The Perfect Winter Read

"There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price."

- Colleen McCullough

(The Thord Birds, Page 422, 30th Anniversary Edition)

What are your expectations from winters? Mine are rather simple. Warmth. Whether it comes via a fond conversation over drinks, or through mid-morning strolls in the beautiful monuments of Delhi. Or through a book which makes you forget all else as you plunge nose-deep into it's world of romance. Along with a steaming cup of Earl Grey as you lie limp wrapped in a blanket. 

While the first two expectations I am still working on, the last got fulfilled through the most gorgeous read which was literally thrust into my hands by the very sweet librarian at Shiv Nadar School, Gurgaon. Titled 'The Thorn Birds', I had no idea it was every bit the literary classic I had wanted to lay my hands on since long. It just looked thick, and good enough to hide behind the pages off for a while. And so, I grabbed it and began turning pages at the solemn pace the story demands out of a reader. 

It is not a page turner - a book like this never can be. It is a tale which makes you shut the covers once in a while to reflect, not necessarily on the contents of the story, but perhaps on the universal condition and experience of humans and humanity. It doesn't make you feel wretched; but it makes you realise how equal a participant you are in the inescapable suffering and pain which comes packaged with life. It makes you belong to this world, in its tribulations, if not the triumphs. 

But this is not all why I enjoyed reading the book. I loved it because it churned the ordinary into grand. To call it a love-story between Meggie Cleary and Ralph de Bricassart would be too less. It is a life story extending to three generations, taking the reader painstakingly through every detail, every season, every loss, and every minute of maturing which the characters undergo. It contains characters who are not shy of evolving or altering. These characters - people - respond not to their impulsive vows bound in time and situations, but to life itself. They respond to fears, tragedies, prospects and desires just like we would. It is fabulous to see how at the end, you can actually pin-point all incidents which led to the complex layers that have evolved within each character. That, dear friends, is very, very fine writing. 

A tall, imposing presence in the text is that of Drogheda - the land on which most of the story is based. Even when the tale ventures beyond the land and sea, Drogheda remains conspicuous by its absence. What is profound about this spatial dimension is that just when you are led into believing that there is a permanence which we all must return to, you're made to realise that such permanence can never be earthly. It has to be divine. It has to be of the realm beyond. 

The author - Collen McCullough - who died aged 77 last year.

And finally, the one reason the book will stay with me is because it taught me to see fulfilment in tragedies. It makes you believe that you may begin with a love story, and end up with another. It showed me how answers come to those who believe, not to those who doubt. And also because it, unerringly, and non-judgmentally, brought up the beautiful discrepancies as they exist between genders - through the upbringing, conditioning and also, intuitively perceiving the world. 

Like I said, calling this a love story would be too less. It is a story of lives - many lives, lived and lost. Most certainly recommended to all looking for something replete with grand ordinariness, and ordinary grandeur. 

The Liberalization Generation

I was one among the 4 individuals who features in the Sunday Magazine of the Indian Express, which talks about the liberalization generation and their choices, pressures and aspirations. In a conversation which stretched over a couple of days, many things became apparent to me as I spoke to Ankita, who asked incisive questions to put her story together. Titled, 'The Winner Takes It All', the page long story brings out the concerns and comforts of our generation, which evolved alongside the Economic Reforms to which our country owes much of its present shape. You can read the whole story here - http://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/life-style/the-winner-takes-it-all-2931791/ - and it was a privilege to be featured alongside my friend - Akshat Mittal, whose comment on how our generation has the ability to convert passions into professions was my pick of the lot.

While talking to Ankita, I realised, how fortunate are we to belong to our times. We do have our share of pressures, but the opportunity to exist as unique individuals is overwhelming, and available to all. The internet and social spaces have eliminated any filtering interface, which makes it that much easier to build ourselves into a version of our Visions. The opportunity is democratic - the skill and perseverance is the differentiator. Our aspirations are set high, and hence our focus must be set higher. The perils are there - too much interactivity, too many choices, too much distraction, too much pressure (active and passive both) - but the deterrents (and deterring addictions) have existed in all ages, and so shall they continue to. The point I am trying to make is, anytime someone tries to talk to me about social media as taking away from reality - I have scores of examples to quote where digital has been used (exploited) to create, curate and inspire real experiences. Secondly, it is time we understood virtual experiences as a part of our reality - enriching, informing, integrating and entertaining. And thirdly, if there are individuals who prefer a virtual existence to real - I'd like them to have it. Digital-social spaces have been empowering for people whose physical participation was often unconsciously discriminatory. Persons with Disabilities are a case in point.

