Siddhartha Golu

I have been riding motorcycles for past 7 years. I've had so many crashes in the early days that people were afraid of sitting as a pillion on my bike. Slowly I started internalizing few things and gradually the accidents stopped. This is a typical journey of how you learn any skill. However, it becomes a problem if you never give yourself a chance to see your skills from first principles and examine bad patterns that you might have internalized.Reading this book was a refreshing reminder to examine how I ride a motorcycle.This didn't teach me anything extraordinary, but it explained so many things that I had, just sort of, accepted as given. Like how tyre pressure affects a bike's traction, why counter-steering works, why front brakes are much more powerful (and should be used more frequently) than rear brakes, and on and on.Pick up this book if you'd like to improve, and understand, how you ride.

I remember first knowing about the Sackler family when Jon Oliver did a segment on them, and I remember feeling infuriated. Little did I know about the empire that they had created, riding on the wave of people's addictions, creating and fueling the opioid crisis and absolving themselves of all the blame while at the same time, putting up their names on all the Ivy league buildings.

It's sickening to learn how the rich always get a preferential treatment by law and society.

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This is also available on my website here.

Originally published on my website

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A phenomenally written book! Mr. Rushdie is a master of using metaphors and he went all in in this book. Weaving together multiple narratives, using India's post-colonial history in a postmodern prose to deliver a magical realism masterpiece, there's no wonder why this book was awarded as the Best of the Bookers.

In my previous piece about Shame by Mr. Rushdie, I'd written:

Rushdie has a peculiar way with words, an authoritative stance where the sentences bend over backwards to dance to the master's tunes. He weaves them in and out and creates intricate relationships between the story, storyteller and reader. You need to be acquainted with the history of India and Pakistan, or at least be familiar with the events surrounding the partition, in order to grasp fully what he has set out here to do. The book is filled with brilliant uses of metaphors and similes, creating a parallel universe of Pakistan during the tumultuous years after partition. The sentences are measured and precise, neatly packed with an intricate plot and the social commentary (with a tinge of satire) leading you towards the destination.

It's a uniquely strange experience, when you try to put yourself into others' shoes. It feels fake, dishonest even, to say that you “understand” how the other person must be feeling. Empathy can be a strong force, but it can never be a substitute for the original feeling. A Caucasian man can never feel what an African-American man must be living with, day in and day out. Same thing between a Brahmin and a Dalit, and a man and a woman.

We're swimming so deep into the ocean of privilege that a mere acknowledgment of it stands out. Nowhere have I found it to be so stark when thinking about gender. I was having a conversation with my partner the other day about how traveling solo is a lovely experience and the serendipity and chance encounters make up for a unique experience. She said that if she travelled solo, every minute she would be worrying about her safety and the thought would overpower any other experiences that she'd be having. I would've never thought about my safety, she would've never thought about anything else.

All of this, just because I happened to be born a male.

I've tried to educate myself over the years, mostly by reading books and interacting with others. “Chup” takes the leading place in that body of work which tries to show and explain gender imbalance. I came across the book when Alice Evans brought it up during an episode on the podcast The Seen and The Unseen (I cannot recommend this episode enough!). It comprises of a series of interviews taken of women who are feminist in belief but not in behaviour. These women are not explicitly suppressed or subjugated by patriarchal dominance, however it lays bare how generations of cultural and societal reinforcements dominate one's thoughts.

The author, Deepa Narayan, holds no bar when discussing how society trains women to be non-existent. She writes:

Drawing on the details of the lives of women and men I interviewed, each over several hours, I found that girls are trained in seven cultural habits of non-existence. These are - deny the body; be quiet; please others; deny your sexuality; isolate yourself; have no individual identity; and be dependent. It is deep training in these habits that makes so many women feminists in belief but not in behaviour. Feminists with bad habits.

How raising awareness about bias is not enough, that it can actually increase bias. “If everyone does it, why not me?” Only when the biases are labelled undesirable do they disappear.

No women used the word “ambitious” to describe herself, it is still a dirty word even for women who have taken a strong intellectual stance on equality.

When we asked women about their biggest fear, it is invariably about loss of family and safety of family members, it is hardly ever about the self. This too makes sense. Most women are searching for freedom within families, not freedom from families.

Men who argue are called leaders, while the language of war and weapons is frequently used when talking about women who argue.

