Review: The Kite Runner

Books are a man’s best friend. How true! You do not have to adjust to it unlike a few friends you might have but instead the books will adjust themselves to you. Now those are the one’s we refer to as true friends. I find it ironic that most of the Bollywood movies show the cool guy to be the ‘one-who-rides-fast-bikes-and-ruffles-girls’-hair-and-has-the-name-as-Raj’ types but in reality the smart guys are the ones’ who actually read books. Well if you’re an idiot who doesn’t know anything but just ride a bike and fight a rogue you don’t have any other option but to stupidly ruffle your girl’s hair!
Having said that, I recently read a not so recent book, The Kite Runner; not finding time during college to catch up with the novels is such a frustration, trust me! This is a one-of-its-kind-book that I have read in a long time. The author Khaleed Hosseini, an Afghani who was granted political asylum in the U.S is a truly gifted man. He spins in a web so intricate and so strong that you will hardly know whether you’re reading a book or watching a movie. The most astonishing part is his ease with human emotions. He knows exactly when to break or make a person.
Set in the 1960’s Afghanistan, when it was under monarchy, the book spans across 3 decades and traces the life of Amir, the protagonist, through the different political situations in Afghanistan. But eventually you will find that he is not the ‘only’ hero! You may have read Sydney Sheldon’s fast paced, the super-smart women kind of novels, or the Jeffery Archer’s politically and satirically motivated ones’ or even the cult symbology and religious blasphemy of the fame of Dan Brown but I bet you wouldn’t have come across a more true to life novel which would have made you think! ‘Thought’- now that’s the key word! You read a magazine, or the newspaper, or watch the news or even the saas-bahu rona-dhona but would you say any of them have given your right part of the brain any work? Agreed, you grab information, you calculate, you emote; but you never think! You read about a bomb-blast, feel sorry for the people and feel relieved that it wasn’t you; you read about the market soaring, you calculate the next month’s grocery; you watch a movie with a lot of sci-fi, you ogle at the hero/heroine, worry about their fortunes throughout the movie and come back as if it just changed your attitude towards life but later realize that it is not the case; but here, you do the unthinkable- you think! You think about Amir’s life, you think about Hassan’s misfortune, you do not just feel sorry- you think; about the circumstances which led to it, about the situation, about the selfishness and goodness, about bravery and cowardice, about the people of Afghanistan and then you COMPARE! You compare it with your own life, you introspect- you find out if you’re Amir, Hassan or Sohrab!
Amir is the only son of a rich Afghan father, whose mother dies at childbirth. They’re served by their loyal servants of more than 40 years, the paralysis struck Ali and his son Hassan. Amir is nothing like his father: a soccer player in his hay days, a strong Afghani, who always stands for what is right and the one who is respected by everybody. Amir was weak, fragile, low of self-esteem and most important of all he was Baba’s (his father’s) son who is his mother’s killer! Hassan was better in everything Amir was good at except in education, being a hazara, he is denied of education. The childhood of the two boys is filled with fun and frolic except at times when Amir has to show his dissent towards his baba’s liking of Hassan- that’s when traces of Amir’s dark side comes to the fore. But Amir’s chance of redeeming himself in his father’s eyes comes in the form of the kite flying tournament. Amir was really good at it and with the aid of Hassan- who is not only an expert gauge but also the best kite-runner: the ritual that follows the kite-flying competition wherein the captor of the last fallen kite-which is a medallion, a souvenir, is the person who goes home with the most coveted appreciation.
In the winter of 1975 when the kite-flying tournament is held, though Amir wins the tournament, he is confronted to make a choice that changes not only his life but the life of many others. He is held with not only a terrible secret but also the guilt, of cowardice, his inability, his helplessness and also his selfishness. The story then travels across to the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, and the family of baba and Amir are forced to escape to America. Here Amir grows up to be a fine young man amidst his other Afghanis. His flair for writing stories from his young age is nurtured and made to realize through his baba’s unwavering devotion and love towards his son. Though Amir has to think about his career as a budding novelist, his intrest in the beautiful general’s daughter, Soraya Taheeri, who is an outcast because of her explosive past, his ailing baba, he is never free from his guilt. He is blessed with a wondrous wife in Soraya, a promising career, but the loss of his baba, leaves Amir to fight the new battles that come along on his own. He is recalled by his old friend, Rahim Khan, who tells him about his past, his truth and also his chance at redemption.
The book is stunningly simple in its language, powerful in its human traits, characteristics and emotions. Its take on the Taliban lays the gives us nothing but the naked truth of the sufferings and torture of the people in the name of religion. How even the people of the same religion are ashamed the goings on and about the self-righteous people with murderous intensions and insomniacs and psychopaths who pleasure violence and killing and thinking that they are doing the work of God!
Most importantly, we relate to the protagonist, his weakness, self-centered attitude and his guilt. He is in a lot of ways most of us are. We fail to be bold, we fail to stand up to the people who trust us and have faith in us, we fail to understand ourselves and most importantly we fail to understand our mistakes. A lot of us may carry our mistakes and guilt of not rectifying the same to our graves. But we fail to understand that a lot of us have a choice – a choice of redeeming ourselves of our mistakes. Amir takes the chance and redeems himself of his mistake, his guilt and his weaknesses. But given a chance and a choice, are we prepared to redeem ourselves, is the question that rings as we end the book.
‘The Kite Runner’ is a must read book and a movie of the same name was also released in 2007 by the director of ‘Finding Neverland’ fame. It garnered one Academy award nomination and two Golden Globe award nominations for its exceptional story, screenplay and cinematography. For those of you who are of ‘Raj’ types or the non – readers, I suggest you watch the movie and try to understand the satisfaction that is derived from redeeming ourselves of our mistakes. As the author says, ‘There is a chance to be good again.’

