Ever so often I ask myself, what makes a classic? What is it that consigns some literary efforts to the cesspool of morbidity, at the same time lifting a few others, anointing them Helens of the literary world? Could characters and characterization, plots and protagonists have so much an influence or is there more?
Justifying a classic is a distasteful job. As a famous somebody put it, it would be like “…smashing up a Rolex and studying it contents in an endevour to understand its working”. And yet that is the true test of fire; while a passable work would struggle to cling on to its identity, every shard of the classic, in spite of the incompetent dissection, proclaims aloud its elite genesis and its sonorous wisdom.
A classic is a classic because it remains contemporary at all times. Socrates didactic rejoinder to his accusers is as apt today as it was millennia ago. Can the same be said of “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life”? The example I give is but a representative of the zillions of books written, published and “oomphed” by critics, media and the gullible reader only to bite dust faster that their meteoric rise.
The sobriquet “classic” is not lightly given. A classic, with its lilting flow, uplifts the most depressed of hearts. It represents human thought at its pinnacle, and epitomizes the art of incorporating the thought into the history and histrionics of an individual. This doesn’t imply classics belong to only the genre of serious literary works. The subtle humour of P.G. Wodehouse’s works ensures a place for his creation in every listing of all time classics. And who can forget “Three Men in a Boat” or “Don Quixote”. If these cannot be classified as classics, what would be?
A classic remains so because it evolves with the reader. Each time you read it, it offers you a new perspective on life and living; a perspective that applies aptly to the mental status and maturity of the reader. Give Ayn Rand’s “Fountainhead” a second, third and fourth reading and yet on the fifth, it displays a hitherto unseen facet of itself. This is what makes a classic truly timeless, it is a heady mix of the ancient and contemporary.
What better way to define a classic than to quote the foremost? Falling back on the sweetest memories of reading, let me mention some that I would deem fit for the coveted title. The result, picture the condition of a ravenous treasure-seeker who sights a pearl at every step. My condition is no different. I quail to grasp at any of the multitude of fond memories; for in grasping one, you commit the sacrilege of omitting innumerous others.
I have reached the end but i do not seem to have the checklist that I set out to prepare, the touchstone to test the “classicity” of a work is still elusive. And let it be, for can true beauty be ever defined in terms of ratios of the size of the nose to its length? And even if it can be, who cares; I refuse to decide my life partner based on the length of her nose. Let my eye measure, my mind analyze but I would only listen to my heart.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Crossroads
And here I was, once again, at the clichéd crossroad of my life. I suppose my life is no different from others, but how is it that I seem to have more crossroads than roads. The time spent on the road between two crossroads, heavenly time, seems miniscule when compared to the agonizingly long time spent at the hellholes called crossroads. I almost feel like a decision tree with too numerous a node.
Need I narrate to you my torment…. But if not for narration, the very objective of this blog is defeated. Dear reader of stout heart, here it comes without anymore ado.
It was a tube-light lit night in my room in the fag end of the 2005 academic year. How I came to that to that point in my life entails traversing through another set of crossroads that I do not wish to dwell on now. Take it that it would be a prequel similar to this one, if ever that is narrated. So here I was, lit by the garish light of my living room/bed room (5 other roomies had equal claim to the same space though), holding a receiver in my hand, an aching ear to boot. The biggest crossroad of my short life (I had atleast 5 other “biggest” crossroads starting from the first entrance exam I took at the age of 5. No kidding!!!) chanced itself on me and found me grossly inadequate – whither to post the masters in physics?
It was not the paucity of options that flummoxed me; rather it was the profusion. Was I to, like many of my other classmates, take up masters in technology? Or would research be a more invigorating option, for the upper chamber atleast? What caused the panic was not even the eight direction crossroad; the panic was rather a result of being lonely while on the brink. Brink, yes thats the word that describes the situation with dad retiring in a short while and I was expected to be the so called “man in the family”.
It didn’t help that I had advice, the advice was either from people who had crossed the crossroads too long ago or, by fate's benovolent design, didn’t chance by one somehow. M Tech was rooted for by most of the family; after all the image of a successful software engineer settled in US is strongly ingrained in the Telugu psyche. A constant buzz in the ear was my reward for refusing to toe in line, the third cousin of my maternal grandfather’s friend called up to depict the risk reward matrix of degree in research vs. M Tech – stint in the States (with the mention of States in a reverential whisper, lest it may trigger the gods’ envy) being the ultimate payoff.
The lights were killed one by one and darkness found me glum and morose. “Hey LNVK”, a shout from the other corner of the room.
Let me clarify. LNVK is not random representation of the alphabets; it is the set of alphabets that I have been forced to respond to from the moment I set my foot in the primary school, a place where names become letters and letters take a life of their own. Be it whatever, LNVK I became and LNVK I remain.
“Hey LNVK”, a shout from the other corner of the room. “What is it, MRK?” I replied
“Gone deaf or what? I have been calling you for the past five minutes.”
“Bugger, you’ll get deaf too, if you had the phone stuck to your ear for the better part of the hour.” I replied.
“So what’s the big thing? Vacation plans?” MRK asked
“That the last thing on my mind now. Its this career bullshit that’s ruining my night’s sleep”
“But I thought you are a pucca research guy. What is the problem?”
