An Excerpt And A List

                   Am I stuck with writer’s block? One may wonder, considering the dwindling number of blog posts I have been churning up during the past couple of months. But the truth is that, my mind has been shuttling between matters concerning something very important in my life- A milestone in itself. 

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Read the rest of the post on my new wordpress domain - An excerpt and a list

Book Release! - Love and Other Enchantments

I am excited beyond words as I write this post today. In my recent post I had mentioned about my dream ship - The short story anthology by five writers - Along with me, Tanima Kedar, Ishan Dafaria, Anuj Kumar and Akash Deep. The book was released online on the auspicious day of Vijayadasami.

Here are the ebay and ShopClues link :-

Ebay :-  Click here and show some love :)

ShopClues :- Here


I am including here the blurb of the book along with an excerpt of one of my stories - He loves me not. Just to remind, this anthology has three of my stories published.

The blurb of the book :- 

Drag, it can, from the splendours of dawn to the gloomy even-fall; sooner or later, but, it touches us all – LOVE.. indeed. "Love and Other Enchantments" is a collection of fifteen heart-rending love stories where in each will reveal a new facet of love and will arouse a new set of emotions and even newer perceptions of relationship, sacrifice, devotion, depression, hurt, lust and madness.
Loose yourself in a whirlwind of emotions, only to be rescued by that thing called love. The Fictitious Five is a group of five writers.
Maliny MohanIshan Dafaria Tanima KedarAnuj Kumar Akash Deep Gupta
all united by their unabating passion for writing. 
They believe in the power of words and aspire to keep weaving them to create delightful stories that touch the hearts of the readers.

Excerpt from my story 'He Loves Me Not'  :-

'.........The moon was shining the brightest, showering powdery white rays over the surroundings. A light refreshing breeze slid past her, on the cue to which she wrapped her coat tightly around her, consoled by nature's gesture.
An eerie silence reverberated in the deserted parking lot which made her quiver a bit.
All at once, as if to prove her worst fears right, a sense of vertigo blinded her which seemed to over haul her more and more with each passing second. Whether it was due to the overpowering drink or due to the hot rush of hormones seeping into the kinky recesses of her cacophonous brain, she couldn't conjure a reason at that harrowing moment. 
The very next second, she slumped to the floor as if in a bolt, a groan escaping her throat............'
                                                       *************
I would like to thank the readers of my blog, who have always encouraged me with their resounding presence and through the indelible imprints they left behind as comments. 
Do take a took at the links and buy the book if you find it interesting enough :)

Enid Blyton,Pets And A Clowder Of Cats

   
                                          My association with animals started a long time back; when I was 10 to be exact. The acquaintance took its inception in the delicate, dust scented pages of Enid Blyton’s ‘Secret Seven’. While the exhilarating adventures of the kid gang insinuated deeper into the avid reader in me, the loyal dog Scamper never failed to amuse me with his charm. The chord that connected me to dogs strengthened a year later or so when a friend introduced Timothy to me, the adorable dog who stole the limelight in the Famous Five series. Harking back, I remember nurturing a heartfelt desire to own a pet as enticing as Timothy, someone to play with, someone to be my partner in crime, someone to keep me company in the dark hours of solitude. 

Maybe God answered a child’s prayer faster than an adult’s, for before I could present the matter to my parents, and before they could reject it hands down, I was presented with a cute little puppy, lost, hungry and panting at my door steps. Being scared to touch it, lest it bit me, I remember putting on my brother’s cricket gloves to scoop the beautiful bundle in my arms to carry it inside to replenish him with food, milk and a cozy abode. I named him Timmy as any dog who could conquer the heart of the little me could be nothing else but Timmy to me. 

 However the inevitable descended on me before long, as he started throwing up tantrums not befitting a 10 year old child’s friend and my parents ,who were already not quite happy with the idea of sheltering a stray dog were left with no choice but to discard him somehow or the other. And that forgettable day, when the sky was inky and crowded with clouds, as if they offered a hand in the crime by shrouding the earth in darkness, my dearest Timmy was packed in a box( with air holes) to be discarded somewhere distant. 

