it's all there in the mahabaratha

When my dad kept telling us that there is absolutely no plot, story or angle that the Mahabaratha hasn't covered, I took it with a ladle full of salt, mistaking erudition for jingoism. Over the years, with every book and movie I watched, I sensed the familiar – of a story told before. And I am nowhere close to even reading 1 percent of the epic in its entirety. I’ve read the different versions of Mahabaratha for Dummies.
The latest read (for me) in the easy to digest books is The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. The epic from Panchaali’s point of view.
The book is INTERESTING because the epic and Draupadi are, and READABLE because of Divakaruni.
Reading this book, I couldn’t help but pick up the dozens of similarities between the epic and many of my favourite books. In particular the Harry Potter series (recent memory). The conversation between Panchaali and Krishna as the former leaves the material world is resonant of the one between Dumbledore and Harry at the railway station. Not just in substance, but even in the formation of the sentences. Also the walk through woods and Harry’s vision of the departed spirits, and Panchaali’s similar experience. Is it Divakaruni’s interpretation that is similar to the last Potter book? Or is the epic itself. I haven’t read it in its entirety to draw a conclusion on that.
But through out the book, the emotions of the different characters are akin to those of Harry, Snape, Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Then again, we can’t blame Rowling of plagiarism – for the Mahabaratha seems indeed to have covered every possible human emotion, and hence covered every conceivable plot.
Be it Pip’s misplaced loyalty in Great Expectations, the younger one’s frustration in Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper, or any of Grisham’s legal pawns, or the jealousy between Betty and Veronica in the Archie’s comics, why even conversations between Calvin and his imaginary pal Hobbes – the stories have been told. At a different time, in a different environment, but told already.

I’ve always preferred the Mahabaratha over the Ramayana, simply because the first had heroes with flaws and villains with virtues, while the latter was about a real whinnie…
Though more learned folks would say that my understanding is limited. I stay with my judgement.

In any case, I do feel we need to be aware of resources other than the Amar Chitra Kathas (awesome as they are) and B R Chopra’s rendition.

This is a good site to refer too as well. http://www.bharatadesam.com/spiritual/mahabharata/index.php

One book that I read and enjoyed immensely is Mahabharata: A Child's View by Samhita Arni , Tara Publishing. Written and illustrated by Samhita over a period of years and completed before she turned 12!

For more specific reading, http://www.asitis.com/ is a well-explained and organised site on The Gita.

ETA: Check this too

Ka-Ching. A peek in to the World without Money. But, no, thank you, I want to have plenty!

On Friday, I took O to the library. Her first visit to a library (barring a car hop in Chennai years ago), and she was quite excited.
Since it was a weekend, the Education City campus where Georgetown University is, was rather quiet. There were a few students lazing around in the library.
She knew she couldn't talk loudly, run around or get chatty with the folks there. She carried her own book to read, since there are no children's books available there.
The problem with O is that her whispers are quite loud. And so I told her unless it’s an emergency she can’t talk at all.
She sat with her Black Beauty till I browsed two rows. By the time I got to the third she was by my side, begging to be allowed to walk around with me. She was touching the books and soaking it all in, and I was feeling rather kicked that she was as enamoured by the rows of books at a university library, as she was by the Barbie nonsense in Toys ‘r’ Us.
I could see that obsession in her eyes that only a fellow book lover can empathise with.
She even managed to identify books she has seen me read. And then she decided to browse the magazines, happy to identify Obama and McCain on covers of magazines, and then totally tickled to find my magazines there too… pointing it out and patting me on the rump.
I was swelling up and was ready to burst – “not bad Umm, you haven’t done so badly as a mother”, I told myself; but (un)fortunately she managed to totally deflate me in the next 15 minutes.
Oh, it’s a long road ahead before I can even begin to congratulate myself.
When I sat down to read the magazine, wondering which other world leaders she would identify, she flipped through people magazine, quickly identifying every second or third picture of a celebrity. There is Miley, here is Grey (Ellen Pompei), here is Sex & the City lady (Sarah Jessica Parker, and oh please let this end), oh and Rachel (of Friends)… I quickly shut the magazine and shushed her… This is way too much Hollywood for a 7-year-old.
I diverted her attention and got her interested in the students on campus, and the opportunities a good education provides. For about 5 minutes.
Finally, I went up to the librarian to check out my books and O couldn’t digest that I was not really paying for the books –
“Even if you are just borrowing, you should pay them money, amma”
Yes, but they don’t take money.
“Oh, then they will really be poor.”
No. They have the money. This is a service that they provide. Something nice they do for the people.
“Even if you don’t give them money?”
Yes.

