The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

When I think about characters depicted in the history of religion, the character of the devil and the mystery surrounding him (or her) is by far most fascinating. For one, there is no agreement on where he comes from. Was he a creation of God that had to exist to oppose what is good and just and to create a universal balance that must be maintained in order for life to be what it is? Or was he a little jinni that refused to bow down to a human, and was cursed to eternity by the Almighty?

In the way he behaves, does the devil target individuals and societies and rummages through them creating havoc and chaos? Or is he, like God, closer to us than our own veins?

Can he be spoken to like God is prayed to? If so, does he answer our pleads the way God (some claim) answers our prayers?

And what powers does this devil have? Can he start a fire or cause an accident by flicking a switch when no one is looking? Or does he whisper in our ears convincing us that all that is good, is really bad?

The Master and Margarita begins with a conversation between an editor of a literary magazine and a poet. They briefly dicuss the existence of God before they are gently yet awkwardly interrupted by a stranger, who in turn gets slightly agitated that literary pair do not believe in God, or the devil for that matter. From then on, readers are introduced to some of the most charismatic characters in literature. The stranger and his retinue create some of the most memorable chaotic moments, and wreak havoc across Moscow in fascinating and mesmerising ways.

While the stranger and his friends are visiting Moscow, the author takes us back to the moments before the execution of Jesus. He introduces us to Pontius Pilate, the Roman procurator who approved, against his own will, the execution of Jesus. In between the two storylines, he subtly weaves in a third about a lady called Margarita and her lover, the master.

The seriousness of the three stories is told with such a light-hearted, and at times hilarious, prose that I constantly had to remind myself that there is a deeper meaning behind the highly entertaining plot. In one way, the book can be treated as a page-turner. I am sure you will love Behemoth when you meet him, and the love story will make you feel all fuzzy on the inside. In other ways, the book serves as a reminder of how one had to write in an oppressed society. If you were an opinionated writer who was reluctant to lose their life, and Stalin was the leader of your country, you too would find ways to offend without appearing as if you were offending. It just so happens that Mikhail Bulgakov was an amazing writer who told an excitingly bitter story without appearing too bitter, and produced one hell of a book.

The one thing I love about the Russian books that I have read including this one, is their inherent tendency to sympathise with a character who is not necessarily good. In portraying evil, they always show a side of a character or introduce an event that makes you think that maybe this one time, evil was the right way of addressing it. The grey lines between good and evil are quite bold in Russian literature, and this book is the best example of that.

Of course, like most great books, there are tens (if not hundreds) of themes and symbols throughout the book. Having fun picking them out!

Swimming Tigers and Odd Dreams

I'm floating in clear blue waters. I'm not in an ocean or a lake, but what appears to be an infinite swimming pool. How could the water be so blue and clear?

I'm on my back, and the sky is looking bluer than ever. There is a sense of calm and serenity around me. A beach ball was being tossed around somewhere. I couldn't tell you how far the beach ball was from me because I can't really remember. Maybe there wasn't a beach ball after all. But something in the back of my mind tells me that there was a beach ball being tossed around, and that something is also telling me that if I omit this piece of information, what
was about to happen won't happen. But now that I have told you about the beach ball, whatever was meant to happen as a result of me telling you about the beach ball is bound to happen.

I'm starting to realise that I am not by myself in this infinite pond. I can spot three or four tigers floating around me. I can't see their faces, just their backs. In fact, to be precise, I remember seeing the backs of the tigers as if I were a camera hanging off a helicopter looking down at the pond. All I could see was floating pieces of skin with bumps indicating spines, and still no faces. The colour of the tigers was dark orange with black stripes. If there was a helicopter, and I was on that helicopter staring down at the tigers and the blue water, I'd think it a marvellous scene. But I am not on the non-existent helicopter, and I am feeling uneasy about the tigers. Something tells me they are not the friendly type.

Maybe they're not even tigers.

I'm holed up in a small room and there is lots of shooting happening outside. At some point in time I was running infront of a train in the dark. There may be someone with me but I can't really remember. I can feel sweat slowly forming on my skin and notice that this place is lacking air. Why is it so hot all of a sudden? And what happened to the infinite blue pond?

I woke up more groggy than usual. Nothing made sense.

My thoughts on Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

"Well, do you know what you are? You're a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!"

I just finished reading Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, and before I start reading The Master and Margarita, I want to write a brief piece about what I think of Catch-22, a book often described as a 'cult classic' by critics.

At the beginning, the book didn't click with me. First, it's a war book, and I'm not a big fan (of wars, or wartime books). Second, too many characters were thrown at me and I found that connecting to them was difficult. Third, I felt it was 'too American', which I later came to appreciate as the book was released post World War 2 predominately to an American audience, and served as a response to wartime books that glorified war as a noble concept.

