Tuesday, 5 November 2013

In Her Beautiful Eyes


Everything I know of that day I know from the myriad reflections it casted on her beautiful eyes. Everything thing about that day I remember not from sensing but from watching shadows it casted on the deep abyss of her eyes. That is where I was looking, that is all where I could bring myself to look, they were insidious like the fire was to the moth, captivating, entrancing. I am sure a million stars twinkled that night for eyes they out sparkled the finest of diamonds. What I did that day what I said that day, a different being of consciousness did for I was too busy witnessing the miracle that she was.


As I held out my hands to the open car door, I first saw her legs, with the freely flowing tunic caressing her smooth skin and soon enough a delicate hand came resting on my hands and a smile on my eyes. I was transfixed in that moment in time and a part of me shall forever be. She held my hands, trembling yet firmly holding on to mine as we ascend the stellar stairs. There was on her lips the most fabulous of smiles, one that befitting of the princess she was. Slowly we were shown to the dimly yet intoxicating lit tables placed near the dark waters of the pool that reflected the whole of heaven above and that which were ours to be taken. The dim yellow flickers of these half dozen candles played on her face the most coquettish of dances, seductive and sultry they suavely moved. A vision so serene you see but seldom in life that the mere sight of such paradisiacal beauty stops all of time and nature about it. I knew the light smile that have had strayed on to my lips and was slowly creeping into my eyes which but now filed with an almost animalistic desire. 


I think there was a man singing a beautiful European melody that may have ones made love bloom in the hearts of many a lovely princessess, I cannot vouch for his being there but the music I remember. I remember because of the subtle moments she made in lieu to the rise and fall of rhythm. There was wine I remember the red liquid creeping onto her flawless scrumptious lips, they say they twitched under it's spell I remember. 


I remember talking to her and I remember kneeling before her moments later. I know I was transcribing my heart to her in not the most eloquent English I have mastered. I remember stumbling and I remember stammering, I remember my agonizing search for words, in moments when they seem elusive like the mystery of the heavens. I remember the sole stone on a solitaire and the teary diamond that formed in her eyes. I remember a feeble dampness on my hands and a feebler still response. I remember hearing my heart beat so loud that they were both deafening and horrifying . I remember the deafening silence and the moments when time stopped agonizingly still. I remember the feeble nod and the ring move slowing as our settled on her hands. I remember the taste of her lips seasoned with tears.



And that was the platinum moment of our love.

Friday, 1 November 2013

Happy Diwali



Hi Friends,

I know probably you wont have time to read this, I hope and wish you don't have the time to read this. I hope that you are at this time celebrating the festival of light as it ought to be. Like years back when the whole of Ayodhya welcomed back their beloved king Rama, I wish this Diwali you would be welcoming another era of boundless happiness, immeasurable love and infinite prosperity.


To all my friends... err.... no...

To everyone I wish you all a Happy Diwali..

Regards,

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

A Breast and Chicken Debacle

It was not as bad as Homer got it


Every once in a while we end up doing or saying something stupid that will haunt you for life or at least the foreseeable future. This is the very short story of my 'slip of the tongue' moment that ended up putting me in some of the most embarrassing moments of this year.

It was on the day one of my team mates, quiet an elderly fellow at that decided to treat us for the valuable years he has burned away at our office. Needless to say that this sudden gesture of generosity had more to do with relentless nagging than a compulsive need for expensive celebrations. It was on this forsaken day that the blunder than that became my Homer Simpson moment occurred.

We were leisurely sitting in one of Chennai's finest Italian restaurants ( I intentionally am leaving out the name lest the management decides to throw me out the next time I step in) when in the process of giving our order my colleague ( not the same as the poor soul who had to pay the bill) asked me what I would like and I answered him casually

"Anything with chicken breasts is fine by me"

And with an unmissable spontaneity he started laughing and I realised I missed the words  "chicken"

The rest is history that I am trying hard to forget and harder to make others forget ( with remarkably low success )

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Aisle be Damned by Rishi Piparaiya



Rishi Piparaiya has truly outdone himself and has shown himself to be a master of satire. He has shown great care and acute observational skills in picking the most annoying and embarrassing of things that happen in one's day to day exchange with the airport and it's queer inhabitants and projected them in a hilarious and thoroughly entertaining way. He has given an whole new outlook to the things that happen in and out of an airplane. Seriously who would have thought that my missing jacket was actually stolen by the Italian mafia. 


Rishi uses a delicate and simple style of writing to convey his story and that too with an even flavor of humour and satire. There is a chance that his sense of humour, predominant his style of humour would come across as slapstick to some but it is undeniable that he got a suave way of making his readers laugh. Anyone who has ever been on a flight and anyone who has seen the way the various quirks of the aluminium tube that flies will find it interesting and can relate to it seamlessly. It is just an understatement to say that Rishi has outdone himself.


They book though randomly satirical, is not random at all in organization. The book is neatly edited and organized as in the order of which the events would occur in an actual flight, from take off to landing and this differentiate 'Aisle be damned' from a regular book of jokes and into a humorous page turner. I will though advice the ones who have not flown to keep away, you don't need to add to your aviatophobia do we and secondly most jokes would appear to be tasteless and blown up to a person who is unaccustomed with such an environment as an airport. 


