chaotic order

I just finished reading Isabel Allende’s “The house of Spirits”. It had been in my bucket list for a long time. Curiously enough, I have read most of her work except this - the very first book that came out in 1982. Of the many voices of Women that emerged in the last thirty or forty years in literature: Margaret Atwood, A S Byatt, Iris Murdoch to name a few of the very best - Isabel Allende’s genre of storytelling is unique; and in many ways representative, symbolic of Latin American spirit of magical realism that bursts through every single page of her novels. Over the last three decades, all her stories have had a string feminine bias: Mighty willed, beautiful, capricious and makers of their own destiny - such are the heroines that Isabel’s fertile mind conjures up for us. I remember her speaking in one of the TED talk many years ago, where she remarked that most of her characters are derived from common people that she had encountered, but once she starts breathing her fiery spiri

The French philosopher Francois Duc De La Rochefoucauld famously wrote: ‘few know how to get Old……”. One of the most difficult stages in life comes with the comprehension that the body is aging and there isn’t much time left. The exuberance and immortality that youth promises melts away with passing years, and all the education, culture and religion of this world cannot help console or retract us from the inevitable. We cling to our passions with a thin straw hoping against hope that a miracle will happen, and we shall be forever bask in the shadow of this human shell.. The 2008 movie, “Elegy” is based on this theme. Philip Roth, the Pulitzer winning novelist sketched a short story titled “the Dying animal”, about an aging art critic who hops from one relationship to the other without any emotional commitment, until he meets a young, beautiful Cuban girl - a student in his class; and engages in a passionate physical relationship with her. Kepesh – the name of the professor, ratiocinat

One of the greatest passages in the world of Western literature is the scene which describes the poisoning of Socrates, the Philosopher, by the republic of Athens. It figures in "Phaedo", one of the celebrated dialogues of Plato, his disciple and expositor. Socrates was spreading a dangerous message – Gnothi Seauton: “Know thyself” to the youth of a nascent, virile young city state of Greece, and needed to be silenced by the democratic polity. He was gathering around him the wisest, the most intelligent youngsters like Phradeus, Xenophon, and Aristophanes and of course Plato himself: urging them to question the ‘questioner’; and that is never good news for a political system. Socrates was to be administered the poison of Hemlock, a potent infusion that would slowly numb the body from the foot upwards until the heart stops beating. Plato renders those final moments in the eventide hours of spring time Athens, when Socrates prepares himself meticulously to die, without the le

I remember seeing a young, chubby and seemingly shy girl walk up the floors of Sa Re Ga Ma - a music reality show ,in 1995. The Judges for the event were the great composer duo Kalyanandji and Anandji , and this little girl dressed in a knee length green pinafore;  after necessary introductions started singing one of the most classical, haunting and delectably beautiful and difficult compositions by the late Hridayanath mangeshkar, worded by poetical skills of Gulzar, sung by Lata Mangeshkar at the height of her musical prowess  -  'Suniyo Ji Ek Araj..' for the film "Lekin"..... Not an easy song for a young voice. The High ranging notes needed to be sung with a mellifluity, precision and deep breath; and also importantly, without distorting the rustic lyrics conceived by Gulzar. The singing also needed to demonstrate pain, a tragic soul to it, almost like the lowing of a cow in  throes of pain. Definitely, a heavy ask for any singer. But Shreya Ghosal, the girl in qu

John Irving is in a way a quintessential American author: A writer whose stories capture the goodness of the human heart, the boundaries of compassion, the simplicity of life and moral values that surround it; all woven into a wonderful tapestry of a good story told well. Reading him is a pleasure, in that it evokes a lot of visual imagery of exotic New England. His language and dialogues have an elegant prose style that makes the characters speak the most intimate thoughts in a matter of fact manner. Sometimes he reminds me of Henry James (my favorite writer), that great American novelist, who had this subliminal ability to sketch a character with great artistry and finesse. Many years ago when I read “The world according to Garp”, it was almost with a very heavy heart that I remember putting the book down. The psychological crevices that John explored in Garp’s life, his sensitive treatment of unrequited love and its aftermath; and the recompense that can found in adultery; w

The spectacular show of the 86 th Academy awards lived up to its expectations yesterday at the Hollywood Center, California. The pride that the academy have in their movies and their creators is incredible. It’s a proud Academy that awarded Lupita Nyongo, a Kenyan for her brilliant performance as an abused slave in “Twelve years a slave”; a slightly unfair Academy that ignored the intense rendering of the Somali pirate Muse, by Barkhad Abdi (an ex Limo driver) in “Captain Phillips”; a socially sensitive academy that honored the Aids story with an Oscar to “Dallas buyers’ club”; a balanced academy that chose not to honor “Gravity” as the best motion picture; an artistically sensitive academy that decorated the mature and deep performance of Kate Blanchet in “Blue Jasmine”, overlooking the likes of Meryl Streep and Sandra bullock; a playful academy that acknowledges the universal language of Animation in “Frozen” – and more importantly, an academy that values its history and its quest

I was listening to Verdi's "Requiem" - an operatic composition set on the lines of Roman catholic mass; dedicated to his close friend and great Italian writer Alessandro Monzani. Reclining on my couch with a Julian Barnes book in hand, the slow movement and tenor of the Soprano in chaste and undecipherable Latin rises layer after layer into a rarefied atmosphere of pure sound, and heart stirring  octaves. The hundred odd violins carry and jettison the restrained passion and deep pathos of Leontyne Price (arguably the most prolific operatic tenors of the twentieth century). At some time during the second movement of the mass, The book I was reading involuntarily dropped onto my chest ,and I lost contact with what i was reading; mesmerized and transported into the hallowed world of Renaissance; inside the Basilica of a Catholic church, gilded in gold , with priests in purple vestments and the choir boys and girls in pure white flowing robes, standing erect with their voice