LITERATURE MATTERS 10
How happy did it make Shakespeare?
If critics have commented about how happy it made Shakespeare to save 'the creatures of the sun' (bassanio, Gratiano and co..) from something as real as the "vile" old Shylock, then they were both right and wrong in doing so. For one, even if Shylock and his drastically macbre demand of three pounds of flesh for a payment of loan that had gone beyond its due, was something that was 'really' vile, it does in no way provide for any sort of sympathy for a jew ragging Bassanio and his company. On the other hand, it is indeed true that it was finally left to shakespeare to come to the aid of these heroes of the time by way of Portia and her smart lawyering.
They(Bassanio and company) had to be saved from the consequence of their own earlier mistreatment of Shylock, for the appeasement of a crowd; the majority of whom were the Bassanios of the period in flesh and blood. Shakespeare, more than anything, needed a smart way to turn the tables on Shylock who had by all means legal cornered the 'righteous' ones. Then comes the smart argument that outdid the vile Shylock, who it seems, in his intention to be vile, forgot being smart for a while, and paid the price.
The Jew of the time was considered not just mean but also cunning( read smart). More than the fact that he saved Bassanio and Co from the vile Shylock, the fact that he helped them outdo the mean jew in his own department of 'cunning' must have given Shakespeare (and as a consequence his audience) a lot to celebrate. It is not Shylock's defeat, but the manner in which it was achieved that the anti-semetic audience of Shakespeare loved.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
EXCERPT
The Dancing Duo
"You and me dance dont we?" asked Josh licking his knife.
"yes, like em people on the ice they show on the TV" replied Rosy, her eyes glued to the TV."yeah, something like that" he says.
He squints hard at the knife again, then he alligns it in front of his head and takes a look at the relection of his bald head in the knife."you checked the refirigerator?" he asks getting up."Nope" she says, now she increases the volume and gets closer to the TV set.
"I am gonna check, you want somethin?"
"yeah, milk and some biscuits"
He leaves the room, and walks gingerly over to the adjoined hallway. " There is a whole lot of work to do" he shouts back on his way. "we still have twenty minutes" she calls back, not missing one frame of action.
Twenty Minutes Later
He sits crouching behind the door while she stands stark naked in the living room as the door to the apartment is being unlocked from the outside. Both Mr and Mrs Schmidt walk through the entrance and stare in astonishment at the naked woman in their apartment. Josh is quick, one blow each to Mr and Mrs Schmidt from the behind and they are both unconsious instantaniously.They never would see, or fell what happens next. Josh and Rosy are not sadistic killers, they liked to be called artists. What met the eyes of a crime scene investigation unit each time was a piece of art, Josh and Rosy made sure of it.
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever" Josh would quote each time he laid out the crime scene.
"Aint I a joy forever?" Rosy would ask as she touched herself, she wouldnt bother that josh never replied to that, she'd ask it anyways.They neatly cut open the bodies, they drew patterns on the ground with the blood. They carried readymade plastic patterns with them that they used often. Sometimes Rosy tried to improvise, but Josh did not like that "Bad girl!" he would admonish when he saw Rosy adding her feces to the pattern. "It adds color honey" she would defend her art. "Hmpfff..." he would frown and go on with what he had in mind.
"You and me, we dance dont we?"
"yup"
"Lets not make this one like the last two" she insists.
"Hmm... why dont we try the rainbow?" he suggest, hands on hips, looking down at two corpses. Mr and Mrs Schmidt; normal people who spent their days in the quiet of the post-retirement silence, were about to be given an artistic farewell.
"Its the idea of making death as beautiful as creation" Josh would say reflecting on his rather unique profession.
The Dancing Duo
"You and me dance dont we?" asked Josh licking his knife.
"yes, like em people on the ice they show on the TV" replied Rosy, her eyes glued to the TV."yeah, something like that" he says.
He squints hard at the knife again, then he alligns it in front of his head and takes a look at the relection of his bald head in the knife."you checked the refirigerator?" he asks getting up."Nope" she says, now she increases the volume and gets closer to the TV set.
"I am gonna check, you want somethin?"
"yeah, milk and some biscuits"
He leaves the room, and walks gingerly over to the adjoined hallway. " There is a whole lot of work to do" he shouts back on his way. "we still have twenty minutes" she calls back, not missing one frame of action.
