Established in 1949 and opened in 1960, the National Museum in New Delhi houses more than 210,000 art objects representing over 5,000 years of Indian art and craftmanship. With twenty five galleries spread across two floors, any serious attempt to truly take in and appreciate what the museum has to offer requires more than one […]
National Museum, New Delhi – Bronze Gallery
If you were to ask a High School student in India if she has heard of Suheldev, chances are that she would reply in the negative. Likewise for the battle of Bahraich. Not because Suheldev was a fictional character, or Bahraich a fictional location. This important king and a very significant battle are simply left out of school level text books, quite likely from College or University level text books as well. The reason is because in India, History is taught from the perspective of invaders. This tradition was continued by socialists and Marxist historians after independence, with nefarious intent. Sadly even now, after more than seven decades of independence from the British and a Nationalist government at the helm, no major attempts have been made to revise text books to include the Indian perspective. The importance of this retelling of History from the perspective of Indians is extremely significant to avoid a lopsided view. To borrow an African proverb, quoted often by Sanjeev Sanyal –
“Until the lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the hunter”
Thus, major leaders and events are hidden from the mainstream, Suheldev and the battle of Bahraich among them. To use Amish’s own words –
“Sadly, many of these heroes and heroines have been airbrushed out of our history books.”
Of late, thankfully, we have intellectuals like Sanjeev Sanyal and others playing a vital role in helping people rediscover these heroes. Amar Chitra Katha does its part. And a large part in being played by popular authors like Amish Tripathi, whose brand of historical fiction add color to these events and characters.
Suheldev is based on the historical character Raja Suheldo Pasi, who led an alliance of Indian kings to rout a large Turkic army in 1033, at the battle of Bahraich. Back then, India was the wealthiest economy in the world. It attracted invaders with the intent of conquest or plunder. Mahmud of Ghazni invaded India seventeen times and destroyed the Somnath temple. The Turks, however, were deterred after Suheldev managed to unite several kingdoms in resistance, and decimated the Turkic army led by Salar Maqsud, Mahmud’s nephew. The damage was so brutal that the Turks did not invade India for the next one hundred fifty years. That is how significant the battle of Bahraich was. And that is why it is all the more significant for popular fiction to unravel such heroes. More people will start asking questions after discovering these missing figures who played a vital role in the continuity of Indian civilization against relentless foreign invasions. Textbooks do not do them justice, but with their infusion into popular consciousness, Governments and committees will have little choice but to revise textbooks to include the likes of Suheldev, Rani Abbakka and Lalitaditya, so history is retold from the lion’s perspective, and not to always glorify the hunter.
In the book’s Foreword, Amish mentions that this book is a team effort, where the first draft is written by something called a “Writer’s Centre”.
“…the genesis of the story and the final writing is done by me, while the team drives the first draft”
This is a strange concept for me, as the first draft is most deeply connected to a writer’s consciousness. It’s the purest physical link between assimilation of ideas and their outward expression. To give it up to others would mean a lot, and I do not understand the motive behind such compulsion. But I’m not complaining, as long as the journey is good. And for this book, it’s been a very positive experience.
The work is cohesive and fast paced, with the right hooks to keep you engrossed. Don’t be surprised if you want to keep returning to finish it, or even wrap it up in a single sitting. That’s the desired outcome of a well written book, and this one achieves it exceptionally well. Through short chapters and a tight story line, its primary concern is to portray Suheldev’s emergence from a guerilla leader to one leading an Indian alliance to a resounding strategic victory against the Turks.
A theme of Indian unity is prevalent through the book. Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Dalits, Kshatriyas forsake their differences to unite against a common enemy. This is essential for preserving the ethos of Indian civilization that the Turks were out to destroy. To quote Sanjeev Sanyal from “The Ocean of Churn” –
“The Turks were unbelievably cruel towards Hindus and even fellow Muslims, but they seem to have reserved their worst for the Buddhists. One possible explanation for this is that they themselves had converted to Islam from Buddhism relatively recently and felt that they had to prove a point”
The narrative is also quite filmic, maybe with deliberate intent. Gory battles, of which there are many, are vividly etched. There is also a hint of romance in the otherwise bloody tale. And an intrigue about Aslan that keeps one guessing until the end. All these elements and a strong sense of patriotism prevalent throughout the book, could be easily espoused to a screenplay, and a Bollywood hit in the hands of a competent director. Perhaps brand Amish already has that in mind. Har Har Mahadev. And a few years from now, if you were to ask a High School student in India if she has heard of Suheldev, you know the answer is likely to be a resounding “yes”.
