Coffee Beans

Time beats everything but Memories!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Fri, 28 Apr 2017 05:44:00 +0000

She taught us English. Joined us when we were in 9th grade. The opportunity to be her students, for us, was only for two years.

Strict, disciplined, impeccable in the language she taught, precise, practical, logical.
Her persona had a command over others.

Our class was one bunch of troublemakers the school had never experienced before, and she was assigned to be our class teacher.

We knew we were getting a new class-teacher, but, what we did not know was that she would tame the shrew.

The moment she entered the classroom she made it clear she meant business. I liked her. I liked her for the respect she demanded, from us, for the school and for herself, with a few lines that she spoke. The entire class of the unpopular students had already begun to cave in.

No one had ever been able to do that.

The chapters became more interesting, more knowledgeable. Everyday I looked forward to learn from her. English was my favourite, and the love for it had notched up with her teaching.

I even liked getting yelled at by her. Yes, I did.
It felt like she genuinely cared for the students ...she wanted us to become good humans. The scoldings were not just to follow the discipline of the school.

Our school had all sorts of activities going on round the year and her involvement was not restricted to studies.
She made sure the talents of every student was polished and put forth. She was active in the cultural activities and sports. Singing, dancing, plays, debates, essay writing to name a few. She was multi talented.

I was one of the fortunate ones to have been trained under her guidance in some of these activities.

Our school made it to the finals of a dance competition. Every school showcased their dance representing a theme in the inaugural ceremony of the interschool sports competition. Our theme was Goa. She had choreographed and conceptualized along with another teacher. I was part of it and was so proud. Then there was choir singing for the Christmas day celebration. Various activities during annual day.

Two years were over in jiffy. We left school to get into 11th and 12th grade. How I wish our school wasn't limited to 10th grade...we would have the privilege to learn more from her.

Years went by...I got busy experiencing life and growing up. She, however, never left my thoughts. I would proudly tell her stories to friends and family whenever I had the chance to.

Then social media happened. Orkut... Facebook.
A few years ago, I found her on the latter platform along with our math teacher. I send her friend request. It was never accepted.
I found out she wasn't much active there so, I thought, perhaps she never saw it.
I even wondered if she at all remembered me. She knew me very well, so, her not being able to place me was unlikely...but, then again... it was years ago. I still wonder.

I, however, did not resend her the request. I thought, I'll instead meet her someday...surprise her and if she had indeed forgotten me, I would help her recollect and tell her everything that I wrote above here.

Tell her what she means to me...tell her how wonderful teacher she is...show her my blog, my other writings, my stories, haikus...make her proud and learn more when she would point out the mistakes...all this...I would do, SOMEDAY.

Here I was waiting for that 'someday', and the TIME bested me.

On 18th of this month, I received a WhatsApp message. The obituary clip mourned the loss of my favorite teacher.

Now, I'll never get to tell her all this. I was stupid to wait for that someday. I took time for granted. I missed all the opportunities that came by or the ones that I could have created myself.

I type this with a heavy heart and crying eyes...
Susan ma'am, wherever you are I hope my feelings reach you. You are being missed by so many lives you have touched. We love you.
I love you!

For you, the reader:
If you want to tell someone what they mean to you, seize this very moment to do so. You might never get the opportunity again.
There's never a right time or a wrong time.
Time is just...TIME. Bold and in caps... Authoritative...Untamed.

I'm Misleading Them...

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sat, 02 Jul 2016 08:12:00 +0000

After creating this blog it took me a few years to begin writing posts here. I simply didn't know what to write. I couldn't be an open book and pour out my heart on everything that had happened to me or was happening to me. I'm a private person on certain levels...have always been one.

I'm not a fashionista…and blogging about fashion would have meant a raid by the fashion police at my door every hour. My love for cooking too didn't mean that I would keep cooking and share recipes or food stories, too lazy for that.

Blogging about gadgets and gizmos would have meant inventing new definitions of the craft which might have given the fandom of Apple and Samsung and others severe attacks of acidity, and their wrath upon me.

The blog wasn't going to be my personal journal that was for sure…so what else I could log in here I had mused.

Books...movies…random stuff…and occasional food or fashion related tidbits?...Yes!
But how or where do I begin was a big question and the BIGGER question was- what would I call it?
Following too much of contemplation and deep meditation for like thousand years, "CoffeeBeans" was coined.

I like the name…I like the sound of it...and the reminder of the aroma of coffee energizes my thought process. But…there is always a 'but', isn't there? But…I sometimes wonder if some other name might have been right for my blog. A jazzy or a funky name that's savvy enough to grab everyone's attention...or an elegant, lady-like name that smells of etiquette from far away...or perhaps a geeky bong name that stirs the intellectual cells of the brains.

However, whatever name I might have chosen would definitely not have generated the kind of emails that I receive asking me if I would like to discuss or join their coffee grinding skills, or which coffee beans are of superior quality and some such.

Apparently these people strongly believe my blog to be a small scale industry dealing with coffee grinding, and that I'm some coffee maker trying to make it big in the big bad world of beverages. ~~their R&D sucks~~ My blog name confused them…I misled them. This post too will surely mislead them I know and their emails will keep gracing my inbox.

Meanwhile CoffeeBeans remains as it is; the name, the content…And the inbox stays open for all as usual.

If I'm a Coffee-Bean plant owner to you better think I'm the best, the one and the only, the ultimate, the unparalleled, the queen bee of the coffee industry. I won't accept anything lesser. Period.

Signing off for now as my coffee (made from ek rupaye wala Bru sachet) is getting cold.

Namastey!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Wed, 29 Jun 2016 06:58:00 +0000

A couple of weeks back, I entered CoffeeBeans. What happened next was unexpected and I forgot why I was here and what I wanted to write.

I was greeted by a soggy smell that drifted through the screen. It was a familiar soggy smell; the smell that swallows up a house that's been locked for months. I trotted further in and the sight was tragic. Layers of dust sat on the posts, many words were buried underneath it. Thick cob-webs weaved by a certain black-widow were suspended from the corners of the walls.

I advanced a little more. It was dark, it was gloomy, and it was cold. Bats hanging upside down were ready to attack their way out through the java scripts. The pictures that I used for the posts had a haunted appearance about them; I swear some of them were even moving, giving me spiteful looks. The murkiness of the place made me wonder if I was standing in the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place. Dreadful! However, the absence of Kreacher and the Black family tree assured me that I wasn't. I was inside CoffeeBeans, my beloved blog.

The place just needed some serious breathing in there.Every corner, every crevice was wailing for attention. It needed warmth and light of words. It needed me. I began with the repair work. I needed to sharpen up my writing teeth too. The bluntness was nauseating...so got myself half a dozen of canons to read.

Two weeks now, and here we are-my blog and I. You can see the walls (body of the blog) are whiter now, and the header is new too…of which, btw, I had advertised on my Facebook page (those doodles are my creation, thank you for the applause).

