The Murakami Syndrome

    Two years ago I picked up 'Sputnik Sweetheart' from a street vendor at Fort. Curiosity struck me as I saw the minimal bright red book cover illustrated with a moon that looked as if it was shooting into the sky. Five books and counting, I realized I was bit by the 'Murakami bug'. He had me entranced. A Murakami novel successfully teleports you to Japan. To see, hear,laugh, weep, run, hide, live and breathe alongwith the Kafka Tamuras, Toru Watanabes and the Takahashi Tetsyas of Murakami's works. Stories that question every feeling or emotion which haunt us as we try to keep dancing. The feelings of loneliness or alienation that feature ever so vividly in his works oddly enough give you a sense of belonging. The indigenous similes, analogies and the metaphors leave you wondering if there could ever be a better way in which you understood what someone's trying to convey. Ambiguous emotions, not so run-of-the-mill characters, tasteful descriptions of love-making; the kinks and quirks of the characters only make you realize the far side of the personality spectrum that you are on. The message that screams off the pages is that it is okay to be in a mess( fucked up is what I would say in the crudest yet clearest way possible) and it's okay if you don't fit the society's definition of 'normal'. His characters(and so could we) create a definition of it along the way. The works of Haruki Murakami could exactly be equated with Richard Gere's description of Opera in 'Pretty Woman'.

     "People's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic; they either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul."

 I feel not an ounce of shame when I declare to my family and friends of being in love with a 65 year-old Japanese man. The kind of love that leaves you weak in the knees as soon as you get your hands on the copy of one of his works. The man who narrates stories that remain etched in my mind; the man who gives me occasional lessons in Classical music, Rock and Roll, Jazz and Blues. The man who went from running a Jazz bar to running over 20 marathons till date. The man who told me to keep memories closer to me than people. The one who told me that pain was inevitable but suffering was optional. The one who made me take up Japanese with much more furor than what I intended to. The man I turned to when I looked for a way to mourn my dead puppy. My copy of 'Sputnik Sweetheart' has 'Read at your own risk' in black ink, diagonally scribbled across the first page. I now wonder whether the risk I was taking was of falling hopelessly in love. 

     A recent revelation in Bhutan led me to creating an analogy that Buddha and Murakami both set out to attain enlightenment at the age of 29; Buddha through his meditation and Murakami through his writing. Murakami is not a man of his words, he's a man of the magic his words create. For those who are fed up of my incessant chatter about Haruki Murakami, get yourself a book and you'll know what I am talking about.