spoon

Let me breathe

18

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Life. It’s one of those lousy words you keep hearing all the time that will practically make your life hell, if you know what I mean.

Existing has taken precedence over living, ‘follow your heart’ has become an overstatement, you talk about your passion and all you get back is a lecture on reality; you find ways to motivate yourself, you somehow deal with your frustration in your own way – by listening to music or with an intense workout session or by drinking that hot cup of coffee, whilst enjoying the nip of cool breeze or maybe by doing something utterly crazy; and just when you have started to think that you are in good shape, it all begins – ‘Look at him, look at her, why can’t you think and be like everyone, why don’t you just swim with the current, why don’t you go to temple, why don’t you believe in god, why do you take so many chances, why can’t you be pragmatic, what’s wrong with you, what’s your problem, what have you thought about your future, what are you thinking now, what are you going to do, why do you have to run so much, your legs are going to give away someday, be in your limits, when are you going to settle down …?’

Well, why can’t you just let me breathe, for heavens’ sake? I’m not trying to be different from the rest of the folk. I simply don’t care about what others do. Now just leave me alone, goddammit!

As if this is not enough, the world is rotting. Hell, yes, it is rotting in hell. People don’t have courtesy anymore, they don’t have manners, they’ve confused assholitude with attitude; those presumptuous bastards! Yet they have the audacity to point a finger at me and say that I ain’t good. But you know what the crazy thing is? They are right in their own way. That’s the way to live. Be a dissolute asshole and you are a cool guy. So listen to me you freaking pieces of shit, here I come. The ‘cool’ guy.

Some loser once said, ‘Manners maketh man.’ Bring him to me and I shall break his neck, for I committed the sin of believing in his words and paid for it. It ain’t true, what he said. Bad, uncouth guys are the cool ones these days. Even the super-duper hit Ra. One says that. No, seriously, trust me on this. You are not supposed to reply when someone sends you a text message, you are not supposed to call them back when they are trying to reach you; courtesy, anyone? Come again. What’s that word? Nope. It’s obsolete. You are absolutely right when you say you are busy. Some pathetic losers visit your blog and read your literary masterpiece and leave behind a comment. What next? You are not supposed to reply. It’s as simple as that. I mean, why should you? Those morons don’t have anything to do, right? They are worthless, they are miserable. You don’t have to acknowledge them. Really.

You should learn some profane words and brazenly use them. Why? Because it’s the in-thing, man. You shouldn’t hesitate even when there are elders or children or women around. You should learn to use the word ‘fuck’ in different ways; as a noun, adjective, adverb, etc. If you don’t learn this art, your English is no good, believe me. I have thus learnt it and learnt it well, you fucking freaks. Oh, wait a second. It feels good to use the word. It feels fucking good. There you go. A gerund.

You don’t have to know the meanings of words like joie de vivre, ebullience, blithe or entrance, but you should know how to use ‘fuck’ in each and every fucking sentence you use. It doesn’t matter if your grammar is bad, but you’d better know how to use ‘fuck’. Or else your ‘additude’ gets fucked up. Big time. Also, you should incorporate phrases like, “I was like, ‘oh, what the hell!”, “yes bro, no bro”, “howz you?”, etc. Mainly, the preposition ‘like’ is the new rule. Even facebook believes in it.

Talking of language, there is one more thing: never use your mother tongue when you want to get across with someone at, say, a kick-ass mall. If Kannada is your mother tongue, you’d better hide it and speak English. People may not respect you if you go about speaking Kannada. You then have a petit bourgeois mentality. You don’t believe me? I dare you. Go to some Café in Bengalooru and try.

Did you understand everything I said, you fucking assholes? And hey, get a tattoo. Tattoos have a history of their own. Tattoos, like perfumes, should reflect your personality. I don’t know which freak said it. But don’t you worry about it. Just get a tattoo, all right? Any design will do. Many film stars and rock stars have them, you know. That’s why you should also get them.

Do you understand, you freaking phoneys? Do it because everyone else is doing it. That’s the law. Support slut-walk, support tomato festival and support everything that’s western. Watch and encourage shows like Roadies and Big Boss and the lot, and learn how to be an asshole, for assholes and bitches are the new gentlemen and ladies. Did you get my drift? So, arise, awake! Stop not till you become an asshole!

I believe in every word I said. I have sworn to be like that. Maybe I already am. But if you think I’m not and yet to achieve the above standards, I promise you I’ll try my best to be one, soon. All I ask in return is one little thing: stay the fuck away from me and leave me alone. I don’t care about your success, I don’t care who your girlfriend is, I don’t care if you’ve bought a car, I don’t care if you’ve cleared some super-difficult exam; unless you are an important person in my life, I don’t care about anything that’s related to you.

