tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-136319552024-03-08T08:35:28.438+05:30My WorldYou could call it a scrap book, a collection box or a diary. Basically a collection of my "publishable" thoughts!My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.comBlogger130125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-27856830925822807962022-10-21T18:08:00.000+05:302022-10-21T18:08:06.088+05:30Lingering Thoughts<br /><br /> Like I shared on my WA status last Saturday morning, for some strange reason, "Edhedho Ennam" from Punnagai Mannan was ringing in my ears and I just had to listen to it. Enjoyed this Chitra's song immensely. It has a very one-sided-crush feel (if you what I mean); brimming over with love but a tad clingy... needy. The situation in the story was such, no?<br />So, one thing led to another (as it happens in love), and I found myself listening to "Vaan Megam"". I always loved this song but I now realise what a departure it is from "Edhedho Ennam"! Just like the two characters (Rekha and Revathi), these two songs have a completely different personality. Apart from the fact that it is chirpy and sprightly, it sends across the effect of a "full fruition". Isn't it what the storyline is all about? I have neither the knowledge nor the courage to analyze or applaud the genius of Raja sir. Everything lays out the mood so clearly--the words, the young synthesizer music and of course, the vocal dynamics of Chitra, who sang both of these songs---one of longing and the of attainment. <br />Listening to "Vaan Megam" brought a tinge of rose to my sullen face. <br />1. As I closed my eyes while listening, I remembered most of the words and most of the choreography, including Sundaram master's little ditty. As a teenager, I had often imagined myself in those rain-soaked canvas shoes of Revathi for more reasons than one. <img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td2/1/16/1f604.png" /><br />2. The nimble fingers playing all those bubble-like keyboard notes, might be those of this young boy with a mop of curly hair who would go on to steal my heart a few years later. He is also known as the Mozart of Madras. <img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tea/1/16/1f970.png" /><img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t2/1/16/1f60d.png" /><br />Here's the song. <a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="https://youtu.be/2oHNn37iRn8?fbclid=IwAR2nS6olaAxznPaCyRMqOU--toFFSFTOiTq7y0eMXvL-oVS7iB6mM5iRd5M" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation; white-space: pre-wrap;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/2oHNn37iRn8</a><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dkCA0R7qWYM" width="320" youtube-src-id="dkCA0R7qWYM"></iframe></div><br />My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-4039874181764269442022-10-21T17:54:00.003+05:302022-10-29T14:56:07.533+05:30Functioning Without Labels<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBhMWFBMZujNVL7AKiGJ3NdXOlnw5LW0p1Ci-9R_ROOCNifYW4p02vLbj3WzCaD8K5gmDTijWKF-u084-A-8quSaTSbbD0xrD36MLSqWRXzbjGQlMnW0feZClwd9PLepuw3c7r8vuNpnnPXuoI2W9WseUeSBjOEtbaovg_qrz9b3X6wmTmCQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="1120" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBhMWFBMZujNVL7AKiGJ3NdXOlnw5LW0p1Ci-9R_ROOCNifYW4p02vLbj3WzCaD8K5gmDTijWKF-u084-A-8quSaTSbbD0xrD36MLSqWRXzbjGQlMnW0feZClwd9PLepuw3c7r8vuNpnnPXuoI2W9WseUeSBjOEtbaovg_qrz9b3X6wmTmCQ=w400-h397" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I recently
came across these terms: hetero-romantic-asexual, ethical polygamy,
polyromantic, graysexual, demisexual… I was quite fascinated by this new-world
jargon. Broadly put, these terms are for people who look at relationships
differently, away from the formula. This is like a make-your-own-salad counter.
There’s the salad leaf—you can add just tomato and zucchini; choose feta or
cheddar or no cheese at all, and maybe throw in some egg if you really are up
to it. Google up these terms to know what I mean. (No, not the salad recipes!)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, you may
ask, “Why complicate things?” I may say, “On the contrary, it is a step to simplify
our complicated lives.” The above-listed thought patterns aren’t new. It’s just
that the labels are. People have always tried to force-fit themselves into prescribed
social notions, believing that is how they ought to live—almost like a</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span>sombre<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <span lang="EN-US">fictional dystopian society, the members on autopilot, blindly
traversing from one role to another, unable to escape the loop out of fear of
punishment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
always believed that humans are like butterflies—a million varieties, with two million
hues, some frail, some monarchs, but each with its beauty. Of course, humans
are famed to categorize everything but fortunately admire aberration in nature.
The same aberration among themselves has never been understood, appreciated or
acknowledged. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is
because of the generations of conditioning that frightens even those with strong
personalities to step away from. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Why label a
pupa even before it hatches? We, humans, are programmed to follow notions of </span>milestones, religion, gender, sexuality, and more, right from birth. These notions end up
shaping us like wet clay in the hands of the potter-society. Every little break
from the preset mould is tied with anxiety. Anxious to get the best education,
the best job, the best possible partner, the best possible children and the
wheel continues. This anxiety leads to panic, leaving us with no time to
introspect. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who are you? Do you want to
learn this? Do you want to do this job? Do you want to get married? What kind of relationship do you want? </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is best for you?</i> These questions
never get asked or answered. Sometimes the mundane aspects can be worked around, like switching streams of education and careers, of course after a lot of
heartache, confusion and misgivings. But sadly, no attention is paid to matters
of the heart. This leaves us often in a maze of unmet and unresolved emotions,
with rarely a workaround solution. Any expression of individual choices gets
labelled as weird, selfish, amoral and illegal.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This brings
me back to the question, “Why complicate things?” Yes, we have complicated our
lives due to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">assumptions</b>—“If Tom and
Jane are happy with this arrangement, Harry and Joan should be happy too. If
they aren’t, they must try harder.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What if we step out of the societal and moral matrix? Chaos and
anarchy, you fear? I don’t think so. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wouldn’t
the world be more like a large, peaceful garden of butterflies if we are
allowed to pursue the flower that <b>we</b> like? And not pursue any flower at all, if we
don’t want to. Tom, Harry, Jane and Joan should have the courage to find their
own little gardens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We have brought
ourselves to a position where we need to invent new labels for what is already safely ensconced in the hearts of thousands. One might think these labels will only
help a small fraction of elitist urbanites in finding themselves. The rest of
the world still struggles and will continue so for a few generations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I say, label or no
label we are who we are/what we are. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So what do
we do? Basically, let people be who they are. Don’t change a thing. Simple, no?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All of us
must stop for a while and breathe. Think for ourselves who we are and what we
want. Sadly, it might be a little late for adults already caught in the wheel
but I think we should be very conscious about passing down unnecessary
mindsets. Time-sheets and log-books are for factories; formulae are for laboratories. Not our hearts. Let’s
not force our lambs into herds and make more lambs. Let’s not trample the
beauty of relationships with our presumptions and anxieties. All
it takes is a bit of maturity, a bit of trust and oodles of respect. As long as
we teach them to love themselves and not hurt another living being, our
children are sure to discover the earth, on their own beautiful wings, without
having to struggle with labels. </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeUBqHuUV84Ccory_TQc-ztjTaMJTBLT3EMxk-c-kxM_TaRbs2k5V8tOgpA0Q4Ik9tN5OrEEFHyIvSjQfzuh0oNJFXqrcp8mnWStWtgKf8VtDG7g1xq2kDZcxYGHpXljOwgWJ-jU-QvFqAIMte4q4nu-GPSkqMs2wPieDUtaw2PNvT2hKlWg"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeUBqHuUV84Ccory_TQc-ztjTaMJTBLT3EMxk-c-kxM_TaRbs2k5V8tOgpA0Q4Ik9tN5OrEEFHyIvSjQfzuh0oNJFXqrcp8mnWStWtgKf8VtDG7g1xq2kDZcxYGHpXljOwgWJ-jU-QvFqAIMte4q4nu-GPSkqMs2wPieDUtaw2PNvT2hKlWg=w125-h107" width="125" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Images: </span><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fujishima Takeji (1867-1943), Butterflies (1904), Wikimedia Commons</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">colorful butterfly PNG Designed By 大洋 from Pngtree.com</span></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-42126446603070574402021-12-20T19:57:00.002+05:302021-12-20T19:57:54.966+05:30 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬The pandemic didn't have an adverse effect on Neil's career, but the changing trends were appearing, like silent patches of seepage on the wall. An upgrade seemed inevitable.<br />And then, there was Natasha. Texts had progressed to video chats. There was still a starchy newness to the relationship. Neil hoped they would soon break through the two cold, glass screens that separated them.<div> <br />"What next? How soon? What does the future have in store for us... for me?" A syncopated rhythm of questions rang in Neil's head.</div><div> <br />That winter evening, Neil sat down with his favourite drink, neat, the way he preferred and began browsing the internet for music. He always loved exploring new artistes and new genres, but, suddenly, he wanted to listen to songs he knew, songs he could sing along with. Neil sank into the wrinkly sofa and into the playlists comfortably. In a while, his duet with Bryan Adams came with familiar ease as they chorused, "It isn't too hard to see we're in heaven."<div><br />Is this how we mine our joys from the tiniest of crevices?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyumBqhoLGEUy1UhRDp436ndZi1efkVcdtYM_p-rJrYzde2ietfzdq_u04yhPycxXAmHPeVWDHkayQEvoZVAhpg_v99xEwS9TgUjfAm8EtH-EiWoKV1gzRID_S9X0J8tZrwyYZN6SPGRgEwd69LoYVKzhIQFoXurpSmtjs50V_FLu_DYnfIg=s770"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyumBqhoLGEUy1UhRDp436ndZi1efkVcdtYM_p-rJrYzde2ietfzdq_u04yhPycxXAmHPeVWDHkayQEvoZVAhpg_v99xEwS9TgUjfAm8EtH-EiWoKV1gzRID_S9X0J8tZrwyYZN6SPGRgEwd69LoYVKzhIQFoXurpSmtjs50V_FLu_DYnfIg=w265-h320" width="265" /></a></div><br />Song: Heaven - Bryan Adams https://youtu.be/s6TtwR2Dbjg<br />Pc: Saatchi Art (Moreaux, 2014)</div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-59780431633983288122021-12-18T21:30:00.001+05:302021-12-18T21:30:43.355+05:3099 Songs!<p> <span style="color: #0e101a;">Just
finished watching </span><em>99 Songs</em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> and I wonder why I didn’t watch it earlier.</span></p><p><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> </span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrW5ZKLYgAyHY7XM5WFr2_k5rSvK8OZnnrbc2xZjQmr5huL3nPxP9-hGPE_q76ohcZxypoDQOfVjD8slQMqoZ-D7Wh4LAKjTuEcBbPZXCF-ZwCbAIdf6q0ab8RdFH0V0c7RkC5MhLvPDMNL01cmk_rh_hFK3kICDNOUezL1rRWhttu25S5cg=s665" imageanchor="1" style="font-style: italic; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="665" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrW5ZKLYgAyHY7XM5WFr2_k5rSvK8OZnnrbc2xZjQmr5huL3nPxP9-hGPE_q76ohcZxypoDQOfVjD8slQMqoZ-D7Wh4LAKjTuEcBbPZXCF-ZwCbAIdf6q0ab8RdFH0V0c7RkC5MhLvPDMNL01cmk_rh_hFK3kICDNOUezL1rRWhttu25S5cg=s320" width="320" /></a></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Since the story has been written by A R Rahman himself,
it obviously ought to be about music, but this film has got so much more. Simply put, it is about Jay's quest for a song that leads him to many other revelations. Just
like the </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">fugue</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> that is referred to in the film, the one-note
story opens out to touch art, surrealism and different forms of relationships.