“The events in Mumbai have left me aghast, my reaction to its aftermath, like so many of my countrymen, still one of disbelief.
I woke up this morning to a nightmare, of General Dyer justifying his firing on the hapless of Jalianwallah Bagh. It is interesting to imagine how today media would cover the event. Would there be TV cameras trying to get the best shots, news hungry journalists documenting the massacre, degenerating the dour scenes into a vaudevillian farce in the name of “breaking news”?
The world has moved on since Jalianwallah. A decolonized India is assertive in its economic and military prowess. Yet, in a land where the people are no strangers to terror, and have had to deal with it as much before independence as after, there is a massive gap in the perception of its seriousness from the doyens of its destiny – the political class. Just look at the deplorable statement by the Maharashtra CM, and the way political parties are trying to leverage the incident for their own mileage.
It is because of this “chalta hai” attitude that we haven’t been able to break off the shackles of caste, creed, and religion in over half a century. It has left us vulnerable, still incapable in effectively dealing with terrorists, who, like General Dyer, care nothing of humanity, but whose threat to huamity’s existence is very real. The solution, as anyone could point out, is unity and strong, unequivocal governance. But with the facile hands at the helm, it is hard to conceive.”
I had penned those words in the aftermath of the 26/11 Mumbai attack. A dozen years have elapsed. Governments have changed. But 26/11 mastermind Lakhvi has not yet been brought to justice. Americans would have bombed their way to hunt him down. Israelis would have undertaken a quick covert strike to eliminate him. But India pursued diplomacy and intelligence sharing, knowing full well that nothing would come out of it, that the enemy state itself was complicit.
When BJP came to power in 2014, a lot was expected to change with Narendra Modi at the helm. And it did. Frequent terror attacks subsided, especially after Uri and Balakot strikes were carried out successfully against terror targets. India has made it clear to Pakistan, after initial naïve attempts at biryani diplomacy, that its misadventures would not be tolerated. And now, with the Galwan conflict India has made it clear to China as well.
India has taken the right posture towards Pakistan and China. It is rooted in reality. And reality is that both China and Pakistan are hostile towards India. There should not be a shadow of doubt in anyone’s mind in calling them out as enemy states.
Pakistan is a basket case. Its sole purpose is to needle India, which it has done so repeatedly since its formation. If it really cared for its people, the right thing for Pakistan to do would be to stop harboring and training terrorists, take a serious look at its economy, which is in tatters. Unfortunately, Pak army and ISI, the real puppet masters, are not interested. So Pakistan trains terrorists to fight its sordid battles. India has to insulate itself from Pakistan, with military deterrence if need be, as long as that country doesn’t mend its ways, which seems unlikely in the foreseeable future.
China is a hostile power with intent of regional hegemony. It is no friend or ally of India, never was and never will be. India has to keep its guards up, not just along LAC, but in every territory – be it in the Indian Ocean or cyberspace. But that merely is not enough. India needs to really bolster its defense capabilities. Funds should be liberally allocated towards building absolutely cutting edge cyberwar infrastructure and capabilities, to not only defend, but pre-emptively strike Chinese hackers and bots, fight disinformation in social media platforms. Another area requiring huge improvements is communication. India needs to be swift in communicating across all channels, government and military, to media or directly through social media like Twitter. This is where democracy is a big plus, but India has scarcely played this to its advantage. Hold press conferences, lambast China for its infringements. And do it quickly, uniformly. Speed is of utmost importance in modern warfare.
Regarding trade, one can’t just pull the plug or insulate oneself completely from China, given its pervasiveness in today’s global economy. India’s bilateral trade with China, excluding HK, neared 100 billion USD in 2019. But India had a massive trade deficit of more than 50 billion USD. This deficit has to be reduced. India has to make it attractive for foreign companies to set up manufacturing facilities. It has to increase productivity and quality. To counter China on the economic front, India has to grow its own capabilities at a blistering pace. The coronavirus stalled economic scenario presents an opportunity to finally harness the yet unfulfilled economic promise heralded by Modi’s rise to power. Implement those big-bang reforms we keep hearing about, but which have been absent so far. And implement them like there’s no tomorrow, so India can surge ahead in the post-covid world.
