The Lonely Widow- Published in Minds at Work 3

We are glad to have on our set the bestselling writer of ‘Life after him’ – Mrs. Anjali Arora, whose novel has sold over a million copies nationally and abroad, is present among us to give a few tips to the amateur writers of the nation. Her book is soon to become a big box-office hit.

The interviewer announced my presence at the interview with sheer excitement.

So, Mrs. Anjali How did the idea of penning down a book pop up in your head at the age of 52? The interviewer initiated the interview with her first question.

Well, Writing has always interested me and if I don’t write to empty my head I’ll go insane. Writing a book was never been my cup of tea because I always imagined myself as a home maker residing in a country side with my husband.

But your articulation of speech has made your readers (especially women) run head over heels after you and they’re expecting another masterpiece from you soon.

I laughed. Well, Yes! I write for women empowerment and if we take a glance at the current system of the country; my book is definitely a ray of hope for a few.

What is the story of your success? Your readers desperately want some fodder from your life and would like to know how you inspire them so much?

Ok. I haven’t spoken about it till now. There is a sad story behind my success. There have been a few incidents in my life which have shaped me into the person I am today.

Please tell us the story Mrs. Anjali, this time verbally, on air. She said pleasing me.
It happened two years ago.
************************

“We need to perform a few more tests on the patient; there are no signs of recovery” said Dr. Mathur.

I nodded my head before him, giving a helpless consent to save my husband. I rushed downstairs towards the reception of the super specialty hospital where my husband was being diagnosed for Liver-failure. Fifteen long days in the medical I.C.U and no hope of recovery. He was not even in his senses from the past week.The ventilator on his body was constantly giving him life-support and never once in a week did he gain consciousness and blinked an eye before any doctor. His condition was critical; none of the doctors expressed the belief for his betterment. I was left with no option but to agree to the doctor’s decision of keeping him on the ventilator and the treatment by the lifesaving drugs. I stood fourth in the queue of the billing section. Within a few minutes, other attendants left the space and an old lady sat before me wearing spectacles; her eyes glued on the computer screen.
“Yes Please”. “Patient’s Name”? She asked in a low tone.

“Deepak Arora”, I replied. “I need to submit the money for the X-Ray, Hemoglobin test, Liver Function Test and RBC count test. I stammered before her the names of the tests trying to understand Dr. Mathur’s handwriting.

“Give me the prescription”. She said.

“Here, here it is.” My mind battled with the thoughts of my husband on the ventilator; how he must be feeling? Does he know that he is getting support from a machine to breathe? Has he been sleeping from the past seven days?
My disbeliefs were disturbed by her instructions…“Six-fifty rupees mam” She gave away the prescription with her signature to me. I completed the formalities and rushed back to the medical I.C.U. on the ninth floor. The security guard stood before the gates of the I.C.U. and I was just a door away from my husband. But, I didn’t want to see him in a precarious condition; I had never imagined him, fighting between life and death on a hospital bed. Never ever in my worst nightmares!

“Bhaiya, here is the receipt of the tests, please hand over it to Dr. Mathur, for patient ‘Deepak Arora’, bed no-3”. I said panting my breath.

“O.K. Madam” He replied and went inside the I.C.U., I saw my husband’s bed from the closing of the door and the machines which occupied him. He returned after a few minutes with tensed expression on his face.

“What happened Bhaiya”? “You didn’t give the receipt? It is still in your hands”. I asked him embarrassed.

“Madam, Dr. Mathur has called for you, there is something serious”. He said looking at my face in a weird manner.

“What happened?” I repeated my question.

“Please go inside Madam” He replied opening the door.

As soon as I stepped inside, my heart beat thumped; I felt as if I would faint the next moment. Each step near my husband’s bed made my mind thought of the worst, while my heart prayed for the best.

“Has Deepak left this world”? Shut up Anjali. He might have re-gained consciousness. Think Positive. Stay calm. He’s alright. He’s alright. Everything is alright. God is listening to you. He’s alright.

Dr. Mathur’s gaze made me uncomfortable; I would hear any bad news the next minute. I tried to divert my mind from his gaze and my eyes shifted on to the ventilator. It wasn’t running anymore! The lights were shut down and there were no beep sounds coming from it.

My hands went cold of the most horrible premonition.

“Wha-what Happened Doctor”? I asked. My eyes welled up with water, I was half aware of what he would speak next.

“We are really sorry Mrs. Arora. Your husband is no more, we couldn’t save him”.

My eyes became red in a minute, and I turned my neck towards my husband’s body. He didn’t breathe. It was a dead body. Has he left? For real? He’ll never come back? Never? For always? My Deepak. My baby.

The auspicious day of our marriage, flashed before my eyes on hearing the news of the demise of my love. How beautifully I dressed up as the bride and we were united by the Hindu rituals.

“Mrs. Arora? Mrs. Arora? Are you alright?”

I didn’t know what happened post that tragic news, everything appeared black and dim to me. Dr. Mathur’s face faded before my eyes and the least I remembered was; I fainted in the I.C.U.