That’s when it really sunk in that she hasn’t see anything non-monetary yet. There is always a purchase, talk of money, about affording or not affording. She couldn’t believe that you can get something or do something that isn’t based on monetary gratifications.
The only life she is used to is of absolute materialism. As are most of us.
Then so many past conversations came back to haunt me on the drive back home.

Often, when I tell her something is expensive and wasteful, so I will not buy it, she would ask if we were poor! She has asked me so often if we get ‘richer’ will we have a convertible or 4X4? If we were richer, would we live in a big bungalow with a garden?

And here I was thinking that we were quite comfortably off. That our fair sized apartment had everything we needed, we had enough wheels to meet all our requirements… and yet in her mind, this was not ‘rich’.
We have spoken to her about it at length. That some people do have more than others. But what we have is far more than most. That we never want for anything. Obviously the message hasn’t really sunk in.

Only a day before the trip to the library she asked me what was more important, family or money. I have no idea where the question popped up from. “Family,” I said.
“For everyone?”
No for me. Each person has to decide on what is important to them.
“So I can say what I want”
Yes (and with butterflies in my stomach await her answer)
“I think it’s Money and Family for me.” (And she was watching my face for the slightest expression of disapproval and waiting for my response.)
That’s fine if that’s what you think.
“Because we won’t have anything without money.”
Yes. But if you don’t have people around you?
“Yes, that’s why both are important.”
Ok.

I did not want to continue this thread of conversation, because I knew I was on the verge of delivering a long right-wrong lecture. But I think she knew already that I didn’t quite agree with her.

It’s scary. What you are, what you are not; what you say, what you don’t say; what she sees, what she never gets to witness; what you protect her from, what she is exposed to… everything has an impact on her. What influence do parents really have at the end of the day?

Book Tag from Shyam

How old were you when you learned to read and who taught you?
At school I guess… can’t remember the age exactly. But hooked to books ever since I can remember.

Did you own any books as a child? If so, what's the first one that you remember owning? If not, do you recall any of the first titles that you borrowed from the library?I remember buying Gandhi’s My Experiments with Truth. Because we had to and my dad gave me the money for that.

What's the first book that you bought with your own money?Oh, can’t remember. But it was after my first part time job when I was 16.

Were you a re-reader as a child? If so, which book did you re-read most often?Yes. The Chalet School and Malory Towers series. Even now I am a re-reader. That’s why I buy books that I like, instead of borrowing them.

What's the first adult book that captured your interest and how old were you when you read it?
Jane Eyre & Great Expectations. I read the abridged versions when I was about 10, and then later the originals. I love GE especially.

Are there children's books that you passed by as a child that you have learned to love as an adult? Which ones?
Amar Chitra Kathas. I now read it with my daughter, though didn’t read comics as a child myself, as my dad thought it was detrimental to my other interests!

