stress, the failures, successes, hatred, sorrow, joy & love they encounter, together - right from the beginning of their college days, to the day they graduate, and their lives thereafter.

This book is in no way limited to Harvard. I could relate to it perfectly well as a BMSCEian - and found myself hoping i could form the kind of strong & everlasting friendships the protagonist does. :)

Doctors

It is no secret to most of my friends that i had a burning desire to become a doctor. Well, that didn't materialise, but i do try to vicariously live my dream by reading a string of Robin Cook books, watching Grey's Anatomy and so on. (Sad, i know.)

I am so glad i picked up this book.

Erich Segal introduces the reader into the lives of a very richly diverse set of characters - all with one dream. To become doctors. From the day they step into Med School, to the day they dissect a cadaver... From the day they see their first live patients to they day they walk out, triumphant, with an  M.D and set out to serve the sick in hospitals across the world - this marvellous story gives the reader  a glimpse into the lives of doctors -  the voluminous ( too mild a word) syllabus, their marathon working hours as residents, the struggle to set up a practice & to keep it running... 

All while trying their best to stick to the Hippocratic Oath they took so long ago.

A must read.

I might even give Love Story a chance. :D