Gloomy days were to follow. Reading a novel turned out to be hardest thing I could conjure myself to do as the shy face of my dog seemed to sprout in each and every page. 

But before long, I forgot all about Timmy. Time heals, truly said. 

Coming back to the present, I can’t help but shout out that I am cuddling a creamy white bundle of treasure while I am writing this account. Confused? Let us turn the reel back a few months to make matters clearer. 

A stray cat stated frequenting my house around six months back. Being drowning deep neck in studies as my exams were nearing she could instill little interest in me then. Nonetheless, to my awe, the house started witnessing an unprecedented event those days. Yes, my parents were her biggest admirers! 

They fed her. They talked to her. They patted her. They made it a point to never forget to buy fish for her while they shopped for kitchen supplies. They called her sweet names. Need I say more, she was the darling of the family! 

She is all grown up now!

Having performed my exams, with loads of time to spare, I started noticing the guest who would wander around in my house, sleep on the ice cold floor as if she owned it and pay me little heed, let alone acknowledge me. The emotions that were once locked away in the dusty crevices of my past resurface a second time, much to my surprise. 

She conquered me in the blip of a second and in no time she was my soft, fluffy, lazy friend. She responds to my voice, sighs when I pat her and rubs her neck against my legs when she misses me. Moreover, she is my pacifier who consoles me in times of worry, to cloak me in a warm blanket of comfort, placing a smile on my lips, however disturbed I am. One look at her and the world seems a better place to harbour. 

Pets would, perhaps, be the most wonderful companion anyone could get!


                                                                      ~~


P.S : I wrote this post two months back. It had been lingering on the draft section. But now I have a reason to put the post across. My cat gave birth to four kittens! Let me tell you, they are a treat to watch!Check out the photos :) 

My pirate- My Jack Sparrow

                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                             

Love And Other Enchantments - The Dream Ship

In one of my previous posts, I had mentioned about a short story anthology, titled Love and other enchantments which has been sailing, albeit along crests and troughs, for a few months now. Two days back we received the design of our book's front cover.The publishers had asked us if we had any particular suggestion regarding the diagrammatic representation of our collection, and we had conveyed the theme that was brewing in our minds. The theme was solely love and its essence, although a bit skewed towards the poignant nature of it, more than the picture of mushiness that most people tend to associate love stories with. And this is owing to the fact that each story in the anthology is soulful, portraying the sheer intensity of the varied shades of love, rather than focussing merely on the exhilarating nature of it. 

Here, take a look at the design and you will know :- 

I would like to thank the publishers- Blue Rose Publishers for being thoughtful enough to listen to us and for having come up with a cover design, which exudes evocativeness as much as subtleness. And it should not be left unsaid the sturdiness of our group - The Fictitious Five, members of which being along with me, Akash Deep, Anuj Kumar, Ishan dafaria and Tanima Kedar, because of which, despite having had conflicting ideas at times, we could dissect each one's opinion to reach a fitting conclusion. 

Having let out a few nuggets about my new venture, I would also like to add that, our dream ship is now on its final lap, gearing for release, which should happen in a couple of weeks. 

Stay with me for more updates :)

                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of Dreams And Life - Friday Musings

                                               Dreams form an inevitable part of a human's life. They inspire us, prompt us and ignite us with the much needed impetus to move forward surviving all odds to finally make the desire a reality. We don't always end up with what we dream, but at other times we do. We aren't offered opportunities in a platter most of the times, but at other times, we stumble upon opportunities while carousing our way through the life pathway. Life is such - weird, instinctive and purposeful - all rolled into one. 

So coming to the purpose of this post, a lot has been happening in my life lately. Being someone who loves reading blog posts with thoughts detailed in an alluring manner, my heart nudges me to do the same, as I outline the incidents one by one.

The October That Was !

Months fly by in a jiffy. Harking back, they seem to dissociate into powdery thin bits of the past, those moments that arrived into your life with magnanimous gestures. Few of them manage to remain equally important several days from the happening, but few others fail irrevocably. Maybe it's an idea worth upholding to jot down nitbits from the past,however trivial they may seem in the big picture, so that several years down the lane you would find yourself sweeping away the dust from the attic only to confront the long forgotten gems of your life, the things that made you who you are. 

