A morning bathed in winters

I could name this note a morning draped in mist or a morning washed by dewdrops or probably a morning dried by chilly winds. But I'll keep it short(very unlike me) n summarize by saying that it was a morning dipped in winters. Its amazing how happy I feel every morning when I am rushing to catch my bus with the winds blowing into my face. The chill sometimes just sends the shivers throughout my body and stirs up something that otherwise remains dormant most of the time. Probably a feeling of being alive, a feeling that tells me that am not indifferent to everything that happens in this world. The mist seems to shield the world from something darker than the night. The faint sunlight then falls on your eyes and becomes your unrequited love - you want much more warmth from it than it can actually offer!

Review of Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

Salman Rushdie's ardent fans may not find Shalimar the clown his best work, but nevertheless it's a must read for all. It marks the return of Rushdie to his homeland, Kashmir after a long time. A compelling story that moves from LA to Kashmir to France n then back, it tells the tale of a Paradise, not as much lost as much destroyed! Kashmir is not just a backdrop; it is a character in the story. The book is about the journey of Shalimar the Clown as well as that of the Paradise!

The story opens in LA, where Max Ophuls is stabbed to death at the door of his only, but illegitimate child India by his own driver who calls himself Shalimar the Clown. A French Resistance hero, Max was once an American Ambassador to India whose carrier ended with a controversy that changed the course of many a life. But what looks like a political murder at first turns out to be rather an intense personal revenge story.

Rushdie then goes into flashback and returns to Pachigam, a village in Kashmir, where the love story between Boonyi Kaul, the famous dancer & Sher Nauman, the equilibrist aka Shalimar the Clown is blossoming. A Hindu girl, a Muslim boy. But in the Valley of 1960s these were not divisions but mere descriptions. What follows is a tale of betrayal, a tragedy that unfolds slowly and leaves you griefstricken. While the lead characters play their part, a paradise transforms into a battlefield between the Indian Army & its own children trained by iron mullahs from Pakistan and thousands of Kashmiri pandits flee from their homes in the middle of night in the hope of returning some day!

While reading about the 'exile' of the female protagonist, one wonders if Rushdie gets autobiographical, reflecting his own miseries of running away from home when the threat of a fatwa was looming large on his own head. This part of the story is the most beautifully worded as Boonyi awaits the return of her husband which does not happen for many years and her return to her true home which does not happen at all.

The ending is rather violent without being violent, just as Shalimar loved Boonyi without loving her and Boonyi deserted him without actually deserting him.

The book may not be the best work of Magic Realism, but there is an inherent charm to this story of love, betrayal & revenge that leaves you spellbound. The telepathic conversations between Boonyi & Shalimar are so beautifully written that you gasp in awe of the marvel that Rushdie is famous for. Rushdie plays the rage & revenge of Shalimar, the agony &\nrepentance of Boonyi so intelligently that it becomes impossible to put down the book. Rushdie also uses local mythology to convey many things. You can't help being impressed by his use of Rahu & Ketu, using the struggle between the shadow planets, to depict the moral dilemma that we all face. He has brilliantly unraveled the path that the youth takes in becoming terrorists & their reasons: some fight for 'faith', while some for personal vendetta!

But despite all this, the book lacks that sparkle that his fans worldwide are so much accustomed to! The main problem is that the narrative is not in the first person, unlike his other books & this greatly undermines the effect. Surprisingly, the plot becomes boring when he describes Max as the character is written very shabbily and looks completely out of sync with the story. Also the backdrop is so overbearing that at places, it completely overshadows the main plot. Besides you have your own interpretations of the whole situation that get challenged quite often! But nevertheless it's a book that'll add value to your bookshelf and deserves to be placed alongside his other works like Midnight's Children. I'll end this note with a text from the book by this great master of metaphors and am sure you'll find yourself rushing to the bookshop next door to lay your hands on Shalimar the Clown!


" A woman left at home would close her eyes and the power of her need would enable her to see her man on his ocean ship battling pirates with pistol, her man in the battle's fray with his sword and shield, standing victorious among corpses, her man in a desert whose sands were on fire, amid mountain peaks, drinking the driven snow. So long as he lived she would follow his journey, would feel his elation and his grief, and if he died a spear of love would fly back across the world to pierce her waiting omniscient heart. It would be the same for him. In the midst of desert's fire he would feel her cool hand on his cheek and in the heat of battle she would murmur the words of love into his ear : live, live. That was what the stories said about love. That was what human beings knew love to be."

My first blog!

Well this is the first time I am writing a blog. Initially I didn't understand the purpose of writing a blog at all, but now I have some content I thought I can share with you... What I foresee in my blog would be mainly accounts of my interpretation of situations around me, my understanding of the books I read, the movies I watch. rest, I'll try to figure out later......