I am tagging EVERYONE who is reading this and hasn't done it yet.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Despite our zillion other similarities (visible only to my schiz mind), Oprah and I don't always agree on her book selection. Still I picked up The Road because it had an interesting plot. The journey of a father and son in a post apocalyptic world; fighting and dodging cannibals... and their continuous banter that displays the fears and hopes of each.
As a book and plot it is an interesting read. But I found the style tiresome. Monosyllabic dialogue exchange, often repetitive, can be tough on the mind and eyes.
And worse still is the arbitrary approach to punctuation. There seems to be a general aversion to commas, making many sentences difficult to comprehend on first read.
Also the use of apostrophes. While he uses he'd (he had) it's (it is), it's just havent, dont, aint, wont (won't it be confused with wont?)... I am not sure if this is contemporary style and is acceptable. But it gnawed at me.
Maybe someone more well-versed and effortlessly fluent in editing and grammar (Shyam?) can explain this.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

**may contain spoilers**

It was quite by chance that I picked up this book by Ishiguro. I had heard of him, but have never read any of his books.
But something about the cover appealed to me, so I checked it out of the library.
It's not a new book. It's about 3 years old.
And I am sure reading it now is a scarier experience than when it was first published.
The book jacket gave away nothing of the plot, so every page threw up a clue, a surprise.
Though the main plot is revealed well before the half-way point, it continues as a gripping read.
The book raises so many issues on ethics, science, research... but does it without melodrama.
Jodi Picoult raises quite a few questions in her My Sister’s Keeper. But that book, though a great read, was all drama.
This on the other hand is so composed and understated that it's like being hit with a wet towel. It doesn't hurt, it stings.

In case, you are still wondering about reading this book or not, may be this will push you to decide. The story revolves around students of a school for clones, bred for organ donation. But it is not science fiction (not like Asimov or Banks at least) -- it's a love story, it's a story about friends, a story about hope, a tragedy, a warning that we just may be messing way too much with nature.

I can't wait to pick up his other works.

Another Booker

Another Booker, Another Indian. Congrats Adiga...

I wonder what most of us do with our lives.

Apparently Aravind Adiga wanted to be a novelist from the time he was little. So did I, and a million others.

He is 10 months younger than me, a Chennai-vasi, a journalist... only difference he went to Oxford and wrote for TIME. Small difference, really!

I haven't read White Tiger yet. But it does sound interesting.

Adiga's win is not luck. It's perseverence.

Of the other winners, I really like Rushdie and Naipaul. Roy is interesting too, though her novel had way too many factual errors.

Kiran Desai? That's a lot of luck and a lot of influence. Her book sucked big time! Inheritance of an Influential Mum, more like!

Tamil pride, where art thou?

Why don’t we, the Tamils, ever take pride in our heritage the way other communities do?
Tagore and Rabindra sangeet is so much a part of the Bengali culture. No Bong home is complete without records of his music and volumes of his work. For good measure, they throw in the (unreadable) Apu Trilogy by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay, and they rave about the (equally unwatchable) movie version by Satyajit Ray. Of course, my opinion is neither based on cultural jingoism or studied appreciation of the arts.
It’s just a personal comment, that probably goes against worldwide view of the works!

Bangra is a folk dance from Punjab, the dandia/gharba of Gujarat… yet, it has received branding and promotion on a monumental scale. How come, no street or rural art from Tamil Nadu has gained this kind of push?

Why aren’t ALL our children exposed to Bharatiyar’s songs – how many have even heard of him now? Why isn’t the incredibly intelligent Kurals on the bookshelves of every Tamil household? Why isn’t Kalki’s magnum opus Ponniyin Selvan (far, far more intriguing a narration than Apu3) touted by us?

Why do people think our movies are all about overweight heroines, heavily made-up heroes and garish dance numbers? What about KB (of the past), Sridhar, Bharati Raja (of the past), and the dozens of other fantastic film makers and actors? Why do they think our music is merely of the O Podu and Malle Malle genre? The Maestro and ARR are products of Tamil culture too...

Why don’t we celebrate Pongal with the same aplomb as the Keralites do Onam?

And seriously, have you noticed? The Tamils when they meet will try to impress each other with their English skills!!!!! They think it’s infra dig to converse in Tamil.

