“Deviating from tradition and familiarity, this edition relied on throwing people into the deep end. People knew only genres, no specific titles.”
POCKET DIARY BOOK CLUB
MINUTES OF THE MEETING
YEAR 2024
21/04/2024 03:00 PM
Edition No. : 33
Venue: Akshat Drama Group Studio
Facilitators: Nirali & Nija
Written by: Aswathy
Edited by: Nija
Deviating from tradition and familiarity, this edition of PDBC relied on
throwing people into the deep end. People knew only the genres of the texts
that others were reading, and no other specifics of the work. There was a lot
of talk about death and about languages —the two things that define
humanity—and in our coming together to share stories, we were playing out
a third defining characteristic of humanity: storytelling. We had the holy trinity.
We began with the picking of lots. ‘Mythological retelling’ was the first chosen one, and yours
truly was the only candidate.
Aswathy: Girl Meets Boy, Ali Smith
A (post)modernist queer retelling of the myth of Iphis and Ianthe, this story is set in 2010s
London. In the section that was read out, the narrator contemplates the love and death of her
grandparents.
The reading ends with what I believe is a striking sentence: “I wished that my own bones were
unbound, I wished they were mingling, picked clean by fish, with the bones of
another body, a body my bones and heart and soul had loved with
unfathomable certainty for decades, and both of us down deep now, lost to
everything but the fact of bare bones on a dark seabed.”
At this point, Nija and Nirali announce that we had not decided who would take down the
minutes of the meeting. An awkward silenc e follows. Then Prashant says, ‘ Let the one who
read first take down the minutes’ throwing me into the deep end too. I agree to do it, but only
because part of me has always wanted to take down the minutes.
And so, we proceed.
The next genre category is ‘Memoir’. We have three four contenders.
Sambhav: From Heaven Lake, Vikram Seth
The colours are what stood out. The “beige”, “ochre”, and “white”, the “red strip of soil”, and,
delightfully, the “nude dunes”. This book resurrected everybody’s
wanderlust, and we talked about travelling, seeing the world, and seeing
China. Some passing comments about ‘ Wonder why no one talks
about Chinese tourism’ floated around the room. Then,
conversation drifted to languages, about authors writing in other
languages, whether Vikram Seth knows Mandarin (yes, he does),
and about Jhumpa Lahiri’s determination to write in Italian.
Smit: Khushwantnama, Khushwant Singh
Reflections on a life that regularly featured single-malt whiskey and gossip. It was affirming to
know that even Khushwant Singh enjoyed a gabfest. There was yet again talk of languages.
The parts where the author wrote about drinking in India could very well have been PR for
small and medium enterprises in the alcohol industry. Then there was poetry, with excerpts
from Ghalib and Faiz. Talk of death resurfaced. Another striking sentence: “ I rarely attended
weddings but made it a point to attend funerals.”
Aishwarya: When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi
A reconciliation with death (yet again) and of shifting identities , primarily from doctor to
patient. It’s a heavy read. There is talk of acceptance of one’s reality, and crude jokes about
the physiological aspect of breath becoming air, which only goes to show that we have the
capacity to hold both grief and humour within ourselves simultaneously.
Ruchi: Daisy Jones & the Six, Taylor Jenkins Reid
This one is distinctly not a memoir. We have background music for this one. The passage
confronts love and separation. The band’s performance is described vividly; it makes you feel
as if you were right there, on stage with them, watching their emotions flit over their faces. A
few striking sentences: “Truth lies unclaimed in the middle” and “We appreciate people more
when they are fleeting.” The discussion after the reading centred around audiobooks, to which
Rajesh says, ‘Hum apni hi nahi sunte, dusre ki kya sunenge?’
And then it’s time for tea, and Nirali regales us with a reading from John Berger’s “From A to
X”.
The next section was ‘Poetry’.
