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Showing posts from 2017

The Spring of Our Years

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Photo by  Arian Darvishi  on  Unsplash "You know you have lost your springtime girl, your Molly on the beach with the wind in her brown hair and red cloak. You have been gone too long from her, and too much has befallen you both. And what you loved, what both of you truly loved, was not each other. It was the time of your life. It was the spring of your years, and life running strong in you, and war on your doorstep and your strong, perfect bodies. Look back, in truth. You will find you recall fully as many quarrels and tears as you do lovemaking and kisses. Fitz. Be wise. Let her go, and keep those memories intact. Save what you can of her, and let her keep what she can of the wild and daring boy she loved. Because both he and that merry little miss are no more than memories anymore.” She shook her head. “No more than memories.” “You are wrong!” I shouted furiously. “You are wrong!” - Assassin's Quest, Robin Hobb

The Festival of Rejection

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Photo by  Erik-Jan Leusink  on  Unsplash On the fifth day of desperation, inspiration came to me...  And I turned to the Billi for answers. Not either of my billis, mind you - they managed to eat parts of my textbooks in the night, so they've been kicked out of my room. Anyway, the billi was dealing with a problem when I went in, and the minute I saw it I was like, "OMG, hey! I've had this problem so many times!" "You were happy when you were sleeping with Rain. Something that transpired between you seemed sweet and joyful. When your friend tells you to get on Tinder as a  solution , she’s implying that men are interchangeable and some good sex or another connection will help you forget. In other words there was nothing special between you and Rain. But everything is as special as it is ordinary. If it was special to you but not to Rain that does not automatically mean you are stupid or inferior and he is more sophisticated. " - The Billi...

Sweet Summer Child: A Love Letter

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Photo by  Petr Ovralov  on  Unsplash Written December 9, 2016 I am not a gifting person. Years ago, someone suggested I write them something about love as a gift instead. I made many starts, completed nothing. Perhaps happiness doesn't inspire me the way sorrow does. Then last year came the first and only love letter I've ever written. Does it mean more if you write letters? May I? Dearest. When I met you, the only taste I remembered any more was the taste of ashes in my mouth. When I met you, the sun had cracked open, and loss was everywhere.  When I met you, you were a shadow, hidden among shadows, a nervous joke whispered on the winds of my thoughts.  When I met you, I was looking for a friend.  Then I met you, and the sun rose again, whole and healthier than before.  I met you, and the joke turned to undying laughter on my lips.  I met you, and I knew longing again, my soul unable to bear its weight.  I did not know...

"Why Doesn't She Leave?" Fighting the Abusive Relationship Hydra

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Source: Rawpixel.com Abusive relationships are insidious. No one comes at any sort of relationship thinking, "Well, this is going to be abusive, and I'm going to be okay with that." Instead, it starts out small. Maybe it’s displeasure at something or the other in the early honeymoon days of your relationship. Stuff that makes you think, "Well, I don't really mind giving this up," or, “it’s going to be good for me anyway.” Maybe you find reasons to justify the restriction. So what if you have to inconvenience yourself a little? You're probably in love. Nobody wants to really ruin that by starting a fight. And then it's three years later and you're hyperventilating because you're in the same room. It is very common, when speaking of abusive relationships, to place the onus of change upon the victim. People rarely stop to question the actions of an abusive person, or to take any steps to stop them. Leaving an abusive relatio...

Village Tales

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Photo by  Nandhu Kumar  on  Unsplash Saw a goat in the middle of MG Road as I was crossing it. It was a dirty white, casually resting on its hind legs, eating leaves off the vegetation grown on the divider. I saw it and thought to myself, "Somebody's goat is about to become mutton." And the goat heard me, and spoke in its turn. "Why do you assume that every goat must be somebody else's property, human, or end up as their dinner? And while we're at it, if I got myself to the middle of the road, then I have as much chance of getting off it unharmed as you yourself." I marveled at the goat's wisdom. "Well said, goat," I praised it. "Well said indeed." And as befit a creature of its stature, the goat paid me no further heed, but continued goatfully to appropriate the municipality's efforts at beautification to be its own dinner. 

On Consent, Reproductive Agency, and Platforms: Nikki Reed and Ian Somerhalder

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There was a recent story about Ian Somerhalder and Nikki Reed's pregnancy. A story told by the couple, intended to be humorous, about how Somerhalder threw out Reed's birth control pills because he was so eager to start a family started an internet backlash.  Nikki Reed and Ian Somerhalder Reed later clarified with regards to the backlash, calling out writers who claimed her pregnancy was non-consensual. Now, clearly Reed's pregnancy was not non-consensual - her husband throwing away pills in front of her would not preclude her from getting more, for example. There is also a difference in how consent plays out with an established couple - couples that know each other well wouldn't require explicit consent from each other the way strangers or new couples would. But it does raise a few red flags.  Nikki Reed stressed on the fact that this was a humorous story about something that had happened between a married couple (the use of the word "mar...

