Leaving...

The dead of the night jolted to life
As noises abound in every direction
He shouted, she screamed, they fought
And the little one stood in a corner and watched.

Packing had never seemed so easy
Just shoving it all in without a glance
He strode out the door, banging it hard
And backed out his car and left.

She slumped in the chair and cried
The little one still rooted to his spot
Her muffled sobs and teary eyes
Confusing him inside.

He was his dad, she was his mom
He always took them as one
Why'd they scream and shout so much?
Why'd his mom have to cry?

Why'd his dad pack and leave the house?
Where did he go? When would he come?
Why'd his mom not stop him at all?
Why did his dad not say goodbye..?

If only wishes were horses.

It had always been a hurried morning routine for B as far back as she could remember. She'd get up at 8 while her alarm went off at 6.50. She would then reason with herself - it's too cold and she's late anyway - and with a promise of doing it in the evening, she would give the bath a miss and hurriedly get dressed and would be ready to leave in 20 minutes. Breakfast would invariably comprise of a McEgg burger and a cup of crappy coffee from the McDonald's at the Metro station, before she made an invariably embarrassed entry into the class halfway through the first lecture. Everyone in the class was used to her dropping in at around the same time everyday, and yet they never failed to give her amused or condescending glances as she entered.

On this particularly chilly winter morning, she was in a somber mood. She'd woken up to an unusually horrible dream and had picked up an argument with her father while leaving for college. Boarding the crowded metro, she spotted one of her classmates in the adjoining bogie, and before she could duck behind someone or make herself invisible, the girl seemed to have spotted her and was excitedly proceeding towards her already. She pulled a long face. The day seemed jinxed from the start.

The classmate, nicknamed Weirdo by the class, was a chatterbox, which in addition to her obviously visible weight issues and nonchalant propensity towards self-lionization, made her a pain in the neck. They exchanged the necessary pseudo-pleasantries and thus began Weirdo's podcast of the day, while B conveniently faded into the backdrop. Somewhere between her various sermons, the train stopped at one of the major interchange stations and a huge unruly crowd entered the coach and began pushing and pulling like crazy in order to occupy every last bit of space available inside. Jolted abruptly from her train of thoughts, B found herself being violently hurled around by the mob. Unable to find footing, she fell backwards with considerable force. She grappled about in thin air for something or someone to hold onto, but could catch hold of nothing and was convinced she was going to be a casualty of a metro stampede after all. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a hand positioned itself firmly on her lower back and helped her stand up straight and stabilize herself. In the maddening crowd, she could not catch a glimpse of her savior but she thanked the stranger with all her heart.

In another ten minutes the train reached her station and she proceeded to get out, followed by Weirdo, pushing her way through the coach full of unyielding strangers. The distance between her and the train doors was reducing at a snail's pace and she feared she'd be left inside. Almost as if on cue, she suddenly had this feeling that someone behind her was pushing everyone away so she'd manage to get out before the doors closed. And right before she stepped out, a sweet motherly voice of a lady whispered over her shoulder, 'Don't worry beta, I'm here for you.' She stepped out and swung around to thank the kind lady, but she was nowhere to be seen. Must have stayed inside the train to travel further, she surmised, and thanking her stars that the ordeal was over, caught up with Weirdo and rushed towards college.

The day dragged on, and crappy assignments and boring lectures left her tired. In the afternoon session, they received a particularly humongous home assignment that just reinforced her premonition that the day was jinxed. She could not help but wish that the kind mysterious lady were here to help her through the assignment too. But if only wishes were horses.

She somehow pulled herself through the day and reached home, distraught. After having a dinner spiced up with her parents' vehement lecture on her short temper, she retired to her room to struggle with the horrendous assignment she was expected to submit the next morning. One hour into the task and she was wishing she were dead. Her room was at the far corner of the house, somewhat set off from the rest of the house. The entire household was fast asleep by this time and there was an eerie silence all around. She decided to relax a bit and take a few deep breaths to aid concentration. She closed her eyes and could hear the rustling of dry leaves on the marble sidewalk outside. A cricket seemed to be croaking in the distance. These were sounds she hardly took note of on any other day. Or maybe they were only sounding on that particular night. She felt strangely at peace.

Thus inspired, she took one last deep breath and sat down on the bed again with papers all around her, deciding to give it another try. 15 minutes into it, she found herself again wondering how great it would have been if The Almighty could send down a messenger or angel to help her with her work. Much like the kind lady from the metro. She laughed at the seemingly funny thought and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, for it had suddenly gotten colder. Damn these Delhi winters, she thought. Looking around for the source of the cold draft, she spotted the window open. It was while she sat there staring at the window, willing herself to get out of the cozy blanket and close it, that the window slowly creaked shut. On its own. Almost simultaneously the light went out. And she felt a warm breath on her neck, and a sweet voice whispering in her ear, 'Don't worry beta, I'm here for you.'

