No one here,
and the body says: whatever is said
is not to be said. But no one
is a body as well, and what the body says
is heard by no one
but you.
Snowfall and night. The repetition
of a murder
among the trees. The pen
moves across the earth: it no longer knows
what will happen, and the hand that holds it
has disappeared.
Nevertheless, it writes.
It writes: in the beginning,
among the trees, a body came walking
from the night. It writes:
the body’s whiteness
is the color of earth. It is earth,
and the earth writes: everything
is the color of silence.
I am no longer here. I have never said
what you say
I have said. And yet, the body is a place
where nothing dies. And each night,
from the silence of the trees, you know
that my voice
comes walking toward you.
Munna, aka Balram Halwai, the narrator and main character of Arvind Adiga’s The White Tiger, narrates the story of his journey from a village in the Darkness to becoming an entrepreneur in the Light.
Starting out as a cleaning boy in a small tea shop in his village Laxmangarh, Munna moved to the city of Dhanbad with his elder brother to become a cleaner at a bigger tea shop. But his yearning for a uniform and a better life attracted him to the drivers that he saw at the tea shop, and he convinced his family to let him learn how to drive. By a strange quirk of fate, he soon gained employment with Mongoose, the son of a landlord (Stork) from his village. Learning the ways and means of the house, his cunning and intelligence enabled him to move with Stork’s younger, US returned son to Delhi, the city that eventually corrupted him. Detailing the sequence of events that led him to murder his master and flee to Bangalore, Balram narrates his life story in the form of seven letters to the Chinese Prime Minister who is visiting India shortly, in order to acquaint him with the “real India.”
I have to admit that I approached this book with a great deal of skepticism, which is why I read it this late! (It won the Booker in 2008.) I typically do not like Indian authors (chicklit authors aren’t included in this discussion), as they seem to write solely for a Western audience, depicting India as a completely backward country filled with murderers and marauders, and Indians as either backward, narrow minded people or people who fawn over white skin and want nothing more than to ape Westerners (think Kiran Desai’s Inheritance of Loss). But there are some, like Suketu Mehta, whose hard-hitting Millenium City took a brutal and honest look at the underbelly of Mumbai; Jhumpa Lahiri, who beautifully evoked the pathos and stories of Bengalis living abroad in Unaccustomed Earth; and Chetan Bhagat, whose books have mass appeal because he can connect to readers, young and old alike. (His 2 States took an honest look at the difficulties that youngsters face if they want to marry outside their caste.) I add to this list of believable authors Arvind Adiga.
Dharavi slums, Mumbai (image via Wikipedia)
Representing India as two Indias, the Darkness and Light, Adiga takes a dig at the “India Shining” campaign launched by the BJP. The Darkness represents rural India, where poverty and illiteracy and feudalism still exist, the Light refers to the metros and fast-growing Tier I and II cities, which were the focus of the India Shining campaign. The Great Socialist, the political party that features in the novel, takes a dig at Mayawati, who rose to power in order to empower Dalits, but since then has only lined her pocket with cold hard cash. Adiga’s character sketch of Munna could fit almost any migrant worker, the so-called floating population that comes into big cities in search of work and a way out of their grinding poverty. His eventual corruption and betrayal of his master is a reflection of the corruption we see all around us.
Though he does focus on poverty and illetracy, on the great divide between rich and poor, this is a novel that is believable because India still remains a land of contradictions. The gaps have narrowed, but the economic and social divide remain.
All-in-all, it’s an interesting read, and I’d gladly recommend it to anyone.
Have you read the book? What do you think about it?
Would I ever change my name? No! Why? Because I love my name – it’s musical and has a beautiful meaning. It’s also unique, and I like that!
Most of all, though, I think this topic brings up a bigger question for me – a question of identity.
We go through life with various labels — girlfriend, wife, mother, employee, friend…the list goes on, but which of these really defines us? None of these labels is all-encompassing. If someone asks me who I am, my answer would change based on the context, my life experiences at the time, or maybe even my mood! But is that really my identity?