Your Knight in Shining Armour

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Photo by  小胖 车  on  Unsplash I fly on angel white wings Past clouds of tears That rain down their sorrows Down upon you I swoop down over The drowsy city Dipping lower past garden walls Where ivy climbs And feels at home I slip between your curtains And stand guard by your head I watch the moonbeams Kiss your hair And spread across your bed So many times I wasn't here For this night long vigil All those years when  I rode to war Avenging the poor And protecting the land I missed your love I failed your pain But in my heart I carried a flame Knowing that The day would come When trumpets welcomed me Back to your home I did not know About the vials Of crystal clear glass That lined your sill I did not know How they seemed to increase Carrying the pain Of your love for me No little birdie Came to find me As I practiced My strokes on the snow No little mole s...

"The Spirit of Husband Repelling"

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Photo by  David Rodrigo  on  Unsplash I'm currently awaiting my Burger King order to be home delivered, and reading Americanah . I'd delayed reading the book, not wanting to delve into something heavy. I was also under the impression (because I'm a moron) that the word "Americanah" referred to a stylized version of Americana - the telling of American folk stories. Americanah is, instead, the Nigerian word for "American" - it's used in the book to mockingly refer to Nigerians who become Americanized.  There's a lot to relate to in this book - most astonishing, perhaps, is how men manage to be the same around the world - always failing to come up to mark. Always immature. Always playing games. But in terms of what I relate to the most, it is perhaps the life of someone who has lived across borders, across cultures, who struggles with their identity.  Nine years ago was the beginning of the end. Almost a decade of my life not spent in...

Review: Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

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Crossposted from here : Written on October 21, 2015 Title:  Fahrenheit 451 Author:   Ray Bradbury Year of Publication:  1953 Series:  N/A Goodreads Rating (Avg.):  3.95 Goodreads Rating (Mine):  4 “When they give you lined paper, write the other way.”  –  Fahrenheit 451,  Ray Bradbury Some Spoilers are Inevitable Plot Description:  Guy Montag is a fireman, and as everyone knows, the role of firemen is to set fire to houses. And to burn books. The houses that have fire set to them are usually the ones harbouring books. In Bradbury’s dystopic vision of a future, books are banned, and it’s not like any normal, sane person would want to read them anyway. That’s what a futuristic version of television on steroids (and possible crack cocaine) is for – to keep you entertained and happy… and free of questions. Fahrenheit 451  is a much reviewed classic, so I doubt there’s much I can add to the collective discussio...

Sorry Might Just Not Be Enough

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Photo by  Matt Duncan  on  Unsplash The paths we tread  Are many, my son Tread with care Lest your feet wear out I hold your hand And hold you back Lest you should see What you must not A thousand miles My path takes me A thousand things I laugh to scorn And yet your face Shines in my dreams And all my waking Hours of regret The dirt on my fingers Cannot be washed away By a simple kiss From a You Who Care But I'll bear in mind When I come back for you Just to see you smile And accept my apology Written on August 29, 2010

French Diaries

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Photo by  Matt Duncan  on  Unsplash I remember the first time I fell in love with a language. It was fourth grade, and we had to learn a third language in school - after English and Arabic, both of which were compulsory. The options were Hindi, Urdu and French. I didn't know any Hindi or Urdu and my parents really couldn't help me there. The scripts were a little difficult to acclimatize to, and I really wanted to learn French. Urdu was never even really considered an option (I wonder why). The kids who learned Hindi and Urdu actually spoke it as their first language, so I guess that was pretty convenient for them. The teachers for both these languages taught in said language, I would probably have been lost from Day 1, and that would have screwed up my perfect percentages.  I was eager to learn French - I connected to it as much as I failed to connect with Hindi and Urdu. It helped that Mrs. S was glamorous in a way teachers in that school definitely weren...

Throwback: Hostel California

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Photo by  Jimmy Chan  from  Pexels Written on October 2, 2008. Notes in red. You know how the old classic goes... Welcome to the Ho(s)tel California... You can check out any time you want... But you can never  leave!!!! I checked out, baby. I checked out a long time ago. But it doesn't look like I get to leave any time soon. I'm going back today, with no hope for any respite until November. Ahm how the months stretch on.. Days and days of sleeping in class and lying awake at night,  of analysing and cross analysing people's words and actions, and going all paranoid on them --  Does she hate me? What did he mean by that? Why doesn't this one look at me?  Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of myself. If you were to ask just wtf is wrong wit me... I'd tell you I'm a paranoiac suffering from bipolar disorder and mild schizophrenia and mild megalomania. And just in case you didn't know,   bipolar disorder is the same a...

Review: Bhimsen by Prem Panicker

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Crossposted from here : Written on October 21, 2015 Title:  Bhimsen Author:  Prem Panicker Year of Publication: Series:  N/A Goodreads Rating (Avg.):  4.12 Goodreads Rating (Mine):  3 Some Spoilers Are Bound To Be Around Plot Description:  A retelling of another retelling of the epic poem Mahabharatha, from the perspective of the second brother – Bhim. Let me start from the top. The Mahabharath is an epic poem, somewhat similar to the  Illiad  or the  Odyssey.  Like with those poems, there have been numerous versions of the Mahabharath, numerous perspectives and retellings, and along the way, new myths and legends are continuously being tacked onto the end of it. Panicker’s story is a loose translation of an older version written in Malayalam by M.T. Vasudevan Nair called  Randamoozham (Second Chance ). What Panicker and Nair both attempt is to engage with the myths and legends that surround the stories about the Mahab...