The space to exist is huge. The chance to construct our dreams is tremendous. The power to bring people together is unprecedented. And the opportunity to just be ourselves, assertively firm and fluidly evolving, is overwhelming. Your struggle - to find who you are, what drives you, what lends you happiness, and what do your doggedly dream of.

There. For more perspectives, hop onto the Indian Express link and read on!

Read here - http://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/life-style/the-winner-takes-it-all-2931791/

A Philosopher on the Wrong Side of 40!

Hello!

Some books convince you on the unique nature of everything that constitutes you. Such books carve a very permanent niche in your heart and make you trust the author to an extent that you feel an acute urge to exhaust his/her entire literary corpus. The book I am referring to here is Fault In Our Stars written by the genius wordsmith, John Green. It wasn't a book which shook the earth for me - but it was definitely one which made me want to know more about the thought process of the writer. And yes, it lent me some very fascinating perspectives on this short life we lead.

I had jotted down my spontaneous reflections on the book about 5 months ago, and revisited them this morning while trying to positivise some persistent negativities. A very senior person called me a 'philosopher on the wrong side of 40' for those reflections, and when I remembered that, I caught myself smiling. And just like that, the day acquired a vibrant hue, along with the still persisting cynicism. Who says cynicism and vibrance can't coexist? Look at me and you'll know - I am wearing pink with a black-&-white top.

Here. My thoughts on Fault In Our Stars

"I have read the book and seen the movie, in that order. Quite obviously, I enjoyed the former more, since it left so much scope for me to think beyond the obvious tale of love between two protagonists whose love affair with life was about to end.

The Fault In Our Stars is so much more than the story of Hazel and Augustus - it is the tale of entire humanity struggling to come to terms with the nature of existence. Are we all tiny, ephemeral specks on the grandness that is the Universe, or are we all, in our own ways, altering the Universe in a manner that leaves a permanent impact?

By changing our perception on the disease called cancer, John Green succeeds in changing so much about the way we view struggles in life. Like cancer is a necessary evil on the road to evolution (arrived at through mutation of cells, few of which mutate to malignancy), struggles are a necessary force to makes us grow, to chisel us to perfection. In his lens, cancer is actually evolution, or progress/growth.

That our prism is biased towards pity is also brought out handsomely in the text. I will give away the plot if I say anymore here - read on to find out. But, we sympathise too easily to visible distresses. Not the best idea perhaps.

Let us live, breathe, and smile at the bounties which life gives us. Probably only he can live life unabashedly from whose existence the fear of death is eliminated. Iconic quotes are found by dozens in the book - I have a lot many scribbled in my journal.

The movie is good to the eyes, but fails the book completely in the sense of the sorrow it evokes in us, against a sense of triumph for having lived a life which NOONE else in the entire history of humanity is going to get an opportunity to live."

So, hmm. Life is a fair deal that God has given you. As John Green says "What makes life precious is that it ends."

P.S. - The next book I am picking up is An Abundance of Katherines. Do you want to tell me something about that one?

Anamnesis

That morning was weird and nice
For then stars sparkled in clear, blue sky
When water ripples resembled smiles
And rushing winds in ecstasy cried

I felt a prickly chill somewhere
Looked and smiled at arms left bare
Palms outstretched still catching rain
Collecting pearls to lose them fain

And then his words echoed and shined
Like lashing on the shores of my mind
The mind left numb to chill of dew
The mind dancing to a gay heart’s cue J

I picked and sifted past night’s memories
Meandering through that bag of stories
I let his laugh ring high and pierce
The morning calm on which I perched

A voice not deep, but rich, and foul
A moment grave, then shrill and loud
But that did cast exquisite spells
By uttering words which made hearts melt

That morning, stars watched me over
Invisible, yet, in sleepy eyes they shimmered
They lay in my lap, I still looked up
I looked up and guessed, I fell in love.

