tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22393931598549498882024-03-20T03:13:04.150-07:00hung out to dryhung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-88673376376316500152011-05-03T09:26:00.001-07:002011-05-03T09:26:39.182-07:00News Piece - Anna Hazare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anna Hazare, is the face of India’s fight against corruption. He has taken this fight from a mere local level and given it the importance that it demands. He has challenged the highest orders of power in his hope to form a country dominated by truth and compassion. Not only does he garner support from common folk but from intelligentsia as well. Among many of the previous battles he has fought, the Anti-Corruption Bill, or the Jan Lokpal Bill, is his latest. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is important to point out some of Hazare’s previous projects. He is the pioneer of the Watershed Development revolution that spread across India, as well as the Movement to pass the Right to Information Act. However, it is through the Model Village Project that Hazare feels that he has succeeded. His fight against Corruption was an inevitable one. Constantly in a situation where, he has had to face corrupt Government officials, he finally brought this to the notice of the Chief Minister of Maharashtra. He was forced to do this right after he began his, Model Village Project in Maharashtra because of the amount of corruption he had to bear during his struggle. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He fought first against corruption that was blocking growth in rural India. His organization was the <i>Bhrashtachar Virodhi Jan Andolan</i> (People's movement against Corruption). His tool of protest -hunger strikes. And his prime target - politicians. When he asked for the setting up of an inquiry, due to the great public support, the Chief Minister conceded. When Anna Hazare was charged with ‘defamation’ he readily went to jail. This act reminded the people of India of Gandhi’s actions, only to strengthen their resolve. He was eventually released, because the government did not want to anger the public. Later, two other officials were found guilty of corruption, and were promptly removed. While others would consider this a victory and believe that the fight was over, Hazare thought differently. He believed that by attacking merely two officials, corruption could not be eradicated. Putting great pressure on the Government by fasting for four days- to pass the Jan Lokpal Bill which has failed to pass for 42 years- he finally emerged victorious when the Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh, stated that the Bill would be introduced once again in the Monsoon Session of the Parliament.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gandhi and Vivekananda as his influences, it is inevitable that Anna Hazare’s goal in life is to ‘serve fellow human being.’ Having served in the Indian Army for a while, his fight is undying, yet mostly harmless and nonviolent. Despite his methods being termed as ‘blackmail’ by politicians, Hazare, from Maharashtra, never hopes to give up fight against evils of modern human society.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Subhalakshmi Gooptu</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
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</div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-80564069180509055992011-05-02T04:17:00.001-07:002011-05-02T04:17:45.026-07:00Book Review of The Borrowers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">THE BORROWERS - Mary Norton</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s an experience everyone has isn’t it? You drop something on the floor – an eraser, a pen cap, a scrap of paper- and decide to pick it up later. But when you look for it, it’s disappeared! I’ve always wondered what happens to those things. Where do they go? They practically vanish into thin air! Or do they…?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mrs. May tells little Kate the story of how her little brother once met a borrower. Off on a holiday in his great aunt’s house in the country, Mrs. May’s brother chanced upon Arrietty Clock –the little girl who introduced him to The Borrowers who believed that human beings existed simply to help them sustain themselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Borrowers are little people who lived in the cozy nooks and corners that large old houses developed with time -the hole behind the clock, the attic, the niche above the mantel piece. They survived by borrowing (not stealing mind you!) things from the “Human beans”. They had to be very careful to move about the house unseen and pick up things that wouldn’t be easily missed; like fish bones for needles, blotting paper for a carpet or even the odd pen cap!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Their greatest fear is that one day a ‘Human Bean’ will see them. But when the boy meets Arrietty Clock, things do not turn out quite as they were expected to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The book tells of the life of Arrietty Clock and her family. It keeps its reader interested with little fascinating details that set your imagination wild. The flow is slow and easy, the vocabulary is simple, the plot uncomplicated and yet gripping.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People tend not to believe in such things…but I would. I think it’s the best explanation for what happened to that pencil I dropped five minutes ago!<br />
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-Kavita Joseph </div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-68417187891992540962011-05-02T04:17:00.000-07:002011-05-02T04:17:20.564-07:00Movie Review of The Borrowers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in; text-align: center;"><b>Movie Review- The Borrowers</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“</span>I know a funny little man, <br />
As quiet as a mouse, <br />
Who does the mischief that is done<br />
