Monday, October 21, 2013

ENGLISH BITES! : A Book Review

Picture Courtesy Author
Year of Publication: 2012

Story: I was afraid to review this book with my limited vocabulary. I was worried that Manish Gupta would come down on me for not garnishing it well with power words. Thus, my review starts (or is ‘begin’ a more suitable word here?) with the last paragraph of this book.
Here the author speaks in first person with his readers, “I hope you agree that this saga will continue and I will discover more interesting anecdotes, stories, observations, trivia and mnemonics to bring out another book for you. I also hope that some of the lessons from my endeavors, in a small way, will help you achieve your aims objectives, All the best with your language adventures!”
This story is about you, me and every other Indian who lives and learns a foreign language for survival and for having no other option. It is about our society that gives out jobs on the basis of how fluent you are in English and not just how good you are in your field of work. Look around, there are multiple examples and if you find none pick up to read ENGLISH BITES.
Characters: The main character is that of the author who speaks loud and clear about his rag to riches story where riches mean proficiency in English Language.
Writing Style: One could feel the awkwardness with which the subject was dealt initially to express the discomfort with the language and slowly eased out to an effortless flow.One gets used to the sharing of new words and the bottom of each page. Also looks forward to little pictorial inputs too.
Conclusion: This is a clearly a book for students, educators, writer, parents with young children and people who have a never ending affair with English Language. This is not an easy book to read. It is not meant for frivolous, time pass readers or for readers who are looking for a simple heart-warming story.  Oh, yes it has a story and many inter connected plots. However, the theme is all powerful and encompassing.  Pick it up ENGLISH BITES! to improve English language in a way that your syllabus never allowed you in School. Pick it up to live the language and connect it with your own life in engaging ways.
Quote Unquote from ENGLISH BITES!: “I had grown up believing that starting a sentence with ‘and’ was nothing short of a serious crime and, of course commas were never to be used before the seven coordinating conjunctions (and, but, or, nor, for, so, yet). These days, puritans have grudgingly accepted sentences that commence with ‘and’ as well as the authors who construct them.  And there are new rules for placing commas before coordinating conjunctions.”
Thank you~

Thursday, August 1, 2013


Picture from Google

Book: Compass Box Killer.
Author: Piyush Jha
Published by Rupa
Year of Publication: 2013
MRP: 195/-

Story: This is a crime thriller as the name suggest and religiously sticks to the genre. This is my first book of the Mumbaistan series and I could see why this series is popular. Inspector Virkar is your regular good cop. However, what sets him apart is his logical thinking and practical approach. He does not expect much but delivers his best.
The plot thickens from the very start and one murder leads to another. The killer leaves clue in an old style compass box. What is interesting is half way through the book, you are still as clueless and intrigued as the main lead. The motive and the ending all fall into place leaving a feel good factor behind. I am tempted to say more. But that would not be fair to the prospective readers.

Characters: There are three characters that stand out. And each one has been sketched in detail.
Inspector Virkar: He is your true blue hero. A tough man with a tender heart. He believes in right over wrong. A very likable plus relate-able personality. At one point, I wished, we had more of him in our police service. He gives such a positive picture to our system. I could see a young Vinod Khanna playing him.
Rashi: The female lead has a multilayer personality. She is ambitious and daring. She is smart and intelligent and does not let her heart rule over her mind. The young generation could easily relate to her. Her character is well molded and makes the plot more interesting. One waits for her arrival.
Hari Prasad: He is a educated and compassionate killer. His character takes shape slowly but surely. Initially, one is left wondering, what kind of a man would kill a police officer right inside a police station. But, as the story progresses, one almost respects his motive.This man has a heart and allows it to rule him.

Writing Style: Writing style is powerful yet not over powering. It shows author's command over the language and an ability to restrain it. It is written in a way that the lay man could understand the story at the same time it is not layman's English.
A crime thriller can easily go over the top or it can lose it's grip fast, in this case neither happened.

