Reading Short stories

I first came to appreciate short stories back in class 10. Both English and Hindi literature course curriculum had the most eclectic collection of short stories encompassing the varied literary styles and voices.

I came to understand the mood of the story when they opened with a ‘gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard’. I came to understand the ironic endings à la ‘sting in the tail’.  I came to see the generosity of our English teacher when she doled out dismal rock-bottom grades for our entire batch. She was this high priestess of literature and it was sheer joy to sit in her class and soak in all the metaphors and allegorical references. She is the only teacher who taught both me and my brother and after carefully comparing notes we conferred her with a title- take a bow 'Ninja warrior'!

Hindi literature was a different revelation- one could easily see the parallels between the plot/language/literary devices used by the writer and the people/society/times he was portraying. There is always a social context to writing and with Hindi writers there is a certain familiarity with the externalities of the story. You can really sit down and appreciate the details/perspectives that the writes chooses to bring to focus, the set pieces he picks.

Irrespective of the language, short stories have a technique. Poe’s golden dictum-a short story should be readable in a single sitting is a good starting point. The majority of stories that I read back in class 10 were tightly wound. O. Henry-‘The last leaf’, ‘The gift of the Magi’ instantaneously come to mind. They read like a fable, I can describe these stories during a dinner conversation in between tearing a piece of bread and using it to mop up the hearty soup.
There were other stories that left an indelible impression with their realism-the true life like portrayal of human nature and condition- Anton Chekhov, Premchand.
Some stories you remember for their characters, often the ones who stand out not for their virtues but for their all too understandable flaws. Stephen King stories/novellas are often tales of such twisted characters.

I am currently reading a collection of O. Henry Prize Stories 2013, and it is interesting to sample the work of different writers from a somewhat recent era. It’s a mixed bag so far, some to my taste and some that leave me cold. Also I have to confess that in most modern stories “nothing happens”, sometimes its just a mood or a dense psychological degustation palette. However I am keeping an open mind.

“The summer people” by Kelly Link was the one that I enjoyed reading the most. It’s the kind that you start reading and nothing else matters until you finish it- the mister waited for me to finish the story before we headed out for our morning hike. I guess I am a sucker for books with magic, (reliving my Harry Potter days) this one served a dollop and then some-magical realism.
George McCormick, “The Mexican” was short, had a beginning that I liked and an ending that I loved. Nalini Jones, “Tiger” felt endearing and realistic. “Where Do you Go” by Samar Fitzgerald had my rapt attention for a while. I thought I really understood the couple, especially the women she was writing about until a point.
I still have a couple more to read in this collection before I go a decade back in time and read another O. henry collection i picked from the library. Just the right way to spend a lazy December weekend!

Coincidentally while I'm stargazing the short story universe, little online birdie tells me that a short story just went viral(Cat person-The New Yorker). Its a slice of life which is eerily relatable(primarily women's perspective) and much like everything else in twitter-verse, its evoked sharp reactions..

Fading light

The setting sun can delineate outlines more clearly than the bright mid-day sun. When the dark shadows fills up the rest, one can clearly see the outer limits, the boundaries, and the personality without the distraction of the colors. It is a black silhouette laid bare against the fading orange of the day.

It was just a passing sight, the distant mountain peaks sharpened by the evening light. My eyes were transfixed at the outline for the little time that the moving bus afforded me the panorama. I pass by them every morning and evening on my way to work, but their lofty size and personality was a revelation to me. I was moved by the clarity of the view..

They call it ‘the last light’..
If you look closely, every beautiful sentiment is mirrored in arts, songs, poems, literature in some form already. The real joy is to experience it in its full force in a completely unsuspecting moment. It is a deeply personal experience, yet it qualifies as a shared experience not at a physical level but at a completely ‘ether level’-somewhere in your imagination.

This may be a good time to confess my love for the Readers Digest back in the 80’s. I can honestly say that it has been the reference point for a lot of ‘ether’ moments in my life. Back as a school kid I used to go to the town public library to pick up old Readers Digest editions and devour them under the winter sun. The warm anecdotes with gentle humor, personal stories of courage and fortitude particularly warmed my soul. But embarrassingly what stayed with me is a diary scribbled with quotes I found beautiful. Most of them expressed emotions that I had not personally experienced and wisdom which was much beyond my years but I felt a connection and the words stayed with me.

So once i reached home, i searched for my old tome and found these lines that i had once scribbled in my (once) shapely cursive slant and read them back again.

"By a departing light

We see acuter, quite,
Than by a wick that stays.
There's something in the flight
That clarifies the sight
And decks the rays"-Emily Dickinson.

