People, places and what triggers you to make faces

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Anuk Arudpragasam wins

Anuk Arudpragasam’s novel The Story of a Brief Marriage has won the Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize 2017.

A native of Colombo, his work, according to shortlist judge Arshia Sattar, “presents the civil war in Sri Lanka like never before. Writing from within the debris of Tamil lives in prose that can pierce your heart, Arudpragasam’s protagonists find dignity as they piece together strategies of survival. The story is about the human spirit in the most desperate of times. It sings not as testament of glory but as a dirge of despair.

Judges Kamila Shamsie, Rohini Mohan and Margaret Mascarenhas were unanimous in their decision.

“Anuk Arudpragasam has written an extraordinary novel that is timely, timeless and universal in its depiction of the possibility of tenderness and love blossoming in the midst of the mind-numbing carnage, suffering and horror that is war. The Story of a Brief Marriage is mesmerizing from the first paragraph, and remains delicately poised between life and death from beginning to end,” said Mascarenhas.

Shamsie added, ‘It’s an exceptional accomplishment for any writer - for a debut writer it’s near miraculous.”

Mohan, winner of the Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize 2015, for her own Sri Lanka-based novel The Seasons of Trouble said, “Anuk has taken what is actually a sliver of a story, the briefest of moments, and suffused it with meaning. His spare, meditative writing lets the pain and delirium of conflict unfold, sometimes just through an injured bird.”   

Author and translator Sattar and poet and novelist Jeet Thayil chose this year's Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize shortlist from forty-seven titles submitted for consideration.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize 2017 Shortlist


Prayaag Akbar, Leila (Simon & Schuster)
Hirsh Sawhney, South Haven (HarperCollins)
Anuk Arudpragasam, The Story of a Brief Marriage
(HarperCollins)
Sumana Roy, How I Became a Tree (Aleph Book Company)
Tripti Lahiri, Maid In India (Aleph Book Company)
Tejaswini Apte-Rahm, These Circuses that Sweep Through the Landscape (Aleph Book Company)

Author and translator Arshia Sattar and poet and novelist Jeet Thayil chose this year's Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize 2017 shortlist from forty-seven titles submitted for consideration.

Judges Kamila Shamsie, Rohini Mohan and Margaret Mascarenhas will announce the winner in November.

Arshia Sattar writes: "The Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize is ten years old this year and even a quick glance at previous winners will show that the Prize has celebrated writing across genre, gender, age and nation. Our oldest winner so far was in his 70s, and the Prize has been awarded to Pakistanis, to writers of both fiction and non-fiction, to men and to women. It has been a pleasure to acknowledge the wealth and diversity of South Asian writing in this last decade and a privilege to spotlight new writing.

"This year’s shortlist of books and writers continues our commitment to finely-crafted writing and sophisticated thinking.

“Prayaag Akbar’s Leila is the heart-breaking story of a lost child and a shattered society. Entirely dystopic, it haunts not simply because it presents us with a terrifying future but because that portrait of unfreedom, inequality and brutality seems to already be part of our lived reality.

"Sumana Roy’s How I Became a Tree is an exquisite meditation on a personal decision to step away from a life that seemed to have everything but time. Roy shares what she has learned about and from trees through gentle essays that explore the natural world and reflect upon the human condition in the Anthropocene Age.

"Writing from the point of view of a young boy whose voice has not broken but whose heart has, Hirsh Sawhney’s South Haven tells the poignant story of an immigrant family, its men unable to cope with the death of their mother and wife. Father and sons drift away from each other as they seek solace in new people, new ideas and new activities. But things fall apart and the centre cannot hold. Sawhney relies on the pathos of his characters to reach the persistent melancholia that so often succeeds the sharp grief of bereavement.

"Maid in India by Tripti Lahiri eerily echoes Prayaag Akbar’s fictional dystopia as she goes deep into the multiple worlds that domestic workers inhabit. Lahiri also examines the employment and training agencies that keep the systems that supply and demand human beings well-oiled, and provides, in lucid prose devoid of emotional rhetoric, a picture of a society that thrives on entrenched structures of inequality.

