My Bangalore. I walked out of the airport after a surprisingly no-hassle experience with customs, et al...I walked into the early morning Bangalore air, cool, yet warmer than I was used to of late, about a hundred people already waiting outside, some 25 or so for loved ones having just landed, the remaining 75 of them taxi and auto drivers looking for customers. And then I spotted my dear brother, who drove me home. But really, I was home the minute the plane I was on for the previous 20 hours, touched the ground.
Its the familiarity of some things that hit you, and the absolute newness of others that have cropped up in the time that you have been away, that make for such an amazing combination, that you cant get enough of the sights, sounds and smells, especially in those first few days. My hungry senses took in the blue BTS buses tumbling down the road, the auto driving blatanly in the wrong direction on a one-way street, the stray dog following the little kid at the construction site, the shack in the corner of the intersection, selling tea in little steel tumblers to early morning hawkers and such. I took in the number and variety of cars on the road, most of them pretty sleek looking, the new multi-rise office buildings, the new malls, the new parks. I stared and stared, taking everything in. We even drove over impresisve fly-overs that were being constructed the last time I was here, but were now complete. There are now fly-overs as well as under-passes.
Then we turned down familiar streets in the direction of home...and I saw more new apartments, office buildings and shopping centers. We avoided certain roads because they were now one-ways, and others because they were not in good condition and still others because of the traffic. My Bangalore had changed in many ways, and in so many ways, it was still the same. I still saw the slums next to the IT offices. We still battled the incessant traffic on our way to anywhere. I still saw the blatant disregard of people towards other people, rules and basic civic behavior. But I also see how many more educated people have jobs, and have options to spend their money. I also see that there is nothing you dont get in Bangalore anymore. I see the egde that being educated and living/working in Bangalore gives you in a global scheme of things.
We drove on, towards home. My brain was in over-drive, processing everything that I was seeing, and my excitement knew no bounds. Excitement, to be with my family again, excitement of driving on the familiar roads and extensions, excitement at the chaos, the noise, the familiar sights. Excitement at being back in my dear Bangalore.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
I Readeth
I am rather pleased with myself. I have managed to read three books in succession in the last month, and I am onto the fourth. A huge accomplishment for someone who claimed to have no time anymore for this once favourite activity. I guess its just a matter of making the time. In any case, the pleasure was worth it. Here's briefly about the pages I have been burying my somewhat longish nose in:
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
I really liked her Pulitzer Prize winner Interpreter of Maladies, which is a collection of really neat short stories, so I was prompted to pick up this one from Barnes and Nobles, two days before my flight to Bangalore. It has taken me two really long cross continental flights and two weeks more to finally finish it. In all honesty, I actually started reading and finished another book in between before I finished this one. The Namesake is actually quite a well put together story...it gets a little long winded in the middle, but I wonder if this is simply my reaction to many things these days....I just have this tendency to snap my fingers and get things done and out of the way quickly....in any case, I like Jhumpa's style of writing, and the story line itself is something I can relate to in some of the pages....its primarily about a boy named, uncannily, Gogol, and his journey through many phases of his life...and his parents who are first generation immigrants to the US from Calcutta. Its heart-wrenchingly human how Gogol despises and is embarrased by his parents' "Indian" ways when he is growing up...how he is eventually affected by his father's untimely death, and how, at the end of the story, his family becomes important to him. Its a non-frilly, down-to-earth style, and a story with very very human emotions. Liked it quite a bit now.
Waiting for the Mahatma by R. K. Narayan
R.K. Narayan's works have always been real classics. Who does not remember 'Swami and his friends' and 'Malgudi Days' with the utmost fondness? One day, I hope to have read all his works, and there are many. But for now, I picked up a copy of 'Waiting for the Mahatma' bought by my brother whose latest claim to fame is that he is an "experimental" reader.
I was not disappointed. Waiting for the Mahatma is set in a time that I am fascinated reading about - the British Raj. More specifically, it is set in the years just before the British finally quit India, and when the Mahatma's image was all important, even in the little town of Malgudi. More than about Gandhi, this story is about the everyday people of British India, the commonners who, uncannily, have no clue about what is really going on, what the freedom movement is really all about. It is about people like Sriram (the main character in the story) and how he relates to the movement, his place and role in the scheme of things. And, in Narayan's inimitable style, it is also about the Mahatma. The story tells about the immaturity of Sriram's youth, how he struggles to grow out of his little corner of the world, what Gandhi and the freedom movement mean to him, and how his infatuation for a girl leads him to do things he would otherwise never ever have done.
What comes through so poignantly in the tale is how ordinary people are involved and yet so far removed from the realities of the movement, and how they actually have no earthly idea about the big picture, living their daily lives in their microcosmic worlds, intrerpreting events in their myopic ways. The reader feels helplessness and sympathy at the same time.
Check it out if you get a chance. As always, R. K Narayan touches something inside you.
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
I really liked her Pulitzer Prize winner Interpreter of Maladies, which is a collection of really neat short stories, so I was prompted to pick up this one from Barnes and Nobles, two days before my flight to Bangalore. It has taken me two really long cross continental flights and two weeks more to finally finish it. In all honesty, I actually started reading and finished another book in between before I finished this one. The Namesake is actually quite a well put together story...it gets a little long winded in the middle, but I wonder if this is simply my reaction to many things these days....I just have this tendency to snap my fingers and get things done and out of the way quickly....in any case, I like Jhumpa's style of writing, and the story line itself is something I can relate to in some of the pages....its primarily about a boy named, uncannily, Gogol, and his journey through many phases of his life...and his parents who are first generation immigrants to the US from Calcutta. Its heart-wrenchingly human how Gogol despises and is embarrased by his parents' "Indian" ways when he is growing up...how he is eventually affected by his father's untimely death, and how, at the end of the story, his family becomes important to him. Its a non-frilly, down-to-earth style, and a story with very very human emotions. Liked it quite a bit now.
Waiting for the Mahatma by R. K. Narayan
R.K. Narayan's works have always been real classics. Who does not remember 'Swami and his friends' and 'Malgudi Days' with the utmost fondness? One day, I hope to have read all his works, and there are many. But for now, I picked up a copy of 'Waiting for the Mahatma' bought by my brother whose latest claim to fame is that he is an "experimental" reader.
I was not disappointed. Waiting for the Mahatma is set in a time that I am fascinated reading about - the British Raj. More specifically, it is set in the years just before the British finally quit India, and when the Mahatma's image was all important, even in the little town of Malgudi. More than about Gandhi, this story is about the everyday people of British India, the commonners who, uncannily, have no clue about what is really going on, what the freedom movement is really all about. It is about people like Sriram (the main character in the story) and how he relates to the movement, his place and role in the scheme of things. And, in Narayan's inimitable style, it is also about the Mahatma. The story tells about the immaturity of Sriram's youth, how he struggles to grow out of his little corner of the world, what Gandhi and the freedom movement mean to him, and how his infatuation for a girl leads him to do things he would otherwise never ever have done.
What comes through so poignantly in the tale is how ordinary people are involved and yet so far removed from the realities of the movement, and how they actually have no earthly idea about the big picture, living their daily lives in their microcosmic worlds, intrerpreting events in their myopic ways. The reader feels helplessness and sympathy at the same time.
Check it out if you get a chance. As always, R. K Narayan touches something inside you.
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