Its a sense of the ending that makes the beginning and all that from there-so much more meaningful. Going along in the old routine, we get into a kind of acquiescent numbness. We need to be jolted out of our numbness. You must look at things not only as if you were seeing them for the first time but as if you were seeing them for the last time, as if you were never to see them again and had to take them all in and remember them for ever.

I find myself in this state of deep inertia where I hear myself talk about change but I am unable to move a muscle. And when i looked out of the bus window, i saw a metaphor for my own life- a wake up call before darkness. The darkness of my own disappointments.

I just hope to do better and see the light again.

Anecdotal blindside

When we judge ourselves using our anecdotal memory, it is a tricky business. It’s a biased jury looking at self-serving evidence, yet there are some moments of emotional honesty that can sneak past the defense.

I have character flaws that I quietly suspect and acknowledge, and I often hark back to seek validation or refutation from past memories. I am not sure that we are objectively capable of this endeavor-to summon untainted evidence from our repertoire and have a fair trial. At some level, I am aware that it is a futile business to psychoanalysis our actions and intentions in hindsight, perhaps even a risk of triggering a self-feeding loop which can effectively shield us from seeing the truth.

Yet I trust the ugly verdict with a healthy dose of distrust for the evidence.

May be it is just a coping mechanism, to move past the past while learning the ugly in me or it is just living in partial denial, I try not to go there.. We all have our blindside.

Triple J trip

Posting a quick note about the triple J trip: Jeju in June & July!
Historically, Jeju island(South Korea) has been called by many different names. I found this trinity reference interesting- Island of no three kinds, and many three kinds. It was the island of triple abundance-wind, stones & women... and over the years people created many different combinations.

WIND:
Truly free, truly fierce
Play-full, full of pride
Loud and lashing
Making twisters out of mist..
Flattening out the grasslands
Puffing up pink raincoats into balloon
Hey hey hold on a second you crazy wind, let me at-least fix my cap

Our attempt to summit Mt. Hallasan, was usurped by the grand theatre of rain, fog and wind. Caught flat-footed by the sudden change of weather, we waited almost one hour at the hike start point for the supplies store to open. Then decked in our flimsy pink and blue raincoats we made our way up. It was literally the most 'mistifying' experience-mist caught up between the tall trees threading all the spaces and boundaries. Needless to say, any attempts at photography was a moot point, so we diligently trudged along feeling the patter of the rain and the gusts of wind.

Slowly as the forested area cleared and we started the hike up the ridge, the wind truly came into form-pushing hard on one cheek, beating against the poor ear on the right. Holding the ropes along the wooden stairs for some reassurance-it was wild and a bit scary up there.

The terrain changed again, small trees, grasslands perfect habitat for the deers that live here. The mean misty curtain denied us any chance to see the summit or the views around. The Mountain spirit has many moods and it is at its most playful in the rains..The summit eluded us this time, but hopefully we will get another chance.
Route:Yeongsil trail on our way up and Eorimok trail on our way down.


STONES:

You get the picture.
Since the island was created by volcanic eruption, long long time ago, the black ash colored rocks are omnipresent taking different interesting art-forms. The coastal landscape is dotted with natural rock formations created by wind/water weathering over the years.
The island is dotted with figurines carved in porous Basalt(volcanic rock) called  Dol hareubangs. The statues' faces feature grinning expressions, bulging eyes without pupils, a long, broad nose, and slight smile.They are sold as tourist souvenirs everywhere, we got one as well

Along with the traditional, the quirky human vision is also at at play with the rocks and stones, creating montages for the selfie obsessed.

WOMEN: 

Haenyeo, the famed female free divers of this island earned their living and respect in the society with each dive into the depths of the waters. Diving 10-30 meters deep without oxygen mask(holding their breath for over three minutes), they gather shellfish and other species.

We frequently spotted bright yellow flippers and orange float bobbing in the dark waters. These women can be seen working and selling their fresh grilled catch in shacks by the beach. 

This economic self- reliance and social support system of the Haenyeo life is the foundation of a semi-matriarchal society in Jeju island.

The owner of the guesthouse where we stayed was another enterprising women. Single handedly she maintained the whole place and yet was fully attentive to the needs of the guests-exchanging pleasantries, arranging transport and recommending places to visit. Finding vegetarian food in Jeju was a difficult deal, so we cooked Maggi in her small pantry one day and the other time she offered us a bowl of puffed rice. She also introduced us to Makgeolli, a yummy alcoholic drink.

