The Kite Runner

No book that I have ever read made me feel like crying. Several time a sob rises up my throat as I continue reading the Kite Runner. Perhaps, it is a work that dissolves the abstractness of words like poignance and despondence into hard core truth.

I read this book in the typical European weather. Under the yellow light of the lamp on bedside, on the couch where sunlight filters through the large French window and on the small 4 seater dining where I drink my coffee with some delicious upma.

It is foggy this morning and I have finished my book. I feel foggy too. At loss with words. It is as though I have been to those streets in Afganistan, as though I have met Hasan-seen him grow up into a fine young father. It is as though I am Amir, and I feel like kneeling down and seek forgiveness from my Khuda. It is as though I am Soraya Jaan, waiting for Sohrab to speak. But I cannot be Sohrab, I cannot fathom the depth of sorrow the little one went through.

It is only a story I tell myself, as I choke on tears. But what a story it is!

A bout of ...

She hurried to the toilet and doubled over the pot. She was sure that she was getting sick. But nothing came out of her mouth. She straightened herself looked at her reflection in the little mirror that hung on the opposite wall. Eyes stung from crying, hair a little dishevelled and the tip of her nose, it had gone a little red. It was an adorable nose. Beautiful by the definition of beauty in their caste. Sharp nose, curving ever so gently.

She wiped her tears, which had already dried .Had Avinash not been away for the last few months, she would have wondered if she had gotten pregnant. She crinkled her nose and smiled. It must be the chickpeas that she had for lunch. Not easy to stomach. Specially when you are eating alone. She tried to shoo away loneliness which had again descended in her little house. She hummed a song and moved about wondering when he will come back.

Playing Piya Ghar Aavenge at BollyExclusive.com

Playing Piya Ghar Aavenge at BollyExclusive.com

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A rainbow

A little happy, a little sad. It's like a rainbow.

Sri had said something like that. On a cloudy day like this I wish there were a rainbow.

I wonder quite often, why we forget our past.... "Which place was that?" I read a friend's comment in face book. I try hard myself to figure where exactly the photo was taken. The photo has couple of girls laughing over nothing. It was us in the college days.

Those days... they end up being a sweet remembrance. Past is all but your memory. It is thus I get scared when my memory starts fading. Is it not in my memory that I still am with my past. I wonder why you tell me to live in the present. This moment now will also come back to me when it is past and tomorrow becomes today.

I feel happy to see that people I had loved are happy. But there is a twang of sadness when I see that their memories of me has faded! Do I never occur to you my friend? Have I just become a nice surprise in your inbox, who you would love to respond, amidst the hustle bustle of your present life. And you do end up sending two lines before you sign off for your weekend.

Such is life. You move on. You make new friends. But is it not the same cycle again. The present becomes the past. Newer friends like Sri... and then life goes by and by and takes away your friends. Is life like an ocean that sweeps your precious shells away from the beach in one wave...and yet in another bestows upon you with splendid new treasures!

(currently reading Catalina, Somerset Maugham...that might explain the melancholy, which is accentuated by the European weather...and no new mails :) )

Will you speak?

Flash fiction

(add a sentence and we will carry the story forward...)

"I am tired of my monologues. Will you say something for a change? Just say anything. Any damn thing... Speak, man!". Seema covered her face with her hands and slumped on the couch. Silence rang like a clamor of bells.
(btw going for lunch now... cu)

Why Marry?

There there, I am not starting the annoying debate on marriage. Nor am I pondering upon the reasons of the institution called marriage. ( At this point I am however tempted to ponder why marriage is called an institution anyway). Hmm, let me brush away these distracting thoughts and tell you about this fascinating drama (not the one you are thinking about!). Well, Why Marry, is a drama penned by Williams, Jesse Lynch, 1871-1929.

Snuggled in my bed on the right side (Linus's side of the bed!) on a wet European morning after a good breakfast I nestled my laptop on my lap and began to read, Why Marry. It was not by curiosity that I landed up reading this drama. I was looking up for free reading material and I stumbled upon http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/.

It is a great resource! I immediately jumped on the prized collection and after a casual browsing decided upon Why Marry? It is a Pulitzer winner drama. It was a nice read. Simple, honest and dusted with a subtle sprinkle of humor! What really amazed me was the essence of marriage or rather the doubts or the questions that the contemporary youth has. Mostly what bowled me over was the fact that the author was far ahead in time in his thoughts. He had a created a NEW WOMAN. The woman you see walking by or working in the next table... This was the NEW WOMAN at that time.. The challenges that this WOMAN sees in her marriage are portrayed so well in a drama of that era.. Be it a balance between life and work... or unsettling truth such as financial dependence is what a woman must have unless she is willing to give in to the legal prostitution which we call marriage. This is a rather bold statement that the author makes.. I am amazed he could think like this at that time...that era!

You must read the book, because my description is neiher a review nor a synopsis. It is just an instant reaction about certain portions that flash in my mind. It was quite witty when one of the character discloses that when he got married a quarter century ago, he asked his new bride..you like tutty-fruitie... The shy bride turned pink and nodded a YES. For a life time together the couple suffered innumerable helpings of tuttie fruitie because both abhored it and were just not able to say it for the other's sake!

:)

Now a lil bit of an update on VID... Vid is holidaying in Europe...Drinking hot Douwe Egbert choclate, watching the rain shimmer in sun like snow before it touches the ground, wondering if life is actually passing by or standing still and reading a little bit... Also she hopes her spurts of writing continue like the shower in the Netherlands!

Doi..

Hey

Hey!

When I woke up this morning, I was in a strange mood. Yes, I had slept till late and well well well there was this bizarre dream that I woke up with. Is it not strange that people we have known in the past visit us sometimes in our dreams, especially when you thought those people were forgotten or were no longer important to you the way they used to be. Anyways, this is the analysis that I am doing now. In the morning I was smiling. I smiled to myself and wanted to call X who I saw in my dream. I did not really debate whether to reach my phone and dial the number but for an instant I almost decided against calling up. Thinking that I could rather summarize my emotions into a piece writing than calling up. That is because words do me more justice when I write them down. Otherwise in a hurry to express myself I often speak what I did not intend to.. So my dream could become a poem or a story. ... I do not know when I abandoned the thought of writing or simply put moved on from the writer's plane to this normal chatty girl. It was then that i wondered whether call up after a quick shower and may be a breakfast than just right then.

As I did not want to keep mum waiting for me at breakfast I quickly showered and showed up at the breakfast table. After the tall glass of freshly squeezed sweet lime juice and a few soaked almonds I locked myself in solitude. Mom must have thought that I was either feeling too hot given the sultry morning or that I was having a headache. Thats because I generally spend a lot of time with her chitchatting. I do not know how she felt when she saw me unusually quiet and a little lost. When she had goaded me to speak up I just smiled at her. It was then that I had asked her, "Ma, if you know something is bad for you for ex. choclate but you feel tempted to have some, what should you do? Give in to the temptation or forget it?". Since it was at the breakfast table Ma told me that if something would upset my system I should rather refrain. I did not give it too much of a thought, or so it seems like when I analyze the morning conversation.

Inside my room I called up X and mentioned my dream. X did not ask what the dream was like. I somehow felt good about this fact. In the sense that the dignity of my dream remained intact that way. Later, i felt that my ream might not have translated well when i put words to it. It was good the way I had seen it.. like a sequence from a novel that I will write one day.

Cheers,

vid