Parul's Journal

Of Graphic Novels and Novelties Another semester ends and the craving for a fiction work sets in motion. I came across a review of a graphic novel in an impressive review magazine. And then, chanced upon it. Novel idea. On the whole, that is. The story, not very novel maybe. Kari is about survival. Of the heart and the mind. In a crowded alienated train, on her bed next to the dam bookshelf, on the water tank of the building, in discovering new roads on the same path, in fornicating with a stranger to even the 2 or 3mm buzz cut. It was a disappointment when the pages finished actually. I was hoping for more. The discontinued continuities and the condensed moments made up for intense and unrelenting impression. The graphics, some were very impressive, a few were thoroughly disappointing. Nevertheless, the description of the city, the urban life and the alienation, I assume are very effortless. And that is why they flow so effortlessly. The pain, separation, attraction and the wish to lo...

"WATER HARVESTORS OF RAJASTHAN" Protecting an increasingly scarce resource There are no substitutes for water, unlike any other resource. Fresh water resources are thinning rapidly today. In our times water is a resource without which imagining life would be immensely problematic. In the media these days- radio channels and newspapers in Delhi- there has been a rise in the advertisements that emphasize on the importance and need of harvesting water. Owing to the presence of Aravallis, the state of Rajasthan falls in the rain-shadow area. The Thar Desert is one of the densely populated deserts among the world. The state is one of the driest regions in the country and the total surface water resources in the state in only about 1% of the total surface water of the country. The water resources are not just scarce but also highly uneven both in time and space. Groundwater also plays an important role especially in agriculture and drinking water supply. It was being over exploited...

throw the spotlight right on her face, hidden like this in the dark; lets see her; make her glow.... she smiles, with a bright small moon up on the bombed out hill, with the innocence of the snow down by the river.

from the MATRIX "There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path".

On 'Sumthing of a Mocktale' by Soma Das -- where Kurta fell in love with Jeans after the semester ended, i was keen on getting back to lay my hands on some fiction. chanced upon..this new work by a first time writer-PH.Dstudent of Geography -on our very own JNU. somebody made an effort..and alot was left unsaid. its not a big book, a light read actually. the descriptions of PSR,ganga dhaba..tapti..the Centre..most important-the people and their lives...i realised that the places and their purposes change, the people and their lives do not in JNU. true, that there are professors who are the way they are described in the chapters...the friends and their ambitions are also like that. but what kaya and her friends go through is the average story of all the kayas and their friends across the campus. altho i would say that she missed out on alot too. the halla bol, the strikes, the politics and much more. the place is magical as it provides inspiration and depression both, dependin...

NB : are u trying to test the balance of reality..? TB : maybe..all that is there..the patterns in time..the twisted perceptions..when the darkness blinks, the silent dance of the shadows..and the distance between our souls. . all of them.

Boondon se baatein ..... On the Marina Beach last week..i hated the rain drops that came phat-phat-phat(as Sam said) on us..there was no shelter n no place to hide..so we ran..and the chilly wind(read 'chilly') caught us..with sand on our feet..water everywhere on us...n ppl singing around us(!!)...i realised i am not much of a rain fan.. Sitting at home now..i can hear the rain drops..i can see from the window..as they fall on the green grass in our lawn..i can see a cat shaking itself.. somehow..sitting inside and looking at the rain seems better..!!! its the monsoons again.. everything around is green..though it aint raining cats n dogs in the capital..its much better than the dry loo... wet roads..chilly winds.. froggies coming out..snails also...clothes don't dry..!!! ok ok ... lets take a walk..in the rain...if u arent too fussy like i am..u will love it. don't forget a chai ..with a drop of rain falling in the glass..n pakoras ..from sabarmati hostel.. y...

" Broken Wings " I desire to hope for nothing. I desire to believe in nothing. I desire the fear of nothing. "I desire to be free..."

...the unsettlement of the mind, i dare, to survive. Of the heart, i dare, to dream...

"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say , and say it hot" D.H Lawrence

“ IF ONLY” If only, this night was day. If only, these roads were unending. If only, these shadows were silent. If only, this wind could not touch me. If only, this noise was not gothic. If only, these jitters were not shaky. If only, the balance of reality could be tested. If only, this perception was not twisted. If only, the time showed no patterns. If only, this darkness could blink If only, this landscape was chaotic. If only, I was inherently not a fool. If only, I was not too foolish for a tear and too wicked for a smile. If only, there was dance in death and stillness in life. If only, expectations could be turned into happiness. If only, promises were made and fulfilled. If only, this journey was as interesting as the destination. If only, my cry was not mute. If only, i could choose..and win over my own heart. Only then, maybe, I could have your body or mind. And then this life would be less ‘unsettled’ perhaps.

