- Jeg er Bombay-guide. Meget eksellent førstenummers Bombay-guide. Hele den Bombay jeg kjenner veldig godt. Du vil se alt. Jeg vet akkurat hvor du finner mest av alt her!

Å lese Gregory D. Roberts bok Shantaram var en god måte å bruke høsten på.

Sitatet overfor er hentet fra mannen med verdens beste smil, Lins første bekjentskap i India, Prabaker. Jeg har ledd mye av Frydenlunds vittige oversettelse til norsk-indisk aksent, og jeg må motvillig innrømme at jeg føler meg litt snurt over at Prabaker ikke finnes noen andre steder enn mellom permene i Shantaram. 

I frykt for at hele boka blir en hype og dermed skuffer de fleste som enda ikke har lest den (jeg ser allerede tendensen), dropper jeg detaljene. Jeg nøyer meg med å konstatere at jeg synes den er en fantastisk murstein. Som sagt brukte jeg hele høsten på den, og i dag fikk jeg greie på at neste høst nok vil bli brukt på neste bok; en selvstendig oppfølger kalt The mountain shadow. Hurra!

Forfatteren har sonet en 20 års dom for flere væpnede ran. Etter at bokas to første utkast skal ha blitt ødelagt av fengselsvakter, rømte han fra fengsel og havnet senere i India. Da han senere sonet dommen ferdig, skrev han også ferdig Shantaram. Boka er fiksjon, men iblandet Roberts egne erfaringer – i hvor stor grad er det sikkert bare han selv som vet. Selv om det å leve under tøffe forhold i tøffe miljøer skildres, er ikke dette en mafiaroman for meg. Ikke i det hele tatt. Først og fremst forteller han om India og menneskene der. Dernest handler den – for meg – om relasjoner og tilknytning, mot og valg.

The Luna Yoga summer retreat last August at Spa Eastman was illuminating for many reasons, one of which had to do with a tidbit of information communicated to us by guest lecturer Eugénie Francoeur, a Radio-Canada reporter and meditation lecturer. She spoke to our group about the patterns of the mind, and to be more specific, the thoughts that jumble around in our minds. 85% of our thoughts are actually useless, which is to say that they do not provide insight, illumination or any help in planning on the path to accomplishing something. Instead of guiding us somewhere productive, these thoughts are spent worrying about what cannot be changed, mainly to do with what is in the past.

This statistic creeped back into the forefront of my thoughts yesterday when I was on my way home from my 2nd-to-last teacher training weekend. We were treated to another lecturer last night, Antoine Tinawi, a specialist in Ayurveda from The Art of Living, a volunteer-based foundation created by His Holiness Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. Antoine had many things to tell us, all delivered in an incredibly sweet and pure manner, à la Prabakar (one of the most memorable characters from my favorite book of all time, Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts). He talked to us about the Doshas, about food, about body characteristics and the Gunas, but the thing that stayed with me the most out of everything I heard was, “We live as if we have all the time in the world to obsess over the past and the future.” I’m still recovering from that one. Occasionally I read or overhear a phrase or idea that is the manifestation of my being, something that I consider to be so ingrained in my outlook and life philosophy that to have it exist outside of my being leaves me reeling. That occurred last night, and I’m still thinking about it.

I’ve spoken and written about how I feel our society is moving away from awareness into ignorance through sense of entitlement. About how teenage boys and girls today absolutely need to know where the rights that are afforded to them in today’s world came from, and what it took to get them. Girls need to know who Gloria Steinem is. Gay, lesbian, and transgendered community need to know who Matthew Shepard was. I could go on and on…any sub-culture that has any visibility has had to shed blood, sweat and tears to get it, and the way of the Western world today seems like fewer people are asking questions about the journeys that have led to today. The danger that exists in this complacency is potentially frightening, because, as we all know, the proverbial pendulum doesn’t only swing to one side. What swings to the right will inevitably swing back to the left, and vice versa. What dictates how far it swings is the momentum of ignorance that has built up before it starts moving again.

We are so insanely lucky to live where we live in today’s society. To be afforded the freedoms we have to pursue happiness, regardless of sexual orientation, race, gender or age. To be able to grow up assuming that those freedoms constitute our rights…that we’re somehow entitled to opportunities, to be able to choose how, where and with whom we spend our lives. On a global scale, we are in the minority, and it’s imperative that we remember this. We need to take every opportunity available to us to be thankful for the lives we lead, for the bodies we have that allow us to follow our paths and for the people around us who provide our safety nets, our extended families. We need to start living in the now, to stop obsessing over what exists in our pasts, and to not put an overt amount of significance in the future. Don’t get me wrong, now…it’s obviously wise and practical to plan financially and otherwise for where we see ourselves in the future, but we must always keep in mind that the future is as uncontrollable as the past. Nothing ever ends up being what we thought it would be, and is we really pay attention to how many of our thoughts consist of harping on what cannot be changed or affected, we’d probably be a lot more focused and productive, a lot less physically and mentally exhausted, and probably more accepting and compassionate of each other.

All I’m trying to say is that we can’t go wrong by living each moment to the fullest instead of looking back at what could have been or focusing on how we’d like to manipulate the future into being what we think it should be. It’s about appreciating and being present, about loving and sharing that appreciation with everyone around us. People will not only gravitate towards that kind of energy, but will want to embody it as well to pass it on, because at the core of that energy is the Truth. About ourselves and the world we live in. Where we came from and where we’re going. If we absolutely have to think about the past, then let’s agree to credit ourselves with having been as conscious and aware as we could have been, as productive, loving and compassionate as we could have been. And let’s agree that that energy is what lies ahead of us. More of the same. We may not necessarily be entitled to it, but we deserve it.

Summer was a time for early morning reading outside with bird song, sunshine, a cup of coffee and a dog. Now that darkness and cool air have moved in, my reading time seems to have dwindled. Well, I guess that having to work might have something to do with it too…

And read I did. Lots of books – big thick ones the height of fluffy pillows and the weight of small elephants. And Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts is no exception. In fact, this was probably the longest book of the summer with its 920 pages or so!

