Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Thejaswini... in progressive pics




As a comment to my last blog... k said...
"You knw, i had a similar idea..photograph the construction site near Bhavani.. take a photo every day from the same position..and when the construction is over, take all the photos and animate it into a video..."



Well, k, gr8 idea... that's when i remebered, hey i've taken a few pics of the construction site... its not from the same position... but still...
The 1st pic was taken on October 14, 2005 when the construction started off, the next on May 13, 2006, where u can see one portion of the Building-in-progress and the last one on March 22, 2007 after the building was completed. Amazing, it took just around 1.5 years to complete this 11 storey building (3 floors below & 8 floors above !!)

Monday, February 4, 2008

Light of Life

There's a room in my heart,
Which when open produces light
Sometimes it shines so brightly
And sometimes it goes dim.
When it shines,
I see his face, glowing with a smile,
When it goes dim,
I see his face yet again,
But, this time tears well his eyes.

I can feel that burn in my heart
Yearning to know more of his word
Dying to see him close to my heart
Wanting to submit myself to him.
And when I submit myself to him,
I feel that cool breeze touch my heart.
All troubles taken away,
All fears gone;
Only confidence and Courage remains.

When I am sick, he heals me,
When I am depressed, he comforts me,
When I am happy, he smiles with me;
And doubles that joy within me.
He is always present with me
He is the Lord, who carries me in his arms...............
............wherever he goes.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Survival


It is risky, it is tough
To stand up from the pain
To lay the frontier of survival

It is striving it is difficult
To sit up for the course
To accepts the failure of survival

It is hard it is terrible
To live up from the faults
To surrender the fortune of survival

Spark of stage fright

What know what?
How know how
I am Mr. Confusion
How do you do?

Yes or no
Come or go
I am Mr. Doubt
What can I do?

Can or could
Do or don’t
I am Mr. Discouragement
Pleas to meet your

Will or won’t
Might or might not
I am Mr. Suspicion
Farewell to you!

A true friend


A true friend


No one is friendly than he .



No one is more than a father than he



No one has done a more sacrifice than he



No one is as special to me than, he



The Lord Jesus Christ that, we see.



The lord that died for you and for me



How grate a family we have in him



Who abided us all in his love and care?



For a life in eternity

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Dreams

Dreams have no language
like Das' but a pantomime
which remain Dreams alone
And at my wake in this new dawn
realised,last night some magical hands
had operated,like a Televions' remote
makng me mute.
Like a screen voiceless did i remain
full 'f expressions.
May be its a sport for the all seeing eyes.

Suddenly soft but cold hands shook me,
called me by name
To my suprise,at wake found lot of heads
around my bed,examining clinically!!!!
To my apprehensions I recognised them as Doctor's
trying to cut open me,
made me scream N......O!!!!!
But then visions were clear....
And heard Amma calling "Y....E...S!!!!"
Get up.......
My Dreams....Life given empire
collapse 'nd perspire
Into a mere windowful wind
Promising to return,yet another day.

Life

Visions open up to 'd
sounds of nature
Embracing 'd vemillion glow,
I trot and trot
pecking the grains of solitude.
I see the chair and 'd light.
Lantern voices that reverberate
retrieve me to 'd
festivity of life.

I see the flowers bloom
with their mighty face held high,
smiling at 'd perenial source of light
And 'd mirthful butterflies
fluttering all along bouting their joy
to 'd beholders eyes....

Perhaps embracig the dark
makes them dance so well!!!
Watching this truly Inspires
Should We learn and rejoice.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Coping with life in small doses.

“ I know you won’t talk to me”, she shot back.

It had done nothing good, instead had infuriated his senses, for the reason that he felt her way of tossing words was just to force an equalizer for the probable accusations, he might have thrown at her. She had well anticipated the things. She didn’t want overwork on that, as she always had lived like that. Planned and pursued her way for she was like some of the other girls. Nervous and suspicious without the confidence level to put herself across.

“ I know you wouldn’t”. Her words echoed over his head once again.

“You know nothing”. He said casually. The air inside the pantry was warm. She was still. Sailing as always. But enough for him to catch that frozen look. He may have continued his eulogy, but she opted out to resist him with her shimmering coldness.

“ You know nothing because you are talking senseless stuff.” He said then.

“ I didn’t talk senseless”. Said she.

“ You may not have. But you don’t know a thing.” He supposed staring at the postures on the wall and the doors that seems like those revolving ones.

