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Thursday, June 29, 2023

The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk

 


With only a few days left for his engagement with Sibel, an educated young modern girl, the rich boy Kemal happens to meet his distant cousin Fusun, a lower middle-class student working part time as a salesgirl, and starts an affair with her. This affair kicks off a chain of events that shatters the lives of all three involved, leaving an obsessed and love-lorn Kemal in a long and arduous wait to win back Fusun. His only respite was the possession of petty articles that Fusun contacted, with which he could nurse her memories. Years later, these articles enabled him to build a museum dedicated to his love affair with Fusun.

The Museum of Innocence is a novel by Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk that is both a love story and, at the same time, an exploration of the connection between articles and the memories their presence evokes. Reading it reminded me of many other books that I had read before for several reasons. The loving portrayal of ordinary items that we use and discard without realising their emotional connection reminded me of Chilean poet Neruda's collection Odes to Common Things, in which the poet writes lovingly about common articles that we take for granted. The awkwardness of its love story reminded me of Marquez's magnum opus, Love in the Time of Cholera. The theme of collecting articles to remember a certain period in the past reminded me of the novel Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov, which won the International Booker Prize in 2023.


"It was the happiest moment of my life, though I did not know it". With this opening sentence, Pamuk gives two warnings to his reader. Firstly, the novel that begins with the happiest moment of its protagonist's life guarantees that we are in for a long, gloomy ride of tragic happenings. Second, the protagonist realises the happiest moment in hindsight, and the story is told in flashback. These realisations, along with Orhan Pamuk's fabulous writing, helped me navigate the 700 pages of plot that developed inside the mind of the most obsessive, awkward, and politically incorrect protagonist I have ever read in a fictional book. (In nonfiction, some autobiographies did the job.)

As Pamuk explained in an interview, this novel is an experiment, and the author has established an actual museum in Istanbul that exhibits various articles explained in the novel. His intention is to show the importance of ordinary items in daily life that we tend to forget and how everyday items induce memories in our minds due to the emotional connection that is established in the process of interacting with them. In the novel, the protagonist explains the Aristotelian principle that time is nothing but a line that connects different moments that we experience. He wants the artefacts of the museum to be that line that connects the spectators with the past moments and makes them appreciate the life story of Kemal and Fusun in a new light.


In the love story that he describes in the novel, Pamuk ensures that the reader too gets to experience this emotional connection with the lives of Kemal and Fusun through a detailed explanation of their everyday experiences. Pamuk describes Kemal's wretched condition in all its pathetic glory with painstaking detailing of his everyday interactions with his family, friends, and society, and with his obsession to get his love back. His fascination with the items that elicit Fusun's memories is also similarly enumerated. Though we hear the story from Kemal's point of view, the writer cleverly shows us the error of his ways and how his lack of judgement clearly ruins his and his loved ones' lives. The character of Fusun, who for most of the story remains just an ideal of Kemal's obsessive mind, takes on human form by the end, revealing her wants and aspirations.

The third important aspect of the novel is the conflict that the traditional mindset of its characters has with the European sensibilities they aspire for. Most of the time, they are all stranded in a limbo between tradition and modernity, which causes many decisions to be made by several characters in the plot. As an Indian reader, I was able to relate to this aspect of the story. Istanbul at the end of the twentieth century has a lot of similarities with the society that I grew up in. It is also interesting to observe that the book doesn't detail most of the political turbulence of the time. Though there are some mentions of the coups and the resultant curfews, except for a few mentions, the novel chooses to be apolitical. Instead, it chose to focus on the east-west conflict and Western aspirations of the community.

The Museum of Innocence may not display the ambitious storytelling of Pamuk's previous novels that I read. But it succeeds tremendously in its intentions: to portray the social and cultural structure of Istanbul in the last decades of the twentieth century; to tell a powerful love story of an unlikeable couple, for whom we feel sympathetic by the end; and to assert that it is the small events and articles that constitute the entire life. It tells us to celebrate them and relish in the memories they elicit.

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

The Anatomy of Fascism by Robert O. Paxton

 "the war . . . made possible for us the solution of a whole series of problems that could never have been solved in normal times."- Adolf Hitler

"War is to men as maternity is to women."Benito Mussolini


Fascist is a very common word used nowadays to denote anyone whom we don't like. A government head is accused of being a fascist by the opposition, an employer by the disgruntled employee, and a father by the child who feels his individuality is not acknowledged. In the present context, to be termed a fascist, one needs only to do something unpleasant enough for another to perceive that his personal freedom is compromised. It is very common to find any dictatorship rule labelled as fascist. This over-simplification of the moniker only results in the dilution of all the horrors contributed by the movement to the world. It also severely hampers our capacity to identify any recurrence of the phenomenon.

The Anatomy of Fascism is a book by the acclaimed political scientist and historian Robert O. Paxton that tries to redefine the term fascism. Paxton tries to use a holistic interpretation of the subject for this purpose, analysing different fascist movements, both successful and failed ones, and finding out what exactly they did during their lifespan that made them different from other contemporary movements and regimes. Instead of defining fascism at the outset and then elaborating on it, he looks at fascist movements from all angles, in different stages of their development, and finally comes up with a definition in the last chapter. He also steers clear of aligning with any other ideology while defining fascism.

Personally, the book shattered many of my illusions about Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. I always imagined them to be led from the top down, with the leader micromanaging everything according to his personal whims. I was shocked to know that Hitler had a laid-back and langourous side to him, which wasn't evident from his demeanour in the snippets of speeches available now. Nazi Germany always gave off the air of the ruthless efficiency of a well-oiled system, but the book disposed of that notion of mine. Another of my beliefs about fascist ideology being a properly formulated doctrine went for a toss after reading about the several adjustments and reversals of policy that its leaders made along the path of its evolution. So reading The Anatomy of Fascism was a revelatory experience.

The book studies fascism by breaking down the lifespan of a movement into five parts: germination, taking root, seizure of power, exercise of power, and radicalization. Though several organisations arose in many countries in and out of Europe, a lot of them failed in their initial phases. Only two were successful in reaching the fourth stage of exercising power, and Nazi Germany was the only one that fully radicalised itself before exterminating itself. The book follows different fascist movements through these stages and analyses the changes they undertook in order to survive and climb to the next stage.

The Anatomy of Fascism is a book that gives a very detailed and thorough analysis of fascism and different fascist regimes. The book looks at the interaction of the four elements—the leader, the party, the normative government, and the public—between each other, resulting in their ascend and their sudden decline. It describes how the conservative elements gave legitimacy to fascist movements by forming alliances with them to keep the left at bay and failed to repress these elements when they turned destructive. It describes the ill effects that fascists unleashed on the world and tries to answer if there is a possibility of the horror of fascism being discharged again.

The Anatomy of Fascism reads like an investigative thriller for the history aficionado, providing deep insights into every aspect of fascism. There are enough twists, turns, and surprises by the time Paxton comes up with a definition for the term at the book's end. I will refrain from revealing it here, as I don't want to spoil the book for you.

 

Friday, June 23, 2023

Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami- A Subjective Interpretation

 "Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, and feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library."


A boy runs away from his home, from his dad, and from a prophecy on the day he turns fifteen. An old disabled man, who could talk to cats, embarks on a journey with a destination he will know only when he reaches there. Two parallel journeys, two contrasting protagonists, fantastic and strange people, and events that they encounter on their way eventually converge on the verge of an alternate universe.

Kafka On the Shore by Murakami is a multi-layered novel that can be interpreted according to the personal readings of each reader. It explores a wide variety of themes and ideas in its plot, which sometimes feel like the concoction prepared by witches in Macbeth. The writer himself has said that it needs to be read several times to solve all the riddles. My intention in this post is to list out what I think about the book subjectively.


The cover of the copy that I read was instrumental in my understanding the book. I saw that several other versions of the cover are also available, but this particular one very cleverly illustrates its central philosophy. The cover bears a resemblance to the yin-yang symbol of Chinese philosophy. On the cover, we see a circle in which one half is a human face (probably a boy) and the other is a cat. Yin-yang symbolises the interconnection of opposite forces, like male and female or morning and night. One is essential for the existence of the other, even though they bear no resemblance in any manner.

