Wandering Thoughts

The Hunger Games: Simply Unputdownable!

2012-03-20T23:29:00.000+05:30

I know it comes pretty late(Suzanne Collins wrote the first one in 2008) & many of you would have already read the trilogy, but I write this right after finishing the novel & trust me, I haven’t been this excited after reading a book since Std7 when I’d read Harry Potter & The Philosopher’s Stone. Like I’d read about HP in a book review, I came across the trailer for THG on Facebook(finally Facebook amounted to something good). And as is the case for me I always prefer a book to a movie so I grabbed the book ASAP & sat down…& didn’t get up till the last page.

Enough of me blabbering, now about the book. It is as Wikipedia defines –a young adult novel. Before you start thinking Twilight & stuff, first this isn’t a fantasy tale nor is it littered with stupid romantic scenes (at least not yet, I’ve just read the first book). This is more like Terranova coupled with a bit of I dunno action-filled movie sequences? I know I sound jumbled up but it’s hard to define what’s there in this book unless you gain the first hand experience of pulse quickening & jaw dropping moments. The world of Panem is one of oppression where even birds maybe spies, where each & every step of the poor citizens of each of the 12 Districts is carefully monitored by the powerful people at the Capitol. The only ones to gain any wealth & safety is the winner of the Hunger Games.

There is Katniss Everdeen the gritty heroine of our story who simply wowed me with her courage & determination and an unwavering attitude when surrounded by difficult choices. Think Bella of Twilight, now keep her courage & throw away her foolhardy lovesickness & you get Katniss. Katniss throws herself into the arena for the games only to protect her little sister but then Prim’s no longer the only reason she wants to stay alive. Gale her almost best friend if you can consider anyone a best friend in Panem that is, is her hunting partner & perhaps more. Though not with her, Gale is always on her mind at times of distress. Peeta is the guy who gave her hope when she had lost it all & yet she must kill him to win. Here winning means killing off all your opponents even the ones belonging to the same District as yours. Yes there may be a love triangle but the first book is thankfully all about the Hunger Games, something like Death Race only much deadlier & gross.

The book is a few 300+ pages & yet really unputdownable! I’m giving this book a full 5 on 5 & even if you don’t trust me read the book once to verify! Catching Fire & Mockinjay are the other titles that I shall hopefully complete soon. Oh & I wish they don’t mess up the movie which releases in India on 23^rd this month. Am very eager to see my girl on fire….

I Am Not a Blogger

2012-02-22T00:31:00.000+05:30

If you are a blogger never reveal that to people around you. NEVER…EVER... unless, of course if someone realized your worth & asked you for an interview & guaranteed to place your carefully photo-shopped picture on the cover page of their magazine. Anything less than that you MUST pretend you cannot even frame a sentence & had no idea that gerund is not the name of some white guy.

I say never even reveal that you know English. “I didn’t studied English at all na, I always slept in back bench man…” Bloggers or writers & would-be authors need to keep low profile until famous. Especially when you are in school/college & are as close to publishing your own novel as India is to being corruption free. Here’s what will happen to you unless:

· Class Postman:

You shall for all occasions & purposes, accidents & mishaps be deemed as the official postman. Remember the old movies when Lakshmi received a letter from her husband working in the durr sheher? The postman so kindly drafted the reply for her. At least the government paid him for it. You however dear blogger, shall be made to write (without any monetary or other redemption) countless applications for all purposes legal/illegal until you send your BF/GF SMS which begins with SUB: Request for a date on 25-26^th of Feb 2012.

· Speech-cum-script writer:

From college foundation day to teacher’s day to fresher’s party, the script/speech writer can be easily spotted in the auditorium holding their heads in their hands, nibbling a pen & staring vacantly into the space oblivious of the enthusiastic chaos around them. While the rest of the world is busy enacting the play, these poor souls can be seen thinking of the right title/dialogue which pleases the director, the actors & the faculty. Do not for once think that you can unleash your creative genius & mesmerize the audience…hello? Who told you, you can play Shakespeare?

· Editor:

This is rather an interesting position. Most of you writers dream of becoming the college magazine editor. You dream of leafing through pages of raw talent & moulding them into pieces of art with your editing. But what you dream of isn’t what you get. Be prepared dear editor to read through complex pieces of imagination where the only comprehensible part is the fact that it’s written in English. If you are lucky you will be able to get the gist of the author’s idea in bits & pieces…if not you shall spend half the night in trying to comprehend it & the later half correcting what you comprehended. It’s better if you develop a sense of humour to laugh through the portions where grammar bids goodbye & SMS lingo tkes ovr.

As a duty towards my brethren (or sistren if you prefer) I decided to share these woes that are the outcome of revealing your secret identity to the heartless cruel world which shall then only use you for their selfish purpose.

So my friend, if you value your peace of mind & sanity, never reveal you are a blogger!

OR This Shall Be Thy Fate!

The Reluctant Detective

2012-02-18T13:06:00.001+05:30

If you thought this is a murder mystery the likes of “who dunnit” that keep you guessing till the end…you are wrong. To be fair to the author Kiran Manral, you are partly wrong. All that the murder aroused in me was a mild curiosity, as I was busy smiling at the antics of the protagonist Kanan Mehra aka Kay for her friends. She lives in a world of her own & quite literally vanishes into it in the midst of other uninteresting happenings. She can safely be regarded as the brand ambassador of high societal traits & a self-proclaimed fashion diva.

The story unfolds when Kay is busy getting herself all dolled up for an evening in the company of movie stars & the like. At 35 she now has to work hard at getting the right glamorous look for any ‘a do’ as they say. With triple-support bra & a wardrobe full of basically useless clothes she is having a tough time getting ready. And that’s when the doorbell rings heralding the arrival of the police looking for Kanan Mehra. There has been a murder & the last person to have seen the victim hale & hearty is Kay. And so the interrogation begins with Kay cowering behind her husband & taking offence at the fact that she isn’t even remotely suspected of murder.

They finally manage to reach the party where a movie star looks at Kay giving her the goose bumps & shivers down her spine. She gets more of them shivers as she lands up on the road barfing when their car comes across a corpse! There’s been another murder in the vicinity of their area & they are the ones to report it. So of course Kay is now high in demand giving a blow by blow account of how she came across the corpse & what the corpse looked like etc. While she enjoys this limelight her nights now are plagued by the ghost of the first victim. Going by popular TV drama & movies’ logic she decides something is fishy & gets her no-nonsense detective friend Runa into this case. The duo poke around & do a bit of detective work, Runa being unpaid & hence not very interested while Kay being too timid & reluctant already. The rest of the book is all about how the murder is solved finally & everyone lives happily ever after.

Looking at the characters, the dormant yet ever present person is Kay’s husband who isn’t even given a name! He’s just there helping out his scared wife, poking & taunting her as & when the situation demands. Ekta Kapoor would have loved to have him on her serials. Runa is a woman alright, a strong powerful don’t-mess-with-me kinda lady who doesn’t give a damn to any man. Reading her description I was reminded of one of my primary school teachers who could make the concrete walls shiver. Remember your maths teacher who never smiles? Yeah .. that kind of woman.

Kay’s 5 yr old son is a little delight with his innocent responses that children are so well-know for. Her maid & cook are the regular gossip-monger kinds-a normal average household it is. Kay herself is the kind of lady you come across everyday at malls. Sunglasses propped above their heads, branded western wear & matching accessories, trying hard to deny the fact that they have crossed 30. She may be conceited but she is such a delight to know. Who else would dismantle a corpse’s wear & try to decode his fashion sense? Who else can be so easily ridiculous & yet charming as Kanan Mehra?!

The Reluctant Detective is a nice read-one that you can take with you on your travels or pick up when bored. From the literature perspective the story carries little strength & the plot seems a bit lost out. I wasn’t satisfied with the ending or maybe I was expecting a teeny-weeny bit of actual mystery in there. However if you’re looking for something light, The Reluctant Detective would be a great choice with its laugh-aloud moments of hilarity & not too complicated plot.

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

From Chandni Chowk to Sachin??

2012-01-05T10:24:00.000+05:30

Remember Bombay & Madras? Of course you do. Good old Bangalore & Pondicherry? Remember Orissa? (Chances are you won’t but still I had to ask.) Now, remember West Bengal? Ah yes yes. Now in the same context remember Chandni Chowk?

