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We can rightly call it a mirror of reflection that delineates the dark ugly truths, brings to light the beauty of this world, allowing the spectators to gaze into a world of dreams and reality. Last night was certainly indelible because I saw my first ever play. It was my first time visiting a theatre, witnessing the immense talent out there in the sodality, new young actors performing on the stage, first time is indeed special.

The play was named the Comedy Capsule, directed by Mr. Hardik Sha and was performed at the Rangoli Theatre. It was a compilation of six comedy plays, and each act had a different script. The concept was highly disparate yet hilarious with each act portraying different episodes of human life in a satirical manner. Though there were a few acts that turned out to be a little monotonous, but nothing in this world is black or white, there are some shades of grey too. Also, the acts exhibited no linkage among them, but overall the show was side-splitting, with satire being at its best.

sagarikawilliams

Monsoon marks a new start
The clouds had been heavy all day. And when they finally let go in the evening, it was as if the string of an old, worn out bracelet had snapped and the beads had collapsed onto the floor. At long last, the clouds stopped groaning from the discomfort of the weight they'd bottled in.
Several umbrellas flew open on the busy street like a bat's wings at the arrival of dusk. Dirt stuck to the ground like a recalcitrant child refusing to leave its mother's hand. The rainwater started swanning the single towards low-lying corners in alleyways that not even the ghosts of the dead frequented. The heat that was trapped in the ground began oozing out as the droplets seared over it like beads of sweat on a miner's forehead, cooling it, freshening it. Evoking the modern Narcissus to indulge in his beauty in the reflective concrete, the rain was reduced to a vice.
Skirts swept the muddied ground, trailing behind the hurrying ladies. Shoes clung to the sludge, refusing to budge. Arrogant cars sloshed dirty water in all directions, annoying the passersby to no end. Hair that had been punished with a heated iron, danced in all their curly, frizzy glory - it was an act of rebellion. Blurred spectacles rendered eyesight next to zero, and every object became a blob of some colour to the orbs they were trying to protect. Tongues peeked through lips that were open in wonder, to taste the water of the heavens, and rushed back in, for fear of being caught. We dragged the soaked doormats inside like waves of the ocean being rolled onto the shore. And the softly showered drops from that forgotten half-open window sparged the floor slick.
Somewhere, far away, pruned fingers strummed the strings of a guitar and the faded melody victoriously echoed through the splatter of the rain. Somewhere, two friends walked hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear and talking excitedly in their high-pitched teenage voices, creating a million memories in every second that drifted away like wisps of dandelion. Somewhere, a boy read a riveting thriller, the sound of rain completely obstructed by the stomping of his racing mind. Somewhere, the whiff of hot, freshly fried bhajiya sizzling in oil escaped into the air, making mouths water in sync with the clouds above. Somewhere, the buzz of the generator mixed with the beeps of email notifications and telephone rings and complaints about piles of work remaking and curses towards the rain for ruining a perfect workday. Somewhere, an old retiree retrieved intimate music records, turned them on, and drowned in a sea of nostalgia.
As the rainwater truckled down our windows, we wagered on the droplets as of they were racehorses, and we, the spectators, cheering them on and anticipating the triumphs of those innocent subjects of gravity. We reveled in the joy of the first rain, with no desire to let it go.
And when the rain stopped, everything fell quiet like the wick of a candle just after it has burnt to its last breath. And for a moment, just a solitary moment, all clocks stopped ticking, all boots stopped tapping, all heels stopped clicking, all frigs stopped croaking and all hearts stopped beating.
Everything came to a standstill and it was like a vintage photograph that carried the overwhelming aroma of beginning a fresh start.

sagarikawilliams

When a friend broke to me the news of A. P. J. Abdul Kalam's death, I found that I didn't flinch.

He was an aged man, 83 years old, and that he had passed away felt natural and unsurprising. I was beginning to find scores of mournful posts on my news feed, most of them with his picture - the familiar face framed in the whiteness of his hair, sometimes smiling, sometimes listening, sometimes rousing minds. I found I had no tears in my eyes for his death. It was as if I was untouched by this tragedy that had the nation weeping.

I also found that the image of Kalam in my mind - one that I've had since I first knew him - had not dimmed at this news. It was there, as bright as it had been before, unchanged. It was like the news had not relayed to my mind due to some error. Surely there should have been a change in that image, now that the man was dead?

Or, maybe there was no reason for that image to change at all.

We did not know A. P. J. Abdul Kalam because he was man who was alive and not dead. I am alive and not dead. Anyone who reads this line is alive and not dead. Being alive is no claim to prominence. We knew Kalam for what he was and what he did.

