Lost in Catchwords: On the Erosion of Thought.

How often have you heard people using or you yourself have used labels like neo-Nazi, Jihadi, Bhakt, Zionist, to name just a few. It is easier to use those labels because that label is expected to explain in one word that you would need otherwise to elaborate in multiple sentences. If the label covers a wide swathe, blankets a lot and crushes nuance, then so be it. Who has the patience to explain in detail when a single word can do.

Add insensitive (or vested) groups who use the label to stereotype.

- All blacks are untrustworthy

- Immigrants are a law and order problem

- Crime goes up with lack of border control

- All terrorists are Muslims

- 90% of scam calls are from Nigeria

Such easy labeling is a boon to politicians. The diminishing attention span of the current generation coupled with the need to get a quick digested opinion is a lethal mix. If one wants to understand history or complex geopolitical situations one needs to invest time, understand various points of view, decipher nuances, acknowledge that most issues, especially history and people, are never black and white and one has to account for the gray in between.

Here one must tackle the minefields of fake news, misinformation and propaganda. There is a general tendency to believe that anything in print to be true. This was relevant “maybe” about 80 years ago. When newspapers had a conscience and a spine. The current generation is at a disadvantage because they are bombarded non-stop with information.

Viet Thanh Nguyen said in his Pulitzer winning novel, The Sympathizer    “ Nothing………..is ever so expensive as what is offered for free.”

When so much of information is available for free on your phone screen, it is tempting to digest what is offered. The algorithms further make sure that you get to see what someone wants you to see or what you regularly crave. When a particular theme is played endlessly, on loop, on your screen, that is all you read. WhatsApp has lent this whole quagmire an additional layer of depravity as the “Big brother” has finally found a channel to address to you specifically with contents tailor made to form and then boost your biases.

Add AI assistance in the form of ChatGPT or Gemini or Grok or several others in the market which prompts you when you open a document with “This document appears quite large, shall I make a summary for you?”.

So, now you are left with not only propaganda nonsense, but also a tool to help you digest it to a few bullet points. The whole exercise is engineered to make sure that one does not use one’s intelligence or independent thinking to form a balanced opinion. Fake news and Deepfake were already a menace. AI now makes it immensely more catastrophic. (It is such a pity, because as in any other new invention, AI is such a powerful tool when used where and how it must be used, by experts)

- Hatred was whipped up between two factions of Sinhalese and Tamils in Sri Lanka with doctored videos and unsubstantiated news circulated via WhatsApp.

- Scores were killed in Myanmar where it was a child’s play to whip up a frenzy against the Rohingya Muslims

Extreme intolerance and a complete unwillingness to engage in a discussion has become the norm among those who absorb these convenient ready made opinions.

- If you try to highlight the atrocities of Israel post Oct 7, you are branded Pro-Hamas and you become an Anti-Semite.

- If you expose Hamas you are a Zionist.

- If you have voted for Mamdani you are a communist who is pro-immigration and you will be the reason that the nation will collapse.

- If you voice your concern over institutional Islamophobia in India, you are branded an anti-national.

- Should you support LGBTQ and participate in a Pride march, then you are a deviant and you are here to destroy our culture.

- If you question God and religion, chances are you may not be alive to weigh the consequences.

History is so easily altered, doctored and distorted. Nothing is sacrosanct anymore.

Be it the 1903 Protocols of the Elders of the Zion, or a nearly 60 year old ongoing opinion that the moon landing was fake or be it the Weapons of Mass Destruction narrative used to invade Iraq.

The above instances were before Social Media exploded.

After the triumvirate of the Social Media cesspool – Facebook, WhatsApp and Twitter/X – the following have become new battlefields between the rational and the rabid. No points for guessing who is winning.

- In India the main victory has been in driving a deeper wedge between Hindus and Muslims and for additional variety it has become quite fashionable to demean Gandhi and Nehru. History books are ACTUALLY being rewritten. A different, often unverified but popular, narrative is given a fresh lease of life.

-  Every mosque is where a temple had been.

- In USA, the “election was stolen” was enough to lead an insurrection.

- Covid time was beyond the imagination of even the wildest. Origin theories, cures, news about sections of the society that willfully spread the virus,………

- In every country, the constant propaganda to blame one section of the society for all the ills prevailing today is a never ending exercise.

- The secret cosmic wavelength sound is “OM”

- Ancient Hindu temples have carvings of people using a tablet, and a cell phone.

- Missile interceptors were in norm during Kurukshetra

- Ramsetu is real

- Plastic surgery originated from ancient India. (Lord Ganesha)

- Then there are doctored quotes attributed to people who never said them.

- Post a quote with a picture and if you can find it on google, it is the gospel truth.

- ….……..

Controlling the traditional media and perpetuating these false narratives make it easier for leaders to control the masses and abuse their powers.

Not that traditional history or news has been without a flaw. There is  merit in the saying that History is written by the victors. How many know about Unit 731 compared to Auschwitz – Birkenau? How many know Holodomor compared to the Holocaust? The silver lining is, if one is willing to dig deep there is a possibility to find the truth.