Conclusion:This is a good book to read on a train trip or over coffee in the weekend. I am not much of a crime thriller fan yet I liked this one. My only grouse is, it has no wow factor. There is not a moment where, I was like 'this is brilliant'.

Quote Unquote from Compass box Killer: 'The absence of proof does not mean the hypothesis is wrong. It just means that the evidence needs to be found'.
Happy reading.

Monday, July 22, 2013

No More Us~

It took me four years to go back. Four quick years, all this time, I avoided facing what I knew I would have to eventually go back to. I was through with my mechanical engineering, there were stuffs, I needed to see through.  Confusing and complicated was my life. More than my life was my emotion. So far, I had excused my absence back home with studies. Surprisingly everyone believed me.

Raurkela, my adopted city had devoured me, physically drained me and had me occupied. There was always something happening, always some lecture to attend, some projects to prepare or some movie to see. There was always someone to crowd my life. Friends in the canteen, batch mates in class and roommates in the hostel.

However, my village never left me. What they say about, “You can take the man out of the woods, but you can't take the woods out of the man.”My village slumbered somewhere between Bhubaneswar and Cuttack: tucked deep into nowhere. There were fifty houses and a high school. There was an all season stream and countable water pumps. A few street lights and no proper hospital. Surprisingly, my father, mother, uncles and aunts all were healthy and robust. There was no case of any serious disease or unnatural death that I heard of. Except the accident that choked my life.

In the name of a bus stand, there were a couple of tea stalls on the high way. It was 9 pm and I had dozed off, when I was shaken and shown the bus door by the conductor. I thanked him profusely and got off on a sour note.

No one was around, not like I was expecting an entourage. I had not bothered to inform my parents. I took the wiry track to the now famous wooden bridge and the stream underneath. Summer usually had more visitors to this place.  The path remained muddy and slippery. This was the route for villagers to carry fresh water. It was a moonlit night and I could see each tree. I pulled at some branches to disturb sleeping birds. I spotted a few rabbits or were they mongoose; I was not sure. Yet their presence assured me of company.

It took me all of twenty five minutes to reach the wooden bridge and yes I was keeping track of the time. Once, I reached it, I knew I would lose my sense of time. Time took a timeout. This was where I had played hide and seeks as kids. Here on these planks, I had sat for hours telling stories. I had slept on this bridge at night looking up at the stars.
I walked to the bridge and watchfully chose my spot. Not too far from the center and not near it either. The barricade stood perfectly broken at the middle. I found the bridge damp as I rested my hands beside me. I hung out my legs and sat on my denim back. Water gurgled and made a contended sound. Early, rains had pepped the place with greenery. I wished, I had carried a few pebbles to throw aimlessly into the water. I sat there doing nothing. I had no clue how long I sat there. And then I saw her.

A first, she was a mere shadow. When I focused on her, she came into light. She stood at the edge of the water bed. I was relieved that she was there. I was getting fed up of myself. She wore an orange shalwar suit that looked like burnt red in the night. Her hair was tied loose in a pony and she was bare feet. I had often teased her that she had prettier feet than face. Right then, I realized, I was wrong. She had a most fascinating face. Her skin was silk and her eyes were pools of water.

I saw a touch of excitement in her eyes and some madness in her smile as she came and sat next to me.

‘I was kind of hoping you would be here’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else’.

‘You look unreal’.

‘What? I take good care of myself’ she burst out in giggles.

‘Strangely funny’ I joined her in laughing.

‘How have you been, Su?’ I asked.

‘Susanna is my name. Su is no more’ she teased me.


‘Do you miss me? Did you miss me in the city?’

‘What kind of a question is that? I loved you…deeply.’ 

 ‘I did not understand you like I understand now’.

 ‘How so?’

‘Now that it is all over,  it does not matter whether you loved me or not, belong to me or not’.

‘Oh’. I was pensive.

‘I know, I love you and nothing could change that’.

