storizen magazine - may issue
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Magazine that adds glamour to the Indian Literature and Indian books.TRANSCRIPT
Come in, Earth! This is your Editor of Storizen Magazine calling. To all you lovers of the Word, or those who are keen on starting a Literary Affair: Greetings! Our monthly publication on print-worthy fiction goes into cy-ber-orbit with this, our first issue. The mission: your ambition – appreci-ating literature and perhaps, applying your own fingertips to the word pad. Thus, we encourage your words to “rub shoulders” with our words, as well as those printed words from celebrated authors. So, in this space - we pick the brains of established writers in exclusive inter-views; get the bookish views of big names in entertainment and sports; and even put out your writings in reviews, poems and short stories. We’ll even have Word-fun in humorous captions, slangs and limericks. Plus, just as American writers started doing over a century ago, we Indi-ans wordsmiths, are coming into our own. Thus, has begun recre-ating the Indian Universe with our pens, a Universe that you are a part of! And the novel is only one format, to capture the great human experience: pho-to-essays, narrative-articles and short-stories are other literary appliances that we put out. So, plug-in and spread the Word!
“Welcome, Wordsworths!” Says Your Editor
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A Passion Beyond Extremes is Rajnish Gambhir’s first novel. Rajnish is a Commerce graduate from St.Xaviers College, Kolkata and presently he is a Director in a fewprivate companies in Kolkata. Besides writing, he enjoys reading, playing golf,\watching films, following cricket matches, music and travelling.He lives in Kolkata with his wife, while his three children are working / studying in U.S.A. Interesting event was the contest winner get chance to meet Saurav Ganguly & get click with Saurav. Winner name is Arjun Ghosh
Duckbill had three authors at the prestigious Kala Ghoda Lit Fest this year! All the author sessions were held at the lovely Kitab Khana bookstore. Anushka Rav- ishankar’s monstrous ses- sion was attend- ed by over hun- dred enthusiastic kids, as she read and sang from Moin and the Monster and Moin the Monster Song-ster. Revathi Suresh addressed a small and intimate gathering of young adults as she read from her book Jobless Clueless Reckless, Himanjali Sankar, author of The Stupendous Time telling Superdog, had the crowd captivated as she read from her book, played videos and had the kids come up with superpow- ers for their superdogs.
Because TTWT is a fun book with a lot happening between a group of old friends when they reunite - we wanted to design the launch event in a way that made it an experiential eve ning. We wanted people not just to sit and listen to us speak about ‘Tick-tock we’re 30’ but get an actual taste of the over-all whacky, closely bonded mood of the book
The idea was to try and open up the fourth wall and let the au-dience into the discussion right through the evening. For this reason we even kept the seating proscenium style and made it really interactive; constantly
throwing the ball back into the audience, narrating something from the book, then letting the people in the room join in with their own anecdotes. The event, much in the same vein as ‘Tick-tock we’re 30’ turned out to be a roll-er-coaster-like fun ride with unrestrained laughter and poignant moments. At one point Milan Vohra and all of the women panelists turned around to ask Karthik Kumar the male panelist, why men couldn’t see through the likes of the Kalyani’s of the world, a character in my book who all women seem to hate. On the button, another guy from the audience jumped right in to answer on behalf of all men!”
Rajiv Menon – Thundergod, the Ascendance of Indra A night launch with celebrities attending. It was a cocktail evening. About 70 – 80 people in attendance. From left to right: Gaurav Kapur, Rajiv Menon, Cyrus Sahukar and Vineet Wadhwa
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Shubhra Krishan – Top Secret! An evening launch at the Lodhi Garden Restaurant with Chef Saby releasing the first copy of the book We had in Mauritius dancers to liven up the evening. About 100-120 people were in attendance From left to right: Chef Saby and Shubhra Krishan
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Facebook PhantomThe hottest new read for teens this summer, Face-book Phantom, was re-leased on 28 April in Ban-galore. ‘The book is well written and impressive for such a young author.’ Suzanne Sangi, the Yung teenage author of the book is 17 years old, and is doing her pre-university course in Mount Carmel College, Bangalore. She lves music, sings and plays the guitar. She started writing Facebook Phatom in the summer after her Class X board exams, when she was fifteen, and finished it the following summer.
The Urban Solace Book Club in Bangalore opened with a discus-sion of Yasmeen Premji’s debut novel “Days of Gold & Sepia”. The author, Yasmeen Premji joined the group for an interactive discussion with the audience.
It’s strange that we know so little about ourselves, about who we really are and what we are capable of. Of all the careers in the world, I would not have imagined myself to be a poet and a writer. I was 26-years-old when I just started doing poetry one evening.Up till then, I believed myself to be a decent person but rather shallow, not really capable of any deep thought. Yet, almost a quarter of my life later, there I was writing poetry, as if a flood gate of poem had suddenly been opened. To tell the truth, no one was more in awe of myself than I. Today, my second mystery novel, ‘Ja-cob Hill’s is all set for a May release and I couldn’t be happier. But the journey into the publishing world wasn’t easy. It was the kindness of acquaintances and strangers and one and a half years of perseverance on my part that made me an author from a writer.I started scouting for a publisher/lit-
erary agent (home and overseas) for my debut work ‘Love on the Rocks’, a romantic thriller in July 2008. There were at least a dozen rejections in the mailbox every month, sometimes more. It was also an opportunity to learn as some were kind enough to come back with feedback that in time proved to be invaluable.
