If you are currently a student studying in India, id request you to fill out this survey – it is anonymous so be honest!
This survey, along with the survey of teachers and Corporates, is part of a white paper we will be submitting to the Ministry of HRD as well as to top university administrators and teachers across the country – so make your voice heard!
Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Never expected to find this much enjoyment reading a biography. Isaacson has truly done a wonderful job with this book.
For those who are too busy to read the entire book, please try to at least read the last two chapters of the book at a book store or something – These chapters are a concise summary of the entire book as well as the thesis Isaacson has been building throughout the book, and will probably make you buy and read the whole thing anyway.
To call this man a “Great Marketer” is probably a great disservice to him and Steve would probably have had a fit about that. I used to think of him as an epitome of modern marketing as well, but his attitude to marketing could probably be classified as ‘evil’ in his radar. He hated the idea of any company focusing on marketing and emphatically states that is the whole problem with most companies today. This is probably a difficult idea to get to grips with…
I hope every Management Guru and CEO is studying this book and drawing the right lessons. We could truly be in a better world if they do. I am not a fan of all apple products though I am sure the Mac is the best tech device till date and I fall on the android side of the fence.
But Jobs’ philosophy on running companies and driving innovation is the best in the modern age and should be copied shamelessly.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
The Unbelievable Lightness of The Novel:
I had started reading this in 2008 and had gotten along quite a bit before I stopped reading the book for some reason and then it was forgotten. Recently, I saw the book in a bookstore and realized that I hadn’t finished it. I picked it up and started it all over again since I was not entirely sure where I had left off last time. I was sure however that I had not read more than, say, 30 pages or so.
I definitely could not remember reading it for a long period of time. I only remembered starting it and bits and pieces about infidelities and the russian occupation of the Czech. And so, I started reading it, sure that soon a page will come from where the story will be fresh and unread.
I was soon into the fiftieth page and was amazed that as I read each page, I could distinctly remember every scene, every philosophical argument, even the exact quotes and the sequence of events that was to come immediately after the scene I was reading- But I could never remember, try as I might, what was coming two pages further into the novel.
“This is what comes from reading serious books lightly and not giving them the attention they deserve,” I chastised myself, angry at the thought that my habit of reading multiple books in parallel must have been the cause of this. I must, at the risk of appearing boastful, say that the reason this bothered so much was that I always used to take pride in being able to remember the books that I read almost verbatim and this experience of reading a book that I had read before with this sense of knowing and forgetting at the same time, the two sensations running circles around each other and teasing me was completely disorienting. I felt like I was on some surreal world where all that is to come was already known to me but was still being revealed one step out of tune with my time.
In any case, this continued, to my bewilderment well into the two hundredth page. Even now, I could not shake the constant expectation that the story was going to go into unread new territories just 2 or 3 pages ahead of where I was. Every line I read I could remember having read before and in spite of making this mistake through so many pages, I still could not but tell myself that this time, surely, I have reached the part where I must have last closed the book three years ago.
Thus I have now reached the last few pages of the book and am still trying to come to terms with what it was about this novel that made me forget it, even though I identified with the views of the author and was never bored with the plot. Was this an intentional effect or just an aberration? Will I have the same feeling if I picked up the book again a few years from today?
I also feel a slight anger towards the author for playing this trick on me, for leading me on into reading the entire book again, without giving me anything new which I had not received from the book on my first reading. Usually when I decide to read a book again, I do it with the knowledge that I will gain something new with this reading, but Kundera gave me none of that.
What I do appreciate about this reading experience is this: as is stated in the novel, anything that happens only once might as well have not happened at all – does it then apply that any novel that can be read only once, might as well have not been read at all?
To conclude, I will recount an argument from the book that in retrospect helps me explain the experience:
Kundera talks (yes, the book is full of Kundera ripping apart the ‘Fourth Wall‘ and talking to the reader, to the characters and even to himself) about an anecdote on how Beethoven came to compose one of his best quartets due to inspiration from a silly joke he had shared with a friend.
So Beethoven turned a frivolous inspiration into a serious quartet, a joke into metaphysical truth. Yet oddly enough, the transformation fails to surprise us. We would have been shocked, on the other hand, if Beethoven had transformed the seriousness of his quartet into the trifling joke. First (as an unfinished sketch) would have come the great metaphysical truth and last (as a finished masterpiece)—the most frivolous of jokes!
I would like to think that Kundera achieved this reverse proposition with this novel and that explains how I felt about it. And, yes I finished reading the second last line of the book with the full awareness of what the last line of the novel was going to be.
I am the angry wind that howls through these roofs. I hear the whispers, the cries, the laughs. I have no eyes, only ears. I can see nothing, but hear the sum: The minutest whisper, the hoarsest cry. I drink in all, I delight in life. I hear the laments, I try to caress I hear the deceits, I lash out in rage. I hear the empty preaching, the murmurs - of the forced prisoners; I hear of those anxious young desires, to learn and progress - in their rooms, when alone; or in company, in discourses on weighty matters, in the loud chamber, with steel clanking: and then, I bear their yawns, mixed with the old voices teaching, in those echoing rooms. I was a zephyr, but has been taught to sigh. The young die here every day; These graveyards of prisoners. I escape each, and fly on but more spring out every day - capturing every empty corner.
ALL postings on this blog are provided "AS IS" with no warranties, and confer no rights. All entries are reflections of the respective author's opinions and does not in any way reflect the opinions of any institution or organization they might be associated with in any capacity.
Rohini
Riku
Wandering Mirages 