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In other worlds, other wonders!

I have never till date felt so defenseless over a headache! In fact, I have never given power to my body to enslave me with sickness. I have always been healthy for years. My last bout of sickness was in 2005 when I was bed ridden for a week apparently from exhaustion of travelling to and fro from college. Architecture as academics was exhausting. Instead of expanding my health issues anyfuther here, I would like to write about my recent disinterest in blogging. 
On one hand, I have been reading excessively like a mad(wo)man, devouring couple of hundred pages every day or so, and yet I find myself bereft of words to write here. I have also met some new people, readers who have turned their passion into business, which is too cool, I think! The more I look at people who have developed this trangression from reading and owning books and then, selling them, the more subconscious I have become about my books at home. My Dad and me share a common giant wall bookshelf with about Ten granite …
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Meanderings

There is this thing about reading that is unique and personal to each. It awakens feelings and thoughts that one could not have conjured while sitting idly. Although that is too much of an overstatement to be true. But whenever I share my reads on a public platform like Goodreads or Instagram where book stories are put under the hashtag of bookstagram, I feel the result is pretty much the same as sharing them with someone in person. There are so many amazing people who are bold, uninhibited and clear while speaking their mind especially on the internet. Some of them have become such good friends of mine even though we haven't met or have no possibility of meeting in the near future. I am sounding more like the pessimist but it is true, sadly. 
One can't live on books and thus is effectively proved in a book I read two days ago. It's called, The House of Paper written by Carlos Dominguez. It came as a very timely shocker and reminder to me since I was drifting in a dangero…

Much Ado About Nothing

Doesn't that happen with all of us? At some point in our lives, there comes a moment when everything seems to dissipate into nothingness, without any meaning and further direction. There are these mocking days and then there are good ones!
And sometimes there's a delightful feeling when one thing leads to another... Today evening, I immersed in one such serendipity. It started with Ezra Pound's poem that got me and an acquaintance talking for a long hour and then I got hooked further on Homer's Illiad, Garcia Lorca's verses, Blake's Songs of Innocence and the very surprisingly lyrical Anne Bronte. I have an utterly beautiful hard back copy of Anne Bronte's Agnes Grey, and I haven't read it yet. It sits on a low shelf in my drawing room surrounded by David Copperfield and The Yearling. Anne Bronte truly took me by surprise. One of her poems, A Reminiscence tugged at my heart strings. She died very young, aged 29. Somehow I feel a close bond with writers…

Something

Best to meet in poems:
cool speckled shells in which one hears
a sad but distant sea.  
When writers go to some dark spaces and then pull out of them to unravel the brightness specking the surroundings, that's when we enter this happy sojourn into their world.
How many times have we heard about everything that has a reason, a time, a place? Somedays my nights are spent excessively dwelling upon this reasoning of time. How do we really get into and out of this catacomb of emotions so frequently and so easily? I just finished reading two works of fiction, both intense emotional dramas and my heart couldn't stop from beating hard for the people in them. I shipped them when they fell down and struggled to move on in their fictional lives. No comparing our complex lives on hand, but isn't fiction the escape from reality? 
The more I think about necessities and lost opportunities, the more I revel in the knowledge of self evaluation. Anyway, this is the last blog post of July. How…

The Storyteller

SO TODAY has been a very mixed productive work day. I believe I have absolutely tired my eyes out staring at the computer screen so much in 9 hours. More than that actually. Do we ever stop working by the clock? I envisaged two lines of a story throughout the day just to keep up on my energies for some creative output for the day. 
I was very happy in the morning after my dance class and decided to paint something today. The morning breeze and slight drizzle on the way back home put me into high spirits. I felt charged and every atom within me bounced with endless energy. Something about witnessing the bright day and chaos on the streets had me unexpectantly cheery for my usual self. There is a madness in routine and habits. Anthony Trollope is said to have written meticulously every day. He wrote everyday for three hours, 250 words in 15 minutes and 66 pages per week was his decided course for a book draft. This kind of routine is sure to produce good writing habits. I have read in …

Wednesday Book Musings

Should we be apologetic for what we read? Could it be embarrasing to admit that some of us do read YA fiction because some of it offers great advice on life! It was with such thoughts when I read this article on why reading fiction has become more important than ever. On Kindle, I have had access to some great fiction books that I would have otherwise not read as paperbacks. One among them is Love in the Present Tense by Catherine Ryan Hyde whose other book, Pay it Forward  was made into a movie. The reasons about explaining our literature choices are more important these days is because all of us get labelled and categorized by our literary tastes in a book club. On Goodreads, when I see a healthy mix of fiction, non-fiction, history and sociology books it makes me realise this variation in our reading is essential for our thinking caps to grow and expand so as to behave sensibly in public. The moral code for behaviour is set pretty hard for people who read a multitude of subjects a…

New World Order

It's one of those days, you know, when you are feeling low and your self-esteem is at a real zero, that the universe provides hope in unexpected forms. With me this happened in the form of postcards, not one, two or three but ELEVEN of them. My Dad bought the post on his way back home and I almost cried with joy to see them all. 
What makes a random activity like postcrossing really click with people and invest their time in sending postcards with messages to strangers all over the world? I believe, it is the necessity to claim humanity, to claim the love that is lost in the vast sea pool of hatred, discrimination and diversity. The more connected the world has become, the faster we have lost our shroud of humanity. We are increasingly being divided on the basis of race, color, religion, economy, culture, geography and politics, of course! Our conscious collaborative is not working amidst high powered business economies and commercial profit ventures. People who come from diverse…