A humming word

I must confess -- I have never read or watched an Opera but reading a "sort of" Opera book was a refreshing mint cool change. The two-act play with a cast of a fork and spoon, named as Philip Fork and June Spoon(how cute!) is winsome and endearing. Mr. Granules is the guest of the evening and the chefs, Fork and Spoon, are abuzz with excitement and anticipation. For the menu, they interview the vegetables: Carrot, Potato etc.. for the vegatable soup and the interview process is indeed like a corporate one. Then the menu is decided: Soup, Custard and chops. The banana is the voice of the reason and when interviewed, it asserts its dominance with relevant questions. It revises the menu and includes wine too. The fork and spoon meet the butcher for chops and end up having a quibble about the meat. Here we are introduced to a manic depressive egg upset about its shape, yolk and purpose in life. The meal is prepared and when Mr. Granules appears he shoots the manic-de...

I was excited when the trailer was released and glad to see Ali Abbas Zafar choose the trajectory of India since 1947 till 2010 as a subject. But I was disappointed at the execution. He chose the convenient parts of our history and has woven a fairy tale around it. Yes, I am proud of our culture and heritage and our unity and our patience but also, what about the alienation in a new country, the struggles of every day life? I am glad they did not show Salman as a demigod throughout and kept him human, except when he grows old (he is athletic, even at 70 years. LOL.). The script writer chose to insert comedy at such sensitive subjects like stuttering and stammering (even Golmaal had done the same, remember?). The story is about Salman's journey since independence--from partition to the unemployment struggles to 1983 world cup to liberalisation to the new wave in India. The first half is excruciatingly hard to like--I enjoyed the circus part but disliked Salman's forced speeche...

Rudyard Kipling, a Nobel laureate and popularly known for his book: The Jungle Book, was a prolific writer and he wrote till the day of his death on January 18, 1936. His book Kim was among his famous books and unfortunately I have not read the unabridged version but I did pick up a graphic novel version, adapted by Lewis Helfand and illustrated by Rakesh Kumar; the book is published by Campfire Books. I stumbled upon Campfire books at a Comicon in Hyderabad and picked up two books: one of Krishna and one on Ravana. Kim doesnt disappoint either. The color schemes, the illustrations and the sketches were done extremely well.The earthern colors, the seamless flow of the story and artistry shone through. Kim is set in early 1900s and revolves around The Great Game, a political confrontation between the British and the Russians for claiming Afghanistan and South and Central Asia. The central character Kim is a young boy, a son of a late  army officer, who lives in Ferozepu...

What is Kalakriti Art Gallery Kalakriti Art Gallery stacked on the busy road of Road no 10, Banjara Hills, is a haven for art lovers and artists in the same steam. It is a respite for the eyes that's often subjected to insipid landscapes of dust and soot around the growing populace of our city. The library/bookstore stocks books from Tara Books and other publications that assist legendary and upcoming artists to promote their work. And with the addition of Creatif, I am sure the gallery will surprise us with more shows, like the one we went today to: Window to the Gods by various Indian artists including Raja Ravi Verma. The colors and mediums used such as olegraph and chromograph and the fine lines that define their art was a treat for noobs like me (I am an amateur in the techniques). My mum, an art lover and a practicing artist, enjoyed the display too.  The Scoundrel and the Gentleman  But what stole our attention and mersmerised us was the talk by ...

wrapped in soot, pulverized rays and a circuitous route, the itinerants zoom and zap their way.. they toil in air conditioned boxes and sweat and pant in their abode. it's only in the evening when the sweat evolves into a lullaby of the wind and the twinkling lights that adorn the various high rise complexes look like twinkling stars dotted on the naked sky... the meaningless infiltration of desires into dreams seems fruitive.

There's a monkey stitched to the fabric of our soul. It jumps from day to day, year to year, decade to decade. Its mouth shaped like an empty bowl and its vacuous eyes pouring hunger. It sprints from tree to tree for a fruit or with its primate mates. Sips water from the nearest lake and ambles under a tree for shade. It ain't sure if its manmade but it gropes the distasteful plastic leaves. The monkey finally seeks solace under the twilight on a terrace. Spreading its arms and legs on the mattress, it awaits for its eyes to close and its fantasy to begin. The monkey is now unstitched from the soul. The soul celebrates. It sits by the parapet wall and looks at the balmy evening--a lullaby.

Despite the rains over the last two days, we hoped that there would be no thunder or lightning last evening. And thankfully, there wasn't. A few of us met met at the luscious green KBR to read our poems. The idea was to stay away from coffee houses and chai ki dukaan to soak ourselves in the greenery. And, we found a sweet spot under a tree. After a couple of rounds of poetry a peacock walked graciously. The velvet colors it adorned were gorgeous. The peacock hopped on to the trees nearby and then onto a tower. We ended the session after three rounds. The poetry read by these closet poets about their deepest emotions of love, patriotism and hurt, will remain with me. Here's my verse (an ode to Centenary--Jallianwala Bagh Massacre) April 13, 2019 The banner of summer sun and call of cuckoos wrapped the little Sikh boy, let's call him Little S, and his sister who were playing chuppam chupai. Little S hid behind the turbaned man with broad, strong shoulders. Sister came...