The Missing Girl Child

I still remember the joy my sister brought to our household, my sister would be my maternal aunt’s daughter, but she is not my cousin but my very sister itself. I have always wanted a sister, ever since I can remember. I always wish I had an elder sister who would scold me and whom I could fight with and I wish I had a younger sister whom I could cajole and spoil. I know these dreams are meant to remain unfulfilled, there is only so much one can do, no replacement would ever be real thing would it? Then what I can do is a have a daughter whom I can spoil, with whom I can fight and whom I can scold. Someone that I can say is truly mine and who will always be daddy’s best girl.

When I saw the woman in this video, who has murdered with her bare hands her several children on the eve of their birth, my heart was shaken. There was not a speck of remorse in her words, not a moment of self-doubt about her actions only the cold dignity of doing what she thought was right. What would have turned her into this ominous creature that stands defiantly in the face of modern society, a scar upon the face of civilization? To imagine those bleak hands wound around the neck of her own child who is still covered in blood and matter. The suppressed cries of the new born girl escaping from the otherwise strangled throat. The new born eyes vaguely making out the devil that her own mother has turned out to be, helpless and bewildered. For what has she done wrong to live the life of a may fly, to come and go and be forgotten in a heap of soil by the solitary fields.

Is being born a girl a crime, a mishap or one of the great misfortunes of the 21^st century? Why does a moment that would otherwise be a celebration of life turn into persistent gloom and prolonged misfortune? These are questions in the face of which the modern society shudders and lowers its head in shame. The so called pantheons of culture that we ourselves proclaim to be, has wittingly or unwittingly brought upon the women great misfortune and has subjected them to what can be called nothing other than slavery.

They can no longer legally find if the child is a girl before being born and hence they can’t kill her before she is even born so they lurk around till the moment of birth to don the black cloak of doom and kill there very daughters in the most cruel of ways imaginable. Many a visions of heal are much less revolting and terrifying than the sight of father bashing his own daughter to death under the silence of her mother. Where happens in utopia this gruesome scene.

Every child has the right to be born and every child irrespective of gender be allowed the world. I have longed for a daughter all my life and when at the moment it happened to be a boy, would I kill him? Would I even think about harming him? Even in the face of my many a dreams being shattered would I for one moment think that this innocent life in my hands deserves not to live? How could I even think that, for in my hand lies the miracle of life? All I could ever do is to love him and all I could ever think is to be his hero. Come what may be to kill a child is revolting and killing on the basis of its gender may very well be like buying a first class non-refundable ticket to the bottom hell.

We have the blunder of many a millennia to correct before us, we have to rectify the mistakes of several hundred generations which has caused, encouraged and supported this injustice. We have to with great patience and utmost dedication purify the society of its evils that has poisoned its very fabric. How this can be done is not for me to say for that we are well aware of. What we must ask ourselves is that whether we want it done? Whether the urgency is felt in our hearts and if so then the way is but a matter of taking.

This entry is a part of Franklin Templeton - The Idea Caravan

Romi and Gang by Tushar Raheja

“The quintessential Indian story of a quintessential small town Indian teen.”

In India where cricket is a many a times much more than just a sport, it becomes a religion. Though this is a cliché so seldom used the truth is not far from it. Romi is a small town Indian boy, in love with cricket and religious in worship of his god ‘Sachin Tendulkar’, living in a room filled with the legends of the game and a ball hanging from the ceiling. His obsession with cricket is among the many things that makes him not so unique in the nation. He and his gang of similar minded friends who ballet over the coveted pitches in the large maidans are what can be claimed a familiar sighting almost everywhere in India.

The many mischiefs and the petty rivalries, the apprehension with girls and the secret infatuations are something every Indian boy would know all too well.  The technicalities of this story and the various aspects of cricket, though it gives the story authenticity is not what makes it a great story but the simple things that every one of us can relate to is what makes it possible for us.

The author, Mr. Raheja has attempted to recreate the life of a quintessential kid and his life, his emotions, the complexities and challenges of life faced by them with substantial success. The narrative is fluid as it travels from one encounter to another. The way the friendships are build and fostered and the many lessons of life that we learn as we walk alongside Romi and his gang of friends as they chase down their dreams on and off the pitch is mesmerizing.

