Here it is!!!!

 One day after work, I felt very lonely, family and friends seperated by time and distance. I questioned my decision to follow my career all along knowing I love it truly. Then I remembered some of my close friends who had bigger problems than loneliness, especially those who were terminally ill and their living days were numbered. That same day, I received an email from someone I respect and adore a lot, and it was obvious I had lost this person from my life. I suddenly felt lost in the ocean of life looking for a beacon of light. I randomly saw this book’s synopsis on bn.com:

Maybe it was a grandparent, or a teacher. Someone older who understood you when you were young and searching, who helped you see the world as a more profound place, and gave you advice to help you make your way through it.

I immediately wanted to read it that I actually bought the book at 11.00pm for all of $15, it is a very big amount for me and I always use public libraries. I am glad I did that, I am going to send it to my sister. Sometimes, when I have a good book close to me, I feel I am with a good friend. My loneliness vanishes.

Morrie’s preparation for his death with serenity and love is what this book revolves around. There is another book I read with the same theme, The Last Lecture, but Morrie’s teachings stick in my mind more.

He talks about

1. how we need to live life like we will never live another day. He says "learn how to die, and you learn how to live."
2. how to detach from emotions by first letting it wash through you completely.
3. dying peacefully. And for that you need to love the way you lived your life - forgive others, but most importantly forgive yourself for your errors.
4. how youth is so overrated when with age we become better persons.
5. Money is not the primary source of joy as our culture paints.
6. We live after we die in the loving memories of others.
7. Spouse and kids are irreplaceable joys of life.
8. Love is the only rational act. Love or die.

Just like that, on that same day I found my high school math teacher on a social netowrking site. She had left a message for me saying she remembered me and had spelled my name in the exact wrong way I rebelliously spelled during my teen years . I was exhilarated. I realized I always have a ‘Morrie’ by my side. They just are different physical entities. Even though I have been losing them, I have always found them back, just like Mitch.

PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS BOOK, not worth the time

There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they’re necessary to reach the places we’ve chosen to go.

That’s what learning is, after all: not whether we lose the game, but how we lose and how we’ve changed because of it and what we take away from it that we never had before, to apply to other games. Losing, in a curious way, winning.

Anyone you want to keep in your life - never take them for granted!

My friend could not stop singing this book’s praises. I had earlier picked up Hosseini’s sequel to this - A Thousand Splendid Suns and put it away for some forgotten reason. So, I was not listening to her. But again she told me to try this and it is a much better book than its sequel. Ash: For you, a thousand times over

I expected this book to be all about terrorists, Osama Bin Laden, and USA. Pleasantly surprising, it was not. It was about a child, dad, friend, fear, courage, and basic humanity. I almost could feel the connection with Amir until he went back into Kabul. And after reading this book, olden Kabul appears very similar to my native town in South India. Even the words are from hindi.

My own mother along with her parents and siblings moved into India from Burma during the civil war in Burma. My mom has told me of the house she lived until she was 10 and how her dad used to throw all these parties. My grandfather was the world to my mother until he passed away with a cardiac arrest. My mother’s descriptions of Burma fits perfectly of Amir’s dad’s Kabul.

Also, the way Amir treats his dad, is exactly how I treat my mom, she is larger than life figure for me. She helps anyone who goes to her for help, she is very fair, and very courageous. But, there are still things I find as flaws in her, just as any daughter is entitled too. I love my mom, I hate my mom, just like Amir did with his dad. Everything I am today, my life in USA, my husband, everything is a gift to me from my mom. I love her, I miss her. She is alive though but I keep postponing my visit to India due to some random reasons. No one can leave my mom’s house without the stomachs filled with a lot of tasty food. My cousin used to say, devi athai veetttukku ponaa, mothallaiye pothumnu sonnathaan rendaavathu thadavaikku apram ezhundhrikka viduvaanga - If you tell enough food, aunt will still serve it 2 more times before you can leave the table.