The cat points to the character of Nakata, the old man who can talk to the cats, and the boy points to Kafka Tamura, the runaway kid. Both characters are, in many ways, diametrically opposite from each other. While Kafka is a fifteen-year-old fit boy, fitter than any fifteen-year-old can be, who has run away from fulfilling a prophecy, Nakata is an old person who is weak and is on his way to fulfilling one. While Kafka is burdened with memories of somebody else's past, Nakata has lost his own. While Kafka is a voracious reader, Nakata cannot read or write. Just like yin and yang joining together to create balance and meaning in life, the odysseys of these two extreme protagonists converge to give meaning to the chaotic existence of all the characters in the novel.

Music is a very important component of Kafka On the Shore. The title itself is a poem written by Miss Saeki, the aloof librarian of the library in which Kafka finds solace, when she was a young girl of fifteen. She composed it into a song, which became famous. Kafka also likes to hear music, and Murakami is very deliberate in providing the details of every song he listens to in the entire novel. But my favourite references to music in the book are the ones that Hoshino, the truck driver who accompanies Nakata on his mission, explores. The account of his hearing and appreciating Beethoven in a cafe is one of the most beautiful passages I have read in any novel.


Kafka Tamura is running from a prophecy that closely resembles the story of Oedipus. His mother leaves his father and him, taking his sister along with her, when he is very young. His father always evokes the prophecy that Kafka is destined to kill his father and then sleep with his mother and sister. It is to escape this prophecy that Kafka takes flight, but he suspects every female that he meets to be his lost mother or sister. This Oedipal complex is the backbone of Kafka's character arc.

The connection between the past and memories is an important element of the novel. Kafka has faint memories of his mother and sister, and he is in a constant search to put a face to them. When he meets the aloof Miss Saeki and hears her story from Oshima, the hemophilic gay transgender librarian, he also becomes a part of it. He tries to pry open the closed memories of Miss Saeki and imagines himself as her long-dead fifteen-year-old lover. Miss Saeki herself lives inside a self-made wall of memories. On the contrary, memories of Nataka were stolen from him at a young age, along with his faculties to read and write or to think coherently.

Kafka On the Shore employs magical realism heavily; you find an excessive amount of reality whenever highly improbable magic is not thrown at your face. The book has talking cats, a man resembling Johnny Walker murdering cats to make flutes with them, Colonel Sanders pimping in the back alleys of a Japanese town, a heavy downpour of fish and leeches, and these are just a few of them. The detailed and descriptive narration of routine life gives the magical portions of the story a realistic form.

The novel contains several dream sequences seen by Kafka, and many times it becomes difficult to differentiate dreams from reality. It is also possible to imagine the whole story as the lucid dream or imagination of an anxious young boy tormented by the loss of his mother. It can explain the alter ego of Kafka, a boy called Crow (Kafka in Czech means Crow), who motivates Kafka for his adventures, the mysterious appearance of ghosts and several supernatural elements, the alternate reality that is devoid of memories, and a suspected murder.

The novel alludes to an alternate reality that several characters happen to visit at one point or another, transforming their lives for better or worse. It is shown that memories disappear when one visits this realm. The novel hints that to reach this territory, one has to transcend a labyrinth and cleverly connects it to the Mesopotamian method of studying labyrinth-like intestines to reveal prophecy. All this connects to the larger theme of Oedipal prophecy and makes it necessary for Kafka to study his labyrinth, the one inside him, to reach the alternate universe. This makes the novel a bildungsroman, or coming-of-age story, of Kafka Tamura.

Tuesday, June 20, 2023

All Systems Red by Martha Wells: Adventures of a Binge-Watching Robot

An AI SecUnit construct, which provides security to interplanetary explorers, hacks his governor module, effectively becoming free from any human interference in its working. He could do anything, but finally chooses to download hundreds of hours of entertainment media illegally and watch. His clients, a team of explorers, are mounting expeditions on a remote planet when things start to go wrong. Every system is trying to kill them on the strange planet, and their only hope is a serial-watching rogue AI construct, which calls itself Murderbot.


I had been continuously reading books on serious topics for a while and desperately wanted something light for a change. Thus, I ended up picking All Systems Red, a science fiction novella by Martha Wells. This is the first part of an ongoing series of books called The Murderbot Diaries. But even if you read it as a standalone book, it stands tall. I was getting the vibes of the Indian movie series Drishyam while reading the book, because in that movie the protagonist, an illiterate cable TV operator, gets his ideas from watching movies, like our binge-watching Murderbot.

The narrator of All Systems Red is the Murderbot himself, a reluctant protagonist who seems not to care much and is happy when left alone. He doesn't like to show his face to his human teammates and mingle with them. He interferes only with the security details and is careful not to let them find out that he is now an independent entity. But when security glitches start to appear and things go for a toss, he has to reluctantly assist them, thus realising the values of camaraderie and bonding.

The most interesting aspect of the book is its depiction of the relationship between the robot and his human clients. He saves them during an initial attack from an unknown creature, sustaining injuries to himself, because it's his duty to do so, even though in the present state he has a choice. But later, when he gets to know them more closely and gets accepted into their group, the choice to help them survive the impending doom is independent. In this aspect, the book can even be thought of as a coming-of-age story.

All Systems Red is a short, fast-paced page-turner that, at the same time, touches very briefly on several interesting aspects of corporate culture, human greed, teamwork, and assimilation. It points out several pertinent topics with an amazing economy of words, which turns out to be more effective than long essays or philosophical dissertations. I enjoyed the short novel for its interesting portrayal of the AI protagonist, subtle humour, incessant thrills, and its potential to make the reader ponder the positive and negative effects of a technology that can alter the experience of being human.

Sunday, June 18, 2023

Book Review: Pleasure of Thinking by Wang Xiaobo



Suppose that somewhere in history there was a great sage who suddenly discovered all novelties and things interesting, revealing the ultimate truth such that there would be nothing left to be discovered, then I would prefer to be born in a time before such a great sage existed. The reason is that if the ultimate truth has already been discovered, then the only thing left for humanity to do would be to judge everything based on this truth.

 Wang Xiaobo is a Chinese writer whose novels and essays are very popular in mainland China. Some of his novels, like Golden Age, are already translated into English, and now his collection of essays is translated for the first time with the title Pleasure of Thinking. The translation is done by Yan Yan, who also has the translation credit for Wang's novel Golden Age. This upcoming book was provided to me by Netgalley and its publisher in exchange for my honest feedback.

Wang Xiaobo was born into a family of intellectuals. But he was forced to work on a farm in Yunnan as a part of the Cultural Revolution. It is evident from these essays that his experiences in the commune and his later ones as a teacher and factory worker were critical in shaping his unique perspectives on life, literature, and culture. He married the famous sociologist and activist Li Yinhe. Several essays in this collection have sprouted from the sociological works of Li Yinhe about homosexuals, marginalised communities, and villagers in China. He went to the US as a student for a short period and then returned to China. He worked as a lecturer in sociology until his early death in 1997.

This collection contains 33 essays laced with black humour that discuss a variety of themes. It will be easy to discuss these essays if we group them under some headings. Though the contents may spill over in between these categories to a certain extent, it will make sense if we group them as essays on thinking, on sociology, on China, on abroad, and on writing and literature. It seems the pieces are placed in the order of their humour content, with the initial ones being more meditative and sober and the later ones going all out on sarcasm and black humour, the exception being the very last one, The Silent Majority, which is more contemplative.

The first set of essays ruminates about being an intellectual capable of thought. These are mostly connected with his experiences in the commune, where he had to work under army men who were incapable of any thought and simply followed orders. In the essays about sociology, Xiaobo refers to the work of his wife and writes about different marginalised communities within China. He says that even the Chinese of his time were ignorant of the homosexual community in China because they operated as a silent minority. He writes on topics like village communities in China, feminism, leftism in the USA, and cultural relativism. The essays in these two categories are more reflective and matter-of-fact accounts, though we are treated to glimpses of his sharp wit and sarcasm occasionally.

