Perfect Bait

(Spoilers ahead- Do not read if you haven’t watched the show)

I binge-watched ‘Thirteen Reasons Why’ a couple of days ago. Seems everyone’s been talking about it and considering it deals with an issue- mental health- that’s close to my heart, I finished up thirteen episodes in two days.

At the risk of angering a lot of people out there, I’m going to go ahead and say I was terribly disappointed. What could have been an incredible opportunity to address the vitally sensitive issues of ‘identity’ and ‘self-worth’ for teenagers growing up in aggressive and unfriendly environment, was wasted on having a blue-eyed boy with a perpetually hurt/lost/semi-constipated expression running about chasing answers which have already been given to him. I kept wanting to yell, “Just listen to the damn tapes and let’s be done with this!”.

Then there’s the girl- Hannah. Porcelain-skinned, grey-eyed, witty, ever-trusting Hannah. On one hand, she is a bad-ass who storms into a boys’ locker room to yell at someone, stands up to her friend and asserts her right to dignity by refusing to be used as a shield, shoves the student president off her when he tries feeling her up to impress his friends. And then somehow other times, she winds up being a floundering soul who repeatedly makes dumb decisions, trusting the wrong people and navigating through a clearly marked course of self-destruction despite seeming to possess the maturity that most of her school mates lack.

The pivotal night where Hannah witnesses Bryce raping Jessica brings out a lot of the gritty stuff that needs to be talked about- peer pressure, the value of consent, handling rape trauma. Jessica’s denial of being a rape victim was perhaps my favorite characterization in this show. She consistently proves her capability to self-destruct and yet maintains a façade to protect herself and for that I love her.

But Hannah is another story. How does she manage to wander into Bryce’s party a few weeks later, strip down to her underwear to sit in a hot tub in HIS house? Are we meant to be shocked that he’d succeed in raping her? And where was her voice in fighting it?

All of Hannah’s thirteen reasons put forth the same whiny narrative, “I know what you’re thinking… I brought this on myself…I could have done something… but you weren’t there… you didn’t try hard enough…”

Clay makes several attempts to empathize with her and save for a momentary lapse in the pilot episode, abstains from judging her based on her reputation for promiscuity. I was confounded with her reasoning for putting him on the tape. At no point do we see Hannah dealing with her parents or even considering how much they love her. All her reasons include friends from school and even a counselor. And they show that she has a good relationship with her mother and father (unless some plot bombs being saved for possible season 2)

I think they key issue is responsibility. With her thirteen tapes, Hannah is transferring the responsibility of her life to others, intending to plague them with guilt. Clay keeps saying, “We all did it.” Is the stupid shit you do in school something worth bearing such a heavy burden for?

In no way do I mean to belittle the struggles of people with depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts. I can never begin to understand what it’s like to not want to live anymore. But what I am challenging is the notion of ending your life based on the expectation that people are meant to save you and keep trying to get you to open up. What is the value we place on the gift of existence when it is so convenient to seek reasons to throw it all away?

Some days are hard

I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to see anyone’s face

I let my daughter eat bowls of cheese balls for lunch and take-out pizza for dinner

The heap of laundry remains neglected in the basket, gathering a musty odor

Dirty dishes collect in the sink till all the cupboards are empty and we have to turn to disposable cutlery

I pour myself a drink and sit on the kitchen floor, taking bigger swigs than necessary

The television is tired as well, of playing the same cartoons over and over again to entertain a child.

It will all be okay in the end, I know it.

But for now please let me fall apart, let me hate my life, let me pity myself.

And tomorrow I will get up, brush my teeth, wash my face and feel better enough to resume the cycle of living.

Just finished with this book- Memnoch, the Devil, by Anne Rice. Intrigued by the book blurb, I picked it up at a flea market. However, it was the most disappointing drag of a read I’ve put myself through recently and my resolution to finish every book I start kept me ploughing reluctantly through it. Not sure if I would have enjoyed it more if I’d read the previous books in Rice’s Vampire Chronicles.

