tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-150107552012-02-16T16:43:06.299+05:30The work of an aspiring writer. Fiction. Mostly. Real. Mostly, that too.apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.comBlogger1121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-91417993554457624692007-03-12T13:48:00.000+05:302007-03-15T12:38:24.697+05:30

I am not back to fiction blogging yet, but couldn't resist the lure of blogging all the same. Find me at Cubically Challenged, where I have resumed my writing on other areas of interest, such as branding & marketing, feminism and entrepreneurship.Update:I am going blog-wild. Also find a new travel blog, by yours truly, A long way Ahead, on my travels, travel writing, other good links about being

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-261274508468536772007-01-05T17:42:00.000+05:302007-01-05T18:20:59.499+05:30

When I first started this blog, I had little clue as to what blogging was; I had read a few, Uma, Shoefiend, Charu…and ofcourse, fancying myself as some sort of writer, I saw no reason why I couldn’t have one too. I had no concept of visitor count, page views, comments etc etc. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. With the added advantage of being able to put together a lot of my writing in one

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-63166067064688139252006-12-12T15:40:00.000+05:302006-12-12T15:43:36.276+05:30

I love travel, and I love photography (watching, not doing), so what could be better than this photoblog that offers a photo of Paris a day.Check it out. Nuggets of Paris that the average tourism site is never going to show you.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-34356849260455995932006-11-17T17:15:00.000+05:302006-11-17T17:31:06.876+05:30

You know a blogger is at an all-time low, when she starts resorting to tags rather than write her own posts :) But, seriously, although I avoid tags like the plague, for no reason at all, this fun post by Art, inspired me to do some thinking of my own...so here it is....Some places I need/want/have to visit :An alternative universe where work is not equal to money? (a.k.a Utopia?)To be specific:

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-70657394545238622342006-11-14T13:48:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:54:29.356+05:30

This morning, I cried for people I have never known. I was on my way to work, a normal day in every sense, until this song came on air, tears in heaven. I was listening and singing along, when I remembered the story behind the song. The one about the little boy who fell out of a fifty third story window. It is the saddest thing in the world, to have a three-foot-sized hole in one’s life, to be

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1162223706270433742006-10-30T21:18:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.722+05:30

November is the most exciting month isn't it ! The National Novel Writing Month, affectionately called NaNoWriMo - Yes, its back! I'd blogged about it this time last year, and I can't believe I'm still no closer to signing up...what with the amount of travel (not the fun type, but the work type) planned in November...really, November is the cruellest month of all! Sign up then, and start your

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1161970679174907412006-10-27T22:44:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.641+05:30

I never thought I would be saying this, but the last Murakami book I picked up, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, turned out to be a big disappointment. It includes short stories written over a fairly long period of time. Perhaps thats part of the problem, because the quality is extremely uneven. Hanelei Bay, I thought was a poignant story about a woman who loses her surfer son to the sea. In

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1161248181962552042006-10-19T14:25:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.557+05:30

I had decided a month or so ago that I would quit my job. To an outsider, it may have seemed like a hasty decision, but the truth was that I’d had enough of this corporate lifestyle. Jet setting around to boring meetings where most people were concentrating harder on the cookies passing around and working out strategies to net the chocolate cream ones. Staying in one hotel which looked just like

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1159971011390595722006-10-04T19:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.477+05:30

Renuka Kirte was the ugliest girl in class. She was so ugly, in fact, that it wasn’t even safe to dislike her openly, all the girls felt. Except my sister. When my sister joined this school in class six, she was already a head taller than any of the other girls in the class. And she disliked Renuka Kirte as soon as she saw her. Her pinafore was more black than regulation blue, and her shirt

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1158818527618109762006-09-21T11:29:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.386+05:30

Ammani had another of her reader-participation exercises here. My story - a counterpoint to hers - is here : “Yes, I have it, Flamenco Flamenco”, the older one wanted to scream, like Archimedes out of the bathtub. But of course he couldn’t. That would spoil everything. After all catching a mouse is hardly the ultimate in cool. Any idiot can do it. But how many of them know to enjoy their kill,

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1158552502683005882006-09-18T09:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.313+05:30

Do you like fairy tales? You do? Good, you’re like me then. When I was young, my father bought me a book, Grimm’s Fairy tales, not realizing that some of it was grim indeed. Still, it didn’t do me any harm, as far as I can see, and no one had yet invented political correctness, so I was allowed to enjoy them. When I was much older, I realized that fairy tales are not just tales, they are real.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1157978329393994512006-09-11T17:40:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.214+05:30

We had this recent writing exercise on the message board at Caferati, based on a recent occurrence in the literary world -where an author was tricked into using a fake letter in a biography he wrote - More interesting, the letter was an acrostic , not too complimentary to the author himself. Peter Griffin at Caferati, kindly pointed us to this interesting link which explains what all the fuss was

