A Storm Named 'Snow'

I’m 42. I fall in love head over heals. But it ends unrequited (after the initial promise of togetherness and happiness). I return to my solitude, drinks and dream-world. At 46 I am shot (and killed) for my transgressions of the past.

If only ‘Snow’ could be summarised thus!

Orhan Pamuk paints a compelling, claustrophobic, dark, bleak and surreal picture in ‘Snow’. It’s not just the story of Ka, the poet, a political exile and his quest for happiness. It tells us the story of a society in turbulence. It tells the story of the people whose faith shatters along with their lives.

This is the second Pamuk novel that I read. There are some threads that run common in both the novels. One is the presence of ever-falling snow. There is no respite from it. Second is the strong female characters (and of course they’re irresistibly beautiful). Ipek and Shekure (of ‘My Name Is Red’) share the same traits – they are women who know what they want. Third is the role of the author himself in the book (in ‘My Name Is Red’ Shekure tells us that she’s told the entire story to her son, Orhan). And just as in ‘My Name Is Red’ in ‘Snow’ too there’s a character named after a colour. But there end the similarities. Beyond this, the style of narration, the mood, characterisation, the setting, the time – all are different.

As the snowfall continues, the town of Kars gets cut off from the rest of the world. As the snow falls, the events unfold, the poet-protagonist’s beliefs are shaken, the insecurities increase, claustrophobia sets in, and the political tale grows morbid. Ka, caught in this vortex vacillates between his love for everything Western (and hence secular?) to his new awakening for the religion. And his belief in achieving ever-lasting happiness in the bliss of love wavers throughout too, before being doomed.

The conflict of ideologies – of the Left, Western and the Religious – forms the centre of ‘Snow’. The freedom of choice and its non-availability makes matters worse. This is evident in the play that is staged (the unavailability of a headscarf even to be used in a play in the 1930’s contrasts sharply with the gasps of shock expressed by the audience watching the same play in the 90’s). One might even be forgiven if one sees a soft corner in the author’s narration for the religious youth. Then again there is the irony of extramarital relationships, pre-marital sex, wining – all condemned by Islam. And the doubts of the existence of God in the minds of the believer. ‘Snow’ isn’t just a good reflection of what’s happening in the Turkish society but also is a wonderful mirror of the happenings in the entire world. When one reads about the headscarves girls of Kars, one’s mind immediately recalls the memories of the Muslim girls in Paris. It also reminded me of the ugly bias in India when the issue was all over the media, thanks to the Sikhs in Paris and elsewhere in France (“It is important that Sikhs be allowed to sport their headgear” everyone said but the same support wasn’t seen anywhere for the girls who wanted to cover their heads).

When I read ‘Snow’ I was overcome by extreme emotions. I haven’t found another fictional character like ‘Ka’ that I could relate to. I could see myself in his thought process, in his behaviour. I saw my own failures in his. I suffer from the same superstitions, fears and fallacies. I exhibit the same kind of supercilious attitudes. I marvelled at the author’s ability in creating such a character (of course I’m no poet like Ka) while also getting irrationally angry for laying me bare like this to myself.

Games People Play

The phone rang just when I was about to enter the bath for a quick evening shower. It was KM. “Hi! How was golf today?” I asked. “Oh! Today I played 9-holes for the first time”. A few minutes of golf talk and the conversation came to its purpose. “Not having any sessions today? SY had a holiday today and she’d thought that there’d be one”. I could hear Mrs. KM (SY is Mrs. KM) prompting KM to ask if something could be managed now. “I wanted ma’m to call as I thought she might have wanted to rest on a holiday. If you want to play now, talk to others and let me know” I said (all ladies are addressed as ‘madam’). “Where do we sit?” “Anywhere. It could be at even my place. I have no problems”. Soon AG called and it was decided that we all would gather at my place in 10 minutes.

Flash (teen-patti) is the new addiction among some of us here. The entire camp of 15 officers is divided by the games of choice – golf and flash! Golf for the elite and flash for the plebeians! Of course there are enough plebeians aspiring to become the elite (and not entirely succeeding in their efforts). Before flash made its debut I too had tried my hand at golf but gave up before the elitist bug bit me. Three families and a few bachelors (forced, otherwise) get together regularly (since late October) during the weekends (and sometimes on weekdays too during the evenings), play flash, gossip (nothing ‘official’ about it most times, to borrow the popular phrase of Pepsi during an old cricket world cup), have dinner together. Everyone – earlier only the families, now even the bachelors – gets what’s been made at home and generally forget the cribs that one has about the workplace, lack of work, et al in Thimphu. It’s fun most times (and a lot of bitching behind each other’s back).