I’d resisted the pull of the book for ages as I’m allergic to screaming headings like ‘A publishing phenomenon’ or ‘A remarkable achievement’. Or even ‘A literary masterpiece … it has the grit and pace of a thriller’. (Thanks Daily Telegraph!)

But then I started reading it – and realized that, for me, all of the above comments were true. The book is the fictionalized life of the author and reads like James Bond meets Indian philosopher. The protagonist, Lin (or Roberts’ alter ego if you like) is one of Australia’s most wanted men (in the 1980s): he escapes from a high-security prison there and ends up in Bombay. Where he sets up a free health clinic in a slum, works for the mafia, gets tortured in jail and learns Hindi and Marathi. And that’s just for starters. (Apparently Roberts really did do all of these things.)

The book begins like this:

“It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured. I realised, somehow, through the screaming of my mind, that even in that shackled, bloody helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn’t sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the chain, when it’s all you’ve got, that freedom is an universe of possibility. And the choice you make between hating and forgiving, can become the story of your life.”

Apart from the high-octane pace of the prose, the book is lyrical, poetical and spiritual. He sees beyond the squalor and poverty to the soul of the Indian people, whom he portrays with love; he ponders about his own personality and how imprisonment can turn men into monsters; he philosophizes on the nature of good and evil; and amidst the violence and sadness, also reveals the beauty of life. Because, as he says, “Every human heartbeat is a universe of possibilities.”

It is sometimes said that the best intentions of mankind might do more bad than good for the society at large.

Given that its Diwali,  a relevant topic is whether we should burst crackers or not. Obviously, the initiative is in support of a go-green movement.  But, will this good intentioned movement, create more problems than solve any?

If you’ve read Shantaram (by Gregory David Roberts), you might understand what I am trying to say here. There is a passage in the novel, where he describes how he used to take hot water baths twice in the day. And for that there were labourers who would manually carry pots of hot water up several flights of stairs (this was somewhere in the 80’s). When Shantaram comes to know of it, he feels quite guilty about it and decides to stop his practice. But in doing so, as his friend Prabhakar explains, his good deed will only serve to imbalance the eco-system, by snatching away those labourers livelihood.

So as  I wondered about this “don’t burst crackers movement”, I was also thinking about the zillions of people who are engaged in this industry. If collectively we do happen to embrace this movement, what will happen to the people engaged in this industry? Someone might say – rehabilitate them…but most of us know that it is easier said than done.

Before the movement can gain any momentum, we will need to provide actionable plans to rehabilitate these people. Till then, enjoy burst crackers (but with restraint:)).

Happy Deepavali!

MOST IMPORTANT BOOKS OF THE MODERN AGE:

A Cancer Therapy: Results of 50 Cases and the Cure of Advanced Cancer. – Max Gerson. M.D.
Audition. - Michael Shurtleff.
Autobiography of a Yogi. – Paramhansa Yogananda.
Cosmic Voyage. – Courtney Brown. Ph.D.
Hands of Light: A Guide To Healing Through The Human Energy Field. – Barbara Ann Brennan.
Hatha Yoga Pradipika: Light on Hatha Yoga. - Swami Satyananda Saraswati.
Hero With A Thousand Faces. – Joseph Campbell.
Man’s Search For Meaning. - Viktor E. Frankl.
Psychology of Science: A Reconnaissance. – Abraham Maslow.
Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing. – Jed McKenna.
Stranger in a Strange Land. – Robert A. Heinlein.
Tantric Quest. – Daniel Odier.
The Bible Code. - Michael Drosnin.
The Holographic Universe. – Michael Talbot.
The Lost Teachings of Atlantis. – Jon Peniel.
The Only Planet of Choice: Essential Briefings from Deep Space. - Phyllis V. Schlemmer.
The Starseed Transmissions. – Ken Carey.
Who Am I. – Ramana Maharishi.

SOME FAVOURITES (An introduction to the Author):

A Man For All Seasons (A Play) - Robert Bolt.
Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown.
Duino Elegies – Rainer Maria Rilke.
I Am Jackie Chan - Jackie Chan.
Illusions – Richard Bach.
Life of Pi – Yann Martel.
Lion of Macedon & Dark Prince - David Gemmell.
Microcosmic God – Theodore Sturgeon.
Perfume – Patrick Suskind.
Rainmaker – John Grisham.
Red Dwarf & Better Than Life – Grant Naylor.
Satanic Verses – Salman Rushdie.
Shantaram – Gregory David Roberts.
Siva – Ramesh Menon.
Switch Bitch – Roald Dahl.
The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho.
The Bourne Identity – Robert Ludlum.
The Celestine Prophecies – James Redfield.
The Doomsday Conspiracy – Sidney Sheldon.
The Godfather – Mario Puzo.
The Lost World – Michael Crichton.
The Sirens of Titan – Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett.
Twelve Angry Men (A Play) - Reginald Rose.

Date: 15 October 2009

Mood: Fucked off

Relapsed…..so much for all the positivity right?

Typical of this fucking disease, but i am going to get back on the wagon tomorrow. I will also go into more detail tomorrow but i thought i’d pop in and report honestly that this is the case, i am still positive and am going to change my life, just a slip.

God Please help me. Give me the serenity to accept what i cannot change, the courage to change what i can and the wisdom to know the difference. Lord, i hand this over to you. I love you , my wife, my life, my unborn son, my job. I am worth too much to waste this life and chance i have been given.

By the way Shantaram is turning out to be  a great read.

Laters

Love and some light, although a bit dimmer today, tomorrow is another day !!

Along with the steadily improving weather, although backlashes into rainy gloom are annoingly frequent, I’m getting more and more into some sort of groove. What used to be weeks of unplanned nature and sporadic productivity have transformed into a tightly packed schedule of studies, work, handball and the occasional(!) inebriation. It’s exciting and although I feel I’ve still got a long way to go before I enter the world of real grown-ups it seems I am making some sort of progress towards it – it actually feels pretty nice.

