How are things?
Things are awesome, so awesome, so many and moving at such a pace, that I see only the blur, and cannot comprehend what is going by.
What things?
Things are so many and moving at such a pace, that I see only the blur, and cannot comprehend what is going by.
How is it going?
Things are moving at such a pace, that I see only the blur, and cannot comprehend what is going by.
Whats up?
I see only the blur, and cannot comprehend what is going by.
Whats happening?
Told you already, but lets loop through it again:
Things are awesome, so awesome, so many and moving at such a pace, that I see only the blur, and cannot comprehend what is going by.
How does this end?
I see only the blur.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Googlies: On Ganguly who bamboozled critics again (Gangooglied them)
Ganguly dada did it again: produced another knock to remind his critics that he is and will ever be regarded has one of the greatest Indian batsmen ever. But the critics already have their I-pods on, (they are all but knocked out), their eyes are watching other kids and they are only irritated by this undying rubble raiser. The trouble with being an outspoken great in India is that people want to drown you in their own nonsense. In his hour of greatness too, he stands on a podium, waiting for an applause. While applause will come at some hour, maybe when shame and guilt will egg the gathered masses, for now, the hero stands on the podium, not garlanded, not felicitated, but stands there fighting the mosquito noises asking him to leave and go home. But here I will start will loud clap from my corner, and hopefully others will join in:
Dada, for you and your "zazba" (the passion that makes you the man you are)!
To have sixteen ceturies, highest number of wins as captain, seven thousand runs in test cricket is no mean achievement. It does not happen everyday. Only Tendulkar, Dravid and Gavaskar have scored more, and among all the batsmen in the top ten list for India, only Ganguly has been in the eye of so many storms. To score more than 11000 runs, take 100 wickets, make 22 centuries, lead your team into World Cup final, requires a Ganguly, the Prince of Calcutta, the man next only to God on the off-side. After Tendulkar, Ganguly is the best ever one day batsman we have ever had, and his records do not display the spirit and fight he brought into the team when he took over as the captain. Even Lara, the greatest left-handed batsmen ever, has prone to dismal phases, even Tendulkar has had his rough patches, but while their greatness was never doubted, their selection was automatic, Ganguly has had times when he was unrecognizable, covered by mud, blood, spit, dirt and sweat.
When he lay writhing near dead in a cesspool of criticism, when selectors, veterans favored obituaries over eulogies, Ganguly busied himself in domestic cricket, waiting for that chance to reassert that a great fighter never fades and never destroys himself by the doubts that lies in the mind of others. As a man who failed and fought passionately, and celebrated his successes with a torn shirt, beating his chest like a tribal, as a legend who refuses to fizzle out, Ganguly is a saga that will ever inspire me personally, and hopefully many among our midst.
Ganguly has the capacity of creating intense emotions in the cricket maniac country. He is judged and smudged by the audiences that include:
The Halwaais whose best catches are of chappatis thrown from one hand to another.
The streetwallahs, whose experience of glance amounts to leering at women walking by.
The barbers, who think they know how to cut.
The partymongers, who believe they have mastered the art and style of dealing with bouncers.
The drivers, who know how to drive to any corner of labyrinths called cities in India.
The beggars on riversides, who dive without fear, and pluck out coins at speed that could help them win a medal, if there was an Olympic event like that.
The bureaucrats who understand the concept of slip extremely well, the clerks who know how to guide the buck, the businessmen who know how to steal a single (from the beginning of a number like 10000 that was their due as taxes).
The students, many of them have never scored half century, let alone a hundred. The students who accept every failure and never fight back, never learn how to rise against adversity, never strive to achieve event a momentary state where anyone would be roused to say, "thats brilliant!"
The politicians, who think positions, seats in academia or government or industry, are to be distributed not according to the talent or the proven ability but in a way that makes greatest number of voters happy. The oldies (>65 year old) who rule the country and never think of retiring, think that the seniors (i.e. 35 year old) should retire to make way for youngsters (~30 year old).
