Skip to main content

To The High Priest Of Literature...


Dear Nagesh Sir,

You are a legend who taught me to fight to bring honor to our family even by rejecting man's law like Antigone, who taught me that like Lysistrata, the very effort of women can put an end to great wars, to face the existential crisis with Berenger, to forsee how I will be remembered  after my death through Elegy, to visit the Renaissance Italy with Andrea del sarto and Fra Lippo Lippi, to be in gay and keep moving on with Gunn's motorcyclists and to ride the waves with the surfers. Sir, you are the one who took me to the very beginning of the evolution of the language of cinema with Bazin ,who helped me to know the third cinema , to experience a chill down my spine with Marion Crane, to go in search of the stolen bicycle with Antonio Ricci and Bruno to prevent poverty in the family. The Sage who taught us to look into the thoughts of others with Saleem Sinai, to be compassionate to the 'other' with Gustad, to break the silence with Marikatani's mother, to be that innocent girl of Okita who doesn't know the impending horror, to see and know the Invisible people around me with Ellison and to suffer with John.
  I wish you could have taught us to lament over the modern world with Eliot, to go into the darkness of the heart with Conrad, to know the metaphysical poets, to learn Irony and Archetypes of Literature, to understand the impacts of modern horrors with Auden and Lowell and to be in conflict with nature and civilization with Morrison's creations.
But time changes, season changes and you can't be always the same you. As Mehmet Murat ildan rightly said, "When you are leaving someone, leave like the sun leaves the earth with a magnificent elegance!" and I believe this is how you leave Devagiri.
  Love you Sir and will definitely miss you.I wish you a happy and healthy retirement life.
  With lots of love , prayers and reverence,
A Student who was wonderstruck by your classes.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Grendels

Horror is lurking behind every moment of darkness, Seeming to be human, we cannot distinguish you from Grendel. We see no Beowulfs coming to rip off your arms that aid you well. When every closed door warns us, Every stare seems to map our bodies, Every vehicle appears to follow us, Every touch seems to warn us, You, cultured and well behaved, You are the light of the day, You are the Lord of the people, Who metamorphose into damned dangers  At the end of the day. Your venomous fangs go in search of  Prey, You wait in the darkness with twinkling eyes, Admiring the power of your hands, That can open up hearts, And show the uncultured your worth.  After every hunting, the sycophants who surround you, Kiss your hands and touch your feet. They wash your dirt and make your bed. They cure your sickness by gifting you scepters. Making you invisible, they uproot every Beowulfs to ensure your reign. Thus you flourish, never to die but to hunt and haunt. And behind your house, we s...

AN ONAM OF GRATITUDE AND HUMANITY

It was a time when people could have  become selfish. It was a time when people could have made maximum utilisation of the situation. It was a time when people could have thrown the dirt of religion, gender, caste and politics among themselves. It was a time when people could have divided themselves as have's and have not's. It was a time when women and children could have faced great exploitation. But over the past few days we saw nothing of that sort when nature made its most devastating dance over our homeland, Kerala. The floods, worst in a century, have claimed lives of 231 people in the last 10 days besides rendering over 14 lakh people homeless but,we saw our state overpowering all the impossibilities and helping the crores of people survive. We saw hundreds of people,from children to old men coming forward to save our homeland, they could have ignored the suffering of people and enjoyed the festive season awaiting them. But each one of them refused to be part of c...

All I Want for Us is to Feel Again

  We were young girls Who used to play at the beach,  Hugging, we watched the sun drowning.  We danced till the candyman went home,  Our skirts swayed with the wind,  Cajoling us to stay a bit longer.  We never thought this picture would fade away.  I know this would never come back,  But I want to feel again.  I want to go back where my heart is.  All I want is to be free and feel again.  The colours and smell still linger with me,  I miss the happiness I felt,  The aches that watered me.  My skin misses the way it felt,  My hair misses the gentle kiss of the beach wind The bookstores and beach waters wait for us,  They send a thousand silent sirens to us,  When will we feel it again?  The recklessness of age,  the courage of freedom,  the music in our brains,  And the limbs that never stopped.  The yellow city lights Gladly kissing the fine roads,  absorbed our shadows,...