 ‘You still love me, after all the trouble I put you through?’ I looked into her eyes.

‘Trouble does not trouble me but love still weakens me’. She looked away. Was she crying?

‘You weaken me, Su’ she did not mind me calling her Su again.

‘I know, I am here to tell you, it was not your fault. It was nobody’s fault’.

‘I should have caught you. Better still, I should have jumped after you’

‘Yes, you could have. The bridge is low height. Fear did not stop you, shock did. There is a difference’.

‘Low height, hun? How come, you were hurt’?

‘I hit on a stone, that one over there.  Some people are plain unlucky’.

‘Did that hurt a lot’?

‘Nope, it was quick. My last most dominant emotion was the excitement of your mouth on mine’.

‘But…’I tried to reason.

‘It was an accident, accept it’.

I love her, I had always loved her. Our homes were as entwined as our destinies. Our parents worked in the same farming field. We went to the same school. We were born a few days apart. We grew into adolescence together. She was the one for me and I always knew that. Often, I would force myself on her, in the field, near the bridge, in the river. She would threaten to spill the beans but she never did. I knew she loved me too.

My engineering admission was done with. I had always been a bright student. I did not want to go away. I did not want to be away from Su. She was upset and had not been talking to me for almost a week. That was my last night; I had plans to get close to her.

At night, we met on the wooden bridge, our common meeting place. I was all excited. She was still upset. I was impatient and she was awkward. She did not realize time was running out. We ended up fighting. She tried to detangle herself, I caught her and pinned her hands behind her. I pushed her into the barricade as she struggled and tried to bite at me. When I kissed her, she eased against me.

The entire village was sleeping and I was living my dream. I felt all grown up. I release her hands to cup her face and then she kicked me. I got all worked up and pushed her back. The old wooded bridge creaked and complained. I was too far gone to care. The middle of the barricade opened up and she fell, her back facing the river.

I wanted to hold her back, to collect her into my arms. Instead, I could only balance myself from falling. I had let her fall and hit on a stone, while I stood there breathing abnormally. She hit her head first and there was a distinct sound of death that came from her.

‘I sat there looking at your body, until morning.’

 ‘I know.’

‘I never confessed to anyone about how it happened.’

‘I know’

They believed it was an accident. Everyone knew, we kids always came here at night’.

‘I Know.’

‘They found me on this bridge, too. I had not moved from the spot’.

‘I know.’

‘There was a big scandal. Some people said you were pregnant’.

‘A scandal or two does not hurt the dead. It only makes them famous’. She was smiling. I could not take it anymore, I needed a hug. Tears were forming in my eyes and clouding my vision. I turned to her after wiping my tears and she was gone with the winds.  Soon, it was going to be another day. I got up, dusted myself and was on my way home.
Disclaimer: This short story is written based on this picture given by Indian Bloggers league.
“This post has been published by me as a part of Indian Bloggers League; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by Join us at our Official IBL Website and our Official Facebook Page.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

The Girl I Last Kissed...

The background trance music was loud and unsettling. I felt cramped and crammed from within. It seemed like the party was touching its prime. Men and women in bizarre green masks held each other and danced in slow motions. For some reason, my head was on a constant throb. It was like there was a bomb inside ticking. There was a friend with me, which one I could not be sure. He whipped a tall glass of powder green liquid from a passing waitress and handed it to me with a wink. I dropped the glass on seeing baby reptiles crawling out onto my right hand. Walls of the room were also lined with reptile cages. I could not see much in the dimly lit room except these traps that were illuminated in dark green shade.
A strange numbness that comes after millions of needle pricks on your body took over me. I fell down to my knee almost hugging the fake marble floor.  My eyes carried me to across the room, where I saw her. She seemed calm, at home with everything. Her white dress was long and covered her slim body well. Our eyes met and she smiled. Did she remember me from last night?
I wanted to go to her, to touch her, to talk to her but she turned away and I lost her. Sitting on the floor, I wept like a teenager who had been freshly dumped. I wanted my friend to help me and to my utter distraught, he was nowhere. In his place, a person in a giant lizard costume stood. I screamed my loudest and woke up to early morning sweat.

