Books close to my heart...

My favourite books...very hard to compile the list...reason being... at different stages and times perspective changes but great books leave you with an impression, a feeling which stays, an emotion which holds long after.

1. The Hungry Tide   It will continue to be my favourite...there is a call of this unknown mysterious mangroves the Sundervans... I could feel Sundervans in my senses and get mesmerized by the chemistry of Piya and Fakir.... two characters so different yet so alike. The storms thundering in the forest and the uncanny eye contact with the man eater bordering between surreal and myth was something which transcended words and you begin to live in the mysterious jungle.. A short book with depth, philosophy and breeziness of a thriller. My all time cherished book by Amitav ghosh.

2. The River of Smoke  Since I began with Amitav Ghosh it is natural I bring the name of River of Smoke ,second in the trilogy after Sea of Poppies, history and fiction had this superb blend and the reader gets caught in the lives of the protagonists as they witness changes in the pages of history. The political diplomacy, shrewdness, behind the scene agreements...the doom of a race, the victory of the colonists with tales of deceit...the reader is left with a gamut of emotions and a virtual tour of Canton city with its cuisine, boat houses where the protagonist meets his love...business centres and deals, the tussle between business and moral ethics as the drug catches on the entire country. Again it has a thriller like aspect which draws one to the book and has the reader captivated till the end.

3. Na Hanyate   I read this book in my teens and  realised that it was a must read for every Bengali growing girl of course at that time. It was this vibrant, intense love story and I was  shocked that a seemingly blockbuster Hindi movie had been made out of this at least copying the basic idea and some frame by frame remakes without any acknowledgement to the original. But for those who had read the original, the love story between the foreigner who comes for Sanskrit lessons from a renowned scholar and his daughter was a mirror of the society at that time... when a new India was waking up to new values and new education and the winds of modernization had began to flicker a burning passion and love between the two characters. Their love fall apart, the foreigner disciple ousted from their house once their affair is caught... basically the passion of a true love story spell bounds the reader along with the hard reality of Indian society amidst the veneer of modernization. 

I also read La Nuit Bengali ( Bengal Nights) by Mircea Eliade after some years when I could get hold of it just to feel the totality of love and the account of a foreigner in love with an Indian woman.

4. Mother  Being a Bengali brought up in a joint family my entire house brimmed with different kind of books. From religious to literary and from literary to revolutionary!  I read Mother when I was young and through the eyes of an illiterate mundane mother how the seeds of a revolution was being sown and how the lady woke up to the bitter truths she had lived all her life and the changes her son and his group of friends planned to bring to the world. I felt awakened through her eyes, how an entire nation rose to their freedom, how new ideas were coined. Mother left me with strong memories as I grew up and stirs me till date!

5.  Lost Horizon   Read in my school days again there was this story of Shangri La  a land away from this material world where time ceases to run. Shangri la had me trapped in a web of dreams and imaginations in a land somewhere far in Tibet where four characters get stuck after a plane crash. The mystery of Shangri la where abundant gold mines exist and the inhabitants do not fight for gold, where nobody ages where the Lamas pray and lead a simple life... a land isolated from the world. The main protagonist Conway gets attracted by the land yet cannot get rid of earthly feelings for the woman who was also stuck here and finally how the real world wins over and he flees leaving Shangri la... the magical land. The book played with my imaginations and perhaps a Shangri la is still imprinted in the mind, my soul still looks for Shangri-La sometimes..land where time stands still!

6. Prothom Pratisruti   This classic by Ashapurna Devi was all about the rise of a woman from the shackles imposed on her by the society since her birth. Her struggle with the blessings and love of a tyrannical father and a struggle to write her own destiny and when she fails miserably as her little daughter Subarnolata was married off by her husband and conspiring mother in law in her absence. The struggle of a woman, a powerful intelligent woman well ahead of her times as she tries to be the harbinger of change...the fruits of the which  we are savouring now.