In today’s world it has become impossible. No one has the time or the inclination to read, analyze or investigate. Hence, opinions are no longer formed. They are taken in fully formed shape from the supermarket shelves.

The Bedouins are a traditionally nomadic or semi-nomadic Arab tribes, who have lived for centuries herding camels, goats and sheep. Moving with the seasons in search of grazing land. They wore practical clothing – long robes, loose garments, and the Keffiyeh to protect from heat and sand. They are known for a strong code of honor, hospitality and tribal loyalty.

After 9/11, the media succeeded in presenting every single Arab through a narrow and negative lens. Stock images of armed men in desert settings for any story about terrorism regardless of relevance, repeatedly associating turbans, keffiyehs or beards have all added to this specific narrative. (A secondary fallout that is almost comical, if it were not so tragic, was a few Punjabi lives that were lost).

A peaceful, nomadic, poetry and art loving Bedouin overnight became a caricature for “ the desert Arab with a gun.”

In India, print media and films follow the same pattern. If mythology is filmed, the devas and the gods are all fair skinned and clean shaven while the Asuras or the demons are always dark skinned, hirsute and unkempt. The comics (the famous Amar Chitra Katha) were not far behind. They regularly depicted the demons as black skinned, clad in animal skins or rags and hirsute (either unruly hair or a ragged beard and a terrifying mustache) and the gods as fair skinned, well dressed and, if a male god, clean shaven. The films were the same. The hero in bespoke trousers, well manicured, with a dazzling shampoo-ad hair while the villain was always dark and with some physical deformities to boot, a mole, a scar, and if they are not enough some additional stains on his character too, like a womanizer or an alcoholic.

Hollywood has chipped in with its share.

For a long time, Hollywood was happy playing the “ white savior” to villages and towns in Africa.

(Hilariously detailed by Dipo Faloyin  in his masterpiece “ Africa is not a country”).

Post 9/11, the villains changed from a cold ruthless immoral communist from Russia or one of the Eastern European nations to a standard “ robed, bearded, keffiyeh wearing, brown Arab”

True Lies, Executive Decision, The Siege, Body of Lies, American Sniper…….the list can go on and on and on and on……..

And it is not completely one way as some might start to feel. The wronged groups start playing the victim game and flip the narratives. The section of the population waiting for a fact based counter narrative starts consuming another propaganda, once again falling into the same trap. Thus you start seeing Hamas sympathizers (who should just be anti-oppression logically speaking) who start parroting inanities such as “The Oct 7 did not occur in a vacuum”. Having engineered a counter narrative, the other end of the perpetrators ratchet up the game for tit for tat for tit for tat, repeated mindlessly over decades that one is unable to find out which was “tit” and which was “tat”. As, such an exercise would demand investing time and keeping biases out, the easiest way out is to attach the label to a faction that resonates with one’s bias or the prevailing popular opinion on a given day.

Same with caste. The caste atrocities are simplified to a lowest common denominator. A non-meat eating, practicing Hindu Brahmin landlord subjugating a Dalit. Films from the subcontinent reinforce this image so often, that this is the first image that comes to one’s mind when one speaks of caste. While annihilation of caste is a must, associating caste oppression to just one section of the society is a trap that most walk in to. If one starts pointing out that caste is more commonly practiced, as in non-Brahim “upper caste” vs a lower caste, or there exists caste hierarchy among Muslims where a “Ashraf” is superior to a “Arzal” both of whom sit above a “Pasmanda”, then you are blamed for being a nitpicking analyst whose intention is to cloud the pond to obscure obvious anomalies.

In his article “ The English language is in a bad way”, George Orwell lamented on the falling standards of the English language. One of his main complaints was people using ready made stock phrases. When you use idioms, proverbs, stock phrases, you are actually not thinking. You are mechanically picking up a string of words readily available from a shelf, like assembling a carburetor for your car. When words are used without thinking, the end result can’t be expected to be exceptional.

Let us look at our tool box or our kitchen. The compartments in the toolbox are labeled “ screws, nails, nuts, wires, screwdrivers, spanners” and the containers in the kitchen are labeled “Sugar, tea, coffee, flour, rice” because it is easy to pick, without thinking a lot about it. It works mostly fine. OK, once in a while your coffee is salty or your omelette is sweet, but generally these mishaps are rare. Even if they occur, the damage is limited and not life threatening. (unless you are the type who keep cyanide next to sugar in your kitchen, or acid next to turpentine in your art studio)

Labels have a place and a purpose. To label a thing is OK. But when we attach labels to people or a section of society, we do them a disservice and this shortcut is an insult to our intelligence.

 

Picture created by ChatGPT through a prompt.

  

Grief Is A Coiled Snake

 Grief is a coiled snake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“An individual who is killed by a gang is called a martyr” The Annihilation of Caste.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was 4 of May 1965.

Perumal had no idea that he would not live to see the end of the day when he woke up.