We stake claim to Idli and Dosais – but both the Malyalees and Udipi folks refute that. And we give in without a whimper!

Fortunately, there is still the Kanjeevarams and Rajnikant that we can cling to.

What do they do?

those who don't read at all. or don't read anything other than the newspaper?

what do they do those last minutes before they nod off?
what do they do on long bus or train journeys?
what do they do while waiting at the airport lounge or on the flight?
what do they do to unwind, imagine, lose themselves in a different world, or forget all their worries?
what do they do on those difficult mornings on the pot?
what do they do while at the doctor's waiting room?

seriously, what do people who do not read, do?

almost everyone in my family -- parents, siblings, in-laws, husband, daughter, and most of my friends read. all the time.

but i do have a niece and a couple of friends who don't. and i've noticed that all of them use the word 'bored' more often than the rest.

I recommend Mister Pip

I resisted picking up this book at the library (more on this later) for weeks. Would it be a blasphemous interpretation or take on my all time favourite Great Expectations? Would it be someone's desperate attempt at writing fame through the brilliance of Dickens' characters?

But I couldn't resist a book that had Pip in its title. I succumbed. I surrender.

This book by Lloyd Jones is fantastic. I always give award winning books a try (in the sad hope that some day, some one would pick up mine)... but not many of these manage to bowl me over.

Lloyd Jones did. I could easily have been Mathilda, and at times the slower Daniel. I could have even been Mr Watts, making Great Expectations his very own story.

I remember getting lost in Havisham's gardens, imagining myself as Estella and Pip in turns... and in fact when I re-read the book in my late-teens, sans boyfriend or even a hope of one, I even thought of myself as Mrs Havisham.

Mathilda's anger at Pip for spurning Joe, could well have been mine. But which one of us is not guilty of being mean to the people who care about us?

Having finished Mr Pip, I think it's time to revisit my old love... I don't know why I haven't touched GE in the last 10 years... I re-read David Copperfield at least twice in this period, and I love the former more.

But before you go away thinking Mister Pip is about Great Expectations alone, let me set the record straight. It's about the great expectations and hopes of its character... some realised, some brutally terminated.

Thanks Mr Jones.

How big a Secret is it really?

Though I've been hearing about The Secret for a while, it was only last week that I got a copy for myself.
I am not greatly into self-help books. There are books I've read now and then -- Who Moved My Cheese, for instance, about 4 years ago. It kind of shook me out of a stupor, to get me moving and find my own opportunities.
Then more recently Eat, Pray, Love. Good read. Funny. And basic common sense approach to dealing with problems.
Now The Secret. While in principle what the book purports is simple enough, the specifics are way too simplistic.
I am reviewing the book, though I have not completed it yet.
You are supposed to read the book, or at least finish the book without doubting its essence or truth. But for someone who can't even read a Dilbert strip without critiquing it, that's a tough task.

The Secret is The Law of Attraction.
You reap what you sow. You sow positive thoughts and you reap positive action. I agree.

It also talks about Gratitude. When you are grateful for all that you have, then you get more of the same. I totally agree -- after all 'thank you' works like magic. Say Thank You to your child, and she wants to earn that gratitude again, and again. Same goes for the guy on the road who let's you cut him, and you wave back a thank you. He is going to be equally accommodating of the next nut-in-a-hurry.

The Secret talks about giving back. Not sacrificing. But giving. And that rings true. The more you give, the richer you feel. And more comes back to you.

It talks about lists and vision boards. Very practical. Very do-able, helps you focus on the job at hand. Be it getting a promotion, bringing out a magazine or just making your marriage work.

So that sums up all that I agreed with.

But what I could not agree with, and was angered by, was what the book claimed about illness -- that from cancer to paralysis, your illness is because of your negative thoughts, and the only way to be 'cured' was by sending out positive signals to the universe.
Which sick person doesn't want to be 'cured'? And how do you account for babies falling ill?
The book or the message talks about 'focussing' on something to get it. Ask. Believe. Receive.
So if you know how to ask and believe, you will receive? It doesn't matter what kind of a person you are? What about Karma (I am a big believer of that).

