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Showing posts from October, 2012

Living with History

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I love trekking. This Sunday's excursion took me to 'Ghanagad'. It is about an hour  from Lonavla. It was rarely used for actual war, but it has strategic importance. Shivaji Maharaj lost it to the Mughals in the Treaty of Purandar, but it was later reclaimed. The excursion entails an hour-long hike to the base and then it takes another hour (or more) to reach the top. The trek to the base of the bale-killa is beautiful. The pathway winds through a forest of sorts. The tall trees with leafy canopies, abundant ferns, wind rushing through the leaves and the sound of little beings scuttling away as you move forward makes for a wonderful trek.I would advise seeking local help if you want to go to the top, because the last bit is a little arduous. It involves a ladder and grasping at the cable nailed to the stone facade. There is little of note on the top, but you can see Sarasgad and Sudhagad. Two decrepit buruj make up for what once must have been a bale-killa. At

Pune is alive

A city is a living being, of either sex with the peculiar characteristics accredited by years of breathing and expanding. Delhi is a socialite with a 'Government husband'. She hides herself behind the veneer of sophistication. But often at unguarded moments, the face falls to reveal that underneath the magnanimity and laughter, there is savagery. Kolkata is a coquettish woman wearing the traditional red and white sari, but she has dark flashing eyes that are full of passion. What can I say about Pune? He is a man with the puneri pagadi perched on his head, caustic in speech and acerbic in tone. He likes new things but clings firmly to the old, and moves seamlessly within all walks of life. Pune breathes. It lives. When I am in the 'gav' area, I look at the buildings - some run down and derelict, some well-kept, but most bearing the ties to an era long gone. The carved balconies and the wide wooden windows are still beautiful. On a quiet morning, one can imagine the

Tess of D'Urbervilles

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It has been a long while since a book has tortured me. Pride and Prejudice evokes the same warmth in me as the sight of an old friend and the well-read first line of the book, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife"  makes me smile. I have empathised with Lizzy Bennet and I often identify myself with her. But I have never felt tortured by the ebb and fall of her emotions. I like to think that I share her scintillating wit (:D) and become Elizabeth at times, and never do I feel that I am outsider in her world. I live in Meryton, I take tea at Pemberly and I'm a fly on the wall - or a bee in the bonnet as the case maybe - in Pride and Prejudice. I began reading Tess of D'Urbervilles (Thomas Hardy) precisely two days ago. Between the compulsory breaks for sleep, lunch, dinner (my mother abhors the sight of a book on my lap as I try to shovel food down so I may read unhindered) an

The New Kid on the Block

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Oh no, he's not yet gained entry to the South Block, or the North for that matter, but he has made a start. Arvind Kejriwal.  I'm utterly fascinated by the man. The Times Crest recently profiled him and the different articles made him more puzzling to the common man. He looks ordinary, yet has the temerity to challenge the biggest leaders and the erstwhile son-in-law of the nation. God be with him. What more can one say? (Image courtesy of TOI)