"“Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.” "
1. Midnight's Children, by Salman Rushdie, for his name and his fame, and for I'm eager to find out.
2. a Robin Sharma, for I've heard so much about him, and never got around to read him, and for he is from motherland.
3. Shobha De, for she exudes an aura around her, that make me want to read her and know her writing..
4. Sputnik Sweetheart by Murakami, for i read a simple and beautiful excerpt, and for he surprised me by taking up too many rows in my favourite book shop, and the precise novel for i found a shade of myself in the protagonist from an excerpt i read..
5. Papillon by Henry Charriere coz my book loving cousin picked it up in a bookstore and even decided to gift it to her husband as a b'day gift, and for i grew up discussing books with her..
6. Painted Veil by Somerset Maugham, coz Maugham has always surprised me with his uncanny story telling style and surprises, and for it is again a trusted recommendation from my Anjechi with such love,and for romance has always interested me.
7. Love in the time of cholera, for I first came upon this book in the book shelves of Eloor library as 'from-the-first-look-bookish-girl' was returning it, some one whom i had met several times before, but with whom I never took the pains to develop an acquaintance.
8. a Thomas Harris, for American Psycho horrified me, and for I want to see how the real Hannibal the Cannibal that it is derived from would be like, and to find horror and revulsion in pages would only be my second experience after Psycho by Robert Bloch (the book from which the Alfred Hichtcock movie is adopted)
9. a V.S. Naipaul, for this which i found in wikipedia intrigued me "Naipaul attracted media controversy with statements about women he made in a May 2011 interview at the Royal Geographic Society, expressing his view that women's writing was inferior to men's, and that there was no female writer whom he would consider his equal. Naipaul stated that women's writing was "quite different", reflecting women's "sentimentality, the narrow view of the world", and for he had previously criticised leading female Indian author's writing about the legacy of colonialism for the "banality" of their work."
10. The sly company of people who care by Rahul Bhattacharya, for he wrote an article in Guardian about how he lived in the suburbs of Mumbai, growing up between people who spoke so many different languages, and for that is something I have thought a lot about.
11. Thousand Splendid Sons by Khaled Hosseini, and right after that, his Kite Runner as well.
12. Letters from a father to his daughter by Jawaharlal Nehru - a collection of letters written by Nehru to his daughter Indira Gandhi when she was 10 years old, teaching about natural history and the story of civilisations. For, letters and sorts have always been very close to my heart, as a means of real connection between the one who writes and the one who receives.
13. A cook book by Richard Bertinet http://www.thebertinetkitchen.com/shop/books/cook-cook_in_a_class_of_your_own_by_richard_bertinet.htm
14. William Dalrymple - " A city of Djinns" - for it has captured the Delhi i love in its so many beautiful angles.
15.A pack of lies by Urmila Deshpande, for this i read “But I had never known a love, new or otherwise. All I knew, as Gabriel had told me, were ways to find a reflection of myself that I could live with. And sometimes the only way had been physical. I offered my cunt and all its accoutrements – my brain, my apartment, my cooking skill—to all who happened to glance at me, and hoped that what I offered was enough to make them love”
16. Tiger hills by Sarita Mandanna for i fell in love with these lines "It had been the nape of her neck. The first, fatal hook. The smooth skinned grace of it, all but obscured by the plait that swung to her hips. She had thrust past him at the Kaveri tank, the very picture of determination and his spurt of irritation was swiftly replaced by amusement. And then, as she had wedged herself before him, he had found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Following every dip of light and shadow, the interplay of muscle beneath the translucent skin, as he craned her neck this way and that. He had shut his eyes for only a brief moment in prayer; when they opened, she was tilting slowly towards the water. The compactness of her waist, fitting neatly into the span of his hands. "
17. Immigrant by Manju Kapoor – for, the other books i have read on immigrant life and all was by Jhumpa Lahiri, who at one point of time I thought as I would have as my Godmother, if she would have me, and i was eager to find some different take on it.