I’d perhaps call it a fairy tale of sorts with fairy godmothers included. I
could see beauty across every inch of the film. A beauty that only an artist is
capable of imagining.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I know writing a story is no mean effort. A R Rahman, the
musician, has poured every bit of himself into writing this story and with
absolute honesty. He has put in everything that’s touched him, everything he
feels passionately about. Though it was a film, it felt as though I was reading
a book with audio and special visual effects playing in front of me. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Many years ago, when I read Vikram Seth’s </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">An Equal Musi</span></em></span><em>c</em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">,
I wished there was some way the prose and the music could be played together.
And I somehow managed to make my own <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2016/08/a-duet-of-two-loves.html" target="_blank">arrangements</a>. </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">99 Songs</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> gives almost that kind of a delight. A character's physical challenge in this film also brought to mind a parallel to <i>An Equal Music</i>. </span></p><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I tip my hat to Vishwesh Krishnamoorthy. He has done his
best to put several abstract ideas into a visual medium with much grace and
beauty, through his screenplay and direction. Maybe there aren’t grand
dialogues or nuanced characters, but I would let that go because we are looking
at people who are not bona fide story writers. We have someone who has just
written a story and another who has transformed it visually. Having grown up on
a staple of K Vishwanath’s films, I found this a completely different approach.
Strangely, it always seems easier to make films about the struggles of a
gangster than making films about the struggles of an artist. </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">99 Songs</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> might
not earn the appreciation of a film aficionado or a critic. Thankfully, I am
neither! </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Like I said earlier, I did not find anything </span><u><span data-preserver-spaces="true">pretentious</span></u><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> about
this film. Casting would be an example. Ehan Bhat mirrors the simplicity and
sincerity of the character that’s been written. Tenzing Dalha is such a
pleasure to watch. Unable to forget him after </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">Axone</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">,
I was happy to see him in almost every frame of </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">99 Songs</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">.
And then there are the surprising appearances of musicians in the cast that
makes one exclaim in delight. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">(Still sticking to the book analogy) There is a tiny
chapter on Jazz music that Rahman had to definitely write about and I am so
thankful he did it. Like I have said in another <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2021/05/all-that-jazz.html" target="_blank">post</a>, Rahman has been exploring
Jazz music like no one else in the film industry. And I’d love to sing the
Jazzy lullaby chorus to an infant if I ever get a chance! </span></span><span style="color: #0e101a;">I am not saying
anything about the music in the film because that is what it is. I’m unable to
split one from the other. The OST has much more variety than that featured in
the film. </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Maybe I am dreamy-eyed, maybe I’m biased towards Rahman
but I would say it was a Saturday afternoon well-spent. Ha! </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Image Courtesy: </span></span><span style="color: #0e101a;">https://www.moviecrow.com</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-38214554547964969802021-12-15T16:35:00.001+05:302021-12-15T16:35:39.440+05:30Schedules<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Schedules</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The buzz of
the household, the whirr of the appliances, the clockwork of chores.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A quiet
home. A quieter home-office. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The boss of
everything. Everything under control. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And then a
startling rush of loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A
loneliness never felt, even as just a speck,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">amidst tall
trees, the mighty ocean and the wide blue sky. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_cglVyGt0D0ME5sy7iklozO8OMruZ43jNB0BfDFYlLc_gJcLYUNuq2ZKTwmqOpYdvXKEtuMpiIssKmHmcKyh58khVy4xFsZ5HtfIdjwlwiw747EVmJcJgnkOhpmC3zVf6okt/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_cglVyGt0D0ME5sy7iklozO8OMruZ43jNB0BfDFYlLc_gJcLYUNuq2ZKTwmqOpYdvXKEtuMpiIssKmHmcKyh58khVy4xFsZ5HtfIdjwlwiw747EVmJcJgnkOhpmC3zVf6okt/w399-h400/image.png" width="399" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><p></p>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-80334023157245024002021-09-13T00:05:00.001+05:302021-09-13T00:05:44.472+05:30My parents didn’t send me to school to fold another man’s socks!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>'My parents didn’t send me to school to fold another man’s socks!'</i></div><br />This is not a clickbait title, but a line that actually flashed in my head while putting away my husband’s washed socks at the end of a tiring day. This led me to a train of thoughts. I have fortunately never been in a predicament where I didn’t have a choice—folding socks or otherwise. Putting away laundry or setting the house in order comes out of <b>my </b>need for order and nothing else. <br /><br />What I’m going to say now might raise some difficult questions but I’ve been wanting to speak about this for a while, for at least a year, actually. <br /><br />I took a break from work soon after I got married, just to see what it is like to take care of a home and tend to a family. In less than a year, I took up studies and a full-time job soon after. Throughout a difficult pregnancy, childbirth, bringing up the child, I have been in some employment or the other, battling judgements, from within and from outside. I enjoyed every moment of my child’s growing-up as much as I enjoyed every project I had taken up. <br /><br />My love, respect and admiration for all the women who get to choose what they want to do, with complete conviction—either taking up a job or staying at home. Once there is a vocalised choice with conviction, there might not be room for pain. I will get back to this in a bit. <br /><br />There are so many women with no such choice. Their lives are studded with rhinestones of duty and sacrifice. Neither do they speak up, nor are they asked. Everything happens on assumption. Be it childbirth or accommodating the husband’s career, she is made to volunteer. If you notice, she is not solely responsible for either of these. In today’s times, these decisions are not forced explicitly. A responsibility card is thrust in their faces, ever so gently that no one notices it.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW6BykbAwxDTh8cy3LZu9R9jXQwEB_kMhVD7H3aI9cxxAeeRw4JYT-pgKxLEZXYlgCror-e3eYNZiDA75cJKave10YsIpwEsFo65UYIL7OiAAiOPHpRr-TD9YY6p0DcbsxgA-/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img alt="" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1952" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW6BykbAwxDTh8cy3LZu9R9jXQwEB_kMhVD7H3aI9cxxAeeRw4JYT-pgKxLEZXYlgCror-e3eYNZiDA75cJKave10YsIpwEsFo65UYIL7OiAAiOPHpRr-TD9YY6p0DcbsxgA-/w320-h180/image.png" width="320" /></a> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Let’s talk about a semi-urban to urban woman. A woman who is educated and has the skills to be employed well. What happens when she, by her own choice or otherwise, decides to give up her profession and stay back at home? She takes on much more than she had expected to. It rarely ends with cooking and caring for children. More often than not, she feels guilty about taking on domestic help of any kind. There is absolutely nothing to quantify the amount of work that goes on in a home. And if the woman is knowledgeable and independent, she is expected to take on more—driving children to classes or paying bills. <br /><br />Housework is like quicksand that keeps sucking you in. With no one, in particular, to be blamed, it becomes a vicious cycle. First, the stay-at-home mother/wife takes on more work to assuage her feeling that she’s at home all day and therefore piles up her plate with more chores. It grows to a point when the rest of the family borders on becoming lazy or insensitive. It comes to a point when the lady’s presence at home is not enjoyed but demanded. Mind you, I am not drawing a fibre out of feminism or even sexism. My concerns are practical. I am only talking about fair play. Setting aside someone's clothes to be ironed or getting up to make a cup of coffee for someone when I have a minute does not make me any less but at the same time, it becomes a problem when these tasks are demanded or if the lady is questioned when they aren’t done. <br /><br />Gone are those days when we glorified our mothers and grandmothers who were supposedly the fulcrum of the entire household. We were hardly familiar with the core of that person. Let bygones be bygones. With time, circumstances have changed. <b>The household does not belong to one person.</b> The man cannot shirk his responsibilities with the excuse of being ignorant or too busy. This effect is sure to trickle down to the children.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkDA6dvNl5Qm8tTQ2mCZD7Ayv6TNzPeM19ftN3oJgjVCEgq_qg7Q8dWbXBC6R6iLOT-Vxjxk0j-UqLJlwyR6qUGQfGVLRZhtINJ3wNqrxAsBGwisIpje_mkSuzLWcIsbKMjk3/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img alt="" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="900" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpkDA6dvNl5Qm8tTQ2mCZD7Ayv6TNzPeM19ftN3oJgjVCEgq_qg7Q8dWbXBC6R6iLOT-Vxjxk0j-UqLJlwyR6qUGQfGVLRZhtINJ3wNqrxAsBGwisIpje_mkSuzLWcIsbKMjk3/w200-h198/lost-identity-hoda-esmaeilian.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The biggest fallout of all this is <b>IDENTITY</b>. Caught in this whirlpool of chores, the woman loses her sense of identity and forgets her passions and herself. Her individuality is camouflaged in the garb of the family’s interests. Over the years, this has been pointed out a million times already and at the risk of sounding clichéd, let me say that nothing is permanent. Nobody is indispensable. The home won’t need the mother/wife all the time. What happens then? She is suspended in a meaningless vacuum. Where is she to find her purpose? Does she get a break from the chores, even then?</div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>Moving away from employment to take care of the home and children are most welcome if the decision is conscious and carefully thought of.</div><div><br />a. Who will take the decision? The lady and no one else. No one can evaluate the value of her employment except herself. There is a lot more to a woman being employed. Money is just one reason. <br /><br />b. When will she get back to work? Is this a permanent arrangement or a temporary one? Can she take up anything flexible if she desires to? Will she have added a skill or enhanced her knowledge during this period? <br /><br />c. Where do her personal interests and passions fit amidst all this? That must never be the last priority. <br /><br />d. What is the ambit of the work she is going to be doing at home? It must come with its boundaries of capacity and time. <br /><br />e. Where is the money going to come from? Is she going to have autonomy of finances? Is there going to be an operative bank account for household expenses? What happens to her own finances that she has already earned and saved out of prior employment? <br /><br />f. What happens in case of an eventuality? Will either of the spouses be able to pick up from where the other has left off? <br /><br />g. What about a sudden, additional responsibility of extended families, in-laws? <br /><br />Maybe all this sounds like the cold fine print in a contract. Like it or not, these are things to be thought of to avoid any assumptions and heartache. Ultimately, everything about this decision must be collective, with no room for compulsion or benevolence. Everyone involved must understand the purpose of this decision so that there is neither a cry of martyrdom nor a sense of disrespect.</div><div><br /></div><div>After all, every human being is born with a purpose that's more glorious than laundry. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Images: </span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Xanthe Bouma, source: theatlantic.com</span><div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Lost Identity by Hoda Esmaeilian, source: fineartamerica.com<br /></span><br /><br /><div><br /> <br /><br /> </div></div></div></div></div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-65457819426660181562021-08-26T21:38:00.021+05:302021-08-26T23:05:55.333+05:30Puddles of Memories<p><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFjNHHyuXbn2H2gWVI1SRBJV1EdWsVoQfD6hNLlcYOTQvdDIZuUpqeHy2In2YopuzZGhb5aaC7j_0UKRQQDTQdO_7PxwbUliYq5zlo1u_nA6UEDFZ8A7NMLFMhA4St-94nM4c/s477/875f2c1579c666dd59f9f4491b01ef50.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img alt="PC: tumblr" border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="477" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFjNHHyuXbn2H2gWVI1SRBJV1EdWsVoQfD6hNLlcYOTQvdDIZuUpqeHy2In2YopuzZGhb5aaC7j_0UKRQQDTQdO_7PxwbUliYq5zlo1u_nA6UEDFZ8A7NMLFMhA4St-94nM4c/w400-h374/875f2c1579c666dd59f9f4491b01ef50.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It came like a sudden summer
rain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">UNEXPECTED.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He and she.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Just like children.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">They soaked up every drop of
the rain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">IGNORING Mum’s warning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Summer rain is no good at
all!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">They loved, laughed, lived.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As if for the first time ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">They played, praying it would
never stop, but<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">KNOWING all the time that it
would.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Summer rain it was, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">***</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He and She.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">They slid back to their jejune
lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">REMEMBERING.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">How as children, they trudged
back to school<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">After a bout of cold.