But for everyone else this is hilarious and light hearted, and would make your stomach hurt from laughing. I personally found the beginning and end to be rather bland and tasteless in nature as compared to the rest of it. I give the book a 'good' status and recommend it exclusively for all fliers, frequent and otherwise. The swaying hips awaits... *chuckle*








In Association with Jaico Publishing House.

Friday, 18 October 2013

Understanding Chennai



Chennai is not a city of joy, nor is she haunted by the phantoms of melancholia. Chennai is neither plain nor placid, She has a sense of vigor and liveliness inside of her. I find it particularly hard to attribute any specific emotion to her, not because she is devoid of emotions but because she shows it all without prejudice. She has no sorrow flowing right across her heart, nor is she known for the grant patios of procrastination. What she is and what she has always been is that she is real.

Chennai is as real as it will ever get, unlike many of her friends she upholds no pretense, she wears no facade and she embodies no plasticity. Her denizens are like she is, simple and real. In every alley that dots her backyard, is an women who scrounges for her children, a man who struggles to make the ends meet. She is not the adobe of the ultra rich but the tree under whose shades sleeps the normal man. One can see in the dried up eyes on the sun scorched faces of Chennai the harsh realities of life.

While in her backyard you may not find the soft spoken, civilized beings of Vienna, nor will you find coat donned bosses of New York who looks at all life with no emotion but disgust. But here you wind find simpletons, workers and laborers, You will see the educated educators or the men of service, and mostly servants of one of its many civil bodies. I pose not to say that they are humble and well behaved, but I insist that they are real and depict on their faces real emotions both good and evil.



Scratched across her face is a very thick line, bloated and black that separates the cities tiny rich community from the vast poor ones. This is the story of any of India's mammoth cities but here you will not find imitators who try to scale the big divide with fanciful appearance, Here you wont find people pretending to be anything other than what they are, except may be a micro minority that is still yet to find its place in this discomforted city. The leisure of Chennai lies in understanding the reality of who you are and when that itself is in great doubt she can at times be alien and at others discomforting. The rich of Chennai lies in its own world and the other  is seldom seen in its vastness. They may be playing pretense and that they only exists here and the others simply don't bother, they show a kind of indifference that is graceful in a way. They just the let them be and let themselves be.

If you venture to reach out and touch the heart of Chennai, you wont hear the calm serene musicals of the beating heart but a rather hurried and uneven one of a struggling heart. She would bleed under your touch and you would feel the warmth of blood flowing through your hands. The harshness of Chennai is not exactly in the hot and humid climate of Chennai but in the hard and unforgiving realities of life that dot her face. Yet she is not a sad and devastating city, she is happy as life is. In her trains you will find fathers playing with their sons, seated on the steel floors. In her streets you will find mothers feeding their daughters while making a dainty living at her numerous street shops.

I think I have been in Chennai long enough to feel the pulse of Chennai. long enough to understand her amazing eccentricities. All one have to do to understand the realities of Chennai is to look beyond the scorching sun, the humid air and the coarse water. When you are ready to do that she herself prepares to give you a couple of hard lessons, lessons about the realities of life. It is a sin to be blind when you can see, to be deaf when you can hear and to be unkind when confronted with great human tragedy. I am fascinated by the nudity of Chennai, her realities are never hidden they are visible and plain, most importantly she is real. May be that's why I have been slowly falling in love with her.









Image Courtesy : Well-Bred Kannan

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

The Real You by Radhanath Swami



A crispy square book, with crispy pages and intriguing cartoons in it, a fabulous cover with a heart shaped tree and a lot of orange tint in it is what meets the eye when you behold this little book for the first time. The book emanates an aura, an aura of knowledge and wisdom and that is exactly what it contains. The truth is that the simple yet reverberating cover of this book is what attracted me to the book in the first place but once the pages started getting turned the impression was only reinforced. 

The takes flight into an altogether alien world of knowledge and wisdom right from the very first page  and with these beautiful lines about love. "The nature of love is to give.". The book is not one long story about the search for truth or anything magnanimous. Like so many of its successors that strive to preach the same values and wisdom, this book is a collection of nuggets of knowledge all presented in simple and suggestive tone yet having in it a take it or leave it manner.

The book is discontinuous and not knitted together from page to page and chapter to chapter. They are separate and utterly isolated, at times they are even worlds apart. That being said this book is not one raucous and discordant debacle, but on the contrary the book is well organized in a way. All theses little nuggets of wisdom are classified broadly into several chapters and each nuggets is kept trim and concise. The whole book is one succinct attempt to teach life's lessons, concise and straight to the point. This is a book that appears in the way it should appear, truth needn't have to give explanations, they serve only to diminish the purpose of truth and pollute its sanctity.

A striking feature of this book is the numerous cartoons that appear in the book, They sometimes support and at other times intrigues sometimes even serving both these purposes. They give a sense of innocence and simplicity to the hard and tough nuts of wisdom that appears along side these beautiful sketches. Mr Suresh Sawant does a brilliant job in giving a sense of approach-ability to this book, that may only be surpassed by the cover and its design simplicity. Radhanath Owes much of the books success to Mr Suresh in this sense.

