... scribbles...

Go Set a Watchman was perhaps, in my life, the most awaited book ever (and I am a Potterhead). When I first read To Kill A Mockingbird in high school, driven to it by many Reader’s Digest articles, I found in Atticus Finch the person I wanted to look up to as a model of integrity and character, as I was growing up. He held himself as answerable only to himself and taught his children the same. He became the conscience keeper of the entire town, and all this through the eyes of a young girl, in whose shoes I was only too happy to put myself in. While the early reviews did reveal that Atticus was going to be portrayed as a racist, the book did surprise me in many of its aspects. The progression from Scout to Jean- Louise didn’t seem all too strange- a tomboyish young girl, imbibed with values of independent thinking, growing up to become a headstrong young woman, ready to scandalise her reputation- holding aunt and continuing to be a stranger among other women, most of whom were ...

Around 3:50 in the morning today, I found myself awake and looking at the yellow lamps that glow outside my window, from the courtyard. These final days of submission, when the supposed tension and pressure has broken me down completely that I cannot bring myself to work, and so sit around thinking of how e.e. cummings got his name, my alarm is always set to 4:00, and my biological clock wakes me up earlier than that. There is a small light outside my window- Delhi in the summer- and the strange fear of waking up to find the ghost of Elisa Lam in my room didn't scare me much. And yet, a certain fear silences my movements as I fidget around, looking for my slippers, that hadn't come back from their midnight stroll. That strange sense of having Poe's raven look at you from the window-sill, when you know that the shadows are just cast by over-grown aloes, that was stifling me. And then, in that moment of dead silence, even as I knew that the dawn was on to me, the first miaw ...