I’ve lost interest in Cricket, I’ve no interest in reality shows, I rarely watch movies; for my world is something else, something beautiful, let me live in it. I don’t want to attend your parties and functions; so stop inviting me. I have no interest in your affairs, maintaining two girlfriends doesn’t make you a hero, so stop boasting about how and when you did them. I don’t give a rat’s ass.

For once let me live in the moment. Let me have my coffee, without your bugging about my life. Everyone has his own baggage and I have mine. For it’s heavy with lots of dreams and my creativity, it takes sometime for me to lift it. I’m not in a hurry. Let me travel, both inside and outside of me. Freedom is one of the easily available things in life, yet so costly. You have made it that way. Let me buy it for once. Get away from me. Get away from my world. Let me enjoy the silence around me, and if possible, the silence inside me. Let me run peacefully early in the morning, and while doing it let me try and grow wings, let me fly, leave me alone, let me breathe, let me live; let me live, while I’m still alive…

Copyright © Karthik 2011

Kaivalya

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Stories have always ruled my world. Right from my childhood. Whether it's fiction or a real incident, as long as someone narrates it in an interesting way, I am game. Nothing fascinates me more than a good story.

When I grew up and started reading novels, I entered into a whole new world – a world where I made a lot of new friends, a world in which I want to spend the rest of my life.

Talking of reading novels, thriller/mystery has always been my favourite genre. Although I enjoy other genres too, a good thriller on any given day works better. Nothing beats that. Romance is the only genre I don't prefer. And horror/paranormal is the only genre I wished to have read, but never could (for reasons unknown).

After watching the movie, The Shining, I cursed myself for not having read the novel first. However, that got me thinking. When it comes to Indian authors, there are of course superb storytellers like R. K. Narayan, Amitav Ghosh, Vikas Swarup, but there has never been an author who could make up for a thriller similar to Forsyth or Ludlum or King. Sure there are plenty of award winning writers like Adiga and Rushdie, but in my humble opinion, they are not as entertaining as Archer, Sheldon, Brown and the lot. (Ashwin Sanghi and Amish are exceptions, maybe. I haven’t read them yet. So can’t speak for them.) Genre authors are scarce in India. But this all changed when I picked up a brilliant novel called Kaivalya, by Sumana Khan.

Until Kaivalya happened, as I said earlier, I had never read a paranormal thriller. Set in the midst of lush forests of Sakleshpura, Karnataka, it starts off with a bang. Before you know it you are sucked mercilessly into deep forests and the mystery that unfolds there.

Kencha, a tribal, is found dead in the forest under strange circumstances. His body is branded with a mysterious message written in Halegannada, an ancient and defunct version of modern day Kannada. As Dhruv Kaveriappa, the Chief Conservator of Forests, starts investigating, it gets more and more complicated with each step he and his team take in the forest. Animals die for no reason. An ominous shadow hovers around the people. A vacationing tourist finds an ancient gold and diamond studded pendent in the forest. If you find all these things horrific, then wait till the woman wears the pendent …

Parallel to what is happening in and around the forest, a handsome man in his mid-twenties, Neel, starts experiencing strange things in his lavish penthouse in Bangalore.

The branded message on the tribal man written in Halegannada speaks of Vijayanagar Empire of the 1500s.

What is Kaivalya? Or perhaps who? What is Kaivalya’s story? What is the relation between Kaivalya’s story and the dreadful things that are happening now? How is the Vijayanagar era linked to the present day, i.e. 2005? (Yes, the story is set in 2005. There is a reason for it and you’ll know when you read it) If these things don’t stir your curiosity, then what will?

The two stories (one that is happening in Sakleshpura and the other in Bangalore) that seem unrelated to each other merge towards the end and bring the story to a shattering climax. The truth is far more terrifying than you could have imagined.

I have watched a lot of horror movies that provide a lot of good thrills. But can a book provide the same amount of goose bumps, I wondered. That was before I picked up Kaivalya. Sure it has a lot of scenes that will make you jump. And this is where Sumana Khan scores. Scaring the readers is not easy. For instance, a movie has a lot of things to offer – performance of the actors, a forbidding background music, camera angles, etc. But when it comes to a book of a similar genre, it’s a different ballgame altogether. You only have the power of your words to paint that scary picture.

As I read on, I could hear the screams of the victims, I could smell the foul smell that occupies the house and forest, an indication that something terrible is about to happen, or perhaps, that has already happened. I could even feel that menacing shadow hovering above me when I’d slept for a while after reading about 80 pages. That’s the effect the book will have on you.

Then again, it’s not a typical whodunit story. The twists come subtly, when you’ll be least expecting. The characters come alive beautifully. All are ordinary people going about their lives in an easy manner. But when the same ordinary people are thrown into an abyss of horror and mystery, when pitted against an impossible enemy, they don’t have any other option except to fight the battle in an extraordinary way.