In everybody’s house.”</i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in; text-align: center;"><i>- Walter de la Mare</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;">I remember reading a blog post about a sock-gobbling monster in the writer’s washing machine that left him with a dozen odd socks whose pairs were missing! We’ve all had that experience and we all make up a host of different house ghouls to account for the little things that go missing without any explanation. <span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;">“We don’t steal, we borrow.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;">The movie, “The Borrowers”, runs along the same lines, it revolves around the lives of a family of “Borrowers” which are little people who live beneath the floorboards of a family of humans, or “beings” as the Borrowers call them. They borrow the essentials for their survival from their human family. The family, the Lenders, have a ten year old boy who is convinced of the existence of something in the house that steals their things. He sets traps for these creatures, which the Borrowers have to constantly circumvent. The Clocks have two children, Arrietty and Peagreen. The Lenders’ beautiful old house and the existence of the Borrowers is threatened by the villainous Mr. Ocious P. Potter, who tricked the Lenders out of their house and plans to demolish it and build luxury apartment blocks in its place. Arrietty finds out about his devious ploy and attempts to save the house, befriending Pete, the owners’ son along the way. She also meets a fellow borrower, borrower, Spud, an “outie”, who has lived on the streets instead of in a human house and who helps the children to survive in the outside world when they are separated accidentally from their parents. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.25in;">The movie is a charming explanation for the mysterious disappearances of everyday things. Though the humor is mostly physical and is rather slapstick at places, it is made up for by the endearing characters! It is a sweet, enjoyable family film and a definite must-watch. <br />
-Sanjana Thomas<br />
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</div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-29498689406506965572011-05-02T04:12:00.001-07:002011-05-02T04:14:58.251-07:00Three Poems<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sway</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There’s someone’s old attic</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stashed away</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the top of the house,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A little crooked memory</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Precariously perched</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On somebody else’s daily swept</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Freshly aired life</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of unpacking boxes,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Arranging shelves,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Playing records</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That they’ve missed </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">By a decade or few.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But when the windows are opened in the evening,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ghosts seem to be humming,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Swaying and twisting</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In somebody’s arms from long ago. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">-Urvashi Bahuguna</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Room</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">she painted herself a room</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and walked into it</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">just like that</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and lay down on the rich blue bedspread</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and watched the world pass her by.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">she</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">saw as they </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">lifted her world </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">into </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">another.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">a room</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">a room full of rooms</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">other people’s rooms</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">with other lonely hearts</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">dozing on leather couches</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">staring at bowls of sunflowers</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">looking out of rainy windows</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and watching the watchers go by</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">she watched </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">as the dissected rooms</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">parts of them hidden</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">to all but those who painted them</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">were looked at </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">talked about</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">pondered upon</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">she waited </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">as someone walked up to her room</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and stared at her across a red velvet cordon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and she stared back</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">until he gave up</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and wandered away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">-Radhika Chakraborty </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Attic</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">A shaft of afternoon sun,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A slice of moonlight,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And a lot of dust confetti:</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s where your childhood is </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">packed away. In trunks. In boxes</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">full of tiny dresses. In dolls </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">with cobwebs in their eyes.