I just finished reading the Man Booker Prize winning "The Inheritance of Loss" and the first thing that struck me when I closed the book was "what was she thinking when she wrote the book". I mean in her attempt to touch many subjects all I can say is she did justice to none. There is a smattering of so many subjects yet none feel accurate. It's almost as if the author was relating something she had heard from another person. There was a lack of connection. The details of the Himalayan city, the Gurkha uprising, the son's stay in New York, the death of the judge's wife, daughter and son-in-law all had a certain sense of vagueness. Almost as if a part of the story was concealed by the author or almost as if she herself was unaware of so many facts. It was an idea which went wrong. Like a beautiful drawing which became ugly after adding colours.
Sunday, 20 July 2008
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is arguing with yourself. No matter who wins or who loses there will be a little bit of me in both. So what is the argument about ? I am trying hard to convince myself that my mind is right and my heart is wrong. My heart was waiting for the sun to rise from the west and my mind knows it will never happen. Well so what if it is against the laws of nature, my belief and undying faith could make it happen, so my heart thought. My mind knew better and eventually I let my mind win this argument. In the long run I know it will be best for me, one day I will look back and laugh at myself for being so silly and feel proud that I took a right decision. But right now it hurts and it hurts real bad. After all my heart is as much mine as my mind. Right now I want to crawl into a corner and scream at life for being so unfair. I only hope like all other lessons I learnt from life this too leaves me a little stronger.