She brought coffee and sandwiches and sat beside him. Her expression already reflected that she’d absorbed whatever the atmosphere had set. That was not without purpose. He had to put it that way. He didn’t like to be bottled like that and he hated that since his childhood. He would be selfish and sensitive.

They hadn’t seen each other for months. They had certainly avoided the meetings every time. If she had taken the initiative to haphazard any contact at the first place, when he might be earning to meet her badly. It would be his turn to skip off from her mails and calls. Both of them sailed in distance and never tried to touch their canoes, in fact sometimes wanting to. But their canoes did meet. It has always touched and moved like preachers.

The distance however had aggravated more as they slowed calling each other not once in a week and then for months. Now it’s after 6 months, the guy didn’t wonder they still kept that distractive sort of attraction. Their decisions were promising like some couple postponing their first child of some untold realities. Whenever they suspected love’s awakening, they’d blow it off. They’d thrashed every bud that hoped to bloom above their reach.

She said softly then. “ I meant what I said ”.

He retorted. “If it were an insult, I would think to love that. I know its not. It’s a blame you’re trying to pick out.”
“What do you mean?”. She said, looking into his eyes. The cup in her hand trembled and the coffee escaped on to the saucer and to the table.

“You want me to believe that I kicked everything. You don’t need to transmit that any long. I know that. I perfectly believe that it’s my initiative for all this and don’t you think to take any credit of that.” He said in a brief stint.

“Your words are rude, aren’t they?” Her eyes seem moistened.

“Okay. I did mean to say that, do you want anyone to be made clear of this?”

She was in a way avoiding her shock when countered by his words. He was like that forever. When any crisis would turn up eventually, he would talk sentences full from different plots, and she would find herself in a whirl that will be static and complicated as usual.

“Now, what’s this all you are speaking to me?”

“Just nothing dear. Something that really doesn’t matter. It will also pass.” He poured more coffee into the cup.

“You don’t understand and you will never.” Said the girl.

“ That doesn’t mean a thing ”.

“ That does. You haven’t given a thought on things.”

“ I need your say. I know we will be happy together. Bangalore is a great place. We can move sooner then.” He drew invisible images on the table with his fingers.

“Will we be?”

“ Certainly. I don’t know about your parents. I know you and that’s what I know when I think of you. That’s what’s important.”

“ Meeting my parents is as important.”

“ Okay if I talk to them, what can I hear from you.”

“ I will not say against. I will not say anything more.”

The guy stood up holding the cup and the saucer. She was staring at him while trying in vain to help him out. He had almost finished washing the cups when the girl had stepped into the washroom.

“What’s happening to you?” She said glancing through the mirror for his reply. Water splashed over the ceramic and metal plates leaving them sparkling in pride.

The girl waited for him to finish or for her to start off. “I haven’t said NO. Iam thinking on. My decisions are important and I know we will be happy ever after, but they have not. Marriage means so much to them like us. You know we have to abide. I don’t know what if I would say or I wouldn’t. My thoughts are getting varied.”

“ Will you please…” The guy muttered aloud. Even he was surprised by that sudden retort, if it was too early. He may not have regretted that. The door banged, and the guy turned around thinking she might have gone. The girl was still waiting at the corner rubbing her hand. Two other guys came in and he waved at them before following her out.

At the corridor She and her friend waited to part. In fact he had to stay there for quite sometime for the machine to turn up. They didn’t have much to tell. A smile passed them and they waved back. Then they smiled, first at themselves and at each other. The lift opened up when he was about to say something. She went in and waved.

He said. “Spike your hair!!”. She too laughed and returned the code. “ Pass me your wig, if you dare!!”.

She will have reached the next building where she works. The guy drifted into his cabin. He told several hundred lies to his manager on being late. Of which one was that, he was going to marry the girl. He then sat behind the system, behind his e-mails and behind himself and watched.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Same place... 3 days... 3 views ! Ode to the 'unknown' artist...









Take a look at these 3 photos... its the same frame in view (notice the TV Tower in the foreground, I took these pics from my home on top-o-the hill).



Its like there's some unknown Artist with an everchanging paintbrush out there... letting creativity flow as diverse as can be... every day is a new day, a different day. These views still keep changing everyday, and it keeps telling you that nature is far bigger than any imagination !


Being part of this 'Nature' I admire the views this unknown artist presents to us. But you need to stop your busy lives for a while. If you want to be part of it, make a visit at around 6pm to the corridor behind the ACIS pantry (non-smokers beware !) and take a view to the west... catch a glimpse of the red spot setting into the Arabian Sea and feast your eyes to the colors in the sky.




