Home>Possessed

"Although he devotes hours of each day to his new discipline, he finds its first premise, as enunciated in the Communications 101 handbook, preposterous: 'Human Society has created language in order that we may communicate our thoughts, feelings and intentions to each other.' His own opinion which he does not air, is that the origins of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul."
- Disgrace, J M Coetzee

I possess nothing. I own nothing. I stake claim to no one. All I ride on is some savory moments, some beautiful characters running wild in the script, some shards of memory, some crazy lines drawled across pages, some violent sound that I tend to call music......(Ironic) I am possessed.

In these pages I have tried to share some of my possessions. Does that mean I am not very possessive about them. I am, but you can be too choosy when you don't have a choice....right? (and if you look carefully) this is just another manifestation of my fetish 'to own'.)

Books

Disgrace, J M Coetzee(*****)
Very late in my life, I encountered Coetzee, after I was reading left right and center that Coetzee is a great author. Laid my hands on Disgrace, cost me Rs.179(or $3.5). What more do I say read on for my take on this book.

Interpreter of maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri(*****)
Jhumpa Lahiri, I first read this author, when she had not made waves, as she did after winning the Pulitzer prize. I picked up the book because I was always a adulating fan of the shorter formats of prose. She along with Anjana Appachana line my firmament of young lady writers who dish out excellent short stories. 

Metamorphosis, Kafka(*****)
Existentialism is a strange genre. On one hand, it does lack the snazzy razzmataz which normally gives your the literary kick, on the other one, it still grips you, seizing you by your senses and makes you wonder and almost exclaim 'I never knew life was that cruel?' (heee...haw). On a more serious note I adore Existential writers, especially Kafka for the grim reality which reeks out of their works. It is the real (and surreal) part of literature that makes it one of the my favorite art forms. ( Strangely, none I know agrees, but I found 'One flew over the cuckoo's nest', almost in this genre.)

Fury, Salman Rushdie(*****)
I have never suffered so much impatience for a book, to read it, to speak about it. Now that it is over and done away it, its time to rewind, collect the treasures and walk ahead. Even in a coal mine, you cannot expect to find a diamond everyday.

The Last Jet Engine Laugh(*****)
The last laugh. A first book.  A filmaker. Hazaar Envy. Green green go away!!

Movies

Drohkaal(****)
A wonderful essay of human falliablity. I think it would have easy to do it in the form of a novel, but to do the same in the form of a movie ( a much shorter and difficult medium) is what I liked about the movie. It has some of the finest perfomers, all giving their best. Though sombre, the movie is real, it traps our existence within the space of a few hours, and isn't that much more easier said than done?

 

Music
 

Jahan-E-Khusrau(***1/2)
A festival of music in memory of Hazrat Amir Kushrau, one of the most venerated Sufi poets of the recent generations. The lyrics are not astounding, its just that their renditions by the Sufi Artists are ethereal. The word 'Sufi' in arabic means pure. Hear it to believe it. "I have become you and you have become me, in my body is your soul, May none say hereafter that you and me are different beings." ( Not exactly samples of great poetry, I hope you agree. One listen to Abida Parveen render it and I bet you shall change your mind.)

Bike