Bear Town and Us Against You

When you like the book of an author, there is a natural urge to read the rest of his books. This has been my habit since childhood. I loved "My grandmother sends her regards and apologises" by Fredrik Backman and followed it with "Brit Marie was here." There was also a connection to the books and its characters. Both the books were unputdownable and I fell in love with the characters. This led to my reading "A man called Ove" and then "Anxious People."

When I spotted "Beartown" and "Us Against You" in my local bookstore I had to pick it up. Like how Ove lingers in your head long after the book is shelved, the characters in these two books also remain for a long time in your thoughts. The way the characters are etched in each of his books appeal to me. 

In Beartown, the story is built around a small town located amid a large Swedish forest which for most of the year is covered in snow. The only sport in town is ice hockey and the people of the town are obsessed with the sport. The people are close enough, but a violent act by a player and what happens afterwards to divide the people and how hatred fills up in their minds make up the rest of the story. The characters of Benji, Fatima and Jeanette the teacher, Maya and Ana help in keeping you hooked to the book till the last page.

It is better to read Beartown before Us Against You as you would get a better picture of all the characters and families that are involved.

Us Against You talks about two teams from Hed and Beartown. The story is about the aftermath of the violent act of a star player of Beartown, who leaves town when things get ugly. A devious politician enters the town to make things further difficult for Peter the general manager of the hockey club. How politics affects the ethos of the small town, how some people despite their personal differences try and pull it together and form a team to play their favourite sport of ice hockey makes up the rest of the story.

The story reveals how the sporting society is even prepared to let people live above the law if it could be useful to the economy.The characters in the book feel trapped by their careers, circumstance and their sexuality and they struggle to cope with it. How each of the characters manage to overcome their situation and try to move on is the crux of the story.

I would recommend both books as "Must Read."

 

Street Smart

He was holding bouquets of roses. The signal turned red and he weaved his way through idling cars. He begged drivers and passengers to buy. The signal turned green and he returned dejected.

She walked up to him and took the flowers. When it turned red, she tapped a window. The passengers refused and she teared up. He couldn’t hear what she said, but could see her offering all five bouquets.

A woman in the back took all of them. She accepted the money and thanked the lady profusely.

She thrust the money into his hands.

“And that’s how it’s done.”

By Srividya Ganapathy

(This was published on June 6th, 2022 in 101words.org)

 

Role Reversal, by Srividya Ganapathy 22/4/2022   Having a professor as a grandfather had its advantages and disadvantages. She even found it endearing at times when he would ask her to tell him the story after she finished reading or write a paragraph about the film she had watched. She was on her best behaviour with him unlike with other grown ups. As he aged and began losing memory, she brought him books to read. He read the same page several times. Now, she reminded him to tell her the story after he finished. He smiles at her. A flashback perhaps?... a fleeting memory reminding him of the past? This was published on April 22,2022 in Friday Flash Fiction

 

Relief, by Srividya Ganapathy 15/4/2022   Ammini was married off at the age of 12 to a tyrant, who beat her for his coffee not being hot enough or if she read his magazines before he could.  He fathered four kids and none of them batted an eyelid when he hit her with firewood. She wished that she could cook on kerosene stoves and dreamed of reading peacefully under the mango tree. One sunny morning as he sat for his meal, he choked on a drumstick and fell dead. She didn't cry for losing him. She was glad all the firewood were taken for the pyre. This was published in Friday Flash fiction on April 15th 2022.

 

The Gift, by Srividya Ganapathy 29/4/2022   The coconut grove was sold to a builder. The old trees shed dried coconuts. As construction began, kids of workers started playing there.  I noticed that they were playing football with a dry coconut. I was reminded of a time when a neighbour who had seen me playing with a broken ball, gifted me a new one. The next day as I stood watering my plants, my help arrived with an old football. She yelled “boys”! When a few of them looked up, she threw the ball to them. They caught the ball beaming and clapped their hands in glee.  (This story was published in Friday Flash Fiction on 29th April 2022)

An Evening at the Concert

Some moons ago a cousin wrote an article in The Hindu about how madisar mamis struck alliances for their son or daughter during the December season in the sabhas of Madras. Then years passed by with writers writing about the bane of ringtones blaring songs like “Harivarasanam” from the phones of the middle aged and “Appidi podu” from the youngsters. Today I guess I should write about mamas watching cricket during concerts.

Yesterday I happened to attend the concert of Ranjani & Gayatri. Since the duo is very popular the venue was packed. A few minutes into the concert, Camboji sounded like a commentator in English. I turned around to see the old man sitting behind me had the gall to watch the cricket match without muting the phone. Turning around and glaring at him, didn’t bother him one bit. Then I turned around and said “Will you stop that?” he wasn’t fazed. Another person two seats away had to say it loudly once again before he put it back inside without an apology. However, to his credit, the next time he wanted to see the scores he walked out and came back after a few minutes.

There was a time when the old didn’t want to learn how to use a smart phone. Once they learnt how to use it, they seem thrilled to watch movies and TV serials on it. I wish they would also learn to use a headphone so that they don’t disturb others.  While I did find it cute when the old tried selfies with the artistes in the background I wish they restrict its use in a concert hall.

