Showing posts from April, 2012

Most Beautiful Thing

What on earth do I classify as ‘most beautiful’ in my life? A person? A possession? A relationship? The sky, the earth, the mountain, the rivers? The answer came as I sat gossiping with my sister last evening. The most beautiful ‘thing’ in my life is memory; rather memories. Beautiful, happy, bitter, tender, tragic, romantic memories. Memories of experiences that shape one’s character, one’s attitude, one’s approach to life. Memories from which one draws strength, resolve, contentment, happiness. What would I be without these memories? Where would I be without these memories? Indeed if there is a choice to live devoid of memories, I would choose to end the existence. Without my memories, I am just a discarded shell.
Memories of Amma waiting near the school gate to pick up The Sister and self. Seeing her near the gate was always a comfort – everything was okay with the world. Sometimes, we would stop by at Malleswaram market and Amma would buy flavoured Nandini milk in those small bot…

Art Of The Matter

I’ve never understood expressionist art. The Scream (pictured here) is reportedly going under the hammer for £50 million. All I can say is I am kicking myself for not having saved my childhood scribbles. They were even more scary ass, and all the untainted, exaggerated emotions of a loopy child were captured in those ‘paintings’. Pure expressionism if you ask me.
But I’ve always suspected there is a surreal expressionist (did I just coin a new genre?) lurking within me, waiting to burst out in a shower of rainbow sparks. You see, right from childhood, I’ve been fascinated by colours. During the ‘art classes’ where we had to fill in outlines with recommended colours, I’ve gone ahead and painted purple crocodiles and fuschia elephants. Also, I had no sense of proportional sizes too, and for some reason, wanted to see everything in a geometrical framework. that cubism? So the crocodile had a perfect rhombus of a head, and all his teeth were perfect isosceles triangles. A flow…

Bronte's Villette

The flip side of having a massive best-seller under your belt is that it can eclipse all other great books you write. I suspect this is the case with Charlotte Bronte’s Villette – it was completely overshadowed by Jane Eyre. Having said that, I found Villette do I put a ‘good’ way. The narration has an unrelenting heaviness, and the reader cannot afford to take even a single page lightly. Many witty conversations are in French – so be ready with a dictionary/google translate!
Lucy Snowe, a woman in her early twenties, finds herself alone, without means and family connections due to some unspecified tragedy. We watch her bow her head and plough through life – her youth rebelling against the pressure of monotonous existence. One fine day, the timid, demure, lonely girl decides she has to spread her wings – so she sails to France and lands up in the fictional town of Villette. She takes up the position of a teacher in a local pensionnat (boarding school). We fo…

Close Encounters Of The Weird Kind

We just had a beauty pageant. I look at the girls – they look suspiciously like Stepford women. They could have walked out of Mattel factory for all you know. Oh...don’t worry. This is not a hysterical blog against beauty pageants. See I’m getting old and more often than not, inane news snippets does something to my brain - old memories float up like hot air balloons and dangle in front of my eyes. Yes...this news item reminded me of my (very) close brush with a celebrity. I was very much within touching distance and I’ve stared into his eyes. Intrigued? Read on.
The said incident took place sometime in the late nineties. It all started at Malleswaram 10th cross Krishna kovil. My parents came under intense peer pressure and had ‘submitted’ my resume to the in-house marriage bureau in the temple. “It is not that you will get a match right away,” they were told, “it can take anything between 6 months to more than a year. And your daughter is not getting any younger,” they were preache…