We, Indians, who have not learned how to praise unless foreigners bestow awards on our kind. We, Indians, who know how to lead a man to disgrace, maybe form a mob to beat him to death, but we don't know how to hoist a hero on our shoulders and carry him around the city in triumph. We carry only hardened criminals around like that. We can worship only movie stars, we can suck up to only politicians, we can praise only the dead. We, Indians, who don't know how to value our heritage, our language, our environment, our laws, we, Indians, who defile everything original and pious, we Indians who are happy with zero or at most three medals in Olympics, we Indians who have let millions perish without food and opportunity for earning any, we Indians who let our daily life be mediocre and full of "chalta hai" (let it be) attitude, we Indians who just criticize and never do the effort it takes to actually change or better anything.
Go Dada go! You did more than one could ask of you. But we have let bigger men go, we have allowed bigger calamities to happen. You have succeeded and done well, we have loved and hated you for many things in last two decades, and we have celebrated and berated you. Nevertheless we will remember you. Imagine what we are capable of and know, we have treated you exceedingly well, and forgive us, like an indulging, grand hero does. In your death on the battlefield, in your retirement, in your calling it a day, lies your future redemption and future praise. But that never guided or deterred you. So go in victory, go with your head held high, go with a celebration through your strokeplay, go with mute admiration of millions of us spread around the globe. Go Dada go! As you go, give us that smile again, raise your helmet once more, pound that fist once again, and once again, jump with that tight fist raised high...
Dada, for you and your "zazba" (the passion that makes you the man you are)!
To have sixteen ceturies, highest number of wins as captain, seven thousand runs in test cricket is no mean achievement. It does not happen everyday. Only Tendulkar, Dravid and Gavaskar have scored more, and among all the batsmen in the top ten list for India, only Ganguly has been in the eye of so many storms. To score more than 11000 runs, take 100 wickets, make 22 centuries, lead your team into World Cup final, requires a Ganguly, the Prince of Calcutta, the man next only to God on the off-side. After Tendulkar, Ganguly is the best ever one day batsman we have ever had, and his records do not display the spirit and fight he brought into the team when he took over as the captain. Even Lara, the greatest left-handed batsmen ever, has prone to dismal phases, even Tendulkar has had his rough patches, but while their greatness was never doubted, their selection was automatic, Ganguly has had times when he was unrecognizable, covered by mud, blood, spit, dirt and sweat.
When he lay writhing near dead in a cesspool of criticism, when selectors, veterans favored obituaries over eulogies, Ganguly busied himself in domestic cricket, waiting for that chance to reassert that a great fighter never fades and never destroys himself by the doubts that lies in the mind of others. As a man who failed and fought passionately, and celebrated his successes with a torn shirt, beating his chest like a tribal, as a legend who refuses to fizzle out, Ganguly is a saga that will ever inspire me personally, and hopefully many among our midst.
Ganguly has the capacity of creating intense emotions in the cricket maniac country. He is judged and smudged by the audiences that include:
The Halwaais whose best catches are of chappatis thrown from one hand to another.
The streetwallahs, whose experience of glance amounts to leering at women walking by.
The barbers, who think they know how to cut.
The partymongers, who believe they have mastered the art and style of dealing with bouncers.
The drivers, who know how to drive to any corner of labyrinths called cities in India.
The beggars on riversides, who dive without fear, and pluck out coins at speed that could help them win a medal, if there was an Olympic event like that.
The bureaucrats who understand the concept of slip extremely well, the clerks who know how to guide the buck, the businessmen who know how to steal a single (from the beginning of a number like 10000 that was their due as taxes).
The students, many of them have never scored half century, let alone a hundred. The students who accept every failure and never fight back, never learn how to rise against adversity, never strive to achieve event a momentary state where anyone would be roused to say, "thats brilliant!"
The politicians, who think positions, seats in academia or government or industry, are to be distributed not according to the talent or the proven ability but in a way that makes greatest number of voters happy. The oldies (>65 year old) who rule the country and never think of retiring, think that the seniors (i.e. 35 year old) should retire to make way for youngsters (~30 year old).
