Strange Fruit and Weird Fishes

One of the books I thought I'd wind up this year with, was Afdhel Aziz's "Strange Fruit". Here is my take on the book, but not before I go a bit down memory lane.

A bit about the author: Afdhel Aziz, although personally not known to me, was ipso facto a very familiar name, given that he was a DJ at TNL - the channel which was "always-on" in the background, whenever I was at home. from the early-mid nighties till around the early 2000's. TNL and Yes FM were the stations that were popular, at that time. Yes FM was for the teeny-boppers, and TNL was for those with a more refined taste ( I have no idea what these radio stations do now). Most of the DJs were known to me by their names as was their styles of conducting the programs - from Afdhel Aziz to Ed, to Wendall, to Fiona, to Angel Wildheart ( my favourite - she did the 10 pm to 1 am slot with her amazingly relaxing voice; the show was called the Quiet Storm ) - there were quite a few more, but I've forgotten their names or the names they went by. Afdhel Aziz was known to be pally with Ed, and together they did a program on Friday evenings - I forget the name of the show -was it the completely different Radio show ( with it's comical feature"Silent FM" )? Then later he was doing a morning show from 5 am and there was this limerick about how he drove like a zombie from Jawatte to Bambalapitiya for the Radio show. That was later, and I don't remember actually listening to the program. Given that my fetish for music ended with listening to  it  whenever I had half the chance, and never was and still isn't a party man or night club type of guy, I had never met these guys. But I really appreciated what they did. They introduced us to really great music, the tit-bits, and into pop-rock culture which only existed in our minds,and between us and them, over the air waves. I had one thing in common with Afdhel Aziz - that he is a Prince fan ; and so am I. And fans of Prince, even among the few  who dug pop music in the 90's were kind of outcasts, for people went for looks of the stars,  before their music (and they still do.) And a Prince fan is a proud man/woman because they know that they have gone beyond the obvious visible appeal, to something deeper - the music itself.  And his show on Friday with Ed ( heck , I forget the name ), always, always had something about Prince. If I remember right, he even wrote a small article about a Prince concert he had attended in London - this was in the "Diamonds and Pearls" album days - even the title somehow registered in my mind ; "Purple Reign, Rocks On", was it ? Maybe I am mistaken about the authorship, but I suspect I ain't.

Reading the Book and into the book: Later I heard that he was writing poetry and may have even heard that he won the Gretien award for a collection of poetry. However Strange Fruit was introduced by a fellow book worm in my Face Book Reading Group, and given the author I had no hesitation in buying it the first chance I had. So what do I think of the book and what do I feel about his work? I feel it is semi-auto biographical. The Anglicized Sri Lankan Youth of the 1990s' with an English Literature Degree from a British University under his belt, partying, DJ'ing, enjoying life, yet trying to make sense and discover life within all these Beats, in a newer relatively more liberal CBK era, looks a lot like Afdhel himself. I stop there in trying to conjecture the similarities, for I don't know, and wouldn't have means of knowing  on how close the author was personally involved, for the remainder of the story - besides it is unfair to assume. Yet, looking back on how I, myself too lived back in the nineties, one thing that I cannot deny is that the war that was being fought, didn't really involve us - or so we were made to feel. Somehow this was much much different to the mood from 2005 on wards, when a bus conductor and a driver who saved hundreds of lives were virtually heroes.  Either it was how the Nation was made to feel back then in the nineties, or our own Anglicized Schooling background - possibly a collection ofboth. Bombs went off - I too have lost relations, and some are maimed for life, but those are personal tragedies. As Malik puts it - "Accidents" - because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, or that was the popular saying at that time. There are bombs going off, and if you were unlucky you'd be part of it. Kind of  "Shit Happens" - so let's move on - By the way Hallo'ween night is this Friday at the CR&FC - this was the mood in Colombo. Afdhel, probably not meaning to capture this rather selfish mood, as nakedly and raw as it really was, has somehow done just that. War is never pretty. And war when fought halfheartedly as we did in the 90's under Chandrika ( who shamelessly claims she "won" 75% of the war during her time - a period of eleven years, an Avant-Garde era as author Kaushalya Kumarasinghe rightly identifies - probably the  only good thing about that era. ), is much more than just ugly - it is stupid too. One feels sorrier for all those who made the ultimate sacrifice back then.  Malik identifies a patriot as someone who dies for strangers. All those soldiers of the Sri Lankan Forces, and at least a part of the LTTE cadres under illusion, did just that. They died to protect strangers - some of them, scholars, who be-little  their sacrifice, identifying the Military as a place for those not good enough to do anything else,  end up in. So I am kind of glad that Afdhel has been frank about how the country's mood was back in the 90s. I am almost sure that he didn't bargain for the between the lines revelations, but it happens. 

