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Quotes From Here And There

Albert Einstein
Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction.
Dylan Thomas
I fell in love – that is the only expression I can think of – at once, and am still at the mercy of words, though sometimes now, knowing a little of their behavior very well, I think I can influence them slightly and have even learned to beat them now and then, which they appear to enjoy.
Eddie Cantor
It takes twenty years to become an overnight success.
Edward Abbey
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
e e cummings
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
Eyler Coates
We've all heard that a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters will eventually produce a masterpiece. Now, thanks to the Internet, we know this is not true.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Without music, life would be a mistake.
Gustave Flaubert
The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.
Going to the Opera is like making love; we get bored but we come back.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
If I love you, what business is it of yours?
John Steinbeck
Only through imitation do we develop toward originality.
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
There is no remedy so easy as books, which if they do not give cheerfulness, at least restore quiet to the most troubled mind.
Leonard Cohen
Ring the bells that still can ring;
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything;
That's how the light gets in.
Montaigne
The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.
Paul Sweeney
You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.
Peter Altenberg
I never dreamed of being Shakespeare or Goethe, and I never expected to hold the great mirror of truth up before the world; I dreamed only of being a little pocket mirror, the sort that a woman can carry in her purse; one that reflects small blemishes, and some great beauties, when held close enough to the heart.
Robert Frost
In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money.
Satchel Paige
Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody's watching.
Thomas Mann
A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
V S Naipaul
The writer has only to listen very carefully and with a clear heart to what people say to him, and ask the next question, and the next.

My Personal Library


Showing posts with label Nobel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nobel. Show all posts

Indian Education: The Essential Questions and Problems

This blog is written in response to the turmoil and choices I have faced over the last year and over the last couple of weeks in particular. It serves to analyze the notions and meaning of education and the sheer difficulty of realizing it in the Indian context. Sometimes, the discussion here may be so generic, simplistic and undeserving of the people I quote that it may seem little thought has gone into shaping the arguments. Yet, in the consciousness of the average Indian, questions of this nature are very rudimentary and the preconceptions very rigid. I have come to believe that the arguments below are essential to how I understand certain things that I increasingly regard to be very important in life. Also, since I have written this piece primarily as an identification of various factors that affect Indian education, I realize that the treatment here is very informal and can do with a great deal of systematic elaboration.

I remember an American movie where there is this dialogue:
The purpose of college is to make one think.
I came across this line years ago, and have yet to find any other definition of education so comprehensive as to capture the essential theme of the process of education so succinctly. No matter what form education may take - from the informal brainstorming, workshops, seminars and apprenticeships that go by various names to the formal lecture series, theses and dissertations - the very crux of it all is to impart to the learner the ability to think. There is very little success in education unless all the effort is singularly directed at developing this ability for independent thought. A quote may serve to clarify the difficulty of realizing this ideal in the Indian context: "Education to the Indian middle class is largely a job ticket carried in a wallet, or a designer shirt flaunted at a party. Education is acquired and owned, it does not permeate and transform people."

In much of our educational process, the background or the reasons are often eclipsed by the actual topic of study. There is little realization that the purpose of studying the former may not just be plain curiosity, but also so that we can better anticipate and live through the changes in our times. The result is a highly misplaced emphasis on the statement of facts, without having to deal with the accompanying motivations. For example, a science textbook may talk at great length about a discovery or invention without adequately considering the background of necessity and the reasons that led to the said discovery or invention. Or a history textbook may talk about events like wars, peace treaties, etc. without happening to put forth and analyze any motivations that propelled the events. Or a work of fiction might place great emphasis on the plot and its twists and turns without having much of the turmoil that a character faces or the philosophical musings that characterize and capture for the reader a bygone time and place and that lend it the greatness that story-telling alone cannot. Though the past may seem very obvious to us, its changes were lived as a novelty by the people of those times. History shows how ill-prepared we always are for change, fumbling through our inventions and revolutions. Education that turns its back on the future while satiating its preoccupation with the past does not fulfill its purpose. We cannot view the future through the prism of the past, but it would be foolish to know the history of one's existence without knowing the reasons and the path of our greatness, the mistakes committed and the lessons learned therefrom. Yet this closed-door-closed-mind policy seems to be increasingly a problem with our nations, religions, and 'civilizations'.