I finished reading ‘Shantaram’ (Gregory David Roberts) the other day. Tremendously good read. An amazing story even if it turns out that only half of what the ex-con, prison escaping, drug dealing, jihad fighting philosopher of an Aussie writes is true. I picked up ‘Afrodites Tårar’ (Theodor Kallifatides) and it is nice to read something in Swedish every once in a while. In a moment of great longing for my home country I listened to Swedish radio on my iPod and read the simple yet thought provoking writings of the Greek-Swede. It has always interested me, how you can say so much by using very few words and simple means. I guess that is one big reason for why Copywriting interests me.

I’m getting a haircut in a few hours, at a place called Guys Grooming. It seems like a real good place – they offer every type of service that a metrosexual man could ever wish for. It is situated in Australia however, and with that comes a problem. In order to not scare away the manly consumers of the most macho country in the world, they need to compensate for the perception gayness that for some reason is linked to male grooming. They solve this problem in the same way they solve a lot of problems in Australia – with alcohol and violence. The customer gets a beer to accompany his service and a TV in front of him to watch sports on. Most likely a violent sport – like rugby. Say what you will, but it seems to be working. The place is as busy as a bee-hive and big brawny Aussies who otherwise might think twice about getting a facial treatment are now relishing the opportunity as they can drink beer and watch big men smash into each other while being groomed. Good on ya, mate.

That’s it, I better get back to my studies. I think this post was supposed to be longer from the beginning, but all of it disappeared when I tried to post it the first time so this is a re-write from memory and I probably missed a lot. Oh well, you’ll have to make do. Make it, I tell you.

/J

Two recent fiction books set in and depicting life in India that have become internationally acclaimed are Shantaram and The White Tiger.  Shantaram, written by Gregory David Roberts, is a semi-autobiographical fiction book based upon some of Roberts’ real life experiences as a fugitive from an Australian prison who flees to Bombay in the 80’s and has a wide range of experiences there including living in a Bombay slum and a small rural village, joining the Indian mafia, fighting in Afghanistan against the Russians, and acting in Bollywood movies.   The White Tiger was written by journalist, Aravind Adiga, and tells a fictional story of a driver in modern day India who serves an upper class businessman and ultimately becomes a successful entrepreneur in Bangalore after escaping what he calls life in the Darkness through, what most would say, the worst way possible.

Both of these books are well written, very entertaining reads that provide a glimpse of Indian life through a different lens than the typical middle class or happy villager vantage point in most books.  In Shantaram, the protagonist Lin is a foreigner, an Australian, learning about India and the reader learns more about Indlian life through Lin as he becomes immersed within a unique life in India.  In The White Tiger,  the main character, Balram, is the son of a rickshaw-puller who has secured what most in India for his family status would consider a plum opportunity as a full time driver to the rich and powerful Mr. Ashok.   However, Balram considers his life to still be one in the middle of the Darkness, the other side of Indian life as he says which is characterized with little hope and in essence, little freedom, and he offers to the reader a view into the Darkness through his interactions with Mr. Ashok and his family.

When reading these two books, I’m struck by the different feelings one gets about the goodness in people and life in India.   In Shantaram, in many ways, Lin is falling in love with life in India and realizing he belongs there.   In a previous blog posting, I wrote about the Indian head wiggle and Lin’s appreciation for the Indian gesture and its meaning—a feel good description of a quintessential Indian characteristic.  He also waxes prophetic about Prabakar,  a taxi driver who has befriended Lin, and taken him to his own village and was his initial navigator through the maze that was Bombay in the 80’s.  Prabakar is a lower class taxi driver who lives in a slum in Bombay, one who would likely be considered living in the Darkness that Adiga’s character Balram describes in The White Tiger, yet Prabakar is portrayed throughout as one who loves life, trying to lead the best life possible, but still having to overcome many challenges that only those living in these conditions, Darkness type conditions, would have to deal with.  Here is a passage used to describe Prabakar by Lin during a confrontation Lin had with others while Prabakar and Lin’s lady friend Karla were off to the side:

From Shantaram

“One moment from that evening, one heartbeat’s length of time as the crazed man had charged at us with a sword, was stretched in my memory.  At the precise instant when I took that step backwards and raised my hands in a boxing stance to fight, Prabaker took a step to the side, and stood in front of Karla. He wasn’t in love with her, and he wasn’t a fighter.  Yet his first instinct was to step sideways and protect Karla by shielding her with his body”

Roberts goes on to write through Lin’s eyes “I’d grown to like Prabaker.  I’d learned to admire his unshakeable optimism.  I’d come to depend on the comforting warmth his great smile provided”.

The key take away for me here is the way Prabaker is portrayed in this book.  Full of optimism and life, depicted as the epitome of goodness who would protect an acquaintance as if she was family during danger, all the while struggling to make it day to day while living in slum conditions.    The honesty and goodness of the Indian people is celebrated in Shantaram.

Now, contrast that with The White Tiger.    Balram is from a small village without a full education but catches a break by being chosen to be a driver for Mr. Ashok, who has recently returned from New York and will continue the lucrative family landlord and property business in India.    While initially excited about the opportunity and the money, Balram increasingly feels repressed, not free, and part of the unending cycle of servitude to the haves while he remains a part of the have nots.    Adiga has written this book and portrayed the struggling poor Indian in a much more dire light; without optimism, without hope.   Furthermore, he depicts the more prosperous Indian such as Mr. Ashok also in a dismal light; bound through bribery and corruption to serve powerful government figures to get ahead or maintain expectations of comfort that they have of themselves.    This book depicts the internal struggle within India of Darkness and Lightness to be a much more powerful dichotomy than the external struggles of Indians with the British for example— those external struggles led to change; the internal struggles of class and society can’t change.   Even when Balram exits his situation of service to Mr. Ashok (for those who haven’t read the book,  I won’t indicate how it actually happens), for him to became a legitimate entrepreneur participating in the tidal wave of opportunity in the IT space, requires Balram to grease the hands of the local commissioner.  While he was railing at the unfair setup of society when he was Mr. Ashok’s  driver, as soon as he got a chance to get out of the Darkness, he needed to play the game of servitude to get a chance to exit the Darkness.   Now interestingly, Adiga, talks about the trustworthiness of the Indian as the reason that this cycle of servitude works and can work in India

