Summer cometh, how about some books & music?

This was an unusually short and odd Spring and before we know it, summer will be upon us. The Met Department has already warned that this is going to be a very hot summer, so one has a long summer of discontent to fear. I have already started stocking up on books and music to pass those interminable days and would like to share some with my readers.

Sunjeev Sahota's The Year of the Runaways was shortlisted for the Booker in 2015 and this year, I had the pleasure of hearing him at the Jaipur LitFest. The panel, titled, The Booker Bookshelf, had the 3 speakers: Sahota, Anuradha Roy (Sleeping on Jupiter, on the 2015 Longlist) and the winner, Marlon James (A Brief History of Seven Killings). I must say it was great to see two writers from India (Sahota is now a British citizen) on that panel. I tried and failed to get my teeth into Marlon James (too violent and a huge tome) and have to yet read Roy but am currently reading Sahota and must recommend it to all my readers not just for its clean and simple literary framework but for its moving narratives about illegal immigrants from Punjab, living under the radar in Sheffield. Punjab has long been known for its mass migrations to the West and feisty grappling with immigration laws and hostile foster countries. This book puts names and faces to the horrific tales of slave trade and exploitation that we frequently read about in our newspapers. However, what I find riveting is the delicate way in which the author celebrates not merely the never-say-die spirit of his characters but the deep philosophical questions that underpin his portraits. Is the loss of one's human identity worth the money and the supposed comfort of another land ever enough? What destroys the human soul more than poverty? The loneliness of these lives adrift in a bleak and alien world makes one wonder whether the debate on nationalism and Bharat Mata are so quixotic after all. Do read it if you can. 

Another discovery is Elena Ferrante, an Italian author who is possibly even more reclusive than JD Salinger and Harper Lee. No one has ever seen her, not even in a photograph, and one does not even know whether that is her real name. She lives in Naples and is a chronicler for her city, claiming that anonymity gives her the freedom to write about real people. She has apparently been nominated for the Man Booker Prize this year and it remains to be seen whether she will actually come to the Guildhall ceremony if she makes it to the shortlist. Then I have some Hindi books to read as well, such as Alka Saraogi's Jankidas Tejpal Mansion that I have promised the author I will translate into English.

My husband has just downloaded Netflix and is constantly watching gory detective thrillers and films on it. He has been persuading me to download it on to my laptop so that he can share some of them but I have resisted it for fear of getting hooked. I remember how my mother would devour Pakistani serials when she came to visit us in Chandigarh and binge-watch them over 10-12 hours. If I have inherited that gene then I may as well say goodbye to all my reading and writing but perhaps I may see some on his computer. Satan calls.

Music now. Since my taste runs to the classical, I will not foist my choices on my readers who may enjoy a different genre. However, I must share a lovely story with you. Years ago, when I was teaching in the Panjab University, I helped to set up the Chandigarh Chapter of Spicmacay (Society for the Promotion of Indian Classical Music and Culture Among Youth), inspired by the wonderful efforts of its founder Kiran Seth. That is a long story but recently, one of the erstwhile student activists got in touch with all of us (scattered all over the world now) to set up a date in July-August to meet here in Delhi. I am thrilled that they have kept the love for classical music alive wherever they are in the world because if we were able to motivate even a small core of the hundreds who came to our concerts, I consider my work well rewarded. 

How I wish our media would occasionally focus on stories and features that give us hope that all is not lost. I am tired of reading about the dire conditions in Punjab and the venality of its political actors. How about the great community work done by social activists (and I do not mean just the shrill human rightists who hog up all the oxygen) but the gods of small things who no one cares to celebrate.

Will The Tribune take a lead?