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a perfect spot, a fairy place</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">on rainy days:</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “And after I rescued their prince,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The Queen granted me my wish!”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s why you were a fairy for a day,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">when you flew to school in purple wings</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And a name that rolls like marbles on a wooden floor</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like Lylornia, or Seraphynia.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And on bitter-tasting salty days,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">when you didn’t understand why </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the whole world had stopped loving you,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">no one would find you there, hidden</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> behind that musty forlorn smell,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">behind grandma’s old parrot cage.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So you never found out what </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That trunk contained, the one that sat </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">in the corner dreaming of old days, the one </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">that used to be at the bottom of a dark-green sea,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">until your brother slew the sea-dragon that hoarded it </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and brought it to you. But he never told you.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It contained letters that your dad wrote</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To mum when they were young. Pshaw!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It contains treasure! Pearls and diamonds</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And scepters with crystal orbs! But there is</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;"> no way of finding out.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because a ghoul sits on top of it, rattling its lock,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And he sings of longing on stormy days.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think you can still hear him,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you listen.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And if you once again climb the stairs that lead</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To that old place, I’m sure he’ll tell that it was you</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That he was waiting for, and lead you to the fairies. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">-Sohini Basak</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-32606887804180295632011-05-02T04:12:00.000-07:002011-05-02T04:12:24.856-07:00A Sloping Roof (Prose piece)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><i> Wooden eaves and wooden floors. A space under the roof to fill with things; a room for living or a room for remembering?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sloping roofs change things. They change dimensions and proportions; they change the understanding you have of a space. A flat ceiling is very different from a sloping one.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And she wished her flat roof and high flat ceiling away. She wished away the continuous badly painted whiteness and the white walls that filled the house, dividing it into geometric linear rooms and passages. She wished away the starkness of perpendicular lines, and closed her eyes, and pictured the changes that snow could bring.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Snow will settle in my hair. Weigh down the ends of it, little flakes and then bigger ones, and trickle little drops of wetness into my ears and scalp. Snow will leak into the cracks in the white and fill them with wetness. Snow will weigh down the two ends of the roof, and bend them into a curve, a curve to shelter me.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Looking up, and two lines, receding and converging. A slope, nestling you under it, planting itself firmly above you and littler horizontal planks meeting the vertical ones. Space narrowing off into a point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>here</i> <i>is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors…</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The sticky warmth of a child’s two hands clasped over the little finger people. Houses that children draw always have sloping roofs. Sloping roofs, with a little circular window, to look into the attic. Or out from it. Houses are meant to have roofs like that. There are meant to be secret corridors, wallpapered baby rooms, and gleaming kitchens. All I want, is what I was meant to.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are all lacking that space in our minds. Our gleaming, flat white-page-ready-to-be-written-on minds. That work overtime; reflect and bounce off anything the world throws our direction. Flat expanses with ideas stacked into rows one on top of the other, filed into transparent plastic filing cabinets with labels on white paper and black marker. White, sterile white, staining and cleaning itself, never letting anything seep in too deep; marked by infinite pens writing over each other.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>A naked bulb hanging from the rafters. Rafters. I am not convinced about what exactly they are. Rafters. Wooden beams. Eaves. Round window. Deep breath. Look around. Wooden smell. Piles of memories. Isn’t that the setting that memories belong in?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where do we store our memories? I wonder. We do not have rooms in our houses for these things. We shift things around, shove them into cupboards, and wait for moths and rats to consume them. We put expensive things in bank lockers and inexpensive ones under the mattress and in the loft cupboard in the ironing room for lizards to lay eggs on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Breaking down; reconstruct. Rebuild my house into what I want it to be. Draw it out. From a child’s sketch to a building plan. From a crayoned generic sofa and plant to the bedcover and colourful wall I always dreamed of.<br />
