Dune and the after-effects of spice

I concluded the long epic of a book series some weeks ago. Just the first six books originally written by Frank Herbert. Before I begin my long rant (diatribe or whatever you may want to call it), I can never help but compare all fantasy/sci-fi work with the GOAT of an LoTR. Both books have significant social commentary and are still relevant even now in spite of the years that have passed since they were first published. LoTR however inhabits a far more innocent world, still recovering from the World Wars, still making sense of what the new world order was. Somehow to me it was a more endearing and comforting setting. 

Dune has this inherent sense of Doom, right from the word go (spoilers alert!) from Duke Leto who proceeds knowingly into a trap to two books later with Leto II who literally became the God Emperor doomed to millennia of loneliness (and of course his seeming corruption) not to mention our tragic (anti?) hero Paul Atreides and his beloved Chani in between. It has very relevant social commentary on dictatorship, how religious fanaticism leads to the extreme rot of society and how the oppressed and repressed can later turn into ruthless cults. The span of time it covers is impressive and its world building is completely immersive. Further you can keep drawing parallels to history as well as what you see happening around you. However, the decadence and sense of depression that emanates from the book can be a little overwhelming. The Honored Matres for instance are completely repulsive, in spite of a last-minute attempt to redeem them. 

To its merit, it has some extremely strongly written women characters particularly the Bene Gesserit, to have their power even for a day! Lady Jessica and Darwi Odrade are among my favorites, and there are surely more. 

More-over there is this over-arching theme on patterns - Frank Herbert is telling us that falling into patterns is near fatal, the Shai Hulud will come swallow you, society will go the dogs, you will become predictable and become easy prey to your enemies, so learn to do the unexpected. Then there is Duncan Idaho, who keeps coming back to life, a little altered every time perhaps, but with the same patterns and how he finally makes a break for it.  

The other noticeable thing is the strong influence of Islam on the writing and the characters, especially in the earlier books. The Dune is clearly the Sahara, and a bit of Arabia and the Freemen are the tribes that inhabit that area. Did read somewhere that Lawerence of Arabia was definitely an influence (perhaps the character development for Paul Mau-dib Atreides). The names also have strong Arabic/Persian influence. And in the later books the Tleilax also seem to have some sort of an Islamic order with an aim to turn the universe into a sort of Caliphate. 

The other influence is the books' own influence on Star Wars, apparently Frank Herbert always nursed the notion that George Lucas stole a lot from his work, but didn't really consider it worthwhile to pursue this further. 

The Dune movies in themselves cover only the first book so far, leaving a lot out. They have expanded the role of Chani (possibly to give Zendaya something meaty :)) and condensed that of Lady Jessica. From what I've read they'll end the franchise with Dune Messiah, the second book.

Finally coming to the key ingredient of the book - spice, I wonder what it really was. Magic mushrooms cum oil, weed cum some magic star dust that propels rockets? This was the single most important currency in the Dune world. And so many times I couldn't help feeling Mr. Herbert was himself reeling under the after-effects of too much spice, maybe that's why some parts of the books took a little effort getting through! Well, if Lewis Carol could give us a wonderland with talking cakes and cats, why not him?

New Year Post

We're well mid-week into the second (or first?) week of the year. This year I decided not to make resolutions, and I've so far been able to retain at least some of the habits I'd ended the year with. The only thing I really want now is to simplify life. Get rid of all that's unnecessary, declutter, have a simple routine, exercise, eat well, stay healthy. Minimalism is so peaceful. However, there is one area where I still get tempted to go over-board. My foray into learning crochet and restarting knitting has given me a greater appreciation of yarns. I need more yarn, and good, beautiful yarn. 

So, here's hoping this year brings something new and hope stays afloat.

To the city with a necklace

 A city by the sea, they say it never sleeps

Once a part of me, now a distant memory

The sand between the feet, the moonlit walk

The waves rushing ashore, 

The wind that never rests, the smell of salt 

The hustle and the bustle, the unimaginable sounds

All consumed me, my soul and mind

In spite of the grit, the grime, the dirt

The spirit of the city calls

Like some restless void deep inside 

The city which taught me all 

The city which has my heart 

The Lone Wolf

The legend of the lone wolf, conquering the world is the stuff of myths. The wolves love their packs and are lost without them, lone wolves often perish in the wild. Maybe that is why I felt a sense of sadness when I watched the news coverage on the Baihraich wolf attacks. While it's a tragedy the man-wild conflict has created, but the way the media has been painting the wolves as these blood thirsty man-eating monsters is sometimes a bit too over the top. Am I the bad person feeling sorrier for the wolves than for the men? 

