Buffio

Today I shall be writing about Eleven Minutes by Paolo Coelho. Eleven minutes is a book about sex,dreams,failed dreams and the never obsolete concept of love.This Paolo is one of those writers who initiates reaction every single time. But this time the reaction is that of being irked. I hate the fact that he makes Maria, the leading character, so.... void. I hate how she accepts every situation that life offers. I hate how he gives her only 0.5 of the personality she deserves, the rest of the personality we can only trace by her reaction to different situations. Maybe its just that I'm not emancipated enough to like the way he's dealt with the subject of sex and the intimate issues of being a woman. what really made me groan  was the ending. Not telling you what the ending is. What i do like about this book is the way it deals with the subject of prostitution and the visual delights it provides in terms of describing Switzerland and Brazil. And I like the character of the L...

Reading maketh a full man? Today as I sat in college staring at the fan, I heard my friend gasp and say "how dare she!". Now I wasn't paying much attention because my friend has these outbursts quite frequently. I glanced at what she was reading-a supplement of Deccan Herald- and saw what was written- Voluptuous figures are old-fashioned and outdated.Zero is the ideal size to be. WTF! Next to that was a picture of a woman in a grey top,arms folded,shoulders in a half shrug. She didn't strike me as size zero, but DH rarely puts the right picture in the right context. Anyway, me and my friends were busy fuming at the audacity of this writer, brains of birds seemed to be more evolved than hers. So I decided to write a strongly worded comment on their website.This article really did hurt me because I'm one of those girls who doesn't have conventional good physical appearance. I know for a fact that most girls in India are like that., and here she goes saying...

There she whines, How she grumbles, Even though her mind, Is clear on where she wants to fly, There he swims, The pond his world, He moves on leaving ash behind, There she hides, In the warm loneliness of light, But it's all she knows she wants, But she wants things she doesn't know of, She wants the rain to drench her wings, She wants the lightening to blind her path, She wants the thunder to sing, And send her ears to abyss, So she can hear new things, And what does he think of? The water drowns his voice, He doesn't want to be heard, He thinks about the cloud, Could it be that hard to reach.