The new identitarianism

Q: Are you a Bayesian or are you a Frequentist?

NF: I am dear sir, but an Opportunist.

Hontoni Muchos Arigatos

Namma Bengaluru beckons. Yay!

The Reading List: January 2016 to January 2017

1. The Lathe of Heaven (Ursula K Le Guin)
2. The Savage Detectives (Roberto Bolaño) (reread)
3. 2666 (Roberto Bolaño) (reread)
4. The Diamond Age (Neal Stephenson)
5. Wolf Hall (Hilary Mantel)
6. Virtual Light (William Gibson) (reread)
7. Norwegian Wood (Haruki Murakami)
8. Cosmopolis (Don Delillo)
9. बदन सराय (मुनव्वर राना) (tr. Badan Sarai, Munawwar Rana)
10. Shame (Salman Rushdie)
11. सृष्टि पर पहरा (केदारनाथ सिंह) (tr. Nature Under Watch, Kedarnath Singh)
12. Roadside Picnic (Arkady and Boris Strugatski)
13. Herzog (Saul Bellow)
14. Diamond Dogs and Turquoise Days (Alaistair Reynolds)
15. काशी का अस्सी (काशीनाथ सिंह) (tr. Kashi's Assi, Kashinath Singh)
16. Idoru (William Gibson) (reread)
17. Purity (Jonathan Franzen)
18. All Tomorrow's Partys (William Gibson) (reread)
19. The Plot Against America (Philip Roth)
20. 51 अनमोल कहानियां (प्रेमचंद) (tr. 51 Invaluable Stories, Premchand)
21. The Name of the Rose (Umberto Eco)
22. The Windup Bird Chronicle (Haruki Murakami)
23. By Night in Chile (Roberto Bolaño)
24. Nazi Literature in the Americas (Roberto Bolaño) 
25. The Return (Roberto Bolaño)
26. दीवार में एक खिड़की रहती थी (विनोद कुमार शुक्ल) (tr. There Lived a Window in a Wall, Vinod Kumar Shukla)
27. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (Michael Chabon)
28. The Life and Times of Michael K (J M Coetzee)
29. The Agent Esmerelda: Nine Stories (Don DeLillo)
30. The Aleph and Other Stories (Jorge Luis Borges)
31. The Long Goodbye (Raymond Chandler)
32. पैंसठ लाख की डकैती (सुरेंदर मोहन पाठक) (tr. The Sixty Five Lakh Heist, Surender Mohan Pathak)
33. क़त्ल की दावत (सुरेंदर मोहन पाठक) (tr. The Feast of Death, Surender Mohan Pathak)
34. अभेद आकाश (मणि कॉल से उदयन वाजपेयी की बातचीत) (tr. Impenetrable Space, Udayan Vajpeyi's Conversation with Mani Kaul)
35. एक गधे की आत्मकथा (कृशन चन्दर) (tr. A Donkey's Autobiography, Krishan Chandar)
36. Conversations with Economists (Arjo Klamer)
37. Ghosts (César Aira)
38. An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter (César Aira)
39. The Literary Conference (César Aira)
40. कालजयी कमबख्त (अमित दत्ता) (tr. The Damned Classic, Amit Dutta)

Only Grudgingly So

NF rarely offers comments on political affairs since he believes political opinionology is an oversupplied commodity anyway. However, the staggering unprecedentedness of what has transpired in the US elections today compels him to write.

As ever, the great Mark Twain comes to our rescue:

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.

The just concluded US election was the greatest-of-all-time epic reality show, simultaneously a Shakespearean tragedy and a Dostoyevskian farce, featuring a duel between history's most and least qualified candidates ever for the American presidency. Additionally, apart from the two candidates, there are several other memorable performances. There is the most hated man in the world, Anthony Wiener; an evil joker Julian Assange who strikes a Faustian bargain with Putin; there is a mysterious agent James Comey who plays a shocking, lethal role at the end. There are scandals, counter-scandals, lies, intrigue, deception, leaks, Russian hacking, FBI, sexual assault, hatemongering and worse. And yet no one believed it would really happen — not even the eventual winning campaign.

"Fucking unreal", just as Oscar Isaac says in the climactic moments of Ex Machina (2015).

It is perhaps just as George Carlin said: 

When you're born into this world, you're given a ticket to the freak show. If you're born in America you get a front row seat.

Add Brexit, the rise of the far right in the EU, secular stagnation — and parallels with the Great Depression and its aftershocks become eerie. To have been alive to witness epochal moments in history is always a frightening privilege. NF is tempted to say that to be alive today is to be alive in the most heady, interesting period ever but fears it's already beginning to sound callous. 