Of course you won't know of the changes if you are new here or if you weren't paying attention earlier because my words were so enchanting that your mind was focused solely on what I wrote and not the décor. {*bows* if that's the case}

Anyhow, that's done - the renovation, which, was quite a qamar-tod job; doodling online isn't easy, I'm getting back my sketch-pad and pencil for sure, the old school ways are always relaxing, and...and my writing is now filed too. So, see you around ;)

Namastey! _/\_

The Misfit!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 14 Feb 2016 14:06:00 +0000

I padded my way through the foreign corridors in an institute situated in South Bombay. The beauty enthusiast that I've become today was sleeping back in those days and I had let the sun tan me badly. My hair not spared either. Dry and frizzy, I had tied it in a ponytail with the baby hairs flying allover by my forehead. A tote bag which could have be easily dismissed as a "whatever" accessory, hanged from my right shoulder. I was cladded in jeans and loose fitting Tee shirt. Loose, because I was conscious of my developed body, a result of many labels I was christened with during school and college. My thick glasses, 5'3'' demure too was always the target of ridicule in school and then later during my college days. "Geek", "Shorty", "Chashmish" can only look good in government run offices or be a teacher, corporate world (which I was interested in), isn't for her- was often told to me. Although I could never wrap my head around the connection between these. Now I was in an institute to learn the corporate ways and hone my management skills. It was my first day in campus. I reached the classroom I was directed to and upon reaching I found myself amongst people who looked like models straight out of Cosmopolitan Magazine. All eyes darted towards me. As I walked towards an empty chair to claim it as mine for the day or perhaps for the whole year, I could feel the eyes on me. Studying me, judging me, stereotyping me. I couldn't dare to look at them fearing I would cry. Yet, some unknown strength encouraged me to look up. I did. There was a girl with porcelain skin, that looked like never been kissed by the mighty sun, in trendy clothes, staring at me. Telling me I was a misfit. I didn't belong in their world. She had disgust for me in her eyes.My fears were taking their shape. All these while, somewhere in my mind a little part of me was assuring me, that I and not these people were judging myself and in fact these nice people would embrace me. However, the girl crushed that little part inside me with her obvious expression. "I'm not letting any label bind me down"- I said to myself. A deep breath, all the inspiring people I had known who tore away the stereotypes, and images of my parents were all it took. I gaczed around and found a few friendly faces; I smiled and contagiously the smiles flew across the room. The lecture began in a few minutes, and so did the new chapter of my life. I found the courage, I found the voice, to announce my capabilities. I consciously became an active and attentive student in the class, the shyness gone out of the door. My homework on the basic management, marketing and advertising helped me answer many questions on the first day itself, gaining respect from many of my classmates and most importantly gaining confidence within me. From there it was no looking back. That girl eventually warmed up to me and though we weren't friends but we did become cordial to each other. the stereotyped labels were no longer there to haunt me. By the end of the term I managed to change my appearance, to take care of my physical side, not to please others but for myself. People seemed not to notice much as I was the same girl they had known the whole year. I was a misfit for others, and years of this perception had made me believe it and live it. It had damaged my confidence, thankfully my supportive parents and friends didn't let it be a mortal one. But, why these stereotypes, why these labels? Not every woman can get out of it...the damage can be dangerous.

Take a look at some of the startling figures that the Nihar Naturals #IAmCapable survey conducted by Nielsen India reveals:

a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.

b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.

c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.

d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

Scary, isn't it? So lets pledge to end this and let women be the way they want to be.

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

The Dark Beauty!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 14 Feb 2016 13:30:00 +0000

Dark her skin was, darker than the moon-less night
beautiful she was, beautiful than the moonlit night.

Let me tell you her story, a story I revere everyday
Her name so pretty, but I mustn't say
What to call her, if you must so care,
Let's name her 'K', and be fair.

Her skin hue defined her, for everyone
'Darky' she was called, her beauty seen by no one.

Thick long hair K oiled and braided,
Clothes she wrapped around her were dreaded.

Smart and savvy; but no one to care for these, Her bonnie face sans makeup, was not enough to please.

Debates she won, the 'A's she earned, 
Ignored were all her awards, more labels for her were churned.

Fearless K trotted, corridors she glided, her confidence shone,

But tears stained her cheeks whenever she was alone.

Full with worldly wisdom, and universal knowledge,
along with intelligence, drove her ambitious sledge.

Loser she would never be, K was determined of

Blinders she placed on ears and soared she off.

Physics, Math became her peers, 
she dived and swam in the books, 
the stars bowed to her and screamed 'cheers'

The labels, the judgements couldn't stop her,
Her determination took her to zenith helped her.
Four seasons it took for her mates to know
of her beauty, her worth, her glow.

She still oils and braids her thick mane,
fashions in a way that for some is pain.

She still shines in her dark skin,
her makeup skills are still lean.

Rock music doesn't appeal her like classical yet for sure,
Modern she is from thoughts not the external that we ensure.

A phd in physics hands proudly on her wall,
Is she still being labelled, judged, stereotyped? No Sir, not at all.

This was the story of 'K' (name withheld on request), a woman I've had the privilege to know since my kindergarten days. Of course, being a year or two older than me, she too was a little girl back then.

However, to be her friend was kind of taboo in the school. She was dark, though a beautiful dark. I was in awe of her flawless complexion; often jealous of her perfect skin and of the thick long luscious hair.

My friends and other classmates wondered why I didn't think their way. Why was I revering someone who was dark, therefore ugly, hence, with no talent.

Throughout her school days, time and again, she proved her debating skills, intelligent mind and sincerity towards her studies, and yet failed to get rid of all the labels that people threw upon her.

This wrath continued even in one of the most prestigious colleges of the city where she went to pursue her academics, however, couldn't last more than a year. She was determined not to let the school days repeat themselves in college. She had to break free but in any dramatic way.

'K' took all the opportunities that came by, where she could prove herself, and prove she did.

Her hard-work and patience teamed with her excellent communication skills, spoke on behalf of her, told the world what she is capable of. Who she really is. Those who laughed at her, labelled her, now respected her.

This day as I write about her she rocks the world of science as one of the research scientists in USA.

Physics and Math are still her best friends, although she has also found some genuine friends in humans...and they are many in number.

  K did it, but how many can do so? I know women who let these stereotyped labels run their lives and ruin everything they could have done, they could have been. 

These startling figures that the Nihar Naturals #IAmCapable survey conducted by Nielsen India reveals:

a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.

b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.

c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.

d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

Isn't it shame that our perception can damage a person forever. We can do better than this. Let us perceive women as they are and not as we see them.

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

The Golden Streams and I

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Tue, 02 Feb 2016 12:22:00 +0000

The sun pandiculates from the east horizon,
wakes up the sky, wakes up the earth.
He commands his still feeble rays in Alpha baritone,
to break in through the windows, to pierce in through blinds.

No exception to him, I'm sweetly attacked.
The brassy/ brazen but gentle rays, obeying their General's orders,
seep in through my open window, 
making their way in through the thin white waving curtains.

Dotingly they hit my eyes,
unwillingly my eyes flutter.
They open and they squint.

I'm met with now stronger golden beams
that are spread across my room,
just like yesterday, just like every other day.

Forgotten is the dream that was playing in my mind,
forgotten is the slumber that was reviving my tired self.

I look out of the window, there welcomes me a world consumed by the gold of the Sun; a sight that promises new possibilities, a new day, a new beginning. 

The fresh serene morning breeze
that tagged along with the honey streams, entice me
the crispness of the morning awakens me; mind, body and soul.

The morning tells me, oh so fondly/ lovingly 
to breathe in its essence, and breathe in I do.

Life enters me, "Resurrected am I?" I wonder.
Unbeknownst to me, I'm smiling.
I hear their voices, reaching me together, "Good morning sweetheart".
"Gold morning, Mom"
"Gold morning, Dad"
I reply.

Nature knows best when it comes to create magic or pull a miracle out of nothing. Surely, turning a good morning into a gold one is no exception for her. Ergo, the Golden sun-rays, fresh morning surroundings, and of course the irreplaceable dash of morning greetings from my parents make my mornings gold.

Wake up ...smell the morning...listen to the chirping birds...feel the golden hue of the sun on your skin, hug your loved ones and say your zealous good mornings and you'll create the magic of turning good into gold in a jiffy. And this Colgate gold morning Toothbrush I got hold of is another ingredient to the list of things that turn my good mornings into...yes, you got it...Gold Mornings.

