BOOK BAG OF Terrifying Tales
‘Skin’, by Roald Dahl promises to thrill, enchant and electrify with its astonishing absurdity and dextrously woven twists and turns that will force you simper wryly, squeal delightedly, and grimace in revulsion, all at once.
This collection of eleven of some of Roald Dahl’s best stories provides a rather unexpected transition from his children’s stories to his tales of lies and deception. Peppered with sardonic humour, an underlying layer of gloom permeates the pages, adding to the overall onion-like effect of the book.
Skin, the first story in this collection, is a bizarre tale of a seemingly ordinary old man with a masterpiece tattooed onto his back. Suspense hangs over this story tantalizingly, preventing you from putting the book down.
Lamb to the Slaughter and Dip in the Pool are some of the other tales in this collection that make this book simply unputdownable.
By the time you’re done with a story, the next one grips you with unyielding fingers.
Crammed with brilliant inventions, shocking motives and startling ideas, these tales linger long after you’re done reading.
The Sound Machine, which is about a device that can hear plants, is unusual but gripping.
Galloping Foxley, which is about a seasoned traveller having to put up with an intruder in his carriage, only to realise that the stranger is not as unfamiliar as he seems, is coated with Dahl-esque wit and garnished with juicy jibes at society and schools. The Champion of The World, An African Story and My Lady Love My Dove are rather disturbing and not for the faint hearted.
The Surgeon is a straightforward story quite free from Dahl’s characteristic cynicism, but the quaint descriptions of rural England add to its charm.
The Wish, revolving around a child’s desire to cross the snake-infested, coal smattered carpet, sets your pulse racing despite its simple plot. The author’s uncanny ability to capture the protagonist’s emotions keeps you glued to the pages right from the very beginning.
Beware of the Dog, infused with military terms and with the Second World War in the backdrop, would make for a rather heavy read if not for the few moments that hint subtly at flecks of humour.
These stories possess a curious multi-layered quality and can be viewed from different angles each time they are read. Unlike most stories where once the beans are spilt, they no longer spark interest; these fantastically concocted tales can be read over and over.
This collection is rather difficult to sum up, maybe because each story is so completely different from the rest, but all manage to enchant, disgust, mystify and excite.
This book is sure to have you gasping for more!
Puffin Price: Rs. 250
pages 212
- Malvika, Cluny Convent School
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Rain glitters magic sparks
When I am alone
The stark dreariness of reality seems to gnaw at me
Like a teething puppy chewing a rubber ball
Indulgently at first, but with an increasing intensity
That thrusts me into the lowest depths of despondency
Then the rain, at first merely a casual acquaintance
Turns into an intimate confidant
As it enchants me with its bewitching frivolity
Luring me out of this oh so humdrum world
And into a mesmerising distortion of reality
The engaging pitter-patter, the delicious smell of fresh mud
And the wet, wet raindrops that run down the nose
Lull me into a trance from which I would rather not wake
Though I am conscious of a restless tug
That seems to draw me back to reality
It’s so much easier
To lose yourself in the other world
Bathed in hues of sepia and Technicolor
Asphalt glimmers – A black, angry river
In whose perilous waters vehicles thrash
Struggling valiantly against being engulfed
In its livid intensity.
The leaves that sway rhythmically
To the feral music of the rain
Induce me to revel
To revel in its tumultuous glee
The gloom that had visited me so often
Is banished from the other world
But it slinks intently along its faint boundaries
Diabolic and wily
Ready to spring upon me
With the agility of a wildcat
Once I step [however cautiously]
Into the glum precincts of reality
The rain has an almost regal air about her
Altogether very suave and posh
Pulsating sparks of magic dance within her
That can bewitch, spellbind, entrance
When the swirling nebula begin to gather
Her enticing whispers barely heard
I know she’s come for me
To lead me to the other world
Where I could live
For all eternity.
