Magic Moments

Very rarely does it happen that I like a serial. And when it happens, it’s most probably a historical or a mythological one. I have never understood why I am so drawn towards those. Be it Mahabharata, or Ramayana or even Krishna of childhood days; or Prithviraj Chauhan of early teenage days towards sweet sixteen – I have been a devout viewer of their episodes, and an ardent fan too. Now I’m watching ‘Jodha Akbar’, and it too brings the same eagerness back. ‘Jodha Akbar’- the movie. Its story, characters, dialogues and songs are still fresh in my mind; and it still remains one of my favorites. The age old folk lore of this love beyond culture and religion- the love that changed a cruel and ruthless king to a benevolent and kind one, I’m sure, resides close to many of our hearts. And Aishwariya still is the perfect image of the beautiful, but fiery Rajput princess; and Hrithik’s voice and the Urdu dialogues have lived with me. So, for all reasons, I was skepti

Neelesh Misra has become my favorite story teller. He writes so well, and reads it to the listeners so well. Of course I didn’t have a story teller, leave alone a favorite one, for the past 14 years; ever since ‘growing up’ happened, and Grandpa stopped telling me stories. And whenever I insisted, he would tell me that his story basket was empty, and that I had already listened to all his tales, nothing was left. So I read myself stories- champak, chandamama, minabazar, nandankanan, sanskar, gokulam , and many more monthly magazines. Then I promoted myself to reading short story collections by O Henry, Oscar Wilde; Kaleidoscope, and then came Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew, and Heidi; and then full-fledged novels entered my life, which have been with me ever since. ‘Yaad Shehar’- the city of memories. All his stories  are set in this imaginary small town. ‘Baat pe apni hi baat kehta he, mere andar mera chota sa shehar rahta he ’- and thus begins his narrations. His stories are

One day, in future, I want to make my own Ganeshji's idol. I want to mould the wet clay with my own hands, shape 'Lambodar's belly, and the trunk; and then paint Him too, myself- with colors and paintbrush and all; and dance to heart's fill to 'ganapati bappa moria' and join in the ecstasy. I think then I would feel the real devotion, and the festive fervor that one ought to feel on this day... And what i really wish is to go to Maharashtra and enjoy Ganesh Chaturthi there, in its true feel, colors, joy and merriment. In Bhubaneswar, we just visit the puja mandaps and pandals in the evening, and have our fill of a variety of laddus. I want to celebrate this day, some year, in its real sense, with more energy and excitement. 

This is just what usually happens with me.... How great it would be, to be just surrounded by books, reading all the time, whatever you like, and having not a care in the world.....!!! Oh, this is a dreamer speaking out loud... wanting to own a library and spending her life there.... Only if....!!!

Downton Abbey. The second season had more story to it, and of course more number of episodes than the first season. It’s the story of Lord Grantham, the Earl of Downton Abbey, his family, and the people around them- the servants (house maids, lady’s maids, cook, helpers, footmen etc.), the people of the town and the relatives. It is essentially a collection of stories of the lives of each and every character, through the situations of sorrow, happiness and despair, and through the changes that the war brought with it- the advancement in technology (increased use of telephones, electricity, more machines), the lessening of the disparity between the aristocrats and the civics, and the dignity of labor (a job was not considered suitable for one class and unsuitable for the other).  In the second season I loved Edith- she had changed so much from being a perpetually jealous nuisance of a sister to a kind and considerate human being serving the injured soldiers by providing them

Running to catch the bus that stood near the library, from our classroom in E block was like escaping from Taliban. Holding hands to gain momentum, we twist and turn through the meandering ways; braving through the gathering crowd, constantly horning motor bikes, untimely rain, and occasional bigger vehicles; escaping from talkative friends and teachers, lest they should engage us in chatter; and also sometimes, if need be, separating hand holding couples or occasional group hugging boys, and going between them. Sonam easily ducks under the right hand of the tall boy (if a couple is waking hand in hand), one of the advantages of being short; but we have no choice but murmur an ‘excuse me’ and separate their hands and sprint again, risking angry looks. But then, what do they know about our every day dilemma of getting a seat, and not wanting to sit beside the driver or on the engine! This escapade starts every day at exact 5 p.m, with us muttering ‘mam, bus’- meaning its tim

 Some books aim to make readers laugh; some aim at the heart- make them fall in love with the characters; some aim the tear ducts- make them cry; and others aim to make them feel the cocktail of myriad emotions. John Green’s “The Fault in our Stars” does it all. Narrated by Hazel Grace, the very first page of the book grips you with its witty and philosophical lines. “Depression is a side effect of dying.” While you gasp at the beauty of the sentence framed, the narration continues at its pace. The lines are all realistic and true to their word- neither is pain or tragedy romanticized, nor joy or laughter. They don’t make you cry out your heart, but keep you constantly in the verge of tears. The exact word for it is ‘tragic realism’. And there’s a food for thought in every page. Hazel suffers from stage 4 thyroid cancer, and lives her life with the waking realization that she could be dead any moment. She has left school, lost her friends and her social life owing to