With such a seemingly simple story the author attempts to drive home many great virtues that we now find only in the sleepy town and fosters the idea that winning is not everything. He shows us through Romi and his life that there are something more important that winning and that there is always a factor of luck involved in it. He makes one realize that certain failures in life are not really failures and that they most certainly does not mean that we are not good enough but on the contrary that we are good enough

Romi is what every one of us has been, or is still is. The various images that the author draws up are things we ourselves have lived through in our childhood days. Either we are Romi or one among his gang or we know Romi or one among his gang.  Part of Tushar Raheja’s success lays in the fact that the story is so close to most us on a personal basis and that one can easily relate to the many characters in the story. He has done away with needless descriptions and literary opulence in exchange for simple to read story that one can take with him. This after all is a quintessential Indian story of a quintessential small town Indian teen.

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Oh! My Lovely Lass

Oh! My lovely lass, why don’t come sit by my side and lay your head upon my lap. Let me rock you to sleep and ever so slowly to the world of a million dreams. Why don’t you tell me your weary day and I promise thee that I shall listen with all my heart. Of all the people in this world so wide, I for one know that there are times when you look not for advice and opinion but an understanding shoulder to rest your heavy head.

It may not be always that I am the ideal husband, but for the wonderful wife that you are, I sure will work my way up there. For a lass so lovely like you deserve but the very best and the best alone shall suffice.

Oh my Lovely lass, tell me of all the vistas that you have seen, the people you met and the life you experienced. Let us be that teens again, who sat on a mossy rock by the ravishing sea and talked of all the wonders under the sun, the moon and the million stars. Let me bet that guys who used to listen to your ever heart beat and who reveled in the rhyme of your breath. I confess to the time that was once, when my very existence clang onto thine like a drowning man to straw.

Oh my love, tell me your tale and do fill those many a blank pages that I in my mindless slumber missed, I promise thee to miss not another page of our wonderful saga of love, I will with religious adherence etch every word of our life to be in the beautiful script that ought to be. Oh my love this I promise.

Oh my dear, do come and sit by my side, lay you dainty head on my lap, let me cajole you, let me relish you, Oh my love be here with me as if you knew that I belonged to thee.

Oh my love, look at me like you used to look, your eyes so moist and dreamy. Let me behold the love, the love know has not died, not yet.

The Plucking of the Daffodil

There was once a little daffodil,

Leaving beneath the great oak tree,

Who was also her dear uncle Bill,

Under his shade she dreamt a life free

Of chasing her dreams, ever so many.

Under the million stars, her dreams she kindled,

Of the faraway lands and knights in shining armor,

There she lay awake, night after night so splendid.

She had a smile to stop a king and humour,

A pretty face too to match.

Every night she dreamt of many a great things,

Of singing to the birds in early mountain dawn,

Of kissing the queen and of donning her mighty crown,

Of touching a prince and forever be in him gone,

But alas that was not so to be.

One fateful day came the great merchant doom,

He asked Uncle Bill so artfully for his dear little niece,

Many a great things awaits he said, not a drop of gloom,

For this beautiful daffodil would make a garland for ladies fair and nice,

Promised him of a place so fair, and all that’s good for his little niece.

The lovely little daffodil wept and wept and wept all right,

“I am so young, yet so tender for my dreams be forever crushed,

It is too early for me, to lose all of life from sight”

She pleaded and begged, but yet her opinion away was brushed,

Oh dear, Oh our poor little daffodil.

Her dear Uncle Bill did seldom put up a face so stern,

Pointed at his niece and said in a voice ever so hoarse.

“I wish only well, my dear little child, all I wish is you not burn

For you are to me precious as the short king’s mighty horse”

I wish only good and all the glittering glory to you.

I know of your dreams, so high and mighty,

Of wandering the worlds and of the royal garden,

But you are only a daffodil and take that not so lightly,

I am old and weak and with you future laden,

This is for you good my dear little one.”

On the day of the great plucking, came the merchant doom,

She was plucked ceremoniously, our little miss daffodil,

No more a miss but ever so young and yet to bloom,

She cried so hard that night and lost was her dreams and will,

Only to wither away in the dark shadows of an alley way back.

