Even before I opened the iPhone box I was impressed with the immaculate packaging. The phone was surprisingly easy to learn using, and any non-obvious features were easy to search for on the web. The ability to download the applications of our choice and even develop your own applications is a tribute to and celebration of innovation and creativity embodied by the iPhone. I could rave about this Swiss-army knife of mobile gadgets or I could argue that no one really uses a Swiss-army knife in normal life. Indeed, I have not yet figured out how best to effectively use this phone. Some of the features that translate into time and money savings are the GPS when you are lost on the road, the ability to look up the Internet to get answers to simple questions when you are in doubt, the ability to entertain yourself when you have time to kill (books, podcasts, puzzles, YouTube, newspapers, iPod music), the ability to shoot video and ship them to your friends (thus avoiding hours of procrastination) and the ability to synchronize the contact list and calendar entries with Google. In short, this tool allows you to use small pockets of time more efficiently, either the educate or entertain yourself, or to rewind. This is important, to me at least, because then the time with family does not need to be compromised for trying to rewind in my own way. Simple example: if I feel like listening to Louis Armstrong I can listen to him and other jazz artists on Pandora while driving back from work. Then once I am home, I can spend time with Kavita, as she wants me to.

So, finally, thank you, Anu, Shankar and Sandeep, for live demos and persuasive nudges, and thanks Kavita for the final push. I’m on board and I am enjoying the ride.

(I posted this entire entry from the iPhone. I am getting very good at typing on this, something I was not so sure about only two days ago.)

“So, the idea is that rather than give a rating of good, bad, hopeless, etc., quote a dollar amount you would be willing to pay to watch a certain movie, play etc. given that the alternative is to watch a random sitcom on TV (like what i am doing right now ! )

Some examples  – You could say,
I’ll pay upto $100 to watch     O for the first time
…           $40    …        O for the second time
…           $60     …        spamalot for the first time
…           $20     …        spamalot for the second time
…           $60     …        sheer madness for the first time

for something more familiar (note the negative)
I’ll pay upto  -$50     …       taare zameen par for the first time in theatre
…                   – $10    …       taare zameen par for the first time on DVD with full access to remote
…                   – $40     …      taare zameen par for the first time on DVD with no access to remote
…                   – $100    …     taare zameen par for the second time anyhow 

Negative amount means you will have to pay me to watch this (this may be substituted by equivalent beverage servings)
So you see, this system is much more flexible and informative than the normal yahoo rating.”

However, the show never really managed to significantly challenge my expectations from a play. There were moments where it was inspiring, but most of it was a drag. The storyline, whatever little there was of it, was linear, going through each character’s circumstances and personalities one by one. There was hardly any complex, thought-provoking, interaction between the characters. The ballad, called the “The I Love You Song”, where one of the contestants remembers her mother who is in far-away India, seeking enlightenment, is powerful. Another sequence that I liked was one where a contestant, who, before spelling a word, always writes it on the floor using his “magical” right foot, does it in super slow motion. The sequence starts off at normal speed, ramps up in speed to a frenzy, and then slows down to a low frequency stupor, before rebounding to normal. The songs were not awe-inspiring, in general, and some dialogues bordered on being vulgar.

The stage and props remained quite static throughout, with not much in terms of visual impact. The literary impact, which must have been the main motivation behind making this a play, instead of letting it stay in the book that it originates from, was not terribly impressive either. I am sure I did not get all the subtle jokes, but before I denigrate myself too much, let me add that I did not want to go the show having done any homework. I went there to be entertained; if I did not catch all the subtle jokes, maybe they were too subtle. There was one piece of clever wordplay, where “what” is spelled by taking the w from a word where w is silent, h is taken from a word in which h is silent and so on. Such a “what” is never heard, claimed the contestant. Clever, but such cleverness would do just as well staying in a book. The theatre is supposed to be a feast for the eye and the ear, thought-provoking and awe-inspiring. This play does not manage to consistently meet such criteria, although it grazes those thresholds once in a while. There were some members from the audience who participate in the early stages of the spelling bee, providing some opportunity for seemingly impromptu, but potentially well-rehearsed, jokes, before their pre-planned elimination. Some of the commentary and references were from surprisingly recent political events. Participation by some members of the audience and this sensitivity to current news indicates that the script for the play lends itself to some modification and improvization.