Strangely<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">SAD that they were cured.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The puddles remained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">GLAD.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">To float their paper boats, to
watch their reflection. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It made them happy. It brought
no storms.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Summer rain it was, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-89540357232741600252021-05-23T20:44:00.001+05:302021-05-23T20:44:23.507+05:30All that Jazz<p>I've always been enamoured by Jazz music. </p><div>To start from home, I've loved A R Rahman's lovely jazz numbers. </div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://youtu.be/TAPHomV3J1M " target="_blank">Vennila Vennila </a>& <a href="https://youtu.be/mxuh9CNIqHo">Hello Mr Edhikatchi</a> both from <i>Iruvar </i></li><li><a href="https://youtu.be/gBwImfZdrHs " target="_blank">Jillendru Oru Kaadhal </a>- Just love this one!</li><li><a href="https://youtu.be/RzgezQh6900" target="_blank">Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na </a> - I think this is the song where I realised that ARR has a unique talent for Jazz </li><li>The latest addition <a href="https://youtu.be/T_-gIOBvsdw" target="_blank">Mera Naam Kizie </a>...an earworm I wouldn't mind.</li></ul>And it's a blessing when he chooses to sing them himself with his accordion or piano. (<i>Side note</i>: I'm making a list of songs where he's played the accordion.) </div><div><br /><div>Coming back to Jazz, I've heard this genre as the BG score in so many films. Recently, <i>Marvellous Mrs. Maisel </i>and <i>La La Land</i>. I always listen to Jazz on the site, <a href="https://www.accuradio.com/channel/Jazz/3064" target="_blank">AccuRadio </a>when I'm working. I'm familiar with Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Frank Sinatra (his music is also a kind of jazz, I understand). I've loved Madonna do her Jazz in the album Dick Tracy. If I remember right, Indian fusion artistes have also touched upon Jazz (L Shankar, Zakir Hussain with John McLaughlin?). I want to learn more about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always wondered why I'm so attracted to Jazz music. It evokes a sense of freedom, leisure (not just of hotel lounges), happiness, a sense of living the moment and pleasure (not just of bedrooms, though Jazz cringingly features as a BG for so many seduction scenes [eyeoll] in films.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So while working today, as always I was listening to music and this playlist popped up. It has some lovely jazzy numbers. Interesting, it's called <i>Wandering around the Parisian Streets</i>! This playlist evokes so many thoughts, dreams and memories...thoughts of lengthy meaningful conversations, dreams of sitting in a nightclub and listening to live jazz, memories of my trip to Paris - one of the best memories of my life. I still can't put my finger down on one thing that made me fall in love with the city. Sometimes, you just fall in love without knowing why - Paris and Jazz are just a few examples. </div><div><br /></div><div>And this is the playlist that popped up on YouTube, unasked. </div><div>https://youtu.be/4WLiUSqNcak</div><div>While I'm still halfway through, I like Music Of The Sea - Fishing Secrets Jeremy Moyer and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VMwnVv0poA">Je Ne T'aime Plus</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPV5PN5Egkib-vJC9o00evbVZnKZwrcUFRuhHYRRG_t-GQqg0IQ1pQkse_D0h6Qv-MvanT0v3oLGoMr3pGj6qmt9Vl5M1-5eulZt5d1B5L6SeL9GQ39QARncn1cKHFqzGAlVOC/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1500" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPV5PN5Egkib-vJC9o00evbVZnKZwrcUFRuhHYRRG_t-GQqg0IQ1pQkse_D0h6Qv-MvanT0v3oLGoMr3pGj6qmt9Vl5M1-5eulZt5d1B5L6SeL9GQ39QARncn1cKHFqzGAlVOC/w320-h242/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>Tell me about your love story with jazz or a genre you are inexplicably attracted to. </div><div><br /><br /></div><div></div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-92114898373319617362021-04-02T13:25:00.009+05:302021-06-28T10:11:43.872+05:30A little time off<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>Just stole a glance, though I wished to linger.<br />The lake and the moon need their time together too.</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjYsIuKY_eQvD1a4fGILBpAXUBqtTkSxCXSnkAwqiBFSm1NHAjuv5HJH5spz1lJ-5OMmHz_W-lvzDJ2Hw-VBI9Th4IBxlzwX7RmXrTEY612UXXExRq5Cr-BsjeEIepZyPGy_r/s4624/20210126_182932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjYsIuKY_eQvD1a4fGILBpAXUBqtTkSxCXSnkAwqiBFSm1NHAjuv5HJH5spz1lJ-5OMmHz_W-lvzDJ2Hw-VBI9Th4IBxlzwX7RmXrTEY612UXXExRq5Cr-BsjeEIepZyPGy_r/s320/20210126_182932.jpg" /></a></div><br /></i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><div style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></i></span></div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-13580242188933140752021-04-02T13:19:00.004+05:302021-04-02T19:56:06.342+05:30Labels<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMikGQkL4UDvTHXEDJRZ6RrObkm6xZgdkqRy_upfd8AFHFdvg3ZoZQNEdLjA0whDk6tD9xEnn5yjfI74ux1JWFra0evRwJaIJadJxZZcJ4tDUJ2vCw6TRmuB1ibK2_hyphenhyphenuY7I-f/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="444" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMikGQkL4UDvTHXEDJRZ6RrObkm6xZgdkqRy_upfd8AFHFdvg3ZoZQNEdLjA0whDk6tD9xEnn5yjfI74ux1JWFra0evRwJaIJadJxZZcJ4tDUJ2vCw6TRmuB1ibK2_hyphenhyphenuY7I-f/w517-h640/image.png" width="517" /></a></div><br /><p></p>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-49848093211840588522021-04-02T13:17:00.005+05:302021-04-02T19:55:26.335+05:30Adventurers<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>We are always warned about "thin lines" between this and that. <br /><br />But some people always like balancing on those lines. Adventurers.</i></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig43fly6vXiiQCDyftFk-TgAeQhZXI1qJ9zyXfh7GoLwENMKisSUFPx0qt9pTqwGcQwLkd0zzYD3Ki0czDg7Xegj1_8BFpV8sCgQe2Bn0aEf5xE_U59e6l1wkz3OMz5nWYvH4_/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig43fly6vXiiQCDyftFk-TgAeQhZXI1qJ9zyXfh7GoLwENMKisSUFPx0qt9pTqwGcQwLkd0zzYD3Ki0czDg7Xegj1_8BFpV8sCgQe2Bn0aEf5xE_U59e6l1wkz3OMz5nWYvH4_/w320-h320/image.png" width="320" /></a></span></i></div><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span></i><p></p>pc: kolyan.net<div class="Jea hs0 zI7 iyn Hsu" data-test-id="maybe-clickthrough-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"><div class="fte l_x zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-left: calc(var(--g-boint)*6); margin-right: calc(var(--g-boint)*-7); width: 4px;"></div></div><div class="zI7 iyn Hsu" data-test-id="closeup-title" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="CloseupTitleCard" style="color: #444444; font-weight: 700;"><div class="KO4 zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-top: calc(var(--g-boint)*4);"><div itemscope="" itemtype="https://schema.org/Article"><div itemprop="name"><a class="Wk9 xQ4 CCY czT ljY kVc eEj" href="http://kolyan.net/index.php?newsid=27168" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" style="border-radius: calc(var(--g-boint)*0); color: #444444; display: block; outline: none; text-decoration-line: none; transition: transform 85ms ease-out 0s;" target="_blank"></a></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="Jea jzS ujU zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex: 1 1 auto; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px;"><div class="richPinInformation"></div><div class="zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="WbA zI7 iyn Hsu" data-test-id="canonical-card" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-top: calc(var(--g-boint)*10);"><div class="Jea gjz zI7 iyn Hsu" style="align-items: center; box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"></div><div class="zI7 iyn Hsu" data-test-id="triedItCommentTabs" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="zI7 iyn Hsu" style="box-sizing: border-box; height: 52px;"><div role="tablist" style="display: flex; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-top: 4px; user-select: none;"><div class="ExperimentalTabs" data-test-id="tab-0" style="margin-left: 0px; position: relative;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-67483914652452119232021-03-21T19:34:00.001+05:302021-03-21T19:34:29.219+05:30A Suitable Boy TV Series - Almost thereA Suitable Boy - a book that I loved immensely. And so was looking forward to catching the series. Two episodes down and I had mixed feelings about it before Meera Nair's hand appeared to save the series. <br /><br />The first thing that struck me was that the setting, language and body-language didn't quite look like the 1950s. A lot of it felt more contemporary, at least in the initial episodes. Well, there might have been a set of highly educated, affluent families trying to fill the vacuum of the British snobbery. I need to do my research, though.<br /><br />Coming back to language, you find certain characters easily shifting between Urdu/Hindi and English, which sounded a little unnatural. Maybe they should have stuck to English all through. A very difficult decision I'd say. Also, the diction in the initial episodes felt like a college-play and it did get smoothed out later.<br /><br />The series takes off somewhere around episode 3. That is when we feel Mira Nair's presence perhaps for the first time. The visualisation of Lata's dilemma and agony was beautiful. <br /><br />I guess that is where one has to appreciate the writers of the series. It is extremely difficult to encapsulate a novel of these proportions into 6 episodes of about an hour each. You need to pick and choose very carefully between what is absolutely essential and what is not, how to throw in a reference, how to weave in sub-texts and so on. What intrigues me every time I watch the adaptation of a book is how the director visualises the unspoken. I guess there lies their strength. However, I felt certain subtleties that Vikram Seth used in the book should have just been left as such. For having skipped the character of Veena Kapoor entirely, I felt Meenakshi's character was unnecessarily detailed only to be dropped off suddenly. <br /><br />One thing that helped in piecing together all of this is the brilliant casting. I think this was one reason that kept me hooked on to the series. Right through, I kept sitting up and exclaiming "Hey him... hey..it's her!" Even the actors I haven't seen before are quite nicely cast and are have done a great job. The lady who played Mrs Kapoor is a natural. Okay, I had imagined Adil Hussain for Mahesh Kapoor's character but I love Ram Kapoor. So, I'm happy either way. Oh! Danesh Razvi as Kabir Durrani is so charming! Would love to see him more often in films. And Namit Das as Haresh! Maybe I like the character better now. He played the character to perfection (You are caught with mixed feelings between the actor that you like and the character that you, well...!) <br /><br />I really can't say if I'd like to recommend this series to those who have not yet read the book because the series undoubtedly lacks the depth and the entire intent of the book. It has captured Lata Mehra's story to the fullest. It has tried its best to get the mood of the political strife, sadly there isn't much time. Like I have said in my review of the book, the phrase "Suitable Boy" is much more than just a marriage match. Here's my <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-suitable-boy-just-perfect-for-me.html" target="_blank">review </a>of the book.<div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILwLVspjEtDjKsILGntZp9CmkoPVhOfxB1tAS0_NFic1T7v9FlPPaOjVA7Iw7iwzEFkpkMh03JfLX0DY3ZvBrn5MaQOUTNsFSjbtFcDbjU62yndrfTnaHbYziCw-ZfIE3d6ax/s1804/A+Suitable+Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1804" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILwLVspjEtDjKsILGntZp9CmkoPVhOfxB1tAS0_NFic1T7v9FlPPaOjVA7Iw7iwzEFkpkMh03JfLX0DY3ZvBrn5MaQOUTNsFSjbtFcDbjU62yndrfTnaHbYziCw-ZfIE3d6ax/w640-h277/A+Suitable+Boy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-4283543818557866672021-01-09T22:32:00.002+05:302021-03-31T18:36:06.847+05:30Surgical Strike<br />"Just imagine", they said, "how free you are going to be." Everybody pep-talked me. "You are not sick. You are only going to get better. You are not a patient," they said. So I went and got an expensive mani-pedi, finished it off with red nail polish.