The Reading List: January 2015 - January 2016

1. वह भी कोई देस है महराज (अनिल यादव) (tr. Is that too a country my lord!, Anil Yadav) 
2. The Great Hunt (Robert Jordan) 
3. The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Mohsin Hamid) 
4. A Case of Exploding Mangoes (Mohammad Hanif) 
5. The Dragon Reborn (Robert Jordan) 
6. सब उसके लिए (मुनव्वर राना) (tr. All For Her (Him), Munawwar Rana) 
7. Kafka On The Shore (Haruki Murakami) 
8. आँखों आँखों रहे (वसीम बरेलवी) (tr. Eyes Eyes In, Wasim Barelwi) 
9. Farther Away (Jonathan Franzen) 
10. Winter Notes on Summer Impressions (Fyodor Dostoyevsky) 
11. Galapagos (Kurt Vonnegut) 
12. Cloud Atlas (David Mitchell) 
13. Waiting for the Barbarians (J M Coetzee) 
14. संसद से सड़क तक (सुदामा पाण्डेय 'धूमिल') (tr. From Parliament To Street, Sudama Pandey "Dhoomil") 
15. The Fires of Heaven (Robert Jordan) 
16. New Spring (Robert Jordan) 
17. The Man in the High Castle (Philip K Dick) (reread) 
18. Parallel Stories (Peter Nadas) 
19. Lord of chaos (Robert Jordan) 
20. नौकर की कमीज (विनोद कुमार शुक्ल) (tr. The Servant's Shirt, Vinod Kumar Shukla) 
21. Game Theory: A Very Short Introduction (Ken Binmore) 
22. Solaris (Stanislaw Lem)

(एक दशक पुराना) रोग

*हेवी मेटल ग्राउलिंग अंदाज़*

मन प्रदीप्त था, ह्रदय उद्दीप्त था

ना सकता था किसी से हार
(हा-आआआ-र)

मानो जीवन में आ बरसी

चंचल अप्रतिम अमूर्त बहार
(बहा-आआआ-र)

प्रेम व्याधि थे उसे कहते

करती वो सबको अशांत

बन गए थे सब रोगी उसके

कुत्सित, मलिन दीन और क्लांत
(क्ला-आआआ-न्त)

क्यूंकि है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

जीवन में भर देगा ये

अवसाद व शोक

है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

भोग है ये भोग

भोग मात्र भोग

(आआआ...

आआआ...

आआआ...)

निद्रा से जब जागेगा

पायेगा नया विकार
(विका-आआआ-र)

छलेंगे तुझको नित्यप्रति

कष्टों के नए प्रकार
(प्रका-आआआ-र)

फाड़ दे चादर तन्द्रा की

तू बन रहा प्रकृति का शिकार

हाँ खोल दे आँखें निद्रा की

और ले ये सुन्दर दृश्य निहार
(निहा-आआआ-र)

क्यूंकि है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

जीवन में भर देगा ये

अवसाद व शोक

है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

भोग है ये भोग

भोग मात्र भोग

(आआआ...

आआआ...

आआआ...)

*कुछ रैप-नुमा, फेथ नो मोर के माफ़िक*

प्रकृति रचित सुन्दर ये पाश

ढक ले ज्ञानोदीप्त प्रकाश

मूढ़ता बंधन में विवश हो

बनते हम काल के ग्रास

ज्ञानी होने पर क्यों विवश हैं?

होकर एकाकार पृथक हैं

इंद्रजाल मायानगरी का

वास्तव में सब अलग थलग हैं

हाँ हाँ हम सब दिखला देंगे

अब तो सब सतर्क सजग है

ब्रह्मज्ञान से प्रतिभासित

शिरोमणि मुकुट जगमग है

(आआआ...

आआआ...

आआआ...)

क्यूंकि है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

जीवन में भर देगा ये

अवसाद व शोक

है ये एक रोग

मात्र एक रोग

भोग है ये भोग

भोग मात्र भोग

(आआआ...

आआआ...

आआआ...)

...

सौजन्य से: कांसेप्ट बैण्ड, ब्रह्मास्मि

So Meta, It Stasized

Attention Conservation Notice (h/t the great Cosma Shalizi): A (very, very) long, meandering, frequently digressive piece on, and an unapologetically hagiographic review-of-sorts of, Mani Kaul's Siddheshwari; featuring factionalism in Parallel Cinema, Shahrukh Khan and self indulgent navel gazing (not in the same order). To expect a cogent, critical, objective analysis from this piece would be tantamount to expecting a leg break from Anil Kumble; or anything but from Venkatesh Prasad. 

You have been warned.

(A part of NF still thinks ending the post here - right after detailed instructions on how to read it have been enshrined - would be cool (so second order meta!). Thankfully NF isn't a teenager anymore and has been declared free from cleveritis for some time now.)

...

Mita Vashisht as Siddheshwari

When someone asked him where they could find his films, he once said: “It’s good you haven’t seen them, but heard about them, you know; as time goes by the negatives of most of my films, which are in very bad shape, are getting worse, and there are very few prints anyway that are still alright…so, as I get more and more known, fewer people see my work. There will be a time when there won’t be any work left, and I will be gone, and people will be saying, ‘Mani Kaul, Mani Kaul, Mani Kaul’...” 

(Link: http://www.caravanmagazine.in/arts/requiem-vision)

NF has whined often about discovering his heroes only after they've been dead for a while - Nirmal Verma, Manohar Shyam Joshi, David Foster Wallace were all part of this list, which now has the dubious distinction of adding yet another newcomer: Mani Kaul (the only hero who has been spared this treatment has been William Gibson - forever long may he live). Truth be told, while NF got around to finally watching his first Mani Kaul film a few months ago, he had been meaning to do so for many years now - having bought a three-in-one DVD of his films (Uski Roti, Duvidha, Nazar) from NFDC a few years back. That DVD still lies atop his bookshelf - its dust-laden cover, having never been in danger of being opened. That his films are supposedly challenging and not for the fainthearted, filled the prospect of viewing them with dread and subliminal anxiety.