Eternal Matrimony!

Today is a day to behold, to cherish and feel special about ourselves. Not because we’ve done something great; not something because the world which we live in has done something historic and ground-breaking; but just because WE are fortunate enough to witness the grand marriage that will happen only after another hundred years- the marriage of the celestials; the marriage truly made in HEAVEN!
Many times the Sun- the male; the yang; has cajoled, proposed and even begged to marry….. The Moon- the female; the yin; has been ever alluding him. But the promise of the sun and the beauty of the moon; his power and her intelligence; his aura and her calmness; his fiery will and her unwavering serendipity; could not keep them apart for long. It became evident to everybody that the moon couldn’t say no this time round.
But the moon had her reasons I guess. The Sun was the Emperor’s Son, ruling the vast kingdom benevolently. The moon is but a common man’s daughter. Virtuous and pure of heart she may be, but it’s only a matter of time before the fire would die and there would only be the wailing waters for the moon’s stupidity and her loss. Her mother- Earth could only stand by and watch; after all whoever had the gut’s to defy or in this case deny the king? The king is an impatient and ruthless man; though he may be the protector, the benefactor of many; he too has his limits. The gaunt face, the fiery will, the exuding power, the effortless charm- all pulled the moon into an infatuation so strong that she eventually took the bait.
In that moment of pure innocent love (or lust?) she lost herself in his embrace…. To his power and all things that made him great! He inched closer… all the way not losing sight of her, he lost himself into her and she unto him…. For what seemed like an eternity they stayed together, slowly and effortlessly and they slip into ecstasy. And at the moment of eternal happiness the Sun presents the Moon what every women desires, a magnificent ring, the light glinting feverishly and precariously in a god-like halo. They do it again and again and the whole aura of their oneness is seen, cherished ,blessed and revered by the minions, the power-less creatures who are spell bound by this super natural bliss!
But the union lasts for only so long and the Sun has to go back, to his duty, to his rule that even he himself cannot bend, to the other beneficiaries and promising the moon that he will return; but it’s the moon who understands, that sacrifice is the ultimate power which not even love can overpower; the sacrifice that will light a billion lives, provide food, happiness and all that is good that the nature can afford to give……… for she knows that one day He will return….. Even if she has to wait……….
WAIT FOR ANOTHER 100 YEARS!!
And what do we, the powerless minions, who say we understand the holy matrimony, we understand the sacrifice, we understand the natural bliss, do if we were the moon or the sun………………………………..
I know what we would have done………….. We would have been selfish, we would lose unto ourselves in our hour of ecstasy but would not have lit a billion lives………………………………………………………………………….
We would have RUN!!
Even in this era of technological revolution, the era of scientific development; we are overawed, we are overpowered; we are mystified with nature’s might. We might as well remain in nature’s good books if we have to remain beneficiaries……. Of all that nature has to provide, of all that nature has to bestow…..
In the hope that ONE day….. We might look back and appreciate what a fine work the hand of GOD has done!!