From The White Tiger

“No, it’s because 99.9 per cent of us are caught in the Rooster Coop….The Rooster Coop doesn’t always work with miniscule sums of money.  Don’t test your chauffeur with a rupee coin or two—he may well steal that much.  But leave a million dollars in front of a servant and he won’t touch a penny.  Try it: leave a black bag with a million dollars in a Mumbai taxi.  The taxi driver will call the police and return the money by the day’s end. I guarantee it (Whether the police will give it to you or not its another story, sir!).  Masters trust their servants with diamonds in this country! It’s true.  Every evening on the train out of Surat, where they run the world’s biggest diamond-cutting and –polishing business, the servants of diamond merchants are carrying suitcases full of cut diamonds that they have to give to someone in Mumbai.  Why doesn’t that servant take the suitcase full of diamonds?  He’s no Gandhi, he’s human, he’s you and me.  But he’s in the Rooster Coop.  The trustworthiness of servants is the basis of the entire Indian economy.

Later he writes, “A handful of men in this country have trained the remaining 99.9 percent- as strong, as talented, as intelligent in every other way—to exist in perpetual servitude, a servitude so strong that you can put the key of his emancipation in a man’s hands and he will throw it back at you with a curse.”

The key take away for me from Adiga’s The White Tiger is the focus on the struggle of life in India.  While in Shantaram, there is optimism and much happiness portrayed, that is absent in The White Tiger.    Now, the differing backgrounds of the two authors could be important reasons for the differing vantage points—Roberts being a new resident of India, hasn’t seen the struggle for multiple generations, even though he did live in a slum, while Adiga as a journalist in India and abroad, may had more opportunity to see, feel and hear over multiple generations the struggle.

Ultimately as a reader, I think it’s important to read about both vantage points.  The reality is that both Roberts’ and Adiga’s themes are present in life in India.  Adiga’s views are controversial and not often written but creating a more out in the open dialogue is a good thing for India.

I sail past paddy fields and palm trees and my heart soars as I think fondly of this land of boundless plenty, abundant in smiles, moustaches and sari’s in shades the rainbow couldn’t even begin to imagine:

- where cows are avoided by cars at the expense of people but if you do hit a person, the mob will kill you before a policeman has chance to arrest you; where you don’t give up your seat on the bus for a mother with her baby, but instead take the baby and sit them on your lap;

- where governments sign multi-million dollar arms deals with the UK and US, where the price of one fighter jet with provide 1.5million people with safe drinking water for life; where the shake of a head means more just no – you’re welcome, it was very nice to meet you, my pleasure, after you and of course, no thank you;

- where you board a train with your luggage and disembark with new friends; where the towers of temples litter the horizon and rubbish litter the floor until sacred cows munch their way through it; where bad luck is put down to karma and the world we live in is just an illusion (yes the matrix is based on hindu culture);

- where everything you do is everybody else’s business; where men try and brush themselves against you and old women practically sit on you for your white skin to transfer to them; where the majority of mobile phones have been installed with the Titantic theme tune and cars play cheerful dittys when reversing;

- where homosexuality is illegal but men wear skirts and walk down the street holding hands; if you’re tired, you just lie down in the street and have a sleep; where you don’t use the flyover to cross to another platform but you jump down and cross the tracks;

- where you can fill yourself up on an amazing thali for 25p but 400m people go hungry; where you get by only on human kindness, but where beggars are left to rot in the streets; where the swastika is a symbol of peace, of evolution;

- Brahmin priests get fat on the devotion of 400m people living on less than 25p a day; where in a society where Ahimsa, non-violence, is the pervading rule a societal structure can exist that treats 20% of it’s population as no better than dogs.

I sail past paddy fields and palm trees and my heart soars as I think fondly of this land of boundless plenty, abundant in smiles, moustaches and sari’s in shades the rainbow couldn’t even begin to imagine:

- where cows are avoided by cars at the expense of people but if you do hit a person, the mob will kill you before a policeman has chance to arrest you; where you don’t give up your seat on the bus for a mother with her baby, but instead take the baby and sit them on your lap;

- where governments sign multi-million dollar arms deals with the UK and US, where the price of one fighter jet with provide 1.5million people with safe drinking water for life; where the shake of a head means more just no – you’re welcome, it was very nice to meet you, my pleasure, after you and of course, no thank you;

- where you board a train with your luggage and disembark with new friends; where the towers of temples litter the horizon and rubbish litter the floor until sacred cows munch their way through it; where bad luck is put down to karma and the world we live in is just an illusion (yes the matrix is based on hindu culture);

- where everything you do is everybody else’s business; where men try and brush themselves against you and old women practically sit on you for your white skin to transfer to them; where the majority of mobile phones have been installed with the Titantic theme tune and cars play cheerful dittys when reversing;

- where homosexuality is illegal but men wear skirts and walk down the street holding hands; if you’re tired, you just lie down in the street and have a sleep; where you don’t use the flyover to cross to another platform but you jump down and cross the tracks;

- where you can fill yourself up on an amazing thali for 25p but 400m people go hungry; where you get by only on human kindness, but where beggars are left to rot in the streets; where the swastika is a symbol of peace, of evolution;

- Brahmin priests get fat on the devotion of 400m people living on less than 25p a day; where in a society where Ahimsa, non-violence, is the pervading rule a societal structure can exist that treats 20% of it’s population as no better than dogs.

Source:   It’s not over until India decides its so

The Booklover’s Rating:  ♥ ♥ ♥

I just finished reading Shantaram by David Gregory Roberts.  It was okay.  I had this book on my “To-read” list for a long time and had heard great things about it, so I was looking forward to the book.  I have to admit that I was disappointed.

It was a good story, but Roberts needs some serious editing!  It is way to long.  I would have enjoyed the book and increased my rating if it had been about three hundred pages shorter.