There are a bunch of essays on China that ponder the situations in the country that he observed. Razor-sharp criticism can be found in these pieces, though it is evident that he has deep love and patriotic feelings for his country. He writes about the damages caused to China from the time of Confucius to Mao's Cultural Revolution, which severely impaired the country. The writer writes in his essays about his life experiences in America and Europe. He writes about food, houses, travel, and many other facets of life in foreign nations and compares them with China. These essays are loaded with sharp observation and the recounting of several hilarious incidents.

His essays on literature and writing are some of my favourites in the collection, because here I could feel the balance of penetrating humour and profound thought. He explains the reason he chose to write, about his first novel and his writing style, about different novels with oppression as the theme, and about a book by Italo Calvino about writing. The final essay of the collection and probably the longest one, The Silent Majority, sums up the total world view of Wang Xiaobo and provides a perfect culmination to the book.

As the book is written mostly in the 1990s, the social and political situation of China and the whole world has significantly altered. The issues that Xiaobo addresses in many essays have also undergone transformations, and many of them may seem irrelevant. The pop culture and technological references are outdated. But if we take a dive below surface level, it can be observed that the essays are relevant even now, albeit sometimes in an altered context. For example, in his commentary on the internet, he bemoans the deluge of information and misinformation that it supplies to the consumer, which has escalated today when some of that information is our own.

Reading Xiaobo visualised in me a seahawk that flies far above the ocean, observing it closely and once in a while plunging into it and rising again with a fish on the beak. He gives us a general description of the subject and, when we least expect it, takes the plunge and throws towards us a surprise observation that is consistently profound and witty.

Saturday, June 17, 2023

The Curious Case of the Pathetic Detective


There was a time when detectives occupied a different existential plane, emotionally distant from the crime. Poirot or Holmes arrive at the scene not with baggage but with pure logic and deductive thought. Detectives had many eccentricities, which made them unique and interesting, but their nonconformities never compromised the investigation.

But today, the detective characters have become more invested in other characters and the plot, both emotionally and socially. At the same time, they are shown to be as socially inept as their predecessors or more. Before, the crime and its detection used to be complex, but in today's novels, the most complex element is the psyche of the detective, and then only the plot and other aspects are considered. It seems writers have this notion that the detective has to be flawed and emotionally drained, so that the investigation poses obstacles due to this aspect and not because of the complexities of the crime itself.


When we analyse the chronology, it can be noticed that classic detectives like Dupin, Holmes, Poirot, or Miss Marple operate totally above the zone of the plot and the other characters. Then came the era of the hard-boiled ones like Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe, who had an emotional connection with the plot, mostly by way of a sultry beauty. But in the end, with the beauty conveniently out of the way, they lunged back into their exalted position.


Then it was time for another crop of detectives to emerge—the ones who bear the cross. Alex Cross (pun unintended), John Rebus, and Bosch are the ones that can be named off the top of my head. They are the conscientious ones. They are bound by duty to be impartial, but for them, finding the criminal and bringing them to justice is also a personal act of redemption. Their biases affect the delivery of justice, as they are prone to errors by virtue of their conscientious nature. But they attain the final vindication, and all their toils are rewarded by their conscience. In these stories, the crime element is relegated to the background, and more mileage is given to the character arc of the detective.


After seeing the enormous success of the final kind, many writers started developing detective characters with deep flaws, thinking that readers would empathise with their protagonists by relating to them. The emotional level of the detective in these stories is well below that of the plot and other characters. I will term them "pathetic detectives". I felt this recently while writing about a detective novel. But then, I wasn't able to put my feelings into words properly for fear of digressions that might lengthen my article.

The first pathetic detective that I encountered was Cormoran Strike in The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith (a pseudonym of J. K. Rowling). I read three installments of the series, and by the third, I concluded it was futile to go on. The flaws and disabilities of Cormoran Strike were not at all relevant to the central crimes that were committed. With each installment, Strike became more and more pathetic and incompetent due to his disabilities and emotional baggage. By the third one, which was more of a romance than an investigation, he was cutting a sorry figure.

There are a few more novels that I read after that in which the detective is made to have many flaws and personality quirks only to elicit an emotional response from the reader—either sympathy or laughter. In many well-written novels, I feel that the lead character is written very well, but the central plot of the investigation is thin and banal. For me, the primary purpose of reading detective fiction is to enjoy the depiction of a well-executed and complex crime, the fruitful investigation by a competent detective who is able to detect things that others miss, and the final surprise reveal that makes me wonder how I missed that.

Wednesday, June 14, 2023

Book Review: The Last Dance by Mark Billingham


Detective Declan Miller, a maverick officer, part-time dancer, and pun machine with a devil-may-care attitude and no respect for authority, is back at work after a brief grieving period following his wife's murder. A double assassination has just happened in a seedy hotel, and one of the dead is a gangster's son, whom his late wife was investigating. Miller is assigned the case along with his new partner, Sara Xiu, a hard metal enthusiast who is always late to the punchline. Is the mourning detective, who is turning more eccentric and hardheaded after the incident, up to the task?

The Last Dance is the upcoming novel by Mark Billingham, who is a best-selling novelist famous for creating the character Tom Thorne. In this novel, he introduces his readers to his new hero, Declan Miller. I have never read any book by Mark Billingham before, and this is a first for me. The Last Dance uses all the usual tropes found in investigation thrillers and introduces a few novel ones.

The title of the book is very apt because both Miller and his wife, Alex, choose to pursue dancing and become trophy-winning, amateur, competitive dancers, and it is just before a performance that Alex goes missing. Dancing is an important element of the story, something that establishes the nature of their relationship, and returning to it helps Miller to some extent alleviate the pain of his loss. Dancing also introduces us to some of his good friends who support him in bad times.

Declan Miller is an interesting character because, even after incurring a huge personal loss, he is trying his best to stand up and bounce back. He has his share of insecurities and many times unapologetically crosses his boundaries, but he attempts to perform his responsibilities to the best of his abilities. If we see his behaviour pattern with other characters, though he appears anti-social towards a large number of them, we realise that he is ready to accept a limited set of people into his close circle and protect them with all his might. But he fiercely guards himself against others by being rude and inconsiderate. We realise that even his constant bantering and punning is a defensive mechanism to either bond, judge, or alienate others.

As The Last Dance is the first novel of an intended series, the author uses more of his resources to establish the lead character, his personal traits, and his background firmly, at the expense of telling a great investigation story. Thus, we find a lot of characters from Miller's personal life who don't have much meaningful connection with the core plot flitting in and out of the book. Though it gives a lot of colour and character to Miller and provides him with firm roots, which may work out well for the upcoming titles, the essential reason for which a reader picks a book touted as a detective novel suffers.

That said, the core plot of the murders and the final resolution of the mystery are pretty good. The characters who are connected to that element of the story are more striking and vibrant. Their motives and behaviour are convincing. There is an interesting hook at the end that makes you wait for the sequel. Overall, The Last Dance is a satisfying start for a series with a great protagonist.

 

Tuesday, June 13, 2023

เด’เดฐു เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸเตป เดœീเดตเดšเดฐിเดค്เดฐം


เดžാเตป เดœീเดตിเดคเดค്เดคിเตฝ เด†เดฆ്เดฏเดฎാเดฏി เดถ്เดฐเดฆ്เดงിเดš്เดš เดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เตป เด เดตി เดถเดถിเดฏാเดฃ്. เดฒിเดฌเตผเดŸ്เดŸി เดคിเดฏേเดฑ്เดฑเดฑിเดจ്เดฑെ เดชเดฐിเดธเดฐเดค്เดค് เดœീเดตിเดš്เดš เด•ുเดŸ്เดŸിเด•്เด•ാเดฒം เด†เดฏിเดฐിเด•്เด•ാം เด’เดฐു เด•ാเดฐเดฃം. เด…เด•്เด•ാเดฒเดค്เดค് เดเดตി เดถเดถി เดšിเดค്เดฐเด™്เด™เตพ เดคുเดŸเดฐെ เดคเดฒเดถ്เดถേเดฐിเดฏിเตฝ เดฑിเดฒീเดธ് เดšെเดฏ്เดคിเดฐുเดจ്เดจเดค് เดชเดดเดฏ เดฒിเดฌเตผเดŸ്เดŸി เดคിเดฏേเดฑ്เดฑเดฑിเตฝ เด†เดฃ്. เด…เดคിเดจാเตฝ เดตเดณเดฐെ เดšെเดฑിเดฏ เดช്เดฐാเดฏเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดคเดจ്เดจെ เดฎเดฎ്เดฎൂเดŸ്เดŸിเดฏും, เดฎോเดนเตปเดฒാเดฒും, เดธോเดฎเดจും, เดฑเดน്เดฎാเดจും, เดธുเด•ുเดฎാเดฐเดจും, เดธീเดฎเดฏും, เดถോเดญเดจเดฏും เดฎเดฑ്เดฑും เดจിเดฑเดž്เดžാเดŸിเดฏ เดฎเตพเดŸ്เดŸി เดธ്เดฑ്เดฑാเตผ เดธിเดจിเดฎเด•เตพ เด’เดฐു เดนเดฐเดฎാเดฏിเดฐുเดจ്เดจു.