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1157098232526878692006-09-01T13:38:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.126+05:30

At that time, I would finish lunch and have a nap until four. It seemed to me then, that I had never had such restful sleep before. It was the sort of sleep where, if someone had come in and looked at me while I was sleeping, they could have assumed that I was dead. Don’t ask me how I knew this, I mean, its not like I could look at myself sleeping, but I just knew. All my life, I had slept with a

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1156913119940664422006-08-30T10:09:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:56.042+05:30

Plants arranged On faded steps Cover the open drain. Traffic, inch by slow inch. Legs scrape your door Almost. Noses flinch. The vanities of the poor Then, no less than those Of the rich. Only more Functional. A screen To see your home As in a dream.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1155560814396738242006-08-14T18:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.960+05:30

When she had first met Kevin, it was on one of these subterfugical acts of rebellion disguised as a hard night of group studying at a friends house. Instead it was to be the young persons guide to whisky and other assorted pleasures, being launched at her friend appy’s house while her parents were away to visit a deathridden aunt. Appy, Spunky, Oozie, Melly…Mallorca’s friends from her all girls

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1153994587593970002006-07-27T15:31:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.860+05:30

Mallorka worked at the Splendid Biscuits biscuit making company. It had been around from the pre-independence days, and the Chairman was proud of the fact that his family had owned it for the last hundred years. Mallorka found this ridiculous. What was there to be proud of in that? It was like saying that you were smart enough to choose to be born into such a family, when everyone knew that it

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1153590068315239902006-07-22T23:08:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.768+05:30

It was evening, and the sun went down the horizon at the sedate pace that could be expected for a day where nothing of any importance had occurred. Atleast not for Mallorka. She walked down the broad expanse of Chowringhee at a slow pace counting each tile on the pavement with the seriousness of a jobless individual who can afford to take note of every dull second moving by, having completed its

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1151078001077357592006-06-23T21:18:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.689+05:30

A rare longish article on/interview with Murakami feature here, on The Age. While it covers all the usual ground such as Murakami's bar, Peter Cat, his estrangement from the Japanese literary establishment, the predilection for pop culture, the quasi-real nature of his novels, the obsession with loneliness and so on and so forth, it also features some interesting quotes from the man himself. On

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1150913664660933512006-06-21T23:42:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.612+05:30

If the room stays dark like this for long enough, maybe I can work out what my soul really is. It’s hard to think when there is too much light. There is too much light in this world as it is. If I focus long enough, maybe I will finally see my soul. Our books tell us that the soul never dies, that it only moves on from one state to another. My body then, it’s like a hollow mud pot, this liquid

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1149480697582673692006-06-05T09:40:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.546+05:30

He said that he would wait for me, where has he vanished. Ayyayyo, I can’t see appa anywhere, the girl in the red paavadai yells, her voice snaking itself up, over the noise of the market. Kanna, whom are you waiting for, a large voice behind her rides over her ears, its roughness like the stroke of sandpaper. She runs, quickly at first, then slowly, then down to a walk. She must not lose him,

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1147940235270324112006-05-18T13:31:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.464+05:30

Its interesting to note that the Indian government is considering pandering to the demands of religious groups, and banning the Da Vinci Code movie. Now, while Tom Hanks tops my list of favorite actors, I still have to be fair and admit that the movie probably sucks, based on my reading of the book. But the ban is ridiculous! The logic behind the move is something like this (Imaginary

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1147161531490014822006-05-09T13:28:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.385+05:30

I am sitting on a bar stool, hoping to finish my drink without more than two men approaching me, eyeing me like an on-sale item, trying to sit too close to me or spew their beery breath into my face like it was a gift. With a bloody Mary at hand, I toss around some old thoughts again, chewing the cud, just by myself. My left eye is twitching madly, a bad sign, I am sure, or was that supposed to

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1146222360396910072006-04-28T16:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.280+05:30

My mother used to peel onions a whole lot of the time. Or atleast that’s what I thought when I was young. Whenever I saw her face watery, her eyes blurred and fixed vaguely on nothing, she would be quick to say that she had been peeling onions. Too quick, almost before I could ask. It didn’t matter that we had a cook and she didn’t really have to go into the kitchen too much. As I grew up, I knew

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1145602814447866842006-04-21T12:29:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.215+05:30

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be an archaeologist, digging away for hidden treasure. It wasn’t really the treasure, which interested me. It could have been a dusty bowl, a limb intact, a head undone, a string of beads, that dancing girl, anything. So long as it was old. So old that the mud and clay would have leeched out all the colour from it. It would be the colour of nothing, and yet

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1145435553906335322006-04-19T14:00:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.139+05:30

Part 1 of a new Murakami story, Thanks to Uma.I didnt like it too much. Dont that let bias you though :)

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1145095526361583412006-04-15T15:02:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:55.071+05:30

"Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman", Murakami's new collection of short stories (Some of them already published elsewhere in places such as New Yorker) is due to be released sometime later this year, possibly August.The official site is releasing one of these stories prior to the book release, for subscribers to Murakami news. Needless to say, I have signed up.I think I am in danger of turning into a

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1145092189930343822006-04-15T14:39:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.997+05:30

I don’t know if you’ve ever faced a writing block. Hell, I can’t even call it a writers block when it comes to me; I’m not a real writer yet. Notice how careful I am to say, Writing Block. I choose my words with tenderness, I pick them out from the archives of memory and imaginary otherworlds. I use the ends of my brain like chopsticks, left and right, slithering around for material tucked away

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1144209140790921012006-04-05T09:21:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.933+05:30

I read a bookWhere a man waited with bated breath, for a woman.He died, I suppose.(When I was young,I was taughtThat life abates with breath.)StillIt is strange –I never knew a broken heart to kill anyoneAlthough it pinches the skin with its sharp edgesSometimes,Often,When no one is looking.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1144038180302395262006-04-03T09:52:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.865+05:30

Two separate events that I noticed recently have set me thinking about our notions of class and what constitutes it, therefore affecting our ideas on how we ought to behave towards ‘People like us’ and ‘People Not like us’. Make no mistake, PLUs and PNLUs are two very distinct sets of people entitled to different norms of respect or even just, ordinary courtesy.The first of these wasn’t actually

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1143458893653859932006-03-27T16:57:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.790+05:30

Last night I dreamt that I was walking through my old school again. It was larger and cleaner than it had ever been. I walked through the old cycle shed behind the classrooms where we used to pile up our bikes, slanted against the wall, falling one on top of another until you couldn’t tell spinning handlebar from wheel. So I walked through the cycle shed and discovered that everything had changed

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1142601747680900172006-03-17T18:49:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.718+05:30

“So what do you do, Rama?” Madan enquires politely.“I am a writer.”“Oh. Wow.”Rama laughs. “Well not in the sense that you think. I do content for a few sites. Some brochures and things like that for companies who don’t want to hire a large agency. Its pretty routine stuff actually.“ She finds it hard to insert a line that she is trying hard to be that kind of a writer. She is working on a first

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1142257125068487312006-03-13T19:07:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:54.654+05:30

"Heya, heya, heya," the girl with the limp hollered as she moved towards me."What’s with the American accent and all?", I said, “Got a second cousin who lives there?” I hadn’t quite meant this to come out so sneeringly, but it was out before I could clamp my lips and put the words back inside.We had met at the park only two days ago, and it was early days yet for that kind of talk. But I had had

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1141823621357243212006-03-08T18:42:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.972+05:30

I am a South Indian who grew up learning Hindi as a second language; The logic was that my dad working at a transferable job, it would be easier to move schools across the country with a good knowledge of Hindi. As a result, I never learnt my own language Tamil, beyond what my mother taught me at home and a smattering of reading that came from Ananda Vikatan jokes. Not the best way to become

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1141735505885769542006-03-07T17:54:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.891+05:30

Its been some time now since I've been away, and I missed this blog more than I thought I would! When I say I missed this blog, I mean the writing, a certain focus that came in because of it, not quite pressure but close to it, the interaction with people I would never have "met" otherwise....I missed all of it. I hope to resume posting regularly now, although the frequency may be a little lower

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1137124351466486042006-01-13T09:22:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.798+05:30

I am going to be away for a little while, with personal reasons making it unlikely that I will be writing for sometime, maybe a couple of months. My small bunch of readers, thank you for all the kind words, and just the time spent here. I will probably start blogging again, either here, or some place else. Those of you, who feel that you would like to read me again, please drop a note here or at

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1136134219648382422006-01-01T22:19:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.713+05:30

“So, you really don’t believe in absolute anything? I mean, everything in this world is relative and all that”?, I asked him a little disbelievingly.“Well, Absolut Cranbrerry is ok with me, and maybe a few other flavours, but yeah, most other things, no, nothing absolute for me, thank you”, he replied, making light of my question.I threw him my best withering look, which was wasted, because he

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1135786410133930502005-12-28T21:42:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.620+05:30

Radhika knew that the best stories always happened at night. When she was lying awake in her bed and watching the gloomy street lamp poke fingers of light in through her window. She often considered getting thicker curtains to blot it out. But on the whole it suited her. It was not so easy to make up her stories in the daytime, when sales charts and meetings left her with no time or energy. Night

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1135530587995157702005-12-25T22:36:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.534+05:30

There has always been too little real respect for freedom in India, I feel. While that may sound like a too-broad generalisation, it isn’t. Its something I’ve observed at too many levels – at home, at work, in the daily interaction with so many different people. As a society, we seem to value order and familiarity more, which we then label under the comforting title 'culture'. Then we hold on to