Much greater is the problem when even the actual topic of study is not considered as important enough to be discussed as the fame and the aura surrounding it. An example of this inanity can be found here. The common man must rely on the media for understanding the many events that befall our little, crazy world. Unfortunately, the mediapersons are themselves so uninformed and quite often so full of mediocrity and the accompanying arrogance that little light is shed upon the essential aspects and the peripheral (mis)information is all that one can get. So, one could have watched a prominent journalist talk patronizingly to lawyer-minister Mr. Kapil Sibal, without having done his homework on the nuclear liability bill or the foreign universities' legislation or the right to education act. Or you could have seen the failure behind the coverage of the parliament proceedings in consideration of the finance bill (including the communist and other parties staging protests outside the parliament, the destruction of public property, the 'reform' of the Jharkhand government, and the murkiness of CBI waters) without the media taking a moment to put forth what exact change is proposed by the legislation and how is it supposed to make things better or worse for the aam aadmi.

Education is singularly about recognizing the questions as being equally important as the answers, if not more. When it is reduced to its basic form, instruction, it becomes a one-way street. Slowly, the teacher-student relationship is transformed into a pedagogue-follower one, and the interaction is poisoned with a lack of questions, atleast the 'whys'. At this point, there is very little to be had from further pursuit of such study except familiarity with the subject being studied. It is perhaps the worst form of education one can receive even when it is delivered in a highly refined manner. In India, we seem to be largely familiar with this and only this form, completely disregarding the two other pillars of education viz. research and facilitation/mentorship. The fact that we are saddled with shoddy instructors only makes matters worse. We do not seem to be alarmed at the complete lack in our educational system of the ability to ask essential questions, while we are concerned with exasperating and often unimportant details like saffronization of history textbooks and reservations. And then we wonder why we don't have internationally acclaimed institutions (commensurate with our populace) that produce world-class thinkers and innovators.

Another thing that we never seem to consider is how functional the entire educational system of our country is. We have a great heritage of arts, literature, mathematics, natural and social sciences from which we might claim whole new schools of thought, extremely rich, robust and comparable alternatives to the current lines of thought as existing in the West. Yet, the achievements of our educational institutions lie merely in understanding, replicating and propagating systems of thought and conduct of affairs borrowed from the West, and amongst these only those that have any immediate practical value. I am not in favour of lambasting the West and its educational heritage; my whole education (as that of most Indians who are considered literate/educated) has been in the pedagogic traditions laid down by the British. However, a generally widespread ignorance of the existence of Indian pre-colonial traditions of thought and an unwillingness to develop and incorporate these side by side with the Western legacy of education in the hallowed portals of even the best of our educational institutions is proof of how little we understand of our past. This functional approach to education is crippling and takes away from it many of the ideals that education tries to inculcate. In the essay 'Indian Traditions and the Western Imagination' from 'The Argumentative Indian', Amartya Sen argues:
While it is true that any useful knowledge gives its possessor some power in one form or another, this may not be the most remarkable aspect of that knowledge, nor the primary reason for which this knowledge is sought. Indeed, the process of learning can accommodate considerable motivational variations without becoming a functionalist enterprise of some grosser kind. An epistemic methodology that sees the pursuit of knowledge as entirely congruent with the search for power is a great deal more cunning than wise. It can needlessly undermine the value of knowledge in satisfying curiosity and interest; it significantly weakens one of the profound characteristics of human beings.

Our best institutions have sprung from the need for imparting professional education. So we have the IITs to deal with technology, IIMs to deal with management, and a recently strengthening string of national schools of law to deal with imparting legal education. These institutions lay claim to arguably the best minds in the country as far as 'talent' is concerned, as also the biggest share of state patronage in the form of funds allotted by the government to further the cause of education. Also, due to the tendency of good researchers to cluster at the best institutions, these schools have arguably the best faculty. However, all these institutions mainly impart education in the professional (read functional) spheres! We have yet to see comparable institutions that serve as centers of higher learning in liberal arts, performing arts, music, cinema (yes there is the overarching FTII, but what else), literature, philosophy (Every once in a while, one hears eminent colleges in Bombay shutting down this department due to a lack of students wanting to study philosophy.), political strategy and ethics, change in favour of social equity, etc. There are institutions that serve to understand these causes but they are fragmented islands of thought, often afflicted with dogma, corruption in ideals and practical affairs, and without the ability to connect to other schools of thought around the country and to bring about a constructive change in the society. Quite often, they might simply be 'educating' people with neither the academic rigor nor the inclination to question, change or innovate in their various streams of study, because a 'sharp' mind becomes accustomed in its very impressionable stage to the exclusive idea of the necessity of attending a professional school. Nothing can be sadder than this extremely functional approach to education, leading to the very slow but nevertheless persistent process of decay in many important areas of study and research.

