A Suitable Review

Facts (as a matter of fact)
Name: A Suitable Boy
Author: Vikram Seth
Genre: Melodrama but with emphasis on characters or Bollywoodian
Publisher: Penguin
Pages: 1364 only
Weight: 800 gms
Started Reading :  August 2015
Completed Reading: October 2015

    It has been a literary pleasure reading this epic. If not for now, I wouldn't have been able to read a book this fat and so elaborate. The loneliness of post delivery, sleeplessness, anxiety etc were cured to a certain extent because of reading.

    So, I would try to read at least 5 pages every day before I fall asleep. I would feel all the characters of the book are waiting for me, they are waiting to tell me their story, they are waiting to unfold themselves. I could not sense the face of any of them but it was a visualization beyond plain characters.
 
    First of all, let me warn you about the weight of the book itself. The author also mentions this in his preface itself. I did sprain my neck a little, had severe arm pain few times. I suppose the author himself also mocks at the density of his book. He mentions that the Shakespearean books should be torn into smaller parts that can be read at your comfort maybe even during a light walk thru a cemetery. Maybe this book should also have followed that path and been divided into 3 parts, each part introducing the "suitable contenders" and the fourth book being the finale!!!

    Now to the actual story itself... the book begins and ends with a marriage as you would have already guessed. But there are several other events that sway the story between varied emotions of happiness, friendship, passion, jealousy, fear, anger, dejection, anticipation and silent love.

    Yes, this book is quite like our very own Bollywood movie in some sense but the emotions expressed feel more practical and realistic. How logically each person is introduced, grows and contributes to the growth of the story and eventually ebbs out is so unpretentious.

    As the story grows it's remarkable, and the subtle way in which he introduces each of the "suitable" contenders is very interesting indeed. The sentiments expressed are so true and touching, like this one where one of the suitable contenders puts it -

                      "I am a practical man and I am proud of it - but sometimes I come across situations that I don't know how to handle despite my well formed opinions and I find that after all perhaps that there is less reason to be proud than I thought "


    This book has been written in an era when postal letters were the fad. It felt so nice to read the long letters of Mrs.Rupa Mehra, the practical reply of her son Arun Mehra, the no-love but plain worldly exchanges between the heroine and one of the contenders... And so on.

    That left me wondering, now, in this era of short messages and emoticons, we may loose to express ourselves as completely and as thoroughly as we are made to be or may be the emotional center of our brain, the amygdala may grow vestigial! And then who will be left to explain the longing of love, the pain of rejection, the "herewith-find-enclosed" and the "Lots-of-love""s... Our literature will suffer an incurable paralysis. 

    The wikipedia informs that there would be a sequel to this book, titled of-course "A Suitable Girl" to be released in 2016. And well, I am waiting for it.

Let me leave you with these words from the book -

 Hope this will inspire you to do some weight lifting...err reading!!!

9980065496

She has called yet again... Ah Ma not again. I get annoyed as I see the number "9980065496 AMMA" displayed on my mobile screen. How many times does she call me. She wants me to get married, have children... and umpteen advices. I would avoid discussions, tell her I am busy, or my routine phrase "nanna tale tinbeda amma" (don't eat my head). Then i got married etc...

She would call me at least once everyday to either ask about me or scold me that I have not returned back her call, or to tell about the latest article she read in her favorite magazine "Kasthuri". We would very rarely gossip, that was unlike both of us.

She would give me small tid bits about raising kids, home cleanliness etc... like any other mother. Her phone call was my strength as well as my weakness. We would fight, laugh, cry all emotions filled in our phone calls. If she didn't like what I was saying she would cut the call abruptly only to call back again from 9980065496. That one call from 9980065496...

AMMA was working, was sufficiently healthy, but concerned about her 2 daughters.

 She was a very independent lady, tough to ignore. She would call anybody and everybody, till her point was heard. She  had the phone number's of magazine editors, tanker water suppliers, the maid's daughter's, what else do you need she had it all.

Her mobile phone was THE most quintessential device or in fact her best friend. It would be with her all the time, safely kept below her pillow when she slept. It always had enough currency and charge, you never knew when she would need it.

All this seems like a distant past now. We both sisters are married and have settled well into our lives. And now I only stare at the contact list in my mobile "AMMA 9980065496".

AMMA succumbed to a rare form of brain cancer. In the initial days she atleast remembered who we are, she would still try and call us. But slowly she lost her memory, forgot all about us, her mobile phone and all other worldly things. She only remembered Anna (my dad). I had to reluctantly delete all contacts from her phone except ANNA's so that she wouldn't call anyone else.

Towards the end of her days she became completely opposite to her original self - slim, fair complexion, long lovely locks,  sharp memory, always active and quick like mercury (she was fondly called so by her colleagues).

Now I only stare at the contact in my phone "AMMA 9980065496" yes all in caps as I always thought small letters don't give respect to elders.

The phone will no more ring for 9980065496, no more advice, no scoldings, no one who will care for me like  her, no more malnad-style culinary discussions, no more literary conversations, no more maternal love, no more no more no more AMMA.

Half Empty, Half Full

My left pocket is empty,
it only has memories now...
of tales of discipline,
of special malnad cooking
stories heard from amma and ajji.
of how I grew up, what was our family like,
to never-say-no, to ever-be-ready.
to never hesitate to help any one.
to fight stage fear and always be ahead.


But my right pocket in now getting filled,
with stories from Aditi's school,
of dreams about my new baby
of our life as family of four in future.
And this is what I will be passing on
to Aditi's left pocket....