So why was I determined to finish it? Yossarian, of course. The protagonist of Catch-22 is a young man by the strange name of Yossarian who is constantly attempting to escape the increasing number of flying missions by diving in and out of insanity. What is so appealing about Yossarian, is that he is constantly referred to as deranged, crazy, and disillusioned. Yet, as a reader (and a disillusioned person, perhaps), found that the simple excuses he gave to escape war were quite valid. For example, when asked why he doesn't want to fly any more missions, Yossarian replies, 'because they want to kill me!'. Isn't that a valid reason to not go to war? I thought it was.

Being someone who works in a sector that is completely immersed in bureaucracy, where what matters most is ego and reputation, I found the bitter themes of the book frustrating. Yossarian's commanders demand from his group to maintain a 'tight bombing pattern' only because a picture of the bombing would look good in the papers (as opposed to destroy a target effectively). Also throughout the book, Yossarian's Colonel keeps raising the number of flying missions of his group, putting their lives on the line, only to please his superiors.

To appreciate the themes of the book (and despise them), I had to draw a link to my experiences (a weak link in this case, but relevant nontheless). Just think about the number of times you had to deliver a project bigger (not necessarily better) than the previous one, only because the previous project was run by someone that your boss was competing with? How many times were you told to omit data from a report only because it 'looked better' on one page and not two. Ah! The frustration!

At the end of the day, most of us read books to escape our mundane reality, not to affirm it. I enjoy reading books that oppose and challenge my views and offer me an opportunity to change my ideas. With Catch-22, I found myself sighing in anger and frustration at the bitterly comical reality that it presented, and wished that I had opted for another classic that didn't raise my blood pressure with every page.

Overall, does it deserve the 'classic' status it has? I think so, mainly because it was the first of its kind at the time, and challenged views that glorified war. Also, Yossarian is a timeless character that most of us would relate to in any situation when we've just had enough.

The question that it sitting at the back of my head at the moment is, would this book be so great if it were released today?

It sucked - Bahrain that is

I feel like enough time has passed since my last visit to Bahrain to write a fair description of what I thought of the country. The island has a way of mesmerising you while you're there and tempting you with its easiness and comfort. Add to that the emotional roller-coaster you go through when talking to family and long-lost friends and you may think that it's the best place in the world.

However, a couple of months later and having been to more than a couple of exciting new places down under, I feel like I'm able to see more clearly where Bahrain sits in my head. Basically, the place sucks.

Starting with the roads and traffic, the planning and condition of the roads are disasterous, and whether this is the reason why everyone drives like a maniac is yet to be investigated. Why two or three cars pass a red light every time one comes on is beyond me! This apparently happens so often that the cars at the front on the other side of the road who have the green light, stay put for longer to ensure that no one smashes into them. This in turn leads to all the cars behind the first car that has a green light to get frustrated and start going nuts with beeping and swearing. Watching people on the road in that country is really enough for any visitor to understand that entire underlying psych of the Bahrain society.

Did I forget to mention that after 30 minutes of constant rain, every road in the country was pretty much flooded?

When walking around malls (where else would you walk?), I couldn't help but notice that the majority of people strolling around were either over-weight or disturbingly under-weight. Whenever I spoke to someone about going to the gym or keeping fit, it wasn't the fitness that they seemed interested in. It was either about being thinner or bulking up (when it came to this, people freely discussed HGH, a growth hormone that is legal in Bahrain and illegal anywhere else). Anyway, the reason why people did what they did (i.e. slave away on a running machine, or pump iron) was to look good and not to feel good. Not once did I hear someone complaining about feeling unfit and unhealthy and wanting to improve their fitness level. I've always been one for feeling good first and then working on the looks, and I really think it doesn't work the other way around.

Now we come to the food, and this is the reason why many Bahrainis abroad love to fly back. The range of options when it comes to food is unlimited. You name it, those fat bastards have got it. Everything from taste and presentation, to service and pricing hits the right spot. Not once during my trip was I disappointed with the food. Except, I couldn't find a single place (apart from the traditional Gahwas in the Souq) that served traditional Bahraini food. But there was something suspicious about all the food in Bahrain, and it relates to the quality of the meats. I've been buying free-range meats and eggs for a while now, and maybe this explains why I felt the meats in Bahrain (particularly the chicken) felt 'empty' and 'rubbery'. Most chicken breasts have some level of fat in them and if you cook one yourself you'll find that you could pick out the meat in strands. But the chicken I had in Bahrain (apart from traditional roasts) felt like a 'block' that you couldn't really disintegrate and I don't understand why. Overall, I was very suspicious about the quality of underlying ingredients in meals I had at restaurants. And why on earth did I get hungry so soon after a massive meal?

Had my family and friends not been there, and had I not been invited to a lovely wedding by a lovely friend, I really wouldn't have bothered. Go to Turkey instead. I hear it's awesome fun.

I've been like fully sick busy..

Yo Broz,

Jus wanted to let youse know that I've been full-on busy. Like yea mate, fully sick ey. I've been travellin' and shit, in a suit and all that ya know. Who woulda thought ey?