In an eerie twist however, when he did finally see Siddheshwari, his universe was so jolted, so awestruck he was that he felt paralyzed to get the word out, since a post about the film, with an even remotely similar scope felt intimidating beyond belief. And hence this post has been more than two months in the making - the fact that it's finally being put to paper isn't about slaying personal demons or climbing mount impossible; but is more of a mad rush for self preservation - the sooner NF gets it out of his head, the quicker the end of his obsession with the film. It probably also has to do something with a newfound ambition NF's been suffering from, which causes him to think he can do justice to the subjects he's going to write about, making said prospect of writing filled with the aforementioned dread and subliminal anxiety. (There are some other posts several months in the making too - the utterly, utterly delightful Frances Ha being another one of them, with NF given to swooning over the mere mention of Greta Gerwig - levels hithertofore reached only by the likes of Fatima Bhutto (O heart, do be still!).)

NF finally took the plunge after watching Bollywood celebrities pay their respects to the great master soon after his demise. Rajat Kapoor, Anurag Kashyap and Mita Vashisht, straddling arthouse and commercial cinema alike, were natural candidates; but it was Rakesh Omprakash Mehra's account of stumbling on to Siddheshwari at a local theater that gave NF courage. Unaware of Mani Kaul and being a fan of Siddheshwari Devi - the legendary thumri singer from Benaras - he went in hoping to see a documentary (which the film ostensibly is); and so transfixed he was by what he saw that he watched it again and again and again obsessively - about six times in over a month!

This was the final push NF needed.

Table of Contents:

Ostensibly, Siddheshwari is a 1990 National Film Award winning documentary about the life of Siddheshwari Devi - a famous classical singer from Benaras; but this sentence might just be the most misleading description of the film ever - as Rakesh Omprakash Mehra was to discover. Mani Kaul preemptively assuages the lay viewer who is soon going to be hit with a barrage of wantonly, obscenely beautiful imagery, the meaning of which will be forever, maddeningly out of her grasp, by including a very helpful 'Table of Contents'. Urvashi curses Arjun for scorning her and then relocates to earth as a Gandharva; Siddheshwari's childhood with her mausi (maternal aunt) who trains her daughter (though not Siddhi) in classical music which Siddhi osmotically absorbs, eventually astonishing the guru so much that he takes her under his wing after Siddhi is evicted by the aunt; her musical peregrinations (literal and metaphorical) over boat rides over Ganga due to the patronage of the local ruler; and eventual fame and acclaim.

This table of contents is absolutely key to understanding the film - so much so that its exclusion will result in complete and utter bafflement - and yet its importance is easy to miss on a first viewing, as NF was to discover. In fact, NF strongly suspects that this table of contents was the stand-in for a screenplay - Kaul's untethered, rich, insanely imaginative visuals seem impossible to be tied down systematically in a detailed script. If so, he wouldn't have been the first - Wong kar Wai - another example of an ultra-stylish director prioritizing lush visuals over plot, relies only minimally on detailed screenplays.

The film is a radical inversion of what a documentary supposedly is and arrogates to itself the right to reimagine the idea of being Siddheshwari. More a montage of exquisitely beautiful images in motion tied only loosely by chronology, mythology and musicology, it feels like a plotless, surreal dreamscape propelled only by the powerful voice of Siddheshwari Devi; and an impenetrable-at-first internal logic that begins to make more sense on repeated viewings. NF has no hesitation in acknowledging it as the most formally inventive, authentically avant garde Indian film he's ever seen, with its slow-swooping camerawork, cinematographical wizardry and all round technical excellence putting to shame even current films - commercial and arthouse.

Fact, fiction, myth, music, the impossibly narrow gorgeous alleys of Benaras, whispers, oblique dialogues - all meld together in a jumbled, impressionistic collage to induce a state of mind that affects you viscerally - on a level so low that conscious thoughts find the gates barred for entry. The camera lingers on its subjects' profiles, then languorously shifts its gaze to the ghats and steps of Benaras and the richly hued doors and windows it houses, acquiring sepia tones when transgressing reality; donning rich colours when merely accentuating it. Mita Vashisht is impossibly ravishing and looks every bit the Urvashi whose curse would turn Arjun into a eunuch. The style is dazzling; the effect, hypnotic.

The sheer density of visual poetry per frame in the film is unprecedented. It is gloriously, glacially, majestically, powerfully, stunningly beautiful. It looks the way Nirmal Verma reads. NF finds it useful to think of Siddheshwari as a ninety minute long thumri music video with visuals so lavish and style so breathtaking that it'll turn Tarsem Singh, Chris Cunningham and their ilk green with envy. 

And what an inconceivable, perfect, even subversive ending that inverts, yet again, the identities of subject and object. The only other equally satisfying, artistically impeccable ending that shook NF to the bone was Kieślowski's Three Colours: Red's. Indeed, in terms of technique, the only valid comparisons to be made are those with Tarkovsky and Bela Tarr; and heavily biased as NF is, he feels the former's Stalker and Kubrick's 2001... to be the only films that are as visually powerful and formally accomplished. The magnitude of the achievement is every bit as stratospheric as Ray's Apu Trilogy - among the greatest that Indian cinema, arthouse or otherwise, has ever produced (though on an artistic spectrum, the farthest possible from Ray's Indian neorealism - quite self-consciously as it turns out; for Ray was famously dismissive of Kaul's "anaemic" and "aesthete" brand of filmmaking).

