Bookishness, Snippets

Lucky #19


O Jerusalem

O Jerusalem! by Larry Collins & Dominique Lapierre

The classic retelling of the spellbinding events of the birth of Israel. Moment by moment, Collins and Lapierre weave a brilliant tapestry of shattered hopes, fierce pride, and breathtaking daring as the Arabs, Jews, and British collide in their fight for control of Jerusalem. O Jerusalem! meticulously recreates this historic struggle.

Collins and Lapierre profile the Jewish fighters, from the commanders Ben Fusion and Golda Meir to the solders, rabbinical students, and refugees taken directly from their shops to fight; and the Arab soldiers, from the explosives expert planting bombs to the charismatic chieftain whose death in battle doomed the Arab cause but inspired a generation of Palestininans; as well as the British efforts of peacekeeping after General Allenby’s conquest of Jerusalem to their departure in the face of the onslaught.

O Jerusalem! is a towering testament to the fiery birth of Israel and an unforgettable tale of faith and violence, of betrayal and indomitable courage.

I first heard about this book about a couple of years ago, when my boss brought up a couple of incidents of miracles that he said were mentioned in O Jerusalem! He told the few of us present that it was a ‘must read’ as the history of Israel, as recorded by these two brilliant historians (I had heard of Freedom at Midnight), was fascinating.

I have, since then, had this book on my wish list, and finally got myself a copy of it earlier this year. I am looking forward to delving into it. The size is a little daunting at 566 pages. But they also appear to have added chapter notes (I’m assuming they’re summaries), and a few biographical details of the important ‘players’ in this book. I’m in the right mood for O Jerusalem!


Classics Club Spin #20

books stack old antique
Photo by Pixabay on

I’m in again!

  1. Mere Christianity – C.S.Lewis
  2. The Screwtape Letters – C.S.Lewis (re-read)
  3. The Abolition of Man – C.S.Lewis
  4. The Great Divorce – C.S.Lewis
  5. The Problem of Pain – C.S.Lewis
  6. Miracles – C.S.Lewis
  7. A Grief Observed – C.S.Lewis
  8. The Confessions of Saint Augustine
  9. In His Steps – Charles M. Sheldon
  10. Wisdom of Sadhu Sundarsingh
  11. The Gospel and Islam – Ibrahimkhan O. Deshmukh
  12. The Cost of Discipleship – Dietrich Bonhoeffer
  13. The Last Chapter – A.W.Rasmussen
  14. Secret Power – D.L. Moody
  15. It’s Time to Rock the Boat – Michael L. Brown
  16. The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow – Jerome K. Jerome
  17. Three Men on the Bummel – Jerome K. Jerome
  18. The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches – Matsuo Basho
  19. O Jerusalem (need to purchase) – Larry Collins and Dominique Lapierre
  20. Paradise Lost – John Milton

Save for Paradise Lost there is no fiction on my spin list. This is deliberate, of course. I am not in the mood for stories. Looking forward to seeing which one of these I will be reading during this summer heat!!

My Short Fiction



The neon glow enveloped the city built by and for corporations. The streets looked soul-less, though crowded with bodies walking in black coats, past glaring lamp-posts.

Roy stepped out of the shadows. Then he froze.

All eyes were on him. The neon lights seemed to gather together to reflect his name. The voices from the bodies rose as one – a chant as deep as a bottomless pit and as empty as the yawning mouth of a deep hole —

“Welcome to hell, Roy.”

Note: First Line Friday prompt at Mindlovemisery's Menagerie
My Poetry

Froggy Season


Where I live, when the frogs come out at night, to sing their deep choruses to the moon, we know it is time to celebrate, for they signal the onset of monsoon. The monsoon is a very dicey season in these parts, though. The rains are not a surety at all. In fact, this year past, our city has not seen a drop of rain — we have had a dry monsoon season. We have heard no frogs at all for months! They are, right now, a distant memory; the sound of them lost behind the foggy veil of too much time gone by.

one drop, two drops, three —
the bull frog leads the bass
in the chorus after the rain.

Note: Haiku prompt by Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille on Mindlovemisery's Menagerie.
My Short Fiction



Cynthia sighed with relief as she closed the backdoor behind her. In front of her lay the narrow mud path that led to her favourite spot in the whole world. Clutching the little cloth bag that hung against her knobbly knees, she scampered along the path and up to the base of an umbrella tree, its branches spread so wide that they appeared to shelter from wind, hale and rain.

Cynthia gazed in silence at the roughly hewn wooden base of a swing, dangling from sturdy ropes tied to a low branch of the tree. She reached out a seeking hand, and curled it round a rope. Soft tears dangled upon her lashes. Her father had built it for her, so that ‘his little princess’ would have her very own secret place where she might hide from the world.

Cynthia was hiding now. Hiding from the solemn voices, and the keening tears. Out here, under her little umbrella tree, she was alone with her father.

Note: Tale Weaver #215 prompt at Mindlovemisery's Menagerie
My Poetry

A Sentinel of History


How still a monument can stand; the silent, stone-cold witness of centuries past. Its walls might have ears, but there is no tongue. History, as we know it, is shaped by the version we read. What living man or woman can know the truth? Read with a pinch of salt and connect the dots. That is the only way to look at millennia and a world of things that have happened and people who have lived. Who is to say what history would look like a hundred years from now? Will I feature in it as a villain or a hero? Or will I simply be a person without a voice — a blur in the face of history.

mark of a dynasty
lost in the truth of time —
the Qutb Minar

My Poetry

Moonlit Dinner

white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time

Seaside dinners near moonlit waters are utterly charming. I shudder in delight when I think of the dappled moon playing with the inky sea, drawing me into the non-anfractuous expanse that merges with the shadows stretching into the night. The dancing foam that flirts with the shoreline is a mesmerising sight too.

Only a few months ago, my husband and I sat sipping wine and gazing into the sound of the sea. We tasted ten blissful years of togetherness upon our tongue, and exchanged customary sighs of pleasure. The faint, rhythmic base from the bar filtered through the air, but failed to mar the beauty all around us.

twilight deepens
into stars and silence —
must one get tipsy on wine alone?