tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87602702024-03-08T00:14:10.474+05:30Dryad's PeakMy hilltop house overlooking the sea where I let my feet and thoughts wander.Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-37616222772603349922020-04-23T09:52:00.000+05:302020-04-23T10:12:48.543+05:30Writing in the times of lockdown - 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(from my journal)</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My fountain pen is acting weird and the world feels weird. Since I can’t change the world, I am changing my pen. But then, I am running out of ink in this Muji pen and I wonder how I will cope with not having a good pen to write with.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes, unnecessary things like pens really give you perspective. Here I am, lamenting about the lack of freedom to buy a pen from Muji when there are millions displaced and fighting for their next meal. It makes me guilty to be craving anything at all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then again, the will to live is, in itself, a manifestation of our desire to experience different things. So, I let my heart dream.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From Muji pens, it drifts to drinking a cocktail at a bar, sitting on high bar-stools, feet tapping to the feisty music a live band plays in the background. And suddenly, Neil gets me off my stool and we begin to dance. Twirls, whirls and some silly moves à la Pulp Fiction. And we laugh out loud.We go back to order another drink and reminisce about a trip we took, chattering on about all the great food we ate and sights we saw. There is laughter all around and squeals of delight erupt from the neighbouring table. A birthday celebration and a surprise. Someone else is singing along with the band. The bartender drops by to refill our glasses and we chat about how he too loves a White Russian. Something about the milkiness and the coffee flavours, he says. We high-five. Some delicious starters arrive and we stuff our faces.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh! To have this simple night manifest! Without a care or worry about how far everyone else is standing. Without masks and gloves and fear clouding our hearts.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last evening, I was startled to see another human near the elevator.</span></span><br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-783055893377774992020-04-23T09:38:00.000+05:302020-04-23T09:52:16.537+05:30Writing in the times of lockdown - 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfa3f8hUVJ22aXCako-O-CohDCNx0z0Gp1JJuPlyk_CqnN7NppErCV_r28OTEf1MHgFDCWTUfpgCkRsT2qAyGc9bSjWTziGz8jJI1WnOphQS2Y5KJGlkYd0qG08XM8mOGn-nC/s1600/IMG_20200402_182353.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfa3f8hUVJ22aXCako-O-CohDCNx0z0Gp1JJuPlyk_CqnN7NppErCV_r28OTEf1MHgFDCWTUfpgCkRsT2qAyGc9bSjWTziGz8jJI1WnOphQS2Y5KJGlkYd0qG08XM8mOGn-nC/s640/IMG_20200402_182353.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
have been having a lot of back-to-college dreams where I am happily
walking through the paths of NID. I still long for the lush greenery,
open spaces and large campus in my non-lockdown life, especially being
in crowded Bombay. And somewhere in my dreams, to break away from this
claustrophobic existence, I crawl back into those memories of the past
and walk through the beautiful expanse of the campus. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /> But I think this doesn't stop with dreams. In my waking life, I retreat to known flavours of childhood in my cooking. <i>Pavakka pitla, vengaya sambar, malabar parotta-kurma</i> resurface. And the smells have a calming effect on me, reassuring me with the memories of carefree times. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
And when I cook, I keep listening to mostly Ilayaraja (and sometimes,
A.R. Rahman) on repeat. Music has been a huge part of my childhood. I
grew up with the sounds of Indian music – predominantly listening to
Tamil film and learning carnatic music. However, in recent years, I have
been so busy that any music is heard in the passing or only on an
occasional rainy evening. Now that time and thoughts are at my disposal,
I yearn for the familiar sounds of childhood. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Is my soul crawling back to the familiar sounds, flavours and spaces
that feel like a cocoon? I think so! This is my defence mechanism
against the strangeness of the now. If you are experiencing a sudden
pang for the sights, sounds and smells of the past, don't fight it. This
is the time to just be and go with the flow. </span></span></div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-87143242859786794552019-11-23T11:06:00.002+05:302019-11-23T11:37:58.599+05:30To a grandfather far far away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Happy birthday, thatha :’) I still miss you oh-so-much that it hurts!</div>
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You were the magical presence in the lives of your three granddaughters, transforming every second into a learning experience, taking us to museums and book stores and showering us with knowledge in every form and kind. </div>
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I aspire to be as inspiring as you were to us to one another person in life. You were a self-made man always finding the next-best thing to make your family’s life better. You made such a difference to each one of us! We have in us your quest for knowledge, your passion for travel and your insatiable love for life. In many ways, you live on through the three of us. But sometimes, it’s just not enough. I wish we could see you, that you could see us and how our lives have unfolded. But that’s just me being selfish, I suppose. You were in way too much pain and it was time. But the truth is — <u>it is never possible to let you go</u>! </div>
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Thank you for elevating our humble existence into that of superstars. We always knew how cherished we were thanks to your abundant love. You always had our back and that was precious to our growing selves. </div>
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I sorely miss all the silly games, the countless talks, the way you wanted me to pat your head so you could fall asleep. A day doesn’t go by without me thinking of you with a pang. Why isn’t science advancing fast enough to find a way to communicate with those who have moved on?</div>
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I still remember how I wept and wept and couldn’t stop crying when I watched <i>Cosmos</i> and <i>Interstellar.</i> Movies for some, but meaning-making gospels for me! Finally, through these films, I could be at peace with the fact that people don’t die and disappear. And that there was always the hope that they’d end up on a parallel plane of existence. Someday, I hope to find you there :’) </div>
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Why am I writing into some internet void which you may/may not have access to? Maybe I want to shout out from the rooftops that I have (you still are and always will be!) the best grandfather in the world! Or maybe it is a desperation to immortalize you; if not on earth, then in an over saturated world wide web. Or probably it is a silly hope that you can access anything on that parallel plane of existence, who knows?!</div>
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Wherever you are, I hope there are plenty of newspapers and books to read, delightful “titbits” of information to cut out from those papers and share with us, lots of fascinating things to discover and make you shed your happy tears/<i>aananda kanneer</i>. On some level, I also wish there were annoying sitcoms playing in some heavenly TV that will prompt you to do your impromptu dance. I miss even your mockery!</div>
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Thank you, thatha, for being you. You’ll always be my inspiration for life! :’) </div>
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I hope you always watch over your three Tirupathi <i>laddoos</i>! ❤</div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-54086508852489468322019-11-13T11:19:00.000+05:302019-11-13T11:22:47.455+05:30Karma and I: the story of our fickle relationship<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qUMm4SFPCsQ623HgXcP_tLLkof8DkEHMEZlj0-ReTSwvLuwepwtIqplOiNKtbOpEmXC1m8VZwJpURw2W7A3iMo5F3y-BIHve4Q1KUbwTNFaOFW-7BmzujOZuWvaxfryBqaSC/s1600/Karma+often+looks+like+this+in+my+head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Karma often looks like this in my head" border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="830" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qUMm4SFPCsQ623HgXcP_tLLkof8DkEHMEZlj0-ReTSwvLuwepwtIqplOiNKtbOpEmXC1m8VZwJpURw2W7A3iMo5F3y-BIHve4Q1KUbwTNFaOFW-7BmzujOZuWvaxfryBqaSC/s640/Karma+often+looks+like+this+in+my+head.jpg" title="Karma often looks like this in my head" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Meet Karma! She often looks like this in my head. She may bear resemblance to Komolika from Kasauti Zindagi Ka. But this was purely incidental and unitentional </i></td></tr>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">If Karma* is real, then I am God. </span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Or at least, her left-hand neighbour. </span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Once in a while, during Deepavali or Pongal, we exchange sweets. And I feel all-powerful to have consumed that 2 cm X 2 cm of <i>kaju katli</i>* God-ness (terrible pun, intended!) But then again, its effects wear off with all the Tums/Digenes/</span><i style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Pudin haras*</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">/Deepavali </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">legiyams*</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> I am forced to take after all the hogging. </span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Karma never favours me. She hoodwinks me, eludes me and hatches all kinds of adverbial getaway plots from me. Last I heard, the city of Mumbai is planning on creating a new escape room on this theme and hopes for big bucks.