Books – Page 13 – Nourish-n-Cherish

The Magic of Malgudi

Maybe it was the fact that we visited the home of R K Narayan after the opulence of the Mysore Palace, or the fact that while all of rural Karnataka seemed to have decided on Mysore Palace, nobody had thought of R K Narayan’s abode, but the author’s bungalow on a quiet residential street was like a little cocoon of quiet and peace. A lovely setting in which to imagine the most magical tales of small-town Malgudi.

It isn’t a humble abode – it is a beautiful house set in an upper middle class neighborhood. White and two-storeyed, it is a lovely home and while inside, I couldn’t help remembering his own notes on how he had acquired the piece of land on which it was built.

rknarayan

Book: The Grandmother’s Tale – By R K Narayan.

Far away from the town center as it was then, the realtor had promised him that it would be the bustling center of town one day. He left his noisy abode in Vinayak Street, and moved to this one – with the railway tracks to one side, the lilting hills and the then empty lands stretching between the home and the Mysore Palace.

With his characteristic wit, he wrote of his gardener, Annamalai, who helped maintain the land around his house. Annamalai, like most men of the soil, intuitively knew how to clean and maintain lands.

I stooped to look at the plants for a brief moment before entering the home and remembered Annamalai’s classification: “This is a poon-chedi” (flowering plant) and chuckled to myself.

“If he liked a plant, he called it poon-chedi and allowed it to flourish. The ones he did not like, he called “poondu” (weed), and threw over the fence.”

R K Narayan – The Grandmother’s Tale (Story: Annamalai)

Annamalai was no horticulturist but seems to have taken care of the great man’s lands well enough.

Inside the house, it was largely quiet and the lady who stood at the entrance was happy enough to receive us. She was diminutive, and oddly neither welcoming nor dismissive. She surveyed us as if mildly annoyed with herself for being interested in us. She sometimes followed us as we entered the household and read the quotes off the walls. When it was obvious that we were in awe, and really happy to be in the place where R K Narayan wrote his gentle tales of Malgudi, she turned into a hesitant hostess and urged us to explore the rest of the house too. “Go upstairs and see the bedrooms. That’s where he slept.” she said, and I had to resist chuckling.

I wondered what the master literary giant would have to say about her. It would be an insightful description no doubt and one tinged with the gentility and charm that he saw humanity with. That much was certain.

The thing is: going to this quiet house tucked away in a residential locality in Mysore was comforting, and I thanked the brother profusely for showing me this gentle giant’s house.

“Do you realise how few ever really understand how fortunate they are in their circumstances?”

– R K Narayan

Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Narayanaswami, the author and Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Laxman, the cartoonist together enthralled the world with the spontaneity, humor and joy of Indian life.

Rainbow Colored

I picked up two books on separate trips to the library and enjoyed reading them. The first was a book of fairy tales retold in the African diaspora: Crowned. A book of fairy tales is always enjoyable, and one that has a good smattering of classic fairy tales combined with some myths from the African heartlands are a joy.

The children shown as the princesses and princes are the best. The costume designs and makeup are exemplary, as are the re-imaginings of their origins. Most books illustrate Cinderella and Snow White as fair-skinned princesses, and it is refreshing to see these pictures.

The second book was: The Dark Fantastic – By Ebony Elizabeth Thomas

Race and the Imagination from Harry Potter to the Hunger Games

The Dark Fantastic is a book of essays exploring the absence of color in fantasy. The author starts off the book with Vernon Dursley’s famous saying in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: “There is no magic.”.

She then goes on to explain her upbringing in working-class Detroit in the 1970s.

“The existential concerns of our family, neighbors, and city left little room for Neverlands, Middle-Earths, or Fantasias. In order to survive, I had to face reality. “

A few sentences on, though the author states:

“In the realm of the fantastic, I found meaning, safety, catharsis - and hope, Though it eluded me, I needed magic.”

I identified with this statement of needing magic. Humanity’s need for magic is evident in our myths and epics from thousands of years ago.

Was there a flying carpet? A pushpak vimana?
Are there heavens and hells?