<br /><br /><b>The first thing as soon as I check-in: </b>(note: my usage of the term check-in shows my state of mind at that time) "Madam, please cut nails and remove nail polish." The earth shattered around me. There were thunder and lightning. I turned around three times in slow-mo "<i>Aakhir kyon?</i>"<br /><br />The angel in white boomed amidst the thunder, "<i>Patient-ku</i>, no nail polish allowed meydem." Disillusionment #374 of my life. I tried to make a joke out of it, "<i>Patient-aa? Naana? Chey</i>" etc. "You only meydem patient"<br /><br />I begged. I tried reasoning. Nothing worked. Finally, making impatient clucking noises, I obeyed the nurse's orders. And she sweetly patted me and said "Thank you for being patient with us" (Don't you pun on me, woman!)<br /><br /><b>The surgery:</b> I was lying there, watching the (literally) cold operation theatre being prepared for the surgery. I don't know if they were preparing to fell a tree or work on a human body. Such was the size of the tools they were laying out.<br /><br />I meekly asked them, "Do you have to really do this in front of me?" Here I was, going through the most unattractive and unattracted day and there was this anaesthetist trying to make flirtatious small talk, comparing the nightlife of Hyderabad, Chennai and Bangalore. The conversation did put me to ease but I was too proud to accept that Chennai has a boring nightlife. Hmpfff...<br /><br />Soon they bundled up my spine like an old, unstarched Bengal cotton saree and punctured several times. The nurses were so excited as if they were pinning sequins on the old Bengal cotton saree.<br /><br />I could hear exclamations of "Ah! Now it's good. Ah! Super." In a few moments, I was in a daze. The anaesthetist came close and asked me, "How do you feel?" I could hear myself drawl, "As if I have downed six pegs of whiskey neat" Hangover of all that nightlife banter I guess.<br /><br />I was wheeled out of the OT, grinning like a Cheshire cat, waving like a gallant Olympic medallist, all thanks to the whiskey..err.. the anaesthesia. Unsavoury display of discarded body parts almost made visiting relatives faint in fright. Thank God, nothing untoward happened, else I would have ended up paying the room rent x 2. <br /><br /><b>Post-Op:</b> Anyway, I managed to sneak home within a few days and then started the trouble. Sat up all night because of heartburn (arrey, I mean the real physical heartburn yaar), sprained my neck because of that. So for the next few days, I was a robotic Frankenstein who had to do a complete turn around when the peripheral vision gave up. Then there was this no-bending rule. Being a rebel, I always like to bend the rules. But when they ask the rebel herself not to bend, that's when you realise life has its way of taking its revenge. That's when your brat will toss her jeans on the floor; your cook will leave onion peels on the floor. And you must refrain yourself from bending down, just like Bhagyashree in the final act of the Dil Deewana song. Label me a control freak if you want to. Fine, but what will you do when the bar of soap slips off your hand in the middle of a bath? You get creative and resourceful. You learn to use your toes to pick up anything ranging from clothes to hair to bottle caps, you name it (remind me to enlist myself for the next season of India's Got Talent). If the toes fail you, you learn to use shampoo instead of soap. <br /><br />While I was recovering, people pampered me with cinnamon rolls and <i>baadhushaas</i>. The goodies have now neatly arranged themselves like a kid's stacking rings around my waist. I don't know how many more months I will have to walk around with this jiggly-jelly-belly. (Why the hell do good things have to be so fattening?)<br /><br />When I rapidly lost a lot of weight soon after the surgery, I was thrilled. The lady at the hospital knowingly nodded her head and gave out the dark prophecy "You will gain as quickly as you have lost" Oh Oracle, how I ignored your warning!<br /><br />Now after two months, the stacking rings follow with me to the office desk, threatening to get larger, but that's okay. I am happy that it's all behind me now or on my behind.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVvLQbKxHatEkuAZz7uApdeVWaQZtPcEYqZT47jHUHdb_bVXIK1mNgZL-bLpCfugORTjr6xsYuvyt99Knrn5ipXi6iEpt1q7VgOixe71KCIVxW6YmpsJaFED_XgU_d9SlXkky/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="234" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVvLQbKxHatEkuAZz7uApdeVWaQZtPcEYqZT47jHUHdb_bVXIK1mNgZL-bLpCfugORTjr6xsYuvyt99Knrn5ipXi6iEpt1q7VgOixe71KCIVxW6YmpsJaFED_XgU_d9SlXkky/" width="160" /></a></div><br /><u>Reference material for the uninitiated</u></div><div>* Stacking rings: Illustrated above</div><div>* Bhagyashree's urges: https://youtu.be/7IHTdSc3WTw?t=239</div>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-81675467216136902992020-11-17T18:41:00.002+05:302020-11-17T18:41:19.945+05:30The Longest Month of my Life<p class="MsoNormal">This is a long read, more like a note to
myself for remembering the learning and filtering out the pain. If you are in a hurry,
I would ask you to skip right to end of this post where I have shared some of
my learning.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><b>15 October: </b>It all started as what we
thought was husband’s annual bout of fever. The doctors began trying
antibiotics and paracetamol. I was hopeful because the cough wasn’t dry. He, however, began isolating himself. Our
concern was his aged parents and our daughter. With increasing temperature and
a loss of smell, the inevitable test was done. In the meanwhile, I was trying
to get his parents to move back to their flat. The result came out by the afternoon. It was the dreaded COVID positive result, with a medium viral load.
After a few phone calls, he decided to drive up to the hospital and get himself admitted. It pained me to send him off that way, all alone with
a few essentials packed. But given the circumstances, it seemed the best thing to
do.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">My story in the meanwhile: My head was filled with questions and
confusion and starting from Sunday night... “Could it be the C-word?”. “But
we’ve been so careful!” and so on. Additionally, I started developing chills
and tiresomeness from the morning of 13 October. I thought it was stress. I
had no choice but to take charge of the house and the family. I got in touch
with my ever-dependable Homeopathy practitioner who gave my husband some
medicines and preventive medication for all of us too; I stocked the kitchen
with supplies, began making suitable food for my husband, hoping the fever
would be okay in a couple of days. I felt like doing the test for myself too
because of feverishness and body pain. But we decided to wait for his result to
come out. By the afternoon of 15th, I got a strange cramp in my belly, much like a
period cramp. After my husband got admitted at the hospital and my in-laws back
at their flat, there was a strange eerie silence at home. I was getting sick
too but had to put up a brave face for the sake of our little one. Wonderful
friends were on video call that night, trying to cheer us up. The moment I
broke the news about my husband to my apartment Whatsapp Group, a neighbour
with whom I had hardly interacted in two years, sprung into action. She was
there on phone and Whatsapp all the time, checking on us. More about the angel
later. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>The husband at the hospital:</b> Blood tests
and CT scans were done. 5% lung infection seen, with the CRP (infection levels)
showing 28. He was taken good care of with medication and a good diet. He was
cheerful and looked fine. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>16 October:
</b>I arranged to have home-testing done for myself and our daughter. By
evening, the inevitable happened. I turned out positive with a low viral load
and by the grace of the Universe, our little one was spared. Now, this is where
the real stress started. I broke down into shameless tears. Clueless. What do I
do? How do I isolate myself? Some people suggested I isolate myself and let her
take charge of the house. We could always get food from outside. She just needs
to place the food outside my room. Doctors at my husband’s hospital suggested
she be sent off to my parents’ house as a 12-year old cannot be a transmitter.
A few more medical opinions sought, we decided that it was best to keep her at
home and not to expose my parents or in-laws to her. In the meantime, I walked
up to a lab to get a CT scan and other tests done. The kindly neighbour I
mentioned earlier asked us to place bowls outside the door and filled it with
fresh, hot food. Something she did on almost every day of our quarantine—a
miracle I will never forget. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Miracle number two was the amazing calmness
and composure shown by our little one, who had never slept alone ever, forget managing the house by herself. With her elder cousin’s supervision on a
video call, she sanitised her room which was shared by the two of us for the
past 4 days, threw out all bedding, lugged in fresh mattresses and sheets from
another room. Before that, she placed food outside my room. We then connected
on Google Hangouts video call, she wept a little but soon collected herself.
Catching up on day’s events, storytime and prayers on video call would become a
bedtime routine for the rest of the 14 days. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">However, since running the household would
be too much for her, we decided to “reverse quarantine” her. She would stay in
her room for the next two weeks and I would have access to the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>17 October:</b> Thankfully, my husband got
discharged from the hospital in the evening. That morning, Corporation staff disinfected the house and surprisingly reassured us that everything will be alright soon.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>18 October onwards: </b>With the approval of
doctors, I began cooking, whatever little I could. There were a zillion
precautions to be taken—wash hands, wear mask, wash hands again, use gloves
when needed; use one set of utensils for us, one set for the daughter, one set for serving ourselves, one
set for cooking. I would wash my daughter's utensils, put them outside her room and at mealtimes, she would wash them again. The rest of my quarantine was spent in washing hands, washing
utensils, disinfecting the kitchen, washing clothes, disinfecting the washing
machine...you get the drift. There were a lot of medicines and steaming to be
taken. I focussed on cooking salads and soups and shamelessly accepted any food
anyone offered to give. For the first five days or so, apart from extreme
fatigue, we felt unusually hungry, though we’d lost all sense of taste and
smell. Since it was <i>Navaratri</i>, the angel neighbour kept sending us delicious
and healthy <i>prasadam</i> as well. Every time I thanked her all she said was that
she was blessed to be able to cook for us at this time and I just needed to
pass on the kindness to someone else in need.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Our daughter was busy with her online
classes. We tried to keep in touch with her as much as possible. Sometimes, she
at her doorstep and we at ours; sometimes, on video calls. It pained me to have
a little child touch-deprived for two weeks but I couldn’t afford to shed a
tear even in solitude</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">—</span>it was from my spirit that she had to gain her
confidence. How she handled her situation is still a wonder. Mornings, we
resorted to a long stick to knock at her door and wake her up—couldn’t cross
the line you see? ☺</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>21 October: </b>The husband’s temperature began
shooting up again, so did the cough. He would curl up and sleep almost all day.