I don’t think so. My identity is my name — a window into my culture and myself, linking me with my parents and my spirituality — combined with my belief system, values and preferences.
What do you think is your identity? Given a chance, would you like to change your name?
I’ve been dreaming of prawns recently. (Don’t laugh, it’s true! You can dream of food!) Anyway, I ordered some stir fried rice with ginger garlic prawns the other day at work, but the craving didn’t go away — it got stronger! That’s when I realized I wasn’t craving just any ol’ prawn dish; I wanted me some prawn rice!
But, before I could even think of making some, I had to find fresh coriander. Seeing as it’s monsoon season here in India, that was going to be a hard task — it sure wasn’t available at the grocery store near my house! But I was on a quest. I mean, I was literally dreaming of prawns, remember? So I picked up my car and drove around to a few of the fancier grocery stores, and finally managed to get my paws on some coriander. Now, I was ready to get cooking!
Prawn rice is served as a main course, with some plain yogurt and onion as accompaniments. You can also substitute the prawn with any firm-fleshed fish like halibut or cod (directions for that are at the end of the recipe).
You’ll need:
1 packet frozen prawns
1 cup finely chopped coriander leaves
1 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp garam masala
2 tsp salt
juice of 1 lemon
1 medium sized onion, peeled, cut into fine rounds and halved
1 fresh green chili, finely sliced (optional)
4 tbsp oil
250 gram long-grain rice (you can also use short-grain rice)
Method:
In a bowl, mix 1 tbsp of warm water, coriander leaves, green chilies, lemon juice, turmeric, garam masala, and 1 tsp salt.
Heat 2 tbsp of oil in a frying pan, put in the contents of the bowl and stir on high for about 2-3 minutes, until the fresh green color changes to a darker green. Tip in the prawns and fry them with the spices on medium heat for about 4 mins.
Turn off the heat and fish out the prawns with a fork, transferring into a tightly covered dish; it will continue to cook a bit in its own steam.
Pour 275 ml of warm water into the pan and scrape up the spices stuck to the bottom and sides of the pan. Simmer for about half a minute.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, heat the remaining oil and fry the onions until the edges brown. Then add in the rice and stir around for about 30 sec. Pour in 360 ml of water, the contents from the pan and 1 tsp of salt. Stir and bring to a boil, then cover and reduce heat to very low.
Check in about 5-7 mins. Once the rice is almost done, add in the prawns, stir, cover and cook for another few minutes until the rice is cooked through. (ps: that isn’t the best snap; it’s a little blurred – sorry! I was trying to click the picture covertly; didn’t want to dear husband to catch me at it, he’d think I was losing my marbles! ;-))
If you want to substitute the prawn with fish, you’ll need 340 gm of cod or halibut (or any other firm-flesh fish) steaks or fillets. Make sure they are at least 1-2 cm thick. Cut the fillets into bite-size strips, at least 4-5 cm long and about 2.5 cm wide. Follow the preceding recipe.
Serve with plain yogurt and chopped onion with a dash of lemon.
Meaning: Dabang – someone who cannot be suppressed.
The story:
Dabang, set in Lal Gunj, UP, tells the story of two step-brothers Chulbul (Robin Hood) Pandey (Salman Khan) and Makhan Singh (Makki) Pandey (Arbaaz Khan). Unhappy about the treatment meted out to him by his step-father, Prajapati Pandey (Vinod Khanna), Chulbul vows to overturn things once he’s on his feet. Fast forward 21 years, and Chulbul is a corrupt UP cop with a heart of gold, his father has fallen on hard times and Chulbul has no respect for him whatsoever.
Following a bank robbery, Chulbul traces the robbers to their hideout, only to pocket the loot and let the robbers get away. Thus begins his rivalry with youth politician Chhedi Singh (Sonu Sood). In the meantime, there are two love stories to drive the plot forward. Makkhi wants to marry Nirmala (Mahi Gill), the masterji’s daughter, but his father opposes the match as he wants dowry, which her father cannot afford. Chulbul falls in love with Rajo (Sonakshi Sinha), who refuses to marry until her drunkard father is alive.