 Air con was breathing life into my dead bedroom.  I pulled away the sheet to allow my sweat to dry. My fists were knotted and my nails had dug into my palms. I sat up, shrugged off a nightmare so real that my reality had seemed like a distant dream. Last night…
Last night flashed before me, when I had met her for the first time. Since then her visage had never left me for a moment. Some faces live with you, forever. I was at ‘Someplace else’, a hangout for guys like me, who would rather be someplace else then currently where they were in their life. A live band was doing their bit at performing covers of English classics. The only part, I had liked in the entire gig was their song selection. ‘Please don’t go’ floated around. Unlike the original, a woman sang the song. I had not cared to turn away from my drink on the deck of the bar to check who was singer at helm.
The dance floor was spilling over with scantily clad women, wrapped around their men friends, mostly colleagues. There was this woman; I had spotted some half an hour before who had my total attention. Yet, I pretend concentrated on the glass shelves opposite me over the bar filled with show cased bottles, mostly wine. I caught my reflection on the mirror frame that bordered it. One could safely call me good looking, if one liked curly hair and down slanted mouth. I wore a formal shirt, open to expose a toned chest. I am six feet plus and carried myself in ‘cotton world’ pants and dark work ties. A voice trainer at Wipro, I had girls coming onto me, for both professional and personal support, which I provided depending on my whims and moods.
I had kind of surprised myself by getting worked up over a girl, a strange girl at that. Never in my entire twenty eight years did my wild side go ballistic, like it was the John of the Jungle over a random girl. Her black kameez looked like it was made by a tailor, who knew all her curves intimately. Her neck line was a deep ‘v’ exposed by her chiffon dupatta that was hugging her neck closely. The tan on her skin seemed from a recent holiday by the sea. Her eyes were set wide apart, giving the impression that she was easy to surprise. Her mouth was arresting, small and full like a ripe plum. 
Like she read my mind, she came straight to the counter beside me and leaned over. She had ordered a Bacardi and insisted on freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it. I could not help smirking and then our eyes met. I had a embarrassed smile to offer and she smiled like we were friends. I saw a slight flicker of recognition or was that my drunken imagination. I allowed myself to hold her gaze more than it was socially decent. She did not seem to mind.
‘You work for Wipro, right?’ She asked.
‘We know each other?’ I came forward as the music was loud and also because I wanted to know if she was wearing any perfume. I liked what my nose picked out but could not place it. It was lemony and very appetizing.
‘Nope, I have seen you at the Wipro café’.
‘You work for Wipro too?’
‘Heck no again, I am next door. We hop over to Wipro’s café during break for awesome pakoda and amazing guys’. She talked naturally and puckered up her mouth in a way that was a cross between a pout and a pucker when I spoke.
‘Thanks that I take as a compliment’. I was animated. She was served her drink. Wonder how the bartender managed freshly squeezed orange juice at that hour. He threw a smile at her and placed her glass neatly on the counter over a napkin.
‘The other day, I saw you getting out of the elevator. You were sand witched like a burger’.
‘Funny but how do you mean?’ I was seriously getting drawn to this one. She turned around and waved at some people sitting around a table to a corner to our left. I put two and two together; she was with a gang of friends and had come over to order a drink. She probably had jealous boyfriend somewhere out there and that should have held me back. It did zilch to my ardor.  
‘Those two girls you were with were soft and round. You were like this beef in between’. She looked at me without any amusement in her beautiful eyes and rested her mouth gently on the glass ring to sip her exotic drink.
‘You are a babe, aren’t you’? My breathing was irregular and I was feeling a little high. I had an urge to drink what she was drinking, to go where she was going and to be with her, generally.
‘Babe? I am just an admirer; you have in your closet’. She was flirting. I turned around to check, if anyone was keeping an eye on her and when I found that her gang had left the table, I leaned over and kissed her. Her pulpy mouth opened in shock reaction, giving me a false sense of response and killed me further.
‘I am sorry, something came over me’, I apologized, ready to accept all the dirt. She stepped away from me. A man came between us. He was short with a face that looked like a rotten potato.
‘You guys know each other’? He asked her casually. He obviously was not a very aware person.
‘Yes’, she covered her alarm better than me. One could easily tell, her friend was rich from the way he dressed, not taking into account the thick gold chain around his fat neck.
‘Good, in that case, let’s invite him for our anniversary. Take his number, will you?’ He patted her lower back, collected his Johnny walker and excused himself within a minute.
‘Your number please, Ashim would like to invite you for a party’, her eyes were casted down and she looked like she had just lost something very precious.  
‘Give me a miss call, that way I get to store your number’. I suggested.
I dictated and she dialed my number. I gave her time in between to press the required buttons. She disconnected soon as my phone responded. I wanted to ask her name to store her number but she was out of there.
I saw her again only in my early morning dream. I took a shower and walked to the cafe, downstairs for coffee and sandwich. It was here, I received a call from a Sub inspector, park street branch police station. He asked me to come straight over. He needed me with respect to an investigating of a young model’s suicide that took place last night. She was all of twenty four and was engaged to be married. I was on the list of suspects. Mine was the last number dialed on Ms Rabia Khan’s cell phone.
“This post has been published by me as a part of Indian Bloggers League; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by Join us at our Official IBL Website and our Official Facebook Page.
Disclaimer: Picture sourced from Goggle.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013


