One Book to Read Before You Die

Many of us must have read many books; some good and some useless. I did too. Some books have affected me so much. There are some of my favorite books that I have read it. They are; ‘The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari’ by Robin Sharma, which is a fable about fulfilling your dreams and reaching your destiny. And similarly, ‘The Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho, is an exciting novel that bursts with optimism; it is the kind of novel that tells you that everything is possible as long as you really want it to happen, just follow your dreams and heart. And other books like Gabriel’s ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude,’ Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre, ‘Dickens’ ‘Great Expectations,’ etc… are some of the excellent books to be read in one’s life.

Most of these books I read for one or two times, but one book that keeps me reading, again and again, is Salingar’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye.’ At first, the title didn’t fascinate me. But, when I went through some lines, it really made me laugh with goddam cynical expressions. So, when I am blue, I pick up this book and read. I forget. It gives me a company.

‘The Catcher in the Rye’ is a godamn must-read book before you die. The book uses vulgar, crude, but humorous language. The story set around the 1950s, is narrated by a young man named Holden Caulfield, the main character. The story, which is supposed to be mirrored of the author J.D. Salingar’s life, creates a complex character. Holden seems useless and rejected students who suffer from alienation, desolation and directionlessness. He sometimes can be disaffected, disgruntled, and sarcastic. He lives in his ‘phony’ constructed world of imagination sometimes.

The book is loved by the former president of the USA, W. Bush, and quoted as ‘a marvelous book.’ I love the book. I love its language. The frustrated Holden shows up with so many vulgar languages like, ‘goddam,’ ‘it kills me,’ ‘how I hate this,’ ‘he is moron,’ ‘pain in the ass,’ ‘bastard,’  ‘crazy,’ and others that would keep laughing throughout the novel. It’s worth reading.

Colours

Spring season is here, but there is no natural flower budding here in Bangalore. All that you can see is the flowers on pots. All these pots sprang from high storied buildings. There are hardly any colors on the ground. In Bhutan, this time of the year is the celebration of spring. It would be indescribably beautiful. Holi, the Indian festival of colours fever still lingers around. You can see so many nooses of flowers in many florist shops. And many raags/colours’ powder displayed.  And you can see many college students with some faint unwashed colours on their faces. Colours make our life. They add beauty to our life. We love colours. But, it seems one of the teachers in my previous school was damn dull with colours. The teacher simply didn’t care about it. I remember this:

In one of the final exams (2008) math, there was a question on coloring the different shapes; triangle, circle, square, etc in class one. Some students were provided with colours, not enough, many didn’t have. I didn’t know how poor was our education system in some remote schools like Tsirangtoe Lower School in Tsirang. The storekeeper sadly said before the exam that the store was out of stock of colours’ boxes.  “Government can’t buy everything now,” he said. And he was damn right, but where could some poor students have colours in their lives. That was another gripping story. But good things had a turn after a year; farm roads soon came to Tsirangtoe’s villages bringing in a good amount of cash; working, selling products, etc, that made even poor to sweep one hundred notes frequently from their hands. Government has a way, always. I knew from this instance.

Now coming back to that colour’s exam; a teacher also has a way, always, so the teacher slowly dictated to those who had no colour to write in word as, RED, GREEN, BLUE, etc in the blank shapes. Hellen Keller knew all the names of the colours, but she hardly knew what red was or blue was because she became blind before she could grasped all the perception of colours’ world.

Coming out from the exam hall, I pulled a student at the backside of the exam’s building and I gave him a test. I asked him if he could name all colours, which he did perfectly well; like a parrot. Then I picked up a blue rose from the nearby garden and asked him the colour of it. He gave a deep look to a blue rose flower, hesitated it for a moment, and then smiled and said, “…umm…red sir.” I smiled back and said, “Roses are not always red, there are blue, white roses too. This is blue.” The student directly cussed me when he said that he didn’t care about anything besides marks in the exam and he confidently announced that he wrote whatever the teacher dictated. He was true. Just marks would do.

And this was it. Our students, a few un-fed students,  if they were asked to name, they could name all twelve different colours, but if they were asked to identify among twelve different colours, they had no choice but to think hard and say blue for red, green for yellow, black for white. Because, because and because they have not seen practically, even if they have two big bulls eyes. Our teaching lacks practicability and applicability. We are made up of theories. There were many instances that computers degree holders couldn’t operate computers. What a shame! Jobs demand experiences, not so much of theories; not so much of dictating from the chairs. Some of the Lyonpos/Ministers are simply speaking good poetry from the chairs.

The purpose of learning is knowing something. Isn’t it knowing something? The colours. How can they develop cognitive and recognize things? Whose weakness was it? Concerned teacher? Storekeeper? Examination system? Or the education system in the country? We must think of it and avoid being blind despite having our two bulging eyes to identify all. A good shot here: Hellen Keller was blind and deaf too, but who had coloured her life.

Fry in the Summer

Though this lousy summer is a little far, I feel this damn summer is already here in Bangalore. This year, unlike last year the weather has become much hotter. Last year, it drizzles at this time. And this year, everybody’s talking about how lousy the weather has become. It surely is! Damn this global warming.

Last week, there were two holidays. On Tuesday, it was a Holi holiday and on Friday, it was a Good Friday. And you bet it, it was a goddamned holiday. I never celebrated either of these holidays. They were lousy holidays. Sitting on my lousy bed, I did try to engage myself as much as possible in my own activities. Not knowing what to do on my lousy bed, I most of the time opened the internet, and then closed the damned laptop, flipped those pages uselessly that were lying scattered next to my bed, read those phony writings, walked to and fro in my rooms, wrote something bullshit and you know when I write I typed on my keyboards, opened the refrigerator and drunk a cold drop of water, visited the toilet and came back to my lousy bed. These, I did over again and again. Goddamned it. I felt I was inside the cell. I did.

Then i thought i need to do something, so there was a long walk I gave. In this sweaty, blistering sun, children were playing cricket. It really killed me. How could those little craps bear the heat of the sun? I went to a shop to read the temperature. The number on the wall flicked. It was 31. Not so bad a number I heard. New Delhi had just reached half boiling point and some other parts of the world too. I don’t know how people live in those blistering places. The thought of it killed me. It did.

The room has been sweltering like anything, and the fan's blades couldn’t be seen when they move. And you look for a cool shower. The shower is not as cool as you expected. The heated warm water drizzled out heavily. Bet me. The warmness is enough to make you sweat. God, I hate that.

By evening, mosquitoes dance all around. I don’t know where they come from. I close every gaddam tiny holes, windows, doors, etc. Do they come from the sink’s hole?  I used coils, sprays, creams, etc, but they always loiter around hunting for prey. They literally killed my sleep. One day, when I woke up in the morning, I saw three mosquitoes sleeping next to me, permanently dead, their tiny bodies filled with red blood. I nearly puked. It killed me. I meant it.