M to D - Be a little less exhausted and live a little more

"Mom?", I peeped in through the half closed door. Seeing her room lit up at this hour of the night, I thought I'd check in on her. 

"Hi baby. Umm, wait there. Hold on I'll come out." she replied, but it was already too late. I entered and saw her trying to make her way from under a heap of clothes. She was sitting on a small stool in front of her wardrobe and nearly half of her sarees and her kurtas and her patiyalas were out of the cupboard, either on her head, some on her shoulder, some in her lap and others scattered around on the floor and the bed. I could see a certain pattern in the scatteredness of the clothes.

Book review- Is This Love and Automn- The Last Leaf

BOOK REVIEW

Is This Love and Autumn- The Last Leaf

SYNOPSIS:

The book is compiled of two stories "Is This Love" and "Autumn- the last leaf". Both the stories, though quite different, revolve around friendship and love.

'Is This Love' is the story of how two friends find the love of their lives in each other. Vishaal (notice the double 'a') and Sheetal are liberal youngsters who live together in the same house, though never having got physically close. The two have been together for each other in the highs and lows of their lives and that has eventually led them to fall for the other, secretly. They realise this only after the entry of Aman in Sheetal's life. Caught in her own perplexity, Sheetal decides it's too late for her to revert back and ends up marrying Aman. As their journey unfolds, you will see the different shades of love that color the lives of the three. I'm not going to give the end away and spoil the fun of reading the book for you guys, but yes, the end left me the reader satisfied.

'Autumn- the last leaf' is more of a thriller entwined with love and friendship. The story starts with Neha's dream where she sees that her friend Kathy is in danger. Neha often sees such dreams which later come true. A series of events that follow make Neha realise that she is indefinitely in love with Kedar. But Kedar marries Samiksha, a charming woman and a good wife to Kedar. However, an unfortunate even in Kedar's life brings Neha back to him again. But as hard as she tries, she cannot get Kedar out of mourning. She finally decides to let her lust rule. But how close can she really get? Somewhere, Neha's dream holds the key to those unanswered events. The havoc of an obsessive love has been presented by the Author in a very believable manner.

CHARACTER SKETCH:

I liked the character of Vishaal, from the first story. He was an understanding, caring and a composed person. Sheetal, on the other hand, I could not much relate to. The author has formed her character thoughtfully and tried to make her more like the contemporary girl, and yet there were times when I wanted to shout through the book to tell her to get a spine. The characters of the second book are more relateable I think. The conflict that Neha goes through, her thoughts and her feelings are radiated through the book to the reader. Allowing Samiksha to be this beautiful person that the author has made her, was a good choice I think.

NARRATION:

If you have a O' Henry or a Nicholas sparks book in mind when you begin reading this, get rid of those suppositions. Go read this book without any expectation EXCEPT to just enjoy two beautiful stories, sitting by the window on a rainy evening. The author has used a very simple english to narrate these stories to her readers. I liked the parts where she has given a larger meaning to some smaller acts. Like when Sheetal's tear falls on a card she's reading, given by Vishaal, and it falls just where Vishaal's tear had fallen when he'd been writing the card, thus uniting the two forever- extracts the author.
I wouldn't say it was a very powerful narration, but a narration which could hold you onto the book and leave you wanting to know more as the story unfolds. Just don't compare the book with any other book of the same genre. It's not meant to be that way, the author has only intended telling you a story through her perception, her eyes. And she's done that well.

VERDICT:
I'd call it simple but intriguing.

Visit Arti Honrao's page here

An interview with Arti shall be coming up soon, so stay tuned!

Paragons of virtue- Story of a Mardani

This is the story of a woman of substance. A woman, who rose to defend her identity in the male dominant society that we live in. A woman who had found love in a man, and then chose to kill it ; because there was another love she had to protect. A woman I call MARDANI.

She is a Christian. She loved a Muslim. Religious differences could not keep them apart. In the society that we Indians live in today, marrying your daughters off in another religion is still not readily accepted, she was aware. But she had found love and she wasn't letting go.

A writer's plight

      This is a post linking to Rochelle's 100 words photo prompt. As a part of Friday Fictioners, I had to write a post related, however loosely, to this photo. Read on :)                                      



                                                  


Her mind exploded, the cool wind caressing her hair. She held her face in her palms, resting them on her knees. The pages of her book fluttered one after the other, all unveiling her vacuousness. Poorva, the protagonist in her book was dying and she had no way to save her.




She sat there wondering. She should not have let a character she made up come so close to her heart to let her fill up all her voids. Lighting a match stick to a gasper, she inhaled. The shag hit her hard.

Looking down at the xyst she felt herself sinking. Deeper. Deeper. Until she reached the paramount. It was now time to open her fists.

