My Rating : 5 of 5 || My Review on Goodreads || More About The Book || About The Author
Push me not, not right now, Frozen feet is all I have;
Shine me not, not right now, Calming dark is all I have;
Correct me not, not right now, Impelling doubt is all I have;
Wake me not, not right now, Breathing dream is all I have.
Long ago, when I jotted down this poem, I was amidst a whirlwind of events: my final year exams were impending, my heartache was fresh, my best friend had left the city and my muscle tear was repaired but still throbbed a bit. Continue reading
My Rating: 5 of 5 || My Review on Goodreads || More About The Book || About The Author
There lived a pair of eyes in whose serenity the dawn and dusk merged, in whose voice the wise found their nerves, in whose heart even hatred turned love and in whose thoughts, a nation found their own.
Arguably one of the finest poets of all times, Rabindranath Tagore was an authorial voice in the pre-independence era of India. Born in 1861 and having found his calling at the tender age of eight, Tagore chiselled his artistic bent to perfection by diligently harbouring an observant and free stream of thought in his heart. In his lifespan of 80 years, Continue reading
My Rating: 5 of 5 || My Review on Goodreads || More About The Book || Author’s Website
Hi. || Hi. || Is it you? || Yes, I am. || You look different. || Should I have been same? || Mmm… I don’t know. But you have my color. || In setting auburn, yes. || But it still looks content on your skin; that color – like a sheet of fine, wet porcelain covering a tired, antique statue. || And you look dazed, as if an army of nebulous thoughts have held you captive. || Is it so evident? || Yes. || I met a few people – Bernard, Susan, Louis… || …Jinny, Neville and Rhoda. I know. || Do you remember them? || They never left me. || Even after so many years? || Time has shuffled what was detached from me; what was within me, was always out of its reach. || So it all begun from where I stand. Continue reading
My Rating: 4 of 5 || My Review on Goodreads || More About The Book || Author’s Website
In the family of exhilaration, stupor is a vulpine breed. One can often find it lying sulking behind the pure aura of dream, its distant and more heralded cousin. But make no mistake, Sir; its sulking is its unusual way of bulking up its body, flexing its muscles, gritting its teeth and augmenting its personality, all to handover that singular fatal blow which sends dream and its fragments, many fathoms down the irretrievable pit of life. Should you not be a nimble-footed and quicksilver witty, losing your handful of possessions (dreams included) would be your only alternative.
And here we have, a psychoanalyst, under the hypnotic spell of not just stupor, but an erotic one at that! Continue reading
In many ways, this is not my first step. Expression is an integral part of everyone’s life. Mine is no different. Like those observing eyes can never blink without capturing a scene, that heart can never beat without letting an expressive current, flow. Each one of us see, feel, ponder, absorb and reflect. But the gift of words for expression is not for everyone to share. Some handle this gift by holding it aloft in the open for all to witness and participate; some wrap this gift in the silent but throbbing corners of their souls for their own survival and freedom. I have hitherto been a loyal member of the latter community; content in my world of flying words, coherent when happy and discordant when mischievous. You could rest the reason of my love affair with words on my passion for books. Under midnight lamp, under the morning sun, in libraries, in classrooms, in parks, in cafe, sometimes, even in near darkness, I have found solace between the arms of books. My baba introduced me to this magical world and that’s the best gift he bestowed me with. Books: Feeling their spines, smelling their sheets, immersing in their throes and refusing to leave their kingdom has been my tried and tested formula of eternal bliss. Scribbling away their secrets, collecting their nectar, basking in the aftermath of standing witness to epic love stories and marauding wars, I have lived a parallel life for many years now. I was so consumed by that world that it never occurred to me there can be a world even more stunning; a world that is erected on the extensions of these very books, who have held captive people similar to me, across nations, in as many bonds.
Books gave me a language to speak, a language to comprehend and most importantly, a language to communicate. My scribblings are my scattered thoughts, which demand validation before meeting their fate. This is what I am here for. If the consideration is on the canvas of going public, sharing tastes, living passion, sampling trend and embracing legacy, this is indeed my first step; a first step towards giving a superior voice to my inner chaos by allowing it to talk to curious, passionate and positive minds. Nudged by the gentle reminders of my friends and incessant but genuine appeals of a few well-wishers, I have finally embarked on the blogging path. I can sense new plains and unknown terrains and I am not sure what this journey might bring. But I am sure of one thing; I will change during this voyage. And I hope for good; just like a brook whose fleeting personality accentuates its gravitas at every progressive nook.
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