7. Prothom Alo  I have grown on a staple diet of Sunil Gangopadhyay's books since childhood be it the feisty Kakababu or  took a peek from ' Poorbo Paschim' that used to come on the Bengali weekly Desh or his various novels and rare sometimes his poetry. Prothom Alo was published serially in Desh and I remember we all took turns reading it... starting from my father, my grandma and then finally me. Well along with history there was this lure of adult world for me but the date with hisory takes over as I read about Tagore's life weaved in the story...his journeys through his Bajra ( decorated boat) his relations, romance , anecdotes about his compositions and their aspects, his encounter with the Tripura Maharaja...and various other characters like Nati Binodini, Girish Ghosh all who were an ode to the renaissance in Bengal and India...hence the nomenclature Prothom Alo.

8. Gora  Though people say as compared to his poetry and short stories Tagore's novels could not scale the same heights... but Gora cast a deep impact on me during my teens. Though Brahmo Samaj...the debate between formless and idol worship was inspiring, eye opening and opened a can of worms, it was basically the intelligence and intensity of Gora and the growing love between him and Sucharita crafted in Tagore's poetic language had me spell bound and the identity crisis Gora comes to term with.

9. Aranyer Adhikar  I know Bengali books will rule my chart but I do not see a a reason to be guilty... blessed with a language so rich in literature and history...I always have found my soul in books of this language. This novel by Mahasweta Devi was my journey into the lands of the real India.. neglected and overpowered by the shrewd and financially stronger. It was a cry from the dwellers of the forest to give back their land ,their life... their peaceful coexistence with the forest from ages. Birsa Munda,

's struggle to claim his land, a life for his people moves the reader to tears...and indeed a reminder of the struggle by the inhabitants of India to retain their identity, claim their rights.. a war which still goes on in the unexplored hinterland of India.

10. Aranayak  A classic by Bibhuti Bhusan Bandopadhyay, a novel, a travelogue... which took me through the forests of  Munger, Bhagalpur and the virgin lands of Bihar. I remember this book invariably as I travel through the heart of Bihar in my journey to Guwahati from Delhi at least once a year...his dreams woven in this land... I recall the writer riding his pony in a path washed my milky moonlight in a breathtakingly beautiful forest. Well no one can live nature in his writings as Bibhuti Bhusan does and Aranyak remains eternal in my heart. The pictures he wove so difficult to describe, can only be felt and lived!

I know have missed many, conspicuous by missing few bestsellers... and I do not know whether translations are available for all I mentioned but these gems I carry in my heart..and remember at times. These gems craft my soul, bless my existence!

Na Hanyate....Indestructible

Na Hanyate...  Na Hanyate hanyamane Sarire... translation says Consciousness is eternal  and cannot be vanquished...in more mundane words soul is eternal and it is the body which perishes. An apt name for the novel.. love survives even as the body gets decayed, even if physically two lovers fall apart love breathes and survives through the soul.

I know such idealistic words are out and out unrealistic and in today's times more so. But the novel speaks of love and yes surprisingly true love which fought and struggled to survive to withstand the tests of time. Na Hanyate was something most of Bengali women read and fascinated at the marvel of love. It was about the story of an young girl and the foreigner who comes for lessons from her father an eminent scholar. It was virtually an autobiography i can safely say...and the reader can sniff a real love story blooming in between the protagonists. Diverse cultures, different languages, different continents but would love listen to these.... They fall in love in the conventional Indian society where caste, religion called the shots. Mircea Eliade was having lessons on love and romance along with Sanskrit shlokas and the story weaves their romance intricately with minor details with all their tit bits and all those lovey dovey moments and with two persons of such diverse ethnicity... a common intelligence and humour brought them closer where feelings were expressed with eyes and smiles and love suppressed  in the rigid social framework. I suppose it was the reality of it all which instantly strikes a chord. Mircea chewing chilies to prove to his love that he can go all Indian..and the creeper outside his balcony swinging outside her window... as far as i remember.

