Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust, French novelist, critic, essayist and a philosopher in his own right. You know when it’s time, you know when it’s that one moment which … Continue reading Marcel Proust
Like the little squirrel in Ramayana who insisted upon being useful in building the bridge from Rameshwaram to Lanka, with little she can pick and pull, she strives to bridge … Continue reading Filling Voids, Bridging Gaps
Every piece of writing by all those profound writers influence me.
For a while I slip into a stupor, drunk in their words, the meaning of life in between their sentences- and it’s a wonderful feeling to live the lives they create and weave in between the printed words one after the another.
The social and cultural milieu a writer belongs to reflects in the fabric of their prose. It’s beautiful, it’s like minuscule architectural beauties embedded in a huge structure.
I’m taking a break from all the web readings for a while and go back to the roots where I begin my life, ghosh, Woolf, Marquez, Conrad, Bronte, Eliot… those are the concrete pillars I hold onto whenever I feel myself losing to the insanity of the world around me.
I saw her There at the doorstep Waiting Dark kohled eyes, Draped in nine yards Tugging loosely around her That vermillion adorning her face Those curls fighting to get loose … Continue reading Waiting
Loving him, I loved myself.
Loved life. I’m not afraid anymore.
He is a blanket of warmth and safety when winds are howling and wrecking havoc at my doors.