Lolita (Interpretational Review)


For many of the classics that have left an abiding mark on me, the one which I’m still truly intrigued by has to be the novel turned movie, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. This story takes a frightening leap into the forbidden world of desires and the sins of flesh. The character of the 12-year-old, Dolores Haze, privately nicknamed Lolita by the British professor Humbert Humbert, almost seems to strike as a dream sequence with an unnerving reality to its realization. Being more of the conniving professor’s creature of eroticism and carnality, Lolita riddles between the most raw and perpetual craze of a man driven by unconsummated love desires.

Surged by the premature death of Humbert’s darling of early days, Annabel Leigh, his passions leapt over the barrier of desperation with the very sight of Lolita. His fixation with nymphets takes an obsessive bearing on both of their lives in a devastating fashion. It may come across as the proper culmination of an unhealthy, obnoxious relationship between a corrupt child and a weak adult, but it surely calls for a deeper approach to understand the mindful of these deluded and fanciful infatuations.

It is interesting to note that the series of events that led to the fall of both the characters are sourly pressed by their own consent and involvement in such an illicit alliance. Although young in thoughts and feelings, Lolita’s carefree temperament did show signs of a grimly time ahead. The exploitation by Humbert on Lolita did go hand in hand with the exploitation by Lolita on Humbert which held an impending glance on their doomed end since the initiation of this untold liaison.

Our Righteous Remain


Peeking out of the void in our memory

Our faces leaden survived cautiously

By the righteous remain

The crumbs you kept

A restless hope that never left

But on the inside as a secret

Linger and stay, wait but oh not away

 

Panting for a way back home

On the way out to my release

I saw you laid by the grass

Holding onto the final piece

And covered in red

Two crossroads at last met

Never this heart was cut so deep

With a better story that we now keep

A Cautiously Random liFe


How could life be as random as fate? Or as random as a coincidence, as random as someone’s last breath, as random as love, as random as a childhood memory and just as random as a good hunch. Has it all been weaved into an organized structuring pattern where one step leads to another or is it like a game of a miss and an out or a take and about? Do you hit the jumping blue ball of your chance to escape out of one failure in this chaos or you hit the red one and land into another fashion of hoo-ha turbulence? Or you get to go for the peaceful white one, sneak away some time-out for silent speculation into the intensity of matters at hand and decide your next position at front with a kick start?

You know you’re doing, the best that you can. Isn’t good enough sometimes, disappointing! It don’t have to be because its okay. You know that and its good enough. Don’t you think ? There is a bit lot of hope in every flake of air that touches your bare skin, passing you from the side, looking back at you making a curve of an invisible smile on the lonely road you’re walking on while stumbling towards the end. The way is getting far ahead and this unseen army of your subconscious resilience has been at your back desperate. Picking up all the treasures rolling back as you throw them away thinking how similar it is to sweeping off dust from your book shelf and getting rid of your long lived possessions in your room that lost their true purpose as they saw you growing up and taking baby steps forward into crossing ambivalent thresholds. But the things that pull you away from worthless glory are the things that pull you towards your true self.

I’m not sure if it’s the chaos or those stepping stones, but it sure as hell is a paradox. No one here seems to be having the handful of cheat codes to a flawless life. But there’s this randomness. The randomness of a caring gesture from an old lady on the tube to get your spirits up for the rest of the day, or the randomness of a dog coming to your rescue for a pat on his head in the middle of the recess on a bad school day, it could be your extinct odds against the randomness of getting a raging emotional text from your life long crush finally confessing her feelings for you, when you’re only about 3minutes to having an overdramatic breakdown at the dinner table about how successful you are at being unsuccessful in your little life.

These darling little emotions of glorious intensities take us back a few steps, to catch up before we burn ourselves in untamed flames. This life guarding randomness makes up for the most deplorable things in my life. It mustn’t come as a surprise but it surely would. And it will keep you from growing afar too much from yourself.

 

CHRISTIE Collection- The Murder of Roger Ackroyd



The Queen of Crime, Agatha Christie altered the accustomed conventions of the genre of detective fiction in 1926 with the release of this unprecedented novel and created much a fuss in her audience with the very first publication by Harper Collins. This is Christie’s fifth novel featuring the little Belgian detective, Hercule Piorot. The novel is widely favored for its significant impact on the genre with the aid of its newfangled twist ending with respect to the identity of the murderer which is also the most controversial of her works.