Of Rain And Life

“I hate rain!”. I stated quite blatantly as the steady downpour dampened my voice. The person on the other end of the phone exclaimed in disbelief. Quite obviously so. For I myself is yet to see atleast one person in a group of five who doesn’t hold the mystifying physiology of earth, that is rain, close to his or her heart. He went onto dissect in fervor the many pros of rain and how it pacified him, refreshing his body and soul, while i blabbered on the many cons like how a rainy day created a havoc in my life, especially when it announced its entry early in the mornings while i am all dressed up neatly for a fresh beginning. 

The Silver lining

                                  There comes a day, as the body's work cycle makes a complete circle, when you feel the drive draining from your body. And by drive here i mean the demand of your inner diligent self to be the best in whatever you do and not that spark in you to be alive and smiling. Losing it is not worthless, nor should it sound tardy, for once in a while it would be the best sidetrack you take to reach your milestone the earliest, for it serves you just like a few second stop to recondition serves a racing car.

If a thought or an idea keeps ticking, nagging you at the back of your heart, consider it being deserving enough to be fulfilled. Whether true or not, this nugget has guided me for long since it dawned on me one fine day when the teen in me used to worship every paulo coelho book that came my way. The idol has since been replaced by quite many other authors, yet the nugget has managed to stay put.

So, as my biological clock started pushing and shoving me to take a break, i found my brain involuntarily polishing the nugget which got buried beneath an unnamed sulcus some time back. 

And thus saw the entry of these gems to the seemingly unenthusiastic world of another unrelated genre of books. An amalgamation of fiction and non fiction ( if medical books can be tagged so). 

Down with 'Another man's wife' i am already the happiest soul in the world. Sometimes, a book can fill that much dreaded vacuum in you like no other thing can - atleast in its own reassuring way. 

Sadly, i had to take to the new habit of reading a book few pages at a time owing to the many constraints.Harking back, that too had its perks. It helped me savour every page in its entirety as i was in no hurry to lap up the whole book in a few hours time, which used to be my habit otherwise, more due to ardor than impatience.

That said, let me wrap this account up. There is more to read and even more to learn. 

But before you go, is there something new you did this week ? Or maybe a new book you read ? Tell me about it:)

That Final Arc - Fiction

The overpowering scent of freshly brewed coffee hung invitingly in the air. It had been remaining so for the past few minutes, quite daringly challenging my alacrity - the alacrity of a professional who was unflinchingly feeding raw materials in constant streams to the contraption at hand, so that it would churn out the desired products in another blink of her eye. “ The elixir will just have to wait for another half hour more”, I muttered under my breath as the tantalized bundle of nerves in charge of my senses kept firing away diligently, seeking respite. 

It was close to 6 when I left my cabin, hurriedly sloshing down my throat a cup of tepid coffee. Half of my colleagues had already dashed for the cab which would take the employees to their respective homes.

“ Hey Maya, late as usual ? No shortcuts to success eh! ”

The clutter of the rattling keys that accompanied the raspy voice was allusive. I turned back and flashed my boss my widest grin before embarking on the elevator that led me to the lowest floor.

The sky was alarmingly pale that evening. No crimson tinge. No home bound birds. The scenario that but unraveled before me was entirely one that defied the signs of nature – public vehicles that swished past me emitted venom from every single crevice of their being and the pudgy man who knocked me down to the pavement was more a critter of a less civilized world than that owned by Mother Earth, thanks to the cords that drained him of his senses through his ears, both figuratively and literally.

The loud blast of an unidentified vehicle ( The latest SUV perhaps ? ) nudged me back to the problem at hand – That I was ten minutes late. And that unfortunately meant I had to wait for twenty minutes more for the next bus which took me home. And they say troubles, when they attacked you, they did so in torrents. The street vendors, all at once, started shifting their temporary workplace to more secure corners as bulky drops of rain started pouring down on the already weighed down world rolling before me, igniting both a fury and inevitability in the home bound people to move faster.