In a land of 1.3 billion people, one can safely assume that sex is not a new discovery. Yet we still act like we found something novel.

The tendency to put a rug over or speak in a hush-hush voice about Menstruation. Think about it - it's a routine, monthly process through which half of the population goes through every month for at least 30-40 years of their lives! Yet, women still feel ashamed to say “I'm having my periods today”, instead opting for more benign “I'm down today”.

Men, on the other hand, have a lot of words for vaginas, none of which are used in polite company or denote respect. Most are used as swear words. This is true all over the world. Women whose mother tongue is Hindi or Punjabi are more comfortable saying the word vagina in English than the words in their native languages. It is safer saying the word in a foreign language than in the language of their own heavily shame/guilt/fear-laden native context of their childhood. This was true for women from the ages of 17 to over 65. Babies come out of the “susu wali jagah”.

At a Filmfare award night event screened on television, every major female superstar from Deepika Padukone to the young Alia Bhatt bent her whole body forward, head towards the lap, and covered her mouth with her hands while laughing, so that her face was almost hidden. None of the male stars did so – they laughed heartily with their heads thrown back a little and mouths wide open.

The most institutionalized form of competition and meanness is evident in the saas–bahu soap dramas, a response to a structured system in which women derive their power from competing and fighting for control over the same powerful man, the son/husband.

The first time I took the Implicit Gender Bias test available online, I was stunned. I discovered that I was biased against women. I took the test several times, but the results did not change. This means of course that I am biased against myself. My cultural habits went deeper than my intellectual awareness, my work and my commitment to equality.

This book has helped me notice my own biases against women. It has transformed the way I look at gender relations, and perhaps an unintended consequence, made me more hopeless about the state of affairs. I've tried to circulate its copies to people close to me, not as a gesture of holier-than-thou “you should read this” frat boy attitude, but simply because I think this book deserves a wider audience.

Nothing extra-ordinary in terms of content, but special when you think of the book as a compilation of useful frameworks to think about time.

Alas, I stumbled upon Four Thousand Weeks at such a point in my life where I've already been a productivity addict for so long that it's impossible for me to make a fresh start. The central theme of the book - that you won't ever get to do all the things you've set out to do so you should consciously choose and be happy about your choice - is such an aphoristic statement that no matter how you spin it, it always feels bland.

Having said that, the self-help ocean that this book is a part of, is filled with heaps of garbage books, so stumbling upon this one is like finding a needle in a haystack. Few ways of thinking about time and choices that I found interesting:

Don't think of these things as life hacks - don't treat life as a faulty contraption in need of modification.

A spin on FOMO (Fear of Missing Out): missing out is what makes our choices meaningful in the first place, every decision to use a portion of a time on anything represents saying no to every other thing that you could've done but you didn't.

The anti-skill of staying with the anxiety of never having time to do everything.

Picking one item from the menu represents an affirmation rather than a defeat. The fact that you could've chosen a different and perhaps equally valuable way to spend this afternoon bestows meaning on the choice you did make.

A hobbyist is a subversive: they insist that some things are worth doing for themselves alone, despite offering no payoffs in terms of productivity or profit.

One of the principal joys of reading is to discover the magic hidden in the seemingly banal things in life. I would've never cared to think twice about the intricacies of designing buildings and urban spaces, had it not been for this book. This serves as a gentle introduction to the fascinating study of how subtle differences in design of public spaces affect interactions on a much more broader scale.

There are two kinds of favourite books for me; one where every chapter brings with it a fresh wave of insights about things hitherto unclear for me, and another where I get amazed by the love, understanding and empathy that is on display throughout the book. I guess this is the age-old debate of reading for pleasure and utility, between fiction and non-fiction.

I don't have anything new to add to the conversation, except that there's a place in my heart which longs for warm, fuzzy feelings - emotions that I only get from reading certain kinds of fiction. Zen Pencils is one of them. All the Light We Cannot See and The Book Thief belong there. This book marks another entry to that club. Such a joy all throughout!

This is just a placeholder until I find the time to properly convey my thoughts because this book absolutely deserves it.

Ethics is hard.

If I've learnt something all these years, it is this universal maxim. Everybody wishes they'd make ethically sound choices in their lives, but more often than not, ethical choices are in contrast with cost and convenience. Nowhere is this more apparent than the way we consume food.

