Book review - 'The Order of Time' by Carlo Rovelli

Having earlier read 'Seven Brief Lessons on Physics' by eminent physicist Rovelli, I had high hopes from 'The Order of Time'.  Not only have those hopes been fulfilled, but Rovelli has gone much beyond.  This book would be favoured by readers who like to be challenged.

Rovelli starts with the seemingly innocuous fact that "time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level", something empirically proven but perhaps not known to the majority of common people.  He goes on to prove that this is true across the universe, well-proven a hundred years back by the curved space-time equations of Einstein (later revealed to be a gravitational field), who postulated that time slows down the closer one is to the source of greater gravity.

Next, Rovelli demolishes the idea that time is unidirectional, establishing that it's increasing entropy and a phenomenon called 'blurring' which gives the impression of time progressing, and that heat exchange is the only event which is unidirectional and thus giving rise to 'thermal time'.   On the way, Rovelli puts paid to the concept of cause and effect, and even to past and future. (Did Einstein really write that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion"? Rovelli provides the context for that famous saying in chapter 7).

Coming to the 'present', Rovelli next establishes that "the present of the universe does not exist", using the example of interstellar travel.  What effect this has on genealogies is an interesting aside.

Ultimately, Rovelli says, 'The world is made of events, not things'. And as Aristotle said: 'Time is nothing other than the measurement of change' in those things.  Along the way, Rovelli also refers to the concept of 'loop quantum gravity' which is one of the approaches in quantum theory on which he works.

And all this is explained by about the middle of the book.  The rest of the chapters touch upon more complex, seemingly esoteric, concepts like 'indexicality'.

The range of sources across centuries accessed by Rovelli for this tome on time (though a slim volume at less than 200 pages) is mind-boggling, from Mahabharat to Ecclesiaste to the Greek philosopher Anaximander (the title of the book is from one of his writings) to the the Persian poet Shirazi to Aristotle to Newton and much beyond upto 20th century - reminds one of Carl Sagan's legendary 'Cosmos' which also had similar breadth of references.

This is not a book for casual reading.  I usually read parts of 4-6 books on a typical day, but for this book I had to ensure complete peace and focus, else one may tend to lose the train of thoughts.  But once the reader is able to focus, a rich harvest is assured.

Book review - 'The Hidden Life of Trees'

 #trees #woodwideweb

'The Hidden Life of Trees' by Peter Wohlleben

That trees in a forest communicate with and nurture each other through a vast underground 'mycelial' network of 'mycorrhizal' fungi, sometimes spanning hundreds of miles, is only one of the more astounding facts we learn from this treasure trove of a book on something so close to us and yet so far in understanding. 

Contrary to the impression given out by the subtitle 'What they feel, How they communicate', this book is not only about these things, but also about other facets of the lives of trees - how they talk (using scents and sounds), how they walk (across generations of course, but over vast distances of thousands of miles over ice age progressions), how they fight back attackers (by synthesising specialty chemicals and by attracting other predators), how they nurture their 'young' (the 'old' being upto a thousand years of age or even more!), and the like.

The format of the book is also quite inviting, with short chapters dealing with different aspects of trees' lives.

It can be guaranteed that anyone reading this book seriously will not only get invaluable knowledge and insight into our closest neighbours everywhere, but would also gain a large measure of empathy for the oldest living inhabitants of this earth.

A biased question on the Chinese...

 The late Sardar Khushwant Singh, who passed only a year short of a century thanks to his robust lifestyle and his daily dose of the tipple, was well known as a formidable and outspoken character, full of wit.  Indian of my generation would probably remember that in the last couple of decades of his life, having given up editorship of venerable newspapers and magazines and mostly focusing on writing his later books, he still used to pen a regular column in newspapers such as the Hindustan Times.  In the moniker for that column, his image was shown sitting inside a light bulb, almost as if inviting brickbats to be thrown at him, and fittingly the title of the column was 'With malice towards one and all'.  So Singh was very upfront about his views and hardly gave two hoots that people would accuse him of writing maliciously.