I was astounded after 26/11 when India did not retaliate with force, despite knowing the source of terror. A section of government and media even tried to create a “Saffron terror” bogey. What was more astounding was that the Congress party still managed to win the 2009 elections, leading to five more years of utter corruption and economic rout, on the heels of the 2008 US housing market collapse and subsequent worldwide recession. India lost a crucial decade in economic growth from 2004 – 2014, when it needed to grow at 10 plus percent, riddled instead with high inflation, extreme corruption and regressive socialistic policies. But there isn’t time anymore. Galwan should really be a wake-up call for India. India must grow at upwards of 10% for the next two decades to eradicate poverty and emerge as a powerful high income economy. A lot of the underlying framework, or their essence, is already in place – corruption free environment, Make in India, Swachh Bharat Mission and the like. Time to ruthlessly tear down the final hurdles – institutional red-tape, bureaucracy and socialism, in every sector – from manufacturing and hi-tech to education and infrastructure.
India is a great country. Indian civilization is rare as a continuously living civilization that has flourished in the face of external forces that wiped out other civilizations like Mesopotamian, Egyptian or the civilizations of the Indigenous peoples of North and South Ameria. For India to continue to flourish, meritocracy and free market economy, along with strong military capabilities to deter its enemies, is the way forward.
Nirendranath Chakraborty was a noted Bengali poet from India, recipient of Sahitya Akademi award, India’s National Academy of letters.
This is a translation of his Bengali poem, অমলকান্তি রোদ্দুর হতে চেয়েছিল, which literally means –
Translated by Mystic Wanderer
Amalkanti wanted to be sunshine by Mystic Wanderer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License
Amalkanti is my friend,
we went to school together.
He would always be late to class, couldn’t answer questions.
When asked a Śabdarūpa*
he would cast such a forlorn gaze at the window
that it would make us feel sorry for him.
Some of us wanted to be teachers, some doctors, some lawyers.
Amalkanti didn’t want to be any of these.
He wanted to be sunshine.
The coy sunshine that lingers on to jamun¶ leaves like a little smile
after a brief spell of afternoon rain.
Some of us became teachers, some doctors, some lawyers.
Amalkanti could not become sunshine.
He now works in a dimly lit printing press.
Sometimes he comes to see me,
has tea, chitchats and then bids adieu.
I see him out to the door.
Those of us who became teachers
could have easily become doctors,
those that wanted to be doctors would have lost little if they became lawyers.
Yet everyone’s wishes came true, save Amalkanti.
Amalkanti could not become sunshine.
The same Amalkanti who, dreaming of sunshine,
wanted to become that sunshine one day.
* I haven’t found a good equivalent of this in English. Google translate, in the absence of a Bengali dictionary or sage advice, notes it thus:
the variation of the form of a noun, pronoun, or adjective, by which its grammatical case, number, and gender are identified.
¶An evergreen fruiting tree common in India
Life Over Two Beers And Other Stories is Sanyal’s first published work of fiction. In his own words
“—it sent me on a happy journey and I will probably remain primarily a non-fiction writer.”
This collection of mostly satirical short stories is very approachable. A quick read, it elicits a smile or an acknowledgement every now and then during the course of its reading. Acknowledgement of ones familiarity with Indian politics, bureaucracy or simply, Indian-ness.
There are fourteen short stories and a couple of poems in this work. Sanyal is an economist, a former banker turned bureaucrat and draws from his own experiences in corporate and social circles.
“…satire, by its very nature, is based on a caricature of real-world social mores”
We have probably met our Mrs Rudra from the title story, with “large red bindi and kohl-lined eyes”, fudging data for a foreign grant and throwing her weight when faced with the truth
“…I do hope you know who you are talking to…Do you know how many government committees I serve on?”
, seen perpetually stalled government projects, as in “The Caretaker”, met pretentious socialites like Dolly Roy whom Rishi “The Used-Car Salesman” uses unsuspectingly to launch a second career. Or balked at a gasbag highbrow like Dr. Surojit Halder who unwittingly becomes the subject of a social experiment in “The Intellectuals”.
