life, Literary experience, materialistic philosophy, philosophical me

Broken Resolve

You may have forgotten

All the words I have spoken

All the prayers that I once said

May have been destined to be waste.

I have protests to make

Tears to shed

Blood to bleed.

But I swallow my words

Dry my eyes and pause my heart…

All with a hope that you are free from all my grumbles and all my rumbles.

But some fine day,

A few forgotten emotions comes knocking at my doors

My resolve breaks and my walls crumble..

And I ask myself why do I wish to swim like a fish and fly like a bird

When all I can do it walk like a man and cry like a woman…

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Hobbies, life, Literary experience, philosophical me

Verse, blank-verse and converse

Although there is no cookbook for wisdom and knowledge, the same cannot be said about the intangible adjective called literate.  For all I can do or wish to do it is now forever etched into my gray matter that the 3 Rs – reading, writing and arithmetic make up the seven course meal called literacy. It is another matter that the gray matter is not gray and arithmetic does not start with an ‘R’ yet this is the very sequence of words I shall tattoo into the minds of any impressionable target that comes across me. Like most middle-class parents of their generation, my parents too thought that I should master the three R’s. I was in school.

The thing about school and blog is that language classes are much more easier to ponder over and ruminate then the numerical theories which I now believe to be the only absolute truth. Scientific theories come and go, Religions are born and buried but if one bird on a tree is joined by another bird, we have only two birds on the tree.The thing about language lessons is that we learn “Twinkle Twinkle little star” and “A for Apple” from beyond the time hidden in my subconscious by the mist of time.  This was my initiation to the world of prose and poetry.

As the years went by, poems changed from small songs to sonnets to blank verse. My English papers periodically had exotic sounding words like “iambic pentameter“. But the thing with poems which I have referred to as verse and blank verse is that I was never really sure if I had diverged from what the writer actually wanted to say. Most of the times , the safe approach was the approach of your teacher.  Even the neurons of time have failed to remove the veil of ignorance that envelops my understanding of words that I had once read.

Even today,some questions remain unanswered. Even today , I can’t help wondering if there is more to the poems than that meets the eye. Even today , I want to wax lyrical but indulge in mundane and intrinsic science called prose writing.

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Hobbies, Literary experience, philosophical me

When one word speaks a thousand words

As a matter of lack of choice, or rather as a result of murder of choice, not a day passes by in my life when I don’t come across some arrangement of Roman alphabets that always makes sense to my literate mind.But there are some words that are forever condemned to have their existence intertwined with our distant or not so distant past.When I come across those words, a divine orchestra of words fill my day dreaming mind.

One such word that comes to my mind is “melancholy”. If I had ever done grave injustice that sprang to my mind. The first line of this para would definitely find its place as a stinking specimen.  For an inaudible whisper of the word “melancholy” flooded my mind with memories that I had to let it out in this blog. In my not so distant past, I had to study a subject called alternative English. In my school days, it was a subject that definitely compete in the race to be my favourite. You hardly got marks. There was no such thing as right answer or wrong answer. It all depended on how much your teacher liked your answer. But it sure had some of the finest specimens of English literature still not lost in the pages of history.

Wordsworth, I really hope I am not messing up with the name of the great nature poet for I have resolved not to look up the literary piece that forms an integral part of this post. This is done with a misplaced sense of self-righteousness that I can do justice to my memories only if my entire post is untainted with anything but my memories. “Misplaced sense of self righteousness”- rings any bell. In my mind, I hear an explosion of bell metal that numbs my sense of hearing. These words always teleports me to the seats of inox kolktata, and I see joker mouthing these words to batman. Dark knight is a part of my recent memory and weeds have not yet attacked this castle. So, I shall try to quickly pass through my neighbourhood and zoom to my past.

About Wordsworth , he had written a poem called solitary reaper. I really don’t recollect all the words of the poem but a few words have stood the test of time.This was the poem that told me of the existence of the word “lass”. I first heard someone using the word “melancholy notes”. I found myself wandering across the world trying to help Wordsworth decipher what the beautiful lass was trying to sing in a language that he did not understand but in a voice that touched his heart.But therein lies an allegory of my life, whenever I hear the word “melancholy”, a smile spreads on my lips, I race to my school days, and I fail to sympathize with anything and everything sad about the collection of words that needs the word melancholy to describe itself.

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Literary experience

Mystery,Action,Politics,Crime,Revenge,deceit,basic instincts and the triumph of love

This is one of the firsts o my life. No my first birthday or my first love or my first proposal not my first blog but my first blog for whose net time I had to pay wit my wallet.Most of my posts have been the child of a menage a trois between free internet, wella time and my self assumed command over English.Hence this is small first wherein i Have moved my ass from my room to a cyber cafe and am typing my thoughts on a god forsaken key board.My current state takes me back to the tears I shed for half an hours after I had flipped the last pages of olivers heart break @ love story.

So here I am writing another load of crap after 3 years. The culprit is the same Eric Segal. This month I read four novels Ambler warning, Doomsday conspiracy, Dead on Time and Mea,Woman and Child.Four different genres, four different authors.Till the time of Ambler warning,I was of the firm opinion that no director can do proper justice to an authors literary prowess, I thoroughly enjoyed the visions imparted by Peter Jackson to JRR Tolkein’s middle world but somehow I felt something was missing.It was definitely the closest I saw a director doing justice to literature.The harry Potters and even the great Capolla found me among the disgruntled minority.

