N Nivedita

Book Review:: Wise and Otherwise [A salute to life] by Sudha Murty

Divenita — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 16:24:13 +0000

Wise and Otherwise by Sudha Murty

Simple, full of wisdom and crisp, the experiences penned by Sudha Murty will give you a new window to life.

Be it the story of her Mathematics Teacher who was a simpleton and lived a humble life or the sorry state of a old woman who was unfortunately struck with leprosy and did not even have a saree to drape herself. She was freezing naked in her hut and Sudha ma’am gifted her and many others in that area. What a blow on the face! And many such stories which revolve around simple incidents in our life. And, the lesson sketched from it is worth emulation.

The short stories [each story no longer than 4 pages] will leave you wiser. Tales about experiences sprinkled by her simple narration will leave you waiting for more.

The author has done nothing extraordinary with the anecdotes. The experiences itself are so strong that you will feel the power of it as you read it. Sudha ma’am has narrated them in first person and you feel she is sitting right beside you narrating her experiences and the lessons she has learnt from it.

One must not take life too seriously but then learning a lesson and imbibing it into your life will certainly make one wiser and empathetic towards others.

Having read 25 stories [of the 51] over a month, it took me some time to sit back and ponder on the issues and Sudha ma’am’s experiences. This is part 1 of the review. I will continue my review after I have completed the entire book.

to be cont’d

Sonalika::An Attempt

Divenita — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 07:15:30 +0000

Generously, she smokes and she drinks
A spendthrift.
Before an expenditure, forgets to think

Accompanies us wherever we go
Without us,
A different world she doesn’t know

Sometimes makes our journey a trouble
If we complain too much,
She begins to grumble

Nevertheless, our companion
Sonalika
Often responsible for our union

Note: Sonalika is the cab in which we travel sometimes. Wonder where our driver got hold of this cab. It smokes — emits a lot of pollutants.. Drinks — Petrol ..Grumbles — stops in between..

Before the end of our day, all my cabmates call me and tell me “Hey..Nivi.. today Sonalika ” So it unites us in a way

Silence::Poetry

Divenita — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 07:43:03 +0000

Silence and me,

sit together,

sip some hand-made tea.

Munching on words,

leaving aside the ones we dread.

Relish the sentences,

The ones we love once said.

The clock sings “Tick.. Tock..”

Ah! At a distance

On the bricks of alphabet,

lays the forbidden platter of thoughts

Hungry! we mischievously divulge

Carefully pick the ones in which we’d love to indulge

Belly full of unpleasant thoughts!

No more are we famished

Between battling eyelids and twitching it’s eyes,

breathes the silence for respite

Agneepath Poem Translation

Divenita — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 09:08:18 +0000

Path of Fire
I have tried to translate the poem “Agneepath” written by Harivansh Rai Bachan. No points for guessing, I saw the movie yesterday and the poem has been lingering on my mind since then. I tried translating in its essence and not the word. But without the word “Agneepath” it sounds horrible. Any idea on a more powerful English counterpart of the word “Agneepath.”
Till then, munch on this!

From the generous tree,
Mammoth, dense and green
Ask not the shade even from a leaf!
Ask not! Ask not!

Stop not or
turn aback!
Walk ahead !
Walk ahead !
Take the pledge
Take the pledge

This is such a breathtaking scene
Bathed in tears, sweat and blood
Walking together, man is seen

Any corrections, help will do!

Short Story:: Bitter Half

Divenita — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 09:59:35 +0000

He stormed out. And the door shivered banging continuously. She barged into her room and dropped on the bed. Hugging the pillow, she wept. Inconsolably.

Rubbing her running nose and wiping her tears, she remembered her mother’s words “You will suffer Priyu for what you are doing….As a boyfriend Abhi will be the sweetest.. you will get to know when he becomes a husband.. things will change, Priyu..You cannot take it alone!”

She had coolly remarked “Abhi is not like Nana, Amma…”

“Priyamavada.. “ her mother screamed, as Priyamvada Rao was packing her clothes to live a blissful life with Abhimanyu Tripathi, her college sweetheart and now, husband.

“mind your tongue. You’ve gone mad … when you begin to live together, you will know the pain..Money is important too.. Love will not buy you things..” her mother advised before Priyamvada left the home to live with Abhi.

She remembered the innumerable advices that poured in when she decided to leave her home and get married to Abhi. One of her school mates had advised “Aiyoo.. Priyu.. why do you want marry North Indian re? They only look fair and nice re.. Even Akka loved my neighbor but luckily Amma had saved her.”