There are a lot of similarities between food and religion. Both are deeply personal choices which are erroneously thought of as having a clear, set winning answer. Both divide people into disjoint sets where they vehemently try to outdo one another in following “The Right Way”. And of course, both are deeply political.

My personal journey in food, as in religion, has been quite tumultuous. Coming from a vegetarian family, I used to feel discomfort in sitting at the same table where somebody was eating meat, used to scoff at the smell of eggs and couldn't go near anything related to fish (this is still the case). Then somewhere along the way, I decided that I don't have a right to reject things which I haven't experienced myself and started indulging in this forbidden fruit. I tried everything I could get my hands on, but never reached that stage where I could appreciate the hype. Having gotten a taste of the other side, I made the decision to quit everything and slowly move back to being a vegetarian/vegan.

This was the point where I started to seek out reasons to convince me of my choice, and came across this book.

I wouldn't call this a balanced book in the sense that the authors' convictions are clear from the start, however where this shines is the way they use evidence to reach their conclusions rather than playing on guilt and shame. The basic fact remains, and this I have confirmed with many of my non-vegetarian friends as well, that we know too little about where our food comes from and our choices would be different if we were armed with this knowledge. The authors visit few American families and observe their eating habits, and then take us through some factory farms where the brutalities are quite graphic and sometimes hard to read and difficult to digest.

However, one qualm that I had while reading through these chapters, was the over-importance of ethics in our everyday choices. Not everyone wants to live a Kantian life full of moments filled with questioning their every choice. Life is hard to live anyway. I was delighted though to find a section dealing with this exhaustion:

Sometimes the very success of the ethical consumer movement and the proliferation of consumer concerns it has spawned seems to threaten the entire ethical consumption project. When one ethical concern is heaped upon another and we struggle to be sure that our purchases do not contribute to slave labor, animal exploitation, land degradation, wetland pollution, rural depopulation, unfair trade practices, global warming, and the destruction of rain-forests, it may all seem so complicated that we could be tempted to forget about everything except eating what we like and can afford.

Lacking structure but a decent introduction to the world of open-source software and the background work that goes into maintaining them.

Now that I've moved away from reading fiction, I find that I face a lot of inertia to pick up something purely for pleasure. Maybe this is a nasty by-product of wanting to be as “productive” as possible. But the more I have drifted away from reading for pleasure, more mechanical the whole process has become for me. Partly to avoid this feeling, and partly because of my shame at seeing my bookshelf filled with dusty unread books, I picked up this one to assuage my feelings of guilt.

I had not expected the journey to be this beautiful!

Salman Rushdie doesn't need an introduction. He has been routinely hailed amongst one of the best contemporary writers of our time. It only speaks of my ignorance that I had only heard about him because of his controversies - outcry for Satanic Verses, fatwa issued against him - and only knew that one of his novels, Midnight's Children, had won a Booker Prize. I don't have a fond memory of reading Booker Prize winning books, bitter from the day I read White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. But as I got sucked into the universe created by Rushdie, my initial skepticism gave way to awe and admiration.

Rushdie has a peculiar way with words, an authoritative stance where the sentences bend over backwards to dance to the master's tunes. He weaves them in and out and creates intricate relationships between the story, storyteller and reader. You need to be acquainted with the history of India and Pakistan, or at least be familiar with the events surrounding the partition, in order to grasp fully what he has set out here to do. The book is filled with brilliant uses of metaphors and similes, creating a parallel universe of Pakistan during the tumultuous years after partition. The sentences are measured and precise, neatly packed with an intricate plot and the social commentary (with a tinge of satire) leading you towards the destination.

If it's not yet clear, I unashamedly loved every part of Shame and I'm excited to dig more into Rushdie's works!

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This is also available on my website here.

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

I have no affinity for running, even for short jogs, and much less for wanting to run long distances. Although this is not because I hate exercises - one of those rare things that I figured out early in life was my desire to remain healthy as long as possible and that of course means I need to keep myself fit - but probably my distaste for running stems from the monotonous nature of the activity. You keep pounding your legs with a short breath and no rest in sight, what is there to enjoy and look forward to?

My girlfriend on the other hand, loves running.

