The Great Human War

The Mahabharat is the greatest epic India has ever produced. The layers to the story, the symbolism, flawed heroes, upright ‘villains’ – it has the works. You could enter a debate on the Mahabharat and it could continue for weeks and months J

The Thirteenth Day begins at the end of the Bhishma campaign or the beginning of the Drona campaign, depending on which way you look at it. It attempts to humanize the characters we have come to know and love/loath. Aditya Iyengar cuts through the mists of legends and introduces them to us as normal people, with their strengths and fallacies. It makes us relate more with them in terms of understanding their fears, their desires and their reasons for being in ‘The Great War’.

The story is told from the viewpoint of three figures: Yudhishthira, the leader of the Pandav clan, fighting for the crown and recognition. From our earlier readings, we remember him as a just, honourable, silent man who is remorseful of his treatment of his wife. Here, he is torn between who he needs to be as a leader of the war, an active combatant and a valorous one at that; and who he is, a thoughtful leader who does not see the need for so much bloodshed, one who would see the war end even with a victory for the other side.

The second figure is Radheya/Karna, a man who for me is the most intriguing character in the great tale - the lost son of the Pandavas; the best friend of the leader of the Kurus, Suyodhana – the man who would be king. Fresh with the knowledge that recognition would give him the throne in case of a Pandava victory, he is torn between his duty and desire. Does he abandon Suyodhana’s cause for pursuing his own ambition of being king; one that will potentially end the bloodshed? Or does he stay true to the man who brought him to the limelight and remains his closest friend till date? This dilemma is what defines Radheya, and what makes him the most human character among all.

The final character is Abhimanyu, the boy warrior itching for a chance at glory. This is the character I found to be cast in the most different light. Rather than be a prodigy thrust into the pitch of battle because of his Dharma as a warrior; he comes across as a warrior yearning to make his mark on history and be remembered forever. He is not a fledgling prince, but a fully aware, honourable warrior.

The author writes of the Chakravyuh used by the Kauravs as an onion with layer upon layer. His story is something similar. As a reader, you go through multiple iterations of the major characters, and come to know newer and newer nuances of not only them; but the people, times and even how history was written for them.

War is no light matter, and you can sense a shadow of gloom towering above everyone, a sense of impending doom pervading the air. As the story builds towards it crescendo, you can see yourself yearning for the best ending – one that would do all three of our narrators well – and see it coming towards you, in sight. And then you see it being torn away cruelly, and the reality or the yatharth of war, stares you squarely in the face, and smiles a hard, yet understanding smile, as if saying – “This is what was to happen, and this is what will”.

If you want to strip away the layers of the mystique, and understand the emotions of the people and the war around them, pick up a copy of The Thirteenth Day. You will enjoy it thoroughly. I rate it 4.5 out of 5.

Autobiography of a mad nation: A review

I recently had a chance to read this book, and I must admit, like a true journalist, Sriram Karri had me hooked from the first line – I was born in a mentally retarded country.

In today’s world, where consumerism is holding sway, Karri’s narrative holds up a mirror to us and asks, no, beseeches us “How much are you willing to take before you fight back?” Topics such as political leanings, religion, regionalism, sensationalism that are normally touched upon very lightly, if at all, are tackled head on.

Coming to the story, the diary of a convict on death row is discovered by the highest office in India. The sentiments strike a chord, and a covert mission is sanctioned – to find out the reason for a normal person to suddenly kill his mentally retarded neighbour.

The premise of the story is very interesting, and it grabs you right from the start. This story goes beyond the regular fiction piece, as it drives you to think of where we are and where we are headed in terms of a society and a country.

Moving at a breakneck speed from partition to emergency, to nuclear tests to liberalization, to the Mandal commission to Babri masjid, to Godhra riots to Indira’s assassination to banning Satanic Verses to the Kargil war; the story makes all important milestones part of the narrative. A group, hidden in the shadows, controlling the strings of the story only serves the purpose of making you question “Who is pulling our strings? Do we have control?”

It is a brave book, and one that requires you to keep an open mind. Your beliefs will be tested, your opinions will be questioned, and you will feel enriched by the end of the story. This is a book that you must read. I would rate it 4.5 out of 5.

