Other Colours

am reading Other Colours
by Orfan Pamuk

the stories and vignettes
that he weaves around Istanbul
where he grew up and still lives
makes me want to go back to that city

one of the main reasons i visited
Istanbul enroute to Paris this year
was his book Istanbul
dilliwalahs would immediately identify with his writings
(don't worry so would people from lucknow, hyderabad, ahmedabad and calcutta)
since we already live in a city
where several centuries exist side by side

after Istanbul
Paris was a huge letdown
one was city emerging out of its age old isolation
vibrant and alive
the other was city confused by the 21st century
after remaining the centre of art in the last century

in Other Colours
the writer is
able to juxtapose
his own struggle to find a voice
with that of a city trying to find its place in the modern world

the essays and stories
mostly focus on little details of his life
but somehow they are able to
evoke memories from my own life
the times when one was exploring
to make a mark in the world
(am still at it !!!!)

here is the speech
that Pamuk gave
when he received the Nobel Prize
it evokes all the pain
and passion
that an artist goes through
in a lifetime
his relationship with his self
his family
his city
and the world in which he lives

have not read any thing like that in years