tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76706694546467725862024-03-13T06:33:00.498-07:00Howzzat!World. Life. Love. Books. Tea. Weird.Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-74988503280216461232020-08-02T04:44:00.014-07:002020-08-16T17:59:31.877-07:00Initial Impressions : The Death of the Author (1967)<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia">Making sense of every major literary trend in the west is quite a task, I hate to admit. On the brighter side, the task of tracing a trend back to its roots is well cut out thanks to all the once path-breaking essays readily available now. A not-so-beneficial effect of giving in to this elaborate spread is the urge to argue with the dead thinkers and tell them why they are no longer relevant.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222;"><font face="georgia">On this count, Roland Barthes is rather unfortunate to have been on the receiving end when he was very much alive. His essay “Death of the author” would have been spared all the backlash if it were alternatively titled “The birth of the reader” (Barthes uses the phrase in the text) but I think it wouldn’t have been his best known piece of work if not for the apocalyptic name.</font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span><font face="georgia"><br /></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font face="georgia"><span></span></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W5ZfEeLjgnU/XyanI1FyNZI/AAAAAAAAKzU/re0xeCSsXIsiRwKlbmEU9ZvXJjBZlV-nwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1120/Wampole-Barthes-Silken-Legacy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="georgia"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1120" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W5ZfEeLjgnU/XyanI1FyNZI/AAAAAAAAKzU/re0xeCSsXIsiRwKlbmEU9ZvXJjBZlV-nwCNcBGAsYHQ/s640/Wampole-Barthes-Silken-Legacy.jpg" width="640" /></font></a></div><font face="georgia"><br /></font><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia">In “The Death of the Author”, Barthes states that the role of the author in his work’s interpretation is non-existent. Barthes makes a case for the scriptor, an entity who is alive as long as the text is being conceived. The consequent birth of the work is accompanied by the death of the author, whose personal views, history and biography have no say in his text. This is to refute certain beliefs that claimed the act of discovering the author beneath the work is the same as explaining his text.</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><b><br /></b></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><i><b>"The Author, when believed in, is always conceived of as the past of his own book: book and author stand automatically on a single line divided into a before and an after. The Author is thought to nourish the book, which is to say that he exists before it, thinks, suffers, lives for it, is in the same relation of antecedence to his work as a father to his child. In complete contrast, the modern scriptor is born simultaneously with the text, is in no way equipped with a being preceding or exceeding the writing, is not the subject with the book as predicate; there is no other time than that of the enunciation and every text is eternally written here and now"</b></i></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia">Assuming the author is only a scriptor, then what do we consider as the text's history? Barthes says,</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><i><b>"For him [the modern scriptor], on the contrary, the hand, cut off from any voice, borne by a pure gesture of inscription (and not of expression), traces a field without origin - or which, at least, has no other origin than language itself, language which ceaselessly calls into question all origins"</b></i></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><i></i></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font face="georgia"><span style="color: #222222;">For Barthes, the text’s origin always lies in language. Spoken like a true post-structuralist.</span> </font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia"><i></i></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia">Barthes eventually disowned “The Death of the author”. The essay, believed to have died a painful death, is resurrected conveniently from time to time, whenever a writer’s personal comments loom l</font><span style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia;">arge over his/her text, undermining it in the process. This time around, it was J.K.Rowling who had to be wrested away from her work, in order to sustain its place in the sanctum.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222;"><font face="georgia">I can trace this essay as a culmination of events dating back to Flaubert’s Madam Bovary, who mocked the romantic aspirations of hitherto novelists by degrading the characters of his own creation. Moreover, Flaubert wrote for the sake of style. The position of his imaginary adversary can very well be taken up by Dostoevsky, a writer whose exploratory mind almost always required larger than life characters. Barthes belongs to a school of modernists, postmodernists and post-structuralists, all of whom hail from Flaubert and from the wagon of modernist painters who cried “Art for art’s sake”. It is no surprise they grew naturally inclined to separate the text from the author, indirectly propositioning against Dostoevsky and his evocative craft. Barthes essay also comes across as a strong reaction to the psychoanalytic literary criticism tradition, where unmasking the author was akin to cracking the code of the text.</font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font face="georgia"><br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><font color="#222222" face="georgia">On speaking of the relevance of the essay, an author's assertion over his text is still unclear but I believe his influence must be acknowledged, even essential at times. Overt psychoanalytic reading is something I'm averse to as well (read: Hamlet and his Oedipus complex). But to remove the author from his text in totality also displaces his quest, awakenings and the unrest he hopes to evocate in his reader. At times, simply knowing the writer's history, political ambitions, his romantic inclination adds to the reading experience. Bharathi has always been read that way. Attempts to construct the identities of Shakespeare, Kamban, Thiruvalluvar from their work partly arise from the fact that people cannot live with the void. Oscar Wilde's homosexuality led the then conservative society to shun him, but the knowledge does enhance one's reading of "The picture of Dorian Gray".</font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222;"><font face="georgia"><br /></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #222222;"><font face="georgia">On the other hand, the text can (and will) surpass the author's intent, as in the case of Anna Karenina where readers sympathized with the lead character instead of denouncing her. The text, in any case, will have the final say even if the writer goes all the way out and publishes his own notes.</font></span></p>Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-8352690452804533462020-06-14T11:47:00.003-07:002020-06-15T10:08:24.990-07:00"Do you write with a pencil, a pen, or a typewriter?" On Becoming a Novelist - John Gardner<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve only recently started to count myself as a writer
despite writing for more than a decade. A chance encounter with a writer I thought
I’d never meet, has stopped me in my tracks and changed my life as I knew it (what an understatement). I’ve begun to feel lately that I’d die if I don’t write. And
that’s the most liberating statement I’ve written in this space in all these
years. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life has always been beautiful as it is torrid. It isn’t the
same it was a couple of years back. A simple act of picking a book to read,
jotting down thoughts has become more challenging than ever though. External
factors like a loved one’s frown, meeting a deadline someone else has committed to etc., will
persist and the most stoic part of my mind thinks it can live with that. It’s
the internal factors that play havoc -<span> </span>I
wouldn’t prefer placing it under the omniscient “writer’s block”, the phrase
has lost its sheen these days– palpitations that halt sleep, anxiety that builds
up day after day constantly questioning your ability to see things through, the
doubt that surfaces even when you have faith in your stance that you can unlearn and learn
innumerable times, the knowledge that what you earnestly seek has evaded many curious
souls in the past and so on. “On Becoming a Novelist (1983)” is John Gardner’s
gesture of placing a hand on your shoulder and letting you know you’ll get
along just fine, by emphasizing certain aspects you’ve known all along. You have
to think a couple of things through, willingly part with things that others deem
important, the zeal must be real and things will discreetly fall into place.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2258djdUGZI/XuZu_Yqc2EI/AAAAAAAAKag/mmax3QgIFlwQvk2pPSn2xjD-09oJqrgQwCK4BGAsYHg/s791/John_Gardner_author_1979.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="547" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2258djdUGZI/XuZu_Yqc2EI/AAAAAAAAKag/mmax3QgIFlwQvk2pPSn2xjD-09oJqrgQwCK4BGAsYHg/s320/John_Gardner_author_1979.jpg" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">John Gardner (1933-1982) was an American writer who doubled as a literary evangelist, teaching fiction for writing aspirants and "On Becoming a Novelist" was published a year after his unfortunate death in a motorcycle accident
at the age of 49. This book was recommended by a friend who reveres Gardner and I’m grateful. The book starts from describing the traits of a writer,
what training the writer must undergo to get his craft right, some now defunct
details on getting published and ends by dispensing some helpful points on how
to sustain faith.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>The Writer’s Nature<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Verbal sensitivity</b>, Gardner says, is the interest in understanding how language works. “The writer who
cares more about words than about story (characters, action, setting,
atmosphere) is unlikely to create a <b>vivid and continuous dream</b>; he gets
in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart—and
its cargo —from the horse. So in judging the young writer's verbal sensitivity
one does not ask only, "Has he got any?" but also, "Has he got
too much?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He cautions against the Pollyanna way of writing (idealism
and optimism in its extreme form) and its antithesis of disPolyanna writing (writing
with aimless cynicism). He advises the writer to be vigilant for blunders and keep
at it, so that he might “catch on” with his craft. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“If the promising writer keeps on writing—writes day after
day, month after month—and if he reads very carefully, he will begin to
"catch on." Catching on is important in the arts, as in athletics.
Practical sciences, including the verbal engineering of commercial fiction, can
be taught and learned. The arts too can be taught, up to a point; but except
for certain matters of technique, one does not learn the arts, one simply
catches on”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gardner also addresses some moral conflicts that afflicts writers.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: symbol;"><span>·<span style="font: 7pt "times new roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Calling out a book for being bad doesn’t always
come down to professional jealousy if it arises from scrutiny. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: symbol;"><span>·<span style="font: 7pt "times new roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->To be observant is an essential trait of a
writer but he’ll face moments amounting to moral dilemma. He cites his initial
detachment accompanied by inhumane fascination on observing an accident
involving a pregnant woman and his later disgust with himself. He admits “For
better or worse, the practice of fiction changes a person. The true novelist
knows things another man with his own specialization does not know and might
not wish to.” <span> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: symbol;"><span>·<span style="font: 7pt "times new roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->A good writer doesn’t declare outright what is
moral or not, say, incest. He says “Good fiction does not deal in codes of
conduct—at least not directly; it affirms responsible humanness.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> “<b>There is a peasant in
every good novelist’</b> </p><p class="MsoNormal">He quotes Fitzgerald, "the peasant" in the novelist makes him endure and maintain pace like that of
a marathon runner, unlike a poet or a short story writer. He must be directed
by his inner ambitions to keep going and should not rely on occasional bursts
of applause. If the novel is bogged down by some state the writer cannot
fathom, it is okay, though unpleasant, to put the manuscript away for a
considerable period and look at it again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“All writing requires at least some measure of trancelike
state: the writer must summon out of nonexistence some character, some scene,
and he must focus that imaginary scene in his mind until he sees it as vividly
as, in another state, he would see the typewriter and cluttered desk in front
of him, or the last year's calendar on his wall. But at times—for most of us,
all too occasionally—something happens, a demon takes over, or nightmare swings
in, and the imaginary becomes the real."</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This trancelike state requires what Gardner terms “<b>daemonic
compulsiveness</b>” which assists “in the making of splendid works of art,
allowing him indifference to whether or not the novel sells, whether or not
it's appreciated. Drivenness is trouble for both the novelist and his friends;
but no novelist, I think, can succeed without it. Along with the peasant in the
novelist, there must be a man with a whip”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><b>The Writer and his
community<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Writing workshops and degrees in creative writing were
fashionable in Gardner’s period as well. He elaborates on the ways such units can
assist and limit the writer’s will. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Talk about writing, even in a mediocre community of
writers, is exciting. It makes you forget that by your own standards, whatever
they may be, you're not very good yet. It fills you with nervous energy, makes
you want to leave the party and go home and write. And it's the sheer act of
writing, more than anything else, that makes a writer.” </i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gardner is not fascinated by experimental writing and
remarks a realist might feel out of place in a community that entertains such
experiments, like the one heralded by John Barth. The student, in our case the
writer, should keep company of those whose interests seem closest to his own. He
quips that it helps to hang around a writer, who may or may not directly teach the
workings of his art. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Perhaps the chief value of the famous writer is his
presence, his contribution as a role model. Just by being around him day after
day, the young writer learns how the famous man reads, and what he reads; how
he perceives the world; how he relates to others and to his profession; even
how he schedules his life. The famous writer's presence is vivid proof that the
young writer's goal is not necessarily unreasonable”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have to admit I was grinning from ear to ear when Gardner
says, “If the student is extraordinarily lucky, the famous writer may also be a
good teacher: he not only knows what real art is but can explain it" Thank you <a href="https://www.jeyamohan.in/">Jeyamohan</a>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A community is likely to make or break the writer. Gardner
has a word of caution for writers of a workshop who critique a fellow writer’s
work.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Classmates of the writer whose work has been read do not
begin, if the workshop is well run, by stating how they would have written the
story, or by expressing their blind prejudices on what is or is not seemly; in
other words, <b>they do not begin by making up some different story or
demanding a different style</b>. They try to understand and appreciate the
story that has been written. They assume, even if they secretly doubt it, that
the story was carefully and intelligently constructed and that its oddities
have some justification. If they cannot understand why the story is as it is,
they ask questions”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It felt good reading the piece where Gardner suggests that
it is better if the aspiring writer doesn’t major in Literature. <span> </span>It is advisable, he says, to take as many courses
in Literature as one can to hone one’s techniques but “If he can, the young
writer should give at least glancing attention to as many as possible of the <b>major
fields of study</b>: a foreign language, history, philosophy, psychology, one
or more of the hard sciences, fine arts. Glancing attention to these fields
will enable the student to pursue them further on his own whenever he—or one of
his characters—needs information”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Okay Gardner does whack you in the head at times. “The best
way of all for dealing with <b>writer's block</b> is never to get it. Some
writers never do. Theoretically there's no reason one should get it, if one
understands that writing, after all, is only writing, neither something one
ought to feel deeply guilty about nor something one ought to be inordinately
proud of. If children can build sand castles without getting sandcastle block,
and if ministers can pray over the sick without getting holiness block, the
writer who enjoys his work and takes measured pride in it should never be
troubled by writer's block”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gardner doles out generous advice on the <b>kind of
profession</b> that allows a writer to make time for writing without much intrusion.
