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Shaheen Bhatt on the Fear of Transience

Posted on by Penguin India

‘I don’t write about my experiences with depression to defend the legitimacy of my pain. My pain is real; it does not come to me because of my lifestyle, and it is not taken away by my lifestyle,’ says Shaheen Bhatt in her multidimensional philosophical tell-all book, I’ve Never Been (Un)Happier.

A poignant illustration of her day-to-day struggles with depression, Shaheen Bhatt’s memoir is crucial in starting a conversation that has been hushed for too long.

Read on to find an excerpt to begin a dialogue around mental health in India.

**

Perpetual bliss does not exist and anyone who peddles the belief that it does, or tries to convince you that there is a secret path through the woods that leads to an oasis of unending peace and happiness is either deluded, or a liar.

For too long we’ve been convinced that the emotional fairy tale—the perfect state of emotional well-being— exists, and that it’s tantalizingly close but just out of reach. We’ve been convinced that it exists and we’ve been convinced that there’s something fundamentally wrong with us for not being able to attain it.

It’s high time that we realize that there’s nothing wrong with us.

There’s something wrong with the fairy tale. Perpetual bliss does not exist, and saying that does not make me a nihilist.

I sit on the same see-saw that we all do and it continuously goes up and down, shifting between darkness and light—it’s the same for us all. Some of us simply stay down a little longer in a dark that’s just a little darker.

Transience is something we’re all so afraid of, and we live in perpetual fear of a new, different reality.

But thank God for transience because even though it means that happiness doesn’t last it also means that pain eventually passes.

It means that neither heaven nor hell are permanent.

There is nothing glorious or freeing or romantic or lovely about depression. Depression is a monster, a villain and thief, but even the worst of experiences teach you something. Depression has taken a lot from me and it has also given me a lot, but only because I eventually demanded it. I demanded my lessons and I took them head on.

‘You must not allow your pain to be wasted, Shaheen,’ my father said to me. I chant that quietly to myself—‘My pain must not be wasted,’ I say—and I try to learn, I try to do. I grieve and cry and hurt but I also take my medication and go to therapy. I watch my soul being bent and twisted into painful, unnatural shapes and marvel at how I’ve never seen it from those angles before. There are still days and weeks and months when I am also consumed by depression, when I forget all my lessons, when I forget everything but the pain. And that’s also when I turn to the very idea I’m afraid of: transience.

I remind myself if happiness is fleeting, then so is sadness.

I remind myself depression is the weather, and I’m a weather-worn tree.

I remind myself even the worst storms pass.

I remind myself I’ve survived them all.

 

**

A topic of massive interest to anyone with mental health disorders, I’ve Never Been (Un)Happier stretches out a hand to gently provide solace and solidarity. Go get your copy today!

Memorable quotes from India’s favourite storyteller, Sudha Murty!

Posted on by Penguin India

Sudha Murty has won the hearts of the young and adults alike with her inspiring stories and life-lessons.

The Sudha Murty Children’s Treasury brings together some of her most adored short stories in the form of a dazzling hardback edition. Here are some words of wisdom from the book, that would give you your daily dose of motivation!

‘As a teacher, I have seen that sometimes even a bright student may not do well because of the pressures of the final test. There are other ways to examine the depth of knowledge of the student, like surprise exams, open book exams, oral exams etc. The examination should not scare the students, instead it should measure knowledge fairly and give marks accordingly.’

~

Front cover of The Sudha Murty Children's Treasury
The Sudha Murty Children’s Treasury || Sudha Murty

‘When climbing the ladder it is very easy to kick those below, but one must not forget that you cannot stay at the top forever. The higher you go, the longer is the fall.’

~

‘It is not fear that binds you to your boss. Affection, openness and the appreciation of your qualities builds a long-lasting relationship. We spend most of our time at our work places. This time should be spent in happiness, not in blaming each other.’

~

‘What had I learnt from the hard journey that was my life? Did I work for money, fame or glamour? No, I did not work for those; they came accidentally to me. Initially I worked for myself, excelling in studies. After that I was devoted to Infosys and my family. Should not the remaining part of my life be used to help those people who were suffering for no fault of theirs?’