The chemist Hofmann (who taught Perkins, father of the dyestuff industry and inventor of aniline mauve and mordants) in one of his addresses said,
Whenever one of your chemical friends, full of enthusiasm, exhibits and explains to you his newly discovered compound, you will not cool his noble ardour by asking him that most terrible of all questions: 'What is its use? Will your compound bleach or dye? Will it shave? May it be used as a substitute for leather?' Let him quietly go on with his work. The dye, the leather, will make their appearance in due time. Let him, I repeat, perform his task. Let him indulge in the pursuit of truth - of truth pure and simple - of truth not for the sake of Mauve - let him pursue truth for the sake of truth.
What Hofmann is speaking against is an overt emphasis on the functionalist approach to education.

More recently, in response to a question on why India is unable to produce a global management school, Jagdish N Sheth associated with the Goizueta Business School opined,
The main issue with Indian institutes is that they only concentrate on teaching and not research. We still have a system of knowledge dissemination and not knowledge creation. Our excellence lies in our admission process...
He may as well have been speaking for the educational structure that mars the entire country.

The problem of a functionalist approach is something the West deals with very well, by not merely responding to the need of the industry and by recognizing that the unconditioned consciousness does not recognize the divisions between the various streams of study that we have created for the convenience of organization and specialization. So the universities in the West have schools that study political thought and change, classics (including their mythological heritage in Greek and Latin), socio-economic change and its repercussions, etc. in addition to the professional streams. These schools are highly vibrant and respected centers of learning, have splendid infrastructure and generous funding, and are vied for by students. This competitive excellence in streams of non-professional study must come from a deep recognition of the fact that political philosophy and economic ingenuity play as important a role in the vision of a nation or civilization as technological progress. Indeed, studies that have immediate tangible value cannot be advanced without progress in the underlying 'pure' fields such as physics, economics, linguistics, etc. A healthy stance towards learning in all spheres is important if we are to protect the wholistic nature of education from decay.

Another issue that is related to the functional aspect of Indian education is the positive versus normative divide (terms of perspectives used mainly in economic study). A nation that has left the reins of rule and thought to outsiders for centuries cannot wake up all of a sudden and start asking stirring questions. So, as far as it concerns positive studies, the study of true and false, we are good at it. This might perhaps be the reason why Indians do so well in the sphere of sciences and why the IITs (despite their lack of extravagant infrastructure) are recognized the world over for their contribution in sciences and technology. However, when it comes to the normative questions, the questions of good versus bad and right versus wrong, we seem to get uncomfortable and squeamish and prefer to keep it beneath veneers. In a land which not only has rampant corruption, prejudice, and a general lack of awareness or questioning about ethics but also recognizes these as a part of life to be given no greater attention than the very act of breathing, it can be very difficult for a common next-door conditioned mind to comprehend the fallacy of acts such as propagating venality, not being passionate about one's work, paying "donations for a seat in an educational institute", prejudice against sexual minorities, etc. Such an attitude transforms itself into an educational failure in social sciences which rely heavily on the normative line of thought, because prejudice cripples the mind of any ability for independent, constructive thought.