The wolf is just going about its business hunting for food. Its lame, unable to get at faster moving prey. It has no clue that a death sentence has been passed on it and its pack. Five of the pack of the six have been captured, two of which apparently died during capture. It seems this has only made the attacks worse. The lone lame wolf is now more ferocious, lost without its companions, possibly trying to get at as much food as possible. The media screaming into our television screens condemning these wolves as "adamkhor".  At least the ones they have captured so far don't seem to be it, their capture hasn't put an end to the killings. What's worse is no one knows for sure if it's the wolves, an alternative theory of hybrid wolfdogs, bred by humans for protection and then abandoned when they get too difficult to manage, also exists. 

The Indian wolf is one of the most ancient of the species, it is endangered and on the protected list. Its numbers are in the thousands now and could someday possibly go extinct. They are known to be cautious of humans and very rarely attack them. Grown adult weight around 18kgs and is no true danger to an adult armed human. 

Watching one of the news reports after a shoot at sight order had been issued by our wonderful Chief Minister, I was heartened to see that the forest department had put out pamphlets talking about, among other things, how the villagers should protect themselves and also how the wolves are part of our ecosystem and should not be feared. At least they have chosen to ignore the shoot at sight and tried to capture instead of kill. They also highlighted a need for lighting in isolated roads and building walls and doors to protect the villagers at night, instead of simply resorting to killing. Small victory for nature.   

It's humans who attribute intent and characteristics to animals - sly like a fox, loyal like a dog, unreliable like a cat. The animals at a very fundamental level are innocent. What they do is out of an instinct to survive, some endear themselves to us, like little dogs with heart melting eyes, some scare us with their fangs and claws, but they never act on malicious instinct. They are not driven by hatred or revenge as the media person would have us believe. Perhaps there is a possibility to create feelings of trust or mistrust, and some attachment, like with dogs or cats, or even other animals and birds. But at their very core animals are innocent. 

I wonder where along the evolutionary line humans became so twisted and complicated, and why no other animal did. We are singlehandedly responsible for almost destroying this planet as we know it. We are responsible for more deaths in a year than any other animal on this planet. What price do we pay for our action? Well, maybe we do, we are slowly killing ourselves with our roads and houses in places where none should exist. I suspect one day trees will again grow where we sit and spend our days imagining some trivial glory of our insignificant lives. In truth we are not harming this planet; we are harming the ecosystem we need to survive. Earth has seen worse and survived, been pelted by asteroids, seen ice ages, has literally broken into pieces from being one landmass. She will continue to live on, she gives, and she takes back at will. 

Hollow

If you do not feel, 

Pain, sorrow, fear or joy

Are you not just a human shell. 

If your past and memories have turned to dust, 

And the future is just a to do list 

Are you not just a human shell 

If neither hurt, or remorse nor a feeling of betrayal have ever haunted you

If you face the world with a plastic smile 

Determined to extinguish your inner self

Do you exist?

Or are you not just a human shaped shell 

Is it not human, to ache, to cry and to vent 

To pray and hope and to dream of a better world

To experience the realities of the world we live in 

And feel the world groan 

Confront dismal truths and yet learn to face them each day anew

Are we still human if all that matters is what is seen on the outside?

To Birds

Every morning is like a little adventure, seeking out birds in the park. A pair of Neelkanth birds that had chanced upon the park last year, seem to be back. I hope this time they stay longer. And the Greater Coucal or the Bhardwaj bird has become a sort of friend, calling out to us as we pass by, in its plaintive voice. Sometimes it'll come down from the trees and suddenly confront you. 

Each bird has its favorite haunt in the park, just like the people. There is a peacock/kite zone, which is full of eucalyptus trees. The birds themselves can be seasonal, now with the rains reining supreme, its peacock time, but the kites keep hovering around, careful not to lose their territory. Somedays you'll spot a hornbill or two, screeching, the babblers are everywhere. This area also has some greater coucals. The lapwings too infiltrate most spaces, but they usually prefer the field areas of the park. The neelkanth birds also have their fixed perches, usually on top of kikar tree. They don't like to hide, you'll see them there in full view, silhouetted against the sky. 