Birthday birthday, happy happy!

There are some people who have been part of your life for just too long. So long that you tend to take them for granted. Or forget to tell them how much they mean to you. It isn't everyday that you thank God for the big blessing that these people have been to you. And that's when you realize, birthdays are just the time to do this, and more!

It's 8th February today. A gem of a person came on to this earth years and years ago. And we met, what, some 7 odd years ago?

Now, many friends have strutted into my life, spent some really good times with me, and then just walked out of it with as much ease as they came. In these few years of existence I have seen just too many broken friendships and superficial relationships that if it were not for friends like him, I'd have lost faith in the whole institution called friendship. To an amazing guy, an extraordinary artist, a top notch photographer in the making, and one friend I'd really like to have for this life and beyond - wish you a very happy birthday, Harshit Vishwakarma!

Those were the times of Yahoo Messenger chats and Orkut. Ugh. Anyhow, technically we were classmates, but girls and guys in our mathematics class seldom ever talked. So the Internet's where we socialized. He was experimenting with Photoshop, and would show me his works every now and then. I, for my part, spent a majority of my time watching television (cartoons, so to say) and when I got bored of everything, would score centuries in exams. The latter part's how I'm sure he will remember me. :P

This is how we looked back then. Sweet and innocent, eh? Dehradun, circa 2010.

He and his iPod shuffle - they were like chuddy buddies - never found away from each other. I still recall some of the things we used to talk about. It was fun, whatever remains of it in our memories. He went for a Bachelor of Fine Arts after school while I went for Engineering (sigh), but instead of diverging, our paths brought us closer together. And in the last 4 years, we've spent some amazing birthdays (mine!) together having fun. He's always been a part of every birthday surprise I've got, or have given. Somewhere down the line, his awe-fkin-some camera also came into the picture, and my Facebook profile pictures have ever since been the talk of the entire web. Okay, not so much. But his uncanny eye for beauty brings out magic in the most mundane and random of things.

At more occasions that one, his photographs have made their way into my travel posts and reviews. He's just so good with the camera. Harshit, tu mera favorite hai, tujhe pata hai na? :D

And this is how we look now. Some change, that.

We've shared tastes in music, traveled together, seen some beautiful places, discussed art and food, been to each other's colleges, attended exhibitions, and never is there a dearth of things to talk about between us. Over time we've been meeting less, talking even lesser, yet I wish to let you know Harshit - you're one of the VERY FEW good friends I have, and have had for as long as I can go back in time. And I'd like us to remain that way for as long as we both can look into the future. You're not going anywhere man, hell no! :D

Well, I still have an important exam on Sunday to study for. So while I sign off from my first ever birthday dedication post - here's again wishing this wonderful guy a super awesome birthday, with loads of fun and surprises (I hope this counts as one) and profound success in the coming year. I know you're meant for higher things, Harshit. Much higher. Have always known. Would love to be a witness to your scaling those heights. Just remember, I've always got your back. Much, much love and best wishes. :)

Book Review: RIP - Mukul Deva

It's raining books. Literally. So much so that I've had a shelf full of brand new books lying unread for a while now, and yet I have no time to even touch them, as the BlogAdda folks have gotten super generous lately and are showering more and more books on this poor soul. But I've stopped applying for any more reviews now, for some time at least. This one's going to be my last book review for a few weeks to come.

So finally I had a really good read after a long long time. Probably after Shantaram (sigh). It took me a little over 4 days to read it through, and given the amount of study pressure looming over my head currently, this is equivalent of my finishing a book in less than one day. FTW. But this book, RIP, was good. Real good.

Here's how the cannonball of a plot goes.

RIP - The Resurgent Indian Patriots, led by Colonel Krishna Athawale - is a team of six ex para commandos of the Indian Army who're tired of watching the country continuously being raped and looted by the gang of corrupt politicians and bureaucrats. They thus form RIP, and go about executing carefully chosen targets out of the many corrupt men in the recent news, and warn the government to take concrete action to bring the corrupt circle of men to justice and to bring back the country's money, else they would keep killing more and more people of significance. The threats and the flawlessly executed killings take the nation by storm. The government balks, the public comes all out in favor of the RIP, and every corrupt official runs for cover.


Now while the CBI is on their toes looking everywhere for the self-appointed vigilantes, in comes another ex para commando gone rogue, Raghav Bhagat, who is secretly hired by the home minister to hunt down the RIP and kill them before the CBI nabs them alive. The fact that the head of the RIP, Krishna, is getting dangerously close to Bhagat's soon-to-be ex-wife makes up the necessary fuel for him to vow to bring them down, no matter how. Thus begins a dangerous game of cat and mouse, only, the cat and the mice here are all highly trained commandos who know how to do their job well and to leave no marks behind. In this battle of wits between genius minds, who perishes? And who makes it alive to taste victory? More importantly, is justice finally served? Makes for a delicious, nail-bitingly fast-paced novel.