Overall the island is best enjoyed while driving around, stopping to admire the changing landscapes and taking in the fresh air. Seafood and contemporary museums(teddy bear, trick photography, love museums you name it that have it)are another big draw for families.

For us we had the Jeju mandarin oranges-the local hallabong variety and some halla chocolate(orange) to share with friends..

This beautiful place made a special place in my heart and became new home for my hat! (lost it somewhere after this picture)

The Vegetarian-book review

I finished reading Han Kang's ‘The Vegetarian’ in March, but I am still digesting it in May. It has been a confounding read, it indicates to be one thing and then morphs into something unexpected.

I picked up the book knowing well in advance that ‘vegetarianism’ is not the focus but rather a plot device to highlight the conflict between individual choice and the pressure of a conformist society. On surface food choices may seem innocuously personal but food is a shared experience. It has a strong social component, therefore the choice of a woman to embrace vegetarian lifestyle in a predominately meat-eating, conformist, patriarchal Korean society can set the stage for a conflict.

The precipitation is sudden, there is a dream, a gory dream and overnight our protagonist, Yeong-hye decides to quit eating meat. The book doesn’t give a real voice to the protagonist, there is no trajectory to follow her from point A to point B. The aftermath is narrated from the viewpoint of the husband who is confounded by the sudden change.

Hers is a silent rebellion against the idea of a good wife who cooks to please the husband. Hers is a silent rebellion against the idea of good daughter who fulfills her marital duties to honor her parents. I can fathom this angst but her rebellion goes beyond her social construct and morphs into grotesque violence on herself. She quits meat and spirals towards physical disorders and gets diagnosed with anorexia and schizophrenia. This makes you question her motivation. Her decision is not an act to emphasis her choice to live life on her terms. Hers is a different choice, she chooses to renounce "the very life that her body represented".

I didn’t see that coming..

The other thread of narration is from the viewpoint of Yeong-hye's elder sister. I see the role of the elder sister in the nature of ‘compare and contrast’, best summed up in her moment of reflection :“She was no longer able to cope with all that her sister reminded her of. She’d been unable to forgive her for soaring alone over a boundary she herself could never bring herself to cross, unable to forgive that magnificent irresponsibility that had enabled Yeong-hye to shuck off social constraints and leave her behind, still a prisoner. And before Yeong-hye had broken those bars, she’d never even known they were there…”

At this point, I wonder if ‘renunciation’ and ‘escapism’ in the face of oppressive norms and expectations is the theme we are building towards. But may be not, because in this ostensible bleak and defeatist setting there is one recurring theme-the pursuit of the protagonist to live more naturally and free. Her decision to become vegetarian was almost literal, she wants to 'become vegetation.'
She is repulsed by her human form associated with cruelty, it oppresses her soul. She feels natural ease and happiness at having leaves painted on her naked body. She wants to internalize that display. In the mental care facility she stands still like a tree hoping to transform into one.
She aspires for a different life and dies in pursuit of that freedom. To understand her psyche, one needs to feel from the heart and empathize with her.

Yet I am unsure about my own feelings for her..
We don't hear her narrative, we try to interpret her through her dreams, through her interactions with the people around her. However all her actions ultimately tie up to the one question she asks of us towards the end: Why, is it such a bad thing to die?” and a part of me is unable to reconcile the violence of her choice.

Minding my business

In recent news, Trump was suddenly enamored by the economic metaphor ‘Priming the pump’ so much so that he claimed that he invented the phrase. Meanwhile I try to mind my own business and not think about the craziness of the whole situation.

Yet on my way to work, I find myself reflecting on the phrase ‘Minding my business’ in a new light. I see the words ‘mind’ and ‘business’ with an angelic halo and the subtext saying ‘my mind, my business.’ I take this as a passive-aggressive way for my sub-conscious to question the affairs of my mind.

Recently I was on a binge overdrive consuming non-stop Dexter seasons only interrupted by late night comedy shows skewering Trump. Binge watching is essentially mental hibernation for me, complete thoughtless state with no priorities and no guilt. Top that with the incredulousness of news from Trumpland and your mind will scream for detox as well.

I have pulled many movie/ TV marathons, vegetating in front of the screen and wasting a good many hours of my life. Dexter (till season 4) is perhaps better than some of the other stuff I have consumed like a junkie, but this time around it feels like ‘I am too old for this s***.'

Oh the joy of finding the perfect phrase/metaphor/meme to express my thoughts!- Thank you Mr. Murtaugh, of course I didn’t invent it :)

Life's a beach

A week of vacation in the lovely beaches of Thailand and sure life's a beach! The following lines of the song really talk to you especially when you simplify 'Cause I'm young and in love' to say 'Cause I'm on vacation...

