Get Quikr, No Fikar, Bech Quickerr..

All those reading this should thank the Almighty for bringing them into this world at the time when it has been blessed with the Internet. Everything has been compactly fit into our palms, totally rendered at our convenience. Bills can be paid, food can be ordered and is promised to be served to you at your doorstep in 30 minutes or less, you can see and talk to your long lost cousin at the mercy of a few free apps, the only thing for which we needed to go out of our houses was if we wanted to buy anything. Over the past few years, online retail and online classifieds have left no stone unturned in conquering this milestone too and making our lives easier than ever.

Earlier, buyers/sellers contacted each other through phone calls or emails, which took 2-3 days per transaction for the simple reason that calls can come at inconvenient times and a seller can miss out on a potential buyer due to this. Quikr Nxt has entered the market with a trump card that would take it to new heights of success, i,e Online Messenger Chat between buyers and sellers at any time of the day and thus eliminating the need to call or drop in an email. The need to share your contact number with complete strangers disappears. The only point of reference is the Quikr ID. Email spamming can also be put to a stop. Users can make their listing private, which hides their mobile numbers and email ids. Not everybody likes to share their contact number with the world at large.

Since one of the best features of Quikr Nxt is that the buyer can mitigate the risk while buying by asking the seller to send a picture of the product from a particular angle or to send a video of the used products and share it with them, if I’d have to sell my car and get something better in place of it, I’d take complete advantage of this feature. The day I learnt how to drive on my own, without my dad sitting next to me on the passenger seat, I was overwhelmed with elation, and that sense of independence hasn’t left me since.

With the common man's budget, and the prices of fuel sky-rocketing, we now have a quicker way to buy second-hand cars in good conditions that can conveniently be used for family vacations that would bond the family together. It is extremely hassle-free. First all, I’d make a complete video of the car inside out. Everything from the seats to the steering to the complete outlook. Sharing details over a video can be a very big advantage to me since any potential buyer can see the car in real time and that makes a much better impact than talking on a call and listening about the product.

Everything about performance specifications will also be clearly mentioned since the new way is the chat way. Pictures of the car from all possible angles will also be shared with the buyer, he should realize that he’d get complete value for his money.

Even while buying, these features could be of great help. Some people are very particular about spacious cars with enough room for them and their friends. All those needs can be seen and taken care of.

Selling a big product like a car at a reasonably good price without revealing my identity would be a boon.

Do visit and experience the next generation of buying and selling.

http://www.quikr.com/. 

Little by little, day by day.

No combination of 26 different alphabets can ever capture even a sliver of what this feeling is, but it needs to go into the books as a beautiful beautiful memory, so here's your glance into it.

So, It happens like this.

Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and in the middle of that nowhere you meet someone. For some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than you do to anybody else. Little by little, day by day, you grow to love this person more than you love yourself. Steadily, you start to feel that they're the center of your universe. Your happiness, your sorrows, your smiles, your tears, your days, your nights, everything is for them, everything is from them. They embrace your darkest fears and make you smile at odd hours. They're the one that you want to be painfully honest to, no matter how embarrassing it is. They're the only person who will drop everything just to be with you when you need them, no matter what the circumstances. You no more fear the perilous times, because they've always got your back. With them, you just want to let it all out, and breathe, hold them really close on the rooftop at 3 in the morning, kiss them and tell them all about how beautiful life is with them. They make you want to gravitate into a passive world of sweet oblivion where you fulfil all your wildest fantasies.

If you ever feel blessed enough to meet such a person in life, never let them go.

Because you don't just automatically love someone. You slowly learn to place your trust in them, they make you feel wanted, they make you feel loved, they make you want to levitate with all the happiness that you can't contain within yourself, your face hurts from all the smiling, you never want them to let go of your hand because their fingers intertwined with yours silently tell you that you're special to them,  and thats when it hits you, that you aren't delirious with joy for no reason, its love.

You fall in love with them the way you fall asleep, slowly, and then all at once *

They make you realise that "I miss you" is the most beautiful sentence anyone can ever hear from another person, knowing that your presence makes somebody happier. In french, they say "Tu me manques", which means "You're missing from me", and it is a lot more apt, because they become a part of your being.

Love is as scary as it is beautiful. Letting yourself be simply yourself and expecting someone to love that side of you is terrifying. But there is so much to be gained, much more than there is to be lost. Love fills up your heart with a feeling that can only be filled by the sheer simplicity of unconditionally loving someone and being loved in return. Its the little things that make it worth it; the surprise kisses, the warmest hugs, the stolen glances hidden from everybody else.

