When you wrap up tragedy with some jokes, and top those jokes with tragedy, and keep doing that till you lose track of what you are doing (in a nice way), you get a masterpiece like “Life of Pi”.
It’s rich; Yann Martel has beautiful words for his beautiful story, which don’t simply stand there as words but, stem from the need for expressing the emotions. Especially those of a 16 year old religious Indian boy who is beyond his age, and yet very innocent. Like a flower that sways in strong wind, not breaking. I mention Indian because the way of telling the story is very unmistakably Indian. Like really a 16 year old religious Indian boy would tell it.
The story was so excruciatingly painful at different points that I had to put the book away for the day at those times. Two nights when I was running a fever I had dreams about it. Never-ending dreams. The story itself is so tiring (in a nice way), that it left me wondering what really being on the lifeboat would have been like for Pi.
That being said, I am now grateful to every morsel of food I eat, and every gulp of divine water that goes down my throat. I don’t think it’s the effect of reading this book, but I have never felt so humble, and so grateful towards my people, as I have been feeling in the past two days. I think it’s a mixture of the book, Doctor Who, meeting a friend, falling sick, and all of that.
This book is phenomenal. I am going to watch the movie tonight, hoping good justice is done. Also, I will keep myself from reading a book for a few days, to let this one assimilate into me properly.
Don’t you bully me with your politeness! Love is hard to believe, ask any lover. Life is hard to believe, ask any scientist. God is hard to believe, ask any believer. What is your problem with hard to believe? – Piscine Molitor Patel, Life of Pi