When the senior-most officer (barring the Chief) learnt of the ‘flashy’ ways of the plebeians he wasn’t too happy (he himself being ‘elite’ he obviously could see things from ONLY his point of view or blindness). He called a conference immediately and warned every one of the consequences of playing cards (any card game) with stakes. “I shall not allow anyone to play for stakes. I have seen many Units crumbling because of cards. So gentlemen, remember that there won’t be any more long evenings planned for playing cards at anyone’s home”. The same evening we all gathered at my place to play flash. Some were scared of course (like Mr. HS) but others were devilishly defiant (and to ensure the boss learns of our session we created enough ruckus outside right in the midnight).

Though everyone wants to play, none would want to say it. Everyone would look to the other or only give such signals and make such statements that would make oblique references to not having anything to do and trying to say that the ‘others’ want to play it. The ladies are particularly hooked to the game (Mrs. KM despised rummy and would groan endlessly while we used to play it). Each person has a pattern in playing. Each person’s desire too fluctuates everyday. Mr and Mrs. HS would love to play continuously if they’re winning while the KM couple would want a break after a good winning streak. Also it’s a fair toss between gaining those extra hours of sleep over playing flash for them. Earlier the AG couple would take a lot of interest to organise the sessions but after the game’s become popular (AG is also called Tashi – Tash, for cards in Hindi and Tashi, the patron saint; but Tashi means Auspicious in Bhutanese and Tibetan) they only join in and show a feigned reluctance! SA (my deputy at the office) is a forced bachelor. He is always keen to play but would complain the next day that he couldn’t sleep because the game extended beyond 11! He also can’t do without his daily dose of daaroo. So, suddenly between 8 and 9, he’d disappear for about 15-20 minutes, have two quickies and join us back – the smell sometimes giving him away. There’d be jokes – invariably behind his back – as he’d vanish. Rarely there’d be jokes about his Assamese accent too (this, I thought was cruel, so I had to ask others to stop). Earlier while I was still a smoker, I’d sneak out for a quickie every time tea/coffee was served (AG and SA would join in AFTER their tea was over).

KM and HS are at loggerheads (both try to cheat by giving signals to their wives; HS using his eyes and KM with the advantage of his native language not understood by any but me; but KM would always be upset whenever this is done by HS!). There would be minor skirmishes too at times. HS would be smiling sheepishly (his wife sulking) and KM would be sulking (his wife smiling) during such skirmishes! The AG couple are fair and also the luckiest in the game. I’m the reckless one. “One can’t guess when he’s playing seriously” is a common refrain heard from others. Sometimes we are joined by SK, the youngster (who’s managed to write every rule very clearly and also his own analysis of ‘How to play Flash and Win too’ but always ends up losing) and RT (prim, proper and plain lucky in getting trails).

If one’s sitting for long hours, there should be snack-breaks. So, there’d be a flow of snacks (since almost everyone gets something from one’s house) and tea/coffee. Sometimes I wonder if we get together to play or to feast. So, you’d have puffed rice snacks, potato wafers, ‘murukku’ (“how come this almost melts in the mouth?” “Oh, it’s ‘benne muruku’ – it’s made with butter”), ‘avarekalu’ (“What is this?” “Ah, it’s a type of wild beans available only in parts of South. It’s of course related to your vegetable ‘sim’. We soak the beans, take out the outer cover, semi-dry it and then fry it, add mirchi powder and other spices along with chewda, peanuts, and dry coconut to make this namkeen. How do you like it?” “It’s yummy, mummy!!”) , boiled sweet potatoes, bujia, mixture, moong dal, pakoras, bajjis, chewda, biscuits and cookies, cakes and pastries (mostly baked by the distinguished ladies and sometimes the Britannia cakes; pastries from Bhutanese bakeries are exorbitant to be served as snacks), lime juice, filter coffee (ah, the pleasures of being a South Indian) and even scrambled eggs (“Saddam really makes amazing egg burji. I should send Sangeeta to learn from him”).

The lunch/dinner that’d serve as a break while playing would also be a rather elaborate affair. “What are you making today? I’ll get pulao”. “Main to aaj mushroom-mutter banaayee hoon”. “Lovely!” “Mr. Sudhir would you please ask Saddam to make jamoons; you’ve really taught him so well”. “No, Mr. Sudhir I’d prefer to have hesarubele payasa”. “Ma’m I should learn how to make Vaangi Baath from you”. “We use the ready mix of MTR. If you want take a pack from us. I have a few to spare”. Such lunches/dinners ensure that new cuisines and recipes are tried out, microwaves are constantly working, the helpers at home are busy and we get sufficient calories to exercise throughout the week (my trousers groan as I write)!

