The Collector's Wife

The Collector's Wife - Mitra Phukan

I had heard neither of the book, nor the author. So, this is one of the rare books that I bought on the basis of the blurb on the cover, and which did not disappoint.

It offers a wonderful insight into the life in a small town in the north-east. Set against the backdrop of insurgency in Assam, it is a poignant portrayal of  the changes brought about by militancy, in the lives of people there.

The protagonist of the novel, Rukmini Bezobaruah, is married to the District Collector of a small town called Parbatpuri in Assam. It is easy to believe that she leads a very comfortable and content life, as part of privileged/elite section of the society. As the DC's wife, she enjoys the luxury of a big house located in a picturesque location, well staffed with servants, and an official vehicle at her disposal for any traveling she wants to do. However, in truth, she finds her life a banal monotone. Her husband is not able to spend much time with her and is becoming increasingly remote, primarily because of the demands of his job, but perhaps also because of the dullness brought about by years of matrimony. She is not yet a mother, and at times, faces contempt because of this reason, despite her elated position. Her own ambition of becoming a writer, or even of holding a regular job, have been thwarted, because of the society's expectations from her as the DC's wife. The only suitable (or perhaps, least disagreeable) work she can find, to fill her time, is as a part-time lecturer at the district college. Even here, though she is able to connect with some of her students, she is unable to interest them in poetry, or even in learning, as they become involved in the agitation. The tasks that she is expected to perform with easy grace - heading various societies, hosting community functions, visiting local club - she finds extremely boring and unsuited to her skills and her intellect. In all, she  is facing an emotional and intellectual deprivation, and has more or less resigned to it.

She is able to beat this monotony and find some cheer in her life, when she finds a friend and a source of intellectual stimulation in Manoj Mahanta, a tyre salesman who visits her town once in a while. Her loneliness and distress leads to an intimacy between the two, and she reaches the cross-roads of life, a great dilemma.

However, the grip of terror has been tightening in the meanwhile, with frequent reports of kidnappings and murders, some of them close home. And then, the great turmoil of her life terminates with horrifying and tragic end.

Usually I do not prefer to outline the story, but in this case I felt a need, to be able to describe my impressions. It left me sad, thoughtful and moved, but overall I found it a good read. I wouldn't say that the story is something new. But the narrative is threaded together well, the main asset of the book though is the author's ability to convey the "mood" - the loneliness and desperation of Rukmini, the excitement of meeting someone new and of defying conventions, the freshness of love, despair and grief in the face of terror, are all very well described, are all very real. One can readily feel and empathize with Rukmini as she moves through various phases. The end is tragic, but then, so is life.

Down the Memory Lane - X

One good turn ...

My father worked for a manufacturing unit of an industrial house, and the company had a residential colony for its staff, which was something of a mini-city. The (single-storey) houses  were called as “quarters” (Back then I didn’t give much thought to it, now it seems rather funny to me).

At one time, our house was next to the one allotted to the colony doctor. He used to play bhajans every morning, and it amused me no end to listen him playing this one (by kavi Pradeep):
“Doosro.n ka dukhda door karne wale, tere dukh door kare.nge Ram!”
[You, who alleviate the pain of others, your pain will be alleviated by God]

The Lonley Sea

The Lonely Sea – Alistair McLean

‘The Lonely Sea’ is a collection of all the short stories written by Alistair McLean over his entire career, starting with his first story ‘The Dileas’, that launched his career as a writer. The stories encompass a wide range of plots; the common thread, as the name suggests, being a connection with the sea, in one form or other. He has an unmatched gift in writing about sea, and I think it would be his career in the Royal Navy during the war, that armed him with this skill.

Nearly half of the stories in this collection are non-fictional accounts of wartime encounters – tales of heroism, sacrifice, bravery, as well as of tragedy, and bureaucratic  blunders. The stories are extremely well written, vivid, and engaging. Unfortunately, I didn’t like these so much, because after a point they started having a lot of similarity, but more so, because they are invariably gory, depicting massive destruction, tragedy and loss. Such stories leave me quite sad, and disenchanted with humankind.

The others are fictional, with quite a variety in theme and tone, some of them are light-hearted, and some serious. These, I loved. Most of these have a twist in the end, very like O. Henry (another author I love!).

The edition I have also includes a newspaper article by McLean, titled “The Rewards and Responsibilities of success”, an interesting read. The highlight of the article would be an honest opinion of himself as a writer – he admits to no literary pretence (let alone greatness), but his purpose to entertain the readers. Or, as we can put it, to give everyone (the publisher and the readers) a worth for their money.

