Showing posts with label readingdelights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label readingdelights. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

किताबे

They peer from beyond
Glasses of locked cupboards,
They stare longingly
For months we do not meet
The evenings once spent in their company
Now pass at the computer screen.
They are so restless now, these books-
They have taken to walking in their sleep
They stare longingly

The values they stood for
Whose batteries never died out
Those values are no more found in homes
The relationships they spoke of
Have all come undone today
A sigh escapes as I turn a page
The meanings of many words have fallen off
They appear like shrivelled, leafless stumps
Where meaning will grow no more
Many traditions lie scattered
Like the debris of earthen cups
Made obsolete by glass tumblers

Each turn of the page
Brought a new flavour to the tongue
Now a click of the finger
Floods the screen with images, layer upon layer
That bond with books that once was, is severed now
We used to sometimes lie with them on our chest
Or hold them in our lap
Or balance them on our knees,
Bowing our heads as in prayer
Of course the world of knowledge still lives on,
but what of
The pressed flowers and scented missives
Hidden between their pages,
And the love forged on the pretext
Of borrowing, dropping and picking up books together
What of them?
That perhaps shall no longer be!



- गुलज़ार







(From 'Selected Poems' by Gulzar titled 'Books'
Translated by Pavan K Varma)

Monday, June 13, 2011

Used/ Second hand books !

0Used / Rare Books

Twistntales is glad to introduce sale of second hand/ used books as well in the Store at Aundh. Used books are purchased from various sources, one of them being our own esteemed set of customers.

If you wish to sell your used books to twistntales, please keep in mind the following:

1. Selection of books will be the sole prerogative of twistntales.
2. Books will be bought at the price assessed by twistntales. The decision will be final, no claims or negotiations will be entertained. Books once sold will not be returned to original seller.
3. Books to be sold can be dropped off on the 1st/2nd Wed/ Thurs of every month. Kindly make 2 copies of the list of books that you are dropping off and keep a twistntales acknowledged copy with you.
4. Books not selected for purchase can be picked up the following Wed/ Thurs.
5. A credit note will be issued for the value payable for the books. No cash will be paid.
6. The credit note can be redeemed for purchases in twistntales within a period of 3 months.
7. The credit note will be a bearer document.

Some guidelines/ suggestions

1. Text books/ course books/ technical books/ books for various entrance exams will not be accepted for selection.
2. No pirated books please.
3. Books have to be in good condition.
4. Books in English, Hindi, Marathi and some regional languages will be accepted for selection.
5. No magazines please unless they are collector’s issues of National Geographics, Scientific American etc.

We hope to see you at the Store with a huge pile of books to offload!

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Telling time...to slow down!

While I was working at tnt many moons ago, there were often customers who walked in and said, "I don't have TIME to read!" Being a bibliophile and loving any chance to argue, I usually ended up lecturing them on finding the time for God's sake!
Now, having been in the 'real' working world for almost two years. I understand them a little better. It's true that between full-time work, family and friends, one gets little time to curl up with a book. I come home and watch sitcoms and dance around to filmy music, just to de-stress.
It took me a while to realise how much reading, my magnificent obsession, had receded. Luckily, I am surrounded by books, so I couldn't use the excuse of not having anything to read.
I didn't invent some marvellous time-twister to give me 26 hours in a day, nor did I give up on partying till 5am. I carry a book with me at all times. If I reach work early, I put down my things, go to Barista, order a strawberry smoothie and treat myself to an half-hour of peaceful reading. On my one day off a week, I visit a bookshop. I sit on steps outside malls and read.
This isn't about 'you should read.' It's just that I love reading and I don't want to become a boring, corporate-type person who prides herself on not having time. Nobody hands you time on a platter. Sometimes, maybe you just decide to give time to what makes you happy. And it works :)

Thursday, May 27, 2010

I'm a reader. SERIOUSLY!

