tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30368068964593295992024-03-05T08:07:26.171-08:00Beyond Labyrinths and MazesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-85541333841162191132016-04-13T11:44:00.001-07:002016-04-13T11:57:06.714-07:00Eat, Pray, Love - Tale of a Forgotten Delicacy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
14th of April. During my childhood, I used to be filled with mixed emotions on this day. Extreme happiness - because, every year, my grandmother would give me 50 rupees on Puthandu or the Tamil New Year's Day. And extreme sadness - because, I, along with the other hapless beings of my family had to wake up at 4.00 am!<br />
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Tamilians have a peculiar obsession with dawn. And this obsession becomes a non-negotiable condition on festive days. So, back then on the 14th of April, my morning sleep was worth 50 rupees. Every Year. Ha!<br />
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Food is an important component of festivals across the globe and Puthandu is no exception. To mark the distinction between the everyday and the festive day, communities insist upon the preparation of certain food items. That's why they are called "delicacies". Food plays an important role in strengthening communities and shaping cultures. But, these are the words of a budding scholar.<br />
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On Puthandu, my grandmother used prepare a particular dish using raw mangoes and jaggery. "Maangai Pachadi"! I am trying to connect taste and memory and distaste and sorrow because as a teenager, I never understood the concept of eating a partly sweet and partly sour dish. That too on New Year's day! Aloo paranta was my comfort food. Not "Maangai Pachadi"!<br />
<br />
My grandmother had her own logic. She would say, "Each food has a story to tell. If you would start your year with a dish that has multiple flavours, you would appreciate the multiplicity of life. Maangai Pachadi is neither purely sweet, nor purely sour. Similarly, the upcoming year will offer you both happy and sad days. That's the only way to taste life!"<br />
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Stories can be found everywhere. Stories have the power to establish communities beyond politics, economics and technology. Stories can bridge the gap between the past and the present.<br />
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And what better way to indulge in stories and connect with people than to celebrate meaningfully!<br />
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Happy New Year... :)<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-81487463214410967132016-03-26T04:56:00.000-07:002016-04-07T04:34:04.099-07:00Between the Cover - Alberto Manguel on the Art of Reading<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There is something marvellous about the act of reading. Reading can be equated with travelling as both acts involve exploration and introspection. Books often become platial entities in which we meet dead people and imaginary creatures. Books have the power to nurture and nourish minds by providing privacy, peace and solitude.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Many writers have written about the importance of reading. Gustave Flaubert succinctly expressed, "Read in order to live". In the twenty first century, writers like Italo Calvino, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Jorge Luis Borges represented how reading as a vocation underwent a change in the age of modernity. Books carry histories and predict futures. Books facilitate spatial and temporal journeys and also throw light onto the history of humanity.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicm88ZH3kbXflne1gg5v9dSOjE2CAUfhobMDxibfTPrkFSRI0SIb-dDcJentgo8yWg44uXJSKVQdLcH6-smell_UBleuSUgfFmYW8pE3yMZKifB2gfMGljKHLq26j1fSgDIpnJh96jzKzo/s1600/20160326_114155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicm88ZH3kbXflne1gg5v9dSOjE2CAUfhobMDxibfTPrkFSRI0SIb-dDcJentgo8yWg44uXJSKVQdLcH6-smell_UBleuSUgfFmYW8pE3yMZKifB2gfMGljKHLq26j1fSgDIpnJh96jzKzo/s320/20160326_114155.jpg" width="208" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alberto Manguel in his book, <i>A History of Reading, </i>explores the various shades of reading - private reading, loud reading, forbidden reading etc. He writes:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Experience came to me first through books. When later in life I came across an event or circumstance or character similar to one I had read about, it usually had the slightly startling but disappointing feeling of d<span style="line-height: 107%;">éjà
vu</span>, because I imagined that what was now taking place had already happened to me in words, had already been named."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Jelly was a mysterious substance which I had never seen but which I knew about from Enid Blyton's books, and which never matched, when I finally tasted it, the quality of that literary ambrosia... I believed in sorcery, and was certain that one day I'd be granted three wishes which countless stories had taught me how not to waste. I prepared myself for encounters with ghosts, with death, with talking animals, with battles; I made complicated plans for travel to adventures islands on which Sinbad would become my bosom friend..."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">According to Manguel, any text can provide knowledge. Be it weathered newspapers or a billboard by the side of a road. For him, a reader is an empowered being who can choose sensations and experiences:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"... In every case, it is the reader who reads the sense; it is the reader who grants or recognises in an object, place or event a certain possible readability; it is the reader who must attribute meaning to a system of signs and then decipher it. We all read ourselves and the world around us in order to glimpse what and where we are... Reading, almost as much as breathing, is our essential function..."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>A History of Reading </i>is a book about books, writers and readers. About forgotten libraries and book stores. About reading practices that shape cultures and societies. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Books are timeless treasures of knowledge and happiness. And reading, as Manguel states, is an eternal rite of passage. </span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-35268224983973250282016-02-28T00:20:00.001-08:002016-03-10T08:26:57.276-08:00Telling and Retelling Stories - A Forgotten Art<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">"</span><span style="color: #cc0000;">The children were startled by his fantastic stories. Aureliano, who could not have been more than five at the
