Thinking about Marx

By Dhiren | Published: July 16, 2011

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All hail Franzen

By Dhiren | Published: July 12, 2011

Freedom is by far one of the best books I’ve read over the last eighteen months. In fact, outside of 1984, I don’t think my brain’s recently devoured anything as influential in any way, shape or form. Frazen’s complex plot alludes to a deep understanding of American politics, political history, and the archetypal characters which reside within middle class America.

I closed the book unsure of who the main protagonist was. From my perspective it was the liberal Walter Burgland: a self-made, enduring man from a working class family that gains prominence as his journey evolves, through sub-plots, alongside the main story. I’m sure many would question my perception and contest that Patty Burgland, Walter’s wife, is the main protagonist as the book could be perceived as Patty’s journey toward finding herself, banishing her insecurities, and fighting desire with rational reasoning.

My only justification for my opinion is resonance as Walter’s journey, to me, is what chai is to indians: ubiquitous, habitual and unquestionably recognisable. Moreover, Richard Katz, the antagonist and Walter’s best friend, was the second character that became instantaneously familiar. Intelligent, dysfunctional, non-conformist and dedicated to his art, elements of Katz’s punkesq attitude reaffirmed the non-conformist within.

Reeling back from analysing the main plot, which adeptly focuses on the conflicts and frustrations incurred by middle class family life, you begin to appreciate Franzen’s democratic leanings and the critique of modern America that laces the thoughts of his characters. Is this book an outcry? Are we being told about everything that’s wrong with today’s America? Yes. I confusedly assured myself three-quarters in, yet the adoption of tolerance and acceptance, by the three main characters, ultimately delivers freedom toward the end of the book.

A fact-heavy form of storytelling, surprising sexual explicitness and clear prose make Freedom a rousing read. You’re left wanting more truth; however, literary sustenance can only come from The Corrections, Frazen’s previous masterpiece, and the work of Franzen’s contemporaries, which include Philip Roth, John Updike and Zadie Smith.

I now appreciate the hat tips served by culture columns and long form digests. Having graduated with a degree in German, Franzen is not your typical, MFA wielding type or journalist-turned-writer that’s given frequent praise. His attention to detail, observations of the poignant factors that affect our lives, and an ability to build intrigue, which drives you from chapter-to-chapter, are signs of a heavily schooled writer and these are all reasons why he undoubtedly deserves acclaim.

(photo props & some)

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Virtues of getting lost

By Dhiren | Published: June 26, 2011

This weekend I took my bike out for a second run through the single track tails of Swinley Forest. Swinley has some of the best single track in the UK and it’s become a place of pilgrimage for XC/MTB riders.

Compared to some of the well versed regulars, I’m a novice at best. Seeing lines, determining downhill speeds and negotiating jumps are all skills that I’m still learning; however, this week – after monumentally cocking up and loosing sight of my trail – I was left searching for well used track in a rather bewildered state.

After cycling for ten minutes I found a clearing within a dead end, and the only way past it was to carry my bike over the roots of ancient trees. So I dismounted, climbed and when I scaled the dead end, I was just awe struck to find a beautiful pond, which was covered in lilies. For ten minutes I didn’t care about being lost: I just enjoyed the moment for what it was.

The yells of kids, slamming drops, stirred me back into motion and I met some gravel tracks after following their voices, which eventually got me onto another gruelling trail. All in all, I was riding for just under three hours and I had – believe me – truly earned my beer.

Spontaneity is an amazing thing and sometimes we need to throw caution to the wind and not exercise our Monday-to-Friday, taxpayer calculations on everything that we do – especially the fun stuff. Go get lost next weekend. It doesn’t necessarily have to be on a bike, but make sure there’s a high chance being surprised.

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Yes – Finally

By Dhiren | Published: June 20, 2011

(photo props)

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Still won’t go to London Fields

By Dhiren | Published: June 19, 2011

This was the first Amis novel I dared to pick up. From the outset, before reading the introductory chapters, I deemed the book to be pretentious and this was partly due to the circles from which its recommendation came, and partly because of what I had read about the author.

After reading about his life and opinions, you cannot but help think that Amis is the Mick Jagger of contemporary literature. Anti-establishment opinions, a nascent infatuation with Katie Price and a reputation for being a womaniser cast a shadow of predictability over his work.