Being a student of Literature often means people expect you to read only that which is considered 'literary.' You know, things like Dostoevsky and Leon Uris and Dickens. These guys make you a 'serious' reader. Ok, so I read these guys. Like them a lot in most part. Maybe not Dostoevsky or Tolstoy...Russian writers are compulsively depressing and I guess you can't blame them. But I like the old-timey classics.
My grandfather would take me book-shopping on the condition that I bought only classics. And not just any classics, the REAL stuff. Catcher in the Rye didn't count. Jules Verne did. Luckily, so did P. G. Wodehouse.
The trouble is that when you're a reader and a Literature student, people assume you read ONLY the 'serious' stuff. Otherwise, you're not a REAL reader.
Now, I don't fit this mould at all. I love Meg Cabot. I squealed and jumped when the last book in the Princess Diaries series came out. I have read Twilight with bated breath and cried at the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince because Dumbledore had died and nothing would ever be the same again.
Once every two weeks or so, you'll find me squatting on the floor at Tanna Book Depot in Hong Kong Lane, snuffling my way through stacks of dusty Mills & Boon. My favourite pastime is to sit with a bunch of romance novels and a big bag of chips. And I'm very much a REAL reader, thank you!
A world without Dickens and Alcott and the Brontes would have been at a loss. A world without Austen would have been depressing indeed! But a world without impossible love stories and magic?! Not my kind of place either.

Poetry...

that's what I've been reading, both online and in books. I found this little piece of absolute, raging gorgeousness that I wanted to share.


You Bring Out the UP- walli in me *
You bring out the UP-walli in me,
The zari, gota, sitaraa,
The sweet, sweet bataasha,
The lilt of my (m)other tongue,

simmering under these words in me.


I play for you. For the twinkle in your eyes

when I rant in Hindi.

Kya hai
.


You bring out the UP-walli in me,

The toe rings and the nose pin in me,

The glitter and the large earrings in me,

The kohl around my eyes in me,

The love of wearing bangles in me,

The folklore and the folk music in me,

The jigar and the beedee in me,

The loud weddings in me,

The raunchy numbers in me,

The beats of dholak, the songs of naughty grannies in me.


You bring out the UP-walli in me.

The love of the epic in me,

The Mahabharat and the Ramayan in me,

The chastity vows and the infinite appetite in me,

The warrior-sage ancestor in me,

The meek minions and the mighty queens in me,

The banished one, the vengeful one, the dark one who rebelled in me,

The woman who had five husbands but loved only one in me.


They say my name means Seeta, daughter of the earth.

You bring out my name in me.


You bring out the UP-walli in me.

The blue neel in me,

the pink mahaawar in me,

the crimson gulmohur in me,

the yellow amaltash in me,

the cactus in me, the crotons in me,

the redolence of Eucalyptus, the scent of henna in me.


For you I’d mulch the mehendi leaves that hedged

our government bungalow in Jhansi.

For you I’d paint my palms and

I won’t complain.


Wild roses in Ranikhet,

Empty fireplaces in Benaras,

The smell-less smell of a desolate Noida fog,

The fragrance of raat ki raani in Karbi.

Like all these, I long for you.


Come sit on the floor beside me.

Eat kaddoo curry with soft kachauris

laid out on plates
made of dried leaves.
Dip your finger in the yogurt to stir the boora,

Make love to me with our fingers sticky sweet,

Say hum when you mean I,

I’d raise my skirts and let you in,

caress you with fumes from the dhoop batti

that used to be lit every dusk

in my Nani’s house,

and pat you to sleep.


Come. Call me jaan, or raaje.


You bring out the UP-walli in me,

The surprise of heeng in hot daal in me,

The shock of ghee sizzling with whole, red chillies in me,

The bite of raw ginger sprinkled on aloo-gobhi in me.

The sepia dust storms in me,

The mango orchards in me,

The tales of dacoits and bandits in me,

The bhaiyya complex in me,

its self-deprecatory humour

but the hidden pride in me.