My eyes had already started vying with the cue of sleep, the frozen joints of my body badly in need of soothing. Sans an umbrella, the wisest way to evade the unwelcoming shower was to seek solace under the nearest roof and I did just that, undoubtedly and unerringly.

“ Ma’m would you like to take a look at the newest additions that we have?”

People had a way with pouncing on me from behind when least expected and as always I jerked my head in startle to the gleaming, albeit coarse face of a middle aged man standing right next to me.

“ Oh ! Sorry. I was trying to keep myself from drenching in the rain. Maybe some other time, if you will let me share an inch of your shop now till the rain subsides? Out of compassion of course?”

The chime of the golden bells left suspended from the entry door rang through the dingy, yet well cared to shop. A customer let himself in, brushing aside silver droplets of rain from his hair, though with an air of inquisitiveness, quite unlike the way I had barged in. Not caring to reply to my query, the shop keeper left my side, leaving me high and dry amidst a flock of customers who found their way through the shop with ease born out of practice. And that was what prompted me to look around and look around did I for the next few minutes.

Minutes zoomed past in a jiffy until that moment when the shop keeper startled me once again from behind.

“ So, are you from Kerala?”

“ No. Why ?!”

“ From the way you were sniffing the pages of ‘ The God Of Small Things’ a while back near the Booker Prize section, I deduced, however falsely, that you were intrigued by the theme of the book. “

“ I cant deny the fact that you were partly right. Indeed am i intrigued by the theme of the book, but that wasn’t the sole reason why I was found bonding with it”

“ So, have you read the book?”

“ A couple of times, yes. “

“ I see. Do you need anything from my book shop now?”

“ No, I don’t. I am not allowed the privilege of savoring the alluring pages of a newly bought book anymore. Working woman. Mother of a two year old. I guess that explains a lot!”

“Please enlighten me, will you ? I didn’t quite get the relation between the two.”

I watched the man as his sharp jet black eyes narrowed down to two slits, peering at me as if he was indirectly solving a riddle for me, a riddle which needed to be solved with utmost precision and direness. A desperate customer kept calling out to him from around the far dimly lit corner of the shop, perhaps seeking help to dig out his favourite book from the pile of Classics stacked against the edge. Ignoring the calls, he kept staring at me as if his next move depended wholly on my answer. 

I tried to laugh his query off, with a smug on my face, replying in a haste , “ You see, it is complicated. Reading was so much of a passion way back when I was in school and i used to be the happiest while cuddling up in my bed reading a new book. But now, the habit has died down or maybe I lost the drive someway down my neglected shoddy lane while I was scurrying past the polished highway in this mad race. I can squeeze in time if I need to at this point of time, but whether there be time or not, in the end, it is the inclination of mind that matters and unfortunately that is where i failed or rather that is where my life hassles failed me.”

“You cannot be truer ma’m. And maybe that is why only a focused few manage to live their lives the happiest while others live in desperation or at the least nurturing a slight yearning forever when all it takes is the right inclination of their minds to draw that final arc to perfect their life circle.”

As if it dawned on him just then that he had a customer waiting, he left my side, draped back in the cloak of a considerate shopkeeper, to lend his hand to the person at the far corner who was in search of that particular book he was dying to get hold on.

The street lay washed of all its sins at the mere touch of that steady rain. The parched sun had almost vanished behind night’s pall seeking a good night’s sleep, albeit not forgetting to hang his envoy, the round silver snippet of beauty, in charge of his kingdom while he peacefully slept. The city had r eclined back at the cue of nature and I stole a look at the book shop before boarding my destined bus. The shop keeper stood watching me from inside, his gaze implicit and his smile knowing. I tightened my grip on my newly purchased book, drawing it closer to me, before nodding a goodbye to the person who, out of sheer serendipity or perhaps even advertently, descended before me and slowed me down.
                                                 __________



P.S : Completely unrelated i know, still can't help but shout out that this is the 150th post :)

P.P.S: This story was published on Tamarind Rice, an online magazine, in its July issue. To know more about the magazine, visit their page Here. 

