A thought, An event, The drama

 On 13th of May Canadian short story writer and Nobel prize winner Alice Munro died. I started reading her yesterday and today I read the news that she died. Strange it was. And to honor her I am writing this today.

I was startled at this uncanny event. I told my sister about it like every time. She told me a writer never dies. But then I said still this is so strange.To which she pointed at my bookshelf and said, 'you read Anne Frank!' and I was speechless......

Carpe diem ~ seize the day!

Dead Poets Society (1989)

I don't know if any other movie ever had such a lasting impression on my mind ever. Mr keatings! How much I long for a professor like him. Oh captain! My captain ! I'm still teary eyed about the ending.Now I have a reflection about this.

Being a first year literature student I always felt that this was not how I perceived literature to be. Poetry was my refuge in words. How in the world it became related to metres and syllables? Why would a poet think of that? Isn't touching reader's heart the only reason one writes. It pertains with life. What is life? Or is it just a delusional dream? As per J it is a staged drama..just because it ends doesn't mean it never began. It was in between. Life was in the moments when we were retrospecting about what is life? I make sense at times, maybe.

A new province of writing was an essay in my semester one. It was about novel as a genre. But for me novels were Chetan Bhagat books! Wait don't get me wrong. I'm not his fan. But that was how I was introduced to reading novels. The time when Chetan Bhagat books were at the peak of popularity due to the adaptations of his books like Kai po Che (three mistakes of my life), 2 states and half girlfriend. Nevermind. It is what it is. Reading as a hobby and as a course has a huge difference. Poetry can mean different to different people and will differ depending on your perceptions about things.
On random days I write poems. I call myself an incomplete poet as I hardly finish the poems I write. I have tough time writing endings. But today I wrote a perfect poem it had a beginning mid and end.
But how does that even matter whether complete or incomplete ? When your life is a collection of races half run always remember life is a marathon not a race!

ab toh udd jaaa.....

Asmita

May'24