"Anuk Arudpragasam’s novel A Brief History of a Marriage presents the civil war in Sri Lanka like never before. Writing from within the debris of Tamil lives in prose that can pierce your heart, Arudpragasam’s protagonists find dignity as they piece together strategies of survival. The story is about the human spirit in the most desperate of times. It sings not as testament of glory but as a dirge of despair.

"Tejaswini Apte-Rahm’s collection of short stories, These Circuses that Sweep Through the Landscape, is deceptively quiet in a literary world of noisy entries and exits. Alternately hyper and surreal, Apte-Rahm’s canvases are small. On them, her people and events are like ikons–they gleam with gilded details even as they occupy the darker recesses of contemporary life.

"Together, this year’s books remind us that in an increasingly brutal and fragmented world, families, communities and societies no longer provide safety nets, that individuals often feel stranded on the brink of an abyss. And yet, it is through literature that we can search for each other, it is in writing that we can create meaning as a bulwark against the tides of untruth that thunder on our shores."




Friday, June 30, 2017

Drinking deep

When you're young, you're so eager to inhale the intellectuals like Dostoyevsky and Sartre and de Beauvoir and then Donleavy and John Irving and even, godhelpus, Ayn Rand, but as life grips you by the balls, so to speak, you gotta get some release. Which is why my books are for my emotional pleasure only these days and my movies are of the John Wick variety.
Isn't Keanu great? Personal suffering seems to have taught him to be a nice guy and one of the things about nice guys is that they don't take themselves too seriously. Perfect casting for Wick, then. In the sequel (we wait with bated breath for the third instalment), there are 2 bits I particularly liked. The one with his new dog, where the dog and the concierge stare at each other ruminatively in the hotel lobby, and then where Claudia Gerini plays out a near-Lady Macbeth death scene that was gorgeous, rich in tone, rich in setting, rich in life lessons.
How Gerini combined dignity, grace, guts and a middle finger raised for all us chumps out there made for some perfect cinema.
Rapper Common added something to the mix as well with that hard, dangerous edge we love in both our heroes and our villains, and I was just happy-happy to drink deep for a little more than 2 hours.

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Life as we know it

I adore sci-fi movies. Alien and Predator being two of my favourites you can imagine my elation when they made Alien v Predator, shiite though that was. Life was something else entirely. The movie, I mean, the other is so ghastly the last thing I would do would be to bore you with it.
I like me some Ryan Reynolds and Jake G like everyone else but the movie was less thrilling and more disturbing because of its last scene. That was horror like they don't make 'em anymore. Whoa. No, I lie. The most awful thing I've ever seen on screen has to be Old Boy, worse than Clockwork Orange, worse than Caligula, the stuff of nightmares because some men actually sat and wrote that screenplay.
The movies are wonderful to people who don't have lives, I would think. If you read Roger Ebert you would know he lived fully through fiction. Like we now live through social media. I reach for my phone in the midst of insomnia, and reach for it again before I open my eyes in the morning. I know Brooklyn Beckham is at the gym after a skiing injury, that Skam has uploaded a new clip, that Sean Lowe's baby is the cutest thing on God's good earth, that Grigoriy Dobrygin's redheaded GF is beyond kooky, that Trump is straight up the Fifth Horseman of the apocalypse, that journalists in Syria keep me human and that Sweden has run out of rubbish. Like there's anything else I need to know.
Gotta go. Final episode of The Night Watchman just downloaded.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Pure instigation


Oh, No, I'm going to have to visit MAC again and brave the salespeople! It's not my fault. They've got  a perennial lure line called Punk Couture, names like Instigator and Pure Heroine and Studded Kiss. I can withstand anything but temptation, Oscar, how well you knew.