I fell in love sans self or pride
I fell in love with eyes open wide
I fell in love not thinking of gains
I fell in love while shivering in rains

I fell in love with the mirth he gave
I fell in love with the anger I hate
I fell, and fell, sans fear of hurt
I fell in love with him, his words

Postscript

I fell in love, like it’s here to stay
I fell in love, but it’ll go someday 

Postscript 2 – I have come to realize in life, that love should never begin at admiration. However, observe that this caution is coming from a girl who uses dawn as her blanket for dreamy slumber. The idea behind stating this fact is to let you all know that when it comes to emotional adventures, I have always thrown caution to the wind. I wrote this poem under the starriest skies of imagination, only wondering, if true, will I be as giddy and happy? Some things in life are best left confined to the canvass of imagination, for those thoughts are pretty, precious and fragile. Reality is the spoiler always, isn’t it? And so, the Bard, in Midsummer Night’s Dream, has this to say about ‘Love’ –

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

Baker's Dozen - A Review

I will begin this review with a quote, which has got nothing to do with the book. It is by one of my favourite writers, whose writing style is something I have always tried to learn from.

"People ask me why my style is so simple. It is, in fact, deceptively simple, for no two sentences are alike. It is clarity I am trying to attain, not simplicity. Of course, some people want literature to be difficult and there are writers who like to make their readers toil and sweat. They hope to be taken more seriously that way. I have always tried to achieve prose that is easy and conversational. And those who think its simple should try it for themselves." - Ruskin Bond

In my entire journey with Baker's Dozen, this fond quotation was ringing in my head. Not because I wasn't enjoying what I was reading, but because I was applying a lot of my brains into understanding thoughts which I would much rather flow with. Writing in a fashion which is complicated and extravagant is perhaps the order of the day, and it carries with it streaks of brilliance too, but it is not something which gives you the comfort of book you may snuggle in the bed with. This, I am saying despite having enjoyed the ELLE Tranquebar book of short stories thoroughly.

Baker's Dozen is the kind of book which enchants you from the time you receive it in your hand. The minimal art-work on the cover, and the thought behind the title are the first things you marvel at, and the ride promises to get better. Contrary to what one might expect, it is not a collection of 12 tales, rather, it has 13 hand-picked short stories - the 13th thrown in for good luck, just like bakers traditionally would do with a loaf of bread. The stories come divided into two sections - one by ELLE and the other by Tranquebar - and both sections have stories which are gem-like in their sparkle. I remember being a little harried with the plot of the first story, only to become a big fan of the author, Sharanya Manivannan later. Her story, Greed and the Gandhi Quartet is nothing like what you might have ever read in the name of short fiction, ever. Her narrative is in the form of a conversation, leading to a richer storyline at the backdrop of it all. Something to learn, something to simply be impressed by, something also to connect with.

The story which falls second on the list of my favourites from this book is The Howling Waves of Tranquebar by Madhulika Liddle. It is a story whose end did not surprise - but the craftiness and imagination of the author deserve a full score. Set in an eerie locale, this story takes the reader from shivers to amusement - and it one of the most amazing examples of good and effective story telling.

Baani and Salted Cashews, by Payal Mukherjee and Divya Sreedharan respectively, take up compelling social issues and create a hard-hitting narrative about them. Salted Cashews tells you about the kind of perversion which exists in our society at a subterranean level, capable of and successful in robbing of the innocence and gaiety of childhood. Baani takes one to the world of refugees, their struggles with life on a daily basis. You will find other stories in this anthology throwing light on various facets of existence, including love, including sexual advances at workplaces, including dreams and desires, and so much more.

To state in a single sentence - this is a thoroughly enjoyable book, a collectible, where no two stories are alike, where you need breathing space while hopping from one tale to the next and where, you will end up being enamoured by the kind of writing talent which exists in India. My only problem with the book is its often cryptic, high-flown language. I will admit, I tried hard but could not complete Mridula Koshy's stories at the end. I am the kind who stubbornly pursues even a very boring novel just for the satisfaction of having finished it. And these were short stories I abandoned. They might be stylistically brilliant, but they do little to prove that good literature is the one which needs to be embellished with incomprehensible narration. Literature is supposed to reach out, to touch, to perhaps also reform - a little simplicity in telling a tale in what I would earnestly hope for in future stories which come my way.

It could've easily been a 4+ star book for me, but just for the amount it made me toil, I think I would settle with 3.5 on 5 stars.

