Camus’ Words of Wisdom.


Eclectic quotes from the late literary wizard Albert Camus.

1. People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.

2. Since we’re all going to die, it’s obvious that when and how don’t matter.

3. The truth is that everyone is bored, and devotes himself to cultivating habits.

4. Believe me, for certain men at least, not taking what one doesn’t desire is the hardest thing in the world.

5. But sometimes it takes more courage to live than to shoot yourself.

6. One always has exaggerated ideas about what one doesn’t know.

7. You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question.


Stuck in ‘9-to-5’ Jobs.

I read an article just now, and it is so good that I cannot resist myself from sharing it here. CLICK HERE to go to the article.

The article cites the anguish of  terrific writer Charles Bukowski over the mundane and menial jobs, which as he says, are a trap of life!

To quote him,

“Slavery was never abolished, it was only extended to include all the colors.”

Beware. His wise words can be an eye-opener. 🙂

Courtesy: OPEN CULTURE website.

Reader or a Rereader??

I was going through an article citing Vladimir Nabokov‘s arguments from a 1969 BBC interview of his. This, to a considerable extent, has cleared my understanding of the statement  that ‘one cannot read a book; one can only reread it.

vladimir nabokovIncidentally, I use the word reader very loosely. Curiously enough, one cannot read a book: one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader. And I shall tell you why. When we read a book for the first time the very process of laboriously moving our eyes from left to right, line after line, page after page, this complicated physical work upon the book, the very process of learning in terms of space and time what the book is about, this stands between us and artistic appreciation. When we look at a painting we do not have to move our eyes in a special way even if, as in a book, the picture contains elements of depth and development. The element of time does not really enter in a first contact with a painting. In reading a book, we must have time to acquaint ourselves with it. We have no physical organ (as we have the eye in regard to a painting) that takes in the whole picture and then can enjoy its details. But at a second, or third, or fourth reading we do, in a sense, behave towards a book as we do towards a painting. However, let us not confuse the physical eye, that monstrous masterpiece of evolution, with the mind, an even more monstrous achievement. A book, no matter what it is—a work of fiction or a work of science (the boundary line between the two is not as clear as is generally believed)—a book of fiction appeals first of all to the mind. The mind, the brain, the top of the tingling spine, is, or should be, the only instrument used upon a book.

There has occurred a number of times when I find it difficult to comprehend the lines at once. So I just skim over that portion rather than rereading it. Rereading is definitely what I need to do.

Be a rereader and become a better reader 😉

Literary Meals for Thee!

Two days ago I came across an article describing about this book by the name Fictitious Dishes: An Album of Literature’s Most Memorable Meals, authored by Dinah Fried.

ficThe book is in fact an album of the most memorable dishes from two centuries of popular fiction. Dinah Fried herself has cooked these meals, directed the scene as well as shot the photographs. The photographs are so lively and so close to the piece of writing that one might actually want like living the moments inside the novel and savor the dishes.

Thinking about writing such a book is, in my view, a prominent step towards popularizing the age-old and evergreen heritage of literature that some of the finest minds of our civilization have given to us. Reminiscing scenes from the literary masterpieces is an act to live by.

The album cites meals from the master works of literature like The Catcher in the Rye, To kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby and Moby Dick.

Have a happy meal 😉

Cessation – III

Everwhere befell dead silence. They walked inside.

‘I’m Dave from the INTELLIGENTSIA Corps, ma’am. There’s something mysterious going on at the Bayon Beach, and I’m afraid your husband might be in grave peril’, he told with stern look, while entering the corridor, to her.

Terror engulfed her. ‘How is he? Is he…is he…alive?’, she burst into tears.

‘I can see you’re very much consumed with worry, ma’am. Your husband seems alright. He called us half an hour ago to send a message to you. He wants you to meet her. He says its…its for the whole mankind.’

‘What do you mean?…the whole mankind?’, replies she with a relaxed yet perplexed look.

‘He hasn’t apprised us on the whole affair either. He says its someone from…from the sky. He stammered I mean…’

‘What do you mean from the sky!!’

‘I don’t know either ma’am. Its an enigma as of now. It sounded like he was gasping for breath. He sounded strange. No one ever sounded so strange.’

‘Just tell me what he told!’, she started losing her temper.

‘He told me its about…its about all the goodness in this world. I know it’ll sound weird to you. But these were his words. Please bear with me ma’am…’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. This can’t be my husband! Go on…’

‘He told me people are destroying it. Destroying something. Something which is priceless and can’t be regained. I don’t know. I got so confused that…’

‘Just keep saying…’

‘He told about a chance. A chance for something. A last chance. He said we’re being watched over. That they’re here!’, his pupils dilated.

‘Who are here?’

‘Who have the privilege of bestowing us with a chance, he said. I don’t know. It went over my head. He wants you. Its all I know. Its the need of the hour. You’ve to come with me to the Bayon Beach.’

The Bayon Beach was submerged in its own mystery.

If only one cared…If only one listened…

Cessation – II

She was perturbed to the core. Every inch of hers was trembling with fear.

‘He never behaved so strangely before, not even when his book was nearly lost few days back. Is he…with his friends! I should call them. Maybe I should wait. But for how long. What if he’s gone for eternity!! No, I should call someone.’

Hurriedly she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello! Police? Its an emergency. Please help!’, said she, gasping for an ounce of breath.

‘Arkhmen raark…shrov shrov’

She jumped back, the receiver falling off her hands. ‘Oh gosh! What’s that sound!!’, she thought, sweat dripping off her neck. The hollow sound brought a chill inside her. She had never listened to it before. Ever.

Gathering her courage, she started moving closer to the phone and picked the receiver off the floor. ‘Who’s…who’s this?’, said she in a timid voice. A silence fell on the other side. ‘Maybe it was…a misconception…just…a disturbance in signals. Ohh I’m too worried!!’. Just when she was about to put down the receiver, that hollow sound started coming again.

‘Arkhmen raark…shrov shrov. Arkhmen raark…shrov shrov’

It chilled her to the bones. The sound was agonizing. It felt like carrying the pain of thousand lives. She felt connected to it…to the pain it conveyed. She started feeling not terrified but sad, sad for someone distant. Someone from the past. Or the future maybe.

The sound continued for another 5 minutes. To her, it felt like a lifetime’s burden to bear. She put down the receiver, went to the couch and started crying. Crying for reasons she didn’t knew.

‘My husband is in danger’, said she while standing up, ‘He needs me. Something is not good.’

Just when she was about to leave in her jeep, a loud thud came on the door.

‘Who’s there??’, she asked in a loud voice.

‘We have a news for you, ma’am. And I’m afraid you’ll fall off your feet after hearing it. Please open the door.’

That long wait…


waving from side to side
goes my days and nights…
like the swaying of leaves
like a man grieves…

a pinch of light
to enliven my soul…
the winds of desire
in you I become whole…

the unheard cries
the failing tries…
killing me inside
ohh, come beside…

grab my hand
come to my grave
herein I rest
in wait of you

its you I seek
unearth me from grief…
not much I want
a piece of you
to look into me
& say, ‘I be with you’…..


PS : self-composed

The sons of Shadow


I walk past thee
The sons of Shadow.
Through the misty realms
unto the end of sorrow.

The unguided paths
thou guide me into
through the roads less tread
where victory awaits me.

For valor and honor
none less I want, none more I seek.
Hearken to my spirit
molded by fire, undaunted by death
cast upon thee vengeance
and emerge a free will…


PS : self composed