Book Review – Beaten by Bhagath!

Author - S.V. Divvaakar

Publisher – Frog Books

Pages – 193

Price – Rs. 125

Sneak preview from the book –

They went to the same college,

Even stayed in the same room,

One saw his popularity zoom,

The other sank into depths of gloom.

Their books, they had the same grace

They ran together, the same race.

One rose to the sky and became a star;

One crashed and burned, with a lifelong scar…

My View –

We bloggers and writers are a crazy lot – we cherish and adore our writings, almost like mothers adoring their children. Every appreciation gives us a high which spirals our enthusiasm to new heights. Sometimes so high in our dreams, expectations and aspirations, that when we open our eyes, the real world hurts. Welcome to the world of writing!

Beaten by Bhagath was a refreshing change from the boring and predictable stuff floating around these days. Every reader nurtures a desire to write his own story someday. Every writer longs for that one break that changes his fate forever. But is the journey to the top as easy as it seems?

Well, welcome to the world of Mr. BB, an executive in a reputed international consulting firm. A comment by his attractive boss one day introduces him to a talent he had comfortably forgotten – writing. Especially, when the boss tells BB he can write better than Ketan Bhagat, BB’s college friend turned celeb writer, BB’s mind goes googly woosh with dreams of him becoming a famous writer! And so begins BB’s struggle – Skimming through all the reigning bestsellers in the market, then penning down his own story. With his labour of love ready, it seems to BB that battle is half won. Poor soul, few emails later realizes that all is not crisp and clear in the world of sparkling pages decorated with words in ink!

And that’s when the book becomes a real page turner (in BB’s own words!). BB’s struggle at each step – the rejection from Publishers, publicity, readership is a real eye opener for anyone dreaming to see his writings published. A real eye opener to the big world of publishing, where survival is just not about how you write, it’s a lot more about how you promote.

A half fulfilled dream is worse than no dream at all. And BB too falls prey to his passion – to beat his old friend Bhagat, in his maiden attempt. It’s both funny and sad to see the extent to which BB goes, just to give his failing aspirations some life support. His wife though remains supportive throughout and the bubble of her anger bursts only when she figures her hubby has blown up everything to get a failed book living!

BB too realizes his mistake, but only after trying and failing every possible way. Sometimes the extent of damage makes the loss irreparable.

Is he able to get the broken pieces together, is he able to give a fresh life to his dream? Well, then grab your copy now!

The author has maintained a good pace throughout and you can almost imagine each and every incident happening in front of your eyes. Its only towards the last few chapters that you smell a sort of impatience to wind up the book. Plot changing incidents covered in few pages, well that could have been better. But alls well that ends well, and when I flipped the last page over, the book had left me with some learnings about aspirations and our attitude towards them.

Recommended for anybody who writes or aspires to write, for the author has done a great job at taking the readers through the arduous journey a book travels from the author’s mind to the reader’s wow!

About the author 

S.V. Divvaakar, an IIT Delhi alumnous & an international Monitoring and Evaluation specialist also dabbles into music, singing, and blogging. This is his second novel.

The book was received as part of Reviewers Programme on The Tales Pensieve.

Get rocking with MindRocks!

A successful nation is the one that unleashes the power of its youth and channelizes it for development. Youth has the power to make the impossible possible, the spirit to strive for a better tomorrow, the courage to stand up for what is right and the brains to think and innovate.

Recognizing the potential of the Indian youth and giving them a platform to express their opinion, India Today Group organizes Mind Rocks youth summitevery year. Since its inception in 2010, Mind Rocks celebrates the spirit of youth through ideas, music and art. The forum brings together youth and their icons, and when so many great brains get together under one roof, the flow of ideas is simply inspiring! While the icons share their success stories and tips, the youth share ideas bubbling in their mind. There are contests, performances, forums, lots of like minded people – all the ingredients for a perfect youth event!

Last year, Mind Rocks Summit in Delhi saw youth icons like Priyanka Chopra, Akhilesh Yadav, Rahul Kanwal, Mary Kom, Imtiaz Ali and many others who shared the stories of their struggle to success. There were views, Q&A, contests and a rocking performance by Indian Ocean. You can read a snapshot of last year’s event here.