Book Review: The Curse of Surya by Dev Prasad

I recently got a chance to read The Curse of Surya by Dev Prasad while on my birthday trip. This book is what one might call a mythological mystery set in modern times, a-la The Da Vinci Code or Chanakya’s Chant.

This book is set in locations inhabited by Krishna during his era (Mathura, Dwarka etc.) and focuses around a jewel called the Shyamantaka that was lost during Krishna’s times. What powers does the jewel hold, who all are the interested stakeholders in this jewel, what transpires between them is what makes up the story.

It is refreshing to see a female protagonist in a mystery novel. Sangeeta Rao, the carefree reporter from India working in Singapore, fits the bill very well. She is strong, inquisitive, knowledgeable and ready for adventure. She runs into Alan Davies, a Welsh professor, and is instantly charmed off her feet by the Welshman. Together, the two attend a religious conference where an untoward incident happens. In the ensuing confusion, the duo finds themselves on the run and being helped by a Frenchman who works in a museum in the USA (talk about globalization!). Meanwhile, the police is after them for prosecution. How this intrepid group of individuals peels the layers of the plot behind the crime and realize the bigger game underway, is what forms the crux of the story.

In terms of structure, the story flows well from one part to the next. I did not feel as if it was disjointed at any level. It takes a couple of chapters for you to get invested in the story, but once you’re in, you want to know what happens next and are wondering about the next steps of the characters.

In terms of the background, the story has its origins in Indian mythology and this makes it easier for the average Indian reader to relate with and understand. The easy-going way the story is written also makes you wonder about the authenticity of the claims. I, for one, have felt interested in reading more about Krishna’s times and the history behind them. As it turns out, the author Dev Prasad has written another book, Krishna A Journey Through The Lands & Legends Of Krishna which caters to the actual historical information about Krishna’s era.

In terms of readability, I would say it is a good read. As mentioned, the book starts out a little slow, but picks up speed as you go along. In the second half, the motivations of a few characters seemed a bit circumspect to me. However, all in all, this seemed like only a minor hiccup in what was an easily readable story.

In terms of final views, I would rate this book as a good easy read. As mentioned earlier, I read this in transit, and this was done by the time I had reached my destination. It’s a book that will keep you entertained, interested and invested while it’s in your hands. Once done, you have an easy option to explore further as well. Overall, I would give it 3.5 out of 5.

Hero Of The Day

Under the overcast sky, the city burned,
The tide of the battle had definitely turned
Arrows rained down, bringing deadly fire;
Of soldiering on, few left had any desire.

Blood, wails and tears mixed in the streets,
Nothing now remained of the fighting fleets
Through the smoke, haze and despair of the remaining few;
Came a lone warrior, weapon in hand, vigor anew.

‘Don’t go out there’ they pleaded, ‘’tis a lost cause’,
The warrior walked on, without taking a pause
The howling winds carried back very few sounds;
The enemy could still be heard, baying like thirsty bloodhounds.

Walking out to the field of death, all he calmly surveyed,
Horribly outnumbered, had his options not been weighed?
Smirking, the enemy circled, waiting for the kill;
Any mortal would have felt his spine catch a chill.

Swords & arrows, axes and spears,
He conquered them all, and the city’s fears
The mysterious warrior had done it;
As the remaining enemies beat a hasty retreat.

The victor walked back to the city as it reveled,
He took no part, staying behind the mist, veiled
In the darkness, He crept out, leaving no trace;
The citizens lamented, trying to recall his face.

The skies cleared up, and more than the weather was perfect,
The city had been rebuilt, signs of war cleared away
His statue was put up in the town square, as a mark of respect;
And there he stood for eternity, the hero of the day.

The Pauper And The Princess

And the poetic naan-sense continues :P


Was it all a mistake, or was she indeed his life-saver?
How could he think of someone as ethereal as her!
The pauper can only dream of palaces beyond;
But alas! For him, there is no magic wand.

Her beauty was exquisite, her elegance resplendent,
A commoner’s praise could only be an affront
As she waved out to the thronging multitude;
He stayed away from the plaza, self-curfewed.