The question of divisions between the various streams of study brings us to another important issue that is hardly ever considered in the Indian milieu. I have become aware of this flaw after having read of it in an unlikely but appropriate place, and have become increasingly observant to it cropping up in everyday questions pertinent to my education and of those around me. While it focuses much on literature, it is equally applicable to understanding the pitfalls of education in general. In the preface to The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing says:

It starts when the child is as young as five or six, when he arrives at school. It starts with marks, rewards, 'places', 'streams', stars - and still in many places, stripes. This horse-race mentality, the victor and loser way of thinking, leads to 'Writer X is, is not, a few paces ahead of Writer Y. Writer Y has fallen behind. In his last book, Writer Z has shown himself as better then Writer A.' From the very beginning, the child is trained to think in this way: always in terms of comparison, of success, and of failure. It is a weeding-out system: the weaker get discouraged and fall out; a system designed to produce a few winners who are always in competition with each other. It is my belief - though this is not the place to develop this - that the talents every child has, regardless of his official 'IQ', could stay with him through life, to enrich him and everybody else, if these talents were not regarded as commodities with a value in the success-stakes.

The other thing taught from the start is to distrust one's own judgement. Children are taught submission to authority, how to search for other people's opinions and decisions, and how to quote and comply.

As in the political sphere, the child is always taught that he is free, a democrat, with a free will and a free mind, lives in a free country, makes his own decisions. At the same time, he is a prisoner of the assumptions and dogmas of his time, which he does not question, because he has never been told they exist. By the time a young person has reached the age when he has to choose (we still take for granted that a choice is inevitable) between the arts and science, he often chooses the arts because he feels that here is humanity, freedom, choice. He does not know that he is already moulded by a system: he does not know that the choice itself is the result of a false dichotomy rooted in the heart of our culture. Those who do sense this, and who don't wish to subject themselves to further moulding by a system, tend to leave, in a half unconscious, instinctive attempt to find work where they won't be divided against themselves. With all our institutions, from the police force to academia, from medicine to politics, we give little attention to people who leave - that process of elimination that goes on all the time and which excludes, very early, those likely to be original and reforming, leaving those attracted to a thing because that is what they are already like. A young policeman leaves the Force saying he doesn't like what he has to do. A young teacher leaves teaching, her idealism snubbed. This social mechanism goes almost unnoticed - yet it is as powerful as any in keeping our institution rigid and oppressive.

These children who have spent years inside the training system become critics and reviewers, and cannot give what the author, the artist, so foolishly asks for - imaginative and original judgement. What they can do, and what they do very well, is to tell the writer how the book or play accords with current patterns of feeling and thinking - the climate of opinion. They are like litmus paper. They are wind guages - invaluable. They are the most sensitive of barometers of public opinion. You can see changes of mood and opinion here sooner than anywhere except in the political field - it is because these are people whose whole education has been just that - to look outside themselves for their opinions, to adapt themselves to authority figures, to 'received opinion' - a marvelously revealing phrase.

It may be that there is no other way of educating people. Possibly, but I don't believe that. In the meantime, it would be a help at least to describe things properly, to call things by their right names. Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: 'You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of doctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show you how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others, will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself - educating your own judgement. Those that stay must remember, always and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.'

Lessing talks about the imaginary division between arts and science. In India, we seem to have kept the division but altered its banks. We have an unwritten but nevertheless quite rigid and oppressive hierarchy: science, commerce, arts. Mental ability (often construed as talent) dictates what one pursues, often with little or no justification in terms of talent, temperament, or inclination. However, most Indians concerned with science have some liking for the Arts and do dabble (sometimes quite successfully) in artistic activities they like. The same cannot be said for the people in arts dabbling in the Sciences, not because of lack of inclination or ability but because it is difficult to succeed in science without sustained training inputs. The bottomline is that the divisions between arts and science have been a lot more fuzzy than the ones between unseemly commerce and science/arts. Indeed, arts and sciences share topics such as logic and certain esoteric parts of philosophy; and attitudes are often found on the wrong sides of the divide - it is not uncommon to find scientists and technologists having a highly emotional, attached attitude to work, something identified easily in artists; likewise, it is not hard to find people associated with literature and philosophy utilize scientific methods and detached attitudes in analyzing the connections and repercussions of work in their domain. On the other hand, commerce is considered to be separate from science/arts. It is rare to find a person with a good degree of knowledge in both commerce and science/arts, unless the person belongs or has belonged to both sides.

