Opium in a Handbag

Reached the end of the “River” and what a beautiful and rewarding journey it was. It’s arguably Amitav Ghosh’finest novel yet and I ungrudgingly take back all the criticisms and reservations heaped on him in my earlier blogs (Click here to read). Though billed as the second part of the trilogy – the narrative sails on its own and the threads linking it with the Ibis (Sea of Poppies) are at best tenuous. Here, the historical backdrop – is not like

a cloak sitting heavily on the story, but - acquires a life of its own as Ghosh, the master of minutiae, paints the canvas with every little detail of a Chinese scroll painting. Unlike some of his previous works – Ghosh doesn’t challenge or intimidate his readers – instead transports them to a charming old world, as if after a few draughts of that magical smoke. The historical details – such as Bahram’s chance encounter with Napoleon - yes, as in Bonaparte – in St Helena does not distract. And, the parallel tale of Paulette and Fitcher Penrose on the Red Ruth

– in search of the elusive Chinese Camellia is beautifully woven into the main plot – probably leaving a

trail to be picked up in the final part of the trilogy. A must read for everyone – even if one had missed The Sea of Poppies.

Handbag as a fashion statement

But, the book I am enjoying immensely is the Political Biography of Mayawati by the journalist Ajoy Bose. I had resisted it for a long time – probably because of my innate prejudice for the subject. But, on my couple of recent trips to Lucknow – I couldn’t help but being impressed by transformation she has wrought to the city. At the risk of being scoffed at by my more evolved friends – I have no qualms in admitting, I found grandeur, vision and aesthetic taste in what had been described as grotesque display of megalomania. Undoubtedly very deep and astute thi

nking has gone behind creation of these monuments of Dalit iconism.

Any future regime thinking of destroying them – would have to do so at their own peril and no naming any number of roads, bridges, airports, educational institutions, hospitals or other centres after members of one ‘family’ - can outdo these gigantic feats of architecture. In any case, it is better than the stadium I believe Mulayam Singh had built in his constituency – which is now a public cattle grazing ground.

It would be fashionable to argue that the humongous amounts of monies spent to build t

hese structures could have been better utilized on power plants and infrastructure projects that would have benefited the people and contributed to the development of the state. But, while roads, bridges and power

projects can be built even through private investments or PPPs – social re-engineering can only be done by the state and it is difficult to put a price tag on the costs of social change. Bose’ book gives a terrific insight to the psyche of Mayawati and, her late mentor, Kanshiram and the movement they created that could well be a turning point of Indian history.

My only worry is – after 400 years when future generations of archaeologists excavate the ruins of the Maya Age of Modern India and unearth the great Behenjis statues – they might mistake her handbags to be the fashion statement of our times.

Random ramblings from the road

I. Ghosh and Ghose

Book marketing is a big thing these days. So, suddenly I find Amitav Ghosh all over in newspapers and magazines (probably, soon on television too, Sunil Sethi’s Just Books or Anuradha Sengupta’s Beautiful People) – with his interviews timed for the launch of his new book “The River of Smoke” – a sequel to the earlier “Sea of Poppies”, the second of his Ibis trilogy.

Excessive publicity of a book or a movie makes me wary – but I trust Arunava (Sinha)’s review (click here). Arunava – who was a year junior in school, has turned out to be one of the finest translator of Bengali literature. His – English rendition of Sankar’s Chowringhee is a big hit and was recently also reviewed in The Economist. I loved his – My Kind of Girl (Buddhadev Bose’ “Amar Moton Meye” ) and looking forward to another Bose masterpiece – Tithidore, to be published later this year. Arunava has recommended – the new translation of Shesher Kobita by Radha Chakraborty (Farewell Song , Penguin) will get hold of it soon.

Back to Amitava Ghosh and The River of Smoke – I am still a bit scared of getting mired in his excessive research, which has weighed down some of his previous works (especially – The Sea of Poppies). So, I have thought of a way out – just to be sure. I have promised to first gift it to a friend - who’s literary sensibilities I implicitly trust – for “book tasting”. But, the problem is – she is quite smitten by Ghosh the author. So, in this case, her judgement may not be entirely unbiased. Not that Ghosh will really worry about one less reader or a copy not sold.