Being your true self for someone is completely frightening, but the feeling that engulfs you when someone embraces you at your most vulnerable low, is Love.

PS they say never fall in love with writers, they make demons look beautiful, if anyone's reading.

PPS Summer of 2014 will always be special. It is this season that I fell in love with a wonderful person , and somehow, he loves me back too.

*Fault in our stars

Alexis's Graduation Speech.

S04E23.

“There is a universal truth we all have to face whether we want to or not. Everything eventually ends. As much as I’ve looked forward to this day, I’ve always disliked endings. The last day of summer, the final chapter of a great book, parting ways with a close friend. But endings are inevitable. Leaves fall, we close the book, you say goodbye. Today is one of those days for us. Today we say goodbye to everything that was familiar everything that was comfortable. We’re moving on. But just because we are leaving, and that hurts, there are some people who are so much a part of us they’ll be with us no matter what. They are our solid ground, our north star. And the small clear voices in our hearts that will be with us. Always.”

—	Alexis Castle

Another year passed by..

And I turned 24. Of course I don't look 24, I'm a girl after all. Its been a good year. I holidayed in Mauritius, and trust me, its a pretty little island with crystal clear waters and the best chicken sausage ever, Mom Dad gifted me a MacBook, I'm comfortable with my job status, if not satisfied, I have the best of the friends from all worlds, and I've become a PotterHead too.

Stable, is the word I am looking for. 

Although a little unstability wouldn't hurt, if anybody's listening and understands what I mean. 

Also, Mom Dad completed 25 beautiful years together. Thats my Dad giving an awkward hug to my Mom upon my family's insistence. Cute enough for today ?.

Stay Blessed.

Menstruate. With Pride.

"Amma, my frock is stained again" she said with a little unknown fear in her heart.

"Whatt !!?? Why can't you be more careful ? Bibiji gave me this frock for you last week only. and from where should I bring more cotton ?" Amma shouted. "Go and wash that green rag that you used yesterday, put it out in the sun to dry and then use it"

"But amma, I'm not feeling well, it itches and my stomach hurts" she cried.

"Then what do you expect me to do ? Wash your period stains ?" Amma replied with little emotion.

She held her tears and turned away.

******

I am writing this post for the Idea Caravan Initiative by Franklin Templeton India and IndiBlogger. They have partnered with TedXGateway Mumbai in December 2012 and have provided us with inspiring videos of young minds struggling and succeeding in making and being the change that they want to see. Menstruation still is considered as a taboo in many urban and rural parts of our country, I would like to contribute my bit to the right to sanitary "mind and body" for every woman by this post.

IS IT A TABOO ? OR HAVE "WE" MADE IT ONE ?

Menstruation or Periods is one such topic which is rarely been talked about. Let alone been talked about on a world-wide platform like Blogger. When I was a kid, we only had one TV at home, and as soon as the StayFree or Whisper commercial came on, Dad would hurriedly look for the remote and change the channel. I never asked any questions until the day all the girls in my class were told to stay in the classroom during the lunch break. Some of us looked curious, some knew what was going to happen. We were given proper knowledge by a counsellor about a phenomenon that was going to happen to us every month for a significant numbers of years to come. To be true, I was in shock. I wondered how would I bleed for 4 days a month and still be okay ? She also brought a sanitary pad with her and showed it to us.

It was then that I knew why mom didn't go to the temple for those 4 days a month and why she would feel sick in her stomach.

A colleague of mine shared her first experience with me and I was shocked to learn the ways of our society in that age. She's in her fifties. She woke up one day and found out that her clothes were stained red and that something was definitely wrong with her. She ran to her mother and her mother's reaction was "Achaa, ho gaye ?" She gave her some cotton from the cupboard and hushed her to the bathroom. Nobody taught her how to use one, for how many days would it last or how badly the cramps would hurt.

RAGS ? NEWSPAPERS ? PLANT LEAVES ? ASHES ?

If men could menstruate, they'd either associate with power justification or luxury, never with hygiene. Wish women could do that. Factually, I am sure that a hundred percent of women reading this article have never used anything except sanitary pads during their periods. But do you ever give a thought to that 75% of our country's female population who use saw dust or rag materials to cover their pubic area during their cycle ?

It is still seen as a luxury in their lives. AN UNNECESSARY LUXURY ITEM. Money still poses a problem. Can you imagine a life where you're denied the right to healthy clean sanitary pads and are forced to use cloth ? Among many other reasons, I respect my mother for giving a pack to our domestic help every month for herself and her daughter. She gives her a pack of Stayfree- 20 napkins for Rs. 60. That brings the average cost of one napkin to be around Rs. 3, and still Mr. Babbar claims he can provide that same woman in the same country with a balanced meal in Rs. 12.