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1135525569309622602005-12-25T21:15:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.466+05:30

Last night I dreamt that I had morphed into a fish. I swam around a rectangular tank, my sleek propeller body cutting through the water. Point A to B and Point C to D and Point A to B. What is life, if not this endless repetition of hours, days and years? I asked myself rhetorical questions to which there was no answer, and spent my time pondering over the nature of God and the wisdom of his or

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1135181786003593792005-12-21T21:45:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.375+05:30

In a land very far away there lived a princess with a zycronite tiara and a sword of steel. This is not set in the time of so long ago, but in the here and now. Naturally the princess was elected to rule by popular mandate, once that thing called democracy had been brought in by a race of people called Americans. Now the Americans were not themselves the most popular people on the planet they

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1134923077260530292005-12-18T21:49:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.300+05:30

"Murakami is explorer of imagination", Rather unimaginative title, that one. Still, the Harvard University Gazette has a decently-readable account of Murakami's recent talk at the Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies. Jay Rubin, who has translated much of Murakami's work into English, says something about his work, which more or less sums up my fascination with the man : "the way he deals

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1134667826994366192005-12-15T22:59:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.215+05:30

Every morning, I drive myself to work half asleep. I am perched on my scooter, like a little bird on the edge of a branch, wings aflutter, half waiting to fly away somewhere. This hard and lumpy body of mine, fifty odd kilos of flesh and inertia, is here, here, here, but me, I am elsewhere, moving someplace else, every place else but where I am supposed to be going. I am an instinctively cautious

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1134580722320829742005-12-14T22:41:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.122+05:30

It was the final year of my graduation. We were due to leave college in another three months. Naïve and enthusiastic, we had entered the mouth of the machine three years ago. Well-oiled, it moved on soundlessly all this while, and in the end spewed us out. We had been fed with all kinds of scrap from and puked it out with unfailing regularity. The whole place was one giant cesspool. And yet, now

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1134063345621628292005-12-08T23:04:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:25.031+05:30

I found a John Irving I couldn’t finish. Infact I could hardly bear to read it. John Irving is one of those authors I had a somewhat excessive fondness for, as a college kid. Looking back, I find it all somewhat embarassing. You know that feeling, when you find an old that-adolescent-age snap of yours, all metal brace and too long arms and legs. Well, that’s the precise feeling I get when I think

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1133892320202925492005-12-06T23:31:00.001+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.842+05:30

My feet ache with the strain of wearing these new three inch high heels all day. Strangely enough, they hurt more when I step out of them, as though missing a crucial body part. The agony of a phantom limb, blood red and sexy, severed and gone, Painted toe, strapped heel, waxed leg, coated with body lotion and hard work. Looking beautiful, or even presentable, is no easy job. Self confidence,

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1132678741537791542005-11-22T22:27:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.649+05:30

Till recently, all I knew about the people who visited my blog was from the comments section – People who left those little (usually) encouraging notes for me – I knew they had been here. For the rest, I had no clue who was reading me, if at all there was anyone out there. A few days ago, however, I enabled one of those little ingenious trackers that keep count of who’s visiting your blog, and

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1132505957269274152005-11-20T22:28:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.559+05:30

Intimacy flows through the open pores of words, sliding in through the nanospaces of silence. Too much, too soon. Songs unsung, words unsaid, skin untouched, yet consumed inside the imaginative working of a hungry mind. Sleeve brushes cuff, a quick furtive conjunction best ignored. Her mind is heavy with the weight of Savitri, Kannagi, Sita, every virtuous woman who lived, and left behind an

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1132247057738780742005-11-17T22:32:00.001+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.472+05:30

The Headmaster opened the lock that held shut the creaking iron gate of the school and scrambled in. It was a burning hot summer day. So hot that the top of his head seemed to be on fire from the short walk from his two roomed house to the school. The sweat stayed heavy on his face till he brought out his rough little towel and wiped it off. He would do this over and over again. There were no air

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131987425849279932005-11-14T22:12:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.275+05:30

This week, I managed to visit an exhibition on “Ukiyo-e”, a form of woodblock printing that flourished in Japan from the 17th to 19th centuries. The exhibition was organized by the ABK-AOTS Dosokai, an organization involved in cultural exchanges between India and Japan. Now my close friends will know that I have something of a Japan fetish, and ukiyo-e is definitely part of that. So pronto I

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131381806379646002005-11-07T22:10:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.192+05:30

A Murakami story I haven't read before.Thanks to Marginalia

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131286586016725182005-11-06T19:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:24.100+05:30

...Sucks! And sucks how...Bigtime! If you thought the Nanny Diaries were a great read (and I did) and therefore one could expect something smart and funny from the same authors, Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus, sadly, you will realise that you are mistake before you get through even ten pages of this book. The book is a disaster, and thats a kind word. I mean, how did they ever let it get