(Read my earlier blogs on Amitava Ghosh In Bed with Ghose and Sailing with Priyanka on the Ibis )

II. Hardware vs Software

I have already managed to offend at least one person by professing my love for Mumbai on Facebook – while writing in the same breath that, I feel positively depressed every time I land in Calcutta or set foot on Howrah Station. We have agreed to settle scores in private.

For those of you who may be interested, I had written about my love affair with Bombay in an earlier blog (click here to read: She loves me, she loves me not). For Calcutta, I will probably have to write a book.

But, while channel surfing yesterday – I briefly heard Shuvaprasanna , the “poriborton sheel” (read “Trinamool panthi”) artist, say something on Star Ananda that struck a chord. He said – one of our inheritance from Rabindranath should have been the sense of aesthetics and beauty. Today, Bengalis seem to have lost it completely. He cited – Nandan (the theatre complex next to Rabindra Sadan) as an example – where one is blasted by the putrid smell of urinals as soon as one enters. I have never been there – so wouldn’t know and have to take his word for it.

For me the biggest eye-sores are the atrocious architecture – even in newer and more affluent areas such as Salt Lake. Some are not just ugly but real monstrosities that defy all sense of aesthetics. I have a theory for that. I think every Bengali is a frustrated architect at heart (apart from other things - such as a poet, see the fancy poetic names we give to our homes). Therefore, they do not find value in appointing a professional for designing their homes and would rather depend on the “raj-mistry” (mason) to do it at their bidding.

I have no reason to doubt Mamata’s resolve to transform West Bengal. Apart from turning Calcutta to London (which shouldn’t be difficult because Calcutta was indeed fashioned after London – as the comparison of the maps of Central London and Central Calcutta would easily show) and Darjeeling to Switzerland – I am told she wants to make Calcutta Airport an international hub like Singapore.

Everything is possible and putting together the ‘hardware’ is least of the problem. But, the real issue would be the ‘software’ – will she be able to change the mindset and work-culture of the people.

I think of this every time, I have to catch a morning flight from Dumdum and get stuck in long serpentine queues – sometimes up to almost an hour. I have taken a count – the Calcutta Airport has as many security scanners and channels as Bombay – which operates many more flights in any given hour. Why don’t we have such long queues in Mumbai then – it’s all to do with the attitude of the people. (it’s amazing how – the efficiency of the same organization like CISF or even the airlines vary from city to city).

Mamata's lofty declarations of “internationalizing” Indian Railways hasn't met with spectacular success. Therefore, I don’t feel so confident about the “poriborton” she’d be able to create, by rhetorics alone, without some major genetic re-engineering.



III. A matter of taste

Talking of cities – just returned from a short trip to Kuala Lumpur. This is probably my 5th or 6th visit to KL. But, I have still not warmed up to the city. I, probably, haven’t explored it enough – but don’t think it has too much too offer either. It still retains vestiges of its colonial past and has pretensions of being a ‘world city’ like Singapore – but somehow falls flat despite its put on neo-modern façade (sometimes you get the impression that it’s trying a bit too hard). Bangkok – is crowded and dirty but it has greater character and, more importantly, it has life that engulfs you like a wave. Hong Kong is a study in contrast – between its British heritage and Chinese hum-drum co-existing side-by-side. Shanghai and Tokyo are a different world of their own (haven’t been to Beijing).

But, I guess the rest of Malaysia is very beautiful. Expatriates also like to live here – says it has got a lot more to offer than Singapore and is well located to travel to other parts of South East Asia and the Far East.

Malaya food is not a patch on Thai cuisine ( I like it only in the US – when I am dying for Indian fare, it comes closest to my taste. The Penang chain of restaurants in the East Coast are my favourites). It’s a fusion of strong spices from different regions (including, of course, India) but lacking in the subtle flavours of Thailand. And, when it comes to women. I am yet to find a real Malaya beauty. Finally, it's all a matter of taste.

IV. Murder in Dey-light

The murder of J Dey – the journalist really saddened me. He was part of the launch team of Hindustan Times, Mumbai Edition. In fact, the inaugural issue had the lead story with his by-line about the infamous “Ash-Sallu” tapes. Though later the authenticity of the tapes were questioned (forensic tests etc like all the recent tape “leaks”), it didn’t take away anything from his reputation of being one of the most formidable feared investigative journalist and crime reporter in the country.



