And the Mountains echoed-Khaled Hosseini

The plot of ‘And the Mountains echoed’ is set as a circular course which begins with Abdullah and his little sister Pari who is separated from him at the onset of the story and completes with them re uniting again. As the tale unfolds further, many more characters surface up with each having a quite descriptive and often painful account of their respective pasts. Destiny takes an unforgiving turn when the Soviets raid Afghanistan and Pari, who has been adopted by a wealthy family and has no recollection whatsoever of her past is forced to move to Paris with her Maman or step mother. After many intervening years when Pari is old and graying, she receives a letter written by her uncle in which he gives a detailed account of her life which is as diminished and hazy in her memory as is her brother who is now living in San Francisco. She finally decides to meet him only to find him in an ailing and heart wrenching medical condition in which he remembers his little sister but not the old woman who stands before him.

It is authors like Khaled Hosseini who possess the gifted ability to bestow such commanding force to words that the narrative containing them becomes an inescapable vortex. Through his characters, his pen very cruelly rips open the most fundamental layers of human heart and soul and blasts away the imagination of the readers with every letter acting as a shrapnel. The liquid ease with which he manages to make the reader helplessly vulnerable and puncture the deepest and closely guarded emotional realms is as unbelievable as it is brilliant. He never fails to impress the reader with his splendid usage of imagery and precision in words that are nothing less than beautiful. His attention to detail in giving shape to every character, in drawing the core of its psyche, in chalking out its emotional and mental silhouettes is the pure genius of a true craftsman. 

  

However, I wish I could say the storyline was as perfect and tightly knit for which Hosseini is known. No matter how compelling and profound his way of storytelling might be but the insignificance of some of the characters appears as tiny cracks in the otherwise seamless tale of love and longing. Though in isolation, these characters are given an exquisite treatment and yet the central plot doesn’t seem to accommodate them deservingly and these characters are lost, in a rather disappointing manner into the depths of the plot. Often, the story meanders from its purpose to distant shores which are difficult to justify with the context. The sheer delight and pleasure one derives being in the company of such gorgeous words is, to some extent, taken away by the length to which they are described.

Had it not been Hosseini, I would not have been much disappointed with the way the story ends but this is the inevitable burden of expectations that writers of such caliber and repute are doomed to carry. After all the heartbreaks and endurance of grief, I was looking forward to an ending that could comfort me with a sense of contentment and fulfillment. But sadly, the climax of the book is nothing like that. It left me suspended with an unquenched feeling that one gets savoring a really delicious dish from which one essential or key ingredient is missing.

In the end, this new book might or might not be Hosseini’s best work but it is, though not in its entirety, a great book.  

A phenomena called as Manager

Call it a mere co-incidence or my sense of prejudice, but there are some very peculiar similarities, if not congruency between the words Manager and Maneater apart from the phonetics. Let us for a short moment ponder over the standard definitions of Maneater provided in various Lexicons. The referential meaning of the word is a woman who has illicit affairs with many men without actually loving any of them. The direct and obvious meaning is an animal who preys on humans and eats them. Now, if I join the above two statements and take the liberty of some biased assumptions, the meaning remolds itself to someone who is a dispassionate, heartless animal, is involved with multiple men and relishes the taste of their flesh above any tongue pleasing ingredient. Sounds familiar? I know.


So how do we identify these rotten sons of bitches? Well, we don’t have to because this species has a habit of making its presence felt with pig like expressions and an intimidating stench that would make you feel like throwing up (often on them). If you have ever been able to imagine a gigantic snake dressed up in crisp linen with its mouth wide open to sting you with ridiculous volumes of work and hissing in your ears every half an hour “so, what’s the status?”, you are a certain and unfortunate victim of a very common yet remediless bite of which eventually you would learn to get used to. Although there is no permanent cure of this pain, you can always try using the most vehement and wild abuses as an analgesic to soothe the suffering. It is very interesting to take note that the word ‘anal’gesic fits so naturally and comfortably in this context. It would not sound surprising to me if someday some brave language revolutionaries are officially able to make the words Manager and Pain-in-the-Ass synonymous to each other.Now talking of the methods of dealing with Manager-bite, the bigger the levels of cusses, the better you would feel from inside. In fact, every corporate office should have this weekly activity called as Cuss the Puss in which you get to shout abuses to your manager in the fiercest of your pitch in an open space with your colleagues, just like laughter therapy sessions. I strongly believe that no other thing on this earth would be more gratifying than this.Not even sex. Of course there are many other and better methods than this in my mind which regrettably cannot be written here for the sake of decency. May your imagination get the better of you.


Let me elaborate more on the qualities and virtues of the InCorporate Bastards. They are generally big headed with a thick skull protecting a useless and often absent lump of saturated fat which in normal terms is called as Brain. The most wretched thing with them is the universal fact that the ratio between their brains and mouths tends to zero (according to0/infinity rule). I just hope that your knowledge of rudimentary calculus is not as low as their IQs to get what I said. Now since their shit ball (I don’t want to flatter them to unimaginable and unrealistic limits by calling it a brain) is heavily guarded by an almost rock solid crust, it is absolutely impenetrable to intelligent and sensible talks as if they are weapons of mass destruction and allowing them to fall would yield in a terrible holocaust. Try telling them something which is even remotely intelligent and get the treat of your life by staring at the look of the stupidest look of bewilderment on their faces. Their defiance to logic is so murderous that even a dog would want to take a leak in their mouths if sometimes in the darkest moments of mankind and dogkind, the latter is compared with the former. But adopting a bit honesty there, I do not blame them for their condition because a long time of rear licking can cause such levels of mental disasters. Moreover, boot and booty licking require no brains and that is perhaps the reason why every good manager is an even better bootylicker. See, it’s an inseparable part of the parcel.

Their eyes are just like those of jackals. Miraculously divine co incidence yet again at the similarity between the words Jackals and Jackass. Those two gloating eyes staring down at you like an innocent and helpless prey who they can play with before killing it and finally eating it.

I’m not seeing any output from you.



You must do something to improve your performance.



I'm not happy with the pace at which things are moving from your end



You must stay back today to finish this off today itself.



Where are the results?

The list does not know the end. I’m not seeing any output from you. (I never knew you are fucking blind). You must do something to improve your performance. (How about killing you?). I’m not happy with the pace at which things are moving from your end (Oh I’m sorry, Would you like some lap dance?). You must stay back today to finish this off today itself (Because the world would collapse tomorrow and all the debris would gravitate towards your ass?). Where are the results? (Have you tried Colonoscopy?).

Now we all must understand that all managers can defecate from mouths as well. This is by far the most distinctive feature of them. Every breath they take out and every word they transmit into the air makes it even more polluting that it already is. I think that World environment forum should impose a lifetime ban on their speech for this because it is as threatening to the balance of the nature as the effect of Carbon Monoxide. Or our government which is so clever at levying useless taxes at us, should for once do something which would really benefit the entire nation and levy tax on every word at they speak. If that happens, I can bet on their idiosyncrasy, which also happens to be their most precious asset that you won’t hear even a squeak out of them. Just like they do when their managers are speaking to them. It is almost orgasmic imagining them standing timidly in front of their big daddies with tails curled deep in between their shivering legs.

Not very long ago, I came to realize a very sad fact when someone told me over the phone that while being in a corporate world, you never work for the company but for the manager and manager is always right. Even if he is an incurable asshole.

*Sigh*