180 flipped camera

There was very little left of what he could do.

            It was past 2 in the morning and the obnoxious little creature inside his head was thumping his temples with an impossible-to-figure-out rhythm. He knew he had reached the end of the road – a road that had begun with his own ambitious heartache. He hadn’t been concentrating on the book he was holding, and flipped back a couple of pages…

            The toil that he had just been through did not leave him in a state to predict the outcome. The timeless tragedies of hundreds before him were not completely unknown to him - the hell-raiser of this brave new world had never made it a secret. The orthodoxy of the past and the yearning of the oh-so mighty future teamed up with the blistering desire to face such challenge had precipitated in his decision to “give it a shot” – or, that’s what he said to the world; but inside, he knew that this was something that he wanted to do for himself, and himself only.

            Yes, he did stick to it till the end. Did he regret it? No. Was there anything he lost? Well, the list is endless.

            But he didn’t want to be reminded of the tough pragmatism that had now been seeded inside his very core, but he secretly longed to jump back a few months and continue the journey midway again, just live through the same mistakes that had left him in such inadmissible despair – he wouldn’t change a single hyphen.

            He knew nothing would change now, and he liked it this way. He knew there was nothing to pull him out of it, but he didn’t want any such thing. All he wanted was a moment of self-appraisal.

            And all he could do now, was to wait…

These windows...they speak...

A window to a Goldsmith's shop.
The man not only works for his living here, but also lives in  this cramped room.
It is his home, and hence the window gives us an insight on the man's life.

This window is from a very old building that dates back to the British Era.
The aristocracy of the entire structure, specially the window, amazed me.
Notice the fine details of the structure.
For those living in Old Dhaka for a long time, this type of architecture is completely ordinary.
But for those outside the circle of the old town, this architectural pattern is bound to attract the eyes and appriciation.

This building too is very old, and is on the verge of breaking down any moment.
Yet, people live inside it. The windows may not give a full view of the inside world of its residents,
but to me, the windows talks about the "Naawabi" lifestyle of the people it holds within.

A short plot summary of King Lear

King Lear is yet another tragedy from Shakespeare based on the inter-family quarell and politics, and the downfall of a royal family.

   The 80-year-old King Lear of Britain decides to divide his property and kingdom between his three daughters before retiring, giving the largest share to the one who loves him the most.

   His two older daughters butter and oil him, but his youngest daughter, Cordelia, refuses to do so. King Lear - fool, as he admitted later - gets mad at Cordelia, and divides his property between his other daughters - Goneril and Regan - only, and banishes Cordelia, who gets married to the King of France.

   A lot of incidents take place, and a lot is seen and understood by Lear. He infers that Goneril and Regan had never actually loved him, but it was Cordelia who loved him truly.

   After going to banishment himself - along with his fools and loyal friend Kent - Lear hear that Goneril and Regan plan to kill him. However, he soon meets Cordelia and apologize to her, admitting that he was a fool to have banished her previously.

   Later, Goneril understands her mistakes and pisons Regan and kills herself too. Soon afterwards, Cordelia is executed, and Lear dies while mourning over her corpse.

   The play consist of many other hinge characters, namely Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester, Edger, Edmund, Oswald, etc. They play an important role in the entire set up of the play.

   I felt that the story-line was overly complicated, with many insults, many misunderstandings, and many trecheary.

   However, on the basis of the simple and most important concept that I have described above, the play was wonderful. And if I am to choose a favorite character, it would definitely be Kent, who had showed his loyalty to Lear through to the end.

My apologies

Dear visitors,

I have not been able to post anything recently. I had my GCE A-Levels exams, and had been preparing vigorously. Hence I apologize to my regular visitors for not having served them. I am now set again for the posts. Please keep on checking regularly for updates. Thank you for your patience.

Arman Rahman Khan.

The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger

"The Catcher In The Rye" is an exceptional novel that talks about the emotional difficulties that a teenage boy comes across while turning to age.

            The internal conflicts of Holden Caulfield was very much vocal throughout the story and serves as evidence of Holden's disturbed psychological state.

            He flunked out of school, went to New York, where his family lived, but started living in a hotel instead of going home. He used to explore parts of the city, and especially loved to see the ducks in a lagoon in central park.

            However, he went home one day, but met only his younger sister, Pheobe, whom he loved dearly. he informed her that he would go away somewhere else to become a catcher in the rye. In the end though, he does not leave.