"The advantage of being an amatuer photographer is the freedom of not being professional"-EAG



Taking pictures has become my hobby since the Digital Camera became affordable... it gave me space to experiment in different light settings, outdoors, indoors..... and thats when I made the connection with nature around me. I enjoy clicking nature more than anything else. More of that in my next blog.


Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The Lover dreams to be a maggot

When the Maggot lost his soul,
He felt something very awesome in all.

His foot walked a bloodless Antarctica,
then an absconding mind got captured in Sahara;
His hands curled along the Amazon’s deadly imagica,
Whilst a pair of eyes stuck deep in the Marina.


When the Maggot lost his love,
He found his face hung on a multiplying web.

An army of drizzle might rescue him,
And through the unending pain of his wound,
He'd sense nature beckoning by his window,
Close, vivid and achingly fragile than ever.


When the Maggot lost his mind,
He saw things, original and animated.

His skin evenly peeled off to reveal,
A Foliage that had replaced the dead mattress.
A bare breasted skimming blue stoops down,
Low and he find his mamma and her kiss.


When the Maggot lost his heart,
He borrowed one from the Flintstone.

Stabbing it amidst a scorching vacuum,
He’d watch the scarlet drops bloom,
With his new bosom struggling to get set,
But the dark descended and his drive got lost.

********************************************

The Maggot fell into a deep haze,
after closing all exits and the rest,
From a world that’s never existed,
To a land where lived Peter pan and Alice.

Then he found his absconding soul,
Floating or dancing above his skull.

The Maggot turned for the first time,
And saw his siblings and the parents,
Working at the fields, and their home,
Alive and rusty, happy and peaceful.

Then the Maggot caught his mind,
That was busy with its unreal find.

The Maggot quit the chase,
For he’d woke up into a giant butterfly,
Waving its elegant blazing symmetry,
to find himself no more a maggot.

Hence the Maggot discovered the love,
Who looked awfully dissimilar but alike his heart.

Monday, December 17, 2007

5 years & 6 strings

Other than aimless twanging, I don't really get around to doing much with my guitar(s) nowadays. It's more like look-drool-foreplay-quit. Yes, I've been quite frigid with my guitar since the last couple of years.

The funny part is that... I never stopped buying new ones... or drooling at the sleek, deadly ones in shop windows... or watching legends squealing theirs on video.

I'm drawing too much of a parallel between guitars n chicks :P

I'm just plain lazy... I guess. There were times when I picked up my guitar and out flowed a nice sounding riff or two. Better still when the band was around. People of similar talent and taste, I played shit, they played shit, all of us were happy! But yea, the band was a pillar of motivation. When we were at our practice pad, we had no reason to show off, nothing to live up to. Just play. And yea, the pressure of having to put up a good show at the gig next week made sure that we learned all the songs down to the last note!

Bygone times. There's no gig next week. No motivation :(

For me, playing the guitar is all about performing... about fitting into a band and letting loose a medley of beautiful sounds and watching the audience enjoy it.

I guess that applies to a lot of things, to a lot of people. Man is not meant to live solo. He needs to show-off (loud or subtle, how he does it is his own business). He NEEDS to caress his ego.

Aren't we all show-offs, one way or the other?

This whole thing ended up just like it does when I take up my guitar... start at one thing, end at another.

What's the whole point of this? Lemme go think... meanwhile... you can surf to another web page.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Klick!




Coffee at the Park..




Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Absolute Trust

He is very restless, scampering here and there, watching TV for a minute, then chasing the soft ball and kicking it under the sofa, running into legs and squealing his appreciation as he is picked up and hoisted high above so he can touch the wind chimes.

Very keen and observant, he picks up the faintest rumble of his father’s bike as it enters the narrow lane. He bounds down the length of the living room, all excited at the prospect of playing rough and tumble with his Appa-whom-he-loves-the-most. He hurtles down with the energy of a small meteor; Appa-whom-he-loves-the-most balances the bike with his right foot on the steps that lead into the house.

It’s an old house. The steps are rather high and steep. The little one cannot climb down without assistance, and sometimes when we sit down together on the steps to watch The Mynah, The Crow and The Jackfruit, his tiny feet dangles half-way between the first concrete plane and the next.

As he reaches the very edge, this confident young man, all of two years, takes an unhesitating leap into his father’s outstretched arms. He jumps, without a shadow of doubt in his mind, supremely confident that Appa-whom-he-loves-the-most will catch him and he will come to no harm.

