There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed That’s what Ernest Hemingway said. But I suppose that he said it at a point where his bleeding had started to give him life.... Continue Reading →
‘Come to the Gabba’, they said. The Indians arrived. Not with a battering ram, but with a bruised, crumbling, “second string” team whose only weapons were their dynamism and inner steel. Steel that was good enough to bore through the fortress, hour by hour, session by session and day by day. Gabba fell, and from the rubble of 36 all out, India’s gladiators built an edifice for the ages, a monument to grit, courage, self-belief and resolve at Australia’s Coliseum.
The book felt like a slow climb whose peaks were worth it, even if the staggering views from those peaks were for a shorter duration.
One of Clarke’s less talked about novels (compared to his other ones), and I am not sure why. I really enjoyed this. There are a few themes explored that are common across the couple of his other ones that I... Continue Reading →
Saudade - A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. I... Continue Reading →