I've always wondered who these people are who keep turning up to read this blog now and then. As this space has always been about me, not offered say like opinions on issues, etc I just don't know why these people come back, what they see here. But seeing a random read has always been nice.
I started blogging four years back just for myself, chose anonymity under different veils. The bunch I wrote the first 2 years in '05, '06 as 'invisible' (which I merged recently at this URL) will always be special. And that's the only blur of a reason I can see for ever revisiting this space.
Yes, I'm leaving for good this time. I'm not completely sure of what next but the thoughts of writing un-anon if I write online again has crossed my mind.
It was good while it lasted, not the least for the persistent, mysterious reads from faraway places where I know no one in real life. Hope things go well for all of you. Bye.
..or even a bit of 'sensible noise', oxymoron though it is.
Mostly, silence is fine. Plus it isn't as though we're talking about pin-drop silence here. For just how can you observe pin-drop silence in a country which ironically coined the term? At this instant I can hear numerous sounds, vehicles, animals, birds, a voice screaming over a cell phone. And this is but a piece from the farrago of noise we live in everyday. Not just in the form of sounds, but sights and smells even. Ever tried focusing on something on a city road to take a pic? Posters, bunches of wires dangling overhead, rogue wires reaching down to the road, garbage, colours ... but I've deviated. Yes, there was to be a point to this post.
Right now I'd rather be reading something, you can see the top three out of my reading basket to the right. But I just can't bear the silence and so keep at the reruns of M*A*S*H. Sometimes I can't even be bothered to watch and hear something new and so just stick to the comforts of the familiar. If only every such moment had some background score, there's so much that would be achieved!
A totally random post in an attempt to dust the stagnant blog. There is a song at the end though, jump through.
~~
For the first ever time missed a bus home thanks to a nincompoop at the travel office, but luckily got myself a ride in another bus that was headed home. An utterly panic free hour that was, shockingly panic free, somehow was feeling very lucky all the while I guess.
Saraswati Pooja at home, after seven years. The huge pile of brown covered books were replaced by a measly four books. These were two novels for my 'knowledge' (the two books were my own 'A Brief History of Time' and the library copy of 'Netherland', in case you are extremely curious for some reason), and two notebooks for the bro's. His were a music notebook (he's a musical genius I tell ya) and a college notebook that he had to carry home cos..wait for it..he was given homework in college! hahaha!(was obviously not well received my laughter stream and neither was my veiled envy noticed)
Ate, gorged, lazed about, monologue'd to the Dob, brooded, watched drivel on the TV, read the newspaper like it was the only reading material available, cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. Realized again that this compulsiveness to clean that takes over me ever so often does not run much in the family. Anyhow, off I went sorting, arranging, pulling stuff from the attic, dusting piled up wires and most importantly throwing. If in doubt, throw it out. The Home is now free of a lot of unsuspecting little trinkets.
~~
Sorted out a box of photos - all the photos that my parents have currently. Black and white, sepia, blurred colour, colour, glossy and matte cards, school pics, innumerable baby pics. We have around 40 albums in varying sizes (all numbered chronologically in two sets - 80's and 90's, 2k and later, thanks to a very vetti me) and huge yet sorted piles of unalbum'd pics - mostly those of my babyhood and childhood. Was fuming about this till I remembered that my folks' wedding snaps aren't album'd either (they didn't have a photographer at the ceremony, a friend of theirs took a bunch of snaps that I've finally put together in a cover for now)
Realized that bro as a baby, toddler, kid, teen was much more expressive/photo friendly than me. (It helps a lot that he has like fifty times more coverage than me)
Bro is also the one posing with pics of his favorite soft toys (notice the plural usage, I had ONE soft toy all my childhood and it fell at my bro's hands) over varying periods - important future blackmail material notwithstanding the Hobbes-like philosophy the kid might throw at me later.
Realized again that one always looks beautiful to one's parents. (the reason to only ask the uncaring bro's opinions on any outfit) Various copies of a photo of little nine year old me in a purple pattu paavadai (my face covered with some mysterious white powder and red thing) with the bro (smartly dressed as always) hanging onto my hip are proof enough. These also tell something of the folks' indulgence in silly fancies of mine at that time, thankfully I outgrew them before even I stepped into the phase completely.