The basic premise of this is the Devil’s Story told to Lestat, the damned Vampire; it is the story of Creation, Revelations, how Memnoch went from guardian angel to the Accuser- Satan. Linking the chronology of the tale is the idea of Heaven, purgatory, human suffering and what entails redemption & the controversial questioning of God’s wisdom. Is it fair that he creates creatures and humans to roam this planet and then forsakes them? In his plan, everything will be made right in the end, but does that justify the stories of those who are living finite lives and will never see the true wholeness of it all? Is he always right?

There are some nuggets that made me go- Wooaaaahhhh! in a good way,like a surprising ray of hope in an achingly dull book. Here is an insightful confession of a wandering soul in Sheol (purgatory):

‘We have forgiven Him. And all of us have done it for various reasons, but forgiveness of God, that we have attained. We accept that our lives have been wondrous experiences, and worth the pain and suffering, and we cherish now the joy we knew, and the moments of harmony, and we have forgiven Him for not ever explaining it all to us, for not justifying it, not punishing the bad or rewarding the good, or whatever else it is that all these souls, living and dead, expect of Him. We forgive Him. We don’t know, but we suspect that maybe He knows a great secret about how all this pain could come to pass and still be good. And if he doesn’t want to tell, He is God. But whatever, we forgive Him and we love him in our forgiveness, even though we know He may never care about any of us, any more than He cares for the pebbles on a beach below.”

A succinct consolation for perhaps the looming question that haunts most thinkers- Why God, why? 

Contrary to the belief that Heaven is for good people and Hell for evil, it is this ‘idea’ that truly furthers one to heaven, the idea that forgiveness and acceptance of His every action despite their consequences on us. For even a person who has done nothing but good in their lives, can be found languishing with unfulfilled wishes and a crazed questioning of their destiny. 

Let’s come to Memnoch. In his own words, this is his role:

“Hell is where I straighten our that He has made wrong. Hell is where I reintroduce a frame of mind that might have existed had suffering never destroyed it! Hell is where I teach men and women that they can be better than He is.”

For me, this statement is the seed of the entire book as it makes me question my beliefs, the ingrained sense of goodness and evil, and that maybe evil isn’t really evil, but a cleansing of God’s rampant work. It also freaks me out because even though I’m not the most religious person, there is a warm portion of my being which holds a permanent, unquestioning faith in His power; and now to imagine that in the end all I am is a pawn in a battle between God and Satan and the state of my soul rests on this outcome.

In a quest to broaden my horizons, I've taken up reading works by foreign authors that have been translated. The latest one has been the Neapolitan series by Italian author Elena Ferrante , her pen-name as she believes that isolating her identity from her work enables her to focus on the writing process better.  Ann Goldstein has translated this series to English and is also seen as the face of Ferrante and thus protect the author's anonymity. These books are such page-turners, which suck you in with their simplicity, allure and ability to induce contemplation. One of the features I abuse in Kindle Paperwhite is the 'highlight' option. I mean in a way it's kind of disrupting when you're getting into the flow of a book as a reader , and the writer within you jumps at the discovery of intricately crafted sentences that make you want to read them over and over again, and save them for later.

The series is a set of four books, told in a retrospective manner. Actually I shouldn't be writing this analysis right now because I'm still mid-way through the second novel only. But I'm thoroughly gripped and inspired , so penning at this stage is essential before it all falls out of my head.

The story is about the relationship between two girls- Elena, the narrator & Lila, her friend and muse- and its evolution they grow. It's not an entirely harmonious one but rather filled with confusion, frustration, brutal frankness that defies principles of kindness ; often you'll find yourself asking the question- But why are they doing this to each other when there is so much love? The answer probably lies in the cliched adage " A true friend knows you better than you know yourself." And therein lies the problem and the solution.

I don't really want to talk about the story in depth because that's not the purpose. My fascination is with this product of a collaboration between two people- writer and translator,each unique individuals with their own creative compositions who take a story and bring it to life with different sets of words in their own languages. Look at the multitude of processes that take place. First, Elena builds a story, giving life to a city and its characters, weaving multiple themes with tactful ease that provide just enough depth without burdening the reader. Then she presents this to Ann, who has to take it all in, in its entirety first, and then dissect each chapter, paragraph, sentence, word; and then re-construct with caution to emanate the emotion and intention of the author. How does she maintain the balance between restraining the reflex of her own voice eager to gush and make its way into the words & maintaining a mechanical stance of pure language conversion? How much humility must these women have to recognize each other's art in the final product, even if they are at differing proportions?

