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Showing posts from November, 2012

Review - Indian Fiction - THE BANKSTER by Ravi Subramanian

I've just found a new Indian author, new for me at least.  He's some storyteller I must say, he's definitely rivalling Jeffrey Archer in my affections.  So welcome to my life, Ravi Subramanian!  And thank you for the signed copy of your latest novel in return for an honest review. Here in India, we accept that corruption is a part of the political system and the bureaucracy at least to some extent.  But in banking?  I hadn't even entertained the thought.  And not just in Indian banks, international banks!  So that's the premise of this novel, which is one heck of a read.  Yes, unputdownable and addictive are words which spring to mind. Indian fiction in English is unique.  For one thing, different rules apply.  If the bank ran 'very efficiently', well that's because it happened in India, my friends.  'Very efficiently' is a phrase unique to Indian English and I really wouldn't have it any other way.  The dialogue fairly sparkles with &

Savita Halappanavar II

A few years ago, a relative of mine discovered that she was pregnant.  She was forty years old with a nine year old son.  She decided to get her pregnancy terminated.  She went to see her doctor and asked for a letter to recommend a termination.  She was too old, she said.  She'd moved on, she wasn't interested in rearing an infant.  Her nine year old son would be neglected, she felt.  Her life would be turned upside down.  The doctor heard her out, then spoke. "Why do you want to go against God?"  she said.  The patient was astonished.  What did the doctor mean? "You have only one child, already grown.  There is no reason why you cannot look after another.  Moreover, your age is forty, but your health is fine.  I will not recommend a termination," came the reply. The patient decided to go with the doctor's advice.  She has never, to my knowledge, regretted it.  This, my friends, was not in "Catholic" Ireland.  This was in India.  Secula

Savita Halappanavar

Today is Friday, the day I write my LBC post.  The topic is pleasure.  I'm sorry, but I'm not writing on that topic.  Today pleasure couldn't be further from my mind.  I've been crying for the last two days since the news broke. Out here in India, there is disturbing news from Ireland.  My Ireland.  Savita Halappanavar, a young Indian woman living in Ireland was, it is reported, was refused a life saving abortion.  She consequently died.  On the news, I'm seeing outrage.  'Ireland should be forced to change it's abortion laws', the headlines are screaming.  'The Irish Killed My Daughter To Save A 3 Month Fetus'.  Beautiful Savita has now become the martyr of the pro-choice movement.  And Ireland is seen as some backward place which is full of religious maniacs who need to have sense imposed upon them. I'm only too aware of the abortion debate in Ireland.  I was there some twenty years ago when the Pro-Life Amendment Campaign was going on

'This Will Be My Epitaph'

This topic for my weekly LBC post fairly put a shiver up my spine, no disrespect intended to the excellent Maria Silverfox who suggested it.    I suppose I'm not alone in saying that I find epitaphs and graves and vaults and the like rather creepy. I was able to be honest about it the day I  came to understand that when God the Father created us, He never intended for us to die. Nor to age beyond our prime either.  Death was brought into this world by the Enemy, who manipulated man, and brought with him the curse of death. I belong to the group of Christians who believe that Jesus will come back one day and take those of his followers who are still alive with Him to a new life in Heaven and that those who have passed on previously - like my late father for example - will rise from the dead and join us. All that worldly wisdom that ageing is inevitable and that death is the only certainty is not for me now.  Sure, I am ageing, I'm almost fifty. I certainly don't look