Review of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

It is a rather difficult feat to be a complete disgrace to the paper on which a book is printed. “The Alchemist” achieves this goal with such relative ease that you stand convinced its author has skills -- albeit the wrong kind. This mindless drivel reads like “Simple English Wikipedia” less the information. Its philosophies have the depth of a rainwater puddle and as one reviewer aptly noted “there is more literary richness on the instructions card of a microwave that this entire book”.

It is rather unbecoming of a man to shower this amount of hatred. But as I shall show you below, my judgement is well founded and perhaps compounded by the fact that this sorry excuse of a book is a bestseller.

It's not that I despise popular books. As a child I was inspired by “The Little Prince.” As a teenager mystified by the “Lord of the Rings,” and enticed by “The Prophet.” As an adult I was awestruck by “The Emigrants” and entertained by the stories of Saki -- all popular literature.

In contrast, this book is about the banal life of a simpleton who contrives a deep meaning in everything he sees. But sadly the book doesn't stop there. Rather, it engages in a pseudo-intellectual didactic session where it validates every neo-age feel-good woo that happens to exist. This is what makes the book cancerous.

This book is classified by many libraries as children’s literature which it is absolutely not. It would be a sad world where children grow up reading books endorsing the concept of fate, destiny, and soul; or the belief in alchemy, omens, and premonitions.

The recurring inconsistencies in the book make it a hard read. For example, a major theme in the book is ‘heart’, but in some paragraphs ‘heart’ is a metaphorical organ that has feelings and direction and in others it is an organ that pumps blood. So when the protagonist wishes for his heart to stand still, we are left wondering whether he longs for calm or for death.

Character development is nearly non-existent and lines of thought rarely extend beyond a few paragraphs. Characters and plot-lines go in-and-out of existence at the mercy of the author. For example, the protagonist conveniently finds a “friend” when he wants to sell his sheep in an otherwise unknown land! This one-shot-friend is never mentioned again.

As though this is not enough, the book is riddled with profound-sounding nonsense. The protagonist could “feel the vibrations of peace” or is given wisdom that “the darkest hour of night is just before dawn” (coldest maybe, but darkest?!) or the famous “when you want something the universe conspires in helping you achieve it” all of which are gibberish and carry no meaning.

When the content fails to deliver, one would expect the style to make up. But the book is prosaic even when describing the romantic plots that run rife through the story. A first love, who is reminisced in every other page in the first part of the book, is instantly forgotten when the protagonist meets the one ‘the Universe conspired him to fall in love with.’

The author's description of romance typically runs as “the boy wanted to take her hand. But Fatima's hands held to the handles of her jug.” Love appears lifeless. Also, for the not-so-spiritual amongst us, proposing marriage before time is rife is a polite way of asking the other person to leave one alone. But for the ‘spiritual’ it seems to be an instant recognition of a connexion!

The book goes out of the way to misinform its readers. A character claims “I know the science of the twigs” now what is the “science” of twigs if not pseudoscience? And yet another says “I learned the science from my grandfather” while referring to alchemy!

The book throws in a few sentences here and there with the sole intention of making the reader feel good. For example, “when you possess great treasures within you, and try to tell others of them, seldom are you believed” reassuring them when others disagree, they’re not the ones usually at fault.

It turns so bad that the author gives up even basics of writing. An oasis “looks like thousand and one nights.” An oasis cannot look like thousand and one nights because “Thousand and One Nights” is a novel not an oasis. Of course, it can look like an oasis that’s described in that novel.

In all, this book is not even worthy of being thrown into a trash can. If you own a copy of this book, do the “Universe” a favour and burn the copy right away lest, god forbid, you be bidden by the devil to lend it to another soul.

Make friends not enemies. Peace.

ARK

I'm A Someone Too

In today's world, especially in the large cities, there's so much pain and suffering around us that most choose to block themselves out completely, living in a world of their own. But what does this mean to one living on the other end?

I've been here since I was born
And I'm only a child by my age
Living next to this busy street
Peering out of my cage

I see delicious ice-cream cones
And chocolates being shared
Happy people with smiles
And children who're being cared

And I feel so happy.

But why don't they see me?
Me, the malnourished kid
The child beggar on the street
My father's in bed and will never get up
And my mother... she left us

Do they even know I exist?

I didn't choose this life
And neither did they choose theirs
So it's not my fault who I am
But yet nobody cares

Tell them the next time they go
Riding on the busy street
They don't have to give me money
Food, chocolate or sweet

But just look at me...
   and make me feel I exist.

