Books I enjoyed in 2011:

Enigma, Robert Harris:

I must confess that I revere Alan Turing, and it was with great hope that I started to read this book. There were several scattered mentions of Turing, however the plot was first rate, and the description of war-time England realistic. I particularly enjoyed the author’s narration about Bletchley Park, and I did not miss Turing’s absence much. This was easily the best read of the year.

Malgudi Days, R.K.Narayan:

I read this book on two summer days after having a hearty breakfast at home. I do not know how I missed reading R.K.Narayan during my childhood – maybe my love for Dickens earlier and popular fiction later in my adolescence is to blame. I would compare Malgudi Days with Devan’s writing: they bring to the fore the soul of a town (a city, Chennai in Devan’s case) – and transported me to pre-liberalization India, something I have only read about in The Hindu’s This Day, That Age column and history textbooks. These books make up for all that I lost by being born in a spoilt generation.

More:

A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini – moving

Flatland, Edwin Abbott - amusing

The Finkler Question, Howard Jacobson – mature, yet comic

Most awaited book of 2011:

The House of Silk, Anthony Horowitz:

It can’t get bigger for a Sherlock Holmes fan, to quote Ravi Shastri and other commentators, than a new official book on the legendary detective. I was over-excited and bought the Kindle edition as the status in India (on Flipkart and Infibeam) was still pre-order. This is the closest any author has got to Sir ACD, among the pastiches I’ve read. I had enjoyed Jamyang Norbu’s The Mandala of Sherlock Holmes last year, but it shared with other pastiches the reincarnation of Professor Moriarty, my favourite criminal. I did not want to see him being vanquished once again and Horowitz fulfills my wish. Horowitz is a better writer than ACD, and I hope he writes more Sherlock Holmes novels. A new novel every year would be very nice, thank you.

The style is similar to his debut, linking modern events to those that occurred two millennia ago. We have seen this style many times, flipping between two parallel events – only here, the parallel events are from long ago.

A Pandit from Kanpur with financial banking from a merchant and manpower from a Muslim strongman manages to unite the people of the city and assume political power. He makes his disciple becomes the most powerful woman in the country, just as Chanakya enthroned Chandragupta Maurya. As he develops the plot, Sanghi touches upon many issues in modern India – religious friction, corruption and the like. He is clearly inspired by real world events such as the tussle between the Ambani brothers, cash for votes, the fodder scam and the 2G scam(yes, that one too!). There are several instances where the media is cleverly used by devious politicians – #MediaMafia, anyone?

The description of Uttar Pradesh, I cannot comment upon for  I have confined myself to Tamil Nadu most of my life. However, the unhygienic conditions and the slum might very well fit into any large town in India. One could draw parallels between the two central characters and the BSP in Uttar Pradesh too. A minor quibble I see is that Sanghi has portrayed the Keralite as talking English with a funny accent. He cannot be further from the truth here – I know many Keralites who have a neutral accent; I haven’t seen a person speak with the accent he writes. There are several quotes that are wrongly attributed to Chanakya, but the Acknowledgements & References section makes this clear.

I do not have a large appetite for historical thrillers, and so I cannot compare this work with many others. It might seem at the outset that Sanghi is developing into a desi Dan Brown, given his penchant for history. I hope we can expect a deviation from this genre in his future work.

There is a lot of gore – and not all of it is blood. There are several descriptions of coitus and mutilations that are not really necessary – just page filling material. There is too much profanity on show too. The book could have been shorter by a fifth, and even then I doubt it’d have been a gripping read. However, it is a pleasing way to pass a lazy Saturday afternoon. It is quite entertaining and the history is not as wrong as in many other in its genre. I was expecting better, especially after The Rozabal Line, but Sanghi has not disappointed either.

Plus: A decent plot, Nice real-life parallels, Enjoyable

Minus: Too much narrative  (which sometimes gets boring), Stereotyping

Rating: 7/10

Final Word: Good to read on a  Sunday after lunch

Solution to Crossword No. 2

Coming back to Kogul, this is a play on the inability of many Tamil speakers to differentiate between the similar sounding consonant groups. Listen closer to conversations in a crowded shop on Ranganathan Street or in a crowded MTC bus, and you’ll know why. Kogul is a corruption of Gokul, however it is only one of the cases of discordant consonants.

G and K; P and B; D and T; G and H; J and Ch; P and F(Fants, anyone?) are among the frequently confused sounds, sometimes giving the word another meaning altogether. This phenomenon can be attributed in part to Tamil’s lack of phonetic equivalents to most common consonants in other languages.

