THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

Image Courtesy: Google An old storyteller lived in the mountains in the eastern part of Malabar. His wife often complained about the lack of any human companion to their solitary dwelling. There was always a reason the storyteller told his woman; “I learn my stories from this solitude, my dear Chakky.” Silence was the only option the old woman had, since she knew that the family survived on the money the folks in the market place offered for the tales the old man told. And it was into this region of sulking silence the young aspiring storyteller came, one day. He was there to learn the art from the master. The old woman celebrated his presence by cooking various delicacies for the student and the master. One day the student went to town and came back with a cloud of disappointment over his face. His eyes were red as if he had cried a lot of sorry hours out. “Now, would you ever ask him what happened?” the old woman forced the storyteller. The heart of the woman perhaps ha...

“Judge us not equally, Abraham. We may all deserve hell, but some of us deserve it sooner than others.”   ―   Seth Grahame-Smith ,   Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter Coming soon: Image Courtesy: Google Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter Book Review They are the undead. Their energy levels parallel nothing a human can match. They are on prowl to keep their thirst satiated. There should be a hunter to hunt them all down. Here is one in history—Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR reviews the latest book sensation by Seth Grahame-Smith. Make sure you do not miss a drop of it. 

“There is a crack in everything that is how the light gets in”— Leonard Cohen. Image Courtesy: Google When a story is born angels smile. They rejoice with God, for a story is the writer’s resurrection under the shade of words, calling for spaces so close to the signs with endless meaning, the young writer thought. He was sitting alone nearby a river, which was deep enough to swallow even a huge mountain. He was about to make the most crucial decision in his life; suicide. The sun shone brightly in the sky. Tears dried up on his cheek. He stood up and moved, closer to the river. His feet crushed the gravel on the edge of the cliff, where he stood listening to the thunder of the roaring waves that leapt up to devour the shadows the mountains around caste. Then he heard a voice—human voice. It could be an animal too. He had decided how the end of his life must look like. Therefore whatever came across was nothing worth bothering about. It was a sin, according to his tradit...

III Image Courtesy: Google I did not know if my story would be comprehensible for this little kid who was just going to have his first days in school. He might not understand what doing a job actually meant. Perhaps he was just looking at the gold coins Godlove had received, in which case my story failed. But there was something I learned from Rekha, just ten minutes before when she mentioned reading a few chapters of my memoir: that whatever one does in the quest for personal wisdom, affects the cosmos profoundly. If the personal attempt is truthful enough, it can have the capacity to bring infinite change.   “God bless you Rahul!” I said. He smiled at me once again and holding his mother’s arm stepped into the drizzle. Rekha thanked me and said, “Your words are blessed, Lal sir.” If only she knows how the story came to me, I thought. “Thank you!” __END__

II I always felt father-like when a kid touches my hands. I could not see Rahul’s hands, although I did feel his touch on my right arm. He was holding it. I could not see his face properly. Everything around me was a blur. No one talked. I could hear someone sniffling. It was Rekha. I could not see her, either. I blinked away some watery membrane that calloused over my eyes and made my vision fuzzy. Then, I told the story: Image Courtesy: Google When the prime minister of One’thumbria woke up that day, he found a messenger from the king on his doorstep. He knew something would be wrong. That was unusual—a messenger from the most powerful person in the kingdom. Usually he would wake up at about 6 in the morning and after all his morning chores went to the palace with a bag in his hand. Once the Minister was told what to do, the messenger went back. A heat of anxiety rose inside the minister. He was told to do one of the most difficult jobs he had ever faced. ...

Image Courtesy: Super Stock I The calling bell rang and I opened the front door. It was drizzling outside. There was a chilled breeze that kept the hairs on my hand and neck upright. A middle aged woman stood there with the hand of a little boy on her left hand. She smiled. I had to smile and invite her inside. My family came out too. “I will take coffee, you sit, make yourself comfortable,” my mother offered. The woman, with the little boy sat on the chairs I gestured them to. I was in my daily work; I must bang in a couple thousand words each day. I am a writer, by design, desire and the divine. “This year my Rahul is joining school, first standard,” the woman’s voice rang up as I was returning to my den. I turned towards her to be a polite neighbour , intended in listening to a guest. “Great!” I said. The woman was looking at me. “That’s wonderful news Rekha!” I heard my mother from kitchen in her top voice. “How old is he?” “Now five,” Rekha said. “I ...

The Devotion of Suspect X begins with the literary subtlety, maturity of scenes and simplicity that are peculiar to Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. A writer of many novels and short stories, Keigo Higashino has an inclination towards mystery fiction. He is also the current president of the Mystery Writers of Japan. The engineer turned writer won the Edogawa Rampo Award for the unpublished finest mystery work. There is no denying that he weaves effective plots and riveting chapters from available, easy to connect situations and ordinary humans.   Keigo Higashino   Image Courtesy: Google The translation in English has been done by Alexander O. Smith with Elye J. Alexander. Whether it is the kotastu table or the Shinozaki station, the elements of Japanese cultural and social life emerges tangible and with inevitable certainty. The fiction in the book absorbs the cultural reality and holds firm to it, making the culture a part of its fictional landscape. In...

I have been informed by some of my friends and readers that there is a misunderstanding about some references made in the series of blog posts titled: Life Scrap, The memories from an accident . This is my memoir in which I intended to portray the day when a horrible bus accident occurred and I was narrowly saved from death. I would like to make it clear that this blog or any of the posts made in it are never meant to be disgraceful to person(s) or places. If any such misunderstanding occurred, and anyone directly or indirectly involved with any of the references are hurt, I regret it truthfully and register my unconditional apologies on the matter. It is therefore notified to all readers that all the posts in the memoir titled, Life Scrap will be removed until I analyze them for references or areas, direct or indirect—if any—that could have been taken as a harmful remark on any individual(s) or places. With heartfelt regret and apologies, The Indian Commentator A...