In order to clearly understand the nature of graduate studies in CSE and management and the sort of career to be expected later, I recently met a few of my friends who have already handled such studies before. I was surprised (though I shouldn't have been) to learn that people invariably thought a dichotomy was staring me in the face, that a choice was inevitable. Now, quite a few areas of study in economics and finance can be understood easily by engineers who are usually trained in optimization; broadly speaking, economics and finance are essentially studies in optimization themselves. Surprisingly, a huge share of the managers you find in Indian B-schools are engineers who don't want to be engineers anymore, and seem to see management as a kind of escape route and not as an applicatory augmentation of their already acquired analytical skills. It surprised me to find that even people with a CSE background who had chosen to study management were consciously clueless that a lot of topics studied in management intersected with CSE, viz. financial engineering, decision sciences, operations and logistics, etc. Indeed, they believed that they had made a complete 'switch'. Also, there is very little inclination in an MBA student to do academic research, though I must blame this on the utilitarian nature of the curricula followed. On the other hand, the people who were pursuing graduate degrees in CSE and were involved in heavy-duty research seemed to think of the MBA as a completely different way of life (which it is) and were again clueless that any academic research happened in the sphere of management. I believe that CSE is perhaps the only engineering stream that generally intersects almost all other spheres of scientific study, and that it shares more than just a few subjects of interest with management. And yet, graduates of this stream with immense possibility, whether they pursued CSE or management, came to believe that they had made a choice between the two which Lessing calls "the result of a false dichotomy rooted in the heart of our culture."

The Lessing identified division between arts and science has been transformed in the Indian context into a commerce versus arts/science divide. And both are equally convenient, imaginary and ridiculous. For example, consider a painting, obviously a work of art. Yet its valuation and its tenability as an investment option is a question in commerce and its trends. Likewise, its preservation is a question that chemical scientists and practitioners must answer. Also, with a flower, you may write a poem about it, dissect it for its various morphological parts, or go sell it in the market. The various streams simply serve as perspectives to look at a single thing. In everyday life, it is extremely easy to observe, if one is aware and alert, as to how these seemingly different principal streams of study run into each other, feed off each other, and are dependent on each other. And how a perspective allows us to think of a thing without creating conflict, and is best used for this purpose alone and not to limit the horizons of thought. In my belief, a truly educated mind can change perspectives, can wear various hats, and in this must never be constrained by its wish or its dexterity in accommodating these perspectives, although ability may be a straitjacket, easily gotten rid of with some effort.

Since this is just a blogpost and not a formal essay, here's more from the highly interesting and educative preface to The Golden Notebook:

Meanwhile there is a country where...

Thirty or forty years ago, a critic made a private list of writers and poets which he, personally, considered made up what was invaluable in literature, dismissing all others. This list he defended lengthily in print, for The List instantly became a subject of much debate. Millions of words were written for and against - schools and sects, for and against, came into being. The argument, all these years later, still continues... no one finds this state of affairs sad or ridiculous...

Where there are critical books of immense complexity and learning, dealing, but often at second or third hand, with original work - novels, plays, stories. The people who write these books form a stratum in universities across the world - they are an international phenomenon, the top layer of literary academia. Their lives are spent in criticizing, and in criticizing each other's criticism. They at least regard this activity as more important than the original work. It is possible for literary students to spend more time reading criticism and criticism of criticism than they spend reading poetry, novels, biography, stories. A great many people regard this state of affairs as quite normal, and not sad and ridiculous...

When I recently read an essay about Antony and Cleopatra by a boy shortly to take A levels. It was full of originality and excitement about the play, the feeling that any real teaching about literature aims to produce. The essay was returned by the teacher like this: I cannot mark this essay, you haven't quoted from the authorities. Few teachers would regard this as sad and ridiculous...

Where people who consider themselves educated, and indeed as superior to and more refined than ordinary non-reading people, will come up to a writer and congratulate him or her on getting a good review somewhere - but will not consider it necessary to read the book in question, or ever to think that what they are interested in is success...

Where when a book comes out on a certain subject, let's say star-gazing, instantly a dozen colleges, societies, television programmes write to the author asking him to come and speak about star-gazing. The last thing it occurs to them to do is to read the book. This behaviour is considered quite normal, and not ridiculous at all...