A few samplings:

• Mound Roat
• Jeerial Bulp
• Probational Korier
• Gangrats
• Plight (flight)
• Kaambus
• Gidnab
• Log the door
• Ragul Travit
• Lady Kaka
• Eskaladder
• Plowervaas
• Darren Cough
• Pogemian Rasapodi (That’s Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen)
• “Do you know Gopal?” (He meant COBOL!)
• And how can we forget the famous “Ek gaam mein ek kisaan raghu thatha” in Indru Poi Naalai Vaa.

There’s a whole world of funny kogulized words out there. Search for #kogul on Twitter and join in the fun.

Update: Corrections made after @oligoplot’s comments on some inaccuracies. The real reason lies not in the language, but the speakers of the language. Of course, English is an alien language, but I do find it funny when people rip it apart with their own pronunciations.

Crossword No. 2

CLUES:

The first time I saw him with interest was in the Eden Gardens test against the Aussies in 1998. He was opening with Sidhu, and scored a 95, in an innings where the top 6 scored fifties, with Azharuddin scoring an imperious century. Remember, this was the time before the emergence of new India: they still played with three spinners at home with Ganguly sharing new ball duty with Srinath.

After that, he remained in the shadows until the glorious 167 at Sydney. Scored at breathtaking pace, this is an innings I love to watch, although India surrendered for less than 250. Then came the mother of all monumental innings - that knock at Eden Gardens that gave birth to the legend of Laxman. Here was a man unperturbed by the situation or bowlers, heralding the arrival of a new fearless India.

His 89 at Port Elizabeth during Sehwag’s debut series was a match saving innings, although it was in the first innings – India folded for 201 and Laxman had a 9th wicket partnership of 80 with Kumble. This was the first of many rescue acts involving batsmen of lesser calibre, who were inspired by the calm and panache of the seemingly soft man at the other end.

He is like a prodigious student at the end of his school life – tough exams such as the JEE bring out the best in him, igniting his brilliant mind into overdrive; and lesser school exams are too boring for him to expend his energy. He rarely makes wild guesses, but relies on his intuition at times. Laxman rarely slogs or hits out, and relies on the good judgement of the tailenders batting with him.

There are times when the Twenty-20 loving Indian public question the inclusion of technically sound and more importantly, stubborn batsmen in place of the dashers. They’ll realise their folly if they think of one man: Laxman.

A: மச்சி, இன்னிக்கு சாயங்காலம் ஒரு கச்சேரி போறேன், கூட வாடா.
B: என்னடா ஆச்சு உனக்கு, திடீர்னு கர்நாடக சங்கீதம் மேல பற்று?
A: நாளைக்கு OS exam டா. அதனால் தான் O.S.அருண் பாட்டு கேட்டா பாஸ் ஆயிடலாம்னு..
B: அப்போ சரி, நான் மன்மதன் அம்பு பாட்டு கேக்க போறேன்..
A: ஏன் டா?
B: நாளைக்கு எனக்கு DSP exam டா!

Now this was during our training a few months back:
Someone had got a big bar of chocolate, and all of had a piece of it. Turned out, the flavour was rum raisin (Temptation) and the moment she heard of it, a girl was pretending to swoon. Everyone wanted to see the ingredients, and the chocolate wrapper was passed all over the class. I then said aloud: “Oh, is this what we call wrapper class?”. Pin drop silence. Note that our training was in Java back then.

Another one from training:
Me: Dude, none of us will be sent to MEPZ campus da.
Friend: Why do you say that?
Me: Well, we are all Java developers, aren’t we? We cannot write anything more than basic Java code there.
Friend: What do you mean?
Me: MEPZ stands for Madras Export Processing Zone. And you must import packages and classes to write most Java code. Therefore, it is illegal to develop in Java at MEPZ.
Friend: மச்சி, இங்க ஒருத்தன் சிக்கிருக்கான்..

Try solving it and please comment on the quality.

Nandalala gives the maestro a theme where emotions play a major part, and he treats the viewers to an aural treat that strings at our souls. For me, music means expressing emotions, and Raja stands non-pareil here. The ability to portray raw emotions via music is his own domain. Although several of Rahman’s songs portray powerfully the emotions of the characters – En kaadhalae comes to mind immediately – his use of technology has, while giving us many peppy and memorable numbers, denied him this ability. I do not criticize him, our movie makers have become too dumb. Fast paced action, racy numbers and plotless movies are the order of the day, and that is not Rahman’s fault.

Ilayaraja’s music shines through the movie and his use of silence to emphasise it makes for pleasant listening. I wish more movies like this are made, if only to let us rejoice, fear, cry, laugh and feel the emotions of the characters.

If you have not seen the movie yet, watch it. It is a good movie on its own, but Raja’s music elevates it to its own level.