"This book is a collection of pearls of wisdom, in the necklace of life, for the beauty of soul" This is how that book is described as in the introduction and I find this statement perfectly true and apt for the book. This is not a story or a myth but a collection of wise words and wisdom. This books aims not to teach you life but to show some of life's vital points and The book does not preach how to learn but gives you points to start planing how to live on your own. This is book is not a one stop place for spiritual awakening but a fun, tiny guide book to life.

Saturday, 12 October 2013

Lost


Stranded in the crowded Island, Often I find myself alone.
Staring at the starry water that knows not malice.
True its heart it shows me my wet eyes and the damp face,
It knows not my heart and cruel in disposition it stands.
Yet it tells me a tale of lost hearts and valor.
It tells of battles frivolously fought and lost for no reason.
I stare and stare back at me does the truth.
That I stand alone in a crowded island, Stranded I stand.
Sitting under the palm tree, On its lofty sand beaches,
I realize I wrong the boat and the voyage.
Yet marooned I should not be for my crimes.
In passion of utmost carelessness they were done.
I live not that life of moderation and revel in flaming passion do I,
The sin of such life is the peril of loneliness.
Over the expanse and adrift in its care is a boat.
A boat that I have missed for all that that was not to be.
Burned in the high flames of vanities passion was the plank.
And lost was the ride that was only mine to ride.
In this paradisaical expanse I stand, falsely wronged.
I stand stranded on a crowded Island, forever alone.
Destined am I to the case of invisible bars, 
Of lost dreams and careless passion.
Destined am I to this lonely abyss,
Of very slow decay of perpetual loneliness.

Wednesday, 2 October 2013

The Story of Amazon.com by Sara Gilbert




“The Story of Amazon.com in a nutshell”, that is what this book could easily and accurately be described as. To begin with the book is short and matter of fact; it covers almost all of the things that have happened in its 19 year existence. It covers the rise of Amazon.com and the perils it faced in the process. All the major milestones that the company achieved have also been covered. In short it tells a short story about amazon.com and how it came to be.


Sara Gilbert has done a commendable job in confining the whole story of amazon.com to a mere 65 pages and that is counting the illustrations as well. The story is kept really trim and most of the details irrelevant and not is kept out. In fact the “Story of Amazon.com” is a de-facto account of the evolution of amazon.com and leaves out any personal touch to it. There is no explorations to into the lives of Mr. Bezos nor of any one otherwise connected to the Amazon Story.


Sara does draw our attention to the various problems that the company faced and the long years it spent without ever turning any profit and the dark times it endured during the dot com burst. The hardships are again stated matter of factly and how the company managed to survive these treats not presented inspirationally either. But she does get her points and facts correct and she doesn’t leave anything either except what really helped Amazon.com become an industry leader in its domain. I would personally feel better had the book been a little longer and contained more about the rise of Amazon.com from the American dream perspective. But then again this book is not the ardent analyst, but for the young reader who could learn a lot about entrepreneurship and innovation form the story of Mr. Bezos.


The one thing I especially liked and is quite fascinating about the book is the amount of pictures that they have put in, they can on their own merit tell you the story of amazon.com and they complement the book rather well. One can just browse through these pictures and read the side notes left here and there in the book and understand the whole story that Sara is trying to say. Sara Gilbert has created a rather light hearted book that could be read with nothing more than just the willingness to open the first page, the rest is a fast and well aided journey through the 19 years of amazon.com, more like a tour of the whole thing.


Sara Gilbert clearly has her audience cut out, and she has made it clear that this is not for the serious corporate researcher in you but for the casual reader who would enjoy a little information and may be do with a little inspiration from it too. In fact this is exactly the kind of book I would gift my adolescent son just to get him to read a book.










In Association with JAICO PUBLISHING HOUSE.

Saturday, 28 September 2013

Severance

And old unfinished poem I wrote in another lifetime, recently found in the moth infested pages of my old diary.


By what coins shall this debt be paid,
By what currency this loan be settled.
By what act shall atonement be achieved, and
By what valor shall this friendship be bought.



I don't know why I wrote nor what prompted these words, But somewhere they connect to me, like sons to father and creation to creator.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Why I want Modi as my PM



Before any one rushes to the end and starts commenting that Modi is communal, Let me just say that I am well aware of that argument and let me say that I have weighed that aspect too in my decision. Now that the disclaimer has been given let me get to the core of it. Which is that I want Modi as my Prime Minister and now I will get on with why I want him as my Prime Minister.


I am neither Pro-Congress nor Pro-BJP and for that neither am I Pro-Any Party. I despise them all equally. I believe the purpose of democracy ( in India at least ) is not to select the ideal man to rule Indians but to select the less evil one to do that. We do not select between Good and bad, we select between worse and worst. Given the choice between bandits and looters its a hard choice to make right? to find the ideal thief to steal our wealth. I am sure no other nation extends its denizens this particular privilege.


Coming back to Modi, For any one who is following Indian politics and the Lok Sabha election campaign with even half an eye will be aware that Mr Narendra Modi, the now Chief Minister of Gujarat has set his eyes on the ultimate prize. As always the nation is divided among him and our present Prime Puppet Mr Manmohan Singh, did I just say Prime Puppet? I actually meant Prime Minister, but I guess its easy to get confused among those two designations. The congress camp has unleashed the old and rusted argument that Mr Modi is communal and The BJP camp has unleashed the old, but not so rusted argument that Mr Singh is useless.