Sample this:

All these years, no matter which party came to power, they all survived because all of them were in cahoots. All of them aware that if they kept quiet about the others, they in turn would keep quiet about them, and everyone got to milk the nation. That is how the Indian politician had survived all these years. That is why no Indian politician had ever been found guilty of any wrongdoing or convicted by any court. RIP had threatened the status quo in a manner that had never happened before. 'That is why we...you have to find them and stop them.'

Powerful words, and every bit true.

Mukul Deva is widely lauded as the best Indian military thriller writer, and a pioneer in that genre of literature in the country. And quite rightfully so. The USP of the book lies in a number of things. One, the author's fast-paced yet lucid narration. It doesn't confuse you, despite the insane amounts of intricacy this particular genre can involve. At the same time, two, he blends all that gripping action with an underlying emotional track involving the main characters. It helps you instantly connect with the characters, no matter whether you even understand half of the military imagery or not. The way he narrates the events, you can actually see the scenes unfolding in front of your eyes, like an action film. But best of all, according to me, was the way Mukul Deva has fashioned most of his characters based on political figures of note - Sonia Gandhi, Rahul Gandhi, Lalu Prasad Yadav, Sadhu Yadav, Anna Hazare et al - and cleverly disguised them under telltale names - Sheila Kaul, Ranvijay Kaul, Lalit Yadav, Sheru Yadav, Arvind Hazarika - spot the uncanny resemblance? It's outright suggestive and at the same time politically correct.

All of this, combined with very simple yet powerful language, makes the novel a totally worthy read. I kept aside my studies to finish it, and that speaks volumes in RIP's praise. More such books should be written. They'd sell like hot cakes, and may also bring more awareness about our country's sorry political state to the people, maybe serving as fuel for widespread indignation and rebellion against the corrupt pigs. Or maybe I'm just day dreaming. Well, that sure is a whole lot of maybes. But then, what's wrong with being an eternal optimist?

I guess I just liked the book a bit too much. I'd give it 4 stars out of 5.


(This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books yourself.)

Book Review: Alchemy (edited by Sheba Karim)

Most of us have read the occasional love story. Some even swear by the genre. And yet not many an average reader, more so of my age, has read a full-blown erotic story or novel. Admittedly, not even I had, till about a week ago. It isn't a commonplace genre of literature in the Indian society as yet. You see, sexual awakening is a total hush-hush process in our country. Most of it stems from visual aids and information available on the internet. Literature in the form of an aid in sex education or sexual awakening is not well known to the Indian society as far as I know.

But now I can boast of having actually read an erotic anthology. A collection of 13 short stories, Alchemy - The Tranquebar Book of Erotic Stories II - has been put together and edited by Sheba Karim, with sex as the central theme of each one of them. The contributors are accomplished writers from different platforms and geographical regions and the stories range from the oh-so-moving to the out and out disgusting.

I am, too obviously, a novice in this genre of reading, so reviewing such a book is a rather tough one for me. How does one review an erotic piece of writing? Do I recount how it made me feel while reading? Well, let's do it then.

Some of the stories - Clay, A Foreigner, The Monk, and Next Year at The Taj - are really touching. In the metaphorical sense, of course. Sex is a part of them, and yet there's much more to them than that. They highlight the deep sadness, longing, frustration, fear and lack of sensitivity that prevails in people's hearts. Some of these emotions erupt during the act of lovemaking, while some are given birth to because of it. In any case, lovemaking is an act of passion and is an amalgamation of a whole lot of emotions and feelings that one might not be able to express otherwise. The stories, in a lucid way, highlight just that part of the psyches of a number of different individuals in different situations.

The other lot of stories - The Farmer's Daughter, Abandon, The Matinee, The Marrying Kind, The Periscope - they're the more interesting ones. The gripping, intriguing kind that lays more stress on the events leading up to the end of the story rather than the lovemaking alone. And the stories are good. Like really good, with intriguing plots.

But then there was also the kind of stories that really grossed me out. Sanskrit, Mouth - the ones that could easilly gross out any average reader. They sure did that to me. Extra vivid, extra imaginative, futuristic and only meant for the bold hearted. Or maybe it's just me. One will have to read it to judge for oneself. As for the other two, one of them was about gay sex, so it served as a much-needed eye opener for me.

In hindsight, it was a one-of-a-kind experience reading this book. A 3 on 5 I's give it. How I came down to actually reading it is a funny tale, but a tad out of context here. Bottomline: If the book interests you, go grab a copy and read it, take my word for it - you won't regret it. And if you find it gross, grow up, maybe?