I get ready, I get all dressed up
To go nowhere in particular

It doesn't matter if I'm not enough
For the future or the things to come
'Cause I'm young and in love
I'm young and in love..-Lana Del Rey

(Meeting the conditions of the song is quite a stretch of imagination when you are on the other side of 30s..lets admit that.)

We were in Southern Thailand, exploring the beaches of Phuket & Krabi around Andaman sea. Island hopping tours are a popular activity to explore the distant island groups of Phi Phi and Hong island. There are hundreds of speed boats flocking to these gorgeous waters, with thousads of tourists in tow. The islands are incredibly beautiful, soft white sand and clear green waters reflecting the tall limestone rocks surrounding them. Sometimes the shade of the waters turned a darker shade of green & blue with the shadows of the corals beneath. It was ethereal and at the same time quite an impersonal way to experience the beauty around. Everyone was trying to escape the crowds to get a perfect Facebook worthy photo of themselves in the allotted time on the beach before we head to the next island destination.

The real opportunity to commune with the waters and the tall cliffs came our way when we took our sea kayak to navigate through Ao Thanane’s mangrove forests and sheltered lagoons. It was a delight to escape the spluttering sound of speed boat and long-tail boats in the quite of the kayak and just get mesmerised by the beauty and the quite sounds of the mangrove forest. It was perfect, except the husband and I were warring at each bend and every jutting mangrove root-right, right, right.....bam! We were the drunk bumbling bees of the kayak group. Only when we were out of the mangrove forest and the waters opened up, peace was restored in our part of the world. Despite what I described, would recommend to take the kayak and explore around.

Lastly we stayed put at Kata beach, for two days. Kata is the quieter cousin of the famous Patong beach in Phuket. This was really our true beach time, lazing around in the sand and waters for the greater part of the day. In between the dips and reading on my kindle, I really got to reflect that everyday is different on the beach. One day the sea can be perfectly still, the next full of waves. Merciful cloud cover one day and none the next. The breeze changes angle.The color of the sea changes all through the day and also between today and tomorrow. The only constant attribute is the saltiness of the sea water.

Moving on to matters of food, the thai green/red curry served everywhere was on the salty side ever. Papaya salad is the only way i like the papaya. There are way too many Indian restaurants in Krabi and the food is absolutely authentic. 'Vegetarian food' is not an alien concept, we were able to find decent food choices everytime. Coconut ice-cream with tender chucks of coconut is the best. Having a dinner of tropical fruits is totally legitimate, after trying some roadside pancakes. Dried fruits on the contrary is just unhealthy sugar disguised in attractive fruit-packaging-beware!

Keeping me company on this trip was a book on Genes by Siddhartha Mukherjee, it is an odd choice for a beach read. Yet the expansive scope of the book is well enjoyed over glances at the immense waters and the recurring waves. The gist of the book from a NY times review is quite spot on: "The gene is, and is not, the determiner of our identity. It behooves us to accept this paradox and understand it".
Ah! the complete delight of lying in a hammock in a quite private beach(in Krabi), gently rocking in the breeze and reading my book. The beauty of the moment was that it could make you feel 'young and in love'..

Where the mind is without fear

When do you hear your fears loudest?

I have experienced their creepy presence sometimes in the quiet when I am alone by myself and other times in loud cheerful social settings. Some fears live with us in the everyday, some bubble up in the rumble of new changes. May be deep down all our fears share the same DNA makeup but how they manifest and impact us varies greatly under different situations.

When one is alone in a physical space, the fear is more primal. We assess the unseen threats and try to make an escape strategy. When I hear squeaking sounds in the dark, I try to block out irrational fear of wandering spirits. When I am walking alone on a wooded trail, all the creaking nature sounds conjure up images of a sudden appearance by a wild animal; although I am still undecided about shining a torch in the direction of the noise or just making a quick dash.

Growing up in the hills back home, the troops of monkeys and langurs sitting by the roadside made you quicken your pace. In the cold winter months, sightings of big cats prowling in search of food were often reported. The visceral fear of encounter with the wild in urban spaces was quite real.
The other phantom lurking in the shadows of the hills was wide-spread alcoholism. The story of alcohol in the hills dates back to the British period. Under colonial auspices, consumption of liquor began to spread with the paraphernalia of the Raj: soldiers, bureaucrats and the establishment of "hill stations".It then quickly ensnared the under-employed male populace and in today’s context with the steady liquor license revenue for the government coming from tourism & hospitality industry, it has found firm ground. Often after dark (in short winter days) unsteady walking figures were a common sight. To ward off harassment from these inebriated souls, a feisty aunt once advised to give them a gentle push down the hilly road-quite an intrepid lesson in self defense.
Most of our primal fears can be traced to early childhood and they stay with us even when the physical environment has changed with adult life. Each one of us is blessed and cursed in our own way; we fear some things more than others and vice versa.

