Of crusading knights and Saracens ? Hmm hmm.... blonde damsels locked up by evil witches in high towers ? Guarded by dragons ? Lost treasures ? Lost relics ? With magical powers ?
Is it the horses and the swords ? The chivalry ? The magic ? The royalty? The glory ? The honour ? The countryside ? The castles ? The battles ? The heroism ?
Hmmz
Its escapism.
I used to love fairy tales. I've read Enid Blyton , and offcourse the staple Grimm's.
Ah ! Pixies and fairies and gnomes, talking toys , elves ...
I'd seen the whole series of Grimm's at Nandan at some film festival. My parents took me. I enjoyed every moment.
I have a relationship with Soviet Russia . The erstwhile USSR. Yes. No , this isn't baloney. When I was around 2 or 3, i used to subscribe to this Soveit children's mag called MISHA. Illustrated. It had comics , as well as stories, anecdotes, activities, write ins and description of children's lives in the USSR. And yes ... I remember being read all that ... i shall smack anyone who even dares to suggest otherwise.
Political propoganda or not ... communism democracy be hanged .....
My eyes used to fill with wonder , amazement and joy. Nothing compares to it.
It used to have folk and fairy tales from all over the world. Ukraine , Turkmenistan , Kyrghyzstan, Mongolia, China , Japan , Vietnam, Cambodia India are just a few.
Then the USSR fell . The magazine stopped. So stopped my monthly dose of Baba Yaga (Russian witch ) and the Spotted Cap , and Aldar Kose ( a Kyrghyz wit ). And all the joy associated with MISHA.
I HATE you .... you self righteous bastards ... upholders of freedom , democracy blah blah and all that m***********g crap.. it don't mean shit to you you liars it's ALL a farce. LOOK at the world today. THAT's what your ideals have done ... you kill millions and yet justify everything and demand acceptance. Why ? Just because you're on the frekkin otherside of the law ?
Those were precious to me. I have preserved every magazine. And I still read them sometimes.
Raduga publishers (Moscow ) used to have a stall in the book fair every year. They sold books for really cheap. Russian translations. My parents bought me "The Golden Goblet" by Karim Tangrikuliev. A story of a young boy and his narratives , in Central Asia. As he grows up.
I am not that articulate, and I am sleepy now. Hence .. its simply beautiful.
Ends with the commencement of WWII. ..... woooohoooooo ! :D *expletive*
I have read Central Asian folk / fairy tales. Magical. These tales from the vast arid steppes speak of romance and adventure of a different sort.
Then I have Russian fairy tales..... of Princess Alyonushka..... and all those wonderful things ...
The Firebird .... and the Horse that Prince Ivan rode to rescue his Alyonushka..... Set in the cold cold snow covered conifers on Northern Russia ....... it's white magic.
( Maria Sharapova was my real life Alyonushka ) *blush*
It's been long since I last read a fairy tale. Or felt like I was in a fairy tale. I am no longer in the Age of Innocence. Everything has to be assessed with practicality and prudence. There is no time to daydream. Really .. I'm lost for words... feels like I have no place to escape to. Being realistic does help us get through life. But then again ... life's like a dream. Isn't that what the Bard said ?
Hold my hand , let us fly
Let all the reality pass us by
Over the mountains, through the mist
Where myth and magic still exist
Where sparkling waters meander
And paths through wooded valleys wander
Of glorious battles without any pain
With glory and joy in both sun and rain
Sweet scent from flowers, ripe fruit from trees
Bathed in soft sunshine, caressed by the breeze
Where we had our love, amidst mountains and streams
That place is better than all of our dreams
How long before we heed the calling ?
Or shall we be forever falling ?
We traded for lies, look what we lost
At what cost my love ? At what cost ?
Hold my hand ,my love, let us fly
Let all the reality pass us by
Over the mountains, through the mist
Where myth and magic still exist.
Let all the reality pass us by
Over the mountains, through the mist
Where myth and magic still exist.