It was not her mistake

For it was not her mistake that she was white

Neither was it his mistake that he was a black moor

But they loved each other

Loved each other like the sky loves the sea,

Like the dew drops love the leaves,

Like a bee loves the nectar……

Two bodies they were but one soul

If she was the breathe, he was the heart beating inside her

Soul mates they wanted to be for years and years

But a mere handkerchief became the reason of their demise….

 For the rapacious creature wanted to possess the white ewe

 He was the one who poisoned the Venetian moor’s mind

The moor believed every word of that man

And suspected his soul mate…..

Out of rage he went to the ewe’s bedchamber

And stabbed her to death

She wanted to say till the last moment that she was not to be blamed

But the moor did not listen to her

Yes she was dead but her innocent face wanted to tell

It was not her mistake……

Out of guilt the moor killed himself

For later he realized

It was not her mistake

And so they say love is dangerous

When you are in love you are blindfolded……..

Hungry Kya?

Had a hectic schedule? Back to home after a very tiring day? And guess what? To your utter surprise no one is at home and your are hungry like anything... so here is an instant dish to satisfy your hunger...its very Easy to cook and will take only 10 minutes.
It is called Fu-Yang. Not the typical Korean/Chinese one but this is the one which came out of my experimentation.
Ingredients:
1. 1 egg
2. Noodles/ Maggie (1/2 packet)
3. Chopped tomato (half)
4. Chopped onion (half)
5. Chopped Green Chillies (2)
6. Chilly flakes( half teaspoon)
7. Rock salt (about half teaspoon)


Procedure: 
First of all take an egg and break it in a bowl and mix the above mentioned ingredients in it.
Take a pan and place it on your gas oven. Let it get heated for a few minutes.Then add about 2 teaspoon of refined oil and heat it. After the pan gets heated place the mixture in it, spread it like you do while making  omelette's..do not turn it to the opposite side until it gets golden brown in colour. Again turn the Fu-Yang three to four times (back to back) until a fried smell comes out of it.
Take it out on a plate and have it with tomato ketchup... It's absolutely yummylicious.
Try to cook this dish folks :)

Why do I want to be a Journalist?

“A pen is mightier than a sword”

I could understand the validity of the oft-quoted statement as I slowly developed a keen interest in Journalism in the early days of my college life. I started reading newspapers and watching news channels quite early, just about the time when I was in the ninth standard. And it was only then I started to think, on how it would be to take up a career in Journalism. Initially I questioned myself as to the possibility for me to think on a broader horizon, beyond a sneaking ambition to choose a career in the field. The dynamism, unfolding imagery of everyday world, excitement supplementing them---all prompted a close look into affairs guiding the world. And an interest of such intensity gnawed me into seeing journalism as an appropriate career option. A profession promising endless challenges and matching my sensibility. I was over the last two years or so preparing to give journalism a shot as my professional career if opportunity would dawn on me someday.

I passed my high school and then higher secondary. Then I decided to take up English literature at the undergraduate level and I thought this was an apt choice considering that literature offers insights into society, its inner dynamics and indeed in a large measure into workings of human mind. Close reading of African, Latin American, and Canadian literature helped me not only with a knowledge and vision of different planes of creative insights and ideas but also with a critical awareness that writers at times do look to journalistic reportage too in order to do justice to truths they seek to highlight. A case in point is Marquez’ Chronicle of a Death Foretold, a masterpiece where the author employs journalistic technique to a telling effect.

Literature has made me voice my opinions, to give my individual perspective on a particular issue, analyse things critically and to pen down things in a thoughtful manner. And I think these things are pretty much necessary in journalism as well, as for me literature and journalism are intertwined.

For a journalist it is important to know about the society he/she is living in. I am a feminist and I would like to examine our society from a feminist perspective.

Ours is a patriarchal society and women are thought to be meek and submissive. We are modern beings and living in 21^st century but the notion remains the same. Women are oppressed; they are not allowed to voice their opinions. A stereotype that has been created long back still remains the same that women are best suited for domesticity and this notion is not only relevant to our present day society but it is prevalent since Victorian era. So to challenge this ideology, I want to take up journalism. I want to show that women can do whatever they are asked for. They can play the role of a mother, a sister, a wife, a minister, a journalist as well.