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131285765298479392005-11-06T19:31:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.991+05:30

With Two Lives, Vikram Seth takes on yet another genre of writing, this time, the biography. It does look as if the man is not going to leave any genre undone, with poetry, novel, novel-in-verse, travelogue and now biography all his repertoire.While the book traces the lives of his grand-uncle Shanti and grand-aunt Henny, he doesn’t really start the book with an account of them. Rather, the

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131123625950758452005-11-04T22:24:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.916+05:30

Or how fast can you churn out a novel....Not necessarily booker material or even fairly readable stuff, but just the ability to sit down at your desk, day after day, for this whole month and churn out a novel by the end of it. Thats what the NaNoWriMo is about, as I hear on Sepia Mutiny. If you haven't signed on yet, you're already four days late; And me? Naah! Too much work I decided. I shall

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1131037219498340522005-11-03T22:05:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.836+05:30

I am not a spendthrift. I don't go stingy on the things that I really need, but I do think twice before shelling out for another set of clothes I don't need or a pair of shoes that I won't wear too often. So, like I said, I am not a spendthrift and I like to think of myself as a prudent, cautious little bird, putting away a stash in that little nest of mine. Part of this is perhaps a hangover

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1130864207941416892005-11-01T22:23:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.731+05:30

Renuka feels better in the evening, after she has had a nap. She tries to make Lavu feel better by taking the child to the park nearby.The park has scanty grass which looks more like weed, a few rusty bars and an old slide with its edges dangerously broken. Lavu finds another six year old girl to play with, and they sit on the ground, raking in the dirt with their fingers, grubbing for enough

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1130696210968856442005-10-30T23:46:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.642+05:30

I have a bruise on my upper thigh the size of a five rupee coin. The strange thing is that I can’t remember at all, how it could have got there. As far as I can recall, no one hurt me or pushed me into a corner where I would hurt myself. No one bit me. I didn’t stumble, and I didn’t wake up from bed to find myself lying on the floor. Although I’ve done that once before.This bruise looks like

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1130602297696057102005-10-29T21:28:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.555+05:30

This week has been heavy with weariness; A kind of insiduous tiredness that takes hold of you so slowly - you don't even realise the exact moment when it seeped into you and decided to stay on, virus thrilled at finding unsuspecting host.The tiredness was wrought on, I suspect, from too many sources for me to even adequately catelogue and allot percentages in a nice, orderly fashion.There was the

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1130085504636498032005-10-23T22:06:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.467+05:30

I am listening to one of my favourite pieces today after a long time, Tchaikovsky’s last symphony, the sixth symphony, the symphony pathetique. I don’t play this very often despite the first movement being one of the things I love to hear best among every single bit of music I own. This version is by the Philadelphia orchestra, with Eugene Ormandy setting a kind of expansive mood to the whole of

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1130055506344283492005-10-23T13:32:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.363+05:30

Another writer, another talk. Not Vikram Seth on his all around India promotional tour of Two lives, which has been covered at a whole lot of places, including this very entertaining read by Sonia Faleiro at the Colour of Water.Rather, Umberto Eco was in town, well, not in Chennai itself, but close enough - at Pondicherry, for me to feel a kind of hallowed connection.The wind-up bird is pleased

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129990173082683682005-10-22T19:30:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.263+05:30

Ok, this post has nothing to do with me really. It is actually a Murakami update. Haruki Murakami was at MIT recently as part of their writers series talks, and the lossless blog has a nice write-up on his talk there, including videos of the event. The write up says, "Wearing a sweet green t-shirt that proclaimed "PICKLE", Murakami began by telling a few stories to the delight of the crowd. He

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129826165224623492005-10-20T21:49:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.154+05:30

...is being in desperate straits, locked up in prison, usually in terrible conditions, away from friends and family, tagged a criminal forever, no hope to look forward to, and...not even having a decent sari to cover yourself with.Please read on about a good deed that needs to be done.A friend of mine, Uma, is collecting funds for women prisoners in the Vigilance Cell (Chennai), who are in dire

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129645371037247662005-10-18T19:50:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:23.055+05:30

* The restaurent at the end of the Universe, is where every gourmet fantasy comes true. Specks of basil lie over a half-eaten bowl of fettucine, the momentary grace of aroma fading swiftly. The remnants of greens rest in the salad bowl, leeks, beans and spinach, all limp now. A fine jug of water, transparent as its contents, stands on the table, spout curving away from the sides like a pregnant

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129436996184105162005-10-16T09:57:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.948+05:30

Mallorka made her way up the spiral staircase to the Chairman's room. The spiral staircase stood at the entrance to the Splendid-Biscuit Biscuit Making Company, its curvilinear bulk almost obscuring the passageway that led to the sales cubicles. Its wide girth could hold four people abreast at any point from floor to landing. Wrought iron railings ran along its sides and onto each railing clung a

