My Country

What is it with my country? Or is it just me? Maybe I have become too much of a critic in my own country J. Happy is a person who finds faults in himself instead of others…but I cant stop myself. I read somewhere recently that the Indian cabinet has made a rule to have female judges to look over rape cases of women. The explanation given is that a male would not understand the emotional stress and battle that the vistim goes through! What kind of an apartheid is this now. Do you mean to say now the “Dalits” will now have a separate “Dalit” judge? The muslims will have a separate Islamic fakir or mullah to look over it? Or better still child custody cases should be judged by kid-judges (whatever that means!) so that they can better understand the “emotional” battle that the children go through. To go before a crowd and accept that she has been molested and ripped off her privacy is a big step. Does the fact that another female will question her make her feel any better? If that has to happen, then the judgement should be likewise and not that you decide whether you need a female lawyer or judge.
The next big doubt would be that this is Indian culture and is not to be “besmirched” as it is done in the west. J Christ, what culture are they talking about? If it is what our ancestors had and had tried to pass over to us, all that is gone. All that remains now is a shadow of that culture, remains of a past heritage and now it is an exhibit. An exhibit that makes India “different”.
I m not denying all that. I love my country and it pains me to see the things that go on everyday. My friends tell me, it happens everywhere. So what? I mean, should it make me feel better that since it happens everywhere it is ok if it happens here? Every time I read some great nationalist leader’s autobiography or anything that happened, I wonder what happened to the India they dreamt of? It’s good they are no more.
It’s not the country that worries me. I love it, with all it’s crowds, and it’s traffic jams and it’s pollution and it’s poverty. It’s the people who worry me. Even now I can overhear people how Gandhi or Nehru were wrong and stupid. I feel like sniggering at them. I feel like asking them “What do you know?”. I m not siding Gandhiji. I would never do that. Coz I don’t know what happened. All I know is a documented set of texts which claim how he got us freedom. All said and done we are free today. Is it not enough to thank our stars that we are free and get on with our lives? How many countries today are still slaves of another nation? We could be in that state.
But still we’ll have everyone cribbing about how wrong the leaders were………..

The kite runner

The Kite Runner
It’s a wonderful book. A friend of mine gave it to me. I wasn’t looking for a book. I was bored and a long weekend awaited me. None of my friends were around and so I thought “wish there was a book”. All I did was ask around. I have always noticed. You read a book only when it is time for you to. It just waits for you to find it, biding it’s time. It maybe right in front of your face but you would not have noticed it. Because it’s not yet time for you to read it.
I didn’t expect much from the book. The author – Khalid Housseini. His name sounded familiar. But that’s where the recognition ended. When I get a book, my fingers itch to turn the pages J. Strange isn’t it? It was also the case here. Usually I decided whether to read a book or not by the first few pages. I started reading the first page and soon I had read 10. When I glanced at my wrist watch and saw how the time flew, I knew that I was hooked. Big time. With reluctance I marked the page and closed it. It was Friday and I was waiting to go home and complete the book. Friday night and with a book! As soon as I was home, I started reading. And as usual I couldn’t keep the book down. Soon I was into the book. I became one of characters, perhaps a casual by stander on the streets of Kabul. I watched Amir play with Hassan. I saw that it was always Hassan who stood up for Amir and never the other way around. I saw Amir’s jealousy when his Baba praised Hassan. After all, Hassan was just a Hazara’s son. A servant’s son. I saw Kabul in the 1970’s when peace prevailed. But there were always undercurrents running. Like a river biding it’s time to flood the town on it’s banks. I saw how Amir stood helpless when the street bullies raped his best friend. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Why? Was it just because he was guilty that he couldn’t stand up to Hassan? Or did it mean more than that? It was the day Amir had won the competition in flying kites and finally made his Baba proud. His baba finally recognized Amir as his son. Was this the reason Amir didn’t tell anyone about Hassan? A childish jealousy perhaps that the attention would once again be stolen by Hassan. I wonder. I almost screamed out to Amir not to hide his money under Hassan’s mattress. Not to lie to his Baba that Hassan had stolen it. I cried harder when Hassan didn’t say a word when he was questioned just so that Amir would get what he wanted. Hassan left with his father. Nothing was the same anymore. The river had finally flooded the town. Kabul was taken over by the Russians. Amir and his Baba fled to Peshawar and then to New York.
The best part was when Amir returned to bring Hassan’s son back. The special bond formed by the little boy and his father’s friend. I learnt what it means to make promises to a child. You either keep it or don’t bother making it. I would read this book a thousand times over and not get fed up of it….hats off to the author…..
“………for you, a thousand times over!”
- The Kite Runner, Khalid Housseini

Often I wonder, is human life more important than what religion I belong to? I hope that this is not a story that happened. But I know all the atrocities that were done to Hassan's son and even to Hassan himself is not something new. This is just a book. We read it, think about it for a day, a week, a month at the most. But then what after that? Even as I write this I know somewhere a child's innocence is being destroyed. Isnt there anything we can do?

First Blog...About myself

Hi Guys! This is my first blog. To say a bit about myself. First and foremost reading books are my passion. I entered the realm of books when I was around 8. I was a simple Enid Blyton books but it did wonders for me. I never turned back after that and became an avid reader. I guess it's in my blood.
My profession is entirely different from my passion. But I have tried my best not to give up my love, my hobby.
What is in a book? Have you noticed that books can talk to you? I have never had any particular fave. Some people say, fiction and some say tragedies. But for me it's just a book. It all depends on the first page. Does it really interest me? it is not in the story, but in the writer's knack.
I dont want this blog to just be some review page of all the books I read. I just wanna write everything that comes to my mind. And that includes books for the larger part.