time, would remember him for the rest of his life as he saw him
that afternoon, sitting against the metallic and quivering light
from the window, lighting up with his deep organ voice the
darkest reaches of the imagination, while down over his temples
there flowed the grease that was being melted by the heat".</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span><span style="color: #cc0000;">"Several months later saw the return of Francisco the Man, as
ancient vagabond who was almost two hundred years old and
who frequently passed through Macondo distributing songs that
he composed himself. In them Francisco the Man told in great
detail the things that had happened in the towns along his route,
from Manaure to the edge of the swamp, so that if anyone had a
message to send or an event to make public, he would pay him
two cents to include it in his repertory. That was how Úrsula
learned of the death of her mother, as a simple consequence of
listening to the songs in the hope that they would say something
about her son José Arcadio". </span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"They would gather together to converse endlessly, to tell over and over for hours on end the same jokes, to complicate to the limits of exasperation the story about the capon, which was an endless game in which the narrator asked if they wanted him to tell them the story about the capon, and when they answered yes, the narrator would say that he had not asked them to say yes, but whether they wanted him to tell them the story about the capon, and when they answered no, the narrator told them that he had not asked them to say no, but whether they wanted him to tell them the story about the capon, and when they remained silent the narrator told them that he had not asked them to remain silent but whether they wanted him to tell them the story about the capon, and no one could leave because the narrator would say that he had not asked them to leave but whether they wanted him to tell them the story about the capon, and so on and on in a vicious circle that lasted entire nights".</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifb8PweB8OMoghvp-FTFXe6pZhzJnHqWTkJDOJuRABPCqQa9-KlBDzyqzSRto5sQZ4ag_Q2_RnjW8_jyevS707VIN_bCTreh1UJeCdbdM-_fJdY6uFOLX4YzfdSbqSHCu0gjcS825ORtGx/s1600/20160228_120515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifb8PweB8OMoghvp-FTFXe6pZhzJnHqWTkJDOJuRABPCqQa9-KlBDzyqzSRto5sQZ4ag_Q2_RnjW8_jyevS707VIN_bCTreh1UJeCdbdM-_fJdY6uFOLX4YzfdSbqSHCu0gjcS825ORtGx/s400/20160228_120515.jpg" width="258" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Storytelling is a fascinating form of human communication. Age-old stories reflect the historical progression of a human community as they link the bygone with the contemporary. Though we yearn for newness and change, we feel rooted when we listen to a story from our childhood. A story that we vaguely remember. But when it is retold, many faded and broken episodes get linked and connected and we get an access to view our present from the firm ground of the past.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the Kenyan writer, Ngugi wa Thiong's, repetition is an art that enriches the practice of storytelling. He wrote:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"A good storyteller could tell the same </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">story over and over again, and it would always be fresh to us, the listeners. </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He or she could tell a story told by someone else and make it more alive </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">and dramatic.The differences really were in the use of words and images </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">and the inflexion of voices to effect different tones". </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ours is the age of amnesia and forgetfulness. And ironically, we are obsessed with nostalgia without understanding the reason behind it. There is a rapture between yesterday and today because many events take place within the gap of one day.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time to slow down. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time to repeat.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time to reconnect through stories.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-51702540595829787822016-02-18T08:00:00.002-08:002016-02-18T08:10:51.372-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<i><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 20px;">"Non-violence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of destruction devised by the ingenuity of man".</span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span></b></i></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><b><i> - </i>Mahatma Gandhi</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">When I was in fourth standard, I was in love with history.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">History, the subject. Not history, the field of study.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">I liked to read about old and forgotten people,</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">about times that existed before clocks,</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">about sites that were born before maps.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
1789, 1857, 1942 .... 1947 .... 1950<br />
I believed that nothing happened after 1950.<br />