****************************
I tried to open my eyes but the brightness killed me. My head ached as if somebody had blown a thousand hammers in it. I hadn’t slept for seven long days. My eyes didn’t open while my ears processed wails of some women in my house. I immediately expanded my eye lashes and the crowd at my place looked at me with mixed response. The lady in the green suit pushed me up and made me sit on the bed. I started remembering everything,
‘I am sorry Mrs. Arora; your husband is no more’.

The words replayed in my mind again and again. I became the center of attention in everyone’s eyes; women in my house came up to me and hugged me crying heavily, making depressing noises in my ears. I didn’t know how to react.
Deepak! Something has happened to Deepak… No!!!!! He had left me alone.

The memories of him breathing his last on the ventilator came back flooding and a tear rolled down my cheeks. I got used to the aroma of my house on my husband’s funeral. I was no more a married woman, but a widow. Lied ahead was a bumpy road of loneliness with nobody beside me, my daughter had settled abroad and I had nobody after her except Deepak.

“God needed your husband beta, more than you, and so…” Said my aunt in a monotone. I felt like slapping her. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I just longed for Deepak to come and shake me up, to comfort me by saying that all this is a lie!

My husband had died, died…

I was furious with God. He took away my husband. How could God do this to me? Taking away my life from me? I cried blindly, sobbing my heart out.

I went closer to his dead body. It was covered with a white sheet. I didn’t see his corpse; I just knew that this is a body. This is my husband’s body. I could not summon up the courage to touch him. My face went all sweaty and I breathed heavily, there was another panic attack rising up in me. My grief was so intense that I couldn’t bring myself to ask for a shoulder to bank on. Not even when my relatives and extended families offered solace.
After all the rituals were performed at my house, the place seemed to me like a cage with no exit points. One day, my mother came over to my place to check how I am coping up after the loss of my beloved. She decided to stay with me for a few days until I got over the shock. She got me books to read and made several attempts to distract my mind from Deepak’s memories.

I sat in my balcony for hours crying while turning the pages of our marriage album. I didn’t move and kept staring at one thing or the other for long hours. I became a walking corpse, the house was empty and quite, I felt scared and felt as though I’m going insane. Cooking alone pained me and eating alone killed me every night. I threw away the food with disgust. Relatives tried to comfort but unless they hadn’t experienced loss, they couldn’t fathom the sick, gut wrenching feeling that comes with losing someone you love so much. My husband was everything to me, he took good care of me in every way and made all the major decisions, and I felt so scared and alone to be doing all I need to do, things I’ve never done before and not having my greatest supporter by my side. I’ve often wished that it could have been me instead of him, but I don’t wish anyone to go through this nightmare. I just didn’t know if I would ever get any joy back in my life, I thought. He was truly my soul mate, someone I wanted to live my life with, all the plans we had, all of them made no sense now. I was a lonely widow.

I had a small part time job. When I came home at night I cried all alone. No one to say ‘Hello Anjy. My beautiful wife’.

The weekends were the worst, I felt isolated in a room full of people and watching other couples eat and drink together in parties and meetings made me cry all alone in my heart. My neighbors started getting fed up with me as I was so down and they did not know what to say to me. A few ladies made ugly faces while I walked passed them and pitied me. I wanted to run away from that society.

The lonely, lost foggy feeling was sometimes unbearable. There was never a day after his demise that I slept smiling, my mother who was most close to me after Deepak was worried about me. She wanted me to attend therapy sessions but I refuted. One day while cleaning my closet she found a pile of diaries between my clothes.
“Anjali, what is this”? She asked confused.

I was taken aback. They were Deepak’s diaries. We used to write together every night about our day from the morning to the night. I had kept them safe and now they were in my mom’s hands.

‘Mom, give them to me’, it’s Deepak’s diaries. I snatched away the diary and rushed towards my room.
One by one I started turning the pages of our love story and how had life taken an upside down turn after the birth of our daughter. There were moments I shed a tear reading our fights written by him whereas his handwriting and spelling mistakes bought a smile to my face. His diaries were more than enough to get me back to life. I put them close to my pillow as if Deepak was alive in them. I took care of the pages as if they were my small babies. I smiled reading our words whenever I felt lonely. A thought popped up in my mind while coming home in the metro one day.

‘Why not write again’? Life is indeed giving me a second opportunity to stand up and fight against all odds!
I desperately waited for my station to arrive. When the train stopped at the M.G. Road station, I DE boarded hurriedly and ran towards my house as if it had been set on fire.

I unlocked my house, the keys lied on the dining table and I searched for my laptop in my study room, there it was! I typed the first word on the Microsoft document.

I lost track of the words I typed in a day and without eating a bit I kept writing. It seemed as a refuge to me. I created a blog for myself – An online diary where I would pen down all my activities and thoughts. God had closed one door for me but I had the potential to open thousands on my own. I published my articles and stories online on Life and its true colors. I started to gain readership and within a span of three months my blog’s link went viral on the social media. I had a life to live. Writing became my life. I didn’t feel gloomy anymore thinking about my loss. Penning down incidents became an escape; I could escape into a world of my words. I used to come home exhausted and immediately after my dinner I sat down on my table to write and answer to my readers. Reading and writing became not only my hobbies, but passion!

One fine day a fellow reader commented on my blog “When are you planning to write a book”?

The question seemed rather odd to me, me- A Writer? But after signing out from the blog I gave the comment a thought. Without a second thought and with full zeal and enthusiasm I penned down my book ‘Life after him…’ in a month.