My favorite part of the story is Mumbai.  Roberts does do a great job of telling us about this city and the different sections of the city.  I would definitely recommend this book to anyone traveling to India and it is long enough to see you through a good bit of your excursion!

If you want to read fiction about India there are two other books I would recommend before Shantaram.  The first book is A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry.  This is probably one of my top five favorites of all time.  The second book is Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra.  Both of these books would get a rating of five hearts.

Book Details:   Published by St. Martin’s Griffin (Setptember 29, 2005), 944 pages, ISBN-10: 0312330537, ISBN-13: 978-0312330538

hey i know … i know … it’s been a while … but things have been a bit crazy. between some screwed up things at work and a renovation thingie at home … things have been a bit hectic. i mean logged on to my half a dozen or so mail id’s, orkut page and facebook pages after a month or so … and expectedly there was nothing new … not surprising. but … there is some good news i guess … the job market seems to be improving. how r these two things connected??? well have been planning to move on for quite some time now. and hopefully this improved situation will serve me well …

but quite honestly … haven’t quite prepared a resume for myself in close to 3 years. i’m not 2 sure i even remember quite how to … but d good ol’ internet should help me in that. hmmm … what else … oh yeah … haven’t quite read a good book in a while. i mean the last one i went through was losing my virginity by richard branson … but that was quite some time ago … and honestly i’m not tht a big fan of auto-biographies. i mean don’t get me wrong … reading about gandhi or hitler or nehru is quite fascinating … but richard branson is not quite either one of ‘em … . but i’m eagerly awaitng the next books by Gregory David Roberts and Khaled Hosseini … u no … the authors of Shantaram and Kite Runner/A Thousand Splendid Suns … now those are books to be read …

Speaking of which i actually happened to see the movie Kite Runner a few weeks ago. and well not a bad movie at all … i mean doesn’t quite match up to the book. well don’t get me wrong … that had nothing to do with bad acting or something … it’s just that it’s a movie … so kinda expectedly it was a cut down version of the book. so some important parts of the book were cut down … but the acting wasn’t that bad. most of the dialogues were in Pashto … so that was good. gave the film a bit of an authentic feel about it … and didn’t totally thrash the book. but hopefully these two awesome authors will come out with even better books soon.

well thats it i guess … till the next time i’m at my wits end … i’ll come out with the next post … so you know u wouldn’t have to wait long. … ciao!!!

Genre: Novel, Roman à clef

Year of Publication: 2003

In 1978, gifted student and writer Greg Roberts turned to heroin when his marriage collapsed, feeding his addiction with a string of robberies. Caught and convicted, he was given a nineteen-year sentence. After two years, he escaped from a maximum- security prison, spending the next ten years on the run as Australia’s most wanted man. Hiding in Bombay, he established a medical clinic for slum- dwellers, worked in the Bollywood film industry and served time in the notorious Arthur Road prison. He was recruited by one of the most charismatic branches of the Bombay mafia for whom he worked as a forger, counterfeiter, and smuggler, and fought alongside a unit of mujaheddin guerrilla fighters in Afghanistan. His debut novel, SHANTARAM, is based on this ten-year period of his life in Bombay. The result is an epic tale of slums and five-star hotels, romantic love and prison torture, mafia gang wars and Bollywood films. A gripping adventure story, SHANTARAM is also a superbly written meditation on good and evil and an authentic evocation of Bombay life.

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“Whatever the reason, I felt dishearteningly alone in the city. I’d just lost…my closest friends…and with them I’d lost the mark on the psychic map that says You Are Here. Personality and personal identity are in some ways like co-ordinates on the street map drawn by our intersecting relationships. We know who we are and we define what we are by references to the people we love and our reasons for loving them.”

-          Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

I found myself awake and reading at dawn for no apparent reason, and being arrested by this passage. It must be noted that Roberts here speaks of friends he has lost to death and extreme misfortune. Nothing of the sort has of late befallen the people I love. Many, however, are struggling with themselves or with the dismal state of the world around us, and are choosing to leave New York and try their luck elsewhere. Explore.

I have always been one to encourage my friends to travel. To unmoor oneself and allow for confusion and fascination, fear and anxiety in environments where one is entirely unfamiliar forces an honest look inside. After every new experience, we look upon the world with a new set of eyes. New York used to be a new experience. The lens it produces however seem to have become my own.

I realized a couple of years ago that I have found, for the first time, a place that felt like home. Kind of. I’m still not sure what that means. But it feels mine, and for once more by choice than by random default. After I finished school, I could have chosen to leave. I could have gone back to Italy. I could have started working in Bangladesh. I could have tried England, Australia, India. I had options. Instead, I got another apartment in Brooklyn, and I got a job that will run at least a year.

This is a strange time to choose America. This place is more than a little broken. It may not be the best decision, but for what it’s worth, for now, I’m taking her on as my own.

That which is one’s own however, is defined by marks on the psychic map to which Roberts refers. You are here. This is yours. Friends, people, become mainstays. The man who smiles and hands you your morning bagel every day changes your world when he inexplicably disappears.

This isn’t just the bagel guy. This is the loose family with whom I do not share blood. While I have watched my social world continuously morph in an amoebic dance over the years, the boundaries that hold the organism together feel far less secure today than ever before.

Samantha Garfield, my favorite trend spotter, New York born and raised, is trying her hand at Berlin. Dan Sakamoto, sweetheart and photographer extraordinaire, has returned to Baltimore. My girl Steever, who through morning coffee dates and too much cheesecake stole a corner of my heart forever, takes off in a day or so to start school in Chicago. The list goes on. The exodus has begun. Power to them. I wish them all well in their explorations.

In all honestly, my heart is breaking a little. (Thank god for the internet.)

I am traveling to Rome for a month. When I come back, certain marks on the psychic map of New York as I understand it will have faded, moved, or will have been erased. A city I no longer recognize. Where is here?

It will be time to look upon the world with a new set of eyes once again.

Farwell, my doves.