This year too, India Today is all set for a spectacular summit. The recent summit at Kolkata was a huge success with the likes of Chetan Bhagat, Brett Lee, Irrfan Khan and many others share their success tips. You can read the details of the event here.

The summit promises to recreate the same magic in Delhi on September 21, 2013 at Sri Fort Auditorium.

The speakers include icons who have made their mark early in their respective fields –

Virat kohli – Vice Captain, Indian Cricket team

Hard Kaur – British Indian Rapper & Hip Hop singer

Farhan Akhtar – Actor, Producer & Director

Mahi Vij – TV Actor & Model

Jay Bhanushali – TV Actor, Dancer & Anchor

Dr Kiran Bedi – Former IPS Officer & Social Activist

Amish Tripathi – Author

Ajay Bijli – Chairman & MD, PVR Ltd

Gul Panag – Actor, Model

Shraddha Kapoor – Actor

Leander Paes – Tennis Player

Chris Gayle* - Cricketer – West Indies

*Invited

Other Highlights of the event –

·   Interaction with the speakers

·   Live Rock Band Session

·   Digital RFID;

·   Photo Booth;

·    Like-man;

·   Gesture Music Game Kiosk etc. 

·   The ‘Real Youth Icon’ an initiative to recognize and reward the ‘Unsung Heroes’ in our society in association with UNICEF India

·   ‘SingAlong’ - Online KARAOKE Contest and their winners singing Live at the event in association with Singchana 

And that’s not all, the icing on the cake is a live performance by none other than Hard Kaur! Yipppeee! I just love her Hip Hop & it will be a treat to watch her perform live! Read more about the program at the Mind Rocks Summit official webpage at

Food, fun, contests, views, reviews, tips, performances and a lot of engagement – Mind Rocks promises to give youth the best of all! So, what are you waiting for? Registrations are open!

So calling all you future icons of tomorrow, come, hop in, Mind Rocks is sure to get you rocking!

This is a sponsored post for India Today Mind Rocks summit. I am proud to be among the official bloggers for the summit. Keep hopping in to my blog & twitter (@shaivisharma) for more details and live coverage of the event.

*Information courtesy India Today. Programme subject to change at the discretion of India Today Group and other event partners.

A Salaam for the Namaste

“She has snatched my only son”, she often cribbed. She had sent him to the city for a better life. And he had chosen to stay there, marrying the girl of his choice, that too from the opposite religion. Her husband had been killed in Hindu Muslim riots few years ago. “How can I accept a girl from that religion as my Bahu”, she often wondered. 

The son never forgot his mother though. He would write her letters, asking forgiveness for hurting her sentiments, often explaining how the turn of events almost forced him to take that decision. They had studied together in the same college and liked each other a lot. The riots that wiped out her family, his love and concern, the big bad world, that now or never decision that changed their lives forever. He knew the mother would never approve, so theirs was a court marriage.

The mother had read the letter, each word piercing her soul like the dagger that her husband was killed with years ago. She had turned into a stone, deciding never to see his face again. His letters & the money continued to come without fail. The mother had taken up a job as a sewing teacher in the local school and never took a single note out of the monthly envelopes he sent. “He thinks he can make up for the loss by these pieces of paper?” And so she wowed never to reply.

The mother inside missed her son every moment. On Holi, she would remember how he loved the riot of colors, Janmashtmi reminded her of his childhood mischiefs just like Lord Krishna. Every Diwali she silently prayed to Goddess Lakshmi to give her son prosperity, for by now, she was convinced the son would have ceased to be a Hindu and would have broken every rule of the religion by marrying a Muslim girl. He never mentioned it in his letters and she never asked it.

The son had himself become a father now. He had sent a small pic of the baby, freshly born and all red, too pure to understand which religion he belonged to. He looked just like the son, when he was born. The mother kept looking at the picture till tears blurred her vision. The letter also had a ticket and the usual money. The son had made an extremely emotional appeal in the letter. “I know ma you will never forgive me, but what wrong has your grandson done? Is he so unfortunate as to not even see his grandmother once is his lifetime?”

