KITE RUNNER:BOOKWORM CAFE REVIEWS

‘Everybody has a choice, standing in front of the two roads that lay ahead realization dawned that I was no exception…………’ . Neo’s famed words ring true for the protagonist of Khalid Hosseini’s path breaking novel- ‘The Kite Runner’
Set against the backdrop of the rugged terrain of Afghanistan, this book deals about a choice that the protagonist makes which makes happiness a mirage in his life.
The story travels through Afghanistan’s bullet ridden history and provides a profound insight into its transition from monarchy to ‘democracy’ under Daoud Khan to slavery under the Northern Alliance. The last few pages paint the gory details of the Taliban rule where every murmur was answered by Kalashnikov.
Silhouetted in this scenery comes the heart-wrenching tale of Amir- the protagonist and his servant’s son Hassan. The two share a unique bonding that bordered on friendship but could never break the class barrier. “I was a Pashtun and he a Hazara, nothing could ever change that.
The story takes a tearful turn when Amir, after having won a kite running competition with the unflinching support of Hassan chooses not to stand up for his friend and instead watches him being treated to the most inhuman tortures.
The incident shackles the entire flow of the narrative which then leafs through Afghanistan’s political turmoil – which is reflected in Amir’s thoughts. This unique connections makes one draw parallels with Shakespeare whose plays were dotted with such comparisons.
The ending is a brilliant and poignant moment which provides a fitting finale to a tale that touches readers of all ages.
The novel stands out for the vivid and detailed character sketches of all the characters irrespective of its importance to the central plot. ‘The Kite Runner’ is an astounding portrayal of the Afghan way of life and manages to etch a crystal clear image of the intricacies of their lives. However one aspect of this novel that sets it apart from all  is its touching narrative which could perhaps bring Bin Laden to tears.
A must read for all bookworms this book manages to breach all age barriers. Perhaps the following lines from the book itself speak volumes about it -  “His son’s body had been torn into pieces by the land mine but a smile beamed on the proud father’s face……….. Land mine, there could not be a more Afghan way of dying”

TO BE OR NOT BE: THE CYBER DILEMMA

Do I love the internet?..Or do I love the internet!

the following yahoo conversation, I just had..with Miss.Perfect Misanthropist:

Adrain: I am reading my own blog between,

Perfect M: I cant find my blog

Adrain: I know, happens

Adrain : wait I will find it for you

Perfect M: damn, its uninteresting stuff

Adrain: uninteresting why?

Perfect M: good question

Perfect M: dunno

Adrain: good answer

Adrain:”dunno”

Perfect M: works every time

Adrain: yes yes

Adrain: i think there is an answer to each and every question

Adrain: in this universe

Perfect M: most of them being ‘nope’

Adrain: yeah

Perfect M: plz comment on blog if u like me:)

Perfect M: ain’t i good ?

Adrain: why girl?

Perfect M: why am i good ?

Perfect M: dunno

Adrain: na ..comment no way sissy girl

Adrain: november 21,2007

Adrain: then dec 07,2007

Perfect M: haan…retrace has to be done before that

Adrain: heh heh heh

Adrain: same here ….

Adrain: so I all together abandoned the blog

Perfect M: see…dat’s y am dumb

Adrain: oh thats great!..being dumb is toooo good!

Perfect M: I love it

Perfect M: no need to give any explanations

Adrain: ya ya’

Perfect M: r u dumb too ?

Perfect M: yes of course!

Adrain: dumb enough to day dream, at all waking hours

Perfect M: now i have a rival

Adrain: yeah you do

Perfect M: its not funny

Adrain: it is it is

Adrain: now because of the competition you get to be MORE dumb

Adrain: which is good

Adrain: very good

Perfect M: u r soooooooooo intelligent !!!

Perfect M: i win hands down

Adrain: of course not

Adrain: you’re way more intelligent to have guessed that I am intelligent!

Adrain: I am dumber

Perfect M: or intelligent and modest as well.

Adrian: no mam I am dumb

Adrain: I dont know what “apocalypse” means

Adrain: I dont read the newspapers

Perfect M: I donno what newspaper means. forget but apocalypse

Adrain: ok you win!

Adrain: congratulations!

Perfect M: thanks

Adrian: hey listen

Adrain: can I post this conversation? in my blog?

Adrain: you’re name wont be there of course

Adrain: pleease!

Perfect M: lol…u can put my name….

