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what she was reading-a supplement of Deccan Herald- and saw what was written- Voluptuous figures are old-fashioned and outdated.Zero is the ideal size to be.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.

<This post is a lot of gibberish> Literature is an all consuming subject. It humbles me. Our teacher says that literature is a way of life. Try saying the same thing to a bunch of students studying medicine and there will be blank stares and snide remarks, but I understand exactly what she is trying to say. George Herbert is one of the poets we're studying. He used to be a priest, hence by nature I looked at him cynically and patronizingly . Our class was bowled over by Donne's metaphysical elements and I too had become a Donne groupie.Herbert seemed to be a shadow in comparison. But somewhere in my soul whispered the line 'thy rope of sands', and I was taken in by Herbert . He too was humbled by the presence of the (ahem!) Almighty in his life. We are all bound by ropes of sand. I feel ashamed of the amount of control other aspects have on the way I lead my life. If this was my diary I'd have written about the satirical anguish of a woman. My aunt was talk...

The people sitting on adjacent computers stare at me as I perform a hat-trick sneeze.That's right,three continuous times in a span of less than five seconds. I'm here today to blog about the "Sad Cypress",a book so worthy of praise that not even my fatal virus can stop me from blogging about it. I love Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot books. That little Belgian sweetheart is mind-blowingly smart,makes me realise how dumb I am.It's always so beautifully written.In this book I feel that she hides some facts that are necessary for who-done-it detectives like me(psshhhht) to find out who did it. I forgive her. Only because the ending is-I know this is the most commonly used adjective-AWESOME. I actually went "haaaaaaw!" at 12.30 in the night when I found out who the cold blooded killer was,I'd never have guessed. I particularly like the character of Elinor (I don't remember her last name).We meet her at the beginning of the novel facing trial fo...

Randomness is what makes life worth living. The Golden Gate by Vikram Seth is a hilarious and easy to read book,I can guarantee that it will keep your attention till the middle of the book atleast(because that is where i stopped reading it-I had to return it to the library so that I could plunge into my text book and drown.) Taking a bus ride is an adventure.You come in contact with people from all walks of life. Yesterday I and a friend-let's call her cotton candy- saw a man carrying a white rabbit with piercing red eyes with him,inside a jute bag. he gestured his hand vertically over the rabbits head and for a heart beat I thought he was talking about chopping and frying the furry little creature,when in fact he was saying that he had rabbits of half its size at home.Misinterpretation of communication.

I'm smeared with colorful tears, I'm sick of my heart being heavy, I dance when the pain sears, Whats new in that, I dug a path for myself, I didn't realise it was my grave, That made me laugh, Whats new in that, Everyday life turns more silly, It confuses me completely, We attract each other like a rainbow and a cloud, Would I jump off a cliff, Without a rope, Everytime I lied, I didn't feel much, Not at that time, Without a doubt I will waiver, The cold doesn't make me quiver, Chained by the world, Will my thoughts set me free, The world belongs to the majority, Why take the trouble to lie, It's pretty useless.