The genius gold on it snowballs the effect of the gold of the sun & you're awarded with golden start right from your mouth to your day.

So, how're your mornings? Good or #Colgate360GoldMornings?

The Nonpareil of Kindness and Selflessness!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 10 Jan 2016 13:50:00 +0000

“Whatever the cost of our libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.” ― Walter Cronkite

“No one has ever become poor by giving.” ― Anne Frank, diary of Anne Frank

Vasai, Maharashtra.

When Sapna, a tailor who earns a living by stitching blouses, and falls to the sarees, visited our local Sai Baba Temple, the poojari noticed her moist eyes framed by a tensed face.

The woman was a regular visitor at the temple. Always armed with a broad smile that spoke of its genuineness, and unadulterated greetings, she came to the temple with humble offerings; wild pink daisies, handful of chanaa wrapped in a small piece of newspaper, and a rupee or two. Touching the feet of the poojari for his blessings before leaving was mandatory to her. This routine was accompanied by a exuberance that mirrored a happy and a content soul.

That day the smile, the contentment were taken over by sadness, anxiety and a fear of something terrible. The lackadaisical change in her otherwise perky nature alarmed him.

He wanted to ask her....he had to ask her. He was certain something was gravely wrong with her or her family. Once she was done with her pooja she came to him, took his blessings, and turned to leave, he stopped her to ask, she looked at him. He could see in her eyes that she knew why he stopped her. Words weren't needed, yet he asked, hoping...praying, she would tell him and not hide from him whatever it was.

"What's wrong?" In a very meek voice, barely audible, she told him about her plight. Her husband was jobless since three months. Initially she was sure things would fall into place eventually, but, now she had no hope. She was the sole earner of the household of six members now and her income was no longer enough. Their little savings had petered out as well. What she earned would not cover their, food, her sick mother-in-law's treatment and children's education together all at a time any longer. One of these needed to be sacrificed till her husband got employed again...and children's education seemed as the obvious choice for the family. Her children went to a private English medium school, a dream, a wish she once had for herself. "They would have to shift to municipality school", she sobbed with every word. Her body was shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks. Wiping away those tears she said a rather composed 'namastey' and left. The poojari couldn't wait for the other shoe to drop and made a few calls to the temple trustees and other people involved in the temple administration. That evening when they met, the agenda was crystal clear; Sapna's children's education must not suffer. In the next thirty minutes the solution to the problem was in front of them. They would raise a fund to cover the cost of the books, stationery, school uniforms, fees and at all for the entire year. It was March and they had three months before the next academic year starts. Driven by determination of achieving their goal one of them grabbed the black board which is used for notifying pooja timings, announcement of yagnas or other functions at the temple. Written in bold letters and large neat fonts with white chalk, the message was crisp and clear- 'Three children need money for continuing their education...Even a rupee from you would make a difference...Help educate them!!' The board was placed on the foot of the steps of the temple, where it grabbed attention of even those who had no intention of stopping by. In addition to that, from that day, every morning and evening the aarti was followed by an announcement on mike addressing people squarely on the fund raising topic. In just three weeks they lucked out; a good amount of money was raised for the siblings's education. Looking at the amount that kept pouring in it was decided they would continue and widen the fund raising to extricate other children who were in need.

May 2015, was when I saw the board for the first time. I did my bit and with June last week the board had some bhandara announcement written on it. The fund raising was closed, and would reopen again in April 2016, I was told. Though people were welcome to donate anytime if they wish to, my informer added. This bunch of people put a smile and contentment in the lives of Sapna and her children and many others like them by willingness. Willingness to serve humanity in ways they could afford to. These people for me are among the nonpareil of kindness and selflessness. Largely inspired and motivated by them many people have come together this year to make the fund raising more successful to help change lives of many more children. They taught me, empathy, willingness and an initiative, however small or big, can change the world.

With lots of inspiration and hope to see positive changes around me I've begun my new year with a smile full of life which one can again see on Sapna's happy and content face.

This post is inspired by http://www.youthkiawaaz.com/ for #SpreadTheVibe at Indiblogger.

The Force Awakened Little Siths!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Mon, 28 Dec 2015 14:38:00 +0000

Every year in the first Saturday of January, all the children (they are many...all capable of taking over an entire planet single-handedly) of my housing society, with the help of a few grown-up(not old) members, i.e. the sweet souls like me, organize costume party. Mostly themed. Just kids in costumes walking on ramp, posing their characters and mouthing lines to convince the elder people who are cheering as audience and the panel of judges. A Halloween of our own!

This Christmas eve, while we were enjoying the season's plum cake and other goodies that come along with the happy-holidays, we the grown-ups(not old) sat down with the kids to discuss the 2016 costume party. This most important discussion of our lives was going on between the concrete floor of our society terrace and the dark starry sky of the Universe.

As the discussion began to ferment into a sour debate over the themes that were flying around us like UFOs, a star winked at me.Yes winked not twinkled. The mischievous little ones up there were conspiring on a stupendous idea for the party, which, once was zeroed in on, was telepathi-ed to me with a wink.

...and on here on Planet earth we had our theme. Star Wars. The iconic phenomena which from generations have dazzled us was going to rule our costume party. 

  
P.C. Storehp.com

The theme was instantly received with utmost gusto by everyone. Now our intelligent brains were weaving together ideas on the execution. Stuck again- I thought. The last thing I wanted was a regular costume drama going around when we had the nonpareil idea. We had to make it exceptional, had to make it a Star Wars escapade for everyone that night.

Something Galactic then awakened the forces inside me. This time by an ad which was aired that morning. A dark metallic rectangular notebook flashed before my eyes. The new Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook. Oh yes!!! The one that's been making news all over. The special star wars edition would make our regular costume party an Galactic Empire Inspired one. While my brother got busy making arrangements to shop for one, I sat down with others to list the maximum use of the fully armed and operational Notebook we could make.

Coruscant

The Decor: The entire terrace had to be transformed in a way that it would transpire the feel of the Force and its Galactic Empire into every soul present there. The set designs that feature in the Notebook would come so much handy here. We picked Coruscant as the principal planet.

Death Star

My favorite egg shaped Death Star would also make its presence felt.

At-Rt walkers

The Vehicles, like the At-Rt walkers would land up in the corners. A special corner for R2-D2 on the stage was fixed. It seemed we could bring in his sound from the Notebook.

The characters: Darth Vader, the ultimate Sith was mostly chosen by all, but it was decided not more than three children can opt for it else the event would end up looking like the Sith's party and not Star Wars'. Surely it had awakened the Siths in the kids!Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Qui-Gon Jin, Chief Jawa, Han Solo, The Emperor were picked next.

Darth Vader with Lightsaber

The Costumes: The Notebook offers designs on the costumes and hence, I knew it would be pretty easy to ensemble the entire cast if I had to.

The weapons: The lightsaber, the Ion blasters for the Jawa, Blaster pistol for Han Solo could be easily created. All we needed were the designs from the Notebook.

Aurebesh

The invitations, the banners, would be typed and printed in the Aurebesh, the Galactic Based Standard Language, font which is loaded in the font library, with English subtitle underneath it.The Title theme track of the Star Wars and other tracks for every character and episode that would be showcased by the kids would be played from the Notebook ( yes! pre-loaded in it) all the time.

Woo-Hoo!!Star Wars Galactic Empire party it is. Now just awaiting my Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook.

Meanwhile... I asked a DJ friend to help me arrange an assemble of StarWars title track and a few other tracks; the Darth Vader...The Imperial Attack...Cantina Band...and some such. From waiting for the Virar local, to boarding it, to securing a seat, till alighting at the destination has been giving me the experience of the galactic wars. Listening to the music would just temper the whole experience.