Book Details -
Author - Various authors
Publisher - Tranquebar/Westland
Published - 2013
Book Source - Review Copy
Genre - Short-fiction/Anthology 
Price - Rs. 250
Pages -  192

The Assassin's Song by M. G. Vassanji

Where should the bird fly after the last sky – Mahmoud Darwish

M. G. Vassanji is a known name in the genre of postcolonial writings who has dealt with demanding affiliations that manifest themselves at emotional, cultural, ethnic, linguistic, or political levels. In The Assassin’s Song, he places his protagonist in the context of harrowing identity investigation and a constant flux of experiences and values. As a Canadian writer with roots in what the West chooses to call the Third World, one notices in Vassanji’s works a striking preoccupation with shifting boundaries, his protagonist caught in the in-between world, and confused at the very premise of what to assert his belongingness to. In this quest, his narratives plunge into an investigation of the past, because it is from those nether lands of time that one snatches elements to complete the mosaic of his identity.

One way to look at The Assassin’s Song is as a bildungsroman narrative. It is essentially the story of Karsan Dargawalla, so is the son to the guardian of a Sufi shrine in Gujarat, called Pirbag, and is also its heir apparent. He is poised to take over his father’s role as ‘Saheb’ or ‘Lord’ of the shrine. The story traces Karsan’s struggle to come to terms with this pre-ordained fate of his. Like any other child, he has his interest zones – cricket being mentioned as one. However, the words of Providence come sealed in iron for him, and he is forced into reconciliation with his future as the Saheb, also in the face of a difficult relationship with his distant father. Karsan breaks free from his restricted, stifled existence at Pirbag when he receives an offer to study at Harvard.

Karsan finds himself enjoying the new life in a new land, where he is given a greater chance to discover himself, his interests. It is also in this new life that he develops a different and closer relationship with his father through numerous epistolary exchanges. He discusses Keats with his father, who sends caveats enclosed in envelopes for him. In a sense, it makes one feel, as if the son is trying to expose to his father the vast expanse of unexplored land around, and the father is trying to rein the child within the secular, secure and sacred confines of the domestic space.

Karsan emerges in the novel as the figure of a wanderer – much like Nur Fazal, his divine ancestor was. Also in the wandering spirit, one can see the autobiographical imprints of Vassanji, who has also located and relocated, from Kenya, finally living in Toronto. In the image of Karsan, thus, one can see the personal conflicts faced by most native as well as diasporic members of postcolonial societies. Thus, woven into the fabric of Karsan’s personal struggles for identity are universal echoes emerging from postcolonial sites.

Among other things, The Assassin’s Song is about the danger of taking a neutral position in a world that demands certainties. The faith followed by Karsan’s family, the keepers of the Pir’s flame, is neither Hindu nor Muslim, but this doesn’t count for much in the heat of communal riots, when convenient labels have to be put on everything. The Assassin’s Song, in more ways than one, comes out as a novel which is fiercely secular, but not secular in isolation. What the novel does beautifully is to problematize the neutrality of someone who does not align himself to any one religion. The narrative puts to test the idealism ensconced in the notion of secularism by holding it as a source of conflict in the mind of Karsan when it comes to surviving in a world so vehemently bent upon demarcating itself into cocoons of narrow sectarian identities. Vassanji, an Ismaili Muslim, here draws on his own experience of belonging to a small religious community.

This bildungsroman story culminates in Karsan’s return. He comes back to that very place, and perhaps that very fate which he had desired so much to evade. In a sense, the novel reveals that all freedom is illusory. Even while travelling beyond his native realms, he was, somewhere deep down, the heir of Pirbag, the one entrusted to carry forward the secular legacy of Nur Fazal. After the devastation wrecked by clash of faiths, Karsan returns to his domain – the place which was his – and it is with ease peppered with slight anxiety that he takes on the role of the next Sahab of the shrine.

In this end, Vassanji doesn't tell us what to believe; he merely shows us the various stages of a person's exploration of self. At the conclusion, though the prodigal son returns, there is no sense of finality that a reader may get after journeying through various geographical and psychological terrains with Karsan. It can perhaps be said that exploration of self is a continuous process. Identity evolves with experiences. It is not to be found at the place of one’s beginnings, but can often be located in a faraway land, where distances come to signify affiliations in a stronger manner. Often, identity demands acceptance. Karsan’s moment of greatest disillusionment came, perhaps, when he discovered that the eternal lamp illuminating Nur Fazal’s dargah was not a manifestation of miracles, but a fraud of sorts in which his mother was complicit. But later, Karsan understands the necessity of miracles to sustain faith. To conclude, a quote from the first chapter would be apt, where words and sentences combine to give a sense of what form would Karsan’s quest for identity acquire as the novel proceeds.

“That is the important question I had to learn. What lies beyond the sky? What do you see when you remove this dark speckled blanket covering our heads? Nothing? But what is nothing?”