Their love falling apart in the ruthless waves of society, the foreigner wandering all over India looking for inner peace..seeking peace in the Himalayas. Pre Independence india fed with a dose of rennaissance and liberation leading to a love story which even her scholarly father could not allow and had to forego the veneer of liberation to get them apart. I could not believe all unless after some years of reading  Na Hanyate i read Bengal Nights by Mircea Eliade...and yes critics said facts were different but no one could mistake the underlying love and the upsurge of emotions... this happens... can happen in real life!! Yes Na Hanyate was something i could relate to in fact many Bengali women would... it was about the society my grandmom would talk of...but reading Mircea Eliade... a foreigner who believed he being the favourite disciple of the guru, getting his daughter would be a cakewalk... little did he know how Indian societies worked  and how losing her he totally loses himself and finally leaves the country which gave him the love of his life.

A true love story, a gem... a union of soul...just by reading you would want to believe...in love and in life. Na Hanyate would always be with me for the love,for the pain may be we all go through.. for the account of an eminent writer and poet exposing the society we were in which hardly ever could give any woman the respect she deserves let alone the love she pines for.

Lost Horizon

I had read  Lost Horizon almost when i was a kid. The times after exams.. generally exams ended around December first week...and those long, lazy winter breaks at home. Physical activity used to be almost nil and so were other entertainments, well it worked for me fine..as i gulped down quite a number of books during those times. School being closed, could hardly meet friends who used to stay far off and no there weren,t phones in those days. It was like being in a world of my own...onset of teenage is a brilliant time for those kind of things. Anyway during those days someone gave me Lost Horizon to read.

It took a while to fall in love with Shangri La...but the magic of books they do take you where actually you have never been or never can be..and you actually start living in the place with the characters as long as you finish reading the book. I think it was the world of monastery in the forbidden land of Tibet..and how the four persons from normal world lose track of time there. A place where time stood still and one didn,t age, nor did anyone run after money and other worldly stuff. I think this was what captivated Conway the main protagonist...the mysticism of the east, a world outside the world and the timelessness of it all. The book had aroused my senses..and for a few days i had virtually lived in Shangri la ... can it exist...does it exist...

With Conway the reader is mesmerized by Shangri La, the monastery, the gold mines...but where gold has no value and the mysterious Tibetan woman in the monastery who plays the piano. An insight into the monastery and Lamas...and Conway,s encounter with the chief Lama wherein he was asked if he was ready to take over...  It was thrilling as an outsider was beckoned into this strange land and then trusted with its sacrosanct inheritance and Conway,s dilemma... this timeless land with the mysterious woman... away from the world of turbulent wars on one hand and the normal world he was in, call of normal life and normal needs.. what would he choose...

I waited breathlessly would Conway take up his new role in the monastery...but the lure of life..his assistant decided to flee, arranges everything..and his astonishment at finding the mysterious woman...who resembled emancipation and all things sacred ready to elope to the normal world. I think this shock tilted the balance and Conway deserted Shangri La for mundane life...was i disappointed...may be. The ending was tragic  as Conway dies when he leaves the Utopian world for the lust of life in a normal world where he grows very old at once and he was brought to the hospital by a lady who was very very old...the mysterious sensual Tibetan lady who when out in the world aged by normal standards!!

I do not remember all i read, verified some facts from google..nor i have an excellent memory... but it was the feeling, the sensation i had still carried all these years.. of a forbidden Tibet and a mysterious Shangri la a land defied by space and time.. a land of magic.

Year that was

Poor performance...

How many books does one read in a year rather can one read in a year given hosts of other responsibilities and myriad bonds and so many tempting distractions to lure one away..... Well haven't been much of a reader this year...and then how do we decide what to read..well whatever I can get my hands on for me.. wonder how others decide.. wonder if one is always supposed to be conversant in classics and talk about the latest talked about books....but then no rule works for me fine and with no answers to give to anyone...