I will not venture into facts and figures, I will tell you a true story that happened in the school that I teach in. I teach computers to classes VI-VII. This is the exact age group of girls reaching puberty and having their first period. One of them came to me last month and said "Mam, I think I am suffering from periods. Can I go to the medical room ?" The irony of the statement was that she thought it was some kind of an abnormality and she was unfortunate enough to suffer from it. I sat her down after she came back, and listened to what knowledge was given to her. She was confused and I had to tell her that she wasn't suffering from anything, that it isn't a disease and she is a healthy lovely girl.

Mr. Muruganantham has made an unusual brave effort on his part and I applaud him for it.

PROBLEMS ENCOUNTERED

The Four A's - Availability, Affordability, Accessibility, Awareness.

A country where politicians claim they can get a complete balanced meal for Rs. 12 in a city like Mumbai, what can a rural woman's expectations be ? Awareness is next to nothing, and it is no more than a man asking for a condom. They'd rather have babies than use protection. We say we're evolving, I beg to differ. Advertisements are flashed, hoardings are put up but asking for a sanitary napkin or a condom is still considered as a taboo.

Arunachalam Sir pointed out the fact that almost all women of our rural population would rather buy milk for their family from the money rather than spend that same money on sanitary napkins, I'd agree with him. Although Menstrual Cups can be used. They can be washed and re-used which takes care of affordability. People like Mr. Muruganantham and more young minds like them can make then available at low cost. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menstrual_cup can be visited for more.

Women Empowerment is a topic that is more written about and less done about. Every woman has a right to sanitation and she must be provided with one. A healthy country is not the one with wealthy politicians claiming to do their best, it is one where a common man is confident enough to get his basic needs fulfilled.

If you want to think over a task, give it to a man, If you want it done, give it to a woman.

If we start looking for issues to fix in this country, we would never decide upon one. Every other issue is more appalling than the previous one. But if you want change, you have to make it happen. Contribute your bit. Women should step up, do their little bit and it shall spread on its own. Provide you domestic help with proper education and sanitary napkins, ask them to talk about it to their daughters and other women in their locality.

If I ever have a daughter, I will celebrate her first period.

The red gold.

"Your boss is surely going to fire you one of these days" Kalpana predicted.

He chuckled, enveloped her from behind,

and said "And to what will I owe that pleasure Miss ?"

"You're late, almost everyday, If I were your boss, I'd fire you" she said, and kissed him while fixing his crooked tie.

"Is Gian ready ? I'll leave him at the crutch on my way"

"Yes he is, don't drive too fast. Love you."

A half an hour later, Kalpana received a call from the local hospital. Her husband had died, due to lack of availability of his rare blood group AB-, in the same fatal accident that had left her 3 year old crippled for life.

*****

"Papa, do we really need the needle this time also ?" She pleaded with her pale eyes and her limp hand reached for her father's.

"Yes dear, but I promise it will hurt less" he reassured her firmly.

The nurse struggled a little to find a vein and then pierced her tiny hand with a needle that would give her one more month to live. She was suffering from an inherited single gene disorder, Thalassemia. 

This little girl needs 30 units of blood
every month.

*****

What would have happened if Kalpana's husband would have received the blood that he needed in time ? What would happen if this little girl's father had some way of knowing that he didn't have to worry about arranging blood for his daughter every month ? Things would be different. Their lives would be different. To have someone you love, die in a bed because the hospital ran out of their blood type is the kind of feeling that follows you to your grave. 

A special mention to applaud Franklin Templeton Investments in their brilliant initiative to bring about a change. I've seen all the videos that were provided at the Idea Caravan Site. I can't say I wasn't moved by the others, but I chose this particular one because I could actually, practically join the cause and make a difference, rather than just voicing my views about it on my blog.

We tweet all day long, visit our friend's profiles on Facebook, like pictures, pitch in witty comments. I would like to thank Karthik Naralasetty for thinking outside the box and creating a platform for emergency blood needs that saves lives. He has created a Facebook group where people can post their emergency blood needs with the required blood group and interested donors can reply to the requests as they please. I haven't seen a much better use of social media till date. 

Visit http://www.socialblood.org/ now and save a life.

Written for the IndiBlogger Contest : Franklin Templeton Investments partnered with TedXGateway Mumbai - An Idea by Karthik Naralasetty.