Where a young man or woman, reviewer or critic, who has not read more of a writer's work than the book in front of him, will write patronizingly, or as if rather bored with the whole business, or as if considering how many marks to give an essay, about the writer in question - who might have written fifteen books, and have been writing for twenty or thirty years - giving the said writer instruction on what to write next, and how. No one thinks this is absurd, certainly not the young person, critic or reviewer, who has been taught to patronize and itemize everyone for years, from Shakespeare downwards.

Where a Professor of Archaeology can write of a South American tribe which has advanced knowledge of plants, and of medicine and of psychological methods: 'The astonishing thing is that these people have no written language...' And no one thinks him absurd.

Where, on the occasion of a centenary of Shelley, in the same week and in three different literary periodicals, three young men, of identical education, from our identical universities, can write critical pieces about Shelley, damning him with the faintest possible praise, and in identically the same tone, as if they were doing Shelley a great favour to mention him at all - and no one seems to think that such a thing can indicate that there is something seriously wrong with our literary system.

Winner Of The First Australia-Asia Literary Award

"There's a huge change coming very fast and this prize is giving a glimpse of that future." Nury Vittachi, judge and founding board member of the Asia-Pacific Writing Partnership.

DAVID MALOUF has won the inaugural Australia-Asia Literary Award for his short story collection The Complete Stories.

The AU$110,000 award, which was created by the former Labor government in Western Australia, is worth AU$10,000 more than the next richest, the Prime Minister's Literary Award, and is given for fiction by writers resident in, or outside Australia, writing primarily about Australia or Asia.

Malouf was "very pleased to be the first recipient". He welcomed the award, and praised it as unique among state literary prizes.

"There is certainly no other literary prize where Australia is the initiator which takes in Asia like this does, so it's a very good thing that we're looking outwards rather than inwards as we tend to do" he said.

The Complete Stories won from a very strong shortlist, including The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid (shortlisted for the 2007 Man Booker Prize), The Lost Dog by Michelle de Kretser (longlisted for the Booker), Blood Kin by Ceridwen Dovey, and Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital.

The longlist, culled from 111 entries, also had plenty of dazzle, including the Nobel laureate J.M. Coetzee (Diary Of A Bad Year), Haruki Murakami (After Dark), Rodney Hall (Love Without Hope) and Alex Miller (Landscape Of Farewell).

"It's a wonderful piece of writing, a combination of decades of work, and it captures the human condition in such a deep and intense way," said Nury Vittachi, a member of the judging panel, along with the Pakistani author Kamila Shamsie, and the Australian critic Peter Craven. Vittachi is also a founding board member of the Asia-Pacific Writing Partnership.

"His characters are very ordinary people and he captures the intense joys and sadness of ordinary life."

Vittachi agreed the decision to award the prize to a book of short stories was unusual.

"It might usually go to a novel. But there's an ancient story form called a bracelet, where you have a sequence of stand-alone stories which when read together have as much power as a single, united novel. We thought this book worked as just such a bracelet."

Vittachi sees the award as a means to divine the region's literary future.

"This award is special as it has a focus on a particular region, a region where there are 4 billion people," Vittachi said.

"The future of our cultural entertainment will be here. We're looking for a new Asia-Pacific flavour, as that is a good pointer to what the new literature will be. There's a huge change coming very fast and this prize is giving a glimpse of that future."

Malouf said he hoped "booksellers, publishers and the media get behind the prize in the way they do for the Miles Franklin Award".

Australia-Asia Literary Award Shortlist

  • Michelle DE KRETSER The Lost Dog Publisher: Allen & Unwin
  • Mohsin HAMID The Reluctant Fundamentalist Publisher: Penguin
  • David MALOUF The Complete Stories Publisher: Random House
  • Ceridwen DOVEY Blood Kin Publisher: Atlantic Books
  • Janette TURNER HOSPITAL Orpheus Lost Publisher: HarperCollins

Australia-Asia Literary Award Longlist

  • J.M. COETZEE Diary of a Bad Year Publisher: Random House Group Ltd
  • Matthew CONDON The Trout Opera Publisher: Random House (Vintage)
  • Michelle DE KRETSER The Lost Dog Publisher: Allen & Unwin
  • Ceridwen DOVEY Blood Kin Publisher: Atlantic Books
  • Rodney HALL Love without Hope Publisher: Pan Macmillan
  • Mohsin HAMID The Reluctant Fundamentalist Publisher: Penguin
  • Mireille JUCHAU Burning In Giramondo Publishing
  • David MALOUF The Complete Stories Publisher: Random House
  • Alex MILLER Landscape of Farewell Publisher: Allen & Unwin
  • Haruki MURAKAMI After Dark Translator: Jay Rubin Publisher: Random House Group
  • Indra SINHA Animal’s People Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
  • Janette TURNER HOSPITAL Orpheus Lost Publisher: HarperCollins
-from The Sydney Morning Herald, November 22, 2008.

