Nescience

My first tryst with Russian Literature was the novel, One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn .  It chronicles a day in the life of Ivan, a prisoner who is serving in a Soviet labour camp. The slim volume was quite evocative, in terms of the prose and the plot. I moved on to Anna Karenina , the novel by Leo Tolstoy. I could not make peace with it. Anna Karenina did not appeal to me in the way that it should have - by all accounts it is a great classic. But maybe I think I'll read it after a few days and it will make sense to me. That is something I have observed. To an immature mind, a great book may seem ridiculous. But when read at the right time, it rises to sublime heights. The first time I read 'Gone with the wind', I hated it. The story was garbled, the characters shallow. But I read the same book three years later and then I saw it in a new light. The circumstances in America and a deeper understanding and acceptance of peo

Birds of Feather flock together A crow surrounded by peacocks – a deep abyss of darkness coated with the varnish of jealously flits amongst the iridescent eyes of gold, blue, green unblinking and staring. He crows. They crow along with him. A stray feather plucked off an unsuspecting wing, another surrendered by reverence for the scratchy crows – so simple yet apparently filled with meaning and the secret of life. Rubies, emeralds, gold dust and diamond sparkles on the sharp, black beak and the circlet of holiness on his head. He pecks the ground. They pretend to find fat, juicy worms, slurp in delight as he closes his eyes in a state of supreme satisfaction. More feathers, more unblinking eyes perch on his short stubby tail. He flies away one day and they watch him. The long, silken tokens of mental servility hang off his dark tail as he flaps his wings, far above them. They come off as he traverses the miles. Diamonds and dust fall off the slick texture of his wings

The first rain of the year. It's not quite surprising for the rain to drop in unexpectedly before the summer. As I write, the drops are pattering away steadily, the smell of the soil permeates the air and I long for things I know not.  I lean out of the window and the drops fall on me, rolling down my cheeks in a cool embrace of reassurance in the face of the oppressive heat of the day.  The wind is more playful and he lifts the white and red curtains of my window, and with him, he brings the dreams of the earth. The smell...I could keep inhaling the smell of the arid, parched soil cooled by the rain. There cannot be a more potent harbinger of optimism... The scent clings to my body and my hair and will come to me in my dreams and tell me, that after a long, hot day, the rain will come.

Pride and Prejudice turned 200 this January. It is hard to imagine that a story set in rural England 200 years ago could have this much sway over the minds of thousands of women, but Pride and Prejudice does just that. I believe that P&P is the original chick-lit, but in a language and a form far superior to those we have today. (not owned by me) Pride and Prejudice marries two of my most favourite characteristics in romance novels. The first is the heroine - Obstinate, headstrong girl , as rightly called by Lady Catherine De Borough. And the enigmatic, slightly rude hero with a heart of gold. All in all, it resembles a firangi version of a Bollywood movie. Upper class and lower class protagonists - an excellent conflict if there was one - hatred that blossoms into love - much more entertaining than the sappy stories - and clever quips and biting dialogues. But there is a freshness of the prose that I feel our films can hardly aspire to. But with the changi

There is something to be said about wada-pav. It is the ultimate comfort food for me, right in the line behind pani puri and warm mugacha dali chi khichadi .The crackle of the wada, the hard, crunchy exterior of the pav, the hot steam emanating from its deep yellow interior. The dry garlic chutney and the tamarind paste, the deep fried chillies that have crystals of salt stuck to it like minuscule diamonds... (Do not own the image!) There are very few places in Pune which prepare wada pav according to my taste. Joshi Wadewale, the erstwhile eatery famous for its wada pavs has disappointed me quite often with stone cold pavs and lukewarm wadas. No other famous joints have managed to tempt me. Indeed, there is only one place in Pune which can make my heart sing and bring tears of joy to my eyes. The wada pav is always heavenly and wonderful. Almost always, it is hot. If not, the taste makes up for the temperature. And that place is (drumroll, please), Bipin Snacks It is