            Now, lets talk about the symbols. Holden's red hunting hat was a symbol of his individuality - he used to wear it all the time, and it has been mentioned quite a lot of times throughout the story. The ducks in the lagoon was a symbol of isolation and limitations, much like Holden's own life. He had no place to go, no job - nothing. Thirdly, his intention to be a catcher in the rye was actually his desire for stability and security. He wanted to live a decent life in a stable position, instead of tilting at the edge all the time.

            I enjoyed reading this highly symbolic and thematic text. Boy! Growing up is really not a child's play!

How about some comedy?

I love to laugh, and make people laugh. This part of me has been perrenial throughout my life, and recently, I have started feeling that my liking of humor can be taken a step forward if I start practicing stand-up comedy. I have been watching a lot of videos of Russel Peters and Dane Cook recently, and I'll be honest, there job is one of the toughest jobs. It is not easy to make people laugh.

The story of a Loss

My best friend N was always the cheerful bubbly person. She always had a smile clinging onto her face even in the toughest of situations. When I broke down, she was there to offer me her support mentally. I never could have imagined a change that would turn her into a completely different person.

            A few months ago, I received a call at 6 in the morning from N. Her agonizing howls made me jump up from my sleep in a second, and I kept on asking her what went wrong. Somehow it seemed that my wildest nightmare had come true – I was on the verge of losing my best friend forever.

But it was not about me. N had witnessed the death of her grandmother in a road accident that morning. N had been in the car herself, and by the descriptions, I am amazed that she is still alive. She had severe shoulder injury and her mother had broken 8 ribs and had a spine fracture. I wanted to rush to the spot immediately and give a comforting shoulder to N, if not being able to help the situation by any other means. However, that was not possible either – the spot of accident was a minimum of 8 hours drive from Dhaka.

What could I do to assuage my friend? Were there any words of consolation? Certainly not.

N and her mother were brought to Dhaka immediately on an Air-Ambulance. Without wasting a minute, I rushed to the hospital to find my best friend mentally shattered down to pieces. And that was the first day of her second life.

N had suffered a great loss in only a matter of a few minutes. This unexpected incident had affected her so much, that I barely recognize her now. N is no longer the bubbly cheerful girl who goofs around her friends all the time. N’s smile is no longer the symbol of warmth. But it is true that she has matured ten times more than she ever was before. She is now a dutiful, responsible member of her family who takes care of her family as well as focusing on her academics in the best possible way.

Even now N cracks a joke every now and then to make everyone laugh. But having been her best friend for a long time now, I know her smile is nothing but pretence that N pulls off so that she doesn’t have to withstand the sympathetic gazes form people at her loss. Supporting a friend in such a difficult situation is not an easy task. I had to cope up with the absence of the old N quickly. Even though I did not approve of the feigned new face of N, I wished she would somehow leave it all behind her and start living again.

Well, I wasn’t completely wrong. N had coped up with her new life all too easily. But she admitted to me that she had left her own corpse in the crashed remains of her car. Although it is still difficult for me to find my years-old pal in N, I know that she lives deep within the scars of N’s mind.

If I had anything to learn from this incident in my best friend’s life, I learnt to find a way out of every barrier that life has to offer. They say that time heals all wounds; I disagree to that partly. Time might heal all wounds, but some wounds may leave behind permanent scars. Time would show us how to leave the horrifying memories behind and move on with life. But it would not be able to erase those memories completely from our subconscious. N had made this subtle truth evident for me.

A tale of Doors

Doors leading into a house.
The first two are close, showing an unwelcoming attitude.
But the third door is opened a if to welcome its guests into its heart.

The open doors of a Goldsmith's shop.
He was inside when I took the picture,
reading the newspaper in his leisure.



The closed doors of a house.
The owner certainly had not woken up yet in the weekend.
I found out that this house was made around half a century ago.
The design of the door seemed very attractive to me.



The half-open gates only helps us understand
that the library it leads to was to remain
idle on this beautiful winter weekend morning.

























I don't know why, but this particular door gave me a dejavu.
It was as if I had lived in this house, used this doors many
many times before, but could barely recall that.
The design of the door is not too fashionable compared
to its neighbours', but I still liked it. The door had lost
its colors, the walls on either side had been
hampered with and revealed their bricks.
I could not help but take a color photograph of this particular
place, as I wanted to preserve every single detail of this
structure, which keeps on calling me back to it,
although I have no connection to it.

 

METAMORPHOSIS - Samsa or Kafka?

I  read Metamorphosis with great interest since I really wanted to follow the story of Gregor Samsa's verminous life all along. Here is my report on Metamorphosis.

 

The opening sentence of the novella was an eye-catcher to me. It immediately captured me. I finished reading the first part very quickly, and enjoyed it a lot. Gregor's first day of his vermin life was described in detail, one-by-one, and with in a very interesting manner. The readers can understand the difficulty of Gregor's position very well.