HandMade by Carousel

A very dear friend of mine, Twisha of OneLife.ManyMoments has dared to live her dream. And I want to help her realize how great it is.
Its the first step.
And all great things start with that one little step.
Visit her Facebook Page and have a look at all the quaint little things she hand picks.
Its like weaving magic into your home decor.

She is simply looking for beauty - the kind that can't be explained - only felt.

I got this box customized for my sunglasses :) Can you spot mine and my blog's name in the doodle ? ;) Quirky, ain't it :)

By now, I'm sure you're dying to know from where to shop.

http://carousel-1415.itshandmade.in/

there you go :)

Thank me later :)

You know where to find me.

Love.

Attraversiamo.

Attraversiamo is an italian phrase, that means 'Lets Cross Over'.
A couple years before, I wasn't even acquainted with this supreme world of blogging.
I will not cook up a story as to how I started blogging because I quite frankly do not remember.
But I wrote my very first post for my mother and that was the day I knew that this would become irreplacable for me.

Two years ago, I dreamt of a happy place.
Two years ago, I created a happy place.
And you're in it right now.

My blog turned 2 this June and I can't believe that it still can lift up my spirits when I'm down.
Its a gloomy milestone and I'm just crossing it over. Hope they're many more to come.

PS Title Courtesy - Eat Pray Love.

Snow on the Sidewalk.

We all have scars.
We all have stories.
Some make sense, and the rest, just don't.
Sudden. I guess that's the word I'm looking for.
Maybe, it would have been a lot easier, if life was a movie.
I wouldn't have to worry about my hair, my shiny career,
or about finding the right guy,
and just when I'm at my lowest,
he'll pull out a Cartier and sweep me off my feet.
Or, I could learn how to play a guitar.
I'm in a bizarre state of mind. really bizarre.
I ordered 'Angel of The Dark' off the internet,
because its got fragments of my favourite writer in there somewhere,
but I don't think I'm going to read it.
I don't want to write any more.
Everything I loved doing has lost amusement.
Its all swept away, like snow on the side-walk.

A braided gesture of Love.

This post won the runner-up prize in the said contest.

Some days I am a curl,

while others, I merely swirl,

They say, I am a sweet lullaby,

or that, I am a braided gesture of love,

perhaps, it is just Dove.

Sometimes strictly parted on the side, sometimes seductively falling over one eye, sometimes wet, sometimes rigid, sometimes tied up in a high ponytail, sometimes braided together into a french bun, sometimes tousled in the front with a fishtail braid over the left shoulder, sometimes the usual bombshell waves, sometimes polished, yet sometimes casual. Your hair define your personality, more so, they define you. A messy braid resting on the nape of your neck will make you your man's guilty pleasure even on the most unlucky day of your life.

I have been raised by a loving punjabi family and a strict Convent school. And by a convent, I'm not intending to imply towards nuns and discipline, I mean a compulsory pair of braids with a precise middle parting. I've lived, loved, grown, and also matured in braids. The way they frivolously hung over my neck gave me a beautiful carefree feeling. There are certain things in life that look better when put in perspective, one of them is my hair. Its like they have a mind of their own, they know when to be mean and when to be subtle, when to be nervous and when to be at their cautious best. Nonetheless, over the years, I've fallen in love with them.

Hair, I believe, have a mind of their own,

They twirl, they dance;

Not always prim, not always proper,

It can make you drown, into its serene expanse.

To be honest, I've never had long hair, even though I'm proud of my Indian woman mindset, that loves her silky smooth hair flowing carelessly in the summer breeze. And when they do oblige me by growing beyond a certain length, I have to chop them off because, Hair, is a funny thing, they curl, swirl, twirl, dance, straighten, perm and among other things that you and I thought they could never do, they now split too.

The first time when I heard of split ends, I was a careless teenage girl, and was shocked to know that a thin healthy strand of hair could betray and split into two if deprived of proper nutrition and care. Through Indi, Dove has always encouraged me to talk more and more about my hair, and it always sends me into a cute memoir of a fuzzy-hair-girl flashback. But split ends, they're new to me. Just when you think you're doing everything right, your hair smite you in the face with a wake-up call.

I started working as a teacher last year. Stress levels rose, sleep hours got cut, pollution poured in, causing my healthy hair to revolt back in unsympathetic split ends. Chop chop, snip snip. My beautiful braid from 2012 had to be disguised into regular shoulder length waves that I now have. I wish Dove had launched its Split end Rescue System back then, before I got my cut, but better late than never, and I couldn't be more thankful. Braids are supposed to have a beautiful beginning and beautiful ends. And it's possible now, 4x times less split ends with the new Dove range. 