In the same vein, let's get this out of the way first thing: This post is written with a pronounced bias as regards the Chinese character, and yes, it has a lot of generalizations.  So those looking for some politically correct and totally balanced narrative, kindly look elsewhere.  The titular question I'm asking today is: When was the last time you met/read about/heard about a generous Chinese?  A down to earth Chinese, yes.  A gritty Chinese, yes.  An aggressive Chinese, by all means!  A crafty Chinese, of course!  But a generous Chinese?  In real life?  In anecdotes?  In literature? Ummm.... well...  Is that a contradiction in terms?  An oxymoron, perchance?  

More seriously, does it have something to do with the ethos of 20th and 21st century Chinese people?  In the early part of this century, when I traveled to China a few times on work, I was intrigued with certain expressions used by English-speaking Chinese.  To be fair, they stated that the English terms they spoke were only close approximations of certain Chinese language terms, and not really equivalent.  Even so, one particular expression that I remember is: "clever".  So where in the normal course of conversation someone in another part of the world may use a term like 'intelligent' or 'wise', my Chinese interlocutors invariably used the term "clever".  I was fairly new to the country and its people at that time, so didn't consider it polite to either point out the dissonance or ask their reasons too clearly.  But the few times I referred to it, they just couldn't make out any difference between 'clever', as they used it, and intelligent or wise, one who could have a thinking mind yet not use it for personal advantage, for instance.

Much later, it struck me that the Chinese considered cleverness as the singular facet of intelligence.  For certain Chinese, not to generalize, it's the cleverness, or perhaps the ability to use intelligence for personal gain, which is the foremost.  And perhaps they just cannot fathom why someone who has the brains would forego personal gain and use it to benefit someone else, which is the hallmark of generosity.

And this is not to trivialize how the Chinese thinking may've evolved to such ethos.  They've doubtless passed through many travails since the ancient times that Chinese civilization was one of only four, along with India, Mesopotamia and Egypt, progressing westwards.  After their empires petered out into weak monarchies, like many others before and around them, they were dominated by a series of forces.  Even as late as 19th and early 20th century, they were pushed around by such powers as the British, with the Opium Wars imposed on them and turning a few generation of Chinese into addicts, and the Japanese during the second World War with a series of untold horrors including Nanking.

So have such travails inculcated in the Chinese a core ethos of cleverness, a conviction that the world will take them for a ride unless they deal 'cleverly' with all?  Is that the reason that the Chinese are so dichotomous, spouting homilies for peace and a just order with a straight face and then turning around and heaping exactly the opposite on their supposed opponents?  Is that why they've been at loggerheads increasingly with everyone, starting with Mao who was an expert in pitting Chinese against Chinese to foster an internecine war in the interests of a communist 'Cultural Revolution', another complete contradiction in terms as there was nothing cultural about it but only a revolution by the seemingly uncultured with a thin veneer of intelligentsia?  And it's not only in the geopolitical arena that the Chinese have acted 'cleverly', but also in the commercial arena, lulling the then world economic powers by providing a 'factory to the world' and later trying to dominate the very economic machine of the world by leveraging its demography.

Know thy enemy, the 'clever' advised, perhaps including that mythical Chinese general Sun Tzu.  So any effort at first understanding deeply the psyche and ethos of the Chinese, before engaging with them in any arena, seems the most 'clever' strategy to adopt for anyone...

With Malice towards... (with due apologies to Khushwant).

Coincidences...

It sometimes happens with probably all of us that we're thinking of something and then, either instantly or after a short time, we see some manifestation of our internal thoughts in the material realm i.e. the very thing happens or is seen by us.  (And I'm not talking about supposedly random marketing links appearing on our Facebook page or stream right after we've viewed, and not even clicked, a certain product on Amazon! 😁 That's the art and science of AI-driven user manipulation as so tellingly expounded by industry insiders in the recent Netflix documentary 'Social Dilemma'.)

