“pyaar ho dil mein to lagit hai sari duniya pyari//hum sari duniya ke, sari duniya hamari”
(if you’ve love in your heart, then the whole world looks beautiful// we are the loved ones of this world, the world also loves us)
arrived in office riding high on a wave of Big B’s (Amitabh Bacchan’s) golden era songs. pardesia ye sach hai piya, angreji mein kehte hain ke, mohabbat bade kaam ki cheej hai and so many like these.
its such a bollywoody morning ЁЯЩВ
de de pyaar de….
“Last night while going home I became the latest unnamed victim of mobile snatching in the city of New Delhi ЁЯЩВ Have got the SIM card disabled but as all my numbers were stored in the phone book (and not on the card), please be mindful of any crank call if it comes. Will try to get my number restarted by the afternoon. Other than that, yes, I would need your phone numbers once again.
you can mail me on the id in my blogger profile. look at this way, even if we were not on each others’ phone lists, its time we become phone buddies ЁЯШЙ
cheers,
adi
have just discovered her. and am hooked. yeah baby, for sure. if you are cricket reader, yes, a fan who loves reading about cricket, you must must read her articles. the problem is, not many appreciate the fine art of cricket writing these days. i too cannot claim to be a connoisseur, but Siddharth Vaidyanathan, Sambit Bal, Peter Roubuck, Sir Geoffrey Boycott, Harsha Bhogle and Tony Greig have been my favourites. these are all sensible, clear-headed individuals who write about cricket with a touch of humane inevitability. but then, there arrives this lady and as i said, am hooked for all my worth ЁЯШЙ have a look at some bits of her writing, and then i’ll give you the link to her work!
more of her writing (i think each one put up till now) can be found here. as you read on, you’ll find many more observations like these, which make you stop and think, not only about cricket, but about life, lietrature, India as well. and i’m yet to read all of them.
her writing is about cricket, but then about so much more, that it’s almost uncricket! why shouldn’t i be addicted to a writer like that…
sometimes i feel
that my feet
have a mind of their own
wherever, whenever
they move on, carrying
this body on their shoulders
for eyes that woke up to a lovely light; for lungs full of fresh cool air; for a sky that turns gold from blue in a single moment and then red and then blue again; for a father waving goodbye to the daughter he loves; for children playing cricket at eight in the morning; for the temple bell that swings and rings and sings with the wind; for a rickety rickshaw ride that follows all the traffic rules; for a solitary student, studying on the steps of the metro station; for a master of imagery who paints pictures with words, “Later on, she and Father would discuss Grandfather as if he were one of those old unpainted wooden houses that collapsed around them almost daily”; for the strength to climb two steps at a time and still not lose your breath; for the splendid squalor that the city serves to the eyes; for filmy songs playing loud in a cramped bus ride; for a woman that smiles even when she has to run for that bus; for destitute children turning municipal dustbins into play swings; for a migrant family just arrived in the city, the woman’s sindoor shining as red as the sun shined in the morning; for a ten rupee ticket that takes you across half the city; for friends who wait for you across the seven seas; for colleagues who smile when they meet; for a girl who slept at one and woke up at four ‘cos she has to study for her exam; for a work that is not forced and loved instead; for music that talks as you hum a language you don’t understand, yet; for a day that will be remembered for no reason at all; thank you God, for this all.
“We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep- it’s as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we’re very fortunate, by time itself. There’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.
Heaven only knows why we love it so.”
yesterday was a holiday and i spent all of it reading, writing and dreaming. after so many months, a day happened when nothing mattered but loads of solitude and the book in my hand. all through the day i did nothing but read, wrote an unfinished piece of prose, one story that is waiting to be formed and one poem that refuses to come to an end; and god i was so contented after all of it, and heaven only knows why i love it so.
delhi goes to vote tomorrow. it’ll be a public holiday, so that people at least don’t have the excuse of office, to not vote. i hope that the maximum number of people exercise their choice. it’s too easy to crib and comment on a government you didn’t vote for, becomes a little difficult when you see what your chosen ones are doing.
16th of may is the result date. i wish my dear country the best of luck.
she can do with a little bit these days
ЁЯЩВ
“Let us not waste our time in idle discourse! (Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!”
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.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.