Of Pinto And The Return Of Gusto

Certain phases of life hit you hard. Merciless would be the apt word to describe those, if i insinuate myself deeper into the pile of specific words in search of one that brings to life the shade of grey in its totality. Merciless, because they simply don't let you wriggle away free from them quite that easily as our confident minds assume. Merciless, because they smother you till your life starts effervescing into snowy white foams to eventually fade into nothingness.

No, i am not clinging precariously on the steepest cliff staring deep into the abysmal low. But yes, i am partly gasping in the suffocating clutches of a dire work commitment, from which there seems little escape for a few more days at the least. 

Those minute seeds of literary inclination, that had been sprouting enthusiastically, though which much effort and sans perfection, seem threatened of being uprooted in the heavy monsoon that has been literally pouring down on my hectic days. More often , as i have always realised when skeptical, it is either everything or nothing at all for me. Either i give something my best shot or i don't even to bother to give it a try at all. Either i read a lot, burning the midnight oil for several consecutive days sans impatience or dreariness, or i don't read a single line at all for months. The same goes with writing. But then, i am not a professional writer barged with looming deadlines nor have i ever been a regular blogger. Infact, i see this space as my niche, my haven where i unwind when the flow gets fierce or where i confide in while sitting idle on my couch, with a couple of hours to spare from my routine to set ablaze those mysterious nerves specilised to fire off contrived pieces of work. 

When the situation remains so, with much acceptance form my part, out of the blue, there descended a bright sunny day on my otherwise murky cascade of events, when i decided to order a couple of books from Flipkart, one among them being ' Em and the big hoom ' by Jerry Pinto.

You may have the urge to label me as pseudo intellectual, but i have to admit this that post a particular write up of mine ( find here), i have been focusing less on Indian English works, a decision born out of the inclination of a working person to stick to the safer side lest you would have to sit back and helplessly lament over the loss of  hard earned chunks of money or worst yet, the sight of that hardly available slot of free time slithering down the drains - Until, i came across a few articles by Jerry Pinto. 

It might sound stupid, but truly, i have not been much of an admirer of satire. Somehow, satire has always hit me as biased with the cynical inclination of the writer projecting itself onto me more than the mastery of the craft which is particularly proclaimed by most literature savvy minds. But, Pinto, unabashedly and undoubtedly i say, has succeeded effortlessly in proving me wrong and that too, to a very intense degree! Check out this article for example -  Blame It On Wordsworth.

Well, and that was what prompted me to grab a copy of Em and the big hoom. Halfway through the book now and like every good piece of literature, this book too has struck me deep, igniting a spark in me to scribble down something on a piece of paper after a hiatus.

Words are magical and a good book sprinkled with meaningful thoughts is insatiable. Probably, the best inspiration for a budding writer. I know that this post is pointless, but i feel a lot relieved now. The vacuum that has been carving up my insides is being slowly replaced with a sense of purpose. I am reading a good book. And i cannot be happier. 

Leaving you with one of his astoundingly powerful interviews, for those who felt i was vague about the gusto part on my post title and would like to have a more reasonable proof than my imperfect write up to consolidate the same. Watch it. You will read him for sure, if you haven't already. 

Musings of a confused reader

Image Source : here

I have been reading a few books lately, maybe a tad bit more than my usual numbers. Pausing for a while to steal back a glance, it dawns on me that i have been savouring a couple of varying genres back to back, with equal alacrity and inquisitiveness, an ardent spark which unfortunately, incepts only once in a while every year.

There has been a thought penting up all this while too, rather a conclusion, something similar to the music or lyrics scenario when it comes to judging a song. Replacing the concerned terms, the million dollar question when it comes to books would be : 'Which matters the most to you - Story or the style ?'

There are authors who dissect each shred of sun's ray to its minutest layer concentrating on its spellbinding anatomy and contrarily there are authors who tend to sideline the nature to a mere statement and pass on to delve in more practical and pragmatic nuggets and there is yet another group who are oblivious to the mysteries of nature, but has gripping and fine tuned stories which leave you glued to the pages from end to end. 