The author

Verdict? Very strongly recommended. Never did this before, but this novel takes 5 on 5 stars. 

(The above article is an exerpt from a paper I wrote in college, as a part of my course on Postcolonial Literature)

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte - A Classic I Love!

“Charlotte Bronte’s story of a plain orphan girl whose superior qualities are finally acknowledged and who gains the reward of love and power has become the modern version of the Cinderella tale; for Jane not only wins her Prince Charming but does so by steadfastly asserting her independence, becoming thereby not only his consort, but his queen.” – Margaret Bloom

There is something extraordinarily unique about Jane Eyre. Not only was it an extremely

popular text at the time of being first published, but it continues to revel in its popularity and readability around a century and half later. And this, despite being subjected to harsh tones of criticism, for not one, but many of its aspects. Jane Eyre is a text for a winter morning – to run warmth through a cold atmosphere. It is a text which girls read and re-read, and snuggle with in their quilts, losing themselves completely to the travails and passions of the eponymous protagonist. It is a text invariably occupying a position of pride in a confessed literature lover’s library. It is not just a text which is read and appreciated; it is one which is absorbed.

Having said that, what is it about Jane Eyre that makes the book relevant till date, not just for literary aficionados, for the average common lover of fiction? It has got something to do with Charlotte Bronte’s ability to convey the most personal emotions in a vivid and touching manner, and then to convert that personal into universal. In her own words, Charlotte Bronte is known to have said that she did not believe in the surface imitation of life. She was interested in unravelling the deeper human nature, by exploring its depths. “I want to voice the inner tragic experiences of human beings”, said Charlotte Bronte. She was interested in the ‘inner photography’ of life. It was thus, quite natural, for the story of this headstrong, independent and lonely girl to strum the chords of familiarity in every reader’s heart. Charlotte Bronte’s passionate narrative made this story transcend the border of specificity and become a general sketch of a woman’s life in Victorian England.

Jane Eyre is today deemed a classic. It is a canonical text, loved by generations of readers. It primarily belongs to the bildungsroman genre, because it follows the journey of Jane till her adulthood. It has for its heroine a woman plain and ordinary, but only in so far as her looks are concerned. Charlotte Brontë herself described Jane Eyre as "small and plain and Quaker-like". She is a passionate, headstrong young woman, confronting the world with her morals, integrity and ideals firmly in place. She is a woman who undertakes a lonely adventure against patriarchy, and also against oppressive existing notions of love. Bronte advertised it first as an autobiography. The title page of first edition says - ‘Jane Eyre: An Autobiography edited by Currer Bell’. Currer Bell was, of course, the pseudonym adopted by Charlotte Bronte. Curiously, this adopted name is gender neutral, for in the Victorian market, the gender of the author was an important determinant of the saleability of a novel. It goes without saying that female authors’ works were read lesser than those of their male counterparts.

The whole novel can be demarcated into five distinct stages – Jane’s time as a child at Gateshead; her experiences of oppression, as well as friendship and affection at Lowood; her job as a governess and her tryst with love at Thornfield; her time spent at Moors with Saint John Rivers and his sisters; and finally, her union with Rochester, back at Thornfield

Charlotte Bronte was revered for her characterization. She has given the world two extremely memorable characters in Edward Rochester and the eponymous, Jane Eyre. And, in bringing them together, Bronte has gifted to the world an amazing, passionate, intense, unconventional and cherishable love story. Jane’s love for Rochester, and his for her, manifests in the many walks they take together. Jane is influenced so much by Mr. Rochester’s company that she finds her "blanks of existence were filled up; bodily health improved; [she] gathered flesh and strength." For her, Rochester’s "presence in a room was more cheering than the brightest fire". Now, why would any romantic heart not sigh at such emotions, which are also emoted so well! It is said that envy is one of love’s most intrinsic facets, especially in the initial stages of an affair, when passions are smouldering hot. In Jane Eyre, envy manifests as a sure-shot sign of love held in Jane’s heart for Rochester. In fact, Rochester exploits this particular fallibility of lovers to help Jane discover her true emotions for him.