But the ladder, will stay the same. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It has to be a ladder. Leading into a square of space. A broad wooden ladder; with ten rungs. A trapdoor, left slightly open, mustiness seeping down. It is just as you want to picture it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">With dimness lifting slowly, dust resettling, memories and old things crowded around. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>But what things? What will I put there? I am scrabbling around. Vague shapes. A rocking horse turns into a plastic baby potty. A wooden chest is just an old stool, that is maybe not a stool but a sawed up table. What do these things mean? Who put them here? </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Sit by the round window and watch it rain. Look out and forget shapes and spaces. Space was never yours to construct. You just try to shrink yourself into whatever you get. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>-</i>Radhika Chakraborty <i><br />
</i></div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-15972719053832232652011-05-02T04:11:00.000-07:002011-05-02T04:18:44.210-07:00Up in the Attic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1prIrJ0iAuphWSYbsD9oTQ2TWAE2AUSSjEsM_F5bJb2tZuWRel6AD1AzAc6OXE3jee4zd77a-mowAAhJqmOwlaGuz8DkFjQeZ4XVFnzA2Cmvk8Q5bf8G2gcyiTLgLniiEA66pitlq20/s1600/Attic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1prIrJ0iAuphWSYbsD9oTQ2TWAE2AUSSjEsM_F5bJb2tZuWRel6AD1AzAc6OXE3jee4zd77a-mowAAhJqmOwlaGuz8DkFjQeZ4XVFnzA2Cmvk8Q5bf8G2gcyiTLgLniiEA66pitlq20/s640/Attic.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Cartoon by :</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYydpGMbihVVthUgY0-d0gD5nE38aO_NvrhPs8BOHfCXv8lmBHN04mxTzOjuks20cHKmVHEcY3If7s419MGGMcHE5piZMNTkfwsMKEAB6XJyEHtv_50l7Hz0yASAdlk-hADKet2SSz3k/s1600/MysteryChick02.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYydpGMbihVVthUgY0-d0gD5nE38aO_NvrhPs8BOHfCXv8lmBHN04mxTzOjuks20cHKmVHEcY3If7s419MGGMcHE5piZMNTkfwsMKEAB6XJyEHtv_50l7Hz0yASAdlk-hADKet2SSz3k/s200/MysteryChick02.png" width="135" /></a></div><br />
</div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-72265456148462091862011-04-01T08:05:00.001-07:002011-04-01T08:07:17.523-07:00News Piece - Wikileaks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;">Since the launch of Wikileaks, there has been an explosion of classified information being opened up to the public for scrutiny and critique. Much to the dismay of governments of various countries, Wikileaks was launched on 4<sup>th</sup> October, 2006 claiming that its database had a collection of top secret articles which were not accessible for the general public. With Julian Assange as the director, Wikileaks based in Sweden, claimed to have been founded by</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">‘founded by Chinese dissidents, journalists, mathematicians and start-up company technologists, from the US,</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"> Taiwan</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">, Europe, Australia and South Africa.’</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Calling it ‘Scientific Journalism,’ Assange points out that the Wikileaks initiates an era when journalism will not necessarily need a to depend on journalists’ interpretation of news by publishing documents directly on the internet allowing them to come to their own conclusions. In April 2010, Wikileaks published footage from the 2007 Baghdad airstrike and then releasing in the same year Afghan War Diary, consisting of thousands of documents about the war. With the release of U.S. diplomacy cables in November, Wikileaks fell into great criticism and legal battle. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wikileaks received a number of awards applauding its regeneration of the ‘freedom of speech’ of the individual as opposed to the power of a government. However, it also faced a large amount of flak, initially from the U.S. government and now from others such as India, for exposing documents which may apparently lead to a misbalance of ‘international diplomacy.’ Closer to home, the exposure of documents and videos concerning the Indian government and the prevalent corruption and ineffectiveness, has also led to the censure of the website by the Government, especially from the Congress. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Despite the presence of laws with press protections clauses, Julian Assange has been accused by the U.S. under the Espionage Act of stealing documents from the government and is also facing a criminal probe. Assange continues to fight the legal battle and at the same time, managed to raise funds for the website, with great support from the general public. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times;">-Subhalakshmi Gooptu</span></span></div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-91253292316110607412011-04-01T08:04:00.000-07:002011-04-01T08:04:10.369-07:00Review of Susanna's Seven Husbands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>(first published in Helter Skelter)</em></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Susanna’s Seven Husbands</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I watched in fascination as a gigantic Black Widow spider, her body streaked with green and yellow, crept down the veranda wall in the direction of her sleeping husband.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Susanna’s beauty and wealth mean that she has no problems finding a husband, but somehow they don’t last very long. A motherless child, brought up by her reclusive father (and the Freudian warning bells immediately go off) she becomes the sole heir to his estate and rumored ‘treasure.’ She is of Dutch and East Indian descent; everything about her exudes mystery and she holds a destructive fascination for the locals and the men who fall for her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A select few are let into her estate, and no one besides her staff and her (current) husband is allowed entry into the house itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even within the house, there are sections that are barred for her trusted staff and her beloved husbands, a fact the latter don’t appreciate. Her staff consists of an eccentric bunch, a jockey referred to as just ‘Goonga’ because he is deaf and mute, her personal help Maggi who was middle aged, grumpy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">but ‘</i>very efficient’ and Shah Rukh the gardener who will show the narrator, Arun, around the estate. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Arun is ten years younger than Susanna, and her neighbor throughout the story. He admits to himself that the difference in age is a pivotal reason he wasn’t one of the seven, however their relationship will continue to be fraught by jealousy, from both sides.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The novella fails to create the atmosphere that the genre (mystery/murder/horror) demands. The mystery is dispelled early on in each section of the story; there in no big reveal, just details remain to be unveiled. However, the end <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> unexpected. Characteristic of Bond’s work, the language is simple, the plot understandable and the psychological narration sparse. Susanna is intriguing in her complex generosity and cruelty, in the beguiling nature of her intelligence, her reverence of her father and her search for a man who will replace him. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Penguin has brought out an edition that included the original short story, the novella that it was expanded into and the screenplay of Saat Khoon Maaf that was based on the novella. Out of the three, the screenplay is undoubtedly the worst. The characters speak in hyperbole, the objectiveness of the narrator Arun is reduced to heroine worship, stories unseen in the novella emerge and overwhelm the plot in places and it’s hard to understand how the same Vishal Bharadwaj of the Kaminey vision could have compiled this script. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The short story is perhaps the most charming of the three, and is closer to Ruskin Bond’s customary style than the novella. It has the lingering flavor of a traditional ghost story to it, the mystery remains intact and the suspense is held captive under a gravestone. Or seven. The novella, short story and screenplay all have different endings and I thought the end to the short story was the least dramatic. I would recommend reading the short story to Ruskin Bond fans. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">[Penguin; ISBN 978 0 143 41611 1]</span></div>-Urvashi Bahuguna</div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-36022147133853725592011-04-01T07:58:00.000-07:002011-04-01T07:58:56.135-07:00Chand Nagar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECEQoyjVd6wk7ZAqfuKWLeblBjjPFsGnHbl2hRQvKjOE5vN4PE99wgspBDPDN_QK1pj_Y1dbY2Td-Jg69hwh4x-C1uZdfNmes9G6aV1PW-3FV9TKtXuqQm2sXeJvVML-vzlM5KRwK4HY/s1600/Moon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECEQoyjVd6wk7ZAqfuKWLeblBjjPFsGnHbl2hRQvKjOE5vN4PE99wgspBDPDN_QK1pj_Y1dbY2Td-Jg69hwh4x-C1uZdfNmes9G6aV1PW-3FV9TKtXuqQm2sXeJvVML-vzlM5KRwK4HY/s400/Moon.png" width="282" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cartoon by Pant.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because by 2050, we'll need the extra space. </div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-58016716052029531282011-04-01T07:50:00.000-07:002011-04-01T07:50:31.831-07:00Selene<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskAv-nC6Z2jHQP2OddYMxJVzUw4myxUHMmyJOpeadz_9yQNYLuUVB_t4CHPC8aAUx1f1Mr-mBDGxwGbN6CYrdU1Fbk5c0i2yYOQkoXJcltYPC_bKO-31gKwpzyQ1GoUhED4Lz-zDiUFY/s1600/1+cheshire+smile%252C+indigo+blue+like+your+poem.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskAv-nC6Z2jHQP2OddYMxJVzUw4myxUHMmyJOpeadz_9yQNYLuUVB_t4CHPC8aAUx1f1Mr-mBDGxwGbN6CYrdU1Fbk5c0i2yYOQkoXJcltYPC_bKO-31gKwpzyQ1GoUhED4Lz-zDiUFY/s320/1+cheshire+smile%252C+indigo+blue+like+your+poem.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo courtesy : Sohini Basak</div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He couldn’t sleep again that night. He’d taken his last sleeping pill yesterday and made a mental note to remember to stop by at the chemist’s the next day. “Insomnia’s the pits”, he thought to himself. He was dead tired and had a killer headache but couldn’t sleep. He put on the TV and flicked through channels but it only made his head hurt even more. He sighed, then picked up the guitar next to his bed and strummed a few chords before laying it aside. He stepped out into his balcony and stood there for some time, drinking in the cold night air. He looked up at the constellations, spotting them easily. They were old friends; astronomy was a wonderful hobby for someone who had trouble sleeping. It was pitch black outside, a new moon night.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He made a quick mental decision and turned back into the room. He switched off the light and picking up his shoes, walked out of the room. He slipped out of the back door and closed it behind him softly so his parents wouldn’t hear it and come to investigate. He was going for a walk. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He walked down the empty road of his colony, thankful that he’d had the sense to pull on a sweatshirt before leaving; Delhi winter nights were chilly. He turned into the park at the corner and walked around it on the joggers’ path a couple of times. He left the path and walked through to grass lawns to the monument. He couldn’t remember whose tomb it was, little monuments like these were scattered throughout Delhi but no one seemed to make a big deal out of them. He felt vaguely ashamed about that for a minute, and then his thoughts came to an abrupt halt at seeing someone in the doorway of the building. And it wasn’t just some homeless or drunk guy, it was a girl. A young girl, at that. A young, well-dressed girl, wearing a white dress and looking very much in command of herself. He gaped at her, until she asked in a faintly amused voice, “Something wrong?”