Now, that is what I call absolute trust.

Friday, November 30, 2007

My first blog

Maybe i'm late... but.... "better late than never" right ??
I've been hearing about blogging but never ventured into it thinking this was some funky "buddhi jeevi" stuff... BTW for the info of non-mallus "Buddhi jeevi" (or "buji" in short) is a word used for those with "elevated minds" so to speak. I'm not one of them and i've now discovered that blogging is not only their terrain... and here i dive into it.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Female Generation

Females have many descriptions,
Based on their different stages,
Descriptions not simple to state,
But that which run through pages.
As a baby, she is so innocent,
Like a bud that has just awoken from her sleep,
Unaware of the evil world
Which she is yet to face,
And dwells in her own magical world.

As a girl, she learns to live life,
Taking advice from her elders,
And looks like a flower beside the human door,
A flower, yet to blossom.
As she grows, she goes to school
And then to college, and
Then she learns to maintain her household chores.

At the time of her marriage
She is often a commodity,
Often purchased for dowry
By the fosters of her groom to be.
And when she goes to her new house
She resembles a rupee,
For now she is in one’s pocket,
And then in another.

She performs her duties
As a wife, to her husband,
AS a mother, to her children,
And when old, she is bent with age,
But still she performs her duties.

She bears all that comes her way
And accepts it with a Smile.
She plays a vital role in life,
For without her,
Life is Incomplete.

Friday, November 2, 2007

On Poetry

The world can be divided into two absurdly disproportionate portions – those who read poetry and those who don’t. Those who do read poetry are not seen in favourable light by those who don’t; similarly those who cannot bring themselves to suffer through a couple of lines of verse are treated with condescension by those who do. And heaven forbid, if one writes poetry, one is viewed as a sort of nut-case. (Don’t argue with me. I know that for a fact.)

That is why I always maintain that writing poetry is a dangerous pastime; it’s like white water rafting or mountaineering. Those who do not raft or mountaineer just do not get the concept of finding happiness in choking on water or baking in the sun.

As children we are naturally drawn towards nursery rhymes and the pleasant ebb and flow of syllables in conversation. I am yet to come across a child who would not be soothed by even the most unmelodious lullaby sung by his mother. Poetry is just a grown-up version of those lullabies. Sadly, not many are able to partake of the undiluted joy of reading beautiful verses.

Verses enthral and delight, once you acquire a taste for them it’s difficult to let go. Most poetry that stay in the mind are those written the traditional way. With rhyme and meter and scansion. They also paint vivid pictures, they tell you stories; there are some poems after reading which, one does not remain the same. I can give three examples illustrating each of the aforementioned aspects.

Painting pictures – The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy.
This is a gorgeous poem about a thrush ecstatically belting out ‘a full hearted evensong’ even in a desolate and sombre evening. This is one that has to be read out aloud.

Story – There are plenty in this category. But a beautiful story is that of The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes.

A possible life altering poem is If by Rudyard Kipling.

And if you just want to have fun reading poetry, there are tons of them. My absolute favouritest fun poetry are by Vikram Seth – Beastly Tales from Here and There. Mind candy I tell you. Erm.. Beastly Tales is a book of poetry for children though, but that’s what makes it so fabulous. Vikram Seth is a genius, what else can I say! Link: Frog and the Nightingale.

There are also these brilliant teeny verses by Ogden Nash. Can it get any better than this?

And Cats! How can I forget Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats?! There are even Broadway plays on these Cats.

If reading these ain’t pleasure, I don’t know what is!

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Spare some time, spoil your parents!

I was given everything I ever needed by my parents. Education( never mind that it was the worst school in the town; they had no clue either), clothes, all the food I can eat, all the movies I wanted to watch, all those things that make our life worth living. And most importantly they gave me my freedom and space. In short they spoiled me (My English was spoilt by the aforementioned school though)

So now that I have grown up (physically at least) its time for me to repay my parents. I can give them whatever money I make, I can get them the new generation luxuries. Send them on a holiday trip to wherever they fancy. I have instead decided to just spoil them. That's what they would like more(and at this point that's all I can afford) There is a huge age gap between me and my parents because they had a late marriage. And I guess my father and mother took it seriously when Nehru said that our country is going to progress with the five year plans. There is exactly 5 years of gap between the 3 of us siblings. So I was born late as well. It doesn't matter now. I am a big boy now (more so on the waist)


All I want to do for them is what they did for me. It's a little too late to put them to the same school as mine (wish I could; then they will know why I hate my school life) but I can do all the other things they did for me. I want to drive them wherever they want to go. Wait for them outside when they have parties at their friends place and dad can't drive (and I can't drink). Take my mom shopping whenever she feels like. Make sure they don't have to travel by bus or walk at any time. Make them eat their medicines, make them meet the doctor. Make sure they sleep properly. Take them to the movies and buy them popcorn. Have a sumptuous dinner at a nice restaurant. Go out with them to the beach and watch my mom holding on to my hands when the wave comes up, just like I held on to hers some 20 years back. It feels good.