Yet, for thousands of years, we have told ourselves increasingly fantastical stories to keep our spirits alive, and our imaginations intact.

“I like nonsense. It wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.” Dr Seuss.

A common thread emerging from lack of diversity in books, is that children don’t see enough of themselves in the books. I lay the books down musing on this. I, like many in my generation, grew up surrounded by the fairy tales of snowy white princesses, and the fantasy worlds of Enid Blyton. Yet, I don’t think I ever wondered whether I would be able to climb up the Magic Faraway Tree to have adventures, or swish away on the Wishing Chair to magical places. The protagonists were all British children, but it did not seem to make the slightest difference to a middle class brown skinned Indian child. Maybe I was just lucky that it never occurred to me. But did it occur to my friends? If it did, I am not sure we discussed it.

That sort of limitation in thinking only came as we grew up and saw for ourselves the inequity of opportunities. I am grateful, of course, to see a book in which a child refers to their mother as ‘Amma’ as we do at home. (Why is my Hair Curly – by Lakshmi Iyer)

Or see that picnics can involve rotis and potato curry, and not just sandwiches. But I am more grateful for the reach of fairy tales. They provided a much-needed element of magic and hope.

As children, the inhibitions of things like race, creed and color are not there. I fondly remember the picture drawn by the son in kindergarten when his teacher had told all children to have more colored people in their illustrations. He had drawn all their faces rainbow-colored 🙂

Sword & Drumstick Warriors

As I watched the man-child and the child who yearns to be a man battle with their latest acquisition, I couldn’t help laughing. The pair of them had mysteriously disappeared at the Arts and Craft Fair and came back clutching a sword. A Sword! The son looked chuffed, and the father sheepish, but there was no denying that the sword would long play heroic roles in imaginating battles in the home.

Some things just need to be.

They were swishing themselves hoarse around the dinner table, when the daughter and I exchanged glances. Hers exasperated, mine indulgent.

“We should’ve bought two swords!” said the husband. He was brandishing a very seedy looking drumstick instead of a sword, while the son revelled in his sword.

“I need shorts with belt buckles so I can stash the sword cover!”

“Scabbard.” I said.

“Huh?” he said with a nifty jump from the top of the sofa to the carpet beyond.

“That’s where you put the sword away – a scabbard.”

“What you need is a belt to hold up those pants – scrawny little fellow!” she turned towards me, “Why would you let this fellow buy a sword, as if he doesn’t jump and swish around enough!” she huffed.

sword-drumstick

I couldn’t help thinking of the book I’d read recently, Bertie’s Guide to Life and Mothers – By Alexander McCall Smith.

It is a gentle book about some folks who live at 44 Scotland Street. Humorous and lilting – it makes for pleasant reading. I think the writing could’ve been crisper in parts and the book could’ve tied the plot-lines up a bit better. But I cannot deny that I enjoyed his portrayal of Bertie’s mother. Poor Bertie Pollock is gearing up for his 7th birthday, though he would like to gallop straight to his 18th, just so he could have his own life. What he wants more than anything else is a Swiss Army Knife, but Bertie’s mother is appalled at the violence inducing toys that boys these days play with, and instead gifts him with a UN Peacekeeping set & a figurine (not G.I.Joe, just Jo) instead. Poor Bertie is appalled.

Quote:

 "Will I get any presents?" he asked. Irene smiled. "Of course you will, Bertie."

"I'd like a Swiss Army penknife," he half- whispered. "Or a fishing rod."

Irene said nothing.

"Other boys have these things," Bertie pleaded. Irene pursed her lips. "Other boys? Do you mean Tofu?" 

Bertie nodded miserably.

"Well the less said about him the better," said Irene. She sighed. Why did men and little boys too-have to hanker after weapons when they already had their . . . She shook her head in exasperation. What was the point of all this effort if, after years of striving to protect Bertie from gender stereotypes, he came up with a request for a knife? It was a question of the number of chromosomes, she thought: therein lay the core of the problem.