As a matter of fact, his life delivered no surprises. Only pain! Pain so endless and consistent, its presence was never felt. Perumal belonged to the Irular community, one of the lowest castes that one could find. The village he lived in was one of those countless villages where time stood still; majority of the village was of lower castes, and the village was ruled by one landlord, loaded with money and privileged to have hit the lottery of birth by being born in one of the upper castes. Perumal and the rest of the villagers toiled hard, did what was told, received what was offered, lived without raising their voice (or head), married, begot children, brought them into the same misery, grew up, and died.

None of them knew what work they would do on a given day. They would all - menfolk, womenfolk, children, everyone – assemble at the fields at 7 in the morning and the landlord, or his manager, would assign the job to them. It could be tilling the fields, harvesting the crops, cutting firewood, removing weeds, cutting vegetables, lighting a fire, tending a stove, plucking the fruits, digging a canal, drawing water from a well, take the sheep for grazing, milking the cows, collecting eggs from the pen, butchering a goat or a chicken, mending the broken cart, leveling the path, trimming the hedge, painting a wall (never the interior – one could not enter the Big House), tiling the roof, sharpening the sickle, honing the knives, washing the clothes, pounding the millets and make sure one did not lose a limb or a finger or leg in the process. The work continued irrespective of whether it rained, or the sun shone, hot or cold, whether one was sick or well. The day ended when the work ended. One ate when the manager was not looking.

The evenings and the nights were as predictable as the day. Drag yourself home (if those ramshackle shacks can be called home), stretch your legs, not for too long as the enervation would put you to sleep, attend to the cuts and bruises, cook, eat under the moonlight or by the feeble light of a flickering lamp, sleep, once in a while engage in an act of procreation, wake up, go to the fields to defecate, jump into the river to bathe, return to the fields at 7.

Rinse. Repeat.

The act of procreation engaged sporadically defied any sense or logic. Why would one bring another child to such a life? But then, what could one do? It was more an act of diversion than purpose. Those ten minutes made one forget all the pain and anguish. In those ten minutes, one could afford to forget the endless toil, the snake bites, the scorpion stings, senseless beating and continued insult. A child of seven years of age could treat them like a piece of rag, and often did. They grow up watching their parents and children are quick learners.

On the day in question, Perumal was directed to the fields. His job that day was to mend the fence. The purpose of the fence was to keep away small animals and workers from the neighboring farms. Poles, concertina wires, barbed wires drawn in a crisscross pattern between the wooden stakes comprised the fence. The tools were minimal. His clothing resembled that of the Father of the Nation. He resigned himself to more cuts during the day. His only hope was not to injure himself too badly because he would then return home late. The day ended when the work ended.

His wife Valli and his 7-year-old son were sent to the main house to sort and pack the cabbages that grew in the farm. This was a task that they hated. Hated more than the other jobs. One had to peel off the outer layer, in most cases, dry them with a towel, drop them into a sack, weigh them as close to 30-kg as possible, stitch the gunny bags, heave them to a side, start with the next one. The peeled outer layers were later shifted to the shed to feed to the cattle. God forbid should the supervisor (the 18-year-old son of the landlord) find few scraps of the cabbage peels in your possession. Most cabbages were never perfectly round, and they often slipped and fell on your toes, or your fingers got caught below a dropped one inside the bag. The big, pointed needle occasionally pricked your fingers or palm while trying to stitch the bag’s mouth. The mountain of cabbages looked daunting. The son of the landlord seated himself in the comfort of a shade, in a semi-reclining chair, reading something and listening to some music. Valli and her son could not see the device itself, but they saw the snaking wires of the headphones that crept across his torso and the big head hugging headphone itself.

Perumal looked at the short stretch that he had managed to erect with a mixture of pride and apprehension. The former came from his skill on display that he had not known he was in possession of, the latter came from not knowing if it would meet the approval of the landlord. His forearm was already a spiderweb of minor scratches from the unruly razor-sharp wire that he needed to straighten and wrap around the top of the barbed wire. One sudden uncoiling left a deep cut on his shoulder. He removed his vest and skillfully tied it around the cut. The cut throbbed a little and then did not disturb him anymore. Even injuries know the extent to which they can trouble their owners. The sun was merciless. There was not a cloud in sight. Blinded by the heat, his focus was on the fence, and he did not realize he had stepped on a small anthill. Those tiny red-headed monsters clambered up his leg. Some city dwellers would immediately sense a few crawling insects, however small, over their skin. Perumal’s skin was calloused and dry. Perumal came to know about the ants only when about thirty of them bit into his skin almost simultaneously. The pain was excruciating and Perumal dropped the plier he held in his hand, which comically fell on his other leg, point down, tearing a part of his skin, and he jumped back, in a contorted way, body bent with hands trying to brush off whatever it was that was crawling up his legs and backwards, more by instinct and also by the fact the front direction was barricaded by the fence he was in the process of erecting. He landed with the ant-bitten leg on the coil of concertina wire and the cut on his shoulder paled into insignificance when the edges sliced through his instep. He fell backwards, hit his head on a stone looking straight into the white-hot sky. He tore the towel that was wrapped around his waist, shredded them into narrow strips, wound them tightly over both his legs wherever he saw ruptured and sliced skin. The coil of wire reminded him what his father had told him when he was young.