Twenty Minutes Later
He sits crouching behind the door while she stands stark naked in the living room as the door to the apartment is being unlocked from the outside. Both Mr and Mrs Schmidt walk through the entrance and stare in astonishment at the naked woman in their apartment. Josh is quick, one blow each to Mr and Mrs Schmidt from the behind and they are both unconsious instantaniously.They never would see, or fell what happens next. Josh and Rosy are not sadistic killers, they liked to be called artists. What met the eyes of a crime scene investigation unit each time was a piece of art, Josh and Rosy made sure of it.
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever" Josh would quote each time he laid out the crime scene.
"Aint I a joy forever?" Rosy would ask as she touched herself, she wouldnt bother that josh never replied to that, she'd ask it anyways.They neatly cut open the bodies, they drew patterns on the ground with the blood. They carried readymade plastic patterns with them that they used often. Sometimes Rosy tried to improvise, but Josh did not like that "Bad girl!" he would admonish when he saw Rosy adding her feces to the pattern. "It adds color honey" she would defend her art. "Hmpfff..." he would frown and go on with what he had in mind.
"You and me, we dance dont we?"
"yup"
"Lets not make this one like the last two" she insists.
"Hmm... why dont we try the rainbow?" he suggest, hands on hips, looking down at two corpses. Mr and Mrs Schmidt; normal people who spent their days in the quiet of the post-retirement silence, were about to be given an artistic farewell.
"Its the idea of making death as beautiful as creation" Josh would say reflecting on his rather unique profession.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
LITERATURE MATTERS 9
A Dignified Shylock? A Comic Shylock? Why not?
In an age like our own, far removed from the days of shakespeare and his plays, if one experiments with a centuries old character and adds a flavour or two of the times now, then, although a few raised eyebrows are unavaoidable, the general view ought to be one of enquiry- into the effectiveness of the new flavour arrived upon thus. A villain today is less emotional and more cold, more in contrast with the hero of the age who is expected to be full of heart and exhibitionary emotions.
Watching a character being played in the same fashion many times over can get a little too tedious and a change in such a circumstance is most welcome. A reader may have a certain image of the character as influenced by the mind. But when he becomes a viewer and sees the part being performed in another style, there could be two reactions. One wherein the viewer is open to the idea of change and views it evenhandedly, trying to ascertain the effect of such a change, Or else the viewer may be repelled by the idea of seeing his/her image of the character being shattered.
Personally I believe there is no wrong in a little experimentation. An overtly vile shylock would'nt sell in these days, and yes a bit of dignity for a man who merely sought to avenge his mistreatment (albiet in an altogether cruel manner) would do no harm, and a bit of comic sense would certainly make him memorable for more right reasons than those he is remembered for.
A Dignified Shylock? A Comic Shylock? Why not?
In an age like our own, far removed from the days of shakespeare and his plays, if one experiments with a centuries old character and adds a flavour or two of the times now, then, although a few raised eyebrows are unavaoidable, the general view ought to be one of enquiry- into the effectiveness of the new flavour arrived upon thus. A villain today is less emotional and more cold, more in contrast with the hero of the age who is expected to be full of heart and exhibitionary emotions.
Watching a character being played in the same fashion many times over can get a little too tedious and a change in such a circumstance is most welcome. A reader may have a certain image of the character as influenced by the mind. But when he becomes a viewer and sees the part being performed in another style, there could be two reactions. One wherein the viewer is open to the idea of change and views it evenhandedly, trying to ascertain the effect of such a change, Or else the viewer may be repelled by the idea of seeing his/her image of the character being shattered.
Personally I believe there is no wrong in a little experimentation. An overtly vile shylock would'nt sell in these days, and yes a bit of dignity for a man who merely sought to avenge his mistreatment (albiet in an altogether cruel manner) would do no harm, and a bit of comic sense would certainly make him memorable for more right reasons than those he is remembered for.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Random Lines From A Book In Progress.
"Undercover of sheets, Undercloak of darkness, Underspell of passion, Under starlit skies- there was a moment to behold. A moment that moulded fantasy into a red hot burning rod, and drove it right through the heart of reality. I was her, she was me. A jig-saw puzzle fitting to the T. A mystery unvieled. "
"The world of mathematics lay before him, inviting the little one with wide open legs. He began revelling in the magic of numbers, utterly fascinated by their unconcquerable certainty. The numbers would grow up with him- Numbers so huge that they meassured the volumes of galaxies- Numbers so small that they fell like pearls out of the bud like lips of a two year old."
