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Showing posts from September, 2010

Yanthiran; The Robot.

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This piece of laugh drug was sent to me by my friend Aswathi, who is now in Germany with her husband. I am a great fan of Rajnikant and this mail gave me a good belly laugh, and obviously for those too who would love to have some harmless fun out of the Living Legend. His fans are awaiting his new film Yanthiran, The Robot. The Indian Commentator wishes him all the very best on this occasion. I request his fans not to take this post as any sort of attempt to disgrace the Super Star, and I remind you all that I myself am a great fan of him.



Here is the mail I received from Aswathi:

4 Those Who Don’t Know Who Rajnikanth is?

1. When Rajinikanth does push-ups, he isn't lifting himself up. He is pushing d earth down.

2 .Rajnikanth can divide by zero.

3. Rajinikanth can delete d Recycle Bin.

4. Rajinikanth can slam a revolving door.

5. Rajinikanth once kicked a horse in d chin. Its descendants are today cald giraffes.

6. Rajinikanth can make onions cry.

7. Rajnikanth can drown a fish.

8…

Don Delillo and ONV. Kurup

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You call my today as: 24th September 2010 in India. And it is important for this day to be specified. For this day has given me an opportunity to cross the barrier of the normal or the ordinary. For me, the ordinary consists of the consistent flow of the present time. But today, I experienced a juxtaposing of the past and the present, in my intellectual environment—something that undid my ordinary relationship with the present time. The evening news of the day and an internet news paper reminded me of two great figures in literature, who were my inspiration and figures of respect in two different periods of my life. Mr. Don Delillo, and Mr. ONV. Kurup; the former belongs to my present literary career as a part of my understanding of world literature and the latter belongs to a stage in my life that could be called the beginning of my understanding of literature, during my teenage and youth; have now once again registered their presences not just in my subjective environment but also i…

The Four and the Sea

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Muzhappilangad beach is one of the best driving beaches in India. But driving at the beach causes a lot of environmental problems. The mollusks and crabs that washed ashore along with the waves are crushed under the wheels of the vehicles. Speed is just another thing that fascinates people apart from the waves and the healthy sea breeze. And speed is the only such thing that even being part of their unalterable fascinations, they can create and experiment with. So every one reaching the beach with a vehicle, be it an auto rickshaw, tests their speedometers at least once.

But the four were that day to explore the natural destination. We—Ajay Sangeeth, Adarsh, Chiyan, and I—were the four. We had been invited. Our invitee was a very special entity—nature. It is the rejuvenating natural beauty of the beach that lured us, pulled us, or in more ‘civilized’ terms invited us to that spot. But the fact was that none of us had any idea about what we were going to experience at the beach, except…

The Psychotic

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“I am absolutely sure about the rising of the sun, the phases of the moon, the seasons, the time tables, the school schedules, but I am surprisingly naive about my self.” [Anu Lal-- Published in Facebook: Friday at 20:18.]
I felt my mind losing its final threads with life. There was a region of darkness developed around me. I could not see beyond it. I could not hear beyond it. I could not understand anything beyond it. The region of darkness existed within my hand’s reach. It was tangible. But it had obliterated the world, the life, and the perception that I believed, existed out side it. I knew it existed, because I had seen it before the enveloping of the dark veil.

Then, I could here voices—assertive and imperative. They asked everything out of me. I decided to communicate with them. But they did not seem to listen to me. I suspected the dark veil might be the reason why they could not hear me screaming. Their voices became louder and louder. It started blaring. My ears burst.
Then,…

Distances

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We met at a distance of a stretched hand.
We parted.
But the day I recovered your image-
In my dreams,
You were near,
Like the memory of a stretched dream:
Far away though,
Close to the distance of my eyelids.

The Journey Downward.

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“This is our strength, to love death to feel the claim of armed martyrdom.”—Says one of the terrorist characters in Don DeLillo’s novel Falling Man. On this year marking the 9th anniversary of the September 11 attacks this piece of literary imagination seems holding a crucial ground. DeLillo’s novelistic endeavor captures the flutter and fury of the unforgettable moment in the history of the most powerful nation on earth. Though the novel fails to raise any crucial existential issues, as the family shown as the central concern of the novel deals with issues and concerns that could be seen in any other good chick lit, coming to its ending pages, this work of fiction captures some real action and raises significant questions.
The novel stretches its lines from philosophical reflections ranging from God, and Communism to the religion of Islam and racism. Apart from that what makes the novel crucial in the socio-politico-cultural context of the present day world, is its backdrop. The novel…

A Journey: Tony Blair's Literary Nonsense.

