Book Review: When Breath becomes Air

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I just finished reading Paul Kalanithi's 'When Breath Becomes Air' and wept my eyes out. Unnameable emotions overwhelmed me.

I have always been awkward about death - graceless about the abrupt and unannounced way it departs with someone close to me, unable to believe in afterlife or hope that I would still be able to foster a meaningful connection beyond this moment, beyond that instance.

I have protested in an undignified manner everytime death took away someone close to me (and there have been quite a few!)– loud and unhinged in a futile attempt to reverse the process and claim back what was mine. And one my colossal failure became apparent, I retreated into a shell of silence, muffled sobs and furious writing.

In my attempt to understand this natural and inevitable phenomenon, I have been making attempts to read about it this year. I started with 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory' by Caitlin Doughty. It made me aware of the post-death processes and helped me become a little less afraid of what happened to mortal remains.

I then picked up Paul Kalanithi's posthumously published 'When Breath becomes Air', an account of his life and death and his quest to understanding the meaning of both. The book made me address my own mortality and that of those near and dear to me.

Paul's writing sparkled with a flow and wisdom that most authors would envy. With an honesty and acceptance so admirable to witness, Paul shares with us the arduous journey he and his family had to undertake on the onset of his Stage IV lung cancer.

Being a neurosurgeon himself, he battled both as a patient and fellow doctor to fight and accept death, while making his life as meaningful as possible. As a reader, hyperaware of his fate, I struggled within as I read about how bravely he faced his disease.

The book made a fascinating read, increasing my respect for doctors tenfold. For the most part, to me, it felt like a philosophical treatise and at others, Paul's prose shone like poetry, reigniting his hikes, operations, struggles to live in our minds.

Everything about his life's story made me realize that we have lost a truly wonderful person who not only was a skilled surgeon but also a great thinker, a neuroscientist in the making, a loving father-husband-son-brother and most importantly, a caring empathetic human. As I read the book, I wished to know more about him. What books did he love? Did he like watching films? How did his lovely wife Lucy and him come to fall in love? How did he manage to show up to save lives when his own was ebbing away? It was an emotional journey traversing which tugged within me anger, helplessness and irrational hope for Paul to beat the disease, despite being fully aware that he was no more. Somewhere through his words, Paul had become a relatable friend.

Throughout the book, the evident end loomed over like a dark storm cloud waiting to erupt and engulf me. Questions kept rising their cruel head – if I were to meet with Paul's fate, how would I spend my life? Would I go out with grace, even if I was vulnerable? Do I have the strength and courage to even understand what death would mean despite being afraid of its sudden swift blow near me?

For the most part, I had no answers. But I was grateful that the questions had been churned. It helped me bring my attention back to this moment, the now of life. Having struggled this whole year with my work, I had moved through the months only by taking one day at a time. Paul's book was a gentle reminder to plough on in the same way, convincing me that today is all we have so we better make good use of it.

And to the man who wrote so beautifully, his wife who wrote such a beautiful epilogue that had me racking with tears and to the legion of family and friends Paul leaves behind, I just want to say that we readers are all mourning his loss and celebrating his life with you. We are all in this together! And the lifelong moral search Paul undertook to solve what makes a life worth living has been answered by his own book. THIS, the search itself and the authenticity and grace with which we live our lives, aware or unaware of what awaits in the morrow is the only thing that matters.

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The Ellipsis

Crippling silences
Eyes squint for a sign of light
No sound alerts
No life stirs
A submerging in nothingness

Will voices rouse
a sudden shift in the clouds?

Until then,
a gentle death in wait

Cooing A Reassurance

Photo by Matt Borsic on Unsplash

Today, as I sat overthinking my work and despair once again began to flood my being, an impish car radio shifted from golden oldies to play a particular song that I used to favour.

This song, silly as it might sound, used to be my motivator during my board exams. On the mornings of the exams, I'd sing it with energy and intent in the bathroom as I bathed, encouraging myself in the process. It was what I now term 'a ritualistic shower' that comprised of four songs being sung while performing daily ablutions. You skip any one, and the paper would be doomed, of course!

Putting aside the hilarity of the situation, I realized that I'd simply banked on the power of words (the lyrics) and suggestion (the act of singing aloud willing me to take the right actions) to spur me on to face something I dreaded.

When that song revisited me today in the cab, a series of emotions gushed in. I was laughing in recollection. It'd been long since I'd heard the song. Tears stung my eyes as I recalled how I had immense and blind faith in the universe back then. And I was overwhelmed. It felt as if my past self was reaching out for a handshake and a hug through the speakers of an Ola cab. Along with the lyrics, she whispered a reminder to me on how driven, relentless and sincere I'd always been towards my goals.

It was a refresher I needed at this crossroads. A gentle nudge reassuring me that I am enough to be me, I have made the right choices and I need to now let things flow.

Sometimes, you need every kind of validation from everyone around to let you know that you are working towards the right causes. At other times, a simple song will do!

