Saturday 18 November 2017

It was brilliant
The vision spectacular
They were like two strangers lost in each other
They were so apart yet so together
The eyes sparkling, hands intertwined
They were looking for some escapes
From stranger eyes
Touch was natural
Happiness too much
Hands held like they were meant to be forever
Bliss on faces
A deep thirst on lips was standing there
Like an angry little bird
The eyes were radiating moon light of the night
They were standing behind a barrel of old boxes
Again holding hands
Looking for some escapes
From the starnge old devilish eyes
They were not in love
Only full of thirst for love
Love which was impure
Which was not to be respected
By the eyes of the world
They could have stayed there holding hands
But a scandal would happen
If they held each other for too long
The cold was unnerving
The only relief was in warm breaths
Which both were releasing near each other’s ears
They wanted to come closer
But then somebody passed
And they stepped back
Still holding hands
Walking down the path they just came from
Their hands touched now and then
With deep sighs
They just went about looking for an isolated escape
Away from the eyes
Away from the world
Perhaps deep down into some woods
Where no one will see
No one will watch
No one will judge
And no one will comment.
Away from the strangers’ eyes
They went away
Holding hands
Looking for some peace

Saturday 11 November 2017

The God of Small things

Arundhati Roy, you are brilliant. You have written something beyond my expectation. I don't know why I took so many years to buy 'God of Small Things'. It was a beautiful little book.

There was no story and yet every small thing tells a story. The God of Small things, or The God of Loss, it was all about those little small things ignored in life. Never knew all those small things had the power to tell an intriguing tale of their own. Ammu, Rahel, Estha and Velutha, are hanging by my side, telling me their small stories with every minute passing by. It was a poem. The whole book was rhyming. It was like a long piece of poetry, whose melody would not let me stop. It is true the great stories are those, whose story is already known but they grab your attention, every single time you hear or read them. You have given us one such tale. The characters are confounding and rebellious. They tell you a tale with their own perspective. It is hard to hate the antagonist too because it was demanded of her, otherwise it's beauty would have been lost. Truly a master piece.

Tuesday 7 November 2017

Television going mythological

Have you noticed that suddenly there are too many historical dramas being played on television. Why this sudden revival of interest in historical stories? Are people turning more religious everyday or the viewership has been reduced to few people who are only interested in misquoting the historical events and introducing mysticism into it which would be enjiyed by the viewers, who never care to question the facts. Whereas the web is experimenting with different categories, for instance the web series being produced are much more realistic and are playing with new ideas. My virtual girlfriend, maya, sexacohlic etc., are some of the topics which are unspoken of. Even short films and movies are playing with varied number of ideas.

But, why the indian television industry is getting sicker everyday?

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Something irrelevant

Every time when he says something 
It sounds like he is trying to hurt
The words are different but they all mean the same 

Every time he looks at me 
He gives me the same look which hurts 
He may look at me in different ways and at different times but they all mean the same

Every time he wonders about me
He thinks about my well being which hurts
He detests my choices and wants my well being but this all means the same 

Every time 
I hope this every time would stop 
Because i cannot take it anymore
It hurts every time just little more

Now the tears have dried and my mind is calm 
I hate this anguish we both live in
It equally hurts us both 

I wish i wish i could just tear it all away 
Me to another planet and him to another
Because no matter how much we care 
We just cannot share the same time trail 

Forced to be free

Currently, going through Rousseau’s discourse on Political Economy, and his work called the Social Contract. He is confusing me a lot. ...