Because we always had visitors from morning till night, we always used to have tea/coffee and food at all times in our house. Nowadays, I don’t get that kind of treatment even in Chennai. But my mom is still the same. Since she is getting older, she will quietly order at the nearby Karaikudi / Ponnusamy She will not let anyone leave the house without kai nanaikkama - wetting their hands to clean after eating food.

My mom also spent more time solving the miseries of her friends’ lives than she ever spent time with me privately. Even on days of my celebration it felt like her whole world was invited and she spent her time taking care of them. This might be one of the reasons I try to spend a lot of 1 on 1 time with my child than throwing parties for her birthdays. But, I have also inherited the fact I cannot not invite anyone to my parties, and in USA it is not feasible to invite all our friends home on the same day

And my mom will always want to do more to others than she gets, and her left did not know what her right hand did.

And just like Amir, I always feel guilty that I have not come even close to mom in her magnanimity and generosity and patience. A friend teases me that the G in my name stands for guilty.

Amir himself becomes a bigger man than his dad by accepting Hazara into his family. Although I possibly cannot imagine that in my case, I am peaceful and thankful I have the mom I do.

I wish books like this replaced history and civics textbooks in school.

Some lines that took my breath away:

"They do nothing but thumb their prayer beads and recite a book written in a tongue they don’t even understand." He took a sip. "God help us all if Afghanistan ever falls into their hands."

And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everone else does too.

After everything he’d built, planned, fought for, fretted over, dreamed of, this was the summation of his life: one disppointing son and two suitcases.

I reached across the table and put my hand on his. My student hand, clean and soft, on his laborer’s hand, grubby and calloused. I thought of all the trucks, train sets and bikes he’d bought me in Kabul. Now America. One last gift for Amir.

When we left, everyone was sad to see him go. Kabul, Peshawar, Hayward. Same old Baba, I thought, smiling.

I took the keys, stunned. I looked from him to the car. "You’ll need it to go to college," he said. I took his hand in mine. Squeezed it. My eyes were tearing over and I was glad for the shadows that hid our faces. "Thank you, Baba."

There was so much goodness in my life. So much happiness. I wondered whether I deserved any of it.

The idea of fatherhood unleashed a swirl of emotions in me. I found it frightening, inviogorating, daunting, and exhilarating all at the same time. What sort of father would I make, I wondered. I wanted to be just like Baba and I wanted to be nothing like him.

A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer.

And that I believe is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good.

A wonderful book that cannot be put down until finished.

Vroom was my favorite character. He says things like:

Think abouth this: The people who gave birth to me can’t stop hating each other. What does that tell you about me? Half my genes must be fighting with the other half. No wonder I am so fucking messed up.

Bakshi would be the most horrible boss anybody could have.

A defintie read. I especially like the God factor added with a logical turn at the end notes.

Russian literature awes me in its description and the way words fall in a line, mostly like how I think in Tamil and not how I am taught to write in English. Ever since I read Jhumpa Lahiri’s Namesake, I’ve thought of reading Gogol. The final push was when I requested Tolstoy’s Kingdom of God is Within You (The book  that gave Mahatma thoughts on realizing non-violence in addition to Bhagavad Gita) and PPLS has ordered it just for me:) AND I am 154th in line for The Last Lecture, REALLY!!!!

The story is about a government document copier, Akaky Akakievich. All that he ever cared about was his job, not what his co-workers thought of him, social life, or family. Then one day, he is in need of an overcoat. After months of planning and budgeting, he gets a new one and the whole world notices him. As he begins to enjoy the coat, he encounters thieves who take it away. His attempts to find it are a waste in his corrupted country. One official yells at him cruel enough to make Akaky sick and die.

But, he comes as a ghost and teaches a lesson to the citizens of St. Petersburg.

Gogol’s words are ordered very logically in place, if you can understand what I mean. The words are just how a non-native English speaker thinks. I enjoyed the wordiness, description of places, people, emotions brought out in this short story. I lived in various characters myslf. St.Petersburg, now Leningrad, was brought alive in Gogol’s creation and reminded of many cities I have been in. Government’s inefficiency and corruption portrayed in 1842 is still true in most places of the world, discouraging as it is.

