A humming word

How often do we collect bill slips? How often do we save old letters and read them and re-read them till we soak up the words? For those of us who love vintage paper or vintage records, here's a display with a lemony twist: Bakula Nayak, an architect turned artist, chose simple vintage articles that we seldom ignore as the canvas for her art work.  The exhibition, that will be held till September 2, 2019, at Kalakriti Art Gallery, Banjara Hills, Hyderabad, is a double treat: for those who love to rewind back in time, look at that gramophone or read a letter neatly hung on an examination pad; and for those who like Indian poetry. Bakula has painstakingly included the verses of Ritusamhara by Kalidas. The book is an epitaph to the six seasons of India. I call it an epitaph because we don't witness six seasons anymore. I have read a few verses of the book, translated by Ranjit Pandit, spouse of Vijaylakshmi Pandit, and it is a hard read. I had the fine opportunity to spea...

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder And stories lie in the words of the narrator There's something about Ruskin Bond's stories that make us pick his book again and again. Having read his two books, Delhi Is Not Far, and Railway Stories - a collection of stories around the Indian Railways, I wondered why and how does Ruskin manage to weave the simplest of incidents into a fantastic paragraph that makes the reader seem he is reading a fantasy book. In Delhi Is Not Far, Arun, a struggling writer, befriends the barber, Deep Chand, a leper, Suraj, Pitamber, wrestler and a prostitute, K, and like a colorful mural, he paints a mosaic of stories around them. The Mohalla, a chowkidaar, Arun's patience with Suraj's fist and his deep affection for the prostitute. Arun's life at People-nagar (Pipalnagar) is far from interesting. The dusty roads where people exist comes alive in these 100 odd pages. And in the Indian Railway Stories, Ruskin makes us fall in lov...

Vijay Devarakonda and his anger management issues have been interesting subjects in the syllabus of Tollywood, where anger and power were seen as tools of machoism; he manages to portray these traits in the negative light and ensure we love to hate him. Dear Comrade, thus, can be seen as an extension of Arjun Reddy to an extent but with a vocal female lead who stands up for what she believes until the second half. Since #metoo movement has gained momentum, but to no avail, we have seen several celebrities' including MJ Akbar being accused of inappropriate behaviour with their gullible juniors. The movement that spread like a wildfire from Hollywood but saw momentum when Bollywood Tanushree Dutta alleged the legend, Nana Patekar. What surprises me is how #metoo often reduces to a blame game and then, reduces to a needle point. Yes, there have been cases where the movement was successful in highlighting known celebrities until we see them in the next film. How does Dear Comra...

Close your eyes. Think of a couch. Orange one. Think of a coffee shop. With mugs so big-- they may as well have nipples on them. Get the drift? Central Perk. This September marks 25 years of the first season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, the iconic series with its many seasons that helped us through a rough summer, dry winter, and a moist monsoon. Joey, Phoebe, Chandler, Ross, Rachel and Monica were not mere characters but euphemism of Food, Quirkiness, Sarcasm, Nerdiness, Fashion, and OCD. Through them, we lived a life in The Village with the cute capuchin Marcel, the chick and the duck, the evil Ursula, the manipulative Emily, the eccentric agent, Estelle, macho Richard, silly Paolo among many others. (Of course, Monica and Ross's parents, Rachel's father, Phoebe's and Chandler's mother, and Joey's parents were adorable) We saw their characters grow and lived an independent life with them. Our heart ached when they had a break up or when we knew that Chandler a...

After a baseball match, Murakami picked his pen and began writing by the kitchen stove; since then he has been weaving magic through lucid narratives making pedestrian events phantgosmagorical. Reading the twin novel “Wind/Pinball” which spans from 1969-73,   will make one realize there’s magic around us if we pick up a magnifying glass and carry it with us – or have a keen writer’s eye. Murakami adheres to   style which requires love for lyrical prose, music and nature and in this novel: The Pinball. It was a Sunday morning and the sky was piercing blue. The grass beneath our feet was filled with the premonition of its approaching death until next spring. Before long, it would turn white with frost, and then disappear with a blanket of snow. The snow would glitter in the crytal-clear morning sunlight. The pale grass crunched beneath our feet as we walked along. Back to novel one, it spans for eighteen days and it takes us through the life of the narrator ...

In our carefree days, when Lion King was first released, we watched it in 35 mm and in 2D. The only 3D picture we had seen till then was Chota Chetan. But watching Lion King in IMAX was a visual rhapsody. The majestic sunrise of the Pride Land, the solemn shadows, the heckling hyenas and the fireflies that dotted the screen was a festival of grandeur. Those who are grappling with the timetables of the movies released this week, catch this before it whisks away from the large screen. And in the 3D as the horned bill flies towards your seat and the sillahoutes of the sunsets don the screen, you know it's time well spent and merriment without measurement. The story is known to us but what remains effective is the attitude of Pumba -- the carefree hog: Hakuna Matata - No worries. As citisens of the greener pastures, t heir attitude along with their sensitivity created a beautiful land that comforted Simba during an irreparable loss and distress; he turned out to be a humb...

The cheetah leapt across the grasslands and in its third attempt pounced on the gazelle--it shuddered, braved the attacked but breathed its last. The cheetah, ready to tear its shiny skin, was deterred by a coterie of vultures.  They formed a circle around the freshly opened gazelle and waited.  The cheetah, looked at them and the grey-blue sky, and walked to a nearby pond to quench its disappointment.  Across the pond was a farm with goats and chickens--it was a no animal's land.  The cheetah walked down the barrage of stones and stood at the foot of the farm.  A bleating goat caught its attention. The conical mouth and the beady eyes made the cheetah sprint with joy. The goat was  gambolling across the fence. Tempted, the cheetah moved forward. It was a prey yet he did not want to declaw its milky white skin.  Its bleet sounded like the morning call of a koel. He stood, transfixed, till a brawny woman, with a ba...