The writer who survives by teaching writing may discover, however, that his
teaching hurts his art. Journalism may be a better option, but it may undermine
the writer's prose and sensibility. But what I did not expect next was this,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“The best way a writer can find to keep himself going is to
live off his (or her) spouse. The trouble is that, psychologically at least,
it's hard. Even if one's spouse is rich, it's hard. Our culture teaches none of
its false lessons more carefully than it teaches that one should never be
dependent. Hence the novice or still unsuccessful writer, who has enough
trouble believing in himself, has the added burden of shame. That's one reason
writers, like other artists, have so often chosen to live off people that, at
some conscious or unconscious level, they need not respect—generous
prostitutes, say. It's hard to be a good writer and a guilty person; a lack of
self-respect creeps into one's prose. Yet for all that may be said against it,
living off one's spouse or lover is an excellent survival tactic.”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I believe I will listen to Gardner’s observations and ideas
on the craft of writing as mentioned in the book but I don’t think I will buy the
above advice, however lucrative. But future novelists hear, hear!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gbVyO-aWVZs/XuZvFJNXbVI/AAAAAAAAKas/0iX2UTCVPS0AZXBGOkl57NMKO0GG31KtQCK4BGAsYHg/s277/novelist.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gbVyO-aWVZs/XuZvFJNXbVI/AAAAAAAAKas/0iX2UTCVPS0AZXBGOkl57NMKO0GG31KtQCK4BGAsYHg/novelist.jpg" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br />Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-68491849521745952752020-06-12T11:15:00.008-07:002020-06-13T04:20:41.935-07:00"Of Sons and Fathers" Gilead - Marilynne Robinson<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">One of the most endearing things about novels that span
generations is the opportunity to visualize the era gone by – ambitions, ideologies,
confrontations, ambiguity and (or within) religion. Marilynne Robinson’s Pulitzer
prize winning novel Gilead (2004) is one such novel that effortlessly retains a
sense of timelessness, through a style of narration that comes across as deeply
contemplative.</font></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sfivb9NHb4U/XuPE09rYU1I/AAAAAAAAKZM/ZqFh0NYp-EI5lqtTPAy14-Z8JZZmkuULgCK4BGAsYHg/s1050/M_robinson.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="1050" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sfivb9NHb4U/XuPE09rYU1I/AAAAAAAAKZM/ZqFh0NYp-EI5lqtTPAy14-Z8JZZmkuULgCK4BGAsYHg/w640-h360/M_robinson.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Gilead is an </span><s style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">epislatory</s><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">, </span><s style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">epistlery</s><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">,
epistolary (phew) novel, narrated in the form of a letter. The year is 1956. John Ames, an ailing third
generation pastor, writes to his seven year old son - a son who, he acknowledges, will grow
up not knowing him. In a tone that's confessional, affectionate but
never overbearing, </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Ames recounts the
lives of his passive father and his radical grandfather, his sedentary
life in the laid back fictional town of Gilead, his sensitivity to the
Christian faith, his eventual marriage with a much younger woman and his tryst
with his namesake and adversary John Ames (Jack) Boughton.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">Of all the father-son relationships explored, the novel’s
chief concern is the son who isn’t, Jack Boughton. Early on in the letter, Ames
sounds very cautious in his introduction of the middle aged Boughton, the son
of Ames’ neighbor and long time friend Old Boughton. We can sense a subtle
suspense building up, the episode where he first refers to him as the prodigal son of the
Boughton progeny, mentioning he’d narrate at a later point the story of the boy who was always up to no good. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“I have said at least once a week my whole adult life that
there is an absolute disjunction between our Father's love and our deserving.
Still, when I see this same disjunction between human parents and children, it
always irritates me a little.”</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">There are tense moments in almost every father-son
relationship mentioned in the novel, between Ames’ father and grandfather, Ames’
father and Ames’ atheist brother Edward, Old Boughton and Jack and ultimately Ames
and Jack. <span> </span>Ames recalls,<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">"Have I offended you in some way, Reverend?" my
father would ask. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">And his father would say, "No, Reverend, you have not
offended me in any way at all. Not at all." And my mother would say,
"Now, don't you two get started."</font></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">Ames finds himself in a similar state
with Jack, when the two attempt to strike a conversation without </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">heated arguments or </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">any visible
signs of rage. Ames takes polite, indirect jabs at Jack (in the form
of a sermon), while the latter doesn’t hesitate to make a remark he sees no
harm in (calling Ames’ wife uneducated at one point). The strife would end with Jack covering his face with
his hands almost immediately in regret, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">John Ames Boughton was so named by
his parents in an attempt to fill the void of the then childless John Ames,
indirectly chaining the duo into a “disjunctive” relationship. It is this chain
that tugs at Ames’ heart making it difficult for him to forgive Jack as he
tries to see past his seduction of an unfortunate girl and the subsequent disavowal of their
child, resulting in their untimely death decades ago. Ames wants to wean his wife away from the trouble maker, but his Christian mind thinks the better of it. He finally comes around and reconciles with Jack at the end of the novel, having learnt of his union with a coloured
woman and his yearning to build a home for his wife and child.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">John Ames Boughton is my son. If
there is any truth at all in anything I believe, that is true also. By "my
son" I mean another self, a more cherished self. </font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">It is rather unfortunate when <i>meditative</i> novels (if I
can take the liberty of calling them as such) are called out for the lack of “plot”
and the accompanying trail of twists, blood and tears. <span> </span>Gilead’s plot or the lack thereof allows the
author to give an intimate portrayal of the finite characters in a limited
setting. </font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ames never regrets having spent his entire life in Gilead. </span><font face="times" size="4">“There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of
them sufficient” he writes to his son. </font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“…as I was walking up to the church. There was a young
couple strolling along half a block ahead of me. The sun had come up
brilliantly after a heavy rain, and the trees were glistening and very wet. On
some impulse, plain exuberance, I suppose, the fellow jumped up and caught hold
of a branch, and a storm of luminous water came pouring down on the two of
them, and they laughed and took off running, the girl sweeping water off her hair
and her dress as if she were a little bit disgusted, but she wasn't. It was a
beautiful thing to see, like something from a myth.”</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p><font face="times" size="4">These lines might count as one of the “thousand thousand” savoured moments in the life of Reverend John Ames who, </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">the day he was prompted to seek another dwelling, "felt homesick</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> for a place he had never left".</span><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="179" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yFmakM9iUHQ/XuPDtYh-oNI/AAAAAAAAKYw/WgAGaBerlaE_lO7U5l463WyPC6ACN-8JACK4BGAsYHg/gilead.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yFmakM9iUHQ/XuPDtYh-oNI/AAAAAAAAKYw/WgAGaBerlaE_lO7U5l463WyPC6ACN-8JACK4BGAsYHg/s281/gilead.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span> </span></a></div></div>Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-19452249582822541692020-06-11T14:34:00.002-07:002020-06-12T01:08:31.321-07:00Initial Impressions: Literature of Exhaustion (1967)<div><font face="times" size="4">'Literature of Exhaustion' by American writer John Barth, is generally considered the quintessential essay on post modernism. It was widely misinterpreted in his time as beckoning the death of the novel and he had to write a 'Literature of Replenishment' a decade later to counter it.</font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn_2YoVoDWg/XuKhZJWTCCI/AAAAAAAAKYI/9GvdmFoC8vQbn6SRDyJLuKge_hM6cuOngCK4BGAsYHg/s249/barth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="203" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn_2YoVoDWg/XuKhZJWTCCI/AAAAAAAAKYI/9GvdmFoC8vQbn6SRDyJLuKge_hM6cuOngCK4BGAsYHg/barth.jpg" /></a></div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">Barth starts the essay with a disclaimer that it was the "used-upness" of certain forms that he wants to denounce and not the physical, moral, intellectual aspect of art. He doubts the then fashionable “intermedia” arts’ stand of rejecting not just the tradition in art but the traditional notion of the artist, whereby a controlling artist might run the risk of being considered a fascist in those terms.</font></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4">Why then is this essay often equated to a
pamphlet on post modernism? I think it comes down to his argument – a writer
whose work is technically “out of date is likely to be a genuine defect” he
says, even Beethoven might sound outdated if he weren’t put forth in “the
Borgesian spirit” (Ironic intent might save it, he suggests later on in the essay).<span> </span>Jorge Luis Borges is Barth’s muse, a
technically up to date artist poised against the league of old fashioned/ up to
date non artists (The last one, I guess, is the most dangerous of all venereal diseases
that inflicted post modernists). </font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"><span>Speaking of the literature of exhausted
possibilities, he viewed Borge’s ‘Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote’ as an
original work and not as one that mimics the fictional superiority of Menard’s
immersive reproduction (In the story, Menard replicates Don Quixote word to word but is hailed as superior to Cervantes because of the way he immerses himself in the act of writing) </span></font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Barth says of Borges, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"></font></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“..he confronts an intellectual dead end and
employs it against itself to accomplish new human work”</font></blockquote><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">Barth likens Borges to Greek hero Theseus who knows better than to exhaust all pathways leading to the Minotaur in the Cretan Labyrinth. Borges is the non-baroque artist who, </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">following Ariadne’s thread,</span><font face="times" size="4"> prefers to </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">acknowledge</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> the </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">existence rather than exhaust all literary possibilities.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4">He does contemplate the advent of similar possibilities by other writers as well (Beckett,
Nabokov) if the then contemporary literary scene decides to close its door on
the conventional novel. The novel may or may not perish but the work created in such apocalyptic ambience cannot be invalidated. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4"></font></span></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><span>"</span>If you took a bunch of people out into the desert and the world didn’t
end, you’d come home shamefaced, I imagine; but the persistence of an art form
doesn’t invalidate work created in the comparable apocalyptic ambience. This is
one of the fringe benefits of being an author instead of a prophet."</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"></font><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></p><a href="http://people.duke.edu/~dainotto/Texts/barth.pdf" target="_blank">Literature of Exhaustion - John Barth</a><br />Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-86924150964190046462020-06-11T13:03:00.002-07:002020-06-11T13:05:06.674-07:00Initial Impressions: Imagination and Community (2012)<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">Presence is a great mystery, and presence in absence, which Jesus promised and has epitomized, is, at a human scale, a great reality for all of us in the course of ordinary life. I am persuaded for the moment that this is in fact the basis of community.</font></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eLsgplgx_c0/XuKKe0RMI-I/AAAAAAAAKXo/P8mxbCHuc3kfrhCeMw8t8Iy7wYp-VhNlwCK4BGAsYHg/s484/munro_robinson_lg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="times" size="4"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="380" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eLsgplgx_c0/XuKKe0RMI-I/AAAAAAAAKXo/P8mxbCHuc3kfrhCeMw8t8Iy7wYp-VhNlwCK4BGAsYHg/s320/munro_robinson_lg.jpg" /></font></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"> </font></div><span style="background: rgb(247, 245, 240); color: #1e1e1e; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4">“Imagination and Community” is an essay
by contemporary American novelist Marilynne Robinson published in 2012 among her collection of essays “When I was
a child I read books”.</font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Robinson believes “the more generous the
scale at which imagination is exerted, the healthier and more humane the
community will be.” She insists it is imagination which spearheads a community,
into loving people who are not personally acquainted with one another, on
several “grounds”. It is with these conditions that she finds a problem with,
as they cause boundaries to be drawn, limiting the role of imagination.</span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“…<span>They insist that the imagination must
stay within the boundaries they establish for it, that sympathy and
identification are only allowable within certain limits. I am convinced that
the broadest possible exercise of imagination is the thing most conducive to
human health, individual and global.”</span></font></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Differing with purists on the heterogenous
nature of a community she says “Democracy, in its essence and genius, is
imaginative love for and identification with a community with which, much of
the time and in many ways, one may be in profound disagreement."</span></div><div><blockquote><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“I love the writers of my thousand books. It pleases me to think how astonished old Homer, whoever he was, would be to find his epics on the shelf of such an unimaginable being as myself, in the middle of an unrumored continent. I love the large minority of the writers on my shelves who have struggled with words and thoughts and, by my lights, have lost the struggle. All together they are my community, the creators of the very idea of books, poetry, and extended narratives, and of the amazing human conversation that has taken place across millennia, through weal and woe, over the heads of interest and utility” </span></blockquote><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Robinson proposes </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">books as a model of community. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We can perceive that she builds on the idea of community onto the historical sense framed by Eliot.</span> </div><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><font face="times" size="4">“the historical sense compels a man to
write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a feeling that
the whole of the literature of Europe from Homer and within it the whole of the
literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and composes a
simultaneous order." (Tradition and The Individual Talent)</font></blockquote><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">Towards the end of the essay, she warns that the constant rebellion signalling the end of community might result us going back in time, to the uncouth age of tribalism. </font><font face="times" size="4">I found it interesting to place her views against the views of Rosseau, the most famous critic of the enlightenment movement. Rosseau in his essay “the origins of inequality” believes that man is better off not being in a community- which he thinks forces man to serve the states’ interests rather than one’s own, leading to inequality. He saw man as free and with self-esteem in his primitive state, when one had little need to cohabit with others whereas Robinson doesn’t want community to head back in time. I think it is interesting to see how writers of different eras (Rosseau indirectly influenced the French revolution) chose to view inequality vis-à-vis community.</font></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><a href="https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/imagination-community" target="_blank">Imagination & Community </a></font></div><p></p>Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-60004825493395217202020-06-11T12:22:00.003-07:002020-06-11T12:32:17.955-07:00Initial Impressions : The Communist Manifesto (1847)<p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“In this sense, the theory of the Communists may be summed
up in the single sentence: Abolition of private property”</font></blockquote><div><font face="times" size="4">That’s the manifesto, written by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, in a nutshell.</font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vgyulQ71wmk/XuKCHSsKeZI/AAAAAAAAKWQ/l2rAnkggkKsIrhL0k5B3baM4Bsa5MwMzACK4BGAsYHg/s246/images.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><font face="times" size="4"><img border="0" data-original-height="205" data-original-width="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vgyulQ71wmk/XuKCHSsKeZI/AAAAAAAAKWQ/l2rAnkggkKsIrhL0k5B3baM4Bsa5MwMzACK4BGAsYHg/images.jpg" /></font></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="times" size="4">Karl Marx and Frederick Engels<br /></font></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><font face="times" size="4"></font></div><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">In the first section of the manifesto <b>“Bourgeois and
Proletarians”</b>, Marx states that in “the history of all hitherto existing
societies is the history of class struggles”, it is the bourgeoisie (the middle
class) who <span> </span>were instrumental in
instigating the working class to revolt against aristocracy for economic gains
and not the other way around (at least until the time the Manifesto was written)<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">The next piece <b>“Proletarians and Communists”</b> has Marx
defining the role of Communists with respect to the common folk “The Communists
are distinguished from the other working-class parties by this only: (1) In the
national struggles of the proletarians of the different countries, they point
out and bring to the front the common interests of the entire proletariat,
independently of all nationality. (2) In the various stages of development
which the struggle of the working class against the bourgeoisie has to pass
through, they always and everywhere represent the interests of the movement as
a whole”, something in the likes of first among equals. These roles, as we saw
in history, were altered by despotic leaders who chose to tread upon the rest,
thus undermining communism through tyranny. Marx saw this in his own lifetime
and grew weary to the blatant disharmony among classes during the various
revolutions in France and England. I’m reminded of Orwell’s Animal Farm, where Napoleon, a pig and self confessed first-among-animal-equals tweaks the seven commandments to suit his whims. <o:p></o:p></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W0cRhwreceo/XuKBDo7sTgI/AAAAAAAAKV0/-qq5VefWzCgcq3oEbSv453tO-wCGNyqfACK4BGAsYHg/s552/commandments.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="times" size="4"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="415" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W0cRhwreceo/XuKBDo7sTgI/AAAAAAAAKV0/-qq5VefWzCgcq3oEbSv453tO-wCGNyqfACK4BGAsYHg/s320/commandments.jpg" /></font></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">The manifesto’s next segment <b>“Socialist and Communist
Literature” </b>is a critique on the existing socialist movements and how
Communism differs from them while the last <b>section “Position of the
Communists in Relation to the Various Existing Opposition Parties</b>” gives a
then current-scenario of the position of the Communists not to mention the
unforgettable lines.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution.