The funniest story is perhaps “The Troll”, where Mrs. Deshpande, a middle class housewife with an anonymous social media alias “Bubbly Bento”, prompts a dubious fact checker website of opposing political views to unravel her real identity, with hilarious outcome. It’s easy for anyone familiar with contemporary political landscape on twitter or other social media to draw parallels.
While a couple of stories, “Waiting till the time of Cow-Dust” and “The Return of Imagination” seem abstruse, the pastime of a hobbyist, a couple of others do stand out, and hints that Sanyal can turn out more poignant pieces.
“The Reunion” – where a Dev, a compulsive gambler milks an old friendship to sustain his obsession, and “Books” – where bibliophile Vishwas, a freelance journalist, discovers his lost collection of books through a chance meeting with a successful businesswoman, who turns out to be the same girl from his village that his father had once tried to get him to marry – make it worthwhile for the reader to anticipate future works of fiction from Sanyal, even if occasionally.
I thought I had taken care of everything. But I was in for a rude shock.
“…and what is your ETA”, the check-in staff enquired innocuously.
What does my Estimated time of Arrival have anything to do with my flight check-in? As I momentarily grappled with this incredulity, I understood, from her response, that ETA here stood for “E Travel Authorization”, a form of transit visa now required for citizens of some countries traveling through Canada. And I needed one as I carried an Indian passport. As disbelief led to the quick realization that I had not taken care of everything, that I might need to re-book my flight if I did not manage to procure an ETA before my departure, a spurt of rationality prompted me to fish out my cell phone, while the lady behind the counter called for help from her supervisor to figure out any alternatives I might have to applying for an immediate ETA from Canadian Immigration.
“It usually takes around 20 minutes”, she said as I Googled my way to the Canadian Immigration online application form for ETA, and started filling out my details. In the next few minutes, as she and her supervisor investigated my situation, I nearly completed the form, mentally thanking the internet and mobile connectivity improvements over the last decade. As we walked away from the check-in counter with the knowledge that I must have an approved ETA in the next hour or so, my son, wife and I were still hopeful that my application would be approved in time for my flight, a belief that would be severely tested.
A few minutes and seven Canadian dollars later, we had nothing else to do but remain on tenterhooks. The receipt notice arrived promptly. But that was not enough. An approval was required, something that the Canadian Immigration website said could take up to 72 hours, though it usually took only a few minutes. I counted minutes, praying feverishly behind my external composure. Ten, twenty, a half hour. My son started getting worried about being late for school. At the end of forty minutes, cracks showed in my conviction, as my mind began to work out alternative plans in the face of the ominous possibility of not having an approved ETA in time. What seemed reasonable in the situation was to change my itinerary. The airline website allowed me to change the departure date to the next day. But by now, I had lost my cool. I vented my ire on my son and wife for asking me to change the itinerary from home instead of doing it from the airport. Hope still lurked somewhere at the back of my mind, though now almost entirely overshadowed by the grimness of present reality. If this was live TV unfolding breaking news, I would be a tragic victim, but with great viewership ratings.
More drama unfolded. As pessimism gained, I lead my family back towards the parking lot, while continuing to submit a revised itinerary on the airline website. Mobile internet in true sense of the word – as we took the escalator down from the departure level, all the while keeping an eye on my submitted request, which was still processing. And then the itinerary change failed. Darkness! I lost my wits as I raged at my family, not knowing what was next. We’d head back home. I’d re-book my flight with a hitherto unknown itinerary. Quite the end of the world for someone used to meticulous planning for the mundane.
At the edge of the cliff, I decided to check my email one last time. The approval notice had arrived. Relief and elation simultaneously short through me like electric current, as I let my family into the delightful news. Now we had to rush back to the check-in counter, this time in anxiety of missing my flight despite my wife’s assurances regarding there being enough time.
I was finally through with checking in. In time. We were relieved and thankful that my travel plans were unaltered. I held my wife and son in close embrace before walking through security check, ready to depart, leave them for two weeks to see my aging parents in India. The woes of a first generation immigrant with ties to two continents vastly separated in time and space. ETA – two days.