Reviews I have read online were surprisingly positive, even rave, about the show. This is a small-budget production; maybe my expecting it to be comparable to the few other plays I have seen – “Phantom of the Opera”, “42nd Street” and “Annie Get Your Gun” – was wrong. However, even then, given that the tickets were priced just as any regular show would be ($21 to $70), I just did not guess that it would be a low-budget production. I am glad we did not buy more expensive tickets. I feel that plays are over-priced in the US. Except for one of the contestants walking into the audience throwing candy, most of the action was on the stage, which stayed pretty much unchanged as well. I do not see why I needed to go there in person to watch this show, when I could have probably seen it clearer, and, for less, on a DVD, feeling just as involved.

Second reason for my feeling let down was the writing style. I read on the back cover that Robin Sharma is an electrifying speaker. I listened to some of his speeches on his website and I agree that he speaks very well. He is not, however, and electrifying author. The book, a conversation as it is, comes across as artificial. Two people speaking like a perfect teacher and a perfect student. Speech gliding between realistic wisecracks and unbelievably long-winded paragraphs of complex, flowery constructions and quotations quoted and embraced with unerring finality, push the characters, hurriedly created as they are, further away from a reader. The writing, on top of being unbelievable as speech, is itself quite weak. The book gives us a sense of being written hurriedly to meet a deadline. The style is clearly that of a PowerPoint presentation with bulleted highlights that form the skeleton of the book. Exploration of each of these bulleted and sub-bulleted lists adds the bulk. The exploration, however, is quite shallow and one-dimensional. What I mean by shallow is that the meaning of a bulleted item is explored in an obvious, rather redundant and repetitive way. It often reduces to “Do X. Doing X will improve your life in the following ways…” What I mean by one-dimensional is that the various bullets and sub-bullets that make up the chapters and sections of the chapters, are left disjoint. The only attempt to tie them together is of the type, “Do X and Y and Z all together.” The book has been written not for the really interested, but rather for those accustomed to an executive-summary style of presentations. Quick and to the point. It is, in some sense, a medicine the patient wants rather than the one the patient needs.

Another reason I was a little taken aback at least at the beginning of the book, was that the author relies on a stereotyped image of sages and monasteries in India that matches the western audience’s existing ideas on the topic. So the convenience of unreachable, eternally blissful, centenarian sages living in huts made of flowers in the lap of an unexplored valley in the heavenly Himalayas makes the lessons so much more authentic? I think it takes away from a lesson it’s believability. It dilutes an otherwise perfect thought.

In attempting to infuse authenticity to the teachings by letting these perfect sages be the originators of the thoughts presented in the book, the author’s lack of imagination reflects poorly on these actualized beings. The author comes up with a supposedly symbolic story of a Sumo wrestler and his adventures in a garden. The imagery is so wild and the associations between the symbols and the teachings so hard to understand, let alone remember, that the only reason I can think of for such imagery is to allow memorization by incredulity. The story is so feebly constructed that the audacity of actually publishing it and going with it as the theme, makes it stand out. Think of it like that irritating TV ad which is so irritating that you cannot forget it. On top of this, the author seems to have plagiarized some stories. One is Oscar Wilde’s “The Selfish Giant”, which is related as an ancient Indian tale towards the end of chapter 9. The others – like the protagonist pouring tea into a cup until the cup overflows on to the saucer, on to the table, and eventually, and unnecessarily, on to the Persian rug or the one where a child starts building a table for his parents so they can sit separately during dinner time just like his grandmother is being asked to today – I have read these stories before. Maybe they are old enough to be used as your own, without any copyright issues. But still, the lack of imagination disappointed me.