 เดชിเดจ്เดจീเดŸ് เดตൈเดตിเดง്เดฏเดฎാเตผเดจ്เดจ เดชเดŸเด™്เด™เตพ เด•ാเดฃാเตป เดคുเดŸเด™്เด™ിเดฏเดช്เดชോเดดാเดฃ് เดชോเดธ്เดฑ്เดฑเดฑിเดจ്เดฑെ เด•ീเดดെ เดช്เดฐിเตปเดฑ് เดšെเดฏ്เดค เดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เดฐുเดŸെ เดชേเดฐുเด•เตพ เด•ൂเดŸുเดคเตฝ เดถ്เดฐเดฆ്เดงിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจเดค്- เดช്เดฐിเดฏเดฆเตผเดถเตป, เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸ്, เดคเดฎ്เดชി เด•เดฃ്เดฃเดจ്เดคാเดจം, เด•െ เดฎเดงു, เดนเดฐിเดนเดฐเตป, เดœോเดทി เดŽเดจ്เดจിเด™്เด™เดจെ เดชเดฒ เดชേเดฐുเด•เตพ. เด•ുเดฑเดš്เดšു เดตเตผเดทเด™്เด™เตพ เด•ൊเดฃ്เดŸ് เดคเดจ്เดจെ เด‡เดตเดฐുเดŸെ เดšിเดค്เดฐเด™്เด™เตพ เด•ാเดฃാเตป เดชോเด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเตพ เดช്เดฐเดคീเด•്เดทിเด•്เด•ാเดตുเดจ്เดจ เดšിเดฒ เดšേเดฐുเดตเด•เดณും เดฎเดจเดธ്เดธിเดฒാเด•്เด•ി เดคുเดŸเด™്เด™ിเดฏിเดฐുเดจ്เดจു. เด‰เดฆാเดนเดฐเดฃเดค്เดคിเดจ് เดช്เดฐിเดฏเดฆเตผเดถเตป เดชเดŸเด™്เด™เตพ เด•ോเดฎเดกി เด†เดฏിเดฐിเด•്เด•ും, เดคเดฎ്เดชി เด•เดฃ്เดฃเดจ്เดคാเดจം เดชเดŸം เด•ാเดฃാเตป เดชോเดฏാเตฝ เดจเดฒ്เดฒ เดธ്เดฑ്เดฑเดฃ്เดŸ് เด•ാเดฃാം, เดนเดฐിเดนเดฐเตป เดšിเดค്เดฐเด™്เด™เตพ เดตേเดฑെ เดฒെเดตเตฝ เด†เดฏിเดฐിเด•്เด•ും, เดŽเดจ്เดจിเด™്เด™เดจെ. 


เด‡เด•്เด•ൂเดŸ്เดŸเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸിเดจ്เดฑെ เดชเดŸเด™്เด™เตพเด•്เด•് เดตേเดฑെ เดคเดจ്เดจെ เด’เดฐു เดšാเดฐുเดค เด‰เดฃ്เดŸാเดฏിเดฐുเดจ്เดจเดค് เด…เดจ്เดจേ เดถ്เดฐเดฆ്เดงിเดš്เดšിเดฐുเดจ്เดจു. เดจാเดŸോเดŸി เด•ാเดฑ്เดฑും เดชൊเดจ്เดฎുเดŸ്เดŸเดฏിเดŸുเดจ്เดจ เดคാเดฑാเดตും เดฎเดฑ്เดฑും เด•ാเดฃിเดš്เดšുเดคเดฐുเดจ്เดจ เดฒเดณിเดคเดตും เดธുเดจ്เดฆเดฐเดตും เดฐเดธเด•เดฐเดตും เดŽเดจ്เดจാเตฝ เด•เดฃ്เดฃു เดจเดจเดฏിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจเดคുเดฎാเดฏ เดœീเดตിเดคเดฎുเดนൂเตผเดค്เดคเด™്เด™เดณും เดจเตผเดฎ്เดฎเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดชൊเดคിเดž്เดž เด…เดคിเดจാเดŸเด•ീเดฏเดคเดฏിเดฒ്เดฒാเดค്เดค เดธംเดญാเดทเดฃเด™്เด™เดณും เด…เดตเดฏെ เดตേเดฑിเดŸ്เดŸു เดจിเตผเดค്เดคി.



 เด‡เดจ്เดจเดค്เดคെ เด•ാเดฒเดค്เดค്, เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เดธിเดจിเดฎเด•เดณെ เดชൊเดคുเดตേ เดจเดจ്เดฎเดช്เดชเดŸเด™്เด™เตพ เดŽเดจ്เดจും เดฎเดฑ്เดฑും เด†เดฃ് เดตിเดณിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจเดค് เด•ാเดฃുเดจ്เดจเดค്. เดŽเดจ്เดจാเตฝ เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดธിเดจിเดฎเด•เดณിเดฒെ เดตൈเดตിเดง്เดฏം เด‡เดจ്เดจു, เดธ്เด•െเดฏിเดฒിเตฝ เดตเดฐเดž്เดž്, เด…เดณเดจ്เดจു เดคൂเด•്เด•ി เด‰เดฃ്เดŸാเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจ เดšിเดค്เดฐเด™്เด™เตพเด•്เด•് เด•ാเดฃുเดจ്เดจുเดฃ്เดŸോ? เด’เดฐു เดฌാเดฒเด—ോเดชാเดฒเดจเดฏോ เดฆാเดธเดจെเดฏോ เดชോเดฒെ เดจเดฎുเด•്เด•് เดšിเดฐเดชเดฐിเดšിเดคเดจാเดฏ, เดŽเดจ്เดจാเตฝ เดšിเดฐിเดช്เดชിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เดšിเดจ്เดคിเดช്เดชിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เดšെเดฏ്เดฏുเดจ്เดจ เด’เดฐു เด•เดฅാเดชാเดค്เดฐം เด‡เดจ്เดจ് เด•ാเดฃാเดจൊเด•്เด•ുเดฎോ? เดคเดจ്เดจെ เดšเดคിเดš്เดš เดชെเดฃ്เดฃിเดจെ เดฎുเตปเด•ൂเดฑാเดฏി เดคเดจ്เดจെ เดชเดฑ്เดฑിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจ เดคเดŸ്เดŸാเตป เด†เดฃോ เดจเดจ്เดฎ เดฎเดฐം? เด…เดคോ เดคเตปเดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคเดค്เดคിเดจ് เด‰เดชเดฆ്เดฐเดตം เด†เด•ും เดŽเดจ്เดจ് เด•เดฃ്เดŸเดช്เดชോเตพ เดฐเดฃ്เดŸു เดฎเด•്เด•เดณെเดฏും เดคเดฒ്เดฒി เดชുเดฑเดค്เดคാเด•്เด•ിเดฏ เดธเดจ്เดฆേเดถเดค്เดคിเดฒെ เด…เดš്เด›เดจോ? 


เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸിเดจ്เดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคเดค്เดคെ เด…เดตเดฒംเดฌിเดš്เดš് เดถ്เดฐീเด•ാเดจ്เดค് เด•ോเดŸ്เดŸเด•്เด•เตฝ เดŽเดดുเดคിเดฏ เดœീเดตเดšเดฐിเดค്เดฐം เด†เดฃ് เด’เดฐു เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸ്เดŸുเด•ാเดฐเดจ്เดฑെ เดฒോเด•เด™്เด™เตพ. เดชൊเดคുเดตേ เดžാเตป เดฎเดฒเดฏാเดณ เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏെ เด•ുเดฑിเดš്เดš് เดตเดณเดฐെ เด•ുเดฑเดš്เดš് เดฎാเดค്เดฐเดฎേ เดตാเดฏിเดš്เดšിเดŸ്เดŸുเดณ്เดณൂ. เดตാเดฏിเดš്เดšเดค് เดคเดจ്เดจെ เด’เดฐു เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•เดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดจീเดณเดค്เดคിเดฒേเด•്เด•് เดตเดฒിเดš്เดšു เดจീเดŸ്เดŸിเดฏ เดคീเดฐെ เด†เดดเดฎിเดฒ്เดฒാเดค്เดค เดชเด เดจเด™്เด™เดณും, เดšിเดฒ เดคാเดฐเด™്เด™เดณുเดŸെ เดธ്เดตเดฏം เดชൊเด™്เด™ിเด•്เด•ൊเดฃ്เดŸുเดณ്เดณ, เด‰เดชเดฐിเดช്เดฒเดตเดฎാเดฏ เด†เดค്เดฎเด•เดฅാเด•്เด•ുเดฑിเดช്เดชുเด•เดณും, เดคเตปเดฑെ เด†เดฐാเดงเดจാ เดชാเดค്เดฐเดค്เดคോเดŸുเดณ്เดณ เดธ്เดจേเดนം เดตเดดിเดž്เดžൊเดดുเด•ുเดจ്เดจ เด•เดฅാเด•เดฅเดจเด™്เด™เดณും เดฎാเดค്เดฐเดฎാเดฃ്. เดธിเดจിเดฎാ, เด—്เดฐเดจ്เดฅเด™്เด™เตพเด•്เด•് เดธാเดนിเดค്เดฏ เดญംเด—ി เด†เดตเดถ്เดฏเดฎിเดฒ്เดฒ เดŽเดจ്เดจ് เด’เดฐു เด•ീเดด്เดตเดดเด•്เด•ം เด‡เดตിเดŸെเดฏുเดฃ്เดŸോ?เดŽเดจ്เดจാเตฝ เดˆ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•ം เดŽเตปเดฑെ เดงാเดฐเดฃเด•เดณെ เดคเด•ിเดŸം เดฎเดฑിเดš്เดšു. เดžാเตป เดช്เดฐเดคീเด•്เดทിเดš്เดšเดค് เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸിเดจ്เดฑെ เด‡เดจ്เดจുเดตเดฐെเดฏുเดณ്เดณ เดช്เดฐเดงാเดจ เดšเดฒเดš്เดšിเดค്เดฐเด™്เด™เดณും, เด…เดตเดฏുเดŸെ เดตിเดœเดฏเด—ാเดฅเด•เดณും, เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดจിเดจ്เดจുเดณ്เดณ เด•ുเดฑേ เดธംเดญเดตเด™്เด™เดณുเดŸെ เดฏเดฅാเดคเดฅ เดตിเดตเดฐเดฃเด™്เด™เดณുเดฎാเดฃ്. 



เดŽเดจ്เดจാเตฝ เดถ്เดฐീเด•ാเดจ്เดค് เดˆ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•เดค്เดคിเตฝ เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸിเดจ്เดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคം เดชเดฑเดฏുเดจ്เดจเดคിเดจൊเดช്เดชം เด† เดจാเดŸും, เดคാเดฒ്เดชเดฐ്เดฏเด™്เด™เดณും, เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเดฒുเดณ്เดณ เด†เดฆ്เดฏเด•ാเดฒ เด…เดจുเดญเดตเด™്เด™เดณും เดŽเด™്เด™เดจെ เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคെ เดฐൂเดชเดช്เดชെเดŸുเดค്เดคി เดŽเดŸുเดค്เดคു เดŽเดจ്เดจുเด•ൂเดŸി เดฐേเด–เดช്เดชെเดŸുเดค്เดคി เดตเดฏ്เด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจു- เด…เดคും เดจเดฒ്เดฒ เด•ാเดš്เดšി เด•ുเดฑുเด•്เด•ി เดŽเดŸുเดค്เดค เดญാเดทเดฏുเดŸെ เด…เด•เดฎ്เดชเดŸിเดฏോเดŸുเด•ൂเดŸി. เดชเดฒ เดธിเดจിเดฎ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•เด™്เด™เดณും เดธാเดงാเดฐเดฃ เดœเดจเด™്เด™เดณോเดŸ് เดˆ เดฎേเด–เดฒเดฏിเตฝ เดŽเดค്เดคിเดช്เดชെเดŸുเดจ്เดจเดค് เด’เดฐു เดญാเด—്เดฏ เดชเดฐീเด•്เดทเดฃം เด†เดฃെเดจ്เดจും, เด’เดจ്เดจ് เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเตฝ เด•เดฏเดฑിเดฏാเตฝ เดœീเดตിเดคം เดฐเด•്เดทเดช്เดชെเดŸ്เดŸു เดŽเดจ്เดจും เดชเดฑเดž്เดžു เด•ൊเดŸുเด•്เด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเตพ เดเดคൊเดฐു เดฎേเด–เดฒเดฏെเดฏും เดชോเดฒെ,  เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเดฒും เดชിเดŸിเดš്เดšു เดจിเตฝเด•്เด•เดฃเดฎെเด™്เด•ിเตฝ เดคാเดฒ്เดชเดฐ്เดฏเดตും, เด•เด ിเดจാเดง്เดตാเดจเดตും, เด†เดดเดค്เดคിเดฒുเดณ്เดณ เด…เดฑിเดตു เดจേเดŸാเดจുเดณ്เดณ เดฎเดจเดธ്เดธും เด†เดตเดถ്เดฏเดฎാเดฃെเดจ്เดจ് เดˆ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•ം เดต്เดฏเด•്เดคเดฎാเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจു. 


เดถ്เดฐീเด•ാเดจ്เดคിเดจ്เดฑെ เดตാเด•്เด•ുเด•เดณിเดฒൂเดŸെ เดธเดค്เดฏเดจ്เดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคം เดตാเดฏിเด•്เด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเตพ, เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดฒാเดณിเดค്เดฏเดตും เด’เดฐു เดธാเดงാเดฐเดฃเด•്เด•ാเดฐเดจാเดฏി เดจിเดฒเดจിเตฝเด•്เด•ാเดจുเดณ്เดณ เด…เดญിเดตാเดž്เด›เดฏും เด†เดฃ്  เดฎുเดจ്เดจിเดŸ്เดŸുเดจിเตฝเด•്เด•ുเด•. เดคเตปเดฑെ เดตേเดฐുเด•เดณോเดŸുเดณ്เดณ เด•เดŸเดช്เดชാเดŸും, เดคാเตป เด•เดŸเดจ്เดจുเดตเดจ്เดจ เดตเดดിเด•เดณോเดŸുเดณ്เดณ เดธ്เดจേเดนเดตും เด…เดคിเดฒേเด•്เด•് เดŽเดจ്เดจും เดคിเดฐിเดš്เดšു เดตเดฐാเตป เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคെ เดช്เดฐേเดฐിเดช്เดชിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจു เดŽเดจ്เดจ് เด•ാเดฃാเตป เดธാเดงിเด•്เด•ും. เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดช്เดฐേเดฎเด•เดฅ เดชോเดฒും เด’เดฐเตผเดค്เดฅเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดˆ เด’เดฐു เด†เด—്เดฐเดนเดค്เดคിเดจ്เดฑെ เดช്เดฐเดคിเดซเดฒเดจเดฎാเดฏി เด•ാเดฃാം.


