The Rebelle blog

‘THREE WOMEN’ IN MUMBAI ‘Three Women’, a musical theatre written and directed by Isheeta Ganguly and staring Dipika Roy, Amrita Raichand, and Madhurima Nigam is all set to hit Mumbai on Friday September 5th at Tata NCPA theatre at 7.30PM. ‘Three Women’ is a musical theater and a modern response to Rabindranath Tagore’s nineteenth century Bengali Renaissance literature. The performance is crafted on the evolution of two female protagonists from Tagore’s novellas, Bimala from ‘The Home and the World’ and Charu from ‘The Broken Nest’, seen from the perspective of Kadambari Devi, Tagore’s sister in law and lifetime muse. In Tagore’s original works, the female protagonists instigate change from their patriarchal setting towards their progressive aspirations, but the sustainability of their newfound freedoms remains unanswered. ‘Three Women’ illustrates the continuing relevance of Tagore’s work as women today negotiate similar issues of identity and empowerment in the public domain.

My favourite poetry...

   The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency caught my attention with its bright cover art.  Its so African, I  thought. I love reading about cultures and I am still not over my fascination with Turkey. This has been on my to-read list since a year and I couldn't have got a bigger surprise  than  yesterday after  spotting this book in a monsoon books sale at a very charming place nestled in Khar.  I adore books that revolve around women (except maybe, Catherine Earnshaw). A lady detective sounds supercool when Sherlock Holmes is being watched religiously in my home.  While reading this book on the train, so many young girls asked to see my copy and were very eager to hear about the plot. It was exciting to see their zeal caused by the title during their conversations. My experience hasn't been any different. Like I imagined it to be, this is the simplest books I've read that has bought happiness to me. It has been such an easy read. We should say it brings out

I came across a beautiful braille inking reading "Bezuvjetna Ljubav" that translates to "Unconditional Love." Is this not what all of us are looking at and craving for in our lives? The language of love is perhaps the most sought after in this mortal world. People fight, then reconcile, not because of affection but because of the power of love that binds their hearts forever. Love makes the world go round ... sang the powerpuff girls. Oh yes! I still remember them jamming on guitars and drums and dancing to colours. LOVE sure makes the world go round! *smiles* *You can't hurt me with the things that you do. I'll pick up dandelions and I'll give them to you ♥  Here are both the English and Hindi audios. Indulge in some hearty laughter. :)

I have known hours built like cities, House on grey house, with streets between That lead to straggling roads and trail off, Forgotten in a field of green; Hours made like mountains lifting White crests out of the fog and rain, And woven of forbidden music— Hours eternal in their pain. Life is a tapestry of hours Forever mellowing in tone, Where all things blend, even the longing For hours I have never known. (Source: Academy of American Poets) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hazel Hall was born in Saint Paul, Minnesota, in 1886. She published three books of poetry, including  Walkers (Dodd, Mead and Company, 1923) and Cry of Time (E. P. Dutton, 1928). Hall died in Portland, Oregon, in 1924. “Hours” was originally published in Hall’s collection Curtains (John Lane Company, 1921).

It is a poem that brought me to this country, a map of rough words, a field of empty seeds. The first line threw me into a well of floating foetuses, limbs and two-finger test kits. I could not breathe. India is my country and all Indians are my brothers and sisters. The second line was kind, pulled me out in a town where trees waited for men men waited for night women gathered to fight. I could not breathe. I love my country and I am proud of its rich and varied heritage.I shall always strive to be worthy of it. The third line flew me over a village where snakes drank white rivers hissed at unfaithful gods and babies slept rocking to heady songs. I could not sleep. I shall give my parents, teachers and all elders respect and treat everyone with courtesy. The fourth line drove me to a mall of glass fantasies, debris and discounts where families shopped on delusional credit Money can buy you love, they said as they dropped dead. I did n

Published as  Gaza - The Hindu , August 02, 2014, written by Sudeep Sen. Soaked in blood, children, their heads blown out even before they are formed.  Gauze, gauze, more gauze — interminable lengths not long enough to soak  all the blood in Gaza. A river of blood flowing, flooding the desert sands with incarnadine hate. An endless lava stream, a wellspring red river on an otherwise parched-orphaned land, bombed every five minutes to strip Gaza of whatever  is left of the Gaza strip. With sullied hands of innocent children,  we strip ourselves  of all dignity and grace. Look at the bodies  of the little ones killed —  their scarred faces smile, their vacant eyes stare  with no malice at the futility of all the blood that is spilt. And even as we refuse to learn from the wasted deaths of these children,  their parents, country, world — weep blood. Stop the blood-bath — heed, heal.