~

‘How long can you keep birds in cages when their wings are strong and they are ready to fly? We can give our children only two things in life which are essential. Strong roots and powerful wings. Then they may fly anywhere and live independently. Of all the luxuries in life, the greatest luxury is getting freedom of the right kind.’

From inspiring real-life encounters as a teacher to timeless stories woven from the memories of her own grandparents’ bedtime tales, The Sudha Murty Children’s Treasury is a must-read collection of all stories that have delighted generations of readers. Gift this to your friends today for their daily dose of inspiration!

An Indian woman in Afghanistan

Posted on by Penguin India

Afghanistan has been under siege for decades and while ‘it is easy to forget that Kabul existed 3000 years ago’, Taran N. Khan renders a vivid account of her travel tales through Kabul in her latest book – Shadow City.

Travel with her through Kabul:

Taran’s first encounter in the land of Pashtuns reminds her that she isn’t far from home

She recollects the time when an immigration officer exclaimed,

‘”Khan?” … “Yes,” I replied, eager to tell my story. “My ancestors were from here.” “Then what are you doing there?” he demanded in good Urdu, amused by my excitement. He stamped the page with a flourish. “Welcome back.”‘

 

While walking through the city, she uncovers the wonders of Kabul

‘from the Shahr-e-Kohna, or the old city, to the Shahr-e-Nau, or new suburbs’. Step by step she drifts through narrow lanes, relaying historical records, spotting European influences on architecture, capturing the cryptic similarities between the city she was born in – Aligarh, and the city believed to be connected by ‘a bridge (pul) made of straw (kah)’ – Kabul.

 

Taran comes out of her comfort zone

Shadow City highlights the conservative Muslim culture Taran witnessed while growing up in Aligarh. Being constantly confined to her room, she developed an interest in reading books. She remarks that,

‘… the world outside my door was as distant as a faraway continent. I ventured into it like a tourist. … Books were thus my private continent, providing both excitement and safety.’ But on one of her visits when she forgets to pack her books, she soon manages to find a way to read the city of Kabul, venturing through the lanes to find hidden charms like the ‘bookshop (that) has remained open through each of Kabul’s shifting eras: Communist, Mujahideen, Taliban, ISAF.’ 

 

Taran feels nostalgic whenever she visits Kabul

Each of her visits reminded her of the stories illustrated by Baba, who was well versed in Persian, uncovering myths like –

‘… He knew that the celebrated Sufi poet Jalaluddin Rumi had been born in Balkh, in northern Afghanistan, rather than Turkey, as I had assumed (which was why in Kabul I often heard him referred to as Maulana Jalauddin Balkhi).’ 

 

She finds similarities between the culture in Kabul and Aligarh

She delves deeper into the interiors of the city and finds herself getting nostalgic at the sight of finding ‘a functioning cinema in Kabul.’ Watching a film meant evading the confines of a house that women were mostly restricted to in Aligarh. It symbolized freedom and modernity for Taran, even if it meant scurrying out at night with other girls and aunts. She recalls that in Kabul, as in Aligarh,

‘The cinema was so exclusive, … that people were not allowed to enter in traditional Afghan clothes. … From these stories, I learned that in Kabul, like in Aligarh, cinema was an escape. It was also a place of aspiration, a window to a world that was still far away, still full of wonders.’

Taran realizes the nuances of love 

We have seen many a movies relaying emotion of ‘arranged love’. The ties of matrimony are arranged in a distinctly similar manner in most of the South Asian region. As Taran listened to Saleem’s love tales, she wondered that,

‘The fact that the couple had never spoken to each other, the intense scrutiny to nuanced signs— we were accustomed to this. That was how love played out, in Kabul as in Aligarh.’

Taran’s fascinating exploration will inspire you to visit Kabul

As Taran embarks on the journey to explore the fascinating city, nervously repeating

‘”Red stones mean danger,” … “White stones mean safety”’, she paints a beguiling picture of the city that demands a visit.

Discover Kabul through author’s layered lens in her latest book Shadow City.

Dear reader: A letter from Jojo Moyes

Posted on by Penguin India

Bestselling author Jojo Moyes’ new book The Giver of Stars is a mesmerising tale of female friendship, romance, and the wonder of books and reading, inspired by a remarkable true story.

