Monday, March 30, 2009

My Family and Other Animals

~a wine…like the blood of a dragon and as smooth as a fish

~Albatrosses flapping around the house making noises like defective plumbling

~A giant watermelon with an inside like pink ice

~chaffinches were pinking like a hundred tiny coins among the leaves

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No one makes sigh-inducing comparisons quite like Gerald Durell. Rich and varied…these and many more generously pepper the pages of My Family and Other Animals.

Gerry has been blessed with a truly eccentric family : a long-suffering mother, a pompous elder-brother Larrie (who later becomes the eminent Lawrence Durrell), a gun-crazy brother Leslie, an acne-inflicted sister Margo…and bringing up the rearguard; a budding naturalist,Gerry himself. The story is a rambling, autobiographical account of the family’s five year stay in the picturesque Greek island of Corfu, told from a 10-year old Gerry’s point of view.

As the family hops from one villa to another…we are treated to an oddball mixture of rustic pheasants, quirky instructors and garrulous guests. And then ofcourse, there is the over-abundance of animal life…many of whom find their way into the Durrell household as Gerry’s pets. So we have: the two pups, prodigiously named; Puke andWiddleQuasimodo, the pigeon (who discovers to his embarrassment that he is infact a ‘she’ )...Madame Cyclops, the one-eyed, pregnant turtle…the wicked pair of magpies known simply as The Magenpies…and the sardonic seagull, Alecko. Many more whacky and weird creatures make an appearance and all are described in loving-detail by the wide-eyed Gerry.

The book is tailormade for plant and animal lovers. Each page is a tribute to the beauty of Corfu and it’s innumerable treasures. You can almost savour the warm sun on your back and the frothy waves tickling your toes. You wish you had a fat bottomed boat called ‘ The Bootle-Bumtrinket’, which would sail along merrily as you tried not to turn an unbecoming shade of green with all the rocking and rolling! You can feel the restful shade of the gnarly olive-trees, the tartness of the small grapes and the headiness of a hearty-wine. Weaved in with the antics of the Durrell menagerie, the story makes you smile and even have a hearty laugh occasionally.

Bless you, Mr.Durrell, for creating such a marvellous and memorable gem.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

...yet another HAPPINESS quote

For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don't enjoy
getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with
family or friends, then the chances are that you're not going to be very happy.
If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new
job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that
person isn't going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand,
happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap,
then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness.

~ Andy Rooney

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

FUZZ THERAPY

Got the proverbial blues? Need an instant pick-me-up? Have a quick look at the following strips. Calvin & Hobbes can always be counted on to make you forget your dreary moments!





























Sunday, March 1, 2009

The Old Cherokee's advice

"One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, 'My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.`

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: 'Which wolf wins?'

The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one you feed.'

~ Author (Unknown)

Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Odyssey Retold by Geraldine McCaughren

A simplified, easy-on-the-senses retelling of the literary classic. The original is tucked away somewhere at the back of my book-shelf. It had me quaking in my boots.This, I get....and enjoy.

My interest was actually piqued by the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan. Constant references to Odysseus's epic trip had me curious about the original.

Odysseus, the brave (although, slightly pompous) warrior is sailing back home after the epic battle of Troy. A lovely wife,Penelope and Telemachus, a son he hasn't seen in eleven years await him in his kingdom of Ithaca.

As he sets sail with his fleet of ships, he encounters mythical creatures, love-struck nymphs, grumpy cyclopses, the odd cannibal or two and a couple of other seriously depraved characters. Adding to his woes are the fury of the sea-god Poseidon.....a crew which doubts their captain....and a route that seems to have been put together by a sadistic travel-agent.

The end of the journey throws another nasty surprise : unruly suitors for the hand of Penelope and the riches of Ithaca.I tell you....a Greek Hero's work is never done!!

In all, an engaging read....lots of mayhem, chaos, and what-have-you.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

La Maison en Petits Cubes

2009 Academy Awards : Best Short Film, Animated
The story is about a crusty old man who lives in a constantly submerging town. As the water level slowly rises, he keeps building on his original home.....something akin to placing cubes on top of cubes. When his favourite smoking-pipe falls into the water, he dons scuba gear and dives in to retrieve it.

His descent shows him the earlier levels of his home, now undewater. And each level brings back an old and cherished memory.

Hand-drawn animation, sepia tint and the underlying melancholy.....all effectively convey a sentimental tale.


Monday, February 16, 2009

B-ball.....memories....and my low boredom threshold...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…..I used to follow professional basketball. I loved the slickly polished court...the squick of sneakers.....the impossibly tall players and the way they used to move. I remember Shaquille O’Neal , Magic Johnson, Kobe Bryant and the one…the only…Michael Jordan (I even watched Space Jam!!!*sh-udder*). The semantics of the game never mattered…for me it was all about the slam-dunk! I slam-dunks!! Poetry in motion!