She woke up with tired yet curious eyes. Her mind was like a blank blanket, ready soak in memories. A throb was hammering on the left side of her left eye. She was not sure how long she was awake or how many times she woke up before this. She wanted to lift her hand and press her head.
A woman with a face full of emotions was sitting by her bed. She had a black robe hanging around her: a Burkha just like her friend Zora wore. It was a sign of a Muslim religious woman.  And since her return from Haj, Zora made it a point to wear it. But that was so long back.
Nanda closed her eyes and wished Zora was here. Maybe she was. She called out her friend’s name, which made the woman in the room get up and come forward. The strange woman smelled of jasmine as she hugged her. Her hands were gentle, comforting. Nanda tried to ask questions, unsuccessfully.
A nurse entered the room urgently and injected some medicines into the saline tube attached to her hand. She left the room with instructions to let the patient rest.
The woman with the black robe on her part talked animatedly and looked positively excited. Soon, drowse took over Nanda, and she fell asleep.
She woke up again in the middle of the night. The room was filtered with blue light and looked kind of eerie. Where was she? She had no recollection of her whereabouts. She felt warm and comfortable under the blanket. The place had the smell of a hospital. Nanda saw a woman was sleeping on a sofa beside her bed..
Nanda wanted to sit up but found herself drained of strength. Her head felt like a ton of brick. When she turned her head, her left eye hurt like it had been stabbed a couple of times.
She wondered about the woman on the sofa. Who was this woman? What was she doing there? Was it her friend Zora, for she had the same body proportions and was wearing a Burkha? Nanda could not help but think of Samir, Zora’s brother and the love of her life. Where was he? Was he aware that she was in a hospital? Would he care enough to come visit her?
They had been in love for a long time but he had married a Muslim girl to please his family. On days like this she wished, she had him by her side. But there was no way that was possible. Their respective families had made it clear; they would never accept the difference in their religion.
Nanda found herself crying. Tears spilled out of her eyes and her left eye burnt like someone had poured acid in it. She tried to sleep and found it the easiest thing to do.
Nanda heard the noises first and opened her eyes next, to find five people surrounding her. Her first impression was of shock. Where was she? Who were these people? There were two girls, who wore white uniform and looked like nurses.
There was a woman wearing a Burkha, who had the kindest of faces. She was the first one to take notice of her and came forward. A clear affectionate face, which had multiple concerned lines. However, she was most definitely not Zora, her childhood friend, who too wore a similar black robe.
‘Noor, how are you, beta?’ She ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. She did not wait for her to reply instead turned around to hug the other two in the room. She was chanting a prayer in Urdu and went to a corner of the Spartan room to roll out a mat to do her Namaz.
The two men she hugged were obviously her relatives. The older one smiled through his tears. He came forward and took her hand in his.
‘Noor, you had us worried. Thank Almighty God for keeping you safe. Your mother almost died with shock’.
Nanda immediately liked the man even though she was not sure what he was saying and why he was addressing her as Noor.
‘Noor Apa, so happy to see you doing fine. You have been sleeping like for two days, now. I almost asked Sanjay bhaiya to come and kiss his sleeping beauty, good morning. He is on his way’.
Nanda realized, she was perhaps in some kind of an accident. That did not worry her, what bothered her was, who was this Noor? Why everyone thought she was her.
 ‘What happened to me’? She asked uncertainly. The woman, who acted like she was her Mom, was done with her prayers. She came forward to bless her.
‘Oh, you don’t remember your accident, do you? You crashed your car’.
‘Oh…’ Nanda had no recollection of ever driving a car. She did not know anyone who owned a car.
‘You wanted to surprise Sanjay Bhaiya. He was out on a tour for a week’. The young boy had settle on the sofa next to his Dad.
‘You hit your head hard on the steering wheel and fainted. We were so worried for last two days’. The man was supposedly her father, the woman her mother and the young boy was her brother. But she could not believe she was married to some Sanjay. There was no way she could love anyone except Samir. And then a tall man in his late twenties, who had the most adorable eyes walked in. It was her Samir.
‘Sanjay bhaiya, your sleeping princess of a wife woke up before the kiss’. The teenager joked.
‘Noor is no sleeping princess. Ours is a modern love story, where a Hindu boy married
a Muslim girl, against all’. Sanjay parked his bag on the side table, wished everyone and came to Nanda’a side.
‘How are you, my patient’? He held her hand and put his lips to it.
‘I am good, Samir’. Nanda said. She was surprised that she was a Muslim girl and Samir was a Hindu boy. However, they seem to be happily married. At times, dreams take multiple births to come true.
‘You called me, Samir?’ He asked with quizzical eyes beaming with love.
‘What’s in a name?’ Noor replied with a wide smile.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