Ah! Here he comes, let me get to work with him on the music while you get your own Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook and #AwakenYourForce.

All the pics used in this post have been taken from wikipedia except the Hp Star Wars special Edition Notebook, which has been borrowed from storehp.com.

The month of May!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sat, 30 May 2015 14:05:00 +0000

Hello Hello Hello!

What a May I had! A day more for the scorching month to end.
From meeting old friends to finishing up three short stories to catching flu after 7.5 years to missing my blog's anniversary and what not. Phew!! So much to tell.
okay, so where do I begin?

Guess, shouting and jumping and jigging should be in order. CoffeeBeans got featured on baggout's top 15 short story blogs of India. Eeeeeeehawww!! Lala laa lala lalla lalalala....and my Fb blog page has more than 500 likes; 583 as wek speak.
Ahhh!! And all this on it's 3rd bday month...awww...my baby is three now. They grow up so fast, don't they. *teary eyes*

I know I've been disappointing many by not being active much here...no excuses...no promises...but I just want to thank everyone who honestly appreciate whatever little writing skills I have. Tons of gratitude on your way!

Now for some more attention seeking news. I and mom were down with flu for a week. Poor dad had to put up with two demanding bong women at the same time without questioning. He cooked, kept tab on our medicines, kept us hydrated, smiled while we threw tantrums. Did I tell you I've a great dad who sometimes turn into Bhaskar's character from Piku minus the constipation hardship.

This month is full of anniversaries. My parents celebrated their 38 years of togetherness. Two of my friends celebrated their silk anniversaries. Yeah I've learned some of the names of anniversaries. Paper, silk, iron, pottery, ivory. Before they reach the silver mark, they go through these.

Anyhow, I'll now wrap up this post with a bow and a big thank you to Baggout for appreciating my blog. Do check the site. Yes I'm happy.

P.S. I badly need a hair cut. With it touching the small of my back, I feel like Rapunzel and the Bombay heat denies the pleasure of being the Disney princess. Was in the mourning period so, couldn't chop them. The period ends today.

P.P.S. I found a tiny little crawling white creature in a litchy. It looked cozy sitting inside the depression of the fruit. I discarded the fruit.

Ads More Twists To Life!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 19 Apr 2015 12:55:00 +0000

I'm such a naive soul. Tend to take things frighteningly seriously.
As a kid from the 80's I've had my horrors during showers. I with starry wide eyes looked for anyone watching. That's what happened in that badaa saabun ad. And though every soap ad had had a voyeur this one had a voice too. Ok, that was it, I didn't wait for the other shoe to drop, I had it clear at home, stomped my feet in the process and was ready with gallons of tears within me to shed, we weren't getting badaa sabun ever ever ever.
My perplexed parents assured me I was safe. I preferred the lemony fresh soap and hypocritically enough it's laalaalala- jingle never seemed a threat to me. On the contrary, I wished someone sang it, while I scrubbed myself with the soap, on my stead. Wishes! Sigh!
The horrors haven't ceased to haunt me even now when I've grown up. Each time I sprinkle namak or squeeze a nimboo I fear a certain Bollywood actress might drop from nowhere, literally, and lecture me on my wasting the ingredients on food which are so vital for our toothpaste.
A shiver runs down my spine for my future kids, they might have to do away with garam masala too and settle for bland food in the practice.

My future kids worry me, yes, and I'm not even married yet. Still looking...searching for the right guy you see. But how would I know he is the one?- I often asked my bedroom ceiling.
Then one fine day:
Voice over: Are you looking for prince charming?
I: Haan.
VO: Are you looking for happily ever after?
I: Haan.
VO: Are you looking for a fairytale?
I: Haan bhai haan!

The VO told me to look for a guy who would not compromise on the Kitchenware brand and I'll know for sure that he pyaars me when he won't inqaar from my beloved prestigious brand. And that will be my eureka moment, the moment to scream; Yehi hai right choice baby Ahaa!
He would be my neighbor's envy and my pride.

I bowed to the VO and gave it two thumbs up thus cheering on the advice it gave.
I was suddenly tad too thirsty. Thirsty for the thumbs reminded me of the ever so tempting thunder. But the chill climate killed my mood to taste anything toofani and I settled with water.
A tinie-minie dark particle was lazily floating in the water which I poured from my filter. Damn! I cursed myself with words that were banned in my house for not listening to the advice on shudh paani. I made it a mission to get the purifier ASAP...before I'm made to drink tanks of water while getting sermonized on pure water.

So much of energy draining activity and the single digit temperature almost famished me.
Whenever hunger attacks me in this fashion my right hand automatically reaches for the 2 minutes noodles, which takes 9 minutes to cook and that was no exception that day either.
After gulping down the healthy, iron and vitamins se bharpoor noodles, my bong tongue threw tantrums for some meetha. Huh...the bahanes my tongue make to have some meetha. Iss mein doodh hi doodh hai, pyaar ka rang hai, achhe kaam ki shuruwat meethe se, and whatnot. Anyhow, I got some chocolates from the fridge and satisfied my bong tongue.

My phone buzzed. A reminder of a ppt I was to finish. Did I tell you I have a fabulous job. Well I do! I landed this job for my skills, confidence, talent, and my complexion, which is wheatish, shade number 6. I know if it were a lighter shade I would have been in my boss's chair or maybe even in the CEO''s if I were the fairest of them all...oh mirror on the wall!! What a tragedy I say!!

As I type these words and sip on my green tea, my ancestors thank the tea makers for unlike my can-be-never-changed complexion, at least by body is on the thinner side, to which my genetically high metabolism rate and a bit of disciplined lifestyle has almost nothing to do. Saves me so much gym ka kharcha. Oh that reminds me, my bestie is getting married next month. Awww!! Got much to do. To start with I've to bath in those milky, rosy soaps...buss zara sa rose...the bachpan ka laalalaa soap forgotten. Then buy a sexy trousseau and eat two bowls of corn cereals everyday to look sexier in that sexy chiffon. Clearly Green tea won't suffice.
Ahh! It would be so much fun. Mehendi, sangeet, shaadi, reception...chaar functions!! Ohh how can I forget ...haldi, the 5th one. My bestie-banno will be smeared with the turmeric infused ayurvedic, not cosmetic, cream. She'll look priceless. *teary eyes*

Uff!! So much to do and I'm wasting time here. You guys have fun with IPL I'll have with mine and might just know how to not get patronized by these creative ads.

“I am joining in on all the Pepsi IPL action in my own style with the #CrashThePepsiIPL activity at BlogAdda.”

This Pepsi IPL, it's not just about cricket. It's time to crash with your own created ad! Make your own Pepsi ad & if it's chosen, it could play on TV during Pepsi IPL! And hey, it doesn't end here… Even if you're chosen as a finalist, you stand a chance of winning a prize amount of Rs.1 lakh! So what are you waiting for guys?

Ceremony of Happiness!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 12:49:00 +0000

Entire two storey house was decorated with lights, colorful satin and zari drapes and marigold-ribbons. My cousin's wedding was going to be a splendid one. Perfection in every department was in demand by the bride and her father, my uncle, made sure the demand was met come what may.
Pre wedding rituals, her trousseau for each of those rituals, jewelry to match every outfit, hospitality towards the relatives who had come few days prior to the wedding, food, music, every little detail was being taken care of.

Three domestic helps of the family were asked to work overtime, to wait upon the guests. This was in addition to extra household chores that they were already doing. For which they were to earn additional money. However, the way the three were attending to every job assigned to them and often to what wasn't assigned, money seemed secondary to them. Having been serving the family for years they had by then become a part of the household and they were happily serving the extra hours. They took it upon themselves their individual responsibilities as if the bride was their own daughter.