Renaming cities, towns & states has become the favourite pastime of our nation. Now just changing the name to something more regional is okay. I can take Odisha & even Poschim Bongo (I can’t promise a straight face while saying it aloud though). I can even cajole my tongue to pronounce Bengaluru & Puducherry and with much practise I shall be able to say it fluently. But naming Chandni Chowk as SachinTendulkar Chowk? Marna hai kya?

Chandni Chowk

Imagine K3G had been made after the renaming, would Kajol-SRK dialogues carry the same lovey-dovey feeling with Sachin Tendulkar Chowk thrown in? What would that Akshay Kumar movie be named? Sachin Tendulkar Chowk to China?

Now look am not anti-Sachin or anything. I can patiently wait for the man to get his 100 too. Trying to give him a Bharat Ratna is one thing & naming the famous Chowk after him is preposterous (ah finally a chance to use that word)! It gives me an uncanny feeling that India is walking backwards. Remember how they used to name roads & lanes after famous British colonels? The scarier the man, the more assured was the christening of a road after him. First they stuck with the caste thingy even after 60+ years of independence (last heard Lokpal bill too allowed reservations) & now they have started naming places after cricket players.

Cricket is a game (see I didn’t use the word just or bring up the ongoing test match where the Aussies are making mince-meat of us) & Sachin is a star player of the Indian team. Yes you are a huge…HUGE fan of him. Yes I see what you meant to do-encourage the good man & tell him that all is not lost & he still is a favourite of all Indians. So go send a petition to name a stadium or a trophy after him if you will. But please leave the Chowk alone people! As if defacing historical monuments wasn’t enough they are now hell-bent on renaming a world heritage site-preposterous I tell you. I bet many won’t even know why it’s called Chandni Chowk in the first place! (I didn’t know either...hail Wikipedia :P )

Thank God for people with sense like Justice Katju!

P.S: Incidentally I came across this interesting fact: Chandni Chowk was originally called Shahjanabad after the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan who’d established it.

My 2011: The Year That Was

2011-12-31T22:28:00.000+05:30

The last few hours of 2011 remain & I don’t have anything better to do. So I decided its time I wrote down something sensible as the last post of 2011. Plus I owed it to my blog-I’d managed to forget it’s birthday again(24^th Dec).

“The year that was…2011”- It sounds like an essay given as winter holidays homework to me; anyway my 2011 was fun. I remember starting it with white rum & a crappy movie(some Akshay Kumar movie whose name I now don’t care to remember). The white rum met its fate down the flush as did the movie. It was a bleak start but things turned out better thereafter. I have made a list of hallmarks here & am too lazy to categorize them as achievements/failures. Here goes:

· Getting into the finals of a state-level IT quiz & not winning it.
· Managing to pass 1^st year of MCA without back paper but no 9 point grade & hence no parental satisfaction.
· Getting cast as the lead actress in college play but getting cold feet & opting to play the role of nameless BFF.
· Cleared my 3^rd year with my whacko BF with minimum no. of mishaps.
· Reunited with long lost so-called BFF after 10yrs but he still refuses to travel a few miles to meet me.
· Started my own content writing team whose members keep disappearing.
· Started an online magazine whose writers keep disappearing.
· Watched Dravid retire from ODIs.
· Watched Sachin not make his 100 on countless occasions.
· Watched how India went crazy about Kolaveri Di.
· Vacation attempts: 3 Vacation failures: 3
· Traveled alone on a bus & nearly escaped being drugged.
· Had a lizard fall on my head.
· Won an HTC Wildfire S in an Indiblogger contest.

That’s my year that was. A lot of famous people died-Dennis Ritchie (yes, for me he comes before Jobs), Steve Jobs (the one real daddy of Siri), Kim Jong Il (don’t know much about him except that he was a really weird dictator of North Korea) & some very ordinary yet sad deaths like that of my 2 month old kitten happened. Hollywood made some great movies like MI4 & SRK continued to belittle our minds with Ra.One & Don2. The Jan Lokpal kept hogging the limelight & the morning newspaper with no conclusion whatsoever. Orkut finally died & made way for Google Plus, while Twitter & Facebook continued the game of ‘who-can-copy-the-more-features-of-the-other’.

Now as the leap year 2012 arrives I sincerely wish to see less no. of people dying & Doomsday never happening. I wish Anna Hazare would stop fasting & MPs start behaving as…well MPs. I wish petrol prices not act as sine waves & recession should recede into oblivion. I wish a lot of good things happen in 2012 & lastly I wish that I stick to my blogs all through like the past 2 years & hope you people keep reading my Wandering Thoughts!

Wishing all my readers a very happy 2012!

P.S: On the completion of 2 years of WT I extend my special thanks to fellow bloggers-Rohit, Suraj, Sadiya, Nethra, Sanks, Durgesh, Cloud 9, Samadrita, Purba ma’am, Shail ma'am, Prateek, Tanay and my friends Anish, Sagar, Gautam, Biswa, Biplab for encouraging me & actually reading what I write and feeding my blog with their valuable comments!

The Weirdest Day of My Life!

2011-11-26T14:58:00.000+05:30

My life is full of disastrous days yes, days when I have woken up on the wrong side of bed & landed almost in front of a car 2 hours later or had the strap of a very vital clothing come off…I could go on but I’m digressing from the topic. Yesterday however was a weird day.. it was as if the universe couldn’t decide to screw with me or make me happy! And mind you this is during my exam-week, when any frivolous mischief of Fate would have me wind up insane.

So it was the ADA(analysis & design of algorithms) paper-(interestingly the word ada roughly implies ‘style’ in Hindi & ‘lazing around’ in my mother tongue Odia, what a misnomer I say). I was busy all morning cursing the guy who thought-“ooh just the algorithms aren’t fun enough lets actually measure how complex they are!” I landed at the empty exam hall 15min before time having given up doing the last-minute look-up in the corridors since Std.12^th… I found those topics never appeared in the questions but rather messed up my already overflowing memory bank. I was lucky… my seat was right near the AC, so the effort I took in wearing the bulky black windcheater wasn’t in waste after all! Now I know its winter but try sitting in a classroom of 22yr old frantic people sweating & sometimes letting their nervousness escape via other openings.

I sat down…someone turned the AC on…then a thapak sound & a dead lizard on my head. It took me maybe 3 secs to jump off & scream at the poor invigilator in chaste Odia-“sir jhitipiti!” The poor fellow wasn’t sure why a perfectly sane looking girl was jumping in her seat all of a sudden. It took a while before a peon came & carried it away. This is what I call living your nightmare… I’m a girl who utilizes military style strategizing while entering the kitchen post midnight lest a lizard falls & I literally had to throw one off my head! It was the “eww”-est moment of my life! But then I remembered something Mom’d said about a lizard falling on you being a good omen. Although I wasn’t sure it was still a good omen if the lizard was a dead one, I was considerably solaced. Hell, if this paper goes well I’d let a lizard fall on me for the next remaining papers as well! But no, it wasn’t meant to be so. The paper was everything we didn’t expect. Sir had cheated us!(*sob sob*) there were algos everywhere! I mean who remembers all the algorithms step-by-step? I bid goodbye to the dreams of scoring an 80%.

But then I told you it was a weird day, didn’t I? After the exam I found everyone was crowding near the staff-room to check their internal marks for ADA. And I had managed to get a very decent score of 34/40, which meant there was still hope! And I even found somehow I’d even managed to be amongst the highest scorers in the Database mid-sem paper! Thank you late Mr.Lizard!

But that’s not the end of it. I discovered I’d lost the gold ring that I’d bought with my own salary( and was always proudly showing off). Now I was sure there was no truth in that lizard rule, this crossed all the disasters I’ve ever had! I called up Mom to check at the house, looked all over the hall but nope! One last look through my bag revealed the ring stuck to the windcheater that I’d hurriedly removed while moving out of the hall. It’d slipped then & safely stayed inside the folds of the windcheater!

Nah..they don't make lizards this cute!

So in conclusion, good luck or not, I can’t handle such highs & lows of emotion in a single day. So I’m gonna devise an even stricter plan & come up with a fool-proof way to ensure no lizard lands on my head EVER again!

I'm Not Twenty Four...

