@sazz.may 17th January 2022
A big moon hangs outside my window. Its pale yellow glow casts eerie shadows.
The phone buzzes, keeps ringing and I don’t pick it up. It stops. Then rings again. I let it be. Silence reigns.
A plaintive cat howls at the moon. The spaghetti boils over.
Somewhere an elephant vanishes. A girl climbs a mountain on a faraway island.
In my dreams, I climb down a deep dark mysterious well.
A few days ago, my favourite author, Haruki Murakami, celebrated his birthday. So, many of my friends and book lovers ask “How do you read Murakami? I have never been able. It’s an acquired taste.”
Well, I will not promote him but I shall gather the essence of what it means to read his writings.
Anyone who knows their favourite brand of whiskey, their favourite ice-cream, their favourite singer, the right amount of chilli in the “momo-ko-achar”, the perfect “rosogolla”- I know my Murakami.
Believe me, the journey leading up to Murakami was long and filled with pages of western, detective, horror, history, sagas. Then I remember my first Murakami – “Sputnik Sweetheart” – I borrowed it from a student.
That book spun my head into the possibilities of endless fables that we live in our everyday lives. Delivered in simple language – it transcended into a realm called “magic-realism”. (I found out much later). Another master of this genre is Neil Gaiman.
Like millions of readers world-wide, I wait eagerly for the Nobel Committee to announce his name. It hasn’t happened so far.
Why do I read him?
Most of his stories are in first person. There is this singular direct connect with the developing story that grabs you slowly. It first catches your eye, then beckons you closer. After gently holding your hand, it takes you on a journey that is real and unreal.
His narrative could be in a crowded bar, an elevator, the bedroom, a mountain top cottage, a lonely car ride, a walk through the hillside and he will lead you there.
Talking you through it.
The music.
You could almost compile endless playlist of classical music, jazz and pop music. I have started to add his music on my playlist. It grows on you. Like an old memory, a forgotten aroma- the music will waft in from the pages of a Murakami story.
From Schubert, Liszt, Dylan, Thelonious Monk, The Beatles, Springsteen- it captivates the canvas.
What about the magic?
Have you ever felt the need not to talk? Well, the stories have people who do not talk much. But there are cats and a Shinagawa monkey that wax eloquent. Mostly they talk about the everyday life. There are no brilliant flashes of wisdom or life lessons. Just everyday common sense.
For all you know, Murakami could be a New Yorker, a Mumbaikar or someone you met every day.
The sex part.
Absolutely matter-of-fact. Nothing over the top. A dream sequence here and there. Many people talk about how Murakami writes about sex.
There is nothing weird or amazing there. It’s natural. Exciting and not-so-exciting. There are elements of unrequited love but life is like that.
A modern world. A modern writer. Lifestyle and sex go together.
Love. The Best part.
After reading Murakami over the last 15 years or so, what draws me to him again and again?
It is love. Love for life, love for the feeling of coffee on a rainy day, love for the unknown ordinary, love for another human being.
Unapologetic, unexplained and heart-wrenching. Poignant, lost, remembered. Sung, heard, tasted, spoken and unspoken.
Could you love looking for a lost cat? Or meeting a random stranger in a jazz bar? Or just searching for a long lost friend?
Would you be able to love yourself after no one has ever loved you? And listen to all the beautiful music without being interrupted?
Would you be healed by time or by love? (much like Orhan Pamuk or Jhumpa Lahiri – my next favourites)
There you are. The conversation that goes on in your head. All the time. That is Murakami.
It all leads to love.
Somewhere you learn to love yourself and the world you live. Truly. Again and again.
- S.A. -
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