Here’s a special letter from the author in which she gives insight into the inspiration behind her novel:

 

Dear Reader,

 

Fifteen months ago I read an article in the Smithsonian magazine about the Horseback Librarians of Kentucky — a group of young women employed by the US Government’s WPA scheme to go into the mountains after the Great Depression and take books and magazines to families who might not otherwise read a word.

 

Enduring harsh conditions and braving all kinds of dangers — snakes, dangerous mountains, moonshiners and criminals — they would saddle up and ride hundreds of miles a week to read to the sick, teach children, encourage the spread of facts in a time where religion and snake oil salesmen were able to battle for people’s minds. They often faced fierce resistance, both for their sex and from families who were suspicious of any reading materials other than The Bible, but worked together in a system that lasted seven years across several states, bringing everything from recipes to comic books biological texts to these remote families. Many of them became beloved to the people they served.

 

The photographic images of these young women were extraordinary, and their relevance to today hit me hard. I travelled to this remote area of East Kentucky on two separate research trips, rode the trails that the librarians would have ridden and stayed a week in a remote log cabin so that I could experience nature as they would have done (I got told off for moving a snake with a stick). I fell in love with the landscape and the storytelling people who inhabit it.

 

The Giver of Stars is the result — a story of five such women from very different backgrounds, brought together in a tiny community in the mountains of Kentucky. The story is fictional, but I have rested it on a skeleton of facts. I can honestly say I have never loved writing a book more, or been more inspired by my subject matter. I really hope everyone else enjoys it as much as I have.

 

Jojo Moyes

Intrigued? The Giver of Stars is available now.

Even True Love Has a Dangerous Side- The Prologue from Novoneel Chakraborty’s New Book

Posted on by Penguin India

‘I’ll gift you a love story that every girl desires, but few get to live.’

He’d told me once. And boy, did he stick to his words! Vanav Thakur is the perfect boyfriend that any girl can have. Sometimes, I wonder if I really deserve him.

I’m Aarisha Shergill and my life is about to get ripped apart because I should have known some things should be left alone.

Bestselling author Novoneel Chakraborty is back with Roses Are Blood Red. Read the prologue from the book below:

—

TOSH, HIMACHAL PRADESH Sometime Ago

It was an important day for her. Very important. He was coming down to meet her after . . . in fact, she had been counting: three months, fifteen days, eleven hours and—as she left her house—exactly nine minutes. She had told her parents that she would stay with her bestie from college— Pragya—that night. Pragya, obviously, had no idea about her subterfuge.

He had selected the venue for their clandestine meet. It was only two blocks from her house to the small tea shop that would have closed for the day by then.

Despite the several layers she had on, Aarisha’s teeth chattered as she cycled towards the tea shop. The shiver was partially due to the unseasonal cold wave that had gripped the Himalayan town; she trembled more in anticipation of the impending rendezvous. Should I launch into his arms as soon as we meet? Or should I stand back and simply admire him for a bit? With an avalanche of thoughts crashing through her mind, she finally reached the location for their tryst. She stopped nineteen-to-the-dozen. Only the rarest find their harmony in silence. They were rare, she knew.

She cupped his jaw in her long-fingered hands and caressed his three-day-old stubble with her thumbs. He stretched out an arm to flick the switch on the car stereo. Ariana Grande’s husky voice softly permeated the interior of the car with one of her favourite tracks: ‘God is a Woman’. Aarisha leaned in, but before their lips could touch, he gripped her waist and stopped her descent.

‘Not so quick, Ranisa,’ he whispered.

She loved it when he called her by that name. ‘Ranisa’ meant queen—his queen.

If there was one thing she absolutely loved and couldn’t quite define, it was his enormous respect for her. It was so deep-seated that she often wondered whether she deserved to be placed on such a high pedestal.

‘You always say this,’ she whispered petulantly. ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’

He stared at her beauty, her dark hair cascading like a cloud around her shoulders. Her eyes didn’t reflect pain, they carried a complaint.

‘D’you honestly believe that I don’t want to kiss you?’ he asked.