Way too much focus is on material wealth. On acquiring unexpected million-dollar cheques, merely by wishing for it. It talks about not focussing on debts... but on wealth.
I would love to get those cheques too... and I would love for all my debts to magically disappear, merely because I am grateful to the bank for increasing my credit limit! If wishes were horses... The Secret would probably say: Wishes ARE horses and Beggars COULD fly.

It even talks about weight loss. Focus on your ideal weight, and not on losing weight, and voila, you are a perfect 10!!!!!!!!

But like all thoughts, advice or philosophies, you can only take what suits you, what strikes you as genuine.
This is where the book fails miserably (though I haven't come to the end yet) -- it's making a promise. A careless promise (like those over the top advertisements) that it is the key to all your successes -- financial, personal, emotional. And it almost at every step absolves itself of any responsibility. If this is not working for you, then you haven't followed The Secret 100%. So if I follow it only 50%, will I get half a million instead of one in the next lottery? If I followed only 70 percent, can I lose at least 10 kgs?

Many of those who stood testimony to the Laws of Attraction, are those who have had a great fall or risen from the very depths of misery. Maybe that's when it works.

And I would rather not plunge to that depth, to reach GREAT heights. Because, what I have now seems pretty great. A fantastic and huge family, great friends, enough money to buy me my books, even expensive ones like The Secret, health...

Of course I want more -- to travel more, to not feel the NEED to work or earn, to drop my 25 excess kilos in a jiffy.
I still recommend that you read The Secret. It's not foolproof. It's not a magic wand, though there are some who say by merely watching the movie (that came first) their lives have changed. As Oprah said, it opens a door -- which is itself a big step.

I must add, since I am a big fan of the Big O, she barely could hide her scepticism of The Secret, though she did agree in principle with The Law of Attraction. Good attracts good. And big people think alike.

jealous? me? really? YES!

there is nothing wrong in having a jealous trait -- or even a cupboard full of it.
because Anne Lamott thinks the way I do... not because she is a little mental, but because she is a published writer, and except for ann coulter, all published writers only say the right things.
even if they are published only in magazines in remote neanderthal countries. the thing is i never quite accepted that it was jealousy that drove the deep anger and need to trip some people so hard, they would need dental assistance for the rest of their life.
the one who can't write to save her life, but gets the breaks; the one who can't string a sentence correctly, but gets the cushy pr job; the real dumb ass from school who married this super rich, super cool dude; that darned woman who loses weight on a diet of chocolates and samosas... how unfair is this world?
i just couldn't bring myself to accept that i was jealous of people who were either mediocre in what they did or gained bunny points with minimum effort.
after all i am hardly ever envious of those who are good at what they do. i may have an occasional (or two) murderous impulse... but jealousy? no!
i can live with J K R's riches, Oprah's fame, Mandela's popularity. What the heck! I can even put up with Aishwarya's looks.
it's those who don't have the goods to back up the claim that piss me off.
the realisation that what i considered disdain, actually bordered on jealousy, i owe to Lamott's book Bird by Bird.
does that realisation make me a better or worse person?
don't know, don't care.
it's human to be emotional. jealousy and hatred as emotions are to be expected and accepted just as much as love, and all that jazz.