Nadine Gordimer's Coming To Bombay!!!

We've a chance to witness a book reading by Nadine Gordimer in Bombay. Nadine Gordimer has won the Nobel for literature, the Booker, James Tait Black Memorial Prize, and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize for the best book from Africa. The details are reproduced below. Thanks to Peter Griffin of Caferati for the tip.

Ministry of External Affairs (Public Diplomacy Division),
Sahitya Akademi & The Asiatic Society of Mumbai

cordially invite you to a book reading
by
Dr. Nadine Gordimer distinguished South African writer and Nobel laureate
on
Sunday, 9 November 2008
At 10.30 a.m.

Venue: The Durbar Hall, The Asiatic Society of Mumbai Town Hall,
Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg, Fort, Mumbai - 400 023.

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk

Title:- My Name Is Red
Genre:- Fiction
Subgenre:- Novel
Author:- Orhan Pamuk
Translator:- Erdağ M. Göknar
Publisher:- Random House
ISBN Number:- 0-375-70685-2
Price:- US $ 14.95/Canada $ 22.95/Rs. 220

The Blurb

At once a fiendishly devious mystery, a beguiling love story, and a brilliant symposium on the power of art, My Name Is Red is a transporting tale set amid the splendor and religious intrigue of sixteenth-century Istanbul.

The Sultan has commissioned a cadre of the most acclaimed artists in the land to create a great book celebrating the glories of his realm. Their task: to illuminate the work in the European style. But because figurative art can be deemed an affront to Islam, this commission is a dangerous proposition indeed. And when one of the master miniaturists disappears, the only clue to the mystery lies in the half-finished illuminations themselves. Part fantasy and part philosophical puzzle, My Name Is Red is a kaleidoscopic journey into the introspection of art, religion, love, sex, and power.

The Review

Easily the most talked about book of 2007, ‘My Name Is Red’ by the turkish author Orhan Pamuk has been in the limelight for all sorts of reasons. It has had the honour of being the most critically acclaimed work of Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk, as well as suffered ignominy at the hands of Turkish fundamentalists, leading to the prosecution of Turkey’s most fearless and talented living novelist.

The novel recounts the story of four master miniaturists engaged at the royal atelier in the creation of a commemorative story in verse, the Book Of Festivities to mark the thousandth anniversary of the Hegira. Their work is to illustrate and embellish the book in the Venetian style making use of the techniques of perspective and idolatry, which were at the time deemed an affront to Islam. When one of the master miniaturists protests, he is found killed at the bottom of a well. The quest for the killer played against the backdrop of sixteenth-century Istanbul and the tragic courtship of Black, a miniaturist and Shekure, Enishte Effendi’s daughter make for a compelling read.

Like all great novels, the unraveling mystery becomes a metaphor for the unfolding of human spirit and conscience. However, what is most remarkable about Pamuk and what sets him apart from his coevals is the extent of scholarship and omniscience that he commands. It places him as a Turkish master in the cohorts of Dickens, Proust and Mann - arguably the greatest writers of English, French and German respectively. Incidentally, Mann himself won the Nobel in 1929 for The Motion Mountain.

Though the theme of the novel concentrates on the philosophical questions of the need and importance of style and signature in the arts of painting and illustration, Pamuk manages to lighten the mood by using the motifs of Nusret Hoja and the upcoming coffeehouse. The latter is depicted as the cynosure of all depravity where dervishes dance late into the night and blasphemous stories are retold in a bid to pollute people’s minds.

Each book has its moments, and this novel is no exception. Perhaps the most poignant moment is the one when Master Osman, the head miniaturist of the royal atelier, cloyed by the sight of the most perfect of all paintings in the royal treasury, blinds himself with the same plume needle that the master of masters Bihzad had once used to blind himself. Also Nizami’s tale of Husrev and Shirin has been evoked a countless number of times, and to good use.