The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to
win. WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!”</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">With regards to the manifesto’s stance on the proletarians,
my mind once again draws parallel with another scathing work of George Orwell. In
his “1984”, the proletarians are called “proles” and they are treated like
outcasts by their totalitarian Government. The higher strata (members of the
Inner and the Outer party) of its society are constantly monitored but the
proles are left uncared for. They are the “social scum” who according to the
Government are only fit to eat and procreate, incapable of stirring up a
revolution.<span> </span>Winston Smith, the
protagonist thinks otherwise. “If there was hope, it must lie in the proles, because
only there in those swarming disregarded masses, 85 per cent of the population
of Oceania, could use the force to destroy the Party ever be generated.”<span> </span>he writes. But that doesn’t happen. They stay
ignorant of their grim future and remain in a vegetative state.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><font face="times" size="4">Marx is highly suspicious of the outcasts playing any active role in the revolution. The manifesto discusses the probability of outcasts joining the proletarian revolution as thus,</font><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">“The “dangerous class,” the social
scum, that passively rotting mass thrown off by the lowest layers of old
society, may, here and there, be swept into the movement by a proletarian
revolution; its conditions of life, however, prepare it far more for the part
of a bribed tool of reactionary intrigue.”</font></p></blockquote><div><font face="times" size="4">I'm deeply intrigued by Marx and his affecting legacy that I intend to read his theory of alienation sometime soon. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61" target="_blank">The Communist Manifesto (link to Project Gutenberg)</a></p>Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-25752572645018917622020-06-11T05:46:00.001-07:002020-06-11T05:46:42.226-07:00Initial impressions: Tradition and the Individual Talent (1919) <p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“Poetry is not a
turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression
of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who
have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these
things.”</font></blockquote><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4">T.S Eliot was a
Boston Brahmin, a name given to the erudite city dwellers of Boston, believed
to be descendants of the early English settlers. The origins of the term
‘Brahmin’ (evoked curiosity given his inclination to Eastern philosophy) apparently </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">had</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> little to do with the system but rather a fancy name coined for the
elitist purist faction of the city, albeit inspired. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYcI0Ze1tk/XuIlFSl399I/AAAAAAAAKT8/feiRrEbYfesMPUXryPiR5UfmlN0nhu1DACK4BGAsYHg/s480/ag-obj-7913-001-pub-med.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font size="4"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="431" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYcI0Ze1tk/XuIlFSl399I/AAAAAAAAKT8/feiRrEbYfesMPUXryPiR5UfmlN0nhu1DACK4BGAsYHg/w287-h320/ag-obj-7913-001-pub-med.jpg" title="Photo credit: Yale University Art Gallery" width="287" /></font></a></div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4">A considerable
number of literary insiders consider Eliot the most important literary critic
of the 19<sup>th</sup> century and I think this played an enormous role in
substantiating his identity as a prominent poet and thinker of the era as well. Eliot is
widely acknowledged to have been one of the foremost to weed out the persona of
the artist from that of his art. His oft quoted and widely read essay
‘Tradition and the Individual Talent’ published in 1919 does lay out the role
of the writer in the making of his work and ascertains his place in history as
one that both draws from and adds to the past. <o:p></o:p></font></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"><span><span>I’m personally drawn to the first part of the essay where Eliot comments on the historical sense of an artist,</span></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="times" size="4"><span><span style="background: rgb(241, 239, 234); color: black; line-height: 107%;"> </span></span><span><span></span></span></font></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“the historical
sense compels a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones,
but with a feeling that the whole of the literature of Europe from Homer and
within it the whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous
existence and composes a simultaneous order”</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><font face="times" size="4"><span>The art of abiding by/ procuring such historical sense is what I
believe must drive writers, readers, critics alike these days. I’m reminded of
Jeyamohan’s criticism on his predecessors’ fixation on European historicism
as well as his stance against the uniform template used by a vast majority of contemporary Tamil
poets, averse to one’s own historical background, spinning poetic pretension and little else. </span></font></span><span style="font-size: large;"><font face="times">In the second part of the essay, Eliot
lays out the role of the “detached” writer in the making of his work and
ascertains his place in history as one that both draws from and adds to the
past. </font></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Eliot sums it up best with </span></p><blockquote><font face="times" size="4">“The emotion of art is impersonal. And
the poet cannot reach this impersonality without surrendering himself wholly to
the work to be done. And he is not likely to know what is to be done unless he
lives in what is not merely the present, but the present moment of the past,
unless he is conscious, not of what is dead, but of what is already living”</font></blockquote><font face="times" size="4"><o:p></o:p></font><p></p><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69400/tradition-and-the-individual-talent" target="_blank"><font size="4"><br /></font></a><div><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69400/tradition-and-the-individual-talent" target="_blank"><font size="4">Tradition and the Individual Talent</font></a></div><div><br /></div>Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-78365303374961319062019-12-30T10:00:00.000-08:002020-02-02T02:03:08.745-08:002019 throwback!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-18169886364228065962019-10-01T04:06:00.000-07:002019-10-08T10:17:20.473-07:00Dictionary of the Khazars - Milorad Pavić<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the odd pages of Pavić’s magnum opus, the various trials undergone by the ‘great walking parchment’ is described in much detail. An
envoy is sent to the Byzantine Emperor Theophilus with his entire body tattooed
with Khazars’ history and topography. He lets his hand get chopped off in
Constantinople when a man pays in solid gold for the second Khazar year
chronicled on his left palm. He is forced to return to the Khazar capital from
time to time so that the inscriptions can undergo multiple corrections and new
additions. His daily bread comes from hours of standing still so that the Greek
and other scribes could copy the Khazar history from his back and thighs into
their books. He ultimately passes away, unable to bear the incessant itching
brought about by the prized inscriptions and “…and it was with relief that he
died, glad to be finally cleansed of history.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I found <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The
Dictionary of Khazars</b> to be an ode to the life of this great walking
parchment who is believed to have said many things contrary to what was
inscribed on his skin. Serbian writer <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Milorad</b>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Pavić</b> takes similar liberty while
fabricating the history of Khazars, a tribe believed to have lived from the 7<sup>th</sup>
to 10<sup>th</sup> century A.D, inhabiting the land between the Black and
Caspian Seas. Drawing on the fable of the lost Dictionary of the Khazars, Pavić
wrote its fictional replica in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1984</b>
as a lexicon novel that comes across as encyclopedic
fiction, rather than a novel in the conventional sense. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The dictionary chiefly concerns itself with the event that
decided the Khazars’ subsequent disappearance in the annals of time – <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">the Khazar polemic</b>. In the guise of the
polemic, the Khazar chieftain gets his dream interpreted by a Christian philosopher,
an Islamic dervish and a Jewish Rabbi; their intentions - to win the
chieftain’s trust and convert his entire clan to their respective religion. The
dictionary is segregated into three sources of the polemic - The Red book, the
Green book and the Yellow book, with each source claiming the successful
undertaking by the Christian, Islamic and Jewish representative respectively, apart from divulging information in the Alphabetic order on the various
Chroniclers of the Khazar dictionary in the 17<sup>th</sup> century and the 20<sup>th</sup>
century A.D. Pavić, in the preface admits to using “non-linear narratives” in
his attempt to make reading a reversible art form like architecture or painting,
where the viewer approaches an art work as how he sees fit. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The book was published as two separate male and female
editions with only one altered passage differing in the two editions which
Pavić believes is crucial to the text, but I can see it only as a gimmick that
succeeded in catapulting the book to immediate attention. I read the
androgynous version of the book, by the way, wherein both the male and female
organs of the book were intact and left in full view. The book grew
tremendously popular, given the fact the book has been translated into 39
languages (and counting). You can catch a glimpse of the many covers of the
same book at the official page of the Khazar’s dictionary (<span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="http://www.khazars.com/en/foto-galerija/covers-of-the-dictionary-of-the-khazars">http://www.khazars.com/en/foto-galerija/covers-of-the-dictionary-of-the-khazars</a></span>)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Female and Male Editions</td></tr>
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A princess with two-thumbed hands, parrots that teach the
Khazar language, a clan that reads colours like musical notes, a boy whose life
span is determined by every falling hair and devils with a penchant for the
arts are the some of the many instances where Pavić teases us with his creative
brilliance but avoids weaving a compelling story line around those almost
eccentric sounding ideas. For example, Petkukin the foster son of Brankovich
has the ability to take a different day from future and use it in place of the
following day. He has plenty of other super-human traits like being
ambidextrous in two different languages and leaving behind rainbow hued sweat
but Pavić fails to capitalize on any of these features while narrating his
story apart from making a remark or two along the way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as there are recurring characters, there are recurring
themes such as the resurrection of Adam Cadmon (or Adam Ruhani) pieced together
from the mosaic built by chronicling dreams into the dictionary, painfully
compiled across various epochs by the dream hunters. There are religious motifs
appearing throughout the novel such as the emergence of Adam as the ideal
outcome of the Khazar compilation, the reverence for the seven forms of salt
and the frequent mention of the Psalms. The most evident religious reference in
the dictionary is the importance given to the interpretation of the dream of
the Khazar Kaghan. In all the holy texts of the Abrahamic religions, Joseph
(Yusuf in the Islamic text) is called upon to interpret the dream of the ruler.
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Writer Jeyamohan suggested I read fellow Yugoslav writer Ivo
Andrić’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“The Bridge on the Drina”</b> (published
much earlier in 1945) to get a much better insight on the political context of
the Balkan region. The book was written in the same language as Pavić’s lexicon
novel, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">the </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Serbo-Croation</b> a language
spoken predominantly in the countries that once made up Yugoslavia (Bosnia and
Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Slovenia). Andrić’s novel is a chronicle that recounts the 400-year-old tale of the
bridge constructed over the river Drina. Set in Višegrad, a town in modern day
Bosnia-Herzegovina the novel is as much a story of the bridge as the story of the Serbian, Turkish and Austrian conflicts in the region between the
rivers Rzav and Drina. The bridge is constructed when the Turks are in power in
the 16<sup>th</sup> century and over the course of centuries the town becomes a
part of the Austrian empire. The new regime ushers in peace and modernity but
its nature changes when the Austrian crown prince is assassinated, and the
bridge is suddenly under threat of destruction. Andrić’s book is a riveting
account of the everyday lives of Bosnian Moslems, Jews, Serbian Christian
families and Turks living together both in and out of harmony and whose lives
undergo changes with the changing times and rulers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A key architect of the now defunct Yugoslavia, Ivo Andrić’s
commentary on the weakest points of human nature is full of compassion. His
writing brims with a natural optimism and he seems to believe in the brethren
of all faiths whilst narrating the grim displacement caused by recurring wars.
Pavić though, writes with a certain detachment when he writes about the
treatment of Khazars in their own state. Pavić’s comments on the state of the
Khazars in the hands of the three Semitic giants. The Khazars comprise the
larger part of other sects’ armies. They are forced to buy the more expensive undyed
bread. They are simply addressed as the non-majority folks and lose their
identity as Khazars in a Khazar state headed by foreign sects. Small nations
terrorize the big in the name of democracy says the young Khazar assassin at
the end of the novel. This fictional mistreatment of the Khazars may be taken
for the persecution of Serbs in Yugoslavia but reading the book generally leaves
one with the feeling that Pavić’s distortion of history has more to do with experiments
with literary devices than driving a political statement. In this aspect, I
believe he has made his artwork “reversible” in a sense where he has left us to
do the hard work of seeing what fits where.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The Dictionary of the Khazars” is one of the many works of the postmodernist era that experiments with its form and narrative but unlike other
experimental novels which gradually faded into oblivion, Milorad Pavić’s
major work continues to attract attention from all quarters due to its
creative exploits that borders on eccentricity. Though his works were drawn to the spotlight mostly because of the curiosity that prevailed over the creation of Serbia during the 1980-90s, Pavić comes across as a man with the panache to pull off metaphysical antics disguised as clumsy and random elements in a work that sounds as mundane as a lexicon novel. For who else can write something like this and get away with being called the most popular Serbian writer ever...<o:p></o:p></div>
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He was fond of saying that this revelation had come to him
once when a fly was drowning in his eye as he watched a fish, and thus the fish
fed on the fly</blockquote>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-3149754399348053172019-09-01T01:31:00.000-07:002020-02-02T02:00:47.141-08:00Remembering Julius Fučík – the dreamer in Red.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The year was 1938. Under the guise of rescuing the Sudeten Germans, Hitler assumed control over the frontiers of Czechoslovakia. The Munich pact signed between UK, France, Italy and Germany readily paved the way for him. The rest of Czechoslovakia was wrested a year later from a meek leadership and was brought under the realm of the Nazis, driven endlessly by their desire of establishing the Aryan Supremacy in Europe. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This annexation was met with almost no military resistance and made millions of Slovaks who constituted “the others” vulnerable to mindless persecution and inexplicable wrath. Anti-Semitism was not the only threat. “The others” also constituted Slovaks who tried to flee their Nazi-held Czechoslovakian homelands, homosexuals, artists who dared to decry the Nazi authority and the Communists. Members of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (CPC) were already ostracised by the incumbent democratic Government in Prague prior to the arrival of the Nazis.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Julius Fučík</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">joined the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia in 1921 as an eighteen-year-old. He worked as a journalist in various newspapers while contributing theater reviews regularly to the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rudé</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">právo</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (Red Rights), the official newspaper of the CPC. The CPC was under tight watch by the Prague government who felt threatened by their presence. Fučík assumed the role of the editor of the heavily censored newspaper and started writing under pseudonyms to avoid being persecuted for sympathising with the Stalin led USSR.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="A person posing for the camera
Description generated with very high confidence" border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Lf0ZxFNFPYn7ylN18e3gxxc-z2K8uUXDqdrrVfGEI7Tpv-eueDwvCgFWVmjVgaeXuW0zAhvSjjFexg4g7AGQJJzRwe9xqxxZUg8TIPWa3B72Qwjb80bTNF1zlsTPROkVrqj-Gnj1-qK3z8MdMg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="241" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Julius_Fu%C4%8D%C3%ADk_2.gif" style="text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Julius_Fu%C4%8D%C3%ADk_2.gif</span></a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1938, CPC was forced underground by the events brought about by the Munich pact. With an arrest warrant looming around, Fučík continued publishing articles related to Czech culture and history - making subtle references against the Nazi oppression. He continued using false identities and couldn’t resist citing his beloved Czech poet Jan Neruda in his essays from time and again. Over the course of the next few years, the Gestapo began to intensify their search for the Communist leadership and the undercover party’s luck was to soon run out.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="A vintage photo of a person
Description generated with very high confidence" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/OMpw4mtdOyB3VvqnFgye_yrouBRDYnaWhrdOnMUa-TMV9DcMxgsni_kdOnQhvXPqRHbKpCB5qLRS4a_JEcVqrNQawX0vtdrunDlgqcB8ELZf85UAvURxBITwa3o07DHK4_iT89h6QQWImIf6jQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; white-space: normal;" width="219" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Julius_Fu%C4%8D%C3%ADk_2.gif" style="text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Julius_Fu%C4%8D%C3%ADk_2.gif</span></a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />On April 24 1942,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> an elderly Professor Horak limps his way to the Jeleniks’ home on an official errand. While being served a cup of tea, officers of the Gestapo storm into the house, unaware that they have a prized catch amidst them. Though armed, the gentleman does not resort to use his artillery out of consideration for the lives of other house mates and is promptly seized. The Gestapo take away the man in disguise and learn his real identity by interrogating other captives. Awaiting his trial from prison cell 267 in Pankrác prison, Fučík is subjected to extreme torture but refuses to reveal names. He forms a camaraderie with fellow prisoners. The wounds inflicted on him restricts him from moving just across the floor to quench his thirst, besides giving a hard time when trying to swallow morsels from the otherwise precious </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">goulash</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> gravy. A rebel Czech guard Kolinsky offers to help Fučík write from prison, stealing in writing tools and carrying out sheets. Fučík wastes no time in penning down what turns out to be his last words and finds himself moved by Kolinsky’s gesture.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>“…To find a friend who gives you his hand, and helps you to speak for at least a moment with those who will outlive all this - even with those who will not outlive it.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His writings eventually did greet those who outlived Fučík. The sheets were complied over time by his wife </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Agustina Fučík</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and “Notes from the Gallows” was published in 1948.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Notes from the Gallows”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is notable among World War II era literature since it throws light on the Communist persecution by the Nazis who were more infamous for their anti-Semitic antics. Fučík’s notes show how the underground movement was spearheaded by the Communists in Czechoslovakia and outlines the events that Fučík assumes lead to their betrayal. He insists on the need to celebrate unsung heroes of the Communist movement and is unflinching in his love for the Soviet Union. His observations on inmates inside and outside the prison cells are stark and witty. Friend or fiend, he seems to recognise a genuine personality when he meets one. He is considerate towards the German guard nicknamed Flink. “Teach her and don’t let her be stunted” he says regarding a fellow young Communist fugitive Lida. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the impending trial in Berlin comes nearer, Fučík, a passionate pursuer of arts, culture and life relents and accepts his fate. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“This is a race between the war and hope. A race of one sort of death against another sort of death. Which will come first - the death of fascism or my death</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">?”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - he wonders.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On 8</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="vertical-align: super;">th</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> September 1943, fourteen months after his capture, Fučík is hanged. 76 years have almost passed since his execution.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With the publication of his memoir, Julius Fučík turned into an overnight Communist icon. When the Communists took over as the ruling party of the then united Czechoslovakia in 1948, Fučík fit the bill as the ideal Communist war hero. The martyr’s name made his way to children’s text books, odes, mines, factories, schools, parks and ships. His anniversary was celebrated as the “Day of the Press” and his statues were erected all over the Communist country. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="A sign on the side of a building
Description generated with very high confidence" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ySUEC5aMdGRyzLMoys-PcVz0zSJTmDg1U3vxV_AtVY3smsvi7ZmbFdj7eHU3W06-cApc9mfZ02ONfgIvfMsO2me8hZXXvnpG4PJJ6BRj3jqmf8pDlVKV5auKU3a4p-3XnaCHv86qB5kgl6GPNw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="309" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">Julius-Fučík-Denkmal in Berlin-Pankow</span>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-09ae8f8c-7fff-55da-381b-64da59826318"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>“Mankind, I had loved you… be vigilant!”</i></span></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">A sculpture installed in Berlin stands to this day.