There are various spiritual explanations for this phenomenon.  Some hold that all of us are just flowing in a collective stream of consciousness, and so seemingly random thoughts are not really random but are plucked out of that same stream.  And so, since the collective consciousness, for want of a better word, is aware of such plucking, we're then presented with the next logical evolution of that thought in the material world, either as a thing discovered or a happening.  This is perhaps why it's said that 'Watch your thoughts, they become... your destiny'.  This view also holds that all inventions are actually discoveries, of things or properties of nature lying dormant, sometimes in plain sight, till someone seemingly stumbles upon them in a flash of inspiration, even though after a lot of research and efforts.

Lately, I've been ruminating on a few minor... ummm... injustices life seems to have handed me.  Typical thoughts in a mid-life crisis (on the lines of 'I've done so much for others, what have I got in return' yada yada yada), which have the potential to turn any once energetic young person into a bitter old man, snapping at those around him to take out the frustration seemingly for minor slights or irritants, mostly unjustified considering life's bounties and good fortune.  To avoid continuing down the usual path of self-pity and then anger, I started to train my mind on Bhagavad Gita's core philosophy of 'Karmanyevadhikarastay ma faleshu kadachana...' i.e. you only have a right to the action, not to the fruits thereof.  it's good to remember that this, probably the most well known verse of the Gita, also extolls the virtues of ceaseless action (after all, we all have to 'pay our dues' to this earth) by ending with 'Ma tay sangoastvakarmani' i.e. don't let yourself fall prey to inaction.

Now, one aspect of Karm Yog, epitomised by the above action, is the rising of the Karta inside us.  Action often fuels the feeling of 'I have done this' in our ego, much against the admonition in the above verse of not taking credit for our actions.  In this, what may perhaps come to our rescue is the other side of the coin, Bhakti Yog, which advises us to dedicate all our actions, and the results of such actions, to the almighty.  (There's a beautiful song by Ramprasad, the 18th century devotee of goddess Kali: 'Shokoli tomari ichchha... Aami jontro tumi jontri...' i.e. I'm only an instrument in your hands.). Once we deduce that, one, nothing is actually done by us but we only pluck the actions out of collective consciousness as an instrument, and two, that as a corollary we don't have a right to the fruits of such actions, then the rising ego should be well controlled.  So the right way seens to be to dedicate all our actions, and the fruits of such actions, to the almighty, while continuing to act out our part in this worldly drama.  (And just a drama it is, as the Maya philosophy tells us.)

Now, while I'm in the process of thinking all this through, what should I come across but the very thought in writing which aligns with the same throught process!  Having 'coincidentally' risen a bit early and thus having a few minutes extra in hand before my morning walk, I decide to read an extra page of my daily Gita read. (I tend to 'ration' meaningful readings, so as not to cram my mind but be able to understand a bit as I go along.). The last verse on the last page I read today (of 'Yatharth Gita', an interpretation by Swami Adgadananda) is verse 29 of chapter 13, which goes like this:

Voila - what a coincidence! Once we understand that it's nature which performs all actions, and that we're actually non-doer or non-agent, that opens up a whole new way of looking at and dealing with the world.  Now to actually put this in action (pun intended) is the challenge... Didn't someone say that life is a lifelong self-improvement project? (Well, that someone's wife also said that a husband is a lifelong improvement project for a wife, but let's not go there at the moment...😁)

Now, that I was inspired to put pen to paper (or, more aptly, keyboard to screen) to put down these thoughts, is that also a mere coincidence or...