On the lighter side not much has changed in the concert scene. When the artistes began ‘Hamsanadhanam,’ the all knowing mamas said ‘Kanada’ in a loud voice, while the mamis in the row before them sniggered. After Gayatri announce the raga, the mamis laughed and said “kettuda.” (Did u hear?)

While Chennai sabhas have canteens, Bangalore doesn’t boast of one in each sabha. This could be the reason that I found mamis distributing fruits, murukkus and biscuits time and again to their coterie. The crunch of murukkus along with the Manoj Siva’s mridangam and Sukanya Ramgopal’s ghatam blended well.

All in all it was a great concert slightly marred by cricket crazy old men.

"Don't Choose My Books"

When members in a reading group I follow ask for recommendations for children’s books for different age groups, I read them with a smile. I had done the same thing ten years ago. As mothers we feel that the child should not miss out on new books. So we always look for books that inspire and then try introducing them to new authors. I am still not able to forget the day my present teen told me categorically not to recommend any book to her. She said she was capable of using Google and finding new books. I was rather taken aback. Well, that would be an understatement. But I did recover quickly as she was the one at the “ripe old age of four” had shocked me by asking me not to read to her at night. She had refused to look at picture books with two lines of prose. She quickly ventured into chapter books. Soon she began choosing books of her own. In fact, now she suggests young adult books that I should read. While I feel sad that I am no longer needed to choose books, I am also happy and amazed at her transformation into a voracious reader forming her own opinions.

I don’t remember my parents having read any book to us when we were growing up. One of them would tell us a bedtime story or my grandmother would step in to tell a story if they were busy. There was also a constant supply of children’s magazines like Chandamama, Champak and Gokulam (the Tamil version), so that we could also read the vernacular. Then there were the Amar Chitra Kathas that reached us without our having to ask for it. I truly consider myself richer for these books that shaped us. My daughters used to read these magazines once in a while but were not keen to subscribe to them at all.

Apart from the children’s books that we hungrily devoured, there were Tamil magazines like Ananda Vikatan, Kumudam, Kalki and Kalaimagal, which would arrive each week. Those days, believe me, they were good when compared to its present day avatar. As I grew up my parents thought I should not read these Tamil magazines and the ones I could read would have to be vetted by them.  I could never agree with their theory and when they were not around I would sneak a book and read it cover to cover. While I don't tell my daughter not to read a particular book, I do discreetly make a note of her choices. Kalaimagal was a great magazine for short stories with literary merit. My dad had quite a ritual to follow once the novels in the magazines ended. He sat down to tear up all the serials from the magazine before giving them to the paperwala. The torn pages would be bound, covered and labelled with the name of the novel and the author.

My father was a professor of literature and many publishing houses sent him books that he could choose and order for the college library. Some publishing houses sent complimentary copies and I got to read them. During this period my dad got ambitious that I read all the classics. While I am glad that I was able to read several of them ahead of my peers in school, I was annoyed when my dad forced me to read the unabridged version of Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens. I think this is the only book where I skipped several pages in between and said that I completed it. Recently when I read Nicholas Nickleby, I wished my dad had given an abridged version so that I wouldn’t have missed this wonderful story.

With the arrival of the children I found that both were different in their reading habits. The older one read anything and everything lying around but if I suggested that she read a particular author she didn’t bother to glance at it. Also she didn’t take much to comics except for Amar Chitra Katha. While I was happy initially, there came a time when she totally shunned reading Enid Blyton after a couple of books and Indian authors. Then Harry Potter happened. I have lost count of the times those books have been read. In fact it is such a well thumbed and tattered book that a new book of one of the series was bought recently. With the arrival of fantasy, the new genre of fan fiction has totally consumed her and she closed her mind to any other kind of writing whatsoever. However, the younger one is different. She listens to the suggestions and makes her choices.

Except for the classics I don’t remember being forced to read a particular genre. Which was also one of the reasons I was open to my child choosing a book and genre of her choice. I was open to reading any genre and derived pleasure in choosing my preferred genre as I grew up.  While I am glad my daughter reads a lot, I am also alarmed at the rate at which fantasy has consumed her and it has become her only preferred genre. She scoffs at recommendations of any kind. Indian authors are taboo. When a friend suggested I read Payal Kapadia’s Horrid High, she reluctantly agreed to read and surprisingly wrote a review of it. However, that was the last Indian author she read. However, I am glad the younger one is slightly open to reading other genres too. She enjoys Enid Blyton and Harry Potter equally. So I hope all is not lost. I rarely recommend or look for titles for the girls now. I just stand back and let them make their choices hoping that things will change.

I recently read an essay by Neil Gaiman where he says that children should be around books so that they would get hooked to the habit of reading. He also mentions that he once recommended Stephen King’s book to his daughter. His daughter didn’t like it all. So I take comfort in the fact that I am not alone.

But is there a magic wand, which can help them be open minded while choosing authors and genres. I haven’t found an answer to that.