Let’s just say that I shall never stop reading Murakami, just how I shall never stop climbing over the fences of this world to steal a peek into a world that was or could have been. No wonder I found a friend in the protagonist of The City and its Uncertain Walls. In love once … More Life on a rhapsody of memory and magic
Slow. Very slow. But it did finally happen. One solitary tear, unable to hold back anymore, rolled down my cheek. And then the dam broke. Watching the final scene on the screen – a moving painting that captured a young girl’s reunion with her best friends of childhood – filled me to the brim with … More To our best kept secret
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
SEEMITA DAS 