Reading Lolita in Tehran

“A great novel heightens your senses and sensitivity to the complexities of life and of individuals, and prevents you from the self-righteousness that sees morality in fixed formulas about good and evil.” This one quote from Reading Lolita in Tehran is enough to describe what I felt after I finished reading the book. 
Reading Lolita in Tehran is not a novel in the strictest sense. It is a memoir in books but it did manage to heighten my sensitivity towards the oppressive life of Iranians under the Islamic regime. 
After teaching English Literature in three universities in Iran and being expelled or resigning in despair from each, Nafisi handpicked seven students and invited them to come to her home to discuss literature. These classes gradually become a means of escape for her and her students (All girls) from the totalitarian Islamic regime. Reading Lolita in Tehran paints a poignant picture of young women in search of another republic, which Nafisi calls the Republic of Imagination, to find themselves. 
The mention of Lolita, a controversial novel, was an inspired choice because of the novel's overt matter. Nabokov's beautiful and hard to understand prose become subversive and act as metaphors. Humbert's seizure of Lolita and her loss of identity became a metaphor for the way the Islamic regime was treating women in Iran. Nafisi's classes start with Scheherzade and Thousand and One nights; the classes gradually concentrate on Western Literature. 
This book is not political. This book is a lens through which readers can see how people cope when they live under an oppressive reality. The main theme of this book is how do people create open spaces through their imaginations. Reading Lolita in Tehran shows how a girl, who has never been to Europe or America, can, through these books, connect with places she has never been to. Not only connect with them, but interpret them in her own unique way. 
Reading Lolita in Tehran is an extremely personal memoir coupled with literary criticism. The book includes parallel stories of her students and teaching days accompanied with the mention of a secret, almost mystical confidante mentioned as 'the magician'. The magician has a angel-like presence through out the book.
Along with reading and discussing some beautiful works of literature, Nafisi and her family survive the Iran-Iraq war. The bombings and the frightening situation of Iranians during the war is a poignant example of human empathy and solidarity.
One thing which struck me about Reading Lolita in Tehran is that this book is just not about literature but about inspirational teaching. A kind of teaching which makes you teach yourself by applying your own intelligence, thoughts and emotions to what you are reading. 
When Nafisi assigns The Great Gatsby to her class, there are many puritanical and orthodox students who vehemently oppose the book, saying that Jay Gatsby is a poor role model. Following the fashion of Islamic regime, Nafisi encourages her students to put the book on trial. She plays the book. There are speeches in defense and prosecution of The Great Gatsby but the only witness is the book itself. The trial is closed before the book is put to vote but not before a dialogue has shown the positive value of the book and the pointlessness in analysing it.
The most moving section of the book for me is a section of Henry James' Daisy Miller- when the heroine-in telling an emotionally reticent admirer not to be afraid-embraces her own difference and fate. It is with Daisy Miller that the students most identify. 
Reading Lolita in Tehran is a celebration of the power of the novel. It is also a cry of outrage at the reality in which these women are trapped. This book contains important and complex reflections about the ravages of theocracy, about thoughtfulness and the ordeals of freedom. It is a moving portrayal of the pleasures and deepening of consciousness which results from an encounter with great literature. 

French Lover

There is only one word that comes to my mind if I have to describe 'French Lover'- VAGUE.
Written by Taslima Nasrin, French Lover, is a story of a young, spirited girl's search for independence and love in a foreign land. Nilanjana or Nila as she is often called in the book, is a Bengali girl from Kolkata. She moves to Paris after she marries Kishan Lal, a restaurant owner. However, she feels trapped and suffocated in her loveless marriage and yearns for independence. Nila is nothing more than a housekeeper and sex object for her old husband. Finally, when she cannot take it anymore she stages a petulant walk-out.Friendless and broke, Nila moves in with Danielle. It turns out that Danielle is a lesbian, who uses Nila as a tool just like her husband.