It’s not just the adults who look forward to the flash-acts. Children love these sessions too. They get to play without being supervised, particularly video/computer games. And, they’re disappointed when the adults decide to end the sessions before mid-night! “Why are we leaving early?” they groan! It also helps that they have annual holidays at the moment.

Regularly there’d be a rather ‘HOT’ discussion during dinner (a ‘flash’ in the pan) probably for two reasons. One, to vent the frustration of losing and two, to keep oneself warm in the cold winters! Surprisingly (or not) the ladies don’t join the discussion – unless it’s about astrology, movie-stars, daily soaps or jewellery (yes, these too are discussed). I’m the only one who takes the liberty of getting flirty with the women (don’t know if they like it, but their grins say they bear it nonetheless). I call them ‘queens’, even ‘Teen Deviyaan’. The husbands barely manage to stay quiet and keep their hands to themselves as I even talk about the ladies’ weights bringing some appreciative noises from them. They also reciprocate with things like, “You look best with your French beard; you shouldn’t have shaved your moustache”. “Ma’m I had to choose between looking ugly and looking old. I chose the former” I respond.

So, the session went well today, some watched KBC while having dinner (stuffed paranthas (stuffed with methi, palak, peas and cheese), pulao, raita, mixed vegetable curry, cabbage, chicken curry, dal, carrot halwa and chocolate cakes). Children were excited to have some new company in SA’s daughter. And, suddenly the talk veered to common ailments and health problems and their cures. “I’m now trying acupressure for my backaches” Mrs. KM, the wife of a qualified doctor, and a dentist herself, said. That brought us to the end of the day of flash, feasting, flood of intellectual thoughts (on acupressure, Baba Ram Dev, Yoga and backaches). I burped contentedly as everyone left home only to be offended by the smell emanating from the kitchen (apart from the burp itself) of all the soiled utensils, the morsels on the dining table, floor, carpet, and bed. Small pains for large gains – an evening well-spent!

Mirage

I feel your warm breath
On my neck
Your arm around me
As I drift out of sleep
I hear your heartbeat
Your breasts
Caress my back
My ears redden
Goosebumps on the skin
I turn around
To hold you
And snuggle up to you
The icy, empty bed
Stares back
And my sleep
Forms a mist
On the windowpanes

Exhileration...

It finally happened. The entire world with that one moment turned beautiful, heavenly. I felt one with the universe. The ecstasy I felt was more powerful than a steamy session of passionate love-making.

It snowed. Slowly first. Small flakes. Like a shower of feathers. Like jasmine petals coming down from the skies. The contrast of the white snow with the dark skies took my breath away.

I fail to find adequate words to describe the experience. Even all the pictures I took won't do justice. One has to experience the snowfall oneself and understand what bliss is. One word stays with me though, 'serenity'. Coincidentally I'm reading, 'Snow' the acclaimed novel by Orhan Pamuk!

And then just as it had begun, it stopped. Suddenly.

Conflict, Cauvery and Chintan

At last the award is out. The tribunal has given its order regarding the oldest water-sharing dispute (probably) in the world. 419tmc of water to Tamil Nadu, 270tmc to Karnataka, 30tmc to Kerala and 7tmc to Pondicherry (Puducherry now?). As a Kannadiga my initial reaction to the order was a little disappointment (I hadn’t expected Karnataka to gain much from the protracted legal battle) and a little irrational anger. ‘Why is it that TN gets a disproportionately larger share of water while Karnataka gets so little?’ I screamed at the TV like Vatal Nagaraj (of the dark glasses-cum-stupid-cap with rabid dog behaviour infamy). However I am no political leader/activist nor am a member of Karnataka Rakshana Vedike. I don’t live in Karnataka (haven’t lived there in 10 years). So all my anger couldn’t be directed at any Tamil(even if one were around). Nor could I rationalise all the protests that might (be) take (taking) place in Karnataka – the looting, rioting, violence, burning and any other kind of rampage (I believe in violent words/vitriolic arguments and unfortunately not in physically violent behaviour). I have heard that unprecedented security measures have been taken by the state government to avert any untoward incidents (I'm sounding so clichéd).