As it is customary in civil societies, I will address the chief acquisition that Mr Modi is communal. Frankly speaking I cant say whether he is communal or not, because I have no evidence supporting or opposing it, congress says that he is the chief reason for a riot that happened 11 years back and BJP says that Muslims in his own state support him. I just don't know which is true and I also believe that an alleged involvement in a crime that happened 11 years back cannot be given such high weightage as opposed to all the wonderful things he seems to have done in his home state that he has been ruling for a very long time. After all politics and politicians has such a short memory span and attention span.


I will confess one more thing out right, I am supporting Mr Modi, not as much because of his good deeds as to the grim deeds of the ruling party. The only thing the ruling band of bandits seems to be doing well is that they have been relentlessly looting the citizens with such finesses that most professional thieves and criminals look like total amateurs. They must have in this five year tenure relived the nation off a sizable portion of its GDP by stashing it away in Switzerland or Cayman islands.


The present government has let the rupee fall like a lead ball and no one seems to be bothered to catch it in its free fall. Even our not so honorable finance minister has asked as to let the rupee be, it will stop when it has too. I wonder if that's the case what he does in his office hours. Any way I am not pointing fingers here I am just laying my case for my supporting Mr. Modi as being the Prime Minister of India. On the contrary to the present ministry, he seems to know economics and development quite well with his state contributing a sizable chunk to the Indian Economy. I rather leave the state of Indian economy and the battered rupee at his care that the ones that bought it here.



Anyway as this is becoming rather long and complicated, i will quickly point out that I support Mr. Modi because I don't trust Mr Singh and his capability to rule. They are way too corrupt. Secondly Modi cannot be communal just because he is a Hindu, that's absurd. Thirdly the present economy has been ruined by the present government and we need a change so that it can be revived. The government now is way to distant from the 'aam admi' or the 'general public' as pluto is from the sun.They seem to intoxicated by power that a sabbatical will only do them good. Mr Modi appears to be a more powerful, capable and determined leader and icon than the silent and unimpressive Mr Singh who looks more like a mint condition doll. By the sheer measure of thing that they have done and the things they have not done Mr Modi is more deserving of the post of PM. And lastly he looks more of a prime ministerial material than Mr Singh.



I just hope that I wont be thrown in jail for speaking my mind, You can never know. 
DISCLAIMER: Anyways the things I mention are only the things that I feel and by no means do I claim them to be true or more seriously as facts. You are free to agree or disagree with me but you are not allowed to bash me, nor force upon me any view point. I have a mind and last time I checked it was fully functional and I am capable of making my decision. Thanks but I don't need your help in that regard. That aside you can comment here anything, but just remembering to sensitive to every ones views even though you may disagree with it.

Sunday, 15 September 2013

The Future of Retail



Today is just another normal day, a very normal day in the year 2030. Bill is still sleeping soundly in his bed with his wife in his arms. But in a few moments he will wake up to one distinctive sound, the sound of his morning alarm. No sooner had we said these words the alarm has went off and has woken Bill as it has did dutifully for the last innumerable years. Strangely his wife has not stirred at all, and bears no expression of having heard this demonic noise. The wonders of technology have been able to deliver this amazing piece of essential technology, the custom alarm. Not only does the alarm be configured to the time and date and need but also to the person whom it is intended for.


Bill lazily made his way to the fridge to get his morning drink. A doctor has had given him strict instructions to limit his choice of drinks to a selection of fruit juices. Thanks to his over loving wife he was in no way able to sneak in anything remotely alcoholic. He started missing his old friend, the one that did not have a brain of its own and one that did not betray his every move to his wife. The fridge he was about to open was in fact the very latest in its kind a true design. The manufactures with a tie-up with the leading online retail giant was able to make the fridge so intelligent that replenishing his fridge was a thing of the past. He never remembered ever putting anything in the fridge anymore. The online store did it for him. Whenever he was low on anything the fridge would order them automatically and the store would replenish them for you. It used to work with alcohol too but unfortunately his wife had keyed in his health details and the evil doctor okay it and by doing so have compelled the fridge to make up its mind to stop his drinking altogether. The fridge just doesn't seem to get the fact that it was he who was paying the bills.


Sipping his juice bill slowly moved to his new couch, there was something fascinating about the way he bought the couch too. He didn't have to wander through multiple shops, scrimmaging through millions of models to select this one. He bought it with the help of SmartShop .  SmartShop was what could be called an integrated shopping system that helped him visualize how each piece of furniture would actually appear with the help of holographic display. He actually got to try on various couches and how they would go with the room. Kind of like the way he remembered his parents used to shop for clothes back in his childhood.