I watched the Masterchef Australia 2016 Finale last night.The contestants were Elena, known for her elegant and inventive style versus Matt, a soulful and passionate cook. Matt has been my favorite throughout the seasons and I have been literally praying for him to make it to the Finals. According to me, no one deserved it more, not even the diligent and sweet Elena.

It is remarkable to watch the depth of human kindness and capabilities displayed through cooking and food. There were several instances when I was touched to the point of tears; when the contestants saw their families had come to support them and the tightness of each embrace, the point at which they’d realized they’d messed up and their faces falling with the realization of the possibility of losing that trophy, when they helped each despite their own struggles. 

And when Elena was declared the winner, I was so deeply sad for Matt and how a crack in an egg cost him dearly. I wept buckets when he froze and saw the shells come apart, knowing then that he’d lost his chance to be the winner. His wife then came down and held him. I’m crying even now as I write this. It was just too much.

It truly is so reflective of life, that even with all our efforts and fortitude and greedy aspirations for the prize, the final test isn’t fair and apt to measure our true worth. And yet we have to sit down and finish it, give it our best and pray.

This song is such an intense cocktail of loveliness that one can’t help but be moved by the voice, the tune and the overall message of the words. Poetry at its true best. Written by Gulzar, composed by R D Burman and sung by Asha Bhosle.

Here are a few lines

Mera kuch saamaan tumhare paas pada hai O’ saavan ke kuch bheege bheege din rakhe hain aur mere ik khat main lipti raat padi hai vo raat bhujaa do, mera vo saamaan lauta do

Picture a suitcase filled with rainy days and unquenched nights wrapped in letters. 

Wake up late.

Like really late. Where you don’t know if your meal is a brunch or lunch.

Eat a lot and then go back to sleep.

Go through your To-do list.

Conclude that there’s not enough time to do half the stuff. Move them onto tomorrow’s agenda.

Pick the easiest task and start.

Get bored.

Switch to Youtube or Buzzfeed and let that cute, drunken puppy amuse you.

Okay now, enough of tomfoolery, finish what you’ve started.

Hear the tummy rumble.

Dig for some munchees.

Empty pantry? Time to go shopping.

Pick some crisps, an apple, a magazine.

Since you’re out anyway, may as well get that bottle of wine.

Get back, eat, drink and watch Seinfeld. 

Finished that entire bottle??

Well, too drunk now to be organized.

A little girl ran through the garden, giggling as she chased butterflies. Time had grown her bones and built her swiftness. Tip-toeing slowly she made towards the oblivious pair sitting on a freshly bloomed, pink hibiscus. 

The story is simple- Girl in Ireland leaves her family to leave for the United States with hopes for better opportunities for her future, she misses home, meets a charming Italian fella, they fall in love, but then she has to go back home suddenly and then she meets an Irish lad, and here comes the tipping point- the choice to be made between a life in two cities, one at home which offers security,comfort,predictability & the other where struggle is virtually guaranteed in exchange for a limitless,wild existence.

I loved it. Not because I’m this pretentious fool who enjoys agreeing with the wise board of the Academy Awards. So even though I’m terrible at writing reviews for books and movies, as an attempt to challenge myself in this project I’m going to elaborate on why this film moved me. It will be somewhat like a patchwork quilt of randomness with no clear structure, but bear with me.

Brief of the character names that I will be using frequently- Lead role- Ellis (pronounced Ay-lish ), Italian lover- Tony, Irish suitor- Jim.

Let me start by talking about Ellis. Here is a person whose beauty shines from how ordinary she is. She’s not very pretty or charming or even an obstinately hard-working person. It’s always fascinating to see how writers create these characters and flesh them out at a gradual pace over the span of some 100 minutes, building them through their interactions with other characters and how they handle circumstances. They don’t give it all away at once and make you wait for pieces to fully understand them. Her love for her elder sister, the self-conscious awkwardness at a mixed singles dance, a pure bright but rare smile she shares with the man she’s falling hopelessly in love with, blue eyes that don’t hide a single emotion.