What I Have

What I have is just a cup of steaming tea, a pen in my hands, a book lying by my side and the evening wind on my face. From where I sit, I can see the horizon, the slow moving clouds and the promise of rain. U feel the delicate caress of the southern wind and the slow murmur of the trusting leaves. I can hear the distant chatter of ...

Look, there is a fly ...

Shoo... Get out of my tea ...

Where we we? Yes.

The distant chatter of the nesting birds and the cracking of the dry leaf as he is dragged across the roof. I can feel at the moment my pen slowly scratching the paper.

What do I have?

At the moment I have the little things, At this moment I know everything is perfect, Everyone I know is happy and I can imagine it.

I can see my family celebrating my brother getting into college, I can see my girlfriend reading my message and I can feel in my heart the smile that spreads across her face as she reads it. I can see two my best friends enjoying each other company, joking and laughing along as they walk the boulevard, probably gossiping about me, about something I did or said. I hope they are gossiping about me. I can see the home brimming in the eyes of a friend who has just stepped down into a whole new place and an whole new life.I can see the wonder in a friend's eyes as she watches the rain pour down, perched high up in her cosy nest. 

What do I have now?

 I have the little things, the little things that truly matters.

I Could Die Today

I could die today,
Not a  man who is all happy,
But neither a man so morose.

I could die today,
Not a man who is free as a bird,
But neither the one in chains.

I could die today,
Not the man, a saint,
Neither the devil, not Satan's heir.

I could die today,
Not a man of Midas' touch.
Neither destinies dreaded orphan.

I could die today,
Not a man who lived as nature,
Neither the man who heard not the rustling leaves.

I could die today,
Not the one to walk behind Buddha,
But neither the lost soul of Maya.

I could die today,
Not the man of all fulfilled dreams,
But one with all that matters in life and death.

For all I could care,
I could die today,
A happy man, A happy man in death.

Book Review : Ten Shades of Life - A Nethra

Fablery is a short story writing contest and it aims to provide aspiring writers an opportunity to come out of their shells and get published. The 'Ten Shades of Life' edited by Nethra A is a mosaic of stories that topped each genre in the contest. The diverse categories under which the contest was conducted and the relentless editing done my miss Nethra has ensured that the diversity has not been lost as the stories moved from entries in a story writing contest to the ones that appear in a collection of short stories. The individual authors Miss Cheyenne Mitchell, Monika Pant, Dr. Roshan Radhakrishnan, Shankar Raman A, Bruce Memblatt, Karthik L, Reshmy Pillai, Deepa Duraisamy, Vinaya Swapnil Bhagat and Rahul Biswas has each produced an interesting original containing their unique signature fro the book.

The stories are bound to take the readers on a roller-coaster ride but the title of the book can be a little misleading. Most of the stories though are a stunning piece of fiction has not much to do with life or the virtues of life. Each story revolves around its own theme and there is no real continuity between them. This has to be expected considering that each has been crafted by individuals who where never in contact and who possess not much in common expect an unrelenting passion for writing fiction.

A better way to look at the book is to see it as a collection of individual stories that has its own unique flavor than as a collection of stories. The book contains ten different stories each from a different genre, and each the best in its own genre.

The Ten Shades of Life is an official Rupertt Aryeen Wind Recommendation

INCARDINES by Miss Cheyenne Mitchell

A rather intriguing story of a girl, her parents and the mystery surrounding their lives. The girl finds the answers to the question of her family that is slowly drifting apart in a book so coincidentally mentioned by her friend. The narration is rather porous and at times you do wonder how it all came to be so, many a questions are left unanswered and mostly most of it makes no sense whats so ever.

RED AND GOLD by Monika Pant

A romantic and touching story of love and belonging, The story touches you at someplace in your heart as the narration goes on. The story is intriguing and with a slight tinge of history in it, it just is a good read.

HARRY'S BLUFF by Dr. Roshan Radhakrishnan

A fast action packed thriller and so full of twists and turns and twists with in twists that you just keep on reading till you reach the logical end. A true nail bitter and it sure is one of the best stories the book has to offer.

SOMETHING LIKE THAT  by Shankar Raman A 

A light hearted and delightful comedy with its own interesting and well though out twists. its just another good read in this anthology.