Things got a little worrisome. As against our fear of repeat hospitalisation,
he was asked to come and get injections every day, which was also a lot of
effort for him to drive up to an under-staffed hospital (an easy 3 to 4-hour
process every day). The lung infection which was only around 5% initially,
increased to 30% by the 7th day. Apparently, a 7-day spike is something to be
expected, with a marked increase in temperature, cough or other symptoms. The hospital visits somehow kept his mind busy, which had begun playing around
existential questions. He again got some fantastic support from our Homeopathy
doctor, whose medication felt holistic. He managed to read up <i>The Secret </i>during those long hospital waiting hours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>26 October:</b> The husband’s injections were
completed and he felt a lot better. Rid of the sleepiness, we began looking
forward to the end of the quarantine and so did our little one. All our moods
began improving considerably. We arranged to have the house disinfected and
deep-cleaned and asked doctors about how the quarantine should be ended.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>30 October: </b>The day of the big freedom. We woke up early and </span>disinfected everything we could before the disinfecting could be done professionally. Our baby stepped out of her room, we all had our masks on and we only held her hands. The hugs had to wait. People from the Corporation visited
to check on us. We ripped off the horrendous sticker and said a big prayer for
having sailed safely through this most frightening experience.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Twist in the tale:</b> So the Quarantine ended,
we had the house deep-cleaned on 31 October and I realised that I was still a
little tired, the back hurt and I couldn’t manage full-fledged cooking for
another 10 days. Though the husband felt
better, he needed rest too. So I decided to order side dishes from outside and
cook rice at home. Whether it was food poisoning or something else, I will
never know. But on November 1, I fell extremely sick. Never been this sick in
ages. I threw-up, don’t know how many times, had the most unbearable backache
and when I passed out in the bathroom, my husband drove me straight up to the
ER at the hospital. I spent almost the whole day there. A series of blood
tests, brain and lung scans were done. Everything was clean but I was just
unable to sit up straight. Saline and IV medication was given and I was sent
home. That night and the next morning were hell. My head was spinning, had terrible headaches,
the vision was blurred (something that happened to both of us at different stages), I couldn’t
walk straight without support. The doctors advised us to take the assistance of my
parents as we could not transmit the virus anymore. So we landed at my parents’
place. My parents took care of me for almost two weeks. My mom, being a yoga
practitioner, a Reiki and acupressure healer and more than anything, an
effervescent personality, gave me a lot of strength apart from feeding me with
nutritious meals several times a day. Additionally, my Homeopathy doctor couriered me some great
medicines. It was she who pointed out that the virus has probably affected my
nerves with the effects manifesting a little late. I went on and off patches of
fear, panic and sadness but tried to replace most negative thoughts with happy
ones. My head still spins, I rejoice when I walk a straight line, my sense of
taste and smell are a wee better, but I know for sure that I am on the right track. I couldn’t read but kept listening to music or watching feel-good shows on
OTT. Don’t want to question my abilities but want to remind myself
of the person that I used to be, of the things I was capable of. I have rejoined work this week and have been cooking with my husband's help. Feels good!</span> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Friends, like I said at the beginning, this
has been a long post but I definitely do want to share these thoughts:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span lang="EN-GB">COVID
19 is real. It is a virus. Not a fabrication of any healthcare company or
organisation.</span></li><li>You
never know who, when and how it affects us. All one can do is to identify
potentially unsafe situations and avoid them. We still don’t know how exactly
we caught it. Our only guess is my husband’s workplace.</li><li>If
you must step out, use masks of good quality. Cotton bandanas or <i>gamchas</i> might
not work the best at all times. Be very careful while meeting with people you
don’t interact with every day. Outdoors or well-ventilated places are the
safest bet. Be careful while dealing with paperwork and cash. Apart from the
dangers, COVID 19 is an extremely inconvenient illness to have, the
inconveniences of maintaining safety is nothing comparatively.</li><li>If
you don’t want to get admitted at a government hospital, this can cost quite a
bit. Keep your insurance papers handy.</li><li>Having
said this, I would reiterate NOT to panic. Anxiety, in any illness, is bound to
magnify the symptoms.</li><li>Keep
taking steaming, vitamins and zinc supplements without fail. Try native
concoctions/<i>kadhaas</i>/<i>kashaayams</i>. They might taste bitter, cause heat in the body
but see which kind works best for you. Keep eating fruits and fresh, hot food.</li><li>While
still on the above point, when we hear about someone being in trouble, it is
only natural for us to be thankful about how safe we are. But please, let that
be a silent prayer. There is no need to tell a sufferer how smartly you have
been protecting yourself. If in doubt, go back to the second point. Please.</li><li>Don’t
hesitate to talk to people, ask for help. I don’t know what we would have done
without the help of our doctor-friends who kept untiringly offering guidance,
friends who dropped off food and medicines at our doorstep, neighbours who
offered us food and did not shun us and our families who more than made up
their lack of presence by offering constant cheer and moral support.</li><li>Fill
every inch of your life with gratitude, without which it would have been
impossible for us to get through this difficult time.</li></ul><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I1N2S_yyZExfrh8h-BuDr65eQVi2rnXFXfyNYRHwwc2y-_yMQvhtfhUrdaSAZ4FpDBqh4C_K1_Wd0ZCTKBEiFgvZ2TkN43am6cbQVtXQYyL_e4Z7iVrxOLdn_Xyf1tJwDsVj/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1022" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I1N2S_yyZExfrh8h-BuDr65eQVi2rnXFXfyNYRHwwc2y-_yMQvhtfhUrdaSAZ4FpDBqh4C_K1_Wd0ZCTKBEiFgvZ2TkN43am6cbQVtXQYyL_e4Z7iVrxOLdn_Xyf1tJwDsVj/w256-h320/image.png" width="256" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><p></p>
<p> </p>My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-16813671352053449322020-06-14T18:12:00.000+05:302020-07-21T15:28:33.041+05:30When Talking Ain't Easy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I see a lot of well-intentioned posts that advise people to “talk to family and friends or anyone if they are feeling low or sad.” They say, “Why can’t people talk to family and friends when they are sad?” <br />
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The thing is, they can’t talk. That is the whole thing. With depression, it is extremely difficult to speak to anyone about it. It is a greyish-green cloud of low self-worth, loneliness, helplessness and related dark components. You just want to put an end to it.<br />
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<img alt="Alone In A Crowd" - Art of the Blackbird- Dana Summersill ..." height="320" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/2683/5566/products/20180430204312_800x.jpg?v=1571609341" style="text-align: center;" width="299" /><br />
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Let me break this up for you. The symptoms of depression are never the same. The degrees, causes and triggers are as varied as the people suffering from depression are. Not all kinds of depression lead to suicidal thoughts. Most of the time, you feel isolated from the rest of the world. Sometimes you feel you are looking at yourself from the outside. You get to see an aerial view of yourself. You feel weird about your sadness. You are caught in a dark space between over-reaction and numbness, between over-working and idleness. You want to put an end to it. You are embarrassed about it. Now, this is what makes it extremely difficult to talk about even to the closest of your friends or siblings however patient and kind they might be. As listeners, we tend to give “solutions” or tell them “it’ll be alright”. Even if meant well, such words often seem superficial. Imagine this. You do talk to your friend, you feel better and even motivated. Cut to two-three days later. You are doing something mundane like brushing your teeth. This dark cloud suddenly seeps in from somewhere and makes you cry uncontrollably for several hours. You think of your losses and fears. In your head, you play out the conversation you had with your friend recently. You feel disappointed that nothing has changed—neither your situation nor yourself. Feelings of being betrayed (your friend said everything will be fine), having betrayed (you promised to cheer up) come rushing in, you are physically and emotionally alone, you want to put an end to it and then, snap! It is either temporarily over with a long crying session or it is permanently over. You wanted to put an end to it. <br />
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The only thing we can do is to check on our friends regularly. Gently, very subtly, make them feel good, make them feel important. Show them they are needed instead of making them feel needy. The shoulders might ache a little with all the leaning but it’s well worth the effort. Do anything but sound condescending or harsh. Most important, handhold them into seeking professional help. It is NOT easy but important. If possible, talk to the nearest, trusted person in that friend's circle. Work as a team. Don’t wait. It might be too late. <br />
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Picture Credits: <a href="https://www.curatedeclectics.com/products/alone-in-a-crowd-custom-acrylic-painting">curatedeclectics.com</a></div>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-7750961094601187972020-05-01T15:15:00.000+05:302020-05-15T18:21:49.066+05:30Mind the Language<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Not just during the lockdown but I've always had a challenge selecting good films for my daughter to watch on OTT platforms. Friends reading this might recognise my favourite question following a film recommendation. "Is it PG?" I keep doing extensive research on the internet. She rolls her pre-teen eyes at films that are 'twee'. I have to agree. The films are really dumbed down and painted in pastel shades. Unless it appeals to her classics are always a risk. So what does she want? She looks for depths of character, a storyline that makes her think, comedies that are not slapstick or perhaps stories that have a shade of darkness. <br />
So what do I do? I gingerly inch towards the 16+ films with trepidation. Luckily for me, over time, I did find some fantastic films like Sudani From Nigeria (Malayalam), Jojo Rabbit (English), Yeh Ballet (Hindi), Killa (Marathi), Okja (Koren-English), Brain on Fire (English), KD Engira Karuppudurai (Tamil) and a few more. <br />
Many of these films would be perfect for the 12-16 age group. Then why are they rated 16+? The only reason given is 'strong language'. <br />
Take the case of the recent film that we saw and liked very much. Okja, directed by the celebrated, Bong Joon Ho. It is a heartwrenching tale of a young girl who raises a genetically modified giant pig and her relationship with the animal. It talks about emotions, animal rights and commercial interests. Just perfect for the 12-14 year group. But the dialogues which are a mix of Korean and English are laden with expletives. Totally unnecessary, out of place and cringe-worthy. The adult characters use cuss words when they are frustrated, angry and helpless. <br />
<img src="https://i1.wp.com/wereviewyouwatch.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/okja.jpg?fit=983%2C514&ssl=1" /><br />
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I have seen this in regional films that are subtitled too. The cuss words are often sincerely translated! Example, Killa, one of the best films I have watched this season. Visually breathtaking and loaded with a soulful storyline and impeccable performances. Pre-teens experimenting with cuss words might sound funny for an adult but not when you are watching it with your own pre-teen.<br />
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Be it in real life, written work, song lyrics and movie dialogues, it has become commonplace to use expletives. English pop-songs even come in two versions- regular and explicit! I have always felt that using an expletive is the laziest form of self-expression. It reduces the opportunity to explore vocabulary. Especially when used in films, books and songs, I think it is a disservice to the audience because these are supposed to be written by professionals. We already know that the majority of learning happens outside classrooms. Right?<br />
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Coming back to my lament, it is sad that filmmakers are shutting out a chunk of their audience by resorting to strong language. A case of wasted opportunity. Though I don't completely agree, stories solely meant for adults can have some strong language but my problem is for cases where the story 'deserves' a larger audience. Especially these days when there is a dearth of quality content for this age group. My child and I might have missed some the gems if I was weary of the rating. So what is the way out? Since a lot of children read subtitles even in case of known languages, maybe those can be written carefully. Or the operators can mute the words without the annoying beep sound. <br />
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For now, I will choose to watch good, relevant stories ignoring the bad language. All I can do is, pre and post the film, I will take up a short moral science and English language lesson. <br />
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What do you think about this predicament? What would you do? </div>
My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-35265667704735405222020-01-27T13:49:00.000+05:302020-01-31T11:01:42.608+05:30The Rozabal Line - Blurry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>The Rozabal Line </i>by Ashwin Sanghi. I wish this heavily researched book was non-fiction. It would have earned more credibility that way.</div>
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When I picked it from a friend's home-library, I was quite excited that this would give me an opportunity to move out of my comfort zone and I grabbed it. The first sixty-odd pages lead me into an exciting path on the thriller zone but what happens after that had my head spinning. I was thrown from AD to BC, 5 BC to 2012 so rapidly that I could hear the <i>swish-swash </i>sound effects given in films when they have to show a rapid scene cut. </div>
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The line between real events and fiction is so thin that I was left feeling quite confused. And to have to keep turning back to references at the end of the book often left me tired (<i>swish-shwash </i>sounds again). I stopped reading the references after #18 or so. (there are a total of 209). References work well in research material and non-fiction but not so well in fiction, especially when there are so many. It cuts down the pace of reading and the story as well. Also, the references were more from the internet than actual books. Credibility factor again. </div>