Intrigued by her passion, I began to take a more compassionate look on the whole idea of running, shunning my former dismissive attitude. What is it that motivates people to run marathons, putting their body through excruciating pain for an uncertain reward? It cannot be as simple as just the competitive spirit. In fact, running is exactly opposite of a team sport, it's as solitary an activity as thinking and dreaming. Can it be that the monotonicity itself is part of the charm?

In this book, Murakami tries to give an answer to this. Or more accurately, he dissects his own emotions and gives insights on how (long distance) running has been crucial to his writing. Both involve perseverance and intense emotional turmoil. While talking about the different ways in which artists produce creative works, he humbly says:

Writers who are blessed with in-born talent can freely write novels no matter what they do, or don't do. Like water from a natural spring, the sentences just well up and with little or no effort, these writers can complete a work. Occasionally, you'll find someone like that, but unfortunately that category wouldn't include me. I haven't spotted any springs nearby. I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig out a deep hole before I can locate the source of creativity. To write a novel, I have to drive myself hard physically and use a lot of time and effort. Every time I begin a new novel, I have to dredge out another new, deep hole.

I think certain types of processes don't allow for any variation. If you have to be part of that process, all you can do is transform, or perhaps distort, yourself through that persistence repetition and make that process a part of your own personality.

Once when I was around sixteen and nobody else was home, I stripped naked, stood in front of a large mirror in our house, and checked out my body from top to bottom. As I did this, I made a mental list of all the deficiencies - or what, to me at least, appeared to be deficiencies. For instance (and these are just instances), my eyebrows were too thick, or my fingernails were shaped funny - that sort of thing. As I recall, when I got to twenty-seven items, I got sick of it and gave
up. And this is what I thought: If there are this many visible parts of my body that are worse than normal people's, then if I start considering other aspects - personality, brains, athleticism, things of this sort - the list will be endless.

As you get older though, through trial and error you learn to get what you need, and throw out what should be discarded. And you start to recognize (or be resigned to the fact) that since your faults and deficiencies are well nigh infinite, you'd best figure out your good points and learn to get by with what you have.

I find India really fascinating sometimes, even though I've lived my whole life here. What the cultural multitudes and colorful festivals hide underneath is an ugly facade which threatens to break everything that has been built over the years. What I find most fascinating is how we've conditioned ourselves to ignore the blatant reality and move ahead with an oblivious calm, living in shit and aspiring for the gold.

Caste and religion are two of the most contentious topics out there, so much ingrained in our day to day life that one cannot even comprehend that any alternatives exist. Ambedkar had tried to show an alternative way out, and it only speaks of the deep-rootedness of the system when all we remember Dr. Ambedkar for is writing the Constitution (albiet not a small feat by any stretch), while all his life he had worked to shake the society off from the chains of caste.

This annotated edition is the perfect way to educate oneself about the almost forgotten history of a radical man who dared to question the status quo and to demand justice, fighting not against a foreign invader but with his fellow countrymen, and who has been sidelined from every history book that is taught in the country.

Caste is part and parcel of a Hindu life. I did not realize or experience this until I entered college. Although it remains rather concealed amongst students, it reared its ugly head whenever the matter of reservation (Affirmative action in west) was discussed. Arundhati Roy put this brilliantly in her forward:

> ‘Merit' is the weapon of choice for an Indian elite that has dominated a system by allegedly divine authorisation, and denied knowledge—of certain kinds—to the subordinated castes for thousands of years. Now that it is being challenged, there have been passionate privileged-caste protests against the policy of reservation in government jobs and student quotas in universities. The presumption is that ‘merit' exists in an ahistorical social vacuum and that the advantages that come from privileged-caste social networking and the establishment's entrenched hostility towards the subordinated castes are not factors that deserve consideration. In truth, ‘merit' has become a euphemism for nepotism.

Even now when I no longer believe in religion (Hinduism was never my religion, it was my parents' religion which I inherited, much like everyone else), I still get asked for my “last name” as a proxy for my caste. It is so seeped into our consciousness that we can't help but feel a reverence whenever we come across someone from a “higher caste”, or to feel discomfort when we meet someone from a “lower caste”. This prejudice even trumps religious beliefs in India - even though their
scriptures don't sanction it, the elite Muslims, Sikhs and Christians all practice caste discrimination.