At a point of your life, your relationship with your parents goes into a reverse mode. You start taking care of them. You get worried when they are late in reaching home. You get worried when they are not feeling well. You become the caretaker and them the carefree children.

So what made me write all these goody stuff (other than to make me look good). A few days back I was teaching my mom how to use the mobile and internet. I was irritated at times when she could not understand simple things. I lost patience, raised my voice and my face looked like I lost hope. She never complained. She just smiled and said it takes time. She wrote down all that I told her. Next day, I got an SMS on my phone. "Hi how are you?" it was from my mom's number. She learned how to use it. She went a step further and started using my computer, connect to internet, find the railways website and checked the PNR status of her ticket. The pride she had in her face when she told me she did it alone. And I could not believe it. I know a lot of people do that. But for some one at her age who has never used a computer I thought that was one hell of an achievement. She was happy and that's all she wants. And i wonder how long she spent explaining the thousands of things that was new to me. Answering my never ending queries and doubts. And I couldnt do that properly even once. Well I will.

So I am going to go ahead and spoil them. Let my dad eat some oily food without worrying about his cholesterol level .Let my mom have her peanut candy without me reminding her about the sugar level. Let them live for themselves and have a great time. That's the least I could do for them. Cheers!!!

Monday, October 29, 2007

The Richest

An 'India Rising' moment, if there ever was one.

In the the news, Mukesh Ambani edges out Carlos Slim and Bill Gates to become the world's richest man. This comes as a result of the extended price rally in the Indian stock market, with the index touching 20,000 today.

The five richest, with their net worth


1. Mukesh Ambani ($63.2 billion)

2. Carlos Slim Helu ($62.2993 billion)

3. William (Bill) Gates ($62.29 billion)

4. Warren Buffett ($55.9 billion)

5. Lakshmi Mittal ($50.9 billion)

Also, the Ambanis are now the wealthiest family, well above the legendary Walton family (Wal*Mart)

It will be interesting to see how long Ambani stays at the top. A correction in share prices is now overdue, and is just waiting for the right trigger... a political crisis, perhaps? Maybe a fall in oil prices..

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Silly Games

Teenage girls have a propensity to attempt an unfolding of the mysteries of their future; often slipping into reveries about that all important person – The Husband – how he is going to be, his eyes, hair, hands, mouth; the males of the species are rather on the fortunate side, they do not burden themselves with such exotic fancies, restricting their flights of fancy to just a three-letter word. Correct me if I am wrong.

We used to amuse ourselves with a silly game the text of which someone had secretly smuggled in; bored 14 year olds trying to while away time in slightly more useful pursuits than listening to the droning monotone of a History teacher. The theme was an all-time favourite – Love, of course. It was simple, more of an amusement than a game, requiring pretty simple arsenal – a pen and paper. It hinged on the basic premise that every human being would be curious about what the object of one’s affection thought about oneself. One had to think of a boy whom one was very fond of and make a series of short strokes on the paper. Three such rows had to be made. Then groups of three were cut off, so in every row there would be either 0, 1 or 2 strokes left. The score of this very interesting exercise was calculated thus: if the first row had 2 strokes left, the second none and the third had 1 stroke, the score would read as 201.

This would then be compared against the Result Sheet. Each score signified something. We had copied those in the last leaf of our notebooks. It read something like this:

000 – I love you.
001 – I am thinking of you.
010 – Don’t waste my time.
011 – I will marry you.
……
222

And of course the results of each one’s ardent enterprise to pry into the mind of that-cute-boy-across-the-road would be greeted by giggles and blushes and howls of laughter. It didn’t matter that every time the scores turned out to be different; of course his thoughts and feelings for you were bound to change over a period of time. We never doubted or questioned the wisdom of our Bible.