Don’t we all know someone like that? Well intentioned, spouting psychological theories, and ensuring that their children’s choices are the most scientifically determined ones, only to find that they comically clash with the innate nature of the child in question.

I looked at the daughter who was obviously waiting for an answer. While I did agree with her, I told her, “Ah! Boys will be boys and a plastic sword does not a warrior make!”

“Yes! But it does a headache give!” said the smart-quipper.

Some people don’t need swords to slash.

Dinosaurian Thoughts

“You look excited!” said the children eyeing me suspiciously. I identified that wary look and chuckled. Usually it means an additional hike or a walk, or something done ‘together – as a family!’.

I could feel the eye-roll coming on.

As a teenager, the daughter has a reputation to maintain, and as her loyal side-kick, her brother is torn between wanting to humor his mother and learn how to become the cool teen.

“Relax! I am just waiting to start a new book tonight. It is about the era of the dinosaurs!” I said with a grand sweep of my hands featuring the landscape that just a few million years ago could’ve been home to tyrannosauraus rexes or brontosauruses.

“Looking at the animals here, my bet would be on the runts of the species!” said the husband.

“We do have the great descendants of the velociraptors here in plenty!” I said eyeing the birds in the riverbed.

That led to an interesting discussion on dinosaurs, and how the dinosaur bones could probably have been the inspiration behind the legends of dragons. While paleontology as a discipline of study and research may be relatively recent, digging and unearthing relics of the past isn’t and neither is human imagination. From there, we somehow landed up discussing the best designs for helmets and body armors while fighting dragons and dinosaurs, and had a good time anyway.

dinosaur

Later that night, glad to have a night free of late night meetings, I swished away to sit by the window sill taking in the full moon rising outside and pondering on the lives of dinosaurs of long ago perceiving the moonlight, and the millions of years in which mammals have been fascinated by the same.

It turns out the book I had in my hand was not one on dinosaurs but on the history of mammalian life from the shadows of the dinosaurs. Oh well!

Book: The Rise and Reign of the Mammals – A New History – From the Shadown of the Dinosaurs to Us

By Steve Brusatte (Author of BestSelling The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs)

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Honestly, book covers these days are the most illuminating ( award-winning, best selling, top researching, nominated for best selling lists!)

Nevertheless, I had a quiet few moments reading before a call interrupted the quiet of the night, and I had to set the book aside.

The Dinosaurs seem to have gone millions of years without needing any of these to live their quiet lives on Earth.

Does anyone miss snail post?

The Egg That Got Back Up!

Every now and then, a children’s book arrives that makes one sit up and relish the simple genius of it.

“After the Fall : how Humpty Dumpty got back up again” is one such. Written by Dan Santat, it went on to win the Booklegger Award.

humpty_dumpty

We all know Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

We all know Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

But ….

Do We all know that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Did put Humpty Dumpty together again?

The book starts off with the ‘Great Fall’ that poor Humpty Dumpty is famous for.

But something happened to the Humpty Dumpty who was put together again. He developed acrophobia (a fear of heights)

The illustration accompanying this is brilliant. Notice the cereal boxes in the bottom shelf? Bo-rings, Cardboard, Grown-Up Food, Bland

humpty_dumpty_1

Compared to the all-so smile inducing Choco Duck, Rainbow Bites and Pirate Crunch occupying the higher shelves.

But one day, Humpty Dumpty is inspired – if not to fly himself, at least to design a paper plane that can fly like his dreams.

But accidents happen as Humpty Dumpty knows, and how Humpty Dumpty overcomes his fear of heights to morph into The Egg Who Got Back Up and realized far more than he had ever expected is a story that will leave you inspired and smiling.

humpty_dumpty_2

A sublime change, and a very relatable tale of living: living with fear, and living with hope, and living with the faint possibility of overcoming our fears is what the book is all about. And isn’t that enough?

Isn’t that all we all yearn for in our lives?

That hope that we can overcome our own selves and go on to inspire ourselves beyond our wildest dreams?

humpty_dumpty_3

Navigating by the Starlight

Navigating by the Starlight – Listen on Spotify

Rest, nature , books, music, such is my idea of happiness.

