Book Reviews by Ahilya (Narain) Ganesh

 I have read “The Flour Convoy” and, “The February 23rd Coup” both written by Chaitram Singh, and I am happy  to share some of my reactions to the novels. I realize that my review is much later than those which appeared shortly after the launch of the second book last August, but I ask for some latitude because the circumstances surrounding my personal and devastating loss prohibited me from reading the novels in a more timely fashion.

Both books were great reading for me.  “The Flour Convoy” took me back on a glorious trip to Guyana, literally transporting me from Timeheri to Skeldon. Every village and estate mentioned brought back a lot of memories. The “Convoy” was not only a way of familiarizing the reader with the geography of the country, (Berbice, in particular) and set up the conditions for the dramatic ending, but, as others have commented, it was also metaphor for transporting the reader into the halls of power and corruption. 

The book is a fiction, but the brilliance of the author shines through as he made it appear so real from chapter to chapter, making it a real page turner. The everyday life and the colloquial language we all enjoyed speaking were all cleverly drawn together. Captain Moore’s struggle to free himself and his family from the web he was caught up in was indeed very sad and a situation many of us were victims of.  In that sense, it is the story of the Guyanese immigrant, who left his beloved Guyana because of the depredations and humiliations visited on him by a corrupt clique.

The February 23rd Coup is a sequel to the first novel, it seems.  A group of idealist officers attempted to remove from a tyrant from power but are betrayed.  The group included Afro-Guyanese and Indo-Guyanese, Christians, Hindus, and Muslims, so Guyanese in composition, and conveying a strong sense that goodness resides in all ethnic groups and in all religions. I found the military terms and action fascinating, as well as the Surinamese places with their Dutch names.  The detailed description of the  Pooja ceremony was beautiful.  I learned a few things I did not know, such as the meaning of Mohanbhoog.  I also liked the names of the boat, “Lakshmi” and “Tulsi Das” (and the references to the two Hindu epics), common to that region of the Corentyne.

I thoroughly enjoyed both books but lamented the fact that they ended.

Finally, a personal note.  I have known Chaitram since we attended CHS: this handsome and well-groomed teenager who looked serious, most of the time. I am pleased to have rediscovered him through the medium of two excellent works of fiction. He is truly a brilliant individual with a fantastic imagination, and I simply can’t wait to read his next book.

Ahilya (Narain) Ganesh

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Widget records visits from date of its installation: 09-11-2011 @ 8.00pm

And the sacred song is mingled

With the worship in the sky–

Mingles where no tempest darkens,

Rainbows evermore are hurled;

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

She wore a print dress (written by a NYC taxi driver)

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940′s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’ The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

As salaamu'alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuhu

In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.  All praise and thanks are due to Allah (subhana wa ta'ala), and peace and blessings be upon His Messenger (Sallalahu 'Alayhi Wa Salam).

 Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un

 It is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of  Br. Mohamed Emran Ibrahim.  He was 75 years of age and is from Port Mourant, Courantyne, Berbice.  Br. Emran was the husband of the late Sister Zoreen Ibrahim who passed away in February this year.

 The details are as follows:

On Behalf of

Br. Abdur Rahman Khan

Imdadul Islamic Center

 Wa'alaykum As-salaam Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh

Legendary Cricket star, Alvin Kalicharran, was surprised on Sunday when he was greeted by Jai Seecharran at the Indo American picnic. This is the first time  he has met a Guyanese in Arizona . Alvin is giving workshops in the USA and other countries. He has been coming to AZ for several years at the invitation of the Arizona Cricket Club, the organizers had nothing but praises for him and his expertise. Many members of the audience remember some of his historic plays and remind others that they can be seen on YouTube. He is greatly admired by the Indian cricket fans. Alvin pointed how lucky he was to represent the West Indies in those days.

Jai Seecharran

The Hubble telescope, the most powerful telescope devised by man, has been focussing for several days at a tiny patch of deep space that is totally dark to the naked eye.  The hitherto unknown region is equal to roughly one-thirteen millionth of the total area of the sky. It was discovered to hold approximately 10,000 galaxies each one containing about a billion stars or suns (Tom Harpur).

Now, does that not take your breath away and stagger your imagination? Where does that put all our knowledge about natural phenomena? Or about anything at all? It certainly teaches us humility in the face of God's creation!

Julius B. Nathoo