So most of life is just showing up, checking in, and volunteering. Sometimes the question is asked, “Who wants to…” and before it is finished you just have to jump up, yell “I will!” and hold on for the ride. As it turns out, though,

My friends came to visit me all the way from Malibu!!!!

sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you throw that hand up only to have it slapped on the wrist like a gangly kid on Space Mountain. Yah, that’s right; adventures can be amazingly bad or amazingly grand; as long they are amazing you’re doing alright.

I’m covering two stories today in the span of one blog. They aren’t the same scouting or seeking, realizations or renegade antics. These aren’t on the caliber of riding the train in a lightning storm while the guards call from behind. These adventurous are the kind that sneak up on you; when you can  reason or rationalize – shut it or stumble forward. These are the adventures that are very hard to enjoy, hard to find as you can easily talk yourself out of it. These are often the most fun, the most rewarding, the most enjoyable – and usually less dangerous than the rest. Usually…

The Americans

I meandered with the goal of finding some delicious food at the top of my hotel; Morimoto’s Wasabi beckons every night with the promise of Eel Rolls and Salmon Toro calling like the siren to a sailor; with the same salty taste of a briny deep. The waves but an elevator, the churning depths simply the over indulgence in the sweetest Green Tea Ice Cream imaginable. My biggest question that night was what time to head on up. India eats at around 9:00pm.

Best... Ice Cream... Ever

America eats whenever it darn well pleases, hoorah! – usually between 6:00 and 8:00pm. I decided, this time, to head up as the Indians do – the first decision which would lead me to one of the best nights of my life.

Sitting at the sushi bar, surrounded by suits and sawed fish, I was suddenly surrounded by Bostonians from JP Morgan. This fellowship of financials spoke English with the rapidity that defines the Eastern Sea Board and offered to me new friends and a new opportunity. I struck up a conversation and by the end of the night we were yelling across the sushi as only those who have found friendship abroad can. The new found friends that we were, I opted to invite myself along with them on their night out. After some cajoling and my “new friend sales pitch,” we left with their drivers for North Mumbai; little did I know it was an hour and a half to our destination. Don’t forget we were leaving my hotel around 10:00pm. I had time to think it over…

The traffic stopped us dead numerous times and by the time we made it to the swank Bombay nightclub the clock hit Cinderella’s bedtime; usually mine too. “C’est le vie” I said as we ran downstairs to met up with New Zealanders and

The Grand Hyatt - Raining

Hindi stars; the rich and the regal. While we saw no Bollywood starlets this night, we would next time we visited.

Later this night, I left the Grand Hyatt and jumped in cab. “Back to the Taj” I said. “Tikka, tikka, Acha” He replied and sped forward. Now, I must say, 3:00am is an odd time to see India, especially from and a cab, and most specifically aboard the star lit new bridge. The new bridge, barely finished still with support construction struts,  is exactly where I would sit, above the river for a good hour – with great trepidation and a bit scared for my wellbeing. It was ok, I made it back to write this blog didn’t I?

The short story, that I want to tell, is that the cab driver pulled over on the newest bridge in India. We pulled over to help a woman and her driver fix a flat after being waved down. I didn’t really have a choice – it was the kind of

The bridge on the way to the North Mumbai

adventure that just happens. An hour later, we pulled into the Taj, 4:00am and feeling pretty good about ourselves. The cab driver, waving goodbye, drove off. We both knew we had shared a moment in Mumbai. I won’t ever forget it. Find me in person to hear more about this one – there are many details I’d like to add but my hand cramps so easily these days…

The “Businessman”

As you know I’ve been reading Shantaram – the book that details the lives, love, and losses of “Lin” in Bombay. It is set mostly in the streets surrounding my hotel and it is constantly in my mind. The smoking, the sounds, the stories, and the smiles swirl through my vision all day, every day. I think that’s why this particular sequence happened at all.

The life of this book is in the smiles. The author constantly acknowledges the types of smiles people have, and how they affect him. I became that way on this trip. I can pick out a man who I will or won’t talk to by his smile, his swagger.  One man I picked out because he gave me, and everyone he met, the innocent smile of the Buddha – making friends and making business with each handshake and greeting. I know that’s all he has in this world are his few dirty shirts, his cross-eyed wife, and his childlike grin. Whenever I go out now, I find him to help me. His presence is never missing from the street outside the Taj.

He has helped me buy a suit, cufflinks, souvenirs, and more. He gets a little cash for bringing in business, and I get the privilege of knowing I have helped him out a bit. This man is a good man; you can tell in the smile. I don’t know his name.

My Good Friend

Today, though, I met a man who took advantage; at least I think. It was so recent that I can’t quite make up my mind. My lunch hour struck and I sprang from my desk. I was heading to McDonalds – I know, I know, but let me say I have not tried it and I think I should before leaving: a culinary adventure if you will.

On the way to lunch I was waylaid by an Indian businessman. “Aaron, Aaron. How are you? Let’s go have lunch!” He said excitedly, offering his hand and smiling with a mischievous grin. “Huh..” I was stunned, almost mumbling by his friendly assault, “ I’m not Aaron.. I’m Harrison.” Darn I thought, already used my real name, and I don’t know him – travel mistake numero uno. His clothes disarmed my usual traveling senses. “Ok, Richard. Well I met some nice British men yesterday and they look like you. Where are you headed?” “I am headed to lunch, McDonalds.” I replied

“Oh no, we will go to Barrista it is much better.” He started walking me off. I don’t know what it was but I went; with alarm bells going off all over. Our conversation centered on me – . Every time I asked him a question of himself, his business, he replied in vagaries and subject changes – ok I get the picture. After he had finished

The Poolside Courtyard - My Thinking Spot

bragging about knowing the CEOs of my company, he let me know he would  put in a good word with Mr. Tata. “Right” I thought, “thanks.” When the bill came, I paid. He made a show of offering to treat “next time,”  to which I thanked him and offered the casual “Namaste.” We parted ways and I came away with a terrible feeling – he had my Indian cell phone number and I had just awoken from the hypnosis of the man’s disarming smile. Had I been swindled into giving up my cell number, my name, and a cup of coffee to be put in a worse spot later or was it just a friendly chat with a new friend in a coffee shop? 3 days left, I guess we’ll find out later.

