A Space for Reflections and Musings
Imagine a world where men walk by women without a flicker of their eyes, a mother never smiles at her child, trees do not look green and a girl does not blush at the sight of a coming prince. A world which functions solely on purpose and purpose alone. There is no joyful recreation, no... Continue Reading →
It's the first commentary I am writing so there shall be an introductory passage giving a rough guide to the route this essay may take. As is vital with any summary of a short story, at first there must be a short round up of the story at hand. Then various aspects are picked up... Continue Reading →
In Robert Browning's poem or rather the short story adaptations that we read as children were the first instances where we felt the wind of influence. For the first time, we saw the raw power of another man's actions, his craft. Not only that, we also witnessed the act of an enticing man who laid... Continue Reading →
“Art is one's own eyes and not the artist's hands.” As Basil Hallward added finishing touches to his masterpiece painting of his friend Dorian Gray, one would remark how dexterous he was. Every detail painted to perfection: the sharp brows, the hue on the cheeks and every strand of hair. One would remark on... Continue Reading →
You stroll by it, You stroll on it, You muse along it, You muse on it, You lie along it, You lie on it, You must not mock it For it may knock you off, You must not hurt it, For it may knock you off. Food to our thoughts Wealthy assets too To... Continue Reading →
England were on the verge of not qualifying for the World Cup 2002 finals. They needed just one goal as Germany finished nil all. England were awarded a free kick 30 yards out in the dying embers of the game. On stepped the English skipper. He denied Teddy Sherringham from having a go and shouldered... Continue Reading →
I He barked lines through the wind Riffs encasing him in thin threads And when he was done, in the end Whispered a melody spreading a dread Of the demise of music and the player So he may sound pretentious and lay Beside his rusty lute, caress... Continue Reading →
Ink Idle 