“Perumaalu, grief is a coiled snake. Let it lie in a corner and do not ever wake it up. That is its purpose. To stay where it is. If you try to unwrap it, stir it, go near it, it will dart forward and bury its fangs, causing you more agony. And all you get by disturbing the coiled snake is only more discomfort. Once it had poisoned you with painful memories, it will go back to its coiled form. It will never go away.”

The remaining job to be completed did not give him the luxury to rest and recuperate and he resumed his fencing. The fence is important. Otherwise, animals and his fellowmen will transgress to claim what is not meant to be theirs.

Next time Valli looked up, she was surprised to find four other boys along with the landlord’s son. She did not see when they arrived. Each of them was exactly alike. Wiry, long unkempt hair, shorts, shoes, sunglasses, and the beginning of a mustache.

After packing nearly 70 bags, Valli realized that there were no bags left. The mountain of cabbages indicated that there are enough left for another fifty bags at least.

“Saami, the bags are over. I will need more bags, please”

The boy looked up from what he was reading and jerked his head towards the shed at the other end of yard. Valli slowly hauled herself from her seated position and walked towards the shed. The moment she entered the shed, one of the boys gave some money to Valli’s son and asked him to go buy himself something from the shop at the corner of the street.

The landlord’s son was the first inside the shed. Valli’s son came back to the yard, having eaten a sticky sweet, when the third boy left the shed and the fourth entered it. He knew not to speak to the upper caste people unless spoken to. Even though he was worried that he could not find his mother, he knew that the only option left to him was wait. After some time, the fifth boy entered the shed while the fourth boy had not exited. After a quick discussion among themselves the remaining three boys jumped up, laughed excitedly and now all five were inside the shed.

When Valli limped her way back to the yard, her saree had stains, her lip was swollen, she had some bruises on her neck, and she had a blackeye. The son noticed it all but knew better than to ask. Valli resumed picking the cabbage, peeling the layer, dropping them to the new bag. Her son’s job was to hold on to the bag while she dropped the cabbages one by one.  Her son would have told you later the only difference between her countenance before and after the adventure of the sticky sweet was that she was silently and continuously crying later.

Valli trusted the landlord. In all her life, not once had he mistreated her or her family. He was demanding, exploitative and ruthless but was never below the decorum expected of him. When the landlord arrived in the evening to the courtyard, she stood five feet away from him and explained to him what had happened. The landlord was furious. His son’s friends had already left. He slapped his son so hard, that he fell three feet away from where he was standing. He kicked him wherever his leg could land on him and ordered one of his henchmen to lock him away.

“Does your son know what happened?”

“No. He was sent away. Even though he returned before the ordeal was over, he is too young to understand what happened”

“That is good. Young ones should not be exposed to such tragedies in life”

He called one of his henchmen “Kumaresa, go drop the boy in his home.”

He told Valli “Please wait here in the yard. I will have Perumal brought here. This issue must be resolved. What happened is unacceptable”

He was still fuming, when Valli went back to the yard and rested her back against one of the bags that she had packed during the day.

Valli’s son went home and waited. He knew something unacceptable happened in that shed. He also knew that the landlord was kind as he promised to resolve whatever it was that happened.

The landlord in fact resolved it. That very night.

An unsuspecting Valli who was resting in the yard had her head bludgeoned with a hammer. Two of his men went to the field and told Perumal to come with them as the landlord wanted to meet him. One led the way, and one walked behind. There was a flash of movement in front his eye, a piece of rope was flung over his head from behind and pulled back tight, holding Perumal’s hands close to his body; the man in the front turned and shoved a big knife straight into his heart.

Both Valli and Perumal were lucky. Their deaths were instant.

Their bodies were never found.

The community embraces the unattended quickly without long drawn discussions. This community knew when someone did not return in the night, it meant only one thing. That the someone is never going to return. There are multiple possibilities but only one certain end. They have seen this played out so many times. No one died of old age. The lucky ones died of snakebites in the field. The unlucky ones failed to return.

When Perumal and Valli did not return, partly foretold by the early return of their son, ahead of time, alone, they knew what to expect. Somebody fed him, someone else took him under their wing, and soon Valli’s son started going out in the morning at 7 along with the rest to stand and wait for his allocation of the job for the day.

Two things were constant in his life. Each morning, he prayed that he would not be allocated a job in the yard, near that shed. Each evening, he sat outside his home (which is now the home of Murugan and Selvi) and faced the cat. He had many questions that he needed to ask. He was not sure of all the questions. Sometimes he did ask some of those questions. The cat had all the answers. And it never replied.

 

Picture - Created by ChatGPT with a prompt (based on a photograph I had recently taken while on holiday)

 

PS: As the narrator of the story, there are certain liberties I am allowed to take as the author. I took one at the start of the story. It started with a lie. The date was not 4 May 1965. It was yesterday.