The stark dreariness of reality seems to gnaw at me
Like a teething puppy chewing a rubber ball
Indulgently at first, but with an increasing intensity
That thrusts me into the lowest depths of despondency
Then the rain, at first merely a casual acquaintance
Turns into an intimate confidant
As it enchants me with its bewitching frivolity
Luring me out of this oh so humdrum world
And into a mesmerising distortion of reality
The engaging pitter-patter, the delicious smell of fresh mud
And the wet, wet raindrops that run down the nose
Lull me into a trance from which I would rather not wake
Though I am conscious of a restless tug
That seems to draw me back to reality
It’s so much easier
To lose yourself in the other world
Bathed in hues of sepia and Technicolor
Asphalt glimmers – A black, angry river
In whose perilous waters vehicles thrash
Struggling valiantly against being engulfed
In its livid intensity.
The leaves that sway rhythmically
To the feral music of the rain
Induce me to revel
To revel in its tumultuous glee
The gloom that had visited me so often
Is banished from the other world
But it slinks intently along its faint boundaries
Diabolic and wily
Ready to spring upon me
With the agility of a wildcat
Once I step [however cautiously]
Into the glum precincts of reality
The rain has an almost regal air about her
Altogether very suave and posh
Pulsating sparks of magic dance within her
That can bewitch, spellbind, entrance
When the swirling nebula begin to gather
Her enticing whispers barely heard
I know she’s come for me
To lead me to the other world
Where I could live
For all eternity.
The Happiness Canine
His black, shimmering nose prods me gently
And his eyes;
tranquil waters of insatiable hope
Look up imploringly into mine
His tail wags beseechingly
Gently at first, but with an increasing intensity
That accomplishes in a single motion
More than a volley of barks could have.
Car keys jingle, the swish of a leash is heard
And he erupts jubilantly; A ball of explosive fur
Emitting triumphant yips punctuating each sentence
With gritty zeal and enthusiasm.
He’s essentially got the heart of an adventurer
A heart that yearns
To explore the obscure
To discover the indefinite
To scour the world for possibilities
Possibilities that often lie veiled by disbelief
Not in his world, but in ours.
He thrusts his head out from the window resolutely
With an air of complacent enjoyment
As our car whizzes past the world in general
For this is his world,
Pink, slobbering tongue dangling precariously from mouth
And spaniel ears temporarily elevated by the lusty winds
His eyes illumined by an almost fervent gleam
As he floats in a bubble of complete detachment.
When his paws aren’t on the armrest,
And his snout on the drearier side of the window,
He rests his muzzle against the car floor
To revel in its soothingly rhythmic motion
And eyes shut in silent contemplation.
His eyes reflect a thousand worlds
Each world diverse and rare
Happiness permeates the creases lining his countenance
He’s got a slightly inebriated look
With a silly canine grin pasted on his face
He’s an explorer, a swashbuckler, a seeker
He’s the quintessential seafarer
Lost to the world
How easily he slips into blissful oblivion
With a trip in the family car
And his eyes;
tranquil waters of insatiable hope
Look up imploringly into mine
His tail wags beseechingly
Gently at first, but with an increasing intensity
That accomplishes in a single motion
More than a volley of barks could have.
Car keys jingle, the swish of a leash is heard
And he erupts jubilantly; A ball of explosive fur
Emitting triumphant yips punctuating each sentence
With gritty zeal and enthusiasm.
He’s essentially got the heart of an adventurer
A heart that yearns
To explore the obscure
To discover the indefinite
To scour the world for possibilities
Possibilities that often lie veiled by disbelief
Not in his world, but in ours.
He thrusts his head out from the window resolutely
With an air of complacent enjoyment
As our car whizzes past the world in general
For this is his world,
Pink, slobbering tongue dangling precariously from mouth
And spaniel ears temporarily elevated by the lusty winds
His eyes illumined by an almost fervent gleam
As he floats in a bubble of complete detachment.
When his paws aren’t on the armrest,
And his snout on the drearier side of the window,
He rests his muzzle against the car floor
To revel in its soothingly rhythmic motion
And eyes shut in silent contemplation.