The concluding words from his memoir are inscribed by the side of the
installation in Czech, German and Russian warning all of mankind to hold vigil.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In “Notes from
the Gallows”, Julius Fučík commented on the fragility of men when subjected to
tests of human weakness. He spoke highly of comrades who did not give into
torture and showed no hesitation in expressing his utter disgust at Mirek’s
defection. Reading the book generally left one with little room for doubt over
the authenticity of Fučík’s account of events. The only hitch lay in the fact
that Fučík was heralded as a hero when Stalinism was at its peak - a period where untruths were magnified larger
than life and contrary views were severely oppressed. The Communists in power
did not want to make a dent on Fučík’s image. They suppressed the alternative
narratives of events leading to the arrest, including that of an eye witness
who blamed Fučík’s inaction as the cause of the mass arrest. The doubts over
the authenticity of the book gained ground in the aftermath of the Velvet
revolution of 1989 when the Communist Czechoslovakia transitioned to a
parliamentary republic sans violence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The news that
some parts of Fučík’s notes were omitted in the published version raised
suspicions. It led to wide spread speculation that the missing pages contained
parts where Fučík might have admitted to betraying his fellow workers. In 1995, the missing pages were published. We
learn that Fučík had indeed succumbed to torture and that he had apparently mislead
his captors by revealing false identities, thus refuting allegations. Despite
the release of the full version, the book is termed a hagiography in some
quarters and its veracity is still debated. His transition from that of a
national hero to a mere political instrument at the hands of the Communists was
an unintended consequence of the fall of Communism in Europe towards the end of
the Twentieth century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Julius Fučík,
the icon might have lost some of his sheen as the new Capitalist era ushered in.
Julius Fučík, the dreamer with an immaculate resolve to withstand extraordinary
conditions is the one whom history loves to idolise. In this sense, Fučík
remains a true hero.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">“Each one who truly
lived into the future and gave his life to make the future beautiful is of a stature
to be carved in stone”</span></i></blockquote>
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Description generated with very high confidence" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/tpRV3tbQsUH999Ekh99zIsxZH1dqQeuKNrg1ZSNGeMFn7RftVSjXM9ca3u7sftOOSkIq9F3GoedtdLgZUaP_V8wIC09XQY4VeNOl7w5KZ3qRLqb7PEAiWuMiUg-pzTEpBkiY0x4FzhBaMYcn3w" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="235" /></span></span></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-27975796214646121452018-12-10T10:44:00.000-08:002019-08-16T07:02:20.177-07:002018 throwback! an image<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tAlojdSeRHE/XB6GDuqYN0I/AAAAAAAAGXs/WMDKcZ_jTispFHbGPdIHlgHnFVAir8rvQCLcBGAs/s1600/inCollage_20181125_152502035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tAlojdSeRHE/XB6GDuqYN0I/AAAAAAAAGXs/WMDKcZ_jTispFHbGPdIHlgHnFVAir8rvQCLcBGAs/s320/inCollage_20181125_152502035.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-7766675693313940742018-06-12T10:28:00.000-07:002019-09-01T07:54:08.393-07:00Rubber, a novel by Jeyamohan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">First published in 1990, Rubber is the debut novel of acclaimed
writer Jeyamohan. The rise of Ponnumani, the obscure orphan to Ponnu Peruvattar,
the rubber estate magnate and proud patriarch of the Peruvattar family is
spanned in the nearly 200 page long book. The colossal growth of Ponnu Peruvattar is
juxtaposed with the story depicting the fall of his empire.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2Z-xQ2fdL8/WyACC2N7FdI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/TGVXcDkJa0wQICh_nUaguQCFchMFd5r8gCLcBGAs/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="181" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2Z-xQ2fdL8/WyACC2N7FdI/AAAAAAAAE6Y/TGVXcDkJa0wQICh_nUaguQCFchMFd5r8gCLcBGAs/s320/images.jpg" width="207" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The end of the Peruvattar stronghold stems from the wrong
business decisions that Chellaiah Peruvattar, the only son of the patriarch makes.
The family is further undone due to friction between its members. Therese is
the detached spouse of Chellaiah who doesn’t make any attempt to hide her contempt
for “lower beings”. She lives in a world of her own and is indifferent towards
her sons’ waywardness and her husband’s crudeness. Of the couple’s five
children, only Francis and Livy still reside with them. Francis, Peruvattar’s
favourite grandson, is a school dropout and a spendthrift. He is outspoken and
is often at loggerheads with his parents. Livy is a college student who is not
attached to anyone and obeys his father solely out of a sense of obligation
which whittles down as the family’s fortunes decline.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The interspersed tale in this narrative is the rags to riches story of Ponnu
Peruvattar. The rise of Peruvattar as a larger than life figure in the Nanjil
region where he establishes his Rubber estate empire, results in the falling
out of the once dominating Arraikal family, said to be of royal blood lines. The
injustice he meted out to the disgraced family comes to irk Peruvattar in his last
days. The theme of caste- community and pride- is the sub text on which this tale of hate and
power is built upon. I must admit I’m naïve when it comes to understanding the
overt influence of caste in Tamil-Malayalam society. The political and communal
commentary in the novel is indeed an eye opener of sorts - showing the stark presence of prejudice in a
grim capitalist society that lacks humanity. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The novel is as much as a collection of short stories revolving
around a central theme – Rubber. Barring Peruvattar, Francis and few others, the
rest of the characters do not travel along the entire breadth of the novel and their
presence is limited to a chapter or two. The chapters dedicated to Therese,
Kandankaani and Velappa hold their own and has the traits of a short story in a
book written as a novel. This style adopted by the writer is unique and he
doesn’t hesitate to introduce a notable character like Velappa in one of the
concluding chapters. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The ailing Peruvattar’s demise as well as the end of his
family’s hold over the Rubber estate realm seem imminent as the novel draws to
a close. In “Rubber”, lives are built around the all-pervasive Rubber trees. Rubber
is an alien crop- foreign to the land. So is the lad who seeks refuge, Ponnumani.
Subsequently, all the other crops in the region are uprooted to grow the money
raking Rubber trees much like how the existing communities are displaced to
make way for the ambitious Ponnu Peruvattar. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rubber is indeed a fine novel that
is least pretentious in its depiction of rustic lives and the communal tensions
that overpower them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div>
Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-72883263414281285042018-04-01T08:10:00.002-07:002018-06-12T12:22:54.451-07:00The Sugar Rush - Books, Beatles and a Blush of poetry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It has been an eventful three months. I met some incredible people
this year and they have made a dent in my universe- Kambili, the protagonist of
Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche's "Purple Hibiscus", Okoye, the head of Dora
Milaje, the all women security force of Wakanda in the Black panther universe,
Indu, a young widow from “Amma Vandhal” who wears her heart on her sleeve and
Anne Frank who, with her fiery spirit and audacious mind, continues to draw
sympathy, laughter and tears from all realms and makes everyone fall
irrevocably in love with her awkward charm . I finally got back to reading and
it feels so good like being able to breathe normally after holding it for what
seemed like ages. The first few months of 2018 have been kind indeed.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Pantheress</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">It is not everyday you find a movie that checks all the right
boxes and milks the moolah. I'm not the quintessential Marvel-holier-than-DC
fan or the other way around. Superhero movies are fun to watch and they are
probably the only reason why I like watching them off late. But something or
the other always offended me. Be it racial stereotypes or the dumb blonde, I'm
easily offended. Well, "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1825683/" target="_blank">Black panther</a>" caught me off guard. The
women, Okoye, Naika and Shuri held their own in a movie that pitted men of
legacy against each other. Nobody tells the women to back off just because she
isn't a man and the women aren't given any concession just because they are
women. The movie also throws in a “what if” perspective - what if an African
nation was the most powerful nation in the world, even if is an imaginary one?
History has been absolutely “whitewashed” and we hardly know anything of Africa before the colonisation. Though this fictional movie didn’t exactly
enlighten my knowledge of African history, it definitely did spike my
curiosity. I haven't acted upon it yet but coincidentally I was reading a book
by a Nigerian author at around the same time I happened to watch the movie.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<h3 style="line-height: 21.528px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Firangipani, so Fragrant</span></h3>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche's “</span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/126381.Purple_Hibiscus" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank">Purple Hibiscus</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">” is just the kind of
book you would want to read if you crave for some good chamomile tea, find a
corner chair and switch to airplane mode. It felt different to discover how a
teenager from a culture completely alien to us go about her daily chores; catch
a glimpse of her way of life, the food she eats and her likes and dislikes in
course of an intricately crafted story, in this case, the story of fifteen year
old Kambili who finds true happiness and freedom in a household not her own.
She begins to question the role of her conservative father in her own
rich yet curfewed home. What her aunt's home lacks in riches is more than made
up for by an animated atmosphere where people speak their mind and find solace
in one another. The volatile politics of Nigeria involving military coups,
political threats, bribery is also included in the backdrop of the story. A
truly remarkable book with a beautifully woven storyline and a compelling
narrative!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have always wanted to read Anjali Joseph's “</span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8517800-saraswati-park" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank">Saraswati Park”</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">. I
found a second hand copy at Blossoms in a good condition and lunged at it.
It is a good book describing the lives of a middle class couple who share
their home with a young relative in a quaint neighborhood in suburban Mumbai.
The plot is paced slowly so that you might truly savour the writer’s vivid
depictions of the everyday mundane. Reading it is an insightful, intimate experience but at times you wonder whether you've outstayed your welcome. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">JeMo to the rescue!</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Over the course of years, having read the likes of Ponniyin
Selvan, Sivagamiyin Sabatham, Parthiban Kanavu (all by Kalki), a few works of
Jeyakanthan, Jeyamohan’s Aram, Perumal Murugan’s Maadhorubaagan, two or three
books of Vairamuthu and that of few other writers, I realised I’d hit a wall. I
didn't know what to read in Tamil. I knew the names of the literary
heavyweights and that was about it. I felt guilty for reading only a
handful of books in my mother tongue. I know it’s a common affliction among
readers of my generation who have been raised to study and think in English. I must
admit my penmanship in Tamil is not that great and a tad embarrassed too,
thinking of it. Hey, I'm young and hopefully have some decades ahead of me. I
can make up for the lost time and effort by reading and analysing books.
