Aneek M. Noor, click
here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.
Blogs by Aneek M. Noor
Literature-A Blessing in Disguise 8/26/2014 2:48:16 PM
“To be or not to be : that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer,
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them ? To die : to sleep.”
Hamlet Act 3, scene 1, 55-59
Nestled in my cozy seat, I was among the fortunate spectators who were entranced by the scintillating performance of the virtuoso actor–Mel Gibson.The aforementioned words kept ringing in my ears long after the end of the Theater class in Wichita State University , and a whisper in the grave voice of a distressed Hamlet analyzed life’s great dilemma- existence.This soliloquy, from one of Shakespeare’s renowned plays, asks the big questions regarding humanity: Why is the world unjust? Why are people called upon to endure suffering? To what heights of courage, strength, generosity and integrity can human beings rise ? We are mere mortals enmeshed in a whirlpool of myriad decisions of right and wrong. As humanity evolves, we dive deeper into this inevitable ocean of intangible thoughts and perceptions regarding the human condition. Literature had served as an integral part of civilization to amplify our understanding of the diverse characteristics of human psychology. It had turned vague to tangible, and had enhanced our aptitude to comprehend the critical issues facing society.What would we do without literature? To me, the answer is crystal clear now. But years ago, this lucid conscience eluded me as an inexperienced and immature psyche clouded my judgment.
As a callow teenager with a realm of puerile escapades to explore, I was oblivious to the mammoth world encompassing literature. While my elder brother found solace in this mystical world which revolved round the works of Shakespeare, Poe, Dickens, Dumas, Tolstoy, the Bronte sisters, and many more, I immersed myself in a completely different world where computer games, TV shows, sports, and fooling around with my chums prevailed over all else. My maternal grandfather, who was a Literature Professor, always kept pestering and preaching about the splendor of possessing a literary intellect, and how it endowed one with immaculate articulation, sophistication, and refinement. At first, these heavy words pounded through one cochlea, and then rolled over the threshold of the other before slamming hard on the floor. I was a typically distracted 14-year old, whose mind teemed with innumerable possibilities of mischief. Almost every evening, Grandfather read one of the classics to me and my brother. I was compelled to hammer in the vague and prolix meanings of alien words with their menacing tentacles which invaded the privacy of my cranium and probed my grey matter. I strived to interpret, and store them in my cerebrum. I recall my mother always telling me that grandfather was only looking out for my best interest. I felt that it was sheer torture.
On 2ndSeptember 2007, my grandfather, who had grown as my mentor and idol, passed away. Loss of a dearest one spawns the realization of what is significant, and brings out the true nature of one’s character. This moment of recuperation from the morbidity of a funeral home, riddled with the morose air of grief, affliction and death, evolves one’s maturity and helps one comprehend the harsh reality of life. Fun and games are hurled out through the window. Aggrieved and conflicted for days, I found it an arduous task to concentrate on my studies. Final exams were coming up. The melancholic ambience of my household extinguished whatever iota of enthusiasm I had. Then something marvelous happened. It came to me like a beacon of hope on a pristine chariot of desire and thirst. It was a craving for knowledge and I was finally converted. I found solitary recluse and tranquility in reading which helped me escape into a world where I was unaffected by the mundane affairs surrounding life. It started with the “Harry Potter” Franchise. Rowling’s charismatic protagonist kept me awake at night. As days elapsed, my taste shifted to more mature content as I gobbled up the works of Sidney Sheldon, Dan Brown, Stephen King and Mario Puzzo. Only a month into my transformation, novels kept piling on my table with frequent visits to the book-store. This hunger and curiosity knew no bounds and my brother, though shocked to see this abrupt change of heart, left me in peace. My metamorphosis into an avid reader grounded me to reality, and armed me with a daunting arsenal to tackle any predicament. I gradually developed a keen perception, moral principles, and a countenance of equanimity.
Sixth grade Literature classes bored me to death. I still remember the emaciated, and cringing demeanor of our English teacher, Mrs. Tanvina. The old hag possessed that subtle tantalizing air of arrogance and gall which proclaimed her superiority over the herd of tamed sixth graders who stared vacantly at the ceiling during those long lectures, and then snapped back to reality whenever they were questioned, and then again resumed their usual vacant expression. I now imagine the entire class as a herd of tamed cattle that grazed fields,while seldom being attacked by wolves, after which everything returned to normal, and the remaining herd continued its frivolous task. Subdued in a plethora of assignments, I cursed every moment of being a part of that class. But a year and a half later, my perceptions regarding the subject took a 180 degree turn for good.
Three months after my grandfather’s funeral, at the peak of my interest for literature, our eighth grade English teacher, Miss Soma, who turned out to be one of my favorites, showed us an insightful documentary-“Shakespeare Behind Bars”. This certain work helped my cause, and my rehabilitation from grief. The documentary revolved around the pedestrian, and routine lives of a particular group of inmates in Kentucky State Prison, USA. They were incarcerated with appalling crimes, and hoped to seek redemption by participating in a play by Shakespeare which in this case was “The Tempest”. This play had an underlying theme of forgiveness. Its claustrophobic environment, in the form of a stark and windswept island, surrounded by violent seas, truly reflected the psychological turmoil that afflicted the convicts. They hoped to find emancipation, and peace through the various rehearsals, and fervently cast themselves in characters which portrayed their personal situations. While keenly watching this investigation of the human condition through the versatile norms of literature, I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved myself. If a mischievous group of heinous convicts with unforgivable deeds could find liberation through literature, why couldn’t I? Their assuring performances portraying their confrontations with personal demons made me realize that, without literature, I would be left with an endless abyss of ignorance in my soul. This further justified my cause, and from that day on, I never looked back.
From the poetic prose of Victorian writers to the subtle writings of Romanticism, and from the astounding epics of Homer to the mind-boggling plot-twists of contemporary novels, I refused to leave any genre unturned. I grew up imagining the fair Juliet on the lofty balcony beneath the shroud of the violet, and starry night sky ; I felt vulnerable by the imagery of Homer’s Illiad where the treacherous and mighty Achilles inhumanely dragged the mutilated corpse of the heroic Hector tied behind his chariot for days; Iwas overcome with ecstasy when the underdog Finn in Dickens’ “Great Expectations” finally became a successful artist; I was overwhelmed with shock at the ultimate fate of Santino Corleone in Puzzo’s “Godfather”; And fright gripped me at the horrifying thought of the savage antics of the clown from King’s “IT”. I delved into the world of literature with no strings attached and cherished every moment of it. Books kept me company through happiness and sorrow. I gained knowledge, and with it came power and mental satisfaction. Literature for me really turned out to be a blessing, and I feel that my grandfather would have been proud of me if he were here.
More Blogs by Aneek M. Noor • Pandering to literary intellect - Tuesday, August 26, 2014 • Literature-A Blessing in Disguise - Tuesday, August 26, 2014