Looking Back

Usually, when I accidentally stumble upon an old piece of my old writing, the naivety and the absolute abandon with which I used to write pained me. It stood as a reminder of how trusting I once used to be – of people, experiences and the world itself. I used to give second, third, fourth and infinite chances to people, and every bruise they left in their wake got recorded in these pages as poetry or a piece of writing.

So much water has flown down the bridge!

Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

And I say this with a lot of gratefulness and joy. Today, as I gathered my writing to sow them as seeds in various publications, I revisited my blog to see if they appear on these pages or are still unseen by the public eye. In that process, I went down the rabbit hole, reading of love lost, love longed for and love that was never mine. The writing is full of “rancid pain”, as my dear friend, The Moody Kettle calls it. But, for the first time, I smiled. It is a privilege to be able to view it all from today, where I hold abundant love in my arms. 

Many a time, I have considered deleting those giddy old posts (not just of love but also: slipper tales, my loo which is a zoo, etc.) preferring to showcase a curated list of decent writing that won’t make me cringe. And over and again, something stopped me from erasing the past. It should serve as a reminder, I told myself. And it did today. 

It reminded me that despite all the heartbreak, I found love in the strangest place. It also told me of how little I knew the world and — although a tad more enlightened — how much more there is still to know. It took me on a roller coaster ride, showing me how I grew from strength to strength to reach today. 

I may not have much. I am still writing but have not finished even one of the 20 different plot ideas I have begun. I am looking out for a stable career while moonlighting as a writer. I still have miles to go before I sleep. 

But that ride showed me how far I have travelled from where I began in 2004 — yes that makes 14 years of writing here. I was merely 17 years of age, high on life, passionate about everything and madly looking for love everywhere. Today, I am no more the extrovert, choosing a more ambivert style of life. I spend my days all alone, working in the peace and silence of my home, not for a second seeking any distraction, escape or company (I never used to be able to do that!) I have been focusing my energy on a career in writing and storytelling. I have a bit more clarity on what I want from life and I am seeking it with the man of my dreams next to me. I couldn’t have asked for more! 

This throwback also brought forth a few things that haven’t changed one bit — I still love writing, dreaming, exploring the world and telling stories of all kinds. I still trust the universe to always take care of me, but I know that sometimes the cosmos may be busy attending to others :) I guess it was good not to have deleted the past. It’ll always tell me my own story when I forget fragments of it. I’ve been going through a slightly challenging period in terms of work and this blast from the past made me feel grounded and happy again.

To the readers –if we still have that breed of excellent humans amongst us– thank you for all your kindness and time! I promise to write more and often.

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Miss Subways by David Duchovny
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I received an advanced reading copy of David Duchovny's 'Miss Subways', thanks to publishers Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley.

The book does not fall into the category of my preferred genre. However, owing to my love for X-Files and curiosity on what Mulder/Duchovny can produce, I picked it up. Unlike the cliche associated with celebrities wielding the pen, Duchovny's writing is actually good.

The story is quirky in style and substance and makes an interesting read. What is unique about Duchovny's style is the humour he employs. He spares nothing and smartly paints a satire of society, its beliefs, practices, self-importance and whatnot! I was also quite impressed with the vast pop and ancient culture knowledge that Duchovny possesses and weaves in this fantasy tale with ease.

Miss. Subways is the tale of Emer, a schoolteacher whose seemingly mundane life takes a twist when she encounters a mythical creature, Bean Sidhe. What follows is a tale that is part sci-fi, part fantasy with a generous helping of romance and its share of happily-ever-after concepts. While this sounds like a crazy combination and it is, Duchovny makes the ride memorable and filled with surprises. Most of the times, I had to remind myself that it was a male author portraying a female protagonist. Duchovny is that convincing while voicing Emer!

While I found the beginning a bit patchy in narration, I persevered and did not regret giving it a chance. The meaty middle is where all the goodness of the book lies. The resolution towards the end was a bit of a let down for me since I felt Duchovny became a bit restless and quickly tied up all loose threads. The irreverence and boldness he portrays through the rest of the book somehow feel absent here and it seems as if he succumbed to some sort of audience-pleasing pressure.

Overall, it's quite an interesting read. Turns out, Fox Mulder has more up his sleeve than I'd imagined!

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Book Review: Hush A Bye Baby

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Deepanjana Pal's recently launched 'Hush A Bye Baby' is a fast-paced book with an interesting plot to boot. This work of fiction investigates the allegations of sex-selective abortions laid upon Mumbai's top gynecologist Nandita Rai. Over its course, the book explores many contemporary issues like corruption, female foeticide in India, state of women in society, power politics, etc.