Fin

So they may not seem “crazy” or “amazing” too you, but these instances are both examples of what can come from simply going with flow, jumping at new opportunities, and getting out of that comfort zone. This summer was one that wrenched me from my comfort zone and cauterized the wound. Sure, it can be hard to adjust, but with the right support structure back home and the excellent people of Taj, Pepperdine, and the best family there is; any adventure will be a good one.

My advice? Well, not to sound like a Nike ad but…. JUST DO IT! The majority of life is showing up, the rest is throwing that hand in the air, and yelling “I’ll do it, you can count on me!” Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t… but you’ll always have a good story.

I hope that's not Facebook at work... PROJECTS DONE!!!

Until next time…

afterwards,

when I am not with you

and you are alone enough

to count the nails in your heart,

tough, and studded like a treasure-house door,

when you arrange your silences

in the vase of an hour,

balancing the bouquet with memories

of hands held,

a spike of laughter

and the colour of my eyes

when you sit within the swell

of your heartbeat

and the purple tide of daydream

laps at the shore of all your selves,

and your skin sings, perfume-pierced

afterwards,

surrender to this thought of me:

as the mimosas of Maharashtra in May

long for monsoon

I long for you;

as the crimson cactus flowers of Thar

long for full moon

I long for you,

and in all my afterwards,

when I am not with you,

my heart turns toward the window of my life

and begs for rain

Gregory “Shantaram” David Roberts

A Literary Journey

The Hindu Trinity - Brahma, Vishnu, and Lakshmi

There are many journeys that man can take. He can find himself. He can find Love. He can find a reason to live. Some say he can find God. I have been traveling now for nearly 4 months – adjusting and re-adjusting to new people, new places, and new lifestyles. In Bangladesh I found the serenity that comes only when surrounded by the love and acceptance of the urban poor. Home for a month I could not help but examine the complex systems that so well contrast the freedom in poverty that is found in much of South Asia. Now, in India – a guest of Taj and and acting as a curriculum consultant – I live far away from the slums; a place hard to find that personal growth that everyone exclaims comes with a journey to India; or so I thought. Sometimes, personal growth comes at the most unexpected times and through little known people rather than the big philosophers. Today, I’ll show you how India – thus, far – has impacted my life through the writings and realizations of fictional Brahmin and an inarguably real Australian ex-con.

The River of Life? No, just the journey to Elephanta Island

I started this trip reading Siddhartha, the journey and self-realization story of a wandering Brahmin who meets the meandering Buddha. He is a man, throughout the journey, alone and yet one with his path. His personal story, one that mirrors the ancient Hindu stories of holy men, comes to focus on one very real, and ultimately satisfying notion: that no man can explain the truth, the oneness of god, and the meaning of reality; a person must discover that truth for himself. While many men, including Siddhartha’s own best friend, choose to follow the holiest of men; Siddhartha realizes that his journey through the river of life must not be of following, but of being taken. He must surrender himself unto God before he can come to that ultimate realization. While this literary piece was informative, and quite stimulating, another book really has captured my mind and guided my place in India. This is the story of Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Act 1: The Lost and Peaceful Mind

Shantaram follows the true story, written three times from the cells of prisons, of Gregory David Roberts – an escaped convict from Australia’s dirtiest and most corrupted prison. His escape drives him to India, fleeing the Western world and finding a home in the darkness and mystery that pervades the day and night of Bombay. He is not taken in so much as he survives on the streets of India following one guiding principle:That in India it is far better to be led by the heart than the mind.

The street where I work. Also where Leopold's is, and the sight of frequent black market dealings (not at my work).

The writing is superb, but the heart that is found in this epic journey is what makes the adventure incredible. The love and growth in the underbelly of the darkest city can’t help but fascinate the reader; it has greatly affected me in many ways.

The reason I write this blog – focusing on the literary journey – is because I want someone else to read it. It would be selfish of me not to try and pass on this book too as many people as I can. If I ever become a philosophy professor, able to design my own curriculum, this will be required reading. The following are a few of my favorite quotations. I hope they entice you to read, and to grow, as much as I have from this man’s journey – a journey that starts in Australia, drives into the slums of Bombay, wanders to the Afghani battle grounds with the, and is captured once more in the mafia of Mumbai.

Act 2: Reckoning

“The only force more ruthless and cynical than the business of big politics is the politics of big business.”

“Well, “ he puffed, “a man has to draw the line somewhere. Civilization, after all, is defined by what we forbid, more than what we permit.”

“…I couldn’t respond. My culture has taught me all the wrong things well. So I lay completely still, and gave no reaction at all. But the soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no colour or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one. And when the heart has its moment of truth and sorrow, the soul can’t be stilled.”

“Dider once told me, in a rambling, midnight dissertation, that a dream is the place where a wish and a fear meet. When the wish and the fear are exactly the same, he said, we call the dream a nightmare.”

“In this way is justice done… because justice is a judgment that is both fair and forgiving. Justice is not done until everyone is satisfied, even those who offend us and must be punished by us. You can see, by what we have done with these two boys, that justice is not only the way we punish those who do wrong. It is also the way we try to save them.”

“It’s such a huge arrogance, to love someone, and there’s too much of it around. There’s too much love in the world. Sometimes I think that’s what heaven is – a place where everybody is happy because nobody loves anybody else, ever.”

Act 3: The Climax

Mumbai Never Looked so Calm - Returning from Elephants Island

“All the loneliness and all the love I knew collected and combined in me, until my heart was as swollen with love for her as the clouds above were swollen with their mass of rain…”

“Prisons are the temples where devils learn to prey. Every time we turn the key we twist the knife of fate, because every time we cage a man we close him in with hate.”

“Anarchists… No political philosophy I ever heard of loves the human race much as anarchism. Every other way of looking at the world says that people have to be controlled, and ordered around, and governed. Only the anarchists trust human beings enough to let them work it out for themselves. And I used to be that optimistic once…”

Prologue

So far I am on page 509 of 900 and something. The journey is not nearly over. I hope at least one person reads this blog and picks up this novel.

