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As a play, “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” was quite a disappointment. The characters that I always held in the highest regard failed to move me; the dialogue lacked any kind of depth; the humour was lame and forced and the plot unnecessarily convoluted.
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In a queue of about 20 people, six or seven backed out as their turn came, laughing nervously. One woman lost her balance in front of me; thankfully her grip on the handlebar was tight, or she would have hurtled down the vertical slide into god knows what. I grew more and more nervous as I moved ahead, imagining all sorts of scary scenarios, all involving injury or death.
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One of my best English literature professors once said while teaching us the Romantics, "William Wordsworth is the Shah Rukh Khan of romantic poetry." In Wordsworth, as they say, it is hard to distinguish between the man and the poet - the same seems to hold true for Shah Rukh Khan too.
A woman, or maybe two women, travelling on their own in India have to face certain unique challenges, and some roads that are closed to them. An obvious example is hitchhiking. In a country where the news is full of horror stories about crimes against women, it is a privilege only accessible to well-built men; we women must give up dreams of our very own Motorcycle Diaries. Or so common sense will tell you.