Showing posts from July, 2011

Love Of The Letter

I read this article with a chuckle - The ‘hero’ of the letter is now 74 years old. Indeed, he and his lady-love had tied the knot, but are now divorced. The letter was written in 1958.
That got me thinking; half way into 2011, the act of ‘writing’ a letter has become so quaint. One ‘types’ a letter under exceptional circumstances. The norm is to drop an email. In fact, the first ever hand-written letter I’ve received as an adult was in 2010. It was from my neighbour, who stays opposite to my flat. She is a gorgeous 60+ British lady. The letter was written on a small cream-coloured paper with floral corners. The hand-writing was slanted and loopy, clearly written with a fountain pen. The letter was neatly folded midway and enclosed in a white envelope. The letter asked me if I could join her for tea on the morrow, at her home. Or if the weather permits, we could walk up…

Asuras of Today

I was watching the Sidney Sheldon-like Rupert Murdoch drama unfolding on BBC. That was when the marquee crawled by, informing me about the Mumbai blasts. Shocked, I switched over to an Indian news channel. The same old scenes greeted the viewer – chaos, stunned people milling around, news anchors catching hold of anyone who can give a version, injured being physically lifted and taken away, policemen trying their best to control the crowds.
I was waiting with bated breath to see the statements from our leaders. Will the statements finally reflect justifiable anger and instil trust in the people; that the government will move swiftly, effectively, ruthlessly this time? I was hoping for too much. When the statement came, it merely said, ‘Strongly condemn the blasts’; followed by ‘Urging people of Mumbai to show unity’ and many other clich├ęs. I think these statements are in large files that are marked ‘Post-attack statements’. So each time there is an attack, the same statements are re…