Leviathan - A book review

This is another wonderful book by Scott Westerfeld after the Uglies Series.

This book is a blend of sci-fi and history with a whole lot of adventure. The plot is very inventive and i was quite surprised by the originality. There is action on almost every page and the characters were very authentic. 

As I began reading Leviathan, Percy Jackson came to my mind and I instantly had the urge to put the book down. However as I continued reading I realized how different it really was. 

I really liked the artwork and the vivid description of the machines and the beasties. It was quite refreshing even without the lack of romance. 

I believe that young boys will probably enjoy this book more than I did though.

Rating: 3.75/5

"I try, and I made it!" - A book review

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope

This book tells us the story of an ordinary boy, William Kamkwamba, and his journey towards the extraordinary. William lives in Africa and goes through incredibly harsh conditions and survives a famine. However these conditions do not deter him from doing something worthwhile. You probably want to know what he has done? 

William put together a wind mill in 2002 by collecting spare parts from a local scrap yard near his house. The surprising part is that the wind mill actually generated electricity. Enough for a light bulb at first. 

It was one book called 'Using Energy' which changed Williams life; he came across the book while visiting the local library. He visited the library to educate himself since he could not afford to go to school for a while. Not being able to go to school due to monetary reasons and fearing starvation are huge difficulties that William faced. In such circumstances doing something so remarkable is quite surprising. People often use miserable conditions as an excuse for their failures and mistakes. William however does not let negativity take control of his life and believes in what he is doing.

It’s not just a book about a boy who built a windmill, it’s much more inspirational and memorable.

The book is very well written and keeps the reader wanting to read more to find out what happens. The book is written by William himself and Bryan Mealer.

Rating: 4/5

Remorse - A little too late

As I walk under the moonlit sky I think of my predicament. My future seems bleak. I feel the soft mud under my feet, wishing my future was as malleable. Unfortunately all of our wishes do not come true, that much is apparent. I am walking at a leisurely pace since I have nowhere else to be and also because I want to reflect on my deeds. Why is it that life has a cruel way of haunting us with our past when we finally embrace positivity? A past I had resolved to leave behind. A past that I had believed would not taint my future. I had been wrong - so very wrong.

It’s true what they say, your past never truly leaves you. Dressed up in a snug Armani suit I dig my walking stick into the mud irately. This night is just as unpromising and ominous as my future. Suddenly, the dark eerie clouds in the night sky part, revealing a beautiful crescent moon. The cawing of the crows makes me anxious and my desperate attempts at shooing them away only makes them caw louder. An ill omen perhaps?

In a few hours, I shall present myself to ‘The Brotherhood’ and await my sentence; it terrifies me beyond measure. A member of the council of ‘The Brotherhood’, I had misguided and deceived the men who had so warm heartedly put their faith in me. Decent men. Unbeknownst to the common man, they were modern day warriors rebelling and fighting for justice; men who had provided me with worldly pleasures that people could only dream of. As a moral war waged in my mind, and just when I had decided to give up my debauched ways for good, my follies were discovered, leaving me in a state of misery and regret. What truly irks me though is that I regret getting caught more than I regret my blunders.

I believe trying to run away is of no purpose, not that I haven’t tried. Why else would I be walking in the middle of nowhere at this unusual hour? The vibration of my silent cellphone alarms me – a text message. My heart skips a beat as I read the following words; “The Brotherhood always knows where its members are, no matter how hard they try for it to not be so”. Gasping for air, I drop down onto my knees and cover my face. I will have to face ‘The Brotherhood’ and accept my fate. Unless…
A gunshot breaks the haunting silence of the night. I feel light, and at peace. Rising slowly into the sky, I notice a body sprawled on the muddy ground in a growing pool of blood. The crimson liquid shines under the moon; soaking into the earth to which I will finally return.

Unanticipated Help

The eastern horizon glowed gold and pink, and overhead a half moon peeked out through the low scuttling clouds. The wind cut like knives and shrilled like a mother mourning her slain children. It was getting darker and I was overwhelmed with fear. Huddled underneath a bright green table, I watched as people passed by me. They paid me no heed and so I continued staring at the water that was monotonously dripping from the sides of the table.

