My beef with ...

Yes, I borrowed the title from an Indian Express article heading. So what? It suits this write up well enough. I have issues with a lot of things. I can not go into all of them in a simple article. This time its just about a little something which I won't or can't name in a few words. I read The Alchemist a few years back. I was told by a very good friend of mine that it was THE BOOK. Popularity of such proportion among the well read intelligentsia that automatically warrants a 'you didn't understand it' response on every occasion of someone not liking the book. Readers of one kind really don't care much about it and are proud that they are not philosopher's enough to enjoy the book. That itself enhances the intellectual edge of the book. I read it. Didn't like it. Tried to explain that to a very good friend, and got that very same response with such a speed that I couldn't separate 'you' from 'it'. That very same friend told me about 'Veronica Decides To Die'. The subject, as described by him, sounded interesting - a girl has everything going fine in her life, and therefore she decides to die. Intriguing - because I had given considerable thought to meaning of life and all such useless, crazy stuff and I thought 'Wow, somebody has written a book on it'. I considered the disappointing experience of The Alchemist probably a personal idiosyncracy, or a minor blemish on the illustrious writer's record which, fortunately for him, enough people liked to make it a bestseller. Man, was I disappointed! For those who haven't read the book, and even more for those who have, I'll state my version of Veronica Decides to Die. This girl is beautiful, supposedly smart, has a boyfriend, nothing to worry about and she decides to die. Why? Because she feels she has seen everything there is in this world to see, and any more time spent in this world will just be more of the same routine. That boredom is killing her so badly that her concern for her parents can't keep her from taking the extreme step. She spares some thought about her mom and dad, what will happen to them, and how will the world interpret her letter about why a big French magazine should know where Slovenia is. But that's about it. She takes some pills - to avoid bodily disfiguration that may shock her parents - and awakes in a mental asylum. She's told that she has only so much time to live (a week, if I recall right). Living in that place, talking with some people who the society considers crazy (but are really people who don't give two hoots to what anyone else thinks), and a special somebody, she realizes that her life was monotonous only because she has let it be. That there is so much to see, so much to do.
So tell me, why would anyone like to read the book? Yes, there were interesting portions. The build up was interesting; Veronica's thought process before she kills herself was interesting. But the moment I completely realized the reason why she decides to die, SHE'S JUST A STUPID GIRL is what I thought. I can understand if someone says that everything is MAYA and that there is no apparent reason to go on living. After all, what does it even mean to be living? I can understand it as clearly as any another thing - though still not completely. If this person comes to me next day and tells me that he or she has discovered the meaning of life, a la some meditators, I'll immediately be skeptical of his revelation, or intelligence per se. But this girl realizes that life is not monotonous! That she's made it so! What a revelation! So life is worth living! What a joy! No more suicides out of boredom! Let's celebrate.
Yes, I understand that craziness is relative. I have been called one once or twice! I understand madmen are simply people 'who just like to be themselves.' So what's new? Unless this concept was invented by Paulo Coelho, why would I be interested in reading a cliché?
Then there is this other thing - Why does Paulo Coelho feel the need to introduce spirits and Gods to solve problems like in The Alchemist, or sometimes apparently for no reason at all, as in Veronica Decides To Die. The Alchemist was a very well written book. I almost loved it....until I reached the end. The premise was good, again. Something like – 'If you want something and work hard to get it, the whole world conspires to let it happen'. What a brave new statement? What can be more encouraging than being assured that everyone, in some way or another, is contriving in your favor? I was intrigued. There was a romantic angle too which kept me a little more interested. So I neared the end waiting to see - HOW? And how? Gods intervened. Winds blew and what not. Finally the boy realizes that the location of the 'khazana' he saw in his dream is just ....Let me not break the suspense for those who still want to read the book. In Veronica Decides to Die, a woman's spirit leaves her body during insulin shocks and roams around and visits the other room where she hears her doctor telling somebody to end her treatement. Don't get me wrong. I am not against existence of Gods or spirits. I believe I haven't seen a lot many things and this is possible. I am also willing to accept that logic and reason have their limitations, though this is not one such case. But one thing I can't possibly understand that isn't there any reason other than the interfering Gods that one should strive to be the best. How about saying - hey you dumbo, here's the situation. You try to get it, your chances are 60%, you sit there and whine, 0.0001% (the percent may vary depending upon individual case). Why is that not sufficient? Why do you want to make a theist out of me to make me understand that I should be courageous to pursue my dreams? And I won't even go into the idea of believing an actual dream, literally, let alone pursuing. Now this is the point where I am most vulnerable to that 'you didnt get it' line – ‘there was a symbolism there’, they will say. My one line response to it should be 'my friend, it is you who does not get it (what I have been saying).' But to add just a little more, and loose at the same time some of the sheen that such an arrogant one liner can give you, - If you are a child dealing with fairy tale, that's a perfect story. But for adults well versed with 'some form of worldly reason', please for heaven's sake give a real reason, and a real motivation. I don’t see it boding well even with the Gita talk of 'karm hi pooja hai'.
Here I'll shift gears abruptly to Black. The Amitabh-Rani movie that won all the awards that year. I didn't like it. Understatement. I hated it...exaggeration, but closer. Another why... I read the story in a paragraph somewhere and I had tears in my eyes. I saw the movie. I laughed. I laughed at Amitabh. No, Not so much at him, as much as at the director. The movie was so much concerned with the histrionics of Amitabh as a drunk, schizophrenic teacher that it almost forgot what Hellen Keller's story is about. Audiences loved the movie all the more. Perhaps a Miracle Worker wouldn’t have worked. It had real characters, a real teacher, real problems and no schizophrenia to explain and warrant 'attractive' wierdities (is that a word?). I don't care if Black had amazing direction - I don't even know what it is. And I don’t care about the gorgeous lighting. Where's the real story?
So to make the connection easier, why do people find loud so much appreciable. No, not Mallika Sherawat kind of loud. But still, subtly loud. I see exaggerations made by the dozen, mediocrities branded excellence, and excellence gone unnoticed. Why can't things be appreciated as they are? Why does one have to be a little corrupt to be considered integral....Why does one have to lie in job interviews? Why isn’t the worthy always given its worth?