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129220800281239212005-10-13T21:47:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.836+05:30

I am not posting a desperate cry here for some Tender Loving Care. What it is, is a desperate cry for some kind soul who will lend me Ishiguro’s Never let me go, which I need to read.(Disclaimer : No relation to winning or not winning the Booker) The need to read doesn’t mean it is prescribed reading or something, just that I need to read it, and somehow will not shell out the Rs.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129135960342288512005-10-12T22:19:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.738+05:30

The makeshift golu stand will be dismantled, the books placed at the goddess’ feet returned to their shelves, and the gods and goddesses, carefully wrapped up in odds and ends of cloth, will go back to into the old irumbu petti, itself hoisted up into that little dark corner in the attic. There they will stay for another year, patiently awaiting their turn, until it is time for another navaratri,

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1129125533112026602005-10-12T19:28:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.642+05:30

...That in our own little ways, we voice our support for Rashmi (Youth Curry)and for Gaurav who are being called some vile things, for daring to raise some pertinent questions about a so-called premier institute. I am not getting into the issue of whether the institute really is or isnt all those things that these bloggers said it was, but it is appalling the way they have reacted to criticism;

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128777367453841222005-10-08T18:44:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.529+05:30

Dharasuram, a quiet place on the edges of noisy Kumabonam, is the site of an ancient temple of the Cholas. This is one of the Big Three Chola temples, the other two being the temples at Thanjavur and Gangaikondacholapuram. I visited this place on a sunny afternoon when there was no one else around here. A 12th C temple built by Raja Raja II, this temple is dedicated to a form of Shiva called

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128531995337529982005-10-05T22:34:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.330+05:30

Tuesdays with Morrie. I read this book over the weekend over two interrupted hours, being called out from time to time to help with setting up the Navaratri Golu, move assorted furniture and generally move my reluctant butt. Though the reading was haphazard, I enjoyed the book very much. Touched is the right word. Mitch Albom shines a close spotlight on his teacher Morrie, a man he loved, the

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128356772092975752005-10-03T21:50:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.236+05:30

This post is kind of self-serving, considering that I am one of the candidates.. Honestly, though, it was interesting to see the number and variety of entries that Ammani's idea generated. The thought was, Send in a short story under 200 words on the theme of Childhood, and for every entry, donate Rs. 100 to this worthy cause, ProjectWhy.She has put up all the entries here where you can visit and

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128254859550755932005-10-02T17:28:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.153+05:30

Kalpana Sharma writes in the Hindu magazine today on a different kind of breaking news; The story of a girl who succeeds in convincing her parents not to get her married before time, and allow her to get on with her plans for her life, which include a career of her own choice. It is heartening to read about the determination of this young woman, though at one level it is sad to see how slowly

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128235028709575552005-10-02T12:00:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:22.073+05:30

So, Raven at the Reality Cafe has this idea about google bombing such that Gen. Musharaf's website pops up when anyone types in Insensitive Jerk Well, that he is, so I have qualms about participating, though my limited knowledge of how google works and other such technological things makes it hard for me to understand the process.Still. Now when you click on insensitive jerkwhat you will get is

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1128099053360490012005-09-30T22:11:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.763+05:30

....No, I am not talking about the mysteries of the universe or the possibilities of my attaining enlightenment in this lifetime, worthy topics though they are.Simple that I went on a binge last week at the Landmark Sale and bought myself eight books -- Margaret Atwood's Blind Assassin- Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's daughter- Orhan Panuk's My name is Red- GG Marquez' Seventeen Poisoned Englishmen-

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127923605096349672005-09-28T21:20:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.704+05:30

This morning, on my way to work, I stopped at a traffic signal. The sky was dull and the light was red but vehicles honked behind me all the same, as though I could make it green by sheer will power. Or hypnosis if I stared long enough.In the space next to me, about space enough for a car, squeezed in a red tempo with open back. Two men sat ahead, using the signal break to spit leisurely. Like an

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127829192315685092005-09-27T19:16:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.618+05:30

Last week's Outlook had its cover story on the sexual changing dynamics in India. I fail to understand why they felt the need to supplement every page with semi-nude photographs...Did they think the text was not enlightening enough? Most of the reporting seemed kind of sensational, focusing on "Aunties" and their paid lovers, rather than any serious coverage of changing attitudes.The one well

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127580494563990602005-09-24T22:04:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.559+05:30

So, General Musharraf thinks that women would like to get themselves raped, just to make some easy money, and oh yeah, maybe a free ticket to the western world. After the furore, he turns around immediately offering the politicans standard excuse that he was misquoted. This is old news by now, so why am I still blogging about it? Apart from what it says about the General's attitude to women (

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127495864550326732005-09-23T22:07:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.471+05:30

This issue came to my mind just today evening, when I saw a programme on DD Pothigai, Magalir Choice, literally Women's Choices. The speaker was the excellent Bharathi Bhaskar, who usually lends such a sympathetic yet interesting voice to all women's issues. The subject today was Women and Health; the treatment however far from the conventional sympathetic. Bhaskar did not talk about how women's

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127405497575341622005-09-22T21:35:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.399+05:30

Uma led me to this new story by Murakami in the New Yorker. Its a lovely story but inspite of its mysterious disappearances et al somehow not as 'other-wordly' as many of his novels.I dont mean that negatively though...Read it..