There are readers who would devour a book for the sole purpose of satiating their passion and there are readers who in addition to sufficing their urge to read, utilise a book as a means to polish their own grip on language - the aspiring author bunch. For some its the fast paced propulsion of the story that matters, but for some, the succulent details and subtleties would be the elixir. I have seen people who chuck away a Amitav Ghosh and the likes ranting about its monotonous pace, instead they relish each and every word of the burgeoning pile of those ' You - may not - like - how -  i - say - it - but - you - will - definitely- like - what-  i - have- to - say ' kind, like there is no tomorrow. 

Is it just me, for i do feel that a realistic fiction written in superlative language is more appealing and engrossing than a thriller tagged one or for that matter any book contrived using a mediocre array of words and a bland style. On the contrary, definitely a thriller if sprinkled with an enviable choice of words can sometimes be the best too! And so is a book rich in enlightening or contemplative nuggets though written in a simple and lucid manner. Briefing it, i guess a good book for me is an amalgamation of good content and elegant style with equal weightage to both. Its not the story alone that matters, at least not so for me , but the  richness of the content and the way it is conveyed. There might be naysayers to this theory, but i believe i am not alone in this regard.

I strongly believe that getting published, to this day, hasn't become a smooth joyride devoid of bumpy obstacles, though the current publishing scenario might seem like one and i highly respect and admire the perseverance with which those books have been crafted. But somehow, a bunch of those books doesn't seem worthy enough of the time or effort from the part of the reader. On the other hand, good writers who are obstinate about getting their work published by an acclaimed publishing house get rejected, and they live with their worries for they are purists who are against the idea of self publishing. (On a serious note , with no tinge of sarcasm, do good books get released in that manner?)

There was a time when as a kid, i used to look upon published writers as the most gifted people in the world. They were mature people who wrote sensible stuff and had me reading late into the night while i rejoiced in the sheer beauty of the world they led me to. Now i see a published author in every other alley, some classy, but the others way too clumsy and casual; i see toddlers, teenagers and even infants signing their published books in every other corner and the confused and flabbergasted me has made it a habit to search the web for reviews before grabbing a freshly churned out book to read, instead of the usual norm of reading whatever one could lay one's hands on. On the other side of the coin, there are subdued prolifically penned works too whose existence is sometimes masked by the shimmering book releases of the over hyped ones.

It seems all that glitters isn't pure gold after all, especially not in today's world. It is high time we imbibed those proverbs rather than merely acknowledged them. Seriously. 

Tantra - Book Review

Title : Tantra

Author : Adi

Publisher : Apeejay Stya Publishing

Year : 2013

ISBN-10 : 8190863622

Pages : 344

Price : Rs. 195

The Story In Short : 

Anu Aggarwal is a vampire hunter and a well established and admired one at that, who flies to New Delhi from her usual haven of action, New York, the reason behind the detour being a debacle from her recent past. Her boyfriend Brian was murdered and Anu who couldn’t be her usual normal self after the incident sets out to quench her vengefulness and for that purpose reaches Delhi from where hails the murderer, supposedly a malicious vampire. The vampire hunters, as is revealed is a vast network with branches throughout the world. What awaits Anu in Delhi is yet another villain on prowl who is on a murderous rage, but this time the killings are more purposeful aiming small kids in and around the city. Anu decides to set aside her actual mission of tracking down Brian's killer to be followed up later as a dire situation is at hand that moment , involving the lives of children. Eventually Anu, owing to her late night vigilant strides through the dark alleys of the city, seeks out the person behind the cascade of murders and realizes that the mode of his action is entirely different, more to do with Indian tantric powers than mere slaying. 

Anu with the help of her hunter friend Amit finds out the roots of the particular ceremony utilizing fire, akin to black magic, from a person by name Dr. Sharma. Though reluctant at first to accept the relevance of such ideologies in the modern times, Anu soon comes to terms with the validity of the same and diligently masters the Astras that a Pandit Grover teaches her, so that she could win over the villain. The events that unfold in the backdrop of her mastery, finally leading to an eventful and gripping ending is what makes the rest of the story.