Although I have been pointing out the weaknesses of the book so far, there are some strengths. The most important strength of course is that the main ideas presented are, all said and done, good. The ideas come from various sources and different times. The book serves therefore as a collection of some sensible thoughts. The reader has to be careful to fish for these great thoughts hidden under the unimaginative, artificial, hurried, bulleted writing style and ponder upon those. Another positive I recall was seeing suggestions for other books the reader may read. The suggested readings included – “The Stories of My Experiments with Truth” by M. K. Gandhi, “Siddhartha” by Herman Hesse and writings of Ben Franklin, Marcus Aurelius and Seneca. I have read “Siddhartha” and think it was a thought provoking read.

I must add that I did complete reading the book and my current opinion about the book is more forgiving than the one I had after my first session with the book. Partly, the reason was I adjusted to the tone and style of the book when I picked it up again and overcame my self-imposed expectations from the book. Partly the reason was that the main ideas in the book are good. It was the presentation of the ideas that was the issue I still had at the end of the read.

How goes life? Or in Mohun Biswas’s words, “How life, maan?”. I am still struggling to figure out the book. The tragi-comic look at the entire life of a man, leaves you wondering if it is a happy ending, a sad ending or the less categorizable, yet more recognizable ending. Endings as they typically are in real life, sadly abrupt in a way, never having achieved life’s true potential, yet satisfyingly complete, having achieved the one goal in his life. The beautiful and believable sense of humour, never taking life too seriously, is the only way he gets through life, which is otherwise overwhelmingly complicated, sad and painful.

When I was about a third of my way into the book, I was not sure why I was reading it. It seemed to have no tangible theme, too many characters and a primarily depressing story (if you could call it a story). It was as if the author picked up reams of paper and just wrote what came to his mind, letting the events and narrative flow which ever way they chose to. It was not until Mr. Biswas started tasting “victories” that I got hooked. Victories is a big word, for what were primarily small satisfactions in life – a small job, a good comeback, an occasional acknowledgement, an intelligent son, temporary privacy. These inconsequential satisfactions, in an intricate net of inconsequential emotions from inconsequential people in an elaborate yet equally inconsequential family define the few moments of joy in Mr. Biswas’ life. And the theme of the book seemed to emerge.

Mr. Biswas lives his short life, struggling for a sense of self and place. He is constantly being pulled down, not by an evil villain, not by a calamity of nature, not by a debilitating disease. He struggles against the real horrors of life, its inconsequential realness, its uncontrollable meandering, its invincible boredom. He fights. The fights he puts up are spirited. He loses some. He wins some. He laughs, he cries, he is elated, he is depressed, and yet he never gives in. He is a hero who fought grinding, never-ending battles which really did not win him anything, but at the same time won him the only thing he could hope for in his condition. A purpose. A goal. Something to look forward to. Something to live for. The beauty of the story and the writing is its truthfulness. It brings out the extraordinary in ordinary man’s ordinary life. One puts down the book with a sense of calm and understanding that is comparable to one you draw from a book on philosophy. “A House for Mr Biswas” is a strangely satisfying read that grows on you as you delve deeper into Mohun Biswas’s travails, and leaves you with an almost involved attachment to him, his family and his life.

V. S. Naipaul writes with a thin layer of believable humour protecting the characters and the readers from the insane helplessness of certain situations. The descriptions of the various regions of the J-shaped tiny island of Trinidad that Mr. Biswas spends his entire life in, the dialect, the social structure, the family structure and the life of a Hindu family Mr. Biswas marries into is expertly intertwined with the story. The strength of this book is the author’s ability to truthfully represent the seemingly purposeless life of a man, and yet bring out the the purpose in his life and that of every human being.

