indian state of mind

been reading Khushwant Singh's Delhi for the past few days, apprehensive about finishing it, the grit and spice of India lingering on the periphery of every moment. after months of deprivation, finally allowed myself to watch Devdas again, to feel the poetry of music and dance, the screaming colours and foreign (but overwhelming) symbolism, the ridiculous overacting that hearkens back to the legacy of story-based theatre dance and harikatha. looking through music files for something with depth and colour, everything seems flat so i resort to bollywood soundtracks - hum dil de chuke sanam and devdas - hitting repeat on aankhon ki gustakhiyan and silsila yeh chahat ka. nothing compares to indian love songs - they hit that perfect blend of beauty and masochistic longing.

figuring out topics for papers and the dreaded dissertation, an array of south asian authors beckons and it seems so natural why would i consider anything else? wishing i could spend the next 2 weeks doing nothing but reading mehta, mistry, rushdie, mishra, seth, jhabvala, kapur, naipaul, shamsie, chandra, desai, narayan...