" She stood up and declared 'you know what ? my chubby one! you should write a book someday! you know, a solid piece of literature, something worthwhile.
'A book?' he asked sounding amused.
'yes, a few drops from your ocean, for the world's sake'
'yeah sure, why not' he said as his belly chuckled.
The world of books had always been alien to him. Soon though, be would be plunged into its madness, never to recover. After she dies he'd read every damn piece of shit he could lay his hands on. Searching the pages of cheap paperbacks and classic hardbounds for a glimpse of her. He'd find her intellect in those timeless classics, and her raunchyness in the sleek swim-suit action books. He'd find pieces of her. But not her."
"Undercover of sheets, Undercloak of darkness, Underspell of passion, Under starlit skies- there was a moment to behold. A moment that moulded fantasy into a red hot burning rod, and drove it right through the heart of reality. I was her, she was me. A jig-saw puzzle fitting to the T. A mystery unvieled. "
"The world of mathematics lay before him, inviting the little one with wide open legs. He began revelling in the magic of numbers, utterly fascinated by their unconcquerable certainty. The numbers would grow up with him- Numbers so huge that they meassured the volumes of galaxies- Numbers so small that they fell like pearls out of the bud like lips of a two year old."
" She stood up and declared 'you know what ? my chubby one! you should write a book someday! you know, a solid piece of literature, something worthwhile.
'A book?' he asked sounding amused.
'yes, a few drops from your ocean, for the world's sake'
'yeah sure, why not' he said as his belly chuckled.
The world of books had always been alien to him. Soon though, be would be plunged into its madness, never to recover. After she dies he'd read every damn piece of shit he could lay his hands on. Searching the pages of cheap paperbacks and classic hardbounds for a glimpse of her. He'd find her intellect in those timeless classics, and her raunchyness in the sleek swim-suit action books. He'd find pieces of her. But not her."
Saturday, November 04, 2006
A Short Story
ELEVEN JEWS AND A JIHADI
-by Hameeduddin
As soon as the blast occured Ibn Ishaq the martyr and Emmanuel Stern the scholar-jew along with ten other random unconnected people tore through their tattered bodies and began flying in the skies above the Gaza strip. Among them only one seemed to be smiling and at peace with himself, Ibn Ishaq had achieved what he was supposed to and he was revelling in his victory as they flew past the clouds and began entering the oxygen free region. Emmanuel Stern the jewish scholar was the last of the pack and flew in what one might venture to call a sad mystic fashion. He flew last for he had consumed much time waiting to say a proper goodbye to his shock dazed family which was alas denied to him. Those in front of him had all tears in their eyes; tears that flew backwards as they all soared through the stratosphere in Mach six speeds, their sonic booms sounding like pitful moaning, except of course Ibn Ishaq who was flying at a blinding speed ahead of the pack in anticipation of the seventy virgins promised to him.
As they cleared the realms of the airs and entered the space of nothingness, eleven souls lingered for a moment, turned around and gazed mournfully at the planet where their loved ones were experiencing unimaginabe loss. Ibn Ishaq went into high gear and floored the accelerator as he began flying at beyond light speeds, hoping perhaps to reach his paradise like the blazing light. Emmanuel caught up with Ishaq and began amidst hysteric cries asking him 'why! why! did you do this? what wrong did i do you?' This came somewhat as a shock for Ishaq, only now did he realize that the Scholar-jew was behind him, also he realized the other random innocents were too, not far behind. 'why? you are a Jew thats why!' he shouted back and accelerated further. Emmanuel too speeded up and was beside him again, 'I have children and a family you know' he said in a softer tone, then he added 'had'in an even softer tone .
'Nonsense! you are sinners you all, the condemned!' cried Ishaq, he tried turning left and right but soon found that the eleven jews kept following him. Each in turns caught up with him and asked him 'why?'. Round and round in circles he flew, and yet they were there, the eleven jews 'I am a shopkeeper, i have five children' said one, 'My new born girl is left with no one to breast-feed her' weeped a lady, 'What is the name of that star?' asked a small curious minded jew boy, and on and on they spoke to him, his ears overflowing with the words they spoke into them. He kept flying one way and another, in search of his paradise, in search of his seventy virgins. Every where looked the same, and the jews were driving him mad. 'Shut up! shut up!' he shouted, then in tones of pity he pleaded for his all compasionate God to intervene. Only black dust and meteors came his way. His prayer bounced back off the planets to came back in the form of an empty echo. Far away somewhere Judas felt the same as Ishaq, eleven jews following him. Asking him 'why?'.