...’n’ then with the attention span of an ant in the throes of puberty.....I forgot all about three pointers and forwards and alley oops and what have you……

So when today’s TOI had a fantastic spread of Nate Robinson of the New York Knicks do a super-classy slam-dunk over Dwight Howards during the Sprite Slam Dunk Contest on All-Star Saturday Night…it was a happy flasback to my teens.

Here’s are a few pix I am storing for posterity.....






Monday, February 9, 2009

Inkdeath

663-pages strong…emotionally intense characters …and more twists and turns than the best of labyrinths.Inkdeath has it all.

The book starts off where Inkspell left off. Things are chaotic in the alternate land of Inkworld. Fenoglio, the original writer has lost his confidence to pen words and is now just a weary, crotchety old man. Mo has successfully donned the mantle of the noble robber Bluejay. Dustfinger still lies in the world of the dead. Farid has become a reluctant slave to Orpheus, in the hope that the latter will read back the dead Dustfinger. Mo’s daughter, Meggie has a new contender for her affections, the young Doria. Orpheus, in possession of the original Inkheart, twists and manoeuvres Fenoglio’s words to build up dubious fame and fortune for himself. The evil Adderhead, who was made immortal by Mo in Inkspell, is living a life far worse than death. He needs Mo to bind him another White Book. Ombra is under the torturous rule of The Milksop and The Piper. The Adderhead’s daughter and rightful heir to the throne, Violante (also known as Her Ugliness) still hopes to gain power. Till then she loses herself in her books and the songs about the Bluejay while dealing with her son-from-hell,Jacopo.

All this sounds like a lot of gibberish to the first-time reader of the trilogy. But Funke has very kindly inserted a synopsis of Inkheart and Inkspell at the start. There is also an A-Z of the Inkworld. Wise to check them out before plunging in. Inkdeath is marvellous…if you are a true-blue book lover and have the patience to wade through a lo-ong and winding tale.

Alternate worlds are always delightful, especially when they are well-drafted out right down to the smallest details. The well-etched cast of supporting characters especially The Black Prince, Resa, The Strong Man, Elinor, Roxanne and Brianna reprise their roles with enthusiasm and unexpected twists. Besides the main characters…there is a delightful array of giants, glass-men, brownies, strolling players, shape-shifters, princes, noble robbers.....and villains; old, new and unexpected.

The story of course belongs to Mo and Dustfinger or to put it more aptly……The BlueJay and The Fire-Dancer.

Mo with his noble heart and kindness is effortlessly seamed into the roles of Silvertongue and The Bluejay. As a marauding robber, his sense of adventure battles with his true personality of loving husband, protective father and simple bookbinder. His spoken words still weave magic around all those who hear him…including the White Women from The Land of The Dead. He strikes a dangerous bargain with Death. And though we all like a happy ending, things seem pretty nasty for a very long time.

Dustfinger, the fire-dancer comes into his own in this book. Gone is the helplessness and utter despair that haunted him in the previous books. A new, self-confident Dustfinger emerges…with sparks dancing in his hair and shimmering on his clothes. Fire bends to his every whim and like a true anti-hero he works miracles around every corner. I personally, felt very happy to see a favourite character get his righteous due. And that for me…is a good book.

Good strong characters who wrestle with their conscience…come across insurmountable odds……reach the points of utter despair…but at the end of the day…rise like the proverbial phoenix to make all the struggle(and the 600-odd pages) worthwhile.

Inkdeath demands patience, a love for fantasy and a genuine appreciation for the written word.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Eros, Philos and Agape

I needed a pick-me-up. For my current b-leh mood, the antidote had to be something bright, sparkly and utterly frivolous. Enter VOGUE. It had my favourite classy-hippy-chic of all times, Jennifer Aniston on the cover. So let’s see: Buttery pages…check. Pi****d-off models with porcelain skin…check. Improbable fashions that I could NEVER afford (or fit into)…check. Tongue-in-cheek articles with fantastic visuals…check. Pain-in-my-abdominal-muscles from propping the 242 strong edition there…check.

And in honour of the month of lo-ove, there was even a short story by Paulo Coelho on the concepts of Eros, Philos and Agape.

The Three Forms of Love

In 1986, when I was on the road to Santiago with my guide Petrus, we passed through the city of Logroño while a wedding was taking place. We ordered two glasses of wine, I prepared something to nibble on, and Petrus discovered a table where we could sit down together with the other guests.

The wedding couple cut an immense cake. “They must love one another,” I thought aloud. “Of course they love one another,” said a man in a dark suit sitting at our table. Have you ever seen anyone get married for any another reason?” But Petrus did not let the question go unanswered: “What type of love do you mean: Eros, Philos or Agape?” The man looked at him without understanding a word. “There are three words in Greek to designate love,” Petrus said.

“Today you are seeing the manifestation of Eros, that sentiment between two persons.” The bride and groom smiled for the cameras and received compliments from the guests. “The two seem to love one another. In a short time they will be fighting alone for life, establishing themselves in a house and taking part in the same adventure: that’s what makes love grand and dignified. He will pursue his career, she probably knows how to cook and will make an excellent housewife because since she was a little girl she was brought up to do that. She will accompany him, they will have children and they will manage to build something together, they will be happy for ever.”