We, Indians, who have not learned how to praise unless foreigners bestow awards on our kind. We, Indians, who know how to lead a man to disgrace, maybe form a mob to beat him to death, but we don't know how to hoist a hero on our shoulders and carry him around the city in triumph. We carry only hardened criminals around like that. We can worship only movie stars, we can suck up to only politicians, we can praise only the dead. We, Indians, who don't know how to value our heritage, our language, our environment, our laws, we, Indians, who defile everything original and pious, we Indians who are happy with zero or at most three medals in Olympics, we Indians who have let millions perish without food and opportunity for earning any, we Indians who let our daily life be mediocre and full of "chalta hai" (let it be) attitude, we Indians who just criticize and never do the effort it takes to actually change or better anything.
Go Dada go! You did more than one could ask of you. But we have let bigger men go, we have allowed bigger calamities to happen. You have succeeded and done well, we have loved and hated you for many things in last two decades, and we have celebrated and berated you. Nevertheless we will remember you. Imagine what we are capable of and know, we have treated you exceedingly well, and forgive us, like an indulging, grand hero does. In your death on the battlefield, in your retirement, in your calling it a day, lies your future redemption and future praise. But that never guided or deterred you. So go in victory, go with your head held high, go with a celebration through your strokeplay, go with mute admiration of millions of us spread around the globe. Go Dada go! As you go, give us that smile again, raise your helmet once more, pound that fist once again, and once again, jump with that tight fist raised high...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
प्रवासी हिमाचली अमित गुप्ता: स्वपन बडे, मेहनत कडी, तो सफलता बडी!
ज्ञातव्य है की अमित के पिताश्री कर्नल डी. पी. गुप्ता रिटायर शिमला में हुए और उनकी माताश्री डॉ. रमा देवी आर. के. एम. बी. की प्रिंसिपल रहीं | उनके माता-पिता शिमला जिले में पले बड़े, और अब शिमला में बस गए हैं | अमित की पत्नी, डॉ. परिधि कपूर ने जर्मन से पी. एच. डी. की है और वह भी आई. आई. टी. दिल्ली से सनातक हैं | जहाँ अमित एक बड़ी कम्पनी में करोड़ों के हिसाब किताब वाले मुद्दों से जुड़ा रहेगा, मैं आगे भी रात-दिन शोध और अध्ययन में गुजरूँगा | दोनों को उम्मीद है की हम अपने अपने तरीके से समाज में उन्नति और प्रगति की लहर ला सकते हैं | अमित और मैंने जीवनयापन के रास्ते बेशक अलग अलग चुनें हो, पर हमारी दोस्ती सालों और फासलों में घनिष्ट से घनिष्टतर हुई है | हर हफ्ते हम एक दूसरे को फ़ोन करके हिमाचली टोन में, “महाराज - महाराज” कहते हुए बतियाते हैं | प्रस्तुत वार्तालाप भी किया तो उसी लहजे से था, पर लेखन के लिए उसको थोड़ा सजा कर पेश कर रहा हूँ |
Monday, October 06, 2008
Indian Ocean rocks (Concert for AID India, at MIT Cambridge)
Indian Ocean provided an enthralling evening of fusion music to an audience that was constantly in raptures. The two guitars strummed Eastern melodies and Western symphonies in tandem, while the drummer and tabla player displayed both skill and maturity in their percussion. The idea of raising money for development projects is a commendable one in itself. By roping in a band that creates a music based on poems that are meaningful and socially conscious is a masterstroke from AID India. I will write about AID India some other day, for now, let me just say a few things about the performance.
Indian Ocean is best known for songs from their much loved album Kandisa., and they did perform a few songs from their highly acclaimed album. Susmit Sen on guitar produced sounds that brought the melody of Indian string instruments: sitar and santoor alive. His partner from the time of inception of the band, Asheem, sat surrounded by half a dozen tablas. While his percussion was immaculate, his vocal cords seem to have an Aseem (unbounded or limitless) range. Amit Kilam on drums was good but when he stepped away to play a tribal instrument for the song Ma Rewa, his performance was spell-binding. Throughout the evening the artists jammed with each other, showing why they have the reputation of fusing jazz, rock, folk and Indian classical into a dynamic sound of their own. Throughout the show, Rahul did most of the talking. His humor was spot on, and so was his hand on guitar, his vocals and his jamming with his partners in crime. (I later searched and found that he has a PhD in environmental toxicology from Cornell, which explains why he was talking about insecta and weevils and anthropods: all of which surprised and amused the audience!). Together the band provided a high energy, fast paced, sometime foot-tapping, sometime heart-stopping, sometime lilting rendition.
