Random musings of a wandering soul

Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

aliceDo you remember that exhilarating feeling when you meet someone and instantly feel connected? Your thoughts seem to be similar, you react to things the same way, you even seem to complete each other’s sentences and you decide, at last, I’ve found someone who totally gets me. Then, you get to know more of each other and a sense of foreboding starts creeping up, the sixth sense that seldom goes wrong tries to warn you that what you see may not be what you get. And ultimately, a sense of resignation, a foreboding feeling of being fooled does you in. That’s exactly what happened to me with this book.

Alice Steinbach, a Pulitzer prize winning journalist had always dreamed about chucking it all and seeking out an unencumbered life free of plans and schedules, at least temporarily. And she does just that, her sons having moved out and she herself…

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doe eyes‘Doe eyes’, you call her. But, have you really looked into it, ever listened to what it tries to tell you? Have you seen one that is caught in light at night? You are  not the jungle type, you say? Oh, don’t worry. Just look around. Who said jungle is in the wild? But then, do we even know what wild is any more?

See that crowd? Push your way in, and look around. Do you see those frightened eyes? Yes, that is what I was asking you about. She is still a baby. What do you call a baby doe? A princess? Yes, that would be apt. For, princesses rarely come out of fairy tales these days. But then, let us not digress. Can you see how she squirms, as if caught in a trap? Why doesn’t she fight, you ask? Well, she still doesn’t know what is it that she has to fight against, or whom.  She did not ask for the fight, heck, she doesn’t even want to fight. Was just going about her way, when a pair of horns stopped her . She doesn’t know yet… why stags have horns and why they try to poke her.

Wait, are you jumping out? Can’t stand the crowd, you say? Neither can she. She doesn’t have a choice, though. For she is not a stag. And she doesn’t have horns.

It’s getting dark out there. The eyes start getting wider, the horns are getting closer. Why doesn’t she fight, you ask again. You see, she was taught not to. Would grow horns, she was told. Back then, she was a princess, and princesses were supposed to have crowns of diamonds, not horns. Hardly her fault, you know.

You’ve seen some of them fight, you say? You are right, my friend. Horns rammed inside, some of them do, really.

Now tell me, do you know what they were fighting for and against? No? I will tell you.  Or better still, ask one of her. Even better, ask a few. One will say, against fatigue. Another, against prejudice. Yet another, expectations. And the other, against the pain that is killing her, from dawn to dusk. The reasons  are aplenty. But, there is one that binds them, almost all of them. The fight is ‘for’ something, there they are one. For their princesses, princes too. That they may not have to fight, some day. That they are not shorn off their tiaras and crowns. That their staff is used to guide, not rule.

Yes, they fight, with their tooth and sharp nails. For, they do not have horns, you see.

What about those horns that battle alongside the  eyes, you ask? Oh, them? Poor things. They end up being called hornless. In spite of the strongest ones you might have seen, ever.

The princesses, and what of their doe eyes, wouldn’t you want to know? I will tell you, irrespective. Some of them burned with a fire strong enough to  singe the tips of a few horns.  Then got charred in the process. A few of them folded the lids in, never to open again. And the mass, you cannot miss them, even if you don’t see, look or whatever. Those are the ones that you find all around, resigned, helpless. Even the brightest light fails to light them up. For, they grew up, and got to know. Only in fairy tales, princesses turn into queens, you see.

What of her kin, the horned ones, you now ask? Aren’t they supposed to protect her? The brothers – the real and the rakhi ones?

Neither does she ask, nor  expect them to , anymore.

For, she knows by now.

That they are busy….building statues

 

(p.s – title courtesy my favorite film maker, the inimitable Padmarajan)

Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

rainThese days it is a rare miracle to get the time, temperament and the right kind of book to read for hours at a stretch and finish it in one go. As you get to explore more and more authors and genres, you realize, with some sadness, that it is getting increasingly difficult to satisfy the growing soul that is you. So you flit from one book to another, trying to find that magic that once was there in every story that you read. You long for that time when each author was fairy god mother  or father as the case maybe, with a bottom less hat from which tale after enchanted tale was pulled out.

Then, out of the blue, like a long lost rainbow, you meet authors like Tan Twan Eng, who ensnare you with the lyrical quality of their writing, sears you to the core with the…

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Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

emptyBooks signed by authors, I have a few. But a book launch? Never.

So when V, a good friend, sent out an invite, I was excited. For more than one reason. V is a born raconteur and his sense of humor is truly out of this world. So by law of genesis or whatever, his brother had to be a chip off the young block, I presumed. And rightly so, I was to find out.

RM Rajgopal, the author wrote these stories ‘while pursuing a hectic career,’ says the introduction in the book. And the author corroborates it when he says tongue-in-cheek that he has a lot to thank Indian Airlines for the number of delayed flights, most of these stories were written either while waiting at the airport or while on a flight. Apparently he used to carry and notebook and pen with him, always. That he must have…

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Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

kateWhen I was carrying our first born, husband used to see pregnant women everywhere. It happens all the time doesn’t it? When the mind is focused on something, consciously or sub consciously, it seem to attract relevant experiences, thoughts and people. Or is it that we become more mindful and aware that we actually start making sense of what is around us? Stories, real life and made up, discussions, real and virtual, all tend to rekindle those once burning embers. As if that was not enough, this  book found its way and added fuel to the already smouldering ashes.

The questions are what every woman would have asked herself at least once in her life. Unless of course, she is single and childless. Is it worth it? What about me? My dreams? Do I even have a choice? Are child bearing and rearing my responsibilities alone? What if I reset…

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Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

faultWhat you heard is true, this is a cliched story. A star crossed pair of teenagers, both of them terminally ill, wishes coming true, devoted parents, adoring sisters, video games of guns and gore, precocious dialogues,  the story has all the ingredients of a block buster young adult movie. No surprises here, a movie is indeed slated for release.

Hazel Grace, or ‘Just’ Hazel as she calls herself, is terminally ill. Her cancer seem to be temporarily stalled by a new medication, but she knows her days are numbered. As expected, she meets the gorgeous, precocious, tongue in cheek Augustus Waters in a support group meeting. Once a talented basketball player, the dreaded illness has left him with a prosthetic leg in place of a real one. And he falls in love, not the least because she resembles his girl friend who, no surprises here again, died of cancer. Too…

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Originally posted on Reminiscing the Reads:

travelThe title was misleading. I was expecting to read about how to travel in an artistic manner or the science of artistic travel , whatever that would have been. As for the author, the only relationship till now were a few quotes, mostly from his ‘On Love’. The first few pages were more less on the expected lines – the anticipation that is mostly colored by a travel agency brochure. Palm fringed beaches, multi hued sea in shades of green , blue or a more sexy sounding aquamarine, the ubiquitous ‘hotel bungalow with a view through French doors into a room decorated with wooden floors and white bedlinen‘ and an almost always ‘azure sky.’

You think you know it all when the author comments on , how in the course of anticipation of a travel, mortal human beings like us tend to forget the details of…

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