What just happened

You can't help but fangirl JK Rowling for her tenacity, her talent and fighting the crass and the crazed (see her Twitter), but this morning I mumbled Oh Joanne, Joanne and did the whole SMH thing. I had reached the last page of Career of Evil, you see, waiting for the sexual tension to be cut by a knife, with the same precision rendered to the limb that arrived on a secretary's desk and started the novel off. I waited. And I waited. And in the last line of the last page I realised that either Rowling has reached that stage of fame where editors are afraid to touch her, or she has lost her touch. It was all wrong.
The relationship between Detective Cormoran Strike and his partner, (we won't demean her by saying his Girl Friday), Robin Ellacott is one of the best things about Rowling's crime series, possibly better than her denouements and her sometimes too-populated pages, (I sometimes had to backread to keep track of who was who and what heinous crime each had committed), which nevertheless make for fun times. Characters like Shanker is a case in point, and no it isn't pronounced the Indian way, who reminds me of the wonderful Bubba in Dennis Lehane's Kensie and Gennaro books; how I would love to have one of them come charging over the hill to my rescue, no questions asked. Am I the only one with a Bodyguard on my wishlist?
But the genius subtleties between Cormoran and Robin, that's the thing. So to have it fended off time after time and then end on the worst possible note was aggravating and bewildering.
Do we finally look at the hitherto willow-in-a-typhoon Cormoran as broken in a battle between his head and his heart (i.e., the wuss of all wusses, make up your mind, for god's sake, Corm), and Robin as the kind of weak-willed character she herself despises, when they have been our heroes for 62 Chapters? Wtf.
Cormoran is sexy, imperfect and adorable; Robin is gorgeous, feisty and uncaring of gender when it comes to getting down and dirty in a fight, literally. But her last words show her to be indifferent to vows that are not to be taken lightly, in a setting where real love, which she has already found (and the way Rowling shows that without ever saying it is brilliant), should triumph. Well, I'm just lost.
Will I buy Book 4, Lethal White? Sigh. Of course.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

The Lady's Gone Ga-Ga

Watching Adele beat Beyonce three times made you think FAKE GRAMMYS! Beyonce is an outofthebox performer, she thinks, conceptualises and then uses costume and dance and vocals to give you an experience you never forget. Adele has a good voice but she is unremarkable, and then she messes up not one but two Grammy Live shows; one is forgivable, two is just being careless (much like second marriages).
Then there was Lady G. What in the world has happened to her? She was pure pop entertainment at one point, now she's wearing pink hats because she was "wearing a hat in the bathtub when she was writing" her Joanne album, or wearing nothing and singing with Metallica, unintelligibly. She's done things to her face - no, she was not born that way - and is trying too hard to be Real. That was when she was singing Bad Romance, or was with Tony Bennett, or doing a Julie Andrews homage. Now she's becoming a caricature, trying to "find herself", (no doubt we'll bump into her at an ashram in Pondicherry soon), and it's embarrassing to watch.
Talking about Real, that was Gary Clark Jr and William Bell doing Born Under a Bad Sign, which was my anthem growing up and even more relevant, alas, today. No histrionics, no epilepsy-inducing light shows in the background, no wearing a boob-baring male equivalent for attention - an embellished jockstrap perhaps? - it was just great, cool music.
But my favourite of the night was James Corden. What an entrance. It's not just that he's funny, he's genuine when dealing with others. I can't tolerate the Jimmys and their talk shows; you can tell they want to be more memorable than their guests. Like journalists who try to be more on-the-page than the people they're interviewing. 
Ego is something you have to own very delicately: It can be the gift that never stops giving in terms of creativity, or you can be Lady G.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Dear Leader

It never ceases to amaze me how in any given situation, put 5 people in a room and there will be 5 opinions. How can there be another opinion on Donald Trump? He's barking mad and he will finish this world off. Sad. I mean, 'Sad!' His Tweets are so depressing. He's juvenile, egoistic, misogynistic, doesn't know his own language and lies as though he invented the concept. And he is a mirror of the nearly 63 million people who voted for him. 63 million.
You think he's scary, Dear Leader's counsel Kellyanne Conway is more terrifying. That rictus makes me think she's about to rip aside the shower curtain, go Psycho and knife my naked ass.
They've even made news out of Melania, her expressions, her clothes, her blahblah. The only thing I remember about her was, years before her current infamy, when she was asked, "Would you have married Donald if he wasn't rich?" Her answer: "Would he have married me if I wasn't beautiful?" No and No, and there's nothing surprising about either, knowing the human species.
What was fun was social media, as always. There was one photo of Michelle and Hillary looking at each other, grimly, at the inauguration and the caption read, "Girl, I know, girl".