In 1907 when most realtors were focused on the prospects of lands in Seattle downtown areas, millionaire Henry Whitney Treat discovered the potential of the Ballard waterfront. He named this settlement and nearby railways after his youngest daughter. Near the end of his trolley line, he established the Golden Gardens Park to encourage people to step out of the town and discover the joy of a picnic on the beach. It wouldn’t hurt that on the way they would see all this…
a feeling i guess doesn’t lie. nor does grass gently rolling down the slope; nor do flowers by silent stones, nor stones standing in rows, saying things that i hope i heard. there was a watchfulness about the sky… as if it wanted to know something. for some reason, i wanted to go to the war cemetery at kranji around remembrance day this year. i say for some reason because i’ve never been too aware of the second world war…
UnEnchanted, by Chanda Hahn, is book 1 in the An Unfortunate Fairy Tale Young Adult series. At the beginning, it felt like a grown up was writing about teenagers. A disaster for a young adult book. It is expected that rooms be dirty and crushes pined after. But, the writing and story got more captivating with time. Grimm’s fairytales have been central to such a vast majority of fantasy fiction that is always fun to see what a writer has…
“no, aman, complete media ban… that’s it… what?!! main ne kaha na, nobody, no newspaper, magazine, channel.. no a no b, no z… no one. i want complete silence for a while. please make sure that happens.” he finished his call abruptly, picked up his jacket, shrugged it on smoothly, and turned to leave the room. “khushi!!!” he called out, obviously in a hurry, “khushi, where are you… i’m getting late!” “thahriye… ek minute, ek minute,” she rushed in from…
the night closed in around the white mercedes-benz suv as it shot through the empty after hours roads. there was a slight drizzle building up to something more falling lightly onto the asphalt, the large old trees, and the pretty landscaped circles of new delhi. dark windows sat behind high walls and rolling lawns, the rich part of town. he drove without seeing a thing, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel, knuckles white, his…
Having first read Fountainhead followed by Atlas Shrugged, We The Living came as a tragic jolt I was entirely unprepared for. Ayn Rand believed in the strength of man and his ideals. It was inevitable that Howard Roark and John Galt would survive and succeed because of who they were and who they refused to be. I expected a similar journey in We The Living and that was my undoing. “Andrei, did you like the opera?” “Not particularly.” “Andrei, do…
i didn’t even wait to iron a blouse. i had to wear one of the five sarees instantly. my husband had just returned from his trip to the chilli fields of india in guntur and cuddalore with bags of dry red chilli and the sarees. there they were, the sheets of newspaper around which they’d been folded lay on the floor, i had shaken them out impatiently. there was no carry bag or box. when he said to me he’d…
it’s a beautiful song. her voice is mellow and smooth and has a reach in it. it calls without being maudlin. i don’t understand a word of it, but this morning i heard it in a loop. a story of love, of the sycamore and the rose and na na nay. a young and lovely turkish actress called fahriye evcen sings the song. i get the feeling, it’s an old lyric, a love song that’s close to the heart. there…
oh no, do i have the word “old” in the title? that’s it. no one is going to read this. anyway, let me carry on. no idea how the years passed by, i noticed though, they have a way of doing so without any effort whatsoever (something to learn in that, i’m sure, especially for my knees), and suddenly i was on the other side of the story. i was no longer the one rolling my eyes and throwing fits…
when i see flowers i think of you purse your lips and perhaps you smile there is no distance beyond the hour the hour that comes unmindful of season and time this flower whose name i do not know yet it sits right by my sitting room’s window and amid its cloak of silken unbending leaves bursts forth in colour of hue intense and pure there is no uncertainty in its lines no murmur of may i or if…