Perfect M: its common knowledge am dumb !

Perfect M: nah “perfect misanthropist” sounds better

Adrain:shall i post IT right now??

Perfect M: lol

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

As mentioned above, I was reading my own blog. It is pure timepass.Specially at 4.49 am in the morning, when you’re tired of prowling around in scrapbooks and waiting for the friend who said she will come online at 1am.But its ok, one wise man once unabbreviated IST as Individual Suitable Time.

Suits me. If it suits look for good vibes

Anyhow, from my archives, I found great peeks

the first paragraph still holds true. Just that I am not 19 anymore.I’M 20 NOW:)

BORN IN BROTHELS:ANURAG KASHYAP

I am sure you haven’t been able to sleep at night for the past few days. I have received many an email, reeking of tears and other bodily fluids, imploring me to post something, anything. I received missed calls at ungodly hours waking me up from surreal dreams. Well, I exaggerated just a little bit there, just like any sincere blogger would, but you get the drift. Comcast (ISP and Cable provider) would like to extend their apologies to you. I came home one day from work to find the W sprawled on the floor looking at the modem like it was a Rubik’s cube that was winking at him with its six little lights (LED’s for geeks) in random order and the 42 displaying a depressing “There is no service” or something morose like that, which was more suited on a tombstone.

The W went into depression, thus exhibiting the 21st century man’s extreme reliance on the World Wide Web, much like an addict’s manic craving for a hit during withdrawal. The Internet has trapped the average non-suspecting citizen of society (bespectacled and otherwise) into its Web (Ever wonder why its called Web?). While I was feeling bad about not being able to blog and thus spread yuletide and joy among my readers, as I have come to do in the past month or so, the sadistic mind wanted to see the W writhe in mental agony as he fidgeted from the couch to balcony, and then back to the couch with periodic mutterings of ‘Life is so depressing’.

This reminded me of those days back in Calcutta, almost two decades back when we were hit by regular bouts of what was commonly known as “load shedding”, when I got breaks from mugging up Bangla chhora (children’s poems) about bullock carts in lands that existed only in my reluctant imagination to carefully make my way up to our terrace with the help of a candle to cuddle up next to Amma (my paternal grandmother) and watch the often star studded sky. She loves the sky and actually wanted to christen me Akash (and still refers to me that way in moments of extreme affection) but my parents thought the name was too common and shot the idea down, but that’s a whole different family controversy.

An improvement in the economic situation meant that inverters gave us the feeling of pseudo “load sheddings” since only certain lights were allowed to be on but no fans, before we officially broke into the upper middle class with a generator which took away the whole experience altogether. Along with the summer sweat of “load sheddings”, also disappeared the romantic charm of the darkness and the clear sky. Net failures are the “load sheddings” of our generation, albeit with a less cooler name. Who knows, maybe I will recite the story of the W and the lost Net to my grandchildren some day when the Internet will be replaced by something stronger, faster and more secure, unless we manage to destroy the world before that.

Came across Anurag Kashyap’s blog today (thanx Google!). I have become a fan of the man after watching No Smoking recently. Reading some of the blog postings did nothing to lessen the sentiment. The postings are as honest as his films and his writing, often written after a few pegs have been downed, thus often without apparent regard for grammar. He can come across as bitter and arrogant, but I think he is just angry and frustrated more than anything else, and the reasons he spells out affected me a bit the same way, surprising me.

He talks about the sorry state of independent films in India and being a cinema enthusiast, I could only reflect how empty life would be without delightful little indigenous films like Bheja Fry, Johnny Gaddar and of course No Smoking being made; about how this discourages paranoid people like me who go to bed with film making dreams in their eyes every night to abandon their current semi-luxuriant lives to give shape to their abstract ambitions; about going through life without ever coining the words job and satisfaction in the same breath. I was so absent-minded, I even honked at a pickup that did not turn when the light to go straight turned green.

To make matters worse, right now Born Into Brothels is showing me the half-baked dreams of the unwanted children of the sex workers of Calcutta on the 42. Its showing me hope in their eyes that has a very slim chance of being converted into reality, even with the film maker’s magnanimous attempts on a relatively small sample space of such individuals. What are striking are the matter-of-fact of some of the children when talking about their dead or socially reclusive parents and some of their artistic talents. The W laughs at my theory that some of the kids are so talented because their fathers are gifted individuals of the high strata of society we reside in. Damn! why did Com cast have to correct their mistake?