An anthology allows you to taste fleetingly, sample and move on if you will, nice knowing-you, no commitment and no hard feelings. Sometimes the words strike a chord and resonate, sometimes the words cleanse your neurons of the gunk accumulated and force you to sit up straight.
Like Salinger, and well, Bananafish.
Like Ruth Praver Jhabvala and that incredibly intricate abstract in Mirrorwork.
Links to a Jhabvala story from the New Yorker archives here:http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2008/07/28/080728fi_fiction_jhabvala?currentPage=all#ixzz0fyou6x2M
Sunrises on clear morning continue to enthrall. Pink and white and a tinge of orange, a dash of clouds overhead; and the eucalyptus tall and proud, each individual leaf outlined like a mughal miniature. Dew trembling at the edge of bamboo leaves and the bougainvillea rushing mad in its generosity.
Amit, thanks for the Beautiful blog award, and I shall do this tag in bite sized pieces, for to write an entire post would be completely too much.
Baroda? The warmth of home and the sadness of old places past their prime. Kalyan shabby and faded, resigned to its fate; empty and without a chaat counter, no bhel, what a sacrilege for a spot once famous for this comfort food. The ASE premises now rubble on a vacant corner lot, once upon a time the country’s best, most modern, shining steel and technology-proud pharma plant occupied these vast lands. The malls that line the corner seem a mockery. Once upon a time I’d interned here.