 I, mostly, do not have a clue as to what is the criteria for calling one's hair happy, but what I do know with certainty is that when you are happy, your hair bask in your glory.

Friends shot envious stares, relatives wondered,

Only because she grew up, with tresses so long,

They did all, but could never find the answer,

To, how on earth were her hair so strong?

Hair, weren't much of an issue,

Until the day, time flew by and stress flew in,

Bringing along, dryness, damage, split ends

And hair, Oh so thin!

Reminiscing about old times,

When her hair shone with pomp and glory,

Nostalgia overcame, and she knew,

A change was needed, to rebuild her damaged hair story.

And then, came along DOVE,

With its enriched conditioners and mild fragrance,

A shampoo that coaxed the split ends,

and taught them once again, what was LOVE.

                                                             

This post is in association with IndiBlogger and its Dove Split End rescue system.

Jack is Back in the Corporate Carnival - A Book Review.

Publisher            - HarperCollins

Publication Year            -    2012

ISBN-13         -       9789350293515

ISBN-10          -      935029351X

Language           -  English

Binding -Paperback

Number of Pages            - 307 Pages

About The Author (Source – From the Book)

About the Author (From the Book): P.G Bhaskar is a twenty-first century banker and in that capacity needs everyone’s empathy. A chartered accountant, he left India for Dubai in 1992 and, what with one thing and the other, stayed put, watching the city grow. He now lives there with his wife and teenage son.

Bhaskar is one of the modern world’s thinkers and philosophers. He thinks deeply about several things, including but not limited to, the ups and downs of Indian cricket, why Pluto stopped being a planet, who chose February to have fewer days than other months, and his frequently missing handkerchiefs. He has come to no conclusions on these issues, or indeed on any issue. Nevertheless, he continues to ponder. In the meantime, he has decided to write books, despite being warned that nobody below the age of seventy-two reads nowadays.

There are weekends when you don't have enough time to do everything on your to-do list and then there are those when you don't have anything productive or fun to do. I would  advice you to pick up Jack is Back in the Corporate Carnival for one such day and enjoy the scent of the printed page.

The author succeeds in his effort to bring a smile on his reader’s faces. The story starts with a little healthy bickering between a couple but traces of humor start to appear from the very first page. I would honestly let you know I haven’t read any of Bhaskar’s previous works, so I was not familiar with his writing style and persona.

The book claims itself to be the ‘Funniest Book of the Year’, so I was looking forward to it. Books hardly succeed in making me laugh, I don’t know, whether that’s a problem with me or the books that I read. I found myself smiling through various pages of the story.

The summary tells you every little thing you need to know about the plot of the novel, so no surprises there.

If you’ve read me before, you’d know, I am not a fan of ‘Hindi excerpts’ in an Engligh novel, so that was the only turn off for me.

Pick it up I’d say, if you’re looking for a light read.

I apologize for the late review, IndiTeam.

Chilli, Chicks and Heart Attacks.

Publisher -Westland

Publication Year -2013

ISBN-13 -9789381626887

ISBN-10 -938162688X

Number of Pages -320 Pages

About the Author - (Source : Internet)

Sanjaya Senanayake is one of the millions of South Asians who was born outside the revered continent and brought up in the West. In keeping with this inauspicious occidental origin, Sanjaya has spent his life rebelling against all that is South Asian. Indeed, despite his conservative parents pleadings to become a movie star, watch football and marry a bikini- clad blonde, he thumbed his nose at South Asian convention: Sanjaya is now a doctor who loves cricket and is married to a girl named Dilukshi.

Being a die-hard Grey’s Anatomy fan, I had a lot of expectations from our dear protagonist, Dr. Manju Mendis, a Sri Lankan living in Australia, and I can happily say, I have not been disappointed. Sanjaya clearly leaves no doubt from the very start, that this is no diary of a hospital intern. 

The first surprise that met me was the name Manjula. A very dear friend of my sister’s is named Manjula, and I was surprised to know that the story is about a guy, not a girl. With the desperation of hooking up with somebody, and making it big at Australia’s top public hospital, this story is one hell of a roller-coaster ride.

As many occasions, he finds himself amidst a series of ill-fated misadventures. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t perplexed at first, but the author has made a wonderful effort. It takes a lot of courage to put your words to life and I appreciate Sanjaya for it.  It can easily be called a year of hysterical madness for the protagonist.