A man of few words – his image in a checked short-sleeved shirt (usually green or crimson with dark checks) and jeans, clutching his helmet is still stuck in my mind. I doubt if anything will come out of the investigations – despite the cudgels being picked up by his former colleagues and compatriots. The rot in our system is far too deep and the mafia-police nexus far too strong. So, one can only pray for the peace of his departed soul. A sad commentary on our society. But, unfortunately that’s the reality of the world we are living in today.

Sailing with Priyanka on the Ibis

(Picture above - Priyanka Chopra, Kangana Ranawat and Mugdha Godse - stars of the new movie 'Fashion')

I haven’t seen Madhur Bhandarkar’s ‘Fashion’ yet – but, I am sure that I’m not the only middle-aged man salivating at the bill-boards of the ravishing Priyanka Chopra with her ‘come hither’ look (she’s coming out more sharp and confident with every passing movie click here– tho’ I'm told, in Fashion it is Kangana Ranawat who steals the show with her acting and dagger looks. See her pic below).

Vinod Nair – the dapper and charming “Fashaan Editor” of Echtee has commented on his Facebook ‘Wall’ – “ Fashion not so FASHIONable” (and, you thought I give bad titles !!) pronouncing it as a ‘shallow’ portrayal (thought it was all about being shallow and hollow in the first place, but who would know better than Vinod - see pic below). Critics like Rajiv Masand have trashed it for similar reasons. Our mutual Facebook friend, Mrinalini, is more pointed in her observations. “Isn’t it Bhandarkar’s modus-operandi, where he pretends to expose the under-belly (like that term – apropos PC baby !!) of society… whereas in reality it is simply sensationalism and titillating movie making” ? she asks very pertinently.

But is it only menopausing males like me – who are making a beeline for the movie to pander their sagging libido? I suspect not. Some argue that - Page 3, Corporate and Fashion represent a new genre of Bollywood films. What do we call it - “Neo-realism” ? I won’t put these films any where close to the category – of, say, the cinematic versions of Arthur Hailey’s - Airport, Hotel – which tried to demystify the aura of those establishments – giving us a glimpse of the real ‘goings-on’ inside the corridors, kitchens and control rooms – even while weaving a thrilling plot around them. I remember another such movie while in college – ‘Network’, about the dirt and muck of TV Newsrooms and how TV personalities like Barbara Walters and Larry King are created. Nor is it a Bollywood version of Satyajit Ray’s 'Nayaak' – digging beneath the skin of a super-star.

These films – I think, reflect another social phenomenon – which, I believe, is largely the creation of our media. This is different and distinct from the yellow journalism practiced by the film magazines of yore fabricating gossip about the lives of movie-stars. That was a game of selling fantasies to a socially and economically deprived (occasionally, depraved) class. Whereas today it’s all about selling fake dreams. By the relentless chatter about the ‘life-style’ of the so called 'glam-set' (being simply rich and famous is passe these days) – they make believe that success and fame are just a hand-shake away. All it requires is a minor bending of morals – but the glamour and glitz that follows is more than worth that little compromise be it on the catwalk, corporate ladder or the proverbial casting couch. (Picture on the left - Bipasha Basu in a scene from 'Corporate').

Sociologists (or social anthropologists) can tell us what is it about us and our children (more than the earlier generations) that we crave for such vicarious existence. But, those who think that, this is purely an urban middle-class affliction are mistaken. Only this weekend I met a gentleman – who has done a research amongst farmers of Punjab about the kind of content they would like in a newspapers designed specifically for them. Apart from the expected news about politics, economy and trend in commodities – he was surprised by their overwhelming demand for a full feature life-style section. I don’t see why it should be any different in UP, Bihar or even West Bengal. ( On the right : Priyanka - when she was a little less 'evolved')

And, here I am not being judgmental for I do like Priyanka. Be sure, I will go see FASHION very soon. Because, that’s the closest I can get to a ramp.