</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">This relationship with Karma began way back when I was a kid. I would get caught the one time I stole a sharpener from a friend's house while all my friends flicked things left right and centre without anyone even throwing them a </span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">sideways </span>glance. After being made to stand in front of the 3681 idols in the house and "God-promising" never to do it again, I resigned to the fact that this was life moulding me to be good.</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Throughout childhood all my crimes and misdemeanours got caught by the radars and somewhere Woody Allen must have been a happy man at all the free publicity I offered in the Indian region (of course with the <i>Cigarette smoking is injurious to health</i> warning!)</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">And so I grew up as an awkward straight-shooter who only attempts balloon shooting at fairs and the Marina beach. Also, to further underline what a <i>seedhi-saadhi ladki*</i> I was, I absolved myself of all sense of style and always chose to wear clothes that drove the attention away from me. </span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I worked really hard at everything I did, from love (burnt my hands) to make a toast (burnt it) to my career (often prone to spontaneous combustion). And all along Karma decided to be a mean girl and go all "Oh-em-gee! SHE will never be in our gang!"</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But as Anderson had us believe, many of the ugly ducklings do grow up into swans. And by some miraculous miscalculation of the aforementioned Karma, I turned out just fine in the looks and love department. Word is out that she still regrets that drunken lapse.</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But time and again, to overcompensate for that misjudgement, she often drops awkward situations, complicated plot twists and impossible realities on my lap. These are often a career, scheduling, maid, career, travel, career, customer care, career-related issue. How do I know that this is her doing? She never forgets to add a menacing laugh track as the background music to these occurrences.</span></div>
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People<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> call her many names, but there is also a whole clan who believes in her goodness. They often <i>tut-tut</i> and tell me she'll come around and shower me with everything I ever wanted. But we all know how high school bullies turned out!</span><br />
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Being the South Indian that I am, I continue to believe what Rajnikanth once said in his gorgeously thick Tamil accent - "the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer." </span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">And so, I have forever given up on Karma, blocking her from Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Gmail, WhatsApp... you get the drift! Even if she tries to reach out to me, landing on my doorstep, I am pretty sure my Google Home would warn me of her arrival and I don't have to exchange pretend pleasantries.</span></div>
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<span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">*<i> Karma: fate</i></span></div>
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<i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">* kaju katli: A sweet made out of cashews</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">* Pudin haras: A tablet for digestion</span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">* </span></span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Deepavali </span><span style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">legiyams: A homemade digestive paste often made around Deepavali</span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">* </span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #1c1e29; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><i>seedhi-saadhi ladki: simple straightforward girl</i></span></span></div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-33282899055282223382019-09-16T08:13:00.001+05:302019-09-16T08:13:18.744+05:30An open letter to everybody who has a problem with my career<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">To whomsoever it may concern,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am not a label you can stick to your box file.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="25ee">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am not an acrobat walking a tightrope.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="22ff">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Meandering, unusual and uncategorised,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="bdf3">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am that candidate you dislike,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="0f4d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Who doesn’t tick your boxes,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="924e">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The outlier who scares your system,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="2d3c">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">An enigma you question the sanity of.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--empty" name="2549">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="253c">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">For I am not a straight path;</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="ecff">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am but the ebb and flow of life</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="5fc8">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking lanes none else dared</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="194c">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Trying things out for just a lark.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--empty" name="7a47">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="9fe9">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">For sometimes it is in those gap months,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="d545">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">In those miserable failures of side projects and attempted glories</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="5d21">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">That you learn that a career is not something you can craft.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="3f5f">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">That learning and experience comes in more ways than one</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="8c73">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And that two months or two years at a job is not the criteria</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="6518">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But how much you gave and created</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="eb11">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And how much you evolved in all that, that matters.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="f23d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And sometimes life catches up with problems and pressures,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="7c9d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And yes, you buckle to balance, support, reconfigure, sustain;</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="c88d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes you stay still to simply survive, not thrive.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--empty" name="5473">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="ab7b">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don’t look at my two-pager with scepticism!</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="361d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It hardly tells you the tumultuous tales</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="1c57">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of eating or watching films for a living</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="d2a9">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Defining the future of work, life or learning.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="f996">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cruising lives with fictional characters</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="9fb5">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And willing designs to manifest on paper,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="eae3">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or how I gathered stories like flowers</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="20d7">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">from the thousand dreamers I met.