Books, books, books!!!

My book buying habits tend to vaguely disturb my mother sometimes, though in all honesty, my parents have always given me free reign to splurge to my heart's content in this particular respect. This year, I came back with 2 cartons of books from the hostel; this, considering the fact that I had taken none with me to college at the beginning of the year. One look, and Mom wanted to know when I got the time to do anything else.

So, I was in Delhi the last couple of days, and decided to stop over at this little rekri next to PVR Plaza. I had been interning near CP last summer, had checked the place out a couple of times and had been quite impressed at the collection of books. It was then a really pleasant surprise when the shopkeeper came up to me and conversationally asked why I hadn't visited for almost a year. I ended up buying some really nice stuff from him - Isherwood (more on that later), Nabokov's Dozen, Eugene O'Neill, Jeanette Winterson and a couple more. It never ceases to amaze me as to how often I find the nicest of books at these PVR roadside booksellers.

What is rather amusing though, is how everyone assumes that a teenage girl can read nothing but romance novels of the Mills and Boons variety. When I smile and shake my head, the logical progression is towards the Sheldons, Archers and Dan Browns. I do enjoy reading them once in a while, but honestly, would never spend money on them - pretty much the same way as i refuse to spend my own money on vegetarian food. I usually get lucky the third time round, though the whole thing has become some sort of regular courtship ritual!!

The Da Vinci Cod (no, i havent forgotten the 'e')

Pardon the plagiarism (though i havent had an opportunity to read the book), but this whole furore over screening the movie in India is getting to me. I have read The Da Vinci Code though, and can say little that hasn't been said before, or dredge up enough emotion to comment on what is obviously going to be an unqualified money-grosser, for the sheer weight of the sensationalism that has propelled a mediocre book to such lofty heights.

*looks at previous sentence*

erm... so i did comment.

The movie itself is quite inconsequential in my scheme of things - i might watch it for Tom Hanks (despite that haircut) and Ron Howard. And to pass time. What does get me riled up is that now, i am probably not going to be able to choose. The movie is this close to being banned in India. It most probably will. The move will appease the more racuous activists, and there really is little loss for the government in the process.

What would be terribly amusing, if it werent terribly hypocritical is how we are getting all indignant over a movie that is based on a book that has already been a best-seller in all countries in the Christian world, and will be freely screened in most parts of it. I assume there wasnt a furore over the book simply because most of these devout Catholics who are ready to fast to death over the movie never bothered to read it. It would be too much to assume then, that any of these proponents and upholders of religion have even heard of Nikos Kazantzakis and his brilliant The Last Temptation of Christ , or the recently uncovered Gospel of Judas. And why stop here? One must also do away with the heretical works of Da Vinci and other masters and stop our children from reading fairytales (if you simply go by Brown's book.)

The Vatican chose to merely make its disapproval for the contents of the movie clear, the Opus Dei chose to use the publicity storm as a PR-op to get its own stance clearer, but we believe we have a moral authority to tell people what they can (and that is the point really - can, as opposed to should) or cannot watch or read. So, it falls (again) on this glorious secular nation to don the mantle of protector and preserver of all faiths. After all, this insidious conspiracy to shake the foundations of Christianity and people's faith in Christ must Not Be Allowed. It will, as our Minister for Information and Broadcasting put it (oh, so succinctly), cause " confusion and instability it the country". Pardon me for believing that caste and religion based politics and state sponsored sectarian violence did all that far more effectively.

I have lived through some of the worst riots during 1992. I had friends in Gujarat. Believe me, it takes more than a book to shake ones faith in religion.

The first post

I was in Gymkhana Club yesterday. It is, like a friend put it, the last outpost of the Raj in India. The buildings are quaintly old-time British in architecture and name, as are the many little customs and rules. It felt curiously like home (most of my childhood was spent in old British bungalows in small towns across MP, where the civil service still retains an untarnished glamour, and one never quite outgrew being babysaahib) and everything about the place felt delightfully familiar. I can picture Asha jumping up and down repeating "cultural imperialism" ecstatically, and from where I see it, it defines a part of who I am. I plead guilty, and revert back to floozing over a lovely afternoon well spent (not in small measure owing to a library with a brilliant stock and even more brilliant ambience).

Also, I saw Troy tonight. Again. I must be a masochist to subject myself to such agony. But it was worthwhile just to get the vitriol flowing.First things first. There is something wrong in any adaptation where Paris is prettier than Helen. It is unlawful, because it isnt his face that was supposed to launch a thousand ships. And Orlando Bloom can't act. At all. The storyline has been sacrificed to pander to American ideas of romantic heroism, and the delightful moral ambiguities and weaknesses that make Greek mythology what it is, are turned about on their heads. What you have is Melenaus being killed by Paris (ouch), Agamemmnon stabbed unceremoniously by a (wooden) Breisis (double ouch) and Achilles crying over Hector's defiled body (i gave up here). Speaking of Achilles, Brad Pitt tries really hard to look profound, and succeeds in looking merely constipated.
The only redeeming features are Eric Bana and Peter O'Toole, who have managed to inject some dignity to their extremely caricaturised roles. And the final battle scene between Hector and Achilles is nicely done. Apart from this, the movie becomes another in a long line of Hollywood attempts to glamourise mythology according to modern popular constructs, in the process abandoning all pretences at intellectual interpretation. How else would you explain a corny dialogue like "I'll meet you in Elysium, my brother" being repeated thrice?

Talk about banality!