IndigOranges

"Time is like a flower, Krishna said once. I didn’t understand. But later I visualized a lotus opening, the way the outer petals fall away to reveal the inner ones. An inner petal would never know the older, outer ones, event tough it was shaped by them, and only the viewer who plucked the flower would see how each petal was connected to each others. The petal of this afternoon opened like a red sigh..." Some lines from Chitra Banerjee's book -The Palace Of Illusions. A offbeat perspective to the epic called mahabharat from the eyes of Draupadi. Been reading a lot of this kids of literature, books that offer a alternate view of our epics, differing perspectives and viewpoints, that are not limited by self inflicted religious dogma. Books that provoke the reader to think beyond the tutored notions of divinity, that make you think beyond what we have read, seen and been taught. Here, we are offered a view of the epic where the protagonists exhibit a humanity that we can id

This is a disclaimer for those who have come across this pot for the purposes of judging my writing abilities for a possible job position in their right honorable enterprise: I can Write Better!!! This is not the kind of stuff i usually write! Don't judge me by this post. Well, you can. who's stopping you. This is a idea that most normal guys do get in their heads at least once a day, and then turn around and tell their next cubicle buddy about it (when i say cubicle i dont mean the one in the office). It takes some one totally depressedly insane like me to actually put it on a blog. Here goes my insane idea of the week: My friend G, a very amiable fellow, good to drink with, good person to have wordly downlifting discussions on the female sex, and other less painful topics in general and corporal, he with his very..lets say..interesting hindi accent that clearly show which side of walayar checkpost he is from. To add to his qualifications, back in our college days, he was the

I can smell the change in the air.Its hardly being six hours back in this state and already i feel better. Or maybe it's just the coconut oil. A sensation one gets when you prise open the ancient door and the windows after you come home after a long long time. The windows refuse to open and it takes effort to coax them to let the sunlight through their defences. The door takes more effort, creaking its stubborness loud to its masters. After all, it has been there longer than any of these new people crossing its threshold. The children enter and anounce their presence by jumping on the sofa covered by a blanket, moth eaten and mouldy. The sofa replies by emitting a cloud of dust so thick the children dissappear in it. They emerge shrieking and overjoyed to be in this strange place, the one that their parents used to say so much about all the time; a place where the sounds of the cars and buses have been replaced by cows and crows. There's no early morning rush to get ready for s