One evening, two days prior to the wedding, everyone gathered in the living room. A gifting tradition was in order. In this tradition every close relative and friends are gifted clothing-sarees, salwar suits, kurtas; a gesture to thank them for being a part of the wedding ceremony.
The gifting was on and so was the artificial hackneyed line "Oh why me?" "There was no need." "Why the formality?"

While all this was happening, to everyone's surprise, my cousin called the three helps and each were given boxes that were beautifully wrapped in glossy papers just like the other wrapped gifts.
Ecstatic Shikha and Fatima found tussar sarees in their packets, while Mahesh was delighted to find silk kurta in his. The surprises didn't come to an end there. My aunt had gifts for their families too.

I saw a few expressions in the room which unabashedly screamed of disapprovals on such gesture, but those minuscule negative energies couldn't compete with the grand happiness that oozed out of Shikha, Fatima and Mahesh. They felt special, a feeling which was so rare for them, I thought. A smile was fixed on my face, it just felt so right.

My respect and love multiplied for my cousin's family and not to mention there were tons and tons of joy around us.That day I knew that all it takes is sprinkling of some fairy dust in someone's life and happiness in abundance showers around us.

Courtesy: india.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”

The Blissful Feast and Mithayis!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 12:15:00 +0000

The morning was a usual one, a leisurely Sunday 9.00 am with breakfast and newspaper and some family time. While I was digging into my protein induced meal, my parents were discussing the world and their inhabitants around our family. Not interested in the lead characters of the discussion I chose to concentrate on the headlines of the daily.

Moments later I realized the discussion had come to a halt. I looked up and found two pairs of questioning eyes darting towards me. Mom repeated the question which apparently didn't reach me on its first attempt for I was engrossed in those worldly headlines.

I was asked if I remembered that I had to sponsor bhog at our community club's temple with my first salary. A promise, mother had made to God when I was at interviews. A promise, I was aware of, something that all the ladies of the club made for their children without fail; a tradition had shaped up out of its own.

It never had fancied me though and ergo, the promise or its reminder did nothing to fan my enthusiasm for it. I had nodded my consent earlier but now my heart played a different harp.
The bhog, the blessed meal, would be served to people who are already well fed. People who fasted not because their pantry was empty but because they wanted to lose some kilos. People who never hesitated to throw away excess food they had on their plate out of miscalculation of the quantity. What was the point in feeding such stomachs when there were people famished for days? Such hunger does not occur out of choice. It’s a product that mushrooms out of poverty and its vicious circle.

I knew I had to follow my heart. I discussed my plan with my parents. They thought feeding unfortunate was a noble thing but one cannot back away from a promise either, especially one that made to God. Hence, it was decided I would share a feast with a local orphanage and would also sponsor the bhog.

The day of feast was magical. The warmth, the smiles, the happiness, all so contagious, filled my heart with joy and love. I did not attend the bhog though, which was organized the next day much to the chagrin of my family. I visited the orphanage in its stead, this time with mithayis. This to only witness and experience the smiles that played on their angelic faces. Was totally worth!!

Courtesy: India.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”

The 'Hope' Incident!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Thu, 09 Apr 2015 12:14:00 +0000

Courtesy: Inmagine.com

The heat of summer, the stress at work and the ever so slow traffic had taken its toll on me. Standing in the bus packed with sweating men and women standing-sitting so close to me for more than an hour was killing me brutally.
Twenty minutes had gone by and the bus had moved only an inch.
Sigh!

My legs were crying, my muscles were threatening to revolt, my senses were on their way to call a strike and I still had to board an equally crowded train after this ordeal.

Just when my right shoulder was about to begin complaining about the weight of my purse that was hanging from it, my throat gave a slight itch; one I was so familiar with. It resulted from the need of water. A need I wasn't able to fulfill with as my bottle was empty.

As the bus kept inching towards the station, its final stop - my stop, the thirst kept aggravating.
The prayers were in all the languages I knew and it had only one underlined wish. Get me home quickly, please!

I was famished, I was thirsty, I was worn out. And the traffic just refused to budge. With all my will power and strength I stood on the spot waiting for a miracle. I played my favorite movies in my mind to avoid the reality and it kind of worked. Thirty minutes later I saw us nearing the station. I looked at the watch, 7.30. Stopping for water will make me miss the train I had my eyes on and that meant reaching home late. All I wanted that time was a hot bath, food and sleep.

Finally the bus stopped at our destination and I sprang out of its confines running towards a nearby shop. Asked for a small bottled water. I grabbed the bottle not caring its temperature or its brand. I paid and ran towards platform number 2. Knowing well the crowded train would make it next to impossible to drink my nectar, I opened the bottle and drank a little, just enough to ease the itch. All this while, running.

Reaching the platform I saw my desired train snaking in. I capped the bottle tightly and shoved it inside my already heavy purse, ready to board the battlefield. Just as the train came to halt I squeezed my thin frame inside.

I couldn't move but I had to get further in with my lock stock and barrel.
Then I felt a warm but firm hand around my right wrist. It was pulling me in. I saw a bunch of smiling females who with determination and some voice authority made the ladies around me relax and make way. In no time I was inside, safe. It was crammed but I wasn't being shoved. A woman got up from her seat and made me take her place. "You look sick", she said. I realized, I was. I could throw up anytime. Another woman gave me a bottle and asked me to take a sip from it. Its glucose water I was told. "Such journeys call for these drinks", she smiled.

I gulped down more than a little and found an elderly woman fanning me with her dupatta.
Overwhelmed with such kindness my hopes on humanity firmed up. The city that's often touted as heartless had more heartbeats than you and I could possibly imagine.

The incident reminds me of not losing faith in humanity and I hope it never dwindles.

Foil To My Bane!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Thu, 09 Apr 2015 12:03:00 +0000

Courtesy: Inmagine.com

The melancholy digits on the mark-sheet nonchalantly displayed themselves. Every time I looked at them I saw a dim future. If only I had worked harder, I kept thinking while mentally kicking myself.

Not a day had passed since tenth results were out and people around me were already flagging me and mouthing pasquinades.

Worse, my friends had done well and this chip was gingerly placing itself on my shoulder. I knew scoring low didn't make me less intelligent but it did showcased me as one.

My worrisome thoughts though were directed towards my parents. They hadn't much said till then. Hadn't reacted in any certain way.

Did they just stop talking to me? Did they disown me? Hell I deserved every bit of it.
I never thought text books were meant for me. Mathematics and I were from different planets and a few more subjects didn't share my genetic structure. The only subjects that appealed me were English and Biology; the ones I generally topped. I didn't like others and I couldn't sit through them. I knew this attitude would fetch me scores that are less rich in academic culture. Yet, I didn't care. But, now with those predicted marks and acerbic comments from certain very concerned family friends and nothing from my parents was reducing my faith in myself to crumbles.

Were my parents in shock? Why weren't they saying something? I then realized dad wasn't at home. I couldn't muster the courage to ask mom where was he? Mom too was engaged in kitchen.
Boycotted was I! "Definitely deserve it", I told myself.

I began to rifle through my options. Options to illuminate my future that looked like a dark cavern. I wanted to be a writer, always have, but I had to show my academic prowess. I was invariably told that these numbers will only push me to Arts and I knew they were right. Scoring well, no matter what stream, was now my only goal. Novelist was forgotten.

