Religion
Book review: Asura: The Tale of the Vanquished
This is perhaps the first time I’m actually writing a book review. That the book is so bad, is what spurred me on to actually writing this review. As a reader, when I pick up a book to read, I expect it to be interesting, engaging and internally consistent. Sadly, this one is none of the above. Having read Ajaya: Roll of the Dice, I expected a much better book from Anand Neelakantan. It’s always interesting to read the story from the point of view of the underdog and the story of Ravana, the Asura king is no exception. It is this curiosity that made me buy the book. But, this book is so disappointing at so many levels, that I don’t know where to start.
The plot & storyline
The success of a good writer is in sticking to the accepted plot of the traditional telling and still managing to convey a radically different viewpoint. This is what books like Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni and Ajaya by the very same author manage to do. Those books do not radically change the plot of the traditional telling in an attempt to justify the doings of the antagonist. This is Asura’s primary failure. It overlooks basic attributes of Ravana’s character in Valmiki’s Ramayana to paint an entirely different picture of who he is. The writer conveniently sidesteps Ravana’s parentage, his knowledge of the Vedas, his love for music and his devotion to Shiva. Instead, Ravana is portrayed as a rejected half-caste, suffering in poverty and burning with the ambition to become the feared Emperor of Lanka. Towards the end of the book, the author tries to make some amends by mentioning, in passing, the codification of musical notes and Ravana’s expertise in playing the Rudraveena. Unfortunately, the mention is too brief and unsatisfying to add depth to Ravana’s character.
Secondly, this entire sub-plot of Sita actually being Ravana’s daughter seems to exist in the book solely to justify her abduction by Ravana. Given the context and the narrative, this sub-plot falls flat on its face, failing to really rouse the reader to internalising that relationship. At one point, Ravana seems almost apologetic that Sita is his daughter, unwilling to disclose the true nature of that relationship to Sita herself. To me, Ravana did not make a very convincing father.
As for internal consistency, the writer seems to be in love with the idea of the oppressed dark-skinned masses belonging to the Dravidian Asura race. First of all, the Valmiki Ramayana barely distinguishes the good and the bad on the basis of skin colour. Rama, the hero, is dark-skinned, as is his wife. Ravana, the principal antagonist is fair-skinned. The heroes and the villains in the traditional telling possess an entire range of complexions between these extremes. Somehow, this portrayal of an Indian apartheid just does not cut it.
The narrative
For any good book, a good narrative is essential, as is a good editor. Neelakantan seems to have lost out, not because his editor was bad, but because he doesn’t seem to have one. Sentences are long-winded and repetitive. The narrative is complicated for no reason. And to make things worse, grammar and spelling errors abound. If I’m paying 300 bucks to buy a book, I’d at least expect basic typos to be corrected.
Then, there is this character called Bhadra. What purpose does he serve really? All he does is lament his own fate, rant about the rape and murder of his first wife and child, and the rape and impregnation of his second. When he’s not doing that, he is grovelling at Ravana’s feet despite the fact that it was Ravana who actually raped his second wife. Why exactly do we need him in the book? The alternating points of view are actually tiring to read and add absolutely no depth or value to the story.
The characters
Practically every character is frustratingly unidimensional. Ravana is arrogant and foolish, rejecting all so-called Deva traditions, and not really upholding too many Asura ones either. Then pray, why is he our hero? Vibhishana is a coward and a traitor with no redeeming factor. Rama is a coward too, not to mention suspecting his wife of infidelity. Kumbhakarna is a drunkard, addicted to opium to boot. Sita is, well, either dumb or a complete idiot. I can’t quite decide which one. Bhadra shouldn’t actually exist in this book, for he has no role. What more can I say?
For the first time in many years, I actually skipped about 50 pages of a book in an attempt to just finish the book. If you want to really read a good book on mythology, don’t pick this one. Palace of Illusions is a better choice. Or Karna’s Wife. Or even Valmiki Ramayana.
The freedom to choose…
Today is unique. The day will be remembered for all the wrong reasons by those who stand by freedom of choice, no matter how difficult it may be to accept. I will refrain from commenting on the Supreme Court’s ruling on Section 377 of the IPC, not because I think the courts are above criticism, but because I believe much has been said about it since morning by people more qualified to comment on it than me. But, what strikes me as representative of Indian attitudes is the constant reference to Indian culture, as if by speaking of sexuality in the public realm we somehow compromise on values.
