Just a stone’s throw from the sands of Marina Beach in Chennai lies the Santhome Basilica, a towering structure in pristine white that is one of the only three churches in the world to house the remains of the one of the original Apostles of Jesus, St. Thomas or Doubting Thomas, who is most famous for refusing to believe in the resurrection of Jesus until he saw the physical injuries on Jesus’ body and for being instrumental in spreading Christianity in South India back in the 1st century A.D. Continue reading
Public toilets in India always leave me breathless, with relief and also with lack of air. They also bring to mind the subtle differences between oft misused words such as available and accessibile, by virtue of being inaccessible even when they are available, which is not very often. A curious peek inside one transports the most hardened hearts and most insensitive noses to a well-stocked chemistry lab paying olfactory tribute to Messrs Haber & Bosch. On certain busy days, I’m told one can catch sight of silvery fumes of ammonia dancing the Tango around the feet of relieved gentlemen. A bold step inside one, as Voldemort will confide if you prod him hard enough, will blast your nose to smithereens if you’re foolish enough to breathe while you’re at it. Continue reading
Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
“That song can make me feel so sad,” said Naoko. “I don’t know, I guess I imagine myself wandering in a deep wood. I’m all alone and it’s cold and dark, and nobody comes to save me. That’s why Reiko never plays it unless I request it.”
– Naoko about Norwegian Wood Continue reading
After the killing of three Muslim youth in a fresh communal incident and the gang-rape of a 20-year old in a relief camp, Muzaffarnagar is back in the news for all the wrong reasons. The political games haven’t stopped and this communal conflagration shows no signs of abating.
We were standing amidst the sounds and sights of the sea: the wind was in our hair, the waves boomed distantly, and the birds chirped incessantly. In front of us loomed the Shore Temple, a somber grey structure that immediately transported us to a different era in South Indian history. Behind the temple, the Bay of Bengal stretched in front of our eyes like a vast piece of blue green velvet draped across the horizon, dancing to the wind. Like all ancient monuments, but even more so because of the violent sea, the temple retained in its ruinous beauty, a sense of decaying grandeur, as if time, like termites, was eating away at its existential foundations. It had lost the original intent behind its construction and become that ubiquitous national commodity, a heritage site.