Book review - 'Gene Machine' by Venki Ramakrishnan

We keep learning regularly of how new frontiers of science have been reached, and of the recognition awarded to this or that scientist, or groups of scientists.  And we keep wondering, what are such people made of, at what level of intelligence do they dwell, are they something above us mere mortals.  (And this seems a feeling shared by Venki's wife Vera, who he says remarked after learning of his Nobel: "I thought you had to be really smart to win one of those!")  Here, then, is a first person account by a Nobel laureate who has dedicated his life to researching into the ribosome, the 'Gene Machine' of the title which helps construct our body and mind by helping synthesize the various proteins which make it up.

The book reads like a thriller!  On how different groups of scientists across continents were striving to be the first to crack specific aspects of the workings of the ribosome (and, left unsaid, to have a fighting chance for the Chemistry Nobel, which Venki shared with two others in 2009).  And the story unfolds as that of an underdog 'coming from behind' to breast the tape since, for a large part of his scientific career, Venki senses that he's somewhat of an outsider among the cozy group of scientists working on different facets of ribosome research.  In fact, this seems to have influenced his worldview of the whole system of awards and rewards including the Nobel, as he writes at some length in the chapter aptly titled 'The Politics of Recognition'.

What strikes the reader quite early is the humility with which Venki writes about his life's passion.  Almost the first 40% of the book is focused on how other stalwart scientists, who worked in the domain since decades, helped bring the field of ribosome research into a certain state of maturity, even before Venki's life work begins.  And not only in ribosome research itself, there were so many who helped perfect the equipments and sensors which would later help scientists and researchers make sense of the minute articles they were looking at, articles within cells which couldn't even be sensed, much less seen, with any kind of X-ray (till electron microscopes made it a bit easier).

All through the book, Venki's passion for the domain itself comes through shining, bereft of any attempt at self-aggrandizement.  He's very conscious of the stellar work his 'competitors' were doing in the 'race' to crack the secrets of the ribosome, a race which seems still on, though perhaps now shifted to a better track and with better equipment, as Venki writes in the Epilogue.  And he's effusive in his praise for the junior scientists who chose to be associated with his labs over the years, describing their personalities (and eccentricities!) in some detail, besides of course the aspects of their work which helped along the main effort.  Throughout, he refers to "our" work, rather than 'my'.  It's touching to see the picture of Venki celebrating in Stockholm, while there to accept the Nobel, with almost all the associates who had worked with him at different stages of his career spanning across four decades.

Venki touches extensively on the issue of collaboration, in science as in other domains.  Of how collaboration "works best when people know each other well and like working together, or when they bring complementary expertise to bear on a problem that no one group can tackle alone".  And while being aware of the fierce competition in the field, he also admits that "even when scientists are competing, they are actually using one another's advances to make progress and are thus collaborating, albeit involuntarily".  In fact, he seems to treat due acknowledgement of such contributions by others as professional courtesy, bristling at one point when referring to an incident when another scientist used his work but didn't acknowledge that during a lecture.

One may wonder at the felicity with which an accomplished scientist like Venki writes in plain language (mostly!) the story of his trials and tribulations, to make eminent sense to the lay reader.  But then hints of that are strewn across the book, as Venki (and his team) had to write about their scientific discoveries not only for scientific publications like 'Science' or 'Nature', but also to make presentations to college students and even general public while on 'The Ribosome Road Show'.

This, though, is no hagiography.  Venki doesn't flinch from describing his own foibles, mostly in the scientific arena.  His missteps, his misjudgments (both of people and scientific approaches), and his frequent irritability.  He also describes briefly the uproar that resulted from his almost dismissing any connection with his birth country India, after being awarded the Nobel, especially with his "accident of birth" comment.  He gives his reasons, but his expression of surprise (not pleasant surprise!) both at getting messages from Indian President and Prime Minister, besides US Prez and UK PM, and also at being awarded one of India's highest honors, are bound to leave a sour taste for Indian readers.  Though this gels overall with his views, expressed earlier in the book, on other honors based on the Nobel award, he seemingly did try to make amends of some sort by accepting fellowship from Baroda university in India where he studied in the early part of his life till nineteen, along with Cambridge and Utah institutions where he worked, while rejecting all others.