‘Then why don’t you?’ she sulked. ‘Also,’ she dismounted from him and scrambled back into her seat, ‘I hate it when you leave me and go away.’ He sensed the flood of tears about to burst through the dam at any moment.

‘Why?’ he asked softly.‘I feel insecure about you, about us,’ Aarisha choked.

An ironical smile touched his face. ‘You know this thing we call love, it’s like a dense forest. As you enter, you hear the growl of several wild beasts. At times, you may even encounter them. Insecurity is the most ferocious beast in this jungle. Whether to fall victim to it or vanquish it to continue one’s quest to unearth the greatest treasure ever, which is also hidden in this very forest, is the lover’s call. I’ve taken mine. What’s your call, Ranisa?’

She stared at him, amazed at the total conviction in his eyes. How could someone’s eyes always reflect such confidence? It was the kind of assurance one developed after scrutinizing life so closely that its tricks became only too predictable. She leaned over and kissed his closed eyelids.

‘I’ll fight. I promise I’ll fight all the beasts that come our way,’ she whispered.

There was a faint smile on his face as he said, ‘Don’t worry about the distance between us.’ He raised her downcast face and kissed her forehead, ‘The body is only what is. The soul is what is, what was and what will be. The scope of all the urges stemming from the body is a mere molecule compared to the intense longing that arises from the soul. And for the soul, distance is an alien concept. Distance only restricts the body.’

‘But the body is also important in its own way, isn’t it?’

‘As much as a house of bricks and mortar, because it houses the vulnerable and the fragile within. But we all know that the shelter is temporary and, as all temporary things, too transient to worry about.’

‘What’s permanent then?’ Aarisha asked.

He placed his right hand flat against her left hand, palm to palm, their fingertips splayed until they found the gaps through which the fingers slipped, and the hands clasped each other.

‘This,’ he said, tightening the clasp, ‘this is permanent.’

I wish I could tell you the number of wars I’ve fought to make this permanent, he thought.

‘D’you know, there are times in your absence when I get the feeling that I hardly know you at all. Is that good?’ she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

‘You’ll know. You’ll know very soon. It’s just a matter of one more year.’

‘One more year?’ she asked, frowning.

‘Yes. In one more year I’ll gift you a love story that every girl desires, but few, if any, get to live,’ he whispered.

‘What do you mean?’ she drew back to look at his face. There was no response. She raised her head—and suddenly she felt a tug on her hair.

‘Ouch!’ she yelled. Before she realized what was happening, she felt a punch on her face that broke her nose and lacerated her lips. The second punch that buried itself in her gut almost made her throw up. Aarisha fell unconscious, her face a bloodied mess. Three more punches followed: one to her jaw, another landed in her ribs and the third, in the stomach again. He shoved her away from him with force. The side of her head slammed against the window. He yanked down her jeans, slipped them off her legs and tossed them out of the window. He tugged her panties down to her knees and from his pocket he extracted a vial of semen. He smeared

some of the semen on her panties, on her dress and emptied the rest on her bare abdomen. He made sure nobody would ever track down whose semen it was. For a doctor, it wasn’t even a task. He dressed her back in a hasty manner.

As soon as he was done, he used his cell phone to call the local police station. Emotionlessly, he relayed the information, ‘A girl has been raped and abandoned on the road.’ He gave them the approximate location before hanging up. He glanced at Aarisha’s unconscious battered face and muttered, ‘The first thing you should know about me is: I…Don’t…Let…Go…’

He turned on the ignition, opened the passenger side door and pushed the girl’s insensate body out. He put the car into gear, gunned the engine and sped away into the night. After half an hour of driving, he stopped. He alighted from the car and stood at the edge of the abyss, gazing into the darkness. He dialled the police again. They informed him that the girl had been rescued and countered with their own questions about his identity. In reply, he flung the phone into the abyss as far as it would go. He looked up at the night sky— at the constellations of stars—they had mocked him enough. They thought she would never be his. And now, he would win her from everything—and everyone.

He extended both his middle fingers skywards and bellowed a bloodcurdling war-cry against destiny.

Vanav Thakur was no ordinary man. He was soul-deep in love with a girl. And he was a man with a plan.

