(A review by Sidharth Vardhanof Kreuzer Sonata by Leo TolstoyFirst written on December 31, 2018 ) Kreuzer Sonata – 1901 painting Rene Francois Xavier Prinet’s painting inspired by Leo Tolstoy ‘s novel This was good, I liked two Tolstoy novellas I have read much better than the more popular epic monsters. This one is alive with a sort of energy I never expected from him. And this book even faced censorship! Both Russia and USA thought it was indecent. Well, outside DH Lawrence, it is most sex-centric book I have read that doesn’t use the word ‘sex’. Roosevelt even called him immoralist for writing the book. Leo Tolstoy Actually Tolstoy’s fault lies in opposite direction. He is telling you how sex is a bad thing. He is telling everyone that we should offer sexual abstinence, even if it means humanity must perish – influenced by Christianity. He is the perfect example of the corrupted Christian that Nietzsche talked about in his Antichrist. (Last book I read.) I am not a fan of his epic books, but you could love the author who wrote them – compassionate, jumping in mind of one character from that of other, refusing to pass the
I’m not much into romantic stories – I mean how much of ‘Ellen, I love you’ and ‘Newland, it is wrong’ one can bear? More so, love triangles – and why they call it love triangles. Just look at this one – Archer has relations with May and Ellen but the two women do not love each other, so where is the third side of the triangle? Shouldn’t it be called love angle or love V? In fact, if you think about it, a love triangle is only possible when at least one of three people is homosexual or bisexual … well, that is just the kind of thing I wonder about when not working on my paper on quantum mechanics involved in the motion of Nitrogen particles in low atmospheric temperatures. Also, I don’t much like leisure classes; for me they represent half the things that are wrong with the world – they are hypocrites, full of ideas of ‘society’ and ‘common folks’, vain, sinfully rich, are always talking about useless subjects like- other equally boring people, balls, marriages, clothes (clothes! Clothes!), food etc. The good thing is Wharton doesn’t much like them either. Different Forms of Innocence There
(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanFirst written on January 25, 2019) 201.My last wish that I don’t see ever getting fulfilled is for someone to hold my hand and tell me “I understand.” That is perhaps all I need from all my friends. But perhaps they aren’t friends. Perhaps I just don’t have the luxury of friends. 202.I don’t even how to make effort or in what direction to make. I don’t have it in me to walk another mile to find happiness. All I want is for this suffering to end. Everywhere I see, there are people … Living things suffering. I don’t want this anymore. No more of this world in my eyes. I must close them to the world and close them so that they are never opened around. 203.Pain Letter – 18I guess you did listen to me and delete the last letter. Well, delete this one too. I will make it short. I am never gonna find any self-respect again – ever. And for the rest of my life, I will never be able to open up before another person knowing that they will walk out the second I learn to look at them for
(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan First written on November 6, 2018) “we fight and it passes the time.” – Ernest Hemingway 8 p.m. Major Baldev Singh, the fifty-eight old advocate, returns home. He had been playing chess with his friend ‘Sharma’ for the whole day. He returns home to find it locked and curses the whole universe in general and his wife, Simran Kaur in particular. Why can’t this woman stay at home? He kicks the door. He hates it – not finding her home, waiting for him with cooked food. He waits for her sitting on the stool just outside their main door and he doesn’t have to wait for long, though it seemed long to him, for she is here in five minutes. She has whitening hair like her husband. While his legs, one of which had once received a bullet, are giving in; his body is still muscular. She on other hand can still run around like a girl of twenty but has a pot belly. He secretly hates her for going fat just she openly calls him lame when they are in arguing. “Where were you?” He lets his anger show in his voice. “I
(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanFebruary 17, 2018The story of patient’s sister which is mentioned in the beginning of this story can be found here. ) 1. “You, psychologists, are rather patient people – or perhaps you aren’t even listening. For here I am talking about my sister and her comfort object when this is supposed to be about myself.” “My purpose? So you want to say that you think I have a purpose behind telling you about my sister and her need for her comfort toy to be able to sleep? You are right. There are poets in spirts who never wrote poems because they lacked the necessary language skills to translate the poems in their heart. I, sometimes, have the vanity to feel that way – and I feel the key to my being here – the reason of my trying to kill myself is so nice parabled in my sister’s need for her comfort object. I spend a lot of time psychoanalyzing myself – you see, that is habit one develops when one is a literature professor and, I have lately reached the conclusion that what we call love is, in my case at least, a need
(A song by Sidharth VardhanFirst written on April 17, 2018) “Take away your ficklish lovesNo bigger than smallest of monthsThey may suit some otherMyself can’t handle anotherParts of my souls are still in gravesWhich were build by fantasiesYou thought were your lovesAnd I loved the idea of deathTill you showed me dead too sufferIn storms of your passing fantasies
(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan First written on March 22, 2018) 1. He was so very careful with his steps. From very early on, he has decided one can’t be too careful as one walks to one’s destination, for one can so easily fall within a momentary carelessness on these rocky lands. And so many people had told him that they didn’t manage to reach the destination in time because they had fallen. Because, and it is a well-known fact, how people, once fallen, may not rise again for years. Too scared of the answer he might get, he didn’t ask anyone what it was like down there where they fell. But one can easily imagine how much they were suffering even now, when they had finally picked themselves up, from that look on their face. Something in the corner of their eyes sung the saddest songs he had heard. One could see scars all over their body and their complaints about pain in left side of their chest were quite well known. And he was sure he couldn’t stand that. Though he pretended to be strong, he knew deep in his heart that he was fragile and weak.
A tribute to Charles Dickens (A Tale of Two Cities) and Damien Rice (Cheers Darling) A short story by Sidharth Vardhan First written on March 26, 2018 As usual, she had her beautiful smile on when she opened the door and she greeted him with her daily question, addressing him, as she always did, with his last name “How you are doing today, Carton?” He greeted her back – never ever answering the question, asked her after her husband and went to meet her children. The children were waiting for him to arrive as he was their playmate and played the game with the same excitement as they did – only losing deliberately to his younger rivals.
(A review by Sidharth Vardhan of ‘A Tale of Two Cities‘ (1859) by Charles Dickens First written in September 9, 2015 [usr 4]) “No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him—an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!”
Woke up with the worm, couldn’t eat, Music won’t do, Books won’t either, Something cruel is in the sunlight today, And ignored dog looks sad too. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with the worm, Hope it will kill me today. Can’t get you out of my mind, don’t want to love you anymore, Don’t want to think of you all the time, Don’t want the never-ending communication with you, That fucks up my mind, and oh hell, I am doing it now too. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with this worm That will kill me today. Reproaches in my head Wanting to tell you ‘Are immature, careless, stupid Reproaches – mean and childish no right to make them Yet gonna make them. Reproaching you all the time Wanting to hit you all the time And yet whatever the reproaches are They are nothing, nothing But same old one, One reproach, different clothes. That I loved you And you didn’t love me back. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with the worm Why won’t it kill me today? (First written as a Dedication for Khaleesi AKA Alex on March 20, 2018) Copyright –