Perhaps, above all, he was a teacher; and a student too, as great teachers are wont to be. The people who loved him the most were students. He was also a servant of humanity, a pioneer of science, a patriot all his life. He was a brave man, and he was a good man. Not one of those have ceased to be true since yesterday.

Neither has his legacy gone to the grave.

Every torch burns itself down in giving light to the world. When its fire dies, we do not mourn the blackened, wooden stump that remains of it. We behold the army of flames it has left behind, and feel committed.

So my mind looked at me in askance - Do you want to mourn his 'death'? - and smiling, I responded - 'No.'

Old men and women die. That is what happens, and I am none the sadder for it. Kalam's passing does not bother me. I register the fact. As I walk my mindscape, my eyes meet his - as it has done many times before. He wants to tell me something, he wants to tell us all something.

His watch had ended, and he had passed. Our watch has not ended yet. He wants us to lift our torches now, lift our torches high, lift them in blazing defiance and face the long, dreary night that looms dark on the horizon.

We are bound to take up the mantle. This is not a ceremony of farewell. This is a coronation anew. A coronation of the minds he has ignited. This is a call for us to wage whatever battles lie ahead, and rise up on our wings of fire. Kalam's presence has raised itself to a higher order, we should see that it burns stronger than ever at this hour of need, and forever afterwards.

Indeed, he is out of sight.
But he taught us to see with more than our eyes.

sagarikawilliams

All you had to do was push a button and the dolls came to life, started to sing songs and dance, their slim arms flailing about in automaton sync with their feet. The dolls sang everything from nursery rhymes to upbeat Bollywood numbers. And every time one of those dolls stopped singing, we’d prod them inside out, banging their bodies, trying to get them to work again – to continue entertaining us, to keep on controlling them. Not to mention the fact that these pretty dolls came in various sizes, but they were all like similar triangles – each line, each angle perfectly corresponding. And each executed their acts in exactly the same fashion, like a choreographed and well practiced dance recital. We loved dressing them up in scraps of colourful and glittery clothes – our very own fashion models to primp and peel when we desire.
How pliant and vulnerable those dolls were, squeeze them just a little tight and our hands dented their perfect, fictile bodies. How compliant they were, playing the roles we wished them to – beauty queen, college girl, mother of two, wicked witch – they acted out every character we wanted them to impersonate, all the while, smiling with their fake lipstick-tinged full lips. We sang “I’m a Barbie girl / in the Barbie world / Life in plastic / is fantastic” and made them shake it to the beat, acquiring a strangely sadistic sort of pleasure in our authority over the lifeless, speechless selves.
Now I realize how much the Barbie dolls resemble today’s women.
Women whose waists shrink like a sweater left out in the rain. Hunger wrings their bodies out as they squeeze into pairs of skinny jeans, like a lemon pinched out of its juice, its rind and threads the only remnants. Torsos tucked into scraps of cloth that are barely visible. The veins protruding in their arms look like roads on the map to acceptance. With knob-like knees and elbows that send shudders through their bodies every time something brushes them. Their hip bones demarcating boundaries assumed to be crossed at first sight. Their collarbones so deep one could drink out of them and ribs that jut out of and stretch their paper skin as if they’re trying to escape the waxed cream-lathered prison.
Women counting calories like a stingy miser tallying his hoard. Heads reeling and mouths slack open, panting, from recurring nightmares of the needle on the weighing machine drifting towards the right; they suck their breaths in as they pose for a photograph. Fashion magazines become their mirrors of ‘Erised’, and their way of shrinking at the sight of reflective surfaces, a mirror of their self-confidence. Star-gazing and fun night-outs long-forgotten, beauty sleep wins the race. Buying clothes without trying them on seems like the dumbest idea because all the mannequins are perfect slim figurines with their porcelain skin and legs that go on forever. Having to suffer the humiliation of not being able to buy something beautiful because it only comes in small sizes. Daydreaming about the day they will wake up and discover, to their utmost surprise, that overnight they’ve transformed into a thinner, prettier and more likeable version of themselves and not being able to sleep at night for fear that that might not happen in the morning.
The only way a girl can feel secure in this world is if she has the perfect physique. The only way she can be accepted is if she complies with the norms. The only way she can survive in this dollhouse is by playing along with the other toys, at the hands of the stern and unforgiving puppeteers that orchestrate this internationally celebrated act.

