Book #1 -- Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut

[This post marks the beginning of a new series on this blog, as part of which I will publish book reviews -- more like vomit my whimsical and circumstantial thoughts along with some biased opinions full of stereotypes, all intermingled with absolutely irrelevant stuff. I will most likely not be able to review books that I've read long back, since I hardly remember the details. Sadness.]

Feels good to get back to writing prose, yo! I am pretty sure I am hella rusty right now. But here's hoping this post will act as sandpaper. And if you have ever actually tried to use sandpaper to remove rust, you will know that it is a time consuming process, takes a lot of effort, and may not even remove the rust satisfactorily; I remember my childhood attempts at cleaning the wick-containing sides of our air-cooler -- the evaporative kind we get in India -- resulted mostly in painting the redness of the rust all over my hands and clothes, noticing which I had spent the rest of the afternoon silently observing my uncle finish the job. Basically, it is going to take a few posts before I get into the zone.

Oh shit! That's right! The book! So, yeah, as part of the book club at UC Davis (which, by the way, is named Beyond The Book Club; imagine naming your restaurant Delicious Foods Restaurant -- it is at best confusing and mostly annoying) we read short stories and/or novels and... well, discuss them. It's an excuse for me to read literature that I would not have read on my own, expand my literary sense in general, and meet people who like to read. And this finally brings us to Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut.

Now, old Kurtie is popular, apparently, for his anti-war sentiments, particularly as expressed in Slaughterhouse-Five. Cat's Cradle also talks about war, or more precisely the mass scale destruction that science-and-technology-powered warfare can bestow upon human beings, nay, living entities. But that is just one of the themes occurring in the book -- it also talks about religion and philosophy and government and people. 

Thankfully, though, Cat's Cradle is full of humor -- pretty decent humor actually -- which makes all these otherwise serious and kind-of boring topics palatable, even relishable. It even has some suspense and science-fiction elements, but all of those are in the background trying to enhance the central, more serious theme.

I cannot talk of Cat's Cradle without talking of Bokononism. Bokononism is a religion artificially created by (surprise!) Bokonon in order to organize and control the people of San Lorenzo (a remote almost-tribal country in which most of the plot unveils) and to make them productive. Bokonon hopes that his religion, which he openly claims is 'based on lies' (more like harmless untruths), will thereby help the people live a 'prosperous and meaningful' life. And it does. Until the day the world ends.

Read the book to know how the world ends and all that jazz. It's not that big of a mystery per se but how the events unfold and what they all really mean is quite interesting. A running theme in the book is the parallel drawn between Bokononism and Christianity, between Science and Religion, between Comprehension and Reality, and such stuff. And the author actively wants us to think about these issues. San Lorenzo is a fictional setting used by the author to discuss elements of our own society. Okay, I'll stop mentioning the obvious.

The book overall is fairly thought-provoking, as much as it is humorous and confusing and metaphorical and satirical. The characters are amusing, sometimes pitiable, often quotable, and usually just outright weird. And it's a very easy-to-read book. An interesting aspect, though, is that it has 127 chapters. And chapters are on an average just 1-2 pages long. The book proceeds like an anecdote after anecdote as the narrator experiences life before and in San Lorenzo.

I cannot write more about Cat's Cradle without invoking the power of spoilers. Thus, I'll stop here. It's a short fun read. I will give it a solid 4.34 out of 5. Currently, I am reading Midnight Tides (Malazan #5), The Way of Kings (Stormlight Archive #1) and War and Peace. Midnight Tides is looking fantastic right now and since the other two are voluminous and monstrous respectively, I really hope they are worth the time investment. Until I am done with any of these, bye!

Resuming with a new poem!

Questionable Authorities

Ask the grumpy pussycat, a prisoner of war

How to be patient and never deplore

And teach her voyeuristic cat-handling master:

Buying a Persian carpet is asking for disaster

Ask the single sock, whose heart's in a mire

What its mindset is, fresh out of dryer

Bleached and washed and tidy and neat

Headed towards a life incomplete

Ask the homeless lady, a victim of our mistakes

How life is possible without cars and fruitcakes

She will bless you, too, if you take the time

To face your guilt and throw a dime

Ask the glowing sun, round and yellow

How to spread warmth, even and mellow

Without any reward or any assistance

From thankless sons who keep a distance


(about what we can learn from closer observations)

Hopeless

[A poem about the one superpower we all desire: the power to undo. Written at 6am today... winter + morning + sad = it's poem time! :D]

Two weeks passed by.

There was a boy.

He waited.

'Where are her pieces?'

Thus contemplated.

He misliked misunderstandings.

There was a girl.

She had one.

'Or was it a revenge song

That she had sung?'

His mouth a ruthless bee;

There was a blurt,

Perhaps loud and curt.

He anticipated the result,

Someone was hurt.

She would understand,

He wished,

The reason behind

Keeping his love

Hidden in his mind.

