The Mountains Sing

 

 

 What a fateful day it was when I started reading this book.

 

As I turned the pages and saw the title ‘Red on the White Grains’, instinctively, I knew a tragedy was about to uncover itself. Sadly, at that same moment, I, along with the rest of the world, was literally seeing history repeat itself in another part of the globe. Many comparisons were being made between the current crisis and the far end of The Vietnam War, which plays a crucial role in this book. The gap of 45 odd years appeared to have closed and I felt like the book was being narrated to me as I was watching the story live on screen. It seemed as though the physical distance between Nam and @fhgan had merged into one single mass of tragedy and human loss. At the same time, it also made me conscious of the millions of stories that were being buried and trampled upon right that moment. How many of stories will ever see the light of day, I wondered.

 

Through the eyes of two women, we learn the history of a nation spanned out across five generations. A history filled with victors and conquerors, abundance and famines, books and bombs, and worship and wars. Here is a story of a daughter who had to suppress her scream as she watched her father beheaded by soldiers, a story of a sister who cried helplessly as she watched her brother being beaten by her neighbours, a story of a mother who waited 24 years to see her son again only to watch him slowly die and a story of a grandmother who risked being imprisoned so she could get her granddaughter a few books. Here is a story of an ordinary woman and her pursuit to make her family whole again.

 

The author is very articulate with her words and descriptions. By interlinking human emotions with nature and seasons, she delicately paints a visual scene in your mind. Her writing highlights the testimony of human survival against all odds

 

The Vietnam War has played a critical role in the history of the nation, politically, socially, and economically. And so, it does within this story too, although here the author brings to light the horrifying effect the war had on the common people and the tragic ways in which the war changed them, often for the worse. Families are torn and generations are lost. Neighbours turn against neighbours and brothers stand on opposite sides of the line, ready to fire. In such testing times, who can blame a mother for choosing herself over her kids. War changes one in ways we on the outside can never comprehend.

 

No truer words have been written than this line in the book - the person who comes out of the war is no longer the same as the one who went into it. The demons of war never leave a soldier. It is true that wars never truly end, even when they end politically. It continues to play in the minds of those who were in it, those whose loved ones were in it and in the minds of those who are yet unborn, for generations to come. Wars are retold countless times in numerous ways. Some struggle to forget it while the others aren’t allowed to forget.

 

As I drew near the end of the book, I pondered upon the story and our world at large. Where on one hand you have people with an unquenching thirst for revenge, jealousy, and power, on the other, you have people helping each other selflessly with pure compassion. How then does one begin to examine us humans? On what basis can we say that these are rotten times and those were flourishing times? What do we believe? Do we dare to hope amidst the crumbling walls of humanity? Do we have the strength and faith that Grandma Lan does, who after losing her half of her family to human atrocities, yet sustains a glimmer of hope for her granddaughter and the future of her nation?

 

Yes, fortunately, after years of pain and suffering, Vietnam has bounced back. It is now a cultural and economic hub, with tourists, including me, waiting for it to reopen its borders which have been closed since the pandemic began. Can we gather some hope to see the same in another part of the world 45 years hence?

 

 

 

 

 

Dubliners

 

 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could time travel? Then we could go back in time and live amongst literary giants, from Wordsworth and Austen to Shakespeare and Tolstoy. But, until such a technology is invented, we will have to substitute books and stories for the time machine. With Dubliners, we get a chance to travel a hundred years back, to the turn of the last century, right around the time when literature evolved from plots to thoughts, from the exterior world to our inner nature, from traditional writing to modernism. 

This is my first time reading James Joyce’s works and Modernist literature, apart from just one of his short stories I read sometime back. In my experience, to completely understand modernist writings and stories, one must take a step back, understand the state of affairs in the world during those times and how it shaped the author’s thinking. One must also take a step into the author’s personal life and experiences, which undoubtedly influenced his/her style of writing.