 

Gregor himself, however, did not quite understand the seriousness of his problem much in the beginning. He tried to convince his family and the Chief Clerk that he was not in a bad health, and would get to work as fast as he can. But he somehow managed to open the doors of his room and come out, his family and the Clerk were horrified at Gregor's changed appearance; no, they were acutally horrified to see a monstrous bug in front of them! Gregor - still not understanding their concern - tried to assure the Clerk that he would go to work by the next train. However, he did not realize that his words were inaudible by them, since a vermin did not have the capacity of speaking like humans. Scared, the Clerk escapes, and Gregor's father manages to get Gregor back into the latter's room, where he was to be locked up.

 

In the second part, we see the compassionate Grete (Gregor's sister), and her kindness towards her brother. She cleans up his room and brings him various types of food to test his choice. But she cannot look directly at the ugly Gregor. Gregor, on the other hand, listens through the cracks of his door that his lively family had fallen silent since his transformation. He feels proud for having been able to supply his family with his earnings, but feels ashamed when he realizes that his family had no other earning member at present. Grete tries to do everything possible to make the life of her brother more comfortable, and her mother and she together take out furnitures from Gregor's room, so that the latter can move about freely. When they were doing so, Gregor accidentaly came out of his room. Upon seeing him, his mother passed out momentarily, and his father arrived just then. Without understanding much, Gregor's father started showering apples on Gregor, who is injured badly, and faints.

 

In the final part of the novella, Gregor's health deteriorates. He feels very neglected by his family. Every member of his family had taken up jobs and worked really hard to survive. They even rented off a room to three gentlemen, who actually meke the family's life more painful than it already was. One day, Gregor accidentally shows up infront of the lodgers, and they insult Gregor's father and notify him of their leave very soon. After they exit, everybody turns to Gregor, and it is Grete - the one who loved Gregor the most - who speaks up against him. She accuses him of having ruined their lives, and says that if the bug was really her brother, it would have left them instead of troubling them more and more. Her parents quickly agree with her. Gregor goes off to his room, where he dies in the night - guilty, hungry, weak.

 

Once they discover Gregor's verminous corpse, the family mourns for just a moment, but recovers soon and rejoice. They feel free from a burden. They are now ready to shift to a new house. And they don't waste another minute thinking about Gregor; nor do they recall the memories of his human form. The family takes a walk in a park - unconcerned of Gregor's deadbody - and soon the Samsa parents realize that it was time to look for a good groom for Grete.

 

That is how the story ended - with no mention of Gregor whatsoever. It was as if Gregor had never existed in his family.

 

However, in Grete's sudden change in character, I can see a bit of her pragamatism. She had understood that her brother would never return to his human form, and hence she urged her family to put the past behind and move forward. She was the only one who could bear Gregor's proximity. But slowly over time, she matured and changed. She slowly convinced her parents to remove Gregor's furnitures from his room, thus gradually omitting any of their hopes regarding Gregor's return.

 

Gregor's mother loved Gregor at first. When Gregor had not been opening up his door in the beginning, his mother was the most worried and concerned. She had tried to explain to the Clerk that Gregor was really ill. But later when she knew the facts, she could not stand Gregor's unpleasant sight, and would often faint.

 

Gregor's father - a retired man - started dislinking his son when he understood that Gregor was no longer of any use to the family. I believe, he even despised Gregor for having abandoned the family in such a state. He had to look for jobs and satarted working all over again, and he blamed Gregor for bringing all the trouble to the family. His attack on Gregor only proved his dislike for Gregor.

 

I think this novella is a perfect example of what actually happens in capitalist society - relationships are effected by the economy of the country and by the earning capacity of individuals. Even though Gregor hated his job, he still went on with it because he had his family responsibilities. He loved his family - no doubt. But his family didn't keep on loving him till the end, when he was nothing but a burden to them. Since his idle state didn't make him of any use, he couln't earn, and hence his family's attitude towards him changed completely over time.

 

I believe Kafka wanted to escape from this society; so he made Gregor Samsa a vermin to show his own wish to escape. On the contrary, Kafka had an illness -which he knew about - and died young. So I wont be completely wrong in saying that Kafka had imagined the dusk of his life to be like that, and thought that he would also soon be forgotten by his family and the society, where he was no longer of any use.

 

Many have said that the insect itself symbolizes the isolation of Samsa (or Kafka). Others say that the insect represents how Kafka used to feel about himself due to his bad relationship with his father - he felt isolated, disliked and unwanted just like a bug. Gregor also used to feel the guilt for not being able to help his family in their despairity, and I believe it only shows Kafka's own guilt of being unhelpful and useless to his family. The Chief Clerk and Gregor's boss at work symbolizes the capitalist society, with the perfect capitalist attitude and no humane sentiments.