His eyes reflect a thousand worlds
Each world diverse and rare
Happiness permeates the creases lining his countenance
He’s got a slightly inebriated look
With a silly canine grin pasted on his face
He’s an explorer, a swashbuckler, a seeker
He’s the quintessential seafarer
Lost to the world
How easily he slips into blissful oblivion
With a trip in the family car
Thursday, July 8, 2010
A tapestry of windows
Words that urge us to simply let go To let go of our mundanely humdrum existence And to lose ourselves in a different world To forget those boundaries separating reality from fiction
Windows to worlds that lie far beyond our own,
Woven dextrously like a tapestry
Whose threads enmesh myriad marvels
With pens that run on enchanted ink
Each far-faraway tantalizingly unattainable
But beckoning,
Beckoning to me always.
Words that urge us to simply let go
To let go of our mundanely humdrum existence
And to lose ourselves in a different world
To forget those boundaries separating reality from fiction
That hang bleakly, like mist in the air.
Poems that paint pictures in your mind
In hues of sepia and Technicolor
Awakening feelings that had hitherto lain latent,
Lost in the ebb and flow of emotions
Until words; words sprinkled with poetic passion
And garnished with flecks of magic
Begin to lay siege to your thoughts
And induce you to believe
To believe in the power of verse.
Words that egg you on
To peer at the shrewd tabby next door
To check if she isn’t really McGonagall in disguise
Or to ascertain, in the privacy of your bedroom
Whether with a complacent snap of your fingers
You could summon a djinni
To take you to the Wayless Woods
Where the fire-elves and water-nymphs dance,
Or to the deserts of Arabia
Where the winds,
Saturated with the coarse harshness of the dust-smattered land
Skim fleetingly and impartially across our headscarves
While camels snort crossly in the distance.
Books that are thresholds to bliss
Beguilingly bewitching,
diabolic and wily
Wrenching you away from the stark dreariness of truth
And thrusting you into a world that will never be your own
Snaring you with their bewitching lies
Knit intricately from the choicest of gobbledygook.
They will imprison you within the confines of their tales
Until you are left to wander the labyrinth of exotic imaginings
All by yourself.
Malvika
Cluny Convent school
Windows to worlds that lie far beyond our own,
Woven dextrously like a tapestry
Whose threads enmesh myriad marvels
With pens that run on enchanted ink
Each far-faraway tantalizingly unattainable
But beckoning,
Beckoning to me always.
Words that urge us to simply let go
To let go of our mundanely humdrum existence
And to lose ourselves in a different world
To forget those boundaries separating reality from fiction
That hang bleakly, like mist in the air.
Poems that paint pictures in your mind
In hues of sepia and Technicolor
Awakening feelings that had hitherto lain latent,
Lost in the ebb and flow of emotions
Until words; words sprinkled with poetic passion
And garnished with flecks of magic
Begin to lay siege to your thoughts
And induce you to believe
To believe in the power of verse.
Words that egg you on
To peer at the shrewd tabby next door
To check if she isn’t really McGonagall in disguise
Or to ascertain, in the privacy of your bedroom
Whether with a complacent snap of your fingers
You could summon a djinni
To take you to the Wayless Woods
Where the fire-elves and water-nymphs dance,
Or to the deserts of Arabia
Where the winds,
Saturated with the coarse harshness of the dust-smattered land
Skim fleetingly and impartially across our headscarves
While camels snort crossly in the distance.
Books that are thresholds to bliss
Beguilingly bewitching,
diabolic and wily
Wrenching you away from the stark dreariness of truth
And thrusting you into a world that will never be your own
Snaring you with their bewitching lies
Knit intricately from the choicest of gobbledygook.
They will imprison you within the confines of their tales
Until you are left to wander the labyrinth of exotic imaginings
All by yourself.
Malvika
Cluny Convent school
Monday, May 31, 2010
The banyan tree
Twisting, writhing, slithering out of view
The bough meandered purposefully
Playing hide and seek with the cloudless sky
Obscured by an inquisitive primate
As she crouched on a fragile-looking branch
Her delicate, expressive face tense with anticipation
And wide brown eyes lost in the furrows of her forehead
Her long, flexible tail began to quiver
While the rest of her body lay still.