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The stain from blood is not very easy to remove especially, by selling books. Do not doubt the sanity of this statement. This statement is completely part of my conscious thinking and understanding about Tony Blair’s new book. The sanity of the human state is not necessarily a self evaluation, but an identity, a label, by the society or a part of the space that one occupies in the society.

In a human life, sanity and insanity never juxtapose or lay side by side. There is therefore, no dividing line between both. There is only a battle, just like the one happened in Afghanistan. And then, there is only one result too, victory or failure—sanity or insanity. One conquers the other; ravishing, destroying and tearing apart the loser. But you or I will never realize what rules us; sanity or insanity. Yes, some one will shout at us from the corner of the street—there goes the mad one! Then in the darkness imposed by the momentary consciousness, we realize a faint glint: only those who are sa…

September 11: The Life of the Dead

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This year marks the 9th anniversary of the September 11 attacks.The endless pain and torturous reality presents itself as if the dead specimen of an animal preserved in a paraffin jar unable to let lose its ferocity even after its death; its life before death captured and kept in tact inside the jar; the same way the attacks remain in our minds with the same morbidity, even after these long nine years.
The war on terror that the USA started before nine years has already faced unprecedented criticisms from allies and critics alike concerning the real aims of the war, the causalities in the army taking part on the operations, etc. But still, the war on terror remains a battle between the one who finds it his ultimate delight to register his mortality in the war, and the one whose fear for death is total and utmost.
The enemy and his war strategies are as new to the Western allies as the barbarism in the valleys of the Middle East are primitive. On the ninth year of the terror strikes, …

kate Humble Seen.

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Kate Humble, the world renowned BBC anchor, was seen at one of the beautiful beaches in Malabar, known as Muzhappilangad. She was with a crew directed by the well-known director of Lion TV, Paul Sapin, for a programme for BBC, named “Spice Trail”.




The six member crew was busy with shooting. And then a group of four young people arrived at the beach, which before a few minutes was deserted to the total. There was concern on the face of the crew. If the prominent faces in the team attracted attention and the beach became crowded, they would not be able to continue their work. They had no special security guards or experts of crowd handling there, as they always had when shooting in big cities like NY, or London. Their complacency in this relatively obscure place could lead them into danger?

They stopped working and discussed their concerns and finally decided to move on with the shooting as the very next day they had to catch the airplane to UK. Moreover, the four did not seem to be tro…

Life and War

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For a moment, mind halts from its race. It turns quickly back. It stares at me. “Why did you do this?”—it asks. “Why did you make your life a place for permanent agony; constant conflicts, a battlefield?” The questions seem to echo through my skin and through each of the bones that gives me the thought of permanence and the classical solace of a structure. I look for an answer. Then find there is no answer, as always happened with me. In order to dilute the situation, to be attentive, or at least as an attempt to prove myself truthful to the human community, I invented a way—I decided to give a justification.
It would be easy to deal with something complicated, full of unpremeditated urgency, like life, when it is conceived as war; a battle for survival: I said.
And there in the backdrop of that thought, reined a fear—the fear of being caught in the game of make belief, in the war. Because like life, the war too, is a complicated system of things with the only surety in offer—the bina…

Accusations-III

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I swirl my sword, While the last breath of Life flutters away. I won’t accuse you any more, For mistaking my deed As arrogance I keep. I expect you’ll understand, I live a warrior’s death.

Accusations-II

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I accused you,
You accused me back,
Mine was a lament,
A question… “Why?”
But yours was-
Blindness by the sorrow,
I know you bled tears.
But between us there was-
Silence; among all the condescension,
As the indelible mark-
Of love left behind.

Change

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Thereis only one thing in this world that is at once desired and despised for its deeply influential powers. From Barak Obama to Osama Bin laden, you and me, every one is the same in front of its invincible power; bewildered, hoping for the best to come out, praying for the moment to hold. That thing, my friend, as you might have already guessed, is change. Here is a beautiful poem that talks about one such instance.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
"Change Upon Change" Five months ago the stream did flow, The lilies bloomed within the sedge, And we were lingering to and fro, Where none will track thee in this snow, Along the stream, beside the hedge. Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go! For if I do not hear thy foot, The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root: And why, since these be changed since May, Shouldst thou change less than they. And slow, slow as the winter snow The tears have drifted to mine eyes; And my poor cheeks, five months ago Set blushing at thy praises …

Accusations

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“Eli, Eli, la’ma sabach.tha’ni?”—Matthew 27:46
I accuse you of betrayal, I get peace, exhausted. You accuse me back:
"You too!"
May be the stupidity of the moment,
That we believe accusations console.