 

I liked the novella - both as a story, and as an allegory. If the novella did me any help, it was in that the novella opened my eyes wider to the flaws of a capitalist society.

What’s My Age Again? – The discourse of time

I have recently come across this quotation and it had me thinking :
The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.  - Muhammad Ali
In that thinking state, I wrote the following.
______________________________________________________

What’s My Age Again? – The discourse of time

Often we find knowledge thirsty people seeking “truth” via meditation. But is the truth so difficult to find? Sages say that there is no age for learning, and we agree to that statement all too eagerly. Knowledge has no age, no limit and no regional borders.

Knowledge is everywhere; and at 18, all I look for is the essence of truth in my everyday life. However, perseverance can be deceptive. Being fully aware of that, I must say that I – like others of my age – am very skeptical and dubious about what I perceive. Rather, I try to weigh those data with my morals and principals. I try to value them with my judgment and sentiments. Only then can I decide whether or not to believe in what I see.

From the eyes of a middle-aged man, my attempts at understanding life might seem childish. What I try to value through my morals may only seem a matter of youthful fascination to him. At his age, he would definitely have a better understanding of the world and of life, and he would readily be able to distinguish between right and wrong without having to reach his answer through a series of matching and mismatching jigsaws. However, what he can’t deny is the fact that he had once been on the receiving end of such notions – he had learned from his experience only.

Our understanding of the world changes with age. As we mature, we learn; and as we learn, we mature. This never ending process turns us upside down from time to time, and leads us to a different dimension of thoughts and understanding.

But is life all about changing? What happens to the ambitions of the 18-year-old by the time he reaches 35? Why is it so that the colors of youth fade out into an insipid gray? This only happens when there is no will, since we all know that when there is will there is a way.

 Allow me to bring in Sharbat Gula as my example. The Afghan girl had nothing but blazing fire in her eyes when her picture was taken at the age of 13. Gula had in her eyes the rage to fight, the passion to avenge for the sufferance of her people, and pure hatred for those who destroyed her nation. When Gula’s picture was shot again after 27 years, the flame was no longer there. She had most probably learnt that life was not about revenge, but about acceptance and tolerance. Maybe her age had taught her that “revenge” was the apple of discord that would lead her tribe into more trouble. Maybe…

What I am trying to say is that age and experience changes the way we perceive the world. Knowledge itself can be warped into an entirely different meaning due to the age factor. Yes, change is inevitable, but these changes should not be so abysmal as to alter the truth for a person. Even though life teaches us how to grow up and be mature, we should not let the dream factor slip out of our fingers when we have time.

Much Ado About Nothing - really!

I vaguely remember having studied a story-form of this play back in the sixth grade. But since I recalled nothing except the name "Pedro" and "Padua", I decided to read it from Cummings.

   Leonato, an Italian noble man, welcomes his friend Don Pedro and his fellow soldiers, Claudio and Benedick, to his home in Messina. Claudio falls in love with Leonato's daughter, Hero, and soon understands that this feeling is not one-sided. On the other hand, Benedick and Beatrice - Leonato's neice - insult each other, but in a jolly mood.

   Claudio and Hero decide to get married, and also decides to bring Benedick and Beatrice together as lovers.

   But the illegitimate brother of Don Pedro, named Don John, had his mind set on ruining everybody's happiness. He orders his Borachio to meet Hero's servant Margaret in Hero's window at night. He then fetches Claudio and Don Pedro to witness the scene in the dark, and they are easily tricked into thinking that it was Hero being unfaithful to Claudio.

   Enraged, Claudio accuses and insults Hero on the wedding day infront of the entire city. Hero stays incognito, while her father tells spreads new that she had died of shock and false accusation.

   Soon, however, Borachio is caught while talking about his crime, and is imprisoned. Claudio now gets convinced of Hero's innocence, and commands his men to send the word out. He then apologizes to Leonato, and grieves for Hero.

   Leonato says that Claudio would be forgiven, only if the latter agrees to marry Leonato's neice, who looks like Hero. Claudio agrees and the wedding day is fixed.

   When the day arrive, Claudio goes to the church, where his about-to-be wife stood masked. She then opened the mask to reveal her true identity - it was actually Hero! Overwhelmed with joy, Claudio gets married to her, and on the same occassion, Benedick marries Beatrice.

   The story ends in a happy note with a dance of the newly weds.