Then she began to swing;
Her powerful arms swinging her sinewy body
From one elusive bough to another,
Almost effortlessly.
The bough continues upward-
Branching into millions, or so it seems,
Each ending in a microscopic point,
Tastefully garnished with dark, open leaves.
A bird, a lowly baby pigeon,
Dyed with tints of blue and grey,
Peers furtively from his perch,
As his mummy eggs him on,
To unfurl his nascent wings.
He surveys the world around him;
The sky is vast, crisp, overly frigid,
And he decides he's not quite ready to fly.
Ants scurry purposefully in single file
Along the contours of the ancient, knobbly birthplace of the bough;
Their movements robot-like, mechanical and resolute.
Our lives pass within the blink of an eye
Quick flashes of light in the archives of time
But the bough lives for an eternity, forever and ever
Twisting, turning, meandering and coiling
Through the yawning depths of time.
The bough meandered purposefully
Playing hide and seek with the cloudless sky
Obscured by an inquisitive primate
As she crouched on a fragile-looking branch
Her delicate, expressive face tense with anticipation
And wide brown eyes lost in the furrows of her forehead
Her long, flexible tail began to quiver
While the rest of her body lay still.
Then she began to swing;
Her powerful arms swinging her sinewy body
From one elusive bough to another,
Almost effortlessly.
The bough continues upward-
Branching into millions, or so it seems,
Each ending in a microscopic point,
Tastefully garnished with dark, open leaves.
A bird, a lowly baby pigeon,
Dyed with tints of blue and grey,
Peers furtively from his perch,
As his mummy eggs him on,
To unfurl his nascent wings.
He surveys the world around him;
The sky is vast, crisp, overly frigid,
And he decides he's not quite ready to fly.
Ants scurry purposefully in single file
Along the contours of the ancient, knobbly birthplace of the bough;
Their movements robot-like, mechanical and resolute.
Our lives pass within the blink of an eye
Quick flashes of light in the archives of time
But the bough lives for an eternity, forever and ever
Twisting, turning, meandering and coiling
Through the yawning depths of time.
The puppy that hadn't known what winter was
The puppy who hadn’t known what winter was!
Malvika,Cluny Convent,High School
The dead puppy lay on the pavement
A black, shiny patch against an ashen background
Flies buzzed purposefully around its tranquil, almost wise countenance
Never mind how repulsive the passers-by found
The uncombed, mangy mongrel with its face half-buried in the coarse, sun-drenched sand.
Vermin had eaten through the glossy, dishevelled fur that had shimmered uncertainly
In the blazing, almost insolent resplendence of the sun.
For the puppy hadn’t known what winter was.
Had human hands ever run their fingers over its thin, noble face?
And if they had, where were those hands now?
The puppy had once pranced jauntily across the street
With a pilfered Marie biscuit clenched tightly between its jaws,
Narrowly missing being mown down by the sputtering Tongas, whirring autos,
Humming scooters and the ever moving, intricate maze of pedestrians.
The children from the school, who had fed him with their left over lunches and had carried him in their soft hands,
Unmindful of his flea – ridden fur and wet, slobbering tongue –
Where were they now?
Where they the same as those who now threw disgusted, scornful glances at his perfectly still, lifeless form?
Or were they the ones who pretended not to notice the dark, static cadaver that lay on the footpath?
His dry, crusty nose peeked out furtively from beneath the piles of rubble,
Crimson scars tore through his skin, exposing long strips of rotting flesh.
I said good-bye to the abandoned, long- forgotten puppy whom life had thrown away
Like a toddler discarding a toy that he had finished playing with
I swore that I wouldn’t forget him, and his image remained vivid and fresh in my mind for weeks afterward
Now all I can remember about him is that he had odd ears – one droopy and the other pointy
My memories of him are tucked away in an obscure corner of the archives of my reminiscences
I can’t say that I’ve done better than the others who have forgotten him,
Except perhaps I held on for a little longer that they did
Just a little longer.
