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Showing posts from August, 2015

Quote of The Week

'I'm afraid of opening up, only I'm not sure which frightens me most, letting you in, or the monsters out.'
- Beau Taplin, Little Monsters

The Interpretation of Murder

To be or not to be... The entire plot of Interpretation of Murder revolves around the iconic verse of Hamlet and the quest to find its true elucidation. Jed Rubenfeld's first mystery novel that swings back and forth from Shakespeare to Freudian psychology, from dream to reality, from confusion to clarity, from what it seems to what it really is. What is the best thing about Interpretation of Murder? The intriguing combination of psychoanalysis, suspense and murder? The presence of Sigmund Freud playing a pivotal role in the plot? Or the minute description of Manhattan set in the pre-world war era? The answer is, all of them. But what got me bowled over from the very first page, is this passage.
“There is no mystery to happiness. Unhappy men are all alike. Some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn- or worse, indifference- cleaves to them, or they to it, and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays.…

Living in a Bromidic World

The title could have also been 'Why I have this incessant desire to punch most people in the face' or 'Why I am single' or 'Why I am a selective sociopath'.



Source

Quote of The Week

'so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.'
- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

Pablo Neruda was a Chilean diplomat and politician with the heart of a poet. His original name was Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. He was a communist as well as a great admirer of Joseph Stalin; he even won Stalin Peace Prize in 1953. However his obsession with Stalin and Stalinism did not hinder him from winning a Nobel prize in literature in 1971. America never liked Neruda very much and he was once barred from entering the country. Despite having a turbulent political career and some very questionable ideals, he was undoubtedly one of the best poets ever. A Stalinist romantic poet.

The Problem

Source: pinterest.com

An Outfit Post from Last Week

I hardly ever blog any outfit post here. Although personally I love to dress up. Lately, I have almost stopped going out on weekends and I mostly dress like some middle aged maid to work. Reason?
1. I hate my office.
2. I hate my life.
3. I hate climate of Calcutta.
4. I hate Calcutta.
5. I am bored. Too bored to even bother about looking good.
6. I don't go on dates. Not anymore. And I will not, until Tom Hiddleston or Kit Harington asks me out.
7. I hate my boring, monotonous, stagnant life.

Did I just say 'I hate my life' twice?

However, last week I was too upset and decided to go out for a bit to soothe my strained nerves. I wore this very simple outfit and took some photographs in the empty ladies' room at the mall and got photobombed by a couple of broomsticks.



Bishnupur - A Trip Down The Memory Lane - Last Part

Last night when we had arrived at our destination, it was already dark. So we did not have a chance to explore the vicinity of the bungalow we were staying at. Next day we got up early (read, we had to get up early) and started our expedition. The bungalow was built in the British period and the mark of the most sophisticated race (I’m sorry but I do think they are the most sophisticated race ever despite their tendency to want to own everything that was not rightfully theirs) was still evident everywhere.  The servants’ quarter was situated at the backside of the property where the caretaker lived. The garden in the front porch was well maintained. 


There was a small gate at the back end of the yard that opened to the railway station of Bishnupur. We hung around there for a while watching trains passing by in regular interval.


Bishnupur is a place where history can be found loitering carelessly amidst the hustle bustle of the town only to amaze the tourist with a pleasant dose of su…

Belated Quote of The Week

'Never give up hope. Believe me. The one that got away, sometimes, comes home.'

- Beau Taplin

Beau Christopher Taplin is a lyricist and author from Australia. He writes lyrics for an Australian band named For Our Hero. His notable books are The Wild Heart, Hunting Season, Playing With Fire. This one is one of my most favourite quotes ever. I practically live with this motto. Sometimes you want to believe in something so earnestly and so desperately that they get embedded into your bones. I don't know if mine will ever come home or not, but I really really hope that it does. And I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to give up on love.


I did not post anything last week in the memory of one of my babies I had lost last week. I am back.

An Obituary

The puppy I had posted about a few months ago, is no more. He was run over by a car last Saturday. No more tail wagging, no more following me around, no more making demand for biscuits. From now on every evening I will not have to look around the street for him while coming home. I will be able to reach home a little bit early.
All dogs go to Heaven. He has gone there too. I am sure he is very happy there. Heaven's streets are pretty safe I guess. No deadly car run amok there, which is only logical given no human ever get entry to Heaven.
There will be no post on Rhapsody in Blue this week. May my little puppy rest in peace. He will always be in my heart as long as I live. And I am sorry I could not protect him.

Survival and Quote of The Week

'I love the way she survived. Survival looked good on her. There were no dark marks under her eyes. Maybe deep inside, but I liked the way she looked through them and laughed at life. She did it gracefully. She'd walked over glasses and through fire, but still smiled. And, honestly, I'm not interested in people who haven't lived and died a few times. Who haven't yet had their heart ripped out, or know what it feels like to lose everything. I trust those people, because they stand for something. I knew what she'd been through. I wanted to thank her for surviving. And her to know she now had someone willing to stand with her too.'

- J. Raymond

This week when I was sitting in the waiting room of a city hospital, this quote popped in my head out of nowhere. Perhaps, it is one of my all time favourite quotes. Or perhaps it was owing to the fact that I was thinking of a similar night two years ago. Yes, almost two years ago my father had massive heart attack and …

Bishnupur - A Trip Down The Memory Lane - Part 1

Bishnupur is a town in the Bankura district of West Bengal. Bankura was earlier known as Mallabhum, which means 'the land of the Mallas'. The origin of this name dates back to 17th century when Bankura flourished under the reign of the Malla dynasty. The Malla kings were Vaishnavites and they built several terracotta temples all across Bishnupur which became a part of history with time. Terracotta is an Italian word which means 'baked earth'. All the ancient temples in Bishnupur are made of baked laterite clay which is the local soil type of Bankura.

I visited Bishnupur back in 2011. It was my best friend D's father's idea to go on a short trip to the temple town of Bengal during the Christmas vacation. The hot climate of Bankura makes it an ideal winter destination for tourists. There are many options to reach Bankura from Calcutta, but we thought a long road trip would be most fun. Being a cynic unromantic at heart, I am not a big fan of long road trips. I t…

Quote of The Week

When we accept the graveyards
waiting, not so patiently,
for our weathered bones,
we suddenly understand
how bright the sun
really is, how
aromatic the earth
really is, how
scornful the people who
broke our hearts
really were
and, darling, how easy
it is to let it
all go.

None of this comes with us,
none of this dies with us,
none of this makes us
who we are at the 
end.

But, it's all we have
and if I have it
all with you
I can die knowing
I made a
difference.

- Joe Straynge

Joe Straynge is a contemporary writer. He lives in Ontario. He likes to introduce himself as anti poet. And he defines his works as anti poetry.
I love him. Need I explain why?