To do things differently requires guts. There’s the risk of becoming an outcast, among friends, family, neighbors, strangers. But the greatest enrichments are open only to those who muster the courage to do things differently. Those, despite risk of failure and ostracism, who willingly tread the road less traveled open themselves up also to the possibility of unprecedented rewards. In Dangal, Aamir Khan portrays such a risk taker.
Sports biopics, of late, have stuck a chord in Bollywood, with the singular successes of gifted athletes who overcome tremendous obstacles – both systemic and infrastructural – to achieve international fame and success, in a country indifferent to its sporting heroes (barring cricket). After athletics and boxing, wresting’s emergence into limelight is natural. The choice of theme as such is not extraordinary. Aamir Khan’s ability to package it as a blockbuster without severely limiting the story’s honesty is. Director Nitesh Tiwari achieves that by taking some of the edge off, through humor, catchy music, high emotional content, never losing sight however of its actual intent – to narrate the tale of a father’s sincerity and passion to pursue a dream, and his daughter’s toil in response, and their eventual success to unprecedented rewards, which shine through in the nearly three hours of storytelling. This, despite some preachy moments and one enforced nationalistic gesture thrown in.
Subduing his star appeal, Khan turns in a performance apt to play the aged protagonist. His co-actors deliver in cohesion to ultimately create an inspiring cinematic experience. It should please those who want a bit more out of big budget Bollywood fare, but has enough spice in the pot for the masala crowd as well. It certainly is a happy mix for the producers, if initial box office response is any indicator.
I read Vikram Seth’s Suitable Boy over two years ago. Yet many of the characters, even lesser ones – like Mahesh Kapoor, remain vivid in my memory. I can almost see the man when I close my eyes and try to imagine a scene from the story. One could argue that it’s unfair to compare with “A Suitable Boy”, where Seth left no stone unturned in developing the characters, where even lesser ones are given meticulous attention and volume to help the reader eke out in their minds, the flesh and blood aliases. The point I’m trying to make is this: without interesting characters, or even apparently ordinary characters cast extraordinarily by the author, a book – a work of fiction that is – will not leave a mark in the reader’s imagination. Mr.Zama’s debut novel is such a book.
There’s no need to brace yourself – I am not going to flay the author. Even today, with the plethora of publishers and writers, it remains quite hard to get one’s work published (and I don’t mean on the Internet). That, in itself, is quite an achievement. One needs persistence (let’s forsake talent for while, we’ll get to that in a bit), and some luck. Sometimes luck alone works. Zama probably has both. At least, this book is not as cheesy as Vikas Swarup’s Q & A (source of the hit movie Slumdog Millionaire). What it is is a mixture of excoticism (with an overdose of spices), avuncular wisdom, a paean to secularism, a jumble of none too memorable characters (except perhaps Aruna) all afloat in a drama devoid of any significant conflict, a probable cause being Mr. Zama’s over inclination to resolve all problems, and resolve them fairly easily. There, I’ve violated my promise, but it was unavoidable.
At times, the book reads like a manual for Indian cooking:
“Aruna’s mother lit the second ring of the gas burner and put an aluminum pan on it. She poured a couple of tablespoons of oil into it. When the oil was hot enough, she took out an old round wooden container. She slid the lid open on its hinge. Inside, there were eight compartments, each holding a different spice. She took a pinch of mustard seeds and put them in the oil. When they started popping, Aruna’s mother dropped cloves, cardamom pods, and a cinnamon stick into the hot oil. She added a small plate of chopped onions to the pan. The lovely smell of frying onions filtered through the kitchen and into the rest of the house”
…and this goes on for another paragraph. I mean, come on! Almost any major city of any consequence has an Indian restaurant, and with YouTube and the zillions of recipe websites, one no longer is in awe of popping mustard seeds and the smell of fried onions in spices. These so called tactile mechanisms are a bane and detract the reader, but perhaps there’s a selling point that I’m missing. Through such deviations, mediocre writing, and failing to latch on to the potential latent in the Aruna character, Zama’s work never really picks up, stuttering on through its three hundred odd pages, letting in too many inconsequential people walk in through Marriage Bureau’s doors. Mr. Ali, Mrs. Ali – why not just use their names? And their son, Irshad – I was hoping to see some real conflict when he was arrested in a protest against farmland acquisition. But Zama fritters away that chance too, and with the bloody battle of Singur still fresh in many a mind, what a miss it is.
