Smaller than Life
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Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.
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When I am dead, - Hillaire Belloc |
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The thoughts of our past years - William Wordsworth |
Yours Truly
Name: Dileepan Lampoon me at: panvista@gmail.comOn the Stands Short Story A Debut of Sorts The Earthquake A Month of Bhawan's Night In Print! A Small, Anonymous Room Accepting the Master's change By the Countryside In the Hour of Need BITSAT is born! Sheaves on the Shelf Buy my Book |
Friday, June 24, 2005
Anachronistic Flashes "It is customary to make three pradhakshinas or nine. I am stopping with three. You can go ahead and make nine if you want," she looked up at him and elaborated, before her lotus feet proceeded on the marble alleys of the Saraswathi temple to circumambulate the goddess deity a last time. The boy followed her. The truant wind could all but contend himself with the smell of the red earth and raindrops: he wafted the scent of the jasmines from the neat plait of her oiled hair across the alley. The spell had been cast. Her dark green duppatta, immaculately pinned over the left shoulder of her dark green chudidhar, fluttered gently in the gust as she looked out for a second at the pouring rain. Myriad droplets thrashed against her powdered face as more dots adorning the dotted vermillion and neat ash. And her countenance, for a second, belying her calm, appeared ruffled by the tiny droplets. Were the six more rounds of God worth the separation?
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