The central idea around which the movie is sculpted is the idea of ‘home’. What is home? Is it where you grow up? Where your family lives? Is it even a physical place or just something we carry with us and deposit wherever we find solace? When Ellis leaves her town in Ireland to a somewhere that is oceans away, she literally drowns in homesickness in a city that is too crowded, fast-paced, and is left feeling like a shrinking flower under the intolerable brightness of the sun. When her manager at the department store tells her to look happier in front of customers, she tries her best to but just can’t; another trait that I respect so much- the inability to pretend.

And then she meets him. When I saw the scene where Tony sees Ellis for the first time and has this smile on his face as he’s watching her dance with another man, I fell in love with him. Then he talks with that mildly casual Italian drawl that radiates such honest warmth and you know Ellis doesn’t really stand a chance either. He waits for her outside her evening book-keeping classes and declares with such yearning, ” All I want to do is just travel home with you, no food no drink no nothing, I’ll take you to your house and say good-night, otherwise….. too long a wait. “. How can you not melt in the arms of a man who woos you with such desperation for your time and words? Tony is the antidote to all of Ellis’ loneliness and we watch the remarkable glow that comes about on her previously pasty, morose face. Oh you must not miss the part where they’re riding the bus together and she’s bursting with happiness and he’s so enamored by her, possibly my second favorite scene in the movie. Her letters to her sister shift from reflections of loneliness to joy at meeting someone who walks and talks with her.

Like every girl who lusts to watch the inevitable translation of romance into sex between lovers, I sat at the edge of my couch waiting with a tingling tummy as Ellis lead Tony into her room on the night before they decide to get married. While I was mildly disappointed with their lack of tenderness in bed together and also the swiftness with which everything was over; when I reflect critically, it really was a wonderfully honest manner of showing restraint in caresses and honing in on the pure sexual hunger of the moment.

Ellis kisses Tony goodbye and returns to Ireland for her sister’s funeral, promising to be back. This is the part where my nail-biting started. She gets back home to her mother, meets Jim who is great on paper and in person, gets offered a job she really wants and realizes how much she misses the tranquil beauty that her town is. As she’s walking on the beach with Jim she asks him, “Why weren’t things like this before I left?” Oh how I could sympathize with that morose frustration of timing not being in your favor. After all, in the end that’s what it all comes down to right?

Things start clicking in place, gently persuading Ellis’ dilemma on the matter. To leave this life which encapsulated everything that one desired and return to a city just for the man she married? Tony’s letters to her remain unopened in her nightstand. Jim asks her to stay back, nudging her with the possibility of a better life with him. He’s sweet, loaded and loves her; what on Earth is she going to do? This is where the beauty of the direction of the movie comes in, where the audience is left feeling as torn as she is, unsure about whether Tony is worth giving up all this for? I was rooting for him all along, but then Jim ruined it for me with his gentle, polite longing for Ellis and a portrayal of a quiet man dealing with his own struggle of defining his ambition.

She gets her answer in the form of a reminder by the woman she used to work for, who attempts to blackmail her with the knowledge of Ellis’ secret marriage. That’s what it took to make the choice a clear one, the realization that this town was too small for her dreams. Tickets get booked, goodbyes said and she sails back to her true home.

Now we come to my favorite scene, the ending. Tony sees Ellis across the street, drops his tool box and runs towards her and they embrace; with Ellis’ final words,  “You’ll feel so homesick you’ll want to die, but you will endure it and it won’t kill you. Then one day the sun will come out, you might not even know it straight away, it’ll be that faint. And you’ll catch yourself thinking about something or someone who has no connection with the past, someone who’s only yours, and you’ll realize that this is where your life is.”

Why can’t they invent something like that for hearts? All I feel is my walls stretching and blood vessels pumping harder, with each day and event where I discover something alarmingly emotional. It works like a sponge, soaking and getting heavier, pulling me down with the weight of all the problems that will never get solved; mine, others, the world, the air, the land. Moments of happiness collect and fill up, only to get drowned by bigger droplets of raining sorrow. There are rivers and oceans within me, salt and sand, silting my arteries, clogging them slowly. Stop it, I tell myself, stop thinking. Nothing can be done, even if you care, it won’t matter. It really won’t. Minutes will tick on, bottomless wells of pain will keep getting dug, the screams will echo on. In the end none of this will count for anything, a life with or without feeling. 