But I gotta say broz, gettin' on and off planes all week long is pain in the ass bro. Pack and unpack. My gym routine has hit the skitz too. I'm not like gettin' fully sick pumps like I used to. I lost 2 kilos since I been workin' on dis project. 2 fuckin' kilos bro. You knw how much guns is dat?

But yea, I been missin' writtin' ey. Youse no longer droppin' me no lines or shit. You think youse too good for me ey? Screw youse man. Can't see any good shit out dere.

Anywayz broz (and sistaz). Just wanted to say I miss youse all ey. Clubbin' is fuckin' awesome when youse are not in the same city for more than a week ey.

Alright broz. Jus wanted to send a shout to youse all. I'm alive and kickin'.

Getting Older - Fight or Quit?

"What a disgrace it is for a man to grow old without ever seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable" - Socrates

There are things in life that we come to understand that we have missed out on when we realise that we are getting older. At the first point of realisation of that fact, we reach the fork in the road. At that intersection, one gets to decide between:

I must do something about it. I can't let my life go by and miss out on this.

or

It's too late. I'll never get to do it. I'll never get there. I need to move on and accept it.

The first option is the warrior option. You fight it out and refuse to accept things the way they are. While you may realise you are getting older and some things get harder to accomplish, you refuse to let it get to you. The extreme side of this is obvisouly a mid-life crisis. Panic and fear takes over and you realise that you really haven't done much in your life. So you go out, get your sports car, go on that cruise, or travel around the world.

The second option is the option for quitters (they think they're realists). You stick to what you know, probably become good at it, but also starting losing that glitter of brightness you used to have when you had ambitions. Cynicism creeps in, and all of a sudden everyone is calling you a grouch. Other things creep in at this point too, things like keeping fit. You start realising that there is no point in working out because you're too old to get fit, and besides, you're married.

For now, I choose option 1 to cover more than one aspect of my life. I always thought about the point of Socrates' quote mentioned at the top of this post. It is definitely a shame if one grows old without knowing the limits, strengths, and beauty of their body. So the first aspect is settled. I must get fit and healthy again. I must reach the peak that I reached in May 2007 again. I want to be able to see my abs again. That's the goal.

The second aspect of this is (ta da) work. I am growing too impatient for my own good and this must stop. While finding a source of inspiration is extremely difficult in the circumstances that I'm in, I must work on my self-motivating skills. There is no point in giving up and being satisfied with status quo when it comes to work. At least not five years into my professional career. Life is all about ups and downs. I accept that. But the downs must be managed, and they must be managed well.

While focusing on the two things mentioned above, I of course forget about everyone and everything else. That in itself needs fixing. Maybe in another post.

Ending the year - with a bang?

Maybe in a parallel universe, I would have listened to the voice inside me and declared 2008 a difficult and miserable year for me. But this is not another dimension and I am who I am. This year was tough, and I survived (quite literally on one occasion). Did I learn anything? Yes. I did. I learnt a lot about myself. At what cost? White hair. Lots of it. So much white hair that my good friend and workmate exclaimed, "Odd, you didn't look like this at the beginning of the year!". No I didn't. Thanks for letting me know.

There are seven days to go and I must not let myself end the year on an angry note. I am angry and frustrated for two main reasons.

Reason 1:

2 months ago

Odd: "Boss, our approach to this project is complex. It is too much for the client to comprehend this plan and they specifically said they wanted a 'one-page' plan."

Boss: "Odd, they want these documents. They want all eight plans. We are just giving them what they want."

Yesterday

Client: "Look, I thank you for your work on the plans. But they are too grand for us. Too complex. We were really after a one or two-point plan. This is a bit too much for us."

Obviously I am furious. Annoyed. Pissed off. I'm pretty passive but when I know I'm on the right track, I get infuriated when a good idea is completely disregarded by someone who seems to grapple with the concept of efficiency. Why didn't he listen in the first place? Was it so hard to consider simplifying things in the first instance?

Reason 2:
I bumped into my ex a few days ago. Needless to say, I wasn't happy about seeing her around. In hindsight, the whole thing was a big waste of my time and I shouldn't have let it drag for as long as it did. If you don't love someone, you really shouldn't be with them. Why I stayed for so long is beyond even me. Okay, so it was convenient to have an introverted and boring partner while my head was deep down in accounting standards and examinations. The best option was to end it once I had completed whatever I was doing, which I did. So why am I pissed off?

I was a cold-hearted prick during the conversation and I even ended it with, "I hope I don't see you again... ever".

Then I remembered my very macrscopic friend telling me, "Why Odd? She didn't do anything so bad to let you rip into her like that! You broke up with her once you realised you are too different!". True that. But I do feel that I shouldn't waste a single second on someone who had already wasted almost one year of my life. Am I completely off the mark with my thoughts?

Where to now?
I'm off to a little holiday island for the next 10 days, where I will do whatever it takes to let loose. The same workmate who commented on the whiteness on my head very wisely said, 'Odd, when you get on that plane in a couple of days, forget about all of this!'.

I agree. It is time to let loose. Watch out.