The door-bell rang. I knew it was dad. I didn't move. I didn't look at that direction. Just stared at the paper I was scribbling in.
I heard them murmuring. Were they to send me to some sort of exile? I sat on my spot motionless anticipating a sentence I was ready for.
The murmur had stopped and I felt their presence around me. I heard a pin drop in that nano moment. It was a murderous silence.
And then something happened. I was being crushed by my parents literally. They both were hugging me so tight I could feel my lungs struggling with their job.

Hug! They should be screaming at me shouldn't be hugging me.

Their lips were now pressing themselves against my forehead and cheeks.

Kisses! Oh my God, I have driven them mad. I turned to them and saw them smiling. Smiles that were assuring me they weren't crazy. Smiles assuring me I was still their daughter. Phew!

The smiles then were replaced with words. They weren't miffed at me nor had I shamed them. They told me how the scores could never take away my intelligence, my dignity, my future or anything else unless I give them up.
These were just part of life and not life itself.
Dad then showed me the reason of his absence. He had got me O. Henry's short story collection and mom announced she was making my favorite pulav.
The silence treatment was just to make me contemplate that on my thoughts, my needs, my actions. They know me well, if they hadn't given me that space, I would have taken things for granted.
With tears rolling down my cheeks and hugging my beloved patents, I looked at the tomb and smiled. Future was so bright.

Till date, those moments make me smile, optimize me, and fill me with love.

Making of a History aficionado?!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Fri, 03 Apr 2015 14:01:00 +0000

I love cinema. Movies, the good ones, are so much more than entertainment. Till date, for me its one of the best form of arts. But never have I garnered the same affection for History, that is until now. 'Now' refers to the past five or maybe six years.

As an average student I often lashed out at education system, within the confines of my mind, for not introducing Cinema as one of the subjects. It would have surely pushed my total percentage several notches up. Moreover my detest for History; the subject of dead people I cared the least for, had me have some wicked conspiring wishes. One of the milder ones was me merrily dreaming of Cinema replacing the good for nothing, drab, avein History; yes, the subject of dead people, I cared the least for, in our syllabus.
No surprises here, my prayers which were byproducts of my wishes fell on deaf ears - always, no exception.

Now that I'm older, wiser, sexier, and my whites are dyed in burgundy, History has gingerly but royally seduced its way into my life.
I don't recollect precisely how and when the amour blossomed between us but, today dead people fascinate me. Their lives, their milieu, their conspiracies, their struggles, their ideas - ill or not intrigue me. I'm captivated by the Mughals, the Mauryans, the Cholas, the whole shebang.

Cinema (ones with vintage approach) with its story telling prowess, the immensely talented people, Bollywood, Hollywood and all that jazz is still the apple of my eye, but in time History has ensconced itself on a strong dignified status.

Book Review: Story of Tublu - Jahid Akhtar!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Mon, 30 Mar 2015 13:35:00 +0000

Book: Story of Tublu.
Author: Jahid Akhtar
Tagline: An amazing journey called life.
Publication: Lifi publication
Price: Rs.200
Pages :204

What does it take to make debut of a book decent? Fine narration with the proper use of language along with skilled editing. The story of Tublu lags behind in these departments forcing Jahid's commencement into the literary world to elicit less interest from the reader.
I don't seek words that would make me sit with a dictionary to decipher every sentence. A simple prose with simple lingo can weave a grand tale.

Further, ill conceived characters and bad editing makes you cringe all through.
The repetitious 'cute little' to describe all the babies/toddlers in the story and the 'wells' coming on to prefix itself before sentences, in little less than 1/4th of the book, are enough to make it limp.

Dynamics between the characters remained unexplored. Sigh! I so wanted to see some alchemy at least between Tublu and Adi. Nothing. The romance was placid too. And what mother would get into a passionate night in the couch with a person whom she gingerly pushes to marry someone else, while her unwell kid is in the bedroom? I wonder!
Btw, what was the hurry Jahid? The lets-wrap-up-quickly angle could be felt in many chapters especially in the latter ones making the book free of zest. I'm sure this wasn't your intention but it shows.

Accuse me of nitpicking, if you may, but such lackadaisical approach to prose and other foibles strewn throughout left me unimpressed.

Note: The foreword is nothing but a spoiler. Don't ask me why! But if you are about to read the book, leave the foreword for last.
A good friend that you are, Jahid, but as promised for an honest review, I, with a hope of a better novel from you in future, rate 'Story of Tublu' with lesser number of stars; 2 out of 5.

I thank Jahid who gave me a copy of his debut novel to read and review.

Book Review: Catching The Departed- Kulpreet Yadav.

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 29 Mar 2015 14:18:00 +0000

Title: Catching The Departed

Author: Kulpreet Yadav
Publication: tara India research press.
Price: Rs.299...$8.99...£5.99
Pages: 255

The author seems to not have paid much attention to the main characters. Monica's character seems to have been forcefully injected and nothing constructive comes out of it. Not fair to her intelligence. The architect behind all the wrong doings too didn't seem to be enough spiteful to be loathed. They fail to impress. At times they shine and other times they fall flat. The same happens with the story.

This review has been sitting on the back burner for months. My sheer incapability in time management is the sole cause of the delay. Apologies to the author.

An investigative journalist is probing the murder of a lawyer...the black hats and the nasty chain of events that are consequences of the miscreants...our hero's love is just not a pretty face; all this and more from a hamlet near New Delhi to Mumbai breathes through the words of a very capable writer. Kulpreet, after a delicious anthology, India Unlimited, comes on with the first installment of his Andy Karan series, "Catching The Departed". He won a fan in me with his first book and ergo my expectations invariably reached the highest rung of the ladder. Expectations, however, slipped a few rungs down as I progressed with the story.

To begin with, the protagonist's name doesn't strike a chord with me. It's Bollywood-ish.

However, the prologue and some chapters like the one where Hakim, the informer is slaughtered, had me turning the pages. The murder scene engulfed me so much so that I could swear I could smell the coppery blood wafting off the pages. But in the other parts the placid terrain made things dull for me.

Thrillers especially treading into the realms of undercover agents, ex army people, etc., need good research. The lack of it makes its presence felt in the story, thus, disappointing the reader in the process.

This one kind of flatters to deceive

I rate 'Catching the Departed' 3/5.
I thank Kulpreet Yadav for letting me an opportunity to read and review his first thriller.

Long Time No See-Saw!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Thu, 04 Dec 2014 08:09:00 +0000

Hello my fellow Earthlings,

Missed me?
Yes? Awww...love on your way.
No? Hmmm...hope that cauliflower on your kitchen counter is pillaged by those nasty, ewwish looking green worms.

*looks churlishly*

Now, I'm not going to delineate the sequence of actions and thoughts I was breathing in in these last many weeks. How I survived without blogging? or whether the reason was sheer boredom? or the much hated writer's block? Nada-giving you nothing to tittle-tattle about.

Surely, politics allowed to engage our days with lot of amusing topics, like it always does and always promises to present more entertainment. However, the one who bested all was, Baba Rampal; with his huge fortress, private army and human shield stayed in the limelight for around two weeks. And now we hear of another Baba; "FrozenBaba" whose bhaktajans are ready to produce their "Meditating" baba in the court and prove he is not dead but on the path of Nirvana.

Gosh how much I love these Babas and Babis. Even the not much famous Bangali babas' advertisements are so delightful. They are good entertainers, not as entertaining as FRIENDS but definitely better than BiggBoss. OMG...did I just name FRIENDS and BB in the same line :o :o :o *blasphemy* :(
Hopefully, I would get to forgive myself some day for this imbecile interjection.