Writing was a passion to me and I just had to give that passion a push. I wrote non-stop in the day, in the metro, sitting on the balcony and even while cooking food! My literary work with emotions required hell lot of dedication. There was no time machine to bring back or visit Deepak but I could make him live again through my words.
Life started to make sense to me now. My laptop became my only friend and Deepak’s diaries my inspiration. What had begun as a journal of events, slowly turned into a book of feelings towards life…

I went for long walks in the park smiling at the trees and the birds. No worries about life at all. Those were the moments when I became close to being happy.

I sent my manuscript to the biggest publishers in town and it got accepted within a month. That was a blessing from Deepak. If he wouldn’t have been there, I wouldn’t have accomplished so much in so little time. Writing had become an abiding interest and I wrote about everything which I saw in my solitary walks.
Life of a widow made way to my poems. I filled my diary with funny anecdotes about the patriarchal system of the Hindu society. My books, articles and poems received greatest response and were enough to make me re-live. I got paid a hefty sum for my articles and I saved them for my NGO. I planned to open one just for the widows of the nation. Deepak lived again through my words because I didn’t let this second chance slip out of my hands… Sometimes, when life throws curve balls we should never surrender before it. Rather, we should breathe again, smile at ourselves, forget the past and begin again.

There was pin drop silence in the studio after my narration. I glanced at the crowd and each individual exhibited emotions of agony and enthusiasm.

The interviewer gazed at me with sympathy and she sighed…

That was quiet a motivating one Anjali. Well, Now that I respect you more Anjali! After hearing your story. I’ll end up the interview with one last question. Please leave a message for our viewers.

Loss of loved ones is sometimes for the better. We are never too old to fulfill our dreams and never too lost to find inspiration among ourselves. I found my inspiration in me and my husband’s words. People will try to drag you down but you just have to keep going. Time heals all wounds. You also find one in yours. Just take a glimpse at the positive side of life and give yourself a second chance.

– Mrs. Anjali Deepak Arora.

The audience at the studio clapped enthusiastically, some even cried asking for autographs and then I took a bow!

PS : THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY.
AUTHOR : SAUMYA KAUSHIK.

The Lizard in the sink.

NOTE: This post is dedicated to a lizard. Yes, I repeat a lizard. 

I once read somewhere on the internet that those we meet can change us, sometimes so profoundly we are not the same afterwards. Today, I feel the same. It was just three-four days ago I was attending a lecture at North Campus on Meta fiction. What I had gain from the lecture was the power of epiphany and how the stories written in books and enacted in movies are one way or the other inspired from somebody’s lives. 

Writing about life- It was pretty boring from the past week because to begin with, the writer of this post had achieve the superlative degree of laziness in her life. Yes, I was sluggish, inactive, not willing to use my energy on anything. Five days passed from the calendar of the month of fall and not even for once, I did make an effort to go out and do some work. The assignments, meetings and commitments were piling up and I didn’t seem to care a bit. 

For me, an entire day was all about gluing at my laptop screen for Netflix and futile stuff over the internet. Dates kept on changing and my monotonous life was made up for researching all about terrorism, sex and what imbecile articles I could read while eating French fries and sandwiches in bed. That’s actually not a 21 year old plan on when she has a job and freelance articles to submit. 

After, I was done watching with the videos, movies and documentaries – (I was not done, the laptop’s battery dozed off), I just stared at my ceiling for hours to recollect how dissipate my days were. It was happening for the whole week and it just had to stop. I forgot, I did take showers at 7 pm in the evening to stay awake the whole night – writing. 

So, today the day was going exactly like I UN-Planned. But, I did alter it a bit. I decided to shut down the laptop and bang on the treadmill at the gym. I went straight to the kitchen after a hot bath and boiled some water to shed a few calories – never helps! After almost ten minutes, I had bygone about the water. I turned off the burner and thought to cool it down. 

With almost very strong hands, thanks to the dumbbells I lift up. I began pouring out half the water in the vessel down the sink. In half a minute, I literally had tears in my eyes. I was burned (from inside). I saw a tiny lizard hopping and jumping in pain because of the water that I was pouring on her. It was unfortunate. I swear. I felt awful and suffocated. The immediate moment post that; I turned on the tap and helped lessen her pain with the cold water. She tried to twist for seconds and then went numb. I had nothing but tears and tears flowing down from my eyes. I just couldn’t do anything, knowing that I had burnt her. I had not. I was deeply sorry. Tears kept on flowing down and I kept mumbling ‘I am so sorry’ to her. 

I had no courage left to even touch her. I ran away from the kitchen and stood out in the balcony desensitized for half an hour. My eyes fixed on the ants near the Tulsi plant. I kept thinking about LIFE and immediately terrible thoughts had begun a marathon; one after the other. For the record, I am a vegetarian and I have never seen an animal being brutally killed in my entire life of 21 years. I have seen humans dying in hospitals and people tell me that I am strong. I know. I do not need anybody’s validation to feel that. But, I felt a lot different today. I am still figuring out an answer while writing this.