 เดคเดจിเด•്เด•് เดŽเดจ്เดคാเดฃ് เด†เดตเดถ്เดฏം เดŽเดจ്เดจ് เด•ൃเดค്เดฏเดฎാเดฏ เดฌോเดง്เดฏം เด‰เดณ്เดณ เด’เดฐു เดฆീเตผเด˜ เดฆเตผเดถിเดฏാเดฏ เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด†เดฃ് เด—്เดฐเดจ്เดฅเด•ാเดฐเตป เด•ാเดฃിเดš്เดšു เดคเดฐുเดจ്เดจ เดฎเดฑ്เดฑൊเดฐു เดฐൂเดชം. เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเตฝ เดตเดจ്เดจു เดšേเตผเดจ്เดจเดช്เดชോเตพ เดชเดฒ เด‰เดช เดฎേเด–เดฒเด•เดณിเดฒും เดช്เดฐเดตเตผเดค്เดคിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เด…เดคിเตฝ เดŽเดฒ്เดฒാം เดฎിเด•เดต് เด•ാเดฃിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เดšെเดฏ്เดฏുเดฎ്เดชോเดดും เดคเตปเดฑെ เด†เดค്เดฏเดจ്เดคിเด• เดฒเด•്เดท്เดฏം เดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เตป เด†เดตുเด• เดŽเดจ്เดจเดคാเดฃെเดจ്เดจ് เด‰เดณ്เดณ เด‰เดค്เดคเดฎ เดฌോเดง്เดฏം เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนം เด•ാเดฃിเดš്เดšിเดฐുเดจ്เดจു. 


เด—ാเดจเดฐเดšเดฏിเดคാเดตാเดฏി เด’เดฐു เดชിเดŸി เดจเดฒ്เดฒ เด—ാเดจเด™്เด™เตพ เดธเดฎ്เดฎാเดจിเดš്เดšเดช്เดชോเดดും, เด† เดฎേเด–เดฒเดฏിเตฝ เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนം เด•ാเดฐ്เดฏเดฎാเดฏി เดคുเดŸเตผเดจ്เดจിเดฒ്เดฒ. เดธเดนเดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เดจാเดฏി เดช്เดฐเดตเตผเดค്เดคിเด•്เด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเตพ เด†เดฆ്เดฏเดšിเดค്เดฐം เดธംเดตിเดงാเดจം เดšെเดฏ്เดฏാเดจുเดณ്เดณ เด‰เดฆ്เดฏเดฎം เด…เดธ്เดคเดฎിเด•്เด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเดดും, เดคുเดŸเตผเดจ്เดจ് เดตเดฒിเดฏ เดตിเด˜ാเดคเด™്เด™เตพ เดฎുเดจ്เดจോเดŸ്เดŸുเดณ്เดณ เดตเดดിเดฏിเตฝ เดธംเดญเดตിเด•്เด•ുเดฎ്เดชോเดดും, เด’เดฐു เดšുเดตเดŸ് เดชിเดฑเด•ോเดŸ്เดŸ് เดชോเดฏി เดธเดนเดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เดจാเดฏി เดตീเดฃ്เดŸും เดœോเดฒി เดšെเดฏ്เดฏാเตป เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคെ เดช്เดฐേเดฐിเดช്เดชിเดš്เดšเดค് เดคเตปเดฑെ เด•เดดിเดตിเดฒുเดณ്เดณ เด‰เดค്เดคเดฎเดฎാเดฏ เดฌോเดง്เดฏเดฎാเดฏിเดฐിเด•്เด•ും. 


เดŽเดจിเด•്เด•് เด•ൂเดŸുเดคเตฝ เด…เดค്เดญുเดคം เดคോเดจ്เดจിเดฏ เด’เดฐു เด•ാเดฐ്เดฏം เดˆ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•ം เดธเดค്เดฏเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸിเดจ്เดฑെ เดตിเดœเดฏ เดšเดฐിเดค്เดฐเดค്เดคെ เด’เดฐു เดชเดฐിเดงിเดฏിเตฝ เด•ൂเดŸുเดคเตฝ เดชിเดจ്เดคുเดŸเดฐുเดจ്เดจിเดฒ്เดฒ เดŽเดจ്เดจเดคാเดฃ്. เด’เดฐു เด•เดดിเดตുเดฑ്เดฑ เดธംเดตിเดงാเดฏเด•เตป เด†เดฃെเดจ്เดจ് เดธംเดถเดฏാเดคീเดคเดฎാเดฏി เดคെเดณിเดฏിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจเดค് เดตเดฐെ เด‰เดณ്เดณ เด•เดฅ เด•ൃเดค്เดฏเดฎാเดฏി เดชเดฑเดž്เดžเดคിเดจുเดถേเดทം เดถ്เดฐീเด•ാเดจ്เดค് เดคുเดŸเตผเดจ്เดจ് เดตിเดตเดฐിเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจเดค് เดธเดค്เดฏเดจ്เดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดคเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดตเดฒിเดฏ เดฐീเดคിเดฏിเดฒുเดณ്เดณ เดช്เดฐാเดงാเดจ്เดฏം เดšെเดฒുเดค്เดคിเดฏ เดฎเดฑ്เดฑു เดšിเดฒ เด•เดฒാเด•ാเดฐเดจ്เดฎാเดฐെ เด•ുเดฑിเดš്เดšും เด…เดตเดฐുเดฎാเดฏുเดณ്เดณ เดธเดค്เดฏเดจ്เดฑെ เดฌเดจ്เดงเดค്เดคെเด•്เด•ുเดฑിเดš്เดšും เด†เดฃ്.



 เดถ്เดฐീเดจിเดตാเดธเดจാเดฃ് เด†เดฆ്เดฏം เด•เดŸเดจ്เดจു เดตเดฐുเดจ്เดจเดค്. เดคเตปเดฑെ เดœീเดตിเดค เดธാเดนเดšเดฐ്เดฏเดค്เดคിเดจോเดŸ് เดธാเดฎ്เดฏเดฎുเดณ്เดณ เด’เดฐു เดญൂเดคเด•ാเดฒเดค്เดคിเดจ് เด‰เดŸเดฎเดฏാเดฏ เดต്เดฏเด•്เดคിเดฏാเดฃ് เดถ്เดฐീเดจിเดตാเดธเตป เดŽเดจ്เดจ เดคിเดฐിเดš്เดšเดฑിเดต് เดธเดค്เดฏเดจ് เดถ്เดฐീเดจിเดฏോเดŸുเดณ്เดณ เดฌเดจ്เดงเดค്เดคെ เดŠเดŸ്เดŸിเดฏുเดฑเดช്เดชിเดš്เดšു. เดคുเดŸเตผเดจ്เดจ് เด† เด•ൂเดŸ്เดŸുเด•െเดŸ്เดŸിเตฝ เดฎോเดนเตปเดฒാเตฝ, เด‡เดจ്เดจเดธെเตปเดฑ്, เดฎാเดฎുเด•്เด•ോเดฏ, เดคുเดŸเด™്เด™ി เด“เดฐോเดฐുเดค്เดคเดฐാเดฏി เด•เดŸเดจ്เดจു เดตเดฐിเด•เดฏും เด’เดฐു เดจเดตเดธിเดจിเดฎാเดงാเดฐเดฏുเดŸെ เดคുเดŸเด•്เด•ം เด•ുเดฑിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เดšെเดฏ്เดคു. เดธเดค്เดฏเดจെเด•്เด•ുเดฑിเดš്เดš് เดชเดฑเดฏുเดฎ്เดชോเตพ เดˆ เด•เดฒാเด•ാเดฐเดจ്เดฎാเดฐെ เดฎเดฑเดจ്เดจു เด•ൊเดฃ്เดŸുเดณ്เดณ เด’เดฐു เด†เด–്เดฏാเดจം เดธാเดง്เดฏเดฎเดฒ്เดฒ. เด…เดฆ്เดฆേเดนเดค്เดคിเตปเดฑെ เดธിเดจിเดฎാ เดธെเดฑ്เดฑുเด•เตพ เดฎเดฒเดฏാเดณ เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเตฝ เดธൗเดนൃเดฆเดค്เดคിเดจ്เดฑെเดฏും เด†เดฐോเด—്เดฏเดชเดฐเดฎാเดฏ เด•ൊเดŸുเด•്เด•เตฝ เดตാเด™്เด™เดฒുเด•เดณുเดŸെเดฏും เด’เดฐു เดธംเดธ്เด•ാเดฐം เด†เดฐംเดญിเดš്เดšു เดŽเดจ്เดจ് เดฎเดจเดธ്เดธിเดฒാเด•്เด•ാം. 