18. The Vagrants – Yiyun Li for i read this line from the book somewhere, “The only way to live on, he had known most of his adulthood, was to focus on the small patch of life in front of one’s eyes.”
and the following for so many varied reasons..
19. Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk
20. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
21. Difficult daughters by Manju Kapoor
22. Jimmy the terrorist by Omair Ahmed
Friday, October 4, 2013
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Shelved thingummies, in my world of perfection.
....
pretty eyed and pirate smile,
I hope I will marry a music man
....
Time and time again, something or somebody or both, tutored me to shelve them all. My world of perfect other half. Where faces and images had no prominence, only little instances held the key, in the minute gestures and caresses lay that world of mine. The search for that very single other piece of the jigsaw puzzle, that traces the same contours with those complementing curves, covering up the unfinished edges, and making the story complete – picture perfect.
The one that tinkled in my dreams, like a firefly, twinkling in an instant and gone the next, swerving back in and winking at me, at my hand’s reach the very next. Dreams that teamed with the excitement of the find, and blurred with the realization of a false hint, and yet again, lit with a new hope.
Of the one, who will walk into my life, that unexpected hour of the day, and take me as his, without asking, without even me knowing, without any pretence..
Who will kiss away my infinite sorries and sadness when I have done some non – sensical stupidity..
Who will sense the meaning of my sometimes seemingly meaningless lines and will tell me that he understands, that he can see, and that he senses that which even I was so struggling to portray..
Who will smile fondly and watch me when I try to make that portrait of his, drawing with my inept hands, getting those lines of his mouth incorrect and still stubbornly struggling with my pencils..
Who will put that first foot into the water, and give me his hand, so that we would walk hand in hand, barefoot, slow and savouring the salt smell of the beach wind..
Who will see me when I lie there simply, cuddled up on the bed, and then come and wrap himself around me, to remind me how perfectly our bodies spoon each other, and give me that ultimate peace and safety in the world..
Who will pull me into that shower, to play with each other until we both get tired of the water..
Who will carry my backpack on top of his own for that sec, when I get too tired doing the trecking..
Who will let me read him those favourite lines of mine, and try to fathom the meaning and my fondness for it, even when he doesnt like it the least..
Who will suggest me that book and offer to take me to that bookshop when I say it is a boring evening ..
Who will ask for the second para, when I sing to him at night that favourite song, with a sore-throat, even when I sound terrifyingly out of sync..
Who will laugh lovingly at my childish tears when I cut my finger, while feverishly chopping away those vegetables, making him his favourite dish of the day..
Who will understand my silly and irrational and childish love, and my fear of separation, and my need of wanting to be belonged..
Who will say that he wants me, no matter what, to the end of the days..
Who will not scold me when I let our kids draw their l’l rabbit and the turtle on the walls, and when I'll help them at it by drawing the grass and the forest..
Who will still have us go on for those long walks, that I so passionately love and hold on to, for comfort, and purity of thought, and for the romance, into the dead of the night, or to a silence between the trees, or somewhere with just us, and the world silent around..
Who will know that desire and longing of mine to love and caress every single cell of him, and my wanting to be loved like never before..
Who will play our favourite games together with me, and then teach them to our kids, with the same fondness of a playmate..
Who will sing to me when I so want to hear his voice, even with those made up lines when he forgets the lyrics, and a bad
rhythm..
Who will love me more for asking him to come back home, when he is out on his work, knowing that I'll love, for ever and ever with a never ending longing..
Who will grow old with me, and sit with each other, smiling at the other one’s wrinkled face and to let that beautiful silence that descends between us, to do the talking, to say that it had been perfect, the years together..
....
to come and take me to my world of perfection.
pretty eyed and pirate smile,
I hope I will marry a music man
....
Time and time again, something or somebody or both, tutored me to shelve them all. My world of perfect other half. Where faces and images had no prominence, only little instances held the key, in the minute gestures and caresses lay that world of mine. The search for that very single other piece of the jigsaw puzzle, that traces the same contours with those complementing curves, covering up the unfinished edges, and making the story complete – picture perfect.