(For those who would think that Indian parallel cinema was a monolithic movement against formulaic, popular cinematic traditions will be sorely disappointed. Not only were there several parallel movements, there wasn't much love lost between them, though it is said that there were two towering masters - Ray and Ghatak - who along with their numerous disciples (Kaul and Shahani were supposedly in the Ghatak zone) dug themselves in two camps: neorealism (Ray) and non-neorealism (!) (Ghatak). Shyam Benegal and Govind Nihalani despaired over Kaul and Shahani's branding as 'parallel' filmmakers, Kaul thanked Ghatak for curing him of the 'disease' of realism.)

Normals and Tangents

This brings NF to the curious case of Amit Dutta who's fast become the Ted Chiang of avant garde filmmaking - a bona fide freak as far as prizes per unit artwork is concerned. His short FTII thesis film Kramashah (tr. To be continued/In sequence) was introduced to NF by Somnath Pal - an old friend and budding filmmaker whose fan NF's been for years. By the end of the film, NF sat thoroughly destroyed and completely bewildered by its sheer brilliance, being totally unable to get a handle on what the fuck it is and how the fuck is that even possible. 

Not many can take out 90 minutes to watch the dazzling brilliance that Siddheshwari is. But to not take out 20 minutes to sample how truly path breaking Kramashah is, is simply inexcusable. Here is the full film, with subtitles:

Siddheshwari however, is the rosetta stone that helps unlock Kramashah. While substantially original, it bears Kaul's distinct cinematic stamp - gorgeous shot selection; exquisite camerawork; a preoccupation with Indian folk tales and myths; elliptical, oblique dialogues and slightly out-of-phase whispers with their curious mix of literary and folk Hindi; and an unabashedly (for lack of a better word) avant garde sensibility that remains obdurately, authentically Indian. Kramashah could not have been possible without Siddheshwari in the same way Smells Like Teen Spirit would've been impossible without Surfer Rosa. This is not to deny Amit Dutta his fiery originality but to underscore that flying off a rooftop to aim for the moon often ends with you legs up in the garbage dump, as Rajat Kapoor's short Tarana (Kaul's Dhrupad's bad copy - that it won the National Award is a scandal!) reminds us. It took Rajat Kapoor twenty more years to craft an homage that is true to the spirit of his mentor in Ankhon Dekhi. NF admires his tenacity and persistence since most ordinary mortals would've jumped off a cliff after the embarrassment that Tarana is.

Amit Dutta (in general) and Kramashah (in particular) are spiritual successors of the legacy of Mani Kaul (in general) and Siddheshwari (in particular).

On a somewhat tangential note, Shahrukh Khan produced and Amol Palekar directed the remake of Mani Kaul's 1973 Duvidha, in turn adapted from the cult Rajasthani writer Vijaydan Detha's short story. The same SRK was no stranger to Kaul's art by the way. Back when he was a mere mortal, his repertoire of films comprised an incredibly artsy portfolio - ranging from Pradip Krishen's oddly titled (and somewhat pretentious, though don't just take NF's word for it) In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones (starring Arundhati Roy as the protagonist Annie), Ketan Mehta's Maya Memsaab and Mani-fucking-Kaul's Ahmak - an adaptation of Dostoyevsky's Idiot (no NF hasn't seen this yet). Here is a completely unbelievable news item from 1992 (archived from 2012) on Shahrukh Khan's then incipient rise and features this golden gem from SRK: 

"Yaar," he says, laying bare his carefree air, "shooting for Mani was something else. I didn't understand the movie but I loved the art film environment..."

Silencio

Watch Kramashah, it's only 20 minutes long and is gloriously, unforgivably gorgeous. If it's up your alley, be fearless and take the plunge, for Siddheshwari is a high risk high return proposition - if it's a miss, you'll know it after having watched Kramashah, if it's not, it'll be a film you will never forget for it will paralyze you with its beauty. It will make a fan out of you of Mani Kaul, of his vision of avant garde cinema; and not least - of Siddheshwari Devi's mesmerizing art which you, like NF will begin listening to on a loop. Of so much ink that NF wasted in this post, not one sentence was about how Kaul uses Siddheshwari Devi's divine thumri to devastatingly good use. NF just hasn't developed the vocabulary for that. If you don't think you can watch Siddheshwari, just to sample what you've missed, watch this stellar, stellar scene where the guruji lays supine on this bed and plays the sarangi; and just observe how slowly, lovingly the camera moves around the room, as if sculpting in time.

http://youtu.be/dBfY-vHSjlw?t=1h5m58s

For the brave and fearless, here is the full film (no subtitles though). Viva friggin' la!

Even Pitchfork Swears By It

In a brilliant, incisive, all-over-excellent piece, the incredible Rob Sheffield celebrates Kid A's 15th birthday in Rolling Stone. Here's the full article: How Radiohead Shocked the World: A 15th-Anniversary Salute to 'Kid A'.

It's a terrific essay and thank heavens that much like pornography, you know great writing when you see it.

Examples: Here's the confusion that swept over devoted fans:

Whether you loved or hated Kid A, it gave undeniable entertainment value. All through the miserable fall of 2000, the debates raged on. Is it a masterpiece? A hype? A compendium of clichés? Will it stand the test of time? Why aren't "Knives Out" or "You and What Army" on this album? Where'd you park the car? Is Al Gore blowing it on purpose? Why didn't the umpires toss Clemens after he threw the bat? Where's "Pyramid Song"? Who let the dogs out? When is the second half of this album coming out — you know, the half with the actual Radiohead songs? How did they get away with that in Florida? Is this really happening?