She felt like grabbing the next train and be with him, but the thought of the Muslim daughter in law grabbed her everytime into the endless whirlpool of revenge and despair. She decided to go though, not for the baby but to return the money the son had been sending all these years and she had kept away untouched. She wanted to tell him how he had hurt his dead father’s soul by marrying a girl of the religion of his killers. She wanted to curse the girl for having snatched her only hope in this world.

It was early morning when she reached the city. The Azaan from the Masjid made her decision even stronger. As she reached the lane with numerous houses, she asked the shopkeeper at the tea stall for the address of her son, Gopal Chand. The shopkeeper gave her a long surprised look and asked, “You want to meet Gopal? But he was killed in a road accident six months ago. Poor chap couldn’t even live to see his unborn child. His widow stays in that house” he pointed to the house and resumed his job.

The mother felt a sudden heat behind her ears. She had felt it once when destiny had snatched her husband that unfortunate night. Suddenly, all things became clear to her – the money never stopped, the letters had become more emotional of late, the appeal in the recent letter…SO it is that Muslim girl stepping into the shoes of my son?

With heavy steps, she open the gate of the house. To her surprise, she spotted a lush Tulsi plant in the Balcony. Tears filled up her eyes as she remembered how she had taught the son that Tulsi brings happiness in the house. Her feet suddenly stopped when she saw the son’s widow watering the Tulsi with a Kalash and chanting the gayatri mantra. “So she never changed my son’s religion?” The tears overflowed.

As the girl finished her Pooja, her eyes met the mother and widened in surprise. She walked up to the mother, touched her feet and said “Namaste ma”. The mother, unable to bear the guilt and sorrow, hugged her tight and said “Salaam beti”

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

For the Love of Art

It’s good to be a supportive spouse most of the times. Just that sometimes your overenthusiastic efforts bounce back, leaving you with no option. Well, something of this sort happened to me recently.

From Salsa to French lessons to MBA and what not, Mr. Hubby has been at his encouraging best. This time I thought of a role reversal. I had often seen him appreciate good art and the hunger to paint and draw in his eyes. Often, I asked him to resume what he left behind in school, but hubbies, you know, have a mind of their own. An year ago, I got him Canvass, paints and other tools to get going. Many art exhibitions added fuel to the fire. We even did some paintings together on our Lansdowne holiday (sorry haven’t mentioned it on my Lansdowne post). All my efforts finally paid off when few days ago, Mr. Hubby walked up to me and said “We are joining painting classes. I have enrolled and the classes begin this weekend!”

Wow! Mission successful! But hey, wait…rewind…what did he say, “WE are joining”…when did I become a part of this?

Me, from the moment I can remember, had been terrible with anything and everything remotely related to art. Drawing was the most dreaded period in school. While all kids were busy fine tuning the anatomy of the human structures, I was still struggling with getting the left eye symmetrical to the right eye on the sheet that often turned black or even tore by frequent use of eraser!

My moment did come once though in the 4^th standard, when the teacher was surprised to see my perfect drawing. The drawing is still afresh in my memory – a birthday party, huge table, ballons, birthday cake and excited kids eager to get their piece of cake. Somehow I had even got the eyes symmetrical this time. So when the teacher appreciated, I was elated! The teacher asked me to fill up the colors. I attempted my creative best, and loved every bit of the painting when it was done. Wish there were Camera phones back then. But then, a child is the apple of his mother’s eyes, irrespective of how s/he looks.

The elated feeling came down with a thud when the teacher gave a look and shouted her lungs, “What have you done? The whole painting is spoiled. Since when did tables become purple in colour?” Her shout was loud enough for the whole class to hear and I could feel the heat behind my ears in the silent room. Sheepishly, I took my drawing and went back to my seat, ignoring the giggles on the back bench.

And now, when I look at modern art and houses with red walls and so many odd combinations done at the pretext of creativity, I wonder, if a wall can be blue, why couldn't a table be Purple back then?

That was it. I called it a day and parted ways with drawing; never ever told about that class incident to anyone. My parents tried a lot to revive the interest – taking me to art competitions, getting colors, books etc. But nothing much happened apart from a few participation certificates. I did manage the drawing part very well later in project work and zoology practical files. But as far as drawing and painting was concerned, it was over for me.

