Book review: Five Point Someone by Chetan Bhagat

To put simply, Five Point Someone is a story of three friends, Ryan, Alok and Hari who land up in IIT, and don't give it a damn. Yet, they have their own stories to narrate, their own experiences to share and their own selves to discover. It is as much a story of their transformation from Five Pointers (labels derived from their CGPA) to five point someone, as it is about the lacunae in our education system.

The author warns at the very outset that it is NOT a guide to survive your college days, but revolves around “what not to do at IIT”. This is indeed one of the direst warnings, since the plot is infused with a plethora of incidents that can put even the sassy and insolent of us to chagrin and mortification. 

    

Well, that also saves the author from being accused of writing a story, whereby the acts of the protagonists hint at moral corruption time and again. From a different perspective, this book is also an iconoclast in that it reveals the dark side of studying at such prestigious institute as IIT, what with the inherently high expectations, among other usual criticisms (about mugging and cramming) made of the education system.

For a reader, there's enough to treat the eyes, a senior who looks like a demon from cheap mythological TV shows, a terrific troika of protagonists, drudgery of routine that makes fun conspicuous by its absence, insipid food at the hotel mess, being reinvigorated to study with dedication and commitment in the aftermath of a bad quiz performance, a professor's daughter-turned-girlfriend of the narrator, a  piece of advice for friend trying to play the pacifier: if you just paraphrase everyone's arguments, you get to be the good guy... you get the drift.

As far as the theme goes, the author seems genuinely concerned about addressing the flaws of the education system when he remarks,”Where is the time for creativity? Where is the room for original thought?” but the sad part is that eventually, even the passionate Ryan after exhibiting much of his creativity in a project, ends up succumbing to the demand of the curriculum to rote-memorize. The reader can only be thankful that he has at least abandoned all his strategies and shortcuts-to-success-formula!

No mention of this book is perhaps complete without reference to its cinematic counterpart, the much loved film 3 idiots. Even if you try to remain objective, one is forced to conclude that the movie has outdone the book in ways more than one.

Well, I would say that I have tried a couple of times to like Bhagat's fiction pieces, even to the extent of ransacking them to find any meaning behind them. And I have failed this time too, like always, now I have understood that the meaning behind the words penned by him in his fiction is not hidden, but hideous. Still, in sharp contrast I am in love with his non-fiction. Yet, if you are game for an easy-to-read contemporary novel to add to your list, go ahead and get your copy.

Book Review: Aleph by Paulo Coelho

About the book:

In his most personal novel to date, internationally bestseller author Paulo Coelho returns with a remarkable journey of self-discovery. Like the main character in the Alchemist, Paulo is facing a grave crisis of faith. As he seeks a path of spiritual renewal and growth, he decides to begin again: to travel, to experiment, to reconnect with people and the landscapes around him.Starting in Africa and then crossing Europe and Asia via the Trans-Siberian Railway, he undertakes a journey to revitiize his energy and passion. Even so, he never expects to meet Hilal. A gifted young violinist, she is the woman Paulo loved five hundred years before - and the woman he betrayed in an act of cowardice so far-reaching that it prevents him from finding real happiness in this life. Together they will initiate a path that teaches love, forgiveness and the courage to overcome life's inevitable challenges.

Are we where we want to be, doing what we want to do? 

My Review:

When I picked up the book and set out to read it, I had really high expectations from it. One may call it a pre-conceived notion that I had from Paulo Coelho's earlier books, especially The Alchemist and The Winner Stands Alone. With these works of his, he qualifies as a master storyteller. The Alchemist is one of the greatest inspirations I have had till date. So, when I put my hands on the Aleph, it was in the anticipation of some life-changing, thought-provoking, mindset-altering plot. Just as it always happens, I expected that after reading yet another of Coelho's books, I shall cease to remain the person I was prior to reading it.

Okay, now to the actual reading part. A fleeting reading of the prologue itself gave me the idea that the novel has gravity in both its content and intent. It is only and only about a spiritual journey, self-discovery, recuperation of a ruptured/drained soul.