Jumping off the ship

Meanwhile, on its way to Mareech ( Mauritius) the IBIS has pulled in her sails to weather a storm in mid-ocean ( Read earlier blog: 'In Bed with Ghosh' by clicking here). Five jump ship – the head serang, a lascar, the two convicts and a condemned migrant (girmitya), - and take off on a long boat to seek their fortunes eastwards – to Singapore and China. The Sea of Poppies -first of a new trilogy - certainly has the scale and sweep of an epic. Each of the characters have a story of their own to tell (product of rigorous research, undoubtedly). But, to what effect I am not sure. The strands loosely plied together into a thick rope - but separate all the same, often appearing disconnected and ready to come apart. In parts it reads like a very literal translation of a historical Bengali novel –of a genre reminiscent of Sunil Gangopadhya’s “Shei Shomoy”. The book picks up pace towards the end just as the IBIS gathers wind in her sails. That’s when, perhaps, Ghosh also decides to dispense with his voluminous tomes - Dictionaries and Reference books. (My uncle from London wrote: “ I am reading the Sea of Poppies. I wish there was a glossary for the now forgotten terms of various dishes and other slangs”).

The Booker may not be the ultimate recognition for an author (I think it's a huge marketing scam engineered by the publishing community - that's why I won't read Adiga's White Tiger) but it gives me the re-assurance that I am not in the minority of one. And, while the Booker may have eluded Ghosh, I don't see why an author of his stature and standing should put a whole list of minor awards - such as the Hutch Crossword or the Frankfurt International e-book Prize - as testimonies on the cover.

A friend had accused me of being a lazy reader who doesn’t know how to engage with a demanding author. I worked hard with Ghosh in bed and on planes during my trips. Perhaps, I too should have taken a whiff of that magical substance made from Poppy flowers to have appreciated it better. But, in the end - I feel as wasted as the rest of the human cargo on board after days of a tiring and turbulent voyage. So, now I have turned to Le Carre’s latest : A MOST WANTED MAN. Somehow, I get a feeling that, I will enjoy this one more. Tho' my ultimate fantasy remains - sailing on a schooner with Priyanka !!

In Bed with Ghosh

A friend tickled my interest with a teasing text message – “ In bed with Ghosh”. Generally I am a little wary of buying over-hyped books soon after their release. Vikram Seth’s Two lives and Vikram Chandra’s Sacred Games were 2 such disappointments in the recent past. I couldn’t go beyond the first 100 pages of the first and not even 50 pages of the second. So, I was a little hesitant in picking up Amitava Ghosh’s latest – the Sea of Poppies despite the rave reviews all over (and, now, also a nomination for the Booker).

Till date Ghosh’ Shadow Lines remains my favourite with the Hungry Tide coming a close second. Somehow his Glass Palace, liked a lot by many, didn’t do much for me – I thought it somehow lost its way between a family saga and a historical epic - tho’ its sprawling canvas and gigantic sweep are truly awe-inspiring. Ghosh’s prose often leaves me a little cold. It doesn’t have the soul uplifting quality that I look for in a great book. While I certainly don’t have the temerity to go as far as Hugo Barnacle to say – “There isn't one badly composed sentence in the book……, there isn't one particularly good sentence, either” , his impeccably constructed sentences fail to challenge the reader's imagination.

Infact, what’s perhaps Ghosh’s singular strength among Indian authors writing in English ( don’t think they use the term Indo-Anglican anymore) – his rigorous research also turns out to be his greatest weakness. His narrative is often weighed down by the copious details – which read like what should have appeared as footnotes in a thesis built into the main body of the text. It reminds me of our student days – when we were well prepared for an exam – we tried to pack in everything we had studied into the answer. Similarly, at times he gives the impression of getting carried away displaying his erudition on the subject – leading the unsuspecting reader to miss the woods for the trees.

For me, the Hungry Tide was an exception – its narrative soared to great heights as the killer tide raged through the Matla. He never let the details take over the story. Even in parts where there was either a historical background or an anthropological data they were seamlessly woven into the plot. This, sadly, didn’t happen – at least for me – in the Glass Palace, where the various strands seemed to come apart towards the end.