So, when Mr. Hubby gave me the shock of my life that day, I just kept gazing at him. No amount of pleading helped. Mr. Hubby of course knows about the school incident and felt the only way to resume what I had left then was to give it one more shot. Oh God, what goes around, comes around! I was cornered.

Like a dutiful wife, I did surrender, well more because he had already paid the money for me without informing me. By now, he has learnt enough emotional drama from me so insisted he would only go if I accompanied him. In short, I was left with no other option!

We did go for the art class.  But to know whether I rocked or shocked, you will have to wait, coz it deserves a separate post. Right now, am almost late for work and I obviously can’t tell boss I got late coz I was finishing my blog post!

So, part –II in the evening. Stay tuned!

Smelly to smiley

There is something with smells and memories. One comes and the other trails behind till one closes the eyes to relive those sweet sour memories. Memories that travel faster than light, the spectacular time machine we love to surrender to the moment that familiar smell hits our Olfactory! 

Naughtiest smells

The naughtiest of them all is the fragrance of soil after the first rain. Till date it reminds me of the pleasure kids get by eating soil and I can’t help but close my eyes in delight as my surprised Mr. Hubby looks on.

Intoxicating smells…oops fragrances

The fragrance of delicacies being prepared by mom in the kitchen! The aroma of that special Basmati could be relished metres away from the house – a sign for us to come home. It would also be an invitation for the unwanted neighbourhood aunty who would be burning with jealousy but couldn’t resist asking mom where she got the rice from. 

As I write this, several fragrances & smells from the kitchen fill up my memory – the smell of boiled spinach, a sign that the next meal would be torturous. The fragrance of kheer & halwa that would make me go wild and shower mom with buttering for my extra bowl! The smell of burnt boiled milk – a sign of my carelessness as mom would often ask me to monitor boiling milk, and burnt milk meant scolding and lecture. The fragrance of delicacies that mom would prepare on festivals – I would go at the pretext of helping mom in the kitchen and enjoy the concoction of various food smells that would invite me for a preview of the preparations! Sometimes, an overcrowded dustbin would play the spoilsport between me and my aromas. Didn’t have the bad odour eliminating Ambi Pur back then. Else my smelly hours in the kitchen with ma would have become so super smiley. 

Irritating smell

Kitchen was bang opposite my room but Bathroom too made its presence felt…specially if some guest with not so good civic sense and a bad stomach dropped in. Locking the bathroom door or sometimes spraying my expensive deo was the only option. Wish we had AmbiPur back then.

Fragrance of love

Reminds me of the first gift from Mr. Hubby…Mediterranean by Elizabeth Arden…I had jokingly applied a generous spray and the whole room smelled awesome…

Fragrance Divine

Has to be of fresh flowers…I have always been crazy about flowers. Mom pampered me with a surprise shower of bouquets in the house on my Birthday mornings. Mom in law too gave me a floral welcome as my room was done up in beautiful white motiya, mogra and rose flowers. There may be best of fragrances in the world, but the fragrance of motiya, mogra and rose reminds me of our first night…

Sinful Smell

The smell of melted chocolate slithered around my fingers. On our first Valentine’s Day, Mr. Hubby got a nice dark chocolate. But the enthusiasm to chit chat and smile and shy ignored the poor chocolate. So by the time I opened the pack, the chocolate was all melted and creamy, but it was one sinful experience.

Fighter Smells

The smell of burnt food…the cause of my fight with Mr. Hubby that day…a dish royally ignored to burn. Blame game of “you could have monitored” and “You are careless” till mom in law managed to cease fire. Mr. Hubby adores cleanliness and fragrances. Perhaps Ambi Pur at that time could have turned our kitchen smelly to smiley…

Shameless smell

The smell from our maid servant who wouldn’t bath! On festivals, mom had to request her to take a shower else not enter the kitchen and she would shamelessly go for the latter option!

Smell of friendship…

The smell from old yellow pages of books….the best friends…one whiff and I relive the numerous nights spent and the countless cups of coffee gulped…all for the bond of a lifetime!

Smell so innocent

The smell of babies! Freshly bathed and powdered, or otherwise, babies have a characteristic sweet smell which is so pure, just like their hearts! Reminds me of the sweet smell from my nephew as didi gave him a shower and got him ready for his evening ride to the park with me, the mausi!

