At the first of today's workshops at the British Library, children in the age-group 5-7 brought their favourite toys to talk about. There were two little creatures called Sita and Gita. A boy made up a story about how squeaky Sita and jingly Gita walked into his room while he was asleep. He was frightened, but understood when he woke up. There was a Lego space-shuttle. A girl made up a story about how the shuttle went to a place where aliens experimented on humans. There was a pink-roofed house with Lego girls. The house was, of course, haunted. The theme is Creepy House. And there was Croco - a crocodile whose teeth were yellow because no one ever brushed his teeth. What a delightful hour I had! … [Read more...]
British Library Workshop
The Illustrator of The Story-Catcher
I did not put up pictures from The Story-Catcher because the copyright isn't mine, but I found this on Rishi Bhardwaj's site and could not help sharing it. … [Read more...]
The Tales of Beedle the Bard
Hermione Granger translates so well! I love her translations from the original runes. And of course, Albus Dumbledore's notes reveal his genius and insight, providing valuable information about interpretations of beloved fairy tales. J.K. Rowling, though, talks down to us Muggle readers, underestimating our knowledge of the magical world. … [Read more...]
Now
As usual, I judged a book by its cover and picked it up. An orange book, with two silhouetted figures - an old man and a child gazing at flames in the distance. Now promised to be more powerful than it was, or perhaps it just did not happen to me at the right time. The ideas there could have been deeply moving. A child grappling with guilt that does not have a foundation, similar to The Worry Tree I read not so long ago. An old man haunted by memories of the past, of the holocaust and the loss of loved ones. A child trying to be proud of the fact that her parents have sacrificed their lives to help people in Africa... but realising that more than pride, she feels rejection, over and over again. Now could have been more powerful, but left me with a sense of incompleteness. I wanted to be more moved. … [Read more...]
What I’ve been reading …
Yes, it's been a long time since I wrote about books, so there are three books that I've read in the time that has passed. I remember when I started reading Dick Francis. I was amazed that a single writer could have written so many books about horses and the racing world. Longshot is one of those, but I realise, once again, how much a book strikes a chord within you when you read it at a time that's right. The narrator of Longshot is a writer. A writer who has just quit a regular job to become a full-time writer. He suffers, nearly starves. Is that a message to me from the universe? The book was gripping, with the stoicism that's typical to Dick Francis. Even though parts of it made me squirm because they hit home, I enjoyed Longshot, as I always expect to when I read a book by Dick Francis. Two more books I've read and intend to write about soon... … [Read more...]
My Grandfather – R.I.P.
On Friday, I decide to spend the night at my grandfather's place. He sleeps at 8 o' clock or so, so when I get there around 10, he is asleep. At 10:20, I hear him getting out of bed. He shuffles past my room and goes to the kitchen. I hear the balcony door creak open and close. I hear him wash his hands in the sink. Then, silence. He doesn't walk by my room again. A little concerned I get up to find my grandfather standing by the sideboard. "What happened?" I ask. My grandfather, caught in the act, confesses, "I felt like eating a banana, so got up." I chuckle and go back to bed. In the morning, he wakes me up at 6, asking me to retrieve a bottle-cap that has fallen. I do so and go back to sleep, after a rather crazy, loud conversation (because my grandfather is hard of hearing). He wakes me up again at 6:20 to ask if my father is in town. We have another loud conversation. At 7, when … [Read more...]
Musée des Beaux Arts
I've been thinking of this all morning. Loss and suffering exist in astonishingly closed cabins, shut off from the world. Here is Musée des Beaux Arts by Auden. A classic. About suffering they were never wrong, The old Masters: how well they understood Its human position: how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse Scratches its innocent behind on a tree. In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman … [Read more...]
Collections
I once met a lady who collected Santa Clauses. She had over a thousand Santa Clauses, over half of which she had made using anything, from oil-cans to coconuts. She painted Santa Claus on glass bottles, or made a crochet Santa around a plastic bottle. She used the cover of a cheese-tin, a shankha, cane nets, ceramic pots, stones, rope, clay, everything, to make different kinds of Santas in different postures. My sister used to collect tissue paper. Wherever we went, she picked up a tissue paper. It became something she enjoyed so much that people started sending tissue paper from different places to her. I remember once a close friend of my father's even sent her a courier package full of tissue. As a child, I recognised it as a need to work towards a goal, a single-minded determination. I started collecting pencil-shavings. I collected one and put it in a small self-sealing bag. I … [Read more...]
Oxford Bookstore 2002
We know we belong to the previous generation when we complain about the way children waste time. "How much we used to play!" A friend and I lamented about how students at school spend more time at their laptops than at anything else. They are a generation growing up with email and Facebook; they're attached to their laptops all the time. "We used to be on the ground, playing in the sun." "Tree to tree, wall to wall..." "Hundreds of things. Right until the time we left school." I fell silent. During my last two years of school, I really don't remember playing much. What did I do, then? I wondered. And then, I remembered. I wrote a book. On the 29th of August, 2002, just after I finished my tenth standard, I received this mail - We are delighted to let you know that you have been shortlisted for the E-Author Version 2.0 contest this year. We will be announcing the top three … [Read more...]
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