Somehow, we all can see ourselves in tiny bits in the various characters in this shortstory.

Somehow, every city is partially described in this too, and so are all emotions.

Dostoyevsky was right in saying We have all come from under THE OVERCOAT.

All the questions I have on God, Socialism, and a variety of other issues have obviously risen in Tolstoy’s mind too. And, he has written these short stories for people like me who have a lifestyle that will not accomodate reading long essays. I liked every story in this collection.

1. The Son of a Thief: Only God can judge others, we only have the right to forgive and love.

2. The repentant Sinner: If you ask for forgivance, God will will forgiv you, no matter what. I found this a little against my own philosophy and faith, according to which you reap what you sow.

3. The Archangel Gabriel: Means of worship is not as important as the heart that does it.

4. The Prayer: "Why pray to God if he can do such terrible things?" I have asked this question a zillion times and have even questioned the presence of God. but now I think, Tolstoy was correct in this story…We humans can never understand the masterplan and it is not right for us to question the happenings of life, just give it our best.

5. The Poor People: poor fisherman’s family with a daily struggle to feed 5 kids adopts 2 more neighbor’s children when they are orphaned. Are they really poor? No.

6. A coffeehouse in the city of Surat: My favorite. People from different religion fight about one true God.

7. Kornei Vasiliev: Story of Cheat, forgivance, repentance.

8. A grain of rye, the size of a chicken egg: Work is worship

9. The Berries: I did not read it. know not why.

10. Stones: Confess our sins no matter how small they are. Like a sculptor of your own statue, keep hipping away the sins.

11. The Big Dipper: charity is great.

12. The power of childhood: An accused is freed as the society cares not to create an orphan.

13. Why did it happen:

14. Divine and Human: Same situation between 2 people brings out different outcomes, based on ego & belief. The one who storngly believes in an ideal while reducing self to zero becomes divine. Whereas, the other, leader of the first is a mere human due to denial.

15. Requirements of love: it is UNCONDITIONAL.

16. Sisters: I do not understand why Tolstoy thought prostitutes need to be treated like sisters…

"it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were questioned by life-daily and hourly. Our answer must consist , not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibilty to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual."

Viktor E Frankl is a world war 2 concentration camp survivor, psychologist by profession. This book discusses how meaning is very important to living life, especially at times when it looks like you are just waiting for a dishonorable death. The above passage says that life does not come with a meaning but we have to give life a meaning by our true actions. For the same set of factors in life, every individual will make a different meaning and this meaning can never be the same for any 2.

Sufferings are part of life. The sooner we accept it and deal with it, better our life will be. Personally I believe, it is through the hard times during sufferings that character is strongly forged.

Entry to      DISCOVERIES

Other books I have read that have led up to this: Eat, Pray, and Love; The Way of the Heart; Life of the Beloved.

I have realized the value of silence and agree with Confucius that Silence is the friend that never betrays. I can write an entire blog on this alone.

This book starts with a quote from Meister Eckhart "Nothing in all creation is so like God as silence." I came to the same conclusion at Mexico, am I smart or what

Some lines I liked:

Suffering:

Through the practice of silence we become aware

of our pain. The pain is always there in our minds

and in our bodies. Silence allows us to see it,

 face it, release it.

We constantly judge ourselves.

Our mind decides what our experiences should be or should not be -

relentlessly labeling things good or bad -

demanding that our lives conform to our labels.

Then,when pain comes into our lives

-and it does to every life - we do not only suffer it,

but we suffer our suffering as well.

We add the mind’s harsh judgment of pain

to our actual experience of it.

By practicing silence, we may discover the ways

in which we intensify our pain by judging it.

Then we have a chance to become less harsh,

more forgiving.

….

By cultivating silence, we can find and release

deeper and deeper levels of pain and so discover

once again what is beneath the pain:

the natural joy that is already inside us,

free to rise and flow into expression.

Between Osama and Carly I have read a few more books about Bill Clinton (Giving), Barrack Obama (Audacity of Hope), Neil Armstrong (A Giant Leap), Einstein and a non-fiction by Nelson Demille (Wildfires). The only one I was close to blog about was Wildfires, it had a strange view on Iraq war and was written with humor.