Fragrance of devotion

The fragrance of incense from the Puja room. The fragrance after the morning puja that would communicate the blessing from the almighty; the fragrance after the evening arti which reassured that all is well!

No matter how much smelly the past

Nothing forever lasts

A spray of optimism, love and style

Will  even change the smell to smile!

This post is written for the Smelly to smiley contest by Ambipur (visit their Facebook page here) & Indiblogger. AmbiPur offers a range of air fresheners by our old and trusted P&G. With its bad odour eliminating quality, AmbiPur is surely gonna turn those smells to smiles!

Janmashtmi – then and now

Beautifully decked up Gopis (aka galz of the city), gleaming lights spread across temples, the aroma of delicacies being prepared in the kitchen, the festivity in the air, and enjoying it all from his jhoola, our cuties pie Laddoo Gopala, with a flute in his hand and a cherubic smile on his face…

Happy Janmashtmi!

Being born and brought up in Delhi, Janmashtmi has always been a big affair for me. I have lost track of the time since when have I been fasting every Janmashtmi. As a kid, my house was near the famous Birla Mandir of Delhi. Every Janmashtmi, I used to be up and ready in my new clothes, pestering papa to take me to temple. At that age, more than the bhajans and puja, I used to look forward to the lovely Jhoolas right outside the temple. Birla Mandir used to have some amazing moving Jhankis, one of their kind at that time. Many TV channels and thousands of devotees used to flock the temple garden to catch a glimpse.

 Post examining each Jhanki & enjoying the yummy Prasad came the best part – the Jhoolas and the fair outside the temple! With a twinkle in my eyes I would rush to each jhoola. I was super greedy about the Giant wheel and loved the butterfly in the stomach feel whenever the jhoola came down at a great speed. Every circle meant waiving to Papa, who would patiently wait downstairs, lovingly watching his bundle of joy enjoying the ride! I had to be forced to return home where mom would be busy preparing delicious food!

We shifted to the new house & the joy of jhoolas and temple jhankis was replaced by our very own jhanki! Me and my friends would spend the whole day creating jhanki out of household stuff. Blue surf detergent used to create river, toys to create villagers…the jhanki would be complete with a small boy & girl dressed as Radha and Krishna. As neighbourhood aunties flocked to our jhankis & appreciated our creativity, we would swell up with pride at our labour of love! Some generous aunty would sponsor the Prasad which was distributed after the midnight pooja.

Those were the days…

And now…amidst the hustle bustle of the city swelling with new inhabitants everyday, the charm of Janmashtmi has reduced to watching live coverage from temples on TV. Grandmother’s bhajans have been replaced by “Radha on the dance floor”. But I’m glad the charm of the festival remains, albeit with a modern twist (oops remix) to it!

Once or twice, we tried going to the good old Birla Mandir & Iskcon temple, but the swarm of people overcrowding the temple premises left me feeling claustrophobic. The delicious preparations are still made, just that they are now prepared by me and my mom in law. With frequent security threats, the common man now fears to venture out in crowded places on such days. Even the local Gopis feel unsafe with many a Kansas hovering around the city!

As I look at Lord Krishna enjoying his maakhan mishri , I wonder and say “Is this your Gokul?” where the Kansas have outnumbered the Krishnas

The Gopi inside sings a silent song –

Kansa bharey chaaron or (Kansas hovering around everywhere),

Kare humein pareshan, machayein shor (Troubling us),

Chalao Sudarshan bachao humein, lao chain chaaron or (Use ur Sudarshan wheel and save us),

Coz this Gopi wants a safe city once more!

Chennai Express - Get on the train baby, but leave behind your brain baby!

I usually got for movies when I have heard good enough about them – and by good enough, I mean good story/power packed performance/soul stirring music/superior screenplay etc etc. So when I had to justify Mr. Hubby why I suddenly wanted to watch Chennai Express, a movie I was all frowns for since the promos began, it was a tough one. I had ignored all the hype and publicity, however, when every morning, the Radio Jockeys told of new records being broken, I wondered what it was that was doing so well for the movie. So, while majority of the crowd outside the theatre jostled to get their “Madras Café” tickets this Saturday, I quietly asked the staff at the ticket window for my Chennai Express ticket.