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Truth be told, conspiracy theories are my guilty pleasure. I wolf up anything that comes on the internet from Elvis's death to Kennedy's assassination to the MH-370 disappearance. But this one somehow didn't have me hooked. Many portions seem extremely contrived. I've read <i>The Da Vinci Code </i>by Dan Brown and found it quite intriguing and interesting. Maybe because it was all unfamiliar territory. I knew nothing of this theory at that time but <i>The Rozabal Line </i>seems to be following the same template, though going far, a bit too far from where <i>TDVC </i>left off. Also, there is the Indian scenario, parts of which seemed implausible and convoluted (short of treading the path of some very sincere sounding Whatsapp forwards). Politically and theologically, I wonder how it didn't cause any ripples. </div>
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For it being fiction, there is absolutely no depth to the characters. They are just props for a larger theory. The ending seems very convenient and even preachy. </div>
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While reading this book, Interestingly, I happened to stumble upon <i>The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man </i>by Jonas Jonasson. I grabbed it since I loved the earlier book, <i>The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared</i>, both parts of this story also have fact intertwined cleverly with fiction. Now, this did not confound me. I found myself laughing at the implausibility of it all.<br />
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Now, doesn't <i>Rozabal Line </i>also entwine fact and fiction? Though the path taken is similar, the effect is completely different. Of course, the genres are themselves different. While <i>The Hundred-Year-Old Man </i>is political-humour, T<i>he Rozabal Line</i> is theological action-thriller, and a very serious one at that. Maybe it's my own knowledge (of religion) or the lack of it that makes me uncomfortable.<br />
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All that is said in <i>The Rozabal Line </i>is the author's own theological interpretation based on very extensive research and I completely respect him for that. I apply this to every book I read. If a writer has an idea and has the courage and means to put it in print, that by itself is an achievement. I only wish writers made better use of this privilege. </div>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-82289846128336314162020-01-08T18:00:00.000+05:302020-01-08T21:12:47.422+05:30Intelligent Emotions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For many years in the past, there was a great deal of importance given to cognitive intelligence. Success was directly related to one's intelligence. Be it exam scores, college admission, jobs, everyone sized you up based on how intelligent you were.<br />
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Then came the wave of Emotional Intelligence somewhere in the 1990s. Researchers suddenly (and thankfully), realised that being brainy isn't just enough. The brand new term of EQ began to be touted so much that organisations today have an EQ test before hiring people for leadership roles.<br />
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The most important component of EQ is empathy. I would rank it the most useful in not just human interaction but also solving many problems that humans have brought onto themselves and the world around them. Be it poverty, environment, education, abuse... the list can go on.<br />
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But then a very high EQ without IQ is just a lone ornate pillar without purpose. <br />
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One's heart might break to see an abandoned puppy but it takes practical thinking and intelligence to ensure the safety of the puppy. A highly emotional person is bound to suffer from heartaches and trust issues but one needs to work their way around it intelligently to help themselves. At a global level, one might understand the plight of children with no access to education but the solution lies in taking concrete action and finding out how to help them. What we need is a beautiful mesh of multiple skills and talents.<br />
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Empathy is the first step to problem-solving and application of knowledge is the second step. One cannot exist without the other. Highly emotional people tend to look too closely and highly intelligent people sometimes have only an aerial view. One needs to have the ability to look closely and then step back to take the right action. This is the balance all of us need to work on. The human mind is not just a 'test score'. With the right guidance, we can feel, think and create, all at the same time. <i>Nerdy</i>, <i>needy</i>, <i>techie</i>, <i>touchy</i> - instead of sweating out to remove these labels, a better thing would be to acknowledge these different facets in the human spirit. We must try to nurture these qualities, in their natural proportions, in all humans. An engineer could be highly empathetic. A caring nurse could be technically skilled. A powerlifter could master embroidery. This is as important as getting people with different kinds of intelligence to collaborate with each other. That is when we can become useful for ourselves and for the rest of the world.<br />
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What do you think the world needs the most today - EQ or IQ?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Pictures Courtesy: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">needpix.com</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">www.armyupress.army.mil</span><br />
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-45604409171722519712019-06-14T17:58:00.004+05:302021-03-29T17:33:26.811+05:30A case against the cover-up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wore a short-top over a pair of fitting jeans this morning. Felt quite pleased. Yet, I went to the family reconfirm this. "Does the butt show?" "Does it look odd?" "Should I change?" They just answered my last question and said, "Okay, change." And change, I did, into a nice long shirt that amply covered up.<br />
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But (no pun intended) that got me thinking. Why would I want to hide it? Big butt, flat butt, whatever-butt, don't men tuck their shirts in? I have seen men carry their large bellies with pride as if it were a Football Trophy! Then why do only women have to wear 'long tops' or loose-fitting kurtas to cover up? Women have large tummies and butts either because of the zillion bodily changes or they don't exercise (for whatever reason) or because they have a desk-job that makes them sit for hours at a stretch, the reasons could be plenty. As long as there are no health reasons, why should a woman worry about those hips if she doesn't feel bad about them?<br />
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Not even thin girls are not spared the shame. "Don't wear those chiffons", they are gently reminded. I'd say, "Well, those who see me can guess that I am thin, they don't have to do a <i><a href="https://www.lexico.com/en/definition/pradakshina" target="_blank">pradakshinam</a> </i>around me to figure that out. Do they?"<br />
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Then there are the girls and women perpetually struggling to cover up not just what's inside their hearts but outside as well. I didn't invite the twins, they were born with me and grew up with me. There is nothing I can do about them. And I am not ashamed of them. But you say, "I don't care. Cover Up." There is already a kurta, and one goes and layers it with a stole or dupatta, as if the top by itself weren't enough. It's okay for a woman to carry pots of water double her weight at wee hours in the morning but it's so wrong not to cover up her nightie with a dupatta or a towel! Don't you see the irony? The towel is screaming for attention by it being so grossly incongruous and you are telling people, "don't just look THERE".<br />
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Mind you, I am not overlooking: 1. Appropriateness 2. Enhancing your looks for your own pleasure 3. Comfort. 4. Health and hygiene. I have no grouse against these aspects.<br />
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<li>If there is a logical dress-code at workplaces, stick by it (and wait for the weekend).</li>
<li>If YOU think something enhances your look, makes you feel better, wear it. A little overcoat or an oversized T-shirt. Not because it is an "accepted norm" (Old style or new style, it is MY style).</li>
<li>If wearing something makes you feel uncomfortable, don't wear it. And if wearing something makes you feel comfortable, JUST GO FOR IT. (Skinny thighs or fat thighs, they are MY thighs!)</li>
<li>If an outfit helps you express your mood and your personality, flaunt it. (Nerdy sometimes, diva sometimes. Myself all the time.)</li>
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Don't let anyone say, the outfit makes you look too fat/too thin/too short/too tall. Whose aesthetics are you trying to please? Tell them, "Excuse me, I'm not an art gallery to please your aesthetics, thank you." What is wrong with being tall or short? That's the way I am born. I always wear sarees with large borders though I have been told time and again that they make me look shorter. But I love those large borders. There is no hope for me to grow any taller. So those large borders that I love so much, are they out of my league at all? Like, forever? And I very rarely wear high-heels. Because I know, the person who advises me to is never going to massage my feet and back at the end of the day.<br />
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I know I'm rambling. But people, don't be harsh on yourself. We, as humans rarely feel good about ourselves. We are somehow conditioned to think that way. Amidst all that is beyond our control, our thoughts about our looks are the only things we can control. Let's wear what makes us happy. Let's wear what makes us feel good about ourselves. Shed those kilos if YOU want to (or if the doctor has told you to). Hide the paunch if it makes YOU uncomfortable. Fushcia pinks, greys or beiges - let YOUR moods decide the colour.<br />
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-31967805016503999302019-06-09T13:37:00.000+05:302019-10-08T11:42:06.437+05:30A Suitable Boy: Just Perfect for Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZq456hvSCzGdMUYyhnynJutyTn_TgEd6Ob0L_nmPmn46NWCYBEQZ92fkL2UvLRJXPIWIHgd3DIXoKye_eLiYJ7Ji9ScHYjbLv6-0V6LbtG3jvOd_dvNEuiGaUyuNWiXDt9gU3/s1600/20180826_195247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZq456hvSCzGdMUYyhnynJutyTn_TgEd6Ob0L_nmPmn46NWCYBEQZ92fkL2UvLRJXPIWIHgd3DIXoKye_eLiYJ7Ji9ScHYjbLv6-0V6LbtG3jvOd_dvNEuiGaUyuNWiXDt9gU3/s320/20180826_195247.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Picked up this giant of a book on a whim without pausing to think how I’d finish reading it. After a six-month struggle, I finally managed to finish it and I’m glad. (Much to the chagrin of my family, lugged it to every trip I took this year.)<br />
On the face of it, <i>The Suitable Boy </i>is a story about a girl looking for a… well, suitable boy. Lata belongs to a simple but well-read family of refined tastes. The family consists of a doting but overbearing mother, a sweet sister and two brothers who are like chalk and cheese.<br />
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Set in the year 1951-1952, the book is much, much more than Lata’s quest. There are many absorbing subplots involving the girl, Lata’s extended family, including her siblings, their in-laws and their families. There are stories of politics, of music, of business and of relationships. Apart from music, I found the political references very interesting because I’ve never paid much attention to the political history of India. Seth has explored every possible kind of relationship with great understanding and gentleness, be it friends, lovers, elderly couples, young couples or colleagues.<br />
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Lata’s mother is a carbon copy of a lady I knew—an overly sentimental type who loved sending and receiving long letters and greeting cards. Someone who could hurt or be pleased with the smallest of things.<br />
Meenakshi’s (Lata’s sister-in-law) quirky family made me happy and kept me eagerly looking forward to chapters about them.<br />
I personally loved the plot involving Maan Kapoor (Lata’s brother-in-law’s brother). My heart went out to him and his family. Having been accustomed to romantic twists of plot, I kept hoping for favourable twists in Maan’s life. I cared much for his father, Mahesh Kapoor too. (I imagined Adil Hussain playing this role in a film/web series.)<br />
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Having lived with and invested so much in the characters, and being a die-hard romantic, I must say I'm a tad disappointed with the ending but then, every writer owns his story and has a right to end it to match the philosophy of that story. <br />
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Vikram Seth being what he is, throws the most unexpected turns at you. “Sensitive people are usually insensitive” goes a telling line in the book. More than the plot and storyline, Seth’s language and style had me floored. Like I have said in an <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2016/08/a-duet-of-two-loves.html" target="_blank">earlier post</a>, he has a gift of infusing poetry into his prose. And at the same time, he can convey the strongest of emotions in the simplest of ways.<br />
Two old (and elderly) friends talking to each other:<br />
<i>“So, you’ll come for lunch tomorrow?”<br />“Yes, yes. What’s the occasion?”<br />“No occasion. Just do me the favour of sitting silently through the meal and hearing me complain about how much better things were in the old days.”<br />“All right.”</i></div>
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<i><br /></i>Seth knows exactly what words to use at any given time. For learners like me, his style is infused with numerous examples of 'show, don’t tell'.<br />
Sample this: <i>The rock-like delicacies were lurking in the other room. </i>I will say no further.</div>
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And what caught me by surprise is his amazing sense of humour. He has used humour and wit so generously in this book that I could go on citing examples. If you are planning to read the book, look out for the incident at the bus-stop involving two wailing ladies. And then there’s the incident of a villainous but distraught Prof Mishra. He is feigning a conversation with a doctor on the phone but is actually getting the election results. Mishra asks the person on the phone, “So where can I meet you?” The person on the other end of the phone simply says, “In the casualty ward.” Oh, and of course there are the 'Kakoli-couplets' strewn amply to lighten the mood. <br />
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Seth draws up detailed character portraits of almost every character, significant or otherwise. Sometimes, he hands out every micro-thought of a character, making you awe at his insight into people’s psyche. Mr Seth appears to be one dangerous man to meet! <br />
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Another thing to look out for is the vivid, descriptive passages – ever so colourful and never boring, be it the Pul Mela or the shoe-factory episode. He writes as if he’s been there. Who knows? He might have even been there. (I've read several anecdotes about the research he does for his stories).</div>
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This book has been panned for rambling on with just a few pages of the main plot. I choose to look at it this way. It would be extremely limiting to look at the title just from the angle of Lata’s matrimonial dilemma. We have a young India looking for a suitable boy as a leader. We have the Chatterji family looking for a suitable boy to take on the reins. We have the University looking for a suitable boy to head its English Department and so on. I haven’t yet read any analysis of this book but I am sure all that research and thinking that Vikram Seth has put in is not in vain. Every anecdote has meaning and purpose and it is for us to find them.<br />