Moving on...
There is so much to talk about ...so much to listen to ...so much to express...so much to bore you with...and for that I'm scribbling this balderdash to announce: " CoffeeBeans is back"; Hope to create some good posts and eventually give something to gossip about. *wink*

Ergo, with a promise of next post soon to go live, signing off for today.
Xoxo

P.S. Worm infested cauliflower or any vegetable indicates ...no or less use of pesticides on them. Safe to eat...no?

P.P.S. My next post would be a book review.

The Hand-Writing Mirror!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 07 Sep 2014 13:47:00 +0000

One of the childhood memories that flashes before like the crystal clear water of Gangotri, is that of my father yelling, snorting, cribbing about me not having good handwriting. He from his boyhood days was a proud owner of a handsome handwriting and I had a terrible one. Well "terrible" by his standards, "okay-ish" by my teachers' and "readable" by mine.

Every time dad went near my notebooks, it meant a lecture was on it's way. I don't remember his words, so much so for as clear as Gangotri, but he definitely meant; handwriting is the mirror of human's soul. I cared the least. What would an eight year old care for a soul's mirror as long as it's readable?

Universe had it's other plans and my school announced handwriting competition along with spelling contest. I took up the challenge. I was competing against myself. And don't we give our best with the best opponents?
I practiced, imitated dad's handwriting, copied the way the boy who sat next to me scribbled.
Result, I won the spelling competition ...lost handwriting one to a girl from my class whose features were similar to Juhi Chawla, something that gave her the right to behave like the actress, and gave every girl the licence to hate her.

Anyhow, I was beaten by myself...I shrugged, what would a nine year old care about a mirror of a soul?
At home, dad's eyes were moist. Alright, I'm exaggerating, they weren't moist, but certainly were happy. Due to all that practice, I had acquired a good handwriting which now flowed everywhere out of habit. Yes my handwriting had improved and how. It was almost like my dad's.

From then, it was no looking back. I never again participated in handwriting competition as they were no longer held...but appreciation for my handwriting galore. Boy I was one happy soul. Surely it's mirror of our souls, eh!

Years later, with computer and now with smart phones at my side, the mirror of my soul types. My fingers refuse to conjure the beauty once it was famous for. It's been a week now, and I have been struggling to get those handsome curves in my words that ruled the handwriting world.
This morning I felt a tinge of the royal beauty...I'm certain I saw the glimpse of the old bugger. Ergo, with gallons of hope to revive it and keep it alive and healthy for good, I'm signing off for now.

UniverCell-y Appealing!!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Thu, 28 Aug 2014 13:39:00 +0000

Who would've thought a gadget store can be fun for someone whose enthusiasm of shopping strictly ends at apparel and accessories; let me tell you, I never did. My impression of the store was that of the same old boring gadget dummies at display, staring at you... promising latest features with salespersons listing it's worth in their mechanical-rehearsed tone. B-O-R-I-N-G.
So, when Indiblogger came up with this event to visit UniverCell store, I registered only with a prospect of meeting fellow bloggers and owning the cute little speaker that looks like a colorful wine barrel after I write about my experience of the store.

Boy was I in for a surprise or what...
With a blogger's mind, determined to grasp the best from the store to put it on my post, I entered UniverCell's Colaba branch. Indiblogger team member was already on the floor,and yours truly along with other early birds was introduced to the Vice-president, Saumya Menon, of the UniverCell.
The warm and vibrant lady had taken it upon herself to give us a tour of not only every corner of her store but also about UniverCell's existence.

The very first thing that I heard about the store had my eye brows jump to fifth floor. UniverCell is about 18 yrs old, probably as old as the cell phone in India itself with 500 branches strongly rooted in Chennai, Bangalore, Hyderabad and Kerala...and now spreading itself in Maharashtra with 9 stores in Mumbai and one in Pune.
Do I already have all your attention to the hilt? I'm sure I do...so read on...

The Vibrant Lady, VP :D

A live store...
The eye brows which had by then settled on their home ground took another jump at the same floor, when we were told that the gadgets staring at us were not dummies...they were real. And customers could actually play them, hear them, touch them, tickle them...possibly do every legal thing to them that would not take them anywhere near the prison. Every phone or tab is installed with latest apps and connected to speakers where you can listen to music checkout what's new.
Yes UniverCell is one of a kind...they were the first live store on this very earth that you are living in. Phew! Now why would anyone complain about my eyebrows not jumping back to it's place.

Drop a gadget...
Ahh!! unintentional dropping of gadgets won't make them kick you out or pay unnecessarily either. How cool and understanding UniverCell is.

Kid friendly...
Touch me not...is so passe at UniverCell. And so, the kids aren't left behind; the kids from the era of gadgets who are smarter than adults with 130 IQ and are wise enough to handle a new phone making us adults look naive. UniverCell's target audience have today's kids in their minds and they have the access to this playground called UniverCell where they can fondle and play with the gadgets and gizmos.

Friendly staff

Customer in Mind...
Prioritizing customers' needs are their prime motto. Ergo, on of their cool services include them taking your bigda phone to the respective service center...and bringing it back to your doorstep if asked for...making this unwanted process hassle-freeeee...

We got framed...
The store is a fun zone not just because of being a live one but also because they have a section in their store where you can take fun pictures with your friends and family or even ask one of the staffs to click you if you are visiting solo. Just like we got framed *wink*

Thank you Tamara for posing <3

Fun Continues...
Our session came to an end and we had to leave. Leaving a live store after three hours of fun wasn't a welcoming thought but alas we had to do it. But, we weren't allowed to leave empty handed or should I say empty tummies. UniverCell thanked u with goodies; food and drink- a spinach corn sandwich, brownie, juice and water neatly placed in a brown paper bag from CCD- for the hungry souls.

Fun-smiley-wall

Bidding thank you-s to the staff and cya-s to fellow bloggers and carrying our goodies I walked out of the Live store called UniverCell along with fellow bloggers taking in an experience worth sharing not just for the tiny wine barrel (speaker) but because of it's unique appeal to people, which did reach to a person like me who otherwise dislikes being in gadget stores. So, peeps, just don't sit on your rears this weekend...get up and explore one of the UniverCell stores near you...even if you don't wish or plan to buy anything. Experience the live store and have fun.

To get more UniverCell savvy you may click HERE.

Gourmet and The Midas Touch!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Fri, 08 Aug 2014 15:57:00 +0000

The Tangra fishes lay in the runny masala curry.

Tangra looks gorgeous in Borosil Hot pot.

The juicy Chicken Rezella flaunts itself in the deep Borosil dish.

The Katla Fish Kaalia made it's grand entry.

Jeera Rice happily highlighting the main course.

Dahi Kadhi blissfuly settled in the Borosil gourmet bowl.

The last entrant was the strawberry-Vanila ice-cream with choco-chips serenely awaited for their turn in the Borosil squat glasses.

The main course fit for a gourmet had the Midas touch of Borosil :)

This post has been written exclusively for Borosil contest "My Beautiful food- Round 2" by Indiblogger.
To be more Borosil savvy click HERE.

P. S. The pics are property of the author of this blog, CoffeeBeans.

The Black Effect!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 27 Jul 2014 13:36:00 +0000

People relate the dark hue to old school thoughts and it has been shelved for morose occasions only. No blacks at happy events, yet such shoving into an undesirable corner have not stripped “Black” from being a strong color representing ‘independent nature’. It continues to rule many hearts and is thus the favorite or one of the favorite colors of many including yours truly.
So, when I came across the prompt of #WhatTheBlack by, Blogadda, I took this opportunity to list five things from my "Black Wishlist" that keeps including items with time.

Harry Potter Robe: I’m a huge Harry Potter fan and I’ve been dying to own the props of the series, right from the elder wand to the thunderbolt, but the one that has been my favorite is the black cloak worn by the witches. It’s this clothing that sets the wizards and witches apart from Muggles (non-magic people).