2011-11-15T19:02:00.000+05:30

I’d been intrigued by the title when I’d first seen the book on one of my regular trips to the Oxford store. What had amused me was that author Sachin Garg was obviously a male & the title of the novel was something you’d expect a female to say. Well, this happens to be the story of a girl written down by a guy-in an uncanny resemblance to a Chetan Bhagat setting. But trust me guys the similarity ends there! This had been on my will-read list & I finally got lucky ‘coz of BlogAdda.

A chic Delhite MBA grad with stars in her eyes lands up in a tongue-twister town of Karnataka. Reason? Her parents named her ‘Saumya’-a unisexual name that’s misinterpreted to belong to a guy. (All the more reason why parents shouldn’t permanently name their kids without asking them first!) Saumya is flabbergasted as her dreams of dazzling her colleagues with her shapely figure in prim formals are dashed. (Any girl would be if she painstakingly lost weight only to realise no one gave two hoots about her figure). But she has to give it a shot; she didn’t ‘toil’ through B-school to quit this easily. And off she is to Toranagallu(somehow I keep saying toorangnagulla in my head :-/ ).

The short synopsis at the back of this book says that this is a story that you would never believe happened. Through the first half of the book I was still waiting for that to happen. I mean so what’s new about an uptown girl adjusting to rural environment & all that? We get that on TV every time. But then comes the Indian hippie Shubhro. Saumya meets him in a chance sight-seeing trip & has an immediate crush on him. This guy is as enigmatic as any girl’s fantasy. At first glance you won’t even know if he’s Indian! They have a short drunken bash after which Saumya almost forgets him, only to meet him again at a very critical point in her life.

Shubhro’s character is much like a kaleidoscope-each time you look at him you see different colours. As they say all that glitters is not gold. Saumya can’t help being contemptuous as well as smitten by this hippie. And which girl wouldn’t if they met a guy who looked like Hugh Grant, played the guitar, cooked heavenly ..wait stop that’s enough! But the only problem was he is a vagabond sort of guy( not to mention almost nympho!)-never stays put at a place for more than 3 months! So Saumya decides Greek God or not, she won’t have anything amorous to do with him. But that doesn’t prove to be easy…as the 90^th day draws nearer, she can’t help wishing for more & even wondering if he loves her. You should read the book find out what happens-the climax is totally worth it!

The other characters in this book include Saumya’s boss-Ashish is quite amiable & any employee would be lucky to have a boss like him. Her colleagues included Amit- who uses a “bucketful mustard oil in his hair” & Mallapa-a very smart & fun-loving guy, someone I wish Sachin had written more about. Vartika is the BFF every girl has & is the one source of sanity for her during the initial days of horror at Toranagallu & well she is the reason behind Shubro learning.. ah go read the book!

Though the book was slow-paced, it was worth the wait & yes there are some rather disturbing descriptions of accidents happening at the steel plant where Saumya works, so if you have a hyperactive imagination(like I do) don’t read that part at night.

I’d give I’m Not 24 a 3.5/5.

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

Don’t Deny Them Children’s Day

2011-11-13T23:55:00.026+05:30

Children’s Day…that special day when you were allowed to talk in the class, no “finger on your lips” kind of rules & no class monitor writing your name on the blackboard. When teachers for once had our whole attention & some even managed to make us laugh! No one bunked school on Children’s Day!

The last time I celebrated Children’s Day was like 5-6 years back. Teachers of St. Joseph’s Girls’ High School celebrated this day with as much enthusiasm as we kids did on Teacher’s Day. There were no classes in the first half with the teachers performing for us. Song & dance and in some cases mimicry were performed & I should say our teachers were a pretty talented lot! Chocolates were of course a must & no one scolded if you sat through the second half in class with one in your mouth. Every teacher, even the strictest ones who entered the class would tell us a story or make us play games.

As we reached the higher classes we started appreciating these respites from everyday classes a lot more. To not have to worry about world wars or organic chemistry even for a day was a pleasure we could enjoy guilt-free on this day. That day no one gave a damn to what percent you got on the last pre-board exam you gave, whether you are failing in Java or maths for that matter. Everyone had tickets to get on board the fun express!

And then bang! Came the +2 years. Children’s Day came & went and no lecturer gave two hoots to our depressed expressions in class (little difference from the regular blank expressions). We would fill the blackboard with “Happy Teacher’s Day” signs hoping that they would reciprocate by at least not having random surprises tests on Nov 14, but to no avail. Not even an éclairs or Chlormint for us! Makes me wonder, wasn’t that a very abrupt & rude end to our childhood? At 16 yes no one likes to be called a ‘child’ yet taking away this special day from us so suddenly-I’ve always found it very cruel. But then I noticed that no one cares anymore. Kids around me have already started forgetting they are kids. They see themselves as potential-IITians/medicos etc who must slog 18hours a day from Std8-9 already! Even though some schools still keep alive the Children’s Day tradition, many kids happily bunk the day to catch up with their coaching assignments. Imagine spending a day eating chocolates, chatting in class & doing nothing but being a kid!-they shudder.

And now as I look around & watch my friends get married & talk about having kids (my turn to shudder), I at least don’t feel overwhelmed. I am happy I had a chance to fully enjoy my childhood (a little too much my parents sigh :P). I am happy my parents didn’t send me off to kindergarten when I still peed into diapers & I’m happy they didn’t ‘timetablize’ my entire school life with separate coaching & home tuitions (they preferred bribing me with Barbie dolls). And I request you not to do that to your kids either, let them enjoy a day off.

Let Them Be Kids!

To all children & those kids at heart-

Happy Children’s Day!

P.S: I know I ranted too much, this is a common condition I suffer from pre-exam time when I have so much to study & too less time so I wind up here (this is my Wandering Thoughts you see) in a state of blissful denial & ignorance. Phew! Wish me luck guys!

The Day/Night I Travelled Alone

2011-10-29T21:39:00.001+05:30

In all my 22 years of existence the only time I have ever travelled alone was maybe when I was born…but that too I doubt would be counted considering I was still tied to Mom by the umbilical cord. So last night was the first time I could put to use the “don’t talk to strangers, don’t put your hand outside the window” rules. I was travelling from the steel city of Odisha back to its capital trough the Naxalite-infested jungles (pointed out rather helpfully by a friend). My parents never let me play with fire but put me right into the frying pan I say!

My father had made it clear that the seat in the bus beside me was to be strictly occupied by a female. So all dreams of me drowsily dropping off on a handsome lad’s shoulder & then we falling in love were shattered. Least of all I wished that seat remained empty so I could use the extra leg space. But of course the seat had to be occupied & occupied by a 60+ year old.

Now no offence meant to any elders but trust me, they want to know everything about you! What college I went to, why was I in Rourkela, where are my parents, where do I stay in Bhubaneswar…boy CID could use a new officer! At about 11:30pm I finally decided to nod off to sleep & avoid her. But as usual I never have much luck in my endeavours, for the bus suddenly came to a halt in the middle of the jungle! The lights switched back on & a rather puny man came up & asked everyone to get down. I could feel my heart thumping rapidly. This was the end. The Naxals had taken over this bus & we’d be in tomorrow’s news! The lady next to me had woken up too or was already awake I guess. She turned to me & asked-“soi chu?” (asleep?) I was too dumbfounded to speak. Then she slowly bent down & removed something from her bag. “Here eat this” she offered me a Lays! Hello, lady we are being kidnapped!!! I wanted to scream out. But then I noticed others getting down the bus calmly & soon it dawned on me. This was an opportunity to answer Mother Nature’s call.

I opened that packet of Lays & shoved two in my mouth before the “don’t accept food from any stranger” flashed in my head. Too late I gulped, trying to make out anything funny in the taste of the chips. Yes, this was definitely too salty. Oh God she’s gonna sell my kidneys now! I quietly shove the packet down the seat without her noticing & pretended to fall asleep again. The fact that my mobile had no network didn’t help me either. And so I spent the better half of the journey in between pretending to be asleep & actually sleeping until 6:30am when I was safely back in my good old home. Now I’m not going out ever alone in a bus/train/plane/ship until & unless I obtain a license for a gun or a pepper spray at least!