The beauty of this book is that, even shorn of the scientific content (and there is quite a lot of arcane stuff there, naturally), it provides fascinating insights into the world of science and scientists, from the horse's mouth so to say.  And if one is a wee bit interested in the scientific aspects, the book has sufficient material for the reader to make sense of any discussion on ribosome and, with some effort, even to talk intelligently on the rudiments of ribosome, including a bit about the functions of large and small subunits, RNA, DNA and proteins.

Brazenness across decades....

I was watching an episode of the Netflix series 'Tokyo Trial', on the trial of Japanese military and civilian officials accused of war crimes, by a tribunal appointed mainly by the US General MacArthur, with judges from different countries from US, Europe, Asia all the way upto Australia and New Zealand. (The role of an Indian judge Pal, portrayed rather well by the recently deceased talented Indian actor Irrfan Khan, has interesting nuances.)

There's a scene (perhaps in Episode 3), after the Australian President of the Tribunal is effectively 'deposed' by the machinations of the British and a couple of other judges (who are worried that the 'too democratic' President is compromising on the ratio of Nuremberg trial of the Nazis), where the Netherlands judge, a 'protagonist' in the series, as it's produced jointly by Japanese and Dutch producers (having been 'turned' by Pal, pointing to still existing imperialist regimes, to a view that international jurisprudence hadn't yet progressed to a degree to consider a war, or an Act of Aggression by a country against another, as a crime in itself), recently 'advised' by his country's government to 'fall in line' with the majority view, goes up to a group of dining judges, which includes the US Judge Advocate General (recently appointed Tribunal President) and the British judge, and point blank asks the British judge whether he had anything to do with pressure being brought upon him.

The expression on the face of the British judge is worth noting: it's a mixture of haughty denial tinged with embarrassment at being accused so and also a bit of guilt (perhaps realising that the British government may have caused such pressure tactics).

Got me thinking: if this same scene was being enacted in 2020 instead of 1945, the expression on the face of the British judge would probably be a mixture of defiance, smugness and 'so what', half-trying to take credit for the influence-mongering even if not precipitated by him (as opposed to, in 1945, trying not to have anything to do with the same even if directly instigated!).

How far the world has come esp. in terms of humility and a sense of justice...

Intellectual pursuits in times of Covid...

I started on this post as the rant of a home-bound working male in India fulminating against travails of the lockdown brought on by the worldwide Coronavirus or Covid-19 crisis.  Along the way, it evolved into one with a wider view.  Bear with me (and take it in the right spirit!)😊.

There would've been a reason that artists like Mian Tansen, one of Mughal Emperor Akbar's 'navaratna' or 'nine jewels', were able to rise to matchless levels of perfection in their chosen field.

The same goes, for instance, for the incomparable poetic compositions of Kalidas, a millennium earlier.

Or for Western stalwarts like Aristotle, Socrates or Plato, amongst multitude of others.

Fact is, hugely talented as these legends were, they were fortunate enough to be patronized by kings and emperors of their time (even though some like Socrates, forced to drink poison👆, fell out with their patrons at some point), who reportedly sometimes dedicated the revenues of specific villages or regions for the maintenance of these artists.  As such, these worthies did not have to toil like the hoi polloi to make two ends meet, and hence had ample time and mental energy left to devote to their artistic and/or intellectual pursuits.

Would such stalwarts, even with their higher intellectual faculties, have been able to achieve the heights of perfection which they did, if they actually had to devote a substantial portion of their energies to physical (as opposed to intellectual/artistic) pursuits?  Seems a tall order.  Even from a quasi-scientific😄 angle, we know that the human brain consumes something like 20% of the total energy of the body, even as it consists of just about 2-3% of the body by weight.  So, theoretically, if someone uses up, say, 70% of his energy in toiling to keep body and soul together, would s/he be left with sufficient energy to devote to intellectual pursuits?  You can bet on that!