Humans always seemed so daunting but today I would not mind being picked up by one of them.  The cold was seeping through my tawny fur and everything was becoming blurry. I could vividly recall the smell of tuna fish and the warmth of a massive fireplace. I saw the café waiter across the street staring off into empty space with a dreamy expression on his face. I think he probably likes the rain for some odd reason. He had a bald head fringed with tufts of orange hair and his beard was salted with white. He looked like a kind man to me, someone I could approach. However I certainly could not grab his attention so I stayed put.

I always felt that women were more compassionate compared to men. Considering that I decided to follow two women who scurried past the table I was under. The sound of my ‘meowing’ was muffled by the pattering of rain and I became more desperate as my attempts to catch their attention proved futile. The women were walking briskly and I realized that I could not possibly keep up with them. Luckily I found shelter underneath the brightly colored awnings of an exquisite French cuisine. However I felt too exposed here and decided to retreat. After staying underneath the awning for another minute or so I prowled back stealthily and crouched underneath my original spot in a miserable heap of fur.

http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/lost-kitty

Suddenly a woman came out of the hotel and bundled me up. She held me tightly against her chest and took me inside the hotel. Fear crept up my body, fresh and strong, and it engulfed me. Cats are known for mistrusting humans and are generally very paranoid. Nevertheless, what choice did I have? I would have to go with this woman and I decided not to resist.  The woman was delivering me to someone else, I realized with a sickening jolt. A fair skinned Caucasian girl who wore a huge grin on her face. She certainly seemed delighted by me. Maybe humans aren’t so bad after all, I decided joyfully. I might even be fed some tuna fish.

Acceptance

It had been a crisp clear autumn day, sunny almost warm, but there were clouds off to the west now. The horse-drawn carriage ride had tired me and my legs felt sore. I limped towards the broken down inn, giddy with excitement. My future, that had seemed bleak a few days ago, was brighter now. I was finally going to become a part of the Etelwins which was what I had worked for my entire life. I had come so close to becoming a wanderer; a person who is not a part of any society.  Even the thought of it makes me shudder. I had cleared the numerous tests that the Etelwins had put me through and I was heady with victory. I had finally succeeded. Living in the magnificent castle with fellow Etelwins was a dream that had come true. I stepped into the inn and was greeted by the innkeeper. He was an old man whose chin was covered with stubble. His skin sagged treacherously and a weary smile brushed his lips. He gestured for me to follow him which I did without a thought.

Source: http://www.scenicreflections.com

He made me stand on a flimsy stool and fumbled with something in his coat. I had the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach and suddenly I was falling. The wind shrilled and I screamed. My screams were drowned out by the noise of the wind. I tried to grab onto something to break the impact of the fall but my fingers found nothing. I hit the ground abruptly but the ground was soft mud and so I was unscathed.  I immediately got up and saw a hat nearby. It was a beautiful lavender hat and I gingerly picked it up. A piece of parchment slid out of the hat and a message was written on it in beautiful cursive writing.

This hat is the only way that you can enter the castle, Good Luck!

My heart pounded like a bird thrashing wildly in her cage. This was turning out to be quite an adventure. Maybe the Etelwins were still testing me and watching me. I decided to embrace courage and wisdom. I hastily stowed the hat inside the back pocket of my ill-fitting breeches and limped towards the unknown.

My Innocence

I have been born to serve and I have served diligently. I have lived with a family for three decades now and know them as well as the back of my hand. A horrendous twist has however left me shattered at this old age. As I hobble towards the dingy cellar window I reminisce about the good old days and a tear oozes out of my eyes and cascades down my cheek. A child, not my own, was murdered a few days back and I was held responsible for the murder.  Pray tell, how could an old man be capable of such atrocities? A shudder runs through me as I think of the cold blooded murder. I had lived with Maria since she was a baby and I took care of her as I would take care of my own little girl. What motive could an enfeebled man have for such a dreadful deed? I was a chauffeur and did not even have access to the house. It’s not cynical to believe that an old man like me will get no justice; it’s just the stark reality. I am disfavored and frail, someone who has already given up on life. Will I spend the rest of my days here? I wonder desolately.

Other servants did not like Maria because she wasn’t of a genial disposition and was a tad bit rebellious. She really liked me though. I think I was her mentor; a father she never had. How could I murder someone I was so fond of? The police are still investigating and I am plagued by the thoughts of who the real murderer could be. Could it be the neighborhood guy, who always seemed to be stalking Maria?  Nobody even considered him a suspect. Why only me? Was I an easy target? A scrape goat maybe.  Marias sister is a little dove and a free spirit. Maria was younger than her sister and they both loved each other dearly. Maybe she will free me if I ask her to. Would she go against her family though?