Unable to make much of herself and her life, Nila is suddenly called back home because her mother is dying. After her mother's death Nila has the option of staying back in Kolkata or return to her aimless life in Paris. She chooses the latter and she meets Benoir Dupont on the flight. She is immediately swept of her feet by this handsome french man as he introduces her to the various cafes, bookstores and art galleries of Paris. A whole new world has been opened for Nila and she finds herself falling in love with Dupont. Nila finally comes to discover her own desires in this liberating and passionate relationship.However the relationship ends when Nila realizes that Benoir's first priority is himself and not Nila. Her need of him has ended because her journey to self-discovery has just begun. This is the summary of the novel in a nutshell. The blurb leads one to expect that French Lover is fascinating glimpse into the workings of a woman's mind, her struggle to come to terms with her own identity, a woman's attempt to come to terms with a foreign culture. Unfortunately, the book is nothing like it. 

The most dominant feeling that I experienced while reading this novel was: a sense of loss, a vague, confused feeling. It was natural because as one reads the novel, it is evident that Nila, herself, is confused and extremely difficult to understand. In one part of the book Nila is portrayed as a shy, docile young girl who is only just coming to terms with a broken love affair. She judges people on the basis of their skin colour and talks in a friendly way with the whites. On the other hand, Nasrin also shows her as a educated woman with a degree in Bengali Literature. She is well-read with a keen interest in Philosophy. Nila has supposedly read Voltaire and various other American and Indian authors. In spite of being well-read, Narin's protagonist comes across as a very confused, narrow-minded and high-handed person. 

French Lover is often termed as a feminist novel but I found it disappointing. Nila comes across as rebel who is not sure what her cause is. She is invariably selfish, unreflective, confused and extremely impulsive. She inspires very little sympathy and absolutely no curiosity. The novel also has several cross-cultural insights but they too are stereotypical, shallow and repetitive. 

French Lover is more about the author's interpretation of masculinity and the male mindset. The translation is pedestrian and banal. It has nothing to offer readers who are looking for serious feminist literature. 

This was the first book I read by Taslima Nasrin and I was disappointed. 

The City of Joy

I had always wanted to visit Kolkata. There are many reasons for it.  From wanting to witness the exuberant and ebullient celebration of Durga Pooja to engulfing myself in the sacredness of Dakhshineshwar or just reconnoitre what magic this city weaves for the man I love.  At the end I did manage to fulfil the last one.

The moment you step on the Bengali soil, the first thing that hits you is the melange of smells in the air. It reminded me of Mumbai, where the air is thick with the sounds and smells.  Upon entering Kolkata you are thrown into a time warp. It is an amalgamation of European, Islamic and Hindu cultures. I was drawn instantly towards the bustling whirlpool of colours, smells and sounds that is Kolkata.

My stay was a short one. Although I did not get the opportunity to explore more of this city, it was enough for me to understand its magic. I walked aimlessly along the streets, tasted the local cuisine and saw the sights like any other normal tourist. I can still taste the sharp, tangy flavour of puchka and the sweetness of mishti doi on my tongue. I can still breathe in the hot, humid air and I can still feel the sun smiling down brightly at me, as if he understood my heart’s elation that I am finally here.

The city of joy is a concoction of opposites. It is a pleasant mixture of a bygone era and the modern age.  Kolkata is like a middle-aged woman with a young heart who eternally hungers for new stories and new loves. Today she has immersed my story and my love inside her. My past and my present are carefully warped inside her. As much I loved seeing the city, there was a certain emptiness inside me. I wanted to explore and the see the city through his eyes, hear through his ears and feel through his heart.  But then the past is an interpretation. The world does not move through time like a straight line instead it moves through us in endless spirals. Hence it was better for me to put the past out of my mind and live in the present.