And here, we're not talking about physical work someone indulges in as a hobby, for instance carving or pottery, and not for earning one's living.  These hobbies actually serve to re-energize or re-focus the mind, while the hand or fingers carry out certain activities almost mechanically.

Which is why personas who displayed extraordinary intellectual or spiritual traits, while engaged in making a living with physical pursuits, are given very high billing, at least by common people.  Take the example of the Saint Kabir, who continued to function as a weaver while churning out poems and sermons of extraordinary spiritual insight.

Which is also why, in modern times, we applaud those who hold down and contribute value in a full time role while also discharging their familial duties, whether as a single parent, a primary caregiver or a homemaker, which especially goes for women in India (and indeed, across many other countries in South Asia and beyond).  

One quails, though, at the 'convenient' depiction in 'modern mythology', especially in India (but also associated with someone like former Pepsico CEO Indra Nooyi), about women who're virtually goddesses ('devi'), juggling work life and career smilingly!

Indeed, so ingrained is this deified image of the Indian housewife as a 'devi' and so well drilled is it into us from a young age that, quite some years back, when I hinted at the unrealistic expectations from Indian women, at a schoolchildren's debate at that, not only were the participating children all at sea to appreciate the nuance, but even the teachers present were exchanging strange glances!😆

Which brings me back to the topic of this post.  Many (most?) men, especially in India (and perhaps in many other countries where men are not used to contribute equally to household chores), have been treating the current Covid-19 lockdown as a jail term, with forced labour.😂  One indication is the plethora of jokes and caricatures doing the rounds.

Gone are the days of scooting off to office early in the morning, lounging with a mug of crisp coffee, browsing a few emails and websites, having a leisurely meal preferably accompanied by stimulating talk with a favoured person, some reading, putting in a few hours of the mandatory serious work, and coming home late with a long face complaining about the missing work-life balance!  (Men: wait a wee bit while I put on my full body armour, before you start throwing the brickbats.😝)  Indeed, I knew someone who, the moment the spouse started outlining some plans for the weekend, expertly feigned a call from office and scooted off to the cool climes of an inviting workplace.

Now, however, each and every aspect of our work life is totally transparent to the spouse.  After all, there's only so far one can hide behind that impending call/VC/web session, before the spouse and other family members get wise and start monitoring the actual content of those calls/sessions.  Hallelujah! 😣

But seriously, however politically incorrect this may sound, the overwhelming feeling amongst some is that working with hands tires them out sufficiently to preclude taking on any heavy lifting (pun unintended) in terms of intellectual pursuits.  So should one as well forget about innovative and/or strategic thinking while someone is doing the login-washclothes-webcall-cook-trainingsession-eat-washthepots-budgetreview-teamaking-teamsession routine?  Some may feel so.

And yet, the flip side of the coin is, there are everyday examples of people (mostly women) who've been taking on this exact routine from time immemorial.  And beating the pants out of competitors while at it.  And deifying such excellent achievers helps no one.

Indeed, the 'forced home imprisonment' may just about sensitize the primary earners (mostly men) better to 'what the hell does s/he do at home all day'.  And, hopefully, start contributing more equitably to housework.

Or is that just a fond hope?

PS: I'm sure, having been brought up and lived inside the cocoon of a male-dominated society, I've not been able to cover all bases as far as overcoming a chauvinistic thought process is concerned.  Apologies in advance.

Book 'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' by John Boyne

The Holocaust is one subject which has been written about, talked about and filmed about enough number of times to cover every possible aspect, one would think.  And yet, once in a while comes a work which throws a curveball, which opens our eyes to the tragedy from a still different angle.  'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' is that kind of a book.