So many questions. Yet no answers.

Marias mother was a sympathetic woman and might come to my rescue but the aunt will surely not let her do so. The cursed woman has always accused us servants for almost everything that has ever occurred in that household. It was almost as if she was trying to cover up something else. Something big. The father was a nefarious man and will probably make sure I rot behind these bars forever. How could he not feel even an ounce of guilt? They all know I was nowhere near the house when Maria was killed yet I am being castigated.  I hear an echoing clang of metal doors. Suddenly guards arrive accompanied by another woman. Marias mother. I stand rooted to the spot, staring at her. Could this be a mistake? They lock her up in a neighboring cell and I eavesdrop on their conversation. Marias mother was bipolar and had actually murdered her own daughter.  My Maria. My heart creeps up my throat and I hit the grubby floor.

Zeeton Apocalypse

I walk past grimy buildings plastered with what seems to be carcasses of animals. My heart is pounding fiercely. I wonder why nobody has heard the beating of my heart because it sounds like the beating of a drum. I grip the parchment, my only hope of escape, tightly to my chest. The world has collapsed after the Zeeton apocalypse and the document is a proof of my resistance. People nowadays don't know how to differentiate between a Zeeton sympathizer and an honorable citizen. Maybe because there isn't much honor left.

Zeetons don't prefer this part of the area which is why I linger and investigate. I am still not at ease and i nervously shoot glances towards the dark alley behind me. We anti-zeetons tend to hastily walk towards our destination and don't wander. It's a survival code and we adhere to it. My newly laundered linen shirt is covered in sweat and clings to my back. I remove it and wave it a bit so as to dry it. It has been really difficult to shop for clothes after the apocalypse. We wear what we get. Sometimes I get lucky and find clothes from the ruins of a boutique. There is inexplicable joy in finding expensive looking things for free and these little moments of happiness are all that we can enjoy now. 

I trip over a crumpled empty can and almost topple over but a hand stops my fall. A tall figure wearing a mask has his hands around my waist and I try to resist. I cannot surrender I think to myself determinedly. I viciously bite the persons arm and make a run for it. The stranger grabs me in one long stride and I huff angrily. Suddenly the person takes off the mask and I find myself staring at the beautifully chiseled face of a teenage boy. He's older than me and his auburn hair falls over his steely grey eyes. He is a Zeeton I realize with a jolt.

Two Barks of the Same Tree

I stare out of the window sullenly. I can’t believe that I will have to endure this car ride. Yet again. Going to Karachi every alternative week with my sister seemed like a punishment to me and the views that seemed to stretch for miles intrigued me no longer. The thought of meeting my parents, once an eternal source of joy, also held no charm for me. I never really liked traveling and my sister and I both have the tendency to sleep while driving. She was behind the wheel and so I feared for our safety. This trip might be a chance for us to bond or it might become another bad memory. I expect the latter. When you argue about even the most trivial issues with your sister it becomes hard not to expect the worse. Some arguments leave me boiling with rage and a sense of hurt; others make me feel ashamed. The stormy relationship that we shared still continues though. I fidget with the hem of my shirt as I measure my words carefully so as to avoid conflict. As I look towards my sister to talk to her I realize that she has drifted off to sleep. I nudge her angrily and she is jerked awake. She casts a furtive glance at me and I cross my arms and shoot venomous glares at her. She could have gotten me killed I think furiously. I obviously point this out to her and listen to no justifications. I caution her and advise her to place strands of her hair in the sunroof. She looks at me baffled and I tell her how it keeps one awake while they are driving. She agrees even though she feels ridiculous. I enjoy her discomfort and snigger discreetly but she hears me. I wait for a reprimand but surprisingly she starts snorting uncontrollably and our laughter drowns out the music. 

While I sit with her in the dusty old Toyota I feel infinite.

Traveling

People ask me if I travel. I say yes.

They inquire about the number of states I have been to. I say 0. This seems to baffle them.

I have traveled to so many different places while enclosed in the confines of my room. Been to different decades and met different people. Every book I read takes me on a new journey. I step into a different place entirely. This might sound corny to you and you might raise a brow skeptically but that is probably because you have not experienced what I have experienced.

