Song of The Week: The Call

The Call by Regina Spektor: a beautiful, beautiful song. This song was also a part of The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.

It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned
into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word

And then that
word grew louder and louder
‘Til it was a battle cry

I’ll come
When you call me
No need to say goodbye

Just because every
thing’s changing
Doesn’t mean it’s never been this way before
All you can
do is try to know
Who your friends are as you head off to the war

a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light

You’ll come back
When it’s over
No need to say goodbye

come back
When it’s over
No need to say goodbye

Now, we’re back to
the beginning
It’s just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because
they can’t feel it too
Doesn’t mean that you have to forget

Let your
memories grow stronger and stronger
‘Til they’re before your

You’ll come back
When they call you
No need to say

You’ll come back
When they call you
No need to say


books · Fiction · reading

This Girl Who Loves Escape: ‘You Would Read Anything’

I’m sorry for the long delay between posts. I was holidaying
in one of India’s favourite Himalaya retreats and was enthralled by sights and
smells, not to mention overpowered with childhood memories but when I returned,
the enthusiasm was all gone and I became a lethargic mess. But right now I am
resurfacing. At least for the moment. Cheers to that thought!

Would I really read anything? Well if it is a story, yes. If it appeals to
my sense for sniffing out fiction, yes. I would read a good crime novel, a bad
attorney story, a romance, a murder mystery (thinking Agatha Christie still),
science fiction, historic fiction, philosophy, classics and of course…my very
favourite: fantasy. I also read bad family dramas (and I tend to classify the
only Sidney Sheldon I ever read here: The Master of the Game’ as well as the
only Danielle Steel, ‘Remembrance’ and also a host of other books I have tried
so hard to forget for they could only compare, rather prejudicially perhaps, to
Ekta Kapoor soaps in my eyes)

But my experiences with fiction and the occasional (very
rare) non-fiction does not stop me from venturing into new reader’s territory,
no matter how murky the source I will step into a bookstore every single time I
can and sometimes browse through the stacks for as long as time would permit. I
am well on my way, I’m sure, to becoming a stereotypical bookworm of a reader;
pushing my spectacles up my nose, a book in my hand almost all the time…whether
I am at the airport or at home.

I do not, as a rule, partake ebooks. I tried to read Dracula
(by Bram Stoker) that way but it was a fail, fail. I like to own books, preferably
smell them and read them over and over, returning to them whenever I am in dire
need of inspiration. For years, Anne frank’s Diary of a Young Girl was that
inspiration to me. Lately, the focus has shifted to Twilight (NOT for Edward
Cullen’s sake…and I am sorry for all the judgement doing the rounds on that
account, but because I admire Stephanie Meyer for the way she writes and the
magic those scenes create as they play in my head minus Robert Pattinson, of

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So I would read almost anything
with an attractive book cover, case in point being that I picked up Waterland
(Graham Swift) for exactly that reason though I loved the book later on. Or an
old binding (books I used to pick up at my grandfather’s and all those other
old books from my mum’s childhood) or basically, anything with a story.

Why? Because I have discovered that I like escape a little
too much. Yes I cannot stop emphasizing this discovery. It is like I run away
from real people and into the arms of a book; other people’s problems, other
people’s lives, other people’s tragedies, their decisions, their confusion,
their danger…and mostly unreal. It is a little sad but there it is: my world of

I wonder what I will become say, thirty to forty years from
now. More importantly, where will I put all the books? 😮


A Room Full of Books

You step  in through the door, leaving your footwear outside (because this is your place of worship; not the temple you sometimes visit to keep your mum happy) and along with it, you also happen to leave behind the cluster inside your mind; the politics of your life, the career decisions, the incessantly buzzing question of, ‘where am I and where am I going?’

You’re in a parallel universe. The huge windows on the opposite wall let in a stream of moonlight and you don’t bother to switch on the lights; not yet anyway. You take a deep breath and cast your eyes around the room full of books. You’re not sure where to begin and you are a little afraid to begin touching so you content yourself by reading the covers, looking at the titles and the author names.

You don’t care what the books are about yet; the only thing you know in that moment is that you’re in a room that breathes for its own, even when you’re not in it. You know in that moment, that you can read anything. The thirst for knowledge, for information, for entertainment, for imagination is so compelling that you have to keep your hands away with a lot of self control.

And yet you still stare in silent reverence. Waiting…for you do not know what. Maybe it is because you know how deliciously tempted your heart is and you want it to feel that way for a while. After all, the room is not going to run away on its own. And you have forgotten that there is a world outside that door.

Finally you reach out and flip on the light, a little carelessly. You aren’t aware of what you are doing. You aren’t aware of the presence of life; other than that of the breathing books, each a lung of its own.

And then you plunge in. Will you hear the doorbell? Or the phone? Do you miss anyone? Do you need to eat or drink?

You might as well be dumped on a desert island