In the preface to the second edition of Jane Eyre, Bronte had asserted ‘conventionality is not morality’. An iconoclast, she then set out to demolish many of the set ideals and norms of caste, class, gender and occupation which the Victorian society was mired in. One of the myths she broke was that of love. She succeeds in propounding and concretising the New Love ethic, which endures till date as a state to aspire for. Though a story of immense struggles faced and braved by the protagonist, romantic union comes as a succour for the readers who are drawn to empathetic depths in this tale. The classic notion of subsuming of two lovers into one as an essentiality towards consummation of love is challenged throughout the novel by vehement assertions of independence, but Bronte does a flip towards to end when Jane is seen as perfectly blissful in becoming a part of Rochester’s being. However, this Cinderella-esque ending does well to give a sense of closure to the continuous tribulations Jane faced in her life. There is no need to rate a classic, but still, even among classics, I have books I hate. Since this is one I love, I think 4 stars on 5 is what I will give it, and I will end this review with quote reflecting Jane's marital bliss - 

“I have now been married ten years. [...] No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward´s society: He knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together.”

A Little Trip Back To JMC

When I left those extra-tidy surroundings, I was glad another chapter in life was over, and that I had survived gracefully through it. I was eager and excited to unravel the next stop-over in the long journey of life. Time spent in JMC, I knew, would always be special to me; but I was almost definite that I am not going to miss college. That is how I became of late. Eager to move on, curious to explore the next level.

That said, I have to admit, that I each time I have gotten a chance to go back to college, I have literally pounced on that opportunity, at times even with a childlike enthusiasm. A corollary to this is that each time I have not been called back to be re-associated with endeavours which I began/participated in college, I have felt a gentle stab of envy, a minor pang of hurt. Truth is, I have always looked forward to going back. In the past year, on four amazing occasions, I was called back, and how dearly I cherish all those four days.

This post is not significant for its content. It is for its nostalgia. I went back to JMC on 31st January (also my father's birthday) to be a part of Model G20 Summit, organized under the auspices of ComAcumen '13 - the Commerce Department festival. I had co-chaired a similar conference in 2011 for Commerce Department, then along with a civil service veteran, Mr. P. Venkatesh. That is one experience I hold very dear. I feel proud while remembering how friends, strangers, peers, juniors, teachers, supervisors, guests, competitors and organizers, all seamlessly blended together to create a spectacle which immediately was imprinted in each person's psyche, and remains so till date.

The 31st January conference was a little different, a little new, but had much in it which I reflect back on and smile proudly about. It had the champion debators, in the form of Nithin and Shobhit - people I have admired and learnt from. It had a demure girl representing Saudi Arabia, who by instinct wanted to stand up and talk of women's rights and education. It had Sakshi and Anmol, two dear friends who've occupied more than necessary place in my mind purely out of warmth and affection I hold towards them. It had angry, belligerent delegates, and then it had Keshav, who represented innocence and sincerity in a committee of precocious talent. As endearing aberrations, it had the delegation of Australia promoting Australian tourism, and the invisible delegation of Italy, doubling up as a make-shift pudding stall.

Like always, what my pretty organizers stand out on was hospitality. Cakes and coffee to start the day and some homemade sweets to end it, I can go on being proud of the lovely ladies who invited me to JMC, and it would still be less. Monica, Aanchal, Manavi and Rohini - four girls I have known for excellent work in the past, all living up to their reputation, and also bearing my subtle bouts of fuss. This list cannot be complete without the mention of Akshay, my charming Vice-Chair, who saw me happy, who saw me cringe, who saw me recover and who saw me agonized, and amongst it all, he took my back and helped me carry on a decently successful show. For everyone I recounted, and who slipped mention, I have the sincerest of wishes. Hope to see you all very soon, but in a different setting :)

Here are few frames from the lens of photographer Shreya. 

The Winners - Nithin (far left) and Shobhit (far right) - we did not expect anything less from them!

The Runners Up - Anmol and Sakshi - and two of my favorite people from this circuit. 

Best Delegate - Keshav - where talent and humility coexist 

Paying heed to, arguably, my favorite delegate in the committee 

Now, 5 of my favorite frames -

Been there, said that

The girl whom I want to see soaring high, for she has it in her - with Aanchal Malik

My charming Vice Chair - Akshay Purohit - in moments, he was the elder among us two. 

With Monica and Aanchal and flowers. They put faith in me, and I put it right back in them

With Rohini, Aanchal and flowers - Madam Rohini was perhaps the only one who understood the eccentricities of my working, and who loved (loves) me for it. 

Lesson - Never be apologetic for your awesomeness. 

Quote Quintet - November

Aah yes. I am late by about a week. I have a decent excuse though - exams! They do not have a reputation of ever having spared anybody. The only concession I had this time was that I was writing papers in a subject I understood and enjoyed. This is not a privilege I have happened to carry with me for most of my life. If anything, its novel.