The one that tinkled in my dreams, like a firefly, twinkling in an instant and gone the next, swerving back in and winking at me, at my hand’s reach the very next. Dreams that teamed with the excitement of the find, and blurred with the realization of a false hint, and yet again, lit with a new hope.
Of the one, who will walk into my life, that unexpected hour of the day, and take me as his, without asking, without even me knowing, without any pretence..
Who will kiss away my infinite sorries and sadness when I have done some non – sensical stupidity..
Who will sense the meaning of my sometimes seemingly meaningless lines and will tell me that he understands, that he can see, and that he senses that which even I was so struggling to portray..
Who will smile fondly and watch me when I try to make that portrait of his, drawing with my inept hands, getting those lines of his mouth incorrect and still stubbornly struggling with my pencils..
Who will put that first foot into the water, and give me his hand, so that we would walk hand in hand, barefoot, slow and savouring the salt smell of the beach wind..
Who will see me when I lie there simply, cuddled up on the bed, and then come and wrap himself around me, to remind me how perfectly our bodies spoon each other, and give me that ultimate peace and safety in the world..
Who will pull me into that shower, to play with each other until we both get tired of the water..
Who will carry my backpack on top of his own for that sec, when I get too tired doing the trecking..
Who will let me read him those favourite lines of mine, and try to fathom the meaning and my fondness for it, even when he doesnt like it the least..
Who will suggest me that book and offer to take me to that bookshop when I say it is a boring evening ..
Who will ask for the second para, when I sing to him at night that favourite song, with a sore-throat, even when I sound terrifyingly out of sync..
Who will laugh lovingly at my childish tears when I cut my finger, while feverishly chopping away those vegetables, making him his favourite dish of the day..
Who will understand my silly and irrational and childish love, and my fear of separation, and my need of wanting to be belonged..
Who will say that he wants me, no matter what, to the end of the days..
Who will not scold me when I let our kids draw their l’l rabbit and the turtle on the walls, and when I'll help them at it by drawing the grass and the forest..
Who will still have us go on for those long walks, that I so passionately love and hold on to, for comfort, and purity of thought, and for the romance, into the dead of the night, or to a silence between the trees, or somewhere with just us, and the world silent around..
Who will know that desire and longing of mine to love and caress every single cell of him, and my wanting to be loved like never before..
Who will play our favourite games together with me, and then teach them to our kids, with the same fondness of a playmate..
Who will sing to me when I so want to hear his voice, even with those made up lines when he forgets the lyrics, and a bad
rhythm..
Who will love me more for asking him to come back home, when he is out on his work, knowing that I'll love, for ever and ever with a never ending longing..
Who will grow old with me, and sit with each other, smiling at the other one’s wrinkled face and to let that beautiful silence that descends between us, to do the talking, to say that it had been perfect, the years together..
....
to come and take me to my world of perfection.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
an afternoon muse
I haven’t yet been able to do away with my fluffy, comfortable rajai. It is summer, and the sun suddenly seems to be wanting to show its merciless self of killing heat. Even the slight cold of the mornings lessen, erasing a cozy winter dawn from my memory. Yet, i hold on to my lovely rajai. Give it that quarter of a space on my bed, a fond reminder of my favourite winter weather. And my affinity to still cling to it tenderly or use it huddled up like a self-made diwan’s raised edge, did not let my dear Ambi to have the heart to put her’s away too. Thus lie the two rajai’s happily on our double bed, waiting for me to come and spread myself on them lovingly in my moods of sheer indolence. In its pleasant flowery covers that we both so carefully chose. One with yellow sunshine flowers thrown all about a beautiful purple blue, and other a clear light sky blue colour with a sunny look about it. These are my companions in sloth and sleep, my favourite shoulders to rest on, in those moments of long ruminating thoughts. My mates in muse.