– Leo Tolstoy

I sat looking out at the lake, with a book on life in the Oceans by Sylvia Earle in my hand. I was not exactly reading. That in itself was worth musing about: with a book in a quiet spot, but not reading. Usually I can zone into a book within seconds. It is a source of being teased in the home. But that day, I found thoughts fleeting, the mind elsewhere: it’s this pace of life, I told myself sagely. Not much time for nourish-ing and cherish-ing. I chuckled at that (I know! )

I had been on a brisk walk at the campsite a few hours from where we lived. The drive up there was relaxing in itself. The long, solitary drive gave me the space to make a few phone calls, listen to some music and an audiobook. It was perfect. This kind of solitude is rarely available and I was determined to enjoy it.

Where was I? Yes – sitting and doing nothing but taking deep breaths and looking lazily out at the lake in front of me.

The Eye of the Earth quote playing on my mind. Looking across the lake, I saw a bush of greenery that reflected so beautifully in the lake as so resemble a human eye. Some boys were skipping stones lazily across the lake, and faint music was heard elsewhere.

Later that night, the skies opened up. At first the faint light did not reveal the nightly glory – the cosmic dance that plays out every night. But by 11 p.m., there was no escaping the stage of the heavens. In our heavily populated urban areas we rarely see this skies like that: The Milky Way in all its glory. There was the international space station circling the Earth, and thousands and thousands of stars, with familiar shapes of the constellations that our ancestors mapped over the ages.

At one point, I had to walk from point A to point B, and found that I had lost my way amidst a thicket of trees. I felt a strange sense of unease – How did birds migrate by the starlight? I looked up, enthralled, my breath stolen from me in a gasp of wonder, but also acutely aware navigating by the stars is tougher than it looks.

I read a while ago, that birds align with the electromagnetic patterns of Earth and then use that to orient and navigate against the stars. From the magical birds who sense the Earth’s magnetic field for their migration journeys to the fish who are able to navigate by the position of the stars from deep under the ocean, we each have our own unique way of living. Of Life.

In Dr Oliver Sack’s book, Musicophilia, he says:

“Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination.”

― Oliver Sacks, Musicophilia: La musique, le cerveau et nous

https://www.nytimes.com/1958/10/17/archives/study-finds-birds-guided-by-stars-migrating-flocks-are-led-by.html

All this may be fine. But how was I to get back? My electromagnetism wasn’t helping, and the stars seemed to be twinkling and having their little joke up high in the skies. It is then I caught glimmer of the starlight reflected in the lake down below, and like a thirsty wildebeest pushes towards the water, did the same, urging the body to orient itself with the lake and the paths around it like I had done earlier during the day.

One day, I shall have to take lessons from the birds and learn to navigate by the stars instead. “Stop using the GPS while driving first!” said a little voice of truth, and I chuckled. Yes – baby steps. Driving first, and then flying.

Oh Canada!

Any time we see a license plate for an out-of-state car in California, the son gets excited. I assumed it is part of his being this boy who spent his early years watching the Disney movie Cars. I must say though, if I had tried to envision life a decade on, and saw ourselves still being excited by license plates, I might have been a little worried. Yet, here we are, and still excited by license plates. Oh well!

This time, we weren’t even going to see out of state license plates. We were going to see Canadian license plates.

All we knew about Canada is that it is a beautiful country – vast, and the people a gentle populace. Well, that, and they have a sense of humor, probably good at winter sports – ice hockey, curling, skiing, that sort of thing. May not even count as trivia. In fact, most of this ‘knowledge’ seems to have come from talk shows, sitcoms, particularly one that is very popular in the nourish-n-cherish household: Corner Gas which is set in Saskatchewan, Canada. Or Anne of Green Gables by L M Montgomery set in Prince Edward Islands.

Every country is like a particular type of person: Canada is like an intelligent, 35-year-old woman.

Douglas Adams

Anyway, there we were hopping on our left and right feet excited to go to Calgary – the airport closest to arguably the most beautiful national parks in Banff. We expected to be wowed by the natural beauty of the mountains, the lakes, and the rivers fed by glacial melt.