Sikandar: 10 Players, 68 Days

2011-10-26T00:14:00.000+05:30

I have read books of many Indian authors, (not just Chetan Bhagat mind you) but this book reminded me of the renowned author- Manoj Das & to be honest even a simplified version of Paulo Coelho! One advice to those who pick this book-do not attempt to finish it in a day. This is a book that needs to be understood, each page holds so much meaning that you can’t help being overwhelmed by it. So even though I’m a girl who finishes thick Harry Potter book in a matter of hours, I took my time to gulp down all that Binayak Banerjee offered in Sikandar, for a full week! The book is an English translation by Soma Ghosh of the Bengali novel of the same name.

Big Boss has become rather popular (for reasons unfathomable to me). Now imagine you could see what is exactly going on inside the head of Shakti Kapoor! Well, this is the Bengali version of Big Boss, where 10 very diverse personalities participate & spend 68 days in a confined house ‘Jatugriha’. It will be impossible to try & sketch the characters of all the 10 participants so I’ll stick to my favourite ones. There is a young man Shubhrangshu, who is brave yet gullible, unaware of his own strength. Duped by his very best friend & scorned by his love, his spirit has broken. Although he comes across as pitiable, his personality has a streak of righteousness that one can’t ignore. A simpleton is the best word to describe him.

Kanishka is the famous actor who is narcissism personified. Maybe the harsh cruelties of life has made him this way, maybe this is just another face he’s wearing to shield himself. He is looking for love, searching for that face which will free him from this barrenness in his soul. Elizabeth Mitra is another interesting character in the Jatugriha. She is known for her fierce sense of independence, standing up to authorities for her rights. And yet she too longs for love, for someone to take care of her. Sikandar also has an ascetic amongst the participants-Swami Samyuktanad who acts as a counsellor for everyone in times of need. But then not everyone has an answer to every question. My favourite is Lovely-a prostitute who takes as much pride in her profession as an engineer or a doctor would. She is pragmatic, devoted to her job & willing to die to protect someone who she loves. There is also a mother Rangajoba-of a little girl in need of an expensive operation, wife of a revolutionary who fell to the bullets of the police. The show also has politicians, industrialists & many others, yet these few people leave a mark in the story.

If I were to comment on the plot, there isn’t much to say. The story is about the lives & secrets of those people confined to that house & forced to live with each other. Each one brings out some secret of the other, every life affects another in ways unimaginable. Some fall in love, some in lust, temper flare & fights breakout. Every character speaks for themselves & reveals the intricacies of human thought. It is interesting to see how one man’s actions & their intentions are interpreted by another. I mostly enjoyed the conversations between Samyuktanand & the other participants-specially the ones he had with Lovely.

But in the end there will be only one winner who will walk away with the tag of Sikandar & the prize money. But then those who win are not always happy & those who lose are not always empty handed. Sikandar is all about the challenge life throws at us & makes for a really interesting read. Easily a 4/5.

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

The Paaaaarrttyyy

2011-10-16T23:46:00.000+05:30

The entire auditorium was full of people talking at various decibel levels. I had a déjà vu moment taking in the scenario-ah... it’s just like how they show on TV, the LokSabha TV that is. Everyone was talking & no one was listening, the CR’s were fighting over the mike & trying to calm down the MCA-BCA crowd. Surprising how these very students showed no signs of life or consciousness in the DBMS or Networking class! Why there even broke out a fight between 2 guys…with the age-old Bihari-Bengali enmity. I was left wondering… isn’t this Odisha dude? The Odia crowd was busy gossiping in some corner oblivious to their surroundings. Everything calmed down with the appearance of the Dean & Asst.Dean at the scene. This was day1 of our freshers’ party meeting!

Due to last year’s tiff between the juniors & seniors( we being the juniors who’d missed out freshers’ party), it’d been decided by the powers that be-no interaction with juniors! I mean we couldn’t even go invite them for the party let alone have any games/competitions planned for them. That was what created the ruckus in the audi that day. We girls were dying for an opportunity to dress up & show off while the guys were dying to ‘interact’ with the apparently prettier ladies on the 2^nd floor. With the interference of the Dean, everything was settled in a minute-yes there will be a party with everything being approved by the faculty before being implemented. This rule made things rather difficult for us. Example: a question on the bio form for the juniors read: Who is your latest crush?- a rather lame slambook style question that was met with a raised eyebrow & a smirk by a teacher.

I was one of the poor souls given the task of preparing 150 puzzles/silly questions that the juniors would be answering on stage during intro. But imagine my plight when questions like-“what does a woman wear under a saree? “ were suggested to me. (The answer by the way is sandals, bless your dirty mind!) And then came the anchoring part. Now this is one thing that creates maximum excitement. I mean who’d notice if you slog hard making posters all night? On stage even if you are making a perfect fool of yourself was the place to be. I’d already had my dreams of anchoring built months before the juniors even stepped into the college. But there were surprisingly 20+ students more than happy to share the stage. Our CR pulled a leaf out of politicians’ please-all book & so we had 6 pairs of anchors for the 5 hour show!

The theme was another point to be mulled over. I suggested the easiest to decorate-Halloween theme. It was vetoed by the supreme power. Reason? Oh well, its September lady, there’s no Halloween in September! Yeah okay so let’s have a monsoon theme instead, the kids can bring along umbrellas too!

The D-day arrived & our guests of honour too arrived fashionably late. This gave me time to practise with my co-anchor again changing my script innumerable times until I actually threw it away & decided to go impromptu. All went well thankfully & my batch mates even managed to scare a junior into proposing to me onstage with a rose! We even had our college band play songs, one of them being Sutta! But what stood out most was the willingness of our juniors to be ragged. Maybe they had lost their minds given the strict security to the first-years, but almost everyone was more than willing to dance/sing on stage. Even girls!

Last heard the teachers were all praising our batch for the wonderful preparations. Meanwhile all of us were fuming over the faculty involvement which made it appear more like a graduation ceremony than a fun filled freshers’ party. Still.. as they say, something is better than nothing!

A Twisted Ghost Story

2011-09-26T14:28:00.000+05:30

The first time it was in the shower…at first he thought it was just water droplets trickling down his back. But then it felt stronger, as if someone’s fingers were caressing his bare skin. He whipped around only to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had dismissed that incident, blaming his intoxicated head for all his hallucinations. When he woke up in the mornings he would find the left side of the bed a bit sunken, a slightly crumpled bedspread as if someone had slept in it the last night. But he was a heavy sleeper, hardly changing sides when asleep. Or may be not…the stress of moving into a new city, new workplace may have changed his sleeping patterns. He would never know, he shrugged.

But now he knew.

He was definitely not alone in his new flat. There was another person, perhaps a woman. And a rather hormone-driven at that... if ghosts had hormones that is. He wasn’t a faint-hearted person, yet sharing his apartment with this mysterious invisible person kept bugging him. Not to mention the advances in the shower that had started becoming frequent now. And now at nights he noticed his room smelled faintly of his cologne, the one that he didn’t use often. Oh c’mon now, a female ghost who fancies men’s cologne?

No, he couldn’t just go on ignoring her now. Something had to be done. First he had to find out who exactly was this visitor from the other side. And who better to consult than the gossiping aunties of the building. So on a fine Sunday he woke up early- a rare feat which indicated how very curious he was about the identity of his roommate. He’d zeroed in on his nearest neighbour & on the pretext of borrowing some sugar, knocked at their door.

“Hello beta. Aren’t you our new neighbour?” she gushed. He smiled an acknowledgment; it was his first rendezvous with the neighbours since he’d moved in. “Hello Aunty. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make acquaintance earlier because of work… you know how hard they make us work..” “Yes, yes beta. Even my son is working in such an MNC now. I’m always worried about him . If the pay hadn’t been good I’d have never allowed him.. “ she chattered on. He waited for his turn…but he didn’t have to..

“..we have been staying here for nearly 4 years. Since this building was built. Our family & the Kanetkars were the first. But they sold their flat last year after their son committed suicide. He was such a charming boy, well-mannered. Decent, didn’t ever talk to girls or even look at them. He was just 20. But one fine day he locked himself in his room & next thing we know he…” she sobbed a bit to add the needed special effect to the story. “Some say it was because of ragging, some even say that he was you know.. different…liked boys more.. God knows what drove him to such an extreme step…”

“Which ..flat ..aunty?” he questioned, dreading the answer, yet knowing it was inevitable. “Oh the one you stay in now dear. That’s a nice flat. Earlier some girls had shared it, they left last month & now they rented it to you… I hope its comfortable for you beta?”.

Yeh Dil Maange Mole!