But what books? A friend (to whom I'll be eternally grateful to) lent me a
book that stopped me in my tracks and altered my course of life. The book was
written by someone I was critical of a couple of blog posts back, yes, it was
Jeyamohan. And the book was </span><a href="https://www.amazon.in/Naveena-Thamizhilakkiya-Arimugam-Jeyamohan/dp/8184936893" target="_blank">நவீனத் தமிழிலக்கிய அறிமுகம்</a> “Naveena Tamil Ilakiya Arimugam” (Introduction to
Modern Tamil Literature). If you are interested in Tamil literature and as
clueless as I was, Buy.Or.Borrow.The.Book.Now!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jeyamohan has written the first part of book as an introduction to
literary criticism and theory, giving us a general outline of the types of
literature and literary movements. He also introduces us to the use of Imagery
and Symbols in literature. He dwells on the need for coexistence of both
commercial and realist literature without taking sides or denouncing one for
the other. Be it political, science based or emotionally driven novels that
sway masses, they all have a right and a reason to exist. It is not fair for a
piece of literature to be criticized based on whether it is politically correct
or not. Literature is not meant to be curtailed by such ordinary bias.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The second half of the book is the answer to all our prayers. He
outlays the history of Modern Tamil literature by introducing us to writers and
their contributions in order of the generation the writer belongs to. He draws
our attention to the writers’ techniques, their strengths and weaknesses if any
and lists their notable works. You don't have to painstakingly jot down all the
books he has mentioned as you read though. The last section of the book has all
his recommendations put together. The list is exhaustive and I’m dumbstruck as
to how the author managed to read so many books. Inspirational!</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Amma comes calling</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">“<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13502154-amma-vanthaal" target="_blank">Amma Vandhal</a>” (Mother has come) by T. Janakiraman is a true classic that leaves you pondering over it for a long time after you are done reading.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> The titular Amma has a mysterious countenance about her that once revealed, leaves her son flummoxed and enraged. He wages a battle with himself and is repulsed by his father’s indifference to his mother’s transgressions.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Thank God I didn't read the foreword written by Sukumaran until after I finished reading the rest of the book. He has given the
entire story away in his piece. Maybe he felt that the novel’s use of motifs,
conversations and depiction of characters outshone the plot of “Amma Vandhal”
and merely knowing the story alone will not make do for any lit lover. If that
were the case, I agree. A mother is a figure we normally associate the words
“virtuous”, “chaste” and “pure” with. When that image is sullied, how does the
world treat her? With pure disdain of course. Amma seeks redemption by
way of her pious son and fails miserably as he too cannot bear the thought of his mother
crossing the sacred lakshman-rekha of absolute chastity. The book vaguely
reminds me of Oscar Wilde’s play ‘</span><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/790/790-h/790-h.htm" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank">Lady Windermere’s fan</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">” wherein Lord
Windermere resorts to drastic measures to protect his wife from knowing the
truth about her disreputable mother. The two books deal with the common theme
‘shame’ - while the former work confronts the truth, the latter gets away by
shunning it. Also, read my friend's brilliant analysis of the classic </span><a href="https://gssvnavin.wordpress.com/2018/03/07/%E0%AE%85%E0%AE%AE%E0%AF%8D%E0%AE%AE%E0%AE%BE-%E0%AE%B5%E0%AE%A8%E0%AF%8D%E0%AE%A4%E0%AE%BE%E0%AE%B3%E0%AF%8D-%E0%AE%AE%E0%AE%B0%E0%AE%AA%E0%AF%81%E0%AE%AE%E0%AF%8D-%E0%AE%AE%E0%AF%81%E0%AE%B1/" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yours? Mine? </span></h3>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">I also read a book of poems for leisure (again credits to my
benefactor). The last time I read some poetry was when I took up the meticulous
task of reading Keats, Shelley and Milton for my MA exams. Pleasure morphs into
pain when it’s all work and no play! The book that </span><span style="color: black;">lifted my spirits and set
them free is the late poet Gnanakoothan’s </span><a href="http://www.noolulagam.com/tamil-book/29913/en-ulam-nitri-nee-book-type-kavithaigal/" target="_blank">என் உளம் நிற்றி நீ</a>
“En Ullam Nitri Nee” (You reside in my heart). His repertoire is free verse and
his verses are just what they claim to be - free and uninhibited. One of his
poems affected me and I feel inclined to share its translation here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: black;"><i>Our Tamil</i></span></b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">We speak our Tamil</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">You speak yours</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">In our Tamil,</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">‘Mummy’ has a place,
‘Daddy’ has a place</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Whom Mummy denotes, whom
Daddy denotes</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Our children know it
well</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">In Different languages,
side by side</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">As we continue to dwell</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Our language finds a
place, others too</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">‘Nayinaa’s there,
‘Waaba’s there</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">‘Father’s there,
‘Mother’s there</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">In our Tamil,</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">‘Rice’, ‘Chappati’,
‘Poori’, ‘Sabzi’ are all there</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">In our Tamil
‘Chudidhar’s there, ‘Jibbaa’s there</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Our Tamil defines our
life</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">You speak your Tamil</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">By speaking your brand of Tamil</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What gain have you made?</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Ruled by you for years</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">You lost the very land
you inhabited together.</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Like sheep that strike
each other</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">You lost the ocean whose
tides strike the shore</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">The children who go to
school</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">The mothers who take
them there</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">The elderly who lay in
their beds</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">The hyperactive
youngsters have all been lost by you</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">When did it ever exist</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">One Tamil for everyone?</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">You speak your Tamil</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">We speak ours</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">I believe that the poet addresses the issue of identity through
these lines. Gnanakoothan’s mother tongue was Kannada and I wonder whether
there was ever an instance where he was criticized for not being a Tamilian by
birth. Being a migrant now in Bengaluru with the question of my identity
looming large, I feel humbled by this poem. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">When did it ever exist</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">One Tamil for everyone?</span></i></b><i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">No language is
semantically pure without borrowed words or phrases. Nobody should be
ostracized based on one’s language. A Leader of a political party in Tamil Nadu
in the name of Dravidianism, is reluctant to let anyone take up leadership
posts, unless they are from what he considers to be a pure Tamil background.
Even if you have lived in Tamil Nadu all your life, speak fluent Tamil and are
friends with everyone in the neighbourhood but speak another language at home,
you are considered an outsider by him and deemed unfit to be a leader of
Tamils. I’m Tamil through and through and this doesn’t make any sense to me. The
“outsiders” are as Tamil as the rest of us. I must admit, in the past, I was
critical of migrants who I thought didn’t put in enough effort to blend in with
the locals. Now in Bengaluru, I’m a changed leaf as I realise how very
difficult it is to learn a new language and how hard it is to blend in. I dream
of the day I read the legendary Kuvempu’s works in his own words. But my
efforts to learn Kannada are dampened by auto drivers who stop the vehicle only
when I say “Anna inga niruthunga” and not “Anna illi nillisi”. Is my Kannada
really that bad?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A Friend, A confidante</span></o:p></span></h3>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The last book I read this month is the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Diary_of_a_Young_Girl" target="_blank">Diary of a young girl</a> by
Anne Frank, I bought it on an impulse as it was on sale for Rs.11 on Kindle.
The book wasn’t part of my school syllabus or my growing up years unlike my
peers. I felt I’d missed out on Anne. Well, better late than never.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9h55c7U9kbM/WsCI1UQoJAI/AAAAAAAAEuo/DBnEFR8vStghPzNoVv6i3uQSpeIEcYZ8wCLcBGAs/s1600/Fragment-uit-het-dagboek-van-Anne-Frank-810x498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="810" height="245" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9h55c7U9kbM/WsCI1UQoJAI/AAAAAAAAEuo/DBnEFR8vStghPzNoVv6i3uQSpeIEcYZ8wCLcBGAs/s400/Fragment-uit-het-dagboek-van-Anne-Frank-810x498.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Anne was a fiery, vivacious teenager who didn’t think twice in
pointing out right from wrong. She saw through the flimsy minds of adults,
flinched at their constant tantrums, shared secret notes with her sister and fell
headlong in love with a boy she didn’t like much at first. Scenes from the life
of a typical teenager except that in Anne Frank’s case, all of this happened in
hiding. Anne was part of the group that comprised of two Jewish families and an
acquaintance, who spent nearly two years in hiding from the Nazis. Anne is a
fantastic writer with a way with words. We laugh, cry, sigh, empathize with her
and at times find her too hot headed. It’s not her fault for we are the
trespassers, reading personal notes that she intended to edit and publish post
war. Fate had other plans and she was not the one who edited it in the end. The
holocaust was a horrible and ghastly event. Anne’s diary is the most affecting
holocaust related work I’ve ever come across for Anne appeared to confide in me, as I read entry after entry, like how a close friend would. I'm a true admirer of Anne and her audacity. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Give the
following movies a try if you want to know more about the holocaust or World
War II- <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108052/" target="_blank">Schindler’s List</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118799/" target="_blank">Life is Beautiful</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120815/" target="_blank">Saving Private Ryan</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0361748/" target="_blank">Inglorious Bastards</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2713180/" target="_blank">Fury</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0914798/" target="_blank">The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0816442/" target="_blank">The Book Thief</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;">
Tangerine trees and Marmalade Skies</div>
</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kitty – the name Anne gave her diary. My diary had a name too, the
one I wrote in 2008. I was around the same age as Anne Frank was when she
started writing her diary. I named it LSD and all my entries would start with “Dear
LSD…” No I didn’t name it after the drug. I had a habit of changing the
expansion of LSD every month. So one month LSD stood for Lovely Spring Daisy.
The next month it was Love Struck Doe and then changed to Light Saber Dust,
Little Silly Dove, Lucky Son of Don and so on. I was fourteen alright! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I did
name my diary as “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” eventually because I happened to
read about the song somewhere. I would be lying if I told you I have been
listening to the Beatles right from my childhood. I was more of an “ABBA” fan. I
did have ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ and ‘Rain’ in my playlist but they didn’t count
much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After doing an experimental run in with Bob Dylan and ultimately loving
him, I thought I’d try the same with Beatles. On loop for a week, some 50 odd
songs of the Beatles running forever, I finally settled for my favourites. <a href="https://www.saavn.com/s/artist/the-beatles-albums/DiULaDva3TI_" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">“Norwegian Wood”, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, “Strawberry Fields Forever”, “Love Me do”,“Yellow Submarine”, “Something”, “PS I Love You”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “All you Need is Love” “Hey Jude” and of course, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”.</span></a> The opening lines of LSD are sheer magic!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: red; line-height: 150%;">Picture yourself in a boat on
a river</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: red; line-height: 150%;">With tangerine trees and
marmalade skies</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: red; line-height: 150%;">Somebody calls you, you
answer quite slowly</span></i></b><i><span style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: red; line-height: 150%;">A girl with kaleidoscope
eyes </span></i></b><i><span lang="EN" style="color: red; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lindsytomskiportfolio/" target="_blank">flickr</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The song composed by Lennon-McCartney is both eccentric and addictive. No wonder people thought the song was an ode to the drug (It wasn't. Lennon apparently lifted the title from his son's preschool drawing)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><o:p><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></b></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The hint of tambura in LSD, the sitar in 'Norwegian Wood' and the
strings in 'While My Guitar gently weeps' sound sublime. Listening to them over the week was akin to taking a quick vacation. The Beatles are pop icons
and every quizzer’s favourite. I knew more about their personal lives than
their music until now- a fact that I wasn't exactly proud of. Thank God the jinx is broken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Do see this video on
the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_st4diqjpis" target="_blank">Beatles cover art by the Nerd Writer</a>. I loved his take on it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I
know this blog post is a little crowded but I told you I was on a sugar rush. In my case, the Ides of March didn't foretell any bad event. I feel ecstatic and full of hope. Glory to God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My sugar trail is not going to end anytime soon as I've just found out that Haruki Murakami’s
“<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11297.Norwegian_Wood" target="_blank">Norwegian Wood</a>" is influenced by the Beatles' track of the same name. I think of reading it next. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What more can I say? Books are love. </span></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-8833979842763950182017-10-15T03:17:00.000-07:002018-03-31T02:46:07.124-07:00The braid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The ringmaster takes his whip<br />The horserider, his rein<br />The soldier, his rifle<br />The teacher, his cane<br />The mother, her daughter's hair.<br /><br />Oiled and ruffled,<br />Tangled and mangled,<br />The mother in hindsight<br />Knows she has to combat- to fight<br />Alas! No comb in sight.<br />Mother now wrought with worry;<br />'Twas infantry with no inventory<br /><br />The kid brother scoots around<br />His eyes constantly on the prowl<br />For the wicked comb is at large<br />And was he not the one in charge?<br />The mother hastens the kid<br />And the detective makes his bid-<br />Lunges under the sofa with aplomb<br />And lo! Quite an entrance for a comb!<br /><br />The vision of her mother, now armed<br />Makes Miriam increasingly alarmed.<br />Mother says "Hush! it's alright"<br />But each tug worsens her plight<br />As mother deftly fashions a plait<br />From twig like strands of a sparrow's nest,<br />Putting all her nifty skills to test.<br /><br />Miriam prays for her travail to end<br />There are endless classes left to attend.<br />The blue ribbon comes to her aid.<br />Miriam lauds the perfection made<br />With one last look at her intricate braid.</span></i></div>
Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-24963689639830982982016-09-24T09:20:00.000-07:002019-08-27T04:56:00.656-07:00When Nithira Devi was knocked down by my nocturnal train of thought<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The pillow looks so inviting after a
long day. As soon as I hit the bed and wait for sweet sleep to take over, few uninvited guests come knocking. "Tadading.. tadading... "
no they aren't Facebook, WhatsApp notifications. They are pesky
neurons transmitting thoughts at the speed of 120 miles per second. I
think, think and think and finally fall asleep when my neurons had had
enough.... some 2-3 odd hours later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I know I'm not alone. This is one
major epidemic seriously threatening body clocks world over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This picture perfectly sums up how majority
of our brains work. </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EHXiiy9FBEw/V-aks_nKOZI/AAAAAAAAEJY/E3LY_7vNg-AfKRzoT47sLLxwYHDmT69FgCLcB/s1600/Capture3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EHXiiy9FBEw/V-aks_nKOZI/AAAAAAAAEJY/E3LY_7vNg-AfKRzoT47sLLxwYHDmT69FgCLcB/s320/Capture3.PNG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Picture this. You live in a city.
You look at the night sky and you hardly see any stars. Where do they go?
We fail to see them because of the artificial lights all around us. They
obstruct stars' light from falling within our line of sight. Meanwhile, if
you go to a place with no man-made lighting around and look up, you'll
find your jaw drop. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uot933V4qTo/V-aP7yf_7cI/AAAAAAAAEII/IpLuCAN4f38_6l3UV-LopIOiysBZz5hgACLcB/s1600/Starry_Night_at_La_Silla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uot933V4qTo/V-aP7yf_7cI/AAAAAAAAEII/IpLuCAN4f38_6l3UV-LopIOiysBZz5hgACLcB/s400/Starry_Night_at_La_Silla.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Poets, musicians and
painters are at their creative best at night precisely due to this reason. The
stillness of the night. Serene and brilliant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I usually forget everything I think
at night the very next morning. The smartest wisecracks*, some amazing
comeback lines** and the most intricate plot lines*** that I'd conjure at night
disappear into mist the next morning no matter how hard I try to remember
them. I had to come up with a way to note them down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There was a WhatsApp group to share
placement related stuff during my college days. In due course everybody
left except one. I used this group (ironically named 'information unlimited')
to send myself messages so as to pen down things ranging from grocery lists to
birthday reminders. And this was the group I used to chart down things I think
about each night for a week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And the results were um.. You
decide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So here goes a random list of
thoughts that keep Nithira Devi some light years away from me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b><i>Ratha Kanneer and Iraivi.</i></b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I
watched the 1954 classic "<b>Ratha kanneer</b>" (tears of blood) this week.