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127234394316757772005-09-20T22:09:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.323+05:30

In the bustling Satellite City area of Ahmedabad stood a nondescript building with a dingy grey façade that looked as if it were awaiting the next earthquake to take it apart. The outer walls had not been painted for years and the few residents who had hoped to mobilise things were long gone or had lost hope. Moss had made itself comfortable on the intersection of wall and ground and no amount of

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127234332873446082005-09-20T22:07:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.255+05:30

On his thirty seventh birthday, a few of his colleagues had planned a surprise for him. Along with the cake and the samosas, he discovered that there was a birthday present even wrapped up in the obligatory shiny paper. Despite his initial reluctance, he was touched. It had been a long time since anyone had done that sort of thing for him. It was a small fish tank. Complete with pebbles and sand

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127234168527542692005-09-20T22:05:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:21.188+05:30

One day the routine was shattered when the Sabarmati express was set alight at Godhra. Soon enough the riots began in retaliation, with looters joining in to earn their stash under the cover of religious duty. At first Wasim did not fear for his life. Although he had lived in this area for twenty years, he was not aware that anyone even knew of his existence. Who would come searching for him? But

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1127061191216078842005-09-18T21:52:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.987+05:30

Early feminist writing is somehow not really associated with writers from the subcontinent. I was happy to be corrected of this misconception last this weekend by reading one of India’s (Later Bangladeshi) earliest feminist writers – Rokeya Hussain. This was my introduction to her in the form of Barnita Bagchi’s English translation of two writings – Sultana’s Dream, a short story and Padmarag, a

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1126975240767883922005-09-17T21:54:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.921+05:30

I wrote this in my journal on the second day of my trip. For those not familiar with this part of the country, Thiruvannamalai is home to the Arunachala mountain, revered as Shiva himself. Girivalam is the walk around the holy mountain, following the footsteps of Ramana Maharishi. A stretch of 14kms over road, stone and occasional blaring horn. I had imagined myself walking this sacred road with

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1126265252225315632005-09-09T16:56:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.836+05:30

This is my last day on this job. A job that I have spent three years in and cribbed about, for the most part of it. I don’t think I am going to miss it. Still, it feels strange to think that I will not be here from Monday. Strange to imagine this lifeless little cubicle on its own, without me sitting here, whiling away the time, mailing friends, net-surfing for exotic destinations I will probably

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1126114754332479112005-09-07T22:57:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.780+05:30

The insensitivity of folks in advertising never ceases to amaze me. Last week, I saw this ad for a local brand of milk, Aarogya which claims to have some extra 4 and a half percent fat or some crap like that. Agencyfaqs unfortunately doesnt really track regional brands, so I cant link to a storyboard here, but the script goes somewhat like this. Bunch of loony looking fellows (read terrorists)

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1126104008024289542005-09-07T20:08:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.711+05:30

Younger readers may not remember this time too well, but older readers will understand very well when I talk about a time of “Soviet children’s literature” – a time from the 60s to perhaps the mid-eighties when a lot of the children’s fiction we got in this country came out from under the Iron curtain. Ofcourse some of it was in the realm of the ‘nation-building’ genre and focused on

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125989053645098592005-09-06T12:13:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.648+05:30

I saw this lovely idea of a new game – short stories in 55 words or less, on Mr. Prufrock’s page and thought why not give it a try myself! Here is my attempt at fiction under fifty-five. Didn’t realise it would be so tough!I sat quietly, waiting, my red dress a flag, my brown face a beacon in a sea of Japanese faces. Peter Cat. A jazz bar once owned by Murakami. He arrived, and we decided to

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125940317498606222005-09-05T22:24:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.571+05:30

These days every problem in India and for that matter the rest of the world is to be ascribed to or atleast discussed in the context of…yes… China. Be it the potholes on Mumbai roads, poverty levels in Indian society, pollution levels in the most remote corners of Greenland or the cost of living in Guinea-Bissau, it can all be related to China in some carefully uncovered obscure manner. It

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125765456796319172005-09-03T22:04:00.001+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.500+05:30

- I like this word Truculent. It just has a nice sound to it. It should be the opposite of Succulent, though it isn’t. - An Omnibus is a massive carrier of words that doesn’t go anywhere since its too heavy to be lifted off the shelf. - You can drown your sorrows in a drink. It that why your pocket tends to be considerably lighter after a hangover? - They call Sunday the week - end when all the