The greater coucal prefers to hide amongst the trees, and you'll find them sometimes hidden the bamboo patch as well, sometimes foraging for food in the undergrowth. 

The pipits and other smaller birds fill the fields, you'll find mynas and the pied starlings there, right beside the lapwings, and of course the babblers. In the fields you'll also find the egrets, medium, small, all sizes, though these usually come out in the rains. 

The ibis make a seasonal appearance too but seen more of them in the winters. Their screech often brings to mind the fact that after all birds are dinosaurs. 

So, my dear dinosaurs, I am so thankful to you for helping heal a broken heart. Its been good knowing you all, and hope our association keeps growing. (Super excited about the two new neelkanths! )

Hometowns

Visiting a hometown is always a bittersweet thing. We went to Ranikhet after a very long time. The house has changed completely and now belongs to my uncle. It was changed, and yet that sense of familiarity. The charming drawing room, with its wooden windows is gone. It was my favorite place in the house, like a time machine transporting you into a lost world. It was mostly inhabited by my grandfather back then. With neighbors modernizing and making changes to their houses, the drawing room had given way and had to be changed. So many things in that house had once been handcrafted by the residents of that house, all of those things seemed to be missing, the chairs, the candlesticks, the paintings, the wood carvings. The tin roof we slid down, and I once tore my dress on is gone. The small planks from which one could climb into the houses of the neighbors through the window, no longer viable. I remember feeling both fascinated and scared as we performed a tricky maneuver to get into the neighbor's house, the plank preventing a steep fall. Houses in hills can be scary and charming. I remember the wooden steps, with gaps that a small child could easily slip through, the trap door that led down to a "tehkhana" of sorts filled with strange items from a bygone era. My brother had once found some documents related to a business that my great-grand father or his brother or some ancestor had tried to start. 

The house now isn't the same house, it just inhabits the same space. The same lanes, the same neighborhood, the same breathtaking view of the Himalayas, many of which my grandfather would paint, sitting in the terrace. Mom spoke to a neighbor through the window- they were school friends from Nainital, both married into the same neighborhood. She recalled how as a new bride, her friend had spoken shyly to her through the same window, and mom through the same space, but a new window. Now her friend was a grandmother, confident in her own house. 

The traffic situation has become bad too, so many people own cars and multiple ones at that, the once empty road has now turned into a parking lot of sorts. The trees are slowly receding, and forest fires are on the rise. Thankfully a large part of Ranikhet is the cantonment and that has stayed quite the same, the mall road is still as peaceful. The temperature had hit 30s which is unusual for the place. 

We were taken to the dream - Chesterfield. The story goes that my great grandfather, or maybe his father bought the house (though I think it was the former). It was supposedly an unlucky house and lead to the downfall of whoever lived in it. My grandfather's younger brother died from a fall from a horse's back soon after and the family fortunes dwindled, somewhere along the way the house had to be sold. I'm not sure anyone from the family who still remains ever lived in the house. Possibly my father as a baby. But it's become like a pilgrimage to go see the house and hope someday to buy it again. It is a beautiful house no doubt, with an oak, magnolia and kafal tree in its front yard. 

History is so dubious it changes based on who tells it. My cousin and my uncle seem to have forgotten the stories of a supposedly cursed house, they look at the house with unveiled desire, someday it will come back to us. They seem to have a different version of why the house was sold, perhaps retelling changes stories over time. But somehow, I feel the ghosts of the past should be allowed to lay still. Plus, we no longer belong there, no matter my uncle has struck a friendship with the current owner and visits the premises sometimes with the knowledge of the caretaker. Let go, is what I think silently, don't try and hold onto something which doesn't belong to you. 

I spent a lot more time of my life in my mother's hometown - Nainital, but some inherited memory ties me to Ranikhet. I was surprised at how much of it I remember and as clear as daylight. I wonder why nostalgia always has a tinge of sorrow has attached to it. Why there's always a pang and a longing for the days gone by, for those lost to these lanes forever. Uncles, my father, grandfather, a grandmother I never knew and yet somehow knew.