เดธിเดจിเดฎാเดช്เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•เด™്เด™เดณുเดŸെ เดชเดคിเดต് เด†เด–്เดฏാเดจ เดฐീเดคിเด•เดณിเตฝ เดจിเดจ്เดจ് เดจเดฒ്เดฒ เดฐീเดคിเดฏിเตฝ เดต്เดฏเดคിเดšเดฒിเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും, เดฑിเดช്เดชോเตผเดŸ്เดŸിംเด—് เดถൈเดฒി เด…เดฒ്เดฒാเดคെ เดธാเดนിเดค്เดฏเดค്เดคിเดจ് เดช്เดฐാเดงാเดจ്เดฏം เด•ൊเดŸുเดค്เดคുเด•ൊเดฃ്เดŸുเดณ്เดณ เด’เดฐു เด†เด–്เดฏാเดจเดฐീเดคി เด•ൊเดฃ്เดŸുเดตเดฐിเด•เดฏും เดšെเดฏ്เดค เด†เดธ്เดตാเดฆ്เดฏเด•เดฐเดฎാเดฏ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•เดฎാเดฃ് เด’เดฐു เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸ്เดŸുเด•ാเดฐเดจ്เดฑെ เดฒോเด•เด™്เด™เตพ. เดคเตปเดฑെ เดฒോเด•เดค്เดค് เด†เดดเดค്เดคിเตฝ เดตേเดฐോเดŸ്เดŸുเด•เดฏും, เดคുเดŸเตผเดจ്เดจ് เด•േเดฐเดณเดฎൊเดŸ്เดŸാเด•െ เดคเดดเดš്เดšു เดตเดณเตผเดจ്เดจ เด…เดตเดฏെ เดคเตปเดฑെ เดธിเดจിเดฎ เด•เดฃ്เดŸ เดฎเดฒเดฏാเดณിเด•เดณിเดฒൂเดŸെ เดฒോเด•ം เดฎുเดดുเดตเตป เดชเดŸเตผเดค്เดคുเด•เดฏും เด…เด™്เด™เดจെ เดฒോเด•ം เดฎുเดดുเดตเตป เด…เดจ്เดคിเด•്เด•ാเดŸാเด•്เด•ുเด•เดฏും เดšെเดฏ്เดค เด’เดฐു เดช്เดฐเดคിเดญാเดถാเดฒിเดฏുเดŸെ เด•เดฅเดฏാเดฃിเดค്. เดธിเดจിเดฎเดฏിเตฝ เดจിเดจ്เดจ് เด…เด•เดจ്เดจ് เด…เดคിเตปเดฑെ เด†เดกംเดฌเดฐเด™്เด™เตพ เด•เดฃ്เดŸ് เด…เดฎ്เดชเดฐเดจ്เดจു เดจിเตฝเด•്เด•ുเดจ്เดจ เดธാเดฎാเดจ്เดฏ เดœเดจเดค്เดคിเดจ് เด…เดคിเดจു เดชുเดฑเด•ിเดฒുเดณ്เดณ เด…เดง്เดตാเดจเดค്เดคിเดจ്เดฑെเดฏും เด…เตผเดช്เดชเดฃเดฌോเดงเดค്เดคിเดจ്เดฑെเดฏും เด†เดตเดถ്เดฏം เดฎเดจเดธ്เดธിเดฒാเด•്เด•ി เดคเดฐാเตป เด•ൂเดŸി เดˆ เดชുเดธ്เดคเด•ം เด‰เดชเด•เดฐിเด•്เด•ും. 


Sunday, June 11, 2023

Book Review: How To Taste by Mandy Naglich


I saw a television programme about chocolate tasters when I was a kid. It was a revelation for me that instead of going to an office or shop or doing farming, a person can sit and eat chocolates for the whole day and get paid for doing it. As teenagers, we used to make jokes about the lives of wine and whisky tasters. We used to imagine them in a state of perpetual inebriation. Some years ago, the documentary on wine tasting certification titled Somm rekindled my interest in tasters. I was enamoured by the participants descriptions of the notes of different wines in poetic terms. At the same time, I had this notion in the back of my head that all these claims of identifying the taste of polished leather or the vineyard that made the wine were global frauds and part of a branding attempt. But reading the upcoming book How to Taste has dispelled my notions to a large extent.

How To Taste, the book by Mandy Naglich, who is an advanced Cicerone (a certification for beer tasters) and a certified tester, comes with the tagline "a guide to discovering flavour and savouring life" and is an attempt to demystify the art of tasting for the layperson. The book tries to differentiate between eating something and tasting it. It has to be similar to the difference between seeing something and watching it. When I was a kid, there was an exhibition of medicinal plants at my school. One of the plants was called Chakkarakkolli (Gymnema sylvestre or Madhunasini), and eating it would make us unable to taste sweetness. I, along with a friend, ate its leaves and then tasted a candy. We were terrified, as the sweetness was totally missing from the candy. We drank plain soda to remove the effects and then, much to our relief, gained back our taste. Though we ate the candy, we weren't able to taste it. So there is a difference.

The first part of the book explains the mechanics of tasting. Taste is a sensation, and like other sensations, it is the work of our nervous system to make us experience it after collecting the necessary stimuli through our taste buds. This part provides a step-by-step description of the process. It also illuminates how other sensations like smell, sight, and sound influence our tasting and how the process itself is a symphony that, when rightly done, can provide an experience to cherish for a lifetime. Like in the case of any other sensation, there are people with different capacities for tasting, like supertasters, who are capable of identifying minute nuances of flavour in foods and drinks.

The second chapter lists the best way to extract the full benefit of the tasting experience by using seven steps. There are tips to enhance and complement the visual, auditory, and, most importantly, olfactory elements of tasting. There are important roles that temperature, wall colour, ambient sounds, and smell play in tasting. For example, a red wall can enhance the sweetness of your ice cream, or gently warming your olive oil can enrich its texture and aroma. We come to know the significance of swirling the wine or sniffing the cheese, practises that we have seen countless times performed and parodied on social media.

Part three of the book provides the reader with an introduction to the tasting profession, including certifications, competition, awards, and grading systems that hone the skills of professional tasters, help entrepreneurs upgrade their products, and establish and update new skills in the culinary world. There is a chapter on food pairing and another that helps to describe the sensual and emotional experience of flavours in precise words. In Part 4, the author writes more about how skills acquired as a taster can improve general experiences of life. Travelling to a strange destination can be used to acquire new additions to the flavour collection. Flavours trigger memories and connect the taster to the past. So new flavours can be used to imprint long-lasting memories in the brain.

How to Taste is a book that can help a reader start tasting instead of simply eating. It is an information-filled journey that the reader will find useful to implement practically in life. Personally, I found the writing in certain portions a bit too technical and jargon-filled for my liking. As an Indian with minimal exposure to global specialty cuisine and fine dining culture, there are many descriptions that I cannot relate to. But the practical tips, the many dos and don'ts of tasting, and the expertise and experience of the writer that translate into her writing made reading this book worth it.

Inexcusable are the numerous typos, insertions of wrong words, and instances of weird sentence formation in the text. I agree that what I received was an ARC, and the final book may be released with corrected text, but all these faults seriously impaired the overall experience.

Wednesday, June 7, 2023

Book Review: An Odyssey Of The Mind by Narendra Murty


According to the Odyssey, the epic written by the ancient Greek poet Homer, it was for ten years that Odysseus wandered around on the high seas after the Trojan War to reach his beloved country of Ithaca. The journey took Odysseus to several lands inhabited by different beings, and instead of permanently settling in any of these places, despite temptations, he managed to reach his destination. Narendra Murty has collected 20 of his essays written over ten years in this collection, aptly titled An Odyssey Of The Mind. It is evident that he has, in preparation for writing these essays, studied a wide range of disciplines and subjects and read a vast array of books. I believe it is to his credit that he expanded his knowledge base as wide as the sea between Troy and Ithaca and didn't confine himself to a single island of thought.