Instead I went to the net and started reading the entire case history of the dispute (after many years again). I also read the breaking stories from the internet editions of leading newspapers. I google-searched and found enough links. I pored over the interviews, research papers, arguments that I found on the net (even some American universities have used this dispute as a case study). I read the order of the Cauvery Tribunal carefully. What I learnt surprised me.

Compared to the interim award given in 1991, Karnataka has to release less water to Tamil Nadu (182tmc – 175 actually, as 7tmc has to be released to Puducherry from this share again - now as compared to 205/210tmc). And, this is ONLY during a normal or good monsoon year and not during a rain-deficit year. And, the 419tmc (thousand million cubic feet) water TN is entitled to is inclusive of the water that joins Cauvery in TN. Importantly the measure would be the water level at Biligundulu and not at Mettur.

Karnataka has certainly benefited from the adjudication of the tribunal but the government may not accept it easily. The dispute has always been more political than real. It’s more an emotive issue than pragmatic. It is time for the government to ‘educate’ itself and the emotional Kannada elements of the reality of the dispute and the award. Isn’t it time to learn that the Cauvery network has more area in TN than in Karnataka? Has the river not been completely exploited by both the states already? Should the government not tell its citizens that even at the height of agitation it released water to TN and complied with the interim orders of the tribunal?

However I have a few points to pick. No axe to grind though. For one, what is this allocation for environmental purposes? Why should it only be allocated to TN? Why can’t there be some allocation on Karnataka’s side too? Or is it already included in the 270tmc earmarked as the state’s share? The second point – the more important one – is the tribunal’s silence on the sharing of waters during the non-normal (or dry or lean) years. It says there’d be proportional sharing. But is that fair? Should not there be a mechanism in place to know what’s proportional during the years of distress (the years that precisely cause agitations, riots and disturbances and stoke the political fires)? If the Tribunal couldn’t arrive at a mechanism in 17 years that it took to give this adjudication it is one of its failures.

I fervently hope that there are no more untoward incidents in either states, that there would be a comfortable truce and peace between the two states and its people (the two states have had bitter rivalries stretching over the historical ages and it’s time to forget the past). Cauvery is worshipped on both sides of the border. May She answer my prayers!

P.S. It’s possible that when I make my trip to Karnataka I’d be lynched by my own friends who’d read this piece. I’m looking forward to that!

Confessions of a Confused Mind

“I’ll get back to the office and surf the net at least. May be I’ll post some of the muck I’ve written on to my blog” I thought and started changing. Just when I was about to get my shoes, Rajinder, the office boy entered with a file in his hand. Some of the auditors were still at work (as they were proceeding on leave the next day). “What’s it? I anyways was coming to the office”. “Fax addressed by name Sir. Chaudhary Saab said it is URGENT”.

The fax read, “Your name has been considered by the Chief for the 63rd Staff Course at Defence Services Staff College, Wellington. Please forward your willingness by return fax”. I was thrilled. Getting into the Staff College is regarded an achievement in the Army (those who get there are considered to do well in the long run) and only 4 nominations are available for Civilian Officers (one each from IAS and IPS and two from all other Services combined). I was one of the four who had made it this year.

The fax gave me just 24 hours to ponder and accept/reject the nomination. Strangely this was the second wishful thought that had come true. The first was my posting to Bhutan. I’d thought to myself in 2000, “I wish I were posted to this beautiful country” when I was in Sikkim doing my army attachment at Nathula. This was the second. My colleague who was nominated in 2003 had not accepted it and I wished I were nominated instead then. Initially I jumped all around the place telling to myself, “I’ll go. This is the best thing to happen. I’ll be off Bhutan and rid of boredom”.

After a while I started thinking if it were right to go. “What would I get out of this course? All guys from the Armed Forces would be junior to me. I don’t want to be addressed by name. My ego wouldn’t take it. And, I’ll stand to lose a lot of money. It will take me years to save that otherwise. Today I’d want to earn money and I’d want to quit the government service provided I get an opportunity and would this course make any difference to my CV?” were my thoughts.

I spoke to SB, JS (my only friend in the Service), people who had earlier done this course, colleagues posted here from the Army and other Civil Servants I knew. In other words, I burnt a nice hole in my pocket after several international calls. Except for RN everyone else asked me to go ahead and join (Col. KM said, “If I were in your place I’d have immediately even left the place”). The only hitch everyone talked about was leaving Bhutan mid-way and lose out on the additional pay one’s entitled to (at present rates I earn Rs.25K extra per month; if the Foreign Allowance comes about it might jump to Rs.60K extra. Again, the salary of a Civil Servant isn’t great by any standards – even the junior managers in any industry earn much more).