But with as intriguing and arresting and engrossing a beginning as understated, I had obviously expected something different, something more rooted in contemporary    social and economic problems. But this is not to say that the eventual storyline is below or above my expectations, it isn’t, it’s just different and in sharp contrast to my conjecture. Also, since it involved deep and thought-provoking spiritual elements, instead of reading it from crepuscule to dawn, I preferred to defer it for the mornings of the days, lest my eyelids falter and droop.

So, about the plot, the theme and the hovering concepts...

It is as much a story about spirituality as it is about love. Well, in his trademark fashion, Coelho touched upon subjects that are still debatable if not taboo. So there's the notion of being able to love two people at the same time, without hinting at betrayal of any sort. But considering the fact that this is Coelho’s autobiographical account, I must commend him for having the courage to reveal something so personal to the world.

Then the cherry on the cake are the pithy comments, sharp insights that dive into the oceans of wisdom, such as ,”Life is the train, not the station.”, “life without cause is a life without effect.”, “words are tears that have been written down, tears are words that need to be shed.”, “what cant be cured must be endured”

Also, a treat to the reader is a faint echo from his masterpiece The Alchemist. At one point, he mentions that god allows us to see such things when he wants something to change, a thought that found a unique significance in the former. Further there is a reference to the famed saying in an altered form “when you really want something the whole universe conspires in your favour.” even here he reads meaning into things, thereby lending them the status of omens. So when a clairvoyant declares that “the soul of Turkey will give your husband all the love she possesses, but she will spill his blood before she reveals what she is seeking.” he delays the journey, but undertakes it nevertheless. This is the most scrumptious part of the meal that Aleph is. And that brings us to the plot of the story. He feels that his spiritual progress has met with an insurmountable barrier. So he embarks on a journey as an author, which means he is into book signing sessions, conversations with his readers, et al. On this journey he meets Hilal, and that changes the equation of his life, or should I say it brings into balance the equation of his life. There's this dose of rituals, history, atrocity, revenge, redemption. Whether the ritual or ideas manifested in the past that Hilal and the author share is demeaning to womanhood is a question that’s best left unanswered, but the sexual references as in most of his books are quite disgruntling and marred by a forceful inclusion.

Somewhere along the plot, I did feel like abandoning the book because it lost the pace, charm and enthralling element that had initially attracted me to it. But there's nothing like completing a book that exudes a mystery, a revelation waiting to be unearthed.

And the fact that Coelho's books are indispensable to the sojourn called life, only adds to the thrill of reading till the last line.

TANGIBLE AND LOVABLE

While the war of ebooks versus physical copies continues unabated, here's a short story that reflects upon the issue in an entertaining, yet emotional light

As I sit beside my window, with Anna Karenina resting on my lap, the sunrays bake me in their scorching heat. Within moments, I turn away to glance at my bookshelves. Just five years back, the shelves, which now cry for want of space, scarcely harboured not more than twenty books. But that was five years back. Much has changed. Transmogrified, like quite.

As I steadfastedly behold my own envious collection of gem-like books, my legacy, I descend into a reverie. The past comes alive on the celluloid of my life.

 

“Stop straining and paining your lovely eyes under the glaring light of that ugly gadget.”

I barely managed to hold on to my ‘gadget’ and rescue it from shattering to pieces at the staccato crispness and wrath that the words exuded.

Even if he wouldn’t have berated me in that hackneyed fashion, I would have known that he’s here by his paradigm cardamom scent. Grandpa’s here and he is referring to my kindle. I guess I just didn’t whisper those words to myself. I blurted them out loud enough to be heard by grandpa!

“Yes, grandpa is here and now put that crap away. Grandpa has brought you some real books. Paperback and hardcover.” he proclaims with an exacerbating emphasis on real.