sd98

A few chapters into the book, Sartre brings the first proper reference to the political background of the times. In the previous post I wrote about the personalities and private lives of the characters. With the introduction of Sarah and Brunet, Mathieu’s friends, the novel expands beyond the personal sphere into that of 1938 France. Sarah takes in a Jewish refugee as one of the pensioners in her house, which infuriates Brunet. Brunet receives information that this man might have been a spy earlier and hence cannot be trusted, but Sarah refuses to let him go. Perhaps they portray the two ways in which the French comprehended the conditions of a country that was at the edge of war.
As the discussion takes place, Sartre develops the characters of Sarah and Brunet for us, through Mathieu’s point of view. Brunet, especially, is described in great detail, because he is someone who affects Mathieu with his presence. He seems to find Brunet intimidating, he is terrified of being judged by Brunet. Brunet also depicts all the things Mathieu wants to be, but cannot. He says Brunet had an air about him, a worldly, revolutionary aura. In contrast, Mathieu sees himself, a philosophy teacher, as someone less important, with problems that seemed insignificant compared to those Brunet faced as a member of the Party. Brunet and Mathieu used to be good friends but drifted apart and through this encounter there is somehow more depth added to Mathieu’s character, as a person who clearly thinks a lot about everything, not necessarily expressing it always, a person who feels restricted.
The essence of Existentialism is freedom, according to Sartre, and Brunet enjoys a kind of freedom and agency that Mathieu is unable to get a hold of. Sartre depicts this very clearly by putting both of them in a scene together, where one is sure and decisive about his political opinions (Brunet) and the other is unsure and reluctant to share his thoughts due to the fear of being judged (Mathieu). Brunet exercises freedom through his confidence, while Mathieu is constantly holding himself back. I find it amazing that Sartre gives us an insight into both the personal and public life in the story, both at once, so naturally.

sanjita_mohanty9

Sanjita mohanty
1633152
ENGLISH HONOURS

Why always the same story?' being the tag line of the very famous movie Tamasha by Imtiaz Ali portrays various emotions of a human being which knows no limit. The lead role is played by Ranbir Kapoor as Ved who does not restrict himself in displaying feelings and sentiments which is apparently not acceptable by the society at large. Ved basically is a person from the corporate world living a very monotonous life among workaholics which actually is very frustrating to him as a person but he has gradually adapted himself to such kind of lifestyle. Now coming to the tagline as mentioned above Ved is very much into stories and mythologies. He grew up listening to stories which were narrated to him by a road side story teller who often mixed up the story lines. When once interrupted by Ved, he contradicts him by saying that nothing actually was different among all the mythologies and epics, they all were the same, they all had the same views and ideologies. He also points out the fact that Ved's own life story was the same as theirs. Ved being into stories was also a very good story teller. In the end of the movie he convinces his dad that he did not want to continue his job by showing him his extraordinary talent of storytelling.

To escape the monotony in his life, Ved takes a week off from his daily duty and goes on a trip to Corsica where he meets Tara. There is a scene in the movie where Ved decides to fake his identity as "Don" and similarly Tara as "Mona darling”. He says that he could possibly be in any form and any character he wanted to and did not have to think about the people around. “What happens in Corsica, stays in Corsica" is a dialogue from the movie sums up all the above explanations. Tara is really fascinated by the character of Don played by Ved and eventually happens to fall in love with it. Now talking about Don's character, he portrays himself as a person who did not care about the stereotypes present in the society rather questioned about the presence of these stereotypical thoughts. He was someone who conversed with the hills and mountains, drank water from the lakes, never got tired of exploring, and of course could build up innovative stories and entertain the crowd. After returning from Corsica Ved again switches to his previous routine which Tara is not able to accept. She kept questioning his real identity and always made him realize that he actually was pretending to be what he was at that point of time whereas his real identity was the character of Don enacted by him back there at Corsica. Throughout his life Ved never could convince his father that he was not meant for engineering and specifically hated maths as a subject. There is this clown introduced in the movie which apparently is a mockery made on his monotony and obligations.

In between the scenes, Ved often makes an imagery in his subconscious mind of the stories and mythologies narrated to him and moreover relates those to the incidents taking place in his own life. There is a scene where he asks the road side story teller about his own future story who then accuses him of being a coward and restricting his hearty feelings and desires due his fear of the society. This is when he realizes that only he could change his own story. My personal views after watching this movie were that we all have our emotions poured out on the incidents taking place accordingly but all that makes a difference is the only fact that we fail to express ourselves totally (as in 100 percent) in order to impress the society. We always express our personal sentiments keeping in mind the limitations and the restrictions that the stereotypical thought process of the society has set for us and as a result add on to our own loss.

Sanjita Mohanty

anisha123

Anisha Maitra
1633124
English Honours

An ignored dynamic character.