1. you own what happened to you -- Anne Lamott

I have just begun reading bird by bird by Anne Lamott. and it's about writing.
to start writing, write about everything, grade school, birthdays etc etc...
so i am taking the cue from there
and my first bits

Class 1, first day in school. my sister and cousin admit me and take me to class. Mrs Pilackal is the teacher. A stern old lady whose perfectly spun bun rivalled only that of Mrs Pereira (maths teacher for the older classes).
Mrs Pilackal was my first taste of how scary teachers could be. Yet I don't remember being particularly distraught at school. That would come later, with my first exposure to teachers who were cruel -- that story for another day.
One other memory from that class -- which opened out to a long veranda, with wire mesh, which looked out to the street behind the school -- is how my friends and i would play the piano on the desk. we would do it tirelessly, day after day. why? beats me. but it probably is the reason i have wobbly knuckles.
That's where I made my first friendship -- which lasted many many years... we are in touch, but not quite friends.
Grade 1 is also when I realised that uniforms desperately fail the very reason they are imposed. It is meant to ensure that everyone looks and feels the same. No Levi's for one, and Lulu for another.
But what uniforms do is show up how the same piece of fabric can look smart on one, dishevelled on another, glamorous on yet another, and downright crazy on someone else.

Take the cue: what do you remember about your Grade 1. write it down. here. on your blog. on a piece of paper...

Why you should read In the country of men by Hisham Mattar

Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.

Concern. I think that was what I craved. A warm and steady and unchangeable concern. In a time of blood and tears, in a Libya full of bruise-checkered and urine-stained men, urgent with want and longing for relief, i was the ridiculous child craving concern.

oooooooooooh! that feeling again!

as i walk along the glass wall, looking in, approaching the door... my pulse races, i am practising my lines, i am excited... a state of pre-orgasm. Embarrassing, definitely!
Then I walk through the door, and look into his eyes, and slowly mouth the words: "Can I have a membership form please."

Finally, a library member again, after close to 9 years of starvation.

Qatar almost seems normal now. Yes, the library is attached to the Georgetown Univ-SFS Qatar campus; yes, I have to travel some 12-14kms to reach it; yes, I can't borrow some of the categories, as I am a public patron and not a student; but, what the heck! there are loads and loads of books there. And finally I don't have to spend indecent sums of money on carting books to Qatar.

ps1: For the uninformed. Qatar doesn't have a decent book store. it didn't have a decent library. Otherwise, it is not such a bad place, really.
ps2: I've picked up two new authors, more of that later.

Kafka On The Shore

Haruki Murakami, have you read him?
Sputnik Sweetheart was good.
But Kafka on the Shore is awesome! It is fantastic -- literally.
What's real, what's not?
It disturbs you.
It makes you wonder.
It scares you.

My Sister's Keeper

A new author, a new experience. Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper.
Moved me to tears. Parts of the book were brilliantly written. Parts were an attempt to do so. Was a bit confused on that count.
Otherwise such a topical issue. Just thought the end was a bit too sad... it was almost like the author doesn't like loose ends, and was tying up every arm of the plot.
Still, raises so many ethical issues connected to medical research and treatment.
And of course, as always, you realise there are no easy answers, sometimes no answers at all, to most issues in life. Be it personal or professional.

