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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.




Bastiat Prize 2007 Winner

Recent entries

Goodwill Machine

Once there was a star of the screen, Sent to Rio as a goodwill machine. ‘With my foot on the…

The Truth Behind The Hrithik-Kangana Spat

I don’t follow celebrity gossip, but the ongoing spat between Hrithik Roshan and Kangana Ranaut intrigued me, partly because it…

Hello, My Name Is Sri Sri

Hello, my name is Sri Sri I’ve heard you guys are beastly Don’t cut the call In fact, cut nothing…

Lament For Another World

Mike Klein of Chess.com, reporting on the US Chess Championships, went around asking the participants about Prince. When I spoke…

National Highway 420 (and the EV of Aggressive Batting)

Before this IPL started, a friend of mine, who shall go unnamed, called me up. Friend: Amit, you have such…

07 July, 2007

Unspeakable beasts

Quote of the day:

I [am] a God of an unknowable evil. There are countless civilizations which have fallen beneath my horrible might. But in all my years I’ve never been so cruel to the universe as to produce an offspring. What unspeakable beasts are you?

Cthulhu.

And as I sometimes tend to do, let us move from unspeakable horror to sublime beauty in one swoop. Here’s Philip Larkin on the same subject:

This be the Verse—Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

Man hands on misery to man/ It deepens like a coastal shelf. Even Cthulhu would be moved! My favourite Larkin poem, though, is probably “The Trees.” Something almost being said…  

(Chthulhu link via Facebook from Aishwarya. Previous posts on Eldritch horror: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14.)

Posted by Amit Varma in Arts and entertainment | Personal

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