   It indeed was a comedy, and I see no point in denying my enjoyment in reading this story.

   However, I did not understand what happend to Don John in the end, since I found no trace of him being imprisoned or the like.

   All in all, I would like to say that the title of the story perfectly describes the story-line of the play; a lot of troubles were undertaken by all, but it all came back to the same point where it all started. There truly was 'Much Ado About Nothing'.

"Put out the light, and then put out the light" - Othello [Act V]

A quick summary:

'Othello' is a tragedy - like many other plays of Shakespeare - where we see the downfall of a good and respected man because of his jealousy.

Iago was the ensign of general Othello who wishes to be promoted. But Othello promotes Cassio instead of Iago as his lieutenant, and the latter blazes with anger and swears revenge on both Othello and Cassio.

When Othello elopes with Disdamonia, Iago seizes the opportunity to poison everybody against Othello, especially Disdamonia's father. However, Othello's true love was recognized by many, and hence people deny accusing Othello of any wrong.

In the meantime, situations evolve which cause Othello to send Disdamonia to a safer place, and he orders Cassio to be her escourt. Iago, who dispises Cassio highly, see yet another opportunity to do some evil. He spreads rumors that Cassio was having an affair with Disdamonia, and plants sufficient evidence to further convince Othello.

Othello - filled with jealousy - orders Iago to kill Cassio, and he himself kills his beloved wife, Disdamonia. However, soon afterwards, Iago's wife Emilia tells Othello about Iago's actual intentions. Iago, who had previously failed to kill Cassio, kills his wife infront everybody. Othello realizes his grave mistake and understands that his distrust towards his wife and jealousy towards Cassio has resulted in the killing of his wife, and the taking of many other innocent lives. Saddened by this, he kills himself, leaving Iago's punishment completely on the hands of Cassio.

How I appreciate the story:

Throughout the entire play, Iago stood out to me as a character showing the darker shades of the spectrum. Yes, he was the antagonist, I agree; but we see the dark human emotions coming out through his character: greed, anger, revenge. Even though he can be termed one of the most famous villains, I would rather say that Shakespeare did a wonderful job in bringing out human pride and darkness through Iago.

            Othello on the other hand represents the brighter sides of the spectrum. He was a gallant warrior, a patriot, a man to be looked up to. But I thought he too flashes occasional darkness by turning a blind eye on what’s true and hence going in favor of the unfavorable. The character – though much cherished – seemed to me to be a bit foolish, since he had lost his sanity under misconception.

            Cassio and Disdamonia both stood to me as the symbols of all that is good and beautiful. Shakespeare brilliantly brought out a bit of sunshine in the gloom play through these characters.

            Overall, I liked the play and enjoyed it.

about my new song

I am quite happy to disclose to my visitors about a new song that I wrote last night. I was trying to get my mind off the pressure of the exam that I had today (which went just fine), and so tried writing a song. It is in Bengali and I wish to use it in the little band that I have with my friends. I am not sure what to name it, but I think we might call it "Proti-chobi", meaning "Reflections". I do not want this song to follow the usual Rock forms, but rather wish to give it an accoustic touch. I'm thinking about only guitars with my vocals, but I guess piano/keyboard might play an important role in this song.

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gatsby was confusing, yet interesting. I liked the themes of the story quiet entertaining. Gatsby's conception that he could impress Daisy by throwing extravagant parties was definitely not right. Neither was the extra-marital affairs of Tom and Daisy anything to concord to. But what I found worse (and so did he in the end) was how Nick, despite of being Daisy's cousin, did not disclose the matters of Daisy's or Tom's extra-marital affairs. However, Tom's anger and envy when he found out about Daisy and Gatsby, despite of him having his own affair, was something I could relate to easily, as it is quiet common in movies.

I still loved The Great Gatsby!

Reviewing Tennessee Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire"

'A Streetcar Named Desire' is a wonderful play by Tennessee Williams.

            Blanche DuBois goes to live in her sister Stella's house, but has a bitter relationship with her brother-in-law, Stanley. She dates Stanley's friend Mitch. The developments of the story reveal that Blanche was broke and head lost her job as a teacher for her unaccaptable sexual behavior with her students and other men alike. Stanley reveals these facts to Mitch, and the latter breaks up with Blanche.

            When Stella was in the hospital giving birth to Stanley's child, Stanley raped Blanche, who was drunk. Stella, however, never believed Blanche's claims about the incident. Blanche loses her sanity and is taken to a hospital for psychological problems, but she herself believes that she is actually going to meet her millionaire lover, who is none but a creation of her disturbed mind. A lot of other minor incidents, as seen on stage, describe the plot better, also creates a feeling of rage and sympathy at the same time in the audience.