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--empty" name="b73c">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="dd19">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Talk to me about my life.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="9081">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don’t force fit my journey into 500-word cover letters</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="5a2d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of repeated same-olds</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="e251">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But ask me to brew you some magic</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="655d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Put me to work and test my mettle.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="607a">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let not my growth be defined</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="6081">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">by little check boxes of closeted thought</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="5a1b">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let not my life and future be determined</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="28ab">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">by myopic visions and words like compliance and certifications.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--empty" name="0f53">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="eb09">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And not just me,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="72c1">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But look at people as people, not job-fulfillers.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="1dae">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jump into their shoes and grow up with them</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="f59d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Through careers that spanned</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="b76d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">many hats, many places, many masters.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="acc1">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Forget the format</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="a75d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And understand that it is the journey that matters</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="5e4d">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And never a piece of paper.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="78c1">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">A career is what a person shapes out of a potter’s wheel</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="d5ed">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And before you master a piece of art,</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="b910">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">There will always be plenty of broken clay.</span></span></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="b003">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But oh what a fascinating collage even they make!</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em class="markup--em markup--p-em">Originally published at </em><a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/open-letter-everybody-who-has-problem-my-career-sandhya-ramachandran-1f/?trackingId=CpWJ3MwaQ0%2B4o4er7ObbQQ%3D%3D" href="https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/open-letter-everybody-who-has-problem-my-career-sandhya-ramachandran-1f/?trackingId=CpWJ3MwaQ0%2B4o4er7ObbQQ%3D%3D" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><em class="markup--em markup--p-em">https://www.linkedin.com</em></a><em class="markup--em markup--p-em">.</em></span></span></div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-84188986431769500842019-07-03T19:00:00.000+05:302019-07-03T19:00:47.443+05:30Today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The reel plays over and over again inside my head. It has psychedelic colours. And they all form patterns. They are abstract to everyone else who sees it. To me, they make shapes I know. <br /><br /> Maybe the palmist was right. The time is not yet right. <br /><br /> Things won't happen. Plans won't take off. But it'll be better than last year. Definitely better, he said. <br /><br /> It is. <br /><br /> But today, I want to see if I can stretch. I can't wait. A year is too long. I want to make my hand extend to reach the treetop. There is a small little box there. It has a tiny wing. I want that wing. <br /><br /> With that wing, I can hold light in my palms. <br /><br /> With that light, I can finally learn to breathe. </div>
Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-70562364548306547692018-10-03T10:50:00.002+05:302018-10-03T11:40:28.960+05:30Book Review: When Breath becomes Air<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25899336-when-breath-becomes-air">When Breath Becomes Air</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14031444.Paul_Kalanithi">Paul Kalanithi</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2549082026">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
I just finished reading Paul Kalanithi's 'When Breath Becomes Air' and wept my eyes out. Unnameable emotions overwhelmed me. <br />
<br />
I have always been awkward about death - graceless about the abrupt and unannounced way it departs with someone close to me, unable to believe in afterlife or hope that I would still be able to foster a meaningful connection beyond this moment, beyond that instance. <br />
<br />
I have protested in an undignified manner everytime death took away someone close to me (and there have been quite a few!)– loud and unhinged in a futile attempt to reverse the process and claim back what was mine. And one my colossal failure became apparent, I retreated into a shell of silence, muffled sobs and furious writing. <br />
<br />
In my attempt to understand this natural and inevitable phenomenon, I have been making attempts to read about it this year. I started with 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory' by Caitlin Doughty. It made me aware of the post-death processes and helped me become a little less afraid of what happened to mortal remains. <br />
<br />
I then picked up Paul Kalanithi's posthumously published 'When Breath becomes Air', an account of his life and death and his quest to understanding the meaning of both. The book made me address my own mortality and that of those near and dear to me. <br />
<br />
Paul's writing sparkled with a flow and wisdom that most authors would envy. With an honesty and acceptance so admirable to witness, Paul shares with us the arduous journey he and his family had to undertake on the onset of his Stage IV lung cancer. <br />
<br />
Being a neurosurgeon himself, he battled both as a patient and fellow doctor to fight and accept death, while making his life as meaningful as possible. As a reader, hyperaware of his fate, I struggled within as I read about how bravely he faced his disease. <br />
<br />
The book made a fascinating read, increasing my respect for doctors tenfold. For the most part, to me, it felt like a philosophical treatise and at others, Paul's prose shone like poetry, reigniting his hikes, operations, struggles to live in our minds. <br />
<br />
Everything about his life's story made me realize that we have lost a truly wonderful person who not only was a skilled surgeon but also a great thinker, a neuroscientist in the making, a loving father-husband-son-brother and most importantly, a caring empathetic human. As I read the book, I wished to know more about him. What books did he love? Did he like watching films? How did his lovely wife Lucy and him come to fall in love? How did he manage to show up to save lives when his own was ebbing away? It was an emotional journey traversing which tugged within me anger, helplessness and irrational hope for Paul to beat the disease, despite being fully aware that he was no more. Somewhere through his words, Paul had become a relatable friend. <br />
<br />
Throughout the book, the evident end loomed over like a dark storm cloud waiting to erupt and engulf me. Questions kept rising their cruel head – if I were to meet with Paul's fate, how would I spend my life? Would I go out with grace, even if I was vulnerable? Do I have the strength and courage to even understand what death would mean despite being afraid of its sudden swift blow near me? <br />
<br />
For the most part, I had no answers. But I was grateful that the questions had been churned. It helped me bring my attention back to this moment, the now of life. Having struggled this whole year with my work, I had moved through the months only by taking one day at a time. Paul's book was a gentle reminder to plough on in the same way, convincing me that today is all we have so we better make good use of it. <br />
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And to the man who wrote so beautifully, his wife who wrote such a beautiful epilogue that had me racking with tears and to the legion of family and friends Paul leaves behind, I just want to say that we readers are all mourning his loss and celebrating his life with you. We are all in this together! And the lifelong moral search Paul undertook to solve what makes a life worth living has been answered by his own book. THIS, the search itself and the authenticity and grace with which we live our lives, aware or unaware of what awaits in the morrow is the only thing that matters.