TANTRA : A book Review

Book: Tantra
Author: Adi
Published By: Apeejay Stya Publshing
Year of publication: 2013
MRP: 195/-
Story: This story is about Anu Aggarwal, a New York City bred Indian girl, who kills vampires for a living. She is tough, she is rightful and she has just lost her lover, Brian. It could have been just another revenge story if not for the way the author has used it to tell a fantasy story about spirits, souls and bodies.
Anu had to visit Delhi where her aunt lived and she had spent her summer holidays, to avenge Brian’s death. When she is adjusting to the new culture, setup and rules, her aunt is trying to set her up for a Dekhan Dekhai with a prospective groom. Between chanting mantra and mastering astra, plotting to kill the evil leader Saneka and saving the world there are many fun moments.
Writing Style: The best part about Tanta is it is written with a lot of spunk and style. The way the main character Anu aggarwal and Amit her Delhi buddy interact is interesting to read. The Shaadi wadi part and the mantra tantra part have been tackled with equal élan.
The only point that bothered was the usage of F word. It seemed forced and out of place. Almost like it had been added as an afterthought that this is a vampire book, it is for the youth so why not add sprinkle it as well.
Anu Aggarwal: The name throws you back to the Actress who debuted with the movie ‘Ashiqui’. However, this one is not demure. She is very well put as the main lead. Her sensibilities are definitely likable. She is good looking at the same time hard working, who else would be willing to chant mantras countless times to master an astra.  She is your today’s youth, very clear in head and a little confused at heart. 
Amit: He is your second lead, a friendly guy who does not seem to take his work seriously at the same time is well connected and informed, very likable and easy to connect to.
Saneka: He is the main villain, who is all evil and powerful. In this age of fake Baba, he seems like a perfect choice to paint all black. His ways are wrong and his intentions are worse. He needs to be stopped.
Gaurav: Well, he is your typical hero material, quick with his words and affection.