The book, written almost entirely from the perspective of a 9-year old boy, the son of a German army officer, drawn one in slowly.  The early parts, as seen in the sporadic flashbacks of Bruno, the principal character, seem quite humdrum, what with his rivalry with his 12-year old sister (the 'Hopeless Case'!), his 'friendships for life' with other school boys, the Christmas plays directed by his grandmother (an ageing thespian), and so on.  But here too the portends of the sinister happenings all around are palpable, if only as snippets of Bruno's narration - the 'history' lessons with 'injustices' mentioned, the visit of 'Fury' to their home, the distaste displayed by his grandmother to the Nazi actions and her son being part of all that, and so on.  Some parts of the narration may look contrived, with modern expressions slipped into 1940s conversations, but that's probably a necessary device to relate to contemporary readers.

Then the narrative moves to 'Out-With' where Bruno's father is posted, ostensibly as the jailor, and to where the family moves despite tearful rebellion by Bruno and protests by his mother.  And it's here that Bruno's character is etched out in all its aspects.  From his noticing the prisoners in 'striped pyjamas' across the big fence, his puzzlement at the lack of interaction between those living on the two sides of the fence, his noticing the plight of a Jew doctor prisoner serving as a waiter, to the in your face anti-Semitism of a young sergeant, and so on.  Bruno's father's character is also etched out with due complexity, avoiding black and white judgments, pointing at how patriotism has the potential to evolve into jingoism with more sinister manifestations, even in inherently decent people (after all, he had taken an ostensibly Jewish maid under his wings).

The high point of the narrative comes with Bruno's chance meeting with 'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' across the fence, while roaming far and wide as 'exploration'.  The way the relationship of the two boys, one German and the other Polish, born on the same day, on two sides of the 'fence' (physical but also metaphorical), develops, the reader gets totally absorbed in the story.  Their innocent conversations on earlier and current lifestyles and treatment, also illustrated when Shmuel is brought to Bruno's house to clean glasses, and the physical deprivation of the prisoners, are touching, not the least because of the children's perspectives, bereft of the usual 'adult' understanding and rationalizations.  Initially, Bruno almost comes across as a privileged boy with an entitlement syndrome, but his innate humanism comes across not only in his trying to help Shmuel with food and other things, but also in the sensitive way in which he talks (or avoids talking) about certain things.

The reader gets so invested in the two boys that, towards the end, when one realizes what's going to happen, the reaction is like "Don't go there... Just walk away... Plan for another day!".  But it's like watching someone dear go to his doom, and not being able to do anything about it!  It's heart-rending to see how, in innocent 'exploration', Bruno dons the prisoner's garb and slips inside the camp, only to be swept away along with a crowd of prisoners into a gas chamber.  The climax plays out within such a short span of time that it's almost traumatic, giving no time to the reader to even note Bruno's eventual discovery of the squalid lives lived by the prisoners, something of a revelation to him.

The father's subsequent discovery of what had happened almost tempts one to say 'Serves him right'. But then, the loss of even one precious life, what to say about the millions who perished there, is an occasion not for gloating, but for mourning, and for internalizing the lesson that 'it could happen anywhere and any time'.  So constant vigil against such tendencies is the price of freedom and justice for all.

Book review: 'Netaji - Living Dangerously'

I don't usually buy books from airport bookstalls - browsing at those stores and ordering online saves quite a packet!  But this slim volume, by a TOI journalist no less, seemed a good way to fill up the couple of hours flight, and I was not disappointed!

Many in my generation, especially Bengalis, may be aware of at least the bare facts about Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose.  The same cannot definitively be said, however, about the next generation, who may be ignorant of the facts or (especially for the millennials and after) just couldn't care.  For the latter readers, this book may be a revelation.