The very fact that the judgement is today being criticized in the public sphere marks a step forward in Indian critical thought. It was not very long ago that the very mention of sex and sexuality in public was hushed up with moral indignation. The very crux of our problem with homosexuality is the reluctance to acknowledge and speak of some issues, especially sexual and gender-related in public. The Supreme Court in its judgement mentions “minuscule minorities” while referring to the LGBT community in general. And evidently, the rights of this minuscule minority are insignificant when compared to the sensibilities of the ignorant majority. For a country that prides itself on affirmative action for minorities, the LGBT community obviously does not qualify. They find little or no support from political parties who run to support minority rights for every other conceivable group. Perhaps because the community lacks the organization present in many other countries and because they do not form a vote bank?
As many commentators pointed out, the belief that homosexuality, bisexuality, transsexuality and transgender are against Indian culture is completely false. There are umpteen examples of homosexuality in Indian mythology and still more examples of the fluidity of gender in our socio-cultural fabric. Yet, we refuse to acknowledge these very truths in our everyday life.
We like our lives to be neatly ordered and fit perfectly into slots designed by society. When someone refuses to be slotted and classified, we have a problem. We label them as unnatural and abnormal. When such labelling occurs in private, the impact is relatively limited. But, by clubbing homosexuality with issues such as bestiality, rape, incest and child abuse we do a great disservice both to those who fight for gay rights and to those who deal with violent sexual crimes. Even in public discourse we fail to distinguish between what goes on within closed doors between consenting adults and unpardonable violence against men, women and children against their will and without their consent.
Unless we learn to speak of issues as sensitive as gay rights and sexual violence with a modicum of common sense, we are doomed to find extreme and contradictory views in public discourse. As long as our public debates remain superficial and limited in world view, we are doomed to live in a society that is both hypocritical and ignorant.Infidel – Ayaan Hirsi Ali – some thoughts
I just finished reading the memoirs of Dutch feminist activist and politician, Ayaan Hirsi Ali. I found it honest, refreshing, and very bold. This is not a review of the book, and my thoughts appear in no particular order. This is just a compilation of how I felt when I was reading this book.
I find that Hirsi Ali is completely honest about her feelings about Islam, even at great risk to her life. She has been accused by many of being neocon in the garb of feminism, but some of her questions strike a very deep chord in my heart, as a reader, as a feminist, and as a woman. Her repeated questioning of the logic behind obviously unfair practices such as segregation, veiling, and the demand for complete obedience of wife to husband stay relevant in contemporary, non-Islamic cultures as well. If God (whatever name you choose to give him) is indeed merciful and compassionate, why would he demand that women submit at the cost of their self-respect, their individualism and sometimes even their life? We have no answers.
Hirsi Ali’s account of her genital cutting when she was six is cold, detached and dispassionate. She almost sounds like she is narrating something that happened to someone else. And that makes it even more chilling. The idea of FGM is so repulsive, so depressing and so utterly cruel that you can’t help but develop respect for a woman who has made it through it all and is now fighting for women’s rights. Her turning away from Islam, and questioning the very existence of God is entirely understandable, even if you don’t agree with her. Maybe, just maybe, I would have been atheist too, had I been so brutally cut in the name of religion, and made to marry a stranger without even my presence being required to solemnise my wedding.
Finally, her struggles, against men, against the religion which demands nothing but submission, against forced marriage, against female genital mutilation and for women’s rights make us respect her immensely for the work she has done so far. As for the book, it is definitely worth reading for the many insights it provides on the wide variations in the practice of Islam, on the increasing influence of the orthodox Brotherhood and the political climate in the Somalian peninsula. Read it! You won’t regret.
Condemned to be free…
Man is condemned to be free, says Jean-Paul Sartre. And sometimes, I cannot help but wonder if that’s true. After all, we are all liberals forever defending free will. But sometimes, my conservative side takes over and I wonder if free will is not overrated. After all, if we were completely free to choose, we would also have to bear the burden of that choice. Perhaps burden is not the right word. Perhaps it is responsibility. But, that responsibility is absolutely massive. Maybe this is why Sartre and other existential philosophers were all atheist. I myself have never tended towards atheism. Perhaps it is because my faith is too strong to be shaken. Or maybe, just maybe, as many atheists claim, I just do not have the courage to deny the existence of God.