There is certain kind of sadness I feel when I leave this city. I have fallen in love with Kolkata but I cannot call it home, I cannot belong here.  There is a name for this emotion in Welsh. It is called Hiraeth. It is homesickness for a home which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places of your past.  Kolkata is special to me in more than one way. It is my city of love. As Shams of Tabriz said, “A life without love is of no account. Don’t ask yourself what kind of love you should seek, spiritual or material, divine or mundane, Eastern or Western. Divisions only lead to more divisions. Love has no labels, no definitions. It is what it is, pure and simple. Love is the water of life. And a lover is a soul of fire! The universe turns differently when fire loves water.”

Mostly because it is his city, and I will always remember it that way.

Finding Acceptance

I truly believe, that only once in our life we come across someone who turns our world upside down, someone who has such a profound impact on you that you can never be the same again. In that sudden flash of realization we dare to be brave and see that love costs everything we are and everything we ever will be. We change so much for the sake of that one person. I changed so much for the sake of that one person. I found myself sharing my deepest desires, goals I could never achieve, my dreams and hopes for the future and all the disappointments life had thrown at me. I was surprised that I had so much hidden inside me. I was a better person then. I am a different person now. With you everything seemed colourful, insignificant things like a song, a note, a walk were invaluable treasures. Laughter seemed a part of daily life. The daily phone calls helped me to get through the long day and made me smile. It is because of you that today I have the confidence that I can paint. I had lost confidence in myself but your encouragement and faith made me take up art again. I was content having you in my life. But you were not and I failed to notice it. This discord and ruin of what was once a beautiful friendship and relationship happened because I couldn't accept what had happened. I had forgotten that I was free to chose but not free enough to escape the consequences of my choice. I was blocked from taking that next step in life because I just refuse to accept everything that had happened.
There is a fine line between love and dysfunction, a distinct difference between passionate and crazy. It is important that we learn to find acceptance. To accept who we are as a person, acceptance of the situation, acceptance of the fact that change is the only constant force in our life. We can only grow when we learn to accept. What we want may not always be what we need.  Accept that everything you love won’t always love you back. Accept that sometimes when you give, you’re giving to somebody who doesn’t know how to receive. They reject you out of their own neglect. I am learning to accept it slowly and allowing myself to open up to new experiences. 
Sometimes the things I am forced to accept cause me pain but its not the end of the world. I have realised that dwelling on certain things won’t do anything but make bad situation worse.Coming to terms with the loss or your situation simply means that you have admitted what has happened and moved on with your life. Acceptance and coming to terms with what happened between us does not mean that I have forgotten you, that I have forgotten what we were to each other. That can never happen. New love does not erase old scars, it does not change the real 'you'. I am still me and I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.  
 

If I never have to see you again....

I f I never have to see you again,
I will always carry you inside me,
Wrapped in my heart,
and immersed in my tears.
If I never have to see you again,
I will always carry you outside me,
your name scrawled in the inside of my thighs,
your scent infused in the curve of my neck,
your touch trailing my spine,
If I never have to see you again,
you will always remain in the centers,
centers of what remains of me....

THE THING

Do you know that feeling? When you have lost something but can’t remember what it was? You are desperately trying to think of it but it won’t come to you. You have said it a million times before and it was always there- right where you left it. But now you can’t recall it. You try and try and make it appear and it almost does. But it never does.

There are times when it surfaces-when I sense it on the tip of my tongue. I feel it struggling inside my chest to burst forth like a beach ball that can only be held beneath the water for so long.

I feel it stirring when someone hurts me. When I smile at a stranger and they don’t smile back. When I trust someone with a secret and they betray me. When someone I admire tells me I am not good enough for them.

I don’t know what it was that I have lost. But I know it was important. I know it once made me happy.

CROSSWORDS

I write to bring you closer. To imagine your fingers trailing on the curve of my neck onto my shoulder. To recall the feel of your lips in the curve of my waist. And how are bodies would fall into each other like words in a crossword puzzle. I write for the raw ache inside me when the ink seeps into the paper-for the bittersweet sorrow which comes from bringing you back.