The arguments put forward by Ambedkar for breaking up the entire caste system is a brilliant demonstration of the crystal-clear thinking of a man who left such a huge legacy on the Indian subcontinent and made sure that the future of India is steered in the right direction. He is criticized for asking for a radical transformation of society when India needed to unite everyone to win its freedom. What these criticisms seem to miss is that every radical man/woman is considered
radical precisely because i) they go against the cultural norms and ii) they question the deep-rooted prejudiced beliefs. There will never come an “appropriate” time for reforms, as is sadly evident with the still prevalent caste discrimination almost 90 years after Ambedkar decided to storm the gates.

It's a travesty that he still remains, for the large part, forgotten.

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This is also available on my website here.

I tried to sit down multiple times to write my thoughts on this, but alas, they've been eluding me for quite some time now. Needless to say, this feminist manifesto doesn't require any introduction and I can't do a proper review right now, so I'll just give a personal push to folks reading this - pick it up even if you don't plan to finish it, as the parts in themselves are power punches.

A fine book which dives deep into the prevalent social attitude of creating gender differences and how difficult it becomes to disassociate oneself from the gendered identity. The more I think about gender, more and more I become entangled into this weird loop of seeing every social thing in a different light.

Those seemingly-innocent “bro” comments between male friends, saying that the new hire in the team is a “diverse candidate”, claiming “they don't have the balls to do it” as if two-round-eggs-in-a-sac somehow magically makes you superior to everyone else - all of these reinforce the gender stereotypes. Cordelia discusses at length about all the subtle cues that we don't even notice but which has a pretty significant impact on how we treat others. It's amazing how difficult it has become in today's world to not discriminate sexually, more so especially for a parent to bring up their children in a gender-neutral way.

It's all about the mindset, but this benign word is the most difficult to change. I'm not claiming myself to be immune either. I can't count how many times I've said something really stupid when discussing something with my girlfriend, and it's only when she objects on my choice of words that I pause and reflect on how wrong it was. Reading this book was one baby step towards consciously trying to change that status quo, and I'd recommend doing this to everyone else as well.

I have had a very curious relationship with religion, although now that I talk to others, it was a much more normal experience than what I led myself to believe. I followed the typical path of receiving a particular religion from my parents (born a “Hindu child”), which had a supporting role in my life up until my late-teenage/early-adolescent years.

As is the norm for every child brought up in religion, I used to consider myself special believing that I had a “personal relationship” with God. There are so many good things about religion, but this in particular I believe to be the best part - this soothing feeling that somebody is watching over you in times of distress. During my early college years when I lost my faith, I was most afraid of having lost this rescuer of last resort (I wrote a short poem on this which you can read here). During times of despair, I frequently wondered what would've happened had I not been brought up in a religious family.

This book combines two of the most morally contentious issues that have always puzzled me - Religion and having a child. While I don't swing to the other extreme of subscribing to antinatalistic views, I do frequently wonder how it is that people don't question the morality of bringing a sentient being into the world, whose life (to a major extent) will be affected by how they are brought up by their parents. Children are shaped by the identity of their parents during their formative years, and require a significant struggle during their adolescence to be able to make independent decisions of their own. This struggle is more pronounced in matters of faith - an overwhelming majority of children wind up believing in the same gods that their parents believe in.

What can be done to lessen this automatic behavior so that children are more confident of picking their own battles and faith? This book presents insights from the people who tried to do exactly that.

It is a wonderful collection of essays from parents who are non-religious and want to bring up their child in an environment which enables them to question the authority and dogma. While just raising them secular doesn't make them superior to everybody else - bigotry is never dependent on faith - it is the independent exploration that is crucial. The essays deal with nuances of raising children in secular homes, going pretty much against the society, and how to deal with disagreements. Unfortunately, there are few essays in the end which swings the pendulum to the other end, concerned with finding “Humanist” and “Unitarian” communities which I found to be dull, however, the rest of the book remains a pleasant and insightful read.

My notebook is filled with highlights from the book, but there's one paragraph in particular that I want to share, which nicely defines the central theme of these essays.