Nothing great and exuberant.<br />
Nothing worth remembering.<br />
Nothing that books would have wanted me to know about.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Then, I grew older. My history books grew fatter.<br />
An old man and his legends followed me everywhere.<br />
How he had embraced non-violence and peace.<br />
How he had tolerated opinions and ideologies.<br />
He was a great man. An ideal man.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
But, his slowness and calmness annoyed me.<br />
His large-heartedness made me impatient.<br />
I thought how dull and boring can a person be!<br />
I thought he made my country weak and powerless.<br />
I thought tolerance was an illness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
It is 2016.<br />
Multiple histories. Numerous ideologies.<br />
Many events have been forgotten.<br />
Many stories have been erased.<br />
Many voices have been silenced.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Today, the past makes sense.<br />
1940s make sense.<br />
Violence is a disease.<br />
Tolerance is a virtue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
May be, he was a great man. An ideal Man.<br />
<span style="line-height: 19.32px;">May be.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-81678702873331147552016-01-20T20:36:00.001-08:002016-01-20T20:36:20.333-08:00A Conversation between Streets and Grandmothers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
There is something extremely fascinating about the intimate ways in which people are connected to places. Be it the familiar ones or the unfamiliar ones. After the death of my grandfather, my grandmother lived alone in Madurai, for many years. She didn’t want to move in with her children or grandchildren because Madurai was an “intimate” space for her. She knew her neighbors well and felt very happy when children greeted her every morning before going to school. A sense of familiarity. Identity. Reassurance may be. It was very fascinating for me to see her count and remember each and every pothole on the road that connected her house and the nearby temple. It seemed as if she communicated with the road using a language that was exclusively available to her!</div>
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This reminds me of Ursula Buendia of <span class="_5yi_" style="font-style: italic;">One Hundred Years of Solitude. </span>For many years, none of her family members get to know about her blindness because she knows her “spaces” so “intimately”! Marquez’s Ursula uses sunlight as her tool to journey through her labyrinthine house and my sweet grandmother had her silly potholes! Grandmothers are simply adorable, fictional or real... :)</div>
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How wonderful it would be to have such intimate interactions with spaces we use every day! Oh please don’t label me an idealist! I am well aware that my “intimate” companions (my earphones and cellphone) would be offended with me today.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-77683880260828508672015-12-30T10:49:00.002-08:002015-12-30T10:49:32.184-08:00A little mindfulness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday, I went to a spa. I don't indulge in luxuries usually, though I like anything that is soothing and rejuvenating. I decided to give my hyperactive and over-thinking self some rest. It's good to unplug sometimes, I thought. I switched off my phone. I immediately felt a sense of relief. Unplugged and Unburdened.<br />
<br />
Everything today is just a touch or a click away. Too much connectivity. Global village. Shrunken world. And what not. But how difficult is it to unplug? Gradually, one feels the weight of these "privileges". Would the universe crumble if I steer away from my WhatsApp, Facebook and Twitter for three hours? I told myself that I am over-thinking and continued with my therapy.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, after a long time, I realized that I was paying attention to the new room I was sitting in and the new people I was interacting with. It was a small room with dim lights, subtle fragrance and good music. What more can one ask for? The first fruits of unplugging.<br />
<br />
I spoke to my attendant for a long time. Her name was Shaina. I am a very interactive person usually, but, yesterday, I was attentive. May be this is what is mindfulness.<br />
<br />
After three or four hours, I stepped out the spa. The jarring sound of vehicles made me realize that I can't play my unplugging game for long. I was heading home and I switched on my phone.<br />
<br />
And then... All hell broke loose.<br />
<br />
17 missed calls. 41 WhatsApp messages!<br />
<br />
My mother called me irresponsible. My friends called me archaic because I had committed the blunder of switching off my phone... for three hours! And funnily, I hadn't missed anything.<br />
<br />
We all search for "space" and "experience". But unless and until one is aware and conscious of his feelings and sensations, the found space is a hollow tunnel and the felt experience is a residue of something extremely trivial and unsettling.<br />
<br />
I love people.<br />
I love conversations and interactions.<br />
<br />
But, a brief unplugging, now and then, won't make anyone asocial or melancholic.<br />
<br />
Mindfulness is a beautiful thing to strive for, I think.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-37189419843813741752015-12-27T22:33:00.001-08:002015-12-27T22:33:34.648-08:00Between and Beyond loyalty and disloyalty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
It is difficult to write. Very difficult.<br />Hence, we all postpone. And when we write, after many deliberations, we abandon our writings. Unfinished. Unattended.<br />We all like fresh music, good food and new places. But stability and comfort are our old friends. Rather, best friends.</div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