The essays in the book An Odyssey Of The Mind cover a wide range of topics: psychology, philosophy, ecology, economy, sociology, politics, and history, and all of them invariably centre on the challenges of living in the present age of AI, automation, cultural turmoil, and rampant consumerism. Murty has stated his aim as being to provide perspective to the confused person who is stuck in the rut of existence. He certainly makes the reader think and re-evaluate his life and that of the world around him, and that itself I feel is a success. Unlike the books that provide some ready-made and quick-fix solutions to living one's life, Murty makes the reader walk the tough path and come to their own solutions and conclusions about the topics that he raises.

The tone of the book is very conversational and makes the reader feel that a concerned friend is having a discussion about life. It changes from advisory to lamenting, from concerned to complaining, from grave and weighty to witty and jovial. We can find some satirical pieces and even a poem in there. This quality—the wide variety of topics and shifting tone—creates an intriguing experience.

Personally, I liked the essays on philosophy and psychology the most among the lot. It is in these essays that Murty comes into his element and puts forth humane arguments for living enriching lives. The one that differentiates knowledge and wisdom, another that ridicules the folly of blindly following quick fix books like The Secret, and yet another that dissects the increasing feeling of emptiness in spite of accumulating material wealth are some examples of the best empathetic writing that I have read.

At the other end of the spectrum are the essays on globalisation, the onset of a technological utopia, and concerns about the unchecked growth posed by humanity. There are many valid issues raised in these essays, and most of them have to be of immediate concern to our policymakers. But I don't believe that situation is as dire as it seems. I would take a far more lenient position as far as science is concerned. It is true that the progress of science is lopsided and lagging, thanks to the interference of our politicians and their misguided priorities. But it still seems to be on the right track, and it is only a matter of time before we reach our destination.

Technology, especially AI, will replace jobs and definitely pose a threat to our workforce. But so has every technological advancement that has happened in the past (though the scale may be higher this time). From agriculture to wheels to steam engines to computers, the function of technology is to disturb the status quo between production and inefficiency. Every upgrade has invariably resulted in the loss of livelihoods. I sincerely believe that collectively we will survive this onslaught too.

I believe right now is the time when human lives are most valued in all of history. Common people were treated worse than cattle throughout human history. But today they are treated at least as cattle. It is not ideal, but nevertheless, it is an improvement over forced slavery and mass killings. I believe humanity is at a crossroads, but we have faced such situations before. We may not choose the best path forward, but I am positive that the path that we choose will be the one that ensures survival.

An Odyssey Of The Mind is a thought-provoking collection of essays that examine some existential crises that modernity is facing. It is a very relevant book that asks all the right questions. The readers need not always agree with the views of the author, but the book's significance is that it forces the readers to think along its lines and draw their own conclusions on certain significant threats that are encircling us.

Sunday, June 4, 2023

Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov: An Asylum In The Past

Some months ago, while reading a few popular science books, I became enamoured with the concept of time. In the present context, time is considered the fourth dimension that humans have access to. Though we experience time, we cannot manipulate it. For us, time is always a unidirectional entity, unlike the other three dimensions. We cannot go back in time. It takes our lives from existence to extinction. But there are entities that may have the capacity to curve time and exploit the possibilities of a time warp. There are particles, like photons, that never experience time.


Time Shelter, the International Booker winner of 2023 and a Bulgarian novel written by Georgi Gospodinov, deals with the human psychology that craves the certainty of the past and aspires to break the uni-directional behaviour of time. The future is inevitable, ambiguous, and uncertain, and our march towards it is frightening. But the past is familiar and comforting, and our nostalgia associated with the past invites us towards it. Time Shelter explores this craving for the past and the unescapable consequences when we try to modify the present in an attempt to return to the past.

A psychiatrist named Gaustine establishes a clinic for Alzheimer's patients in Zurich, Switzerland, in which, on each floor, a decade from the past is painstakingly replicated. It is meant to maintain the patients' connection with the past by triggering their memories and making them more open to the diagnosis. The narrator, who remains unnamed, helps Gaustine collect past artefacts. The clinic becomes a resounding success when even non-patients flock to re-experience their past. Soon the project goes out of their hands, and the whole of Europe decides to hold a referendum in each country to decide which decade in the past they want to live in.

Time Shelter, very similar to bomb shelters, something familiar for European nations ravaged by two World Wars, is an apt title for a novel about a generation that is suspicious of the future and needs to be sheltered from its onslaught. The extension of clinics that are meant to shelter the patients who are ravaged by the past into towns and cities and finally into nations, like the recent pandemic situation, is a depiction of the recent surges in nationalist narratives across Europe.


The novel is narrated in first person by an unnamed narrator, though the initials G.G. are used towards the end. The narrator is in the process of writing a novel and has created the character Gaustine and his time clinic. But then they meet in real life, and the narrator becomes the collector of the clinic. As the narration progresses, the identities of the main characters become more and more unclear. We are never sure of the extent to which the narrator describes reality and the figments of his imagination.

The novel uses an ambiguous structure. It doesn't have a conventional plot progression or buildup. In many places, it uses the narrative style of autobiographies, travelogues, and non-fictional books, even when the plot migrates to a dystopian theme towards its end. This style added a chillingly realistic element, along with an underlying sense of humour, to the reading experience. At several places, I could sense a touch of Milan Kundera.

Time Shelter is an important novel of our time that explores themes like the connection or disconnection between past and memories, about how history and our place in it define our present, and about how reclaiming our past is as meaningless an exercise as knowing our future.

Friday, June 2, 2023

The Scent Of An Ancient Paperback

It felt good to pick up an old, ragged paperback after such a long time—to touch and feel the withering edges, to carefully read the fading, dirty-yellow pages, and most importantly, to experience that age-old odour of a book that was published more than three quarters of a century ago. Hemmed inside a fortification of eBooks and audiobooks, I perceived that I never missed the experience of reading a physical book. But when a good friend highly recommended and lent me an ancient copy of My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell, I decided to take the plunge.


I grew up in a home that was abundant in books and magazines. My father had a collection of hefty classic novels, many of which were published by Penguin. One of my uncles also had a formidable collection of English novels, most of them mysteries, crime, and war novels. At a time when I used to dabble in short Malayalam children's books and periodicals and abridged, illustrated children's versions of English classics, these paperbacks stood majestically on bookshelves or in adult hands, inviting me to enter adulthood quickly and derive the pleasures of paperbacks.

I spent my childhood in a village, and most of my reading activities centred around our village library. Once, when I selected a Malayalam novel, the librarian asked me if I read English books. When I affirmed that I liked reading English books also, armed with the reading experience of a few Hardy Boys novels and abridged classics, he opened a small cupboard in which there was a row of paperbacks in English. I picked an old biography of Bruce Lee, who was sort of a mystical hero for the boys of our generation. Thus started a love story of decades that resulted in devouring all the books owned by my father and my uncle, as well as trips to several used (pre-owned, to use the right jargon) book stores across different cities.


Sometime in 2005, I did something revolutionary. I read a whole book on a computer! I still remember that it was Mario Puzo's crime novel, The Godfather. Though I managed to collect hundreds of ebooks in PDF and Word within days, I read only First Among Equals by Jeffrey Archer and a few Asterix comics. Within years, I discovered ways to read ebooks on computers and even on my feature phone (it was the pre-Android days). With my first Android phone, sometime in 2011, I also discovered EPub and fell in love with the format. Along with it, ebooks became my preferred reading method, and the used book craze subsided. Also gone were the whiffs of old paper, mildew, and dead bookworms wafting through my senses when thinking about books.


When I picked up the copy of My Family and Other Animals, I did so with a certain reverence. Along with the book, I drifted into a plethora of memories from the past—of a small cupboard in a financially strapped library, of a volume of the collected stories of Mauppasant, of countless basements and dilapidated halls that sell old books, and many, many more. The content of the book also helped, as it was about old memories and remembering all the joyous moments and small pleasures of nature and human behaviour. It is also about remembering all the hardships and sufferings, but then focusing on all their hilarity and laughing off the past while marching into the future.