Reverse Parochialism

And yet, though I am not usually prone to parochial chauvinism, I end up gifting Ghosh’ books to many a friend. That’s because – among the new breed of Indian authors I find him to be the most consistent and none of his books can be dismissed as bad fiction or being light weight ( something that can’t be said even about Rushdie – who I don’t think has written a single worthwhile book after Midnight’s Children and I find most of his heavy tomes not just forgettable but at times downright unreadable)

I have so far come upto some 150 odd pages of the Sea of Poppies – as the IBIS takes berth in the Hooghly. The description of the of the Poppy fields and the Opium factory in Ghazipur is riveting – as indeed is the tale of Zachary Reid and his band of lascars and serangs who steer the schooner (which was once used for ferrying slaves from West Africa) to its new owner – Benjamin Burnham in Calcutta who had purchased it for shipping opium to China. But, there are times I do wish that Ghosh hadn’t come upon reference material such as “ An English and Hindostanee Naval Dictionary of Technical Terms” or “Anglo-Indian Vocabulary of Nautical terms and the Glossary of Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases”. I find myself constantly tripping over the forced colloquialism – often breaking the rhythm and cadence of the read.

But, I’ll reserve my judgement – for what it’s worth – till the IBIS completes her voyage.

Of Falls and Failings

The other very interesting book I am reading in tandem is Sudhir Kakar’s collection of essays – “Mad and Divine”. In the first article – titled “The Childhood of a Spiritually Incorrect Guru : OSHO ”. All things said, there is no denying that Rajneesh was a remarkable character – deeply charismatic even if a fascinating charlatan. Kakar has tried to unravel the phenomenon that was OSHO by tracing his evolution through the journey from his childhood with not just the insights of a master psychoanalyst but also with the sensitivity of a novelist.

I have always been intrigued at how so many of these self-proclaimed God-men and Gurus - merchants of the Spiritual Bazars as I like to call them - stray from their “path”. A simple Google search would reveal that – almost all ‘big brands’ exported to the West have got embroiled in some sexual scandal or other – starting from the great Mahesh Yogi, Swami Rama, Kriyananda to the latest one in a Texas (Austin) Ashram – who is out on a multi-million dollar bail for charges of paedophilia.

I know many of you would assert that, there was no question of a fall or straying as their chosen “path” was far from straight to begin with. But, I would like to give the benefit of doubt at least to some of them if not all. That’s because – I genuinely believe ( and, here I am not trying to make a case for myself ) that it is the same “vital energy” which drives both the spiritual and primal urges. This is clearly recognized in Tantra. And, it is for the same reason – the ancient sages have always stipulated exercise of abundant caution in climbing up the serpent (Kundalini) as it were – otherwise, face the risk of a grave fall. Ramakrishna and Swami V – who prescribed strict abstinence for the true spiritual aspirant, enunciated the same principles in more recent times.

Kakar explains this beautifully, when he writes:

“…..the spirit when it soars pulls up the psyche in its wake. But… the spirit never completely escapes the gravitational pull exerted by the forces of narcissism, aggression and desire in the psyche..”

then he goes on to add – “what may be essential for our gaze, however, is to attend to the vision of the spirit’s soaring, not the oft-repeated tragedy of its fall.”

Gol-Maal

I find this resonating strongly with 2 other teachings of Ramakrishna. He used to say “ Jadio Amar Guru Shudi Bari Jaye.. tabuo amar Guru Nityananda Ray” – which roughly translated means – even if my Guru goes to a bar or a brothel, he would still be my Guru. Or putting it more simply, he would say – that the world is full of “Gol-Maal” , it is for us to eliminate the “Gol” and take the “Maal”

The next essay in the book is - “Seduction and the Saint”. I would be dishonest – if I say that, I am not looking forward to reading it a wee bit more than the next chapter of the Sea of Poppies.

Lady Canning lives in Japan

Last week on my way to KL again, I picked up Kunal Basu's - "The Japanese Wife" at the Mumbai Airport Crossword. Had read about the book earlier - but didn't know that Aparna Sen was making a movie out of it. The Indian edition is clearly timed for the release of the film. The jacket - well designed in matt yellow and orange with muted Japanese floral prints and tinted silhouettes of the actors (Rahul Bose and the shaven-headed Japanese woman ) has an understated western touch, which I fell for despite the old adage about not judging a book by its cover. It's a collection of short stories or short-fictions as the publishers prefers to call them.