The backdrop of being set in a medical background, was the main attraction for me. I have been watching Grey’s and Private Practice since years now, and I can almost tell you why is castor oil used to induce labour or that Dr. Addison Montgomery can perform surgery on an unborn child. The medical procedures described in the book felt almost real. The description of the characters is surreal and it will make you want to meet them in person.

Though the story might be a little predictable at places, you will anyhow enjoy reading it.

Beware! Of the most interesting sex scene description you might have ever read. Again, to each, his own. And, I didn’t know they had a ‘Celebrity Ward’ in hospitals. I’d definitely pay my respectful visits to Dr. Spyder ! He definitely seems worth it.

In the span of a year, Mendes has to learn how to confront fraudulent specialists, self-important clients, and an imperious set of immigrant relatives. Also, he must find time to sustain his fledgling relationships with patients, colleagues, celebrities, and most of all, a girl with a troubled past.

I’d rather call this book, The misadventures of an Intern.

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

Back to the Beginning.

I, am on the verge,

have been, will be,

She, is a temptress,

my untouched chardonnay,

Oh!

I still, am on the verge,

She whispers love,

with open arms,

a proud charade,

and a kind smile.

She confesses,

'I am a camouflage,

nestled under the veil,

of an unsung promise'

Oh!

I am on the verge.

have been, will be.

She, is The Beginning.

My Beginning.

My Outlandish Beginning.

PS - This is my 100th post (:

Everyday you breathe, Some days you live.

Bonjour mon amis !

From the bottom of this blog's irresponsible writer's heart, A very warm and special 2013 to all of you. Okay, I do realize the fact that my wishes are a little 2 months or so late, but they're heartfelt, genuine, and I know that's all you care about.

My year started with the sudden death of the head of my family, my Badepapa. Although it did put certain things into perspective but the loss is huge. I've never seen my family in this much pain. Its almost like they're aching physically. I wasn't very attached to him but knowing that he's there, supervising everything and everybody, was a comfort like nothing else ever will be. He might have been my dad's elder brother by blood, but he was always more like a father-figure.

His death made me realize several things that were never of much importance to me. I care more now. I tell my loved ones, my family, how my life would be incomplete without them, whenever I find an oppurtunity, or sometimes even when I don't find one.

I try to live, as much as I breathe.

It has been more than a month now and life is starting to take back its toll on everybody. Of course, things won't ever be the same but that sadly, is the tragedy of life.

I'll see you all next time.
Take Care.

If only, she would abort her girl child to protect her from rape..

Unwanted as a baby, insulted as a girl, raped as a woman and silenced as a lady. When did our definition of a woman undergo such a sea of changes ?  Expected to give up her career to raise a family and complete all her chores on time, never asked for an opinion, not allowed to enter the temple in her periods as if it is something she does against God's wishes, dutifully provide the family with healthy sons that grow up to be as insensitive as the others, beaten, burnt and raped. When did we lose our humanity and fell so low that we stopped respecting and started raping the womb that gave us birth ? Many of you might be offended by the title of this post, but I stand by it with all my courage. I would be least surprised if a pregnant woman decides not to have a girl child for the fear of what happened to a 23-year old student in Delhi. Being her age, I can't imagine the trauma that she must be going through.

The media is hungry for that one sensational byte, one statement from the family, one more picture! They manage to ignite a protest, start support groups online, abuse the accused on social networks. But what good does it bring to the victim ? She has become the talk of the nation, but how is it helping her ? Not long ago, a girl from North East India was publicly molested and beaten. The case became viral on Youtube overnight. Banners were hanged, posters were painted. What good came out of it, still manages to stay a mystery. A german woman was raped and murdered in Goa last year and instead of justice, advice was served. Tourists were asked to dress and behave according to the Indian customs while they were in India.

"Protest infront of India Gate, 22nd Dec, show your support". I received this text a few days back, asking me to show my support for the gangrape victim. Many of my friends swore that they wouldn't miss it for the world. Although it did make me think, were they excited because they thought it was cool that they were protesting for a cause for the first time ? or were they angry because an innocent 23-year old was gangraped and thrown out of a moving bus ? 'All the female politicians must be raped', this filth also made it to every youngster's phone, as if the recent happenings weren't disgusting enough. Just this morning, I was informed that the punjabi rockstar Honey Singh has composed a song on the victim, depicting his rage and suppressed anger. All I felt upon hearing it, was humiliation and shame. An obnoxious Bollywood star saw this as an opportunity of promoting his latest movie. The opposition sees it as a means of initiating a political riot. 

What fears me the most is that have we started taking pleasure in the victim's misery or do we enjoy the blame-game ? Some blame the accused, others blame the city altogether.