M. R. Radha's voice requires no Dolby surround sound to make a lasting impact.
His portrayal of a spoilt educated brat with a self acclaimed penchant
for art (!) was as breathtaking as his subsequent role as an all suffering
leper. His performance drew my breath away that I didn't notice the storyline
until much later..yeah until I began reminiscing at snooze time.<i> The movie had
the dying protagonist admit that he is the sole cause of his wife's
misery.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My mind drew parallels between this
scene and the main plot line of the recent Karthick Subburaj flick
"<b>Iraivi</b>". <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Iraivi" (Goddess) is a
finely made movie that unabashedly states the fact that most women in our
society languish because of the men in their life. The problem with
Indian flicks is that there are characters who are painted white (the hero,
heroine, hero's mom etc. ) and there are characters who are wholly black (the
villain, the goons, heroine's mama payan etc.) In reality we are people of
grey, with different shades of it. We all have our weaknesses and
"Iraivi" boldy attempts to bridge this gap between white and
black, portraying men and women as they are. <i>Men in this movie admit
without ego, without any 'buts…' or 'ifs…' and without blaming their wives that
they are directly responsible for the latter's grief</i>. Therein lies the
similarity. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In Ratha Kanneer, the
lonely wife of the rich lecher has an epiphany of sorts when she tries to
convince herself to break from the shackles of society and lead her life with a
new partner. A friend advises her not to depend on any man and thus lead a life
unscathed. She refutes him saying a life without a husband isn't as easy as it
seems to be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fast forward half a century later
and we see a similar scene in Iraivi where an estranged woman seeking
remarriage is counseled by her friend not to give into marriage and lead a free
life. The woman shrugs off her advice as wishful thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The climax of Ratha Kanneer has the
leper hero, now in dire straits, convincing his wife to get married to his best
friend so as to make amends. He proceeds to leave them alone, resigning to his
fate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We see a similar ending in Iraivi
where one of the lead characters on realising that he faces a jail term and a
grim life ahead, makes way for his divorced wife to get remarried by faking a
drunken brawl, thus degrading himself in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Both movies have lead me to rethink
the definitions of "progressive" and "regressive". Messages
driven home in less than 3 hours - so stark so deep that they kept me thinking
almost the entire night.</span></div>
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<b style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To be or not to be… organic</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">
I have this habit of drinking soaked Fenugreek water early in the
morning in the belief that it reduces body heat. Every night, I religiously
take a handful of Fenugreek seeds, put them in a bowl and then proceed to hold
a mini debate as to whether wash them before soaking or not. <i>'Hey! The
pack read "organic" when I bought it. No pesticides to wash</i>' I assure
myself, dunk them in water and hit the bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Have you seen this amazing CGI in
Anniyan/ Aparajit, when Ambi transforms into Anniyan and they show this
electric spark that zaps from his toe, through his nerves, his spine and makes
a touchdown in his head? As soon as I hit the bed, similar imagery takes place
within me, leaving my neurons super excited. The result? Thoughts break
free leaving me with puffy eyes the next morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So what did my neurons do that
particular night? They fetched this for me!! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Richard Muller is a physics
professor at Berkeley and a name to reckon with. He has some 88.1k followers on
Quora. So it is not some Buzzfeed post but a Richard Muller answer that
now haunts me. So the Fenugreek seeds that I eat everyday ups my risk of
cancer? And if I buy a non organic version I'm still prone to cancer if the
chemicals are not within permissible limits ? But who checks for pesticide
permissible limits in India? Do they check anything at all? Remember the lead
in maggi? And how it turned out to be a joke? A costly one at that?
What about potassium bromate in bread? FSSAI banned it after finding the
carcinogenic additive in 84% of breads tested. So how far did they go to
enforce it? How far can I believe the ingredient list ? The shampoo that reads
"100% herbal actives" lists methyl paraben at the bottom of the
label. A video by </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">India101</i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> showed how malachite green is added to make vegetables
appear fresh and how silicone spray is used to add sheen to stale vegetables.
And there was another video where the "organic" label was abused to
sell everyday stuff at a higher price and now organic isn't organic
anymore! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All this thought slamming leads to a
burn out that I ultimately get out of bed, head straight for that damn bowl of
soaked Fenugreek seeds, wash it thoroughly, refill it with fresh water, hit the
bed and just pray to God that I fall asleep. A sob story! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>Books! Angst! Jeyamohan! </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A
fetish for books frequently keeps me awake from time to time, be it
reading a novel or just thinking about one. This time around, I kept
thinking about my visits to book fairs. 10 used books for 200 rupees.
Stephen King, Khalid Hosseini, Jeffrey Archer, Lee Child and a hundred
more biggies among that pile. The seller mostly wouldn't know the
difference. Every book worm's delight! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> One more reason to cherish local book fairs
were regional books. Books written in English are readily available in Amazon
or Flipkart but that isn't the case with regional books, in my case Tamil
ones. Book fairs seemed to be my only way to discover tamil literature.
Unfortunately, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find one good book. And
why? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rhonda Byrne's "The
Secret", Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist", Chetan Bhagat box set,
the Shiva trilogy by Amish Tripathi fill most of the book shelves...in Tamil.
These translated best sellers are a big blow to any reader seeking original
content. Other tamil books that are rampant include the ones written by Sujatha
and Kalki. I'm a big fan of these two writers but where are the others?
Publishers hesitate to stock up lesser known works due to lack of popularity of
the writers. Writers of regional language are struggling to find foothold in an
era where the reading population seems to be dwindling with each
generation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It's a sorry state of affairs when I
see my peer group having no exposure to regional literature. To revive our
sagging interest in Indian languages, an extensive campaign is needed (No I'm
not talking about another Semozhi Maanadu) and reading books written in one's
own language must be in everyone's checklist. Readers aren't the only one to
blame. While there is a book for every age group in English, there is almost no
book in Tamil targeting the teenage/ adolescent segment. Young writers below
the age of 35 are painfully few in number. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When talking about Tamil writers of
this era, it is impossible to let slide Jeyamohan. Most of his works are
available online through his blog. He is undoubtedly a genius, his works are
diverse and often requires pain staking research. But he is a writer and
writers world over have a common trait, pride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">An earlier edition of this
wonderfully curated monthly magazine "<b>Vikatan Thadam</b>" (buy it
folks! Worth every penny) carried Jeyamohan's interview. The whole
interview was thought provoking to many as well as wrath provoking to some. His
views on Periyar, current crop of writers, community bias among others
may evoke criticism from some quarters. But what personally irked me was his
comment on women writers. He generalised them saying they write only for
fame and for invitations to literary events held in America. How misogynist for
an accomplished writer in this century! He accuses women writers in Tamil do
not spend time on research before writing. But a novel is more than just some
research thesis, isn't it sir? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Writers like S. Ramakrishnan,
Perumal Murugan, Jeyamohan and the like pen incredible novels specific to a
timeline and to a particular region that require solid groundwork. And there
are writers like Balakumaran who write on relationships and influx of emotions.
One can't claim Balakumaran is not a writer just because his novels don't
belong to the former genre. The same rule applies to women. When Dalit
writer Bama writes about caste discrimination prevalent in Hindu-Christian
communities in her region, she writes what she sees before her. She
has been ostracized from her community for doing so. Women like her would
rather like to speak out than seek fame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thus goes another night where I have
make-believe conversations with a writer I guess I'd never meet in my
life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>/*Written at a time when I hadn't read any of Jeyamohan's critical essays and he is now my Gurunathar for life. Visit Jeyamohan.in to know why*/</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not all the nights go like this
though. Some nights I’d read a very boring book so as to sleep
immediately. Other nights I’d feel happy thinking about college, friends
and trips that I'd taken with best pals. Thanks for the trip to Ooty guys! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then there are nights where I hope
to listen to some long lost songs and gradually fall asleep. And of all the
songs in the world, this is the song my mind comes up with - <u><span style="color: blue;">"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNvq9HBbDqw&t=6m40s" style="color: #000099;" target="_blank">Theemthalakadi thillale" (damn you Put Chutney!)</a> </span></u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To all insomniacs out there - never
watch a Christopher Nolan movie, eat Andhra mess kothu parotta, start going through your childhood photo album, scroll your quora feed or watch the Newshour debate at 9 just before falling
asleep. Unless you are Kumbakaranan on a 6 month sabbatical or my friend
Kavitha, I assure you your chances of finding Nithira Devi are pretty
slim. Sweet dreams everyone!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">*** classified information
(wink) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-79899742420651500772016-06-17T17:46:00.002-07:002016-06-17T18:09:14.467-07:00The Rain Maiden - a tribute to Satyajit Ray <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></em></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The dark lords black, burdened</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Heave a sigh of relief</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Droplets flung all over</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stir the lake from her sleep</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Concentric circles abound</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Their lives mystical but brief</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's soaked</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Drops slide down her hair</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unoiled yet fragrant,</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Setting off ripples a few</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Outnumbered though</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 20px;">By the dark lords' own</span>.</span></em></span><br />
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<em style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A pair of little eyes watch</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her antics from afar</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Part thrilled part terrified</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Join didi? um no!</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Petrified or amused- Apu</span></em></span><span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> stands still</span></em></span> </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 20px;">And so does the tree beside</span>.</span></em>
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<em></em><em></em><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></em><span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's delirious,</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unmindful of the the dark lords' cry</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She spins her fragile figure around</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Weaving magic like fine silk.</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">If the sky, the lake, the rain make the canvas,</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our rain maiden's the art</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></em></span><span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's finished</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She runs towards the frail thing</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And holds the child close.</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Apu, eyes wide, seeks refuge</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In didi's outstretched sari</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wrapped safe, fear lapses to joy</span></em></span> </div>
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<em></em><em></em><span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The dark lords filled with rage</span></em></span> </div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/Documents/214A3544-C08E-4260-B689-F3DCD9449348.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/Documents/3DD1DBEC-89D8-42A9-A944-C925CD622378.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/Documents/658023A0-5324-4BC9-BE88-11B53D02DB81.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For some reason unknown</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps taken aback by her audacity</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cast a spell so fierce!</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's no longer fiesty;</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Gold has a melting point and so had she.</span></em></span> </div>
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</span></em></span><span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's sick</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bedridden, numb with cold</span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her playfulness knows no illness.</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She beckons the worried child</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And promises a spectacle soon,</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"We'll run alongside the chugging train!"</span></em></span>
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<em></em> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The dark lords still relentless</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Storm her room at night.</span></em></span></address>
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<em style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rickety doors, the open window</span></em></address>
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<em style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Only hasten her woes. The rain maiden-</span></em></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Scared, clings onto her mother</span></em></span> </address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And onto her dear life.</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The kind neighbour relents</span></em></span> </address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">To poor Apu's plea</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What awaits her is pure misery.</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The mother and her young</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">One alive one dead; </span></em></span></address>
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<em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 20px;">Eyes as lifeless as the rain maiden.</span></span></em>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain maiden's gone</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so is his smile</span></em></span> </address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">He's bereft of her fingers-</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The fingers that caressed,groomed</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">His unkempt hair. </span></em></span><em style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A void, left behind</span></em><em style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">,</span></em></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As big as their bond.</span></em></span>
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<em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The picture of the desolate child</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Staring at the vacant sky</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Evokes something inexplicable </span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And soon we find ourselves say,</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> <em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Take heart little Apu,</span></em></span> </address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><em><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Durga's only asleep, till it rains again"</span></em></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"> The 1955 Bengali movie Pather Panchali (song of the little road) is a poignant tale laced with love and warmth. Satyajit Ray was an unconventional story teller with an eye for detail. His repertoire includes an assortment of genres- ranging from the highly intellectual to the deeply spiritual. Pather Panchali, his best known piece of art, was incidentally his debut movie. Watching the movie was indeed a surreal experience for me. The grandmother who gleefully relishes stolen fruits, the aspiring playwright who finds it hard as a priest to make ends meet, his wife who is the ultimate embodiment of sacrifice, our hero Apu who is the picture of innocence and gaiety, the child maiden Durga who wins our hearts with her sprightliness and makes us cry inconsolably at the very end are earthy characters who tug at our heart strings and claim all our love. I have tried to pen these verses as a devout fan drawn to the inimitable genius of Ray as well as the lyrical realism of his debut work. </span> </span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><em>To Ray, with love.</em> </span></span></address>
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<span style="font-size: 20px;">Note - Go.watch.the.movie.
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-64076042077910125142016-02-27T10:50:00.001-08:002016-02-27T11:03:43.402-08:00Are we ready yet? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to social media, we have people turning famous overnight and things going viral in less than 24 hours and fade out from our memories even before the 24 hour time frame is up. “Sensational” - this word has crept up every time we Indians attach ourselves to some new change or mission.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“<b>Ringing bells</b>” (sounds like a wedding planning company?) felt obliged to do something for the nation and ta-da, we have freedom in our hands @251. All those features and what a cute looking phone! What were our people thinking? Would I consider buying a car whose price is cheaper than petrol? Think of this phone and the rate of 1 GB data pack. You get the picture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Like tickets to an India-Pak match, people thronged to buy it even before they realized the prototypes handed out during the launch weren’t even made by them but a Chinese company, Adcom. It can benefit the masses at a steal of a price, true -but why am I so skeptical about it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Trust issues. People didn’t trust the <b>Nano </b>(Tata PR guys did a bad job marketing it as the poor man’s vehicle) or the Government subsidized <b>Akash </b>Tablet but when an unknown company, even if it is well intentioned, rolls out a massive plan that banks on our money to release its products and with a business strategy that lacks clarity, I can’t help but flinch looking at my naïve countrymen . Very well the deed is done so I’ll wish the company the best of luck. They know they are being watched by sharks – IT honchos and the media. We know stories of people who apparently built robust empires but couldn’t handle the heat eventually. Think Satyam’s Ramalingam Raju, Sahara’s Subrata Roy, United Spirits’ Vijay Mallya…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We took to social media like a fly to a light bulb. Sentences acquired new meanings and conversations took dramatic turns.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>“I like this song”</b> now meant liking Adele’s Hello on <b>YouTube </b>and down </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">voting a negative comment below it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>“I shared a meal” </b> now refers to sharing a snap of last night’s Biriyani on <b>Instagram </b>and make sure your dirty fingers are somewhere in the pic</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>“I voted for the Delhiwalla” </b> now meant upvoting an 4.8k answer of a most viewed writer on <b>Quora </b>to “What are the most embarrassing incidents that happened in front of your crush?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>“I need to change my status da...now!”</b> means... Yeah adhey! Adhey!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Social media keeps our always online friends near and boredom at bay. There’s no dearth of <b><i>“25 crazy things to do with food that spills on the floor”, “67 things people do to hide their dark circles. You are not gonna believe this!” </i></b> (with an awkward photo accompanying it), <b><i>“101 tricks to teach your Dalmatian” , “This amazing potion can make you go from flab to fab in under 26 minutes”</i></b> and the like. It goes on for all eternity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m not going to write how we are all heading in the wrong direction and how smart phones have taken over the inhabitants of planet earth. I leave that to the Open –Ed page of the Hindu. Humans evolve, technology changes, attitudes differ, passions and interests evolve. Change is indeed inevitable. Even before smart phones and applications became our obsessions, we looked elsewhere while having our dosas and tomato chutney for breakfast, we laughed at things that weren’t talking to us and there were things that made us miss our bus stop. These “things” were magazines, television sets, books, radio sets and crossword puzzles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Some of these pre-smartphone devices were also met with resistance. In the 15th century Bonfire of Vanities in Florence, Italy, certain books were burned along with cosmetics, dresses and musical instruments by the Dominican priest Girolamo Savonarola as they were too “sinful” to his taste. Uninstalling some apps might be our personal bonfire of vanity. It takes less than a minute to uninstall that candy crush app but it requires immense courage and effort for an individual to rise above the average and “just do it” (pun intended). Addictions to some applications are harmless – be it criminal case, clash of clans or 2048. They are akin to doing meaningless activities like throwing pebbles at the lake, crushed paper bits into bins, popping bubble wraps and squishing ants (Never mind there are apps to do all of these)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Not all the apps can be ticked off as harmless, some apps are used by miscreants to spread malice and instigate violence. Consider the inhuman and meaningless lynching of a person at Dadri, the hapless man was killed by a mob for eating beef at his home. It wasn’t beef but that’s not the point. Mohammad Akhlaq was killed over a dead piece of meat by a mob that gathered over the course of a WhatsApp message.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Any emotionally charged piece of act triggers us. We fall for the Facebook post which rebukes us for “shamelessly” celebrating the death anniversary of Bhagat Singh as Valentine’s day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The tragedy of Rohit Vemula and the JNU incident have created furors all over the social media space. With fingers pointing in all directions, we are confused on whose side to stand by and voice our support. Should we stand by Kanhaiya Kumar? Should we believe he is a wronged student? Did Vemula die because he was a Dalit? Did the JNU students raise slogans of “India Murdabad! Afzal Guru Zindabad!”?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We feel our emotions are being swayed every day with every new report, every new political speech.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Report 1</b> - “JNU student Kanhaiya Kumar arrested on charges of sedition. JNU students intensify protests over free speech” screams the headline and we take the student’s side . Sedition is a serious charge and we don’t really think twice when the reports state that Kanhaiya is falsely accused.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Report 2</b> - Rajnath Singh’s tweet that JNU student’s protest had the backing of Hafeez Muhammad Saeed, Lashkar- e - Taiba chief made us raise our eyebrows and we reconsidered the whole situation. After much media bashing , the Home Minister later admits he made a blunder and we roll back to Report 1.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Report 3</b> – We all have the video grab of Arnab Goswami turning green with rage and metamorphosize into Hulk. He shredded JNU student and protst organizer Umar Khalid to pieces. Arnab brought martyr Hanumanthappa into his speech. We are patriots and we start hating Umar as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Report 4</b>- A JNU student posts on Quora that the video of students shouting slogans of anti-nationalism is misleading as the students who feature in it aren’t JNU students but belong to a political party and we end up really confused.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Report 5</b> - Smriti Irani speaks out her mind, silences her opponents. We see the video on YouTube, she wins our admiration and we are back to square one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Social media puts too many things on our plate. Even before we could chew on one, it offers another!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We must decide for ourselves, trust reliable sources of information before we take a stand. It is hard not to get overwhelmed by watching an emotional/traumatic video. Our voice counts, our support counts. It is to cater to us, the media works round the clock.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, are we as a nation ready to handle social media and not let our emotions take over? Not yet, Not now.</span><br />
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-420655913343457852015-09-19T07:46:00.000-07:002015-09-19T09:35:02.557-07:00My Earl Grey Matter–and all that scatters! Random Ramblings again!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Almost all of what I call my ‘tastes’ were acquired. I took
no instant liking to anything perhaps with the exception of Hershey’s kisses. I
pretty much took in everything during my um.. formative years, be it books, food,
music or movies. But I have ceased doing so… and the credit in its entirety goes
to my filters aka mental taste buds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all know there
were no dearth of books written during the 19<sup>th</sup> and 20<sup>th</sup>
century but we read only a handful of works that belong to that era and why?
