sometimes, suddenly i must open a book in Hindi and read a sentence. randomly. “bhari bus mein yeh hua tha…” any sentence- poetry, prose, play, essay, anything would do as long as it’s in Hindi. “…ki naad aur shabd ke abhaav ke bavjood, sampoorna nistabdhta mein bhi rangmanch bol sakta hai.” because all said and done, English is career, conversations, coherence…but Hindi? Hindi is the soil where my roots get nourishment. Hindi is soul, solace, sorrow. “prem karne/ aur pustak padhne mein/ koi antar nahi hota/”
Adee
Born in New Delhi, India in 1980 and is a retired pessimist (still) living in New Delhi. He has Haryanvi ancestors, a Punjabi girlfriend, friends all over the world, two (or more) yet to be born children, (many) memories of (many) pet dogs and no cats ever. He holds an honours degree in English Literature from the University of Delhi and creates advertisements for paying the bills. His interests are universal, and include: living, eating, sleeping and when not sleeping, daydreaming. Other abiding interests include reading, writing, street photography, newspaper editorials, watching the moon and planning trekking trips that never materialize.