They say, when a person dies he/she gets seven minutes of his ending life to recall back the whole of life. I compared us with a lizard. Did she have that too? I mean her life. I don’t know if that was about eating flies and insects on my house’s wall or latching out of the eggs or even about sleeping in my kitchen’s sink. I felt sorry and traumatized. It was an accident a friend of mine tells me over Whatsapp, who once accidentally killed a pigeon in his balcony. But, I just cannot forgive myself for pouring out that hot water. I should have looked in. I don’t know.

This feeling. This agony- I had to put an end to it. I wore stupid clothes and went out when the city was all wet. The smell of rain rationalized my senses a bit and I did my part to feed the dogs at my street and also the beggars who stopped near the auto I was travelling in. I was literally wishing something exciting and extravagant to happen in my life, lying for days in the bed. But, not this way.

People will tell me that more than half of the world’s population is non-vegetarian but I know that we all are designed by somebody up above in a special way. Also, I will have texts on my phone yelling out ‘You are a dumb kid’. I am unaware about emotions in animals/insects but I do know that they feel something too. Even if science and technology tells us that we are animals too what makes us different is that we have a brain!

All living things do contain a measure of madness.

PS: When I got home, my mother told me that there was nothing in the sink.

 

 

 

 

Don’t Call (HER) a Slut !

“A girl’s life was defined by lines: fine lines, hairlines, bikini lines, class lines, the tightrope line between being a good girl and a slut. But there was always a moment when the lines blurred and a good girl had to decide whether to toe the line, cross the line, or stay safe behind the line that guarded her virtue.”

A girl often called the most beautiful creation of God is an old adage but with the passage of time has completely lost its significance. 
Why? Why has it happened? Why isn’t a girl treated like a princess anymore but a maid! A hanger, a chewing-gum! Why? Such questions arise! 

The answer to them I found and today after hearing from so many people I have gathered up the courage to just vomit out my anger, my views, and my thoughts on the most beautiful creation of the Almighty!
A girl!

Congratulations. “The new angel shall spread smiles and warmth in your family. Enjoy your God’s gift. My best wishes are always with you”. Unfortunately these aren’t the greetings which a mother gets when she gives birth to a baby girl in a country like India. Why is the mother tortured? Why the hell she has to hear from everybody? “Beta hota toh aj yeh hota aj wo hota”

Why a girl is neglected every time? Why she has to become the prisoner of the deadly restrictions?  Why she has to leave her parents’ house after her marriage? Why she has to adopt her husband’s surname? Why our blessings say “May you be the Mother of a 100 sons”.

Why is she tortured? Why is she harassed? And last but not the least why she is R-A-P-E-D?
Ever since December 16thincident happened, things haven’t been the same. Residents of other cities have started to think of Delhi as a haunted city worst A RAPE CITY!  Girls who always wanted to get into DU are now scared enough to compromise with their education and to decide not coming to Delhi from their hometowns instead flying overseas to pursue their education.

Why is it so? Our coming generations are sacrificing just because of some obscene acts of some motherfuckers. We are not allowed to move outside the house after 7. We have to carry a packet of red chili powder just for the sake of safety! And By the way Safety from whom? Safety from boys? Or safety from the evil minded devils those are just hungry for lust and end up in mole stating innocent girls. Well the latter part is sadly and unfortunately true! Girls do not feel safe because of the devils and not from the boys. There are just a bunch of evil minded people who should be punished so brutally that they never forget in their next seven births. But we live in India where the only step govt. took while the country grieves; the govt imposes sec 144 & shuts metro stations. Incorrigible!!!We are a country that kills little girls before they are born.
“ Ek Mahila ka rape hua”
“ Chalti Bus mei student k sath rape”
“Boss ne kia apni assistant ka rape”
“ 40 saal ki mahila ka rape”
and sadly but the truth
“ 5 saal ki buchchi ka rape” ?

5 years? She is just 5! We don’t even know what we were when we were five. And that small angel was continuously screaming at the top of her voice in a room full of rapists. What was her fault? She wore revealing clothes? She trapped a rapist in her lusty charms? No!! As I already said this is just a state of mind. If a girl is fat she isn’t called sexy, why? Because flab is never in!  And the skinny one is the one who everybody dreams for. This is the state of mind. If she wears Salwar Kameez she becomes an aunty and when she wears shorts she look Hot! This is the state of mind. If her cleavage is visible she is a slut and if she hides herself behind several drapes, she doesn’t have a figure for jeans. This is the state of mind.
Why she has to look hot? Why she has to show her cleavage? Why she has to travel in the ladies compartment? So that boys notice? No my dear you are sadly mistaken! She can do anything because she has the right to, because she is confident enough she won’t get raped. But ironically living in a metropolitan city and being afraid of men is just not weakening herself, but weakening the whole foundation of the women society.

If she dates more than 3 guys she is labeled as a slut and if he is surrounded by a bunch of girls He is the “CASANOVA”.