IMG_6497-COLLAGE

But we had not planned on being this excited by license plates.

The first time we saw the license plates of a car from Saskatchewan, the son and I pointed excitedly to each other. Hey! Look! Land of the Living Skies, Saskatchewan. We stopped admiring the license plates. Sub consciously, we glanced up at the blue skies and the large white-and-black magpies that flew past looked amused. We could imagine the beautiful skies of Saskatchewan, could we not?

“Ha! Maybe he stopped by the Corner Gas station to fuel up!” We found this hilarious after a long flight, and filed it under sleep deprived delirium.

There really was no excuse though when we were just as excited by the license plates of British Columbia, Alberta, Manitoba, Ontario. License plates of states in the United States do not have a catchy slogan for each state.

canadian_license_plates

🥀 Wild Rose Country Alberta

🚸Friendly Manitoba

🌌 Land of Living Skies Saskatchewan

🏔Yours to discover Ontario

🪷 Beautiful British Columbia

I wonder what each state in the United States would have as license plate slogans. That’d be an interesting exercise wouldn’t it?

Earth’s Eyes

Canadian summers are generous.

The week we were there, we were blessed with ample sunshine, full rivers gushing waterfalls, millions of evergreen trees, tiny pinecones, open skies, harsh rock faces, long days and every hue of blue in the waters of the land.

IMG_6497-COLLAGE

When we told anyone that we were planning to visit Banff, Canada, we heard about the Blues. In gushing tones, awed expressions, faraway looks as if transplanting themselves momentarily to a place with blue waters, and peace. I liked that. It must have been something if everyone had the same things to say, shouldn’t it? I have been to several lakes, and am always in awe of them. I remember somebody saying something to the effect of a lake being a planet’s eye, or something like that. Awfully poetic I thought then. Must find the quote.

Ah – here it is. It is our reliable ol’ Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond.

“A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Anyway, so off we went expecting to see blue lakes. Emerald green waters, turquoise waters, and all the hues in between. Pictures do not prepare you for the surreality of it all, we knew that. We were hiking around the famous Lake Louise when the daughter piped up with her usual candor. “It looks pretty and all, but I don’t want to swim in it. It doesn’t feel right. Do you think it has some kind of algae, in it?”

lake_louise

I looked at her and then nodded. I understood that feeling. I had not been able to express quite that way yet, but there it was. It didn’t help that I was reading The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu, Translated by Ken Liu, and somewhat agitated by the other worlds mentioned in the book.

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But when we stopped to take breath a few meters on, I sucked in a deep breath. It was beautiful especially from our current vantage point. We were at least a thousand feet above and hiking around it in an elaborate trail that allowed us glimpses of the turquoise blue waters in between. So, what did make these waters this unnatural shade of blue? Why didn’t lakes in Iceland, Switzerland, Philippines, New Zealand, or the United States have the same color?

Professor Google says it is because of the particular kinds of glacial silt that is deposited in the waters with glacial melt, and not algae. Up close, the waters looks transparent near the shores, and the canoes seem to enjoy the peace and quiet of it all.

We canoed in ‘a lake that looks like more like an earthly lake’ as we delicately put it. But this lake too had spots of emerald green waters turquoise spots and the transparent blues. I took photos that I thought would wow the world. Of course, they looked like I shook my hands and poured tea into the lens instead.

I was nervous about the canoeing. I was nervous about the hues of the waters. But as the daughter and I shared a canoe, I was somewhat heartened. She is calm, reliable and more capable than Yours Truly at steering canoes towards shores as she demonstrated to me that day. We stopped mid lake, peering into the depths below. The calm beautiful waters holding the promise of the winter snow in its depths.

Earth’s eye that day assured me that to imagine yourself in a different world, if only a moment, is fascinating and necessary. We couldn’t really see the Loch Ness monster, or the myriad fishes in the beautiful waters even as sunlight pierced through to the bottom maybe a hundred feet deep. But I am sure these lakes were home to plenty of lifeforms – how could they not be?