Hence, the playlists of our phones house the same old songs. And we repeat them everyday. On the path to fight against monotony? Well, I doubt.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We all go to new cafes and restaurants. But, how difficult is it to choose the unfamiliar Panna Cotta over the familiar Walnut Brownie?! Yes, I am talking about those big decisions.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Family is the first institution that builds one's personality. One's character.<br />My people believe in reading "ALL" the works of a writer.<br />Dickens is their favourite and I am sure that on this Christmas too, they are going to talk about his novels. Welcome newness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Marquez and Hardy are my favourite. And now, when I look at the works of new writers at book shops, I feel guilty. Funny it is. As if I am cheating on my boyfriend... <i class="_4-k1 img sp_fM-mz8spZ1b sx_7f72ac" style="background-image: url("/rsrc.php/v2/yx/r/pimRBh7B6ER.png"); background-position: 0px -442px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: auto; display: inline-block; height: 16px; vertical-align: -3px; width: 16px;"><u style="left: -999999px; position: absolute;">wink emoticon</u></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
My father introduced me to cricket. And he almost made me believe that once I have liked Micheal Bevan, I cannot admire the newbies. Ever. So, no Boucher. No Dhoni.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Loyalty is good. A virtue long lost. And literature can make the eccentric ones fall prey to this malady.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Now, coming back to writing, we love our drafts. Those unfinished and half-baked things that yearn for our attention. We are loyal when it comes to reading. But, we are extremely unfaithful towards the things we write.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
One my favourite professors once said, "Writing is like carpentry. You cannot produce masterpieces in a day. or a week. Writing demands attention. It is a form of worship."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
It is important to revisit the drafts, decipher the inadequacies and insufficiencies and inject in them whatever they demand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
So, my goal for 2016 is to be (a little) <span style="line-height: 19.32px;">unfaithful towards my authors and faithful towards my fragments. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-67134944488054909692015-10-06T20:54:00.001-07:002015-10-06T20:54:03.096-07:00Ode to the Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
My alarm tune is very melodious</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I changed it recently;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Replacing monotony with music <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Making mornings musical.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to be a dancer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While dancing, repetitions make
sense;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no monotony;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, boredom dies with each repetition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But one day I wondered,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
what is not dance?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between the silencing of the alarm
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the announcements at the
station,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
there is dance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The metamorphosis of places into
spaces;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
City’s changing silhouettes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
compliment the inconsistent walks
of men.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Waiting for the uneven evening to
arrive;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is beauty in its nifty gait.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between the shutting of the files <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the whistling cookers,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
there is dance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The journey from spaces to places;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gearing up for plain acts,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plainness does not attract
spectators –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, forgetting movements is
permitted here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time to steal some time from time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before the closing time,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the fatigued bodies must perform one
last duty;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To let the pens dance on the plain
stage,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To watch the strange formations,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pyramids,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pillars,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pentagons.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between the unburdening of
thoughts<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the burdened bodies of mornings,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
there is dance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-53117997066359734762015-09-23T20:19:00.003-07:002015-12-27T22:28:26.881-08:00Between the Acts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Between speech and meaning,<br />
there is silence.<br />
Between silence and understanding,<br />
there is life.<br />
Life that bears the weight <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />of unopened letters and unsaid words.</span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
Letters carry feelings;<br />
the absent presence of half-grasped love,<br />
the imprints of the lover's labour.<br />
But about the unlettered?<br />
Don't they love?<br />
Don't they labour?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Writing, an unlearned art.<br />
Leisure, unaffordable and unimaginable.<br />
To buy paper, ink and stamp!<br />
Luxuries or manacles?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Too much distance.<br />