I thus, sluggishly get to my bed, in this lazy afternoon, plump myself a l’l up on one of the rajai’s raised up,slanting on the table side of the bed, with our entire collection of pillows thrown on top of it. And let my body contour itself to the other rajai, my own, ever welcoming one. I then look up at the ceiling at the rotating fan and let thoughts over power me. I let them all come to me, and let myself fly with them like the kid who runs with the kite. In a mesmerized state, I lie there, brooding over a million different things, starting from making a piggy bank, to a picture painting, to a much awaited window-shopping spree, to the problem statement of my thesis, to the infinite no of books that I have been wanting to read for ages, and all the other little happiness of my life. Hugging onto and lying close to my companions in abstract thoughts. Lying close to my love, at this time of the day.
I thus, sluggishly get to my bed, in this lazy afternoon, plump myself a l’l up on one of the rajai’s raised up,slanting on the table side of the bed, with our entire collection of pillows thrown on top of it. And let my body contour itself to the other rajai, my own, ever welcoming one. I then look up at the ceiling at the rotating fan and let thoughts over power me. I let them all come to me, and let myself fly with them like the kid who runs with the kite. In a mesmerized state, I lie there, brooding over a million different things, starting from making a piggy bank, to a picture painting, to a much awaited window-shopping spree, to the problem statement of my thesis, to the infinite no of books that I have been wanting to read for ages, and all the other little happiness of my life. Hugging onto and lying close to my companions in abstract thoughts. Lying close to my love, at this time of the day.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
“Smile came naturally to my lips, that my cheeks hurt. My lips got tired of being stretched for so long. But still, it kept coming. The happiness, and the smile thereof. Sometimes when he mentions something, or at some gesture of his, my smile, came again in a sudden gush that I felt embarrassed myself to beam so much. That I thought the lips couldn’t stretch enough, the cheeks couldn’t take the whole of it, coming in a rush. For it was, happiness, from within. From deep down.”
Thursday, April 12, 2012
the black wind
I was jealous. I still am. But I realized it only now. Now, I could detach that dirty leech from where it got stuck inside me; sucking blood. Examine its slimy sluggish back, and the killing teeth. The filthy worm of jealousy. The stone that weighed my heart down, the damp cold that crept into my insides, I could realize only now that it was jealousy. For it took me time to grasp what the odd unfamiliar anger that was rising through my lips was. I had to swim across a sea of bewilderment. Gasping and trying to float about, with only emptiness to hold on to, finally to acknowledge and behold that shore of understanding. I swam across, in my persistence to unearth the name of this new tornado of emotion. An undesired thorn that pricked my little rose heart. The surge of protest, that I felt, that war that I wanted to unleash on you for remembering her, any her, for even that split second. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have let anyone, any her, take a tiny space in your heart that ought to have been mine. If I was the wind goddess, I would’ve let my tempest sweep her away, to a far away where you will never see her again. If I was the queen of beauty, I would never have anyone surpass me, for then, you will have eyes only for me. I fumed like a volcano. My lips parted in fully formed angry words, against someone I did not know. Words that I had never said before, took shape swiftly in my mind to thrash the unknown her, to shred her to pieces.
When I reached the shore, all wet and dripping, I realized I had been here before. Innumerous times. For this was the infamous land of jealousy, where I had had to visit when I sulked coz my playmate flaunted her new colourful toy that I wanted. When my eyes welled up with big tear drops when three out of four thingummies from the charming shop was given to the other kid and not me. When the girl next seat’s birthday sweets were tastier than those I had for mine. This l'l villain that attacked me today, was strange but. It dint have the playful innocence of the old childhood ones. And it was not the kind of jealousy when your friend is back from a dream travel like yours and says he just had the time of his life. Not the kind that you have when you see the other girl wearing the midnight blue gown that you so coveted.