Blighted by the force of the stream, he flowed on,
What is ephemeral is not there, ‘twas long gone
Beyond the borders, the shadows lay waiting;
His plight, their opportunity; they tried baiting.

He took a pledge of not falling to the dark side,
He’d be the soldier, the person whom to confide
Honor and integrity would mark his actions;
He’d be strong and deep like the canyons.

Come rain, storm or hail,
He’d remain there for her
The rock to build on, the friend to call;
I’d be there for you.

Faces and Names

I'm feeling particularly poetic aajkal for some godforesaken reason.
Here goes the next poem then (hopefully won't be a torture):


In the nights, someone calls out to me,
I shout ‘Hark!’ Who may you be?
The face is new, the name is old;
And I am left standing, cold!

The gates open, memories flood in,
I’m moving on, is looking back a sin?
Why do past and present entangle;
Do complicate matters, my mind they mangle!

The shadows chase me, calling out my name,
I cower, hiding in the shadows, behind my shame
Wanted posters mock me, crying foul;
Making me wonder; am I human or ghoul!

Faces without names and names without faces,
They cross over without leaving any traces
I fight a battle that is lost, one that is futile;
I must complete the sentence, my solitary exile.

Arbit goes to the Movies - Part Uno

One fine day, Arbit decided to watch an English movie dubbed in Hindi. For what reason, I have no idea. It's almost like committing movie-suicide. Imagine going to watch Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider. The auditorium goes dark. The credits roll. Lo and behold, you are watching 'Khoonkhar Sherni'!

I still remember when Arbit had dragged me to watch Spider-man first day first show. Now, there were no shows in English. I'm one who belongs to the school of thought that thinks movies should be seen in their original languages. IF it's incomprehensible, we can always use subtitles. But there was no such luxury for us back then. So we hunkered down to watch a high-adrenaline tale. Lights dimmed, the numbers rolled back, and we were subjected to Makkad Man. Pavitra Prabhakar gets bitten by a spider, becomes makkad man, romances Meera Jain, and earns the jealousy of his erstwhile friend, Hari.

Now, all this is fine. But I don't fathom why you need to change the names of the characters! It takes away from the effect. And then there were the dubs from across the border. Some studios in Pakistan released dubs of movies in Punjabi, funny on purpose. I recommend you check them out. Spiderman and Shanghai Noon are particularly brilliant.

So, I just shuddered as Arbit went in. I could only wait for the next 2 hours.

Arbit-Lee

A few days ago, Arbit decided to learn martial arts. For self-protection, he said. With all that increasing crime rate, it would be good for him. The next day, he went and enrolled in the Chung Lee School of Martial Arts. I was not impressed.

Cynical, do I hear you say? Now, Arbit is hardly the fellow you associate with mind-numbingly high levels of concentration or dedication. In fact, he once decided to go exercising. The first day, he called me up. 'Dude, I feel amazing. I ran for 2 Kms, then did some crunches in the ground and came back home. I feel energized. Bring on the world, I say!' Two days later, he had quit. ('I'll pick it up after my metabolism increases. Otherwise I'll over-strain myself.')

So you can now see the reason for my skepticism with Arbit's new plan. Anyhow, he started going for Kung-fu classes daily. Now, real Kung-fu warriors can be very scary people. I remember that anecdote (which I believe to be true BTW) about two Kung-fu masters who were talking about their prowess.
"My reflexes are such that you will not believe," boasted Master Yo, drew his sword, sliced at a passing fly, which promptly dropped dead in two pieces. "That's nothing," said Master Da. Drawing his sword, he made two deft cuts at another passing fly. Master Yo was highly amused. "What are you talking about?" he sneered. "That fly is still flying." "Ah yes," replied Master Da, "but now it can never have children." That's a tough guy.


Arbit on the other hand, is not. So it was no surprise that when Everyone was Kung-fu fighting, he picked up a injury and rolled out of class. We were having cold coffee when he decided to unleash another round of his jokes.
A: 'Why doesn't a married man take his in-laws to a kung-fu session?'
M: 'So that they don't get hurt, or in your case, don't want them to see him get beat up.'
A: 'Nopes. Otherwise they could impose martial law.'
M: 'Shut up dude.'