I am romancing the world of literature these days in Jamia Millia Islamia. Quite surprisingly, this new world encapsulates in itself vistas that from a distance I could not even have imagined. Being a literature student is fun and challenging at the same time. One needs not just the power of language but analysis as well, to develop discourses on themes which could be anachronistic, contemporary or even futuristic. However, these ramblings deserve a separate post of their own.

For now, the quintet. November was  a month full of mad-scurrying for notes, last minute completion of syllabus, confused/harried faces and other general attributes of exam times. November was also a month of bonhomie - pleasant classroom banter, close friends getting closer. For this month, I will not share some random lines drawn from newspapers (I had not been reading much of them anyway). I will share here excerpts from five best pieces of poetry which were taught to us by our wonderful professors at Jamia - Dr. Anisur Rahman and Dr. Ameena Kazi Ansari.

My favorite lines might mostly be the romantic ones. So, feel the love and read on!

#1

A cordiform map projection

My face in thine eyes, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
- John Donne, The Good Morrow
John Donne is one of the great metaphysical poets whose poems speak a language of their own. His most prolific achievement, however, is that he is my friend, Mishail Sharma's favourite poet, and owing to her incessant and excited monologues, I have developed a mini-expertise on him as well. These lines are remembered fondly by me because of the way they philosophise on love, because of the way they make you see two lovers. As two hemispheres, the north of which is not too cold and the west of which is not declined towards darkness, these lovers complete a whole - they complete a world for their existence - beyond which nothing is desired. Donne goes on to say that such love is eternal. If it died, that love was not which could find a balance.

#2

The handsomest among poets

There is not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
When the glow of early thought declines in feelings' dull decay
- Lord Byron, Youth and Age
Despite not preparing this poem for my examination, I remember vividly its first line. How very true, or as my teacher put it, very 'axiomatic'. We have heard of the cliché about the value of things becoming apparent only upon losing them. Byron has restated that very ideal, perhaps in a more provoking way. True it is - the most precious happiness is that which has been snatched from us. This poem is about what the title says it is - youth and the journey towards old age - and it reflects on that path and the things we lose on our way to the end of life. Byron is graceful in his acceptance of the ageing process, though a tinge of longing for the transience of youth is palpable in his tone. That sense of longing is what makes this poem remarkable for me.

#3
When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;

http://arb.hubpages.com/hub/The-Journey-chapter-1

The weak one is singled 
To endure what it once possessed.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, When The Lamp Is Shattered
It is another of those poems which deal with the concept of transience, thought Shelley succeeds in taking forward the concept of impermanence to the concept of death, which eventually leads to regeneration. In these particular lines, however, what catches my attention is the sensitivity which the poet displays towards relationship of lovers which is ephemeral like everything else. It is the weak one, the more attached one who is always left to suffer the pangs of longing for what once was his. I find these lines echoing in me because I can see their manifestation in many instances around me. My age, after all, is the age of heartaches and heartbreaks.

#4
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
- Alexander Pope, An Essay On Man, Epistle II
I will admit - Pope is not one of those poets I have understood well, yet, I remember the way our Professor delivered these lines in class and they instantly became a hit with me. I quote them frequently and ask my friends what they think of it. In this section of his extremely lengthy poem, Pope has urged mankind to stay away from prying into the affairs of God, and to seek answers for their own powers and limits, strengths and frailties, reason and impulse, within the ambit of worldly existence. To know his affairs, Man must study himself. However, I always feel a greater meaning lurks behind those lines. Does something pop up in your mind when you read these?

#5

Purple flower by the moss

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
- William Wordsworth, She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways
Wordsworth is among my favorite poets, for the simple reason that he talks in a language I understand and he conveys ideas which touch my heart. In a set of five poems, together called the Lucy Poems, Wordsworth has concocted an iconic romantic character in the form of Lucy - one who can be romanced and loved, but never be achieved. No one knows the identity of Lucy for sure; not even if she was real or a figment of his imagination. But Lucy poems, taken together, are pregnant with a sense of an impending loss - of love, of Lucy. Of all the five, these lines reverberate often in my mind. His object of love, pristine and virginal and untouched - she lived hidden from the prying eyes of the world. But now, she is no more, and while the world might carry on at its pace, it makes a difference, a huge difference to him.

I should've perhaps undertaken this exercise before the exams. However, as they say, 'better late than never!' Hope you had a good time reading this one.

