Monday, July 27, 2009

Three books; three Indias


I got to read three books this fortnight. Nothing unusual, you might say. Agreed. Many bibliophiles read even more books in a fortnight. Sometimes, I too do.

Nonetheless, I wish to share my reading experience. By sheer chance- yes, chance because the limited treasure in the Bhopal’s British, nay, the Vivekanand Library, doesn’t afford me luxury of planning-—all the three books are about contemporary Indian history, In a way, each compliments other about the recent history of the country.

The books are –The Story of My Assassins (author Tarun Tejpal), The Red Sun ( Sujeet Chakraborty) and the “ Riding the Tiger : Understanding India, the World’s Fastest Growing Economy” ( William Nobrega and Aashish Sinha).

The first book is a harrowing tale of the crime underbelly of semi-urban and urban India, the second deals with history of Naxalism, and the third pays glowing tributes to the potentialities of India surpassing China in near and the USA in a distant future as the world’s Super Power. This much introduction of the books should suffice.

For, I don’t intend to review them. My intention is to share experience of reading three books at a time- not simultaneously, of course; turn-by-turn; one chapter from one then another from another.

The experience was quite spellbinding. For instance, you have just been shaken by Sujeet’s lucid description of how the tribals of Bastar are caught in the crossfire between the Salwa Judum and the Naxalites, and the next hour you are treating yourself to the rosy projection of Reliance retail outlets in the next five years by writer duo- Nobrega and Aashish. As the stark contrast of the books begins to gnaw into your middle-class sensibilities, Tarun Tejpal’s superb prose takes you to the breeding grounds of crime cartels on Mumbai railway station platforms as well as politically –patronized bandicoots of Bundelkhand.

I realized I could finish the books faster than my usual time. The contrasts in the books were irresistible. On the whole, all three spoke about India but of different Indias- one that is riven by fratricidal war of tribals , another wallowing in criminal-political-bureaucratic nexus and the third where the middle and upper class urban populace is going ga ga over “ India Shining”, blissfully oblivious of the other two Indias’ growing decay.

More importantly, the turn-by-turn reading provided me a greater perspective to understanding India’s chilling dichotomy. The contrast often inspires-whether in appeal fashion or in book reading.

I consider myself fortunate to have discovered the joy of reading more than one book—preferably of different genres-- at a time pretty early in my life. This saved me from getting one-dimensional. The delightful memories of alternate reading of Ram Charitmanas of Tulsi Das and dialectic materialism of Karl Marx in early eighties still tickle me. I must thank my mother who kept me glued to Indian classical literature and initiated me to its unfathomable virtues.

Incidentally, my mother is with me. We still discuss literature. A mother is too close to her son for the son to thank her for what she has done to him- wittingly or otherwise. I only recall her gentle goading to make my reading so catholic without saying a word when we talk literature.

Unfortunately, quite a few of my old friends did not have my kind of mother. They were brilliant but never attempted to test the joy of varied reading. They were too besotted by Marxist literature. Of those who failed to cure themselves of the intoxication of one-sided reading are sworn enemies of books now. I can’t name them.

Monday, July 20, 2009