I like reading biographies  and auto-biographies because people interest me. I picked Carly because I was eyeing it sometime ago and now I had a chance to read it. I wanted to know what would a labeled loser like her have to say? How will she be able to self-portray her public-perceived flaws? How does she make peace with the society that hated her? It does take a lot of courage and perspective. I will also definitely give you my word, along the same lines I will read GWB’s book as soon as he writes(??).

The book was a short one, a quick read. I learnt so much about her and how the media was focusing on her looks and gender instead of her performance. All leaders have to pay a price, Carly paid it to press. While her decision of the HP-Compaq merger was highly criticized, there are a lot who believe it laid the foundations for HP to perform better than Dell after she left HP itself. Sometimes, timing is everything. I don’t know if she was a great leader or not, but she was honest and candid, qualities I admire, which ex-CEOs of TYCO, ENRON, and WORLDCOM and Larry of Oracle don’t possess. Even if she did make a stupid decision, the court itself decided in 2002 it was not based on corruption on her part. She did what she truly believed in.

Some excerpts I liked &/or agree with:

My boss was absolutely right (on not taking a hard job), and it was why I wanted to go. It was brand-new. Every one was trying to figure it out. Maybe I could help. It was chaotic - maybe that would be exciting. It was difficult work - I wanted a challenge. It didn’t bother me that it wasn’t a typical move. I was looking for interesting work where I could make a real difference.

xxxx

That night, after I’d cried long enough, I made a decision. I would not cry again over others’ prejudice. Sure, what people thought or said about me might hurt. What people did to me might hurt as well, but I would not carry their narrow-mindedness or bias as my burden…I would accomplish all I was capable of. I would concentrate on doing what I believed were the right things for the right reasons to the best of my ability. Some, perhaps even many, might believe I couldn’t or shouldn’t , do what I chose. That would be their problem, not mine. They would not wound me again. I had decided once that my life was my own. Now I decided my heart would be my own as well.

…since 1986 I have saved my tears for more important things: my family, the beauty of nature, Beethoven, a dear friend, the goodness of people, their wisdom, their tragedies or their triumphs.

xxxx

I love to watch the sun rise and the sun set. I take comfort in the everyday event and feel wonder knowing that it will never be the same. I love the slower, natural cadence of my life. i love to fall asleep at night and awake when I choose. I love to do something on the spur of the moment…I love to spend a day, as I am today, in the company of children with nothing particular to do and nowhere particular to go.

I believe I have been blessed all my life. I feel blessed today - blessed to have had the opportunities and the experiences…

I read this right after Ramanujan, only because I realized Plano library could finally lend it to me without waitlisting to the 32nd position

I could not believe what was being said about all the terrorists and their Islamic beliefs. One moment they seem to be against Colonialism(UK), next, communism (USSR), and then, capitalism (USA). It conveys that these radicals are angry at everything and everyone. They seem to be upset that USA is taking their oil (which of course they are selling) and flourishing much more than the land it comes from.

At one point Osama seems to be mad at King of Saudi for letting Saddam grow his military, soon he is upset with King for letting USA to use Saudi land to defend against Saddam’s Quwaiti occupation.

The book also portrays him to me as a Don Quixote when he leads a group of Jihadis to fire a ‘few’ shots against an already retreating USSR troop from Afghanistan

Author has mentioned Osama as a psychopath / sociopath, also, a character of utter humility.

SOMEHOW, I cannot believe all that the book depicts. I want to know the other side. Why would a human kill so many other humans? What could cause such hatred? What can be done to avoid this in future? Is all that the author is saying really true? If so, Osama is a stupid. But, he can’t be so stupid. At least his stupididty cannot be the reason for people’s death.

ACTUALLY, I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW!!!

It has been a long time since I blogged on books that awed me, the reason being that when I am in awe, blogging is the last thing on my mind

I came to know of this book thru this blog: http://chennaikaran.blogspot.com/2008/01/visa-master.html

LUCKILY, it was available in Davis Library, unlike the looming towers, which I have not been able to get a hold of for more than the past year, 2007.