Afdhel captures, safely under the label of fiction, instances of the what looked like the military supposedly killing women and children under detention or kept under force - the details of who they were, why were they killed, who the killers were and whether it is pure fiction is left for assumption. In fact these particulars aren't important in the light and mood of the author's narration. The War is just a background for the narration, for accidents to happen, and the finer details aren't important. And a youth of the nineties especially don't need to worry about the repercussions that such a tale can imply.  I do accept his right to tell his story, his own way. But somehow I now see Afdhel in a different light - kind of more narrower in mind  than I saw him in my mind, never knowing what he looked like, while he did all those Radio Shows. I feel that at least one of the accusations that Afdhel makes from the safety of fiction, is too strong, and personally I find that unacceptable.

The Main tale that Afdhel tells is, about the fictitious Malik finding his Love, and how and he and Maya saves it. Even when the accidents of war spoil their "honeymoon", even while the extra-judiciary arms of the forces almost kill them. I suppose for one who lived that life in that "speed" (?) , it is a remarkable tale to tell. And it is well written, although at times in the middle parts, especially those early parts of their "last trip", the book tends to go on about the fast life, in a slow, particular way. It has it's beauty too, unmistakably. And all chapters start with a part of lyrics - hence we see parts of lyrics from Radiohead to Peter Gabriel to Simple Minds. Most subsections remind the knowing reader, song titles ( "All apologies" Nirvana, "Us and them" Pink Floyd, "a long December" Counting Crowes, "Night swimming" R.E.M., "Morning Bell" Radiohead  ) these are like Raisins in your Ice Cream, if you know where from they are, and it adds up to the flavour. It is that kind of book. To be appreciated by those, who blanket comment the war, but particularise on songs, titles and parts of lyrics. And I for one - probably a part of a handful of those, if that - who identifies where the author comes from, appreciates his stock, while unhesitatingly stand with the war effort with all its' ugliness - for they fought for strangers like me.  So that my kids don't instill the fear that my absence from home instilled in my parents. I guess Afdhel's type are "weird fishes" ( to quote Radiohead) - but maybe its' me, more than he - I may even be a more  weirder a fish than he. Maybe I am made up of two incompatible halves.

P.S. In a world where the global Policeman is subtly excused of whatever atrocities they commit, in a global climate, where that true objectivity with regards to Human Rights I feel am yet to witness, I will not sympathise with a "Holier than thou" attitude. Maybe one day in my grand children's time, the world may progress to a kind of objective stand about human rights, which convinces all and sundry. I choose to be cynical about it in my lifetime.

American Gods - Neil Gaiman

Read what is supposedly Neil Gaiman's best novel, American Gods. Using the same medium that I used for the previous book I read of his, ( Ocean at the End of the Lane ), that of an audio book, I did a skim-read of an e-book, upon completing the audio version. The sheer size of the work, the various nuances that the book contained and the encyclopedic history ( I didn't try to do research on all of the Gods, and like characters that the book contains,but yet ) warranted it.

As a pure story, with mystery, fantasy, history, a little horror and culture, nurturing the narration, contribute to a thoroughly enjoyable read. If one is interested, they could dig up the origins of all these Gods. The book as a whole is dense with ideas, and I reckon needs to be appreciated for what it is, rather than trying to decipher a single main idea. The audio book that I listened to has an interview with the author in which he quotes a joke (not the funny kind ): "England is a Country in which a hundred miles is a long way,and  America is a country in which a hundred years is along time." The essence of this statement is that if you travel long enough in America, you can find the histories of all the people,along with their beliefs scattered across the country. Hence we can see the gods of the immigrants of the Irish, the Norse, Egypt, the Middle East, Africa, Japan, China and so on. If we have a reader among us who would want to dig deep and find out about the histories of these immigrants, this novel will provide the perfect platform. I am sure this will provide germs for them scratch their heads for months. I for one, appreciate this opportunity, given that I have a never ending reading list staring at me.

There were at least two ideas that made an impression on me, in American Gods.

