Fiction Reads: The Blue Umbrella by Ruskin Bond

It is a sweet rush to the senses when a book revisited after years still has the lure to momentarily bring back the magic of childhood. The Blue Umbrella, first published in 1974 is one such work. A book for children that can be read in a couple of hours, this Ruskin Bond gem is adorned with extraordinary black and white illustrations by Trevor Stubley and an eye-friendly font size.     

The story is singular, of quite charm and simple pleasures, set in the hills of Garhwal. Ten year-old Binya lives with her widowed mother and elder brother Bijju, tending to the cows Neelu and Gori and helping the family in cultivating various food items on their own terraced fields. The produce is not ample to sell, but enough to subsist on. One day Binya happens to chance upon a group of picnickers from the plains and among their throng she notices a blue silk umbrella and falls in love with it. A woman's attraction to Binya's leopard-claw necklace leads to a dream exchange and lo, Binya now owns the beautiful umbrella! Meanwhile, 'the richest man in the area', the old tea shop owner Ram Bharosa covets the umbrella as its fame grows on the quiet hill side.

Beneath its straight-forward exterior, The Blue Umbrella has its insightful moments. Here's an excerpt:

Binya belonged to the mountains, to this part of the Himalayas known as Garhwal. Dark forests and lonely hilltops held no terrors for her. It was only when she was in the market-town jostled by the crowds in the bazaar, that she felt rather nervous and lost.  

Seen through a child's eyes, the umbrella is an ode to beauty and utility. For an adult it is greed, materialism and a blindness to possess. Yet the two generations meet in harmony at the end of the book in an agreeable manner, and like the best children's stories, a glow of happily ever after pervades long after.   

(Article by Snehith Kumbla)

Book Excerpts: Londonstani by Gautam Malkani

At the time of writing I am getting through at a snail's place through Malkani's slang-decorated narration of Jas, a rich 19 year-old Indian brat growing up in London. First published in 2006, the novel is told from the perspective of Jas, a wannabe, confused affluent teen who pretends he is deprived of wealth and lives in a slum. A wannabe with a die-hard love for the materialistic, here is just a little pick of the humorous ranting that the boy gets into. The following extract features the most ubiquitous electronic device of our times.

Havin the blingest mobile fone in the house is a rudeboy's birthright. Not just for style, but also cos fones were invented for rudeboys. They free you from your mum an dad while still allowing your parents to keep tabs on you.   

(Article by Snehith Kumbla) 

Poetry Reads: Published Haiku Selections (2011, 2012) by Snehith Kumbla

Ahoy, Wolf here and I am here to howl out the news that a couple of my haiku have been selected for publication in the forthcoming World Haiku Anthology. Also, this post is to showcase a bunch of my previously published haiku.

For starters, haiku is an ancient form of Japanese poetry. It consists of three lines. Traditionally, each haiku deals with nature and must contain syllables in the order of 5,7,5 for each line. English language haiku poets do not adhere to this stringency. 

In a way, a haiku is the prose form of a photograph, it is not extravagant imagination. The purpose of the haiku is simple - to show as it was seen. The document of a moment without adornments - there lies its beauty and philosophy. 

chained dog

chases the bee

with its eyes

hair strand
divides her

smile

battle scarred dog
can't lick its
bleeding ear

(First published in World Haiku Review, January 2011 Edition)

night shift

only the air-conditioner 

is not mute 

(First published in World Haiku Review, December 2011 Edition)

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(Article by Snehith Kumbla)

Book Excerpts: I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale by Khushwant Singh

The monsoon has arrived! It fell upon the city without warning on the night of June 1, 2013, complete with lightning veins, thunder roll and a rush of drops that soon settled down to play a rhythm on all things that interrupted its airborne tryst. 

As usual, the meteorologists got it wrong - the monsoon has commenced its journey two days before the predicted date. To err is human, and in matters of nature, the scientists and experts are to be forgiven. For as much is claimed to be known about nature and atmosphere, human beings must concede that nature's mysteries shall always remain and maintain their allure. 

Anyway, I have been reading Khushwant Singh's remarkable 1959 novel I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale and it is a happy coincidence that the writer starts 'Chapter IV' with an eloquent five-page detailing on this wet, gray season: 

To know India and her peoples, one has to know the monsoon. It is not enough to read about it in books, or see it on the cinema screen, or hear someone talk about it. It has to be a personal experience because nothing short of living through it can fully convey all it means to a people for whom it is not only the source of life, but also their most exciting impact with nature. What the four seasons of the year mean to the European, the one season of the monsoon means to the Indian. It is preceded by desolation; it brings with it hopes of spring; it has the fullness of summer and the fulfillment of autumn all in one. 

(Article by Snehith Kumbla)

Non-Fiction Reads: Useful Work versus Useless Toil by William Morris

An essay written in 1884 by William Morris can still be revisited for its wisdom, reflection and persistent relevance. A brief look at the life of Morris: William Morris was of all things, a textile designer, apart from a writer and artist. He was English and played a prominent part in the arts and crafts movement.

The essay takes us right into the heart of the thing, as it begins: The above title may strike some of my readers as strange. It is assumed by most people nowadays that all work is useful, and by most well-to-do people that all work is desirable. Most people, well-to-do or not, believe that, even when a man is doing work which appears to be useless, he is earning his livelihood by it - he is "employed," as the phrase goes; and most of those who are well-to-do cheer on the happy worker with congratulations and praises, if he is only "industrious" enough and deprives himself of all pleasure and holidays in the sacred cause of labour.

Morris then cuts through the issue, delving deeper, on how every human being has to work in order to survive. He then speaks on the ‘nature of hope’, the things that you expect when you work – “hope of rest, hope of product, hope of pleasure in the work itself.” He goes on to elaborate on these three points. Without ever wasting time on words, using them economically, he arrives at the statement that - All other work but this is worthless; it is slaves' work - mere toiling to live, that we may live to toil.

There is much more to the essay, practices followed through history and civilization is quoted, but always with an objective, unbiased eye. An essay worth revisiting - you will always find something to think about in each reading. 

(Article by Snehith Kumbla)