Sometimes, it is easier to leave everything to destiny. Sometimes, it is easier to allow yourself to be taken care of. I realize as I grow older that I do not need to be in control of everything all the time. I realize now that some things are just meant to be. While I have always believed that everything that happens in life, good or bad, happens for a reason, I have found myself questioning the rationale behind my suffering during the worst times of my life. Looking back on those times, I realize that those experiences, however painful, have only strengthened character. Yesterday, reading an extract from Arun Shourie’s new book, “Does he know a mother’s heart?” I wondered how someone who had gone through so much suffering could stay a believer. Then, I realized that it was probably that suffering that had strengthened both his belief and his character.
I am at probably the same state now. I am living some of the happiest moments of my life right now. But, it was not so long ago that I felt like I would never be happy again. What got me past that stage and onto this one…I don’t know. I probably never will. But I am willing to bet that religion had something to do with it. Maybe it was the deep-seated belief that everything is transient, including this sorrow. Maybe it was Nandini’s words, repeated ad nauseum, all those years ago, that “This too will pass.” I really can’t say. In hindsight, I probably needed to go through that phase to be able to appreciate all that I have today. Maybe I would have taken all this for granted had it come to me five years ago. And maybe, just maybe, I would have been too immature to hold on to this happiness.
In any case, I am no atheist. And I don’t think any amount of suffering will ever make me one. After all, everything that happens is for the better. The pain, the heartbreak, the frustrations, and the failures have only made me a better person, a better daughter, and a better human being. May all things to come be this good. I can only hope.
Some totally unconnected thoughts…
I have been meaning to put something down in words for a week now. But, every time I put my fingers to keyboard, I realize I don’t have enough material for a blogpost. You know? It’s one of those times when you have too much to say to fit into a tweet of 140 characters, but not enough to make a blogpost of! So, I decided to put all my random thoughts down into one single blogpost, instead of waiting forever to elaborate on them and basically kill the expression!
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The census guy was at aunt’s place last week. With apparent boredom he quizzes aunt about the names, ages, dates of birth of the members of the family. Getting to language, he asks what the mother-tongue was. My aunt says Kannada. He noted it down and asked, “Vera baashai?” Aunt said, Hindi, English, Tamil, and Sanskrit. The lady accompanying the man tells him, “Just write Tamil and English. Others are irrelevant.” Aunt insists for a moment, then gives up because the milk boiling on the gas is more important and the man taking the information down is refusing to relent. Then comes religion. He asks, “Hindu, Christian or Muslim?” And my aunt says Hindu. And that’s that! After a few more questions, he thanks us and leaves. This incident left a bitter taste in my mouth. First things first, you cannot and must not restrict the number of languages recorded in the census. For me, there would be at least 4 apart from my mother tongue, in which, incidentally, I am not fluent. Secondly, the issue of religion. Religion is a personal affair. People must not be forced to select their religion from a drop-down list, figuratively speaking. As an adult, I must ideally be allowed to declare myself as atheist, agnostic or Bah’ai if I please! Also, the religion of my parents must not automatically become mine! What about inter-faith marriages? The children should be allowed to remain sans religion until they are old enough to decide what they want to be. I don’t know if the census take into account such special cases, but I do know that the officials coming to collect information are very often quite rigid in their approach.
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On a different note, I finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. Gut-wrenching, yet hopeful. Some scenes describing the Taliban era are scary, intense and hit you like a ton of bricks. What it must take for a man to write so sensitively about two female characters! For a minute, I was transported into a world where being a woman is the biggest curse of them all. I was so emotionally affected at times that I had to put the book down and do something else. But, the book is so gripping that you can never stay away for too long. I would like to read it again, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach that again.
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Finally, now that the euphoria of President Mobarak’s exit has died down, can we please get a bit more practical? Egypt has a long way to go before it becomes a fully-functional democracy. Gloating over successes even before the success is total is not only premature, but also carries with it the risk of people losing focus on the task at hand. Let’s not forget that it is still the military that is ruling. And a military in power is never a good thing. For now, the only thing we can do is wait and watch. And hope that for their own sake, the Egyptian people manage to set up a functional democracy.