Skip to main content

Untitled

damp
desolate
corners
in decrepit
rundown
houses
make me
think of
love…

spurned

Comments

ghetufool said…
lovely post man. short and precise narration of a psycho.
Nana said…
AM DISSAPOINTED. U'stand what watching movies without sleep and with i_ _a_s can do.
Rimi said…
er, i didn't exactly have this in mind, but well, to quote a certain comment on MY blog, "vey angsty" ;)
thorswheels said…
Ghetuful: Critical appreciation!

Nana: That too Hindi ones, like Chocolate.

Rimi: Angsty? Not really.
vadahole said…
i think of rain and lush greenery when i think of love...and i believe that's more joyfull, but love is not always that joyful and you are right to attach a tinge of meloncholy to it...
Tridib said…
Very minimalist. Very, dare I say, existentialist!
Chaila Bihari said…
Proximity in damp desolate may breed love. Distance, even in sunlit green valleys, may often melt it down. Ye nazdikiyan, ye dooriyan...
Chaila Bihari said…
Proximity in damp desolate may breed love. Distance, even in sunlit green valleys, may often melt it down. Ye nazdikiyan, ye dooriyan...
Roshomon said…
I don't mind desolate corners...but the damp part is slightly depressing.
Rimi said…
was kidding. kidding.
Anonymous said…
Desolate corners eh? For more on such topics...check my blog.
thorswheels said…
Vadahole: Great thought.

Tridib: Does the comparison put in line with those painters of yore?

Chaila: You are correct; but that a second line of thinking.
thorswheels said…
Roshomon: That's why they remind me of spurned love!

Rimi: Point taken.

Ph: I am a regular at phantasmagoria!
Anonymous said…
"Decrepit", "damp", "corner"... I was almost waiting for Eliot's yellow fog to creep into the next line.

It was a good one, but I empathise with Rimi's disappointment. Hungry for your prose, Fool. Take me there
Anonymous said…
best site
Anonymous said…
best site
Anonymous said…
best site
Anonymous said…
best site

Popular posts from this blog

Chele dhora

It all started one day when Rituparno Ghosh asked Mrs Moon Moon Sen, the mother of all bong boudies, in that coy tone of his: “Moon Moon Di, toke shobai naeka keno bole re?” The goddess of voluptuous said: "Achha, Ritu, tui naeka’r definition ta bol to…" A snapshot from the Antarmahal floor: Act I Sc I: Love-making scene between Jackie Shroff and Soha Ali Khan Rituparno Ghosh (RG): Ei Jaaggu, shon! Tui na, laav-making’er scene ta ektu Rangeela’r moto kore dichis. Amra janish, oto overt hobo na! Eita art house cinema, toder Bollywood bioscope na. JS (Jackie Shroff): R se Ritu Da. Ch se cho**n dekhalei shudhu hobe? Ektu..Ch se chulkuni na hole ke hobe? (Aside: Na se Naeka ch**a, saala. Bombay te role pachhina bole ei Pa se panpenani sojhho korte hoche) RG: Ki shob je bolish. (blushes ruddy). Chhhi. (Bites his fingers) Jaai hok. RG: [Picks up the megaphone and simpers into it] Soha, tui shuye por. Jaaggu, tui or opor chor. Soha: Ritu Da, maa je bole pathiye chilo dummy diye kora

Bombay troubadours

Let me please introduce myself I’m a man of wealth and taste And I laid traps for troubadours Who get killed before they reached Bombay These lines are from the legendary Rolling Stones song Sympathy for the Devil . Strange are the ways of rock lyricists. Sometimes utterly pedantic lines become cult, like Deep Purple's "Smoke on the water, fire in the sky". At times it is a tad more philosophical – “teenage wasteland” (from The Who’s song Baba o’ Reilly ) became a headbanging catchphrase some time in the seventies. Coming back to The Rolling Stones, the song Sympathy for the Devil seemed strong in its logic till it came to this line – the killing of troubadours before they reached Bombay. I can hardly recall any troubadour coming to India through the Gateway of India. Unless if it is on a metaphysical level. Troubadours are travelling musicians. Some defend the line saying troubadours refer to The Beatles. They became mystical in their song writing after coming to India,

Haathi ka andala

One more on rock music lyrics. “Mishearing” of lyrics is perhaps as old as rock music itself. With lyrics tightly enmeshed in layers of high-decibel electric music, chances of getting them messed up are quite high. And embarrassing, too, at times. You might be ostracised at rock concerts if you sing She don’t mind, She don’t mind, She don’t mind, Cocaine . The Lynn Trusses of the rock world will cry sacrilege and dunk your head in a barrel full of Woodstock mud. JJ Cale, and later Eric Clapton, had sung this song as She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie, Cocaine . Why, I don’t know. The former interpretation makes more sense. Again, an American was humbled when he was told that the refrain in the Beatles song Across the Universe was Jai guru deva , and not John grew a K-mart . Poor John must have turned in his grave. So, don’t fret if you regularly mishear lyrics. You are not the only one. This website shows us how most of us mishear lyrics. It also allows you to relate the emba