At this point I want to reiterate the quotation that I used in the beginning “A pen is mightier than a sword”. In the field of journalism, a pen and a paper is required to pen down one’s point of view, to critique a system, to fight for justice and who says that women can’t be journalists? And this is one of the reasons that I want to take up this course.

Also as a literature student I can implement some literary tools in a journalistic work and I can also be innovative to look at particular issue/issues from different angles.

As I have mentioned earlier that such a literary great Marquez appropriated journalism in his own way and given a chance, I would do the same.

Also in a global village, I want to share the multiple avenues of technology, human spaces, international, cultural and topological communications to warrant concept of a global citizen. At last but not the least I want to have a feel of today’s world and that is why I want to be a journalist.

WANDERER

This a pilgrim soul

Searching Love, Peace and Mirth

It’s held captive in the morning sunshine

How it shrinks in the twilight

This soul weighed down by so many questions

Which cannot be surpassed?

Where will it meet the answers?

In heaven or in hell?

While in heaven it blooms like a flower

In hell it slithers like a serpent…..

Like Prufrock's, it lies in fragments

Its voice dimly sane turns insane in no time

Its fate is like that of a vagabond

It wanders from place to place

From heaven to hell

From earth to sky

From fire to water

In search of Love, Peace and Mirth…..

An Eye-opener

Today after college our gang of girls decided to have egg rolls. Our favourite food joint is Art of Spices and it is near our college campus. While going there we noticed a man who was eating raw pumpkin. All of us got shocked. This incident was momentary but it somehow became an eye-opener for me.

After coming back home I sat down for sometime and was thinking about the man whom I saw. It provoked me to think about the marginalised class of our country who don’t even manage to get food to feed their stomach. Forget about proper meals, they don’t even get sufficient amount of food to eat for one time a day.

Then I questioned myself that have I ever wondered about their plight and suffering?

Have I ever thought about the fact that each day these people have to struggle for their living? The answer that I got was a “NO”.

We are modern beings, and we have become so much busy in our daily lives that we do not have the time to think about ourselves or our respective families. So how can we even bother to think about the betterment of the “other” class which is also a part of our society?

To solve this problem we need to raise our collective consciousness……

To conclude I would use Derrida’s notion of “play” as form a single incident so many questions came out and this will go on and on because as Derrida said “the centre remains disrupted”.

Yet Another Day!

As usual i woke up late today... had a verbal fight with my mommy darling (I have stopped bothering about these things now a days)...then brushed my teeth and had breakfast...then I was wondering whether to take a bath or not (such a lazy soul I am).

Then finally thought of pulling up my socks and without any fail thought of "studying".

Began with eighteenth century literature... my mind started wavering in the philosophical thoughts of Daddy Wordsworth(as Jimmy porter addresses him), William Blake, Coleridge and Byron...from a lazy soul I became almost a dead soul....these philosophical notions do not get inside my head...

Then finally I settled down with Osborne's "Look Back In Anger"...such a wonderful play that it is....about an angry young man Jimmy Porter who has a problem with the system(society) that he is living in.... hopefully by the next two days I will finish "critically" reading this text...

As university internals are knocking at the doors some serious work is to be done from my end.... lets see whether I can score well this time or not...

Well well I'll try to upload something interesting in my next post...till then cheers... and keep smiling...

BUT IT RAINED

By the windowpane, she was searching a drop of Rain

She looked beyond the horizon

Could she fly there?

A caged bird, she dreamed...

A bird that wanted a life

Of her own.

In gloom, she waited for Rain,

Would the rain wash away this gloom?

She was searching a drop of Rain.

She looked around,

Saw a bunch of children playing near….

Prancing and playful mirth crowded

About her, she walked back down memory

She joined the little ones like a bird

Set free from a cage

Rains came pouring in

Her long wait was gone

She was finding herself again

She lived back the days

When she would freely take on the rains with her friends,

Memory of chai and bhuttas saw tear- drops out of her eyes.

She started paddling her feet in the rain waters

She thanked God for the cage

was a distant memory and

that she was reincarnated as a daughter of

Mother Nature