The main accused, Ram Singh, the bus driver, said that he only did this because his friends thought he was not man enough to have sex with a woman. How does forcing yourself on a woman prove your manhood ? How does that third leg give them the advantage of being superior over women ? Of all the rape case accused that are arrested, almost 70% accept that they did this to show her "her real place". But then, how does forcefully inserting your penis into a vulnerable woman's vagina do that ?

The body, the scars, they all might heal, but will the soul ever heal ? I myself live in a conservative North Indian Punjabi family. I'm not allowed to leave my house alone after 6 in the evening. Even if I have to got to the nearby chemist, I take my brother along. It never makes sense to me, but I do the needful to ease out my parents' worry. But what if a gang of six decide they want to rape me, will my brother be able to protect me ? You see ? right there, something is wrong at the bottom of it all.  

The current maximum penalty in rape cases in India is life imprisonment. Officials say that death sentence has been put on the table and it might be served in extreme rape cases. What I want to know is that, what will be the criteria of deciding which case is an extreme and which isn't.

Is a woman raped by one man for ten minutes any less haunted than a woman gangraped by 6 men for an hour ?

This post is my not-so-poignant ode to the dying human spirit.

14 Hours - A Book Review.

Title : 14 Hours - An insider's account of the Taj Attack.

Author - Ankur Chawla

Publisher - Rupa Publications India

Genre - Personal Experience

ISBN - 9788129120656

Pages - 162

Rating - 4/5

About the Author [Source : Internet]

Ankur Chawla went to school in Delhi and then graduated from the Institute of Hotel Management, Shimla. He was selected as an operations management trainee with the Taj Group of Hotels. He has worked at different Taj properties, including the Taj Mahal Palace in Mumbai, for almost five years. Ankur has, over the years, also played musical instruments such as the tabla and drums, participated in theatre, acted in documentaries and undertaken several public-speaking and marketing engagements. He currently holds a managerial position in the food and beverage department at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Delhi.

Summary

A stark and compelling narrative , this is the story of a man who battled immense fear and peril to emerge a survivor.

Ankur Chawla says ' Working in a hotel prepares you for many things, but not this. I could hardly agree more with him. 26 November 2008. Mumbai was terrorized to its core and  Ankur Chawla has given us the insider's account of those dreadful 14 hours in there. I did not want to judge this book like any other books that I read, simply because of the sheer soul Ankur has tried to put in. If he is anything, its brave for me. If I would have been in his place, I wouldn't have had the courage to re-live the trauma even after several years. I applaud him for the genuine effort. 

This book is a tribute to those who died in the attack and a salutation to the spirit of those who survived.

At times, when I closed my eyes, I could see the shady figures dancing around with rifles and the grey bagpack.

The story has been heard numerous times, in snippets, on various news channels and read on laudable newspapers, but what they could not provide was the first-hand account and the racing heartbeats of the people fighting their fates against this unfortunate mishappening inside the Taj.

About being totally honest, I do think the book had some glitches and grammatical errors, but of course writing a book, specially the one with these kinds of feelings attached can be really hard. Perhaps, maybe Ankur could have hired somebody to do a better job at it. Still, this does not affect my rating of the book and neither does the sentiment lose any of its original value.

It was a tragedy that we may never even wish upon our foes. I hope Ankur regains his 'before-incident' chirpy self, although we all know that is easier said than done. Mumbai had been terrorized and so was the rest of the country.

I can only wish peace.

My rating for this brave narrative would be 4/5.

This review is a part of BlogAdda's Book Review Program.

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The Bankster - A Book Review.

Title: The Bankster

Author: Ravi Subramaniam

Publisher: Rupa Publications India

Genre: Fiction

ISBN: 9788129120489

Pages: 358

Rating: 4/5

About the Author (Source - Internet)

Ravi Subramanian an alumnus of IIM Bangalore, has spent two decades working his way up the ladder of power in the amazingly exciting and adrenaline-pumping world of global banks in India. It is but natural that his stories are set against the backdrop of the financial services industry. He lives in Mumbai with his wife Dharini and daughter Anusha. In 2008, he won the Golden Quill Readers Choice award for his debut novel, If God was a Banker. 

To know more about Ravi, visit www.ravisubramanian.in or email him at info@ ravisubramanian.in. To connect with him, log on to Facebook at www.facebook. com/authorravisubramanian or tweet to @subramanianravi.

Bankers build their careers on trust, or so everyone thinks, till a series of murders threaten to destroy the reputation that the Greater Boston Global Bank (GB2) has built over the years. Who is behind these killings, and what is their motive?

