La Dolce Vita

Relatively quiet Holi this time around. As has been for the last 5 years or so. I distinctly remember the last time I played. It was five years back in school. And what a time we had! Beautiful memories.

Memories… That brings me to the subject of this post. Somewhere along the way, I have come to the conclusion that the way we remember things is the way we want to think of them as. (For instance, in case anyone noticed, my recollections of Ms. P always assume a positive and optimistic shades with scant regard to reality.) The reason I mention it now is because I spent Tuesday night reading A Pale View of Hills. This is the second book by Kazuo Ishiguro that I have read and it has had the very similar effect on me as Never Let Me Go. And of course Remains of the Day, but then I haven’t read the book. The story simmers along, and then hits you like a bucketful of boiling water at the end. It is a very short and stylish book, set in post-war Nagasaki. The description of the city is limited, probably to indicate how little those who survived, wish to remember of the years that followed.

Now, I won’t do a spoiler. It has taken me most of yesterday to interpret the meaning of the book and I have relished every minute of it. There are these absolutely minute details, which are only there at the back of your mind when you read the book, but then fall in place as you sit down to piece it all together. Of course, as was the case with the other book, this one also invokes certain questions, which scream for an answer. The beauty of the language, the surreal symbolism (I thought the crossing of the river sequence was devastatingly brilliant), and the use of the “unreliable narrator” technique … Oops! No more.

What else… I got humped again by Thumps again for not acting fast enough on the “M” thing. I got stared but spared as I stepped out of home in a white T-Shirt on Holi. I must say that kids these days are remarkably well-behaved in this respect. In my days I do not remember offering such mercy. Spoke to Blue Athena- she called after about a six- eight months. I guess it’s the festival spirit. We signed off with the usual promises to meet. Bee called, in the middle of her workday, which of course filled me with insane hopes for a while. Then I saw Ray (literally forced into watching it by TinMan. His exact words were- “I suggest you stop lusting after women for two hours and watch this movie”)- which was brilliant- but only because of the soundtrack. I am not a great fan of biographies- books or films. Other peoples’ lives hold very little interest for me. The only biographies I remember- Gandhi (with DD showing it at least thrice every year, I don’t think my generation had a choice), Iacocca (because I used to assemble cars then) and A Beautiful Mind- which I consider Russell Crowe’s best work till date. Sri has returned from Colombo with a mysterious tropical rash- which I have been curious to find out about, but she won’t tell. Oh, I was also audience to IK’s pecking order theory of women, but I don’t think any of it deserves a mention here.

I have been meaning to write about this spring for a while. The yellow-green treetops are absolutely alluring, but I can’t seem to find the words. Now, how many times have I said that before…

I have been afflicted with a particularly disabling ailment of the alimentary canal, with the result that my diet now is strictly mineral and fluid. This line I read somewhere applies equally to me- I love eating, but food doesn’t love me back.