The Mahabharata epic mostly gives its importance to two female characters - Draupadi and Kunti. Women being emblematic of tradition and culture, the Kurukshatra is raged among the Pandavas and the Kauravas, ignited by the vastraharan of Draupadi who was the wife of the five pandava brothers. The Kunti-Karna conversation, that takes place before the Kurukshatra, is also considered to be very important and an important part of the Mahabharata. Many novels and many perspectives have been based on these two characters mostly and it is mostly controversial. Different authors have different perspectives. Different people belonging to different regions of India have different set of beliefs. Some even believe in different versions of the Mahabharata.
However one character that is mostly ignored by most people is Karna's second wife- Uruvi. Uruvi was the Princess of Pukeya and in Kavita Kane's novel " Karna's wife" she is portrayed as someone who is strong, intellectual and witty. Uruvi is aware of the hardships and the consequences of getting married to Karna. But she feels immense love for him, and despite her father's warnings, she chooses to get married to him. She is ridiculed and mocked by the society for choosing to marry an outcast, who was already humiliated and rejected before once by Draupadi on the occasion of her Swayamvara. However, Uruvi acts ignorant to what anyone thinks about her and embarks on a happy life with then man she loves. Her character is similar to that of Savitri in Toru Dutt's poem "Savitri ". Savitri is too portrayed as someone independent and as someone who does what she wills to do, as she too chooses to marry Satyavan despite being warned by her father and Narayan of his demise which would take place a year after his demise. Through Uruvi's eyes Mahabharata is portrayed in a feminist perspective as Uruvi unlike other wives has the confidence to contradict her husband Karna, and to raise her opinions and beliefs. Upon knowing about the assault of Draupadi and the role Karna played in it, Uruvi chooses to condemn his actions and raise her voice in the novel. Thus, there is a tint of anachronism in her novel, as the novel portrays ideals rooted in feminism. What is also very intriguing about the novel is the way in which Duryodhana, or the evil has been portrayed. Duryodhana has not been portrayed by Kane in a negative light. Rather it might make one question their earlier thoughts on Duryodhana as a very negative character in totality.

debosmita2209

This is a story written by Rabindranath Tagore about 20th century Kolkata . The story is about a bond of friendship between a fruit seller from Kabul and a little girl named Mini.
The fruit seller, Abdur Rehman Khan came all the way from Afghanistan leaving behind his wife and daughter to sell fruits in Kolkata. During those days these people from Kabul used to come to Kolkata to earn money and it was only at the end of the year that they went back to Kabul to meet their families. Mini was a cheerful and innocent girl of five years who had a curiosity about the world and unlike the society of those days, the protagonist (who is also the father of Mini) never stopped Mini from anything. One fine day, the fruit seller was walking through her colony when he saw her . He came near Mini to talk to her but she ran away. Abdur Rehman was tall, huge with a thick beard. He looked scary and carried a huge bag with him. In those days , parents used to refrain their kids from talking to these people by saying that they kidnap kids by putting them inside their bags. Mini’s father was an open minded person and made mini talk to that ‘kabuliwala’ (fruit seller). Mini was a chatterbox. She loved to talk. Every afternoon Abdur used to come to her house to talk to her . He used to give Mini raisins and dry fruits for free but the protagonist preferred to pay the price. Abdur was a father of a girl whom he had left in Kabul. She was just like Mini. He missed his daughter alot and it was Mini through whom he could see his daughter . Mini filled up the incompleteness in his heart with love and joy. Mini’s mother was not very fond of the friendship between them. She was scared cause Abdur looked like one of those kidnappers who used to flee away with kids but the protagonist never stopped Mini from talking to him ,even sometimes, he used to chat with him aswell. Mini’s father understood how much Abdur missed his family especially his daughter. Months went by, and it became a routine. Everyday Mini used to wait for the ‘kabuliwala’ and when he came she used to shout with happiness “ kabuliwala ! oh, kabuliwala!” . The story took a turn when one fine day Adbur got into a fight with a person who was supposed to pay him money . That person bought a afgani shawl from Abdur and kept on postponing the payment . When Abdur lost his temper he punched that guy. This led to imprisonment of Abdur for eight years .
Life went on. It was eight years later and Abdur was freed from the jail. He went to mini’s house. It was Mini’s marriage . Abdur had nothing to gift her , no money , no fruits , nothing. Mini’s father could not recognize him in the beginning . But as soon as Abdur gave that known smile , he recognized him. At first the narrator didn’t allow him to meet Mini. Abdur became emotional and showed him a small , old paper on which a handprint was there . Black charcoal hand print of Abdur’s daughter . The author understood what it meant . He called Mini who failed to recognize Abdur and went back to her room. Abdur’s face became all teary when he realized that his daughter has grown up and it’s time for her marriage as well. It’s been eight years and his family must be waiting for him. But he didn’t have money to go back. Realizing this Mini’s father cut off the budget of lights and other decorations of the wedding and gave the money to Abdur. He gave the money so that he can return to his hometown and give her daughter a good marriage . For mini’s father Abdur’s blessings to Mini mattered the most . Being a father he could understand Abdur’s love for his daughter whom he didnot meet for ages !
This story shows the lives of two fathers . Abdur left his daughter and family in Kabul to earn money in Kolkata . He found happiness by talking to Mini who was exactly like his daughter . On the day of Mini’s marriage the protagonist understood the pain of how it feels to live without a daughter since he knows that Mini would soon belong to some other family . That little girl Mini, grew up . The protagonist gave the money to Abdur so that he can finally meet his own daughter. Both of them were in pain. Abdur’s pain of not being able to meet his beloved daughter for so many years and the author’s pain of saying goodbye to his daughter, Mini after so many years.
I chose this book because the story is different which has a different kind of bond between people. The story is short and if you start reading you wouldn't know how quickly it ended. Tagore portrayed the love between a father and a daughter and the transfer of the same kind of love to a little girl. The story is brief, simple and fascinating . Everyone should read this book . Its heart touching and will leave a huge impact in your heart.

