Tragedies are the best love stories- someone had once told me. I hadn’t understood it then. But the matter became clear to me after reading Orhan Pamuk’s ‘The Museum of Innocence.’ This is a novel on love, on loss, on long lost love waiting to be replenished, on war, on politics, on forgotten things that evoke memories of the past, on Istanbul. On the … Continue reading The Museum of Innocence- a review
Darren Aronofsky’s Mother is bizarre to say the least. If you watch the film as a psychologist, you will find evidence of various mental disorders. The setting of the film is a large house in the middle of nowhere. All you are allowed to see is grass surrounding the house. The horizon is made only of trees and light. C’est tout! At no time … Continue reading Mother- a Darren Aronofsky film
Death. The final destination. Baba had once told me that we are on a train. This train has a start and a stop. At the start is a lot of pain, a lot of blood and a scream. We begin with denial. The screaming infant wants to go back where it came from. It doesn’t want to be born. As we get used to the … Continue reading Train of life
It’s been a couple of months since she visited. It was very often initially- everyday almost, then it reduced to about twice a week and then she vanished for a month without leaving a trace of where she had gone. I missed her. I cannot lie. I missed her cold touch and her visions, as weird as it may sound. Somewhere deep inside the mesh … Continue reading The Ghost- a girl’s best friend
Introduction: A guy I once had a thing with had accused me of being heartless; had said: “You feed off pain, yours, mine and everyone else’s. That is the food for your poetry and prose; the nectar to your hive.” I don’t disagree with him. I am no preacher and neither do I pretend to be something holier than thou. I am just a … Continue reading The Ghost contd…
My favourite dress was a hand me down from my sister. It was sleeveless and had blue cars drawn on it. I could sit any way I wanted wearing it (not that I would have followed any propriety as a child) and there would be air coming in through all sides. One of my many nannies was a young girl named Sonia. She was only one … Continue reading Tuntuni pakhi and jet sprays
Oh Kolkata, oh Kolkata! How I sigh every time I think of your lanes, of your various moods, of the ‘aste ladij‘ of the bus conductors, of the kakimas and the didimas, the smell of cha on hot coal mingled with the smell of burnt tobacco. How you have been and will always remain a mystery to me. This is an ode to you- the only … Continue reading Oh Kolkata!