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125660837172250622005-09-02T16:59:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.346+05:30

Last month or so, while traveling on work, I found myself seated next to a gentleman who was in the publishing business. Oh, that’s great, I said, what kind of stuff do you publish then? Well, mostly Kids fiction. I get my content in from China. I reprint here and sell. China? That sounds strange, I thought. Surely, we in India have a far wider base of Indian authors writing in English, and

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125569310363754552005-09-01T15:37:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.285+05:30

I have been following the activities of this group, Unisun Publishers, which is doing its bit to promote new writing talent. Picked up this week their anthology of short stories called, what else, Winners, a compilation of the prize-winning short stories in a contest conducted last year. While the book title may not be very imaginative, one of the new authors I read here was just so good that I

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125476898022440272005-08-31T13:52:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.206+05:30

I am no wine-snob (Or oenophile, I hear, they are called), who raves about the wine from 1872 that is the best ever. But some old things just get better and better with age. Like some books that I go back to after years and still find them as relevant, or more, to me. Some of these....- The Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy- The Handmaids Tale (Margaret Atwood)- Heidi- Sophie's Choice (William

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125476494275089822005-08-31T13:37:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.127+05:30

So I hear Trent has bought a majority stake in Landmark. What does this mean for the bookstore? The first Landmark in Nungambakkam was, and still is a favourite haunt for me. Its a comfortable place to stand, browse, read, just walk around looking at all the new covers that are in etc etc. The new Landmark at Spencers somehow is just not a bookshop at all. The book section is quite small and all

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125422910032629282005-08-30T22:55:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:20.052+05:30

One of my earliest poems...Dont write poetry anymore these days though....This one I think uses a bit of cliche, but passable for a 16 year old I suppose :-)Here lie two torn tickets for a concertWhere, listening to Tchaikovsky and Schubert,I wanted to withdraw my love for youAnd do it, oh-so-politely too.I watched you, seemingly rapt,Listening to the sad music – so aptTo this occasion; To be

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125400339415980542005-08-30T16:40:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.981+05:30

If you saw the movie, Ice Age, you will remember the scene where the animals walk into a cave to find their likenesses etched on the walls. Kind of cheesy sentimental moment, when the mammoth remembers his parents as he sees the signs of an animal hunt drawn on the cave walls. Before the age of the wood tablets and stylus, much before the invention of ink and paper, early man found his own way of

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125247375014186192005-08-28T21:52:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.900+05:30

So if you read that recent post on Kafka on the shore, you will know just how bad my finances have been. I discovered two new books out today by two authors I really like, and ofcourse was in no shape to buy either, each totting up at over 500 bucks. The first one is The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco, that master writer of the Name of the Rose. Here is an interesting review in

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125245808610969092005-08-28T21:41:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.831+05:30

One of my favourite musicians, esp one whom I admire for her song-writing abilities, is Suzanne Vega. Her songs, even on that most over-used (and over-rated?) of subjects, L-O-V-E have a refreshing quality to them. Here are the lyrics to one of my favourite songs,World before Columbus, which you may enjoy even if you havent heard the song before. If your love were taken from meEvery color would

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125163582741546702005-08-27T22:53:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.765+05:30

Last week after realising that I was miserably broke as usual and telling myself that I couldn’t or shouldn’t spend 600 rupees on another book, I found myself walking in a sort of haze to one of the assistants at Landmark and asking for Murakami’s latest book, Kafka on the Shore. The book came out in Japanese in 2002, but it took about two years for the English version to hit the shelves.

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1125036514266140622005-08-26T11:37:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.680+05:30

Paperback or Hardcover?Paperback Usually cheaper than hardcover edition. Convenient to carry around. Lighter to lift in the case of thousand page tomes. The negatives – Tend to get dog-eared. Doesn’t come back when lent since everyone assumes it’s just a cheap copy. HardcoverMore Expensive. Can be a weight-lifting exercise on occasion. Take up a lot of space on the shelf. The positives – Better

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1124967290667244942005-08-25T16:21:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.600+05:30

After I posted a comment on this post by Uma, I got to thinking about this whole issue again. Writing in the mass media is very much an audience-oriented affair. Maybe not in the sense that a writer reviews each and every piece for likeability, but yes, every publication does have its tone and standards of what and how it will publish, partly atleast based on what readers like. Plus in the age of

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15010755.post-1124876185357957802005-08-24T15:04:00.000+05:302006-11-14T13:45:19.531+05:30

I have been reading Femina the magazine that used to be for the Woman of Substance, from my teenager days. Nowadays ofcourse they call themselves the magazine for Generation N, which I am probably already too old to be. Somehow lately I felt as though I was able to skim through the 150-odd-page magazine in about fifteen minutes. My mother manages it in even less time! I wondered how, when once

apuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07806361192017548240noreply@blogger.com7