Priyamavada laughed and had brushed all the thoughts, aside then. She knew Abhi too well and all these were mere foolish comparisons.

But, why did she think of it now? She wiped her tears and looked for her phone. She looked around the one BHK flat. Finally, she found her phone, lying near the stove. They had purchased it and most of the essentials mortgaging her gold ornaments.

She had taken it while leaving home for buying the essential items for survival till Abhi and she secure a job.

In haste, she dialed his old number. When the electronic message read. She realized that they had changed their numbers.

She searched for his new number and dialed it. Her heart beat faster and the phone rang.

Tring.. Tring..

It rang.. Abhi took a last puff and finally threw the cigarette. He ignored his phone which rang incessantly. The phone vibrated again. It was a message. It read “I am very sorry.. .. Come home.. I miss you..” He messaged “In a while. I love you!”

She replied “I love you a lot..”

He purchased the third cigarette at the Pan Shop and paid 3 rupees to him. The Pan shop owner said in a monotonous tone.. “Four rupees..”

And, he handed it over to him, after searching his pockets thoroughly. He reminisced the Pan shop wala near college where his account was still due, and smiled. His friends and he used to purchase packets and go on long drives.

He consulted his friends when he decided to go against his family’s wishes and marry Priyamwada. His friend Prajwal had suggested, “Don’t worry yaar..We are there for you… My uncle works in a company.. and we can manage a job..His term is about to end but we can manage… ”

“you leave your home and another one BHK flat is ready for you.. You earn and you can even pay for your college fees..” Prajwal encouraged

After a lot of contemplation, Abhimanyu decided to move out of his home. He had convinced Priyamwada too. She was skeptical in the beginning but eventually agreed. After all, they felt they were inseparable and nothing could separate them. In the beginning, they tried convincing their respective parents . Their denial and their fury, forced them to take the extreme step of revolting against them.

After a lot of melodrama at Priyamwada’s home, she left the home. Taking her father’s curse and her mother’s advice against the wedding, Priyamwada Rao walked out. Abhimanyu’s family refused to even talk with him.

Abhimanyu and Priyamwada finally moved out to make a life of their own.

But by the time, they had decided to move out, Prajwal’s uncle term had end and the management had changed. They had decided to recruit only candidates with an year or more of experience.

Prajwal’s uncle had tried but failed to help Abhi. When Prajwal broke the news to Abhimanyu, he was shattered.

Prajwal said “No worries yaar.. we will manage..” “But still, it would take time!” Abhi thought

How would they complete their education? How would Priyamwada pursue her ambition? How long would the mortgaged money last? Their friends were still in college too! How long would they help them? And how much would they help?

That evening, the battle of “I told you so..” “We should have listened to our parents..” followed and for the first time, they felt the harsh pinch of reality.

Abhimanyu walked back to his home, kicking the stone that lay on the road. He could not think anything. He went to the flat and found the door still open.

He went in to see Priyamwada still crying. He hugged her tight. She said “Don’t worry.. we still have some of the ornaments to be mortgaged..”
“Hmm..” Abhi hushed her.

After hours of incomprehensible silence,

each of them had a glassful of milk and slept.

The next morning, Abhimanyu was still lying down on his bed. Hoping the day would be better, Just then, he heard Priyamwada scream ..”Abhiiiiiiiiiiiiii… “

He jumped out of his bed.. and ran to her.. she cried “My jewellary is missing..”

Book Review:: Old Man and His God by Sudha Murty

Divenita — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 17:04:45 +0000

What do a slab in a little village in Karnataka and a teacher have in common? How can a highly qualified working woman be jealous of her domestic help living in a small slum? Is blood relationship the only guarantee for a lifelong bond?

Answering several questions with her anecdotes, Sudha Murty’s The Old Man and His God is a collection of 25 stories. The stories itself are so strong that even without a great narrative style, the book leaves a indelible mark on your mind.

Simple and lucid, the twenty stories are incidents and stories that Sudha Murty experiences in her journey through the length and breadth of the country. Sudha Murty is the chairperson of the Infosys Foundation. She also teaches Computer Science to post graduate students.

My favourite stories are the Horregallu. The story is set in a village in Karnataka. Horregallu means “a stone that can bear weight.” And, Sudha Murty narrates how her grandfather used to sit on the Horregallu and speak to farmers who are on their way to the city carrying the burden of their produce. Speaking to them and then going on their work, would be a refreshing experience. She then tells that at her workplace, a teacher does a similar job. She just listens and advices accordingly.