Started the year with ' The Trial'. Took time to catch the magic, the starkness, the unpredictability..sheer meaningless of it all..but the magic catches on as you wait for it all to unwind... and ironically nothing does. Guess the poignancy lies in this very fact as reader gets entrapped in unwinding the tangles only to realise you get more and more into the maize and then the irony and the beauty of the truth within strikes like lightning... the maize of courts, lawyers, police can a ' common man'  ever get through these...and the trial of conscience we all face justifying our actions... The incompleteness of the book may be one of its USP's and the entire dark world of K... a bit on the tougher side yet an intriguing start to the year.

Next I picked up something which has been lying on my bookshelf from long...the much loved Jeeves...well some books are immensely popular and it is difficult to have the feel in a different time perhaps...I was not totally able to get through the British jargon and enjoy the humour... I know many jeeves fan would disagree with me...I did enjoy bits and parts..but somehow finished it with relief. Better luck to me next time for Jeeves!

My father's recommendation the next  one and not only that he handed over one of his favourite books to me to bring back with me...as I left ' The Trial' with him. Well blessed with having a father for whom I read

 'Deshe Bideshe' by Sayed Mujtaba Ali. About Afghanisthan ...Afghanisthan of early 20th century...began with the incredible journey into the fascinating country through Khyber Pass..the vastness of the land from Kabul city to the ' other' part as he hears the most from his servant and most loyal friend...the political and social turmoil the country was in, interesting royal tales of the throne...an insight into a country perhaps misrepresented in modern times...well one of the best reads for me in the year...and my benchmark for a good book... wiped my tears as I closed the book..!!

Finally  read a book given by a younger friend, pure mush...but then will have to admit most girls grow on a staple diet of mush... very irritating at times but the mush and the sheer delight of it and we read on... Movie was quite a let down after the book..

After a hiatus..I opened up ' Panchagram' again another possession of my father, though it is a sequel to Ganadebata which I was unaware of, just picked up the book because of its light weight amidst heaps of my clothes while i was out of Delhi for training.. Sometimes i just feel blessed that Iam able to read and understand Bangla... I know I am supposed to..but given the limited number of persons I know who read this language.. I do not find myself unjustified as I relate to Debu the protagonist, the peasants of  Bengal oppressed by zamindars, Debu rising like God with light of education...the struggling peasants, the joy of farming, the flamboyant low caste Durga, the killer flood...you can finish the novel at a go...curse yourself for being born in this country, country of peasants and zamindars and Brahmins and Dalits..and the country of hope which the book is able to imbibe from the immense negativity all around... and leaves me yearning for Ganadebata... a distant memory of the novel being made into a serial long back in Doordarshan.. which I used to watch with my father.

This was one of my buys from traffic light..after a bargain. Still reading it in the beginning of the year with about a hundred pages to finish... Afghanistan again albeit in a different form...though a jumble of too many characters and many sub plots... initial story of  Pari the little girl with gap toothed smile from a remote village of  Afghanistan ,the story teller had grip over the plot...which lost mid way but the language and lucidity somehow binds the reader..which is why I guess I finised it in a couple of days..

A year that was....
How to pick up reads for this year as I cannot get past the second page of the newspaper..with all the flurry of news!!!
Will have to steal father's collection again I guess...as he advises me ' Get the latest Desh... catch up with the short story collection'

And I buy a little bit of  Bengalipan from Haryana, from the fish shop which sells Bengali magazine Desh and Sanada as well...a total package which sells and works for the Jat owner!!

To another year of more reading hopefully!

On reading ' River Of Smoke'

How do we define a good book...I read somehwere most probably in High School..some books are to be swallowed, some to be chewed..but Google is there..let me find out the complete quote..

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read only in parts, others to be read, but not curiously, and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.

                                                                     Sir Francis bacon

It has been a week I have finished reading ' River Of Smoke' and was swept in the after effects a few days more. Yes many books are there..to be tasted swallowed etc etc and some books just defies all dimensions..not only transports the soul to a roller coaster ride through the lives of the characters, it,s just that opening a page just changes the backdrop at once..I move back around two hundred years in time in a country I have never been and am caught up in the tornado of events. 

I have read Amitav Ghosh before and more or less loved all the books. The Hungry Tide was specially dear to me because of the riveting experiences of Sundarbans..the mystries of the mangroves..and the chemistry between the leading characters Fakir and Piyali.

