On the ground’s surface was etched an imprint of a solitary twig, with its leaves leaning slightly askance, their vein-structures just as definitively articulated as the narrative inside the book. The cover featured a photograph, of a pair of bare human feet on grey-brown soil. Yet another volume I picked up at the bookshop was Bitan Chakraborty’s book of little short stories, The Mark (Shambhabi).
The Mark, By Bitan Chakraborty Shambhani pp.110 Rs 300.
#Words with letters afloat full#
The book forces a pause, to reflect, both inwards and outwards, at what is transpiring before our eyes - in full public view, as innocent citizens, are held hostage to - “We actually don't know what’s happening in Kashmir and Palestine… didn’t you hear what he said about the Muslims in Gujarat?” Faced-paced, nostalgic and wonderfully written, The Cliffhangers is an urgent and fine debut by a writer whose next work I look forward to as well. Set against a storyline of a tourist rape by alleged village teenagers, the novel probes into the dangerous fractures fuelled by party-driven communal politics and social instability, as it “expose the frailties of our own humanity”.
But all is not bright and bucolic, as the surface colours seemed to indicate. Sabin Iqbal’s first novel, The Cliffhangers (Aleph) - its textual narrative and pacing reflecting the cover-image rather appropriately. A book caught my attention, its cover jacket showing a boy leaping off a sea-cliff descending headlong into the turquoise green-blue waters, arresting and dizzying at the same time. The Cliffhangers, By Sabin Iqbal Aleph pp.174 Rs 499.Īt the MBIFL bookstore constructed with eco-friendly bamboo and canvas, I found myself in a veritable ocean of fine books. It was humid, but the strong sea breeze helped in keeping the cool. All in all, everyone seemed satiated when it came to the world of writing, camaraderie, food and friendship. People had a happy exhausted look on their faces. The focus this year was on ‘Shrinking Spaces, Transcending Letters’. It was the end of Day Three of the wonderfully rich, word-soaked Matrubhumi International Festival of Letters (MBIFL), held at the magnificent Kanakakkunnu Palace in Thiruvananthapuram. There were hundreds of authors, editors, critics, scholars, publishers, and journalists from around the world - all milling around at the end of a long day of all things literature. I heard literary chatter - various accents in various tongues - some guttural, some stylised. The fine sand dispersed under my feet as I walked. (often followed by `of') a large number or amount or extent.To see a world in a grain of sand / and a heaven in a wild flower / hold infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour.” I was reminded of these profound and lyrical lines from William Blake’s poem, ‘Auguries of Innocence’, as I walked on one of Kovalam’s private beaches, off Hotel Ravis. The Indian mulberry or Noni Morinda citrifolia, Morinda tinctoria, a shrub found in Southeast Asia, the East Indies and the Pacific islands as far as French Polynesia.Īngular distance above the horizon (especially of a celestial object)Ī broad flat muscle on either side of the back. (nautical, aeronautical) situated at or toward the stern or tail.Ī soft greasy substance occurring in organic tissue and consisting of a mixture of lipids (mostly triglycerides)Ī flat wing-shaped process or winglike part of an organism.
An agency in the Department of Transportation that is responsible for the safety of civilian aviation.