 

Carnival Of a Concertina Wire!

The template is same.

Everywhere.

And since time immemorial.

The land is quiet.

Bordering on the peaceful.

The usual disappointments and the feeling of being left uncared for.

They are not big enough to cause a revolution.

Not small enough to ignore.

The existing government slips into complacency.

Ignores the bureaucracy that has been allowed to grow.

Allows red tape.

Nepotism slips in.

The rot sets in slowly, and steadily.

The disconnect between the people and the government gets palpable.

There is still democracy.

Though often creaking at its joints with failing institutions.

The government with no sense of the pulse of the people, does not see the threat.

The threat is usually someone waiting on the sidelines.

Patiently, biding his time.

Watching the discontent breed.

Stoking it when and where possible.

Within one generation, people have seen their dreams vanish.

They do not comprehend how they slipped from a promised progress to the current chaos.

The man on the sidelines takes center stage.

The playbook is clear on its guidelines.

Expose the corruption.

Question the glaring nepotism, impossible to hide anymore.

Blame a particular group.

It is usually the one that comprises people

• Of a different color (Race)
• Of a different faith (Religion)
• Of a different country (Xenophobia)
• Of a different orientation (Sexual)
• Of a different level (Class and Caste)

Explain how the (imagined) past glory is gone.

Cry over the loss of nationalistic pride.

Paint a gory picture on how the “others” have taken what is ours.

Promise prosperity.

Offer reverting to a glorious past.

Alter history.

No one remembers what really happened.

(There are people who deny Holocaust)

(There are people who KNOW that Holocaust was a Jewish conspiracy)

Convince people that democracy is for the weak.

Only the strong can rule.

(People voted life was better under Emergency, under Ceausescu, under Tito, under Stalin)

Only the strong can protect the majority.

Regularly lie.

More blatant the lie, the better.

Election comes.

The corrupt, inefficient leaders, still trusting democracy, promise the same promises.

The challenger assures a cleanup and a fresh start.

It is not even a contest anymore.

The strong man wins.

Corruption continues, but away from the public eye.

Nepotism thrives in an effective camouflage.

Decades can pass by only blaming the past rulers.

The people can be kept happy with symbolic peanuts.

Crush the minority.

Expel the immigrants.

Close the borders.

The rich get richer.

The poor do not realize that they are poor.

The opium of religion and race lulls them into a stupor.

The disappointed are now in a trance.

High on an imagined Utopia.

The rulers continue with one vitriolic slogan after another.

Soon there are no “them”

Only “us”

And we are all equally screwed.

No institutions to support us, for they are the first ones that were compromised.

But who cares?

We are hungry.

We are alone.

We have no future.

We have no rights.

But we are happy because “they” are gone.

“################” (insert the relevant national slogan applicable to your country)

Picture created by ChatGPT

 

Books Read in 2024.

Hello, a happy 2025 to everyone.

Continuing the habit, here is a list of books I read in 2024.

1. A Fine Balance (Fiction) by Rohinton Mistry; The first book of the year has been generally disappointing in the past, but NOT this one. What a monumental piece of work. He is unflinching in his descriptions of squalor and filth as well as the caste atrocities. There are pages where I wanted to kill the author. His capacity to unleash tragedies one after the other is bordering on the insane. A very matter of fact, realistic book with no fictional liberties of justice catching up with the evil ones. Like in life, many get away after evil deeds and many suffer unjustly. Dina aunty, Maneck, Ishwar, Om, Shankar, Rajaram, the beggarmaster, Avinash, his sisters, his parents, Nusswan, Ruby, Dharamsi, monkeyman……… so many characters, but all neatly tied in the end. The last two pages alone deserve an award. Will stay with me for a long long time. Will try and catch up on his remaining 3 books too.

a.    Started on 18^th December and finished on 13^th January

b.    Recommended by Self

2.  Where Stones Speak – Historical Trails in Mehrauli, the First City of Delhi (Non-Fiction) by Rana Safvi; A nice book listing the historical attractions in and around Delhi. With some anecdotes and myths and history. The recommendation in the end tells you how to go and visit these places, how much time to allocate and other details.

a.  Started on 13^th January and finished on 16^th January

b. Recommended by self (after interacting with the author once)

3.  Troy (Mythical) by Stephen Fry; Fry tells you repeatedly “you do not have to remember all the names, the main characters will fall into place”. And, he is right. Reading the characters at the end was like walking through a maze, blindfolded and intoxicated. The main story itself was fabulous. The cunning of Odysseus, valor of Hector, skill of Achilles, beauty of Helen and the general depravity of all mortals and gods. Fry has made it easy to wade through and his wit is inimitable. A most satisfying read.

a.  Started on 16^th January and finished on 23^rd January

b. Gifted by Murali & Vidya, so counts as their recommendation.