I thus searched the land for the real culprit, realisation dawning over me that this wasn't the usual green eyed jealousy. Mine I found was the king of all goons of this land, that sat in the black jeweled throne in the central part of the kingdom. The only one which was blessed by the God of emotions to churn the visitors in its most terrible tornado. The only one that had the power of crushing. For this was the kind of astonishing jealousy deep down in the central part of your heart, that made your heart throb in pain. Yes, that was the key. This jealousy was surprising. Inexplicable. The kind of thing, you want to deny having, to the end of the world, until you found no other way out of it. The kind of jealousy that leaves you spent. And you only had the bitterness in your heart, that you want to unleash at someone. But if you did, you would reproach yourself, coz you are waiting for the wind to go away and then see. See, after the haze from the hurricane is gone. There was nothing that you could do. Only, just wait for it to end, the rough tempestuous wind that is blowing with rocking gusts, making your heart rattle. That makes you weak. And this is where I was. And I still am. Until the wind dies down.
When I reached the shore, all wet and dripping, I realized I had been here before. Innumerous times. For this was the infamous land of jealousy, where I had had to visit when I sulked coz my playmate flaunted her new colourful toy that I wanted. When my eyes welled up with big tear drops when three out of four thingummies from the charming shop was given to the other kid and not me. When the girl next seat’s birthday sweets were tastier than those I had for mine. This l'l villain that attacked me today, was strange but. It dint have the playful innocence of the old childhood ones. And it was not the kind of jealousy when your friend is back from a dream travel like yours and says he just had the time of his life. Not the kind that you have when you see the other girl wearing the midnight blue gown that you so coveted.
I thus searched the land for the real culprit, realisation dawning over me that this wasn't the usual green eyed jealousy. Mine I found was the king of all goons of this land, that sat in the black jeweled throne in the central part of the kingdom. The only one which was blessed by the God of emotions to churn the visitors in its most terrible tornado. The only one that had the power of crushing. For this was the kind of astonishing jealousy deep down in the central part of your heart, that made your heart throb in pain. Yes, that was the key. This jealousy was surprising. Inexplicable. The kind of thing, you want to deny having, to the end of the world, until you found no other way out of it. The kind of jealousy that leaves you spent. And you only had the bitterness in your heart, that you want to unleash at someone. But if you did, you would reproach yourself, coz you are waiting for the wind to go away and then see. See, after the haze from the hurricane is gone. There was nothing that you could do. Only, just wait for it to end, the rough tempestuous wind that is blowing with rocking gusts, making your heart rattle. That makes you weak. And this is where I was. And I still am. Until the wind dies down.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
the only one
Like there is only one nectar that can give a new life,
Like there is only one sun that kisses the mountain,
Could it be that, all those poets will praise that only one?
The Poems and proses of the lovely love alone?
Like there is only one season for the flowers to spring,
Like there is only one blue sky for the full moon to adorn,
Could it be that, this handsome man is that only one?
The one missing piece of my long waiting half?
Like there is only one ocean for the river to merge,
Like there is only one rainbow that the rain falls in love with,
Could it be that, today, we are that perfect pair?
The only one lost in the strange tale of romance?
Like there is only one word of truth from an untainted heart,
Like there is only one taste for the sweet sugar syrup,
Could it be that, it is us who are destined?
For the only one ending, of, the happily ever after.
Monday, April 9, 2012
her butterfly story
They fluttered like a set of restless butterflies every time she did her blushing acts. To put him under their power. So that in moments of amazement, he will shower her with more such words of infinite love. She let them charm him, her eyelashes, cause he loved them the most. He loved them for their sweet bloom. For, they were the kind of long, slender flowers that you can touch with your hands and caress. Those which were the kind of charcoal dark, that skillfully formed the borders of his perfect sketches. Dark enough to contain the mesmerizing beauty of her eyes within. To form the backdrop, yet again brilliant in itself to make him marvel at the strokes. A lovely addendum, to the glowing gaze of her eyes beneath. Such grandiose, that he wants to trace the way they rise up from the splendid valley of her deep eyes. To form the perfect arc of a marvelous black rainbow. A thing of beauty, to stand and stare. A real stunner for him to get lost and love.
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