Shouldn't she have forgiven -

There was an apology -

Known he would wait

Pressed the send button

Instead of the hate?

*sigh*

Sometimes, he wished,

There was no distance

And more chances

He'd convince her of his love

Through mere glances

Pour ma chère

Pour ma chère (For my dear)

You've been a sweetheart, right from the start

Naughty and nice, baka and wise.

I hope the day won't come when

Seeing you online wouldn't be a pleasant surprise.

To rope in amusing words

And describe you, I don't dare.

But I think you're just the thing for me

Simply for the same pinches we share

I fell for your half smile

Your romantic charm

Cute haww! and sweet voice

And your reliable calm

"Submit unto my stubbornness, or

Prepare thyself for a war!"

Fights with you, I've loved yet hated

Scolding you I've always regretted

I dream of a world, devoid of labels,

In which you and I can play

An endless game of thumb-fight 

While in my arms you lay

"I'll love you the same forever," 

And similar shit they say

I won't lie; into my life may fly 

Another fay.

But, I promise in my heart

You shall stay

And always shine uniquely

As the polestar may

Shipwreck

[Shipwreck - that's the prompt I was given, a word to be included in the poem. Here's what came to my mind.]

Shipwreck

And her silent face was in my hand,

The destined moments?

Moments you simply cannot accept

As sheer coincidence.

Like a thief stumbling upon Arkenstone

In a dragon's vault.

Like a drunkard eyeing a barrel

In an elvish shipwreck.

Because these moments

You never dreamt of.

Because these moments

Won't come again.

Or will they?

My little crush story

[On an insomniac night, between 6am and 7am, I decided to write a poem for my crush of the past (and present?). I even posted it on one of those confessions pages. It has quite a few clues here and there regarding her identity and several other things -- a few friends have deciphered the truth. Don't bother about the clues, though. Just enjoy the poem. :)]

A week into Autumn, the Stork took the First Train to your home.
He flew, precisely, a wonder times a wonder
No. of days more before he dropped me,
My town being 510 miles asunder

In IIT, you're a Friend,
Yet not a friend;
But of many friends,
You're a good friend.

Voldemort himself introduced us, remember?
A recent leap-and-hug day, it was.
He whispered to me, "Isn't she your crush, boy,
Ever since that wretched EE course? Don't lie!"

Our meetings very few,
And chats have been curt.
I'm kind-of afraid to approach
Lest my sharp tongue give you hurt.

Your delicate frame, I hope,
Enshrines an innocent Hindustan ka Dil!
Which I'd like to know and connect to; Alas!
Even as I leave, our disjoint lives play ill.

Often, in front of the Sun, I sip
The the grape-like chemical when I'm beat.
As my eyes use heuristics
To discover your seat.

A letter to my grown up self

[People write letters to their past self in an attempt to be more cautious and productive, to tell them to avoid certain mistakes. I'm writing a letter to my future self -- a justification for being a bum -- so that he may not put such crap to me.]

I wish to tell you, Mr. Saheel,
Before you call me names
What made me, your youth,
Available for your blames.

Desires galore yet I am
Humbled by sloth
I want you not to pity
"Your efforts were froth!"

I'll give no excuses
For time I lost
But lessons of life
Come at great cost

Games to play
And groups to spam
Books to read
And oh! Animes! Damn!

"Inconsequential drags, they are.
Don't you understand?!"
But they helped you reach the place
Where now you proudly stand.

I am not so perfect, Sir,
To grasp without mistakes
The wisdom that you flaunt
Came after several retakes

So let me flirt
Laugh less, more cry
So let me sin
Learn less, more try

Because once I'm you
There won't be time
And the immaturity
To commit crime

A visit to Tirupati

At the end of about 20 hours outside our dear (deer?) campus we, Flashing, Gajju, Surya, and I, hadn't run a marathon, or cycled tens of kilometres, or played hours of football, which we anyway don't. But still, we were dead tired -- our knee joints chirping, minds reeling, heels squealing. All we did was eat, sleep, sing, and stand. Yes, we stood. A lot. And while we stood we ate, slept, and sang.

Maa and her Bingoman!

[Doorbell rings. Kamala, an elderly woman sitting in the living room, keeps down the newspaper and troubles herself to the door. She opens it to find her 25-something grandson Sunny standing in front of her. Without saying a word, she kisses his forehead.]

You never arrive

[Following poem was written in just 10 minutes. Yay! :D  
 Prompt was the title itself.]

You never arrive

Fish on the table

Just the way you like it

I eat now to remain alive

But you never arrive

Beer in my hand

Clean water in the pool

Alone I hate to dive

But you never arrive

Weeds I just uprooted

Ron playing in the lawn

You loved to water the soil

But you never arrive

Files on the desk form a heap

Reminding of promises I have to keep

I try to find a meaning to survive

But you never arrive

Tears in my eyes back then

"Don't go to the war, John!" I had cried

Rest assure my hope won't die

But you never arrive