Friday, November 17, 2006

Notes of a Nag and a Roisterer

Came across this NY Times article about Germaine Greer's The Madwoman's Underclothes from Annie's blog

Quote

Germaine Greer has never truly been a writer. Her spirit has illuminated her written word as if the very act of expressing herself were but a brief, rushed gathering-up of her living. She is, perhaps, one of the marvelous letter writers of an age that no longer trifles with them much. Her essays, columns and books - transcripts as they are of a heroic heart and intellect - seem to have been dashed off in the fire and dispatched to her many sisters. Feminism as a literary family.

Unquote

To read more click here: Notes of a Nag and a Roisterer (NY Times needs registration)

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Writing For The Purpose of Reading -Tyner Blain

Interesting article this. I found this useful. Do read, all ye who have anything to do with writing for technology companies: Link to Writing For The Purpose of Reading -Tyner Blain

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The First Day of Winter

Today I felt the first chill of winter. Am trying to write a poem about it. The hills of Artist Village (where I live) are blue, the hazy blue that makes me want to go somewhere where it is very cold. Didn't go to work today, as I got up groggy from a stomach ailment that made me wish for the comfort of my bed all the way from office.

Afternoon was so pleasant, neither hot nor cold, the sun on my eyes so mild that I could look at the hills without shielding my eyes. I noticed several thing. One that the gulmohurs that fringe Artist Village (they were planted after I came to live here) have grown so high that it forms a canopy around the entrance to the village and the dappled sun falls on the road, making little patches of sun.

Two, the sights that I miss when I am away working, there are children waiting to go to school, and I remember when Ronnie was that age and was taken to school by an autorickshaw. He is in engineering college now.

Three, that the cobbler is taking a long time stitching a rent in my leather bag, and that I can't blame him, he sits here on this crossroad all day. But, then I am enjoying the view, the promise of blissfulness.

I guess that's all for today!

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Sonnet for a Stolen Mobile Phone

Sonnet for a Stolen Mobile Phone



You were cuddlesome and oh! so cute,


Full of lively chatter and, sometimes mute,


Hours I would spend waiting for you to ring,


You were a universe in the joys you bring.



You spoke to me in several lingos,


Mallu, Hindi, English, Bambaiya patois,


Yet you departed so abruptly, without feelings,


Nary elations, greetings, or glad tidings.



 Then one evening, I know not,


Who stole you from me, my Camelot,


Are your rings dead, are you still alive?


Has he de-SIM-ed you, do you still survive?



 Please come back to me, I miss you,


Without you, I am not me, nor would you be you!