He leaned on his couch and stared at the wall for a long time. Anyone from half a decade ago would have thought that he was meditating. He slowly but quite audible commanded a virtually invisible TV to open channel 467 and instantly his wall transformed into one gigantic flat screen and started showing him the news he asked for. Of all the wonders of technology that had encroached on his life, this one was his favorite and for good reason too. But unfortunately it was his wife’s favorite too. Every good thing has a turn off, some fine print here, and some fine print there. Suddenly his eyes fell on the magnificent pair of jackets that the guy in the TV was wearing, that was what he was looking for, exactly the same one. He ordered the TV to pause and looked at it once more with awe. It was so beautiful. He wanted it and he had to get his hands on them. They were just perfect. He clicked on the shirt and instantly launching a million bits of electronic data to every possible vendor on the face of earth and may be a few on moon and mars, searching over numerous brands and their specific designs to find a near perfect match for Bill. A flutter later the wall has transformed into a virtual store with all the different results that was found.


A virtual Bill, more commonly known as the avatar took center stage on the screen and readied himself. At the tap of Bill’s each fingertips, the other Bill started trying each of the various items as Bill wished to try on. He flaunted his looks in the new clothes in front of himself. He scrutinized and he even asked a couple of his friends who were also awake at that ungodly hour for their conflicting opinions and finally settled on a specific piece that he liked. He made the purchase and was sure that by the time he got himself a bath and walked up to the front door, his new clothes would be there waiting for him to try it on.


Just then his personal assistant reminded him gently that he was getting late and his boss wouldn't be very happy with him if he got late today too. This intervention by his trusted digital secretary of sorts stuck Bill as weird, after all how long would he have spent sipping Orange Juice. Apparently very long if the assistant has to be trusted and there was no real reason to doubt the assistant now. He rushed to the bathroom and had his bath, groomed himself and readied himself in the meager time he was left with after his tedious morning activity of sipping orange juice. As he was coming back he found his wife in the kitchen and on the table was a package.


She must have heard his steps, for she turned around as he approached and soon a delightful smile spread on her face. She came close and kissed him and wished him good morning.  “By the way, Dear! This came for you this morning she announced.  He knew what was inside and he also knew that his wife would chide him if she found out what was in it. He smiled at her and parted with her after some exchange of confectioneries. That was  atypical day in the life of Bill, A typical day in the year 2030.


Courtesy : +Parvathi s - The Idiot who helped me edit this one.

Saturday, 14 September 2013

The Man Who Made The Chocolate Factory



Do you know ho made The Chocolate Factory, in whose fertile imagination sprouted the fantastical world of Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket? He must have had an extra-ordinary mind. Indeed he had, in fact in his mind was born numerous worlds of magic, he gave birth to the BFG (The Big Friendly Giant) and Matilda - the sweet. His name was Roald Dahl and he was so amazing that they went and named his birthday after him as Roald Dahl Day. Oh! By the way, that was today.


I cam upon the books of Roald Dahl by accident and my first Dahl book was "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar" and that too because the cover looked childish and I was looking for a nice little story to keep my mind of other pressing things. Thus serendipitously have I been introduced to the magical world of Roald Dahl and the fantastical reality that he weaved around one. One book led to the next and in a short span of time I have had read numerous books of Roald Dahl and was by then totally enamored by his genius.


The books of Roald Dahl and the caricatures and illustrations of Quentin Blake were like Siamese Twins, inseparable to say the least. In some level they completed and complemented each other. His illustrations paved way to the visualization of Roald Dahl's stories. They together filled the heart of every child that touched them with magic. 



It is a promise that I have somewhere made with myself and the yet to be born souls of my children that they will know this magic that has fascinated me so much. I would show them the beautiful world of Roald Dahl and let them explore the magic there. I will let them be inspired and I will watch there imagination kindling. Just like mine was and I wills hare with them the magic of this world and that of Roald Dahl. 


The Books of Roald Dahl I have read


Sunday, 8 September 2013

Book Review : The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith



How relevant is the humane-ness of the detective in a mystery thriller. Be it Sir Doyle's Mr Sherlock Holmes or Miss Christie's Miss Marple or Mister Poirot, They all seem rather the fictional and idolized images of the divinity of justice than the human detective. They are never explored for their emotions but they are celebrated for their cognitive reasoning. 


I wonder, had miss Rowling not put the truth about her being Robert Galbraith and not trust a hefty and unfair comparison upon mister Strike from Master Potter, Mister Galbraith would have gone to be celebrated as one of the finest detectives of this era and worthy to be placed in comparison with any of his fellow detectives. Unlike them he has a character, he has a humanity about him that the others lack. He sounds one among us rather than one among the angels of justice.



What seems now be seen is whether there will come another installment in the life of Mr Strike and whether he will rise to become a series or shall the competition from the fantastical Potter and his band of wizard become too much and Would Mr Strike suffer a terrible death or even worse a demise of character. I shudder to think whether this publicity stunt would have unwittingly spelled the end of what would have been a fine detective series and a success by its own credit.



The one thing that I again and again say that I find unique to Rowling's writing is the sense of character she has bothered to give Mr Strike without compromising on the mystery though tried and tested as it has always been in the genre.


I would happily recommend the book as one of the finest mysteries I have ever read and when not viewed in the glitz and glamour of Potter, Mr Strike is a superior detective and a fine example of Miss Rowling Literary and Creative skills. Though slow to catch on the book itself is interesting, captivating and addictive.

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

The Memoirs of a Dream

Yesterday


Hi Honey!