For You, A Thousand Times Over

No.

I do not relish the sound of those drums.

They hurt my ear, I prefer gentle strums.

But holding your hand,

I’ll learn to like this band,

If it is loudness which you prefer

For you, my dear, a thousand times over.

Yes.

I like raindrops tickling my nose

You dread the downpour, the chilly wind which blows,

I want go out and dance with you

Reluctance in your eyes gives me cue

I close the door, shut out the drizzles,

For you, my dear, a thousand times over.

No.

Cold is not my greatest friend

But your home is a snow covered land

I’ve been nourished under the scorching sun

When you went out, you came back burnt

I’m not sure how, but I will brave the winter

For you, my dear, a thousand times over.

Yes.

You love me as much as I love you

Here’s bliss aplenty, and pains very few

You’ve held my hand in every strife

And said, “Loving you is a way of life”

Not once, but from when I can remember,

Your voice has assured, always, forever,

“For you, my sweetheart, a thousand times over.”

(This  poem has been previously been published in The Viewspaper. You can find it at this link - http://theviewspaper.net/for-you-a-thousand-times-over/)

Quote Quintet - October

October was a hectic month. Very very hectic month. Pleasantly hectic month. Hence this post comes a little late. However, recollecting quotes is an activity I enjoy. So, I will continue with the recently begun tradition of posting here 5 of the most impactful lines I came across in the preceding month. Last month was marked with many activities and experiences. I gained professional success, and met with some personal losses too. I saw smiles shining right into my face; I saw tears falling out of tired eyes. I celebrated festivals. I mourned losses. And in the middle of all that, I managed to find some time to note down lines which I would like to remember.

Nothing extraordinary. Simple lines. Important thoughts. Here they are.

On Living

"No human being is illegal."
- Elie Wiesel
(Holocaust survivor and Nobel Prize winner.)
I read this line and I stared at it. I stared at it for minutes, and found its essence to be so profound that this line refused to leave my mind. Live and let live. How difficult is it to understand? How easily individuals, agencies, authorities fall in the pit of trying to determine the kind of existence others should/should not have. Or if they should exist at all. And who better to articulate this thought that a holocaust survivor. I look at my friends from the North-East, and I look at this line. I remember the violence perpetrated in Assam, and I remember notions of peaceful, cohesive existence. Sometimes, its all just hogwash.

On Information Explosion

"It is said that from the dawn of civilization, till 2003, humanity accumulated about 5 exabytes of data; today that much is added in two days."
Sachin Pilot
(Minister of State, Independent Charge, Corporate Affairs)
Whoa. Magnitude. Explosion of data. How much can a human mind cope with, after all. In the face of it all, I have a set of friends too, who just want to feed on knowledge and never stop. Slow down people. There is no way yo make friends with knowledge which has acquired these gigantic proportions.
(Exabytes - A billion billion bytes, just so the mammoth proportions are clear.

On (Alternate) Politics
"Politics is the centrestage of the present system, the stage where system is made or unmade..someone has to accept the challenge of stepping on this stage."
Vision Document of India Against Corruption
(Released by IAC on October 2, 2012, when they launched themselves as a political outfit)
Kejriwal is attempting big. Do his endeavours hold promise? I would be an eager spectator, but a useless speculator. Should wait this one out.

On The Pickwick Fest '12

"What a wonderful festival - superb organization! Thanks for inviting me; I enjoyed all of it."
Nilanjana Roy
(Author of The Wildings. Special Guest and Judge during TPF)
This line came in a form of a text message which celebrated the efforts of each member of the Pickwick Family and boosted their confidence. By God's grace, today, the Pickwick family is close-knit unit, which just refuses to separate. May the good times stay. Always.



On Art
"Good art should not be constrained by boundaries."
Saumya Kulshreshtha
(You know her, don't you?)
It was a happy and proud moment when a quote by me made its way to a news article on The Pickwick Fest in Hindustan Times dates 13th October, 2012. Our festival was touted as one of the most looked forward to events in Delhi during mid-October. That's how we do Jamia proud! And in the above quote, I tried to explain the rational behind bringing to great authors, from different linguistic and geographical backgrounds together in our festival - Charles Dickens and Saadat Hassan Manto. Find below an image of the article.

That'll be all for October. Last two quotes are absolutely narcissistic in essence, but, okay, I do not really mind allowing the spirit of Narcissus entering my mind once in a while.

Happy November and Festive Season to All!