The Way to Dusty Death

The Way to Dusty Death – Alistair McLean

The background is Formula 1 racing (and perhaps the only book I’ve read with this context), and quite interesting as such. The story itself is not so much about racing, but about more sinister under-goings, - not unexpectedly so, as McLean’s forte is spy thrillers. But I do not want to divulge the actual theme here for anyone who may happen to look at my post before reading the book. Only a hint, in words of Johnny Harlow (the hero of the book) - "There are other ways to a dusty death than losing control on a racing track".

I enjoyed this, as always is the case with McLean for me. The suspense, the turn of events at a pace that you can’t even blink your eyes, the protagonist with no training in any related field, but skills that turn out to be extra-ordinary than an intelligence officer, are sufficient to keep one engaged and at an edge for a few hours. However, it doesn’t compare too well against some of his other works, like The Guns of Navaraone, Ice Station Zebra, The Satan Bug. A typical characteristic of McLean’s novels is that nobody and nothing are actually what they appear to be. It’s true to a large extent in Dusty Death as well,  but only for the majority of other characters of the book; for the reader, the suspense is more or less uncovered quite early in the book.

As a die-hard McLean fan, I would recommend it to anyone who loves thrillers. It has all the content for an action movie (even a romance angle, unlike most of his other novels). I am aware of many movies based on his novels, have seen a couple; I hadn’t heard of a movie based on this one, but a quick search revealed there is one. Whether or not there already exists a movie on this one, I think Indian movie makers could do well to take an “inspiration” from this book, should do well in the view of the F1 fever gripping the country right now :-P

The Inheritance of Likes

It is not just qualities/characteristics/traits that we inherit from our parents. I believe we also inherit (or perhaps, some would say, develop) likes and dislikes from our parents. When my brother and I were young, our parents inculcated and encouraged  a reading habit in us. Dad used to get some very nice books for us whenever he went on trips, and we invariably bought books from those “Wheeler & Co” stalls at railway stations when we traveled by train. Living in the small town that we did, we didn’t have any other source for reading material. So, as we grew older, we resorted to experimenting with books from Dad’s collection. And that is from where I acquired a liking for Alistair McLean, Desmond Bagley, and Gardner’s Perry Mason – he had a huge range of these.

McLean is a particular favorite of mine. I love his style (I think I’ve mentioned that earlier in this blog) for the fast paced action, and witty dialogue exchanges. I read many of his novels from Dad’s collection, and over the years, proceeded to complete reading and/or collecting all of his works. Between three of us (Dad, Bro and I) we should be having most (if not all) of McLean’s novels, likely  with some duplication.

I haven’t read much in last three years, and therefore didn’t buy anything, except perhaps some books for Sid. Another reason for not being able to buy is unending interruptions from Sid whenever I enter a bookstore. Finally, last month I had some uninterrupted time to spend in a bookshop, and bought some books after a long time. Any surprises that two of these are by McLean – The Way to Dusty Death (which I’ve read before) and The Lonely Sea (Short stories, which I haven’t read). I also got Love in the Time of Cholera – of which I have heard a lot, but never got around to reading.

Bas Itna Sa Khwab Hai

As all boys do, Sid is extremely fond of cars. And, like all boys [young or old ;-)], he thinks – bigger the better. Yesterday, as N was reading the newspaper, he saw the picture of a car,

Sid: “papa, ye wali car le lo”.

N:  “Nahin papa ye wali car nahin le sakte”

Sid: “kyun?”

N: “Papa ke pass itne paise nahin hain”

Sid: “To kya hua?” [incidentally, his one of his favorite lines these days]

N:  “Nahin beta papa ke paas itne paise nahin hain. Papa bik jayenge to bhi ye nahin khareed sakte”

Sid: [Not understanding a word, specially of the second sentence]: “Papa ye acchi car hai, aap ye le lo”

At this point, I asked what car was he talking of. It was a Formula F1 :-)

N: [Trying a different line of reasoning]: “Saath mein ye wali car road par nahin chalti. Ye to racing track par hi chal pati hai.

Sid: “To kya hua? Racing track bhi le lo”

We burst out laughing.

Me: “Aap Vijay Mallaya ko kaho ki aapko adopt kar le”

N: “Aap Mukesh Ambani ki beti se shadi kar lo”

We: “Phir aap car aur track dono le sakte ho”

And Sid looked on bewildered at both of us laughing hysterically.

Changing Strategies

Sid’s methods of persuasion have changed rapidly in last few months – from requests to threats.

A few months back, if he wanted something, he would use the following sequence of statements:

1. )    “Mummy/papa, … kar do” 
2. )    “Please … kar do na” 
3. )    “Main please bol raha hoon, ab to kar do”.