What follows are the twists and turns of the rivalry between Chulbul and Chhedi, and the simultaneous development of the love stories.
My take:
I loved the movie! Part of it was due to the crowd, which whistled and clapped at Salman’s entry, before all of the songs, and during some of the fight sequences. It just adds to the overall mood and excitement, what say?
Dabangg is a total masala movie. It works because of Salman Khan and Salman Khan and, did I say it already? Salman Khan! And no, I am not a huge Salman fan. It works because of its raw machoness. No wimpy lover boys or feeble attempts at fights. The director, Abhinav Kashyap, has copied a couple of fight stunts from such English movies and Transporter, Matrix and The Hulk, and has also given some of the sequences a humorous touch, by throwing in a little impromptu dance to a caller tune, no less!
The cinematography is excellent, capturing Uttar Pradesh in all its notoriety – dirty old shops, winding lanes. There were flashes of directorial brilliance as well, with attention paid to costumes (Dimple Kapadia’s anklets and toe rings) and mannerisms. The many songs are interspersed effectively in the plot, and each song, from Hun Hun Dabangg to the romantic Tere Mast Mast Do Nain , the drunkard’s anthem Humka Peeni Hain and the hugely popular Munni Badnaam Hui have excellent recall value.
There’s something for everyone in the movie – action, romance, comedy, drama. All in all, fultoo paisa vasool. Go watch it!
Have you seen the movie? What’s your take on it? If you have a review on your blog, feel free to leave a link to it in the comments!
It’s been raining in Pune, light drizzles that leave the trees looking fresh and green.
When I woke up this morning and looked out the window, I noticed a parrot perched on the custard apple tree, hanging upside down from a branch, pecking away at the fruit. It looked so adorable!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a better angle, but this was a moment that was just begging to be captured!
Have you woken up to such pleasant surprises? I’d love to hear!
If you have any artwork or photography to share, please leave a comment, a link back to your blog and your e-mail address, and I’ll feature it on an upcoming Friday Frame!
Have you ever wondered why you’re here? If your life has any significance, if it matters?
Andy Andrews, dubbed one of the most influential people in America by The New York Times, a best-selling novelist and corporate speaker, is here to tell you that it does.
“Every single thing you do matters…You have within you the power to change the world.”
This gift book is beautifully illustrated; I spent the first few minutes just leafing through the pages, looking at the images, the layout and the typography — lovely! Then, I curled up to read it.
The book connects random, every day actions of common people and the uncommon effect those actions have at a later stage, effects that impact us to this day. For e.g., Andrews traces back Norman Borlaug’s achievement of hybridizing high-yield, disease-resistant corn and wheat for arid climates to…Henry Wallace…no, George Washington…no…Andrews lists random, everyday actions of normal people who made Borlaug’s achievement possible. And this isn’t the only example in the book.
It’s a quick read, but The Butterfly Effect makes you to stop and think; you’re unlikely to forget the message of this lil book in a hurry.
I received this book from the the BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program.
There’s no place like mommy’s home. We’ve got a long weekend coming up this week, so I’m taking a couple of days off and flying home to be with my parents. The husband won’t be coming with me this time, which is good — it will be like old times, except that my lil sis won’t be around to irritate the hell out of me!
Mom’s already decided which movies we’re going to watch together –
We Are Family
and Dabaang
We’ll also go out for some absolutely awesome Italian food to La Pizzeria, and then of course shopping and lots of gossip with mommy! Can’t wait to get home!!
The Buddha Wheel of Life is one of the most well-known subjects for thangka paintings. The reason is simple – this is supposedly the only drawing that Buddha ever made. The Wheel of Life describes the six stages of life, and Buddhists believe that they spend their life migrating amongst these realms.
Want to learn more? Then check out this link, which explains each of these realms beautifully!
Hope you enjoy this! See you with more spiritual thoughts next Sunday!
Have you ever wondered why you’re here? If your life has any significance, if it matters?