KhepiAri

Book Review: A Shakespearean Botanical by Margaret Willes Quote: When Tatiana commands her fairies to serve Bottom the weaver with exotic fruits such as apricots, figs, and mulberries in A Midsummer's Night Dream, she is is indulging him with 'banqueting stuffe'. On Saturday afternoon my boss showed me the gift her daughter bought from the Bodleian Library. A library I absolutely drool over, for Harry Potter freaks, that's your Hogwarts Library! And All Souls Trilogy fans that's where Diana met Mathew. I practically waltzed around my boss, nagged her, geeked about the beautiful book to finally make her part with it for the weekend. How many times have we read Shakespeare and gone he knew his stuff too well! Which is the major reason behind the long-standing debate of Mr. William's actual identity and authorship of his plays? This book is aptly described as a marriage between the beautiful words of the Bard and the illustrations of John Gerar...

As I settle on the cozy bed, I can see and sense, some of us are preparing bottles to pop up at the stroke of midnight, some are just waiting for an eventful year to just get over. My virtual friends are making a Year Review Video on Facebook, my best friends are with their lovers and dear ones sharing photographs on Instagram, my fandom reader friends are drunk on nerdiness. For a human who is more alive on her virtual space, the world is a view through her Instagram page, a whisper within 140 characters on twitter, an emotion disguised in a status update, sadness the reaction button. All these virtual actions are fictional in the rational eyes, they are not touchable or kissable. Yet they exist, they exist on the other side of the screen. I woke up from a siesta dream today, in it, I was cooped in a room, everything was Blue and White but nothing is alive. Everything typed on the virtual screen was getting erased, every photograph I uploaded were getting whitewashed, ever...

On first October we turned four, this blog and the blogger. I had an aggressive desire to write on that very night and shout out we are four years old. But my blogpost on 30 th of previous month must explain why there was no such celebratory post. Today I have no story to tell or complain to rant about nor experiments in art and cooking to flaunt. I am no longer possessed by the feverish muse that had been playing with my mind a week back.  Yet I am in a celebratory mood, I am treading on the fine balance of nostalgia and subtle pathos. I have attained wisdom of fulfillment. When my Facebook profile picture suddenly changes into a fanart of two men in wedding kimono and my caption is a link to a thirty chapter long story published in a site called Fanfiction.net many are bound to question the special occasion in my life, trust my closest friends to be the last to twitch a brow. No, the ‘Pujos’ I hate this accent! So let’s re-frame it, the Puja season is not far f...

Today I am in ill condition. It is on these terrible days when my mind goes berserk with ideas and thoughts. I want to write, I want to jump around, I want to read, I want to do anything and everything. The  Networking and Wiring connectivity in my brain gets amplified and I become hyper aware of my surroundings. In other words in my sickness I become possessed by the divine Muse! Sitting with warped body in sheets and drinking green tea with honey & holy basil every hour has turned me cranky and lack of a proper outlet makes me go crazy. Here is a one-shot panel on my Own Condition. I have an exam tomorrow on  Critic as an Artist  by Wilde, and I have no idea how will I fare in that paper. So before I crumble down for mark churning pressure and rot up like a ostrich in desert.Lets laugh at myself.       P.S-  Time for another cup of Green Tea, forgive me for typos I am bit delusional  thanking you to bear with me ...

At twenty two, people had written poems, lead revolutions, bled for love, fought for country, worked for NASA, found new medicines for incurable diseases or simply roll on bed snoring, their life off in a blissful bubble like me. I turned twenty two, yes it seems strange to accept that I am far from my teen years, but I did, do I look older, refined and appealing to the opposite sex or the same sex? No! To them I appear a short girl jumping in ripped trousers here and there with nerd glasses on. Before I turned twenty two I took a self challenge- To Complete the Fictions of Haruki Murakami translated in English.  Here is a part from the long self interview. I had a dream or maybe I was in a place where all my personalities meet and talk, a parallel universe. In this place the Twenty-two years old me, was being questioned by the Blogger Me. The two selves of mine were seated in a big room, the interviewer was wearing t-shirt, green harem ...

Family is the basic unit of society- is something we learn in four walls of classroom and understand in our homes.  A single human with help of her family and friends grows bonds in to wide network of connections. Of all societal terms the most complex term in the world is 'Relationship'. A word that gains lots of prefixes and adjectives and gets more layers with time. An average human life has numerous bonds with living organisms and non living things. Plenty get married, some marry their work, some worship their cell phones. Few have affair with god, thousands become parents while other stick to pets. We create an intrinsic network where we balance our life between alive and lifeless. The constant linchpin is our motion of life that keeps lifeless and life-filled engaged.  Today we complete three years of our blog, like many of us know the purpose of this blog was vague. My only aim to write this blog was to complain about life. Only promise I made to this ...

“How much I craved for the sweetness of first drop. Every breeze blew the honey drops away. Now at the brink of desire, I felt the cold against the heat. The smell of the warm wet earth urges me to be at mercy of ecstasy. How much I craved for the miracle of rain. Every thunder that cries makes my heart delight in joy. The first drops drumming the thirsty earth is symphony to my soul. The smell of wet earth nauseates me to be lost at my own thirst. Every rain reminds me of the time thoughts I had. The touch of drops sparks the desire I never explored. I have died at the moment of hysteria, yet the last breath is infinite when the thought of you passes me by. No tears come when your face evaporates. Memories often limited, creates an emptiness which never burns but dries me every moment.  How much I have wished for you, drenched besides me. Every drop shows the moment we could have, moment of our present. The kisses never tasted, the hands never held, the chill nev...