What are you doing ?

Nothing dear. Nothing at all.

Then why did you close your laptop when I came in?

Oh! Hmm... Just like that. I thought you were saying something.

Don't think I am a fool. I have been seeing you for a long time now. In fact I know you from such an young age. Tell me what were you doing in you laptop and why did you close it when I came in.

I told you its nothing, It was just some job related stuff.

Hmm... Don't tell me you were watching...

NOOO! I promised you right, I don't watch it now a days.

Show me!

Oh! so now you don't trust me at all? right I should have known such a day will come. I knew it ever since I married you and even before that when I was in love with you. But why dear? Why?

Oh! Honey, I didn't mean to hurt you.

I know but....

I am sorry honey, Do one thing I will get you your favorite coffee and will watch news with you. Okay?

You will do that much for me?

Do you want more sugar or not?

I do, I do. 

*gasp* Phewwww.


Three days before


Arun, Help me out buddy.

What happened now?

Nothing happened but if I don't do something now, Something definitely will happen to me.

Did you promise Ammu something and then not do it?

Not exactly, But our first wedding anniversary is just around the corner and I have nothing at all planned.

He He. Oh god! you are done for.

Dude!

Okay, Okay. Hmm let me think ... I think you should do something special.

Yeah! I don't need you to tell me that? :P

Do you want my help or what?

I do, Do continue Maharaj.

Why don't you go on a holiday?

I wish I could take her abroad, you know she has never been any where outside India

Of course I know that idiot.

But that would be too costly, especially when its so near by.

Why don't you try www.yatha.com, I think John was telling that it is a beautiful website and things come cheap online these days.

But how do we know? I mean can we trust them.

Good John is here why dont you ask him directly.    Arre! John. Do come here.

We will ask him about the details and he would know more about it.

Hi! 

Hi!

Hey Guys! 

John, Arvind wants to go on a trip and I was just telling about the wonderful time you had with yathra.com. Why don't you give him the details.

Oh about that! It was such a wonderful time, We went to Thailand and we booked a package through yathra.com. Such a good service they gave and everything was taken care of.  I started by...


After one Month


Me and my wife, walked out of the Changi Airport for the first time in our lives. Our heart was beating so fast as the moment we have waited for a long time has come at last. I had promised my girl friend once in our college days that I shall take her to Singapore and today I was making it happen.Finally I had kept my promise after all these years. And for her it was her childhood dream that was about to come true. She had always wanted to step into the world of gardens and beautiful streets that had donned her magazine clippings. The places she so heartily carried in her little heart for years together. Just as we were stepping out into the city, she clinged to my had and her eyes were fixed on the arrival gate. There was a mix of anxiety and wonder in her face., Her eyes were dancing and I could hear her heart beating. Together we walked slowly and carefully to the entrance of our dreams.


Five days later


We were back at the the amazing concrete city in itself they call the Changi Airtport once again. We were once again moving slowly through the gigantic path ways, if it was because of anxiety and excitement we were slow up on arrival, it was out of reluctance to return to the real world from this dream that was slowing us now. The last few days were splendid,from the flamboyant rooms in the expensive pan pacific to the opulence of spicy south Asian cuisine from Chinatown. The rich and vibrant colours and the flaming dragons that adorn the very nature of Singapore. The beautiful parks and the many hours spent staring at the beautiful harbor. Te mesmerizing esplanade and the walks through its many gallerias. The nights in its busy streets and the coziness of having her in my arms. This much needed trip has not just refreshing but did also rekindled our love in many ways that imaginable. There is so much to thank yathra.com for, but not the least of them is the amazing offers that they gave, which made our dream a reality.

This post has been written for the "Creating Happy Travellers!" Contest by http://www.yatra.com/ in Indiblogger.in.

Monday, 2 September 2013

A Girl in the Morning



“Molle…, Wake up, it’s already past 8’o clock” came the shrill angried voice from downstairs.


There was a murmur that followed but she did not catch that neither was she bothered to. She was lying on her bed with her eyes fixed on the ceiling, there was an old rickety fan spinning and suddenly she was conscious of its rhythmic noise. She wondered whether it always sounded so mechanic and artificial. Soon her thoughts shifted to the day, it was a day she was long waiting for, she did not know whether to be happy today or to be sad, but she definitely was anticipating the day for some time now. This time tomorrow…


Her brief reverie was broken by her mother’s voice again, this time it sounded closer, louder and angrier. She decided that it is time to move on and reluctantly moved out of her bed with great pain and visible stress. She longed to be back in the bed, the bed that has for always been a solace to her, A friend who was their when she was getting cold and when she was sad. Her longing was only aided by the fact that the bed looked so warm and cozy in the chilly winter morning. She looked out of her open window and she could see the brief outline of mountains far away, clad in mist. Her own little garden was looking beautiful today.


Lazily she walked in to her bathroom and started searching for her brush; she found it in its usual place and slowly pressed out a bead of tooth paste on to her brush. She took a deep breath and started brushing, in one giant leap of energy after some thorough and well-practiced moves she was done with the brushing. She washed her mouth and threw a handful of water at her face. As the water receded from her face and as she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at her reflection. The next instant she was lost to this world once again.