Understandably, there was initial bewilderment and backlash: 

The funniest review came from Select, the best Britpop mag of the era: "What do they want for sounding like the Aphex Twin circa 1993, a medal?"

However, only Radiohead could pull it off:

That was part of the romance of loving Radiohead — this band always did have a tendency to over-egg the pudding. I mean, if the trees you're singing about are "plastic," you probably don't need to add that they're also "fake," least of all in the title. But it's that hyper-adolescent overstatement that makes the "fake plaaa-haaastic trees" line — and the song title, and the song — so emotionally powerful. "Fake Plastic Trees" would have been easier to take if it had been called "Green Plastic Trees" or "Blue Vinyl Trees" or something — more subtle, more adult, more intelligent. But it would have been a lesser song... 

At that point, it seemed like Radiohead were the only Nineties band left who still wanted to be a Nineties band —

The entire article glows with several such rare gems and has been casually, effortlessly sprinkled with deep observations about the then ascendant alternative scene.

Do read the whole thing.

(Those who know NF personally, are probably aware that he's a massive, massive fan of Radiohead in general and Kid A in particular. Indeed it was Kid A that personally got NF through six weeks of his only foray into real life inside a Fremont cubicle. (He'd listen to it on a loop and would often gaze longingly at the clock, willing it to tick faster.)

Sadly though, Radiohead is his only favorite band he hasn't seen live yet. (GY!BE check, Mogwai check, Pixies check.) Circumstances seem to be conspiring to make this permanently so. Boo.)

This is how journalism is meant to be. Read the piece and feel its pulse. It's alive and it'll kick some serious ass yet.

लाला के लिए

I just finished revisiting Jani Dushman: Ek Anokhi Kahani and have revised my estimate of this film. I must admit that I was taken aback and was compelled to write to you. I beseech you, implore you, simply beg you to rewatch this film at the earliest. Be cautious though, for you may laugh so hard that Michael will need to call 911. There is more per frame WTFuckery in this film than I ever recall. Per. Fuckin'. Frame. And the megastarcast and their massive indifference to fate of this woebegone adventure is an experience to remember.

Please Lala, you have to do this.

 

Yours,

(अ)सीमाबद्ध

Satyajit Ray and Ravi Shankar on the sets of Pather Panchali

Hats off to The Wire, where in a wonderfully penned article, Sharmila Tagore remembers her mentor Satyajit Ray's overwhelming genius on the 60th anniversary of Pather Panchali: What Satyajit Ray Left Us Is An Inheritance of Endless Possibilities. It's a rich, highly-erudite-yet-warm piece, peppered with intelligent observations and personal recollections. What a pleasant surprise to discover that one of the finest Indian actresses could also be such an astute, engaging writer! 

Satyajit Ray, of course, remains one of NF's all time favorite personal heroes (this list also includes Nirmal Verma and Girish Karnad) and he obstinately holds on to his old opinion that if all of Indian cinema were to be lost with just one exception - The Apu Trilogy - we wouldn't have lost much. 

Do read, if only to see how charmingly Sharmila Tagore writes. Highly recommended!

गुड गौली मिस बौली

नंफ़ : जैसे हिंदी फिल्मों में अक्सर हीरो, हीरोइन से प्यार करने का नाटक करते करते उसे सचमुच चाहने लगते हैं, मैं बॉलीवुड के बारे में बिलकुल वैसा महसूस करता हूँ.

... : ...

रगों में दौड़ते फिरने के...

रात के 3 बज रहे हैं और तुम इस मटियाले अँधेरे में एक ओर बड़े गौर से देख रहे हो. "क्या ऊब गए हैं", "कुछ तो नया करना है", "कुछ एक्साइटिंग करूंगा... कुछ मस्त", "बहुत हो गया तुमरा आलस ससुर!", "नया, एक्साइटिंग, इंटेंस… ज़बरदस्त!"

तुम गौर से देखते हो, उलटते पलटते हो.… मुस्कुराते हो: "हाँ यार, यही करूंगा, बढ़िया आईडिया है"; और उत्साह में: "वाह लड़के क्या खूब सोचा है!"

पीटर नदास की पैरेलल स्टोरीज़ (समानान्तर कथाएँ), जिसे तुम स्ट्रैंड से 8 रूपये में एक दर्दनाक सेल में जूनूनवश खरीद लाये थे . 

(अट्ठारह साल का) भार महसूस करते हो - बकौल ए के हंगल, इस से भारी बोझ, "बाप के कन्धों पर बेटे का जनाज़ा", बस यही हो सकता है.  

और सो दे से.

Brief Interludes With Hideous Men

NF's corporeal form will be locatable in Lucknow from December 13th to January 7th. Those who can, please drop by to say hello.

A Radical Notion: Part One

It is not widely known even among those who know/knew NF that before embarking upon a life of a vagabond professional fraudster (a more rarefied, technical synonym being 'researcher'), he toyed playfully with the idea of taking the test for the Asian College of Journalism at Chennai. The idea seemed appealing precisely because it was so outlandish and gave NF - the eternal poser - a great talking point to impress his fellow, soon-to-graduate wingies; who would otherwise be too stoned to pay any attention to his incessant, narcissistic grandstanding. I hazard to guess however, that NF wasn't serious about this venture - in much the same way as SatyaVrat was never serious about bringing to fruition, his often discussed, semi-public declarations of committing suicide - and while NF will want you to believe it was a higher calling, in particular, an intense fascination for Mathematics and Philosophy that pulled him into a life of petty crime, I have a nagging suspicion it was in fact the sheer horror of having to be stranded in Chennai for ten whole months that scuttled the fancy.