When Lorca spoke about finding duende as an artist, he used the example of gypsy singers who use both the range of their vocal cords and heart-strung melodies to enrapture the audience. When the band renders song after song in high pitched melodies, backed by the stories that associate these with social movements and movies, the effect is bound to be potent and poignant. The band performed three songs that are used in movies: one from Black Friday, another from Swaraj and the third one, was an unreleased song from a movie that is still under production. These movies and themes of their songs involve Hindu-Muslim riots, bribery and corruption, Independence movement, Kabir's message as the backdrop. Yet the message is somewhat hidden, it is subtle, it is buried beneath the grand slam of strings and drumbeats, it mellowed by the dramatic interludes of humor, it is sung in lyrics written in dialects not familiar to the audience. The rhythm was of the rock stars, the rhyme was of sufi singers, the melody was Indian and the performance, in general was as professional and as jazzy as of a Rock band can be. When I watched Indian Ocean perform, about a decade back, I left the hall somewhat disenchanted. I discovered today that they have found their voice, they have found their zone, they have found the duende!
Indian Ocean is best known for songs from their much loved album Kandisa., and they did perform a few songs from their highly acclaimed album. Susmit Sen on guitar produced sounds that brought the melody of Indian string instruments: sitar and santoor alive. His partner from the time of inception of the band, Asheem, sat surrounded by half a dozen tablas. While his percussion was immaculate, his vocal cords seem to have an Aseem (unbounded or limitless) range. Amit Kilam on drums was good but when he stepped away to play a tribal instrument for the song Ma Rewa, his performance was spell-binding. Throughout the evening the artists jammed with each other, showing why they have the reputation of fusing jazz, rock, folk and Indian classical into a dynamic sound of their own. Throughout the show, Rahul did most of the talking. His humor was spot on, and so was his hand on guitar, his vocals and his jamming with his partners in crime. (I later searched and found that he has a PhD in environmental toxicology from Cornell, which explains why he was talking about insecta and weevils and anthropods: all of which surprised and amused the audience!). Together the band provided a high energy, fast paced, sometime foot-tapping, sometime heart-stopping, sometime lilting rendition.
When Lorca spoke about finding duende as an artist, he used the example of gypsy singers who use both the range of their vocal cords and heart-strung melodies to enrapture the audience. When the band renders song after song in high pitched melodies, backed by the stories that associate these with social movements and movies, the effect is bound to be potent and poignant. The band performed three songs that are used in movies: one from Black Friday, another from Swaraj and the third one, was an unreleased song from a movie that is still under production. These movies and themes of their songs involve Hindu-Muslim riots, bribery and corruption, Independence movement, Kabir's message as the backdrop. Yet the message is somewhat hidden, it is subtle, it is buried beneath the grand slam of strings and drumbeats, it mellowed by the dramatic interludes of humor, it is sung in lyrics written in dialects not familiar to the audience. The rhythm was of the rock stars, the rhyme was of sufi singers, the melody was Indian and the performance, in general was as professional and as jazzy as of a Rock band can be. When I watched Indian Ocean perform, about a decade back, I left the hall somewhat disenchanted. I discovered today that they have found their voice, they have found their zone, they have found the duende!
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Is this the beginning of the end of capitalism?
The rate at which banks are disappearing and the scale of losses reported by every financial behemoth perhaps flags the beginning of the end of capitalism. The free market system is collapsing and the story of capitalism seems to be following the script followed by the collapse of the communist regimes. A house of cards falls at the first storm, but a fort falls apart more painfully, piece by piece, till a portion collapses, and then the process goes on for decades. There is a sense of loss for all of us who have planned our lives around the possibilities in a capitalist world. In the present world, uncertainty is feeding rumors and paucity of credit is driving banks and governments to the brink of desperation.