sashaabraham

I'm back for my final post on Romeo x Juliet! Let's now look at the differences and similarities between the play and the anime. First of all we have the major difference of an orphan Juliet dressed as a boy named Odin and the ruling house as Montague. In the play the Capulets and the Montagues are hostile families and allies to the ruler of Verona, Prince Escalus. In the anime we see that Escalus is not a prince but a magical tree that keeps the city floating. Then of course we have the ball scene where in the play it is Romeo that goes to a ball held by the Capulets but in the anime it is Juliet that goes to a ball held by the Montagues. We also have changed characters like Tybalt who in Shakespeare's play is Lady Capulet's nephew but in the anime he is Lord Montague's illegitimate son. In addition to that we have characers in the anime that did not exist in the play like Cordilia, Fransisco, Curio and Hermione. Although there are major differences of characters from the play, it helps the anime in its dramatization and add to the plot. It automatically becomes theatrical. Other major differences are Juliet's discovery of her destiny which is to devout her life to the Great Tree Escalus in order to save the city and her appearence as the' Red Whirlwind.' Another yet interesting difference is that of the flowers used as the symbol for the two houses which is not mentioned by hekespeare in the play. The Iris represents the House Capulet and also for Juliet's kind and innocent heart. The Rose stands for the House Montague and for Romeo's love and passion.
Moving onto the similarities, the most obvious one would be the concept of undefinable love between Romeo and Juliet but the rivalry of their family's stand in the way. They're love is ever eternal and the tragic death of the two. Both the play and the anime is dutifully able to portray the emotions of Romeo and Juliet. Benvolio acts as the peacemaker in both the play and the anime. We have a love struck Romeo and a rather confused Juliet as seen in both.
Apart from the differences and similarities, we can now look at the elements of magical realism. The floating city, Pegasus Steed, magic tree and the spell all so perfectly blend together in the anime. After all, what is anime without some magic and unnatural phenomena? The idea would have been bizzare if it were there in the play but makes sense in the anime but that''s what anime is all about. In the end, despite all the drastic differences and touch of magic both the play as well as the anime successfully captures the hearts of the audience. I hope that now you would be interested to go watch the anime and I recommend that you should if you are an anime lover. Trust me, you'll enjoy it.

Peace out!
Sasha Sosha Abraham
1633154

vandanahjugnarain63

No crooked leg, no bleared eye,
No part deformed out of kind,
Nor yet so ugly half can be
As is the inward suspicious mind.

No Crooked Leg, No Bleared Eye is an obscure poem which was written in Queen Elizabeth I’s ‘French Psalter’ or ‘Book of Psalms’. This poem is an insightful epigram which consists of four verses and which mirrors the Queen’s contempt and distrust in the members of the court. The title echoes a physical deformity as the ‘crooked leg’ and ‘bleared eye’ metaphorically symbolise the deformed inner self of an individual. The ‘inward suspicious mind’ of the individual is compared to a diseased and deformed part of the body. A ‘suspicious mind’ is normally one which is tormented, frustrated and irritated by its surrounding. This disturbed state of mind leads to destruction, complication and loss. From my perspective, the Queen might be warning individuals against the destructive forces of the ‘suspicious mind’, as suspicion leads to a negative perception of life.

priyaljain

~~WORDS~~

Hey..!

Are words always required?

Can’t expressions do the same job?

And what about the photographs?

Don’t they speak a lot

And touch one more?

They can break you.

They can mend you.

They can do everything...

Everything to you...!