While NF's ambitions did not diminish as the years lumbered lazily past, his cinephilia, lit-crit and rock-crit pretensions OD'd rather abruptly. These days NF craves nothing more than being fed a schlocky, syrupy diet of B Hindi films.

Which brings us to that radical idea that shook NF's very being to the core.

Recent Acquisitions

1. American Pastoral (Philip Roth)
2. Autobiography of a Corpse (Sigizmund Krzhyzhanovsky)
3. The Marriage Plot (Jeffrey Eugenides)

It wasn't planned but yet again, I found myself inside a bookstore and gave in to the by now quite alarmingly regular compulsive disorderly impulse to get some. 

And within 24 hours of having acquired it, I am pleased to say that I finished The Marriage Plot (having come with high recommendations from the singular (no pun intended) Michael and Dzejla book club). The first 150 or so pages are among the funniest, most intelligent, warmest and most exquisitely plotted I've ever read in my entire reading career. Reading it proved so riveting that I surrendered with pleasure, called in sick the next day (today) and completed the entire 400 page story over the course of a lazy afternoon-evening-night marathon reading session. I'd almost forgotten the guilty, direct, immediate pleasure I still derive from reading a somewhat old fashioned novel - the one with a plot involving real humans with real stories as opposed to big-idea-books-masquerading-as-novels. (I don't remember underlining, criss-crossing, commenting so much on the margins as I've done in the first one third of the book.) Add to the above, the icing on the cake - one of the three main characters is so DFW that one would be blind to miss it - and the spell is complete. Although the book does sag from around the mid half until almost to the end, the first third is so brilliantly observed, breathtakingly beautiful, so effortlessly refreshing in its genuine humor that I don't feel like griping at all.

Bravo Jeffrey! You've restored a reader back to vigor!

Pretty Good Year: Reading List, Jan 2013 - Jan 2014

1. आषाढ़ का एक दिन (मोहन राकेश) (tr. A Day in the Month of Aashadh (Mohan Rakesh))
2. 1Q84 (Haruki Murakami)
3.  लहरों के राजहंस (मोहन राकेश) (tr. Waves' Royal Swans (Mohan Rakesh))
4.  On Beauty (Zadie Smith)
5. टाटा प्रोफेसर (मनोहर श्याम जोशी) (tr. Ta-ta Professor (Manohar  Shyam Joshi))
6. चीड़ों पर चांदनी (निर्मल वर्मा) (पुनः) (tr. Moonlight on Pines (Nirmal Verma) (reread))
7. Galactic North (Alastair Reynolds)
8. हरिया हरकुलिस की हैरानी (मनोहर श्याम जोशी) (tr. Hariya Hercules's Bewilderment (Manohar Shyam Joshi))
9. पैर तले की ज़मीन (मोहन राकेश) (tr. Ground Beneath the Feet (Mohan Rakesh))
10. बिस्रामपुर का संत (श्रीलाल शुक्ल) (tr. The Saint of Bisrampur (Shrilal Shukla))
11. प्रतिनिधि व्यंग्य (हरिशंकर परसाई) (tr. Representative Satire (Harishankar Parsai))
12. हर बारिश में (निर्मल वर्मा) (पुनः) (tr. In Every Rainfall (Nirmal Verma) (reread)) 
13. Dongri to Dubai (S Hussain Zaidi)
14. The Master of Petersburg (J M Coetzee)
15. Tenth of December (George Saunders) 
16. Waiting for Godot (Samuel Beckett) 
17. Gravity's Rainbow (Thomas Pynchon) 
18. Gulag Archipelago Vol 1 (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn) 
19. प्रतिनिधि कवितायेँ (केदारनाथ सिंह) (tr. Representative Poems (Kedarnath Singh))
20. Gulag Archipelago Vol 2 (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)  
21. Pattern Recognition (William Gibson) 
22. Gulag Archipelago Vol 3 (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)  
23. रसीदी टिकट (अमृता प्रीतम) (tr. Return Ticket (Amrita Pritam)) 
24. इन दिनों (कुंवर नारायण) (tr. These Days (Kunwar Narayan)) 
25. Spook Country (William Gibson) 
26. Slow Learner (Thomas Pynchon) 
27. Red Plenty (Francis Spufford) 
28. नेताजी कहिन (मनोहर श्याम जोशी ) (tr. Netaji Sayeth (Manohar Shyam Joshi)) 
29. Consider Phlebas (Iain M Banks) 
30. मोहन दास (उदय प्रकाश) (tr. Mohan Das (Uday Prakash)) 
31. The Player of Games (Iain M Banks) 
32. त्रिवेणी (गुलज़ार) (tr. Triveni (Gulzar)) 
33. यार जुलाहे (गुलज़ार) (tr. Weaver Pal (Gulzar)) 
34. The Use of Weapons (Iain M Banks) 
35. Zero History (William Gibson) 
36. Excession (Iain M Banks) 
37. खामोश! अदालत जारी है (विजय तेंदुलकर) (tr. Silence! Court is in Session (Vijay Tendulkar)) 
38. The Golden Compass (Phillip Pullman) 
39. The Subtle Knife (Philip Pullman) 
40. The Amber Spyglass (Philip Pullman)
41. वे दिन (निर्मल वर्मा) (पुनः) (tr. Those Days (Nirmal Verma) (reread))  
42. घासीराम कोतवाल (विजय तेंदुलकर) (tr. Ghasiram Constable (Vijay Tendulkar)) 
43. India After Gandhi (Ramchandra Guha) 

(Another) Resolution With Capital R

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रंग लाल गुलाग का...