2011-08-18T01:46:00.000+05:30

It’s past midnight & I’m blogging. Not because I have nothing better to do, but because I have SO much to do I can’t decide WHAT to do. Déjà vu? Yeah, I know.

I was chatting with a friend (yes, that’s what I do when I have a workload) and then the topic of moles & pimples came up. He made some comment about “my mole is a like a white mark on my black face” or something to that effect which like totally bounced off my head-he was high on Coke( the thanda wala re) he later confessed. But that made me think about my mole… the silent, black mole sitting jauntily on my nose, assured of its ‘landmark’ status. I’m proud of my mole-it’s a proof that I’m my father’s daughter (Pa has the same kind, except it’s quite inconspicuous). So whenever my Mom throws a comment at me that she might have just picked me up from some mela or worse a garbage dump, I proudly point to my nose & smirk, ha!

All my life I have been subjected to all kinds of ridicule…like the time in Std 10 when my Mom (yet again) cut my hair in crew cut style & I was forced to go to the farewell dressed in a sari looking like those people on the train you tend to avoid. I bore all that with aplomb. But one word against my mole… and you are so dead! Once in a blue moon when Mom doesn’t have any spicy topic to advice on or there isn’t any natural calamity like swine flu or dengue going on, she takes a grave look at my face & declares that the mole is growing & in fact it has dislodged from the original left part of my noise to the central position. And then follows a discussion on what’s the best way to get rid of it. I end the argument the same way every time-in case you lose me in a fair or one fine day I decide to elope hypothetically Mom!! you can always post a nice ad in the paper: “Daughter missing blah blah birthmark: big, black mole on the nose.” No one will miss that!

But now it seems I’m fighting a losing battle. My boyfriend too has started resenting my mole. No amount of emotional atyachaar & lines like “you love me na… then how come your love doesn’t include my mole?” have fallen flat. “That’s my beauty spot!” I say. “It’s more like a football ground!!” he counters. “It does the work of overshadowing all the nasty pimples I get…” I whimper hoping he didn’t actually hear that.

Right now dear mole is safe & intact. I’m not giving up without a struggle. And to those who have a problem with it I’d say-“buri nazar wale tera mu kaala!”

P.S: As much as I love my love my mole.. I'm sorry I can't really share a picture of it here... too possessive you know!

My Moments…

2011-08-14T21:14:00.000+05:30

I have been writing on some serious topics these days…seriously creating an illusion that I can think deep & profound thoughts. That would make the blog title a total misnomer if there ever was one! So in order to protect my reputation & also that of my blog, I am back with a ‘normal’ post. Since all weekend I have been busy with guiding my classmates on how to drink & party( details later) & trying to categorize the various movies I have in my laptop( making space deleting all those useless PPT slides our teachers give us), I am short of inspiration. So I’ll do what I do best-talk about myself.

My Most Embarrassing Moment(s):

Ah! I can already see your eyes flare up & you licking your lips in anticipation. No one can resist a good laugh at other’s expense. And I am benevolent enough to let you have your fun.

As you already know(presuming you are a regular reader) I am notorious for running into trouble-weird love life, kitchen fires, drunk & wasted, making a fool of myself-I have done it all. And it started at an early age.

My Sweet Tooth & Sharp Tongue: It was in nursery or maybe upper nursery when I was in Calcutta. It is the custom at schools for the birthday girl/boy to distribute chocolates to all teachers. Personally I think it’s a bribe to say-spare me on my birthday atleast! Anyway so there was a guy from another section who came up to give chocolates to the Miss in my class. My sweet tooth couldn’t resist & I whispered to my friend-look at this teacher, she is so old & still eating chocolates! Shouldn’t she give us some?

And bingo! My so-called friend went up & told this to the teacher who made me stand up the entire period. The news spread too( you would think nursery kids don’t gossip!) and I got my 15minutes of ‘fame’ as they say .

Marrying Chunky Pandey: Although it wasn’t embarrassing then, it is VERY embarrassing now! I don’t remember what movie it was that made me say it, but I did. Declared in front of my parents- I want to marry Chunky Pandey when I grow up! My parents are good people( or they have bad memory) they have never taunted me about it. But I cannot help cringing when I replay that scene in my head…!

Ermm What Was Your Name Again?: This happened when I was in class 9. I was the deputy monitor or something & had been sent on an errand to another class. When the teacher who had sent me, asked who was teaching in the other class I drew a blank. See, I am a girl who didn’t even know who the people in the other sections were( small social life minus Facebook & Twitter, remember?). Now try standing in front of your classmates trying to describe a teacher’s physical appearance to another teacher. Bet you can’t beat that!

There are plenty more such moments-am saving them for a rainy day (& some that will never see the light of the day). Do share some of your ‘moments’ too & make me feel like I am not the only buffoon in this world!

The Face

2011-08-01T20:52:00.001+05:30

There she was again. Face half-hidden behind her long dupatta, a glittering ghagra sending out rainbows in the sunlight as she walked or rather glided, the presence of her feet given away by the soft jingling of her anklets. He stood mesmerized as always. The place he was from, he rated a woman by the length & shine of her legs or hourglass figure. He wasn’t used to be stupefied by a pair of kohl-lined eyes or the sight of multicoloured bangles adorning slim hands. But Samar was smitten & not by a desire to conquer, which was strange. All he wanted was to capture the face, her face, her persona, capture it in his camera & show off to the world this startling evidence of the existence of true beauty untouched & virgin.

Samar was an amateur photographer settled in a crowded metro. After the news of his grandfather’s demise, he had decided to visit his old ancestral home & finally sell it off. It was on this visit that he had come across her. Their first encounter had been near the well in the orchard, he was having quite a hard time filling that bucket when she had made an appearance. Without uttering a word she filled her bucket & was about to leave when Samar had asked for help. That was the moment he noticed them & realised what all the poets of the world meant when they spoke of drowning in a pair of eyes. And now all he wanted was to take her picture. But that was a lost case in this strict village which made it’s women hide behind long dupattas & stay away from strangers especially those from the city. But, he wasn’t the one to take a no for an answer. So he stalked her.

He knew when she went out to fill water in her pots & what time she visited the small market with her friends. And yet it wasn’t ever possible to see her face clearly, let alone talk to her. Frustrated Samar waited until the night before his departure arrived. He lay on the bed listening to the wild animals call & watching the leaves turn silver as the moon rose high in the sky. He couldn’t sleep. Was there no way he could take away a glimpse of her face with him?

The sky turned lighter as the hours passed. He could take it no longer. Armed with his camera he walked down the empty village roads, hoping to capture the last dawn before he left. He went in the direction of the village pond. It was to the east & a picture of the sun rising over the water would be good. “May be next year…” he consoled himself.

He stopped in his tracks.

There she was, in the water, half-clothed, her jet black hair creating ripples in the water. The sun was slowly rising, the soft golden hue reflecting on her face giving her a God like appearance as with closed eyes she performed Suryanamaskar. He knew what had to be done.

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“Look what shame she has brought us!” “What a vamp…shamelessly stripping off like that!” “Send her away, we don’t want our women to be corrupted with bitches like this around!”

She stood mute, head bowed, hair dishevelled, tear-stained cheeks & dry eyes. Ever since her picture had appeared on TV on some documentary they showed, her life had become hell. The villagers with nothing better to do than watch the national channels had been aghast when they had seen her picture on TV, in that half-naked condition. The fact that the picture had won a national award for some contest on divine beauty mattered least to them.

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Samar was very happy. He was sitting by the window seat of the train taking him back to his village. He was here to handle a few pending work & also to meet her. He would take her with him. There had been offers from many ad agencies. But she would make the perfect face of India. Indian tourism department wanted her in their new campaign. She would be famous soon.

As the train neared the station, Samar got off the seat to take down his bags. He missed the girl running through the dirt road parallel to the track.

A girl in tattered bloodied clothes with kohl-lined eyes & a glittering ghagra…

P.S: This story is by Sagar (narrated to me while riding pillion on his bike :P) Since he was too lazy to write it I penned it down (with alterations)

A Tale of A Nation

2011-07-17T12:53:00.000+05:30

Saba stared around her, in a cool calculated manner. Even though clad in an un-chic salwar suit, she didn’t appear like the usual helpless woman, stranger to the city as was evident by the heavy luggage she carried. The bus stop was crowded & no one paid her any attention. Except 2 men. Each was standing at the farthest corner of the stand & was watching out for her. Saba gave them one look & nodded her head.