Curious to know what happens next?  Mysteriously thrilling in its essence, Novoneel Chakraborty’s Roses Are Blood Red is a haunting story of a passionate and eternal love.

 

An Exclusive Excerpt from Harinder Sikka’s Newest Book!

Posted on by Penguin India

Bestselling author of Calling Sehmat, Harinder Sikka is back! His new book Vichhoda, narrates the experiences of another powerful woman, Bibi Amrit Kaur.

Bibi’s life is torn apart in the 1947 riots. She’s now living in a different country with a different identity, a fate she eventually accepts gracefully. She gets married and has two children. Life, however, has something else in store for her. It breaks her and her children apart. And this time the pain is unbearable.

Read an excerpt from the book below:

 

In the meantime, Bibi reached home to find a large group of women assembled in front of her home. They were surprised to see her without her burqa. As the tonga stopped, she stepped down, and, without saying a word to the women, rushed into her home and bolted the door from inside. But like jungle fire, stories about her act of bravery reached every ear in no time. It generated praise and fear in equal measure. Even though Sakhiullah was respected by the villagers, most women feared police retaliation. They were all aware of the brutality with which cops often operated, especially in rural areas where they were treated like demigods. When Sakhiullah arrived that evening, he was shocked to learn about the turn of events. He rushed to the army camp situated near his house and narrated the story to the deputy camp commander, a young army captain named Ishtiaq, who was also his first cousin. ‘I need urgent help, Ishtiaq. We have no time to waste. It won’t be long before the police come banging at our doors. And that could mean serious trouble; not only for Bibi, but for the entire family!’

 

The young captain nodded and called his most senior and experienced jawan at the camp, Subedar Major Mushtaq Khan, for advice. A deep furrow appeared between his brows as Sakhiullah related the story. He mused for a moment and then said, ‘Sir, the camp commandant will have to intervene immediately as this is a case of attack on a serving police officer. But he’s in Islamabad for the entire week. I know the SHO well. He’s politically connected, highly corrupt and most brutal. If he survives, he will take revenge in every possible manner. But even if he doesn’t, his colleagues won’t spare your family. I suggest that you move out with your family immediately. Also, Bibi will have to be sent to India right away if we are to save her.’

 

Captain Ishtiaq looked at Sakhiullah and said, ‘Bhaijaan, if what Mushtaq Sahib is saying is right, then we don’t have much time. Please decide. I don’t even have the authority to do what we are planning, but I shall not spare any effort.’ A helpless and confused Sakhiullah nodded in affirmation and the subedar swung into action.

 

An hour later, two military jeeps arrived at Sakhiullah’s residence. Four army jawans in battle rig and armed with rifles stepped out, followed by a subedar and a young lieutenant. The lieutenant took Bibi into custody while Sakhiullah watched from a distance as a mute spectator. The military officer whispered in her ear that her life and that of her entire family was in danger. He explained to her that the arrest was being made only to evade a counter-attack as the police would not interfere with the military forces.

 

The first jeep left, taking Bibi to an unknown destination. Shortly, Sakhiullah too departed under escort. He was accompanied by his two minor sons and his cousin, Captain Ishtiaq. After travelling for about twenty kilometres, the first vehicle turned left from the narrow highway towards the Indian border while the second one turned right towards the main city. Bibi instinctively realized the plan. She cried and begged for an opportunity to meet her husband and children one last time. But her wails fell on deaf ears. Despite being aware of Sakhiullah’s clout, the young army lieutenant displayed no mercy. He could not have; he was under strict instructions. The jeep reached the border half an hour later. The officer stepped down and went across the border, exchanged pleasantries with his counterpart from India and swiftly handed Bibi over to the Indian armed forces.

What happens to Bibi next? Order your copy of Vichhoda to find out!

4 Things that Distinguish “Dharma” from “Religion”

Posted on by Penguin India

Chaturvedi Badrinath’s Dharma, edited by his daughter Tulsi Badrinath, is a comprehensive study on the concept of dharma. In this book, Badrinath actively dwells on the questions of Indian civilization, components of dharma and the contentious origin of the words ‘Hindu’ and ‘Hinduism’. Central to the perception of what substantiates dharma is the differentiation between ‘dharma’ and ‘religion’. The author iterates the error in the identification of the two terms that has come about over a span of time and emphasises that the two concepts have no point of intersection.