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If you have been wanting to read this book, I’d say, just take a deep breath and dive in. You are sure to find a lot of gems out there. Just have a lot of patience. I nodded in agreement when the character of Amit Chatterji says:<br />
<i>“But I too hate long books: the better, the worse. If they're bad they merely make me pant with the effort of holding them up for a few minutes. But if they're good, I turn into a social moron for days, refusing to go out of my room, scowling and growling at interruptions, ignoring weddings and funerals, and making enemies out of friends.”</i><br />
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PS: I read somewhere that Mira Nair will be making a web series of this book. I'm excited.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A line from the book</td></tr>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-74052700793339605212018-10-15T12:45:00.000+05:302018-10-15T13:48:35.865+05:30'96: Heart-wrenching and Heartwarming All At Once - My Feelings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Certain books and films make you feel very strongly for several days at a stretch. While you mull over them, a lot of thoughts keep popping up. You can't rest until you have sorted all those thoughts neatly and put them down. I have never written any review two parts, But there is a lot to say, about '96. Putting them all together would not only make it a bunch of disjointed thoughts but also a long boring read. So, I have split my observations about the film into two parts. '<a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Facts.html" target="_blank">Facts</a>' and 'Feelings'. '<a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Facts.html" target="_blank">Facts' </a>is about the technical aspects, who did what, how I liked it and so on. 'Feelings' </i><i>is about well, just my feelings. </i><i>Here are my 'Feelings'. </i><br />
****<br />
*Spoliers galore*<br />
<b><br /></b> <b>Feelings:</b><br />
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Ram, a travel photographer believes that the only place where one can freeze time is in a photograph. That's how he lives too. In an island of memories. But he is no <i>Devdas</i>. He just goes about doing the thing he loves to do. Freezing moments. He is happy to visit his hometown but does not want to stop by. He might have to make small talk with people there, you see. His eyes sparkle when he spots his school. He impulsively stops by and doesn't even mind catching up with the school watchman (played by a darling Janakaraj). In the beginning, Ram is all sprightly, exploring every corner of the school with excitement. I squealed in delight when he brushes off the chalk-dust from the frame of a blackboard with a finger. Oh? So it wasn't just me who loved to do that! Watch the way he drags the desk closer to him when he sits on the first bench in the classroom. But he becomes broody and nostalgic by the end of the visit and this culminates in a longing for a reunion. Old friends meet. Old flames get reignited, not with the intensity of a fire but with the gentleness of moonlight. Quite naturally now, the friends get worried. It is the same gang that prodded the shy Ram in school (quite naturally for that time).<br />
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Ram and Janu take off from the word 'go' as if the past 22 years were just a fluid dream. As awkward as they were in Class 10, yet, as much in love, or even more, perhaps. The heart has this capacity to nurture some memories with each pump. The memories then grow and grow to become larger than the actual events. Memories are like an arm that grows with you. Mind you, this is different from what sceptics brush off as 'illusion'. Forget lovers. Take childhood friends, for instance. There might not be a thing common between the two of them anymore but they are still friends. That's because they are still the same people after all. Like I have always believed, where ever life takes you, the core of the person will never change. It is only the circumstances that make you react differently.<br />
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So Ram has now grown to be a bearded hulk, but he is still shy or shall I say 'faint-hearted'? (Miss the movie, you miss the pun.). He generally speaks very little but becomes a motormouth when he is excited about something. It is Ram, the more sentimental of the two, who lightens the atmosphere every time there is a tricky moment. There is still a world of innocence in his thoughts and actions, with or without the beard. And Vijay Sethupathi shows it so beautifully.<br />
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Janu is still the bolder and the more outspoken one of the two. Makes Ramu (and even me) jump out of the seat when she offers her plate to him. She sometimes pretends to have moved on. She tries to put on a 'chilled out' facade. She asks Ram blatantly personal questions which Ram finds too personal even for a lover to ask. She bawls like a baby when she knows the truth about the things he did. But soon collects herself. When he asks her if she is happy, she says life is peaceful. Now does that answer the question? We don't know.<br />
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In fits and starts, Ram and Janu speak about the lost moments. Dream up the what-ifs. Someone said they don't ask each other much about their present. I say, they won't. They don't want to know. "Here I am, unwilling to fill the space that has a beautiful memory. Why would I want to know about your daily routine with your child and husband?" No thanks, too painful.<br />
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As the evening progresses, they get completely comfortable with each other. He loosens up. You know it from his voice. You feel the love in every little action - every flick of the eye, every little smile, every question and every answer. She breaks her twenty-year-old resolve and sings <i>Yamunai Aatriley</i> (a non-S Janaki song). This simple little action perhaps shows a huge change within. <i>"Maatrangal Vidai, Maatrangeley Vinaa." </i>(That's, by the way, one of the most impressive opening lines I've seen in a film recently. Listen to the poem recited by Nasser, it's beautiful).<br />
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Janu worries about Ram's loneliness. Her repeated talk of his marriage seemed a little annoying and made me wonder if she is trying to fix her own guilt. But I soon understood that it was out of genuine concern. When you can't take away your only possession, you want to at least place it in safe hands. Like Ram's student says, he needs to be taken good care of. But how the hell is she supposed to do it? That angst is so well brought out in the final airport scene. And the way she holds his face at that point...is that her closure? Oh the pain!<br />
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There is constant movement throughout the film (they are in a car, on a train, they walk) hinting at momentum, but when it is time to fly, his condition remains status quo, in spite of holding a valid ticket. There is a pain of losing yet there is a comfort of gaining something they never had. Janu's life might or might not be the same again. But for Ram, things are not going to change much. Only, he now has another piece of memory to stow away in the safety of his moulded-plastic suitcase with a secret number lock.<br />
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***<br />
You can read Facts <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Facts.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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(Pic courtesy: The Indian Express; Silverscreen.in)<br />
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-11480667354089905812018-10-15T12:10:00.001+05:302018-10-15T14:19:12.647+05:30'96: Heart-wrenching and Heartwarming All At Once - Facts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Certain books and films make you feel very strongly for several days at a stretch. While you mull over them, a lot of thoughts keep popping up. You can't rest until you have sorted all those thoughts neatly and put them down. I have never written any review in two parts, But there is a lot to say, about '96. Putting them all together would not only make it a bunch of disjointed thoughts but also a long boring read. So, I have split my observations about the film into two parts. 'Facts' and '<a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Feelings.html" target="_blank">Feelings</a>'. 'Facts' is about the technical aspects, who did what and how I liked it and so on. '<a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Feelings.html" target="_blank">Feelings</a>' is about well, just my feelings. Here's 'Facts'. </i><br />
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<b>Facts: </b><br />
Subtlety is the catchphrase of this beautiful little film. A gentle nostalgic trip without an ounce of melodrama. The emotions are gently rolled towards you for you to catch.<br />
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There is an aura of not just peace and calm but there is a sense of cleanness about the film. Like watching a gurgling stream with every pebble clearly visible.<br />
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The director, Prem Kumar has captured the essence of the 90s with a lot of fondness and care. The music. I can't imagine the 90s without Ilaiyaraja's presence. He has been an integral part of our growing up years. The director has used a lovely collection of songs through the film, all with due and honest credit right at the beginning. Life was in a cusp of change in the 90s - inching towards progress but not at all edgy. The 90s was perhaps the most difficult time to fall in love. You are brave but not brash. The possibility of losing people due to a lack of communication (physical or postal) was so much more higher. Gone meant gone forever unless for divine intervention, for many. I'm not sure if today's children can relate to something like this when being out of touch is mostly by choice rather than compulsion.<br />
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Even the present day scenes in the film are removed from the harshness that we see in today's times. The delightful Whatsapp group chat is probably the only thing 'current' in the film. The entire theatre was in splits in the scene (did you notice that there is always a white collared 'Peter' and a homesick NRI in every whatsapp group?). There is no overuse of technology anywhere in the film - just like how the teacher-Ram tells his students to keep things natural. If I noted right, I don't think many electronic instruments have been used in the music too. At least, not obviously. Didn't I speak of subtlety earlier?<br />
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Speaking of the music, Govind Vasantha is an excellent choice as a composer for this film. He creates a wonderful mood around the scenes. Be it a solo violin or a veena with the sounds of the night during a walk on the deserted GN Chetty Road flyover in the dead of the night or the piano pieces for Ram that let us peek into his thoughts. The songs fit so seamlessly into the flow that you don't realise when a song begins and when it ends. I want to watch the film again to see if the songs are even used fully. 'Musical' is one of the most misused terms in Tamil films. I have repeatedly said that a film with many songs does not make it a musical. So that way, I'd say '96 could be a musical but the makers don't mention it anywhere. (Just like the makers don't make much noise about anything at all - even the promo was a silent heart-stealer). While listening to the audio I realise that many of the songs are fluid and non-formulaic. A few actually run for just a just minute or two. I'd love to listen to the album on a long drive.<br />
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The song lyrics are beautiful - sometimes poetic, sometimes conversational. With heart-warming lines like <i>"Iru kaalin naduvil urangum poonai pol, podhum indha vaazhkai"</i>. Such fuzzy simplicity is what the film is all about.<br />
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The clever use of the same voice for the dubbing and the songs makes viewing so much more easier. Chinmayee's dulcet voice as always matches Trisha's calm persona so well. And I am so glad for Trisha that she got to do this film. One of her best roles ever (and I thought <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2014/09/vinnai-thaandi-varuvaya.html" target="_blank">VTV </a>was her best). So effortlessly mature, so comfortable in that maturity. Totally deglamourised yet strikingly beautiful. She wears just one outfit almost throughout the film, unbelievable. Isn't it a little sad that Trisha being much more senior to Vijay Sethupathy in the field finally gets her chance to perform? But he, within such a short span of time has established himself as a class actor. And rightfully so.<br />
What do I say about him in '96? There is an air of honesty about his style of acting. The one slouchy walk out of the room after Janu rejects a bar of soap is enough to speak of prowess.<br />
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Loved each of the supporting cast, the child actors and their grown-up avatars. Devadarshini was a such a charm. It felt so good to see Janakraraj and Kavitalaya Krishnan. And I am glad there are no other extra characters than what is needed. My morbid fears of a Singapore angle were gently put to rest.<br />
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There is a sense of timelessness between the reunion party and the airport scene. Not just the emotional but at the physical level. 'How long does the night last really?' is a question I had in mind. And then the slightly off-putting and inexplicable kumkum that kept coming popping back. But I shall leave these to the nitpickers.<br />
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I saw some of the audience get impatient during the later part of the second half. They perhaps expected Ram and Janu to do something more exciting than just talk and talk. But all our protagonists seemed to need, were eyes and words. They are the 90s kids after all! And that is another thing that I liked about this movie. They actually show what the couple is talking about. Something we rarely get to see/hear in films - the lovers' talk is always muted by a montage song. (And heaven forbid, I've heard that actors mouth things as mundane as the alphabet during the shoot!) Love stories these days is all about action. No words. So, the expectation of the audience kept rising at every moment and therefore the restlessness maybe?<br />
But the director Prem Kumar is in no hurry. He patiently takes us through the night with the same detail as he takes us through the attendance roll-call in alphabetical order.<br />
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Find <a href="https://priyaworld.blogspot.com/2018/10/96-heart-wrenching-and-heartwarming-all-at-once-Feelings.html" target="_blank">My Feelings </a>here.<br />
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(Picture courtesy: thehindu.com)</div>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-32125509221371623952018-05-05T19:13:00.001+05:302019-06-12T13:42:12.716+05:30Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Where book reccos go, I take it from anyone, most of the time. I feel, if someone has been impressed by a book, there must be something about it. Even if I don't end up liking the book, I look at it as an opportunity to get to know the person who recommended it, better. That's how I came across this book. It was suggested by a very young colleague. I grabbed it when I got the chance. A writer I had never read before - Benjamin Alire Sáenz. A genre I had not explored before, Young Adult Fiction. I am not telling you another new aspect because that might be a spoiler.<br />