On parallel grounds follows the story of Anu’s encounters at home with her desi aunt, who is determined to have Anu in wedlock at the earliest. Irked by the intentions of her aunt and bogged down by the failure on her part to seek out Brian’s killer, Anu tries her best to coax her aunt against her fervent search for a groom, but her attempts go futile and eventually she yields to her aunt. A few incidents revolving around the event and also a marriage function which Anu attends with her aunt takes Anu’s life on a new turn and she starts acquainting with a person called Gaurav. Anu slowly falls for Gaurav and on realizing this the villain seizes Gaurav forcefully to use him as a bait to lure her into his dynasty. What happens eventually is for you to find out.

My Take:

The protagonist, a female warrior is new to Indian Fiction scenario and that comes as a welcoming change from the chunks of chick lit books flooding the market. Also the story is on the lines of a thriller, which means a fast paced page turner is in offer for the readers who struggle to find time for reading amidst their hectic schedules at work. The language is really good with a commendable choice of words and the author has maintained a lucid, engaging flow from beginning to end, something I look forward to in any book I take up to read. In that regard I am quite happy with my selection.

If to point the downsides, I feel the Anu’s past and the events in New York that ignited a spate of revenge in her needed to be dealt more in detail. I couldn’t relate much to her loss as the book didn’t provide any reason to, other than a few isolated titbits from her past sprinkled at places to serve the need for a plot setting for the story. In addition to that the author has left the characters dangling loose, without much probing on their life. Much more detailed account on each one’s life and path would have been engrossing enough. We don’t know much about Gaurav other than the fact that he is relentlessly flirting with Anu and that there is a resplendent thread connecting them together. Amit and Suresh, their Head in Delhi are also in the dark, brought to the foray whenever the story demands Anu to interact with them. The ' shift' that is mentioned in the story came across as vague to me. I had to go with the flow at those places, ignoring the doubts.

The cover page lacks charm, but then it doesn’t matter much, for the blurb is alluring enough and that should tempt the reader to grab a copy. Indian mythology and spirituality make vibrant topics for fictional works, as is evident from the wide acceptance of Amish tripathi’s Shiva Trilogy. The non Indian readers would definitely be intrigued by the details on the Asthras and the idea of Tantra. The portions narrating the same have been perfectly crafted and those would easily be one of the highlights of the book. The Dekhan Dekhi event is another enticing one and the author has sketched it interesting enough with a dash of humour to coat it with.

Anu’s quest for Brian’s killer is still on and that would probably be dealt with in the sequel. I would recommend this book to any reader who is in search of a fast and gripping read. If you are someone who is adamant on catching up with your reading on a working day, well then this book definitely is for you.

All in all a good read and i liked it despite the flaws. My rating would be a 3.5/5.

Reach the author at his website : www.tantrabyadi.com

Buy the book online here

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Programme for Indian bloggers by www.blogadda.com. Participate now to get free books.

The Lure

An attempt of Ethere, a form of poetry written in ten lines, with each line accomodating the number of syllables as its line number.

A                                                                               

Dash of 

Blush cluster

On dimpled cheeks

His looks sensuous

Bated breath loquacious

Of bait, his defiant charm;

Breeze sultry, sprinkling pearly drop

On chiseled face, it trickles down

Melting to specks beneath sauve gliding touch. 

                                                                   **********

Another one : 

Books 

They smell

Of dust speckle

Engraved grey

Amidst tangled words

In its swooping sly waft

Hauled into mystic depths

Of love, truth, fear and fantasy, 

The many resplendent emotions

I succumb to lure - my retribution.

                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Love Hurts, Love Heals - Book Review

The Title : Love Hurts, Love Heals

Author :  Sundeep Tibrewal

Publication : APK Publishers

Label : Non- Fiction

Price : Rs. 195

ISBN - 13 : 9789381791141

• Pages  : 154
• Year : 2012

The Story In Short :

