Rating: 4/5

There is sort of emotional rebuttal when one loses its grip on life’s feisty pantomimes. The outpour is that of eccentricity and an unsavored festoon dangling a twilight sparking forbidding currents.

Why an emotion is important, asks the fragile mind? It has itself been a crusader to fight what terrifies it—a ‘fear’ or a peculiarity of ownership—‘of ‘success or power’ or a temperamental fluvial of what beckons to flow in a tapestry of ‘love-hate’; and mind you we all give into these emotions as placidly as we gulp a glass of water in times of apoplectic thirst.

‘Give-in’…Yes! Ferociously and unflinchingly! But why, asks the reposed mind? Simply because a desire awaits us; extolling it we denude an emotion that has a lingering pathology to our consumable desires. Any happening in our life or for that matter our conclusive affirmations to achieve something are never without an emotion.

A femme fatale feels disturbed by solitude and this very emotion of loneliness purges ahead to copulate with men—a desire awaited and cherished.

A flummoxed man is glad to screen life through his binoculars. The charm to capture the perceived in accordance with life’s eccentricities makes him fastidious in his judgments. Did he know that an emotions of compassion and an uncanny affiliation to a girl will finally duck the chin to say ‘yes’ to marriage, even though the entire prospect was somewhat bemusing.

A middle-aged budding author is obfuscated by being a belittle mourner in a whirlpool of megalomaniac writers. The despicable worn-off treatment invasively finds a fjord to denude the war-suckle desire of adding another rung to the otherwise stretched ladder. He sucks the blood of many as an intolerant bed-bug to crawl sufficiently and spuriously.

These are some of the characters in the book, ‘The Fire Ant’s Sting: Desire Dairies’ by Kamalini Natesan. Invigoratingly deceivable to the alacrity of their emotional paranoia, indulging imperceptibly in a carnivalesque of a stupor to legitimize a desire, an individual stimulates something—a slow-fanned emotion—cascading uncontrollably as a deprived tear in the most vulnerable homiletic.

Kamalini talks about real people with real emotions. A desire; an unfathomable thought sometimes leaves us bewildered and more often to be in concurrence with a dismissal of a pejorative desire that runs along. You pick the one that has a heuristic emotion crawling behind.

A girl diagnosed with Bulimia leads a frowsty life. The higgledy-piggledy turf of her life is mournful; the corpulent fat in her body agglutinates her to sigh at one corner separable from the alamode. The emotion of alienation has pressed hard on her and finally a clarion call to churn the desire of being self-sufficient.

The ‘one to please’ mother finally straddles the horse to gallop off the effrontery by her daughter. In the desire to be accepted in her own boots, she becomes like an ant freely subsuming the corners of the house rather than groaning under the load of the matchstick—hey! Listen daughter, the hoyden she is.

All the desires that a human is susceptible of is an outlet of its inner turmoil.

What is a man without desire?

What is a desire without an emotion?

In the journey between an emotion and desire, there is an awakening that propels one to take control of its prescriptive desires. We are defined by them; the strait-laced pottage, the egomaniacal torso sitting highfalutin, the Spartan forgiveness to heal the pilferage of the past and what if a ‘faun’ crosses your path to utter in sublime humor, ‘beat the heat and move on.’


Extremely desirable and diaphanous!

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