In conclusion, a fun read that has a serious mythical back ground. I am not very fond of blood and gory of the vampire world but I enjoyed reading this book. I liked the way Delhi was used and Indian mythologies were explained. There is a lot of promise shown by the debutant author Adi. Would not mind picking his next book up.

This review is a part of the biggest Book Reviews Program. for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Men Will Be Boys

It is almost funny and after a point irritating to see the way men behave around good looking women. To define good looking, I would say, all women: who have a mind of their own are beautiful.
Here, let us not count young boys. Boys, who are yet to experience life and mature in age or mind, are two blogs on their own.
This is about men, who are working, well settled and doing well in life, who have a beautiful wife, daughter or niece adoring them. These men, most of them are taking top business decisions and molding our socio economic dynamics.
Yet, these men when they come across a pretty face on social network sites behave unlike their age and status. They do not hesitate to send across personal messages or leave comments full of unwanted compliments to a woman, they do not know. At times, they stretch it to a point of harassment. They forget, there is a line between a healthy and a sick compliment. And the 'line' is quite thick, actually.
‘You are looking good’ is allowed.
‘You are looking so good that I just want to keep staring at you. Believe me’ is not allowed.
‘Red suits you’ is allowed.
‘Looking Hot, wear a nose pin and you could kill people with your looks’ is not allowed.
It is amazing that usually they do this to women they have never met. It does not enter their thick head that these women could be someone’s mother, sister and wife.
What is this compulsion to tell a woman she is good looking? Whose vanity is on display here? Believe me, most of the time a woman knows, how she looks.
She knows it because her parents told her as she grew up. Her friends told her when she was in school. Her boy friend told her, if she had one. Her husband tells her. Her children tell her every day. And, she has a mirror at home.
The point is, do not compliment a strange woman in a way that you do not want your girl friends, wives or sisters to be complimented. No matter, how modern or outgoing the woman in question may seem to you, if she is not a close friend, she is most definitely not appreciating your compliments. Take that!

Friday, January 18, 2013


When I live my dreams
I fall in love with you
Like I have never been
Each emotion touch me
Each feeling bleed

On a cold winter night
I am left warm
In a virtual gallery
Ruffled by memories
When, your shadow collide
In romantic delineate
With my “shameless” conscience~

Note: Personal picture~

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Love Story by Eric segal

If there is one book that grew me up, between the first page and last page, it was Erich Segal’s novel Love story. It pushed me to such emotional corners; I did not know existed, to all those dark spots that were within my own heart but so far had eluded me. 
I was a young girl and had no imagination as far as love was concerned. I was only sixteen or seventeen, perhaps. My skies were clean and my heart was pink. This book changed everything. My sky turned to a warm pink and my heart was cleansed. I was ready to soak in the multi-hues of love. 
After reading it, I went around in a daze. I was there yet not there. So many impressions from the book lingered, prominent at first, subtle much later and multiple times in between. The story was from a different world, it was about people alien to me yet it woke up sentiments so very mine. I found the understanding of love, in my context, in my surrounding and within my heart… 
I went back to the book, to realise, what is life or love could be. Life was defined by that one book and love was its essence. Even though later, I came to read many love stories, I was forever in love with Erich Segal’s love story. 
Sadly, I found out that Erich Segal died on January 17, 2010. What a loss..~ 
So what is your life changing book?
Disclaimer: Pictures from the net.