Was I right to literally judge a book by its cover? In some respects yes and in others no. Amis’ use of language and literary prowess is second-to-none; however, the plot and characters were indeed pretentious and distant from reality at the very least.

The fictitious narrator, Samson Young, is supposed to be American, yet his portrayal of the protagonists, especially Keith ‘The Finisher’ Talent, read like observations of the working class by a posh boy pretending to be cool. The story (summarised here) is peppered with perversion, gratuity, violence and the graphic language you might hear in a Guy Ritchie movie as opposed to the really, real grit found in This is England.

Perhaps I’m disappointed with the story because there are no heroes, no morally positive outcomes? Nobody is trying to be a better person and honour is seldom untraceable. What do these observations say about me? I guess I haven’t developed a penchant for the anti-hero.

London Fields is a lesson in the art of painting with adjectives and Amis is a master of literally embellishment. Somewhere on my pile of books lies Money, one of the others in the trilogy that includes London Fields, and – despite my expectations of not receiving any reality – I look forward to more melancholic, ice cool wordplay.

(photo props)

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The path of a Doer by David Hieatt

By Dhiren | Published: May 16, 2011
The path of a Doer
I was considering the ‘doers’ I admire in anticipation for the release of The path of a Doer: a set of values, beliefs and reasons for being a doer. What’s the definition of a doer? It’s very contentious question, which undoubtedly has many subjective answers. 

In my book, Ernst Hemingway, Arundhati Roy and Ben Hammersley are all doers because their paths toward achieving success were unconventional, yet underpinned by genuine interests. All three writers didn’t go to university, they just got on with writing, experimenting and refining their craft.

I think we’re all guilty of failing at the first hurdle when aspiring to achieve things outside of our comfort zones. Common bleats of cowardice include, ‘I’m not qualified to do this’, or, ‘I don’t I have enough experience’, but it doesn’t have to be like this if our goals are defined. I’m trying to do what I need to do, and I’m learning through doing in order to get to the finish line. I imagine some of you sheltering are your noses because the scent of cliche, life-coaching evangelism has passively, yet artistically, meandered it’s way up your nostrils? Behave.

Doers, empiricists all now posses new value. In the wake of UK tuition fees rising, we will see fewer people pursuing higher education, more young people prematurely entering our –  saturated – job market and, yes, just getting on with it? Perhaps. Personally, I believe the increased fees will foster greater class divides and elitism, but they will also change the way we asses people in the next ten years. Degrees holders will not be as common as they are now and we will ask candidates what they have done?

(photo props)

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Wheelies

By Dhiren | Published: April 10, 2011

I live in Berkshire. We have hills, gravel, random bridges — and smashed glass on the pavements if you live in a slightly shitty area, like I do. My day-to-day bike is a reconditioned, eight-year-old Kona Blast. I rotate between slicks and chunky tyres; slicks for when I’m coming into London. It’s a great all rounder, it really is, but I want something with comfortable geometry for coffee shop days, a dedicated road bike for touring and another XC frame with discs and shocks to handle Swinley Forest.

I’ve been thinking about the Colnago above for weekend trips to London and easy – don’t fuck up my shirt – riding; however, suggestions and ideas are welcome. Are bikes like tattoos? Do you slowly become addicted?

photo creds

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You can’t please them all

By Dhiren | Published: April 10, 2011

There are few books that I can genuinely relate to, but this book had me cringing on numerous occasions because I have also, many years ago, worn the same clothes, listened to the same music and even uttered the same West London nonsense as Amit or Mitt Dogg: the protagonist.

Reading Shukla’s Coconut Unlimited was like digesting an eerie, abstract biography of my own life-to-date. I know, I know: that’s a rather bold statement. However, upon getting through the scene-setting chapters, it’s clear to see why: a British-Indian boy trying to find himself, seamlessly and simultaneously trying to align himself to two cultures; while academic expectations, bestowed upon him by his parents, prolong and his path to realisation.

This story, a story many others could tell, is the story of every British-Indian that’s strived to break the monotony of a stereotypical, enforced lifestyle: early, academic over achievement; reading sciences at university; becoming a banker, accountant, doctor or lawyer; marrying an Indian girl — from the same caste; living with your parents — forever; buying a BMW to woo that girl in our your own caste, and then a Mercedes 4×4 when you have children; talk bollocks about football, cricket or F1, then – at a rotund seventy years of age – after continual samosa and paratha abuse — you die.