Books and the people who got me into it

As all of Hardy's books, you can either be totally taken in by it, or absolutely bored by it. I love Hardy's style and plots. So daring and so beautiful. Jude the Obscure particularly pushes the limits. The trials of an unmarried couple, if I can take the liberty to simplify it so stupidly! Hardy was introduced to me by my English teacher Mrs Kamakshi when I was in Class 8. Must have been 13 or so. She gave us a short speech and asked us to identify what was unique about the speech. Only two of us in class could identify that the speech was a string of book names. Two in a tower, far from the madding crowd, jude the obscure... it went on. I had remembered the names from my sister's and father's library books.But it was only a year later that I read my first Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd, as the teacher insisted I should. And I was hooked to it.
Then my father's friend (Kapali mama, whose children were not into books) gifted me his entire collection of Hardy and Lawrence, when he realised i was interested in these books. Old books from the '50s and '60s. Yellowed. Name written with an old-style fountain pen, bound in cardboard and canvas for longevity.
Everytime I read one of the books from that collection, it is not just the plots and words that transport me into a dream world. It is also what I imagine of the previous readers of the book. Old uncles in the younger days, reading Hardy in public and Lawrence on the sly.
Discussing the daring adventures of the heroes of these books. The poetic flow of the authors... the many friends of Kapali mama who borrowed (was my dad one of them) the books and read it under the single electric bulb in the sitting room in the late '50s.
I don't think I ever quite thanked Ms Kamakshi for nurturing my love for books, introducing me to new authors, tolerating my over-ambitious florid essays and gently guiding me towards more understated elegance. That I am still in love with books and words is a tribute to her. I don't know where she is, if she is still there. She was nearing 60 when I was finishing school in 1991.
Again, I don't think I thanked Kapali mama sufficiently either. I just greedily grabbed the books with a perfunctory 'thank you'. He is no more, but am sure he is aware that the books are in good hands, and his gesture was enormously appreciated.
Next time someone introduces me to an author, lends or gifts me a book, I better thank them properly when I have the opportunity.
While on this, I better thank my dad, who however hard-up he was (4 daughters and a sister to educate and take care of, apart from a long line of cousins who stayed with us, all on one salary), he could never say no to money that would be spent on books or studies. He can quote from Shakespeare and whole bunch of other classics. He is the one who drilled into us that no matter what you have in the wardrobe, it is what you have on your bookshelf that matters (not so politely though).
And then I should thank my sister (no 3). She made reading books hip for me. Since all other rolemodels where old and not-so-fashionable, it was the sight of my college-going sister burying herself in the classics, that kept me clear of other junk books that my friends devoured. Of course, I would sneak in a few in defiance, but never enjoyed the read.
Books. What would our life be without it?

Harry Potter and the Crazy Me

I am all rheumy eyed, writing this, after reading HP7 cover to cover. And craving for more... like the werewolf who has a taste for human flesh, even untransformed.
So it's 2 am, I am a little tipsy after the night out with some girlfriends, and I drag my very sleepy husband out of home in search of that one elusive book shop that is selling the books at 2 am!! Al Saqr zindabad.
So after some luckless rambling, we land (taking a no entry) in front of the store and I bark at the guard to stop locking the door, and thrust a 100buck into the cashier's hand and grab my Deathly Hallows.
Unputdownable... I grab some sleep after the first 100 pages, and then am glued to it again.
All this would not be so frightening if I had been say half my age? Or atleast 10 years younger. But for a grown woman, with responsibilities at home and work, to stay curled up in bed a whole day?
How, absolutely delightful!!
And as good friends always validate your obsessions, far, far away, another crazy adult is trying to grab pages between feeding and poo washing...
And in other land far, far away, is a woman raking it in...
And all over the world are muggles enchanted by her quill...

The Deathly Hallows
Have you ever been the one who could never understand the passion displayed at the Kacheevaram Silk Sarees section Nalli's? You look at the women grabbing bright, gaudy sarees and drape it around themselves and stare so (strangely) admiringly at themselves in the mirror, and wonder "What the eff is wrong with these women?"
Well, that's how some people viewed me, this last week, when I was get delirious with excitement over the last part of the HP series.
Point is, nothing is wrong with me. I am under a spell. Have been for 6 years now, when I first laid hands on the first book.
The series is amazing... I won't say this is my favourite book(s) ever, because there are just far too many. But problem is many of them were written before I was even born. But I saw the story evolve, I see the author write about reality. Yes, yes , it's about magic. But above all, it is about people, about relationships... it is a book about emotions.
And it is very clear about right and wrong...
She doesn't talk about good and bad changing at convenience, she simply equates it to being humane and not being humane; however silly your humanitarian spirits may seem, they pay off; and however clever inhumanity may seem, it destructs.
And then it is the belief in innocence, the trust in youth, the confidence in giving chances... the spirit of love.
A truly amazing book, that shows darkness to reveal the power of light; that shows hatred, to reveal the power of love... And does it all without being stupidly sentimental.
No Spoilers here... just that whatever adults-in-denial (yours truly in particular) may say, HP is a book for children... It ends as such. With hope and love.
JUST LOVE IT!