Verse - 1

I've never understood why some things appeal me at certain times and at other times they just lose their appeal. What I enjoyed the most moments ago, I detest. I wonder if it's just the mind playing games,or whether it's meant to be  that way.

Waves of an ocean, or stillness of a pond,

Which of these does the mind really want?

Fine mist on the skin, or gentle showers

with the scent of rain,

Warmth of the sun, or the soothing shade,

Which to indulge, and which to evade?

Calmness of the dark, or brightness of the day,

Solitude and peace, or joyous friends,

Challenges, should I seek, or an easy way out,

Sometimes this appeals, and sometimes it's that,

Which of these does the mind really want?

A.R.K.

You, Reckless Driver, and What You Want To Be

You

When I look at you, I can see the beautiful features that Nature has gifted you: the sparkling eyes, the eyebrows, the hair, the hands, torso, legs -- all working in perfect unison to create the 'You.' Also, when I look at you, I can imagine the days of your childhood, you, like any other child, running around in your tiny legs, your parents panting to catch up with you, your innocent smile, the drooling saliva, the big eyes, the playful childishness. Also, when I look at you, I can imagine the beautiful moments of your life, the ones you will never forget -- I can see the marks left by these in your smile and in the sparkle of your eyes. Also, when I look at you, I can imagine the struggle, you, a person in the twenty-first century, are going through. I can imagine you dodge or solve your problems using your brain, struggle, be confused, and I'm amused imagining the look on your face when you attempt to comprehend what's a bit too much for you... My fellow being, knowing so much about you, how could I ever show contempt, envy, or hatred towards you? But I have a bad habit: I play with people.

Reckless Driver - You have been cursed!

Beware you reckless driver, you who doesn't care for my life, you who doesn't care for your fellow beings, BEWARE, you have been cursed! Whatever you drive, be it a lorry, a car or a motorbike, may you be most prone to accidents, meet them as often as the sun meets the horizon. May your vehicle give you the most of problems, may it give you starting troubles, engine troubles, may it break down frequently. May you step on cow dung, may you have all the misfortune piled up, one after another, may you taste each one of them. May you be the first the mad dog bites or the mad cow gores. May you be the first an animal bites, if such an occasion arises. May you be prone to diseases, may bad bacteria and virus make home in your body, give you many infections and bless you with bad health. May your house have the most electricity cuts and water cuts, may a branch fall on your telephone line every other week. May you have many misfortunes of this kind. May you have a bad work life, may you be the most unsuccessful, yet struggle like a donkey. May every step you take create trouble for you at work. May you earn the least, may you have to spend the most. May your life be in constant agony. May you and your brethren be wiped out of the face of earth in a thousand years, I pray, may this curse come true. BEWARE you reckless driver, you have been cursed; and you shall not go unharmed!

What kind of person do you want to be ?

"What kind of person do you want to be ?" is a question reserved exclusively for either the genteel well wisher or the presumptuous flatterer, both of whom are rare species. When confronted by this interesting question a few days ago, I had to, but, thank the few hours of free time up my sleeves last week when I was coincidentally meditating upon the same question. I have only an aspect of the answer, nevertheless, a good beginning to self-visualisation. "Imagine a victim of a car breakdown, stranded in the middle of a dense forest - anything but an hospitable place. Imagine after a few hours of shivering wait, a bus coming down the road, and stopping to get him in. I want to be the person who would bargain the bus-fare to be dropped at the nearest hotel, in such a situation." Impressive, isn't it ? - Aravindh

Medley - 4

A traveler has seen many beautiful sights and heard many melodious sounds -- but are these sights and sounds what he craves for? No -- these are easy to forget. He yearns to re-live the experience; an experience that comes from his involvement in the scene and not his mere presence. In the absence of this experience one needs an aid to remind himself of the visit - a picture or a souvenir perhaps? Should one pack in as many sights or sounds or as many experiences? Spare some pity for the one who chooses the former, working his way through the destinations as hastily as a pack of bees collecting nectar -- is his interest to visit this place or just to get away from his?

The sights I saw are now faded, The sweet music is mellowed, But the place where I held her hand, Is so fresh in my mind, There I want to visit a thousand times.

Mind is a mysterious thing at best -- what it will retain and what it will forget is hard to say. It never seems to give clues about itself, and a helpless being must guess and understand it slowly by himself.

I can look into my own eyes, By just staring at the mirror, But where shall I stare, For the reflection of my mind?

What drives one to do something? If one can answer this then he can be sure it won't continue for long. If one does it for money, it stops after he gets the money; if for fame, after he gets the fame; if for satisfaction, after he gets the satisfaction. But what if he does it just for the sake of doing it? -- then yes, it does not stop, ever.

