My attempts to become literature-savvy - Part I

Fresh after the ordeal of the Second Professional examination, I sought to cleanse myself of all the rot that I had forced to permeate my sensorium in these 18months. And as I looked around in the British Library, my eyes fell on the section staggering under the weight of giants like Wordsworth and Keats, Milton and Byron.
A few clarifications necessitate themselves at this point. I was in the British Library (and not a swadesi library) because in the place where I come from, it is considered one of the ultimate qualifications to the upper strata of society. Of course, to gain entry into the absolute upper crust, you need better, wealthier distinctions than that, but yes, about 5years ago, becoming a member of this firang library became the dearest desire of all literates, and several illiterates of the city. It’s a fairly well-equipped library in that a lot of literature is generated by the Brits and so this library houses it, but then again, there are many others in the world who can write!!! But anyway, it is, as I said, fairly well-equipped, and has enough to interest most people for considerable time. Plus the fact that it has free Internet which people use no end to update profiles on Orkut etc.
And of course, all this ‘looking around’ business came to only after I’d slept like a log for 4days straight (now that’s not to be taken literally, NOBODY can sleep for 4days straight, unless their kidneys and bowels have closed shop). So, after having a much needed dreamless sleep (everyone in my closest circle has heard enough about my dreams to write theses on them…a considerably heavy duty 2007, with too much going on in my mind all the time, had contrived to give me nightmares every single day of the year starting June 29…and finally, I had some peace), I had finally risen ready to take on the world so to say.

Back to the matter at hand. As I eyed that epic section with much awe and slight apprehension, I remembered a conversation I’d had with a college senior the other day. As much as it pained me to let thoughts of MBBS pollute my post-proff bliss, I recalled the inspiration given to me to read some of these great works. Ofcourse it was a conversation in as much of a conversation GTalk allows you to have, but the moral of it all was that if I called myself a writer with much prowess, the least I ought to know was the legacy of the titans before me (now I don’t know the logic or the nitty-gritty of this argument, but it definitely made sense to me then - knowledge of how a science has evolved is the sign of a thorough, humble student).
But now, which of them to choose? Who should take precedence in forming an impression on my naïve literary sensibility? Flipping through the pages didn’t help – these weren’t people to be judged by a mere line here and there. So I closed my eyes, and reached out for whatever luck would let fall in my lap. Obviously, I opened my eyes before picking up the book finally, you can’t stand in a library with eyes closed – for all your reaching out, all that might come in your grasp might be thin cold air!! Or someone’s shirt or dupatta, which depending on circumstances and the people involved might be supremely romantic, or just supremely embarrassing!
So finally, the point of it all is that I chose Byron. LORD Byron.
Don Juan. The little trailer at the back said that ‘probably few subjects fitted Byron’s particular talents better than Don Juan’. Well, I knew zilch about his particular talents - except for a vague recollection from some Sweet Valley High book (or some similar high school nonsense that I now feel ashamed to have actually read through till the end) that he wrote some wonderfully romantic stuff (which was evidently strong enough to have succeeded in getting the protagonist of that story almost molested by her English professor). Well whatever, now it was too late because this library didn’t take books back the very day they’d issued them. So, like it or not, I was stuck with Byron.

Back home, snug in a comfy blanket, I started to read the ‘Dedication’.
Now I don’t know whether you have read Byron, or perhaps you are a great fan of his, but please bear with me, for my experience with his poetry was quite extraordinary.
I read all the three pages that comprised the ‘Dedication’, read the critical notes given at the end of the book, then looked up – and blinked. As I tried to recall what he had talked about, all that came to my mind was his very obviously very low opinion of Wordsworth’s writing skills. And before Wordsworth, several others, including Coleridge and Southey. And how he felt all poets were just sucking up to the monarchy and not writing what they should be writing. And how he, Byron, refused to do so dishonourable a thing.