Pamuk manages to concoct a wonderful fantasy hemmed by melancholy and tragedy in a way nobody has ever done before. It is ironic that Pamuk who secretly advocates the futility of style in the book has inadvertently ended up creating a very realistic, spartan and distinct style all his own.

Title:- Chokher Bali – A Grain Of Sand
Genre:- Fiction

Subgenre:- Novel

Author:- Rabindranath Tagore

Translator:- Sreejata Guha

Publisher:- Penguin Books

ISBN Number:- 0-14-303035-3

Price:- Rs. 250


The Blurb

Chokher Bali: A Grain Of Sand is Nobel Prize-winning author Rabindranath Tagore’s classic exposition of an extramarital affair that takes place within the confines of a joint family.

It is the story of the rich, flamboyant Mahendra and his simple, demure, beautiful w
ife Asha – a young couple who are befriended by the pragmatic Behari. Their cosy domestic scenario undergoes great upheaval with the introduction of the vivacious Binodini, a young, attractive widow who comes to live with them. Asha and Binodini become bosom pals. Binodini is initially drawn to Behari but then begins to respond to the advances of Mahendra, who has become obsessively attracted to her. After several twists and turns, Binodini elopes with Mahendra, leaving the entire family in turmoil.

On the one hand,
Chokher Bali: A Grain Of Sand is a sensational account of two illicit relationships: Mahendra’s infatuation with Binodini which blkinds him to everything else, and Binodini’s secret passion for Behari of which she is never able to speak of. On the other hand, it is a complex tapestry woven by the emotional interplay between five finely etched characters: the impulsive Mahendra, his adoring mother Rajlakshmi, the frail and sensitive Asha, the strong, silent Behari, and the self-willed and irresistibly attractive Binodini.

A compelling portrayal of the complexity of relationships and of human character, this landmark novel is just as powerful and thought-provoking today as it was a hundred years ago, when it was written.


The Review

Published in 1903, Chokher Bali is claimed by many to be the first modern novel written in India. And its publication seems to be as coincidental as that of Gitanjali, the book of poems which won for India her first Nobel and for Tagore, international acclaim. Shrisha Chandra had restarted the magazine Bangadarshan and Tagore’s name had been added to the list of contributors. The latter took it upon himself to write a serialized novel for the magazine, his efforts resulting in the genesis of his first novel Chokher Bali. In the view of these circumstances, it is understandable why Tagore’s novel bears a strong resemblance in its subject to Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyaya’s Bishbriksha (The Poison Tree), the serialized novel which had earlier appeared in Bangadarshan and which was published in 1873. And indeed Tagore does make explicit references to Bishbriksha in Chokher Bali.

Chokher Bali
is Binodini’s novel. Binodini – a young, beautiful and charming widow and the grain of sand in Asha’s eye. The novel revolves around Binodini, capturing her in all her avatars – as a hapless widow, as a gamine, as a seductress, and as a repentant woman. Tagore lends expression to her longings and fancies in immense detail, so much so that at some points the narrative becomes a tacit debate on love, longing, morality and relationships. And in doing so, he manages to make you fall in love with her.

Chokher Bali
represents the literary equivalent of the place of miniature art in painting and illustration. The story by its plot itself is nothing to rave about – it might be better suited for scurrilous paperbacks that line the shelves of dusty bookshops and railway bookstalls. However Tagore manages to weave a beautiful variegated fabric out of threads of very few colours. His narrative retains a tension which does not lose you till the very end, due credit for which must go to the translator for understanding the ethos of such a simple and splendid novel.

One observes
the conspicuous absence of judgement on the part of the author, which makes the turn of events and the whims and decisions of the characters as natural as the fluttering of leaves on a sweltering summer noon or the flow of a gushing river. The complexity of the narrative rests on the emotional turmoil suffusing it and not on the turns and twists of the plot (though there are many of those too). Also Chokher Bali is suffused with a spiritual aura which Tagore connoisseurs have learnt to recognize as the hallmark of Tagore’s writings.

Tagore’s novel is as simple and as complicated as only a true exposition of love can be. Go, rediscover love.


 

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