Thursday, December 20, 2007

'Like The Flowing River'

This was my first Paulo Coelho book, “Like The Flowing River”. Frankly speaking, I never heard his name before getting that book.

Now when I see Paulo’s name mentioned here and there with so importance, it gives me impression of ‘little fabricated marketing hype’. Anyway, back to “Like The Flowing River”, it is a collection of many short stories and thoughts of Brazilian born writer. Two best parts of that book particularly for me are: One very beautiful picture at the cover and secondly, the simplicity of his writing. It is much more like hearing local tales or chatting with similar natured friends than reading a preaching literature. This book is all about life and viewing the life or even death.

With due respect to Mr. Coelho, there is nothing new in this book for an average Indian like me. Why I am saying so is that every other Indian have that philosophical mentality or thoughts which Coelho have collected in that book. If we sit for half an hour with a poor illiterate small Indian farmer manually ploughing his fields thousands miles away from brightly illuminated metros, even he would tell us thousand such stories very enthusiastically like those written in that book, only because we are brought up in such culture and atmosphere.

But even then this book is very important. Important cause that preserved atmosphere is being polluted with today’s so called Eco-friendly globalization and that globalization is destroying our rare culture and this book can help us to keep those memories afresh. Some of the tales are only half a page long so the reader can never get tired.

I may try some of Paulo Coelho’s other books one day.

‘Detective’ was much much better novel of Arthur Hailey’s than ‘Wheels’ written in 1971, I finished last week. Arthur has his well known style of digging and reaching the hard surface depth of any subject while writing a novel. Wheels very prominently show that style one again.

‘Wheels’ is about America’s auto industry in Detroit. It is about cars, people who design cars or who manufacture cars or those who sell those cars or about every person who is connected with that city of cars. Hailey tried to reveal every shining and spitting spot of that industry.

The novel have no story neither could it bound me with reading. But I read because I had no other book to read.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Happy Birthday Blog

Around mid December last year, while I was searching the net for the poems of Sumitranandan Pant when I found myself on the pages of Manish’s blog. It was the first time when I read a blog. I think I spent a long time on his blog and some others chained with his pages. I found many thoughts of his similar to mine and I sent a mail to Manish congratulating him for his pages and he in return motivated me to start my own blog.

I never thought that I could write in not-so-bad way and could keep my pages updated regularly but today on 18th December, I found myself on footsteps of completion of a year of blogging when I wrote my first post on the same day of last year.

It was and it is really a very surprising experience of blogging for me. Most amazingly, I had never thought of ever writing poems but here I found myself writing poems and writing so easily and regularly (Though I won’t say I am very good at writing). Finding new friends is another soothing factor of blogging.

Now when it is a year already, I do sadly feel that why didn’t I start my blog three or four years back (like when I visit & read another blogs pretty older than mine) when I was literally wasting time chatting or playing games whenever on the net. How come I never found myself at someone’s blog like of Manish’s? But it is as simple as we say, “Jab jab jo hona hai, tab tab woh hota hai”. Anyway I am enjoying maintaining my blog and I think I will keep enjoying for the times to come.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

What is Life ?

He was a nationalist, had given almost all of his life for the upliftment of this country. A part time writer, who had written around half a dozen books mostly containing issues belonging to our nation. An intellectual who could speak, read and write at least five languages. But even then very far from name and fame.

In 1995, he was on Himachal tour for a week and I had to perform as his driver. I was college student then and a very good driver (which I think still I am). On the way to interior Himachal, in one town our night arrangement was made at a local house. The owners of that house were joint family members who had a boy of my age doing his CA that time in their family. The room of this boy was arranged for the writer. The room was an ordinary room with very little furniture. There was a notepad hanging just above a study table in that room. The facing page of that notepad was blank when the room was occupied by that writer.

The next morning after breakfast, when we were ready for the journey of that day to another place, I had to enter that room to get something from the study table. I again looked at the notepad hanging above there. The facing blank page was no more blank. There was some scribbling in Hindi on it which could be translated as, “Life is a bridge, we have to cross it and not to sit on it.” No name was mentioned who wrote this but I knew.

Question is, do we take our life as a bridge or we keep dying everyday to live forever on that bridge?