An excerpt of the same story:

Perhaps in their own small ways, without access to great wealth, both these people were doing some tremendous social work. No one thought of acknowledging their work, or rewarding them for it, but they continues to do, as these small acts of kindness gave them joy.

The story reminded me of several listeners in my life who do it compassionately. And, it does take a lot of patience and commitment to be interested in others problems, while you have your own. So, when you read this story, do think of the listeners in your life and acknowledge them in your own little way.

The 131-paged book can be rated a comfortable 3.5/5. Do read it for the powerful experiences and the invaluable lessons that the author gift wrapped in this book. Each story is about four pages long so one can comfortably munch on it between work or busy hours for motivation.

You can purchase it here

Book Review::Children of War by Anirudh Annam

Divenita — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 08:37:52 +0000

Action packed and racy, Children of War is a book which will take you on an adrenaline rush. The back drop is a team who endeavour to nail down terrorists who threaten our country.

The protagonist of the book is Lt. Col. Aryan Ved. He has a team named Black One. His team mates include Sylvester, Neha and Sanjana. They are specially trained to counter the terrorists who plot against India.

But sometimes, the team needs to sacrifice even their lives to save the country.

Will they have to do it to save a part of our capital from being bombed?

Although it is a 488-paged novel, yet the author has made all attempts to make it as interesting and adventurous.

The scenes have been described very vividly. It makes the reader feel that he/she is watching the entire book live.

While dealing with sensitive issues, the author has not tried to provoke any ill sentiments

but encouraged the team and indirectly us to give it back to those who’ve taken advantage of our lethargy and our “patience.”

Read the book to know more. You can purchase it here.

Some basic questions like “Why don’t we really form a Black One team?”

“Can we combat and save the innocent?”

“Isn’t Ahimsa the ultimate savior?” crossed my mind.

The author has not lost his focus, which shows he is well read. The grammatical errors are minimal as well.

Will rate the book a 3.75/5.

For the Author’s Interview, read here

Don 2

Divenita — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 17:40:49 +0000

It’s thrilling to watch a movie first day, first show. Amid whistles and cries of joy, watching the movie gives you an unmatched sense of euphoria. Something you would never experience watching a movie alone!

Being a Shahrukh Fan, its my responsibility to watch his movies, first day . And, it was a treat to watch the Stylish Shahrukh. The film has a lot of unexpected twists and turns. Farhan Akhtar has done a good job again.

Shot in Thailand, Berlin, this film urges you to be a Don. Such style and panache, Shahrukh carries himself as a Don. You wish to be one too. .

If you’re a Shahrukh Fan, then this one’s for you. If you ain’t, watch it for the style. Or rather, it wouldn’t make much of a difference if you did not as Priyanka Chopra or Lara Dutta, even in their sexiest avatars cannot match the King Khan’s charm.

There are few scenes, which are hard to believe but with Shahrukh around, you can coolly ignore them.
P.S.: Thanks Sanjeev [If not for you, i would never have watched the movie in 3D]

Rajendra Prasad’s Movies

Divenita — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 17:48:29 +0000

An insecure middle class husband; a miserly father; a great friend to an animal or a employee buttering his boss. Name any role and Telugu Actor Rajendra Prasad has portrayed it differently. With his average looks and blowing a fresh breeze of comedy in the 80s, Rajendra Prasad had become a household name in every Telugu Middle Class Family.

In an era, when both the man and his wife worked hard [mostly in a bank] to make both ends meet, Rajendra Prasad added spice and fun to the mundane life with his acting. He has done thorough justice to the vision of directors like Jandhyala. His movies are usually based in houses or offices, which most middle class families can relate to. His apprehensions, his confusion and above all, his new perspective to films, made him entertaining and a “true hero.”
He empathised, he understood and most importantly, he viewed common problems in a lighter vein.

His most unforgettable role according to me is the role of the husband, which he plays differently every time. The variety he brings to the 70mm screen in commendable. Be it Appa Rao—Rajendrudu or the imitation of a miserly father-in-law (Kota Srinivas Rao), Rajendra Prasad has done it all, perfectly. The scripts he chose was commendable. In movies like Aha Na Pellanta where brilliant actors, Brahmanandam (his debut) and Kota Srinivas Rao among them, Rajendra Prasad had sketched his own success.

Often known for the miserly-like characters, Rajendra Prasad had set new bars for actors and encouraged “making a fool of oneself.”
The movies such as Rendu Rellu Aaru, Donga Kollu, Kobbari Bondam, Iddaru Pellala Muddula Police, April 01st Vidudhala, Rajendrudu Gajendrudu, Quick Gun Murugan are some of the remarkable comedy roles played by Rajendra Prasad.