Must appreciate SRK for playing his age…has tried everything, his lucky name Rahul, heavy duty promotion, even Yo yo Honey Singh  to get the movie on with the aam junta. The middle aged grandson of a famous Mithai shop sets out on a journey from Mumbai to immerse his grandfather’s ashes in Rameshwaram…just one twist…this Rameshwaram is actually Goa. One lie leads to the other and to keep his grandmother’s faith he even boards the Chennai Express (although he plans to get down at the next station and join his childhood buddies on an all guy trip to Goa!). In comes Meenalochini (Deepika Padukone), with her beautiful South Indian accent and equally dangerous Don connection and  Rahul’s life changes forever. The chain of events sees him forced to accompany Meena and her bhai log to her village.

What happens next is a series of humorous moments, songs, and some emotional scenes to get the story going. The Sri Lanka boat scene and the marriage ritual scene reminded me of essays we had to write in exams – there used to be a minimum and a maximum word limit. Perhaps the Director too had to display his "Bhakwaas" ideas for full 141 minutes. So while there were some good scenes, there was no shortage of redundant scenes the director filled up all across by bribing the editor.

Boy meets girl, gets trapped in her don father’s territory because of her one lie, runs away, comes back, runs away again, this time with the girl…some age old senti moments, one song here and there…a climax with some action…typical SRK emotional drama with a frequent “Chennnaiiiiiii..Chennai Express as if to remind u of the movie name to cover up the weak grip of the story….u feel motivated? Well, I don’t.

If I write more about the story, there won’t be any motivation left for you to watch the movie. So lemme jump on to the good part…yes there was a good part to the movie as well. And that was Deepika. She has been a lucky mascot for SRK (Om Shanti Om, Billu). This time, the leggy lass outshone the king khan with her full clad girl next door look and a very cute South Indian accent. It was a treat to watch her utter dialogues in the typical accent and sing across the messages to an amused SRK in Bollywood parodies.

Music is good, atleast worth donning the phone playlist till some new blockbuster comes in.

I know most of u, like me would have already watched the movie, to see what the hype is all about, or worse still, due to shortage of good releases recently. But for those who haven’t seen yet, I suggest u can wait and catch the movie when TV channels decide to purchase the rights.

So, get on the train baby, but leave behind your brain baby!

Enjoy the movie while your mind relaxes back home!

And no prizes for guessing my favorite scene from the movie…

“Kahan se laye tum aiseee Bhakwaas dictionary?” Mr. Hubby and I have been forcefully garnishing our sentences with the customery “Bhakwaas”..:)

My rating: 2/5

My “Chak De” Moment!

Happy Independence Day to all my readers! Although Independence Day comes once a year, as an independent woman with a mind of my own, I feel one should celebrate one’s independence every day – by exercising the freedom to feel, think and express!

As a kid, Independence Day meant a lot to me – the choir performance, rehearsals for the functions, march past, tricolour flowing with pride amidst the salute of rose petals! Wow! I used to look up to the chief guests at our school function every year and wonder they are so lucky to hoist the flag!

As they say, life throws the unexpected when you expect the least. Two months into our marriage, Mr. Hubby & I decided to make full use of the long weekend Independence Day was offering. So, with our friends, we set forth to explore the beautiful locales of Almora & Ranikhet. I still remember having reached the KMVN guesthouse late in the evening before the I-Day & crashing in bed just after dinner. Our room faced the front lawn of the guesthouse.

On the morning of Independence Day, I woke up to spot the beautiful tricolour wrapped from my room window. Usually I give the Independence Day functions a miss. But somehow that day, the hills around, innocent faces of the locals gathered and the wrapped tricolour waiting to unfold fragrance of freedom with the rose petals filled me up with a child like excitement. And the patriotic me woke Mr. Hubby & friends. “Hey, they have organized a flag hoisting here! U will also get laddooos! Let’s rush!” I screamed as a sleepy and surprised Mr. Hubby took baby steps to the lawn, rubbing his eyes.

Everything was set, the tricolour, patriotic songs, laddoos. Just that there was one problem – there was no chief guest. The manager of the guest house along with another official were doing the never ending “pehle aap, pehle aap”. Probably they desired some third person to come and invite one of them to do the honours. Third person did intervene, only to make matters worse for them!

