The Purple Colour: Book Review

I generally don’t read books after watching the movies based on them but here I made an exception which I don’t regret. I picked up the DVD of the movie just by its title,” The Colour Purple”. Purple always fascinates me. Also the back of the DVD cover said. “Directed by Steven Spielberg’. And I could not resist.

I laughed and cried through the movie and bought the book the next day. The Colour Purple is the story of Celie, a black woman in America. She lives with her mother, her stepfather and her sister Nettie in shacks of poverty. Her stepfather repeatedly rapes her and fathered her two children whom he takes away. He furthers marry her off to Albert who treats her worse than a beast, let alone love or respect her. Albert then forbids her to meet her sister, only love of her life. One fine day Albert brings Shug Avery home, his love of past so many years. Shug initially shuns Celie but slowly a bond is formed between the two. A bond made in heaven. She finds her lost spirit back and courage back through the charm and magic of Shug.

What makes this Pulitzer Prize awarded creation by Author Alice Walker being hailed as one of the greats is its narration. Celie writes to God her story in her own broken English which is some times heartbreaking and sometimes relishing. The characters bring in every nuance of human behaviour. The book brings out the greyscale of all the character so seamlessly that they entwines with the shambles of good and bad perfectly. At the end you just leave the book with a smile, sigh, and utter astonishment at the ordinary characters and their extraordinary struggle with life.

P.S It doesn’t matter what you have read or not in the past, this book is definitely worth a read. 

Santa Story

Still months to go for Christmas Eve but I will share my Christmas story. I feel lucky to be the child who was told that of course there is a Santa Claus and he watches over secretly from his den (don’t know where he lives) all over the year, just to evaluate what you deserve at the end of it. Well, this was my mother’s version and I believed it without a doubt. My belief was so firm that it often led to long arguments with my friends or anyone who tried to stand against it. (Yes I was argumentative at 8 too)

   It all changed when I was 8 and was beginning to enter the “why” era. I would put a why, how to every sentence my parents said but Santa Claus was simply sacred. His existence was my centre of gravity as I felt him watching over my every deed. Few days before the Christmas Eve, I went over to my mother asking her if she knows what Santa will get me this year. She smiled and told me that I have grown up and I should know that Santa is just a figment of imagination. I slowly moved out of the room and did not speak to anyone that night. I felt betrayed and sagged. I felt as if a pillar of existence has been crumpled. I felt the world is too bad to live

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   Ten years later when I am writing this, I can feel the pain and twinge of my 10 year old self. But I would like to ask her to still believe that Santa is real because your 20 year old self believes he is real and is watching over from somewhere, taking pride in my achievements, shedding tears on my sorrows, smiling on my ability make people smile, and also evaluating my performance to give something someday...someday when I will really need it and he would be the only capable of giving.