The book is powerful and honest, even to the point of being brutal. The language caresses the story to flow from one evocative scene to the next. The scenes are so real, it is like watching a movie. This book could be and probably should be made into a movie. It does drive you to the verge of tears at places. A story that is powerful and haunting yet tender and very human.

Siddhartha, tires of the Samana philosophy, for even the elder Samanas in his company are second-handers, unsure about what they are doing, often just ending up tormenting their selves and bodies, out of sheer practice, than any inherent conviction. He then enters the world of sensual pleasure – learning from the courtesan Kamala, the art of love, from a merchant, the art of trade, and from yet others, the art of gambling. The tries to find satisfaction in any of these. He does for a while, while the experiences are new and he is constantly learning something. But when he has learnt all that others could teach him, he realizes there is still more he is capable of learning, and nobody but he himself must learn it.

He leaves the company of all monetary, bodily, intellectual pleasures for they were short-lived. He would master the art and then there was nothing to prove beyond that. He is attracted to the life of a ferryman who lives alone in a small hut by the river, tending to his boat, ferrying people across the river and listening to the river. Siddhartha too joins Vasudeva, the ferryman, and learns to ferry people across the river and listening to the river. Vasudeva lives a simple, yet happy life, and claims that the river has taught him everything he knows. This excites Siddhartha. The river as a teacher, really implies one has to listen to one’s innermost voice. Vasudeva and Siddhartha practice listening to the river together, and realize the true essence of life. The link between the eternal and the fleeting, the omnipresence of the Brahman. Siddhartha realizes the love for his child from Kamala, his father’s love for him when Siddhartha left him to be a Samana, his attempts to be a Samana, a Brahmana, a merchant, his attempts to find the final truth, were all just parts of an endless stream of events, with no particular start nor end. The unity of it all, the eternal presence of it all, the continual struggle, yet the continual acceptance of the struggle, that was his final discovery. He ends his journey having attained his peace.

In some sense, the ending did not make as much of an impact on me as I would have expected from a book that is as famous as this. Yet, is that not the greatest accolade one can give this book? Think about it. What was Siddhartha’s final answer, need not be my final understanding. And if the book teaches anything, that would be the main lesson. And so searching for a satisfying answer after reading this book is contradicting the “teachings” of the book. Hence I leave it at that. You read it, keep an open mind, and maybe it will help you unlock a little door on your own personal quest.

This book is difficult to categorize. I struggled to explain to my father over the phone tonight what this book is about. �Nanna, I finished reading this wonderful book called �The Life Of Pi��. �OK, what it is about?�. �Well it is a fiction, a book on philosophy, on religion, on reason. Well it is a story of a kid in Pondicherry whose family decides to leave India due to Indira Gandhi�s imposition of The Emergency, and plan to settle in Canada. The father owns a zoo, so they decide to carry some of the animals along with them in a ship. The ship sinks and the kid alone survives, along with some other animals, most notably a Royal Bengal Tiger. The books relates the story of how the kid survives at sea for over 7 months. Well� but it is not really a book about just his survival.� I struggle. It a book about �our� struggle. It answers one very important question that beautifully ties together the world of philosophy, the world of religion, the world of science ��Why are we?�. These worlds are not really disjoint, and so it is no surprise that this one question can be grappled with from many angles. The answer science gives us is rather unsatisfying if not positively distressing. It essentially says we do not have much of a purpose other than to procreate and try to improve our species to survive in the changing environment. Life only strives to survive and expand, it says. You and I are mere cogs in this giant gear system, each one thinking it is special. That brings us to philosophy�s attempt to grapple with the purpose of our existence. The premise is that there must be some meaning to why we are. And finally religion�s attempt to provide an answer that satisfies the sense of purpose we all need to survive. To survive. We are all surviving, we are all struggling. Maybe not struggling in a ready visible way, but we are struggling to understand our place in time and space. More importantly, struggling to find the reason for our existence.

