Books, classics and Barnes and Noble
All of a sudden it started raining and all of a sudden I had this almost manic fit to write….. Hurray for such bouts of verbal/writing diarrhea!!





Yesterday was rather a dull day and in the evening on my way back home, I decided to stop at the new Barnes and Noble ( fuck such majestic institutions which smell more of coffee and less of decomposed yellow cracking paper) and I was in a mood to buy a copy of Ulysses by James Joyce but these smutty, odious, contemptuous, ghastly beasts had priced it for $17…., of course I will not buy such an exorbitant thing, so I had to just roam around like a lost greyhound and tried to find some other books but Lord, the prices were astronomical. For a moment I wished to be a peasant who just worries about the onset and departure of rain and spring and not about V Woolf or Forster…. But dear me, it’s hard to control myself when I wish to read and yesterday the pang to read something burlesque (I hope this word means satirical??? Am I right??) was just so strong.





Anyways, much to my disappointment I had to seek help from one of those people who roam around in such stores (apparently they are called workers of the store, but I call them nincompoops) Oh dear, second time in my life I had to humiliated by a young ,scraggy, brassiere devoid bimbo who just had no idea how to spell Forster’s name. Imagine how very horrific. But anyway, B&N didn’t had anything new by him. Someone told me long time ago that if I like Forster I should read Ann Tyler, so I decided to look for works, but somehow I didn’t get that orgasmatic feeling in my hands on holding and flipping through her works, sorry but it just didn’t, I just got this hollow, pliable feeling…Then I started looking for works by Henry Green ( loving and Living to be specific), of course they didn’t have it but what they had was half a shelf of Graham Green.





I had heard of G Green before, but never read any. While shuffling through my eyes caught the title Travels with my aunt and immediately I realized that long long time ago when Tutankhamen was the king of the earth I had seen the movie of that title which had our dear old Maggie in it. Before I continue I want to confess--- I love a few women to death and Maggie Smith is one of them. Oh I had to buy the book…goes without saying that such luxuries do come at a price tag for $14. Oh before I forget, the whole B and N was invaded by the new medical students whole were all hovering around like a lost herd of buffaloes. The whole atmosphere was so anesthetic. I had to rush out before all those doctors conspirately decide to conduct some gruesome test on me.

Came home and Prakash was so very kind to make me a huge beaker of tea and I sat on my big chair and started reading. I have only read 47 pages so far. I know its quite slow knowing me, but it’s so good that I feel if I read it slowly, in the nights when I am deep asleep G Green will come and scribble some more pages!! After a long time I found something so enchanting and alluring.

Some one asked me a few days ago that why I love classics and I made up some stupid answer, but I guess I am in the midst of finding that out: Yes Classics are more high school and class oriented which is as preposterous as tits on a bull but that’s the way a common person perceive them as, some old obsolete books written for the goobers. I am not saying that they are wrong, but what I like the most in such classics is this whole eccentricity of characters: They are so well defined that most of them have almost become iconic: Imagine David Copperfield without Betsy Trotwood, Uriah Heep or Mr. Micawber. How very dull. Or For a second try to comprehend Madame Bovary without all that picturesque scenes of Rouen or our run down Mrs. Dalloway, without the streets of London, without Septimus Warren Smith? Imagine G Elliot without the plains of Cornwall ? For a second imagine J Austen without her drawing room drama. I can never imagine Elizabeth Bennet or in that way more progressive Emma ever driving a Benz and listening to Missy Elliot.

On a totally different note have you ever noticed that in any of the 6 Jane Austen Novels you will NEVER Find all the men in one room without a woman? I guess J Austen never saw that and hence couldn’t write about it. Going back to my blabbering, the point I am trying to make is that in olden times (I hate putting it that way but due to the lack of better word) the characters were far better defined. The props used were always of emotions, the book; characters had people from all spheres of life hustling, jostling, rubbing shoulders with each other but rarely overshadowed the main theme of the book. But look at the books now a days, Flying saucers, Fancy Cars, Lap Tops , i-pods have come in to the picture. Emotions have fallen down like a limpy petticoat. Present authors rarely use better words and characters are more robotic—Most of the time. I rather have a hard time identifying myself with any of them…