Computer programmers, especially the not-so-fortunate ones, are condemned to life of monotonous coding, the key to which lies in three strategically located keys – Ctrl, C and V.

“So, which project are you working for?”
“ABC-ZYX, Inc.”
“Oh, that Ctrl-C, Ctrl-V thing? Poor you!”

Well, not any longer. We are all “internalizing” – the fine art of looking too much into something, and then deciding to pass it off as our own. Many thanks to Kaavya Viswanathan, our deliverer! You made us discover ourselves!

 
The controversy over the plagiarism allegations levelled against Kaavya Viswanathan (of How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life fame) have come to such a pass that one has to fall back on Nietzsche to find solace – “There are no truths, only interpretations.” Plagiarism is very tough to fight, because it concerns things intangible. Yann Martel and Dan Brown have both been accused of stealing ideas for their most popular novels. But what works against the Indian-American Harvard sophomore is the hard evidence against her.It surprised me that the author could come back with only a tame, “I internalized Ms McCafferty so much that I thought I had the right to copy it over.” Whereas the jury is still out on the truth in that apology, The Harvard Independent has rubbished it by quoting from some of her earlier interviews.

On April 15, Viswanathan wrote 259 words for the Times of India about her favorite books. She mentioned that she was currently reading Zadie Smith’s On Beauty — “I like it a lot” — and she expressed her admiration for the works of Evelyn Waugh, P.G. Wodehouse, Henry James, Jane Austen, the Brönte sisters, Kazuo Ishiguro, Margaret Atwood, Dorothy Dunnett, and Ian McEwan — hardly the stuff of mass-market chicklit. At school, she wrote, she keeps up with the belles lettres “by reading all the books that are short-listed for the Booker,” a reference to the Mann Booker Prize for Fiction, a prestigious award for novelists from the British Commonwealth and Ireland.

The article also quotes her as saying she really liked Kazuo Ishiguro, when interviewed by UniversityChic.com

But one author Viswanathan never mentioned was Megan McCafferty. And while McCafferty’s books aim at a young audience and contain romance, few would describe them as “old children’s books” or “romance novels.” If McCafferty’s books had “spoke[n]” to Viswanathan “in a way few others did,” she kept it to herself.

In another detailed article, Shane Wilson talks about how the book might have come through from the genesis of an idea to its entry into the bestseller list. Wilson claims that books by debutant authors pass through different hands, and that some of the content might actually be thrown in by others.

It is therefore quite possible that there is some truth in Kaavya’s apology. When she said, “I was very surprised and upset to learn that there are similarities between some passages in my novel, ‘How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life,’ and passages in these books”, she might have really meant what she said. Namely: I didn’t write those passages. And I didn’t even know there was a Ms McCafferty. Only when I was nailed down did I realise that it is not such a good thing to get others to write your novel.

The Crimson reports that Random House have called the author’s apology “deeply troubling and disingenuous.” Well, seems like there’s going to be some serious fun!

 
Prior to India’s independence, Kolkata (Calcutta) should have been India’s most forward-looking city. Intellectual affluence, and abundance of literary and artistic talent at the turn of the century in “the second city of the Empire” is evidenced by the saying “What Calcutta does today, the rest of India follows tomorrow.”Perhaps, looking at the negative publicity that the city receives these days, one might be forced to think that the above is a statement made out of empty pride. Certainly not! Kolkata may not be Calcutta, but there is no denying its influence on India. Something I discovered upon reading Parineeta, by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay.

The novel, which has been made into a critically aclaimed movie by Vidhu Vinod Chopra, is set in 1913. It is the tale of how a young girl clings on the idea of marriage even after separating from the man she believes she is wedded to. A simple love story, which Swagato Ganguly (in his introduction) tells us, should not be rejected as run-of-the-mill because this novel was among the initiators of “the romantic novel” in India.

I found the tale especially warm because before picking it up, I had watched a couple of movies of François Truffaut – Jules et Jim, and Le Dernier Métro – both undoubted classics, and both of which explore extra-marital relationships. In direct opposition to this stands Parineeta (which means Espoused) in which the lead character, Lalita, considers herself married to Shekhar Nath, just because the latter garlanded her once.

It is not just the story that lends weight to this adorable novel. Nor is it the characterisation or the vivid narration. Rather it is the backdrop of the tale that makes one come back to it again and again. Saratchandra’s Calcutta, just like Pagnol’s France or Narayan’s Malgudi or Hardy’s Wessex is a throwback in time – to an age devoid of modern distractions; in which life was simple even simplistic, and the characters all very good and close to life. The idealized past that we all dream about.

Oh, what can be better than a rainy day, on which you recline comfortably in your favourite chair with a book like this in one hand and a cup of piping hot tea in another!

 

Have you ever really had a teacher? One who saw as a raw but precious thing, a jewel that, with wisdom, could be polished to a proud shine? If you are lucky enough to find your way to such teachers, you will always find your way back. Sometimes it is only in your head. Sometimes it is right alongside their beds.

What is there to write about a dying man? That he was gentle, kind and affable? That he was a good teacher? And that he has given us an important lesson…Tuesdays with Morrie recaptures the lessons Mitch Albom learnt from his professor (of two decades ago) from the latter’s bedside. Rare insights that provide a simplified view of our complex world… thoughts on how our understanding of the world, and life, and love, and compassion, and forgiveness, and culture, and money are so flawed. These gems of wisdom would make the reader elevate Morrie to the level of a saint, who shares with us the distilled knowledge of the ages.


Crisp, short and witty, these exchanges will definitely make you ponder about life and so-called conventional wisdom. I invite you to read this book, it is one in a million. Sample its opening lines…

The last class of my professor’s life took place once a week in his house, by a window in the study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink leaves, The class met on Tuesdays. It began after breakfast. The subject was The Meaning of Life. It was taught fom experience… The last class of my professor’s life had only one student.

I was the student.

I don’t believe in celebrating fad days; but Teacher’s Day 2005, I dedicate to Professor Morris Schwartz!

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