It is sad that most of us are blind, sometimes knowingly, to our literary achievements, which lends life to our cultural identity, though many of us follow, in obsequious detail, what happens on the other side of the globe. We have produced some of the best writers of the world. At the same time we are, I am beginning to believe, the worst readers anyone can find. Why? Because we don't read at all, and those few who do, choose not to read the best writers.
And why? Perhaps because they are our writers and they write in our language. And we are still to get rid of our mental blocks, so firmly placed in our collective psyche by (post-independence) colonial rule. We have simply failed to forget that 200 years long nightmare, haven't we? Even after 60 years of independence, we can not honestly claim that we are completely free from inferiority complex, thanks to the Nehruvian policies. Result - using little or no judgement, we embrace anything that has anything to do with west. And worse - in the maddening frenzy, we disregard whatever is in our house, and we end up throwing the baby with bath water.
I have had a chance to visit foreign lands, but quite surprisingly it is India, my homeland that surprises me the most. What surprises me, among other things, is our collective apathy for our own language, our own culture, and I have painfully observed that this behaviour is most acute among the Hindi speaking people. Enough of that. After 60 years, it is hightime we stopped being possessive about that humiliation and move ahead. Here we can learn from the Chinese, who believe that they have always been a great civilization, and the bygone century was just a rough patch in their otherwise glorious history. And they work hard to match their conviction.
We, on the other hand, are running away from our own shadows. And this is not only futile, but downright pathetic. The defeat was collective, and the redemption will have to be collective. But people are in great hurry and they don't have time to understand this.
The privileged ones throw coins and get their skin white-washed in their convent schools. A good number of these idiots, if they are not pathetically ignorant or indifferent, which most of them are, assume a condescending attitude towards likes of Premchand and others, and smile like corrupt politicians do when they talk about Mahatma Gandhi. The shrewd ones mummify them by wrapping them in words - as if they are approving of something, which also existed in same world, and then they rush back to their business. Oh thank you very much. With the phallic confidence they buy in those English-medium shops, they can easily afford that audacity without hurting themselves. Anyways, I don't expect anything else from this god-forsaken breed.
For others, I am writing this post. I am not here to sell nationalism here. I am writing not only because I love Hindi Literature, but also because I find it worthy of highest respect. And that's why this post deserves to be written.
Like most of us, I had little awareness of the developments in Hindi Literature. I hardly knew any other good writer except Premchand. And I had read most of his works, novels and short stories, by the time I joined IITD. The other writer I had been exposed to was Yashpal - in relation to my mother's thesis topic. Other than them, I hardly knew anyone. Had I known more, I would have read more.
In IIT, I wasted my initial semesters asking others to suggest me something good to read and they recommended me likes of Ludlum, Sheldon etc. If you don't know about them, let me tell you - they write shit. And only pigs can consume that. Why? Because it comes from west. Anyways, I had to wait, and my reading in Hindi was kept on hold till I made friends with Debu in a chat room. He suggested me Gunahon Ka Devta by Dharmveer Bharti and "Sanskriti ke char adhyay" by Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar'. The latter is a Sahitya Akademy award winner masterpiece, and reading this was an illuminating experience for me, though I had read Nehru's "Discovery of India". If you want to see India in better perspective, do read this one. I am telling you all this because you might not be knowing someone like Debu.