4. Uncommon Type – some stories (Fiction) by Tom Hanks; An actor as capable as TH can also write! That itself is a plus. The general verdict is; this is just about average. Quite a few bordering on the pretentious. Who’s who, Go see Costas and Wang is perfect, These are the meditations of my heart, the past is important to us – are the stories that stand out as exceptional. The idea of keeping a typewriter in every story and achieving it was a lovely idea. Well executed. Never found a mention or presence of one jarring or superfluous.

a.    Started on 23^rd January and finished on 31^st January.

b.    Recommended by self

5. A Gentleman’s Word: The Legacy of Subhas Chandra Bose in Southeast Asia (Non-Fiction) by Nilanjana Sengupta; A revelation. I did not know so much about Bose. His respect for and empowerment of women stand out singularly as a great achievement. While Gandhi groomed women as Sita, Bose opted them to be Jhansi Ranis. His impatience, even to the extent of asking his mother “how can you not be disturbed” is infectious. His stand on anti-communalism is not a mere vote bank tactic or lip-service. The way he demonstrated his convictions is amazing. My respect for this man has increased now. All those who cast a doubt because of his interactions with Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan understand him superficially without realizing that he never compromised his principles, nor made compromises on his end goals. Once again we need to understand the meaning of the word “nuance” when trying to understand history.

a.    Started on 31^st January and finished on 4^th February

b.    Recommended by Arko

6. The Inheritance Of Loss (Fiction) by Kiran Desai; A few bits left open in the end. That is the way life unfolds, right? Not everything is neatly tied in the end. A story that looks at migrants, aspirations, class difference, revolution, and retribution. The language and the imagery are top notch. “Several generations to have their hearts in other places, their minds thinking about people elsewhere” and “Ashes have no weight, they tell no secrets, they rise too lightly for guilt; too lightly for gravity, they float upward and, thankfully, disappear” – the book is full of such brilliant observations. A satisfying read.

a.    Started on 6^th February and finished on 11^th February

b.    Recommended by self

7. If this is A Man (Non-Fiction) by Primo Levi; “If I was God, I would spit at Kuhn’s prayer”, “The living are demanding; the dead can wait” “Till I am ready for the chimney” “I am not even alive enough to think of how to kill myself”. Such a wonderful book with such deep insights into questioning the madness and trying to reason the unreasonable. The pain is felt on every page. How the inmates became something less than men. Devoid of feelings, waiting for the neighbor to die so that you can eat his ration. How theft is practiced with no shame or guilt. How the ONLY purpose was to live yet another day. That I have been to Auschwitz seven times already, seen those places he mentions, and familiar with the towns and names all make it more personal. A brilliant book. Cried the usual buckets.

a.    Started on 12^th February and finished on 19^th February

b.    Recommended by self

8. Too Loud A Solitude (Fiction) by Bohumil Hrabal; From defining solitude, to having so many disparate characters that are his trademark; a guy who takes photographs without a film roll, rats engaged in war in the sewers, endless beers, horny ladies, a woman who “only with a bed and a clear cut goal, built herself a home”…The end packed a punch that you did not see coming

a.    Started on 19^th February and finished on 20^th February

b.   All books of Hrabal are deemed as recommended by Naren

9. Einstein His Life and Universe (Non-Fiction) by Walter Isaacson; A wonderful book. Einstein had the same approach to life as that of the little prince. Curiosity guided him everywhere. Even after all these years, you find it difficult to understand his breakthrough theories. Even after Mr. Isaacson tried his best to present it in the simplest way. His adamant behavior in not accepting quantum physics personifies his entire faith; that the universe must obey simple rules. His humility stands above everything else. His prophetic remarks about Israel and Arabs haunted me as I happened to be reading the book when Israel was conducting its genocide in Gaza. A man of extreme intelligence, passionate, considerate and not without flaws. While religious believed in God because of miracles, the absence of miracles convinced him of order in the universe.

a.    Started on 21^st February and finished on 26^th March

b.    Recommended by self

10. The Idiot (Fiction – Bildungsroman) by Elif Batuman; One of those books that I picked up after reading the blurb. A good book. The writer has a sense for writing absurd scenes with poker faced seriousness. A mix of John Irving and PGW. Tremendous command over the language. A satisfying read.

a.    Started on 27^th March and finished on 21^st April

b.    Recommended by Self, a random pick up

11. The Other Name – Septology I-II (Fiction) by Jon Fosse; Gifted by Wojciech and a book by a Nobel Laureate at that. It is unlike any book that I have read before. The writing style is inconceivable. It is like you have a recorder that records your thoughts as you think without any redacting. An interesting read. The entire 339 pages that cover the first two volumes can be written in two paragraphs. Now will go and get the other books in the septology.

a.    Started on 22^nd April and finished on 22^nd May

b.    Gifted by Wojciech , so counted as his recommendation.

12. African Diary (Travelogue) by Bill Bryson; The author needs no recommendations. A quick and enjoyable read. The episode describing the origin of the name “Man-eater's junction” is vintage Bryson. His flying experience is another hilarious part in this small and lovely book.

a.    Started on 22^nd May and finished on the same day

b.    Recommended by self.