This book helps bring some direction to our search for that answer. The book�s colourful, evocative, vivid and sometimes gory images are like a dream. Sometimes too hard to believe, but at the same time very tangible. Even obvious. The story, through the hero, challenges some of the notions of faith. At the same time, the story, again through the hero, vehemently supports the notions of faith. The book claims that it will make you believe in God. It does. But it is not exactly what you might be led to believe when you read that line first�or even when you read it here. It will not just make you believe in God, but it will tell you why there is no way to live without believing. There is a memorable line in the book which I quote here. �It was my first clue that atheists are my brothers and sisters of a different faith,and every word they speak speaks of faith. Like me, they go as far as the legs of reason will carry them – and then they leap.� In another quote about agnostics, the book says � Doubt is useful for a while. We must all pass through the garden of Gethsemane�But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to chooseing immobility as a means of transportation�. The book builds its case very well. And in the shattering final few pages, forces you to see why belief is what keeps us all going in life. Belief not in any particular man, nor idol, not in any particular scripture or song, not in any particular house nor priest, but belief in that there has the be an answer. It cannot be chaos. The place given to the method of science is very high in the whole book. Every argument the hero makes is bolstered with enough scientific reasoning. But scientific reasoning only works to solve some of his more immediate problems. To solve his biggest problem, not how to survive, but why to survive, he had to go beyond.

Fiction, is nothing but mangling of the fact to bring out the essence of the message. There is a sentence in the book that says something to the same effect as the previous sentence, only it says it better. This is truly exemplified by this story. It was a heartening and rejuvenating read for me. There are three parts to the book. The first part is about Piscine Molitor Patel’s childhood in Pondicherry. His interactions with his parents, his brother, his teachers at school, the animals in his father’s zoo and the various religious faiths in secular India. This part was thrilling because I could relate to a lot of his childhood memories and a lot of the author’s very accurate observations about India. I have been to several Indian Coffee Houses in India and can vouch for the squareness of the tables, the high ceilings and the slow whilr of the ceiling fans hanging from long shafts. I can vouch for the heavenly transformation of leftover batter into an oothappam. The nostalgia got me hooked, but the second part about Pi’s struggle to survive for 227 days on a lifeboat, against and with Dennis Parker, the fully grown Royal Bengal Tiger, made me go on. The evocative, vivid language describes a near surreal experience. The third and final part, that wraps up the story at exactly the hundredth chapter, or rather opens in right up again, is the most riveting and honest. The story is rich, the writing and imagination mind blowing, but what worked for me most of all was that I could relate to Pi�s ideas about the true meaning of religion, and its indispensability.

Here are some memorable lines from the book.

�Father saw himself as part of New India � rich, modern and as secular as ice-cream.�

�I have heard nearly as much nonsense about zoos as I have about God and religion.� � Pi on why animals would prefer zoos compared to the wild.

�I was named after a swimming pool.� � Pi explaining how he came to be knows as Piscine Molitor Patel.

�The first time I went to an Indian restaurant in Canada I used my fingers. The waiter looked at me critically and said, �Fresh off the boat, are you?� I blanched. My fingers, which a second before had been taste buds savouring the food a little ahead of my mouth, became dirty under his gaze. They froze like criminals caught in the act. I didn�t dare lick them. I wiped them guiltily on my napkin�I picked up the knife and fork. I had hardly ever used such instruments. My hands trembled. My sambar lost its taste.� � what a magnificient example of Yann Martel�s ability to get into Pi�s mind.

�I was more afraid that in a few words thrown out he might destroy something that I loved. What if his words had the effect of polio on me? What a terrible disease that must be if it could kill God in man.� � Pi�s interactions with Mr. Satish Kumar, his science teacher.

�It was my first clue that atheists are my brothers and sisters of a different faith, and every word they speak speaks of faith. Like me, they go as far as legs of reason will carry them – and then they leap.�

�Very few castaways can claim to have survived so long at sea as Mr. Patel, and none in the company of an adult Bengal tiger.� � from Mr. Okamoto�s report on Pi�s ordeal.