This is when the devil entered my head. Wanting to sound wise beyond my years and maintain my image of the quirky guy, I said “I want to take the road less travelled.”
To my absolute mortification, this had him in splits. Now this MRK is a no nonsense guy with a sharp sense of humor. “Road less travelled? Wow that’s original man. Anyway why the hell would anyone lay a road if it is less travelled? Don’t be so dumb.”
It was then I realized I needed what I was later taught a “paradigm shift” in thinking. Deciding to sleep on it, I shut my eyes firmly and tuned out of the noise in the room. I cannot claim I had a dream showing two roads, one ill-kept with a lot of grass and only a foot wide and the other a highway interspersed with money pots. However this visual was firmly engraved in my mind the next morning when I woke up.
I made my choice, a choice that no one expected, a choice that I did not know even existed. “It may not be less travelled but has plenty of money pots all along the way at frequent intervals” I said to myself.
If anyone asks me what caused me to take an MBA, I would like to honestly confess (depending on the person who asked, the content in which the question was put and more importantly, the answer’s effect on my prospects) “A throbbing ear, a search for road less travelled and a bad dream at night”.
History repeats, at least the malevolent part of history repeats, and once again I am at crossroads; this time I am sure that, as usual, I will take some idiotic road not present on the first, second or third examination. Or will I?
Need I narrate to you my torment…. But if not for narration, the very objective of this blog is defeated. Dear reader of stout heart, here it comes without anymore ado.
It was a tube-light lit night in my room in the fag end of the 2005 academic year. How I came to that to that point in my life entails traversing through another set of crossroads that I do not wish to dwell on now. Take it that it would be a prequel similar to this one, if ever that is narrated. So here I was, lit by the garish light of my living room/bed room (5 other roomies had equal claim to the same space though), holding a receiver in my hand, an aching ear to boot. The biggest crossroad of my short life (I had atleast 5 other “biggest” crossroads starting from the first entrance exam I took at the age of 5. No kidding!!!) chanced itself on me and found me grossly inadequate – whither to post the masters in physics?
It was not the paucity of options that flummoxed me; rather it was the profusion. Was I to, like many of my other classmates, take up masters in technology? Or would research be a more invigorating option, for the upper chamber atleast? What caused the panic was not even the eight direction crossroad; the panic was rather a result of being lonely while on the brink. Brink, yes thats the word that describes the situation with dad retiring in a short while and I was expected to be the so called “man in the family”.
It didn’t help that I had advice, the advice was either from people who had crossed the crossroads too long ago or, by fate's benovolent design, didn’t chance by one somehow. M Tech was rooted for by most of the family; after all the image of a successful software engineer settled in US is strongly ingrained in the Telugu psyche. A constant buzz in the ear was my reward for refusing to toe in line, the third cousin of my maternal grandfather’s friend called up to depict the risk reward matrix of degree in research vs. M Tech – stint in the States (with the mention of States in a reverential whisper, lest it may trigger the gods’ envy) being the ultimate payoff.
The lights were killed one by one and darkness found me glum and morose. “Hey LNVK”, a shout from the other corner of the room.
Let me clarify. LNVK is not random representation of the alphabets; it is the set of alphabets that I have been forced to respond to from the moment I set my foot in the primary school, a place where names become letters and letters take a life of their own. Be it whatever, LNVK I became and LNVK I remain.
“Hey LNVK”, a shout from the other corner of the room. “What is it, MRK?” I replied
“Gone deaf or what? I have been calling you for the past five minutes.”
“Bugger, you’ll get deaf too, if you had the phone stuck to your ear for the better part of the hour.” I replied.
“So what’s the big thing? Vacation plans?” MRK asked
“That the last thing on my mind now. Its this career bullshit that’s ruining my night’s sleep”
“But I thought you are a pucca research guy. What is the problem?”
This is when the devil entered my head. Wanting to sound wise beyond my years and maintain my image of the quirky guy, I said “I want to take the road less travelled.”
To my absolute mortification, this had him in splits. Now this MRK is a no nonsense guy with a sharp sense of humor. “Road less travelled? Wow that’s original man. Anyway why the hell would anyone lay a road if it is less travelled? Don’t be so dumb.”
It was then I realized I needed what I was later taught a “paradigm shift” in thinking. Deciding to sleep on it, I shut my eyes firmly and tuned out of the noise in the room. I cannot claim I had a dream showing two roads, one ill-kept with a lot of grass and only a foot wide and the other a highway interspersed with money pots. However this visual was firmly engraved in my mind the next morning when I woke up.
I made my choice, a choice that no one expected, a choice that I did not know even existed. “It may not be less travelled but has plenty of money pots all along the way at frequent intervals” I said to myself.
If anyone asks me what caused me to take an MBA, I would like to honestly confess (depending on the person who asked, the content in which the question was put and more importantly, the answer’s effect on my prospects) “A throbbing ear, a search for road less travelled and a bad dream at night”.
History repeats, at least the malevolent part of history repeats, and once again I am at crossroads; this time I am sure that, as usual, I will take some idiotic road not present on the first, second or third examination. Or will I?
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