WEEKEND IN THE COUNTRY by Bruce Memblatt

A appreciable attempt at horror, does it scare you no it does not, it does not even give you a shiver down you spine but its still a good story and the narration is very well done but its just isn't the horror story it is meant to be that's it. A story that many will find interesting.

A NOOTROPIC EGRESS by Karthik L

This story is quite frankly a rather strange mix of one of the most wildly used elements in stories featuring extra terrestrial intelligence that it borders on fictional cliche and the unconventional boy goes to Europe version. This is a strange story for all that matters and the story line is again porous and narration battles hard to hold water but fails. In my opinion this happened to be the most disappointing story that I found in this book.

THE SECRET OF AHIRAAH by Reshmy Pillai

This is a very interesting and engaging story with its own shades of history and life beautifully weaved in to it. This is easily one of the better stories you will find in the book if not the best one. The only problem I have had with the story is that it finished way too fast, if only it did last a bit longer.

WHERE DID YOU GO by Deepa Duraisamy

This is a beautiful thriller that would quench the thirst of any thriller lover, a beautifully crafted story set in the real with with no larger than life characters and a very powerful message carefully disguised in the lines of a thriller.

BARREN HARVEST by Vinaya Swapnil Bhagat

A bold take on the world of tomorrow , bruised and destroyed by the carelessness and ignorance of man today along the lines of George Orwell's 1984 and the Hollywood film equilibrium The authors attempts bravely to answer the question sod mechanized emotions and the mechanicallity of life in the future where humans become prisoners of their own inventions and discoveries. 

A GOOD DAY TO DIE by Rahul Biswas

A real life drama that envelopes the life of three firefighters and their friends and families, the complicated realities of life and the many things that they do in the name of self preservation. A beautifully crafted drama that is what this story is.

About the Editor

Based in Bangalore, Nethra is pursuing her Masters in Business Administration and is a graduate in Computer Science & Engineering. She is a voracious reader and a fiction writer, who puts quality writing over everything else. Her interest in good stories and writing made her start a platform, Fablery, which provides aspiring authors a gateway into the publishing world. She is also working on her novel that she hopes to complete in the near future.

My Little New Nest

Amazingly cute isn't it?

We have even got a nice balcony with flowers blooming there and one with a nice set of swings

 The only bad thing is I have to share it with +priyanshu raj and +Pushkar Maid  :'(

When it Rained in Chennai

It was raining in Chennai, At least in the part of Chennai where he was living. At first he sensed the day getting darker slowly and steadily. At first he thought it was another ruse played by the rain gods but this time around the things were different. The day got steadily darker and then there was the ominous stillness that always and inexplicably came before the rain. The twilight when the peacocks dance and the birds rush to their nests. The magnificent drum-roll that accompanies any beautiful rain. Then he could hear the soft sound of little rain drops kissing the ground.

He made himself a cup of coffee, slowly pouring it out into a mug like he had all of eternity to do that. He walked to the open balcony of his apartment. He could see that it had started raining harder and steadier. Little droplets were falling from the sun shade as a bunch of little marching soldiers. The outside was hazy and the balcony was partly splashed wet by the rain. He leaned over the railings, his nose almost touching the falling rain. He could smell in the earth that was just been showered upon, the air was thick with the fragrance of dry earth. He sipped the coffee and as the hot liquid game him a shiver down his body as it slowly went down. He closed his eyes and inhaled in the world around him and slowly opened his eyes to the heavens.

The dark clouds were rolling in, thick like a woolen blanket. The sky no longer belonged to Chennai but this sky belonged in his memories. He could see in the sepia his life in another city, his home. He could remember vividly how the rain clouds marched in like Alexander’s great army. The torrential downpour that drenched the land around him poured down his mind. He could feel the coldness of the showers and the amazement with his being was cleansed manifested as a small smile that spread across his face.

He remembered the years of his childhood, the endless days he spent watching the monsoon, the thunder and the lightning playing around like two long lost brothers in their reunion.  He remembered the streams that flowed near his house that was up to the brim and spilling from the sides. He remembered the birds that nested in the mango tree in his house; he remembered how she would hide herself in the thick canopy and how she dodged the falling waters. He remembered the wet trees and the green grass. He remembered the cows and the wet muddy trails that led in the plantations. He remembered his mother and she would get him a cup of tea when it was raining and how they would sip it together and watch the rain perched on their balcony.