Now, back to Dubliners. Published in 1914, Dubliners is a collection of 15 short stories, all set in Ireland, during a time when the country was unsure of its national identity. Unlike most other short story collections, this one is not a mere random collection of stories. Rather, the stories in this book are connected by an underlying theme of paralysis, frustration, routine, stagnation, and death, and are deliberately arranged in a way that the age of the main character advances gradually through the book. These techniques further enhance the reading and illuminate the Joyce’s skills, not just as a writer, but also as a social thinker. Joyce has the unique ability to hide symbolism behind seemingly ordinary descriptions. Colours, street names, houses and rooms, characters’ names all contain some hidden meaning, most of which would be better understood after a deeper analysis of the stories. 

The routineness of mundane activities and the cyclic motion of life feature predominantly in the protagonist’s lives, as do the undue importance given to social appearances and experiences of epiphanies. The tedious, repetitive work and monotonous, uneventful days are very relatable to us all today since most of us across the world have experienced living under a lockdown and being stuck at home for a sufficient period. But it is Joyce’s deep understanding of the human mind that takes Dubliners up a notch. We humans work in surprising ways, which can be seen clearly in the fact that, despite our despise for monotony, we rarely seem to be able to let go of the regular in exchange for the unknown and despite our desire for adventure, we are way too comfortable to accept even a small change in our routine. Joyce has beautifully captured all these nuances of human psychology and woven them intricately into his stories, which make them a treat to read.

For the initial few stories, I would suggest taking a little help from literary sites to provide you the political and social context of the stories. Slowly, as you continue reading, you will yourself begin to understand Joyce’s trademark characters and his distinct writing style on your own and be able to see what he wants to show you.

 

Cheers!

Happy Reading!

Why Read Rig Veda?

 

 

 

I have been interested in philosophy since my childhood. My spiritual awakening journey began with easy-to-understand books by Paulo Coelho to slightly more complex ones by Carlos Castaneda and James Redfield. However, my interest in Hindu philosophy and its teachings arouse only a while ago. It was somewhere during this period that I picked up this book, Why Read Rig Veda? by R.L.Kashyap, from my uncle’s bookshelf. However, I soon realised that my interest itself wasn’t sufficient to comprehend the various concepts and knowledge present in the book.

Since then, numerous resources, including Gita for daily living podcast by Neil Bhatt and lessons from my uncle have helped lay the foundation for my spiritual path and I feel confident to dive deeper into the core of Hindu spirituality and wisdom. Recently, I picked up this book once again and to my delight, I was able to sufficiently understand the book and learn from it.

Divided into 25 short chapters, the book discusses the essence of Rig Veda, the true significance of various Devas and Devis and our relationship with them, the connection between spirituality and human psychology, and the relevance of Rig Veda in our everyday lives. The book also touches upon the main concepts in the Rig Veda as well as explains some verses from it.

My key learnings:

- None of the knowledge contained in the Rig Veda is ritualistic.

- True knowledge and understanding of the Divine can only be gained through our own spiritual practice and experience.

- The wisdom of the Rig Veda is beneficial only when it is applied on one’s inner self or the Ātman and when one embarks on the journey inwards.

- All the scriptures, including Vedas and Upanishads, are only a source of vast information.

- There is no concept of hell or eternal damnation in the Rig Veda.

The book is as informational as it is an eye opener. Contrary to mainstream view, the 1028 hymns of the Rig Veda are symbolic in nature. One word can have various meanings based on the context. This includes references to Gods and Goddesses, demons, rivers, animals, etc. Hence, any translation or understanding which is based solely on the literal meaning of the word would lead to a grave misunderstanding of this Vedic text.

It is important to note that the book will be more useful to those who, along with having a keen and sincere interest, are already familiar with the basic concepts of Hindu philosophy and Vedanta.

Never Let Me Go

 

It was a rainy summer evening. I had heard very sad news about a close family friend earlier that day and wanted something to distract myself from my grey mood. And that’s how my journey with Kazuo Ishiguro began.

