Me back!!!
No blogging the whole of the last month. July goes off empty so does August. Honestly, there hadn’t been anything great to write. Not that I write only great things.
Otherwise too, life's been pretty busy. Tiring six days a week topped with a lazy Sunday, and the week is off with a desperate but a hopeful chase towards the next lazy one.
Life’s become nothing but chasing Sundays. There is one thing that I wouldn’t like to miss, and that is reading.
I’ve been searching this book called English August for quite some time after a constant coaxing by one of my friends when he came to know I like Indian writings. Authored by Upamanyu Chatterjee, the novel’s also been scripted into a movie with Rahul Bose in the lead role of Agastya Sen, an IAS posted in a small town called Madna (I still have to figure out where that town is). It’s not a novel backed by a conventional story. It’s just the central character’s experiences, thoughts and mind penned down with an exceptional excellence. Quite different book from the lot that I’ve read is all that I would say. Now, that I’ve read it I’m on a prowl for the DVD to figure out how well Bose’s been able to give life to Sen on screen.
Meanwhile, I reproduce an excerpt from the book which depicts the clueless Agastya’s state of mind and thoughts. “Hazaar fucked” is how he describes his life when first comes to the town.
Movement without purpose, an endless ebb and flow, from one world to another, journeys and passages, undertaken by cocoons not for rest or solace, but for ephemerals. The flux of the sea now seemed the only pattern, within and beyond the mind – mirrored even in his encounters with the myriad faces, on some of which he had tried to impose an order by seeing them as mirror images, facets of his own self, but now that longing, for repose through the mastering of chaos, itself seemed vain. Perhaps it was true that he had first to banish all yearning, and learn to accept the drift, perhaps it was true that all was clouded by desire, as fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust, as an unborn babe by its covering.
So close to me this excerpt is.
No blogging the whole of the last month. July goes off empty so does August. Honestly, there hadn’t been anything great to write. Not that I write only great things.
Otherwise too, life's been pretty busy. Tiring six days a week topped with a lazy Sunday, and the week is off with a desperate but a hopeful chase towards the next lazy one.
Life’s become nothing but chasing Sundays. There is one thing that I wouldn’t like to miss, and that is reading.
I’ve been searching this book called English August for quite some time after a constant coaxing by one of my friends when he came to know I like Indian writings. Authored by Upamanyu Chatterjee, the novel’s also been scripted into a movie with Rahul Bose in the lead role of Agastya Sen, an IAS posted in a small town called Madna (I still have to figure out where that town is). It’s not a novel backed by a conventional story. It’s just the central character’s experiences, thoughts and mind penned down with an exceptional excellence. Quite different book from the lot that I’ve read is all that I would say. Now, that I’ve read it I’m on a prowl for the DVD to figure out how well Bose’s been able to give life to Sen on screen.
Meanwhile, I reproduce an excerpt from the book which depicts the clueless Agastya’s state of mind and thoughts. “Hazaar fucked” is how he describes his life when first comes to the town.
Movement without purpose, an endless ebb and flow, from one world to another, journeys and passages, undertaken by cocoons not for rest or solace, but for ephemerals. The flux of the sea now seemed the only pattern, within and beyond the mind – mirrored even in his encounters with the myriad faces, on some of which he had tried to impose an order by seeing them as mirror images, facets of his own self, but now that longing, for repose through the mastering of chaos, itself seemed vain. Perhaps it was true that he had first to banish all yearning, and learn to accept the drift, perhaps it was true that all was clouded by desire, as fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust, as an unborn babe by its covering.
So close to me this excerpt is.
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