Just a click...

A click...

By a person

Of a person

Can transform a person

To a changed one.

priyaljain

This evening

Look around, what do you see?

Red and yellow lights flickering.

What do you hear?

Sound of the unmelodious horns blowing.

Am I lost? No I am not.

Just stuck amidst the smoke,

With no hopes to escape.

Time just flies by,

And, Ah! I sit in this car

Waiting for the lights to go green

Waiting to escape theses roads,

And reach to a place calm and composed.

To a place where I belong.

A place where my heart belongs.

priyaljain

A place I call HOME.

Different people. Different perceptions.

Varied conceptions. Mixed emotions.

A place of beauty,

Called ‘the Switzerland of India ‘.

Where is it?

Where is it lost?

Has it ceased to exist?

O Dear, please help me find my HOME.

It sends chills down my spine,

To see a place of such immense beauty,

Turn into a place of homicide.

How can the people be so heartless?

How can they kill their own fellow mates?

Have they gone insane, or

Have their minds gone of the rail?

God, help them!

They have lost their senses.

Save them,

Or else they will kill themselves.

anjali_vij

'The funny thing is, on the outside, I was an honest man, straight as an arrow. I had to come to prison to be a crook.' - The Shawshank Redemption

It is a very difficult decision to watch a very hyped about - doing the rounds of classics - movie. On one hand, there is this excitement of being able to contribute to the talk regarding the movie but what largely nags us is the question - What if it isn't worth it? What if it doesn't really lives up to the hype? The Shawshank Redemption is one such movie for me.

For starters, it is no ordinary movie. It is not about a common man's everyday life to which extraordinary things happen sort of a movie. It has nothing remotely familiar or on the lines of love. Hell, the only women in the movie are the ones that are frozen in the posters on the wall of Andy Dufresne's cell. All in all, it is a prison movie and no life in a prison is a fairy - tale. The Shawshank State Penitentiary is a 'salvation station' for all offenders - Red, Heywood, Brooks and even, Andy - of moral and legal laws to redeem themselves into civilized human beings. But, it is not only just that.

This movie is a mirror to the world of corruption we all facilitate, even if unconsciously. It is such an enticing guilty pleasure that even the warden and guards of the much reputed prison are entangled in its web. The first scene where this corruption comes alive is when Byron Hadley, the captain of guards, almost drops Andy from the roof they are working on. But, by giving legal advice on how to shelter the money - received through inheritance - from paying taxes, Andy saves his life and even wins free alcohol. This scene triggers a chain of corruption within the prison such that every other guard and worker employs Andy to manage their financial matters. It reaches to such an extent, that guards from other prisons also arrive to take help from Andy's financial and legal expertise. Even the warden isn't spared.

Andy is the banker of the prison. Funny, how he was mocked in the beginning for being a 'smart' banker who killed his wife and still got into prison. To cite exact words of Hadley - 'Why should I believe a smart banker like you? So I can end up in here with you?' Isn't it ironic that Hadley was the first customer of Andy in the prison? And Hadley is the one who protects Andy from any violence and harm. The humour!

Another major corruption that is brought to light is the siphoning off of money by the warden to a fictional person's legal account and how it is the warden who has the most amount of dirty money running under the place. Yet, it is Andy - the convicted murderer, the sinner who needs rehabilitation - who uses the profits of this money to build a library and helps get other dozen guys their high school diploma.

The narration is ripe with irony but is portrayed through such moral detachment and triviality, almost like a smart joke, that the point hits straight at home.

But, this ain't a corruption movie, you see.

This is a prison movie and prisons are so much more than that.

Want to know more? Stay tuned for the next posts.

naina_23

Everything and nothing
Here and there
Where can one wander,
When the mind is unaware?
Have you looked closely
At the setting sun
At what we've become
If nothing is the truth
And everything is a lie
What is left of anything,
When one is prone to die?
Where are your gods, and all those great men?
The days are dark, the nights fall like death
And on some days, the moon leaves it's mark,
The secrets that it hides, as the world is in the dark.

Are all great minds condemned to sin?
I walk on this path,
Bright as it seems,
Who knows what lies beyond those trees?
Things are unknown, and what cannot last
Save for that unsightly beast you keep masked
One day shall reveal what the night keeps unknown,
Behold the nothingness, that inside us all, grows.

raunaqbhatti

In life, we are used to the black and the white. Most of us prefer it, having things out in the open and clear. We want the clear dichotomies to rule and leave no space for ambiguities. But most often than not, this is not the case. No matter how much we may like it, life has its grey areas too. A common place for these 'greys' is in the portrayal of many characters in movies, books, TV shows, etc. Growing up we got used to the fact that the good guy is pure, virtuous, honest and courageous; in contrast to the evil, vindictive, bad guy who is up to no good. Good triumphs over evil is what we believed in, but as we grew up we see that many characters are not so transparent in their orientations. I have watched movies and read books where the protagonist had questionable morals, and wondered why this bad guy was the “main guy”. A few google searches lead me to my answer, the antihero.