Here are a few pointers that illuminate how the question of religion is entirely different from that of dharma, in order to give you a head start into the book:

 

The author defines religion as a central belief system, where God is understood to be the creator of the universe and where there are scriptures and commandments illuminating the teachings of God. Dharma on the other hand, is unique in its understanding. It is the Indian understanding of Man and the way of the civilization that existed around him.

~

The terms ‘religion’ and ‘dharma’ are untranslatable as they both belong to different cultures. The concept of religion came with the Catholic missionaries of the sixteenth century whose minds were ingrained with the understanding that religion is a unified system of beliefs of a community. However, dharma carries with it, a comparatively freer flowing concept which is central to the Indian thought of exploring the identity of Man. The concept of a ‘Hindu’ religion and ‘Hinduism’ itself is a false one constructed by the western thought in an attempt to quantify the Indian way of life.

~

In the Atharva Veda, dharma is described as the “oldest customary order”. Unlike the concept of religion, dharma does not relate to a divine revelation or faith, it concerns itself with the questions of human life and the reality possessing it.

~

The concept of transcendence is quite central to the understanding of dharma as opposed to the understanding of religion. Following this principle, it is derived that dharma does not encourage the binaries of good and evil, natural and unnatural or even human or inhuman, as in the case of religion. All the binaries are transcended into the realisation that these are merely just experiences in the wholesome comprehension of human life.

Thought provoking, perceptive and challenging many long-held notions, Dharma is a must-read for anyone who is interested in India, the interaction of different religions over centuries in this land, and the underlying unity of all life.

How Do You Say That Again? Sy-ky-uh-tree! A Timeline of Mental Health from ‘ From Leeches to Slug Glue’

Posted on by Penguin India

Although mental illness has been around just as long as humans, it has been understood very differently through the ages. The stigma attached to mental illness left people to suffer through half-baked theories and unscientific treatments. In an uphill climb from the darkness it was kept shrouded in to the 20th century when mental health is a cause championed by media and celebrities, the world has come a long way. How did we claw our way out of the sludge of misplaced beliefs and superstitions?

In From Leeches to Slug Glue, Roopa Rai investigates how the perception of mental conditions, especially psychosis and depression, changed through the years to finally take its place as a valid medical concern in the 20th century.

 2nd Century BC

The first description of mental illness occurred in Charaka Samhita, a seminal work in Ayurveda in the second century CE, which emphasised an inextricable connection between body, mind and spirit and consequently, deemed it necessary to treat the body in order to heal the mind. A change in diet and lifestyle was prescribed to include good sleep patterns, less mental stimulation and reduced stress. It was in 3rd century BCE that the first hospitals for the mentally ill came into existence in India.

3rd– 4th Century BC

The Greek Hippocrates suggested that the proportion of four humours, or vital bodily fluids —yellow bile, blood, black bile and phlegm—was responsible for  people being choleric (ambitious and irritable), sanguine (charismatic and optimistic), melancholic (introverted and perceptive) or phlegmatic (relaxed and peaceful). Any imbalance in these fluids could affect the temperament of the person, hence indicating mental illness.

9th- 10th Century

Islamic psychology prescribed ’ilaj al-nafs’ (‘the treatment of the soul’) to the mentally ill. Baths, music and occupational therapy (sewing, farming, cooking) were the prescribed treatments. Ninth century Persian physician and philosopher Muhammad ibn Zakariya al-Razi, chief of the Baghdad bimaristan (hospital) and the tenth-century Avicenna provided descriptions and treatments for conditions like insomnia, mania and depression.

1246

London’s Bethlem Royal Hospital (founded in 1246) reigned as the oldest asylum for the mentally ill with its approach to mental illness evident in its monstrous viewing gallery where, for a fee, the public could stare and jeer at the inmates, who were usually chained or restrained in some way.