She was beautiful, her eyes were big and suited her face, in another face it would have been ugly but not on hers, they were simply made for her. Eyes moved over every feature in her face and slowly rested on her nose, she had a pointy nose and on her small faced looked pointier. She gave out an involuntary chuckle as she remembers him teasing her about her nose. He always teased her and she would always turn her face away from him and pretend to be offended. It was just one of the many quirks they entertained. 


Yes! He, he was the reason for today’s dilemma. She knew she was to be sad today but for some reason she was not and even felt guilty sometimes for feeling excited and happy thinking about today.  She would reach there by tomorrow and he would be there, h would shake hands with her father and smile at her mother and skillful avoid her only to stare at her a moment later. He was such a sucker when it came to her, stupid almost always. There was a smile slowly creeping on her face and colour flooded her small cheeks. She wondered whether he would notice that she had become a lot healthier these days and her bony appearance was replaced with a healthy pinkish glow. She though he might, and he would be happy seeing that too. She wondered how he would look, she had seen him on Skype a million times but she wondered how ...


She suddenly stopped and started feeling guilty for feeling too happy today, she should be feeling sad not happy. She was to leave her parents today and go to Chennai by the evening train. She quickly finished and steadied herself, she took and deep breath and exhaled sharply. 


Moments later the door in the mirror snapped and closed, but her breath was still left on the tiny mirror slowly evaporating and moving away. It would be sometime before she would come in the mirror. The mist slowly turned to dew and tickled down the mirror, For a moment it almost looked as if the mirror was crying.
This post has been written for the "The Character" Contest by Harper Collins in Indiblogger.in
In association with Jacob Hills.

Tuesday, 27 August 2013

Why do we Ditch a Book by Goodreads

So some time back Goodreads.com came up with a very interesting info graphics as to why we ditch certain books like we do.

So when I came across it I knew I had to republish it here. There are two benefits, , firstly I can get one article published for a pence worth of effort and secondly you guys who have not scene it before can get to see it. Though I would insist that the second one is my prime intent, I know none of you would believe me. But guys really that was the case and it did not have anything to do with the apathetic state of my creative part of my brain.




Thanks to the good people at Goodreads :)

Thursday, 22 August 2013

Forever a Malayalli



Under the green trees whose shadows she rested I grew up playing, in the very rain that drenched her I bathed, by the bank of the many rivers that nourished her I learned of heritage and culture. She was the mother that I seldom had, the father that I longed, a friend that I cherish. She was everything that I wanted and she is everything that I am. The life that I lived every second of every hour I lived in her cradle is the life that I ever want to know and wherever in the vast expanse of the globe destiny decides to take me my roots are forever claimed and every moment lived is but an attempt to be back in my mother’s lap. 


The spicy scent of the wet land, my grandmother is to say that beautiful scent was mother earth burping with satisfaction after her thirst has been quenched. How beautiful it smelled, like the scent of fresh Thulsi leaves. How beautiful was it too see the dark monsoon clouds come rolling in from the sky, It was said that the clouds had the colour of lord Krishna and just like the little Krishna they brought great joy along with them. My Kerala, My mother was a beautiful sight to see when she was drenched in his blessings. Everywhere there was just the vast expanse of green and from every leaf dripped many a million drops of rain. The trees rained down after the clouds and as a little child, dressed in nothing but a little black tread by waste I would go below the many creepers that grew in our garden and give it a shake. I would squeal with delight as the cold droplets hit my then tender body and I would smile with absolute pleasure. Of course I was too young to remember it then but my lovely grandmother had painted for me such vibrant pictures of my childhood that somehow they seem more part of my memory than a part of her narration. Everytime I think of those moments I feel them, the emotions of the little me rather just a detached memory.


I remember though the many hours I have stood by the many windows, each time a new one and watched the endless rain and I remember being overjoyed at the mere sight of it. To me each drop of rain now is a part of my mother and her endless beauty. They in their watery way tie me down to the land and the land in its muddy way tie me down to the sky and. They together in their symphony tie me down to my mother. There in that adobe of love I started talking root and every monsoon my roots grew just that much larger and deeper and tied me down a little more to the land. 


There is not a day I don’t dream of going back to her, I have not been too far from her yet every moment spent away from her is sheer agony and the desire is that much more deeper. My mother had loved me and I have loved her back just as much, the truth is you never realize how much you love them but at the moments you spent away from her. Rain and monsoon are that much deep rooted in me and every one of my memories does have a tinge of it somewhere. Be it the times I stared at the rain from the safety of the local sweet stall clinching to my grandfather’s hands or be it the moments I have immersed myself in the bliss as it fell down over me. Even when I grew up I was in love with the rain and every chance I get to be with her, I took, every excuse I could make to be with her I have made. I love the rain and the land after the rain. I love the land before that rain that is both ominous and sensational. The thunder and the lightning, the cold and freezing breeze that comes just before the rain and then as the drum roll reaches its finale you hear the hear, the sizzle before she comes and rains down on you.