Dictionary.com describes the anti-hero as a “protagonist who lacks the qualities that make the heroic figure, like idealism, courage or morality”. These are individuals who possess certain attributes like aggressiveness, selfishness and ignorance, which are imperfections that separate them from heroic figures. These features are often dark, usually attributed to villains. In fact, anti-heroes blur the lines between the protagonist and the antagonist. The literary anti-hero can be seen across all times, and is not a new archetype, though it has recently gained unprecedented popularity. Certain movies and TV shows have anti-heroes that are crowd favourites. The most popular example would be Deadpool, the highly skilled, wise-cracking but amoral mercenary. Deadpool is not bad enough to be a villain, but not good enough to be a hero. Thus he falls right into the category of an anti-hero. What makes him a hero is that he usually fights the guilty. When he fights the guilty, he is in turn protecting the innocent. It is this fine line between innocence and guilt that makes him who he is. This is only a prominent example of an anti-hero. Jason Bourne (The Bourne Trilogy), Han Solo (Star Wars), Captain Jack Sparrow (The Pirates of the Caribbean), Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby), Amy Dunne (Gone Girl), Tyler Durden (The Fight Club), Don Draper (Mad Men), Saul Goodman (Breaking Bad) etc, are just some characters that blur the moral lines between good and bad.

Anti-heroes are increasingly become well-liked characters among audiences. People are rooting for the villain, now more than ever. But why do we love them? Why do we want to root for people who cheat and steal and lie? What does this say about us? We love them because of the portrayal of the character is realistic. It understands the selfish motives and flaws of people. We want to cheer on the people who are like us, in their faults and mixed morals. They make us feel better about the lies we tell or the crimes we commit (not that we’re all criminals). We get consoled about our own failings and mistakes when we see our favourites doing the same on screen or on paper. They’re complex characters as well. We all have our own emotional hardships, and when we see the characters with the same turmoil as ours, they end up being more relatable. Also like the hero, the anti-hero is a strong character, even though they make lack the moral standing. He gets what he wants, by hook or by crook. An anti-hero is often the underdog, even when we don’t agree with them we find ourselves cheering for them.

Why the definition of anti-heroes matters is so we know where the line is to be drawn. Even in a fictional universe, the world breaks down into black and white and it is up to us how to differentiate the two, keeping in mind all the shades of grey.

xenonese_nabanita

Old Love-Jeffrey Archer

Jeffrey Archer is known for his stories of mystery and intrigue. However, we can say that 'Old Love' is an out of the box tale for Archer. It can definitely be called predictable but such is the manner of the text that the reader sits through it just to watch the "expected" happen.

'Old Love' revolves around Philippa and William, two English literature undergraduates in the Oxford University. "They hated each other from the moment they met" sets the reader for the obvious unforgettable journey abounding in love. “Love at first sight” it is not, but definitely, “love at first fight”. From the moment they met, they had their differences. From the moment they met, they contradicted each other. From the moment they met, they were always in a hurry to prove themselves better in every way possible.

Tagged as the brightest pair of pupils in the class, William and Philippa were said to be “teaching each other most of the time”. Their tutor merely acted as a referee. Both were highly ambitious and academically sound. There was no end to their taunt and witty remarks. Also, they would leave no stone unturned to achieve their goals and outwit the other.

They both would stand as toppers in their class. Also, the Charles Oldham prize essay competition saw them share the first position after which, they get married.

Even after their marriage, they would not put down their walls and both worked rigorously, like there was something left to prove, even if, to each other.

This story engages the reader very dearly and leaves him/her breathless with its heartbreaking yet beautiful ending.

How does it end? You definitely have to read it to find out. :)