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/9949082-sandhya-ramachandran">View all my reviews</a>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-36428207159753121142018-07-17T16:02:00.002+05:302018-07-17T16:02:43.981+05:30The Ellipsis <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Crippling silences<br />Eyes squint for a sign of light<br />No sound alerts<br />No life stirs<br />A submerging in nothingness<br /><br />Will voices rouse<br />a sudden shift in the clouds?<br /><br />Until then,<br />a gentle death in wait</span></span></div>
Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-1372060308308322232018-07-04T16:11:00.001+05:302018-07-04T16:34:38.321+05:30Cooing A Reassurance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/IhGrKkfg7RM?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Matt Borsic</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></span></i></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Today, as I sat overthinking my work and despair once again began to flood my being, an impish car radio shifted from golden oldies to play a particular song that I used to favour.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />This song, silly as it might sound, used to be my motivator during my board exams. On the mornings of the exams, I'd sing it with energy and intent in the bathroom as I bathed, encouraging myself in the process. It was what I now term 'a ritualistic shower' that comprised of four songs being sung while performing daily ablutions. You skip any one, and the paper would be doomed, of course!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Putting aside the hilarity of the situation, I realized that I'd simply banked on the power of words (the lyrics) and suggestion (the act of singing aloud willing me to take the right actions) to spur me on to face something I dreaded.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />When that song revisited me today in the cab, a series of emotions gushed in. I was laughing in recollection. It'd been long since I'd heard the song. Tears stung my eyes as I recalled how I had immense and blind faith in the universe back then. And I was overwhelmed. It felt as if my past self was reaching out for a handshake and a hug through the speakers of an Ola cab. Along with the lyrics, she whispered a reminder to me on how driven, relentless and sincere I'd always been towards my goals.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />It was a refresher I needed at this crossroads. A gentle nudge reassuring me that I am enough to be me, I have made the right choices and I need to now let things flow.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Sometimes, you need every kind of validation from everyone around to let you know that you are working towards the right causes. At other times, a simple song will do!</span></div>
Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-32842277239601227422018-05-21T12:32:00.002+05:302018-05-21T12:58:05.915+05:30Looking Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Usually, when I accidentally stumble upon an old piece of my old writing, the naivety and the absolute abandon with which I used to write pained me. It stood as a reminder of how trusting I once used to be – of people, experiences and the world itself. I used to give second, third, fourth and infinite chances to people, and every bruise they left in their wake got recorded in these pages as poetry or a piece of writing.<br />
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So much water has flown down the bridge!</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/PzNWrdi-rCI?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">rawpixel</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></i></span><br />
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<div class="graf graf--p" name="fe6d">
And I say this with a lot of gratefulness and joy. Today, as I gathered my writing to sow them as seeds in various publications, I revisited my blog to see if they appear on these pages or are still unseen by the public eye. In that process, I went down the rabbit hole, reading of love lost, love longed for and love that was never mine. The writing is full of “rancid pain”, as my dear friend, <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://themoodykettle.blogspot.in/" href="http://themoodykettle.blogspot.in/" rel="noopener">The Moody Kettle</a> calls it. But, for the first time, I smiled. It is a privilege to be able to view it all from today, where I hold abundant love in my arms. </div>
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Many a time, I have considered deleting those giddy old posts (not just of love but also: slipper tales, my loo which is a zoo, etc.) preferring to showcase a curated list of decent writing that won’t make me cringe. And over and again, something stopped me from erasing the past. It should serve as a reminder, I told myself. And it did today. </div>
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It reminded me that despite all the heartbreak, I found love in the strangest place. It also told me of how little I knew the world and — although a tad more enlightened — how much more there is still to know. It took me on a roller coaster ride, showing me how I grew from strength to strength to reach today. </div>
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I may not have much. I am still writing but have not finished even one of the 20 different plot ideas I have begun. I am looking out for a stable career while moonlighting as a writer. I still have miles to go before I sleep. </div>
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But that ride showed me how far I have travelled from where I began in 2004 — yes that makes 14 years of writing here. I was merely 17 years of age, high on life, passionate about everything and madly looking for love everywhere. Today, I am no more the extrovert, choosing a more ambivert style of life. I spend my days all alone, working in the peace and silence of my home, not for a second seeking any distraction, escape or company (I never used to be able to do that!) I have been focusing my energy on a career in writing and storytelling. I have a bit more clarity on what I want from life and I am seeking it with the man of my dreams next to me. I couldn’t have asked for more! </div>
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This throwback also brought forth a few things that haven’t changed one bit — I still love writing, dreaming, exploring the world and telling stories of all kinds. I still trust the universe to always take care of me, but I know that sometimes the cosmos may be busy attending to others :) I guess it was good not to have deleted the past. It’ll always tell me my own story when I forget fragments of it. I’ve been going through a slightly challenging period in terms of work and this blast from the past made me feel grounded and happy again.</div>
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To the readers –if we still have that breed of excellent humans amongst us– thank you for all your kindness and time! I promise to write more and often.</div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-32067101349192745032018-05-02T10:38:00.002+05:302018-10-03T11:41:32.654+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img alt="36347874" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1515524142l/36347874.jpg" title="" /> </div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36347874-miss-subways">Miss Subways</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8331566.David_Duchovny">David Duchovny</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2378356185">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I received an advanced reading copy of David Duchovny's 'Miss Subways', thanks to publishers Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley.<br />
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The book does not fall into the category of my preferred genre. However, owing to my love for X-Files and curiosity on what Mulder/Duchovny can produce, I picked it up. Unlike the cliche associated with celebrities wielding the pen, Duchovny's writing is actually good.<br />
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The story is quirky in style and substance and makes an interesting read. What is unique about Duchovny's style is the humour he employs. He spares nothing and smartly paints a satire of society, its beliefs, practices, self-importance and whatnot! I was also quite impressed with the vast pop and ancient culture knowledge that Duchovny possesses and weaves in this fantasy tale with ease.<br />
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Miss. Subways is the tale of Emer, a schoolteacher whose seemingly mundane life takes a twist when she encounters a mythical creature, Bean Sidhe. What follows is a tale that is part sci-fi, part fantasy with a generous helping of romance and its share of happily-ever-after concepts. While this sounds like a crazy combination and it is, Duchovny makes the ride memorable and filled with surprises. Most of the times, I had to remind myself that it was a male author portraying a female protagonist. Duchovny is that convincing while voicing Emer!<br />