13. Swadeshi Steam – V.O.Chidambaram Pillai and the Battle against the British Maritime Empire (Non-Fiction) by A.R.Venkatachalapthy; The book could have been a dreary material. Credit to the author to make it such an easy read. A lot of hard work goes behind when you read something simple – this book is a living proof of that statement. 40 years of research and obsession shows through every page. The vile British with all their devious ways to strangle a new establishment, the lukewarm locals not ready to loosen their purses and the steadfast determination of few individuals all add up to record how hard a struggle it was and it pains when you see that people do not acknowledge the freedom that they got. The efforts of Meenakshi, an illiterate woman, homebound fighting on so many fronts arranging VOC’s release while taking care of her family was a revelation. And the good old style of notes at the bottom of the page was such a relief. No need for two bookmarks.

a.    Started on 22^nd May and finished on 31^st May

b.    Recommended by self

14. Blood Meridian or The evening redness in the west (Fiction) by Cormac McCarthy; I have no idea what this book was about. Formless and elusive. His penchant for describing violence in its most elemental form is scary. The ongoing Euros2024 meant the book took longer to finish. But, I feel even otherwise it would have taken long. His writing style is brilliant and I just wish he had written something that made sense!

a.    Started on 1^st June and finished on 1^st July

b.    Recommended by self.

15. Appeasing Hindutva: An analysis of the nationalist LGBTQ discourse in India (Non-Fiction) by Aarthi Murali; The master’s thesis submission by my friend’s daughter. The title hooked me in and I am listing it as one of the books that I have read this year considering its length. An interesting point of view in explaining how the queer movement in India chooses to be political in its associations to get what it needs by aligning with right wing and local political groups and is often at crossroads with the left leaning queer movement. And how the SC which could have delivered a landmark judgment chose to opt a safer alternative indirectly supporting anti-minority sentiments.

a.    Started on 1^st July and finished on 3^rd July

b.    Recommended by Murali.

16. Prophet Song (Fiction) by Paul Lynch; A booker prize winner usually goes into your list. It was further strongly recommended by Mihir, who has never gone wrong with a recommendation so far. Easily the best booker prize winner I have read by a mile. What a work! I started this year with a Rohinton Mistry book and I wanted to kill that author for ripping my heart apart. Paul Lynch joins the queue. He was relentlessly chipping away at your stoicism and made sure you broke down and cried. Chapter 8 was a nightmare. I took a lie down after reading that chapter and went back only when I gathered enough strength to address the final chapter. “End of the world is always a local event” and “History is full of people who did not know when to leave” were two statements that will haunt me forever. He elaborates on the second statement with an even more powerful explanation. If Paul Lynch does not write another word, he is still assured a place among the best writers of his generation, even my generation.

a.    Started on 3^rd July and finished on 13^th July

b.    Recommended by self and Mihir.

17. People, Power and Profits – Progressive Capitalism For An Age of Discontent (Non-Fiction) by Joseph E. Stiglitz; His clarity and depth of knowledge are amazing. A Nobel winner, so it should come as no surprise. What he points out are so elementary that it stuns you to see the level of inaction in the world. Money has become the king. He explains how tax is not a bad word. Explains inequality as the basic malady. Democracy, an active media, checks and balances, no monopoly or monopsony, need to invest in research, need for competition – all ingredients needed for a robust economy. It is still possible but increasingly looking unlikely. Some statistics are mindboggling. 25% of all prisoners are in the USA while UAS accounts only for 5% of the world population. 5% of the workforce in the USA is from prisons! Land of the free, indeed! A government can never be the solution, only the problem is simply wrong. Well worded.

a.    Started on 14^th July and finished on 30^th July

b.    Recommended by Ujval.

18. Pyre (Fiction) by Perumal Murugan; A brutal Murugan weaving his magic. The blurb prepares you for a tragedy but even that preparation is not enough. I will need to take a break for a day or two before I start my next book. I need something light, so will probably pick up a Bryson.

a.    Started and finished on 31^st July

b.    Recommended by Self

19. India after Gandhi (Non-Fiction) by Ramachandra Guha; For some reasons, though the title clearly says otherwise, I thought this was another book on Gandhi when I bought this. I can’t recommend a better book for contemporary history of India since independence. He has successfully kept his bias out of the narrative. A wonderful study on India. The repeated obituaries written about India by outsiders as well as from those within make the survival of India all the more commendable. A nation without a common language, a common enemy or a war/revolution shaping its formation is a commendable feat. The epilogue forms a perfect coda questioning if democracy survives in India. 50-50 is an apt summary. A brilliant book. I ended up buying a Tamil book through the author’s recommendation and earmarked two more.

a.    Started on 1^st August and finished on 2^nd September

b.    Recommended by self

20. 18-avadhu Atchakodu (Fiction – Tamil) by Ashokamitran; Mr. Guha mentioned this book in his notes. A chance trip to India ensured that I could get a copy, thanks to the ever reliable staff at Higginbotham. Reading a book in Tamil after a long time and the reading was a bit slow. A fictional account of the Hyderabad merger after the independence through the eyes of a common man, almost a coming of age story. What could have been one of the countless accounts of a historic event told as a story transforms into a piece of work that will haunt you forever with just three paragraphs on the last page. Massive respect for this man.

a.    Started on 3^rd September and finished on 6^th September

b.    Recommended by Ramachandra Guha.