He was I and being in Chennai for some time now, I miss the land where I was born and where I was raised. These memories rushed to me in a surge of emotions and nostalgia. I wonder how much more my life revolves around the beautiful monsoons of Kerala.

10 wishes on my 22nd

For those of you who are unfamiliar with it and those who would care to know, Two days ago I turned twenty-two. 

What quickly followed was a realization that I have lived one year longer and my future one year less.

After that it was just calls from friends and family, everyone I cared and who cared for me called up at and around midnight blissfully ruining my goodnight sleep and wished me a prosperous and beautiful year ahead.

The cliches... Yes...

But I thank them never the less for making me feel loved and cared for. 

After that I thought

"What do I want for the next year anyway?"

"What were my dreams?"

"What were my birthday wishes?"

By the way

I think this is my first birthday in my memory without a birthday cake and I sure that there are more to follow on in that front.

Okay back to my wishes...

So Finally I decided to pen them down

"My 10 Wishes for the age of 22"

Here they are 

1. Make sure that my fiancee knows that I love her and only her.

I may not be the most forthcoming in matters of love in the universe, and I may at time fell short of letting my dearest heartthrob know how much I love her and how much I appreciate her. But that is going to chance this time and this time she will know that she is the most loved person in the whole wide world.

2. Keep my promises to my dearest heartthrob.

I am not sorry to be bringing in my darling a second time around, It my list I will do what I like. I have given her a lot of promises over the years and its time for them to come due. I intent to keep them too.

PS: I know these are not much of a wish as a resolution, but still they matter.

3. I wish my brother would get in the college that he wants.

I do wish that my brother would find what he wants to do with life and I wish he gets what he wants and what is that which is the best for him, even if he realizes that now or not.

4. I wish that all my friends would get a job or whatever they want after college.

I don't want to talk about it more though. i may not have talked to some of them for some time now but that does not mean that I do not care.

5. I wish all my gang would grow old together.

I wish my gang of thick friends now would forever remain so and that we would have our families would one day join the circle and that they would be uncles and aunts and godfathers to each others children and that we would go camping and trekking together with our families and our dogs. I wish our wives would get together and be as good friends as we are and that we be one good old gang of old friends.

PS: This is a special wish and I really hope this one is granted. That would mean a lot to me.

6. I wish that I be more caring towards my family.

I wish that i be able to show my family how much I love everyone of them and that I give them no reason to think that I care less. I love them, everyone of them but I almost always feel that I am not doing enough in showing them that.

7. I wish that there was something that I could do about some friends.

I know that some of my friends are in trouble and I know that they need help, I wish That I could do something about it. I understand when everyone tells me not to butt in and I accept that many a times I sound like I am preaching. But still I wish I could help them through this tough phases of life. May be my keeping shut is the best thing but still I wish.

8. I wish everyone was happy

I know this is a naive wish and that this is one wish that is probably never going to come true, But still... I Wish it.

9. I wish that the magic in life never dies.

I feel it now, I don't know how I kept the child like wonder in me living till this age. I don't know how I can still be a child at heart and I do look rather young too. But I wish that I be able to keep in intact till my grave.

10. I wish my friends would find love.

I don't think my friends are ready for true love yet, They haven't had there hearts broken yet. So I do not wish them true love but I wish them love for I want to see them fall in love and embrace the feeling of being in love. I want them to have a broken heart and I want them to have the courage to fall in love again and again, to have the courage to risk heart getting broken and finally finding their true love.

Bangalore Vistas : A Comic Strip

My sincere thanks to my beloved friends who stared in my +Arun CS, +Revathy Ganesh, +Rohith Odunghat  and +Rupertt Wind.

The Masquerade Party

Everything about life is a lie, everyone has a costume and everyone dons a mask. At times I do realize that the only place where everyone is who they are is at a masquerade party when they all don there masks and when they are in the costume and caught in the frivolous act of being someone else.

People have a way of hurting you, a way of disappointing you. When you finally come to believe someone they invariable cheat and dishearten you. Some do not trust you to spill their heart and the ones whom you end up trusting are almost always the devil in disguise. They hurt people for the fun of it or do they even realize that they are hurting people.