Anushree: Ariel, Sylvia Plath
Immediately terrified of all that Plath will bring. But the shifting
image of the tulips is a lasting one. The discussion is a discussion of
Sylvia Plath’s life and death, her husband (no thanks, Ted Hughes), and
finally, how ‘She was the r ight person in the wrong hands.’ The greatest reconciliation with
death so far.
Then, onto ‘Crime’.
Sharvil: Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky
Sharvil called this the anxiety genre, to widespread agreement. A remarkable moment is
finding out, in the discussion afterwards, that Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Saawariya is based on
Dostoevsky’s short story “White Nights”. Who would have thought.
Prashant: Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
War, after all, is the greatest crime of humanity. A brief examination of the mundane lives of
people in the midst of war. Questions about bravery and the experiences of war come up in
the discussion. The book’s satirising of war provokes Rajesh to remark that ever ything is
satirical from afar: ‘Apna ghar door se dekho toh imarat hi lagti hai.’
Shanker: My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk
The most uncharacteristic of murder mysteries, which may as well have belonged to the
poetry category. So evocative, the text bringing the colour to aggressive life. There is talk again
of death. The book is a murder camouflaged as art.
Meanwhile, Mil lee sits under the dripping AC, catching the water in her hands , vividly
resembling the bodhisattva Tara.
Rajesh: Gunslinger, Stephen King
An evocative plot description from R ajesh, who prepares us for the ‘ chota-mota pyaar’ and
the background bang -bang in the book . For clarification, the bang -bang is strictly limited to
gunshots. Many innuendos follow. The biggest banger was this line: “ Not out of ammo, but
fresh out of mercy.” In the discussion afterwards, everyone agrees that the premise reminds
them of an American Western. Some are reminded of Sholay. I have watched neither, so I stay
silent.
At this point, I stopped keeping track of the genres because I was distracted by
the crochet flowers that decorated Prashant. I am reminded of John O’Donohue
saying that if we hold only one thing of beauty in our minds throughout the day,
it would be enough. The yellow crochet rose becomes that thing of beauty for me
that Sunday.
Bhavita: Madhukar
A gorgeous old Gujarati book printed in 1909, which contained advertisements and stories of
people’s lives. The focus is on a jagirdar, who is about to marry a second time following the
death of his first wife. Everyone is scandalised, for the new wife is 14 years old whereas the
jagirdar himself is 55. Again, the reading ends with death, following by many simultaneous
discussions. I managed to sneak a sniff of the book. Unsurprisingly, it smelled wonderful.
Nidhi: Whereabouts, Jhumpa Lahiri
Vignettes, in translation. Funny little coincidence that an initial discussion
mentioned Jhumpa Lahiri and now we read Jhumpa Lahiri. The text talks
extensively about solitude and loneliness, making a case for detachment. The
discussions follow along the exploration of what it means to be alone vs. what it
means to be lonely. One sentence stands out: “Burdened by the passage of time.”
Millee: Rituals of Happy Souls, Deepanshu Giri
In keeping with her bodhisattva image, Milee reads from a book that recommends working on
one’s thoughts before directing that energy outwards. The book promotes a balancing of the
five elements in order to achieve a complete balance. Note that, b y this time, Mil lee has
moved out from under the dripping AC. A kettle has replaced her as the receptacle of the
water.
Samir: The Psychology of a Young
Thief, Ruskin Bond
Ruskin Bond brings a sort of lightness
to everything, and this was evident as
we closed with a short story written by
him. A n examination of the
transformations that sincere love and
care can bring. For me, each Ruskin
Bond story is a restoration of faith in
humankind. This story is no different.
On the sides, Prashant and Nidhi are
discussing the dustbins of Landour
which, admittedly, are quite
sensational.
We closed with some incredible
chocolates that Smit had brought from
his trip to Europe, and then finally ,
with the reading of the minutes.
The picture on the right is an o riginal,
artist: Pra5hant, with a sunflower.
Fin.