1- Most, if not all Gods, used to need sacrificial blood to sustain in the minds of their followers. The Gods in "American Gods" now appearing in human form, albeit with some not so apparent powers, stress this need for sacrifice. Hence, one cannot help but wonder, how much lives have been sacrificed over the years, for these beliefs. I was reminded of the sacrifice of Ikemefuna on the dictates of the Oracle, in Things fall apart.

2- How Science and Technology having replaced these mythical Gods, are changing at such a rapid speed that any technology can nary hold its' position of wonderment in the eyes of man for a decade, if that.

American Gods is both a picaresque book and a road trip book. If it wasn't for the fact that I was listening to it, I'd probably have The Rambling Man ( The Allman Brothers Band ) and Wiser Time (The Black Crowes ), playing on the background, especially when Nancy, Chernoborg and Shadow take the road trip in their VW mini Bus.

I mayn't have enjoyed, or more precisely started on  this book if it was billed from limited reading time. Given that I listened to it over a month or even more, while driving to and from work, sometimes stuck in the Doha traffic, it was indeed a rewarding experience.

Who would enjoy this book ? Anyone who is not restricted to the constrains of reality, who has a taste for history and culture, and anyone who has taste for a good old winding yarn, with many a twists, and the end not visible for many a hundred pages. 

I shall not hear the Nightingale - Khushwant Singh

One of the novels I read recently was "I shall not hear the Nightingale" - the second novel found in his omnibus collection, "The Collected Novels", by Khushwant Singh. I found it to contain some insight integrated into the novel, on how the English (especially when they were rulers and administrators ) think and act, the actions that they respect in the locals that they associate with, and the gap between their thoughts and what especially the Brown Sahibs think matter in their superiors opinion. Without causing "spoilers" for any prospective readers, the fact that it was Sabhrai, the non-English speaking wife of Buta Singh who made the most impact on the Taylors, sufficient enough to make a most important decision favouring the Singhs', goes on to show this point. Besides, the author shows how the rest of the family are lost in their own worlds - self indulgent, serving their egos, while the uneducated Sabhrai is possibly the only genuine person. It is a pointer to show how the genuineness of a person makes an impression that cannot be denied. In effect these qualities of a class, who directly interacted with the English are shown in such a context, I felt that this show casing this must have been one of the prime objectives of the author. For example, look at this observation that the author has made, to portray how much Buta Singh's son Sher, and his daughter-in-law Champak live in their own worlds:

"Sher Singh and his wife were too full of themselves to listen to each other's tales. They both abandoned the attempt."

Bhuta Singh, the efficient magistrate who had won the respect of Taylor the deputy commissioner, is so absorbed in his own importance. The author makes another observation which would've been a somewhat prominent one, for him to make it and stress it. It is tantamount to insisting on the importance of genuineness.

"Presiding over the two extremes was his father with his conveniently dual morality:'keep up with both sides.' For him loyalties were not as important as the ability to get away with the impression of having them."

The other aspects that I enjoyed in this book, are the observations from the author about the way of life of an Indian. He makes two such observations, both related to rain.

The first is about the Monsoon (which figured prominently in another book from another Indian, an authoress, Anita Desai, which I just completed - so the Monsoon is pivotal to the Indian.)

"To know India and her people, one has to know the monsoon. it is not enough to read about it in books,or see it on the cinema screen, or read it in books, or see it on 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."

The fundamental difference with which the European and the Indian looks at Rain is the second observation.

"An Indian’s attitude to clouds and rain remains fundamentally different from that of the Europeans. To the one, clouds are symbols of hope; to the other, those of despair. The Indian scans the heavens and if cumulus clouds blot out the sun his heart fills with joy. The European looks up and if there is no silver lining edging the clouds his depression deepens. The Indian talks of someone he respects and looks up to as a great shadow, like the one cast by the clouds when they cover the sun. The European, on the other hand, looks on a shadow as something evil[…]. An Indian, when the rains come, runs out into the streets shouting with joy and lets himself be soaked to the skin. "

If one enjoys the way that Khushwant Singh writes, not probably a novel in its' most theoretical presentation as it were, but in his own winding way - narrated through an identified third person, once in a while taking off to present a cultural insight - then one is likely to enjoy this book. To me personally, although it didn't supersede "Train to Pakistan", it is indeed an important work of fiction that can proudly carry the author's credentials.