“Tangible and lovable”, joining him as he repeats his catchphrase verbatim, for the nth time, I make a futile attempt to sound elated, while in reality I moan in half anguish and half chagrin, concocted with mortification and agony. His parlance, on the contrary, is adorned with pride at one level and laced with genuine loath at another.

I was in the middle of reading Strike @ 36 by Aparna Pednekar on Google Play. The fledgling novelist’s story was gaining momentum and the arrival of “the relentless foe of e-books” was the last on the list of things I wished for, at least then.

Since the day I started reading eBooks, I’ve been a witness to his intense detestation for the same. Now, its gravity and longevity is also proved.

Neither cannons, nor pinpricks, nor caresses could bring us to a consensus.

Our love for each other was unconditional, but when it came to books, we had dramatically agreed to disagree.

He would justify his stand by crying aloud that one day my Smartphone or kindle would be destroyed rendering me insane at the loss of the gems that books are.

“What if your paperbacks are terminated by termites?” I retort, surprised and glad at the unpremeditated rhetoric.

“I hope you know that, and I’m telling you because I am a well-wisher; you aren’t able to touch the pages, smell the book, you’ll lose all your aesthetic sense.” At this point, he’s almost yelling at me.

“For god’s sake, eBooks are NOT conspiring against your paperback and hardcover breeds. Only they are more convenient, and occupy some digital space on my kindle, weighing hardly 500 grams. I can have a long discourse on the environmental damage that I am preventing this way. It’s all rational.” I retorted rather blatantly.

Remember, using a pencil to mark down heart-rending dialougues??

He cursed the creators, called them idiots and blockheads, but not willing to prolong this skirmish, retreats to murmuring. An archetypal puerile versus senile war ends.

When we went on vacations that month, he was jubilant when I lost signal amid the hills, which forestall my further downloading. It was annoying, though, because I possessed just as ardent a soul of a compulsive bibliophile as him.

During our commute to the hotel, he expressed his discomfort about not being able to read books in distractions, while I relished my audio book aggravating his consternation.

Suddenly the crass cacophony of a crow breaks my reverie. The past retreats away into the blinding sunrays. I can sense the perambulation of lachrymal fluid originating from my eyes, peregrinating from the cheeks to the book in my hand. I try to smile, but manage to do so only faintly. I close my eyes and embrace the book, hugging the gem to my heart, despite the murky dust it has gathered and savouring the cardamom scent, but only after glancing at the library shelf, my only legacy.

I can hear a faint echo of the words of Marcus Tullius Cicero, “A room without books is like a body without a soul.” followed by the lugubrious words of grandpa, “Tangible and Lovable. . .”

The Perks of being a Bibliophile

1) You have a reason for your beloved solitude.

They say, writing is a lonely task.
So is reading. Hence, when you read with the fervour of a bibliophile, relishing each word as if it were a scrumptious meal, you remain oblivious to the world. The icing on the cake is that no one can pester you during that time period, for it goes against the expected conduct. Reading time is the only time you are at liberty to contemplate, reflect, give some time to your own self, sans any distraction.

2)The usual... 

Well you read for the obvious reasons...for enhancing your vocabulary, getting better at expressing yourself, for getting a good command over the language, for learning new things, to get inspired, to sharpen your mental faculties, to hone your intellectual skills, to broaden your perspective, et al..

3) Reading is classy.
 Have we not seen people holding books in their hands and engrossed in reading as something that makes them strike as a charming person. And even when you are reading an e-book, people think you are amazingly intellectual, for you prefer reading over playing some senseless games.

4) For the sole pleasure of it.

What the hell? Reading is an exercise, which renders us  pleasure beyond measure. Once you descend into the magical world of books, reality becomes a raw deal.

5) For the treat books are to sense
 Yes, believe it or nor, books are not only an unparalleled delight to our eyes and mind. Their pleasure extends to the core of your soul. they are unfailing friends and allies. Being a bibliophile means you are not just in love with reading, it means you love the feel and smell of books too. Be it on your musty bookshelves, or fresh paperback editions, or torn out editions you keep close to your heart!




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