With Amor Towles' Sasha aka Alexander's intriguing narration of Sofia's presence filling every inch of his lonely but made-to-be-lively life, can I ever imagine being distracted by anything at all in this world! No... absolutely not. But then, I am human; more importantly, a music-loving rahmaniac. So, you must have guessed what happened. In fact, I started reading "A Gentleman in Moscow" sometime in mid-December. Though it took quite some time to get used to Moscow's terrain and the Count's whereabouts in Hotel Metropol, it took a really good pace until mid-Jan, then I lost my rhythm midway of the book, and while attempting to pick up the book, I must have re-read the same chapter at least ten times, and then, finally one day in April, I surpassed the oft-treaded road (chapter named Absinthe), and finally moved on to Addendum and managed to hop from 1930 to 1938! Can you imagine, in about all of the 40 chapters of the book, all chapter names start with the letter A (the only exceptions being the chapters named 1930 and 1946)?
So, if I have been at it, failed so many times, and have managed to carry on, then imagine the persistence I must have had when I set forth myself to read, and especially with Amor's writing being just so stellar in the Adjustments chapter...!
Anyways, coming to the topic of distraction and that led to my subsequent suffering from migraine for the next 3 days... I left you hanging at guessing what happened, right? You may have guessed it right. But I am not going to let you walk away with it that easily. Yes, it is some song, but you must also guess which one of Rahman's distracted me from my sage-like stance and set me into an unimaginable state of trance. So much to talk about... and I am not sure where to start.
Let me start with Rahman's love for the sound of the trains on the tracks. How many of them! Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Chaiyya Chaiyya from Dil se, Chikkubukku chikkubukku railae from Gentleman, O Saya from Slumdog Millionaire, Mental Manadhil from OK Kanmani. Of these, let me talk about an under-rated but one of my top favourites--that is still, even after 25 years of its existence. Yes... the Rangeela one--Mangta hai kya. What more can I talk, and how else can I describe, more than what the title has already said! This is Rahman's first song that he sang in Hindi, and so, it still is a little rustic and inexperienced. And, even though the song credits read Rahman and Shweta Shetty, I am sure that it is Unnikrishnan who sang the Carnatic bit in the end. And that again is one of Rahman's trademarks - the usage of Carnatic notes in songs. Dil se re in Dil Se, Yaakkai thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Kannalane from Bombay, Thee thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Now, I have traversed so much.
So, let me go back to the Gentleman. In fact, I was wondering a few days ago on how relevant is the theme or setting of the book to our current times. The indefinite house arrest of the Count and our similar plight these days, only hoping that the prevalent virus does not keep our company. Yeah! the one named 'Corona'. Of course, Count Rostov's pursuit is so much longer than ours. A long elaborate post just on the invasion of Corona into our lives much later.
For now, more than me talking anymore about Amor Towles's amazing book, a few lines in his own words that can vouch for his work.
The twice-tolling clock: A student of both the Stoics and Montaigne, the Count's father believed that our Creator had set aside the morning hours for industry. That is, if a man woke no later than six, engaged in a light repast and then applied himself without interruption, by the hour of noon he should have accomplished a full day's labor.
The Juggler: With the fruit in his hands, he stood perfectly erect. Or rather, he stood at a slight tilt induced by the wine, a sort of 12:02. ... For Andrey's hand had been crafted by God to juggle. So deft was his touch that the oranges moved of their own accord. Or better yet, they moved like planets governed by a force of gravity that simultaneously propelled them forward and kept from flinging off into space, while Andrey, who was standing before these orbits and releasing them a moment later to pursue their natural course. ... And when he set the four knives in motion, Emile leaned back in his chair and with a tear in his eyes, watched as his trusted blade tumbled effortlessly through space, feeling that this moment, this hour, this universe could not be improved upon.
Sofia: Retreating to the safety of his washroom, the Count took off his shirt, bathed his upper body, lathered his cheeks, all the while muttering the principle riddle of the day: “She is no more than thirty pounds; no more than three feet tall; her entire bag of belongings could fit in a single drawer; she rarely speaks unless spoken to; and her heart beats no louder than a bird’s. So how is it possible that she takes up so much space?”
Over the years, the Count had come to think of his rooms as rather ample. In the morning, they easily accommodated twenty squats and twenty stretches, a leisurely breakfast, and the reading of a novel in a tilted chair. In the evenings after work, they fostered flights of fancy, memories of travel, meditations on history all crowned by a good night’s sleep. Yet somehow, this little visitor with her kit bag and her rag doll had altered every dimension of the room. She had simultaneously brought the ceiling downward, the floor upward, and the walls inward, such that anywhere he hoped to move she was already there. Having roused himself from a fitful night on the floor, when the Count was ready for his morning calisthenics, she was standing in the calisthenics spot. At breakfast, she ate more than her fair share of strawberries; then when he was about to dip his second biscuit in his second cup of coffee, she was staring at it with such longing that he had no choice but to ask if she wanted it. And when, at last, he was ready to lean back in his chair with his book, she was already sitting in it, staring up at him expectantly.
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