Wow.
Well, maybe he was right. I was no one to air opinions on Wordsworth or whoever else he’s made fun of, I was a novice still, with the only poetry to my credit being the birthday poems I wrote for my friends (which by the way are pretty good actually, ask the ones who got them).

I read on.

Only to realize that this whole book was divided into sixteen Cantos (or maybe Canto-es, I’m not sure - I don’t even know what a Canto is, except that it is in some way similar to a chapter of a novel). So I started with Canto I.
And read.
And read.
And read.
And six paragraphs down, all I knew was that all other poets would start a story from its most exciting point, then narrate the rest in flashback and flash forward. But Lord Byron, being smarter than all of them, would indulge in none such fooling around and start from the starting.
I bowed my head, and thanked him for it.
And prayed to him to move on.

And then began a great story. About Don Juan’s breathtakingly beautiful, brilliantly learned mother, and his not-so-impressive father. Who died after years of an unhappy married life, leaving Juan to be brought up by a single mother. Who tried to foresee potential problems, and do away with them once and for all by omitting all mentions of love, romance and procreation from Juan’s tutorials. Which of course did not succeed. For Juan had to act the idiot and go fall in love with a married woman, who was found out and divorced by her husband. And Juan was banished by his mother on a sea-voyage, which obviously had to sail into the midst of a great storm. The ultimate sole survivor of which was Juan. Who was washed up on an unknown island. And found by – yes, you got it right, a beautiful rich heiress. And yes, both of them fell in love…and ok, whatever. I haven’t read it all yet, I’ve just managed till Canto III, but the story is not the point of this blog.
And for that matter, the story is not the point of Byron’s Don Juan either.
For he does everything else, except telling the story.

Wordsworth and his low IQ find a mention about once every few pages.
And Southey manages about one-third of that frequency.
Byron’s guilt at being such a rambling story teller, and his profuse apologies for the same make up about 60% of the words.

But let me to my story. I must own,
If I have any fault, it is digression,
Leaving my people to proceed alone,
While I soliloquize beyond expression.
But these are my addresses from the throne,
Which put off business to the ensuing session,
Forgetting each omission is a loss to
The world, not quite so great as Ariosto.

His eulogies on the world today (or rather, the world in those days) are another very essential part of this epic novel.
His philosophies on life, ambition, and all things human are enough to fill a self help book.

I can go on and on about what all he talks about in the 200 odd paragraphs that on an average make up every Canto. Because that’s what his poem seems to be. The title ‘Don Juan’ is just a ruse – so that people don’t put his book down fearing long lectures. It’s a trick title, a fake being given – actually it is a diverse treatise on Life, Love, the World and That Jerk Wordsworth.

But don’t read into all this the conclusion that I am complaining. I am most certainly not!! Fresh into Canto IV, I’m loving it!
It takes a bit of getting used to. After years of talking to the point, here is someone who unabashedly tells a story about anything that comes into his mind and finds its way to the tip of his quill!

(For fellow AIIMSonians, do you remember the Forensic paper? No, not the legendary answers penned by the Batch of 2002, but the general tactics instrumental in writing a high-scoring paper. That’s what Byron is! A Forensic topper by leaps and bounds!)

Ofcourse there’s enough of the technical brilliance too. Not something I know a lot about, but the poems are well written no doubt. And he does talk a lot of sense. And you can’t blame him for trying to increase sales by naming it a very dashing, exciting ‘Don Juan’ – a poet’s got to sell his books, hasn’t he?

A brilliant rhyme scheme – abababcc. Very impressive, and some genuinely masterful rhyming words and arrangements. Amazing analogies – and strikingly funny every time.

He is a genius. And I recommend everyone to take time out in life to read his book. Give him a fair chance – and see yourself fall for his wit and humour. A must-read. Go, get it.
p.s. And don’t worry about the ‘strong’ romantic part – its not come so far till Canto IV. And its probably old world romance that only Sweet Valley High English professors can get stimulated by. If TV and Internet hasn’t inspired you to cross lines till now, you scarcely need to fear Byron!!