Next up are the fears that we face in social situations & interactions. Our social fears evolve out of our personal and professions aspirations. This temporal fear, shape shifts as we go through life, the nervous rush of forgetting the opening lines of a poem at an elocution competition later morphs into fear for academic or professional success.
Our moral compass hinges on fear of repercussions of our actions.The legal system as a deterrent to crime is borne out of our inherent fear to get caught and be punished.
The specter of fear also looms over innocuous daily social interactions like the constant fear of 'sounding dumb'. Special events like graduation, engagement make some people particularly anxious(wedding being the class topper here). In most part, our social fears follow the regular cadence of life, they come and go in waves.

Moving beyond the personal cocoon of fears, we realize that our social, economic and political background play a major part in our fear psyche. The internal & external is intertwined in a complex relationship, their cumulative impact affects us at an individual level and also as a social entity- race, religion, sex.
There is a dismal scenario, where the external loudness of fear completely blocks out the normal rhythm of life. There are people living in extreme existential threat with constant risk to their lives and the lives of their loved ones. They fear persecution for their social, religious and personal choices.
As a society, we need to develop social, economic and political institutions that protect and defend the most vulnerable against prejudice and oppressing forces. Our goal should be to strive for a world-

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls..
.-Rabindranath Tagore.

What happens when these ideals no more guide us as a global society?
Our political environment is undergoing big changes; a different strain of government institutions are gaining ground. The changing mood of the populace and the political noise gaining strength is challenging the current model of human progress. Public discourse has a completely different tone and the acceptable norms of proprietary are blatantly flouted by 120 character ‘tweets’.
We are living in a world more unpredictable, more confrontational. We had lulled ourselves into a false sense of security and equanimity. The existing structures need to be questioned, but I am not sure if the people making the most noise have anything but their own interests in mind.
Ostensibly we are talking about economic strife but what seems to be really guiding us is a xenophobic philosophy(the blueprint for Brexit & Trumpism).

I am definitely on the low side of optimism seeing the recent developments and genuinely afraid that things may take a turn for worse, before they get better. But i still hope for a world where the mind is without fear and the head is held high..

New Year-Old hike

I am not sure how often you need to repeat something for it to become a tradition; however we repeated our Plover Cove hike again this New year(2nd year in a row). Why Plover Cove hike-quite challenging, old school(rugged)17.5km hike which is quite scenic and confers immediate boasting rights!

This attempt we were definitely better equipped in supplies and morale. We started from home on time with a good breakfast. Also the Mister found me a zero-tech sturdy stick to negotiate the slippery slopes, since last time I took a nasty tumble on this hike.

Our hike coincided with the New Year N.E. Mountain Race 2017, so we had lots of determined soul with bruised legs from company(this hike really gets you if you are not careful with the loose stones, root or rocky outgrowth). They were tackling the hike from the opposite direction hence it was easy to read the struggle etched in the red faces, deep breaths and shaky legs.
Since the trail is really tricky and quite narrow at places, we were slowed down by the traffic coming from the opposite direction. This time the initial gruelling 6.5 km took us longer and naturally a heartfelt curse escapes your lips when the distance post reads 11 km remaining..(just as last time).

The last 5.5 km is a gentle walk across the reservoir, so effectively the 11km heartbreak point is not truly a moment of crisis, nevertheless we steadied our pace after this milestone. We were steadily covering ground(as the runners had also mostly thinned out), when we were stopped in our tracks by the angry growl of potentially a wild boar. We didn't see the animal but were scared enough by the growls to retrace our steps and wait for fellow hikers to catch up with us before proceeding further. Meanwhile the animal had also returned to the safety of the deep woods.
The remaining hike was smooth and it was almost sunset when we reached the bus stop. It was also time for the whole bunch of picnicking-BBQing crowd in the vicinity of the reservoir to head back home. It was a long wait at the bus stop and a long snaky route through Tai-Po before we finally reached the MTR station.
We were back home exactly 12 hrs after we embarked on our journey on the first day of 2017.. So yeah Happy New Year!!!

Old blog post from 2016 can be found here:Plover cove 2016