Twenty years back United Soviet Socialist Republic started to crumble, ending the largest communist nation that had existed for nearly seven decades. The collapse of the Soviet Union marked the end of Cold War that had divided the world into at least two blocs. The years that preceded the final melt down of the nation that symbolized communism included a war in Afghanistan and change in policy in USSR by Gorbachev's policies that allowed Soviet countrymen freedom of expression. Incidentally US is involved in a war on Afghanistan, perhaps fighting the people trained covertly at its own expense once, to take down an enemy as mighty as itself. While USSR economy epitomized how communist system can be made to work, and then be abused, USA so far had been the prime example of how market forces work and in our times, flounder. While the communist USSR began to fail as it started giving more freedom to people, the capitalist USA is said to have increased vigilance over its citizens in past years.
The two systems - communist and capitalist - were both born after the collapse of regimental rule of emperors and kings. Both developed in response to the desire for something different and better than the system that existed before. The communists wanted to reduce everyone and everything to the lowest common denominator. The capitalists wanted to allow everyone and everything to grow as per demand and supply determined it. Communists thought rigid control of property and industries by the government is the key, capitalists rooted for private property and private ownership. Communists chose for people, limited their choices (ask any East European about the state sanctioned amounts of groceries). Capitalists encouraged people to pick from a number of goods. Communists created demand by limiting the supply, capitalists by exhibiting it. While communists provided for (lower quality) universal health care, education and employment, capitalists created a system where quality of health, education and employment was determined by how much people were willing to pay or strive for. Both systems worked in their own way: generated a world where competition send the Man to the moon, Olympics saw winners from both worlds, scientists and inventors lurked and emerged from both societies, and art of every form blossomed in different styles in both places. Incidentally, capitalists looked down upon communists and vice versa.
Alas! The humanity adds its own perversity to any principle, any ideal, any system. Even the best made plans are laid waste by the irrationality of the human thoughts and actions, and thus what works in theory (free market as well as communist state) runs into turmoil in reality. The virtue and vice are exist within everything in this world. (Rephrased from Tulsidas: jad chetan gun doshmaya, vishwa kin kartar). While communists equated capitalists with greedy pigs, the Animal farm of communists was said to exist on the principle that some men are more equal than the others.
The question about capitalism, and its longevity as an ideal that we must work towards, has become most crucial in our day and our time. What has capitalism failed to give us? Perhaps health and education, perhaps clean air and robust public transportation, perhaps economic equality. What did communist fail to give us? Quality education, freedom of speech and choice, democracy. Incidentally, as US has been the greatest symbol of democratic form of the government, it will be interesting to see of the institution of democracy outlasts its champion. India, which is the largest democracy, has seen this institution become a refuge for hardened criminals, and the politics of vote is driving corruption, communalism and casteism to the level beyond which catastrophe is the only possibility.
Where do we go from here? What will be the dominant financial system in the world in twentyfirst century? Will the axis of power shift again to Europe, or to Asia? Will America survive the crisis, and come out stronger? Will the economic crisis worsen when energy crisis kicks in? As economic meltdown continues, will the immigration laws in US, import duties in many countries change for worse? Will this crisis provide the launching pad for a new religion?
Is this the beginning of the end of capitalism?
Twenty years back United Soviet Socialist Republic started to crumble, ending the largest communist nation that had existed for nearly seven decades. The collapse of the Soviet Union marked the end of Cold War that had divided the world into at least two blocs. The years that preceded the final melt down of the nation that symbolized communism included a war in Afghanistan and change in policy in USSR by Gorbachev's policies that allowed Soviet countrymen freedom of expression. Incidentally US is involved in a war on Afghanistan, perhaps fighting the people trained covertly at its own expense once, to take down an enemy as mighty as itself. While USSR economy epitomized how communist system can be made to work, and then be abused, USA so far had been the prime example of how market forces work and in our times, flounder. While the communist USSR began to fail as it started giving more freedom to people, the capitalist USA is said to have increased vigilance over its citizens in past years.