For me reading is an escape from reality and the monotony of everyday life. There is a certain charm in being able to forget the world and in staying up late clutching a book. I am not embarrassed to accept that I have bawled my eyes out and howled with laughter while reading. Sometimes simultaneously. Different books remind me of different periods of my life and fill me with nostalgia. I love characters from my favorite books like I might love a family member which to some people is insane.

Sometimes I wish I can give people the kind of joy that my favorite authors have given me. That is something I hope to achieve in the future.

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.” Stephen King

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.”  George R.R Martin

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An Infestation

Sometimes I reminisce about the joy of being a child, huddling in a crocheted orange blanket with my mother while she narrated stories to me. I can recall my grandmother telling me about the sinister yet seductive fairies who wanted to cross a mountain to murder several nymphs. I can’t seem to recall the time when my cousin was apparently possessed by multiple ghosts. I just remember the stories she told me about her experience and her absurd facial expressions. There are so many enchanting tales, but they have all become vague memories now. Regrettably even the story tellers cannot seem to recall the tales they filled my ears with. There is only one story that actually stands out and that I remember details of.

It wasn’t a story about fairies, dwarfs, ghosts, princesses but a story about a bug infestation. When my mother was young, a girl lived in her house whose hair overflowed with bugs. Apparently only the bad girls suffered from this infestation during my mothers time, girls who lied, cheated and never studied.  So this young girl, who was called Baby, was the foulest of the foul. She liked shirking from household chores and loved cheating and telling lies. Some say that she was a compulsive liar and could not help but lie, they pitied her. The bugs however did not.

One fine night as my mother was sneakily walking towards the living room to watch TV she saw baby gliding on the floor. My mother shrieked but baby seemed to be in a trance. She slithered towards the door resembling a skinny python while mother just stood there with wobbly legs in her flowery shalwar kamiz. Suddenly my mother saw the ‘million’ bugs that were carrying her towards the door. They lived in her hair and plotted the kidnapping while Baby remained oblivious.  My mother claims that Baby was being taken to the land of doom where all the evil kids went. 

So my mother reacted by throwing an entire jar of pickled mangoes on Baby and successful woke everyone up (except for Baby obviously). By the time everyone woke up and came to the living room baby had disappeared. My grandfather was apparently the hero of the story since he successfully retrieved Baby from the land of doom where she was being held against her will. She came back with a bald head and a transformed personality. She was now the epitome of honesty and volunteered to do even mothers chores.  I just don’t understand why the bugs did not take mother away for sneakily watching TV at night. That was the only flaw in mothers story, a made up story I realize now.

The Fall

When you’re a kid there is a certain charm in doing what you’re not supposed to do. You see parents admonishing their children left and right – don’t touch this, don’t eat that etc. The funny thing however is that most homes have this one place that is out of bounds for the little ones. For us, it was always that little gap between our first floor terrace and the garage roof. A three foot leap from either side, it was a very convenient passage from one end of the house to another. I am almost positive that the wrinkly old architect had knowingly sniggered to himself while sketching the flaw in his blueprints.

Being a child gives you a certain degree of imagination. And because I was a strange kid, I thought of myself as a daring explorer, jumping across the gaping hole of a volcano to escape a tripe of wild monkeys. And so there I was one day, trying to fend off the baboons; and I slipped. My left hand frantically reached out for anything to grab onto and miraculously found a supporting rod. During the agonizing seconds that I managed to remain suspended in mid-air, I saw my life flash before my eyes and my heart had strangely crept up my throat. Then as dramatically as any Bollywood movie scene, my sweaty hand lost grip of the rod and I plunged into the depths of a volcano. A very shallow volcano it was, as something metallic broke my fall, I felt myself losing consciousness.

Meanwhile the sound of the falling had alerted my mother, who ran downstairs in two shakes of a lambs tail while successfully managing to continually scream my name at the top of her voice. I was smacked lightly on the face a couple of times and was brought back to reality. The look on my mother and brothers face portrayed the situation perfectly, they looked deathly pale and rightly so. It’s not everyday someone falls off the first story of your house. I was sure I had broken something, a rib maybe? A leg perhaps? But no, I was a completely fine and effortlessly walked back inside the house with my family. Turns out I fell onto a pedestal fan our guard had so smartly tucked away behind the pillars of the facade of the house. That had partially absorbed some of the impact energy and the rest will always be shrouded in mystery. But as my mother began hurling a barrage of spontaneous questions at me and my brother laughed at my luck in the background, the flame of my imagination was rekindled. This was when I contently thought to myself, ‘I am indestructible.'