The Circle of Reason

I just finished reading Amitav Ghosh's, 'The Circle of Reason'. And I'm glad it's over. It was one of those books which I could neither continue reading with relish nor give up without guilt. In a sense, I was addicted to this novel, but it wasn't a pleasant addiction.

I like Amitav Ghosh because he doesn't try to be clever and is not eager to please. I feel his writing is naturally intelligent and not contrived. But even so, The Circle of Reason seems stretched at times. Maybe because it was Ghosh's first novel, published in 1986.

The book is divided into three parts: Satwa - Reason, Rajas - Passion and Tamas - Death and tells the story of Nachiket Bose, nicknamed 'Alu' for his potato shaped head. The story begins in the village of Lalpukur in Bengal and in true Amitav style, winds its way beyond India and into the East African port of Al-Ghazira. The narrative comes to a close in Algeria.

The blurb says that the novel follows the method of the raga in Indian music. A ponderous beginning, a livelier middle phase and a fast ending. Read the book and see if you agree with this parallel.

One person who was impressed by the book was Anthony Burgess. You can read his New York Times review titled 'A Little Dementia in the Name of Progress' here.

Are you being served or smashed?

These days I play badminton.

It all started a couple of years ago at 'Nisargadhama', a property off Hosur Main Road. I was there with colleagues for a weekend of r & r. After a few doubles matches, a few of us convinced ourselves we were a smashing hit. Though in retrospect it appears utterly incredible if not insane (few things don't), the foursome, including yours truly, showed up at the hallowed indoor courts at The National Games Village, Koramangala, at 5.45 am four days a week for a year. Considering that all of us had busy workdays after the baddy sessions, and considering especially that three of us (not me) had to run up and down the stairs and corridors of various courts, all the while shouting 'My Lord!', this dedication to the sport was remarkable. When we weren't serving and smashing our way to glory, we definitely swished viciously, occasionally giving our partners a sound lashing, no doubt intended for the feathered projectile. Thankfully, the cuts never reached a thousand.

Anyway, those were fun days. They also helped reduce the prosperity of our paunches by a few inches.

People moved and our game came to an abrupt end. Sorry. I must clarify. People need to move a lot in badminton, so that's not why we stopped playing. People changed homes, moved to new ones away from Koramangala. And so it was match over.

For a year after that I survived on lots of pasta, dosas with butter and so on. In a perverse manifestation of Prof Sen's theory of capability failure, I became incapable of wearing all but one of my trousers. During the time when we were executing exquisite drop shots, I had to bore an extra hole in my belt every Monday morning. But now, with no forward lunges and backhand flicks, the buckle used to pop frequently under the strain. The turning point came when one such unhinged buckle caused mental agony to a five year old by clean knocking off her double scoop of ice cream from its cone.

So I decided enough was enough and scouted around for a place to play, reluctant to make the journey to NGV alone and play with unknowns. But in vain. So I headed back there, a good year and a half later, to throw my weight around. And what a weight it was! The legs didn't move, the eye didn't see, the forearm felt like it couldn't feel anything at all. After what I thought was a hectic first day, my doubles partner told me that if I came everyday, I would improve. Maybe he was thinking about the prospect of playing with me as his partner everyday and reassured himself thus. In any case, he has never offered to play with me since that day. I had made him run too much. But there are always those willing to suffer for others and I've found people to play with.

Helter-skelter we would run
And often
Into each other, oh what fun
Though I miss the earlier days
Now there's a singular solace
My trousers, they're back in place
(From 'Are you being served or smashed? And other poems'; Anon. 2009)

Foundation Extended

In my previous post I mentioned six books in Isaac Asimov's Foundation saga. I got that list from the first Foundation book I was reading. Later I looked up the Wiki entry on Asimov and his homepage at http://www.asimovonline.com/. It turns out that there are seven Foundation books. Here's the list for quick reference (with the year of publication).

1. Foundation (1951)
2. Foundation and Empire (1952)
3. Second Foundation (1953)
4. Foundation's Edge (1982)
5. Foundation and Earth (1986)
6. Prelude to Foundation (1988)
7. Forward the Foundation (1993)

SF Foundations

Till a few days ago, I had not read much science fiction. On my last visit to the local British Library, I picked up Isaac Asimov's 'Foundation'.

The 'Foundation' is one of two set up at either end of the Empire at the instance of the visionary Hari Seldon. Seldon uses the methods of 'psychohistory' to warn of the decay of the Empire and the onset of a long period of anarchy before the Second Empire is born. Seldon convinces his detractors that the only way to shorten the aeons of misery is by recording knowledge for posterity. And so a colony of scholars is settled on Terminus to compile the Encyclopaedia Galactica. Foundation tells the story of this colony and its leaders in a way typical of Asimov - unpretentious, uncomplicated, and crisp. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The only irritant was the use of 'Space!' as a substitute for 'Earth' or 'Heaven'. As in "In the name of Space...", or 'What in Space are you doing?'.

Another thing. As far as I can remember, there were only two women characters who figured in the story. Both were minor and insignificant. One of them, a maid, did not even say anything.

Foundation is the first of six books in the Foundation saga. The others are: Prelude to Foundation, Foundation and Empire, Second Foundation, Foundation's Edge and Foundation and Earth. I plan to read them all. Very soon.

Ramaswamy's Legs are Short

Most of my friends remember the rhymes they were taught in nursery school. I don't. But one rhyme has stuck in my head. The sisters at the convent in Kolar taught me that one. It goes this way:

Ramaswamy's Legs are Short,
But His Nose is Long!

And this must be sung a la "Old McDonald had a Farm" (of which I know only two lines)

Thankfully for Mr. Ramaswamy, I don't remember the rest of the rhyme.

Les Incompletes

Most people I know finish one book and only then pick up another. And this is so even if they do not like the book for one reason or the other. Till a few years ago I was like that too, labouring through books I did not like because of a self-imposed rule that the book in hand must be read cover to cover before any other book is taken up. 

But what with so many compulsions in our lives from which we cannot get away, where you must willy-nilly do the bidding of others, I felt that in this matter at least I will discard that rule. I will read a book only until it holds my interest, no later. My point is that if I feel like picking up a book from where I left it, I will do it anyway, naturally and without the stress of constraints I place on myself. This practice has resulted in a vast collection of incompletely read books (I took care not to say half-read). 

Mind you, these books I left unfinished are by no means badly written. In fact some of them are classics. It is just that my eyes lit up at the sight of better goodies. To name a few of these unfortunates in recent times - Dickens' David Copperfield,  Marion Zimmer-Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, G. K. Chesterton's Father Brown, and a few volumes of Ashis Nandy and Sudhir Kakar. 

But the point is, will I go back to them? Will I recommend them to a friend? Yes and yes. Maybe that's why I take them for granted.

Belief and Beyond

I have started 'Belief and Beyond', a new blog focussed on religion, mythology and philosophy. You can follow it here.