That third person was me - God knows what enthusiasm got me that moment – I walked up to them and said “Can I hoist our tricolour?” They first looked at me in shock, for, clad in a long skirt & jacket, I looked far from a chief guest. But I did wear the right smile and the right tone. They must have been annoyed, for I was about to snatch their chief guest moment. But still, they were really sweet enough to say “Sure, let’s change things by getting the flag hoisted by a lady this year!” I was all smiles & couldn’t believe this had happened to me!

A shocked Mr. Hubby rushed to grab the camera as he didn’t want to miss even a single moment of his wife’s VIP moment!

As I pulled the string and the tricolour unfolded its beauty, I promised the tricolour that no matter what happens around me, I will never lose faith in my nation. I may not express my patriotism formally but I will definitely keep the flame alive in my heart – by doing my bit to better things around me.

Dreams do come true. No matter how much we crib about the sorry state of things, if we dream of a better nation, someday it will come true, we just have to make the first move….Just like my dream of hoisting the flag came true! My Chak De Moment!

Jai Hind!

And to those of you who still doubt my story, here’s a proof of me giving a tom n jerry smile and hoisting the tricolour!

Book review: Love is a Vodka

Author – Amit Shankar

Publisher – Vitasta

Pages -203

Price – Rs. 195 (you can also grab it from Flipkart.com)

That's my copy

Sneak preview from the cover -

Being a love child, Moon is anything but a conventional teen. With a leading TV news anchor as her mother, an aspiring entrepreneur as her boyfriend, the word LOVE baffles her. The whole idea of having one partner and love being eternal intrigues her. Life turns upside down when she falls for her mother’s boyfriend. Destiny further complicates things by blessing her with a mega modelling assignment and turning her famous overnight. A war between her head and heart exposes her to various hues of love. Will she decipher the true meaning of love?

My review –

When Blogadda sent me this book as part of their review programme, I was kind of doubtful whether I would be able to finish the book on time, since we had a hectic schedule planned for the weekend. But a rainy Sunday afternoon with hot Cappucino ensured I finished the book in flat 4 hours! Somewhere inside, we galz like the mushy fiction and this book does full justice to that – perfect for the “me” time on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

After flipping through the few pages, the surprised me was forced a detour back to the cover. I wanted to ensure if the author’s name I had read on the book was indeed a male one. Coz with every flipped page, I felt in conversation with a 19 year old gal. I am still amazed how he managed to do it, but a big hand to him for such a perfect portrayal of the girlie emotions - Right from that first attention seeking glance to the fun of being approached, the irritation of being approached too much to the fun of being pampered like a princess. You can almost visualize frame by frame as you read on.

Moon, the protagonist is a true epitome of teenage – where impulse comes faster than presence of mind and the heart manipulates mind to serve its own selfish interests. While on one hand one can’t help but admire the protagonist for her bindaas and bold nature, a lot of sympathy flows too, for the loneliness amidst the camera flashes, the insecurity amidst a comfortable life, dilemma between true love or the lack of it. The girl who is bold enough to make the daring moves in her relationships is also a total softie inside who keeps pushing herself to keep the relationship going until there is no pulse left. She doesn’t hesitate on getting her hands on her mom’s boyfriend, but at the same time values commitment and her own set of rules in love. She knows how to fall, get up, wipe off that pain and move on, something she has inherited from her super successful single mother. There are moments of Dilemma, between the ethical and unethical and every time self induced logic comes to her rescue, albeit with time, the heart casts a spell on logic and its role reduced to merely justifying the impulsive ways of the heart. But that’s adolescence and we all have turned things around to suit ourself sometime in life, haven’t we?

However, while the taking you through the roller coaster of adrenaline, oestrogen and lot of emotional and impulsive moments, the author doesn’t get swayed in the fancies and remembers well in time to convey the right message to readers. The mood swings of Moon along with the apt narration (with sufficient dozes of the “F” word) keep the reader well connected with his/her own teenage years and that’s where the author scores brownie points. Although predictable at some points, it is a fun read, just like “one time watch” movies. Short and sweet.