Leopold's - Just missed the picture of Roberts.

Before I leave you, I want to tell you that only yesterday the author pulled up to Leopold’s – the café frequented often in this novel, and the first site of the Mumbai November attacks of 2008. He rode up on his Harley, got off, and went to the many Colaba Causeway gift sellers found lining the streets; he is one of them, he greets them not as a foreigner but as a friend – just as he does in the book. This is the tale of a man lost to the world; finding himself in the slums and darkness of humanity’s most loving city.

Lastly, Here is a LINK to the Amazon.com for sale page for those convinced to enjoy this journey on your own.

Until next time,

Thanks for reading.

“I was a revolutionary who lost his ideals in heroin, a philosopher who lost his integrity in crime, and a poet who lost his soul in a maximum security prison. When I escaped from that prison, over the front wall, between two gun towers, I became my country’s most wanted man. Luck ran with me and flew with me to India, where I joined the Bombay mafia. I worked as a gunrunner, a smuggler, and a counterfeiter. I was chained on three continents, beaten, stabbed and starved. I went to war. I ran into the enemy guns. And I survived, while other men around me died. They were better men than I am, most of them; better men whose lives were crunched up in mistakes, and thrown away by the wrong second of someone else’s hate, or love, or indifference. And I buried them, too many of those men, and grieved their stories and their lives into my own.”

Some books are like an exquisite meal, meant for indulgence and slow enjoyment.  Shantaram is one of those – written by Gregory David Roberts, the book tells the story of his escape from a New Zealand prison, his subsequent arrival in Mumbai, a visit to village India, and his life in the Middle Asian underworld.  Although some of the events are based on the author’s life, it is technically classified as fiction since he merged different events and characters for narrative flow.

My favorite books are the ones that immediately draw you into their world and make you care about the characters, and this one accomplishes that marvelously.  A few more choice quotes:

“The past reflects eternally between two mirrors -the bright mirror of words and deeds, and the dark one, full of things we didn’t do or say”

“Astounding and puzzling images from the city tumbled and turned in my mind like leaves on a wave of wind, and my blood so thrilled with hope and possibility that I couldn’t suppress a smile, lying there in the dark…In that moment, in those shadows, I was almost safe”

This book makes me want to jump on a plane to Mumbai and embrace the chaos and energy of the city myself.  Highly recommend it.

My motivations for reading this slim novel were hardly intellectual I must admit. Having momentarily put aside Shantaram due to its imposing length, I was wanting a slim book for my commute and my handbag. Also, my Dad bought this for me as he has been studying German for a while now and is keen that I share his enthusiasm. There was a time 15 years ago when I would’ve read this in the original German but of course and sadly I am no longer fluent so the English version is a compromise.

The novel takes the form of letters from the aforementioned Werther to what we presume is a close relative or friend, Wilhelm. Werther has been sent to another German city to sort out a relative’s will and there he meets the cause of his ultimate sorrow, Charlotte (Lotte). He falls quickly in love with her, and although she is betrothed to another, she is warm and generous with her time- a perfect “angel” and “charming creature”. Our Werther, while encouraged to seek employment as an ambassador’s assistant, becomes increasingly obsessed with the object of his affections and is eventually tortured by her beauty and good character.

The Sorrows of Young Werther is a document of one man’s struggle with unrequited love and the tribulations of late adolescence.In terms of my own reaction, I became exasperated with the overblown language and the hyperbole:

I could lead the best, the happiest life if I wasn’t a fool.

and

What a child one is! How one so craves a glance! What a child one is!

Later still, he is woebegone and cannot stop himself from visiting her and mooning over her, even now she is married:

Sometimes I don’t understand how another can love her, is allowed to love her, since I love her so completely myself, so intensely, so fully, grasp nothing, know nothing, have nothing but her!

We sense early on that things cannot end well and Werther’s social position make him even more vulnerable. He moves quickly from self-pity to morbid self-deception.

While some of the language is beautiful and memorable, I had little patience for Werther’s predicament and the exalted state in which he wrote many of his letters. Perhaps I am out of practice with so-called classical novels- although I was never a huge fan of Austen or James (shock and horror!) but was happy to read Charlotte Bronte or Dickens.

Despite my reservations and prejudices, this is an unusual and haunting read.

*The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Blogger’s own copy

I just started reading “Shantaram” by Gregory David Roberts – and I love it!

The choking humidity makes amphibians of us all, in Bombay, breathing water in air; you learn to live with it, and you learn to like it, or you leave.

If I did not know how to use my last 6 days in Senegal before I seat myself on the air plane, now I know.  Strange feeling today during my busy last day at the office. All reports are handed in and I am moving on to next phase.

For the people who have read Shantaram, word by word, Gregory Roberts has immortalized The Leopold’s Cafe at Colaba. Having visited this place virtually many a times while reading the book, I could not wait to see it when I arrived in Mumbai few days back.

The descriptive phrase “Getting Better with Age” entirely fits into the quality of this place. The characterization done by Roberts is indeed real and believable. The two sections of this place have strikingly different influences over the cutomer’s mind. He can’t just stay as a customer then, he becomes a part of this cafe, a part of the century old rich heritage anchored by its Iranian founders. The place is more or less crowded with the foreigners. You could hear a thousand different languages while sitting in there. The place had an aura of romance, power & crime. The smoky ambience and the dim lights were just an add-on to the aforesaid. The grand old clock, the corner portrait of Elvis, and the paintings of few other rock stars probably of 70’s and 80’s surpass the timeless criteria of artisitic value. The lofty tumbler to serve the beer was an innovation in style. You could just open the tap and fill your beer mug as the half meter tumbler gets empty.

Critically shaking up the ambience of this place, 26/11 made Leopold its first victim. The unnerving bullet marks swept the spirit of this place but not of its owner Mr Jehani. This made him even more bold and unshakeable, consequent to which was the opening of the cafe just after four days of the attack with the same never-say-die spirit.

You just can’t stop loving this place!