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The Hindu
29-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Leatherbound & Glossy: A Shelfside Dialogue
The library was hushed, wrapped in the stillness of midnight. Dust motes danced in moonlight filtering through the stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic shadows on the tall oak shelves. Amid this sacred silence, where whispers of centuries echoed between bindings and pages, something extraordinary stirred. Two books lay side by side on the 'Staff Picks' display—an accident, perhaps, or a whim of the librarian. One wore a worn leather jacket with faded gold embossing on its spine. The other gleamed with a glossy, colourful cover and a proud sticker that read New York Times Bestseller—22 Weeks in a Row. The Classic shifted slightly, its spine creaking. 'So,' it said with a voice as deep as mahogany, 'how long have you been here?' The Bestseller responded brightly, voice crackling like fresh print, 'Three weeks! It's been wild. People can't stop picking me up. Just yesterday, someone spilled coffee on me while crying during chapter twelve.' The Classic chuckled softly. 'Crying in chapter twelve already? That's impressive.' 'Thanks! Emotional resonance, you know?' The Bestseller leaned closer, whispering like a conspirator. 'You should see how quickly I'm flying off shelves. Third reprint already. They say I've touched lives. Changed them.' The Classic paused, thoughtful. 'And in a few months?' The Bestseller hesitated. 'Well, I'll be in paperback by then. More affordable, more accessible. Mass market. Maybe a movie deal.' 'Ah yes,' the Classic said. 'The bright blaze.' There was no malice in the Classic's tone—only memory. Age had given it a certain softness, like the patina on antique wood. 'What about you?' the Bestseller asked. 'You don't even have a dust jacket. People barely touch you.' The Classic smiled. 'No one touches me quickly, but many return. I've been here for over a century. I've heard revolutions unfold in whispered debates by the fireplace, seen lovers carve initials into the tables while quoting my lines. I was once banned. Then mandatory reading. I've been blamed for rebellion, praised for enlightenment.' The Bestseller blinked. 'You were banned?' 'Yes,' the Classic replied. 'For ideas considered too dangerous, too liberating. Once, a man smuggled me across a border stitched into the lining of his coat. He taught young girls to read with me in secret. They whispered my words like spells.' 'Wow,' said the Bestseller, humbled. 'There's a story,' the Classic continued, voice falling into a rhythm like a grandfather's tale, 'about a soldier during the war. He found a tattered copy of me in the rubble of a library. The cover was gone. The first few chapters, too. But he read what remained every night under candlelight, amidst the echoes of gunfire. He said I gave him something to live for. He sent me back home with his daughter when the war was over. She still visits. Sometimes she brings flowers.' The Bestseller was quiet for a moment. 'I suppose I don't have stories like that,' it said softly. 'Yet.' 'Time writes them,' the Classic said. 'Not all books are meant to become echoes. Some are sparks.' 'Sparks?' 'Quick to light. Beautiful. Brief. But necessary to ignite something greater. Perhaps you are one of those.' The Bestseller considered that. 'But what if I fade? What if I become irrelevant?' 'You will,' the Classic said gently. 'Everything does. Even I. There were decades I lay untouched. A relic. Then someone picked me up again, and suddenly I was alive. Not as I was, but reborn in meaning. Sometimes obscurity is not the end. It's the soil from which a second life begins.' The Bestseller sighed. 'That's comforting. And terrifying.' The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but companionable. A clock somewhere chimed two. 'Do you ever miss it?' the Bestseller asked. 'The crowds, the attention?' 'I remember it,' the Classic said. 'I once caused riots in a small European town. Readers argued whether my protagonist was a hero or a villain. One man refused to speak to his brother over a difference in interpretation. That sort of passion is rare. But I do not miss it. I cherish it.' The Bestseller laughed. 'I had a hashtag trend last week.' The Classic raised an eyebrow. 'Is that a new kind of literary review?' The Bestseller grinned. 'Sort of. It's like a digital echo. Faster, louder. But it fades just as fast. I envy your staying power.' 'And I,' said the Classic, 'envy your spark. I remember what it felt like to be new. To be discovered.' They sat in silence again, listening to the hum of moonlight. 'Tell me something,' the Bestseller said, voice hushed. 'What makes a book a classic?' The Classic didn't answer immediately. When it did, its voice was like the rustle of old pages. 'Endurance. Relevance. The ability to be reborn in every age. A classic isn't loved for being old. It is old because it has been loved long.' 'Do you think I could be one?' 'Perhaps,' the Classic said. 'You have heart. Voice. Urgency. But only time can decide. And readers. They are the true judges. A book becomes a classic not when it is written, but when it is remembered.' Outside, dawn touched the edge of the sky with the softest brush of gold. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—perhaps the librarian returning, or the early birds arriving with steaming mugs and quiet minds. 'I suppose this is goodbye,' the Bestseller said. 'I'm likely to be checked out again.' 'Then go well,' the Classic replied. 'Be read. Be wept over. Be shared. That is what we were made for.' The Bestseller lingered a moment longer. 'Thank you. For the stories. For the wisdom.' 'And thank you,' said the Classic. 'For reminding me what it feels like to be new.' Moments later, a young woman walked into the library, her eyes scanning the shelf. Her hand paused, then reached not for the glossy cover—but for the worn leather one beside it. She turned it over, smiled, and carried it to a reading nook by the window. As the sun rose, the Bestseller watched from its place on the desk, stunned into silence. The Classic, meanwhile, rested in new hands. And so, the cycle continued—of fire and ember, spark and legacy. A conversation not just between two books, but between moments and memory, between noise and nuance. Between now and forever…. 'This article is part of the sponsored content programme.'