* * *

Sinduhstan’s early morning newspapers reported another attack by terrorists in the commercial capital of the country. There were photos of victims splashed across the newspaper. Full-page photos of people with their guts all over the place. If there was a competition of the goriest picture ever published in media, the top prize would have been shared by Sinduhstan’s dailies. Kumar frowned, ”This won’t do.. these people had to be stopped.” And it was his duty to do that. He headed off to his office- the IB of the country.

Saba was the only one who was captured alive by the police. Her accomplices shared about 20-25 bullets between themselves. Now she was being carried to their top intelligence headquarters to be questioned. She was only 19, but well-trained. She knew how to handle torture of various degrees & she knew how to keep her mouth shut. There weren’t getting a single name out of her lips. Right as the vehicle stopped outside the office, Sabha curiously glanced outside. There were women holding placards, screaming her name. Her English was poor but she could make out that they were rallying for her-that she being just a teenage girl shouldn’t be subject to torture. She blinked. These women were actually saying that she could be an innocent, what’s the term…misguided soul?!

Feeling slightly light-headed she kept on walking to what she thought was the interrogation room. Kumar waited outside. His boss had asked him to put her in a high-security cell. He was here to how her to her room. He followed her in. Saba was holding on to the wall for support. There lay a huge bed, a plasma TV, a coffee-maker & a split AC in the room. “What? Didn’t you like it? Is anything missing? Don’t worry the other essentials are in the attached bathroom there” Kumar pointed. “Is this some kind of psychological thing they are trying? I will not lose my head. I’ll stay alert. They can’t break me down this way” Saba was determined. She had heard of terrorists being tortured beyond imagination. Why, last time one of her group members was caught in USB, trying to blow up the sub way, he could never talk again. In the eastern parts they held public executions, but this?! What’s with this country?!

As the night grew, there was a knock on the door. A pot-bellied guard appeared at the opening, “So you prefer Dum Biryani or a plain one will do?” Saba stared open-mouthed. “Arree, don’t feel shy. You will be staying her for a long time, might as well get to know you preference. We should treat you well, after all our culture says Atithi Devo Bhava” he chuckled. With that cultural shock, Saba sat with a thump on her bed.

P.S: "This post is written for BLOGESHWAR and Campusghanta "

Stay Tuned For The 6PM Slot

2011-07-11T16:49:00.004+05:30

I am a person who can’t put down a book until it’s finished. And Naomi Datta’s The 6PM Slot was a book that one can not put down anyway! No, it’s not a crime thriller or even a mushy romance involving teenage hormone high people. It’s a normal story involving adults. If I were to summarize it for you, you wouldn't be impressed, but I’m no Naomi Datta. She breathes life & adds humour to the story like one would add salt to a dish-perfect swad anusaar (excuse the lame simile).

We begin with the boss, the convent –educated, Power Point presentations obsessed Rahul & his boot-licking deputy Harish contemplating on how to lift their channel Youth TV’s TRP. At least Rahul is thinking hard, all Harish does is nod his head. Well, the boss comes up with the idea of bringing in a revolution-targeting the 6pm slot in their channel & giving it a whole new look. And all this has to be done quick. So enter Tania-the protagonist of the story. Stuck with a show dealing with celebrities’ pets, Tania has struggled for 2 years to fulfil her career. The recent demand of a new ‘sexy’ love show at the 6pm slot comes across as that long-awaited opportunity that she must make use of. But fate has other plans for the girl.

What follows next in The 6PM Slot is a series of hilarious incidents & goof-ups that has Tania wishing she was back to ‘miaowing’ at the celebrity Persian cats again! With a bumbling bimbo of a model Vrushali who 'yeah's & 'buddy's her way around peoples(sic) & an assistant who is clawing his way up Tania's back, suddenly this doesn't look like her dream coming true at all. Her only lifeline to sanity is the happy-go-lucky chap Aditya who’s always there looking out for her. His practical jokes & what he calls ‘academic study of human nature’ adds spice to the drama unfolding at YTV’s office. And well, what is an office without a bit of romance & what is romance without jealousy? Naomi plays it subtle, throwing a hint or two at the love triangle of which Tania is unaware.

The book has all the right elements to make it an entertaining read. There is humour, suspense & oh yes Nomi knows how to take her reader by surprise! At one point I literally had my mouth wide open. The humour is not of the slapstick genre we get these days nor is it overtly sexist. No emotion is underplayed or exaggerated making this story sound like a real-life happening. The 6PM Slot also has it serious moments that display the underbelly of the media world, the office politics & the truth about what goes on behind the camera. Naomi Datta’s experience as a film writer shines through as no detail is left out when dealing with the story.

To conclude, The 6PM Slot gives a refreshing break from all the engineering-romance novels & is worth every penny. My thanks to BlogAdda for sending me the book & giving me the chance to review it.

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">;Book Reviews Program at http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

When It Rained…

2011-07-06T15:50:00.001+05:30

I glanced across the library hall. He was staring at me again. Why doesn’t he stop? Idiot. Some teacher would notice & we would get thrown out. But I couldn’t help smiling back at him. Abhi had the cutest smile & he looked the best when he was glancing at me surreptitiously, as if knowing well how it sent my heart racing. We always played this game. Sit at the far ends of the hall, he on the boys’ side & me on the girls’, glancing at each other. He called it romancing with the eyes. No better term for it.

The clock struck 6. Both of us got up at the same moment, returned the books, grabbed our bags & left the library. Once outside, there was no need to stay apart. Soon his warm hand enveloped mine & we walked down the road to our favourite roadside stall. There was a light drizzle & a cool soft breeze blew my hair across my face. He took his time to pull it back. There were very few people on the road & even if they had stared I didn’t care. I loved these lazy walks in the evenings. Evening was the best time of the day. No bugging friends or suspicious teachers to care about. No rules nor restrictions & I could be with him alone for this one hour till it was time to return to the hostel.

We had reached the stall. I bounced ahead & asked the chai-wallah to hand over 2 cups of steaming hot tea. “2 cups madam? You will have both now, or should I give you just one first?” he asked a bit puzzled. “What..?” I glanced back to where I had left Abhi. I had done it again. “No, just one cup of tea please.”

A guy & a girl had just reached the shop & noticing me they both hurriedly let go of each other’s hand. “Good evening ma’am”. “Good evening.” I left the shop with my cup of tea. Let them enjoy this weather, every moment counts.

And Then The Trees Walked

2011-06-15T22:17:00.002+05:30

Himani woke up with a feeling of sadness. It was a clear sunny day, but her spirits were down as if some grief was sucking at her happiness not giving her permission to enjoy the beautiful morning. And then she remembered. Today her son would be lost, lost to the giant & ferocious Pyrus who knew no mercy. God! Was there no escape? He is only 12! Himani cursed her ancestors, cursed everyone. Who would protect her child…there is no one. Every other human is as helpless as her…some are lucky to die a natural death & some like her son are fed to demons like Pyrus.

Grandma came into the room to check what took Himani so long. Seeing her angry tears, she knelt down beside her,”My child, do not cry. At least your son will be lucky to escape all the hard labour & difficult life that we lead. He will reach Heaven & stay happily with his father.” “There is no Heaven! There is just Hell & it is right here…I’m burning in it!” Himani rushed out. Grandma sighed sadly. Her old eyes took a brief moment to relive the past that was…the year 2012 that changed everything.

The news had spread slowly that 2012 will be the end of the world, Apocalypse…Doomsday. Some people were critical, others believed it with fear. She herself had mocked the believers, calling them irrational. There were scientists stating that the Earth’s magnetic poles would shift & create a change in the magnetic sphere which would cause all machines to go haywire. Little did they know the truth.

The signs began to show. Subtle yet they were signs. Tsunamis & earthquakes…tectonic plates shifted, it seemed as if the Earth was getting restless. And then came the huge earthquake in Japan killing hundreds & thousands. It was as if Mother Nature was saying ‘Enough! Off with you.’ The geologists cited many theories to explain why it happened & left it at that. But by then the nuclear leak in Japan had manifested itself. The first sign was a rabbit born without ears. Now people were scared. But no one had imagined the effect of the genetic mutation, the work of nature fuelled with the creation of man had already begun.

