End it like Beckham


“There is no real ending.
It’s just the place where you stop the story.”
(Frank Herbert)

The first time when the real meaning of ‘male appeal’ evolved in our generation was the moment when we saw him on-and-off the field, we heard him in TV shows, and we became his ardent fan. You simply could never scorn this fellow, no matter whichever club/team he plays for, whatever product he endorses, or whether he can still bend that ball or score from the halfway line.

’Cause he is the one, the only, the ‘David Beckham’.


“Veni, vidi, vici”
:
There can’t be a better tagline for him, ever.
A poem as a tribute to the talismanic football wizard as he bids farewell to the game:

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The Light with a Soul


Anticlockwise from top right: Young Tagore on stage as an actor; With his son Rathindranath Tagore, and daughters Madhurilata Devi (Bela), Mira Devi & Renuka Devi; At Albert Einstein’s Berlin home (1926); Tagore with Tasher Desh drama group; Visiting Helen Keller in New York (1930) and reciting, “Aami chini go chini tomare, ogo Bideshini.”; Kabiguru in Shantiniketan; Spending time with Mahatma Gandhi; Last Journey from Shantiniketan.


“The song I came to sing 

remains unsung to this day. 
I have spent my days in stringing 
and in unstringing my instrument.”

From ‘Gitanjali’ (গীতাঞ্জলি)

Reading Tagore is seeing life more clearly, hearing life more sweetly, living life more completely.

His songs enable us to be more creative in our thinking and doing, to be more compassionate in our feelings and dealings.

And more at peace with ourselves, and the world.

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A Ray Beyond Oblivion


Clockwise from top left: Pather Panchali (1955); Nayak (1966); Jalsaghar (1958); Charulata (1964); Sonar Kella (1974); Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne (1968); Joi Baba Felunath (1979); Ghare Baire (1984); Shatranj Ke Khilari (1977); Devi (1960); Apur Sansar (1959); Hirak Rajar Deshe (1980).


Not to have seen the cinema of Ray
means existing in the world
without seeing the sun
or the moon.”
(Akira Kurosawa)

1929. An eight year old kid, was visiting Santiniketan with his mother. Hidden inside his pocket was a newly bought autograph book. Gliding gently to where Rabindranath Tagore was seated, he mustered some courage and whispered into his ears: “Will you please write something for me?” and then presented a blank page from the autograph book. Tagore smiled, and told him, “Leave it here with me. Come and take it tomorrow.”

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