Because these works, say that of Charles Dickens’ or Mark Twains’ withstood the sands of time long enough to
remain in public memory. We are hardwired with filters in our brains. These are
the very filters which cause us to forget memories, events and other data that
are no longer required or important enough for us to remember. These filters
are also responsible for shaping our interests and passions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sky is blue because blue isn’t absorbed by the earth.
Blue is of shorter wavelength and thus scattered by tiny molecules in the
atmosphere at a much higher rate than the colours which are of higher
wavelengths, say red. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">violet is shorter than blue! I don't know either!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the things my atmosphere scatters away is science-fiction – it is extremely difficult for me
to sit through a sci-fi flick while I can watch a docudrama about the Tudors
without batting an eye. It works the reverse for some. My <span style="color: #990000;">Scatterlist</span> also
includes astrology, Arnab Goswami. tomato rice, anarkalis, tea with milk, lavish
weddings, horror movies, legacy politics, E.L.James etc.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Important - The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Scatterlist </span>is not to be mistaken with a <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hatelist</span>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The difference between the two is the rate of tolerance.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Scatterlist</span> is tolerable. The <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hatelist</span> is
not.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If
somebody were to come to me and talk about the significance of my birth date and
the role of stars in deciding my destiny I wouldn’t stop them but my interest
in that subject will continue to be vague.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The same
thing happens when somebody starts gushing about how spectacular </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">le</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> Game
of Thrones is. I have never watched that, strongly doubt I ever will but I am
all ears.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But if I
were forced to write a review of ‘Messenger of God 2‘ (God forbid), I would loathe
it with all my heart for it’s strictly on my <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hatelist</span>!</span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The many interests and likes that successfully wade through
my filters land on what I would like to call the <span style="color: #cc0000;">Imbibelist</span>. I absolutely love
watching astronomy videos… you know the ones where they show an endless expanse
of stars and explain their workings through the voice of a narrator who sounds
just like Morgan Freeman. (There was this show that actually had Freeman
hosting a show on wormholes. Just so you know). I know I’m not alone. Who doesn’t like gaping
at the stars or watching deep sea divers observe underwater creatures? Historical
fiction, biopics, bitter gourd, Balaji Vishwanathan (on Quora) , blackcurrant
cakes, the colour green, the delightful Anuja Chauhan etc all
find a place on my <span style="color: #cc0000;">Imbibelist</span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Draw the lines between your <span style="color: #cc0000;">Scatterlist</span>, <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hatelist</span>
and <span style="color: #cc0000;">Imbibelist</span> and you’ll be surprised at the results. Just keep in mind to
move as much as items on your <span style="color: #cc0000;">Hatelist</span> to your <span style="color: #cc0000;">Scatterlist</span> as possible.
Tolerance is a virtue too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trust me I began this article so as to write about my love
for teas..yes teas. No milk no sugar added. Guess some of my grey matter got
scattered away that I ended up writing about filters, Scatterlists and Imbibelists
instead. Speaking of grey and teas, there’s this tea called the Earl Grey tea
with a very fragrant citrus aroma that comes from the rind of the exotic sounding Bergamot Orange.The smell is so overpowering that you might mistake it for eau de
parfum. It is aromatherapy in a cup. Take a sip, relax and let the cuppa do its work!</span></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-48116204323712794252015-07-18T03:58:00.000-07:002015-09-19T03:51:44.955-07:00I heart Minions :)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-18499370814251660442015-04-12T12:32:00.000-07:002015-04-13T08:00:37.899-07:00A booklover’s tryst with Amitav Ghosh and all writers Indian….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I feel drenched. This is perhaps the second time after Vairamuthu’s
“<i>Thaneer Desam</i>” that I read a book on <i>troubled </i>Indian waters. “The Hungry Tide” is penned by Amitav Ghosh,
Indian by birth and going by his writings, Indian- rather Bengali- by thought. </div>
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Nostalgia affects everything. Our desires, interests,
pursuits…It spares nothing. I love Ilaiyaraja’s compositions. His songs from
the 1980’s give me solace whenever I feel alone and restless but I cannot equal
the fervor with which my appa listens to his tunes. Some songs never fail to
moisten his eyes. He has lived <i>through</i> an era in which Ilaiyaraja ruled
over people’s senses. His admiration for
the Maestro therefore will always be greater than mine. </div>
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And nostalgia is the same reason why the British classic “<b>Jane
Eyre</b>” will remain my favourite book and I am reluctant to let any book replace
it. I cannot sum up with words the kind of emotions that welled up in me when I
first read it as a pre-teen. When Jane grew up, I grew up with her. Words fail
me again when I recount how I felt as a girl late into her teens rereading it
for the <i>n</i>th time. Now in my twenties, I feel not an iota of change in my
stance. I am simply content with Jane. But the same cannot be said of my favourite
author.</div>
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As a child, I loved
the works of J.K.Rowling, Enid Blyton, Charles Dickens, the Bronte Sisters and
a host of other famous writers but I couldn’t find anyone to label as the “author
I admire the most” probably because most
of their writings failed to touch my
native chords. In simple words, they weren’t “Made In India”. I wanted the
author to write prose with a kiss of poetry; fiction based on actual facts; narrative
that included well grounded research; action and romance in equal measures;
elaborate writing backed by a rich vocabulary and most of all, the indigenousness
I earnestly craved for. So the search
for the favourite author seemed to continue for all eternity until my eyes met
Ghosh’s…name on the cover.(wink,wink)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CM5BzzyvR-o/VSrGrSQrltI/AAAAAAAAAa4/2ZAUeM-0czs/s1600/Amitav-Ghosh-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CM5BzzyvR-o/VSrGrSQrltI/AAAAAAAAAa4/2ZAUeM-0czs/s1600/Amitav-Ghosh-008.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VSwfmVU_Q0U/VSrG3D3jZSI/AAAAAAAAAbc/pY6X2rT5lEk/s1600/SE%2BOF%2BPOPPIES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VSwfmVU_Q0U/VSrG3D3jZSI/AAAAAAAAAbc/pY6X2rT5lEk/s1600/SE%2BOF%2BPOPPIES.jpg" /></a>A few years back, Ghosh’s “<b>Sea of Poppies</b>” set me up
for a journey I wasn’t prepared for. The book offered me an eclectic mix of
history and fiction, a genre I wasn’t familiar with until then. The Sea of Poppies was the first of the <i>Ibis</i>
Trilogy. Set in the Nineteenth century, it had an ensemble of characters whose lives
were intertwined with one another and whose livelihood were deeply rooted in
the Opium trade rampant across the Indo-Chinese border. As I reached the end of the 533 odd pages, I
knew I was in love.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SyxZEYTP59k/VSrG0LFtj1I/AAAAAAAAAbU/bjyNiCa2ibw/s1600/RIVER%2BOF%2BSMOKE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SyxZEYTP59k/VSrG0LFtj1I/AAAAAAAAAbU/bjyNiCa2ibw/s1600/RIVER%2BOF%2BSMOKE.jpg" /></a>The sequel “<b>River of Smoke</b>” was a bit disappointing, perhaps
I expected way too much. The book was filled with anecdotes and well researched
content from page to page which I enjoyed but to my dismay, it left little
space for the drama to unfold in full measure. It was more smoke and less fire which I
believe Ghosh will compensate with his aptly titled “<b>Flood of Fire</b>” set
to release this summer. I can’t wait to
read it. <i>(The last time I anticipated a book launch was when “The Deathly
Hallows” was released. The wait!)</i> </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T-SfyF5w5Sg/VSrGu3QnbFI/AAAAAAAAAbE/2nMcsYGZG5s/s1600/FLOOD%2BOF%2BFIRE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T-SfyF5w5Sg/VSrGu3QnbFI/AAAAAAAAAbE/2nMcsYGZG5s/s1600/FLOOD%2BOF%2BFIRE.jpg" /></a>Amitav Ghosh was the first of Indian/diasporic writers whose
works I started reading. <b><i>Jhumpa Lahiri</i></b> (The Namesake, Interpreter
of Maladies), <b><i>Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni</i></b> (The Palace of Illusions,
Mistress of Spices), <b><i>Aravind Adiga</i></b>(The White Tiger), <b><i>Gregory
David Roberts</i></b>(Shantaram), <b><i>Willian Dalrymple</i></b> (The Last
Mughal) and even <b><i>Hussain Zaidi</i></b> (Dongri to Dubai) are the latest
entrants to my author list whom I count on to satiate my hunger for all books “Indian”
and I vouch for each one of them. <i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I plan to add Vikram Seth, Ramachandra Guha and Anita Nair to this list
soon.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i> Eventually I felt
guilty for boycotting foreign goods that I read a “Love in the Time of Cholera”
(Gabriel Garcia Marquez) to make up for it. It is a lovely book in terms of
language but the theme seemed quite disturbing.</i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m9KBs5ldjH0/VSrG3Tc0M-I/AAAAAAAAAbg/VhnGzQ17A04/s1600/SHADOW%2BLINES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m9KBs5ldjH0/VSrG3Tc0M-I/AAAAAAAAAbg/VhnGzQ17A04/s1600/SHADOW%2BLINES.jpg" height="200" width="128" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p-a3-0V6BXk/VSrGwxZipBI/AAAAAAAAAbM/RRqbzinoP_M/s1600/GLASS%2BPALACE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p-a3-0V6BXk/VSrGwxZipBI/AAAAAAAAAbM/RRqbzinoP_M/s1600/GLASS%2BPALACE.jpg" /></a></div>
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My love affair with
Amitav Ghosh grew deeper as I read more of his works. <b>The Glass Palace</b> is
an exquisite piece of work set across Bengal and Burma- the story extends over
three generations and is laden with historical snippets. <b> The Shadow Lines</b> won Ghosh his Sahitya
Akademi award. In fact I was
disappointed as the book ran short of pages. It was slim (246 pages) compared
to his other novels. Sigh!<br />
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The book I finished today is <b>The Hungry Tide</b>. Ghosh
mostly centers his books around Calcutta . His Bengali roots run deep as seen
by his works because of which- I have to admit- I have this new found fixation towards
all things Bengali. I loved reading the book. It was a deeply engaging and a
surreal experience for me. It gave me an urge to travel, to explore and to
learn the ways of the world. I felt I was living in the Tide country(the
Sunderbans) and my journey came to a saddening halt as the story ended. My
perspective towards people living in territories of endangered species took a
whole new turn and I ended up feeling extremely sorry for them. But the book comes with a warning as with all
other books of Amitav Ghosh. His books are not for everybody. It takes patience
and enormous zeal to learn about a culture/scenario in-depth. He has
meticulously researched each and every tiny detail that goes into the story and
it even requires you to read between the lines. You cannot just skim through
his descriptive accounts. That amounts to doing injustice as a reader.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y4DfAH6kLy0/VSrG7J7yZQI/AAAAAAAAAbs/ggLLkD7YMvg/s1600/The_Hungry_Tide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y4DfAH6kLy0/VSrG7J7yZQI/AAAAAAAAAbs/ggLLkD7YMvg/s1600/The_Hungry_Tide.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></div>
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It is of course cool to read about California’s Gold Rush,
Chicago’s Scarface, Churchill’s Biography, Che Guevara’s revolutionary ideas
but it is equally important to equip ourselves with our country’s history and
be aware of well documented but little known accounts of great Indian men and women.