18th Century

A wave of intellectualism in the latter half of 17th century changed the way Europe looked at mental illness. Even though the idea of ‘moral treatment’ of the mentally ill received severe opposition, the work of English physician William Battie changed the way mental conditions were perceived. Appointed the chief physician at St Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics (established in 1751) in London, Battie took on the cause of the insane.

1758

In 1758, the world was introduced to William Battie’s Treatise on Madness, the first modern text on mental illness. In a scathing attack on Bethlem’s methods and its viewing gallery, Battie made a case for the humane treatment of the mentally ill with emphasis on cleanliness, good food, fresh air and enough distractions for the inmates along with access to friends and family.

1796

The untimely death of a young widow suffering from ‘melancholy’ in an asylum led to the establishment of The York Retreat (in 1796) by philanthropist William Tuke and his son Henry. Founded on a compassionate, non-profit approach, it countered the idea of imprisonment of the mentally ill and instead, encouraged its patients to walk freely around the gardens and take up jobs like sewing, knitting and farm labour. Physical punishments, chaining and handcuffing were completely banned!

In 1813, William Tuke’s grandson Samuel Tuke wrote the famous Description of the Retreat near York, and with this, physicians across the world began to adopt William Tuke’s methods to restore self-esteem and self-control in the mentally ill.

1793

Haunted by a personal tragedy, Frenchman Philippe Pinel was determined to study madness and its treatments. In 1793, Pinel began his research on 200 of the 4000 inmates locked up at the Bicêtre Hospital in Paris. The detailed insights and empathy of Jean-Baptiste Pussin, the superintendent of the mental ward inspired Pinel to begin expounding the theory that conversing at length with patients could bring them out of their delusions whereas adopting a cheerful manner in everyday activities could relieve their melancholy.

For facilitating this leap and bringing the mentally ill out of the shadowy margins of society, Philippe Pinel was credited with being the glorious ‘unchainer’ of the insane’ and the founding father of the discipline called psychiatry.

1845

The Lunacy Act passed by Britain in changed the status of the mentally ill to ‘patients’, taking them from prisons to hospitals!

Fascinated with how science and medicine evolved over time? Read Roopa Pai’s From Leeches to Slug Glue to know more!

Meet the Trotters from Irvin Sealy’s ‘The Trotter-Nama’

Posted on by Penguin India

“The nama is a medieval court history, a chronicle. My nama would chronicle a colonial encounter, the overlap of Europe and India, across seven generations of the Trotter family. The Trotters would embody that history, the history of the Anglo Indians, down to Independence and after.” writes Irwin Sealy about his dazzling epic.

The Trotter-Nama meanders around Sans Souci, the Trotter estate near Lucknow, and teems with multi-faceted characters that are looped into the orbit of  the Trotter family as they struggle to hold on to their shifting identities.

Here are 5 unforgettable characters from The Trotter-Nama –

  1. The Great Trotter

Justin Aloysius Trotter- the octogenarian with a brown and a blue eye- lords over Sans Souci from the west tower with wives stashed away in the other three towers that form the silhouette of his estate. The Great Trotter straddles two worlds- his wig draws attention to his western roots while his choice of clothes makes him a part of the landscape of Lucknow. Perched above his beloved estate in his prized balloon Salamandre, Justin Trotter gives wings to his ambition-

‘But now—here—in the air above Nakhlau what swept over him was the original lust, that suzerain impulse which once shook to his vitals a younger man. Take this city, then all Tirnab, and who was to say what else might follow? Install the Nawab in some petty principality. Drive the British down….’

 

  1. Eugene Trotter

Writer by profession and narrator of the Nama, Eugene Trotter- the 7th of the line- is ubiquitous in the numerous asides and interpolations that fill the nooks and crannies of this chronicle. His gaze encompasses the length and breadth of this vast saga as he navigates between space and time and offers a glimpse of the world outside Sans Souci through the slips-

‘The Late Mr Trotter,’ my favourite dentist used to call me. His daughter was less charitable. ‘Lenten Trotter’ was her choice, and when I asked her why, she said: Well, corpu-lent, flatu-lent, indo-lent. She thought the indolent was especially apt even though I said: I’m half Anglo, you know. So. The Late Mr Trotter, Seventh Trotter, pleased to meet you.’