When Karan Panjabi, press reporter and ex-banker, digs deeper, he realizes that he has stumbled upon a global conspiracy with far reaching ramifications a secret that could not only destroy the bank but also cast a shadow on the entire nation. With only thirty-six hours at his disposal, he must fight the clock and trust no one if he is to stay alive and uncover the truth.

Bestselling author Ravi Subramanian, a master storyteller of financial crime and winner of the Golden Quill Readers Choice Award, returns with his most gripping thriller yet.

Summary

The book begins with three parallel stories and then in the mid-way is left with two stories. The parallel stories are that of Joseph Braganza in Angola, Greater Boston Global Bank (GB2) in Mumbai, and Krishna Memon in Devikulam, Kerala.

The author writes about the sad state of affairs of the rich trying to get richer through frauds. Like many other readers, what hit me the first time I saw the book, was its title. It isn’t the banker, it’s the bankster. The name itself has put in a lot of weight and suspense to the story.

GB2 is the main centre of the story, a reporter from TOI, the nuclear power plant story, many stories have been intertwined with each other and Ravi Subramaniam deserves a great round of applaud for it.

Infact, what isn’t clear until the end is what exactly is the crime and what has menon got to do with it ?

I won’t unfold the rest of the mystery here, In order to know more, buy the book from your nearest book stores, or online from Flipkart.com.

This review is a part of BlogAdda's Book Review Program.

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The Wedding.

Excitement. Happiness. Nervousness. Bride. Groom. Heart. Lights. Shine. Music. Booze. Dance. Laughter. Giggle. Dreams. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Love. Food. New. Beginning. Colors. Heightened Emotions.

This is the Grand Indian Wedding.

My sister got married to the man of her dreams yesterday. I wish her the best of all worlds. Shes gone and I can't seem to contain the emptiness of my home. I guess, I shall eventually fall back on my regular blogging schedule. 

PS - Have any of you ever gone through a phase where you fall from a good '10 posts a month' to a 'rare single post a month' ?, where you want to write and yet don't find anything convincing enough ? Share a tip, if you have.

Its one of those days for me and I shall kick its ass soon.

Love.

An Embrace.

An embrace is sometimes all that we need. Breathing and melting into it, drowning into its sadness. Maybe, or maybe not ? Else, how do you manage to get past the enormous loss of a loved one. It is a tad bit uncouth, although I don't know whether on God's part or destiny's. This month, 3 of my students at the school have lost their fathers. I won't say I know what kind of a storm is whirling inside them, because I don't. Their loss is humongous and I can't even begin to imagine what pain they must be going through. Living through a time like this at an age where football seems to be the most important thing in the world is unfair. I don't know whom to blame, but what I do know, is that nobody deserves to go through a time like this. Just the thought of losing anybody around me makes my eyes water. They say, its just a phase, I don't trust them. How can you get past a phase where somebody loved you more than their own lives ? How do you forget your first super hero ? How do you gather the strength to make it all seem better when clearly it won't ever be the same ? Nobody can.

I pray for them and wish them all the best in life.

Delicious Ambiguity.

The best thing in life is not knowing how its going to end. This way, hope and love always find a path to struggle back in. As the years pass by, we are often engulfed in a quagmire with ourselves, amidst that whiff of a smoke and those beautiful laugh lines. They make us look older, also wiser, but do we care ? Our sense of right and wrong develops a smarter perspective, only to unfold the real us. 

What a frivolous conundrum this life is.

It is strange, how our ideals shape themselves according to our comfort. Not everything right deed springs up an innocent smile, not every wrong deed weighs heavy on the conscience. I don't know why I am being a philosophical nerd here, but the irony of this fact is that there was a time when all that I'm writing right now would have put me to sleep in no time. Change. That, I suppose, is what I'm talking about, or atleast I'm trying to.

Change, has never really been my thing. I like routine, waking up to the sound of the same alarm tone everyday, running late for work. I let comfort settle a layer deep inside my skin. And when the situation demands to peel it off, I feel this infuriating pain that stings me at regular intervals.

Stories. Did you know, every man has a story to tell ? No matter how dark, no matter how twisty, there is always a story somewhere in that nondescript part of their brain, waiting to be told. Stories, that were woven with great precision, intertwined with an accurate dose of happiness and tears. They make them want to jog down the altar that leads to happy memories, memories that are stained with flaws, flaws that seem to be the closest possible entity to whats real.

Some, inherit the richness of time. 

Some, fly away with that broken wing.

But then again, The best thing in life is not knowing how its going to end. Or rather, how your story is going to end.