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books yourself.

Book Review: Once Upon The Tracks of Mumbai - Rishi Vohra

Every now and then a movie based on a novel is made. But not many books are written to recreate the charm and magic of the 70 mm reel on paper. No sir. Not that often. And this is where this book takes away all the brownie points. So much, so that even though I am not a sucker for Hindi film romances, this book touched a chord in my heart.

Once Upon The Tracks of Mumbai, much like its lifted-off-a-movie-yet-creatively-modified name, is a formula-based filmy story with a filmy plot and a befitting filmy ending, but with a unique flavor to it. Its uncanny protagonist is a schizophrenic 24-year-old youth, Babloo, whose life revolves around the railway tracks twisting and turning through the length and breadth of Mumbai. He is misunderstood by his family and the society. His parents, instead of caring that little bit extra for him, act impatient and shower their attention and affection on their younger son. Enraged and alone, Babloo prefers spending his time watching B-grade Hindi cinema at cheap shady theaters, running along the railway tracks behind his colony or talking to Vandana. Now who is Vandana? She's the quintessential Hindi film heroine - a decent yet ambitious girl with dreams of making it big in life, visiting 'America' and finding her Prince Charming before her orthodox parents get her married to a dork. Vandana seems to be the only person who has patience enough to try to understand, befriend and get along with Babloo. Quite inevitably he falls in love with her.

Now all that is missing in the tale is a villain, that shady character who makes the hero's life difficult and casts a wrong eye on the heroine. So in comes Sikander, the local cable operator guy who decides to score with Vandana as part of a sleazy bet with his minions. At the same time, Babloo, in his slow but determined demeanor, decides to win Vandana's heart by becoming famous and respected. And to be all of that, he dons the title and get-up of a new-age superhero - Rail Man. How all of their lives entangle and work out in the end is the major premise of the story. Needless to say, it has a happy ending that leaves you feeling good.

The plot might look mundane and run-off-the-mill at first glance, but the highly lucid manner in which the author describes the inner workings of a schizophrenic-autistic person's mind is what makes the story unique in itself. It serves as an eye-opener for a majority of average readers who have no idea about the thought process going on inside a mentally challenged individual's mind. All the characters have been etched to perfection, and a number of issues have been touched upon. Add to it all a sub theme that throws light on the menace of increasing crime in the local trains of Mumbai, and you have a racer of a book which can be read in one go without the slightest sensation of boredom. A simple yet powerful book, and certainly a sensational way to make a debut in the literary world. I'd give the book three and a half stars.

The book is conveniently priced at 175 rupees, so as to clearly distinguish it from the league of Rupa's 99-ers (and I shall make no efforts here to disguise my dislike for them) yet make it purchasable for everyone. Total win-win!

To know more about the book and the unbelievably multi-faceted author, visit the official website.


P.S. 100th blog post completed. FTW! \(^_^)/

Now Featured on The Independent, UK!

I've been meaning to write on a number of subjects ever since the new year took off. But time does not permit me any more. And it's gonna remain the same for a month to come. I'm missing my blog already. So much to write, all of a sudden, and so little opportunity. Sigh. A book review has been long due, then there's a fiction story, and I guess I haven't even wished my dear readers a happy new year yet. On that note, here's wishing a very happy and prosperous new year to every one. I hope you all have a joyous, successful and satisfying year lying ahead of you. Let us wade through it together with hope and faith in our hearts, and only bitch or gush about it when it turns into 2014. Till then, for better or for worse, bear with it, shall we? Yes, you, the non-believers too. Hold up as good as you can, it's gonna get better.

So the reason why I've taken the trouble to wield the pen (or keypad) today is to share something. Good news, actually.

A couple of days ago I assisted a well-known freelance journalist and writer, Mridu Khullar Relph, in preparing a story on the Delhi Metro and the safety of women in the city and its public transport. Apparently the lady had liked my article on the Ladies coach in Delhi Metro, written in early 2011. It was back then that she had interviewed me for a story in Elle magazine on similar lines. As fate would have had it, Elle sat on the story for far too long and it ended up not being run. I'd given up on it long ago. But apparently dear Mridu did not forget about it, and when she was asked to do a similar story for The Independent, one of UK's top newspapers, she sought me out again. It was all a quick process - her approaching me, my replying to her, her preparing the story, and the story being run on the paper within a day. Now the article isn't quite my handiwork, it's the writer's; but major parts of it are based on my inputs and I have been quoted at places. Good enough, eh? Here's the online edition of the story: 'I've jumped off a moving bus to get away from an attacker...' Life for women on India's public transport. It was a good experience. *proud moment*

It is anyway always fun for me, writing anything for anyone, as long as it's not an exam paper. That sucks. Do read it through, and let me know your views, if any!