Now, its “Mummy/papa, … kar do, nahin to …”, a common one being “nahin to main aapke saath kheloonga nahin”. A few times we tried responding with, “Ok. Hamare liye to accha hi hai”, but sarcasm is obviously lost on him. But often we humor him, and say, “Nahin, aap please khelna mere saath, abhi kar dete hain”.

A few days back, when I was putting him to sleep, he again tried the his tried-and-tested stratagem:

Sid: “… kar do, nahin to ….”

Me: “Nahin to kya karoge?”

Sid: [thinks for a while] “Nahin to main aapko chod kar chala jaoonga”

Me: [suppressing my laughter] “Kahan chale jaoge?”

Sid: “Main aapko chod kar bahut door chla jaoonga” [and, adds as an afterthought] “papa ke saath”

Me: [Now laughing] “Accha jaao”

Sid: Nahin kal jaoonga. Abhi jane ka time nahin hai.

Concepts of growing up

Kids seem to think that they have always been this old (as they are at any given time), think of themselves as very big and important, and of younger kids as rather insignificant, and cannot imagine that they themselves had been younger at one time. And this makes for a lot of interesting discussions.

For a while now, Sid is taking a lot of pride in being "big, of three years". He thinks that he can do a lot of things, which "little babies" (in essence, all kids younger than him) cannot. The littlest babies are of "0 years" and cannot do anything at all. And he hates [a blow to his ego? :-)] that some of his playmates are older than him. For example, he'll start crying that 'A' is 4 years old, while he is only 3. We try to console him that on his next birthday, he will also be 4. Then he cheers up a little too much and says that he will then be 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. We then have to inflate the balloon of his happiness, that 'A' won't stay 4 forever - he will be 11 when Sid is 10. And this is a frequent theme of conversation in our home.

Also, though he cannot quite understand that he had been much younger and grew up, he has accepted the fact from our regular assertions, but he still cannot comprehend that there was a time when he just wasn't there. So, from endless questions, he has developed his own inferences.

Another conversation on these themes yesterday night goes like:

Sid: [another half-sleepy crying fit on being younger than 'A']

Me: [deplyoing pacifying tactics] Par aap 3 years ke ho, 'R' aur 'S' se big ho. Wo to abhi 3 years ki hui bhi nahin

Sid: Wo dono 3 years ki kab hongi?

Me: Thode dinon mein unka b'day aayega, tab wo 3 years ki ho jayengi. [for good measure] Aap to itne din pahle jab aapka b'daya tha, 3 years ke ho bhi gaye the.

[Quite a bit of going around in circles around this]

Sid: Jab mera b'day aaya tha, tab main 3 ka ho gaya? Uske pahle main 2 years ka tha?

Me: [Giving up trying to explain that you grow gradually, b'day doesn't suddenly make you an year older]. Haan.

Sid: Kyun?

Me: [Trying to close the topic and go to sleep]: Kyunki aap 3 years pahle born hue the. aap hamare paas 3 years pahle aaye the.

Sid: [Absolutely no intention of sleeping] Tab mujhe aapki yaad aa rahi thi.

Me: Kab?

Sid: Jab aap mere paas nahin the. Mujhe aapki yaad aa rahi thi aur main ro raha tha.

Me: [Perplexed and alarmed] Ham kab aapke paas nahin the? Ham to hamesha aapke paas the.

Sid: Nahin, jab main sky mein tha.

Me: Aap sky mein kab the?

Sid: Jab main 0 years ka tha uske pahle. Tab main bhagwanji ke paas tha aur main ro raha tha.

Uh oh. Couldnt think of anything but to hug him and tell him, isiliye bhagwanji ne aapko hamare paas bhej diya.

***

A translation of the conversation ....

Sid: [another half-sleepy crying fit on being younger than 'A']

Me: [deplyoing pacifying tactics] But you are 3 years old, older than 'R' and 'S'. They arent even 3 yet.

Sid: When will they turn 3?

Me: They'll have their birthdays after few days, then they will also be 3 [for good measure] You turned 3 so many days back, when you had yur b'day..

[Quite a bit of going around in circles around this]

Sid: On my b'day I became 3? Before that, was I 2?

Me: [Giving up trying to explain that you grow gradually, b'day doesn't suddenly make you an year older]. Yes.

Sid: Why?

Me: [Trying to close the topic and go to sleep]: Because you were 3 years ago. You came to us 3 years ago.

Sid: [Absolutely no intention of sleeping] I was missing you then.

Me: When?

Sid: When you weren't there with me. I was missing you and crying for you.

Me: [Perplexed and alarmed] But when were we not with you? We have been with you always.

Sid: No, when I was in the sky.

Me: When were you in sky?

Sid: Oh, when I was 0 years, before that. Then I was with God, and crying for you.

Uh oh. Couldnt think of anything but to hug him and tell him, That's why God sent you to us.