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.