The plot is probably the strongest suit of the book. Nandita Rai is a famous gynecologist, revered by patients and lauded by society as the crusader of women. When one of her patients accuses her of performing sex-selective abortion, her world comes tumbling down. The police are at her heels, the gossip mongers are spreading rumours and her nursing home gets shut. The cunning Manohar Hadpude leads the case and is ably assisted by the smooth-talking Lad and geeky techie Reshma Gabuji. Battling foul senior officers, dark secrets, mysterious cults and tight-lipped patients, the three persevere to find evidence that can nail Rai down. An engrossing read, the reader is engaged with the investigation throughout.

While I barely encountered a boring moment in the book, the writing style left a lot to be desired. The dialogues are more suitable for a movie script rather than a tome since it indulges the syntax of spoken instead of written language. A lot of Hindi words are scattered across the book; probably intended to validate the setting. However, this proved jarring and did not appeal to me. Much of the book had a very cinematic quality, owing to the dramatic situations and the writing style it employs. I am pretty sure Bollywood will lap this book up real soon for an adaptation.

When the investigation drew to a close, it left me a bit puzzled and jaded. I wish Pal had elaborated a bit on how exactly the verdict was arrived upon –  Did the CBI use Reshma's evidence at all? What happened to the Kalisthenics angle in the investigation? Were the other crimes they'd perpetrated to be investigated? Who were caught and why were the others pardoned/not in trouble? What happened to the assistant, Dr. Suman Sengupta? Was Esther found or murdered? I was left with more questions than answers.

However, I thoroughly enjoyed the way the book ended - with Reshma joining Kalisthenics. It left me wondering if she was moving over to the dark side or simply using this as a way to get back at them with more evidence. I am sure there is a sequel lurking somewhere!


Verdict: ★★★☆☆
Not literary writing but a gripping and light travel read. 

DISCLAIMER: The book was given to me as part of the Juggernaut Reader's Program. However, all opinions expressed above are my own.

Book Review: China Bus by André Dalrington

China Bus by André Darlington
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A 3.5!

Andre Darlington's lets us board the 'China Bus' and slowly get acquainted with the broken chairs, the hookers and his own thoughts in this book.

While the premise sounds fascinating, only a few parts of this book are truly about the bus and what it evokes. I did not enjoy the musings on Beckett and Bartleby and Nachtrager. It seemed a bit out of context since I was thoroughly enjoying the various facets of the China Bus and what it represents to its riders. So, the distraction to literary talk did not bode well for me.

Andre creates a great visual of the China Bus and one actually wishes he'd shared more vignettes from his journeys on the bus. The book ends too quickly and leaves one wanting for more!

A very interesting and experimental book, I definitely recommend it for the striking language and unique concept.

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Book Review: Little White Fish and His Daddy Little White Fish and His Daddy by Guido Genechten

Little White Fish and His Daddy by Guido Genechten
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The book has a great concept - of loving our family (fathers, in this case) and appreciating their skills. The book exudes positivity and instills the ability to look at the bright side of everyone.

The only thing I wished it had was a better narration. The story starts and ends abruptly. It would be great if the author could have engage the curious reader. Had the book been written as a poem, I believe it would have had a greater impact.

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Book Review: Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur

Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Many of the poems hit you hard in the gut and/or are relatable. I love the raw art that accompanies the poetry.

However, I'd rate this between 3 and 3.5 because the other half of the poems didn't have an impact on me at all.

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Book Review: Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx

Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Being an avid movie viewer, I cursed myself for having watched Brokeback Mountain many many years after its release - Heath Ledger had passed, Jake Gyllenhaal had become a more prominent name and LGBTQ themes were not uncommon in mainstream cinema. But despite my unforgivable delay, the movie stood out as a simple, poignant ode to love. When prompted by the Book Riots Read Harder Challenge 2018 task of reading a "Western", my friends had chosen this. Excited to compare the two works of art, I followed suit.
What a beautiful book! All of thirty pages, but narrating a lifetime of love, loss, longing and tenderness in a way that cuts you open. Mind you, it's not dramatic prose. The descriptions are evocative (some of which prompted me to read twice just so I could transport myself the first time around but admire the language the second time) but the action is restrained and almost spare. And yet, it hits all the right spots and makes you root for Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist.
Once again, I am wondering why I took so long to pick this up. But then, there's just never going to be enough time to relish all the wonderful pieces of art. Maybe, I am just glad that I finally read it!

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One

Every week, a little piece

A writer falters, questioning if only sadness could evoke the pretty words. Happiness, it seemed, filled her cup. She couldn’t draw from it for some reason. When the cup was empty, dried-up: corners cracking, bits of old coffee stuck at the rim and dregs of long-ago teas lying at the bottom, she saw webs in dried froth — of intrigue, mystery, forgotten things and unsaid words; and like a soothsayer, she prodded bits of the dregs, found fortunes and futures in them.

But what could one see in a full cup? A ripple now and then, maybe. But the calm sea stirred no story. It reflected back to her with content, her own joyous face. 

And so, to lament of the past and present, to wonder and ponder over the complete draught of words, she picked her pen to write. 

“A writer falters…,” she began.