Too less time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
To create the unsaid and believe in the unsayable...<br />
To feel the left over and nourish the long lost...</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-49570958807218144462015-08-27T01:23:00.000-07:002015-12-27T22:34:16.542-08:00The Fruits of Labor <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I decided to write...</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first word that came to my mind was "PALIMPSEST". </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My city is a palimpsest.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Numerous human encounters. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Too many faces. Too many conversations.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not a melting pot.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is a space where history is the only minority.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To demand purity and originality is unjustified;</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The past is as vulnerable and vague as the future.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there is beauty in multiplicity -</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the surety that there is no blank slate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To write about oneself...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About imaginary struggles and self-made phobias.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can visualize myself <span style="background-color: white;">measuring "my life with coffee spoons".</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">But... </span><span style="background-color: white;">I don't even like coffee.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am a tea person.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another dream crushed.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I decided to write about reading...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How easy it is to amplify misery!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To choose Anna Karenina over Game of Thrones;</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to swing between Discipline and Punish.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Struggling to find that accurate word.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(I want something between hope and perseverance)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is about labor, isn't it?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Typing, erasing and retyping.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is difficult to apologize.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is difficult to struggle and fail in love.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is difficult to be tentative.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is difficult to wake up.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, it is about labor, isn't it?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All open-ended works are written by labourers.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036806896459329599.post-32377124974255697192015-08-14T22:20:00.002-07:002016-01-20T20:41:05.252-08:00Facebook – The Tower of Babel or the anxiety camp?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
“She does not miss me anymore. She did not even detect my absence at the party. Didn’t you look at her photos on Facebook? How indifferent she has become. Things have changed between us. We are not close anymore”. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
There is something private and exclusive about every relationship. A person might have numerous friends/acquanitances – but the dynamics of each of his relationships are different and diverse. But Facebook has led to the birth of a strange desire - the yearning to make the personal relationship public. And to measure the worth and strength of a personal relationship using the tools that are publically visible. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
Have you ever wondered why a person does not post a photo of his on Facebook in which he is crying? Why is there a universal desire amongst people to make happiness and celebration visible? It is because Facebook provides a space for individuals to be secure, victorious and invulnerable. It is a parallel world, where anyone can be a superhero. But the problem becomes acute when people begin to take this medium too seriously. More so when they begin to validate the actions of their friends, lovers and partners vis-à-vis the scanty (often misleading) signs and codes that are visible on Facebook. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
Ilana Gershon, a communication and mass media scholar states that Facebook visiblizes the anxieties of the Neo-liberal age. Facebook has produced jealous and anxious individuals who constantly indulge in the act of enacting multiple roles. The happy self... The celebrative self… The victorious self… How very strange that with Facebook it is possible to publicize what one “feels”! </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
There is a deep fissure between the acts that we commit in the real world and the acts that we accomplish in the virtual world. It is very easy to “Unfriend”, “Block” and “Turn off”. But it demands courage to be responsible, real and alive. When one expresses himself, he feels light and content. But in Facebook, each expression can be a form of suppression, of miscommunication, of circumlocution. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
Using Facebook for professional and networking purposes is not a problem. It is the domination of Facebook and other media and the disappearance of the face-to-face, oral communication that has destroyed our already fragmented society.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
So, if posting/liking pictures and meeting/chatting with friends can go hand in hand, then may be it is not the end of the world. </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17497887623187121532noreply@blogger.com0