Time passes slowly at the speed of light, in fact it ceases to exist.The mindless jews never spoke among themselves but only to him, at first they questioned and soon he ran out of smart answers, then they cursed, after which they cried, then they returned to normalcy and questioned him again 'why?' they kept asking. He wished for being deaf. He wished for being alone. No more a longing for paradise. And then suddenly the jews vanished, into thin space, phoof! just like that! Wow!! his prayers got answered he thought. Out of nowhere came eleven other jews. Skull caps, david stars and all. The chatter resumed. 'Where are my eleven jews?' he asked. 'They have gone to where they belong, now we are your eleven jews'they replied. In that moment he realized his destiny. If they had gone and he was here, then this was his eternity. Not with seventy virgins, but right here, flying in literally 'no time', forever. No virgins here, just eleven jews, asking him 'why?', never letting him forget. Never.
Reviews are welcome.
ELEVEN JEWS AND A JIHADI
-by Hameeduddin
As soon as the blast occured Ibn Ishaq the martyr and Emmanuel Stern the scholar-jew along with ten other random unconnected people tore through their tattered bodies and began flying in the skies above the Gaza strip. Among them only one seemed to be smiling and at peace with himself, Ibn Ishaq had achieved what he was supposed to and he was revelling in his victory as they flew past the clouds and began entering the oxygen free region. Emmanuel Stern the jewish scholar was the last of the pack and flew in what one might venture to call a sad mystic fashion. He flew last for he had consumed much time waiting to say a proper goodbye to his shock dazed family which was alas denied to him. Those in front of him had all tears in their eyes; tears that flew backwards as they all soared through the stratosphere in Mach six speeds, their sonic booms sounding like pitful moaning, except of course Ibn Ishaq who was flying at a blinding speed ahead of the pack in anticipation of the seventy virgins promised to him.
As they cleared the realms of the airs and entered the space of nothingness, eleven souls lingered for a moment, turned around and gazed mournfully at the planet where their loved ones were experiencing unimaginabe loss. Ibn Ishaq went into high gear and floored the accelerator as he began flying at beyond light speeds, hoping perhaps to reach his paradise like the blazing light. Emmanuel caught up with Ishaq and began amidst hysteric cries asking him 'why! why! did you do this? what wrong did i do you?' This came somewhat as a shock for Ishaq, only now did he realize that the Scholar-jew was behind him, also he realized the other random innocents were too, not far behind. 'why? you are a Jew thats why!' he shouted back and accelerated further. Emmanuel too speeded up and was beside him again, 'I have children and a family you know' he said in a softer tone, then he added 'had'in an even softer tone .
'Nonsense! you are sinners you all, the condemned!' cried Ishaq, he tried turning left and right but soon found that the eleven jews kept following him. Each in turns caught up with him and asked him 'why?'. Round and round in circles he flew, and yet they were there, the eleven jews 'I am a shopkeeper, i have five children' said one, 'My new born girl is left with no one to breast-feed her' weeped a lady, 'What is the name of that star?' asked a small curious minded jew boy, and on and on they spoke to him, his ears overflowing with the words they spoke into them. He kept flying one way and another, in search of his paradise, in search of his seventy virgins. Every where looked the same, and the jews were driving him mad. 'Shut up! shut up!' he shouted, then in tones of pity he pleaded for his all compasionate God to intervene. Only black dust and meteors came his way. His prayer bounced back off the planets to came back in the form of an empty echo. Far away somewhere Judas felt the same as Ishaq, eleven jews following him. Asking him 'why?'.
Time passes slowly at the speed of light, in fact it ceases to exist.The mindless jews never spoke among themselves but only to him, at first they questioned and soon he ran out of smart answers, then they cursed, after which they cried, then they returned to normalcy and questioned him again 'why?' they kept asking. He wished for being deaf. He wished for being alone. No more a longing for paradise. And then suddenly the jews vanished, into thin space, phoof! just like that! Wow!! his prayers got answered he thought. Out of nowhere came eleven other jews. Skull caps, david stars and all. The chatter resumed. 'Where are my eleven jews?' he asked. 'They have gone to where they belong, now we are your eleven jews'they replied. In that moment he realized his destiny. If they had gone and he was here, then this was his eternity. Not with seventy virgins, but right here, flying in literally 'no time', forever. No virgins here, just eleven jews, asking him 'why?', never letting him forget. Never.
Reviews are welcome.
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