Introducing Arbit

'Dude'.
'Yeah'.
'What's the song playing on an American soldier's iPod in Iraq?'
'Enlighten me. I never get your jokes anyway.'
'Hah. Knew you wouldn't get it. Anyway, it should be 'Oil is Well'.'
'Arbit!'
'Egg-jactly.'

That's the sense of humor that Arbit has. Or should I say, non-sense of humor. And you dare not show the slightest interest in his jokes, otherwise he'll bombard you with them till the end of time. Or 23rd December, 2012. Whichever comes later.*  That is the mistake I once made. I smiled at a joke of his. And have paid for that indiscretion ever since.

Now, Arbit is not someone who you can categorize easily. The Sanskrit phrase Yatra Tatra Sarvatra comes to mind to describe him. He might have been on the iceberg when Titanic sank. He might have been on the asteroid when the dinosaurs decided to play fossil. From the start of time, till the end of it, Arbit may be anywhere and everywhere.

So let us venture into the world of Arbit. I'll hazard to strike up a conversation with this crazy guy, and find out some interesting anecdotes from him for you people. Till then, I have to leave you with another of Arbit's stupid jokes.

Arbit (A): 'Dude, what's the name of the movie that Apple produced?'
Poor Hapless Soul, Me (M): 'Oh, I know this. (Smug look. You see, I see a lot of movies. Here) Toy Story, Cars, Wall-E, the one with the rat. They're coming out with Toy Story 3 this summer.'
A: 'Shut up man. That's Pixar. Not Apple.'
M: 'Tell me then.'
A: 'iRobot'.
M: '#%^%&&%$%%$#%%#'

 *Mayan Conditions Apply

Ladies and Guys

A thousand apologies. This is Swagat here. I am back for good. One fine day, I went missing from my fledgling blog, and left you all, my faithful and beloved readers, in the lurch.

Now, I am not ashamed to say this, but I had abandoned all hope of ever coming back. You see, I was suffering from acute writer's block. Of course, it wasn't cute for you lot (How many times have we heard that joke now? Stop it!) as you patiently logged into A-R waiting for a post, which of course, was not there. I sat in a corner whimpering away to glory, when it became clear to me that I had hit a thick reinforced concrete Great Wall of China sized writer's block.

Then, two things happened. First, I started thinking about the adventures of a friend of mine. He has been in some amazing situations all through his life. Why not write about him? (After taking permission obviously. He's the sort of chap you take permission from before speaking anything about.) And secondly, said friend took over my blog and posted! From my blog! Blaming me of abandoning all you wonderful people. I, being the tactically brilliant Bihari I am (What? You never heard of the kind? Preposterous!), confronted him. "Man, why did you post from my blog?" I must tell you, faithful readers, that his response shattered my complacency. Apparently, he was going to keep posting till he managed to bring me out of my apathy. He calls it the 'Shock Till Aww' strategy. There still is a draft about a World War between Dogs and Langurs lurking in the background. Mind-numbing!

Well, his strategy seems to have worked all right. I will post regularly now. I plan to bring to light this man's deeds. Allow me to search for a worthy opener, wherein I can introduce him to you formally.

Death Of A Blog

Today, we are all gathered here, to mourn the passing of an era. That doyen of blogs, the shining light of all blogosphere, passed into the darkness. We failed to take note, thinking it was just a momentary lapse, but it truly has come to this, faithful readers. Arbit raag has hit the nadir of one blog visit in the entire week. If that's true, there's no use writing this because the only reader would be me, and writing to myself is not a good idea.

The major blame for this fiasco is being laid right at the doorstep of one Swagat Sinha, who apparently has the task of writing on this blog, but has failed to do so apart from the odd 2-liner. The outrage against him was so great, he decided to hide in an underground cellar till 2012, hoping everyone else would be gone by then.

But we shall overcome, shan't we? We shall continue posting, we shall try and breathe life in this old relic. And maybe that guy will come out of that cellar.

Ha-ooo!