Years ago, we were going to Jamnagar, my mother, brother, maasi, I think my Dad. In an air-conditioned ambassador car. This was the summer break. Car developed a little snag, we got chach, rotla from a peasant nearby. We saw a temple somewhat far away. 1/
We decided to visit the temple. This was the Ghumli Temple. I must have been in my teens, this would be around 33-35 years ago. Enroute to Jamnagar. After a while, we said that the temple was too far away and we would get late if we proceeded. So, we went back to the car. 2/n
The car had been repaired. So, we got in. After a little while, the car again broke down. The driver tried to repair but it just wouldn't start. The driver said it would be an hour or more to repair it. Then, we, who had abandoned the idea of visiting the Temple, went. 3/n
There was no other vehicle on the highway. It must have been afternoon. Or around 3.00 pm or something. We went to the Ghumli Temple, paid respects and returned. The car hadn't got repaired but then we found a State Transport Bus, which took us to Jamnagar, where 4/n
Where we arrived after it was already dark. I have never been on that route ever again. Never had the opportunity. But I have never forgotten this real life story about my experience at the Ghumli Temple. /End.
The mental health epidemic is such that we not have an acute shortage of psychiatrists. But there are "manipulative" ones possibly. A senior friend, a sugar patient, around 60, couldn't eat well for over two weeks, very anxious. Professor. Excellent stress manager. 1/n
He would barely eat half an apple and would vomit. Fearful due to some adverse professional issues. Though nothing related directly to him. He saw a pamphlet of some psychiatrist's clinic and desired to go there. I was with him. I found the set-up shady. Anyway, 2/n
The doctor made this friend fearful and gave a detailed prescription and the nurse insisted we buy medicines from there. I got him wriggled out. Later, in a friend's car, I saw that my friend was prescribed three different benzodiazpines and one SSRI. 3/n
I spoke about vitiligo,
About loss of esteem.
You lured me into love
With Mohsin Bhopali’s ghazal,
In Munni Begum’s soulful rendition,
Chahat mein kya duniyadari.
(1/n) @tabish_khair@_sayema@jennybhatt
I came rushing to your love,
A friend cautioned me too,
But I came running,
Like the first rains that showers.
And then you suddenly withdrew,
Like the flower Lajwanti,
Getting bashful, shy,
Into your shell quietly.
(2/n) @ranjithoskote
You avoided me stealthily,
For ages, in a syllable or two, you spoke.
It sent me deep into pain,
Into various ghazals of despair.
Never once did I blame you,
If the love was mine, so is the pain—
It is stronger than the fleeting love.
(3/n)
Thread about evaluating Indian Literature as Postcolonial. I would disagree,a bit strongly, with d premise that "Desi" literature can be best analyzed critically as PoCo. Its a critical lens that took birth in a certain metropolitan academy and has been shackled by it. 1/n
It may be true, somewhat, of Indian English fiction for it to manifest 'postcolonial' concerns. However, a reminder, Amitav Ghosh @GhoshAmitav had once pulled his novel out of the reckoning for the Commonwealth Fiction Prize saying he didn't believe in these categories. 2/n
The entire circus of Postcolonial Literature started with Empire Writes Back ed by Bill Ashcroft et al. It sounded good that 'the colonies were writing back to the Centre'. I'm not sure if telling Europe that Africa was advanced was exactly Achebe's purpose in writing 3/n