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While I found the beginning a bit patchy in narration, I persevered and did not regret giving it a chance. The meaty middle is where all the goodness of the book lies. The resolution towards the end was a bit of a let down for me since I felt Duchovny became a bit restless and quickly tied up all loose threads. The irreverence and boldness he portrays through the rest of the book somehow feel absent here and it seems as if he succumbed to some sort of audience-pleasing pressure.<br />
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Overall, it's quite an interesting read. Turns out, Fox Mulder has more up his sleeve than I'd imagined!<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/9949082-sandhya-ramachandran">View all my reviews</a>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-6775806973772468492018-01-03T17:51:00.002+05:302018-01-03T17:52:24.859+05:30One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><b>Every week, a little piece</b></i></div>
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A writer falters, questioning if only sadness could evoke the pretty words. Happiness, it seemed, filled her cup. She couldn’t draw from it for some reason. When the cup was empty, dried-up: corners cracking, bits of old coffee stuck at the rim and dregs of long-ago teas lying at the bottom, she saw webs in dried froth — of intrigue, mystery, forgotten things and unsaid words; and like a soothsayer, she prodded bits of the dregs, found fortunes and futures in them.</div>
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But what could one see in a full cup? A ripple now and then, maybe. But the calm sea stirred no story. It reflected back to her with content, her own joyous face. </div>
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And so, to lament of the past and present, to wonder and ponder over the complete draught of words, she picked her pen to write. </div>
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“A writer falters…,” she began.</div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-16861943493951715022017-04-04T08:19:00.000+05:302017-04-04T08:30:24.744+05:30On Writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Nobody reads what I write anymore!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Apparently, they are into vlogs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Are you a youtube sensation?” they ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Words, they don’t matter anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“What are the numbers you’ve got?”-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They want to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It’s just not about what I make them feel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But about how many likes to my tweet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I wooed all my loves with words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Measured moments<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Writing reams<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On scraps of tissue and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">'One-sided papers' that my uncle gave<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">With punched holes running on the sides<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Diligently, I filed them away <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And rewrote them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On pretty diaries that no one wanted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And a blog that I still don’t know <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How or why to 'monetize'!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thirteen years on,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They still want to know <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How popular my posts are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Maybe you could put your poems on Insta?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“How about you make short films out of stories?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You have so much potential!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I am glad to hear that, but<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I wooed all my loves with words! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When did writing stop to rouse?</span></div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-38965027644137399002017-02-02T10:45:00.002+05:302017-02-02T10:45:15.969+05:30The Greatest is gone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My grandfather made all three of us granddaughters read 'The Hindu' newspaper from top to bottom. We may not have followed his advice entirely, but we did end up finding interest in specific columns and sections of the newspaper. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">In a way, everything I read and write today could be traced back to my newspaper habit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of the columns that made me begging for more was the 'Comment' section in the Sports Edition. The man who authored it was Nirmal Shekar - a writer beyond compare whose stronghold on the English language left me speechless. </span>The truth was, I only watched cricket and had a working knowledge of tennis, and yet found myself always drawn to his column in The Hindu's sports section. <span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">He would bring in a poetry into his prose and make sports feel like a visceral, enchanting, memorable dance. He elevated every game and player he wrote about into conduits that tapped on some universal energy and made magic unfold in fr</span><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">ont of us. And he, performed that very magic through his words and we were left entranced.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I corresponded with a few journalists I admired, thanks to the kindness they showed to the giddy teenager I was. I had been reading him for a few years when, in this very blog, I had gushed about his writing amongst many others in The Hindu. He had encountered that post, browsed through some more of my writing and left this comment on my blog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thrilled to bits (as I often used to get back in the day) I wrote back to him. He replied, patiently, to each and every question that I asked him. </span>I had written, "I find it philosophically, intellectually and spiritually satisfying to read your writing." and he responded "My passion has always been to scratch the surface, dig deep and see sport (and people who play sport) for what it is. Sometimes I myself find my relentless pursuit of truth in all areas scary. It is better to keep dreaming like Sandhya!" <span style="font-family: inherit;">"</span>There is enough on the net though in my name to last several life times" he said, when I had asked him if he had a blog where I could read more of his words.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was extremely down to earth, accessible and ever ready with a word of encouragement for a young aspiring writer like me. During that time, I was freelancing with The Viewspaper and took the opportunity to interview him. I still vividly remember his office - he was heading Sportstar then - and sitting in front of him, wide eyed and grasping on to every word he uttered. This was the greatest playing ground, the star was at his game and I was the enraptured audience. <a href="http://theviewspaper.net/a-conversation-with-mr-nirmal-shekar/" target="_blank">The conversation</a> has always remained special to me and I revisit it every now and then to thrill over the fact that I actually pulled it off - meeting one of my favourite writers and interviewing him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moving to another city for my post graduation, I had somehow lost touch with him. My reading habit took a back seat, with films - watching, reading, making or writing about them - occupying the majority of my time. But once in a while, I'd google and catch up with his words, more often than not revisiting the ones I had cherished and cut out for safekeeping. They are still there in a bag at home - a precious memory of days I regaled his writing and of the first steps I took in building my love for words.</span><br />
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On 29th Jan 2017, as Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal matched wits on the court and my sports crazy husband was sitting at the edge of his seat, rooting for Federer, we spoke about Nirmal Shekar. I asked if I had made him read that piece of writing on Sampras that I keep going back to and he answered in the affirmative; I had read it out to him sometime during our initial days of courting. This is an excerpt:<br />
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<b>Pete Sampras ascends the Everest of tennis By Nirmal Shekar </b>LONDON, JULY 10. At three minutes to nine on Sunday evening, as night was licking its lips in anticipation before eating up what was left of the day for a sumptuous supper, in silver-grey rather than golden twilight, one of the truly extraordinary sportsmen of this or any era raised his arms skyward in a familiar gesture on the centre court at Wimbledon. Mark that moment - 8.57 p.m. to be exact, three minutes before 1.30 a.m. on Monday morning in India - for you'd find few like it in the entire history of organised sport. And, those of us privileged enough to have been a part of it on tennis' greatest stage, will perhaps find nothing to match it in the rest of our lives. It was a historic moment when all arguments ceased, a moment that answered one big question and many small questions, a moment that put an end to all comparisons. Step forward Mr. Pete Sampras, wet eyes notwithstanding...the greatest of 'em all! Argue if it pleases you, but the moment Pat Rafter failed to direct a Sampras serve back into the court in the men's singles final of the millennium championship in gathering gloom, arguments and comparisons became meaningless.</blockquote>