            I liked the story. My least favorite character would be Stella Kowalski, who had eloped with  a man lower than her family's standard. Moreover, even though Stanley abuse and mistreat her, she still loves him blindly, and believes that he is the best person on earth. Even, she denies to believe that Stanley raped her sister Blanche.

Faking an Accent

A few years ago, I was enthralled by the British accent. It seemed to me as if the accent itself had a sense of nobility to it which highlighted the origin of the English language. Trying hard to grab attention as any other 15-year-old would do, I started emulating the British accent whenever I talked. Can you hear the way I would say “talk” then?

            I wasn’t wrong. People in my school started taking notice of me, and some would even call me the “British guy”. Being under the limelight, I would often utter phrases like “Neither a borrower, nor a lender to be,” and my fellows would marvel at my grasp over the English literature.

            A few weeks went by and my popularity started dying down. That is when my English Literature teacher noticed my hollow attempts of faking an accent in one of our conversations. She didn’t shun me, nor did she let it pass. She said politely, “I see what you’re doing there. But before you turn this into a habit, think carefully what I am about to tell you.” I nodded. “To be or not to be – that is the question,” she mouthed with a smile.

            That was enough to trigger a chain of thought in my mind. Why did I actually try to copy the British accent? Is it because I really liked it, or because I wanted attention? Was my liking for literature feigned too? And most importantly, what was I trying to prove?

            I took a day off and gave my thoughts some time. After a long day of conflicts with my inner self, I came to realize that I loved literature, and my liking of the English language was unfeigned. But what understood completely well is that I had only been trying to make an individual place for myself in the crowd by trying to fake the British accent. I did not want my name to fade away unnoticed in the history of the world. And probably that’s why I had made such a hollow attempt for fame.

            I took time to understand that the way a person speaks determines his personality, and personality is important. However, a personality is nothing but and insight of a person’s mind which is reflected in every move of that person. By feigning command over an accent that was never mine, I was not only occluding people from seeing my true personality, but I was also denying myself from recognizing my true self. That’s when I realized that pretence would not always be of any help if I deliberately attempted to suppress my true identity.

            This small incident in my life had actually made me concerned about a lot of things, including my personality. One fact that I now know is that true identity can not be hidden – it will come to you from time to time as guilt, or maybe as a haunting memory. Pretence would only enervate my personality and slowly lead to a loss of recognition of my own self.

            And just for the record, from the day of my epiphany to this, I have never again used a fake British accent to embellish my words.

Crime and Punishment - Dostoevsky

“Crime and Punishment” is just one of the most intellectual stories I ever came across. I say its intellectual, because I believe it to be so. Although the ending was vague, I really enjoyed the story.

            Raskolnikov has committed a crime by murdering a pawnbroker and her sister, and he suffers for it.

            Okay, I know this might seem very trite and nothing really new for a topic. But the most interesting part lies in Raskolnikov’s inner conflicts with himself.

            Raskolnikov planned the murder a lot of times in his head, but before actually committing the crime, he thought about backing down repeatedly. This shows that he was actually a good man, but wanted to be evil. I personally believe that this was because of his financial crisis: Raskolnikov had the idea that good people can not survive if evil, such as the pawnbroker, are not eliminated.

            Raskolnikov, however, had a theory that “extraordinary” people – or people with superior intellectuality than ordinary – possesses the right to eliminate a few people (if necessary) for the good of the entire humanity. He exemplified his thoughts by saying that Newton or Einstein possessed the right to kill a dozen or a hundred people if that would help in their work – which served humanity as a whole.

            Raskolnikov himself used to believe that he was an extraordinary man, and that he possessed the right to kill others for his benefit.

            However, he was a generous man. The loot from the pawnbroker’s house that he had taken, was given partly to his friend’s family after his friend’s demise.

            Soon however, Raskolnikov fell ill. His deteriorating health was symbolic throughout the novel. He was ultimately caught by the police after he confessed his crime; but since it was proven that raskolnikov was mentally unstable while murdering, he only received a sentence of 8 years in prison.

            As I said, I enjoyed the story, and it was mainly because of Raskolnikov’s inability to conceal his darkest secret to himself. His inner conflicts with himself were really applaudable. It certainly is one of my favorite reading items that I came across till date.

Who am I? Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? - A review on "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"

I read the introduction of the story before going to the summary. It said that the novel was about scientific experimentations that could go wrong. Somewhere in my mind "Frankenstein" clicked, and I immediately got interested.