“All of a sudden, however, this story could happen the other way around. He is going to feel that he is not free enough to show all the Eros, all the love that he has for other women. She may begin to feel that she has sacrificed a career and a brilliant life to accompany her husband. So, instead of creating together, each of them will feel robbed in their way of loving. Eros, the spirit that joins them, will start to display only his bad side. And what God had meant to be man’s most noble sentiment will begin to be a source of hatred and destruction.”
I looked around me. Eros was present in many couples. But I could sense the presence of Eros the Good and Eros the Evil, just like Petrus had described. “Notice how odd it is,” continued my guide. “Despite being good or bad, the face of Eros is never the same in all persons.” The band struck up a waltz. People moved to a small paved area in front of the band-stand to dance. The alcohol began to show its effect and they all became merrier and drenched in sweat.
I noticed a girl dressed in blue who must have been waiting for this wedding just for the moment of the waltz to arrive because she wanted to dance with someone she had dreamed of embracing ever since she entered adolescence. Her eyes followed the movements of a young man, well dressed in a light-colored suit, who was sitting with a bunch of friends. They were talking away merrily, they had not noticed that the waltz had started, nor had they noticed that a few yards away a girl in blue was staring at one of them.
I thought of small towns, of marriages with the chosen boy, dreamed of ever since childhood. The girl in blue noticed me looking at her and moved away. And as if the whole movement had been rehearsed, now it was the boy’s turn to seek her out with his eyes. Discovering that she was close to other girls, he went back to his lively conversation with his friends.
I drew Petrus’s attention to the two of them. He watched them exchanging glances for a while and then returned to his glass of wine. “They act as if it were something shameful to demonstrate that they love one another,” was his only remark. Another girl was staring at us, she must have been half our age. Petrus raised his glass, made a toast, the girl laughed in embarrassment and made a gesture pointing towards her parents almost in apology at not coming closer.
“That’s the beautiful side of love,” he said. “Love that challenges, love for two older strangers who have come from afar and tomorrow will already have parted down a road that she too would like to travel. The love that prefers adventure.” Then he continued, pointing to an elderly couple: “Look at those two: they haven’t let themselves be affected by hypocrisy, like so many others. They look like they are a couple of farm workers: hunger and need have obliged them to overcome many a difficulty together. They have discovered love through work, which is where Eros shows his most beautiful face, also known as Philos.”
“What’s Philos?” “Philos is love in the form of friendship. It’s what I feel for you and others. When the flame of Eros no longer able to shine, it’s Philos who keeps couples together.”

“And what about Agape?” “Agape is total love, the love that devours those that experience it. Whoever knows and experiences Agape sees that nothing else in this world is of any importance, only loving. This was the love that Jesus felt for humanity, and it was so great that it shook the stars and changed the course of man’s history.” “During the millennia of the history of civilization, many people have been smitten by this Love that Devours. They had so much to give – and the world demanded so little – that they were obliged to seek out the deserts and isolated places because love was so great that it transfigured them. They became the hermit saints that we know today.”

“For me and you who have experienced another form of Agape, this life here may seem hard and terrible. Yet the Love that Devours makes everything lose its importance: these men live only to be consumed by their love.” He took a pause. “Agape is the Love that Devours,” he repeated once more, as if this was the phrase that best defined that strange type of love.

“Luther King once said that when Christ spoke of loving our enemies he was referring to Agape. Because according to him, it was impossible to like our enemies, those who do us harm and try to make our daily suffering all the worse.” “But Agape is a lot more than liking. It is a sentiment that invades everything, fills all the cracks and makes any attempt at aggression turn to dust.” “There are two forms of Agape. One is isolation, life dedicated only to contemplation. The other is precisely the opposite: contact with other human beings, and enthusiasm, the sacred sense of work.

Enthusiasm means trance, ecstasy, connecting with God. Enthusiasm is Agape directed at some idea, something.” “When we love and believe in something from the bottom of our soul, we feel stronger than the world and we are imbued with a serenity that comes from the certainty that nothing can conquer our faith. This strange force makes us always make the right decisions at the right time, and we are surprised at our own capacity when we fulfill our objective.” “Enthusiasm usually manifests itself in all its power in the early years of our life. We still have a strong tie with the divinity and we give ourselves with such zeal to our toys that dolls take on a life of their own and little tin soldiers manage to march.

When Jesus said that the kingdom of Heaven belonged to the children, he was referring to Agape in the form of Enthusiasm. The children reached him without paying any attention to his miracles, his wisdom, the Pharisees and the apostles. They came happily, driven by Enthusiasm.” “May you never lose your enthusiasm at any moment for the rest of your life: it’s your greatest strength, intent on the final victory. You cannot let it slip through your fingers just because as time passes we have to face some small and necessary defeats.”