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Arundhati Roy: “Fiction is a Universe”

Longreads

In The Guardian, Tim Lewis curates an unconventional interview with Arundhati Roy: all the questions come from fans, famous and not. I particularly love her articulation of the ways in which all her writing, fiction and non-fiction, is political, in response to a question from writer Lionel Shriver about whether Roy worries that her activism detracts from her fiction.

I have always quarrelled with this word “activist”. I think it’s a very new word and I don’t know when it was born, but it was recently. I don’t want to have a second profession added to writing. Writing covers it. In the old days, writers were political creatures also, not all, but many. It was seen as our business to be writing about the world around us in different ways. So I don’t feel threatened or worried about that. For me, my fiction and my nonfiction are both…

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Bulleya Ki Jana Main Kaun

चल बुलेया, चल उत्थे चलिए जित्थे सारे अन्ने
ना कोइ साड्डी ज़ात पछाणे, ना कोइ सान्नू मन्ने….

Sufi Poetry

Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun

Bulleya to me, I am not known


Na main momin vich maseetaan
Na main vich kufar diyan reetaan
Na main paakaan vich paleetaan
Na main moosa na firown

Not a believer inside the mosque, am I
Nor a pagan disciple of false rites
Not the pure amongst the impure
Neither Moses, nor the Pharoh


Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na main andar ved kitaabaan
Na vich bhangaan na sharaabaan
Na vich rindaan masat kharaabaan
Na vich jaagan na vich saun

Not in the holy Vedas, am I
Nor in opium, neither in wine
Not in the drunkard’s intoxicated craze
Neither awake, nor in a sleeping daze


Bulleya Ki jaana main Kaun
Bulleya! to me, I am not known

Na vich shaadi na ghamnaaki
Na main vich paleeti paaki
Na main aabi na main khaki

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for Bennington

you, too, think he was a coward, no? “what a pussy!” “he quit too soon, what a shame!” “never thought he was the suicide sort!” you have conveniently forgotten that you too had tried to end your life a zillion times but stopped – not because you mustered the zeal to stay alive but because […]… Continue reading for Bennington

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Dear society- An apology 

It’s too powerful! I loved this dashing unflinching articulation. Thanks Chey for writing such a wonderful piece! 🙂

The same old Chey

Dear society, 

I m sorry

I am  sorry that I never lived up to your expectation. 
And I am sorry for every time I questioned your rules and regulations. 

I am sorry for every NO when I  should’ve said Yes. 

And I am sorry for not being a damsel in distress. 

I am sorry for liking Tinkerbelle instead of Cinderella. 

And sorry for not liking that pink coloured umbrella. 

I am sorry that I punched that guy when he did wrong to my best friend. 

And I am sorry for wearing clothes that weren’t even of the trend. 

More than that I am sorry for not being the ideal girl type. 

Because good girls don’t rebel and never do they create any hype. 

I know that I should be a good girl and aspire to be a princess. 

Because ‘to look good’ is my only power and sole purpose is…

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Notes to unforgiving things that don’t read [Oprihory] — kavyamudrak

The nutcracker can chip my soul that often smells of rotten emotions but not my thoughts that pass undetected through reality realms.Note to rotten emotions that refuse to sublimate : You should start using deodorants as your stink results in my bones cracking.Note to bones that crack like porcelain dolls : There’s a reason I […]… Continue reading Notes to unforgiving things that don’t read [Oprihory] — kavyamudrak

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That – and no more, and it is everything to make you hear, to make you feel — it is, before all, to make you see. That — and no more, and it is everything

Live & Learn

In one of the rare interviews he did, the fiction writer and poet Denis Johnson — who died on Wednesday at 67 — was asked about his craft, and he quoted these lines from Joseph Conrad: “My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel — it is, before all, to make you see. That — and no more, and it is everything.”

In his own novels and poems, Mr. Johnson fulfilled that task with extraordinary savagery and precision. He used his startling gift for language to create word pictures as detailed and visionary, and as varied, as paintings by Edward Hopper and Hieronymus Bosch, capturing the lives of outsiders — the lost, the dispossessed, the damned — with empathy and unsparing candor. Whether set in the bars and motels of small-town America, or…

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Romance with my Pen

As my pen writes,new emotions opens up,sometimes sad and sometimes jovial.The ink is like my blood that flows in me,for that is the most precious gem that keeps my mind going.The blank sheet is like my life,in which I decide to write the uncountable chapters of mirth or even cry.I shatter at times and become […]… Continue reading Romance with my Pen

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Why and How to Raise Yourself out of Mass Consciousness

I found this article written by Gloria Excelsias on her website - iamuniversity.org, totally worth reading. Thank you Gloria for your esteemed writing and priceless tips. 👍 Today I would like to share with you then quick ideas how you can raise yourself out of mass consciousness. Now, why would you want to do that?… Continue reading Why and How to Raise Yourself out of Mass Consciousness

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When words abandoned you

An Intoxicated Storyteller

It was about 10 years ago that I had written fiction for the first time. I had written crap.
However, it was a time when I loved myself for what I wrote. I loved my detective fiction stories that were half borrowed from Enid Blyton, half made up. I prided myself on phrases and paragraphs that were made up of a gazillion grammatical errors and spelling mistakes.
They were also, however, made of passion. A passion for writing, a passion for the self.
A passion for the self.
When I entered high school, and later college, especially college, I lost that passion like it had never existed. Like it had only been a dream. So many brilliant writers and poets surrounded me that their accomplishments engulfed the whole of me like a tornado. I was breathless. I couldn’t write if my life depended on it. Words betrayed me. They left…

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Stuck.

.

Words of the Soul

Life. It gets complicated.

There’s something wrong with everyone. Every single person has one biggest fear. One fatal flaw. One big battle. One thing pulling them down, one weight keeping them stuck.

Stuck. What does that mean? Do you feel stuck? I feel stuck. Unquestionably, so. Stuck in circumstance. Stuck in it, because of it, and with it. Why I used the word ‘stuck’ is a little beyond me. It’s just what I feel, and how I perceive it in words. Is it not? It is.

This is me writing. After forever and ever. Trying, with great courage to write something that seems like it should be a million miles long. Daring to describe what stopped me from writing these past two years. I’m attempting to tap into something so vast and so profound, with simply the words in my head. Because there are so many.

Sonder. Heard of it?…

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