Well I was in for some surprise. I thoroughly enjoyed Bourne supremacy. So now I had a new God to worship -“Robert Ludlum”. In my lazy meanderings through odyssey -a bookshop @ Hyd- I picked up a copy of his novel Rudlum. With great expectations and hopes, I sat down to read this work. But it was shit,deep shit,horse shit, bull shit and all combined in one. Well, I get that certain works of imagination requires suspension of disbelief like the great “Gunda”, but reading is a brain indulging activity.You just cannot switch of your logical brain in that fashion. Mr Ludlum, some deputy secretary of US state department cannot create a war. One person can never be so powerful.This novel was supposed to be a novel but 200 pages before the mystery was revealed I was hoping the mystery i guess was wrong. Well they were some of the false hopes of my life. To sum up, some directors can create great movies from pieces of shit. After a more than brief break necessitated by non ergonomic keyboard and paid net time, I am resuming my blog on four novels I read in the past two weeks. Ludlums work was about mystery and action at least it advertised itself as one. After reading this novel,another thing that made my mind flutter how come all novels have such great reviews pasted on their back pages. It would be easy to curse corruption but I would like to believe that not all agree with me and someone might like the novels I hate.They do sell.

The next novel, I pounced upon during my exceedingly jobless training period was “Doomsday conspiracy” by Sidney Sheldon.As a matter of fact, I did have some immoral motives in reading the book.As I would like to put it Sheldon tales are good with lots of twists and turns but certain primitive behavioral aspects of mankind are better illustrated. So, I started reading this book hoping to be entertained.After Ambler warning, this piece was definitely entertaining to say the least. It had a bit of suspense, a bit of inhumanity amongst humans, deceit and the almost predictable villain in the guise of a saint. I might have liked this book primarily because my expectations from a novel had declined drastically.But i guess the reason de maitre was the fact that the need of suspension of disbelief was firmly established in the first few pages.This meant I could digest the incredible ending. But in means can decent novels be insulted by clubbing this book in the same pedestal.This book was ridiculous it shows a serious lack of application of brains. At least scientific brains. If we are to encounter an alien they would never look like creatures we saw in ET. They will be different. In fact ET was a step better. The alien there was any other creature not a GOD.How things unfolded from the chamber of the doctor to the arrest of the admiral is never revealed nor is anything said about the saint who was made to look like the devil from the beginning.

Having upgraded myself from Ludlum to Sheldon, I still found myself in search of one masterpiece to fortify my belief in joy from fiction. A book that took me in the corner of existence not registered in any of the gps devices. I picked up the long haired economist Lord Meghnad Desai’s Dead on Time. This book had nothing to do with economics but was a realistic albeit exxagarated account of power play doing the rounds in the arena of politics.I would not dwell much on the plot for I shall not be half as good as the master in naratting the same thing.IF you like power play at the highest levels,you got to read it; if you dont like political dramas, you got to read it;if you like human cunning, if you like see the role of fate in changing the course of (hi)story then read it, even if you dont like any of the things I have mentioned read it. If you can read English then read it, if you cant read it pester a friend to read it and narrate the story to you.

Now about the title of this, it ends with the oft quoted words “triumph of love”. I am not here to give a sermon on the power of love. But I do feel tempted to quote the opening lines of the funny movie “love actually”, it draws upon experiences of people about to die, they invariably remember the moments of love. Maybe love is indeed a very strong emotion.This novel had only one emotion,it had the simplest of story lines. Yet it flooded my eyes.The novel in question was “Man,woman and child” by Eric Segal. The emotions he conveyed through simple dialogues were universal and heartwarming.IT reminded me of what one of my seniors at college told while recommending “a love story” by the same author- if you are in love you got to read it. If you are not in love, just read it once and you will fall in love. I have only one complement for this book -“If you can read read this book, if you cant read learn to read and then read it”, you wont like to bid adieu to the world without shedding a few tears for what you know to be pure fiction and imaginary and yet somehow you feel sad, you hear voices, you feel emotions you have never felt before.

I shall now try to use my logical ability to play as I try to wind up this post.The triumph of love is not my own fictional creation but simple the fact a simple novel with a simple story appealed to more than three other novels of diferent genres.

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Hobbies, Literary experience

Literary Pursuits of the month of December,2008


Although I once took an inexplicable delight in browsing through the pages of a dictionary just to come across a new word, my adventure was short lived and was over well over seven years ago for me to find a word that aptly describes the category of novel lovers that I fall into. I would probably describe more as a worshiper of an author than his/her talent. If I like an author,I usually end up chasing all his/her books. I guess in terms of pure literary merit of the works I have read the thing that stand out is they are no nonsense pure entertainer.According to the self proclaimed more serious readers, I would fall somewhere midway between trash readers and the elite.

Anyways coming to the reason behind my post, Sidney Sheldon and Jeffrey Archer have been benefactors of my flawed literary tastes. Whenever my wallet permits or someone nearby is willing to lend me money, I have to buy any of their books if they are on sale and i have not read them.This December I bought The Naked killer and cat O’nine Tales. another feature of my reading habit is that I usually dont complete a novel I dont find pulsating enough.Needless to say I have manged to say, the authors in question had been spared the fate.But it was baout to change this december.

People should stick to their field of expertise. authors should not travel too far from their familiar teritorry.If they manage to dothe impossible, they are great but I have used the word impossible for a reason most of the authors have failed miserably to complete the journey. As a rule most authors fall face down in mud. I dont know what Sheldon was thinking when he was writing with male protagonist.But this act of his managed him the distinction of being labeled putdown able.

Archers Cat O Nine was spared the fate for it was a collection of not so short stories. Every turn of page promised me the return of the old Arthur who would ouwit me and get paid for the same. Yet the first few ones were pure Ricky-Pontingish reaction to his being sent to prison. The wit, twist was absent.the pages were screaming I might have gone to jail but I am no sinner.It was only in his last two stories that the old wit was rehabilitated and I got my moneys worth.

I have only one prayer to all future recipients of my literary adulation –Please do stick to your field of expertise. Please

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