Passport.................Verification?

The police station in India holds no great sight to the beholder. A big white arching board ‘nameplating ‘ the station, lots of people; at times one could find a sentry with a rifle holstered (in case of some high ranking official making a visit) and a meek doorway- all the makings a sight foreboding to the harmless visitor. Ever wondered what a harmless visitor wanted from a dingy police station?

THE PASSPORT VERIFICATION! You may be the richest man around, or willing to make ‘small arrangements’ with the officials, but whatever may be the means, you had to visit the police station! Its nothing like the Bollywood movie station which is clean, orderly, with a few police officials, the ones with huge mustaches, rotund bellies, jovial faced(or hard faced),ready to help the public(or otherwise) who are present. One thing that you notice when you enter the station is the astounding disorderliness. My god! Even the Brownian Experiment of randomness would take a backseat! A chaos exists but unlike the one you may have ever witnessed- this chaos if you could call that is somewhat subdued! Another thing that you can see is that there are a lot of people in uniform or without it but seemingly official looking standing for as long as one can remember. There are only a few desks with fewer chairs. Three or more burly police officials stand at the side of what seems like a reception or query desk without any indication for being one. One has to with certain uncertainty enquire about the passport verification process on which one will be directed to a passport sections (believe me! we really do have such a section in each station). But this will turn out to be another dingy cubicle in the dingy station. An official with oiled hair and neatly groomed mustache seated at a table would ask you to produce a telephone bill (a recent one and a one which is a year old), this I presume is your address proof; and also your marks card (Xth STD) with two passport size photographs, this is supposed to be our age and photo verification respectively. You’ll be asked to write a statement saying that you do not have any criminal cases against you anywhere in the country. This done you will be asked some obvious questions which you would already have mentioned in your statement- your name, address, livelihood etc. (In my case the most absurd thing was my father’s name, because he was speaking to my father using his first name for more than 10 minutes with my father making it clear to him at least 3 times that I was his son in that time interval). After that, he picks up a form, uses country glue to crudely stick the photographs lopsided at a threateningly irritating angle, glue trickling all over the neat photograph you would have produced. With his large fists and even larger force your photograph is pounded. This will not only make it rotate by a few more degrees but also your face becomes somewhat distorted and batterered in the photograph. This ritual is repeated in another of the big ledger books of yesteryear moneylenders’ fame (Ever thought of computers and computerization?). We are asked to sign on our own photographs (to this day I don’t understand why?). Once this is done, you’ll be taken into the room of the station in charge (he DOES have a room and a dedicated desk at his disposal! How lucky!). The room has a board on the wall with numerous handcuffs, a Gandhi photo frame and an almirah of paper work. A collection of dilapidated rifles adorns the entrance (I guess a lone guy with an AK-47 can tear down the place in the blink of an eye). There the supervisor takes one look at us and signs in lopsided handwriting.

The policeman who had rough-handled our photographs will then ask for ‘tea-charges’ (purely unofficial, without a receipt and of course doesn’t even come close to a bribe). But this ‘tea’ my friend will cost you more than 1 full bag of Red-Label tea powder- anything below 100 is rejected and only after you have provided for the ‘tea’ can you leave for your business.

But beyond everything else you will notice how oblivious the rest of the station is to a harmless visitor. The lone cell at the end of a dingy corner will be home to pairs of beady eyes for god knows how long. Three or more people will be seated on a bench that can hold only two, presumably brought in for questioning. A constable can be seen hitting a youth accused for attempts to try and impress a girl (love failures-like suicide attempts and some insomniacs-stalkers) if you are unlucky (or in case you like violence- lucky?). A few more eavesdroppers and some convicts or whoever they might be being led from the lock-up and are given breakfast. A talk about murder, rape or a report about a thief or some deceased is always the gossip.

I have not always been drawn towards policing people- but after this verification process any aspirations of stepping into that khaki uniform just vaporized into thin air. I’ll always remain the harmless person who visited the station for a procedure that would allow me to visit foreign lands and allow me to post more blogs of things which I might find interesting. I may be being mean, but in reality a lot of us are really scared and in a sense may be in awe of the few who are brave enough to opt for a job that kills the emotions- love, kindness, and shame. How many of us can slap a fellow so hard that his teeth might fall off and return to our normal selves unperturbed? It’s definitely not my cup of tea!