FISHY....VERY FISHY

My Cousin Rachel and other stories………..

In the winter of 1999, lying on a charpai, under a blanket, on Mrs. Jha’s terrace in Patna, I read Rebecca. It thrilled my very core and chilled my spirits. The ghost of Rebecca haunted me wherever I went. The line ‘we found her’ echoed in my head. The shadows of Drogheda mansion loomed large on my life. For days I excitedly related the story to Sarmishtha in class, lessons be damned! I bowed to the genius that was Daphnai du Maurier.
In 2002 I read Jane Eyre. Again the same reaction took place. The cruel orphanage, the huge dark mansion, the mad lady locked in the room. Ah! It killed me. Again I bowed to Charlotte Bronte`.
In 2004 I read Wuthering Heights. The ghost of Catherine Lintol Earnshaw took over. In the maddening heat of summer I felt the chill. The pure evil of man’s soul was laid bare and ‘infernal lads’ danced in my head. It was witchcraft and this Bronte` sister knew how to perform it.
Few days back I finished My Cousin Rachel. The setting is the same as is the intent but the witchcraft is gone. The chill begins but does not reach the deepest recesses of one’s heart. The burning of Drogheda mansion seems appropriate but when cousin Rachel dies falling off a scaffolded area it seems too deliberate. This genre of writing….whatever it is called…. is very powerful provided the author knows how to play with it.
I am looking forward to another novel that ‘scares the living spirits outa me’ and makes me a devout yet again……any suggestions??

TAG ON........

here is something i came across while prying through some blogs. being tagged means you have to reveal 5 things about yourself that nobody knows. Thereafter you can tag 5 more people and watch them shed skin...........
so here goes.......
1. I am majorly hung over my childhood( class 5-6). I can never get over the good times and the friends i had then can cannot stop mourning that life will never be the same again.
2. I love needlework. I was in awe of my needlework teacher....sister Mona...and worshipped the groung under her feet.
3. I smoked my first ciggie in class 8..........and got caught by my mom in class 10.
4. till the age of three i thought my nani was my mother and my mother just another lady relative.
5. i want to come across a great fortune and spend the rest of my days in the hills. i hate planes.....


i further tag Rhea, Audi.....yuk i can't think of any more.........

Our continued discussion on Desiree and everlasting love……

“Nothing lasts forever and we both know hearts can change,
And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.”………guns and roses

Dear Don……..
Napoleon loved Desiree and it was very nice while it lasted. After moving to Paris he made a different choice. He married Josephine…..why? Because he thought it was the best thing for him to do. Maybe he thought that Desiree was not fit for the journey he was about to embark. Yes, he broke her heart but did it for the best. Maybe his way of doing it was wrong but the motive was not wrong.
He, in the course of his life, turns to her again and again. I don’t think it is out of love but something nobler…..friendship. The friends of our young days can somehow understand us more than anybody else.
Why is it that we choose to shun practicality when it comes to love? Why must we always associate it with great sacrifice and suffering? Why can’t we enjoy it while it lasts and the set it free? Why can’t we digest the fact that it can not be everlasting always? If it lasts…good, if it doesn’t….good enough…….
What say you??
Yours always
Capo

Writing all this reminds me of the conversation I had a few days back about the dwindling of a certain ‘utopian idea’…..a certain pact. If you are reading this Sir, I want to say sorry. I identify with Napoleon in strange ways. Six years is a long time and the memories and bonds formed cannot be zapped into nothingness, especially when they were so good. Yes, some things have changed but please let the others remain……..

Daddy Long Legs
JEAN WEBSTER

Jerusha Abbot is a girl brought up in an orphanage. She can’t believe her luck when a trustee decides to sponsor her college education. However, she has to report her progress to him through letters. He is not obliged to write back or acknowledge them in any form. So the story of this girl is brought forward through numerous one sided letters to this man she calls Daddy Long Legs because she had only seen his shadow once cast against a wall and he appeared to have very long legs like Daddy Long Legs …..
Jerusha finds a way in this new world through hard work and learning and goes on to become a great author. In the end the identity of the mysterious benefactor is revealed which is quite a let down but overall it’s a good book…..a very good book

Some memorable lines….

Don't you think it would be interesting if you really could read the story
of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient author?
And suppose you could only read it on this condition: that you
would never forget it, but would have to go through life knowing
ahead of time exactly how everything you did would turn out,
and foreseeing to the exact hour the time when you would die.
How many people do you suppose would have the courage to read it
then? or how many could suppress their curiosity sufficiently
to escape from reading it, even at the price of having to live
without hope and without surprises?

Life is monotonous enough at best; you have to eat and sleep about
so often. But imagine how DEADLY monotonous it would be if nothing
unexpected could happen between meals. Mercy!

Desiree…..
Annemarie Selinko

Desiree is the story of a silk merchant’s daughter told through diary entries. Hmm….what makes it so famous then? Well, this girl just happens to be Napoleon’s girlfriend. He leaves her to marry someone with money and power. Desiree Clary chalks the path of her own life which has many ups and downs which make for interesting reading. The link that these two established as young people lingers all their lives and they come to rescue each other often enough.
Finally she becomes the Queen of Sweden and Napoleon dies in exile. The most heart wrenching moment is their last meeting when she goes to him as the queen of Sweden and asks him to surrender. They sat on the same bench they used to as lovers and he gives her his sword……

BOY NEXT DOOR................

I’ve heard people( by that I mean forwarded mails) say that if you look back at life and find even 4 people that you can call friends then you’ve had a pretty successful life. I mentioned two (Undertaker, Bull Dog) earlier in my blog, now I talk of the third and last one. I fondly called him Harry Potter……..

It had been a strange introduction. Actually there was never any formal introduction at all. He just walked into my garden one afternoon to fetch his cricket ball. We started talking, ‘we are neighbors after all’, he said. Before I realized we were discussing Harry Potter at length. I looked up at his face and realized that he LOOKED a lot like Harry Potter too.
We used to play cricket in the park, climb trees (“Ms Joshi you tend to forget that you are a girl”), swim and talk about books, movies and his favorite topic….NFS. We picnicked by the fish pond, slept on machans and with the help of Rishab even watched porn together. Slowly as most of our mutual friends got posted out of Varanasi, we became each others only ‘source of entertainment’. So often I have slipped into his house at night just to exchange a few CDs and so often he has slipped into mine. Each time he said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
Another magical thing about this magical boy was the power he exercised over my dog. Touching Mia means getting three anti- rabies shots, but this boy had him singing to his tune. He took him for walks, played with him and even got him back home when he ran away. Maybe his trump was Misha, his dog, the only dog Mia ever respected.
Today he lives in a different city and I live in a jungle but we still chat over yahoo sometimes or exchange a few mails. Yes, he mails me cooking books sometimes and says that I better learn how to cook or I’ll never find a decent guy. But the best thing is there is no compulsion of talking or communicating. It is all very laid back. If we talk its cool if we don’t its just as cool. Mr. Potter thanks for being yourself and thanks for brightening up my days when I most needed it…………………….