Audrey Hepburn’s dress: The black Givenchy dress of Audrey Hepburn is quoted as one of the most iconic items of clothing in the history of cinema. A classy dress of a classy actress makes it a classy choice that's a must for me.

Batmobile: Since 1939, Batman’s automobile racing through the streets of Gotham city has been the sleekest and coolest one around. The concept car has captured minds with its modified features armored with gadgets fighting the baddies. It started off with a red Sedan and then turned into a black beauty and continues to be one.

Book of dead: The Book of the Dead that made its cameo in The Mummy is an ancient Egyptian Funerary Text. As I have no intentions of playing hide and seek with mummies and the curses or their afterlife journeys, I would like to get the the book used in the movie purely for its enigmatic aura.

Black Ipad: I love black gadgets, my cell phone, my watch, headphone are all black and prize them too much. And the first prize for this contest being the black Ipad… what else my 5^th wish could be *winks*

This post is a part of #WhatTheBlack activity at BlogAdda.com

Black and How...

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 27 Jul 2014 13:26:00 +0000

Black, the color of infinity, the color of eternity, the Color of the Universe has always attracted me towards its enigmatic nature. It's, perhaps, because I relate to its characteristics. It oozes discipline, radiates power; two adjectives I respect and cherish. I have many things that are black in color; from my PC to my cell phone, from my flats to my favorite pen all are black. However, there is a list of many black things that I have my eyes on. Here are my beloved five items from my "Black Wishlist" :

Black Kelly bag: The epitome of beauty for me and many is Grace Kelly. Her beauty her style statement has always been an inspiration to women for years, so much so that her favorite leather Bag was named after her; The Kelly bag. What I feel it would be an absolute privilege to own one in black color and feel the enhancement in my style in a royal way.

Black (Tahitian) Pearl Necklace: A rare gift from nature, Tahitian Pearls often called Black pearls because of it's black color is highly expensive. Their beautiful dark hue makes any jewelry look royal and elegant fit for every woman. I was 15 when I came across a black pearl necklace and fell in love with it. I have been dreaming it around my neck touching my skin enhancing my beauty.

Black Diamond Ring: “Carbonado” which I prefer to call by its common name, “Black Diamond”, in the form of a ring, is another in my wish list. There have been many myths around this beauty, some good some bad for years. Some cultures say it clears the misconception between a couple and some culture state that it brings on curse. Curse or eternal love, all I see in these gems is the black beauty it radites from each piece.

Black Belt: Not the leather ones, I have a pair of them, but the one that makes you proud of the achievement that's attached to it. The Baap of all belts, the one that denotes the highest grade of Martial arts, The Black Belt.

Black complexion: Color of Kanha... color of kaali, it’s the ultimate complexion one can wish for. And I wish for this complexion for everyone on this planet and put an end to discrimination on the basis of skin color. The stupid fairness creams and moronic demand of fair brides would be off the market. Beauty lies in black and it would be all around us physically.

This post is a part of #WhatTheBlack activity at BlogAdda.com

Butterfly-Season by Natasha Ahmed; A Romance From Across The Border.

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Sun, 13 Jul 2014 17:38:00 +0000

Title: Butterfly-Season
Author: Natasha Ahmed
Pages: 101
Available: Indireads and Amazon
Rate: 4.5/5

Last night I sat to read this novella and read it at a stretch. My plan was to read the second half this morning, but my mind was glued to the story and I finished it by midnight. I'm sure even if it were a novel which I wish it were I would have stayed up till morning and completed it. That was the effect of the story on me. It isn't an extraordinary tale streaming with unpredictable end, but it is a simple story told beautifully.

When I was approached by Natasha Ahmed for a review of her debut book, a romance novella, I almost had a 'no' ready, as it was an e-book and besides, the new age romantic books with their cheesy titles have never made any good impression on me. However, here the title "Butterfly-Season" was refreshing; not tacky at all, and the author's email itself spoke a lot about her mature mind to handle a romance/chick-lit. And call it a woman's instinct; I said a big yes to it. My instinct didn't disappoint me.

The story begins with a conversation between the lead characters and in an instant you are connected. It's about Rumi, an educated Pakistani woman in her thirties from a conservative family falling for a liberal Pakistani man, Ahad, settled in London. Love charmingly develops between them the consequence of which leads to a situation where she has to make some bold choices that would mean severing her ties from her family. Their sizzling love story takes further turn with the lack of understanding of their own priorities along with the unnecessary meddling of Rumi's younger sister. The author has brilliantly encompassed all the components and the reader is piloted deep into the story.
The book also delves in issues that are still forbidden fruits not only in Pakistan but even in most parts of India. It also highlights how finding ones identity opens up the mind, the soul, the heart and mostly ones own perception. The book efficiently tells you that the basic human nature and their emotional reflexes do not change with geography. These human characteristics have been skillfully etched by Natasha, which binds all the elements of the story effectively.

A special mention about the get-together at Ahad's friend's house is a must. The writer here, very gracefully, with her words creates a ghazal mouhol around you. I became a part of the group and could hear a magical voice singing Nayyara Noor's "Kabhi hum khoobsurat thay".
Usually, current writers fail to make good use of desi words in their English language saga, however, Natasha uses urdu words very astutely and appropriately, making the read elegant and close to heart.

What I wanted this book to have was, a little more of the story, a little more exploration of Rumi's new found life, a little more contemplation by Ahad and a little more of their strong chemistry. Nevertheless, I give "Butterfly-Season" 4.5 out of 5 for making titliyan flutter in my tummy in so many pleasing ways.

The Trance by Wicked Jalebis!

noreply@blogger.com (Namrota) — Mon, 07 Jul 2014 17:49:00 +0000

A beautiful bowl filled with very tempting and engaging Jalebis was kept on the dinning table. The aroma of desi ghee whispered their shudh-ness, a few fine green slices of pistachios hugging each jalebi promised perfectness. The warm crust confirmed its freshness. I was informed that the Jalebis were a treat by our neighbor for her son scored some good grades. Not caring about which neighbor and which son, I concentrated only on the tempting dessert that was smiling sweetly at me. Asking me to gobble them, and be a shameless glutton.

Without any hesitation I picked up one and bit on its outer coil. The orange sugary syrup trickled down my fingers and I licked all of it happily as the child within me had already woken up just by looking at the golden chaashni soaked sweet. Every bite was followed by a crunch sound declaring the perfect deep fried coils. All I wished was some rabri to go along with it. The killer combination of garam jalebi with creamy rabri is unbeatable. Alas, I had to do with only jalebis.

Somewhere in the room, I heard two male voices, probably my cousin and my dad, discussing pretzel being a copy of jalebis…eh! Who cares? All I cared now was about me and my desi ghee crispy sugary munchies that messed my fingers.
Licking every bit of the syrup from my fingers I said,"hmm…okay" to something that was told to me from a distance.
Then the voice rose and my trance was broken. Mom with knitted eyebrows and pursed lips was glaring at me.

"What?" I asked.
"Can't you hear what I told you about not touching those."
"But why? These are for us, aren’t they?"
"No. They are for Lata's son, he topped his class and we are treating him and you ate one fourth of the bowl."

The trance of my favorite dessert had played with my mind so wickedly that nothing that my mom had told me earlier had reached me.
I wasn't complaining.

"Um, the glassware made them look so delicious I couldn't control myself, Mom. Aren't they Borosil?"

Mom huffed and asked my dad to get some more jalebis, this time some for me too. I was definitely not complaining.

This post is exclusively written for My Beautiful Food (Alphabet Soup) contest by Borosil and Indiblogger. You can be Borosil savvy by clicking HERE.