Who are too we blame?
Police? No!
Do you know what is happening on the fifth floor in the last house of your street? Than how come a policeman knows what is happening to a five year old in a room of Gandhi Nagar. We call them corrupt. Aren’t we corrupt? Don’t we occupy a seat in a college by means of fake certificates? Don’t we watch pirated videos after their release? We all have been under the influence of corruption once in our lives. So we can’t put the entire blame on the cops neither on boys. This is just a state of mind. If this post occupies even a 0.5 % of your brain then my mission will be accomplished.
We have to reply strongly. Change begins within us. Change begins from our steps. When we will change No Jiah Khan will commit suicide, in fact no heroine will commit suicide. No boyfriend will use and throw a girl. No Damini will be raped and girls will walk freely on the roads, the other compartments will be full of girls. We will not have to buy a shrug for a tube top. We could live our dreams. We won’t be marrying young. Take the first step!
Respect a girl as you respect Maa Durga!

And don’t ever call a girl a slut!

(Komal hain kamzor nahi hai)
       (shakti ka naam he naari hai)
       (Jag ko jeevan Dene wali)
                                                      Maut bhi tujhse haari hain !

 

Book Review : Female Planet Jivya Arora

Title: Female Planet : Celebrating Feminism
Author: Jivya Arora https://www.facebook.com/jivya.arora?fref=ts
Publisher: Omji Publishing House 
Language: English
No. of pages: 88
Year of Publication: 2014
Genre : Poetry 

Female Planet – Celebrating Feminism (English) (Paperback) Price: Rs. 110
Why a girl blushes?
Woman of fortitude.
Management of women.
Why I was born as a girl?
Preparing to be a girl.
I am a fist.
I am the best.
I am a female because I am.
Functional and Equal to Male.

For the first time ever here comes a book – Female Planet, Celebrating Feminism. It will take you to a new world of feminism where there is pleasure and rapture in exuberance. Here many unfathomable topics have been discussed and along with it a new surge of confidence could be felt by the readers that a woman is the sole nurturer of this world, family, organization or any social group.

She is the thumb of a hand, without whom a family, company or any organization cannot work like a fist.

This book raises questions and also answers to all the women, girls who feel that they are marginalized that you are born as a girl because you are special and can bring surges of change.

Taking birth of a female soul in this world showcases that she is potent enough to bring a dynamic and impressive change in the personality of people around, be as a daughter, wife or the head of any organization.

My views:

I received the book for review from the author who is a friend of a good friend of mine, hence naturally my expectation levels increased.Indeed the language is perfect, poems neatly woven, proof-reading is good, there are a couple of typos though. When I started reading, the first few poems could not hold my attention much that obviously does not mean it is not well-written.There are some social menaces which the maiden writer has beautifully woven. Other than this one thing – The poems are interesting.Like any other Indian author I have read so far, even this author uses a few Hindi phrases in the book, however, they do not seem to be out of place. I guess, that is how it is supposed to be – the Indian touch.

The chemistry, the under-current, the self-restraint, the emotions – everything is so very well described by the author.

Overall, it was an easy and interesting read.

About:

Cover – Good
Title – Protagonist Specific
Pricing – seems appropriate
Quality – book
Fonts – good for reading at nights
Characters – well-defined
Narration – well-narrated
Language – good Flow – good
Description – the description / blurb is good but could have been written better.
Story-line – Simple, mushy love story
Reader’s Expectations – I would say the readers should read without any expectations
Overall rating of the book – 7/10

Buy The Book from here : http://www.flipkart.com/female-planet-celebrating-feminism-english/p/itme2c7trvm4x9zm?pid=9789384028282&otracker=from-search&srno=t_1&query=female+planet&ref=251508a2-26e4-4c18-ad90-b87d54a5622e

Book Review : The Twisted Twenties!!! By Deepali Junjappa

Cover: Attractive. Reveals the story inside.
Pages: 186
Language: English, easy to understand
Price: Rs 175
Publisher: Half Baked Beans
Quality of the book: Excellent
Fonts: Medium sized, Readable
Characters: One main character, Rest supporting.
Narration: First person
Flow: Mostly Smooth, but has turning points

About the Author :
Deepu

Deepali Junjappa completed her Masters in Creative Writing from Australia. After completing her graduation she worked as a content writer for 2ser radio in Australia and then as a reporter in Indian Express. Her year shuffles between writing sessions, book readings, stand up comedy and annual pilgrimages to New York City.

The book jacket reads: It’s okay to be confused in your twenties. It’s okay to NOT know. Are we screwed? The hell we are. Mimi Hittalmani navigates the twisted twenties and finally concludes that it’s ok to goof up, jump courses, change careers, chat up four guys and bloody get wasted in life.

THE REVIEW :

According to me, If you are in your twenties or about to enter this fresh new phase of life then the Twisted Twenties is your guide. Deepali Junjappa AKA Dipu Darku has marvelously penned down the events which one is bound to face in that age. The Twenties are your rehearsals and the thirty’s are for paying the bills. What kept me glued to the book is the wonderful writing style of Dipu Darku.

· Narration- It flits between the three men and the life of Mimi. The apt use of words helps the reader draw a proper imagination of the emotions and the plot.

· Title-The Twisted Twenties.

The title is fully compatible with the story and plot. When you read it you will realize how to sail the boat of life in your twenties. Events, Happenings, mis – happenings, break ups, patch up, make outs, kisses and what not !!!

· Pricing- the book is priced Rs.175/-. The sum of Rs.175/- is bit more for a young adult genre. Understanding the price factor most of the e-commerce websites have reduced it to a maximum of rs.150/-.