The Sea Of Poppies was the first in Ibis trilogy, tale of opium being cultivated in India, rich fertile lands meant to yield crops turned into narcotic hubs by selfish traders, the plight of  Raja framed by the shrewd British , oblivious to the finances of his estate lands in Alipore Jain Calcutta,and then the story of Deeti and Kalua social outskirts eloping to find themselves deported to Mauritius along with other slaves in Ibis.

River Of Smoke came second in the trilogy. I delayed reading this book as I did not want to get in the Ibis world yet too soon..the plight of the deportees, being caged like animals, suffeing bouts of sea sickness stuck in the underground of Ibis..their dream of escape. Yes 'River Of Smoke' did begin from where Sea Of Poppies ended..the journey of the fugitives of Ibis yet Ibis gets off the centrestage in the turn of events before the reader realises  and Redruth and Anahita occupies the  seaward voyage.

In a subtle progression of the narrative the Ibis and its characters take the backstage pushing forward  a new city Canton unfurling like a book in the eyes of readers, Canton and fanqui town .. the ' pidgin' language ( I think Ghosh,s uniqueness lies in mastering the languages and dialects, be it the language of lascars in Sea Of Poppies, or " pidgin" in River Of Smoke). Foreigners.. American, Europeans and yes Indian traders ( Indian trader to be precise) flocking in the city, shipping their cargoes, cargoes full of opium cultivated in India, joining hands with local merchants to smuggle the shipment, ruin two counties India  and China and bask in the glory of reaping huge monetary benefits and all these being the ' loyal subjects of Her Majesty, Queen of England' 

Canton (Guangzhou) , Pearl River

Canton, now Guangzhou on the bank of Pearl River, the boat city..it is in one of the boats where protagonist Bahram Modi meets the love of his life Chi mei. Bahram stands as the ironic facet of the novel being noble generous,foresighted Persi businessman on one hand yet having quintessential  business heart, hideous affects of opium escapes his vision rather the fame the riches that opium brought him obscured his vision. Opium has given him the identity he has lost living with his tycoon brother in laws and conglomerate in law family. He stands apart from the other shrewd European merchants smuggling narcotics in this land they love and the land which has loved them back but..as he himself realises later he sold himself to ' Ahriman' the Zoroastrian demon whom he loathed in his prayers all his life.

The book illustrates the backdrop in minute details ,city of Canton , Maidan , fanqui town where foreign merchants reside and sets the pace to a thriller like extent.The Chinese resistance an ,effort to save the eroding country under effect of opium , the bunch of greedy East India Company merchants finding ways to smuggle the drug through the alleys of the city , their high and mighty attitude of being ' British'  being proud to turn Indian farmlands into opium fields and China as a potential ' market'. The thriller grips the reader, other sub plots, of Paulette the botanist and her quest of Golden Camelia faints as the main plot takes over and the reader feels as much inclined as the Chinese authorities to oust the greedy merchants save a country from corruption from the claws of this killer drug.

The abrupt end of Bahram Modi surrendering his huge cargo under the pressure of Chinese authorities and another ploy by English merchants for the beginning of a war brings about the anti climax. The loss of the war by the Chinese , more smuggling after the British victory just would draw the long sigh from the reader and the total fall of fanqui town where the friendly Chinese and foreigners all enjoyed the ' Law of Free Trade' being turned into British colonies and the equation was now of the ruler and the ruled.

Ghosh never attempted to pass judgement on history, just the turn of events pointing to the stage of history crying for justice, justice for the Chinese  being poisoned with the drug , for the Indians starving despite having vast fertile lands, lands without paddy and wheat, lands full of the narcotic flower.

The critic may have several points up his sleeve but I cannot help but revel in reading a book which has brought life to a phase of history, a neglected part of history being relived with feelings and emotion. Well just felt thankful to Amitav Ghosh for this River , smoky hazy but he led the readers to lift this veil , sail through the river and embark on a new journey across its banks.