Malvika,Cluny Convent,High School
The dead puppy lay on the pavement
A black, shiny patch against an ashen background
Flies buzzed purposefully around its tranquil, almost wise countenance
Never mind how repulsive the passers-by found
The uncombed, mangy mongrel with its face half-buried in the coarse, sun-drenched sand.
Vermin had eaten through the glossy, dishevelled fur that had shimmered uncertainly
In the blazing, almost insolent resplendence of the sun.
For the puppy hadn’t known what winter was.
Had human hands ever run their fingers over its thin, noble face?
And if they had, where were those hands now?
The puppy had once pranced jauntily across the street
With a pilfered Marie biscuit clenched tightly between its jaws,
Narrowly missing being mown down by the sputtering Tongas, whirring autos,
Humming scooters and the ever moving, intricate maze of pedestrians.
The children from the school, who had fed him with their left over lunches and had carried him in their soft hands,
Unmindful of his flea – ridden fur and wet, slobbering tongue –
Where were they now?
Where they the same as those who now threw disgusted, scornful glances at his perfectly still, lifeless form?
Or were they the ones who pretended not to notice the dark, static cadaver that lay on the footpath?
His dry, crusty nose peeked out furtively from beneath the piles of rubble,
Crimson scars tore through his skin, exposing long strips of rotting flesh.
I said good-bye to the abandoned, long- forgotten puppy whom life had thrown away
Like a toddler discarding a toy that he had finished playing with
I swore that I wouldn’t forget him, and his image remained vivid and fresh in my mind for weeks afterward
Now all I can remember about him is that he had odd ears – one droopy and the other pointy
My memories of him are tucked away in an obscure corner of the archives of my reminiscences
I can’t say that I’ve done better than the others who have forgotten him,
Except perhaps I held on for a little longer that they did
Just a little longer.
The sky turned on the lights
The sky turned on the lights....
She had been poised and self-assured until she was on stage, staring and being stared at by a multitude of bored and restless students.And that was when the first trickle of nervousness began to seep into the stream that had until then filled her with reckless, undaunted fearlessness.
Darkness began its surreptitious exit from the almost-morning sky, as the sky turned on the lights and slipped off the covers one by one, painting itself with multi-hued streaks.
She stared unseeingly at the glow in the dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling, whose faint outlines seemed to merge with the creamy white ceiling, giving the impression of bright green polka dots against a white background.
The events of the previous day seemed to have imprisoned her mind, try as she could to free herself from the shackles of those memories which had clasped themselves tightly around her, forcing her to think only of them.
So she lay in bed, unable to shake off those images that had etched themselves into her memory, allowing them to flood her mind.
The well rehearsed speech that she had prepared, the constant checking of the draft so as to not miss anything, the extra time she had taken to polish her usually dust-flecked shoes until they had shone, and the vibrant, gurgling stream of happiness that had gushed through her merrily, untouched by fear or nervousness, were memories that stood out vividly amongst other jumbled images.
She had been poised and self-assured until she was on stage, staring and being stared at by a multitude of bored and restless students.
And that was when the first trickle of nervousness began to seep into the stream that had until then filled her with reckless, undaunted fearlessness.
She tried not to show how nervous she was, and had smiled brightly; pretending to exude confidence .She began her speech.
It went on quite well until she could suddenly feel hundred of eyes and ears fixed on her.
She faltered.
That was enough to titillate the audience.
She suddenly didn’t know what to say .She repeated a line from her speech over and over, trying to think of what to say next, and the audience, who were by now jeering at her openly, began to repeat what she was saying in unison with her, not realizing that they were hurting her, making her wish that she could disappear.
She tried to speak, but no words would leave her mouth. She left the stage; her head throbbing with shame and the mocking sniggers and whispers of the audience playing themselves in loop.
he cried. People told her how sorry they were for her and that she mustn’t cry, because crying wouldn’t make things any better, but she knew that they did not understand. She despised herself for even wanting to give a speech, for being nervous when she wasn’t supposed to, for being so vulnerable to the sniggers of the audience, for crying in front of so many people
And there she was now, the tears of her mortification wetting her cheeks yet again as she lay in bed, staring at the morning sky from the window near her bed.