My mind did a flop-flop every few minutes. One time I’d resolve, “I’ll go. To hell with the money and ego hassles that I have” and then again, “I don’t want to go. I would want to stay back here, earn the extra buck, travel around Bhutan and North-East”. I swung (rather my thoughts) like a pendulum. Each phone call made me change my mind. I honestly didn’t know what was best for me. This situation isn’t new to me. Most times when I’ve to take a pick between two given choices, I always end up dilly-dallying. Or even procrastinating. I felt I was an invertebrate. To give stability to my thoughts, my mind and myself, I even went for a long walk. It didn’t help much (I’m surprised I’m neither a Gemini nor a Libran, by star sign).

I called up SB. “Listen, before you start telling me again I should go, I want you to hear me clearly. Those who’ve attended the course – I mean the civil servants – say that it’s of no use. You’d learn about army strategies of how to set up an attack, sweep minefields, change location of camp sites during an offensive and the like. If I stay back in the department it’d be useful if I get posted as Financial Advisor. It might even help me get good deputations at the ministry. But if I want to quit service it might not be of any help. Of course I’d get a post-graduation in MSc (Defence Strategic Studies) from Madras University. There are times when I feel I should go and otherwise I think I should stay back here. I’ve called up my bosses and asked them time until Monday morning. So, think and let me know. Try and convince me what suits me the best”.

That’s me. Unable to decide what’s good for me. Incapable of thinking long term for myself (or even short term). I prefer not to make a choice. Else I prefer the choice to happen by itself. I wonder if I completely believe in providence and luck. My wonder stays with me along with my indecision.

'My Name Is Red'

My desire to read at least 25 books this year might just come true. When I travelled to Guwahati I could pick up 6 books (4 fiction, 2 non-fiction). Two of the books were bought by CL for me. Importantly I haven’t read a single title by any of the authors I’ve picked up this time (5 different authors; I picked up two titles of the same person).

The first book I read of the six was, ‘My Name is Red’ by Orhan Pamuk, the Nobel laureate of 2006. I still am reeling from the spellbinding effect the work had on me.

The novel, set in the 16th Century Ottoman empire is a murder mystery among many other things (murder mystery being the simplest of the descriptions). The novel begins with the corpse talking to the reader (the one who’s been murdered just then). Now you don’t expect a novelist to make the corpse tell the story do you? Well nor do you expect every character in the book speaking to you. But they do. Not just men and (some) women but also some of the paintings (or the attributes thereof) – as the novel is based on the lives of miniaturists of the time (the victim and the murderer are miniaturists). The novel also relates the glory of miniature painting and its decline (due to the spread of the influence of Western painting into the Islamic culture) vividly. It also is the saga of love – the love of Black for Shekure over many years. A story that recounts the love that’s lost, found and lost again. One comes across a storyteller who also happens to be a cross dresser (if this shocks you don’t read further), a world where men desire and lust for young boys (and it seems almost all men do here), a religion that influences the entire fabric of life (Islam), the gossip at the coffeehouse (where you’ll find the story teller narrating the tales of a dog, a tree, Red and the Satan) and a raging debate on the changing morals (well, the entire debate is about the change taking place in painting and painters but then one tries to read between and beyond the lines too).

Orhan Pamuk writes in Turkish. If his work is THIS brilliant even after translation, one can only wonder how marvellous it might be to read the original. As an author his triumph lies in the nuances he brings to the characters he sketches, the dry wit that flows through the narration, the beautiful critique of religion and the amazing treasure of historical data he presents without boring the readers. As I read the novel my respect grew for not just the art of miniature painting but for the religion, Islam. This is a must-read for any person who loves books.

Spread the Aroma!

India Post released its first ever fragrant stamp. I was happy on two counts. One, as a member of the philately club I was one of the first to receive this stamp. Two, the stamp bears the heavenly fragrance of sandal wood, the Royal Tree of Karnataka (declared so by the Wodeyars in 1792). Even the First Day Cover released bears its unmistakable scent.

3 Million stamps have been brought out. Those interested may rush to the nearest Post Office and grab one (costing Rs.15) for keepsake! Don't ask me to write you a snail-mail and affix this prized stamp of mine!

Trivia!

I did two things this year I almost thought I wasn’t capable of.

1. I quit smoking. (It’s a month, a month!!!) - time to change my display/profile picture on the blog!
2. I sport a clean-shaven look (and I’m feeling comfortable about it unlike the earlier times when I’d cringe to see my own face in the mirror)

Life’s good. It could get better too!