In Ranchi Pustak Mela, I found "Rag Darbari" by Shrilal Shukla. I didnt know about it then, but I had huge respect for Sahitya Akademy. So I picked it up. But the book was left dumped on my shelf for years. And in autumn of 2005, when I finally started to read it, I chided myself - "why so late?" Reading this was an experience to cherish. No novel has ever tickled me like this one did. And it is not a book of jokes, but a consummate work of satire. After every fit of laughter, you feel a faint ache in your heart. By the end, the reader is left awestruck by the depth in which the author has understood the rural character of UP. And what a precision this man possesses in his expression! Without being sub-standard in quality, his language is credibly rustic, with a distinct flavor of its own. He has erected a Malgudi, with greater details, in UP - named Shivpalganj. Still, after two years when I had been there, I vividly remember Shivpalganj and its people, and the petty games they play with one another. Reading this book was somewhat like watching Sholay, in which every character breathes real air, and continues to breathe even after the movie ends. Don't miss this, and trust me you'll feel like coming to Hyderabad to thank me. Sometimes back, I saw an english translation of this book in Crossword. India surprised me again. Nowhere else in world, they translate their books in others' language. Anyways, let me assure you, the smell of Shivpalganj can not be translated.
Two months back, after I had finished Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, I picked up a couple of books, and they all bored me immensely. Why the hell Hemingway writes at all? Is he the same guy who wrote Old man and sea? Doesn't Russell try too hard to look smart? Can't he relax for a while and forget the self-imposed burden of being a philosopher? Well, the time was ripe to come back home, and I visited Sahitya Akademi website and ordered some books on Hindi Book Center. Now this is a big problem. First, we don't know what to read. And then we don't know where to get what we want. Our friends don't read them and our book shops don't keep them. But now you know something, don't you. At least this could be a good point to start.
When I have said so much, let me also mention a few books that I have read and really liked.
Anything by Premchand.
All poems by Dinkar.
All Sahitya Akademi award winners.
Gunahon Ka Devta - Dharmveer Bharti
Andhere Band Kamre - Mohan Rakesh
Pratinidhi Vyangya - Harishankar Parsai
Madhushala - Harivanshrai Bachchan
Anything by Saratchandra, and Tagore. Mrityunjaya by Shivaji Sawant.
I am yet to read Maila Aanchal by Phaneeshwar Nath 'Renu'. This book is considered to be a milestone in Hindi Literature.
I could have written this post in a better manner. But that doesn't take anything away from the matter I was writing about. The main things is - a whole new world awaits you. And you have a choice. If you listen to me, go inside.
And why? Perhaps because they are our writers and they write in our language. And we are still to get rid of our mental blocks, so firmly placed in our collective psyche by (post-independence) colonial rule. We have simply failed to forget that 200 years long nightmare, haven't we? Even after 60 years of independence, we can not honestly claim that we are completely free from inferiority complex, thanks to the Nehruvian policies. Result - using little or no judgement, we embrace anything that has anything to do with west. And worse - in the maddening frenzy, we disregard whatever is in our house, and we end up throwing the baby with bath water.
I have had a chance to visit foreign lands, but quite surprisingly it is India, my homeland that surprises me the most. What surprises me, among other things, is our collective apathy for our own language, our own culture, and I have painfully observed that this behaviour is most acute among the Hindi speaking people. Enough of that. After 60 years, it is hightime we stopped being possessive about that humiliation and move ahead. Here we can learn from the Chinese, who believe that they have always been a great civilization, and the bygone century was just a rough patch in their otherwise glorious history. And they work hard to match their conviction.
We, on the other hand, are running away from our own shadows. And this is not only futile, but downright pathetic. The defeat was collective, and the redemption will have to be collective. But people are in great hurry and they don't have time to understand this.
The privileged ones throw coins and get their skin white-washed in their convent schools. A good number of these idiots, if they are not pathetically ignorant or indifferent, which most of them are, assume a condescending attitude towards likes of Premchand and others, and smile like corrupt politicians do when they talk about Mahatma Gandhi. The shrewd ones mummify them by wrapping them in words - as if they are approving of something, which also existed in same world, and then they rush back to their business. Oh thank you very much. With the phallic confidence they buy in those English-medium shops, they can easily afford that audacity without hurting themselves. Anyways, I don't expect anything else from this god-forsaken breed.
For others, I am writing this post. I am not here to sell nationalism here. I am writing not only because I love Hindi Literature, but also because I find it worthy of highest respect. And that's why this post deserves to be written.