The two systems - communist and capitalist - were both born after the collapse of regimental rule of emperors and kings. Both developed in response to the desire for something different and better than the system that existed before. The communists wanted to reduce everyone and everything to the lowest common denominator. The capitalists wanted to allow everyone and everything to grow as per demand and supply determined it. Communists thought rigid control of property and industries by the government is the key, capitalists rooted for private property and private ownership. Communists chose for people, limited their choices (ask any East European about the state sanctioned amounts of groceries). Capitalists encouraged people to pick from a number of goods. Communists created demand by limiting the supply, capitalists by exhibiting it. While communists provided for (lower quality) universal health care, education and employment, capitalists created a system where quality of health, education and employment was determined by how much people were willing to pay or strive for. Both systems worked in their own way: generated a world where competition send the Man to the moon, Olympics saw winners from both worlds, scientists and inventors lurked and emerged from both societies, and art of every form blossomed in different styles in both places. Incidentally, capitalists looked down upon communists and vice versa.
Alas! The humanity adds its own perversity to any principle, any ideal, any system. Even the best made plans are laid waste by the irrationality of the human thoughts and actions, and thus what works in theory (free market as well as communist state) runs into turmoil in reality. The virtue and vice are exist within everything in this world. (Rephrased from Tulsidas: jad chetan gun doshmaya, vishwa kin kartar). While communists equated capitalists with greedy pigs, the Animal farm of communists was said to exist on the principle that some men are more equal than the others.
The question about capitalism, and its longevity as an ideal that we must work towards, has become most crucial in our day and our time. What has capitalism failed to give us? Perhaps health and education, perhaps clean air and robust public transportation, perhaps economic equality. What did communist fail to give us? Quality education, freedom of speech and choice, democracy. Incidentally, as US has been the greatest symbol of democratic form of the government, it will be interesting to see of the institution of democracy outlasts its champion. India, which is the largest democracy, has seen this institution become a refuge for hardened criminals, and the politics of vote is driving corruption, communalism and casteism to the level beyond which catastrophe is the only possibility.
Where do we go from here? What will be the dominant financial system in the world in twentyfirst century? Will the axis of power shift again to Europe, or to Asia? Will America survive the crisis, and come out stronger? Will the economic crisis worsen when energy crisis kicks in? As economic meltdown continues, will the immigration laws in US, import duties in many countries change for worse? Will this crisis provide the launching pad for a new religion?
Is this the beginning of the end of capitalism?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Boston Bhaaratiya
I am watching the Charles in Boston wake up,
as buildings release fog and the sun smiles
over ducks swimming to their morning chores.
The river bedecked with shimmering reflections
craves to pour itself into the oceanic currents
and add more of the twenty-first century to an ageless sea.
The salt of my toil is washed into you Charles!
Take it to the ocean, take it to my ancestors,
and leave it in Dandi, India, as a tribute from me.
as buildings release fog and the sun smiles
over ducks swimming to their morning chores.
The river bedecked with shimmering reflections
craves to pour itself into the oceanic currents
and add more of the twenty-first century to an ageless sea.
The salt of my toil is washed into you Charles!
Take it to the ocean, take it to my ancestors,
and leave it in Dandi, India, as a tribute from me.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Seven Short Novels by Anton Chekhov
A masterful sketch of the mannerisms of common folks
Anton Chekhov was a master of drawing portraits of common people. The seven short novels included in this collection provide a glimpse of Russian society. Chekhov provides a snapshot after snapshot of the lifestyle of his characters, focusing on their ideas and actions with a detached, but conscious word play. The reader finds himself drawn to characters that are flawed and life-like, and every idiosyncrasy of human existence is revealed in somewhat commonplace circumstances and settings.