 

  1. Yakub Khan

The hazel-eyed baker and balloon master flits around the Great Trotter minding the ladder that he stealthily aims to climb. His unchecked advancement and increasing authority indicate the ambition that he nurtures and shapes as vigilantly as his wick-moustache that he trims twice a day. Sunya, the poulterer, observes-

 

‘…the young Yakub, the apprenticed baker of fifteen years ago. What was the Muslim up to now? He had watched the wiry youth advance from post to post, improve the ovens, outclass the chief baker, perfect past recipes, introduce new ones, oust the chef, trespass on the cooks’ duties, encroach on the bearers’, perfect a new and sensational bread, create offices where none existed before, appoint cronies… and fill every void with his mercurial presence.’

  1. Jarman Begam

Justin Trotter’s consort, ensconced in the south tower, aches for her fatherland Germany as she watches her husband- whom she affectionately calls Trot- take his final and fatal flight in the Salamandre. Unaware of the admiring glances directed at her, she harbours a passion for the barber Fonseca who claims loyalty to the Great Trotter.

‘It was not her own face, though she stood directly before the glass: through a forest of red she made out the face of Fonseca himself. The face hovered just beneath the surface of the glass, caught in a kind of vapour, the dyed black curls crowned with a gold wig; in place of the habitual ironic mask was a look of earnest entreaty. Before she knew what she was doing, Elise bent and kissed the glass once, twice, then repeatedly, without restraint.’

 

  1. Munshi Nishan Chand

Librarian of Sans Souci and master of fourteen languages, Munshi Nishan Chand sits meditating on the injustice of the glory of the decimal, owed to Indian scholars, having been bestowed upon the Arabs. His soul burns at the ravages his beloved nation has had to suffer at the hand of invaders. The rage at  being reduced from esteemed writer to an administrator propels him toward his mission –

‘At every step recall your mission. Study the circumcised foreigner, barbarian though he be; learn his roughcast languages, school yourself in his childish arts, trace out his tactics, duplicate his strategy, mirror his guile, best his success…Then overwhelm him, and with him his house. And after he is gone, restore once more the bright ancestral home, sweep clean the hearth, rekindle the pure flame. Avenge the violate zero.’

 

About trotter-nama Irvin Sealy observes, ‘Today I realize it’s a book of hyperlinks, only the term had not yet been invented.’ The characters he creates become the links that are threaded through the narrative to bolster the weighty epic.

There are more trotters sauntering inside the pages of The Trotter-Nama waiting to tell their story. Get your copy to meet them!

A Guide To the Use of Colours and Their Symbolism- An Excerpt from ‘The Hidden Rainbow’

Posted on by Penguin India

Kelly Dorji takes you on a spiritual journey through Buddhist symbolism to help find your inner peace. In our busy lives, The Hidden Rainbow is the perfect oasis.

Read an excerpt from the book below:

 

A GUIDE TO THE USE OF COLOURS AND THEIR SYMBOLISM IN BUDDHISM:

The main colours used in Buddhist art are blue, black, white,

red, green and yellow. With black as the exception, the other

five colours are representative of a specific Buddha in the

depiction of the five Wisdom Buddhas of the Vajrayana or

Tantric Tradition of Buddhism.

 

The colour B L U E is used to represent the Healing Buddha,

signifying calm, purity and healing.

 

W H I T E signifies purity and is the colour of knowledge

and longevity. The primordial Buddha ‘Vairocana’ is depicted

in white.

 

The Buddha Amitabha is shown in R E D, which symbolizes

life and holiness.

 

The Amoghasiddhi Buddha in G R E E N signifies

accomplishment and the elimination of envy.

 

Y E L L OW is the colour chosen to depict Ratnasambhava,

who is a symbol of balance and humility.

 

Through meditation, these colours may contribute to the

restorative process of the human condition by transforming human

delusions to original qualities as follows:

– Meditating on the colour blue can pacify aggression.

– White can transform ignorance into wisdom.

– Red turns attachment into selflessness and realization.

– Concentrating on green can eliminate jealousy.

– Meditation on the colour yellow can enrich the sense of self and

eliminate pride.

 

Keep calm and find your inner peace with The Hidden Rainbow.

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