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I then made a mental check to google what he had written about the Australian Open. Unfortunately, that article never came by. Four days later, my friend messages me saying Nirmal Shekar is no more.<br />
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Nirmal Shekar should have written a book, I thought with a pang after frantically googling to see if this horrible news was true. I was angry that he had died, that he had never written a book and that he had remained the undisputed king of sports writing to me.<br />
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When Muhammad Ali passed away, Nirmal Shekar had <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/columns/nirmal_shekar/Ali-and-the-illusion-of-immortality/article14391857.ece" target="_blank">written</a>,<br />
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"With all the revolutionary advances in medicine, they tell us that death may become optional in a few decades.<br />But that belief seems like a desperate attempt to turn daydreaming (to stop thinking about the terrifying certainty of eternal demise) into a form of science — gerontology.<br />But a few lesser mortals like some of us — who harbour no illusions and know that death is the end of everything for the individual — who have no access to multi-million dollar laboratories, and even less access to the latest findings that are being tested out do believe that we are all in queue, that one day we might have to vacate the tiny space that we occupy in a planet that the late, debonair scientist Carl Sagan called “The Pale Blue Dot.”<br />Then again, life would be much less invigorating, much less interesting, much less worth living if we were to rid ourselves of the notion that there are a few exceptions to the rule."</blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And just like Ali would always be immortal, your words will live on Nirmal, for you were the exception to the rule yourself, making us look at sports writing like no one else could. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wherever you are, we know you must be digging deeper to uncover the truth. I just wish, that somehow we could still continue to read about all the things you find in those realms. To think there will no more be your 'Comment' on things is deflating.</span><br />
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I hope somebody compiles and publishes his writing so that generations in the future will understand what made us all open the newspaper last page first.<br />
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Thank you, Nirmal, for your restless pursuit and inspiration! You will be missed.<br />
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<i>(The title is a copy of <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/columns/nirmal_shekar/The-Greatest-is-gone/article14384637.ece" target="_blank">his ode to Muhammad Ali</a>. To me, Nirmal Shekar was the greatest in his field, and this little imitation is my way of paying my respects to the man and his irreplaceable incomparable writing)</i><br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-17144912404588814972016-10-01T09:40:00.000+05:302018-04-27T09:42:05.694+05:30Book Review: <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29056083-harry-potter-and-the-cursed-child---parts-one-and-two">Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Parts One and Two</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5042201.John_Tiffany">John Tiffany</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1715225618">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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For the sheer nostalgia, for reintroducing us to Hogwarts, for making us wish this series had never ended so we never had to experience this bittersweet feeling, I rate this a five on five.<br />
Scorpious Malfoy is a delightful addition while many of our usual suspects aren't as spicy as one would like them to be. There is a lack of descriptions, of the quirky tidbits that Rowling amply uses in Thorne's prose. While as a play one can imagine the wondrous stagecraft it could induce, as a book, it falls short of conjuring the rich details that the Potter books generally come with.<br />
What is still beautiful is the magic. Hogwarts is still alive, in a better less darker world. It is unconvincing and insufficient in many parts making us crane our necks to see the sidelines for what Thorne missed to add. What is Hagrid upto now? Are Molly and Arthur still around? How is George holding up? And why are Harry's other two kids so insignificant? In a play, the above questions can easily be pushed to the backstage. As a book (although simply a script), you demand that we engage more. After all, we've been around, ever since ' The Boy who Lived'.<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-85865816225591593832016-08-12T09:42:00.000+05:302018-04-27T09:48:56.746+05:30Book Review: Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24453082-big-magic">Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11679.Elizabeth_Gilbert">Elizabeth Gilbert</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1718581923">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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This book was just what I needed to pull me out and get me to face what I should become - a disciplined half-ass! I tried it as an audiobook and Gilbert's voice sure made the book more personal. I felt like a friendly senior writer, who I often have coffee with in the college canteen, was chatting with me and passing on the wisdom. <br />
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The whole book is wrapped on that idea - to get you to intimately view the creative process and become acquainted with it; not demonise it into a warped depression-loving monster that many of us shape it into. I loved the anecdotes she had dispersed across the book - they made every point she made more relatable and instilled a "hey, I can do that!" kind of confidence within. <br />
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If you are a writer/artist/pursuer of any type of creative living, this is definitely a book you should listen/read. I highly recommend the audiobook, but I am sure reading this is going to be extremely pleasant, as well. <br />
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Overall, her book already got me to begin writing a few pages everyday and that loosely translates to the fact that the big magic is a fact! :)
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-23403593603311247532016-05-05T10:10:00.000+05:302016-05-05T10:24:18.402+05:30Truly Transporting Prose: Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/126381.Purple_Hibiscus">Purple Hibiscus</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11291.Chimamanda_Ngozi_Adichie">Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1616641922">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Purple hibiscus was a window into the life and politics in Nigeria through the eyes of Kambili, the narrator. I haven't encountered an author in recent times who could captivate me in a way that I forgot my surroundings, and instead smelt the fufu cooking in Sisi's kitchen or the wet sand of Nsukku's rain. Adichie's prose is simple yet transporting, so intimate that you get into the garb of the characters and throb with their pain and joys. <br />
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The characters are so intricately etched that you are invested in the story throughout, egging them on mentally as you turn every page. The book makes you hungry to try out the African cuisine. I searched the internet to source a place where I can buy their colourful wrappers. And while I am at it, maybe I will try some cornrows in my hair as well! Adichie is that good in convincing us about the beauty, tradition and richness of the land.<br />
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Kambili's thoughts - from fearful to independent - are so gently evolving that we, as readers also grow with her and the story. The political instability of an entire nation is wonderfully portrayed in the microcosm of Kambili's life. <br />
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The best characterisation is probably that of Eugene; you definitely have not seen such a layered believable and scary human being anywhere in the books. The dichotomy in which religion exists in today's world - destructive and constructive - is displayed in the contrasting natures of Eugene and Father Amadi.<br />
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I cannot stop thinking about the book although it is over a week since I finished reading it. This is a simple tale so well told that it keeps tugging at your insides asking questions on life, religion, growing up and truth.