These stories include "Ward No. 6", "Peasants" and "My Life", which are highly representative of Chekhov's style and ability. These stories provide a very subtle, but important counterpoint to Tolstoy's thoughts and writings. Around this time, Leo Tolstoy was articulating his vision of society and Christianity in texts like "The Kingdom of Heaven is Within You", where he glorifies the peasants, manual labor and poor, suggesting that the rich are immoral and responsible for the suffering of masses. Tolstoy had lived a luxurious life compared to Chekhov, and so his impressions and ideas were formed by observations from a distance. Chekhov grew up in harsher circumstances, and had a first hand experience of living among the common people. In Chekhov's stories, the common people lie, cheat, bribe, drink, steal, help each other and make each other happy or miserable, without the need of divine or aristocratic influence. In Chekhov's stories, the philosophical is often pushed to background, as practical daily chores and needs take center-stage.
While Dostoevsky was master of psychological selves of his characters and Tolstoy was a titan in capturing life of (rich) Russians, Chekhov's sensibility drew him to the trivialities, to the humor and tragedy of the masses. He wrote about these with sympathy, but in his honest depiction of his characters, he leaves no aspect untouched. Thus his stories seem to criticize the ones that he chooses to write about: be it peasants or city dwellers, the workers or the government servants. The shameful, pitiful or repelling facets of his characters are representative of human beings that have ever constituted the majority among us. Even in his time, the stories were controversial for their socio-political criticisms. Yet Chekhov was not criticizing anyone, or offering any solutions to the predicaments and problems of existence in different social circles. Chekhov wrote about his subjects as it is, as they were. These stories are based on Russian people, and yet they represent the reality in every part of the world. (I am sure that all the characters described in these stories abound in India!)
The stories must be read by anyone who has constructed a rosy picture of rural life or manual labor in their minds. These stories are must read for communists, for them who believe that poverty makes men moral, for them who believe that ignorance is bliss, for them who wish to know how human beings of every class behave in real life. Be it individuals or social milieu, Chekhov fashions events, dialogues and descriptions that are vivid, terse and precise and hence these stories are examples of how a writer must write. Highly recommended.
These stories include "Ward No. 6", "Peasants" and "My Life", which are highly representative of Chekhov's style and ability. These stories provide a very subtle, but important counterpoint to Tolstoy's thoughts and writings. Around this time, Leo Tolstoy was articulating his vision of society and Christianity in texts like "The Kingdom of Heaven is Within You", where he glorifies the peasants, manual labor and poor, suggesting that the rich are immoral and responsible for the suffering of masses. Tolstoy had lived a luxurious life compared to Chekhov, and so his impressions and ideas were formed by observations from a distance. Chekhov grew up in harsher circumstances, and had a first hand experience of living among the common people. In Chekhov's stories, the common people lie, cheat, bribe, drink, steal, help each other and make each other happy or miserable, without the need of divine or aristocratic influence. In Chekhov's stories, the philosophical is often pushed to background, as practical daily chores and needs take center-stage.
While Dostoevsky was master of psychological selves of his characters and Tolstoy was a titan in capturing life of (rich) Russians, Chekhov's sensibility drew him to the trivialities, to the humor and tragedy of the masses. He wrote about these with sympathy, but in his honest depiction of his characters, he leaves no aspect untouched. Thus his stories seem to criticize the ones that he chooses to write about: be it peasants or city dwellers, the workers or the government servants. The shameful, pitiful or repelling facets of his characters are representative of human beings that have ever constituted the majority among us. Even in his time, the stories were controversial for their socio-political criticisms. Yet Chekhov was not criticizing anyone, or offering any solutions to the predicaments and problems of existence in different social circles. Chekhov wrote about his subjects as it is, as they were. These stories are based on Russian people, and yet they represent the reality in every part of the world. (I am sure that all the characters described in these stories abound in India!)
The stories must be read by anyone who has constructed a rosy picture of rural life or manual labor in their minds. These stories are must read for communists, for them who believe that poverty makes men moral, for them who believe that ignorance is bliss, for them who wish to know how human beings of every class behave in real life. Be it individuals or social milieu, Chekhov fashions events, dialogues and descriptions that are vivid, terse and precise and hence these stories are examples of how a writer must write. Highly recommended.
|
| ||||||||
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)