Time of India
25-04-2025
- Time of India
Hole in neck, bullets in chest, shoulders mutilated: How Syed Adil Hussain Shah died saving tourist in in Pahalgam terror attack
HAPATNAR (ANANTNAG): In the remote Baisaran valley of Pahalgam in Kashmir's Anantnag district, Syed Adil Hussain Shah 's phone kept ringing incessantly on Tuesday. His father, Syed Haidar Shah, was calling to instruct him to buy some rice - a routine request in their household where every day was a struggle against poverty. But the 30-year-old, a pony guide at Baisaran, popularly known as "Mini Switzerland," never picked up. Family members of Syed Adil Hussain Shah It was not until the family reached out to the local police that the shocking truth came to light - Adil had been killed, the only local casualty in the Pahalgam terrorist attack. As the family lost the lone breadwinner, a village committee is providing basic food to the family and visitors. Shattered, but proud Adil gave his life for others: Dad As the family lost the lone breadwinner, a village committee is providing basic food to the family and visitors. When TOI reached Adil's house on Thursday at Hapatnar, a sleepy village around 35 km from Pahalgam, relatives and villagers were mourning his death. The nondescript village had become a visiting place for top leaders of the state and national media. Syed Adil Hussain Shah's house in Hapatnar, a sleepy village around 35 km from Pahalgam, is nearly 40 years old and made of mud, kutcha bricks, and wood. On Wednesday, CM Omar Abdullah attended his funeral. Dr Sameer Siddiqui, head of Khanqah-e-Hyderi, Aishmuqam shrine, Anantnag, while visiting the family on Thursday, said that Adil is the face of new Kashmir. By making a sacrifice for the tourists, he proved to the entire country and the world that this is Kashmiriyat—sacrificing life for guests, he added. 'I am shattered by the loss of my son who was taking care of the entire family like a pillar, but I am also proud knowing he gave his life to save others. 'Vo khuda ka bheja hua Farishta thaa' (he was an angel sent by GOD),' said Adil's father, Haider, as tears streamed down his face. Sharing details of the illfated day, Haider Shah said Adil was the only breadwinner for the family. On that day, his mother, Babyjan, told him that there was nothing to eat at home and told him to ask Adil to bring some rice in the evening. According to him, on several occasions the family had nothing to eat for a second meal of the day. 'I started calling him at around 2 pm, but he didn't take the call. Realising he must be busy with tourists, I asked my younger son, Naushad, in the evening to speak to Adil. When no response was received, Naushad went to the nearby police post, which informed us about the incident at around 7 pm,' Haider added. The poor financial condition of the family could be gauged from the fact that they were still living in a 40-year-old house made of mud, kutcha bricks, and wood. The total land owned by the family is around 2 Kanal, including the residence and agricultural land. The family is entirely dependent on labour work. His father added that immediately after completing Class XII, Adil asked him to rest at home and chose to become a pony guide in Pahalgam for tourists as well as during the Amarnath Yatra. Naushad, who also does labour work, said that his brother used to leave home at 8 am and come back around 7 pm. He used to earn Rs 300 per round for taking tourists on two ponies of a local contractor for one round from Pahalgam to Baisaran. At most, he was earning Rs 600 in a day and sometimes nothing. Naushad added that when he reached Srinagar hospital to collect Adil's body after the postmortem, one of the female tourists, who had also lost her family member, told him that he tried his best to save them by snatching a gun from the terrorists. 'When we checked his body, it was found that he was shot at close range. There was a hole in his neck, bullets on his chest, and a portion of one of his shoulders was mutilated by bullet injuries. Injuries to his fingers suggested he might have tried to grab the barrel of the firing gun,' Naushad added. Haider said that several people visited them, but no instant financial help has been provided to them. He added that as of now, the family is being taken care of by the village committee but is not aware of what will happen to the family after Fatiha Khawani (last memorial prayers). Adil's wife, Nazim, has been living separately at her father's house after the couple lost their girl child immediately after birth.