So staple my heart. Please. Before I explode and leave nothing but unfinished stories.

These lines are from the poem Wordsworth wrote, ‘Lines Written in Early Spring’, in 1798. The events of the French Revolution inspired him to write this piece where he juxtaposes nature’s loveliness with man’s tendency to destroy.

He wrote this 200 years ago and yet nothing has changed. 

“Only occasionally did I notice the chain on the finch’s ankle, or think what a cruel life for a little living creature – fluttering briefly, forced always to land in the same hopeless place.”- Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch

I hate reviewing books. And the only reason I’m attempting one now is because I’ve been so devoid of inspiration to write so I’m going to reflect on this wonderful book. Shortcuts you see. 

The story is told by Theo Decker- his journey that begins with losing his mother when they visit the Museum of Modern Art which is bombed, how he steals an iconic painting by Fabritius ‘The Goldfinch’ which she talks about fondly just minutes before the explosion; and then his tumble down into a life whose course is puppeteer-ed by this work of art and Theo’s own terribly self-destructive choices.

My momentum of reading was like this- reluctant flipping for the first 100 or so pages, majorly hooked through the middle, dwindling interest towards the just-before-end portion, and a morose magnetic addiction for the last fifty pages. 

Donna Tartt is truly an incredibly talented human being. I mean how she managed to capture a coming-of-age story by weaving it through the themes of death, art, endless hope and the loss of it is something I find truly remarkable. I also loved her style of describing people through their actions, choices and mundane rituals and beliefs. 

Watching Theo embark on a journey of self-destruction despite being given several second chances filled me with so much anger and sadness. Why why does he pick the clearly wrong choice each time? Does a terrible tragedy such as losing one’s mother justify such irreversible recklessness? Perhaps that’s why I began to lose interest by the 600 or so pages mark, as there seemed to be no possibility of his reform or regret. But then towards the last 100 pages, we get to actually see Theo’s rationale and reflection of the course his life has taken. I went so crazy with my Kindle highlighter in these pages, but the below quote is probably the most accurately wonderful summary of life, and the book itself:

“A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.”

But there is a balance of the disturbed essence of Theo’s reality represented by the wonderfully trusting and sweet Hobie, who takes Theo under his tutelage. I found myself asking at several times- Is this guy for real? I guess the world has done a great job in moulding a cynic of me. The descriptions of him the furniture restoration process is very enjoyable, along with the deeper message of the worth of an object being attributed to what someone is willing to pay for it. 

While I found Theo’s unrequited love for Pippa endearing, I questioned its foundation. Were a few moments of eye contact in a museum before the blast and some sharing of music over headphones as children sufficient establish such an obsessive depth? Or was his love for her an inexplicable one that stemmed merely from the common tragedy imposed upon their lives? I don’t know, try as I may I just couldn’t completely wrap my head around this bond.

Then there’s the Boris and Theo relationship, which is deeply moving in the middle and thoroughly confusing at the end. How could Theo forgive Boris so easily for stealing something that meant the world and more to him? Yes there is a blind brotherly trust between them borne out of their pathetic circumstances, but doesn’t that make the betrayal worse? Boris himself plays the part of that friend every parent warns their kid to stay away from, and for good reason. He nudges Theo into a companionship with a foundation of booze, drugs and an over callous approach to life. He does have his redeeming moments, my favorite being his advice to Theo on his impending marriage to a woman he has lukewarm feelings for - “Stay away from the ones you love too much. Those are the ones who will kill you. What you want to live and be happy in the world is a woman who has her own life and lets you have yours.” With these words, Boris proves to us that is the people who know us the best, that have the most capacity to steal our happiness as well. 

For me the key question is, how much of Theo’s destiny was shaped by the theft of that painting? Would his life have been a more fulfilling one with responsible choices had he not been obsessed with this work of art? Theo eventually did turn into that shackled bird, invisibly tethered to self-created despair and hopelessness, but in the end redeeming himself with honesty and an effort to wipe the grime-coated slate of his deceptive life clean.