· Flow- The story forwards at a good pace. The steamy flow keeps you glued with the story.

· Reader’s Expectation- Going with the title a reader will expect a lot of advises for his life. The book serves the purpose and ends on a good note.

· Characters- Characters in the book are vivid. The book gains extra points with the detail description of the characters.

· Sale ability- The book is really selling well. Needs to be just popularized more through social networks.

· Ratings- I rate the book 4 on 5…

The story is well-narrated and the language is good and I would seriously like to mention that I have met the author in-person and she is a sweet heart. May she keep on writing more and more of such fantastic novels. I really loved some scenes from the novel when Mimi was surrounded by a Gay boss at the gym and the way she got the realistic approach towards her life after returning from Australia and getting over from her EX- Garrick D. This is a must-read novel by every teen girl, adult girl, married girl or any XYZ girl. I wish Deepali all the best for her life and one piece of advice she gives to the amateur ones is get your editing get done by 4 to 5 people and stick to the sarcasm. She is a down to earth soul who told me that she is still learning more about the publishing industry and is now working on her second book which is a dark thriller. Can’t wait to read it too.. Stay tuned for more of her updates 🙂

PS: Sorry Dipu for the delay 🙂

 

Book Review : Lucifer’s Lungi.

For me the best gift would be a book forever and always and that is what the Publisher at Fablery did with me. Nethra Anjanappa gifted me ‘Lucifer’s Lungi’ on her visit to Delhi and I read it in one sitting. Nitin Sawant’s articulation of speech is grasping and makes the novella a distinguished literary work.  . I like how the author has written the story as his personal adventurous trip. The Novella is a good company if you need something to read while travelling. The story is funny to make the readers laugh and holds an excitement level too which makes one keep turning the pages.  The book will do very well if popularized more. The grammar and the spacing between the words have been edited correctly. Do grab a copy of Lucifer’s Lungi this summer. My personal recommendation!

 

Sharing my favorite lines from Lucifer’s Lungi !

“Never felt so miserably helpless in my entire life. What am I in front of Palayar’s might? How did I get this audacity to challenge His authority? Do I even matter in His grand scheme of things? Turns out that all the knowledge of the universe that I’d accumulated so far counts for nothing, since I lacked the humility to accept His divine will….”

A Daughter Needs A Dad <3

“Muaaaaaaaaah”

My husband woke me up at 12am and planted a deep kiss on my forehead. I was half asleep when he blindfolded me and took me to the terrace.
“What are you doing”? I shouted.
“Just wait and Watch” he said holding my hands. I opened my eyes, and there he was… with his wide open arms in a room full of balloons and candles. He made me sit on a rolling chair and rotated it 360 degrees. I was flabbergasted by something I never imagined that my husband will do it for me.
He made a scrapbook of all my memories with my father and after each snapshot there were sayings which were by my father.
I was stunned and all that could come out of my mouth was “How did you do this”? How do you know all this? Papa was not even alive when we got married? How did you…?

He put his hand on my mouth and said “Happy Birthday to Papa”
I had tears in my eyes. I held his hand and said this is something which I’ll always remember Love:* I love you so much.
To which he replied “How can a daughter be sad on her dad’s birthday”?

A Daughter Needs A Dad.

After reading the whole scrapbook and cutting the cake both of us went to sleep. But something there was in my mind which didn’t let me sleep. My brain was battling with the thoughts of my dad and my life before marriage. I was blessed to have such a loving husband and looking at him in his sleep I just thought that he is the best decision of my life. He looked so cute in sleep. I kissed him on his eyes and went to the terrace with the scrap book. Reading the scrap book I realized how much life has changed in all these years. I am married today, I have everything. A loving husband, A house, I have the amount of money which I never thought of having. I have all the happiness in the world. But just being a wife makes me a complete woman? I am a daughter. A daughter of a mother. And PAPA …….

*7 YEARS AGO*

My father was a man who had smiles to brighten everybody’s day, always cheered me up with his warm words of praise. He was someone who always told me great stories to bed. He wasn’t an ordinary man. He was MY FATHER.

“His death may be indeed final but the love we shared was completely eternal”

Yes, death does ends a life but not a relation. Looking at my favorite picture with him I recalled one of the best moment I shared with him.
I was in class 7th and he was dropping me to the school on a cold winter morning. It was so foggy that one could not see even a lamppost 20 meters away. Our scooter collided with a truck driver and fortunately dad didn’t get hurt but my legs started bleeding badly. I fell off the scooter on the footpath and could not gather the courage to get up. Dad ran towards me and took me to the hospital. After the doctor treated my wounds Papa came up to me and said “Sorry Beta”

“It’s alright Dad” I said in a low tone.
He sat beside me and asked “Tell me, what do you want”? I’ll give you. It’s my punishment. My daughter’s blood is very precious. How should I ask for forgiveness?

To which I replied” Papa” “Buy a car” so that the next time I don’t fall on footpath…
He laughed so hard and took me home after that.

The next day when I woke up and went to the balcony I saw a brand new Santro outside or main door.
I ran downstairs and asked dad “Whose car is it”

To which he replied “Yours” I had tears in my eyes.

