Photo credits @Priti Singh Defogging the islands Author Priti Singh tells NANDINI NAIR that "The Islands and Tribes of Andaman and Nicobar" clears popular misconceptions about the archipelago. "I wanted to defog mindsets. People view them with much trepidation." It's a coffee table book but meant to be seen and read. Priti Singh's "The Islands and Tribes of Andaman and Nicobar,"published by Prakash Books, and dedicated to the people of the islands, is an appreciation of their resilience and hope. Initially apprehensive about her husband's transfer, she ended up discovering and loving the islands. Having grown up in Zambia, she says, "The germ (for the outdoors) was laid there." Of the 300-odd islands she says fondly, "They have a siesta like atmosphere. It's a place that prefers to trot rather than gallop." In a relaxed mood, Singh describes her motive, "I wanted to defog mindsets. Many people view t...
THE SEA SEES ME As I sit by the shore Waves come, waves go Like a rhythmic pulse They heave and convulse As a tangerine sun Completes a home run And begins its descent Looking tired and spent Into the calm embrace Of a slumbering sea That I see! A warmth engulfs Relaxing my pulse While the saline scent In the breeze present Leaves a hint on my lips As some cargo ships Hit the line of horizon In tandem with the sun Retiring for the day Painting everything grey Like a perfect screenplay! I sigh in wonderment At this diurnal event That I’ve seen so often Yet my eyes soften As I rise to my feet Dusting sand from my pleats And see faceless silhouettes Float past as vignettes A seagull follows My footprints hollow And a wave beckons! I stop and I see The cradling of the sea Tumultuous yet calm A sublime scenic balm Mirror to my soul Shattered, yet whole Almost say to me There’s no master ...
The train, huffing like a tired animal, slowly came to a halt. The cradling motion of the coach vanished and so did my sleep. Crouched on one elbow, I opened my dreamy eyes to a familiar sight. My father, all shaved and dressed, was sitting on the front berth reading the morning papers and sipping his sugarless tea. This constituted his daily morning ritual and he followed it religiously – irrespective of situation or circumstance. It never surprised me to see him ever so relaxed and at home on trains. He was, after all, an official of the Indian Railways - making trains his natural second home. I sat up and gazed out of the glass window, expecting nothing new from the view. To me, every station looked the same, every platform identical and the “chai wallas” AV perfected clones of each other. Though the train had stopped and other passengers were busy alighting, I knew it wasn’t time to get off. An unwritten tradition of the service (undoubtedly a residue of the colonial past...
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