Historical Fiction is one of the most plausible ways of achieving that. Indian
writers other than those best selling candy floss, fantasy or romance laden sort
of writers need an audience among youngsters too. Try reading an Amitav Ghosh
or a Jhumpa Lahiri between your John
Green and Veronica Roth, you will find the experience truly exhilarating!</div>
</div>
Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-72396364826636927862015-01-18T03:40:00.002-08:002015-01-18T04:10:16.869-08:00Blank.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>The blank mind</i></div>
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<i>Resists thoughts</i></div>
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<i> In fear of the known,</i></div>
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<i>And strives to remain blank.</i></div>
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<i>The spilt ink </i></div>
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<i>Renders blank paper</i></div>
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<i>Useless.</i></div>
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<i>But I see </i></div>
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<i>Through the eyes of Rorschach.</i></div>
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<i>The blank paper </i></div>
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<i>Now stained</i></div>
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<i>Evokes interpretations</i></div>
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<i>Some vivid</i></div>
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<i>Some contrived</i></div>
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<i>Some blunt.</i></div>
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<i>The blank mind-</i></div>
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<i>Now stained-</i></div>
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<i>By thoughts,</i></div>
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<i>Pervading all space</i></div>
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<i>Makes room for doubt.</i></div>
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<i>Some sicken</i></div>
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<i>Some relieve</i></div>
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<i>Some persist.</i></div>
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<i>But the mind refuses </i></div>
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<i>To budge</i></div>
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<i>And continues</i></div>
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<i>To strive</i></div>
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<i>To remain blank,</i></div>
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<i>and</i></div>
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<i>To outlast the fear-</i></div>
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<i>of the known.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-47871608751746926432014-08-31T06:34:00.002-07:002014-08-31T08:44:17.434-07:00Unobtainium aka Happiness – ramblings on happiness, hate and other things.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, Unobtainium is a figment of man’s (esp. James
Cameron’s) vast imagination. The element is apparently hard to procure; is
vital for survival of mankind; is expensive and man by all means will try to
obtain it- even if it involves murdering hordes of fluorescent-blue skinned Na’Vis.
<i>(with reference to Avatar, folks)</i></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlhVr18NUa4/VAMrORlb2fI/AAAAAAAAATo/dzh5gWkq35w/s1600/avatar03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlhVr18NUa4/VAMrORlb2fI/AAAAAAAAATo/dzh5gWkq35w/s1600/avatar03.jpg" height="185" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's just showing off his bling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And <b>happiness</b>? It shares most of the above mentioned
characteristics of Unobtanium. Maybe not expensive for everyone and mostly, doesn’t
involve killing (God forgive me for the ant-hill stampede the other day). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In
our pursuit of ‘happyness’, we have</span><br />
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</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">turned into monks</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">sold our Ferraris</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">saw Kate wed William</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">welcomed the
non-monopolization of Maggi noodles.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">cheered the literal
transformation of Kamal in ‘Vishwaroopam’, </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">watched Modi’s acceptance
speech</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">infinite scrolled our
Facebook newsfeed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">dished out 83 bucks to
enjoy the “magnum” royalty.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And there were things that hindered all our happy moments
and happy meals as in -</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">the disappearance of the comic book seller behind
Annapoorna.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">the near-death experience of swallowing a few ml of
dilute H</span><sub style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">2</sub><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">SO</span><sub style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">4</sub><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;"> via pipette during Chemistry
practicals.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">the realization that Snape was a good chap only trying to
help.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">the bus ticket fare being raised from rs.3 to rs.7</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">the worm found in KFC chicken bucket.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">Kejriwal-who??</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">l</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.25in;">osing your java phone of 5
years (it happened to me last week ;()</span></li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Uos-FWJuwV8/VAM1ZiGZvnI/AAAAAAAAAUE/zfo0FrZ22HI/s1600/Sadness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Uos-FWJuwV8/VAM1ZiGZvnI/AAAAAAAAAUE/zfo0FrZ22HI/s1600/Sadness.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my lost Samsung Monte</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There were of course, sadder more catastrophic-sounding
events over the course of our growing-up years but to dwell on them or not is more
of a personal choice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now on a more serious note…<span style="line-height: 115%;">Where do we measure the happiness quotient of young Indians exposed
to multiple cultures and having diverse interests?</span> Perhaps the Internet..? We Indians are awash with <span style="font-size: large;">Smartphone savvists, Meluha lovers,
EPL followers, snicker bingers, </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">tech prodigies,</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">paperback readers, vigilant politicos, literary
big-weights, uncanny businessmen, off-beat movie buffs </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and more- who are not hesitant
to update their views online. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Unfavourably, we are also witnessing
a surge in those who spew HATE like never before – the <span style="font-size: large;">Netizen gundas</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">
who never realize that using words of profanity on fellow netizens isn't COOL.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Memes and trolls were created so that all of us can ‘ho ho’ at
others’ expense<span style="line-height: 115%;">. (</span>The
only thing that surpasses the number of trolls shared everyday must be the
number of <i>tasty</i> and <i>hearty</i> oats variants released by every
other company in recent days<span style="line-height: 115%;">.)</span> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="line-height: 115%;">Most of them are harmless and are lively examples of one’s wit and
humour.</span></span> The rest of the comments,
tweets and memes are biased, abusive or obscene. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Censoring of online comments is almost non-existent and makes
lives easy for cyber bullies. There is
no substitution of cuss words with **** or %$&*%&!
in sites like YouTube unlike those done in the <i>subtitles </i>of television-aired movies(!) Giving a comment ‘downvote’ or ‘mark as spam’ is
a good option but is opted based on the views that it contains and not
the vulgarity. Using a profanity-remover tool (if it exists) would be futile if
words of any regional language gets typed in English.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QH_2pQbqxz8/VAM5jOwMFzI/AAAAAAAAAUc/xj_gUVB3eoc/s1600/images%2B(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QH_2pQbqxz8/VAM5jOwMFzI/AAAAAAAAAUc/xj_gUVB3eoc/s1600/images%2B(2).jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">why You so Mean?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The music industry
isn’t far behind with some singers coming up with two versions of the same song
– one opening with the F word and one without it. (‘Tonight I’m Loving you’ - Enrique Iglesias) Call me old fashioned for a
twenty year old but I can't stand the sound or sight of the word, even if it’s
misspelt as fcuk and sold as luxury watches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life will be pretty amazing if things on your ‘hate’list are
less than the ones on your ‘love’list. It doesn’t make sense to hate Justin Bieber
but definitely makes sense to ignore him (that is, stop listening to his music).
Opinionated people don’t make the best of people to hold lively conversations
with. They may sound great on a talk show or a debate forum but never on a
dining table. When you are with such sort of folks, you tend to feel the
eeriness in the air (and sometimes lose your appetite).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JisdUDWNQIY/VAM4rXBrY9I/AAAAAAAAAUQ/otS2uujBdPc/s1600/images%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JisdUDWNQIY/VAM4rXBrY9I/AAAAAAAAAUQ/otS2uujBdPc/s1600/images%2B(1).jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Try hating less actors, authors, singers, serial artistes,
acquaintances, politicians and see your life taking a turn for the better as
you learn to look at the world in an unbiased way. Okay I’m sounding preachy
but less hate is how I learnt to love life. Remember the platinum-coated words, it
never hurts to be polite. </span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4tisE8xryBs/VAMoaHoZbjI/AAAAAAAAATc/kuxLrsSwKvY/s1600/more-love.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4tisE8xryBs/VAMoaHoZbjI/AAAAAAAAATc/kuxLrsSwKvY/s1600/more-love.png" height="131" width="320" /></a></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-60754725939930333052014-07-08T09:41:00.005-07:002015-01-18T00:50:41.030-08:00Ponniyin Selvan play - a labour of love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/c4kC3P8RyzAO1Yo7cCcbZ7wXEXMxrJUqKFESvOuSwjNXM7CDa1GfVgIq6jrb4lry9NJigl-MmYnoNwLVwhtIfPDqRB_G4SXnKmPJBrRSPfCD5DbrXjPW8CIpKQkQ9bTZ2Pyemw" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Kalki” Krishnamurthy is a master story teller with none to
surpass him. People used to wait with bated breath for his novels serialized in
Tamil weeklies for several years, just like how we wait to catch an episode of
our favourite soap now. His magnum opus “Ponniyin Selvan” is a
family-favourite. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An historical marvel contained in 5 stonking volumes,
reading it evokes an array of emotions ranging from romance to martyrdom and
plays out in our minds better than any movie ever did, thanks to a God given
gift to mankind called imagination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the many incredible aspects of the book is the amount
of painstaking research ‘Kalki’ had put in to write the 2400-pages-long-epic.
He is said to have read every piece of Sangam literature available on the era
(upon which the book is set) and had even visited Srilanka a number of times to
gather facts. No wonder all the effort has paid off so well – a gem of a book
that is every Tamil book lover’s delight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has been exactly 60 years since the book was first published.
<b>Several unsuccessful attempts had been made to bring Ponniyin Selvan to the
big screen; the last one to try was ace director Mani Ratnam</b>. What if the series
has been marked off as a tale too grand and expensive to bring on celluloid? A
talented, fiery team from Chennai based production company SS International and theatre group Magic Lantern have pulled off the incredible feat of bringing it to the Stage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a successful run in Chennai and Madurai, the team had
landed in Coimbatore and staged three houseful shows on 3<sup>rd</sup>, 4<sup>th</sup>
and 5<sup>th</sup> of July in Corporation Kaliarangam. Some from my college were
provided with free passes on the first day of the play. I'm quite grateful
that I was one among them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What an evening it was! Unforgettable in the truest sense.
To see all my favourite characters on stage (enacted by a bunch of talented
actors) with friends who were deeply involved as well, was something that I would
cherish for a lifetime. We created the same ruckus that we would do in a
theatre whenever a major character was introduced, be it Arulmozhivarman or
Aditya Karikalan. The female leads in the play have done justice to their parts
and they looked ravishing indeed!<span style="line-height: 115%;">The
swordfights, the lovely set by Thotta dharani, the humour interspersed
dialogues – all deserve a special mention!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Vandhiyadevan’s character appeared a bit more flirtatious
than it did in the book but the audience seemed to love him! Though I personally
rue Manimegalai’s omission, the play is an astounding display of hardwork and
creativity in little under four hours. <b>The biggest “Ah” moment in the play
was the entry of an elephant and yes, it sure had its share of screen space (and
claps)!! </b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope more people take to reading Kalki's works after seeing this one of a kind play!!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://lifeatkct.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/ponniyin-selvan-a-labour-of-love/">http://lifeatkct.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/ponniyin-selvan-a-labour-of-love/</a></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There seemed to be a politician lurking in every student the past month. The
Modi wave was clearly felt in KCT. Almost every student I knew voted for the
BJP and each one gave a plausible explanation for the unanimous (!) decision. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;">Modiji, <i>et tu? ;(</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #990000;">10 Things I
think made Students** opt for BJP</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1.Modi can speak. Yes, he can! <i style="color: #990000;">/*He doesn’t speak the way
Ranbir Kapoor does onscreen. So I have trouble understanding his Hindi*/<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Manmohan Singh. Just look at how he's been called these days- </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #990000;"> the puppet ruler, Sonia
Gandhi’s spastic child, the silent spectator, solitary reaper (saw this one in
Outlook), ‘mute-ant’ , male counterpart of twilight Bella, etc..etc..</span>He has been the new posterboy of Santa and Banta brand of jokes. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Arnab Goswami</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">… People believe he speaks right from the
Upanishads.So hence goes the adage, "If one can’t duel Arnab, he
can’t rule the nation." <i>#RahulGandhikiAag</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3G…3G..3G</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">. Not many had an inkling of Coalgate or Adarsh.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10 years of Congress.</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Nearly a decade of our lives (I
mean those of us who have recently acquired the eligibity to vote), we have been seeing
‘Congress this, Congress that’. Before 2004, I don’t think 8,9 or 10 year olds would
have made good political commentators. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. Various Claims on how </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Gujarat</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> is the “bestest” state in
India. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;">#1. Post on Facebook – China’s Bus Railway Transmit System “marketed” as Ahmedabad’s.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;">#2. The actual Ahmedabad’s BRTS –not bad looking either.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Riots</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">? what riots?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">24 hours of Power
Supply</span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> in Gujarat. Did I hear you right?!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000;">9. </span>Congress is barely traceable in parts of Tamil Nadu.
<span style="color: #990000;">Loyalists perform CPR occasionally. </span></span><i style="color: #990000;">In my extended family, there’s a Rajiv,
Rahul and Indira. Just saying.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. The 2014 Lok Sabha election was unlike the State
elections where State parties had placed their entire bets on their election
manifestos. Manifestos and verbal promises took a backseat since the promise of
having Modi as PM loomed larger than any written statement. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">**</span>you a student?uh... Of course I'm not meaning you.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> But BJP eventually
lost in Coimbatore constituency. People not residing in urban areas didn’t find BJP enticing enough and so for the first time, Green wave swept across Cbe.
“ Amma to the fore in TN!” , “Jayalalitha struck gold – 37/39” screamed
headlines.</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was finger selfies
galore on the day of election. I found one posting a finger selfie on FB and
urging others to vote on April 24, the day TN geared up for the elections. The
same guy posted a “Kaundamani” meme later that day mocking those who put up
finger selfies! He might make a good politician in the days to come.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Note- I revere both Manmohan Singhji and Modiji but in different ways. PoSiTiViTy counts! for the next 5 years as well....</i></span><br />
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7670669454646772586.post-89591548934381226442014-03-27T11:55:00.002-07:002014-03-31T11:17:15.865-07:00Maan Karate - music review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anirudh’s one of the rare composers who has made
conversational <i>Tamil</i> sound more like music and it’s a good thing. His
latest offering is “Maan karate” which has a sugar-and-spice combo of
Sivakarthikeyan and Hansika in the lead with debutant Thirukumaran wielding the
megaphone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Maanja”</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
has Anirudh crooning to his own tune. It is peppy and believe this- it is a
love track. Karky belongs to the breed of “research-poets” still left in
Kollywood. All his research on the Madras dialect seems to have paid off for
the Chennai lingo is transliterated in style.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The funky and the wannabe folksy <b>“Darling
Dambakku”</b> (penned by Yugabharathi) scores with the brilliant vocals of the
incredible but <i>underutilized</i> Benny Dayal and ‘<i>kamli’ </i>Sunidhi
Chauhan. Anirudh does throw surprises. Non-Anirudh moments such as ‘Did- I-
just- hear- a- flute?’ and ‘was- that -a- Sitar? ’ were aplenty. The Reprise
version of the song (the same track with the vocals replaced by Nivas and
Kalpana) seems like an underperformer because everyone liked the original
better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Royapuram Peter”</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
marks the return of our very own Paravai Muniyamma! Sivakarthikeyan joins her
and he doesn’t make a mess of the already messy lyrics written by RD Raja. Wish
there was more to the song other than the electric guitar and P.M’s eclectic
“come on”s and the ultimate “ok bye”!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anirudh hands himself the mike (um… for the nth
time) for “<b>Un Vizhigalil</b>”. Shruthi proves time again she’s beauty and
talent combined. The song is Western in
soul with Carnatic interludes and they jam pretty well. Though a tad difficult to hum, this track is
perfect caller-tune material.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Then
there’s the antithesis of the soup song
“<b>open the Tasmac</b>” penned by Gaana Bala and surprisingly not sung
by him. Gaana king Deva gives the song the right dose it needs. And we actually
heave a sigh of relief- though it’s yet another “thanni song”, the lyrics
aren’t exactly gloomy! The opening of the song is what makes “open the tasmac”
click!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Verdict- 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maan Karate has some spunky
and sprightly songs that might do justice to the movie’s story and its supposed
quirkiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But is there any of
Anirudh’s career best tracks in this album? I’m not sure…!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Feautured in Chennai Hangouts!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://chennaihangouts.com/music/maan-karate-music-review/">http://chennaihangouts.com/music/maan-karate-music-review/</a></span></div>
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Swetha Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09095413951064625556noreply@blogger.com2