A large bunch of college pics that I gave a passing glance to only to weed out backdrop, structure paintings that I hadn't been part of.
Photos of people from times bygone, pics of summers with cousins, some at Chennai, of the many trips, much more..
But mostly it was of innocent smiles, toothless to start with, and then sometime with a missing tooth but all open and genuine. Even a 'pose' back then is endearing, naive. Nothing might possibly capture that unadulterated joy henceforth.
I don't know how alike or different it is in other families, but to us four, no matter how many friends, family were around us back then, we used to be this special circle complete in itself when bro arrived. Was a nice journey back to those times through these frozen memories.
~~
And now a catchy song I heard for the first time when I went home last week. Haven't paid much attention to the lyrics so far. Have no idea whatsoever about the movie either, do you? Should warn you that any song sounds better to me when listened to while traveling.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The darkest hour is just before dawn, they said.
Dawn, the pinkish orange glow Heralding the arrival of a new day.
Dawn, the grayish gloom That swarms in like an artificial night.
Updated to add: Finished reading this book when I was away at home last week. Got lots of things to catch up on right now, so I'm going to pass this post off as the review one. Made for an enjoyable read the extremely non-linear and layered narrative.
>>
I'm about half way into Netherland by Joseph O'Neil. So far the book has been about nothing in particular or about a lot of things, whichever way you look at it. The novel follows the life of a Dutch banker Hans van den Broek in a non-linear fashion. Set in around 2008 or later, the novel shifts in and out of Hans's childhood, focuses on his life in the post 9/11 USA and it's impact on his life.
The author talks about so many different things, one mainly being about how the protogonist finds solace in cricket. The writing leaves somethings unsaid, its suggestive, leaving it to each reader to reach the depths he wants to. More on the book when I finish it. Here are some excerpts:
I can say quite ingenuously that I was attempting to counter the great subtractions that had lessened my life and that the prospect of an addendum, even one as slight as a new licence and a new car, seemed important at that time; and no doubt I was drawn to a false syllogism involving the nothingness of my life and the somethingness of doing.
~
The pleasantness of my Holland was related to the slightness of its mysteries. There obtained a national transparency promoted by a citizenry that was to all appearances united in a deep, even pleased, commitment to foreseeable and moderate outcomes in life. Nowadays, I gather from the newspapers, there are problems with and for alien elements, and things are not as they were; but in my day - age qualifies me to use that phrase! - Holland was a providential country. There seemed little point in an individual straining excessively for or against the upshots arranges on his behalf, which had been thoughtfully conceived to benefit him from the day he was born to the day he died and hardly required explanation. There was accordingly not much call for a dreamy junior your truly to ponder connections.
~
But surely everyone can also testify to another, less reckonable kind of homesickness, one having to do with unsettlements that cannot be located in spaces of geography or history;
~
Netherland was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2008. O'Neil's writing reflects familiarity with cultures, it doesn't come out as purely researched but with a grace that only someone who has experienced these different worlds can express. Curiosity sent me along to wikipedia(where else?!) to find out that the author was born in Ireland, grew up in different countries including Mozambique, Turkey, Iran and then in The Netherlands. He studied in London and currently lives in the Chelsea Hotel in New York (where this novel's protagonist also lives immediately following 9/11) with his family. No wonder.
Life is simple and complicated in turns, based on one's mindset. It's easy to fall back on mishaps big and small and tie things to them, blame them consciously or otherwise. We all know this, I guess some know it better than others, remember and live by it most of the time if not always.
The rest, well, need tiny notes to set them on the path - to zoom out and look at the bigger picture. And keep doing so. Not just for a few hours, or a few weeks. This is my Post-It, I'll know what to remember when I see this.
'Supporting' the local library will anyway continue.
And I'd like to read at least another true blue classic sometime soon - of the ones I've read for the Classics Challenge, only David Copperfield counts as one to me :) Any suggestions?
My favourite challenge however is the one I chose first, the Orbis Terrarum Challenge. It was only after I picked this up did I start mentioning the books I read, in this space. For this one, it's eight down and two to go. I have Netherland by Joseph O'Neil (Ireland) queued up next. And for the last read I'm on the lookout for a good book by an author from South East Asia. Preferably one by someone from India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka or Bangladesh. Not the ones by NRIs. Or ones by very famous writers. Also, not something very intense. Now, any suggestions? :)