In addition, I needed the meditation effect reading brings on me, me, book, me thinks, me reads, me reads, me thinks,…wow!

Author Robert Kanigel has done a great job in detailing the backdrop of Ramanujan’s life. Detailed Indian caste and political system, mathematical series, human psychology, inferences, etc. Job well done, no one else could have done more justice in recreating this past.

All previous times when I read biographies I was inspired and wanted to be the personality I was reading about. Ramanujan - I don’t want to be. I can feel the pain of being a genius in his life.

Look at his cover picture ya(chennai slang), grumpy, serious kind, cannot even imagine me like that..

To me, life is fun when I have warmth of friends & relatives, romance, frankly, hugs & kisses. Ramanujan did not have it. That makes his entire life a waste to me, sad. PERIOD.

When I try not to be so judgemental, I remember a short, real sharp conversation I had with a friend very recently. He said his work, and his work-out are his passions in life. Soon, very soon - it felt like, I disconnected the phone, not because I was mad at what he said, or did not believe it, but because I could not relate to it at all. How could a human be so devoid of emotions? He did tell me that the object of emotions/interests can be relatively individual. That is, in his words, what gives me happiness doesn’t have to evoke same feelings in him. Later, I REALIZED THE TRUTH in his statement, bitter as it was.

And as fate would have it, I am reading the great Mathematical genius who was detached of everything till 2 years before he died. I am sorry for him. I am sorrier for his wife who married him at age 9.

Of all the 423 pages I read, I enjoyed this the most:

"Where is she?" asked Ramanujan of his mother as he stepped off the ship into the maw of Bombay on March 27, 1919. She was Janaki.

….

And there, on August 11, 1919, at the time of the Sravanam ceremony that marked the annual changing of the sacred thread, Ramanujan openly rebelled against his mother.

Trouble had been brewing for weeks between the two of them, from even before they’d arrived in town; Ramanujan had wanted to travel first class, but his mother insisted on second or third class. Now, Ramanujan was heading down to the river to bathe, as part of the Sravanam rites. Janaki wanted to go with him. Ramanujan said yes. Komalatammal said no.

And Ramanujan insisted, yes. 

….

He told her, more than once, "If only you had come with me to England perhaps I would not have fallen ill."

Ramanujan’s own Mentor at Cambridge, Hardy, seems to think like me

Hardy’s Mathematician’s Apology…

It is undeniable that a good deal of elementary mathematics…has considerable practical utility. [but] these parts of mathematics are, on the whole, rather dull; they are just the parts which have least aesthetic value. The "real" mathematics for the "real" mathematicians, the mathematics of Fermat and Euler and Gauss and Abel and Riemann, is almost wholly "useless."

Hardy went on to pity the mathematical physicist who might use mathematical tools to understand the workings of the universe; was not his lot in life a little pathetic?

If he wants to be useful, he must work in a humdrum way, and he cannot give full play to his fancy even when he wishes to rise to the heights. "Imaginary" universes are so much more beautiful than this stupidly constructed "real" one; and most of the finest products of an applied mathematician’s fancy must be rejected, as soon as they have been created, for the brutal but sufficient reason that they do not fit the facts.

Yes, Ramanujan knew Infinity, real well too. But, he failed to see who he was inside.

Postscript: I can imagine Ramanujan smiling slyly at me, "buddhu, idhu ellaam enna pesuthu, nalla velai, ithai kekka naan uyiroda illa!" Laughs apart, I am sure Ramanujan should be proud of himself for achieving what anyone else subject to his poverty and race cannot even dream of. I am proud of him too, as he is an Indian, Tamil, Chennaite, but if he were my family, I will only feel sad, again.

Harry Potter’s new book, 7th one in the series, is coming tomorrow to stores worldwide. I am glad to live at this age when kids look forward to reading books with such devotion. My own daughter is a fan of Cam Jansen and her mystery series, she turned 5 a week ago

It reminds me of my own younger days.