How could I be anything but her beloved son, How could I ever dream of having a mother that is not her, a home that is not hers. I belong there I belong in her lap and I am to be at home curled up in her laps and listening to her wonderful stories and dream of the wonderful world that it draws in my mind. I belong to her both in this life and the next, I came from her and into her wet soil I must return as ash. In her many rivers must I lay my final rest and in her lap I must lie dead the same way I was born into hers. Forever I will be hers, A malayali.

Friday, 16 August 2013

Mistakes and Regrets


No matter what you wish and how hard you think, there are times you inevitably end up making a mistake. What can e done about that? It just eats you up and consumes you in regret and despair. The whole thing is a much bigger mess if someone else has to pay for your mistakes, when someone else is the bearer of your ineptness. Furthermore it is devastating when they decides to be noble it. Frankly I wouldn't mind being bashed and abused, because I know I made that mistake and I deserve to be shouted at. You can never get to forgive yourselves for the stupidity that you have displayed. You curse yourself for not thinking thoroughly and not making sure that the little details were right.


You do not know how down and lowly I feel now, may be do. Whatever be the case it wouldn't hurt anyone by me making it clear can it? 


Every time I think about this ordeal, I think I have not learned my lessons yet. I did what I did because I thought at that moment that I was saving them from a potentially disastrous decision but all I did was make them do another blunder that the previous one. All my decisions where based on my belief that I had actually learned something something from my own previous bad experiences, but now I know I was wrong and I was wise enough to make those decisions. I might have acted in haste and  might have not thought out the whole plan of action carefully. But the truth is I do stand by my primary decision, the reasons for the action I took was valid but what I did as a result of it and in order to correct it then was actually not the worst of choice. 




Fate or whatever it is called has made me regret those decisions that I was proud of making at the the time I made it. The circumstances changed and all on a sudden the decisions that I took looked almost short sighted, not  just almost, almost completely short sighted. And these decisions cost some of my friends dearly and that is what affected me mostly and disturbed me. I look almost deranged and lost.


I know this all sounds confusing and muddled and illegible and incomprehensible, that is only because I feel like that and my mind in a state of muddiness.  


May be I just have to come clean and own it up, I do not know whether it will absolve me of the responsibility I feel about this whole business. But at this point I feel that writing a couple of cheques would make me feel better whether they accept it or not.


I hope I do not regret this one.
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Saturday, 10 August 2013

To Burn a Man Alive



“If you had been on that jury son, and eleven other boys like you, Tom would be a free man. So far nothing in your life has interfered with your reasoning process. Those are twelve reasonable men in everyday life, Tom’s Jury, but you saw something come between them and reason.”
- To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.


I by accident came upon this piece about the lynching of one Mr. Jesse Washington, a 17 year old boy way back in 1916 in a then little known town called Waco in Texas during the height of racism there. A 1600 strong, so called civilized mob cheered and celebrated the vindication of a boy. Who is to say whether he was guilty or not? They never cared. Their ears must have been where filled with the wax of racial hatred and their minds biased. That was the society then, there, apparently civilized and highly placed. Are we any different today?


We may have come far from burning people alive and conducting witch hunts, at least in principle we have. But deep down our society is the same, flawed and diseased. We may not be impaling people anymore and we definitely are not pushing widows to be burned along with their dead husbands, but that is where the buck stops. We do still engage in some very sinister things, don’t we? We murder our daughters before they are even born and we do that with more ease that the slaughter of a cow. We beat up our wives and abuse them. But these are normal things in our society today not as audacious as the lynching of Jesse Washington.


What we do in our day to day life is in no measure what we are capable of and it does not provide a true picture of the malice that lurks within the conceited society. In order to know what the society is truly capable of we must look what they do at times of great anarchy, when they are no longer a society but a mob, when they are nothing more than a bunch of rapid dogs on the hunt. They rape and they slaughter, they rip apart human life and bodies in the most disgusting manner possible. The discontent and instability that so lie in the depths of men manifest into its worst at such times. It is at such times, when the bonds and bondages enforced by the chains of society breakdown that the society becomes vengeful and disoriented. It is not even imaginable what a society that consists of murderers and rapist at the best times would disintegrate into when they come face to face with the darkness that lurks inside.


What we may now do in the name of justice be only the sinister things of tomorrow, may be generations next will speak of our barbaric ways with as much disgust as we speak of our generations past. Let it be the holocausts in Germany or the Lynching in Waco, the agitated ‘civilized societies’ has in there moment of folly written onto the face of sons and daughters a scar. A scar that for all the time to come will forever remain. May be nothing can be done about, may be that is the way of life, but I believe different. Many a great men have in the past opened our eyes and held it open just long enough to see our folly and prevent it in the time to come. May be at times of great peril will rise great heroes and they will save as times of great despair.


Wednesday, 31 July 2013

I shall lay down my worthless life


On a six pence parchment draw me damned line,
Give me a flag and a staff to hold,
A song to sing and a worthless lie,
Tell me a story and give me a speech,
Give me one reason and I shall ask no more
I shall lay down my worthless life
For every worthless lie you so tell me.


Tuesday, 16 July 2013

The Cardinal Sin



For they have eyes yet seldom see,
For they have ears yet seldom hear,
For the have hearts yet seldom feel,
For they have hands yet seldom act,
For all the cardinal sins upon this grave world,
The supreme sin is but this,

For they have minds they seldom think.