It would have been very unwise indeed, if I had attributed this unrelenting thirst to drink the subconscious of another soul, to the precincts of just a bunch of bored schoolgirls. But as I was to find out, the wider world was no different, in fact I discovered further possibilities in this realm.

When I went to the city to do my pre-degree, I had to stay in a hostel. Now, hostel-life is something one must experience in one’s life-time. It’s like no other; there is so much to be learnt from a hostel. Like how to get ragged and rag (I never did), how to have midnight binges with the little potato chips or cornflakes that we had, how to beg, borrow or steal food, most importantly how to put a face to Mr. Right, the ones we all saw as a vague shadow, a misty silhouette in the mind’s eye.

The technique again was very simple. One had to get a small sprig of a wild creeper that grew lush, flowering in profusion over the hostel fence. After dinner, at about 9 o’ clock in the night, we would all quietly go to the fence in search of the perfect sprig; a shock of bright pink flowers, a hint of green and a coiling brown tendril. Once the booty was in one’s hand the person had to keep quiet till the next dawn. She was not supposed to open her mouth; instead she had to concentrate on the face of Prince Charming, pray for him to grace her dreams. With a small bunch of weed in our hands we would walk back quietly, the chatter abruptly cut short, like an old procession of druids who carried sprigs of herbs with them.

The holy weed(ha!) would then be placed beneath the pillow to forcefully attract the image of his divine face in one’s dream that night. And it worked.

But only when we left the hostel did we come to know that this very secret ritual was revealed to us by the hostel warden herself who always complained about the loudness of the girls’ chatter, especially in the night. Oh well!

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Little Flower Seller


Dear me!!! those two little eyes,

fumbling balls of petrified innocence.

How do i forget you my angel face,

even if am deprived of thine rosy glance.


Amidst the lifeless vagabondage in hell,

A fugitive here, folding my enormous wings in pain.

stalking around the obscurity, i met her,

that little archangel.

She, a primrose, bounded by blood roses,

as they wait for the lovers.


Stretching a bud, fresh with sweet odor,

she baffled thus, for my hand took the

bloom carefully.

Undecided, for whom this blot of love rests,

yet i held it over my bashful heart dreamily;


A loner from the black and white,

my bosom never suits this herring.

Death, her focus on my angel's gift,

and my palm felt a petal trembling;

Even as the scarlet face beamed proud,

unaware of its ephemeral moments.


I lend the flower to a souring heart,

it killed his misery and won a hand;

How glad am to tell this to my sprite,

for i marched with an overwhelming mind.


The streets looked in absolute endurance,

except for the primrose, that's vanished;

A chill slit my toneless face,

as i saw the bloodspurted petals amidst

that dull crowd.


They closed her eyes for the last sleep,

wrapped in a cheap cotton, there lies my

little seraph, her face still, yet gleaming.

Snatched away by a raging city,

her soul ambled over someone's weep.

What an irony and fate i hold here,

for my heart is still not crying.




Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Literature Nobel 2007

The Nobel prize in Literature for this year is to be announced tomorrow. If tradition is anything to go by, the political leanings of the winner will be as important as talent. The front runners for this year, as per bloomberg, seem to be Philip Roth, Ko Un, Ali Ahmad Said Asbar and Les Murray . Ladbrokes , the online betting agency which got it right last year, has this list of odds. Philip Roth is at the top (7/2), followed closely by Haruki Murakami (5/1), Amos Oz and Claudio Magris . The collective wisdom of the betting crowd is most often right. But then, the odds show JK Rowling at par with Salman Rushdie and John Banville ! Maybe this doesnt matter since they are at the bottom of the list anyway (100/1) .. I think Rushdie is gonna win the prize in a few years. I haven't read any of his works, but I feel his politics and life story is just right for Nobel winner.





Btw, I would place my bet on
Amos Oz for this year's prize.

Update:The prize, as you might know, went to Doris Lessing . So much for ' the collective wisdom' (my bet was wide off too). From what I have read up on Doris Lessing, it seems to be a wise and well received choice. But, I am happy because she writes science fiction too, and Doris Lessing's win is in a way, recognition for the genre. I doubt if this will make the mainstream critics take SF more seriously, but it will be harder to dismiss it as just escapist fare.

Doris Lessing began writing SF only towards the later part of her career. She is best known for her early work, especially books such as
The Golden Notebook, The Grass is Singing and The Fifth Child.

The Nobel committee in its citation describes her as,"that epicist of the female experience, who with scepticism, fire and visionary power has subjected a divided civilisation to scrutiny".