The novel is set in the village of King’s Abbot in England and the narrator is Dr. James Sheppard with “no false statement”. To everyone’s recent notice there is a suicide committed by Mrs. Ferrars who had been rumored to have murdered her husband. She has left a letter in a blue envelope to be sent to Mr. Roger Ackroyd, a “country squire”(to whom she was expected to be married soon) which he refuses to read in the presence of anyone for it was meant for his eyes and his eyes only and so he will finish reading it after Dr. Sheppard has left. The letter must be a suicide note which contains the identity of the blackmailer who had posed a threat to Mrs. Ferrars’s safe and peaceful life of stainless grandeur in the village of King’s Abbot, as anticipated by Dr. Sheppard in his experience “Women usually wish to reveal the state of mind that led to the fatal action. They covet the limelight”.

Sheppard was invited to dinner with Ackroyd and the inmates of the Ackroyd’s household: Ackroyd’s sister-in-law Mrs Cecil Ackroyd; her young daughter Flora; Major Blunt, a big-game hunter; and Geoffrey Raymond, Ackroyd’s personal secretary. Once home, Dr. Sheppard receives a telephone call after 10 pm. He rushes out, telling his sister Caroline that Parker, Ackroyd’s butler, has found Roger Ackroyd murdered. Upon Sheppard’s arrival, Parker says he never made such a call. Sheppard, Parker, Raymond and Major Blunt find Ackroyd, stabbed to death with a weapon from his collection, the Tunisian dagger. Dr. Sheppard is held in true wisdom and fidelity by all the residents of the village and the readers in the case of Mr. Ackroyd’s murder as he was supposedly the last person to see Ackroyd alive in his study refusing to read the letter.

M. Hercule Piorot who happens to be cultivating vegetable marrows recently moved to Sheppard’s neighborhood at the Larches and is summoned by Flora Ackroyd, Ackroyd’s neice to step out of his retirement project and investigate the case for all facts and figures. The little Belgian detective promises to find out everything as he says “If I go into this, you must understand one thing clearly. I shall go through with it to the end. The good dog, he does not leave the scent, remember!”

All the mystery has been captured in Dr. Sheppard’s written record of this case proved interesting when he decided to try his hands on preparing a meticulous and accurate manuscript of the events while he was mixed up with something of this kind only this time.

Just as Poirot puts it after finishing the first twenty chapters of it -‘You have recorded all the facts faithfully and exactly though you have shown yourself becomingly reticent as to your own share in them.’ We and Poirot have his reticence to rely on all the way to the end as to what could be neater than :

‘The letters were brought in at twenty minutes to nine. It was just on ten minutes to nine when I left him, the letter still unread.I hesitated with my hand on the door handle, looking back and wondering if there was anything I had left undone.’

P.S. Nobody likes vegetable marrows.

Addiction Inversion #3


It is just standing there, like a coiled rattler ready to kill.You can’t go back to your old haunts.Stay or go. An addict is powerless in the face of booze and drugs. Strength comes from somewhere else. It comes from the power of the Holy Spirit.

Needing forgiveness, because there were a lot of sins in your past. Needing peace, because you’ve been at war all your life. Needing love, because you hate everybody. Needing strength, because you know how weak you are. Needing happiness, because you’ve been miserable for long.

:-You didn’t want to go to that bar today, but you did. Because you’ve never said no.

Confess to God that you were a sinner, and that you want salvation through Jesus Christ. Your life would change in an instant, a change so overwhelming you’d never believe. The Holy Spirit entering your soul, and the old you dead. A new one would be born, one whose past would be forgiven with your eternity secured.

                                                                                                – The Associate , JOHN GRISHAM.

The Eurythmics – Sweet dreams ( Are Made of This )


Almost forgotten today the originals . The song of a British duo – The Eurythmics most eligible song of mix even today getting mingled . The song remains still content and originally perfect after millions of fusions of this sound and lyrics as if all combiners are leveled at primary school on face . Though the best attempt goes to Marylin Manson . Just in my opinion maybe .

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