A few chapters into Never Let Me Go, I found myself pleasantly surprised at how inconspicuously my mind had calmed down. The words flowed out of the book, taking me with them. It is a slow, easy read, especially up till 2/3rds of the book. Initially, I found Ishiguro’s writing to be a blend of Murakami and Ruskin Bond, but soon realised that this man is in a league of his own. However, similar to Murakami and Bond’s writings, Ishiguro’s story too must be read from your soul, rather than your mind.

 

Ah! Memories! Strange aren’t they? You never exactly know when something from ages ago will strike you, like a lightning from the sky, and leave you in a state of emotional upheaval. And more often than not, the feelings they evoke in you are never the same when that moment occurred. Recalling a happy moment can make you sad, and reliving an embarrassing scene can make you laugh. Moreover, memories are so unpredictable that the same moment can bring out a different set of emotions at different stages in your life. Nonetheless, we can never truly stop reminiscing about our past, much like our protagonist Kathy H. Delightful or despondent, our lives would feel empty without our memories, without having something to look back at; without having something to hold on to. It is a series of such memories of dear Kathy that make up this poignant story.

As she drives around the country, her thoughts drift during the long, lonely journey, and slowly she introduces you to Ruth and Tommy and to Hailsham - the world of guardians and Madame, Sales and Exchanges, models and possibilities, carers and donors. There’s a curiosity the author brings as Kathy narrates her growing up years at Hailsham and after, and this feeling of wanting to know more slowly creeps into you. You soon realise that there’s something more to the merry school environment at the isolated Hailsham. Something grey, something sombre, hidden in the depths of Kathy’s memory lanes. Page by page, along with Kathy, we inch closer to the truth. But Kathy’s in no hurry, and nor is Ishiguro. You need to be patient and give Kathy time; time for herself to reconcile with her memories of Hailsham, time to make sense of it all. It is very clear from the beginning that this is not a thriller or mystery. This is a story of human relations, of petty fights and strong bonds, of disagreements and make-ups, and of amusing fantasies and troubling truths. 

On the surface, this is a memorable story of 3 friends and their friendship. But as you dive deeper into the story, you cannot miss the feeling of something being amiss, a sense of foreboding. The more watch Kathy, Ruth and Tommy recall their ‘good old times’, the more they feel like aged persons and not the 20-something youngsters they actually are. You wonder why these young bloods are talking about death, when they have their entire life ahead of them. Ishiguro slowly reveals the whole picture in a beautiful, graceful way, never once deviating from the natural flow of story. His writing skills are remarkable to say the least. He is able to coalesce numerous genres, from coming-of-age to science fiction, into a moving story. He takes you down memory lane as effortlessly as he breaks you into pieces. There were many times during the course of this book, I found myself going back to my own schooldays, listening to our Principal’s New Year speech at the assembly right after our Christmas vacation, savouring my friends’ lunch under the jackfruit tree, admiring Shiny Mam during reading class, enacting Cinderella under the mango tree…

And there were also times when I was heartbroken, devastated, speechless. As I read the last word of the book, I felt like a bulldozer had run over me. Like Tommy, I wanted to scream my lungs out. I wanted to run away from the ending. I was in a state of nothingness for a long time after I had completed the book. The spirits of Kathy, Ruth and Tommy hung around me for days, and that’s one of the reasons I am writing this review so long after completing the book.

Now that I have had some time, there are some questions I have been pondering on. Putting out only a few here to avoid spoilers.

What is your purpose in life? How do you find meaning? If one didn’t have a purpose, would life’s meaning evaporate? If you didn’t mean anything to anyone, would you still want to explore this world? How would you feel if you knew our lives in this barren world is ultimately meaningless and futile and that we are all replaceable? Would you still be hopeful? Would you still believe in this world, still believe that our lives do matter, that we aren’t all just machines and there’s more to us than mere bodily functions?

Do mull over it, but first, read the book. Cheers!