I know my words are meddled that is only because my thoughts are too. I am confused and scared, I do not know who to trust and I do not know whether I have any friends at all. I realized that the one’s I thought was there were never really there. All I was seeing was a mirage a happy illusion, a blissful product of a deranged mind. At times I hope I knew not the truth. I hope I knew not the actors behind the characters, they were so nice to me the characters. I just wish that the illusion persists and I never wake up.

It would be blissful to revel in the midst of ignorance and what the ancients have come to call as the ‘Maya’.

Trust me truth hurts, why I do not know. I do not know why they have to do what have done. They may have their reasons and though I wish I could see the good in them…

I can’t, I just can’t.

I feel lost that’s the truth and I do not know what to do or what to think, All I want to do is cuddle into a ball and sit against the wall and cry like a little girl. I just wish I could cry and make it all go away.

I just had to tell someone this, Thanks guys for listening. It means a lot that there is someone who would listen to me whine away. 

Womanhood

How can I write about womanhood? That is the first question that popped in my head when my mind wandered on to this topic for my next post. How can I ever write authoritatively about womanhood? I do not know what it takes to be a woman; I do not know what womanhood entails. Whatever I say I have to be blunt and distant, I can’t even pretend to know that I know everything about womanhood because I am not a doctor either. I have read the books, I have did my research and in the general being of womanhood I have a fairly good theoretical understanding of the way the machinery works but does that make me an authority on the subject and for that matter does it even make me qualified to talk about it?

The answer is that I can write about womanhood but not form a woman’s perspective but from that of a man, I can say and write about what womanhood means to a man. I can talk about the envy and wonder that a father feels at the birth of his child, I can talk about the despair and sadness a son feels at the death of his mother. I can talk about the magic of love and the hopes that a husband expects his wife expects from him. But greater than all this I can talk about what the many special woman in his life means to a man and what he would be reduced to when they evanesce from his existence.

When someone asks me what I see as the greatest of god’s gift to woman, I can think of only one answer, the ability to give birth. To be able to create something so magnificent and miraculous just from a tiny cell. I know that the journey is painful and at times almost bordering on anguish, I understand this though I could never venture far enough to feel the agony myself or to accept it in its true intensity. But I believe that it does all makes sense to her when she gets to touch her child, when the soft skin of her baby brushes against hers, when the first cry of the child beats down on her heart like a beautiful symphony. I believe that then all the pain and suffering seize to matter and the wonder of life overwhelms her and love like a miraculous medicine heals everything then and there. But what can a man do then but to witness this miracle unfold in front of him in awe and wonder like a distant observer. All he can do is try to understand what has just happened and try to fathom the intensity of the reality in front of him.

I have friends who weep every month for having being born a woman, alas if only they understood the true purpose in its all enormity. Sometimes I think they do, sometimes I think they are losing it. I for one do believe that this thing balances out all the suffering that a woman has to endure and transcend to reach that moment. Some of you may take to support me and some of you may not. I am happy for those who would say that I am right for that means I have got it right, at least some of it and for those who would take the other side of argument I should say that I have no way of knowing what it means for I am a boy, a man and to understand woman and womanhood is no simple task. I try but I know the chance of truly understanding such intense emotions is a herculean task.

Womanhood is not just about giving birth is it? At times I have wondered thanks to my upbringing, how woman are able to suffer so much? This time I am not talking about the physical pains of being a woman but the many emotional pains that they suffer through so effortlessly. I wonder how a mother can commit so whole heartedly to her child, how a wife can be there for a husband every single step of his life, how a daughter can help his father even when she has enough pains on her own to deal with. I have never had a sister so that is something I do not know about and what having a sister means to a brother. The one good thing about the Indian male hypocrisy is that women unlike men gets to spent a lot of time with their family and at times don’t have to bother about anything else and this instigates the formation of such intense relationships that are not often seen anymore.

I have met some very proud woman and I have met some not so proud ones too, but at this day when I celebrate the anniversary of the day my girlfriend became a real woman (if you know what I mean). I must tell you that deep inside I feel much envy and jealousy to the whole of womanhood and I salute the marvelous women in my life for what they are and what them being there means to me.

