An ode to rain

As I sit here and contemplate, a cup of chai in hand,

My heart sings and appreciates the weather of this land.

Below eye level flooded but when you look up there's mist,

The breeze might make me leave my room - yes! This hardened librocubicularist!

The dust and sweat of that last week have all been washed away,

Rejoice! Enjoy this brief respite! Enjoy these clouds of grey!

Book Review: The Shiva Trilogy

Warning: If you are a rabid fan, stop reading this now. If you haven't read the books yet, Spoiler Alert!

I heard about The Immortals of Meluha (Part One of this trilogy) when I was in tenth. Later, I met some friends who were mad about the books and kept telling me to read them. However, my earlier skirmishes with ex-IIM authors *coughChetanBhagatcough* were rather unpleasant, so I went into reading this series with a good dollop of skepticism.

A quick overview:
These books tell the story of Shiva, the Hindu god, as though he was a human and not a divine being. Along the way you meet plenty of your favorite mythological characters from stories we've all heard as children from our grandparents.

The stuff I liked:
The concept blew me away. Amazing idea, and matching this story to the legends we've heard throughout our lives (like Ganesh being a Naga) is an adventure. I liked the feminist portrayal of women, especially Sati. Daksha's descent into madness was one of my favorite plotlines. The philosphical conversations between Shiva and the Vasudevs were what I looked forward to.

The stuff I didn't like:
The writing style was just too unrefined. Now, I know I'm going to get a lot of flak for this, with people saying "English isn't our first language! Simple writing encourages Indians to read English!" etc etc but would a little more description hurt anyone?! Some of the sentences were just downright childish, and I cringed at every fully capitalised dialogue. Writing "He shouted" is sufficient. In the Internet age, that is particularly disturbing. Also, the author's obsession with explaining every Sanskrit term is a little wearing. Either a glossary or footnotes would have worked much better than trying to fit the definition into the same sentence as the word.
This lack of elaboration meant that I didn't connect with any of the characters. By the end of it, I didn't identify with, idolise or even pity any of them.

I have more fundamental problems with the characters too, though. For all the hype about portraying Shiva as "human", I don't see him ever being in the wrong. Nothing he does, from changing the law to marry Sati,  to suddenly deciding the Somras is evil, to using the Pashupatiastra to destroy a city, nothing is questioned. He never makes a mistake in his judgement, never faces the consequences of his actions. He is apparently uncomfortable in his role as the Neelkanth, but abuses that power throughout.

Overall, The Shiva Trilogy gets away with having a great concept and plotline. However, the simplistic writing style ruins it. The story had immense potential. A little more time and effort would have made it better. It's a promising beginning to this new genre (I don't know what to call it! Mythological fiction?) and I'd like to see more authors trying it out.

2.5 stars out of 5.

What is Growing Up?

The process of growing up starts off small, with things like Barney. I was one of those kids who are old before their time, always worried about where Barney appeared from and anxious about the baby in the Teletubbies' sun (I always wondered how it wasn't burning, since it was laughing)

There comes a time when being grown up is sleeping in a separate room and being allowed to sleepovers. It's ordering your own food for the first time. It's when not wanting to sleep when you're supposed to morphs into wanting to sleep when you're not supposed to. For me, growing up was being pulled away from my favorite books to another set of books that were never as captivating but are apparently more necessary.

Growing up is going from giggling at sex scenes in books to reading Stieg Larsson without batting an eyelash, but never losing your belief in magic. It's understanding Harper Lee on a whole new level and discovering untold giants like Asimov and Zusak.

When you figure out you'll never look like her (at least on the outside) and give up, you think you've grown up. But really growing up is realising that it doesn't matter and trying to make your inside beautiful instead. I haven't grown up this way yet. I wonder if I ever will.

Growing up is when your parents finally listen to your opinion like it matters. But often it's about realising that your parents are flawed too. This sort of creeps up on you. I don't remember when it happened. But suddenly finding yourself on equal footing with them is scary and unsettling and thrilling all at the same time.

People think growing up is about becoming adequate. But in almost eighteen years I have never felt adequately grown up, and I don't think I ever will.
To me, growing up isn't about losing that feeling of inadequacy.
It's about realising that you never will.

Have I, then, grown up?
Maybe.