Somewhere in the middle of this loosely drawn, pencil-shined sketches, sits an instance in which Adrian Tomine, a fair figure in the cartoon industry, is at a book fair in Tokyo and is about to scribble, in palpable excitement, his first autograph of the day when he notices the book slipped under his fingers carrying … More Tonnes of goofiness, handed with a bow
Orbital. A book I lived with for many days and nights. And then for periods I couldn’t make sense of – between rush runs and garrulous concalls, between silent dreams and chaotic honks, between pressured cabins and blinding night-lights. But I held it tight under all circumstances. Because it had become a friend. Across its … More View (and spirit) from Space
“The boy had no sooner arrived, people said afterwards, than Balaram had run into the house to look for the Claws. There were plenty of people gathered outside the big house to vouch for it — boys in buttonless shorts, toothless, shrouded widows, a few men who had not found work for the day, squatting … More ALU-ring while striking sharp
I sat with this book for a long time. I didn’t know what I felt more – angry or hopeful. “I would answer violence with art.” But how to do it? Especially when one imagines the intensity, the horror, the sheer inexplicability of violence? Violence that beats its bare chest over the unarmed, defenceless body … More Art over violence, again, and again, and again
It was your year of last things,but you were luminous,within those final fires. LAST. Such an enormous word. So deep that one may spill an entire lifetime between its spaces and remain bereft of any desire to add a single extra syllable during their remaining time ahead. A bracket that holds the precious and the … More Of youth journals and parallel lives
Until August. Like a run towards a time of the year. Like in waiting of something. Something that can leave the person changed despite the alteration unfolding in the minutest of fibers that resides agile and hidden under layers of commonplace fibers of the human body and scarcely asserts its position in the quotidian existence. August … More The Last Night, in August
In the recent years, a realization has dawned on me – the loudest of essences comes from the quietest of people; it is to say that those who do not give away words for a trifle, give words to matters that are substantial, and these very words invariably tend to ring long after they have … More Quiet Power of Right
SEEMITA DAS 