Have I told you about March?

What is March to me is a far better question than who is March? Do I know march and how do I know march are even better questions and quite frankly I can’t answer the later duo, simply because I do not know the answers to them. March is an enigma to me, a bewildering and mind blowing puzzle. The truth is that she never existed and if she did her existence was more ethereal that the mirage in the mid-day sun. She exists and she doesn't at the same time, She is and she is not at the same time, yet she persists like a ghost upon my memory, entangling me into the abysmal oblivion of not knowing who she is and why she came into my life and whether she came into my life at all or is it all nothing but the delusions of a deranged mind?

Any story or any sentence about March must be abstract and shall only be abstract not because I intent to protect the identity of an otherwise domineering public presence from stigma but because she is as elusive to me as she is to you by these abstract words. Her existence for me is just as abstract and doubtful. There are times I scrutinize my sanity for what had happened that fateful day when destiny played the tune of fate going rogue.

I saw her, her eyes pierced into mine like the splinters from a shattered shell. Hungry for vengeance they struck me deep and painfully in the depths of my tattered heart. I cried in unheard agony when the heavens itself must have turned deaf that day. Then she smiled at me her smile spreading inside my body like death upon a famished being and bestowing me with a warmness of the ultimate awareness. Alas disappointment again waits for me, the most peaceful of seconds ceased to exist soon enough as all good things. She came and she went in a fragment of time that was far too small that between dream and reality the lines began to blur.

The truth is that I do not know whether I had lived through March or not, I do not know whether March is an enigma or a truth like the lives under the sun. But what march was and what I know March to be, is that march is the beacon of light from a domain unknown that signaled to me that all is not lost and life is yet to exist. March showed me in the twilight between life and death, between despair and hope, between dream and reality that my destiny is yet to be written and my gardens of love are yet to see the spring.

More From this Series : My Long Love Story
January
February Part I
February Part II

Different and Flawless : Tantra by Adi

Tantra the action packed story of a stunningly ravishing and vampire hunting New York city girl named Anu Agarwal, who moves into the sprawling city of Delhi in search of some answers and a couple of blood suckers to kill is both unique and predictable. The narrative is flawless and as Adi takes every reader on a nail biting journey through the alley ways and rooftops of a historic city with some old and set habits. The city offers her an entirely different challenge from what she was used to back in New York. She finds her enemies to be her allies and innocent children to be the price their unholy alliance. She finds powerful enemies, greater weapons and more importantly some answers and more questions to find answers to.

The story is a good and unique one and the narration is insidious, one tends to lose track of time as the story unwinds slowly and painfully. Though the twists are not expertly executed they are not dull or predictable for that matter.The lack of a strong prologue haunts the story as readers are often at a loss when it comes to the why part of most things in the story, Adi was not clearly in a mood to  explore the past of both Anu and the vampires in the city of New Delhi.The book has enough in it to keep you interested till the very end if you have a thing for adventure and don't mind some more than ugly vampires.

The fall side of the story is that its very predictable when you are done with less than half the chapters and it has not one such twist that could keep the readers guessing. Once the villain is revealed it is only a matter of some chapter before its the end.There are no surprises  no drama or not even some real action in it after that point. The story-line is plain and straight forward and taken for granted. One other thing is that for some unknown reasons the author has rushed through the climax way too fast and the whole things ends in a unceremonious ruckus. Thirdly the book lets a lot of questions unanswered even the basic ones that seem to be the very core of the story, in fact the story is not that keen on answering questions as it is on asking them. 

The final word is that if you are looking for a one time read that would take your mind of many a mundane stuff in life, then Tantra by Adi is a very good choice. Its hearty, light and full of adventure and lets you easily be lost in the underworld of Delhi among vampires, magic and some super cool 'Tantric' stuff. But if you are that person who would prefer substantial quality to the books they read and is not at all into a the less classic ones then do keep your distance and find another book to read. This is strictly for a reader who is at leisure and is not much obsessed with everything literary about it. 

Some Specs as given in FLIPKART
Publisher	Apeejay Stya Publishing
Publication Year	2013
ISBN-13	9788190863629
ISBN-10	8190863622
Language	English
Binding	Paperback
Number of Pages	344 Pages

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