Like most of us, I had little awareness of the developments in Hindi Literature. I hardly knew any other good writer except Premchand. And I had read most of his works, novels and short stories, by the time I joined IITD. The other writer I had been exposed to was Yashpal - in relation to my mother's thesis topic. Other than them, I hardly knew anyone. Had I known more, I would have read more.
In IIT, I wasted my initial semesters asking others to suggest me something good to read and they recommended me likes of Ludlum, Sheldon etc. If you don't know about them, let me tell you - they write shit. And only pigs can consume that. Why? Because it comes from west. Anyways, I had to wait, and my reading in Hindi was kept on hold till I made friends with Debu in a chat room. He suggested me Gunahon Ka Devta by Dharmveer Bharti and "Sanskriti ke char adhyay" by Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar'. The latter is a Sahitya Akademy award winner masterpiece, and reading this was an illuminating experience for me, though I had read Nehru's "Discovery of India". If you want to see India in better perspective, do read this one. I am telling you all this because you might not be knowing someone like Debu.
In Ranchi Pustak Mela, I found "Rag Darbari" by Shrilal Shukla. I didnt know about it then, but I had huge respect for Sahitya Akademy. So I picked it up. But the book was left dumped on my shelf for years. And in autumn of 2005, when I finally started to read it, I chided myself - "why so late?" Reading this was an experience to cherish. No novel has ever tickled me like this one did. And it is not a book of jokes, but a consummate work of satire. After every fit of laughter, you feel a faint ache in your heart. By the end, the reader is left awestruck by the depth in which the author has understood the rural character of UP. And what a precision this man possesses in his expression! Without being sub-standard in quality, his language is credibly rustic, with a distinct flavor of its own. He has erected a Malgudi, with greater details, in UP - named Shivpalganj. Still, after two years when I had been there, I vividly remember Shivpalganj and its people, and the petty games they play with one another. Reading this book was somewhat like watching Sholay, in which every character breathes real air, and continues to breathe even after the movie ends. Don't miss this, and trust me you'll feel like coming to Hyderabad to thank me. Sometimes back, I saw an english translation of this book in Crossword. India surprised me again. Nowhere else in world, they translate their books in others' language. Anyways, let me assure you, the smell of Shivpalganj can not be translated.
Two months back, after I had finished Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, I picked up a couple of books, and they all bored me immensely. Why the hell Hemingway writes at all? Is he the same guy who wrote Old man and sea? Doesn't Russell try too hard to look smart? Can't he relax for a while and forget the self-imposed burden of being a philosopher? Well, the time was ripe to come back home, and I visited Sahitya Akademi website and ordered some books on Hindi Book Center. Now this is a big problem. First, we don't know what to read. And then we don't know where to get what we want. Our friends don't read them and our book shops don't keep them. But now you know something, don't you. At least this could be a good point to start.
When I have said so much, let me also mention a few books that I have read and really liked.
Anything by Premchand.
All poems by Dinkar.
All Sahitya Akademi award winners.
Gunahon Ka Devta - Dharmveer Bharti
Andhere Band Kamre - Mohan Rakesh
Pratinidhi Vyangya - Harishankar Parsai
Madhushala - Harivanshrai Bachchan
Anything by Saratchandra, and Tagore. Mrityunjaya by Shivaji Sawant.
I am yet to read Maila Aanchal by Phaneeshwar Nath 'Renu'. This book is considered to be a milestone in Hindi Literature.
I could have written this post in a better manner. But that doesn't take anything away from the matter I was writing about. The main things is - a whole new world awaits you. And you have a choice. If you listen to me, go inside.
2 comments:
Abhishek,
I hv read 'Madhushala' but u hv to admit, Manna Dey's renditon is far more enjoyable than reading the poem.
I admit. And that doesn't take anything away from Madhushala the poem. Yes, Manna Dey adds his magic in the song.
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