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The story is about a sweet story a young boy, who seeks to unravel various secrets--secrets about his family, about his friend, about his own self as well. <br />
Aristotle is a boy of 15, biding his time being angry with everything and everyone around him. He is angry with his parents for being secretive, at his well-meaning friends for being intrusive, at himself for being a loner. For a young boy, he has the difficult task of walking a fine balance between temper and politeness. He then meets a boy interestingly named Dante, who goes on to become his first and only friend and more. Of course, he spends a good amount of time being angry with Dante too for being so nice, happy and himself. How Ari comes to terms with his family, his loved ones, his own feelings and himself, form the rest of the story. </div>
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We are presented with a set of six beautiful characters. Ari, Dante and their wonderful parents. Each dealing with their own personal issues, yet full of love and warmth. </div>
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Written in simple yet beautiful language, the book explores complex emotions and various aspects of adolescence with gentleness and finesse. It took me back to my own very difficult teenage years. I now know I wasn't alone, because that's a stage when we hardly have heart-to-heart conversations with anyone, I wouldn't have known better. I have made some mental notes for me to refer to when it's my chance as a parent. But then like Ari does, it is up to each person to discover himself as life goes. The only thing we can do is, like Ari's parents do is this. Sort out or at least come to terms with our own battles, first creating enough mental space to take a patient look at a blossoming teenager's needs with all the love and care we are capable of.</div>
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The storyline might appear one-dimensional to some, even a tad too Utopian but then, I loved it just for that reason. I'd definitely recommend this book to those who never tire exploring various facets of human nature and behaviour. I'm such a person. </div>
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The book is sprinkled throughout with many thought-provoking and smile-inducing lines. Here are some:<br />
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<i>"Words were different when they lived inside of you."</i>***<br />
<i>"Poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn't get - and never would get."</i>***<br />
<i>"The problem with trying hard not to think about something was that you thought about it even more."</i>***<br />
<i>"...we're thinking about things that we don't know we're thinking about and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams."</i></div>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-21239398225469448252018-02-02T10:28:00.000+05:302019-06-12T13:45:49.071+05:30In a Forest, a Deer - Ambai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>In a Forest, a Deer</i></b> is a collection of short stories written by
famed writer <b>Ambai</b>, translated from
Tamil by Lakshmi Holmstrom. I had been intrigued by the writer with this
beautiful nom de plume for a long time. And this book came to me as a Christmas
gift from a dear friend. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The book is a collection of eighteen interesting stories. I
dived into the stories headlong, deliberately without reading any of the
introductory notes. With new authors, I usually like to do the ‘discoveries’
myself. And what a revelation it was! Free of all feminist tropes, these
stories are fresh, contemporary and very relevant. These are not stories of
wonder-women but regular, everyday women who sparkle in their quiet, mundane existences.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ambai uses a wide variety of
themes and styles. <i>One and Another</i>
explores unusual relationships. <i>Vaaganam</i>
is a humorous take on the strong desire to own a vehicle, which in turn
translates into freedom. <i>Wrestling</i>
and <i>Journey 3</i> have poignant thoughts
wrapped in an organza of humour. <i>A Rat, a
Sparrow</i> is a fantastic story about a ‘Madrasi’ trying to settle down in
Bombay. Ambai walks us through communal tension in <i>Direction</i> and <i>A Movement, a
folder, some tears. A Movement…</i> was a very difficult read, despite creative
styles and techniques like flashback, an email and even an email attachment. My
personal favourite is <i>Parasakthi and
Others in a Plastic Box</i>, about the gossamer bonds that weave a mother and
her two daughters together. It moved me to tears. Here again, she uses the
medium of letters to tell us the story. <i>Forest</i>
is perhaps the best example of the brilliant literary spark of this writer. It
flits gracefully between mythology and contemporary. Though all stories have a broad theme, each
story delicately spreads out bunches of different thoughts, ideas and
sub-themes, just like beautifully set pleats that enhance the grace of a saree. Ambai’s storytelling has an almost lyrical
quality to it, with generous use of images and metaphors. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ambai’s women are quirky, strong,
independent and free, in their own capacities—physically, mentally or at least
spiritually. There’s a tiny little story within a story in <i>Direction</i>, called <i>For Lakshmi
too, an Adishesha</i>. Read that and you will understand the strength of
Ambai’s unbridled imagination. Goddess Lakshmi is tired of sitting at Vishnu’s
feet all the time. She is miffed about all the unfairness around her and feels
she deserves her own Adishesha too! I
have never read anything quite like it. Another thing I will not forget about
the characters is their very Tamil names, not of Goddesses but of nature and
human virtues. There is Kumudha, Shenbagam, Thangam, Dhanam, Thirumagal,
Chendhiru, Senthamarai and many more. The men have more regular names. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Every time I read a translation, I stop for a bit to think
about the translator. I will say it now and will say it again, translation is
one of the most difficult forms of all writing. Lakshmi Holmstrom has done a
wonderful job of it in this collection. I don’t know if it was about the
translation or if it was because I happen to know Tamil, but I found myself
re-translating the lines back into Tamil in my head as I read the first couple of
stories. It all settled down beautifully after the third/fourth story and they
read like stories originally written in English. <i>A pond filled with lotuses. Each lotus as wide as mother’s lap. Each
lotus made up of a thousand, thousand petals</i> is a gem of an expression. I
am now curious to find out what it was in Tamil and if it was as beautiful.
There’s another place where she says, “as white as white can be” which I am
sure was “vella-veleyr” , an adjective peculiar to Tamilnadu. Having grown up
listening to such local peculiarities, I never imagined it could be expressed
in English so well. What I also like is a neat little glossary at the end of
the book and sometimes at the end of a story. The editors have thankfully not
messed up the pages with a mosaic of symbols and legends. I am curious to find
out why the translator has chosen to use the Hindi word <i>choli</i> to describe a blouse that is worn with a saree. Also, why did
she choose to spell the musical instrument Veena or Veenai, as <i>Vinai</i> and <i>Vina</i> in some places? Doesn’t <i>Vinai</i>,
with the short <i>i</i> sound connote an evil
deed? The names of some actors are also incorrect like M T Rama Rao for N T
Rama Rao (they got it right in the second instance) and K P Sundarambal for K B
Sundarambal. I shouldn’t nit-pick.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I believe that those who’ve been fortunate enough to travel
much (by circumstance or choice) stand to gain a wide knowledge of languages,
customs, religious practices, quirks of different communities and also become
open to appreciate different styles of cuisines and music. Then there are those
who learn and develop all of these without stepping out of their zipcode. These
are people who read extensively. And if a writer has one or both these
opportunities, the writing becomes truly rich. Even while I was reading the
stories, Ambai seemed to be doubly blessed thus. Only when I read her biography after
completing the book did I learn that my guess was right. She has travelled much
and is a voracious reader. Somehow, luckily for me, many books I have been reading
these days have copious references to music. So does this book. The references
range from Raavana’s Kambodhi, Tiruppavai, Andal Paasuram, Bhimsen Joshi to
Gangubai Hangal. Oh and she loves talking in detail about food. Be it paruppu
thogayal or a Maharashtrian millet roti. The kitchens are not the domains of
only women. A character’s father could make a hundred varieties of chutneys. Ambai’s
protagonists believe in God but are not god-fearing. They are highly spiritual
but not very religious. The ring-side views and the first-person accounts do give
a pleasurable intimacy but somewhere at the half-way mark, the mind craves to
see a wider canvas. As if the writer/editor has read your mind, things begin to get
interesting soon.</div>
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<i>In a Forest, a Deer</i>
is overall, a wonderful compilation of enjoyable and thought-provoking stories.
A must-read if you are looking at exploring a new ethos, a new voice that is
strong and vibrant but not shrill. Will I be right in saying she is India’s (or
at least Tamilnadu’s) answer to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie? While I do my
research, I will leave you with some quotes from the book. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Brahmacharya, samsara,
vanaprastha and sanyasa</i><i>—must
these all happen at separate times and stages?... Why could they not all be
mingled together? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>***</i></div>
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<i>Everything comes down
to sruti, getting the pitch right, doesn’t it? We speak of sur, being in tune.
Who then is an asur? Not someone with crooked teeth and ten heads, but one who
is ignorant of sur. A-sur. Because such a thing as sur isn’t resonating within
them, they run away with themselves without subjecting their impulses or their
strength or their direction to any discipline. They are not reined in by their
sur. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>***</i></div>
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<i>There was another
friend who insisted on telling jokes after having downed three pegs of rum.
‘I’m going to act like a Madrasi’, he proclaimed loudly….He laughed at his own
performance. Nobody else laughed with him. Vijay went up to him and whispered
something. He looked at her and said, grinning away, ‘It was only in fun. I
like the temples in Tamil Nadu very much. Then dosa, vada, idli,’ he drawled
stressing the ‘d’. “Saniyane,’ she said…Only Amulyo understood what she said. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>***</i></div>
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13631955.post-64941834436098331072018-01-12T19:34:00.002+05:302019-06-12T13:48:42.566+05:30Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. </b>What an experience it has been! My first Murakami and I’ve never read anything quite like it. The storyline twines itself around a 15-year old boy, an adorable old man and his equally adorable companion and an enigmatic lady. All of them are in the process of letting go of something and gaining something else in the process. Now, would I classify the book as fantasy, philosophy or something else? I would not get there. There’s no point trying to jam something as fluid as this within the confined spaces of genre. This book, like I said at the beginning, is an <b>experience</b>. I do not venture out to 'review' this book because that would be doing it injustice. I will only share what it did to me. The beginning was like sitting on a flight, venturing on a holiday to a foreign country for the first time. There are mixed feelings of fear and excitement. As I go deeper into the book, I get into a dreamlike state—a feeling of being led by the hand while sleepwalking. I feel the dream makes sense only to me. It might sound vague and meaningless if I relate it to someone. I see beautiful things, feel beautiful thoughts about belonging, memories, metaphors, books and music. I chuckle at the sweet, innocent moments (Nakata’s“Liter ady” and his understanding of idioms). I cringe at the violence and underage sex but thankfully, it is just a dream and I know these events will end soon. Once again there are gentle emotions that envelope me with warmth. At a point, I know the dream is ending, I don’t want it to. It gets exciting. I don’t exaggerate when I say I feel my hands trembling at the turn of each page. I read some parts twice. I don’t want to miss anything. I hear myself saying aloud, “Oh no…” “Kafka, just go.” “Hoshino, please do something.” “Oh damn, it’s him!” And then, it was all over and I wake up with a sigh, unable to think of anything else for the next few hours. I then thought of the author himself. How fatigued, yet exhilarated he must have felt to give shape to all those thoughts and ideas. I must have been something like childbirth itself. Perhaps all authors go through their own struggles, but I felt it for the first time. It takes a lot of strength, courage and brilliance to be able to put abstract thoughts in words.<br />
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Interpreting a beautiful dream is as important as the dream itself. So, I think a large part of the credit must go to the translator for putting words into a wonderful order, without disturbing the original pattern. Just like it happens in the book, someday, I’d like to discuss this book with someone—the hidden meanings, the references, the parts that I didn’t quite grasp, parts that made me feel I’m “…not very bright, dumb”. And mull over “the accident” and “the murder”. Thinking about it, how nice it would be to come across people, including strangers willing to discuss films, music, books and even philosophy with us. Now, that would be a dream-come-true for me.</div>
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A few passages from the book that I loved:<br />
<b>About first impressions:</b> “…a shadowy smile playing on her lips whose sense of completeness is indescribable. It reminds me of a small, sunny spot, the special patch of sunlight you find only in some remote, secluded place.”<br />
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<b>About book</b>s: “When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages - a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers.”<br />
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<b>About parental pressure:</b> “When they're treated like that, children start to crawl inside a shell and keep everything inside. It takes a lot of time and effort to get them to open up again. Kids' hearts are malleable, but once they gel it's hard to get them back the way they were.”<br />
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<b>About anger:</b> “Are anger and fear just two aspects of the same spirit?”<br />
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<b>About the unsaid:</b> “Putting (the answer) in words will destroy any meaning.”<br />
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<b>About memories:</b> “If you remember me, then I don’t care if everybody forgets.”</div>
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“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”</div>
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The book is full of such gems and I couldn't make note of all of them. But I don’t worry because I know I am going to revisit it one day.<br />
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My Worldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03070670611501333356noreply@blogger.com0