मेरे परिचितों के बीच यह बात छुपी नहीं है कि रूसी साहित्य के प्रति मेरा मोह कभी कभी जुनूनियत की हदें पार सकता है। ऐसा क्यूँ है और किस प्रकार ऐसी परिस्थितियां विकसित हुईं, यह एक पेचीदा और जटिल सवाल है जिसका कोई सरल जवाब, कम से कम मेरे पास तो कतई नहीं है। (क्या यह रूसी साहित्य के दुःख, दारिद्र्य, अवसाद, राजनीतिक उहापोह, बोझिल कथानकों, मीलों दूर तक फैली हुई "ठंडी खामोश बर्फ़", उदासीन नायक-नायिकाओं और दुष्ट-लेकिन-गहरे-विचारोत्तेजक व्यक्तित्व वाले खलनायकों की बदौलत है; या फिर केवल कौतुक इत्तेफ़ाक़ कि स्कूल की लाइब्रेरी में एक बारह साल के बालक के हाथ मैक्सिम गोर्की की एक किताब का पड़ जाना (वह किताब 'मदर' थी, और मेरे हाथों में उसे देख कर, और उसके बाद कुछ और रूसी जैसे नामवाली किताबों को देख कर, मेरी माँ को शक होने लगा था कि कहीं यह लड़का कम्युनिस्ट तो नहीं बनता जा रहा? दूसरे शब्दों में, "लड़का हाथ से निकला जा रहा" मालूम होता है!) - इनके बीच में कोई पक्का फैसला कर पाना काफी मुश्किल है।) मेरे ब्लॉगर के प्रोफाइल में, जो करीब छ: (सात?) साल पहले बनाया गया था, और जिसके विषय में मैं बिलकुल भूल चुका था, अभी तक 'साहित्य' सेक्शन में 'रूसी साहित्य' का ज़िक्र है।

पिंचन की महा-पुस्तक 'ग्रेविटीज़ रेनबो' ख़त्म करने के बाद मेरा ध्यान फिर रूस की ओर भटका। कुछ एक हफ्ते पहले अपने बल्गेरियन प्रोफेसर से मिलने जब मैं पहुंचा, तो उनके दफ्तर के बुकशेल्फ पर सोल्ज्हेनित्सिन की 'गुलाग आर्किपेलागो' के पहले दो वोल्यूम देख कर मेरे मन में अदमनीय लालच उत्पन्न हुआ और मैंने अपने प्रोफेसर से इन्हें उधार मांगने की धृष्टता कर दी। बात दरअसल इतनी ही थी कि मैंने केवल वोल्यूम एक ही पढ़ा था (दो बार) और दूसरे और तीसरे पर कभी नज़र ही नहीं पड़ी। खैर, मेरी इस गुस्ताखी पर प्रोफेसर साहब बड़े खुश हुए और बोले "जा बिटवा, रख ले इन्हें! मैं अपने ऑफिस के लिए एक और प्रति मंगवा लूंगा ..." इतना ही नहीं, उन्होंने मुझे बड़े उत्साहित स्वर में यह भी बताया कि आज कल वह उत्तर कोरिया के गुलागों से भागे कैदियों की सत्य-कथाएँ पढ़ रहे थे और उनके विचार से वहां सोवियत यूनियन से भी बदतर स्थितियां थीं! 

वोल्यूम एक और दो पाकर इधर मेरा मन फूला नहीं समा रहा था और शायद मैं प्रोफेसर साहब की बातों पर कुछ विशेष ध्यान भी नहीं दे रहा था। मेरा हाथ तो बस इन किताबों को महसूस करने और उनके पन्नों पर जमी गर्द की महक से उतावला हुआ जा रहा था! तो बस घर लौटते ही मैंने तीसरा वोल्यूम आर्डर किया और इन तीनों को अपनी प्लेलिस्ट पर जोड़ लिया! यह भी फैसला लिया गया कि इनके बाद जिस किताब का काम तमाम किया जायेगा, वह फ्रांसिस स्पफ़र्ड की 'रेड प्लेंटी' ('लाल प्रचुरता') होगी। इन चार किताबों के बीच अगले महीने दो-महीनों में मैं सोवियत इतिहास के विषय में करीब ढाई हज़ार पन्नों का अध्ययन करूंगा! और इस बार, जब वोल्यूम 1 (जिसे मैं तीसरी बार अब पढ़ रहा हूँ (पहली बार पढ़ते वक़्त मुझे याद है, कि सोवियत यूनियन की नृशंसता और उनके क़ानून-कायदे (जो एक स्याह मज़ाक-से लगते थे) पढ़ कर उत्पन्न अविश्वसनीयता को मैं नियंत्रित नहीं कर पाता था और पांडू के रूम में जा कर उसे सोवियत यूनियन के "आर्टिकल 58" के नियम सुनाया करता था - शुरू में पांडू जी महाराज को यह अपने परामानविक दर्शन के चिंतन में मात्र एक बाधा सदृश लगता था, लेकिन मेरा अनुमान है कि (मेरे द्वारा की गयी) थोड़ी जोर ज़बरदस्ती के बाद वह भी इस साहित्य से प्रभावित हुए बिना नहीं रह पाते थे।)) में तीन सौंवे पन्ने पर हूँ तो इस बात का ज़रूर ख्याल कर रहा हूँ कि इस मानव इतिहास के स्याह अध्याय का गहन विश्लेषण करूँ - इसीलिए कई बार पन्नों पर नज़र दौड़ाने के साथ साथ मैं विकिपीडिया से रूसी और सोवियत इतिहास के बारे में भी पढ़ता जा रहा हूँ। आशा है कि इस चौकड़ी से घमासान करने के बाद मैं थोड़ा अधिक जानकार, थोड़ा बुद्धिमान बन कर निकलूंगा! 