21. How To Stop Time (Fiction) by Matt Haig; Pretentious and as all pretentious things go, crap. A waste of time. The recommendations and reviews by magazines and other celebrities come as a surprise. A disappointing book. The blurb reminded me of the 2007 film The Man from Earth and that is one of the reasons why I bought this book. Sigh.

a.   Started on 7^th September and finished on 10^th September

b.    Recommended by self.

22. Backstage – The Story Behind India’s High Growth Years (Non-Fiction) by Montek Singh Ahluwalia; A book that lists the economic challenges that India faced and some near miracles that saved the nation. The single biggest gain for me would be knowing the full story behind the sensational 2G scam. And how media driven witch hunt can derail actual progress potential. A good record of the actual growth and the policy decisions that shaped the growth. Towards the end one could not shake off the feeling that comparisons between UPA and NDA periods appeared a bit political. Inevitable, probably. A readable account of a fantastic period of India as well his whole life.

a.  Started on 11^th September and finished on 17^th September

b.  Recommended by Self

23. Rosarita (Fiction) by Anita Desai; A simple and deep story. The prose of Ms. Desai is elegant and enticing. A story of partition and the revolution, a story of parent and children, a story of exploration and finding. Satish Gujral would have been so happy had he been alive to read this. Any further discussion on the plot will involve spoilers. An enjoyable read.

a.  Started on 17^th September and finished on 18^th September

b.  Recommended by self

24. The world goes on (Fiction) by Laszlo Krasznahorkai; A mixed bag. I would not label this as fiction. Some parts were exceptional and others complete drivel. The writing style reminded me of Jon Fosse’s. Can’t understand it being good enough to win The Man booker International!

a.  Started on 19^th September and finished on 24^th September

b.  Recommended by self

25. Chronicles of a liquid society (Essays) by Umberto Eco: A collection of his newspaper columns. Written in his inimitable wit. A pleasure to read.

a.    Started on 24^th September and finished on 7^th October

b.    Gifted by Pavel, so counts as his recommendation.

26. Maha Periyavar (Tamil – Non Fiction) by Indira Soundarrajan; Maha Periyavar was a man who commanded respect. He does not need books like these that borders on flattery. Read the book as my mother kept following up.

a.  Started on 7^th October and finished on 10^th October.

b. I gifted it to my mom who returned it to me – so self recommendation

27. Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid (Non-Fiction) by Douglas R. Hofstadter; Exceptionally brilliant and insanely frustrating in equal parts. There were moments I was certain that I was reading some of the most original, daring and clear thoughts ever conceived by a human mind, and there were times I was left wondering WTF am I reading…. A mixed bag but quite an exceptional book.

a.    Started on 11^th October and finished on 10^th November

b.    Recommended by Lubomir Paroha

28. Yellowface (Fiction) by Rebecca F Kuang; The book started well and proceeded brilliantly and then just faded and disintegrated. Could have been an exceptional book but ended as a tepid one. A fast read after the sloth paced GEB prior to this and that is the only redeeming factor.

a.    Started on 10^th November and finished on 11^th November

b.    Recommended by The Guardian

29. Notes from a big country (Non-Fiction) by Bill Bryson; What needs to be said about Bryson. The master of his genre. Had me laughing throughout the book. A genius.

a.   Started on 11^th November and finished on 14^th November.

b.   Recommended by self

30. Chip War (Non-Fiction) by Chris Miller; If history and importance of semiconductors and chips, a thoroughly technical and political issue, were to be written by Robert Ludlum, this would be it. A timely topic and engagingly written. How few firms like TSMC and ASML hold the fate of the world in their hands and how little anyone realizes it is amazing. And those visionaries who shaped the semiconductor / chip industry in the early years in silicon valley has been told countless times and it always inspires you once more. A brilliant read.

a.   Started on 14^th November and finished on 22^nd November

b.   Recommended by Sean

31. The bookshop woman (Fiction) by Nanako Hanada; A good read. It could have been a much shorter book. But if it is really the life story of the author (supported by the fact that she is now running a bookshop in Japan), then it is really impressive. The love for books shines through and one can relate to it easily.

a.   Started on 22^nd November and finished on 24^th November

b.   Recommended by self.

Book #32 has crept into 2025. When the book in question is a 800+ page behemoth with a font size 10, you can understand and forgive.

This year I merged my hobby of sketching to give an additional layer of personalization to my blog. The idea was given by my daughter who in fact picked it up from a random Twitter post. Thanks to Akshaya and the twitter handle @mrs_g_rider

See you all again in 12 months’ time.