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-33858962141305436342016-04-21T18:14:00.002+05:302016-04-21T18:34:14.797+05:30The True Art Of Filmmaking- In the Blink of an Eye by Walter Murch: A Book Review <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2141.In_the_Blink_of_an_Eye">In the Blink of an Eye</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1440.Walter_Murch">Walter Murch</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1612833726">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Walter Murch is a kindred spirit. He effortlessly blends philosophy and films, magic and editing and brings forth a book that arouses the thinker in you. <br />
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His words make you curious enough to trace paths across movies you have loved and wonder at how much was planned and how much emerged out of inexplicable coincidences. He redefines everything you thought about films; every blink matters and a film is as immersive as the dedication and submission of its crew to its making. <br />
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The insights are not just in films but spills over to such lengths and breadths of life and choices that I was blown over by this man's intelligence. <br />
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Every filmmaker and writer needs to read this - this is a Bible on craft!
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-2037809215213885772016-04-11T18:26:00.002+05:302018-04-27T09:44:32.008+05:30The Absorbing Non-Fiction Novel -In Cold Blood by Truman Capote: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/168642.In_Cold_Blood">In Cold Blood</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/431149.Truman_Capote">Truman Capote</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1537981752">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Brilliant and evocative with detailed psychological descriptions, In Cold Blood by Capote is one of the best I have read on crime. So used to the 'detective' mileu I devoured as a child, this sensitive, engrossing and striking account of a cold-blooded murder of the Clutter family in Holcomb made a refreshing literary change.<br />
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'In Cold Blood' is intense and viscous. What is most astounding about this book is its narrative structuring, flow and the neutrality of tone in profiling murderers; all of it adding up to chill you to the bone!<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-50700482690508450752016-04-11T18:22:00.002+05:302018-04-27T09:45:39.486+05:30An Endearing Biography Of A Dog - The Call Of The Wild by Jack London: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1852.The_Call_of_the_Wild">The Call of the Wild</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1240.Jack_London">Jack London</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1595843269">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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It is always a good idea to drift off your comfort zone and attempt a new genre. When I picked up Jack London's 'The Call of The Wild' it was as much a dare to myself as it was the comfort that it was a thin volume even if it didn't work on me.<br />
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I was pleasantly surprised as I got pulled more and more into the life of the half St. Bernard, half Scotch Shepherd, Buck. His growth in character and sheer physical strength through his diverse adventures riveted me.<br />
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Be it the bleak icy trails or the forest teeming with lives, they were descriptive enough to make one feel like they are witnesses to the landscapes. One is in Buck's mind throughout - one could hear the calls of his ancestral wolf packs as much as he did - such was the magic of London's vivid prose.<br />
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The book held me in its clutches in a manner not unlike Buck holding Thornton's hand between his teeth in wild loyal love.<br />
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The Call of The Wild is a brilliant book about the life of a dog that also raises pertinent questions on how we treat the non-human life around us. A must read!<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-30013180815200495172016-04-11T18:21:00.001+05:302018-04-27T09:46:32.943+05:30A textured masterpiece! Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9712.Love_in_the_Time_of_Cholera">Love in the Time of Cholera</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13450.Gabriel_Garc_a_M_rquez">Gabriel García Márquez</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/341093881">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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There is a texture to this book. During the younger days of Fermina Daza and Florentino Ariza, it is smooth- like notes of a song, the soft touch of silk and pears. Their middle ages are like the almonds that are referenced in the book - hard shelled and grainy. And old age is amoebic, shifting textures every day, unpredictable, even wild.<br />
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The book absorbed me with its details, made me smell, taste, feel the lives the protagonist lived. Although in parts, I felt the love of Ariza's a little impossible to comprehend and laborious, I simply could not stop reading. you are so drawn into their lives, witnessing the old world ways of courtship, love and waiting that it is a shock when you put it down and realize you live in a different one.<br />
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The book is lush; meant only for those who want to get lost in the pages and the labours of love.<br />
It is a beautiful book, but quite a long read!<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-56244332518899481862016-04-11T18:19:00.001+05:302018-04-27T09:46:51.857+05:30Why in the world was this book panned? The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13497818-the-casual-vacancy">The Casual Vacancy</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1077326.J_K_Rowling">J.K. Rowling</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1603421152">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I am still wondering what stopped this book from becoming the bestseller it deserved to be. Indeed 'a big novel about a small town', The Casual Vacancy showcases Rowling's prowess as a plotter. She creates a detailed world out of Pagford, with characters whose motives and pasts are as exciting as her engaging style of writing about them.<br />
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The character off Krystal Weedon is probably one of Rowling's best till date. To have fleshed out the confused teenager coming from a disturbed background, with responsibilities too major to bear stuck in a prim little town atmosphere where she cannot even aspire to straighten out and belong was sheer genius. The dialogues throughout the book were just so real. The book truly played out like a film in my head.<br />
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I couldn't part from the book for a second and I relished every page of it. Rowling really needs to write more such prose.<br />
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I have no idea why anyone panned this book!<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-39533380765905109662015-10-06T10:23:00.001+05:302016-01-25T13:30:59.276+05:30Bombay: The Two Year Milestone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I had often heard the cliché, ‘<a href="http://thedreamydryad.blogspot.com/2013/10/sapnon-ka-sheher-all-sparkly-in-night.html">Bombay is the city of dreams</a>’. It was probably my naïvety that made me believe in that saying with all my heart, to leave everything familiar behind, and come here.<br />
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That was two years ago. I was a different person — laying myself thin, gliding across crowds, not knowing where to go.<br />
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Life was strange at that time. <a href="http://thedreamydryad.blogspot.com/2013/10/hiding.html">I was terribly disillusioned</a>. I thought I was never going to be where I wanted to be. Happiness was a distant unapproachable whim. Success was an unfamiliar being. Love seemed hard to come by. Whatever guise of love I had, seemed incomplete, inconsistent and never felt like it was mine. I felt like a stranger living my own life.</div>