“IF ONLY” If only, this night was day. If only, these roads were unending. If only, these shadows were silent. If only, this wind could not touch me. If only, this noise was not gothic. If only, these jitters were not shaky. If only, the balance of reality could be tested. If only, this perception was not twisted. If only, the time showed no patterns. If only, this darkness could blink. If only, this landscape was chaotic. If only, I was inherently not a fool. If only, I was not too foolish for a tear and too wicked for a smile. If only, there was dance in death and stillness in life. If only, expectations could be turned into happiness. If only, promises were made and fulfilled. If only, this journey was as interesting as the destination. If only, my cry was not mute. If only, i could choose..and win over my own heart. Only then, maybe, I could have your body or mind. And then this life would be less ‘unsettled’ perhaps.

There are stories, which are our own.Then there are stories which are not our's; where we merely play a part.... Everything that i see, everything that i touch and everything that i feel, even from a distance......is you.

'Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rainYou are young and life is long and there is time to kill todayAnd then one day you find ten years have got behind youNo one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.." - Floyd

EVERYTHING IS FIGURED OUT, EXCEPT HOW TO LIVE. ...and the reason is you...

The Space Between... The Space Between, your happiness and my heartbeats. The Space Betwen, our secrets and this world. The Space Between, our love and the truth. The Space Between, your life and my dreams. The Space Between, the distance that seperates us, is in your smiles and in my tears....

When JNUSU came together/The ‘halla bol’ culture The yellow-orange horizon was just beginning to get redder as I walked towards the parking lot of SSS1 after my viva got over. Clearly silhouetted against the sulpher red sky, I could see shadows flittering. As I moved closer, these took shape of people, the laborer’s and students. Women sat on a mat, peeling-chopping with sickle and men, at a distance were making fire. The menu was simple- dal, bhat and aloo gobhi. Before I knew it, I was peeling lahsan and washing aloo. Someone was washing rice and someone was trying to open a oil bottle, while someone was looking for a knife someone else was carrying buckets of water. There was so much around to be done and I could see the familiar ‘active’ faces of the campus giving their best shot. The next day, at the Administration Building, there was a protest demonstration where I heard the slogans of ‘halla bol’ culture for the first time. It was like a scene out of a 80’s movie where typically...

An evening with the Ustads Fingers beating. Hands beating. Head shaking. Neck agreeing. Eyes moving. Emotions. Smiles. Applauds… The Banaras Gharana does not fail to impress this time too. Must say that might lessen the Karnatic craze in me in a few days time.. Raag Yaman was the apt choice to set the mood for the evening right. Long and cautious. Raag Khamaj, one of the most passionate raag’s, my personal favourite.. was bang on to impress this time too..Romancing the light classical thumri with jugalbandi(my fav again) of the tabla , jhanak and folk-eternally romantic.The coversation of the tabla and santoor never seemed better. People somehow seem to applaud intensity actually. However,variation actually, in art to acting, music to theatre should actually be the true test and challenge. High and low at the same time, that impresses me every time. Sudden aggression ignites people’s minds.

YET ANOTHER UNFULFILLED DESIRE beautiful but caged had some, of the desired just a glimpse was left asking for more want to understand the attitude and ideas but actually we have too much in between to overcome in this life unless someone is on the knees and i say i do none of this is possible fantasies just one of the many I shall never have.

Ray’s Cinema. Go down on one’s knees in the dust, into the heart of Indian reality and the human condition. It is not just he statistical horrors in the Indian village but also a struggle to live. This makes us see them as one of us. He was a classicist; beauty was inseparable from truth and goodness in his work. Pessimism recognizes the compulsion under which compromises are made with the evil. The face of evil is somewhat averted and we do not make a direct confrontation with it. As if we can view the present as a part of the past. It is important to have good means to achieve good ends. His material happens to be Indian but the statements are of humanity. He sees people caught in the meshes of specific time and place, not as Indians, rest of the world seem affinity with him. We are all most westernized not just in attire but also deeply in the mind, in its resolution of the conflict of tradition and modernity and its success in making one enrich the other. It has to be a successful ...