I started reading Tamil books at 4 (Rani comics, Diamond comics) and English ones at 5 (Amar Chitra Katha, Tinkle). To date I have never read a Hindi story outside of textbooks , mostly because I did not have access to it.

The first Amar Chitra Katha I got was Velu Thampi, a freedom fighter from Kerala who at the end hid in a temple where the British troops found him, if my memory serves me right! I bought it at Maharaja Departmental Stores in Besant Nagar, actually made my dear uncle buy it for me for Rs. 10/-

I never bought a lot of books, mostly borrowed it from friends or library or from friends who got it from their library. I was very fortunate in that I was studying with kids who were into reading too and whose parents traveled outside of India and hence I got access to US & UK books. Enid Blyton was my favorite primary school times author.

I did develop a really bad reading habit, I realized it just 2 years ago. I will only read books referred to me by friends. If it is a new author’s book, I will finish the entire line by the same author until it is exhausted. After that I will go through a phase where I wouldn’t read anything for a while, a long while. Pretty much a feast or famine scenario. It went like this:

Elementary:Tinkle, Amar Chitra katha ->

Upper Elementary: Enid Blyton [Famous Five, Secret Seven]->

Middle: Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys -> Agatha Christie [Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple] ->

High: Sidney Sheldon [the first one being Stars Shine Down]

Senior High: Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the wind, Alexandra Ripley’s Scarlett, Mario Puzo’s Godfather and the Sicilian.

Once my dad caught me reading Barbara Taylor Bradford, that was the end of it. Also, my dad had this really annoying bad habit, he will suddenly read parts of books I am in the process of reading, that was an irritating CONTROL he had over me. That is how I felt about it. Now that I have a daughter and I try to keep a a watch on the tiniest things she does, I know he was just being protective.

A dear friend suggested that I read ONE novel of the author I presently like, make a mental list of things I would like to read next of the same author BUT move on to a different author. At least read his/her one book before I return to the previous author. Try more authors in between if I can. I have tried this, and this is wonderful. This way I get exposed to different kinds of wrtings and never find myself searching for books since i always have a mental list.

Too bad I have developed a new bad habit , I have been reading books about Bill Clinton by various people, all good:

Living History - Hillary

First in Class - forgot

My Life - Bill

This book, written by Yann Martel, has won many literary awards, including the Booker Prize. Yann Martel is a Canadian traveler who has visited India a couple of times. I read the book as a substitute to "Looming Towers," which I have reserved as the 31rst person in Plano Public Library at this point.

Contrary to my intuition, and people who are planning to read this might want to stop precisely at this point, Pi is the name of the main Character. He defines faith, belief, love, and strength. Most importantly, describes God, accurately.  This person is from India, the sacred land that gave birth to me.  There are so many instances I could recognize with Pi. His acceptance of all religions and curiousity towards spirituallty is all a part of establishing individuality during the Teen years.

The greatest gift of believing in God / divine power is just that: Belief.

Without faith and belief, nothing can be accomplished.

An Excerpt:

I must say a word about fear. It is life’s only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, slef-possessed, happy. Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy.  Doubt meets disbelief and disbelief tries to push it out. But disbelief is a poorly armed foot soldier. Doubt does away with it with little trouble. You becom anxious. Reason comes to do battle for you. You are reassured. Reason is fully equipped with the latest weapons technology. But, to your amazement, despite superior tactics, and a number of undeniable victories, reason is laid low. You feel yourself weakening, wavering. Your anxiety becomes dread…

…Quickly you make rash decisions. You dismiss your last allies: hope and trust. There, you’ve defeated yourself. Fear, which is but an impression, has triumphed over you.

The matter is difficult to put into words. For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like a gangrene: it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which to speak of it. So you might fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because, if you don’t, if your fear becomes a wordless darkenss that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.

While reading this, I was mildly reminded of my fav Tom Hanks performance in Castaway. However, it was evident once again that the pen is mightier than the silver-screen and, Spielberg’s direction.

It has been alleged that this work is Plagiarized. I care not, as long as it serves my purpose.