But it's no less fascinating for older readers like myself to read about the happenings in the pre-independence era and shortly thereafter.  Suffice to say, the book doesn't show any of the leading lights of the era in great light, showing them up for the mere mortals that they were instead of the saints they were sometimes made out to be, out of political compulsions and to mobilize the multitudes.  It's especially galling to learn about the role of leading lights of Congress party in the pre-independence era (not mere conjectures but supported by exhaustive references to historical documents), including certain gentlemen named MK Gandhi and JN Nehru amongst a host of others, in thwarting the moves of Bose who had been democratically elected by Congress workers as its president.  How Bose, despite being an astute political leader of the masses and a superb administrator, was gradually sidelined from Congress is a study in perfidy!

The portions of the book dealing with Netaji's efforts to meet world leaders including Hitler, his military campaigns and eventual defeat by British Indian forces in North East India are probably more well-known.  The extent to which he was chummy with certain Japanese ministers and generals, though, is a bit surprising.  His apparent decision to 'surrender' to Soviet Union forces by entering Russia seems to have been based on a kind of miscalculation, probably leading to his long incarceration in Gulags as the book imputes.

The conduct of Nehru, other leaders and 'loyal' bureaucrats post-independence towards finding out and suppressing from public eyes any bit of news about Netaji again reek of utter paranoia, across decades.  Even the 'philosopher' Radhakrishnan, later to become the second President of India, doesn't seem to absolve himself too well, as he seems to have actively participated in the suppression efforts.  Again, all this is based on official correspondence and the like, thus imparting a modicum of authenticity to the author's narrative.  Besides proceedings of the two Commissions of Enquiry, the conduct of some former INA leading lights (apparently ingratiated with governmental efforts, for personal gain) is called into question.

Whether Netaji returned to India (and how), and whether he stayed near Ayodhya as Gumnami Baba, may unfortunately never be known, even if the handwritten notes left behind by the Baba are scrutinized in great detail.  And govt. officials still seem to be stonewalling any efforts to make public certain important papers in govt. possession, on grounds of international relations (besides discouraging, much less supporting, any efforts by individuals or societies to access Russian KGB records to throw more light on Netaji's supposed stay in then USSR).

A lament for a great patriot treated most unfairly by petty-minded politicians all through - an apt lesson on the price to be paid for uprightness!

Movie review - 'Patakha'

Watched 'Patakha' on Prime recently.  Vishal Bhardwaj has come up with another authentic vignette based in rural India, perhaps somewhere in Western UP.   A thoroughly enjoyable comedy with emotional overtones, if one disregards the slight difficulty, even for some in North India, in understanding the local dialect in which most dialogues are spoken (lending added authenticity to the movie) and the occasional strong language used, a hallmark of many Bhardwaj movies.

The movie depicts the hate-hate relationship of two sisters brought up by a single parent, the mine-operator dad struggling with corrupt bureaucracy (his 'selling' of a daughter, both of whom he adores, to a widower moneylender, to raise bribe money, forms the crux of the first half).  The second half then goes on to the struggles of the two sisters, both of whom elope and marry their boyfriends (two brothers) to adjust to their married life, to fulfil their dreams (by fomenting a division of property), success in life, their continued obsession with each other even while living apart, and eventual reconciliation with a final physical fight (while their father pretends to be dead!), this one much milder than the 'cat and dog' rumpus they indulge in throughout the movie.

As usual, Bhardwaj manages to bring to the audience a total view of village life, warts and all, without any overt comment.  Gender disparity, Panchayat rule, 'selling' of daughters (with a public toss to decide which one!), etc. are all there.  But the changing social landscape of rural India is also showcased in a gentle manner - women standing up for their rights and dreams, inter-mixing of communities, non-interfering in-laws, women entrepreneurship, etc. are also there, all told in a gentle, humorous tone and matter of fact way.

While the two protagonists shine in their roles, Sunil Grover is outstanding as the village busybody who understands and helps the sisters at every step to the end, while Vijay Raaz plays well the hassled single parent always struggling to make peace between his two daughters.

An entertaining movie which should also be seen as a window to the changing social landscape of rural India.