 Love Hurts, Love Heals is a short yet stirring autobiographical account of the author Sundeep Tibrewal. The story begins with an interesting and absolutely enticing account of the author’s first meeting with his future bride Neha, every single slice of the event unfurling in the traditional Hindu pattern. After having exchanged mutual consents for marriage, Sundeep and Neha embark on their committed journey together, having promised each other to take care of their partner in sickness and in health. In the next few chapters the reader is taken on an imaginary ride through the many incidents of their married life – about Sundeep’s plan to enroll for one year of formal training in MBA at ISB, Hyderabad, how Neha accompanied him to the college campus and her compassionate deeds in company of the spouses gang to teach the caretaker’s kids during their spare time, their return to Kolkata, where they were originally based, at the time of Neha’s pregnancy, about Sundeep’s passion to make it big in entrepreneurship and finally, albeit most importantly about the marvellous time with their angelic daughter Jiya. Like a bolting from thin air, an egregious news shudders the very existence of Sundeep’s life and the later part of the book deals in length and breadth about the inevitable transformation in Sundeep’s life and how he finally came to terms with the unpredictable facet of  life. 

My Take :

The Cover :

The story Love Hurts, Love Heals, basically is a love story and as if to consolidate the goodness and purity of married life, the cover page is glossed with the shade white, exuding serenity and peace. I am not sure whether it was intentional, but after having completed reading the book, I felt that the cover, with the picture of the man and woman holding hands, was designed such that it would highlight the very essence of the story – love and peaceful existence. 

The Story :

The fact that the story is an autobiographical account leaves less space for minute dissections, however I would love to delve deep into the book nonetheless. Take this line on the opening page - 
' It was a very big decision afterall. I thought from the girl's perspective and realised that it would probably be a bigger decision for her since she would have to become a part of a new family ' .  
Doesnt it shout loud about the sensible nature of the protagonist ? Lines like these convince the reader, for they state the otherwise untended truth in its rawness and make him/her trust the author, making the reader feel at home going through the book.

Certain portions like the couple’s trip to Brisbane and Hayman’s Island, the hushed and zestful plans for Neha’s birthday celebration, the birth of their daughter Jiya and the overwhelming emotions engrained into the narration, all these were heart warming, for the author has sketched to life the very basic emotional undercurrents in any persons life. The part where the author describes the heart wrenching event that wrecked the smooth and enviable existence of his family is detailed in a poignant manner and one is sure to be left moved by the author’s mental turmoil. The author also contemplates in depth about the concept of Karma and after lives and about the probable explanations for the imbalanced fate curve of humans. 

The letter to his daughter that the author has knit to the story towards the end, speaks volumes about his love and concern for his daughter. The message that he tries to convey to his daughter is enriched with the lessons that he had amassed in his life time, mostly during the aftermath of the debacle. The revamping of the author’s normal life and the sequence of subtle changes in his routine subsequently, like his diversion towards spirituality and the heightened intense of his family’s care, depicts the resilient nature of humans and consolidates the meaning of the book’s title that ultimately, its love alone that heals the pain caused by its loss.  

The writing is lucid and the author has maintained an appreciable flow till the last page. In the afterword the author speaks about his wife Neha and the intention behind writing this book and the reader is sure to be left applauding the author for his commendable effort for upholding the cause. A fleeting thought on the whirlpool of emotions the author must have gone through while penning down the story brought a pang to my heart. The book serves as an eye opener for the malicious minds existing in our society who vye over trivial matters, for through his book the author proves that love is the sole meaningful expression and that love alone would bring sanctity to our lives. 

Recommended : To all readers who would love to indulge in two hours of evocative read. The admirers of books on subtle emotions of love would especially love this one. 

My Rating :  4 / 5

About The Author : 

Sundeep Tibrewal is an author and digital marketing professional. He completed his MBA from the Indian School Of Business, Hyderabad. He holds a Master of Science in Engineering from Arizona State University, USA. Currently, Sundeep is the Director of NeoBVM. He was the Chief Product Manager at 9.9 Media, managing thir digital ventures, before NeoBVM. He has also conducted 'Positive Thinking' workshops for school students in Kolkata. 

Buy The Book : 

Buy the book online at Indiaplaza.com

Get in touch with the author at Love Hurts Love Heals Facebook Page or on his email lovehurtsloveheals2012@gmail.com. 

P.S : My sincere gratitude to the author Sundeep Tibrewal for having sent me an autographed copy of the book for review. 

P.P.S : The opinions that are part of this review are entirely the reviewer's. This is not a paid review. 

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