The God with a Red Dot
I must admit that my humble inputs on this work were expected few weeks back but even as I finished reading it the moment I laid my hands on it (and did it again twice later) I was confounded with my own thoughts only. Who am I to have the temerity of throwing a laser beam on to the full noon Sun? Do I possess in my armour the scant sensitivity to be audacious in acting a ‘reviewer’ for the work of who I so indisputably regard as my ‘idol’, both in my personal life as well as in pursuing my own literary ambitions (it’s another matter that I still get more drubbing for ostensibly being ‘verbose’ than I have been able to attract genuine followers)? All of these self doubts forced me away from sharing what I have realized I do better than I do anything else, penning a critique! So, here you go. If you find me being less than adequate while endeavouring to do justice to your sensitivity it’s me only to be blamed for my mediocrity.
Who is Akki? Is he your neighbourhood Joshua? Or is he your best pal Kapil? He, in fact is all of them and more essentially, he is YOU! Am I right or am I right (This one got lifted by someone before I could file a patent on it)?
When you read through this fabulous short tale (I must confess that I wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t get over so soon, so prematurely, leaving me high and dry) so aptly titled “The God with a Red Dot” you effortlessly visualize few subtle and more not so subtle hues of your own adolescent years as you identify each character (so thoughtfully weaved in the plot) that the moment you come across the very first mention of the temple priest you don’t blink an eyelid before the image of your own, not so pious Pujari ji (popular Hindi reference for the priest) disturbs your tranquillity. Wow!
I have had the benefit of knowing this true gentleman for close to two decades now and it would be an absolute understatement if I were to say that the author is trying his level best (and beyond) to put his own emotions for his most respected and beloved mother on paper through the eyes of his doppelganger Akki. Despite of his moving away from his humble geographical roots in India for over a decade he relentlessly embodies what any mother would be proud of having him - as her son. Not for a moment all this while did I feel that his material pursuits and well deserved possessions have been able to put even an air-brush dent to his so dutifully partaking his familial commitments. Well done mate! It’s been a true privilege to be in your good books and I do regret that I didn’t get an opportunity to make the most of your virtues while we were together many summers ago. In your own ingenious work of fiction (?) you have immortalized Akki in the eyes of all the like-minded sons and mothers. I take the liberty of dedicating your work to my own mother also as I know I won’t ever be able to make her understand as to how much do I owe to her! In fact, all of my whole being! For all my affinity to keep pouring my ideas on paper (and expecting others to patiently relate to it) I won’t be able to even remotely gather my myriad thoughts so colourfully to put them on to a canvass the way Akki has done while musing precious little about his mom.
Long live the humanity, longer live the Mother. Amen!