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About Amit Varma

Amit Varma is a writer based in Mumbai. He worked in journalism for over a decade, and won the Bastiat Prize for Journalism in 2007. His bestselling novel, My Friend Sancho, was published in 2009. He is best known for his blog, India Uncut. His current project is a non-fiction book about the lack of personal and economic freedoms in post-Independence India.

My Friend Sancho

My first book, My Friend Sancho, was published in May 2009, and went on to become the biggest selling debut novel released that year in India. It is a contemporary love story set in Mumbai, and had earlier been longlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008. To learn more about the book, click here.

If you're interested, do join the Facebook group for My Friend Sancho

Click here for more about my publisher, Hachette India.

My posts on India Uncut about My Friend Sancho can be found here.

Bastiat Prize 2007 Winner

Recent entries

The Real Issue Regarding The National Anthem

There’s an interesting video that seems to have gone viral on social media showing a bunch of hooligans in a…

Carlsen 1, Fischer 0

In an excellent feature on Magnus Carlsen in the Telegraph, Nigel Farndale writes: He [Carlsen] has always been interested in…

On Winning the Bastiat Prize for Journalism

I was fortunate a few days ago to win the Bastiat Prize for Journalism for the second time. The prize…

The Asuras Have Taken Over

As today is apparently Constitution Day, here’s a thought from the great BR Ambedkar, who is considered the chief architect…

All Your Base

Munna Kumar Sharma, the national secretary of the Hindu Mahasabha, has said about Aamir Khan: If not move to Pakistan,…

31 March, 2010

There Will Come Soft Rains

After reading my last post, Aishwarya shot me an email pointing me to this lovely little poem by Sara Teasdale:

There Will Come Soft Rains
by Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Among other things, this inspired a short story by Ray Bradbury.


Putting my editing hat on, aren’t those last two lines superfluous?

Posted by Amit Varma in Arts and entertainment | Excerpts

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