One thread runs throughout this book: Encourage a child to think well, then trust her to do so. Removing religion by no means guarantees kids will think independently and well. Consider religion itself: Kids growing up in a secular home are at the same risk of making uninformed decisions about religion as are those in deeply religious homes. In order to really think for themselves about religion, kids must learn as much as possible about religion as a human cultural expression while being kept free of the sickening idea that they will be rewarded in heaven or punished in hell based on what they decide—a bit of intellectual terrorism we should never inflict on our kids, nor on each other. They must also learn what has been said and thought in opposition to religious ideas. If my kids think independently and well, then end up coming to conclusions different from my own—well, I'd have to consider the possibility that I've gotten it all wrong, then. Either way, in order to own and be nourished by their convictions, kids must ultimately come to them independently. Part of our wonderfully complex job as parents is to facilitate that process without controlling it.

A potent summary of things to keep in mind if you want learning to last. Although if you're familiar with the theories of spaced repetition, elaboration, testing effects etc., this can easily be skipped.

I was in a state of frenzy and anxiety, unable to decide on how to get started on numerous projects that were pending for a while. So naturally, I decided to procrastinate more and picked up the first book from my bedside table, thinking to calm my mind for a few minutes. Those few minutes turned into 3 hours as I sat obsessively with this book, forgetting to eat, drink or do anything else. The brilliant prose and the ironic humor in the face of absurdities reminded me of Kurt Vonnegut. What makes this graphic novel stand out among others is the unabashedly self-critical and honest voice of Marjane Satrapi. Loved this book to the core!I'd recommend [b:Hyperbole and a Half 17571564 Hyperbole and a Half Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened Allie Brosh https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1409522492l/17571564.SY75.jpg 24510592] if you're interested in reading something similar.

I had picked up this one thinking it to be an autobiography, and with an expectation that it'll cover Rajan's tussles with the government in more details. I was pleasantly surprised to find instead a good collection of technical essays covering the workings of RBI, and economics in general. If you're looking for a good explanatory work in the field of Economics (and especially those concerning India and its policies), you'll enjoy this.

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This is also available on my website here.

I have a special affinity towards people/books/shows/films which make me laugh at the horrible human experience, while at the same time, allowing me to introspect and be amazed at how clear and precise their understanding of the self has been. It's the reason I adore watching a horse whine about how selfish and pathetic he is in Bojack Horseman, or to see Rick treat those he love in a shitty way in a misguided attempt at feeling less alone in Rick and Morty.

In short, I love self-deprecating humor and this book had a lot of it. A lot!

Favorite chapters: Depression and Identity - parts 1 and 2.

Camus was such a powerful force of nature. Clear, precise, penetrating and brutally honest. His essays “Reflections on the Guillotine” and “Create Dangerously” were one of the most precise works I've come across on the subjects that I think about a lot - the futility of the death penalty and the work of an artist. Looking forward to read the rest of his bibliography.

If only I could take back the time I spent reading this masturbatory psychobabble and instead used it to re-watch Rick And Morty, I would've learnt a whole lot more than what I got out from reading this pseudo-science.

I first learnt about The Denial of Death when I was watching my first film from Woody Allen - Annie Hall. The witty, self-deprecating humor with subtle hints about problems of humanity was right up my alley, and so naturally the book referenced also caught my attention. The Pulitzer prize was a cherry on top. Recently, it also got heavily referenced in one of videos of the film analysis channel - Like Stories of Old.

And so my curiosity peaked and with a great enthusiasm, I picked up this book.

The central theme of Death and how we shape our lives around it was an intriguing theme and our need for hero-worship was a very interesting idea. However things started to go downhill the moment Freud came into picture. Even though Ernest Becker repeatedly mentioned how Freud got a lot of the things wrong and tried to bring out later thinkers' nuanced theories, it was clear that he worshipped Freud. How else can you explain a whole chapter on root-causing the times when “The Great Freud” fainted and trying to analyze the possible reasons! And then there's one chapter called “Perversions” where he declares homosexuality a “problem” to be solved and analyzes it to say that people engage in this act because they are trying to rebel against carnal reality of their existence being for the sole purpose of procreation. What bullshit!

Maybe this book deserves a place in history as a testament to our mistakes and how we used to treat genuine illnesses not through science but by psychobabble.