I play for you. For your gritted teeth and

shut eyes when I move over you.


You’re the only one I’d allow to call me Raani,

You're the only one I'd let overtake the kitchen,
Bring me breakfast in bed,

And sometimes wine.


You bring out the UP-walli in me.

The proud grandfather and the generous parents in me,

The love of literature in me,

the scholar in me, the nerd in me,

the wannabe Anthropology intellectual in me,

the show-off-I-got-100-out-of-100 in me,


You’re the one I spin these yarns for,

At 4 am,

Overworked and sleep deprived.

Let me show off to you.


You bring out the UP-walli in me.

Hand pump water with a tang of metal in me,

Sugarcanes eaten on terraces

In dusty villages in me,

(hard teeth around firm flesh bursting with sweet in me),

Sugarcane juice running down my elbow in me,

The sexual innuendo in me.


The hot-white glare of the Taj Mahal,

The thick walls of the Jhansi fort,

The withered wooden door of my gaon house

Complete with iron knockers in me,

All nestled in me, marinating and

Roasting in me, always torturing me,

Never letting go of me.


Of naked feet on hard,

Cool, stone floors,

Of air coolers, of khus-khus

In summers,

Of peeling walls that smelt of wet earth

When sprayed with a hose,

Of blistering boulders with a whiff

Of heat.


You remind me of all these.

The forgotten, pushed away,

Hidden parts of me,

The lekin and the agar in me,

The abey and the oye in me,

The ab to ho gaya in me.


You bring out the UP-walli in me.

Let me love you.

(You do.)

Let me show you.

(Kyunki)

You do. Yes. You do.

* Gauche but earnest attempt, inspired by Sandra Cisnero's lovely, lovely 'You Bring Out the Mexican in Me'...and you.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

For those who want to...

Without writers no stories would be put down, without stories no books, without books...no tnt. This is entitled 'For the young who want to.' I take a liberty and read it as 'For those who want to.'

For the young who want to
by Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else's mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you're certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

from The Moon Is Always Female, 1980

Found on cdeliascarpitti. Thank you, and thank you mahima for the link.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Mothers and daughters

What is it about mothers and daughters ? Do we make them in our own image ? Are we made in our mother's image ?

When i asked amma about what she wanted with my first pay cheque very many years back, she just said, all i want is that you do the same for your daughter ! and how i'm struggling to live upto it !

But it is something more in the bond that intrigues me - all the frustration and teenage angst against parents vanish when you turn 18/ 19 years and then i suppose we relate as two women, not so much as mother-daughter. A mother is a daughter's best friend. My best years with amma have been the 5 years of college life when a long leisurely lunch just before hockey practice. The bond built then only grows deeper as one progresses through life through various stages of marriage, childbirth etc. The bond deepens as one becomes a mother.

My almost every interaction with nan, somehow or other links to some memory thread in the past. Today Sumitra said something very poignant - every girl that she has known in twistntales has changed so much after working here a few months. What do i do to my daughters ? Most of them i realise are after my own image. I was like them when i was growing up - only i dnt have a twistntales to offer me a part-time job. O! i would have loved it !

Back to the bonding - the books therefore that i have loved and thoroughly enjoyed esp. in the last few years, have a lot to do with this relationship - "Pitching my tent", "Changing" "Diddi" "Books and Islands" "Shooting Water" ....seems to go on. I suppose it all started with "Exodus" where the realtionship between Elizabeth and Karen was more fascinating to me than the one with Ari Ben Canan.

i especially loved Diddi. It finally in Indian circumstances acknowledged the mother-in-law as well. Hats off to Ira Pande for her generosity. It takes a lot of generosity of spirit to dedicate a book on your mother to your mother-in-law, and not to your father or siblings !

This same thread also makes me feel sad(!) for women who do not have daughters! They miss out a lot in this relationship !