Two Lives

With just two pages to go before I finished Two Lives, I remembered Vikram Seth is also a poet. A quick scan through the pages after I was done revealed that though this is no The Golden Gate, his novel in verse, the prose is nothing if not rhythmic. Almost as if Seth sung out his lines as he wrote them. (I actually think such writing would be instinctive for him). Here's a simple example I've picked out,

"A patient rang the doorbell; he was in acute distress. Henny told him that Shanti was too ill to help him. But when Shanti came out of his room and recognised the man, he told Henny that he could not go into hospital without treating him."

Of course, one might think there's not much to that sentence, but I'm pretty much convinced that rhythm matters deeply to Seth. Perhaps it is because the only other book I've read of his is An Equal Music. In Two Lives, Seth also reveals something of the way he approached this book,

In a double biography, an intertwined meditation, where the author is anomalous third briad, sometimes visible, sometimes not, there are intriguing possibilities of structure. For one thing, in what order should one recount events? ...Though I now know where to end this book, I did not at first know where to begin it...

It's a reminder that even celebrated writers are mortal (and therefore like me!), and that matters of form, structure and substance need to be worked on even by them, much like a random post in any blog! Two Lives also answers partly, the quesiton of what happened to the Jews who survived Hitler and what life was like for those who stayed on in Berlin after it was bombed out in the closing days of World War II. Indeed, this review quotes a line that may tell you more about the man who shaped the 20th century,

Shanti left Germany in 1936, though not before coming across Hitler in a Berlin park, surrounded by SS men. "He had a bridge in his mouth and he was made up with lipstick and all," he told the author. "I thought he might be a homo - but later on I found out they were going to film him in color."

My Favourite Communist and The Perfect Solution

My Favourite Communist

With all this constant newsroom talk of Leftist politics and Leftist hypocrisy, the only 'Comrade' I can stand these days is a gentleman named Psmith, with a silent 'P'. I'd think Psmith's legendary coolness would be a refreshing change from Comrade Karat's fervent, "if the Centre has any self-respect, it should recall the Ambassador" line.
On second thoughts, Comrade Karat's own inspiration to turn the Left into 'biting dogs' rather than 'barking' ones in recent days must have stemmed from Psmith's gentle explanation in Leave it to Psmith, in which our hero casually explains after pinching an umbrella, "other people merely talk about the redistribution of property; I practise it."!!

Overheard at the CPI headquarters

Indeed, I can see it all in my mind's eye. At the same time as Comrade Karat's above-mentioned epiphany, Comrade Bardhan must have finished Psmith in the City. And much in the manner of our protagonist in his 2nd adventure, called up Comrade Karat to complain about Capitalist Manmohan, "...he always set us down as mere idlers. Triflers. Butterflies. It would be a wholesome corrective for him to watch us perspiring like this in the cause of Communism."*

'Great Scott,' Karat would have said, 'there'll be a row.'

''Some slight temporary breeze, perhaps,' Bardhan would have said. 'Annoying to men of culture and refinement, but not lasting.' And so on and on...

The Perfect Solution

Smooth operator though he is, I suspect Comrade Psmith would find the Congress-Left slug fest too distasteful to enter. And although there's an uneasy truce on, everyone (journalists, sources to journalists, bosses, blog pundits) says it's a matter of time before our communist brethren take up the cudgels again. We will then have to turn to the services of that famed troubleshooter Jeeves.
Don't be surprised though, if the Perfect Jeeves Solution to the Left-UPA marital crisis involves a few unexpected engagements (a la Bobbie Wickham or Honoria Glossop), a few maidens pushed into a handy swimming pool and a fearsome aunt or two!

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* all quotes pinched from Psmith in the City and Leave it to Psmith. In the original line, Psmith uses the term commerce instead of communism.

Monday farce: Left is right

An electric shock at the bath is not the best way to begin a Monday, but that's precisely what I had to endure as I stretched my right hand to the tap this morning. A few seconds later I stood, dripping on the bedroom floor with the dual knowledge that I'd received a nasty shock and screamed - not a term you would associate with a man.

Indignation at the way our rented house is wired aside, there was some irony as well. It was as if the gods were punishing my right hand, on World Left-Handers Day. Had I not committed various blasphemies for a left-hander in recent years? From deigning to shake hands with my right (as the world at large does), to eating with my right in temples where using your left is frowned upon. Indeed it occurs to me, you would have been 'punished' too if you're a lefty, for accepting to live in a right-handed world. Aren't shirt buttons, jeans zips, car doors, scissors - even guitars designed to the convenience of our heavily populated evil cousins?

When I become a dictator I shall abolish all right-handedness and even change our lexicon while I'm at it. In Hindi, the left hand is also known as Ulti haath, which translated means 'upside down'. In Kannada, the right hand is called Balagai, which literally means 'hand of strength'. My Ministry for Good Behaviour and Speech will have one John McEnroe as Chief Minister. The head of my Anti-Narcotics and Psychotropic Substances Bureau will be Jimi Hendrix. And I shall coerce Sourav Ganguly to be Minister for Diplomacy and Foreign Relations. You get the picture right? And finally, anyone who hasn't read Ursula K Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness will be punished!

Measuring the World

I have a tendency to distrust writers I haven't heard of. Yes, I know it's ridiculous and it's probably why I read too many Dick Francis novels again & again. But this admission shouldn't make you believe that I don't step out of my comfort zone. Once in a while, a book slips in between the cracks of my armour. One such example is Measuring the World.

At first glance it seemed a little strange, an English translation of a German novel about two 19th century scientists - Alexander von Humboldt, the explorer and naturalist and Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss the mathematician and astronomer. Humboldt became famous for, among other things establishing that the river Orinoco was connected to the Amazon. Wikipedia says of him in his prime, "with the exception of Napoleon Bonaparte, Humboldt was now the most famous man in Europe."

The other man Gauss, knowns as 'the prince of mathematicians' believed that parallel lines meet. This motif is also used to describe the parallel lives of the two scientists who may have never met in real life. In the book though, they do. Measuring the World is a witty, wicked tale that takes liberties with some facts but it's a delight - for the writer's style is unique. Read it if you can, don't wait for the book to fall on your head in some dusty bookshop.

p.s. I only realised I was reading another best-seller (not that the label should count for much) halfway through the novel when glancing through the blurb I'd earlier glazed over-

"measuring the world has...sold more than 600,000 copies in Germany, knocking J Rowling and Dan Brown off the bestseller lists."

p.p.s. Just before posting this, I read this review of the book again, and realised that the 2nd para of this piece borrows a phrase or thought from it. I haven't changed what I wrote as a reminder that it's all too easy to 'borrow' from other writers even if one has unwittingly committed the crime!