The author –With writing that’s thought provoking, the author Amit Shankar already has two books to his credit – Flight of the Hilsa and Chapter 11.  Recently discovered that he also blogs here.

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How I learnt the value of honesty & compassion…

Childhood is that Golden stage when our characters are formed. Like clay are delicate the minds of the little ones. How you shape them is what you get out of them. So a good deal of responsibility lies on parents to teach them how to do right.

Having born and brought up in a typical middle class family, I was blessed to have parents who introduced me to various hues of life, yet kept me grounded in an excellent manner.  In the limited means they taught me to live unlimited moments of happiness.

Youngest of the herd, I was a typical pampered, naughty kid. If there was one thing that could scare me, it was my mother’s angry eyes, coz that meant a hamper full of troubles – she wouldn’t talk to me, make me confess my mistake and find my own way out. No matter how much I hated it back then, it has helped me in the long way. Today when mom is no more, I still know what she would have thought it right and what wrong…

Mom was a regular with morning walks, and I would often accompany her to the nearby park. Her passion for gardening was as strong as my passion now for blogging. She would tell me about the various plants and flowers that we saw and many others that she had seen over the years.

I still remember the festival of Diwali when I was eight. The preparations for the Puja were on, when mom asked me to get flowers from our garden for the Puja. Like mom, I was in love with my garden. It was my mom’s labour of love and my pride as I would often bring my friends and show them the beautiful flowers mom had grown. I used to strictly follow mom’s instructions of not plucking flowers. We had recently been blessed with roses with fragrance that was so divine. So that evening when mom asked me to pluck the roses for the Puja, I got kind of sentimental, since I didn’t want to let go of my garden’s beauty. So, I had a plan in my mind. Two houses away lived Sneha, gal who I was at loggerheads with, since she would always dominate the gang in all the games we played. She was a Bi..g child and had hit me too on few occasions. So the tiny but clever me decided to even it out with her.

Sneha’s family was busy inside with the Puja preparations. Their garden, a tad smaller than us, boasted of some amazing cactus plants. But there was just one rose which Sneha was very proud of. So instead of plucking the rose from my garden, I tiptoed into their garden and plucked the only rose - a revenge well taken.

Like a warrior back from a war won, I handed over the flower to mom. However, she was quick to realize it wasn’t from our garden since the characteristic dark maroon color and the strong fragrance of our flowers was missing. The more I tried to lie, the more I got caught in my own web. In tears, I finally confessed my crime.

“An eye for an eye, just makes the world blind beta”, was all she said. As I told her about my issues with Sneha, mom said “would you like it if someone stole flowers from our garden, especially when we have just one left? Love, my dear wins wars that best of weapons can’t”. So, mom asked me to quickly pluck some flowers, go to Sneha’s house & give it to her mom. My face was red with fear. Here was I dancing around with my revenge taken and here was mom ready to make me feel embarrassed in front of my enemy. But an order was an order. So, with a sheepish look, I went to Sneha’s house with the flowers and rang the bell in hesitation.

As Sneha’s mom opened the door, I offered the flowers “Here are some flowers aunty, u wil need them for the Puja”, I said. “Oh thanks Beta, by the way we too just had a rose in our….”, her eyes went to the rose plant in her garden & were left wide open at the sight of the missing flower.

Now here was my moment of truth. “I am sorry aunty, I plucked the only rose from your garden. Sneha had been troubling me for a while and I found this an easy way to get back at her. But my mom has made me realize my mistake Aunty. Compassion is the best key to win over your enemies, not revenge. Please don’t say it to Sneha. I will be embarrassed.”…I was running out of breath with nervousness and my face turned red when Sneha appeared from behind her mother.

But all mothers are made of 100% love and compassion, so Sneha’s mom, instead of scolding me, took me inside and listened to my issues. She then made her daughter apologize to me & told her “see how her mom has taught her the right message. Learn to own up your mistakes like her. ” Sneha too was feeling guilty by now. “Friends” she said and offered me her hand. I smiled and we became being the best of friends.

That day, by doing what is right I learnt one of the biggest lessons of my life…honesty pays in the long run and compassion is the best weapon to win over your enemies. Thanks mom, for teaching me to do what is right…

I am sharing my Do RIght Stories at BlogAdda.com in association with Tata Capital.