The sky was no longer streaked with crimson and purple. Wispy clouds floated nonchalantly in the crisp blue sky and the sun, partially obscured by a particularly large cloud nevertheless shone brightly and exuberantly, flooding the world with its radiance.
She spent a few moments thinking of how horrid and humiliated she felt.
The loud, unexpected honking of a car, probably a Ford, was what brought her back to Earth.
A few moments ago, darkness had covered the world, but had gradually given way to a new morning. The darkness had moved on to another part of the world, just like she would have to move on.
What had happened to her yesterday would forever remain a part of her, but they were a part of the past and couldn’t control her. She would just have to let go of those dreadful memories.
After a few more moments of rare introspection , she decided to let go of the past , to let go of those memories that she had until now been unable to shake off, and she got out of bed, ready to begin another new, eventful day.
Malvika Parthasarathy
Cluny Convent High School
She had been poised and self-assured until she was on stage, staring and being stared at by a multitude of bored and restless students.And that was when the first trickle of nervousness began to seep into the stream that had until then filled her with reckless, undaunted fearlessness.
Darkness began its surreptitious exit from the almost-morning sky, as the sky turned on the lights and slipped off the covers one by one, painting itself with multi-hued streaks.
She stared unseeingly at the glow in the dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling, whose faint outlines seemed to merge with the creamy white ceiling, giving the impression of bright green polka dots against a white background.
The events of the previous day seemed to have imprisoned her mind, try as she could to free herself from the shackles of those memories which had clasped themselves tightly around her, forcing her to think only of them.
So she lay in bed, unable to shake off those images that had etched themselves into her memory, allowing them to flood her mind.
The well rehearsed speech that she had prepared, the constant checking of the draft so as to not miss anything, the extra time she had taken to polish her usually dust-flecked shoes until they had shone, and the vibrant, gurgling stream of happiness that had gushed through her merrily, untouched by fear or nervousness, were memories that stood out vividly amongst other jumbled images.
She had been poised and self-assured until she was on stage, staring and being stared at by a multitude of bored and restless students.
And that was when the first trickle of nervousness began to seep into the stream that had until then filled her with reckless, undaunted fearlessness.
She tried not to show how nervous she was, and had smiled brightly; pretending to exude confidence .She began her speech.
It went on quite well until she could suddenly feel hundred of eyes and ears fixed on her.
She faltered.
That was enough to titillate the audience.
She suddenly didn’t know what to say .She repeated a line from her speech over and over, trying to think of what to say next, and the audience, who were by now jeering at her openly, began to repeat what she was saying in unison with her, not realizing that they were hurting her, making her wish that she could disappear.
She tried to speak, but no words would leave her mouth. She left the stage; her head throbbing with shame and the mocking sniggers and whispers of the audience playing themselves in loop.
he cried. People told her how sorry they were for her and that she mustn’t cry, because crying wouldn’t make things any better, but she knew that they did not understand. She despised herself for even wanting to give a speech, for being nervous when she wasn’t supposed to, for being so vulnerable to the sniggers of the audience, for crying in front of so many people
And there she was now, the tears of her mortification wetting her cheeks yet again as she lay in bed, staring at the morning sky from the window near her bed.
The sky was no longer streaked with crimson and purple. Wispy clouds floated nonchalantly in the crisp blue sky and the sun, partially obscured by a particularly large cloud nevertheless shone brightly and exuberantly, flooding the world with its radiance.
She spent a few moments thinking of how horrid and humiliated she felt.
The loud, unexpected honking of a car, probably a Ford, was what brought her back to Earth.
A few moments ago, darkness had covered the world, but had gradually given way to a new morning. The darkness had moved on to another part of the world, just like she would have to move on.
What had happened to her yesterday would forever remain a part of her, but they were a part of the past and couldn’t control her. She would just have to let go of those dreadful memories.
After a few more moments of rare introspection , she decided to let go of the past , to let go of those memories that she had until now been unable to shake off, and she got out of bed, ready to begin another new, eventful day.
Malvika Parthasarathy
Cluny Convent High School
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