The blurb bills it as a "surreal love story" and I felt that "surrealistic" quality in the first page itself. Starting to read it on the plane - I was at once overcome by a sense of deja-vu !! The story was set in a village - Shonai - on the periphery of the Sunderbans ,across Canning, by the bank of the Matla river - a part of Bengal to which many Calcutta bred Bongs like this one, I have no qualms in admitting, came to be introduced only recently by Amitava Ghosh's - The Hungry Tide. And, it seemed a little uncanny that, I had also bought a copy of the latter at the airport for a friend in KL, who wanted it after reading Ghosh's - Glass Palace (set partly in Malayasia ) which she liked.

It's a story of a school teacher in Shonai, who has been in a long-distance marriage for over 20 years with a pen-friend in Japan, without ever having met her in person. On first reading it appeared bizarre . The plot lacked credibility on several counts - not the least of which, even at the risk of sounding disgustingly class prejudiced like Aveek Sarkar, I would say, was the choice of the locale. 'Bhadraloks' of South Calcutta generally associate Canning with fish-sellers in Gariahat market and house-hold helps (mostly Bangladeshi migrants ) who come from that area. Even Ghosh's Hungry Tide didn't do much to redeem that image of this economically deprived and depressed part of West Bengal known as South 24 Parganas . So, it's difficult to imagine an "anker - mastermoshai" ( mathematics school teacher) from Shonai (granted, he went to college in Calcutta - that's when he developed a pen-friendship with this Japanese girl whom he discovering in a magazine, exchanged vows and consummated a 'mail-order' marriage in no time ) could maintain this strange telescopic marital relationship in full view of his villager community - both young and old - and with the explicit indulgence of his widowed aunt, who affectionately calls her "Bou-Ma". His rather urbane sounding name - Snehamoy Chakrabarti - doesn't help matters either.

And a lay reader like your lonely blogger, who has very stereotypical ideas of Japanese society and culture - from books and films not having ever visited that country - is left totally flummoxed by the character of Miyaja - the Japanese wife. We are told very little about her except that, she lives in a city on the banks of the Nakanokuchi river , writes letters in different coloured inks reflecting her changing moods and state of mind, sends him exotic gifts like kites, Hokusai prints and mountain cherries ( don't know if they arrived in refrigerated containers !!) and posts her "will" in a sealed envelope to be opened only after her death. There isn't as much of a hint about her personal situation or background - all of which are left to challenge our underdeveloped imagination.

May be it was the setting that introduced a bias in my mind. Sub-consciously, perhaps, I was expecting to see traces of The Hungry Tide, like the similarities one would have inevitably found in, say a Ray and Ritwik's treatment of comparable locational situations in rural Bengal ( I wonder how a Subodh or Santosh Ghosh would have handled such a subject). But, he is no Ghosh or a Jhumpa either. Shonai is just the name of a village in his story - it could well have been Siliguri, Sitamari or Saharanpur. I thought his style lacked polish ( considering he is an Oxford Don ), the cadence uneven, the characters sketchy and the development of the plot half-baked and disjointed.

I liked the opening tho' - including the soon-going-to be famous line : "She sent him kites", which opened up a whole world of possibilities. The description of how the box of kites was carried on various modes of transport from Canning to Shonai across the Matla made amusing reading. And, the story did come alive for once in the sequence of the 'kite - fight' in the village. But after soaring to great heights, like the giant Nagasaki kite, it too went "Bhookata" in mid-air. The parallel plot of the young widow and the child moving into the house had tremendous dramatic potential - which wasn't allowed to climax. The ending - with its deliberate twist - was the best part. And, probably there begins his story.

It is only after you put down the book - does it really begin to work on you.- almost subliminally. Gradually the pencil strokes become visible, the outlines emerge , the images get form and the pictures are filled with colour. And, you are suddenly able to read - what a reviewer called - "the sub-texts of yearnings, separations, loss and secret lives" that lie somewhere deep within all of us. That's where it begins to strike a chord. Someone once described writing as nothing but an exercise in telepathy. Is this also a telepathy of sorts ?

Is Basu going to be the next Indian writing wonder ? I'm not so sure about that. But, he definitely leaves you longing for something more. Let's see how Aparna creates magic with her Miyaja.

( PS: As those who have read Ghosh's Hungry Tide would know - the port of Canning was named after Lady Canning, as was the popular Bengali Sweet - "Lady-kini" )