Am I describing my life? No. However, the aforementioned, battery-hen lifestyle is what many automatons aspire toward. Rebuttal or individualism is met with xenophobic mocking and faux-bewilderment —at the very least. I mean, where’s the fucking eject button?

The people I respect in the British-Indo/Asian community are fearless: Bobby Friction, Nerm, Monica Ali, Faisal Ahmed, Riz Khan and Nikesh posses sterling confidence and an indomitable spirit toward doing what they’re passionate about. Following in their footsteps, a wave of second generation British-Indians are beginning to buck the trend, and even my nieces and nephews are now reading English, art, design and fashion at university. Attitudes are changing, and I could go on to address societal agenda, class culture and changes in values, but my arguments would take this post too far off-piste.

Coconut Unlimited is a good page turner, a book that could easily be read in two days, it acted as a buffer between literary heavyweights and some of the classics I’m trying to get through. Who is this book for? Not everyone, but definitely for those who want to understand old fashioned Indian values. From start to finish, of its two hundred pages, you will feel like a stranger entering a new family.

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If This Is Man by Primo Levi

By Dhiren | Published: March 29, 2011
Finishing this book took somewhat longer than I expected; however, the history lesson deserved the time invested. Levi’s autobiographical account of the holocaust uncovers nightmares excluded from any school curriculum. 

By profession Levi was a chemist and his scientific foundations deliver literary clarity and a story told without ambition or pretence. Clear prose intertwined with graphic, philosophical accounts of The Larger produce teeth-sucking impact throughout chapters, but also tones of desperation. Desperation because Levi, on more than one occasion, reveals his fear of not being listened to and an urgency toward disclosing the – soul-destroying – ordeals imposed by the SS.

Expecting a continuation of reflective, empirical notes,  I eagerly went on to read The Truce: an account of Levi’s return journey to Turin, Italy. However, the book failed to posses to the same flow and weight as If This Is Man. Thick in places, an image of a fatigued, yet dutiful author emanated from the sequel. My advice: stop at If This Is Man if you do not want coarse, frozen impressions thawed by The Truce.

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By Dhiren | Published: March 17, 2011

So true. Recent events and people in my family have made me consider growing up, being a bit more responsible and, comparatively, less pretentious. Life wouldn’t be worth living if  I did all that. Yes, I’m still getting a tattoo.

(via Charles)

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The Americans by Robert Frank

By Dhiren | Published: March 15, 2011


After weeks of nervous waiting, my copy of The Americans was – tumultuously – shoved through my letterbox; however, due to impromptu happenings, it was immediately buried under a stack of books, which also require due diligence. My procrastination wasn’t an act of nonchalant laziness: it was fueled by recognition because good photo documentaries, like The Americans, deserve time and generously poured, single malty things.

Countless photography books are shallow, coffee table fodder; decorations to adorn Hoxton cafes and salon receptions. Moreover, subconsciously, I’ve gravitated toward albums put together by people that didn’t dream of professionalism or acclaim, but rather, they did what they did out of interest and curiosity. Gavin Watson, Jacob Holdt and Robert Frank started to take photographs to document their journeys and unique surroundings. Their work wasn’t staged, the people were real, they used inexpensive equipment, yet the stories are unrivaled.

A melancholic stare at a jukebox, families seated at dinner and funeral attendees paying their respects. Where did distant thoughts dwell? Were these people part of the, “American Dream” portrayed by Elvis or Dion and The Belmonts? Photographs of Diners and 50s paraphernalia suggest they were, yet faces carry burden, stress, repression; and in contrasting extremes, privilege, innocence and sheltered upbringings. The Americans isn’t a mere documentation of 50s America: it’s story of class culture and a passive classification of the haves and the have-nots.

It’s often suggested that I foray into session photography, of various sorts, but I find it mentally grating. Sure, stories behind weddings, fashion shoots and hair styling exist, but they require extraction, manipulation and manufacture. I’m more the realist than surrealist; I prefer grit over glamour. Perhaps, one day, with the right company, I will embark on a journey armed with a Leica M9 and an interminable curiosity.

(photo creds)

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