An engineer by degree, Rajendra Prasad at the age of 19, decided to pursue his passion. I’m glad he did. After Brahmanandam, Telugu Film Industry is blessed to have Rajendra Prasad (I feel). He has sketched a new genre for actors in the 80s. When most people liked to don the Superhero-like characters, Rajendra Prasad did characters which any simple Telugu middle class Family could relate too.

*His movies can be watched and thoroughly enjoyed any time, if you know Telugu*
101 things I like: Watching Rajendra Prasad movies

Short Story::Being Good

Divenita — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 07:56:29 +0000

Bittu had been taught by his Grandfather. “Be Good.” Like a parrot, he imitated him. Till the virtue was rooted in his heart.
His grandfather, a Gandhian, always preached him “Truth is ultimate,” “Be righteous,” etc and many such principles which are oft read but seldom followed. Yet, Grandfather emulated them.

Bittu had decided to emulate his Grandfather. Bittu’s friends often laughed at him. His friends teased “You will remain a stupid boy, Bittu. Who cares? Be practical”
Bittu wouldn’t listen. His grandfather had followed the principles and so would he, he determined. Over the years, the strength and belief was questioned many times and Bittu, theoretically answered them, right.

Soon, he had to bid farewell to his alma mater. His friends advised him “Bittu, be careful. Others will eat your goodness up”
Bittu smiled “Don’t worry. Truth is with me.”

They shared their fond memories of togetherness before parting into the real world. Bittu had to push his way through to open the gates to the world. He did it patiently, hence it took longer for him to walk with his head held “just right.”
Nevertheless, he stood firm on the values taught my grandfather. Into the world, he pushed himself too. There were many pit stops, many people he met.

Some camouflaged with goodness, some were painted in greed but smiled like an innocent baby. Bittu walked along. After a while, he couldn’t differentiate. It was difficult to choose between wrong and right. How can i choose? They look same.
He was loved, hated and discouraged. He got fooled, robbed, and finally dumped by fate.

He wanted to run back and open the gates and go back to his Grandfather. But, he would not be respected. Grandfather would not say a word. But deep down, Grandfather would be upset.

Bittu did not want that to happen. He would prove his friends right if he went back too.

Upset and worried, Bittu sat on a footpath nearby. It was empty. He wondered why no one sat on it. Perhaps, they were too busy fooling and getting fooled he thought.
He looked around. He saw that the path behind. It lead to a road. A dirty road, filled with mud and gravel. It was unkempt, stinking but there was no one. Ah! Smelled of Peace.

Bittu decided to walk the road. He was overwhelmed by treachery. He wanted to be alone for a while and the stink did not reach his nose either. Bittu wondered why.
He kept walking and walking, the filthy road turned filthier. The road was filled with wastes, kitsch. He saw some people there and asked him not to go ahead. Bittu was worried. What why were they so shabby and looked at his reflection in a pool nearby.

He looked so different. His eyes were red. His hair was long and his clothes were dirty. Bittu looked at his reflection, closely. He smiled. The spark in him was amiss. Should he go back?
But, he did not want to. The path ahead would be dirty too he thought. But he did not want to give up.
He had to see what was there at the end of the road. After contemplating, he walked ahead, trying to cross the puddle but landing into bigger ones.
The dirt would kiss him anyway, Bittu thought. There was no way back, now was anyone here to cheat or judge him. So he dropped all his fears and walked fiercely.
His legs grew tired but his strong will and the immense hope in him, motivated him. Finally, he reached the end of the road. There was nothing there. Bittu looked around.

There must be something here, he thought. But it was empty. He walked the entire stretch for this barren land? He thought.

The weariness and a severe blow on his faith had shattered Bittu. He sat at a stone nearby. He cribbed and cursed himself. Were my friends always right, he wondered.
And then, he heard a voice. A beautiful voice singing in the corner of the land. He ran up to her and asked her who she was.

She was a blind girl. Her voice was soothing. Bittu asked her to sing the song again. There was some power in her voice which made him smile and brush all his thoughts away. She smiled..

And sang:
I canst see the what beneath thy feet
Neither victory nor defeat
But I for sure know that what matters is to stay right
Nothing may help me but the faith within will shine bright
There’s no harm in feeding a spoonful of joy
Better than the bitter taste of hatred, O! boy
He smiled as she sang. He learned the song
And soon…. He sang along
*Suggested by a friend to write a story with a poem*