“Mother let’s go. It is time. Please wake up Shaam.” Himani said in a heavy voice breaking into Grandma’s thoughts.

They marched towards the enclosure. The people at the gate bowed their heads in sorrow. It was a daily routine, the Pyrus had to be fed else it became angry & wrecked havoc. It was their master & they couldn’t afford their master to be angry. Shaam hugged his mother, tears flowing down. One of the guards, took him away forcefully, leaving the two ladies wailing their hearts out. Grandma took hold of Himani & they walked back. Himani looked back just once, to see the green tentacles of the Pyrus high in the air.

The Venus Fly-trap was going to eat her only son, with this thought she fainted.

This post was written for Blogeshwar & Anubhooti .

Let’s Save Paper!

2011-06-05T09:40:00.000+05:30

I looked aghast at the pages in front of me. “You have to re-do this assignment. I told you to do just one program per page. Submit it next time you come to lab” the lab assistant bellowed. I stared at the some 10 pages lying in the file. Pages with one face empty & the other filled with some C programs. It looked neat enough to me, I’d even tried to improve my less-than-legible handwriting as this was a lab file. But no, I was to redo it just because there were 2 programs on one sheet. My programs, specially the types that say “WAP to input 10 employees’ records..” they hardly take up more than 10 lines. To waste an entire face on 10 lines was a crime or so I thought.

This made me think, after we give our exams & get our grades, what happens to these files? A simple chat with another classmate revealed that it all went to the local raddi-wala. Wow! I stay up all night, work out the problem, painstakingly pen it down, let it travel through many other hands( for the CP-copy paste work) and it ultimately ends as someone’s bhelpuri plate??

Is it just my college? Nope. It’s the case everywhere. Any school or college you go to, there are tons of lab records, project submissions lying in the store, waiting to be sold to the raddi-wala. Yes, that is a form of recycling I agree, but wouldn’t it be better to send it to some recycling plant?(if only I knew where to find one) Ok forget the re-cycling or reusing part, how about simply reducing the amount of paper we use? Here’s how:

ü No lab files: Especially for IT students at least! I mean what’s the point? 90% of the students follow the CP rule while writing the records. Many don’t even write it themselves, assigning the work to some friend or junior. The whole point of writing a lab record when a teacher can simply check the laptop or PC is lost on me. Teachers may argue that students will copy the programs, but hello? They already copy the lab files, at least copying the programs will save the time spent on writing the records.
ü No notebooks: This is for school kids. By no notebooks I mean no separate notebooks for each & every thing. I remember we had a “homework”, “class-work”, “test” copy for EVERY subject! Agreed it’s more organized but wouldn't it be economical to do everything in one copy? It will save the student from punishment if they forget one of the many copies & also decrease the weight of the school bag (which even puts Atlas to shame).
ü No projects/assignments: Unless you stay in some remote village without electricity, you are bound to have access to a computer. And nowadays kids learn to use a mobile/PC before they learn the alphabet. Thus it is safe to suggest that all school or college assignments & projects be submitted in soft copy. Don’t preach about carbon emissions or wastage of electricity-watching a Hollywood flick or playing NFS doesn't exactly qualify as an eco-friendly activity either.
ü Online exams: Now this is something which has already been started by many institutes. Although it’s mostly limited to entrance exams or competitions, I think we can come up with online semester & Board exams as well.
ü What you can do now: All the above steps may not be easy to implement, however what can be done by you is simple-use both faces of a page as far as possible, don’t throw away old notebooks if they still have unused pages, don’t sell old books to the raddi-walas (I hate eating my bhelpuri out of a Physics textbook sheet) give the books to juniors so they don’t have to buy new ones & suggest the above measures to your friends too. Spreading awareness is important!

These are some of the ideas I have come up with (sorry there aren’t more, it’s a Sunday morning after all!). This is just pertaining to academic institutions, I’m sure you guys would have better ideas on how to help save paper everywhere else. Which takes me to the next point-why save paper? Now every kid can tell you paper is mostly made from trees( or recycled paper).

(Checkout this site to know more about paper making process-http://www.conservatree.com/learn/EnviroIssues/TreeStats.shtml )

As it says there, one tree makes nearly 8000 sheets of paper. Considering how many copies, records etc we use in a year, I can say at least one or two trees are wasted for each individual. Now wouldn’t that be great if we can save a tree a year? C’mon, doing something for the environment is better than simply watching it degenerate! You don’t have to ‘go green’ wearing white tees to show your support, small steps like reducing the use of paper can work wonders! Let’s save paper…

Happy World Environment Day!

Being Beautiful

2011-05-26T22:27:00.004+05:30

Take a look at them…one is a model, blessed with flawless features, a good education, a charming personality that can woo many hearts. The other is just an everyday face you will come across at some construction site or the other. Nothing out of the ordinary. But I bet you won’t believe me it if I tell you that both these women are beautiful. Why just women… I say Tom Cruise has perfection & beauty and so does Johnny Lever. I see you are smiling…

To me beauty has never been a superlative adjective. It is an intangible asset and hence it’s not easy to quantify it’s value. Clichéd yet necessary is the line-‘beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’. You think God would create something as ‘ugly’? But then why is it that some people are labelled beautiful and some people spend the rest of their lives trying to hide behind a false mask, pretending to be someone they are not so the world would categorize them under the ‘beautiful’ identifier?

We see people in the West visiting tanning parlours and people here spending lakhs per annum on facials & beauty creams. Someone curls their hair while another straightens it. You live on liquid to attain your dream of size zero while she gulps down everything edible to gain some weight. He visits the gym to have all the biceps and triceps to flaunt while another is busy trying to increase his height. Ironic, the grass always look greener on the other side.

So to all those ladies & gentlemen who spend their lives with “I wish I was like…” & “if only” ’s , I have news. I won’t give you lines like ‘beauty is only skin deep’. Of course not! Your appearance does matter, no one likes to see a shabbily dressed, unwashed person. And yet there is something that will even make such a person stand out-your face, your expression, the honesty in your thoughts.

Good news is- real beauty lies in your thoughts. Its as simple as that.

Outer looks are something God-gifted, which is not under our control. Yes we can take care of how we look but not all of us can be Aishwarya Rai’s or Hrithik Roushan’s. there is only a certain limit up to which you can mess with what you have got. But what about your thoughts? Your nature? Now THAT is something completely under your control. No I do not watch Aastha channel, hear me out.

The way you conduct yourself reflects in your persona-believe it or not. If you are this lying, conniving person or someone indulging in illegal activities or someone just plain evil, its bound to show in your face. Haven’t you noticed all the vamps in Ekta Kapoor soaps? No matter how much they dress up, how good looking they are, you can never call them beautiful, ‘coz she is the villain up to no good & you know it( no offence meant to the actors-it is because they are so talented that they fit right into the character :P)

If you think good of others, if you know where your heart is, if you follow your conscience, then the people around you will sub-consciously accept you as ‘beautiful’. Agreed first impressions are built on looks, but first impressions are not always the last. So the lady at the construction site may not have the perfect eyes or full pouting red lips, yet she is beautiful because here is a soul trying hard to make ends meet, to give a better life to her family, to be a good mother & wife.

So the next time you hesitate to help your Mom in the garden worried about spoiling your nails or getting tanned-remember each good deed adds a glow to your face & makes you ‘beautiful’, to yourself, to others & to Him.

Stay beautiful!

P.S: If you liked what I said do vote for me & 'like' my post in Facebook.This post is written for Yahoo & Dove's Real Beauty Contest

How To Avoid Hair-fall

2011-05-16T00:16:00.000+05:30

The solution is so simple…yet I bet you never thought of it… become bald! Yes, no hair no hair fall worries.

Ha…gotcha!
And you thought I am blogging about some home-made concoction to do away with your receding hairline and now conspicuous scalp? Show you some miracle? And actually blog about it instead of selling my secrets to people from Proctor & Gamble? I may look that stupid but I am not.

My mane, my pride used to be so thick that Mom says( and my Mom does exaggerate) the teeth of the comb used to break. I survived my entire school career without visiting any parlour, as she used her scissors to give me a tomboy look. My mop of hair had stayed safe till then. Later as I grew up & the desire to look more feminine took over, I grew my hair.