निर्मलवर्मागीरी

पढ़ना आजकल केवल सबवे की ट्रेनों में हो पाता है। 1, ई. (E) और आर. (R) ट्रेनों पर अक्सर मैं मोहन राकेश, मनोहर श्याम जोशी या निर्मल वर्मा की किताबों के पन्नों पर ताकता हुआ दिखूंगा। पांडू और मेरा इसके लिए एक ख़ास नाम भी था: निर्मलवर्मागीरी। वैसे अगर हमें उस समय रोबर्तो बोलान्यो का नाम-पता मालूम होता, तो हम इसे बोलान्योगीरी की संज्ञा भी दे सकते थे। (वैसे अब जब इस बारे में सोचता हूँ तो लगता है कि निश्चित ही हम दोनों इस घुम्मकड़ लेखनी की प्रवृत्ति को बोलान्योगीरी ही कहते - निर्मल वर्मा के उदास, गहरे और आत्मा-हन्तारक रूप से दुखी कथानकों के बजाए हमें बोलान्यो की बकैती और पंक शैली (अमरीकी संगीत वाला पंक, भारतीय कमल नहीं!) अधिक जमती (वैसे भी उन दिनों हम पंक और ग्रंज संगीत के दीवाने हुए जा रहे थे!)) लेकिन नाम में ले दे के कुछ रखा है नहीं, इसीलिए मेरा इस प्रकार का व्यवहार निर्मलवर्मागीरी ही कहलायेगा।

इस बार घर से लौटने के समय प्रेमचंद के किताबों की  के गठरी के साथ मैं कई एक कविताओं के संग्रह भी उठा लाया - इनमें तारसप्तक और चाँद का मुंह टेढ़ा है जैसे प्रतिष्ठित संकलन तो थे ही, साथ में केदारनाथ सिंह, कुंवर नारायण, और गुलज़ार की कविताओं की किताबें भी थीं। (वैसे नामांकरण के बारे में पुनः सोचते हुए लगता है की मुक्तिबोध के बारे में भी ले दे के हम दोनों अनजान ही थे (शायद पांडू को अधिक मालूम था, लेकिन अपनी तरफ से मैं तो मुक्तिबोध का बस नाम ही जानता था - वो भी स्कूल के हिंदी सिलेबस के नाते) नहीं तो बकैती में मुक्तिबोध बोलान्यो से कुछ कम नहीं कहे जायेंगे!) 

सोचा था कि इस बार समय निकाल के कुछ अच्छी कविताओं का शौकिया अंग्रेज़ी अनुवाद करूंगा और ब्लॉग पे छाप डालूँगा। लेकिन आलस और आत्म-संशय के मारे (मनोहर श्याम जोशी के शब्द) कुछ ख़ास किया नहीं। अब जब ज़रा सा मौका मिला है तो सोचता हूँ कि शुरुआत करने में कोई बुराई नहीं है। इसलिए अपनी खुद की एक कविता का अनुवाद करता हूँ। वैसे ताज्जुब की बात है कि हालांकि कविताओं की कोई समझ बूझ नहीं है मुझमें, ये एक कविता जो लिखी थी पांडू के लिए (या फिर पांडू की एक तेजस्वी स्मृति के लिए) वह मुझे अभी तक पसंद है और इसे सुनने सुनाने में मुझे ज़रा भी शर्मिंदगी नहीं महसूस होती है। क्या जाने क्या कारण है? इसे इस ब्लॉग पे मैं पहले भी लिख चुका हूँ। यहाँ फिलहाल, उसे पुनः लिख कर अनुवाद पेश करता हूँ:

सोचा आज कि लिखूं 

एक टेस्टी तुम्हारी याद में 

याद उस दोपहर की उबासी की 

जब ब्रह्माण्ड तुम्हारे मुख में विलीन हो जाता था 

जब तिरछी पड़ती उस उदास धूप में 

तुम मुझे सत्य का दर्शन पढ़ाते थे 

और अँधेरे कोनों में जला कटा 

कुढ़े मन से 

एक साक्षर, सिनिकल सी मुस्कान लिए 

मैं, तुम्हारा प्रतिकार किया करता था 

जलता था मैं तुमसे 

जलता हूँ 

ताउम्र शायद जलता रहूँगा

अनुवाद:

Thought that I will write today

A testimonial in your memory

A memory of that idle afternoon

When the universe would dissolve in your mouth

When in the slanting shade of that sad sunlight

You would teach me the philosophy of truth

And in the dark corners unyielding

With a disgruntled mien

With an educated, cynical smile 

I would resist you

I was jealous of you

Am jealous

Lifelong perhaps, shall remain jealous 

A Short Photo Essay: December '12 - January '13