She collected all her senses and looked up only to see the entire town spread below her. The blank pages started to be filled with scribbles.  

M to D- The Price of your dreams

The daughter lay on the bed facing her pillow, deep in the vividness of her thoughts.
Her mother asked, " What is that you dream about?"

"Dream? I'm trying not to dream. There's always a price you have to pay for your dreams." She mumbled from inside the pillow.

"Aren't you paying a price right now, for not dreaming?"
She sat up this time.

There is no end to a search

She woke up with a sigh. She had wished last night to not be able to see the sun again, she wished for a miracle that could take the little pinch of life in her away, instantly. She wouldn't take the leap. She knew her worth. She saw the crack of dawn through her window and wondered what beauty did people derived from it. She knew comfort in a coarse black night only lit up by a tinge of the reticent moon. But she sensed that morning was to be different. So she climbed out of her bed, warmed by her own heat, sat down by the window and tried to be enthralled by the facade scarlet sky.

M to D- Pure breed of thoughts is a myth

It all started when mummy cam e home late after work the other day. It was already dark outside and being late from work is always a turn off for her. I had, apparently, decided to cook that dy and trust me when I say that it's a rare occasion. I like to feel I'm too good a cook to cook often and I like to believe that i leave people craving for this luxury. When in reality, and I know the reality, they secretly wish the recipe does just fine so that I don't start throwing things around in a fit of pique and behave like I just lost a war. 

 Okay so this day, i  think my dish wasn't worth eating, let alone craving, AND mummy wasn't in the right spirit. I settled her down as she came home and then carried on with my work. She tried starting up a conversation a few times and I harshly stepped down on each of them, rubbed my foot on the ground to squash them further and pretended the past few seconds never happened. [Exceedingly contrary to her, in my lows I prefer no company at all, I help myself get into the right frame of mind.] When she couldn't handle me any more (I didn't want her to! That is the whole point of secluding myself) -

Mum: You know what, I know you hate me. What I do not know is why am I all excited to reach home to you guys when I know it's of no good to you. (That's her way of igniting me to saying something atleast, even if in rebel.)

Me:  Mum, you know that's not true.

Mum: Leave the room, please, if you do not want to talk properly.

Me: You know how I hate to fail at anything, that food there- it's shit as fu..I can bet a dog vomiting on it.

Mum: Why didn't you let Sunita help you? (Sunita = the cook)

Me: I wanted to cook it my way, without anybody's interference. My mind isn't programmed for teamwork.(ohh! Bad say)

Mum: You kidding me? You can never be successful without being a good team member. Why are you such an anti-social person? Sweetie, you cannot survive the world by escaping it's ingredients! Tell me why do you run from people?

Me: I do not run from them. If my wavelength with them does not match, I see no point in conversing with them.

(By this time, I already felt like Einstein) 

Mum: Tell me one person whose wavelength matches yours.

(I think, or atleast pretend to. The question had to be rhetorical!)

It's 4 in the morning and I'm still pondering. It's the world against me. I have to save my pride, I have to be different than them. If I start discussing my thoughts with them and come to a compromise, my original ideas will die. The pure race will extinguish! There will only be hybrids left in the world of ideas then. If I stop incoming and outgoing of ideas and views and thoughts to my brain, only then can I be a product of only me, not of the society. I do not want to be a product of the society. Ah! Here is a scholar in making, I thought to myself. Mummy will be proud one day.

Okay, Reality check (I hate them)! Am I taking myself too seriously? There must be more out there who think of them as Einsteins, and unlike me, they might even be real Einsteins. If everybody stops discussing their thoughts, where will new thoughts pop up from. What will be left for us humans to do? We spend 3/4th of our time in discussing views, opinions and ideas, and i do not use discussing as a synonym for expressing.

Oh, and who will win the debate competition in 7th, 8th and 9th grade consecutively, if there are no debates? (A bit for some shameless self-appraisal, if you may :P )
It sure wasn't one man's idea alone, without other's thoughts involved in it, to invent something like the light bulb, or the telephone or the aeroplane, or the scotch brite for that matter. I secretly wish they were though. I guess it's time I realise Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest applies to thoughts and ideas too, for the best!

Now when I think of it, I have no great ideas worth saving from hybridization. Except my new recipe of course, and this too Sunita will hybridize the next time she cooks it. And I'm also sure it will taste better after her hybridizing it. I might even name it the hybridized rice. Then probably ideas are meant to be discussed, commented, compromised and hybridized. Enough of hybridization already? Oh cummon, every time you utter a word, you are actually letting that word be hybridized by the number of listeners, the conscience listeners and the unconscious ones.

Some for the thoughts of a young lady maybe? Go hybridize it now!