***********

I turned to the next page of the scrapbook and read “Never ever lie to me beta and whenever you feel low in your life just think of me” I am always there around you. Even if physically I may not be present but my teachings will always guide you in life” Reading this my eyes was filled up with tears and his photographs became wet. His death didn’t scare me but life without him did.

A father is so important in a daughter’s life, nobody can replace his position, nobody can fill his vividness, and nobody can become another father.
His demise left our family devastated but my mother put up a brave front and made our family so strong that we gathered the courage to fight against the whole world. We pledged to fulfill his incomplete dreams. After he went away we never cried in front of each other. Even on our birthdays whenever his memories reminded us of something we cried in the washrooms but never expressed that we are sad to each other. Consoled each other saying “Be Strong” He is our God.

Looking up at the stars I asked him a question “Why did you leave us alone”? You had plans to dance on my wedding, to play with my kids, to travel the world around with your grandchildren.
Why DAD?

His body has decayed but his soul will linger on forever. I have fulfilled his dream. My mother and my brother are happy and my sister has two kids. They’ve started calling me Maasi and I love both of them a lot. And Papa.
I know he is somewhere above watching us and smiling.

I closed the scrapbook and wiped my tears.
I looked up at the moon again and blew a flying kiss whispering “You’ll always be my first love” I was there when you holded my hand even on the ventilator. I could do nothing, I could not give you blood. Your blood was precious too. But Papa

I love you….

“He loves you too”
My husband grabbed my waist and corrected himself “He loves us too” Wish him a Happy Birthday.
We smiled and bid him goodbye.

LOVE YOURSELF FIRST

Statutory Warning: If you’re looking for motivation in the below lines, switch to another website.
This is a story from a 20 year old girl’s diary (That’s not me) whom any other girl should never come across and let’s pretends that her boyfriend is Mr. “X”, umm… The constant variable?

8th April 2014
“I love you X and it’s not because you make me happy, not because you make me feel special, nor because you’re the sweetest person ever… but because I just LOVE YOU X”

8th January 2015
“Dear Lord,
“So often I let someone control me and I know it’s not healthy for me… Please God, I need you to lead me strong and face my demons. I need to tell them that they can’t control me anymore… I want my life back…I want to be healthy and whole again… I want to be able to stand strong with you God…by my side, guiding my way… I know your love can see me through the darkest valleys and back over any mountain blocking my way”.

Like every other relationship, her relationship too, was on the rocks but when life gives you lemons you do not squeeze it up and drink lemonade. She was all ambitious, strong on her own path, nothing could shake her but nine months down the line, her relationship turned her weaker in the knees.

I keep on calling him, and the screen flashes “Call-Waiting”. I meet him in about two weeks and he pretends disinterested. He loves me? He loves me not? These aren’t the questions; only she asks to herself. Such interrogatives arose every other day in a girl’s mind that has been in a relationship for a long time. This isn’t just an excerpt from the love-struck’s diary but from every other love-struck girl who is in madly in love with an “X”. I don’t understand the fact that running after someone who treats you like an option is worth running? Why don’t women realize their own worth and end up obsessed talking about HIM!

I am a hardcore- feminist no doubt, but being in a committed relationship doesn’t asks you to forget all your worth and fall down in a pit of deep depression. Ask every other girl; she’ll always have that one unsuccessful relationship where she was at fault. It happens! We cannot deny the fact either. Turning the flip side, it has a solution too. And in this case my female readers I’ve one for all of you…

If you want to have a successful relationship with a dating potential, don’t commit to him, at least at the beginning. Don’t tell him that you’re falling for him or that you miss him. When he realizes that he’s made a deep impression on you, he’ll start taking it easy and call the shots instead of trying to woo you. If a guy genuinely likes you and isn’t trying to get into your pants, he definitely wouldn’t be thinking of turning the tables of the chase just when he’s about to get the girl. When you ignore a guy or treat him badly, it isn’t called a chase. It’s a stupid ploy that never works. Respect the man who pursues you and be nice to him. Thank him and appreciate what he does for you. He’ll like you even more.

But it doesn’t work like that… I’ll love… I’ll be disappointed… I’ll love again…

She’ll call him again because she had forgotten what she is as an individual! You have talked 2 or 3 times to the person you love to see if they love you back the same. They don’t. Then what to do with them? Nothing. Just let go. Even if you madly, desperately love them, don’t try to make them. Keep the mad love in your own heart. Don’t drown the other person with your feelings. Don’t try too hard. It’s stupid to think that a person who loves and another person who doesn’t return that love can share the hurts caused by this same unreturned love and can heal together. You may genuinely care for each other. You might even have been good friends in the past. But as things stands now with one person wanting something more than the other person is willing to share or give, there is no way for peace and healing to be experienced together. You can certainly heal, but on your own. Or with some other caring friend or lover, talking of a caring friend, she came across one today while meeting him today after ages. In the middle of our conversation, she realized how much she missed what she used to be? This was definitely not what she was pretending to be. Walking home, it dawned on her to get a strong grip on herself, and concentrate on living a steady on strong life. It’s okay if she had to break out and cry but in the end what matters the most is her inner happiness. She couldn’t help but wonder that she was her own best friend. She knows herself better than anyone else does or ever will, so don’t give a shit at all! People are going to judge you no matter what and some maybe judging you right now. But the only thing that really matters is your opinion. There is only one you in this world so be all the things that make you unique. Want to wear rainbow shorts today? DO IT. Life is short; you never know what really comes your way so live for yourself first before others… If having true and lasting love is important, take the journey to find your full worth. This is the only way to get to your desired destination. Love yourself first and then shower your love on your soul mate and never let others intrude your relationship just because of the simple fact that you aren’t strong enough to handle one.
Pick yourself up, dust yourself down and move on with the beautiful journey called Life!
Love will eventually fall into place.