Sometimes, humans are so caught up in our own trivialities in this universe, I wonder whether our fellow habitants are the same. Maybe. Maybe not. We would never know.

The Biochemistry of Attraction

“What are you reading?”, asked the daughter.

The pair of us found ourselves enjoying a quiet Saturday morning and we were determined to make the best of it. I had been reading the Manga’s Guide to Biochemistry with little luck. Try as I might the fascinating area remains a mystery. Cellular structures and how they interact, how they power our bodies. The concepts are explained well enough. But it still did not seem to answer the fundamental questions of energy disparities among people. How is it some of us are bursting with energy and others not? How do healthy doses of sleep and diet help with these biochemical processes and our own system?

I am sure many eighth graders know it all well enough, and they’d roll their eyes at my interest in these matters.

The Manga Guide to Biochemistry by Masaharu Takemura , Kikuyaro, et al.

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‘The Manga Guide to Biochemistry’ , I said lifting the book helpfully to show her.

She swirled her eyes – not just rolled them.

“Who spends their Saturday mornings reading about Biochemistry?”, she said.

“Those who didn’t spend enough time in school reading about Biochemistry!”

“Ah ha! So you accept you weren’t a saint in school!” I laughed. I admit I may have written myself out to be a Mary Sue when I wanted to talk myself up to the children. A Mary Sue, I learned recently, is a form of wish fulfillment by authors when they write idealized versions of themselves as characters in the story.

Quote from wikipedia:

A Mary Sue is a character archetype in fiction, usually a young woman, who is often portrayed as inexplicably competent across all domains, gifted with unique talents or powers,…, unrealistically free of weaknesses, …, innately virtuous, and/or generally lacking meaningful character flaws.

“Guilty as charged. But really though: I like this book. I am not even sure I understand half of it, but it is still nice to try!” I said.

She gave me an indulgent look and said, “Fine! But no doing that thing you do and reading out interesting bits of it out to me, understand?” I nodded.

“And may I ask the same of you my dear? I am not sure I want to know how the count’s first kiss felt on her cold cheeks or whatever it is you are reading now.”

She snorted, but had the decency to look abashed at the evident enjoyment of her little rom-com : It’s in His Kiss by Julia Quinn. “It is now a TV series – Bridgerton. Actually, you may like it. “ she said, and I perked up. I had heard the series was very good.

“Oh amma! How quickly you go from disdain to curiosity?!”

“Maybe I will understand the biochemical processes associated with attraction first huh?” I said laughing.

Love, Actually: The science behind lust, attraction, and companionship

Hemlock Hitch

I squinted as I walked through the summer grasses – browning in places, laced against the relentless green of the hemlock. I did not know it was hemlock of course. I just admired the beautiful shapes of its flowers and the structure of its leaves.

“What plant is this?”, asked the husband and I found out. It was the hemlock. They must be a favorite of the bunny rabbits in the vicinity – since I see them hopping in and out looking very pleased with themselves as they do so.

“Did you know Hemlock was what was used to poison Socrates?”, asked the husband and I was curious to hear that. Obviously, my horticultural knowledge is nothing to bet a chocolate on, but still to see that the innocuous, gentle and beautiful looking hemlock was capable of such treachery to the human system was shocking.

It was true. It was one of the oldest secrets of humankind by the looks of it. Only they seem to have forgotten to whisper it in my ears when I grew up. I may have eaten those leaves – I said shocked, earning me a stern glance from the husband. “That is why, you do not eat wild plants. Go to a store, and buy what you need.”

“The tried-and-vetted”, I sighed. Yes – but where was the sense of adventure in having a beautiful tale to tell? “Are you sure though? The hemlock?”

So, I rushed home and saw that Elizebeth Blackwell in her extremely well researched book on Botany lists out Hemlock too.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conium_maculatum

“Imagine! The rabbits may eat them!”, I said still a bit shocked at how ubiquitous the plants were. But then I stopped and wondered – I had never seen the little ones eat them. They would hop in and out of the bushes, but never have I seen them munching their leaves or nibbling at the carrot like roots.

Curious.

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