            The story rolled and I discovered that Mr. Hyde was nobody else than Dr. Jekyll himself with one exception only - Hyde was the sinister side of Jekyll. Jekyll had found a way of seperating his sinister and his wise parts, but he could take the shape of only one of them at a time. He used his sinister identity of Hyde to enjoy the life of a free man with no limitations and no barriers.

However, things started to get out of control when Jekyll ran out of the chemical supplies that would allow him to shift back and forth to Hyde. Also it was becoming seemigly more difficult to change back to Jekyll from Hyde, and seemingly easier to shift from Jekyll to Hyde. One day, after a long week of disappearance of Jekyll, Hyde is found dead in Jekyll's lab, wearing the latter's clothes.

I took my time to read the summary, as well as go through the themes to better understand the story. I must say that I found very much resemblance of this story with that of Frankenstein, as they both talk about the darker sides of science and how scientific experimentation may result in something horrible

I tried to read the text "politically", and came up with a few things. First, Enfield, while talking about Hyde, described him as ugly and displeasing, one who made him uneasy just by a look. His speech was directly quoted in the summary, and I could not help but notice the degree of hatred in the tone. Although first impression matters to us, I believe that we can not judge a person or start hating a person just on the basis of his outer self.

Second, when Utterson met Hyde, he immediately started hating the latter for his attitude and looks. And in many parts I have found that Hyde is repeatedly described as a short man with ugly features, as if being short and having a bad appearance is the element that a monster or a criminal must have; this in turn forces the image on our minds that being short is not approved by the society. I found this very offending.

Possibly the displeasing features about Hyde's looks was an important element in the representation of his character - and I might be thinking so as I have also been trained to think so - but I believe that this should not be the key of describing a character.

However, I really liked reading the summary of "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" and enjoyed every bit of it, specially the suspense that was created as the story proceeded.

Winter clothes distribution

Today in the evening I will be joining my school's volunteer work again to distribute winter clothes among the street people in Dhaka - a ritual of our school that goes on every year. Hope our work becomes a success.

2 new Fun Facts I just learned!

I just learned these two Fun Facts and feel that it is my duty to notify my blog visitors about these.

1. All Polar bears are left-handed : Now that I think of it, I hardly saw any Polar bear on the Discovery Channel using its right  paw to stroke anything.

2. It is physically IMPOSSIBLE to lick your own elbow : I tried that after I read it. Really impossible!

Hope you like these. I will keep on posting such fun things every now and then.

a delayed review on Tagore's play "RAAJA...ebong annannya"

I had written the following report for my schools quarterly Newsletter last October immediately after returning from an evening in the theatre. Unfortunately, I did not publish this article in the end. The theatre group of "Prachyanat" organized and performed a play of Rabindranath Tagore named "Raaja". The group added its own flavour to the play by implementing some new sequences, and by naming their act "RAAJA...ebong annannya", which literally translates to "The King...and others". Enjoy the review I had freshly made that evening. 

                                                                                                                            

“RAAJA…ebong annannya” was excellent! I felt its vibrancy and enigma all over my skin. Moreover, there was not a single seat left – Tagore proved himself yet again!

I was welcomed by a group of military, and everything seemed to be in-place. The stage, the settings, the projected screens, the light-and-shadow games on the background screen – everything seemed to be exactly what it was supposed to be; all the small things worked to their full extent in making the play complete.

I have no words to describe my liking of the performances of the actors. A few famous faced popped up, and so did a few of my familiar ones – such as Mr. Toufiqul Emon and Mr. Rezvi, both of whom had been Drama teachers in my previous school. Plus, I saw a few actors whom I have previously seen in the Ibsen play, and that was a warm welcome.

Uhh! The king never showed up! But it’s the king who made the story so attractive. Although I cannot prove this, I think that “Thakur-da”, played by Mr. Rezvi, was the actual king – one who came and went without seeking public attention, one who shared his power with his subjects, one who loved to love everything and everybody in his kingdom.

As a member of the audience, I believe I have the right to act as a critic and point out the faults of the play. Firstly, since the play was very lengthy, many scenes were trite - I could catch a few yawns from the corner of my eyes. Next, the music was actually very loud yet again! I have no problem with loud music, but at times it was a disturbance as it out-noised the actors’ speeches.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed Tagore’s music with the dances, and that brings me to my next point. Throughout the play, there were numerous dances – I lost count after the second one. Although I enjoyed them, the dance sequences were a bit elongated, and only added more to the length of the play. One of my peers commented, “There’s a dance scene after every pair dialogue”.  But the dance scenes were really good, nonetheless.

Comedy was there in the play, specially brought by the projections on the screens and by the foreign leaders and kings. The entire audience laughed at loud when one of the foreign kings squeezed the fake king’s butt!

