see ... if you have more mass ... people will be attracted to you and you will be attracted to people more than between skinny people .... because gravitational force depends on mass ... thats why chubby people love and are loved more .... its simple physics ....
Today, in the scorching heat of summer, in a terribly old maruti 800 (the apple of my father’s eye) sitting sullenly, with a silent friend in the backseat (to whom I am not talking ..and who is also not talking to me) , we cross this road , this little path, when , out of a 1950 movie’s romance – this browned with age twig of some unknown beautiful leaf tree falls on the road …… and I think of romance .. and all that the thought meant to me.
I have been thinking (painfully known to all those who still haven’t turned off my profile notifications…) about love for the past few days. I may say umpteen numbers of times that I DO NOT believe in love, but romance – ah…. Ill always believe in romance……
A lonely train journey – and you’ll find me, looking for a romance, if not for me, then a story of someone’s love (and god is kind to me, I generally always do find a train romance – this time, I met this young married woman, who told me how she found true love though her marriage was a product of arrangement- a 15 minute meeting to decipher the romantic code of your life.). I find romance a very very important aspect of life …… romance is the all knowing governing concept of life – the romance of listening to a song somewhere and thinking of a particular person, the romance of old memories , the romance in the particular way you used to write… the romance possible in various nuances of life ……. Ah..Romance makes me all giddy !!
It is this feeling that makes me change my status a million times a week, this notion of romance of innocent feeling that I try to find in movies and books, the passion of a mental state that makes me look at the sepia hues of everything I see… my love for a good love story – for always going out of the way to set people up. Destiny, fate and chance – all make romance a more abstract concept to me than love (at least, what I always think of love)….. the beauty of having a moment with a person and never meeting them again, of having a harmless chat conversation with a person …… I may lack the capacity to love truly, but you can never take romance from me………
As in accordance with my new year resolution , i have to read atleast a 100 books. These are desperate times, ever since i joined my english degree, all my reading has been limited to my course reading or worse, some chic lit when thoroughly depressed with literature.
To be honest - this is the first book i read by murakami.Had heard a lot about him though . The title curiously enough intrigued me. if it was'nt a well kown author like murakami , i would have ignored the book for another of those weird sex/love stories.
The book boasted of talking about a lesbian relationship - another downer , but as i read the book , i fell in love with his style. the book talks about two people who love to read, and who love to write - and there are some beautiful words in the book. if not a huge favourite, it definitely is an enjoyable read, in a way few books are these days. it talks about huge abstract notions of dreams, of words , of thoughts and of love . if nothing else, then it intrigues you about this amazing man , who writes amazingly beautiful words , and makes you want to read more.
at one point , where the author validates the title of the book , he talks about how lonely almost everybody is - and how , we each look at the moon , you from somewhere and i from somewhere we are together .
So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us - that's snatched right out of our hands - even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.
i told you , there are beautiful things in that book including the lead female character's name - sumiere ... aaah , i am naming a baby sumiere soon !!
another one would be :
"My head is like some ridiculous barn packed full of stuff I want to write about," she said. "Images, scenes, snatches of words ... in my mind they're all glowing, all alive. Write! they shout at me. A great new story is about to be born - I can feel it. It'll transport me to some brand-new place. Problem is, once I sit at my desk and put them all down on paper, I realize something vital is missing. It doesn't crystallize - no crystals, just pebbles. And I'm not transported anywhere."
as a book , i would rate it a 6.5/10 . a definite read for those , who like me are taken up by romantic beautiful ideas.
there are a lot of bizarre incidents in the book, if you do not tinge them with that faithful idealistic notion of romance -- like how we all live as halves , and not necessarily the better halves - it is actually a really beautiful book.
But Sputnik Sweetheart is a story that ends before the novel does -- mainly because this version of the escape-hatch idea is too blunt to be persuasive. People don't vanish through wormholes in the cosmic fabric, no matter how much we might fear or wish they do." - Michael Harris, The Los Angeles Times
i will also add this link , to anyone who wants a better and more detailed review :
If I can be allowed a mediocre generalisation , don't pointless things have a place , too , in this far-from-perfect world ? remove everything pointless from an imperfect world and it'd lose even its imperfection - Haruki Murakami.
there is nothing left . capitals dont hurt anymore. they seem familiar again . something is coming back to me - words had put me into an inertia , a long drawn move finally , jerkily ends - the momentum is lost.
nothing except the harsh pain in my sides , where words seemed to have satiated the hunger i had for them.
there is no hunger, and no appetite. there is no fulfillment.
there is no despair. there is nothing , except a banality of purpose , of intention and this meaningless injunction.
i am at peace . peace is not pleasant. i long for war, and the noise , and the incoherent words. placidity , hurts - it is boring, it lacks colour.