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I would go back to that dialogue from Holiday where Arthur Abbott tells Iris — ‘In the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.’</div>
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I would wonder if I was ever going to be the leading lady in my world.<br />
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With a new job, new city and a new room in a house, I had alienated myself from any semblance of home.<br />
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<a href="http://thedreamydryad.blogspot.com/2014/02/bombay-diaries.html">Time lessened the harsh realities of the city</a>. I figured the meaning of ‘acclimatization’ within two months of living here. No more shudder at the traffic and no complaints on the incorrigible honking escaped me. I was institutionalized by Bombay.</div>
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However, a nagging loneliness persisted throughout 2013, accentuated by my move to Bombay. One of the main reasons for this was the death of my paternal grandfather — the one who made me fall in love with the English language and that way, gave me my wings. Drowning it all in keeping myself busy with the exciting work and partying with friends, I let Bombay envelop me.<br />
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The year passed by like the tides. I knew 2014 had to be better. The first few months flew by in a haze of self doubt, confusion and simply going with the flow. I stopped resisting life, I just aimlessly wandered on its path, not knowing what it was leading to.<br />
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Little did I know, that this was what I should always have done. What awaited me was still a crazy ride, but it got better. The soul cobwebs cleared slowly when I began to <a href="http://thedreamydryad.blogspot.in/2015/03/music-happened-when-his-particular.html">fall in love</a> with the most amazing human being I have ever met. In him, I found a spirit I could recognize, a soul that reflected my own aspirations, and a person who was capable of so much love and acceptance. I began to heal in his comforting presence.</div>
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I found a new job. Let me rephrase, I found a job in the company of my dreams! But it went downhill, turning more into a nightmare. I wasn’t doing anything related to what I wanted to. I was stuck for long hours working on reality television and random odd duties that left me crying to sleep. When the time came and <a href="https://medium.com/@TheDreamyDryad/will-you-hire-me-31e11bc9e387">I realized this was not how I could continue</a>, I quit.</div>
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Within a week, I had two freelance jobs that could hold me steady. Within a month, I felt like I did the right thing with my free fall. Mind you, <a href="https://medium.com/@TheDreamyDryad/the-tale-of-the-many-troubles-in-a-freelancer-s-life-9a1e6ae373c9">I am still struggling with concepts of time management</a>, writing that book I started two years ago, and the like. But what I have is priceless — the luxury of time, of doing work that I love, and having love by my side.</div>
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I used to be frightened that my life will never get okay, and that I will be a lost soul. But I took a leap of faith — in life, in myself, in my family and friends who loved me throughout, and in the powers that I constantly sense around. And two years later from that fateful day, I am so glad I kept going with the flow, fighting even when I wanted to flop down and settle for a lesser happiness.<br />
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And today, I finally feel like the leading lady of my own story.</div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-22807802938640383542015-09-28T10:10:00.000+05:302016-01-25T13:31:06.344+05:30In the Name of the Lord<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I remember as a kid, I once flicked a beautiful sharpener from a friend's house. On discovering my thievery, my mother made me throw away the sharpener and promise to God I would never repeat that act. Fear of the lord or my mother somehow kept me away from repeating my act ever.</div>
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Many 'God Promises' and 'Thank Gods' later, I realized that humankind has often resorted to using the name of this being(s) called 'God' in many ways. While some have been honourable and moving, many others have done nothing but wreck havoc in life. </div>
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The concept of God is very vague; agnostics believe nothing can ever be found about it, atheists argue it to be a myth and every one else believes in one manifestation of this power or the other. While what I think is irrelevant in this context, what has been irksome to me is how in the name of this lord, people have even got away with murder!</div>
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Religion as a concept is a part of your belief system. No one can question it as long as it remains within you, as a faith. Do ghosts exist? Is there life in outer space? What happens after death? These are other questions as difficult to answer right now as the existence of God. While the future may hold revelations, current data only allows us to practice our faith in the privacy of our selves, without thrusting it on another without irrefutable facts.</div>
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But when the elephant lord has his birthday celebrations for over a week, I wonder why I need to suffer silently in traffic as a bunch of random people dance, as if possessed, to 'Selfie le le re' in a procession.</div>
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<i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: x-small;">(Devotees carry idols of Lord Ganesha, the Hindu deity of prosperity, for immersion in the Arabian Sea in Mumbai. Photo: Reuters)</span></i></div>
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Crazy drum beats of decibel levels that would put the best of night clubs to shame, huge pandals that encroach on pedestrian paths and roads, masses of painted embellished idols dumped callously into the sea, and the entire time, my life and its movements at the mercy of these merry makers!</div>
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Mind you, I love celebrations and I love the Indian culture of breaking into song and dance at every instance. But at what cost? Would my belief of a UFO sighting anniversary (again a concept I could compare to religion as it can neither be proved nor disproved) allow me to take a crowd to the streets with dhols and dhamakas? Would I get a police permit to put up stalls, a huge space ship and disrupt traffic in the process? I am pretty sure I will be considered a loon.</div>
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How is it that when a mob of people believe in a single concept, the nation nods in agreement to any atrocity? And how is it that other minor beliefs get laughed at? Isn't this the same reason we all buried the Godhra incident behind us, although not satisfactorily solved? Isn't this religious obsession the root for why we do not value another's convenience and routine and pause not when we disrupt it?</div>
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Celebrate all you will, but do so in a way that another's life does not get affected. It is wonderful that people make sweets for one another, learn to dance in abandon, forget past differences and embrace in a 'Ganpati bappa moriya'. But please don't you dare block the road I travel by after long hours of work and with the prospect of cooking dinner looming ahead.</div>
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As my boyfriend said, any alien looking at Earth now will find us wacky, praying to a half-human half-elephant, randomly dancing in the roads and throwing colour. It isn't even Holi!</div>
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But please do this in a way that you respect my paganism, my neighbours agnosticism, my cousin's atheism. Else, the God you pray to, is not a tolerant one! </div>
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8760270.post-65431527297458446132015-08-25T00:42:00.001+05:302016-01-25T13:31:26.328+05:30Lord of the Rings meets Harry Potter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Imagine Snape saying this in his voice! :P<br />
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Sandhya Ramachandranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02745220892778889205noreply@blogger.com0