I don't have a lot of friends who are supporters of the ruling BJP (well at least the ones who have disclosed it publicly), and consequently whenever the conversation shifts towards the ongoings in India, more often than not, we find ourselves agreeing with each other. Although this is perfectly alright for me on most days, on few ocaasions, I find a shadow of a doubt slowly creeping up inside - what if I'm living inside a bubble, an echo-chamber where I only get exposed to the ideas which I already hold to be true, especially relevant now that everything in our lives are getting regulated by algorithms. Whenever this confirmation bias hits me, I long to read something contrarian, to engage with the other side and to try to put myself in their shoes.

So it was with a pleasant surprise that I found out one day, one of my friends “coming out of the closet” and to declare him(her)self to be a supporter of the ruling party. I grabbed the chance to finally be able to hear the arguments from the other side and so, I broke my cardinal rule of not engaging in political debates on social media and contacted him/her. The result was devastating. We passionately debated our views and had heated discussions throughout the day, in the end agreeing that maybe we shouldn't have bothered to hit each other up after all. I was visibly distressed for a few days after this incident, as if a small flicker of hope had died in that encounter.

If two educated and privileged youths in their early twenties were unable to agree on something as basic as whether Muslims deserve to live in India, or whether India should really become a “Hindu Rashtra” or not, what hope could I have from the millions of others who didn't have the same privileges as us?

Reading this book brought that hopelessness to the front once again. There are hard-hitting truths written here, things that we would sooner like to forget lest they cause us pain and make vivid the grim reality of our times. But like a festering wound which devours our body if unattended, ignorance is not bliss but a vicious disease which paralyzes us faster than we might think.

My appeal to whoever is reading this would be - reach out to others, engage in conversations, don't dismiss the whole debate as “unnecessary politics” - your mere existence is political. Politics is not about discussing who should be the next PM, it's about discussing ideas and how you view others who are different than yourself, to engage with empathy and to embrace the differences, and to speak out against wrongs.

I'll leave you with a powerful passage from the book itself, where Arundhati Roy laments about the role each of us plays in how the future shapes itself:

After twenty years of writing fiction and nonfiction that tracks the rise of Hindu nationalism, after years of reading about the rise and fall of European fascism, I have begun to wonder why fascism—although it is by no means the same everywhere—is so recognizable across histories and cultures. It's not just the fascists that are recognizable—the strong man, the ideological army, the squalid dreams of Aryan superiority, the dehumanization and ghettoization of the “internal enemy,” the massive and utterly ruthless propaganda machine, the false-flag attacks and assassinations, the fawning businessmen and film stars, the attacks on universities, the fear of intellectuals, the specter of detention camps, and the hate-fueled zombie population that chants the Eastern equivalent of “Heil! Heil! Heil!” It's also the rest of us—the exhausted, quarreling opposition, the vain, nit-picking Left, the equivocating liberals who spent years building the road that has led to the situation we find ourselves in, and are now behaving like shocked, righteous rabbits who never imagined that rabbits were an important ingredient of the rabbit stew that was always on the menu. And, of course, the wolves who ignored the decent folks' counsel of moderation and sloped off into the wilderness to howl unceasingly, futilely—and, if they were female, then “shrilly” and “hysterically”—at the terrifying, misshapen moon. All of us are recognizable.

I cannot bring myself to rate this book.

It's like a saying I read somewhere - Proust is for life - which I think I'm able to understand now. The term “Proustian” had such an enigmatic character to itself for me, much like the word “Kafkaesque” would be for people who haven't read Kafka, that the more and more I encountered it, more and more I became intrigued and perhaps a bit afraid as well of getting disillusioned when I finally do make its acquaintance. There were a lot of moments in the book where I questioned why exactly was I reading it, followed by an intense love for the sheer pages in front of me, and sometimes ending with an indifference to an entire chapter. This ebb and flow of emotions continued throughout the book, and I'm afraid in the end, it still remains an enigma for me.

Proust cannot be conquered. Although if someone has come close to doing it, it would be this guy.

I dream of the day when I would be able to read it the way it was written - and the way it was meant to be read - in its original French. Until then, I'd have to live with the pain of losing things in translation and be content with it.

Reviewing this book would be a monumental task, as I discovered when I sat down to attempt the same. The notes/highlights themselves have an estimated reading time of 86 minutes - to be able to build a cohesive narrative out of those scribbles and do justice to this masterpiece would be a fool's errand - and yet this is only the first 10% of the whole series. Oh my!

Until I get around to do that, please take my word for its brilliance and make some time to read it.