Current Mood: optimistic

sd98

Having picked up this book off the library shelf merely because one of my teachers mentioned Sartre in passing, I was completely unaware of what it held or how it was written. The Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre is the first book of his unfinished Roads to Freedom series. I had a vague recollection of Sartre being a philosopher, one of the most famous, who dealt majorly with existentialism. The blurb talked about a man dealing with a crisis in the politically unstable background of 1938 France.
Admittedly, it took me a long while to actually begin reading, and then even longer to get past the first chapter. Not much has happened over the first few chapters, presumably since two days are described over three hundred pages. Though written in third person, the narrative is intensely descriptive, we go through every thought that passes through their minds. It feels like looking through a window into someone's brain; Sartre takes us on a journey inward. From the little I do know about Sartre, I know that to him his literature and philosophy were inseparable. His writing was a vehicle for his thoughts, or as Coulte put it, it was his way of bridging the gap between himself and the world.
As for the story so far, I feel like there are a lot of things that I cannot really relate to, but it still makes sense. Both Mathieu and Boris are always preoccupied with thoughts about their life, the meaning of life, their place in the world, searching for what they want, trying to find answers through quiet contemplation- the essence of Existentialism, which is Sartre's area of expertise. Both the characters ponder a lot on growing old and both their female companions act like an extension of their conscience, asking questions and reflecting through their actions what the two male characters are thinking of themselves. The general plot is trudging along but the spotlight remains on the characters so far. It has left me with a lot to think, because I'm having to reread most of the lines trying to grasp what Sartre is saying. I can understand most of it, but in an abstract way, as one might understand gravity in a Physics crash course. I am able to get the essence, but not really realise what is causing those thoughts in their heads, or how it feels like to have those thoughts. I feel like a spectator, quietly watching the story unfold.

anjalishekhawat_98

I am sure my last post must have crippled you with suspense. Louisa overhears a conversation and finds out that Will is going to end his life in Switzerland within two months time. She is left shattered with the thought and tries every possible way to make Will believe in life once again. She tries to take him to adventure trip to Mauritius specially design for quadriplegic but it is sad to see that nothing seems to work out for him and is just not enough. Will is adamant to commit suicide and get over with life. The novel ends with death of will which is very heart rendering. This also exposes us to questions of questions; should people like Will be given right to die or grant Euthanasia? Who knows what pain is inflicted upon Will, what mental anguish he must be going through or how much he was actually living? It is easy to tell them that there is light towards the end of tunnel but very difficult to actually go through dark tunnel of life, it is easy to make them look at a life ahead of them but very difficult while sitting on wheelchair, it is easy to show them the possibilities but very difficult to make it possible. We don’t know weather Will did a right thing but what is more important is that now He is a free man and is going to be at peace ever after relieved from any sort of pain or agony. Sometimes right or wrong is not as easy as black or white and let’s leave it to each one the choices they want to make. Everyone embraces life differently as they say life may not be the party you wished for but while you are here let’s keep up the dancing.
Life is enigmatic and is far beyond to be judged.

anjalishekhawat_98

The book is an adventure, I am now reading the 2/3 part of it and it is fun. The two now starts talking and become good friends. They know each other well and spend a lot of time together without being awkward. Will discovers that Louisa is the ocean of love and possibility; she doesn’t have her whole life planned out but is very carefree and unapologetic about it. She enjoys life as it comes by ‘one day at a time’ as they say. Will does not approve a life like such, he wants her to take risk, travel world, try adventure sports, be a sport. It is amusing to see that how subjective HAPPINESS can be! Where Louisa finds joy in little things and does not aspire big dreams but wants to stay near her parents in small town, Will thinks that she is wasting her life.
We embrace life differently and that is what is unique about us. Comparing one person to another or one’s life to another is the saddest thing we can do. Our life is our life and we don’t have to justify why it is so! Will sympathise Louisa’s life because she has the potential to actually live her life before it is taken over by sad turns as that of his. Life gives you bruises but it is important to remind yourself that it heals it too. Happiness is not always big or far-fetched, it can be attained through simple things too is what Louisa thinks. Will fear such a life. Remy –a rat from Ratatouille says that “the only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability.”
The climax hits the reader hard when you know that Will is going to end his life after two months, yes -he is planning a suicide. Stay tuned the best is yet to come!

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engh_2016

September 2016

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Page Summary

vedanshi_mishra - The Comedy Capsule..
sagarikawilliams - New Beginning
sagarikawilliams - If you want to shine like a sun,first burn like a sun.
sagarikawilliams - All the world's a stage and all the men and women are merely players.
sd98 - The Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre- 2
sanjita_mohanty9 - TAMASHA
anisha123 - (no subject)
debosmita2209 - THE FRUIT SELLER FROM KABUL
sashaabraham - The Great Mix
vandanahjugnarain63 - No Crooked Leg, No Bleared Eye by Queen Elizabeth I
priyaljain - WORDS
priyaljain - This evening
priyaljain - A place I call HOME.
anjali_vij - The 'Moral Police'
naina_23 - Nothingness
raunaqbhatti - The Hero, the Villain and Somewhere in Between
xenonese_nabanita - 'Cause its love at first fight
sd98 - Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre- 1
anjalishekhawat_98 - The Last Phase
anjalishekhawat_98 - Seize the day!

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