Now, talking of talent, one doesn’t expect every Indian author to bear the promise of a Vikram Seth or Amitav Ghosh. We have become, are becoming, a more and more egalitarian society, with most of us finding it easier to accomplish one’s heart’s desire – be it launching a startup company, scuba diving or writing. This is a good thing. Seriously, I mean no irony or cynicism even if there’s a whiff from my take on the book. There’s a playing field for everyone, and that’s how things should be. Now as far a reading goes, it is fair to say that one needs to be choosy in this avalanche of media, and finding a good book to read (and that of course, as many might quickly point out, is purely subjective) remains difficult, for talent, unlike opportunity, is less common. Read the jackets carefully, sometimes they help. The “About the Auhor” section at the end of this one says –
“…He works for an investment bank and writes on his commute and sitting in front of the TV after dinner.”
I wish I had read it prior to my venture. Now that I have, I am not surprised of the outcome. Quite an achievement, Mr. Zama! (See, I didn’t use his first name at all in the essay, barring the title. Doesn’t sound so good, does it?)
Rating: 2/5
I would disagree with those that have classified Maximum City under “Description and Travel”. A typical book of travel is mostly an outsider’s perspective. Here, the outsider’s perspective notwithstanding, is a lot more – nostalgia, and a sincere attempt to contextualize and understand a culture one has left behind or never known in the past despite proximity.
What begins as a vent for frustration while readjusting in the home country after a long absence, emerges gradually into a study of characters which are by no means ordinary, in the backdrop of a city pushed to its limits. The main sections of the book close in on the lives of gangsters, politicians and cops(Power), bar dancers and film personalities(Pleasure), a family of billionaire Jain renunciates in transition, among others(Passages). In Mehta’s own words –
“In Bombay I met people who lived closer to their seductive extremities than anyone I had ever known”.
Mehta is drawn into their lives in an ineluctable way, drawn to self-discovery.
“…I followed them closer to my own extremity, closer than I had ever been.”
The writing is thoroughly contemporary, clear and even across its vast length. But it could have been been concise in parts without losing its essence. Parts of the gangsters’ and bar dancers’ lives appear repetitive, in all possibility because one has already had enough to move on. Then there are sections that are sedate, reflective, philosophical even, as the book matures into its later phases, as his awareness of the city and empathy for its inhabitants grows. The closure, ending in an epiphanic vision in a crowded Bombay street, is simply brilliant, one of the finest pieces of writing I have read in a while. But what keeps the reader arrested, despite the length, despite the cynicism of an outsider, is the tenacious pursuit of understanding, of assimilation, the genuine search for meaning in chaos. This is where Mehta abundantly succeeds.
Rating: 4/5
I have just begun reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s “Unaccustomed Earth”. The back cover caught my eye. It is not that I haven’t seen her picture before, and was caught unaware by the fact that she is good looking (quite photogenic too). But the way photograph has been rendered, she could pass for a model, or a film star. While only a fool would buy a book based on an author’s looks, there is no denying the fact it has become increasingly common to flaunt it if you’ve got it, and perhaps even if you haven’t. So what if JL was a buck toothed hag with a De Niro mole on her nose and about as photogenic as a crow? I am sure that the photograph would be either missing or much subdued. What I am not so sure of is whether this is a phenomenon chiefly pertaining to women writers. Perhaps.
Nonetheless, one must learn not to take blurbs on book jackets seriously. The photograph merely makes up for the missing ones, and enhances the rest. One shouldn’t unduly bother with correlations between their fulsome promise and the quality of the actual writing, which, in this case, is surprisingly high.
A writer of the caliber of JL needs such accoutrements only for those who have not experienced her earlier works, most notably “Interpreter of Maladies” – a gem of a collection. I admire her unornamented style, very much contrary to the glitzy marketing snapshot, but equally, if not more, arresting. She’s a shining example of what talent and a good writing school degree can do to someone with luck. The luck factor is of course required for winning fame and recognition, awards. And her good looks are only a part of her good fortunes.
What am I reading 