And guys,
be the reason she smiles every morning and not the reason she cries ever night…

Moral Of The Story :

Get up rascal, rise and shine
Shake your booty to the rhythm divine.
Fuck the rules, books and your career.
What you get, Saumya and her arrears
.

PS: Dedicated to my well-wisher, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE 🙂

Play-Boy ?

Note: This letter is dedicated to all those boys from a feminist, who thinks that girls are a material to use and an object of sex. You use them, throw them away and you audaciously call yourself a Playboy, A Casanova. Well, I can give you the meaning of your title. Don’t be proud. Just read.

Dear Playboy,
                        Where to start from? Well the greatest online encyclopedia says that you are a wealthy man with ample time for leisure, who appreciates the pleasure of women. Excuse me? Pleasure of women? What kind of pleasure do you get from us? You are not less than a womanizer! Oh Sorry, You are a Womanizer.  You brag about the girls you’ve touched in front of your friends and does that makes you cool? Do you become a bond? You are sadly mistaken, just being a boy doesn’t give you any right to talk nuisance about a girl. If she was in your life for a period of time and you both were physically attached that means she trusted you, she loved you, she let you touch because she had faith that you won’t betray her. But you proved her wrong, every kiss, every hug done out of love was just a physical pleasure for you and then you call her a Slut? What should I call you then? A Rapist? You crave for sex every time. Why? Because you watch excessive porn dear boy. You can’t stand a girl standing next to you. You want to touch her in any way. Be it in a bus, a metro, roadside or even on the street. You are desperate to take your relation to the next level always. Your tester one level is always high because all you do the whole day is talk about how deep was her cleavage, and how skinny were her legs. Isn’t it? Talking about love… Your so-called affairs last only a month, let’s suffice it to say two months and then, you get bored of her? You figure out after leaving her, Was that Love? Or May be! You always have lame reasons to run away from your obligations. You shirk your duties when she wants more space in your life? The reason is (YOU WERE NEVER SERIOUS).  

I am so sorry for saying such harsh words about you. But people like you are the reason. We suffer silent rapes. You break us emotionally, physically. You leave us heartbroken.  Do you even know the meaning of True-Unconditional Love that we do to you? Do you feel special with us like the way you make us feel by fake means?  You feel Females are an inferior Sex? Is that Right? Playing with somebody’s emotions gives you peace?

I’ll give you a solution: D
When a girl loves you she loves you from all her heart, not knowing that you’ll reciprocate or not… You think that we are weak. But again, you lose here, because without a woman by your side you are weak too. You bring a child in this world because of her. She gives you birth, she caresses you. I hope you change after reading this letter of mine. 
And not to forget, the next time you go and propose her, just love her irrespective of her sexy curves and her deep cleavage.

Yours UN-Lovingly
 The one you broke
Still
I RISE.                       

Why Insanely Sane ?

Image

So who am I? Is that really important? Well, yes, but I was hoping we could get past that. You probably need a name.

I can give you that. Well, I am Saumya Kaushik. 
You need a description? Can I just say “Delicious” and let you picture the rest? No? I hate talking about myself. Really. So better call me INSANE! So now that you’re in the beginning of this post let me just brief you why INSANE? 

As my favorite Paulo Coelho said ““When someone leaves, it’s because someone else is about to arrive.”

I have waked up from a very bad nightmare. And I do realize there isn’t a good side and a bad side of you or of anybody, so there’s no need to be at war with you or anyone or anything at all.
All we are is a bunch of dozy people in the process of waking up.
All we really need to do is try gently to be open to continuing that process.
It’s no good getting worked up about stuff – it’s better to relax and laugh at our mistakes, then figure out how to learn from them and move on.”

Basically this post has become a bit emotional so I’ll just cheer you up by telling more about myself! So here it goes, I have shoulder-length dark hair and I have never worn make up in my life.  — And I only say that only because being gori seems to be a priority for an Indian male. Personally I think dusky women are sexy. But hey, I can’t complain about the way I look. I currently live in Delhi with my parents. I go to parties, I love Drinking, I like being independent. I make good money, and I love spending it on myself. There is something special about paying your own bills. Unless of course, your man is, and which is kind of hot. I guess it is also a great feeling for a guy to spoil his girl. 
Which brings us to my relationship status?

I love books more than guys, my feminine side says Oops I am a female. . I forget that sometimes: P yes the side always says that I am a hard core feminist. I do not believe in relationships. Relationships are the best way to use and get used. But nobody in the so called 21st century thinks like me. In today’s era, “We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

Let our scars fall in love.”

So this is me on love, friendship, dilli, feminism, and I, Me ,myself 😀 

P.s : This is my first attempt at blogging. 
Do comment and recommend 😀