Characterization is one of the most important aspects of storytelling. And Sumana Khan handles it expertly. There are plenty of characters and each one of them has an important role to play. None of them is sidelined. Be it Drhuv, the hero; his love interest, Tara, DSP Joshi, Dr. Bala and Dr. Nithya, Shivranjani and her husband Ravikanth, Inspector Rao, Neel and his friend VJ, Inspector Shakti, Arundhati and finally, a bewitching, cold-blooded villain, Matchu – one of the best negative characters I’ve ever come across. Brutal, handsome, a genius in his game. He’s certainly one of the highlights of the novel. Whether you are a man or a woman, you just can’t stop yourself from falling prey to his charms.

Each and every character will be etched in your memory. Although some of the characters are away from the main action scene, yet fighting their own battle, they are all interlinked and brought together in the end to fight the bigger enemy. As a reader and as a person with a lofty ambition of writing a novel someday, this, to me, was an important lesson in storytelling.

Right from the first page to the last, the pace never falters. It moves at a rattling speed. And when the climax hits you, you’ll be dumbfounded. The last paragraph or for that matter, the last line is like a kick in the gut. It takes sometime to come out of Kaivalya’s effect. This is how a good story should be. It shouldn’t leave you even after the last page is turned.

There are one or two weak points in the story though, but they are trivial and sure to go unnoticed. Not related to the main plot. For example, a character called Shivanna, (a close associate of the protagonist Dhruv), who is depicted like an important character in the beginning of the story, suddenly disappears. He never comes back into the story. Whatever happened to him is never revealed.

Anyway, in the midst of stupid novels with stupid names (Oh, Shit! Not Again, to name one) that are coming into the Indian market, Kaivalya is a welcome change. For one, no other Indian author (at least not to my knowledge) has tried this genre.

All in all, this is a brave book written for brave readers. Definitely not for the faint-hearted. If you enjoy horror / mystery / paranormal thrillers, then don't miss this.

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You can order the book here.


Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

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I had successfully managed to avoid Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner for a very long time. The book had been silently sitting in my personal library, waiting to be picked up. But Forsyth, Ludlum, Wallace, Archer, Narayan and the lot kept dominating my world. They still continue to do so, and I’m happier that way.

One of the main reasons that kept me away from The Kite Runner is the fact that it is a morose story. Now I’ve always had a problem with such stories. Sometimes in competitions only those stories win that pull the strings of your heart. Whether it’s on the international scene or otherwise, between a tremendously researched thriller and a heart-wrenching story, it’s the latter that always wins. I’ve always hated that trend. It’s the same when it comes to movies. A recently released Kannada movie is a huge hit. It’s a tragic story and it’s pathetic. My friend and I tore our own clothes, and by the time we came out of the theatre, we were looking like beggars. Anyway, let’s not get there.

I’m not complaining about The Kite Runner though. I liked it immensely, all right; but more because of the way of writing rather than the story itself. Surely there are moments that really squeeze your heart, moments that make you stop reading and introspect upon your own life, moments that teach you to take a severe beating instead of running away and feel guilty later on, which by the way is one of the biggest lessons that one should learn. Sooner the better.

All these things are explained, or to be specific, shown so beautifully that it makes the reader relate to the characters, easily. This is the part, which really fascinated me to the core. A perfect example for, “Show, don’t tell” – the golden rule of storytelling. The story drags a bit here and there, and sometimes it gets boring too. But what a superb way of storytelling! The characterization, the voice, the language, the narration – everything is top notch. Every sentence is fantastic. Every paragraph paints a heavenly picture of a hellish world. If I’m to read the book again or pick up his next novel, it will be because of these very reasons. The entire book is like a lesson in creative writing.

Khaled Hosseini is certainly one of the most powerful storytellers that there is now. Wonder why the so-called bestselling authors of India (read Rs. 95/- authors of India) can’t learn from Hosseini! Just like Hosseini, they too use first-person narrative. But all you will read about is the self-obsessed narrator/protagonist yelling at the top of his voice, “Me! Me! Me!” That’s the only thing that constantly rings in your ear. “Me! Me! Me!” It’s too forced, too loud, and too obvious. Can’t they learn from their 3 glorious mistakes? Or is it 4 already?

Robert Ludlum once said, “To me storytelling is first a craft. Then if you are lucky, it becomes an art form. But first it’s got to be a craft. You’ve got to have a beginning, middle and end.”

So if writing is indeed an art, then Khaled Hosseini is a terrific artist. May he write more and enthrall the world!

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My Library

Karthik's Book Montage

The Negotiator
Malgudi Days
As The Crow Flies
Swami and Friends
The Devil's Alternative
The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Godfather
The Seven Minutes
The Prize
Atlas Shrugged
The Fountainhead
If Tomorrow Comes
Digital Fortress
The Chancellor Manuscript
The Bourne Supremacy
The Bourne Identity
The Fist of God
The Fourth Protocol
The Odessa File
The Day of the Jackal


Karthik's favorite books »