Let’s come back to the music. Tagore’s songs were really put to use! I could sing along with most of the songs played there, and am happy to have a visual context of those songs in my mind bourn after the play. The overall background music was great too, and I specially liked to see the music artists sitting at the back and doing their work – it seemed to me that their presence on-stage made the entire play look more complete.

Although I can not interpret their use, a few symbols were inevitable to notice, such as the lantern, the cane in Thakur-da’s hands, etc.

As I said, I am still caught up in the play. I have a beautiful music playing in my head that I picked up from the plays chorus. I can not stop adoring this family named “Prachyanat”, where each and every member served equally to the making of a successful evening in the theatre. I wish I was a part of that family too. I wish I had all the time in the world to contribute to the theatre with “Prachyanat”. I wish I had only been more alert about my culture all the time, as to appreciate and engage myself in the theatre. Only if…

Ibsen's "An Enemy Of The People" - a review

This is a story of a man who loves his city and cares for it, and tries to save it from possible calamities; but his actions are not supported by the political powers of his locality.

            Dr. Stockmann discovers a flaw in the city's drainage system, and proposes possible solutions. Although his discovery is appreciated by the civilians at first, his brother, who is also the mayor, asks him to take his word back. Stockmann denies, and hence his brother convinces other powerful people to go against Stockmann.

            Stockmann - patriotic as he was - decided to stand strong, and make the citizens believe him and support him. In the process of doing so, he speaks ill of the political and influential people of the city. This enrages the ordinary people greatly, and they try to kill Stockmann.

            On the other hand, the mayor and others spread rumors that Stockmann is only running after money, and that his discovery was false and insignificant. Denying all these false accusations, Stockmann stands tall on his opinion. He is supported by his family, and he realizes that the man who stands alone is the strongest.

            I really liked the concept of this story, and it was not much difficult to relate this to pragmatic situations. And here I present an opinion of mine.

            Often in the history of the world, we encounter honest, hard-working and patriotic people : national leaders, political figures, sophists & intellectuals, revolutionaries and the like. But the sad part is, we never make good use of these people, we never let them lead the way, and we always do find an issue to eliminate them or to banish them from the society.

            A similar thing happened with Dr. Stockmann. Although he was not banished or eliminated, his life was claimed once, for he was bold enough to talk about the flaws of the society. Although he was a patriot, the society made it a point to make him appear as "An Enemy Of The People".

Memoirs of the Roots

I have read many accounts of writers going back to their native lands after a long time. Some Canadian writer goes back to Africa and describes his feelings about the land of his predecessors; some Egyptian writer returns to her land after spending a long time in London. In all of these accounts, however, there have been changes highly geographical– from continent to continent, from country to country, and even from state to state. However, in my case, it was not even between cities.

            Five years ago, my family and I shifted from one house to another in the same city. Although I grew up in my present home, I could not let go of the memories of the previous house where I had spent a significant part of my childhood. Even though I had numerous friends there, I did not dare visit that old neighborhood of mine, as I thought that I would get overly nostalgic and would not be able to control my sentiments.

            However, after all these years, when I thought that I had finally stepped out of the hall of memories, I went to visit the old ragged place I once used to call home. I found my friends waiting for me in a field nearby where I used to play cricket and soccer all day long duing summer and badminton during the winter months. While I rushed forward to embrace them, a scene from my distant childhood flashed momentarily in my mind. Immediately, I knew that my visit to the old neighborhood had been a wrong decision – I had yet not completely thrown out the memories.

            I went near the 4 buildings that we used to call “our territory” as kids. The buildings were not worn out as I had expected. The place was just the same as it had been five years ago. No detail had been replaced except the beautification of the small garden and maybe a re-painting of the old walls which would seemed to reflect my morose smiles. I walked past the long corridors, the empty halls, the rusty basketball court; and they seemed to call me, to howl at me for having abandoned them, to invite me back to its heart where I had left my soul. I’ll admit, a drop or two of salt-water might have escaped my eyes…

            I spent the entire day there in the realms of my kingdom of memories. Random scenes from my eight years of stay there kept flashing in my eyes every now and then, and it occurred to me that the movie-makers did not go overboard with the idea of flash-backs. Even though I have spent my adolescent years in my present home, I somehow feel that I had abandoned a good part of my life there – my childhood. True, I would have aged even if I remained there forever; but I like to believe that I would always enjoy the delicate times I spent there laughing and fighting with my friends. Only if I knew how much I would miss my old home and neighborhood, I would have savored every minute that I had spent there as a child.

I learned a fact that day: how much we change, our roots call us back.