The Guardian
10-03-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Spreadeagled cats and gladiatorial warfare: everything I learned testing mattresses
I once noted here that testing heated airers is like weighing kittens. Testing mattresses is more like weight-lifting hippos. Manoeuvring these floppy giants around a small house would be hard enough for a normal person, but as a 53-year-old woman who never reached five feet tall, I wouldn't be anyone's first pick for a mattress-lifting team. The Filter's invitation to involve my extended family in testing the best mattresses delighted me because it meant they could do the lifting. They joined my husband, Alan, and our cat, Iggy, who favoured the Simba Hybrid Pro for radiator-adjacent spread-eagling and the Ikea Valevåg for claw sharpening. Before any testing could commence, Alan and I discovered that removing these beasts from their giant condom-like sheaths is part precision surgery, part gladiatorial warfare. Bed-in-a-box mattresses commonly weigh more than 50kg and come vacuum-packed so tightly that you have to be careful not to get knocked out when you cut the wrapping. None of the mattresses were wrapped in anything approaching sustainable, and if I'm ever sent one that doesn't come with a hatchback's worth of plastic, it'll receive serious review kudos. Having a houseful of mattresses expanding to full size and giving off a weird chemical smell (normal and temporary, but not pleasant) felt like what I imagine living with toddlers to be like. The same goes for the relief of off-loading them on to relatives. My family offered some disappointing feedback at first, with my dad and sister initially resistant to switching from pocket-sprung mattresses to spongy foam. Reports soon eased into broadly positive and occasionally ecstatic, punctured by moans about the 'pointlessly massive' Origin Hybrid Pro, which was too deep for a standard fitted sheet, and the magic staining powers of the Valevåg. 'It gets dirty if you just look at it,' said my niece, 22, although it should be noted that she lives in a student flat. What I really wanted from them was detailed feedback on how well they slept, although I worried that even the richest grumbling would be too subjective to be useful. I was reassured by a chat with sleep expert Kevin Morgan, emeritus professor of psychology at Loughborough University. 'Asking people, 'How would you rate the quality of your sleep last night?' using a 10-point scale is standard practice in research,' he told me. 'Insomnia is diagnosed exclusively on subjective experience of sleep.' Even so, I ran some lab-style tests for a more objective comparison. Careful use of Alan's bottom and other kit to measure key factors, such as sinkage and motion isolation, delivered some surprising and messy results. The budget Ikea Valevåg romped to glory in the heat-retention test, which required Alan to sit on a pre-heated spot (for ages while reading Moby-Dick, which did not help the time pass any faster). It bombed in the motion-isolation test, however, bouncing enough to topple a glass of water as Alan turned over. Alas, poor Valevåg. Claw marks, spillage, dirt and a student flat. Despite this onslaught (and after a good clean), it made its way to a gentler home via a local charity, but it took some persuading. Donating mattresses, even nearly new ones, is a hit-and-miss affair because they have to be pristine. For my next batch of mattress tests, I will invest heavily in cat-proof mattress protectors. The best air fryers, tried and tested for crisp and crunch 'Hands down my favourite bit of kit': 13 kitchen gadgets top chefs can't live without The best head torches: six tried-and-tested favourites for running, hiking and camping From resistance bands to squat-proof leggings: the pilates kit you need – and what you can do without Which brand makes the best plant milk? I tried 10 favourites, from oat to almond, to find out The bright days may come and go over the next few weeks, but there's no denying that spring is finally in the air. So we thought of everything you could need to blow away the winter cobwebs and embrace the warming, lengthening days. From a stylish trenchcoat for under £40 to sweet pea seeds (and a vase to put them in once they've flowered), a patio cleaner to a pair of sunnies, here's our roundup of everything spring. Hannah BoothEditor, the Filter Speaking of better weather, if you're a spring- and summer-months runner, check out our roundup of the best running shoes for men and women, as picked by runners themselves. We covered everything from shoes for beginners (a pair of bouncy Hoka trainers) to the best trainers for PB chasers, trail runners, marathon enthusiasts and more. Calling all parents: how do you get your kids outdoors? Whether you've got a pair of teens who rise at noon and avoid the sun like vampires or a toddler who hates walking, what's the one thing that enticed them from the house? Whether it's bribery and great snacks or the perfect off-road buggy for a baby, we want to know all your tips and tricks. Share your secrets by replying to this newsletter, or emailing us at thefilter@