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Uh, no. No, of course not. I just didn’t expect to see anyone else here at this time of night.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I don’t get much sleep at night”, she said, still sounding amused.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Oh, are you an insomniac too?” he asked.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Something like that.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“What’s your name?” he asked.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Selene” she said. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Oh. That’s an um...nice name” he said, striving to sound normal but feeling all the ridiculousness of making small talk in the middle of the night, in a park, to a strange girl. “My name’s Aadit. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to walk you home or something? Won’t your parents worry?”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“No, my parents won’t worry” she said. He still got the feeling she was laughing at him, so slightly nettled, he said, “I won’t bother you anymore then. I was just leaving anyway.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She said, “I’ll come with you. It’s time I was going too.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">They walked together though the park. He looked sideways at Selene. She seemed to almost glow as she walked with a faint, shimmering kind of glow.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He shook his said bemusedly and said, “This is surreal.” </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She smiled and said, “New moon nights are my favourite nights. Everything’s so peaceful, quiet and undemanding.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“And dark!” he said, laughing. Then curiously, “Do you come here a lot?”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Every new moon.”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Why?”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She shook her head and said nothing. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">They had reached the exit of the park. He walked through it, then looked back at her. “Aren’t you coming?”</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“I changed my mind. I’ll stay here for a little longer.” There was a sort of sad longing in her voice that he found hard to understand. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Okay. I’ll see you sometime then. Bye.” he said, feeling rather awkward. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“Bye.” she said then turned and walked away, still casting that strange glow on the grass. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He watched her walk away, his brow furrowed in confusion, then shrugged and walked back to his house. “Surreal was the right word” he thought.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once he was back up in his room, he switched on his laptop and entered ‘Selene’ into his search engine. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He opened up the first link and read, ‘In ancient Greek mythology, Selene was an archaic lunar deity.’ </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">“The Goddess of the Moon”, he said to himself. It was stupid, but when you thought about it, she had had that strange glow around her. And she only visited the park on new moon nights, when the moon couldn’t be seen. </span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He laughed out loud suddenly, at the absurdity of it all. A goddess, eho had come down to earth, visiting a park. A park! And in Delhi, of all places!</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He really needed sleep.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Well, he clearly wasn’t getting any of that tonight, at any rate. He turned off his laptop and sank down on his bed.</span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He picked up the guitar again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></strong></div><div align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="margin: 12pt 0in 3pt; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">-Sanjana Thomas</span></span></span></strong></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-66131942430311736022011-04-01T07:45:00.000-07:002011-04-01T08:08:46.965-07:00The Moon Across Cultures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBY4irce_lZna2_Xt03LiYeNxz2maJISIxn6BF9eHXjNmDFQnI4feCLMcP_tANy6tMKLEWbCQG8SkTiiAzepY2s-SxW6EWvxXeHxq37VF4NVxwmdZNYjk4CVOQxUOA1a1yU-oB5MiG9WY/s1600/5+misty+sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBY4irce_lZna2_Xt03LiYeNxz2maJISIxn6BF9eHXjNmDFQnI4feCLMcP_tANy6tMKLEWbCQG8SkTiiAzepY2s-SxW6EWvxXeHxq37VF4NVxwmdZNYjk4CVOQxUOA1a1yU-oB5MiG9WY/s320/5+misty+sky.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy : Sohini Basak</div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The moon – a hole in the sky, made of cheese, a marble palace. Stories of the moon have been circulating for a long time and every culture has one.</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Indian mythology states that Chandra, the moon God married the 27 daughters of Daksha. He neglected all his wives except for the beautiful Rohini. Daksha, in his anger, cursed Chandra with a degenerative disease that caused him to wane. Later, the curse was made temporary so that Chandra wanes when he approaches Rohini and waxes as he moves away from her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The aborigines in Australia believe that the moon is the reflection of the campfire of the hunter Japara who is on an eternal hunt for souls of his wife and child.