He did it for money, and now he's dead, And all that he did, Is in ruins.

A.R.K.

Wanted: A life free from compromises

From the days of lone wandering men, who would only be subdued by raw strength, human beings have moved on to families and later to societies -- only to find themselves yielding in addition to emotions and societal forces. The ones who have fit themselves well into the familial and societal frameworks find no burden, but the ones who are yet to be molded, who still consider themselves free, and who laugh at "what's not good for a beehive isn't good for the bee either," and to whom individuality has a greater importance than society -- feel an increasing burden of emotional and societal restrictions. Who is ahead of whom, and who's in the wrong path, it is difficult to say. While on one hand the societal assurance, and the familial support is all but necessary, the compromises one has to make to keep them up is painful. Perhaps the need is for balance, but how and how much?

Art - 1 (abridged)

Art is a form of expression: of the thoughts and feelings of an artist. It is a medium by which an artist communicates with his audience; and to the audience art is what liberates him: causes him to lose himself in the same bliss as the artist. Art ties their thought-streams together. A primary ingredient of any artwork is an intricate and congruent thought structure. A good thought framework expressed as art clarifies the many questions that rise in the mind of the audience, and manifests itself in the artwork as: clarity, details, highlights, expressions, and so on. A thorough thought process is born out of a desire to express an idea. Hence, a clear intent is very essential: it is important for the artist to have a need and reason to produce the artwork. His intent, willingly or unwillingly, is manifested in his artwork. If his intent is shallow, the artwork turns out to be shallow, if deep, the artwork turns out to be a masterpiece. In my recent visit to Chitra Kala Parishad I found an increasing number of "modern artworks," a trend that greatly disturbed me. These modern artworks made no sense without their caption, burdened me to think for the artist to fill the gaping voids in the artwork, and were with no discernible intent. Art, a "form of expression" was stunted to the physical expression on canvas -- not beyond; it did not pierce the canvas into the heart of the audience. These artworks made me sad.

Things I Like - 1

At 10A.M:

1. A Friday, and,
2. Full tank petrol in car, and,
3. Full battery charge on cellphone, and,
4. Half a glass of Espresso, and,
5. Half a glass of Orange Juice.

At 10P.M:

1. Dark room, curtains drawn, lights put off, and,
2. Pearl Jam's /Black/ playing in the background, and,
3. Lying lazily on the bed, and,
4. Late night SMS-chat.

Pretty faces and Thoughts

Surreal personalities in showbiz and how they affect our lives and decisions. The Media and Showbiz, for some, are escape-routes out of the real world, but for the vast majority of us on whom these are thrust upon on our day to day life, these are sub-conscious programmers of our memory and behaviour. Media and Showbiz glorify that which allures the senses - be it reality or virtual. And those who have grown up with such constant exposure carry a surreal notion of the world. The beauty, intellect and manners of reality don't appeal them anymore -- they would like to cling and clamour their showbiz and media ideals. While most would disregard this effect saying 'They know what's real and what's not,' they don't realise the harm that's done to them sub-consciously. Prejudice and stereotyping of people and judgement in comparison with their showbiz and media ideals in looks, intellect, manner and form are getting widespread. As a result people are frustrated with reality as it doesn't match up to their expectations -- children turn hostile towards their parents when they see smart and flawless parents and happy families in commercials, flawless skin and skin colour have become determinants of a person's beauty, people foster wrong ideas about relationships, youth curse their fate when they're unable to afford "cool" gadgets and vehicles.

Thoughts - do they define us or are they mere attributes? Ever since I could think, I've been surviving on the notion that "I'm what I think." This seems quite straightforward as thoughts stand out to be the primary differentiating factor among people. However, of late, it appears to me that thoughts are merely the attributes of a person, alongside emotions, manners and instinctive actions.

Enlightenment: Stained Tee Shirt

Attribute it to my unsteady hand or my equally unsteady brain -- I've an above-average rate of spilling drinks on my tee shirt. Usually these are drinks that leave behind a stain that won't go away in a single wash cycle. Sometimes, nonchalantly, I wear such tee shirts to Office and the questions about the visible stain on my tee shirt are usually answered thus: "I'm partly to blame as I spilt the drink, and the Washing Machine is partly to blame because it didn't wash well." UNTIL I saw this TV commercial for Surf Matic (our washing powder) which says 'Why blame your Washing Machine when what's not working is really your washing powder' -- well, the commercial asks us to switch to Surf Matic, but we already use it. So, today's questions about the stain were answered thus: "I'm partly to blame as I spilt the drink, and the Washing Powder is partly to blame because it didn't wash well."