And now summer or winter or be it the rain…what stays consistent is the hair…not on my head but on the comb. Thankfully my hair is considerate enough not to expose me in public by lying on my shoulder instead of head. But when we are alone, my hair sighs & moans and like a gentle autumn breeze causes the dry orange leaf to float downward, so does my hair strand lazily drift away when I run my hands through my head. I am afraid to comb my hair now & usually appear in all public places with a mass of flying away dead cells. I have a ready excuse for the mess-the auto drove too fast.

She Still Looks Pretty right?

In the bath, it’s a sad tale. Every time I use the shampoo, I see the hair being washed away. I have stopped crying & bid them a silent goodbye, hoping their journey down the drain is more eventful than staying put on my head. Once I had a nightmare that I am washing my hair & as usual the strands flow down. And then I look into the mirror-I am bald!

But actually that idea now appeals to me (seeing that am so nearing the end to my ‘bad hair days’ to a ‘no hair ‘ state). Imagine a world full of bald people…c’mon! it will be so wonderful. No more terrifying shrieks from the bathroom, no expensive shampoos and conditioners. No need for any hair bonding/weaving/tie-dyeing etc. just you & your shiny scalp. There will be a new industry-that of scalp shining gels. Now you will be judged on how healthy & shiny your scalp is. Fashion will evolve, allowing more creative head gear than the types we saw at the Will-Kat wedding.

nice thingy on the head

But then … if wishes were horses beggars would ride. Till fashion catches up, your mane is your pride. And till then yours almost-baldy shall continue begging that shampoo bottle to please give me hair half as good as it gave to that preening model.

Tales From The Gym

2011-04-11T21:10:00.001+05:30

This is one thing every blogger should blog about-gym tales. But thanks to my relatives, all well-meaning aunts and uncles I was made to have this never ending feeling of ‘eat more’. Also let me not forget my Mom who kept offering me a menu consisting of a variety of household chores to help her with whenever the topic of working out arose. Now that I am well above the voting age I decided to assert my rights and hit the gym. Truth be told it was my boyfriend who emotionally blackmailed me into it. He is well above 5”10 and of late has been increasing horizontally. This was a rising concern for me given my medium size frame & height of 5”2. So you are wondering why the heck I am in a gym? Join the club. Well, just like yours truly, he is the numero uno contestant for the world’s laziest person. Unless I push, yell & push again no work gets done.

So here I am in the gym for aerobics. I had a vision of an air-conditioned room, with a sexy hunk as the instructor and all aunties trying their best to lift their weight off the ground. Imagine my shock when I found the gym had a really pathetic a/c and all girls with hardly any age difference between us & a bulky dark mean looking instructor. I whined-“Do I really need to workout?” sucking my almost-there tummy further in. BF cast a look around and indicating a rather pretty girl, smirked and said fine.

Venga Boys played in full bass and I found myself jumping and exerting newly discovered muscles, casting “I’ll kill you when and if I survive this” looks to my boyfriend. Too bad he escaped to his weight training sessions before I could lay my hands on him. After the aerobics, all the girls either took off or hit the treadmill or some other exercise. I had to wait for him to finish his sets, so I stood there muttering to myself-“Why can’t they keep some magazines here…what am I supposed to do now?”

One of the instructors approached me-“You should do crunches”

Me-“huh???” And then he made me do crunches. When he was satisfied that I was tortured enough, he said-“you should do weight lifting” This time my timidity vanished as I tried to save my poor body-

“err..no I don’t think so”

“How about the treadmill?”

“No”

“some stretching”

“No thanks I’ll pass”

“What are you here for?”

“For a sexy hunk of an instructor which you are so not” I muttered in my head. Aloud I said-“Err…for the legs?” And for the next 2 days I couldn’t even sit properly in the toilet.

My friends say I should escape before I actually disappear from sight. But that pretty girl is still coming to the gym & I’m not gonna take any chances. Also the new instructor is kind of cute. Now if only I could learn to duck before the wayward hands of the girl in front hits me…

Love And A Time Machine

2011-03-15T10:33:00.000+05:30

Give me love and the keys
To a time machine
A chance to relive the moments
That had once been

Sunsets we watched & the songs
That we sung
Engulfed in your embrace
Where I truly belong

Chilly winter nights and
The romantic rain
I want it all back just
Take away the pain

Give me love and a guarantee
That you will stay
And not leave me dying
Like this every day.

To have loved you and then
Trying to forget
You were & are my strength
And not a regret.

To catch a glimpse of paradise
And then rot in hell
Capricious fate and destiny; what
Tragedies you spell!

I loved and lost and now I remain
A shadow of US
Destined for eternal pain.
Asking aloud the only question..
Wont someone give me the keys
To a time machine
A chance to relive the moments
That had once been..?

This Post has been Published as a part of

My First Wedding Experience Part2

2011-03-08T16:07:00.001+05:30

For those who are wondering what I’m talking about here is the recap

The dress of the bridesmaid :

It was a tricky affair to go shopping with two ladies. One my Mom who would raise her eyebrows at every price tag & the other my Aunt-mom of the would-be bride who was an expert in wasting the time of the shopkeeper, dismantling his shop, haggling with him till he was in a drop-dead condition. Yet I embarked on the journey and landed myself in the most beautiful lehanga I’d ever seen. The moment my eyes met those of the girl in the mirror draped in that exquisite piece of cloth I was in a bliss. Then I noticed the face of the not so blissful lady sitting behind me. Our eyes met, a mute war ensued & I was finally the owner of the lehanga, all 4000 of it!

The Thingy Called Makeup:

“A bride deserves to look all made-up. Why torture me?“ I whined. But my over eager boyfriend wouldn’t hear any of it. “I want you to look the best!” “Yeah, hoping for some easy riddance eh? As if some guy in the baarat would fall for me…” I muttered.

Let me tell you why this aversion or rather ignorance regarding make-up: I belong to a family where people look at your grade-sheet first before they spot your face. And if they have seen your face before in some newspaper for getting a PhD or some similar insanity, your face value increases. Nevertheless I found myself in the mall staring at a line of ‘facial kits’. From gold to diamond to chocolate, they even had a platinum one! I was so lost. But BF had done his homework & consulted his fashion diva of a sister. So the day of the marriage I was like “where is tube 1?” “gimme that towel” and to think that after spending nearly 200 bucks of my hard-earned money on that pearl kit (I looked for the real pearl, there wasn’t any ), I still looked the same!

The late Bridesmaid:

For a family who had once had to literally run on the platform in Howrah to catch the train, I think we did reasonably well by reaching 2 hours head of the groom! I occupied my seat of honour beside the bride. But no sooner had I sat down I had to get up again to make way for the guests who came up to the dais with their “fees” for enjoying the meal and the photographs of course. So I was half the time hiding behind some uncle or aunt or simply standing near the dais awkwardly gawking at the privileged dining people.

Sis,Yours truly & yours truly's insufferable sibling

The wedding begins:

After smiling around for nearly 2 hours my cheeks (whatever has remained of them) started to ache really bad. Why can’t the groom turn up soon? Did he get a whiff of my sister’s famous tantrums during hunger pangs?

Luckily he had no idea of what he was about to take home. The groom arrived dot on time but I as expected missed the welcome ceremony. By the time the marriage began near midnight, all the guests had returned home well-fed and those that remained were trying their best to show their interest in the affair. Looking at one particular uncle I was reminded of my post-lunch Geography classes in school. I could empathise with him.

I was more than excited. I was expected to untie the ceremonial knot during the marriage ritual which if I refused to do, the ritual would halt right there. A minimum sum of 5000 was expected. I’d already begun on my mental-shopping list(and pearl kits found no place in them).

My uncle i.e. the elder bro of my Mom happened to be the one doing ‘kanya-daan’. That was because the bride’s father would be too busy the entire day to carry out all the rituals. And it was a sight indeed to behold-the father of the bride dozing throughout the marriage ceremony of his daughter!

The wedding thus ended peacefully barring a few more comical moments. We Odias as well as Bengalis have this custom where the women roll in their tongues and create a weird kind of noise that’s supposed to be auspicious. But no lady in the family knew except my Granny who poor lady was already fast asleep. So mom and Aunt provided free comic relief to the sleeping people by sounding more like err.. . you-know-what’s. Thus ended the saga.

And last but not the least, going by Mom’s reports my sister bid a cheerful “bye-bye” to her parents the next morning during ‘vidaayi’!
May you remain as cheerful forever sis!