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">China believes in the woman on the moon. Chang’e and her husband were immortal beings who were sent to earth as a punishment for their misdeeds. Chang’e tired of earth quickly and her husband decided to find a way to make them immortal again. He received a pill and was instructed not to eat more than half. Chang’e in her greed ate the entire pill and floated up to the moon where she resides even now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Africans have linked up death to the moon. The story goes that the moon sent an insect to the earth with the message of eternal life. The insect was waylaid by a hare who offered to take the message to earth because he was faster than the insect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The insect agreed and the hare ran off. In his hurry he confused the message and gave the earth news of death instead of eternal life. A follow up to this story is that the moon was so angry with the hare that she hit him on his nose. From that day on, hares have had split noses.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Greek mythology speaks of twin gods- the sun and the moon, Apollo and Artemis/Diana. Apollo drives his flaming chariot in the day and in the night, his sister Artemis rides her flaming chariot and shoots moonbeams at the earth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In America, the belief is that chickens hatch more eggs when there is a full moon. If a woman bakes a cake on a full moon night, she should be careful of who she invites to eat it. The first unmarried man to eat the cake will become her husband.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are certain mythological creatures associated with the moon- the werewolf for example, the half man half wolf is said to come out on full moon nights and witches are also supposed to find the time of a full moon best for brewing potions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My personal favorite is the idea of the moon being made of cheese!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Kavita Joseph</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-52197733633725903792011-04-01T07:39:00.000-07:002011-04-01T07:39:24.699-07:00Two poems.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="ii gt" id=":it"><div id=":is"><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Moon Between</span></b></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR7cf3OhHwBKymv3aolgX2kVQ-JqtLMcGEWk3v9cznfJcZgh-67XRDeoUDFJ2vEabgHe0GrIY1fx9fGVNYo8bVj7tJsmDcenetQgKpVmbI-wprxizjc6j9t3_2b4g8_LW9-pZUXLI77w/s1600/3+can+i+have+it+above+my+poem.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="239" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR7cf3OhHwBKymv3aolgX2kVQ-JqtLMcGEWk3v9cznfJcZgh-67XRDeoUDFJ2vEabgHe0GrIY1fx9fGVNYo8bVj7tJsmDcenetQgKpVmbI-wprxizjc6j9t3_2b4g8_LW9-pZUXLI77w/s320/3+can+i+have+it+above+my+poem.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Photo Courtesy : Sohini Basak</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Far away from you</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">it feels good</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">to know</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">that tonight</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">we face</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the same side of the moon.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Far from me</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you say that</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">cannot see</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">this moon</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I see</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you lie.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Too many cities divide us.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Too many missed calls,</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">red skies, traffic signals</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and solitary windows</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">lie in between.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">That’s why you cannot see</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the moon.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You say you cannot</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">see it because its</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">too close.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Like words on </span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">a page held</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">too close</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">to your face.</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">-Sohini Basak</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>She with the Jalebi lights</strong></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgruGy92-ZRjwddBIxG1Dyk9EjoJB1hGtTZhf052bHW51v4_F4JnQNBElKEAVnGaJAdlJJ1ebGLSyD2_m6_qYpxGwXPT5bbHIWL_wbB6kdy3tFNBIMLwtZ6xKaQU1Rk5VCgWloORDSDI/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgruGy92-ZRjwddBIxG1Dyk9EjoJB1hGtTZhf052bHW51v4_F4JnQNBElKEAVnGaJAdlJJ1ebGLSyD2_m6_qYpxGwXPT5bbHIWL_wbB6kdy3tFNBIMLwtZ6xKaQU1Rk5VCgWloORDSDI/s320/4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Photo Courtesy : Sohini Basak</span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And the evening sky,<br />
It's indigo blue,<br />
With a fading pearl white<br />
And its gentle girdle of light<br />
Reminds me of you<br />
And I think of calling<br />
To tell you to take a picture...<br />
<br />
A night so simple...<br />
...it knows<br />
We will come to ache for it<br />
In the years to come.</span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">-Urvashi Bahuguna</span></span></span></div></div></div></div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239393159854949888.post-19179888348789047502011-04-01T07:18:00.000-07:002011-04-01T07:18:15.539-07:00About Us<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The idea behind this magazine was to have a periodical for readers between the ages of 15 and 18. We plan on publishing once a month. We’re a mainly literary magazine but we also hope to be able to add to every month’s publication, an easily understandable explanation of some important item of news. Each edition of the magazine is themed and this month’s theme is “The Moon”. We hope you enjoy it and follow us!</div>hung out to dryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09312769133660346118noreply@blogger.com0