In Feb 2009, ‘Love on the Rocks’ was picked up by a literary agency and they offered to take the book to Frankfurt Book Fair, Oct 2009. After waiting for four months for the edits on my book to begin, the agency just dropped me saying that they didn’t want to invest their time and effort in a manuscript that was rejected by Penguin and Harp-er. To quote them, “Am I fool or are you that I should invest my time and money in a manuscript that has been rejected by two of the biggest publishing houses in the country?”
I had apprised them at the outset that the standard sample chapters of the manuscript had been submitted to these publishing houses in 2008 and had been declined. I remember sob-bing like a child, threatening them on the phone that someday they’ll regret dropping me off their list. In retrospect, it all seems childish, but back then all my hopes were pinned on it. It felt like someone had snatched the winning lot-tery ticket from my hand. I was told repeatedly by family and friends that writing and poetry is a good hobby but that I needed to do something more, start another novel. But I wasn’t ready to give up on my de-but novel, just yet.Half a dozen drafts and a year later the book was picked by up Penguin in March 2010 in a dramatic fashion. A friend’s friend working for Pearson (the company that owns Penguin) happened to read the manuscript. She totally
loved it and was quick to recommend it to the Senior Commissioning Editor, Vaishali Mathur, a very fine and en-couraging lady. Three days later, Vaish-ali made an offer. ‘Love on the Rocks’ was published in 2011.A year-and-a-half is a long time; a time that helped me fine-tune my manu-script and learn much more about the ways of the publishing world. Since then, I have encountered many wonder-ful editors, agents, poets and authors. Not only has technology opened doors for easy interaction among authors and publishers in India, it has shortened the time span that a writer spends chew-ing his/her nails while waiting for their response.Lastly, I only have one thing to say that it doesn’t matter if anyone believe in you, the real question is do you be-lieve in yourself enough to pursue your dream till it runs out and fades thin?
I had apprised them at the outset that the standard sample chapters of the manuscript had been sub-
mitted to these publishing houses in 2008 and had been declined.
“IsmitaTandon Dhankher is ‘A Lesser Known Poet’. Her poem, ‘The Beasts Run Wild’, is currently up on MSN, as part of an ongoing exclusive feature “Her Courage” in tribute to Indian women. Her second mystery novel Jacob Hills is just released by HarperCollins India.”
No two character names should start with the same alphabet. For exam-ple if you have lead characters like Sonia and Sapna or Tanya and Tina or Arvind and Anurag, readers are bound to get confuse one for the other.
In the fantastic novel , The Taj Conspiracy, the author named the charac-ters as (SSP) Raghav and RP Singh. As a reader, I at times confuse one for the other.
No two (primary) characters names should end with the same syllable. In other words, avoid two names that rhyme with each other. Example: Ajay and Vijay, Amit and Sumit, Madhumita and Susmita. Since the human
brain does not raed the whole spelling but can mkae out the words from the first and the last alphabets, it’s better to avoid names that share common first alphabets or the last ones. Example: The legendary characters– Laila and Majnu, Jai and Veeru, Raj and Simran–are fantastic examples.
Keep in mind the region, setting and the year of birth. For example, par-ents these days don’t keep common names like Mukesh, Amit, Ravi or Vijay. Also, I hardly come across people with these names in theNorth
Eastern part of India. For one of my stories, I was planning to name my protagonist who hailed from the North East and was around 25 years of age. I considered the names of my North Eastern colleagues in my company and even asked strangers their names. Finally, I got an authentic one – Jintu.
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Think about the nickname for your character in advance. This is because our parents and friends hardly call us with our actual names.For exam-ple, my dad calls me Nattu (long story), my mother calls me Muku and
my childhood friends called me by the name Charlie (another long sto-ry). I am sure Bongs will get this point sooner.
Reshmi or Mehrunisa – which name would you keep for your protago-nist who is investigating a murder? Good you got it. It all depends on the character they are playing in your story. If the character is a ro-
mantic hero, names like Varun, Rishi or Mohit are acceptable. In case the character is an investigator (strong character), names like Ranvijay Pratap Singh or Himangshu Krishnan or Pratee Mathur or for that matter Pradhan will reso-nate more. What will you name theprotagonist’s mentor in your Sci-fi novel?
Easier to pronounce. In India, names like Ananyobroto, Parambratha, Naman Jasarapuria or Divya Kodithala could be quite difficult to pro-nounce. It’s easier to identify what we can pronounce easily. However, if
you’re writing a script like AVATAR, you are forcedto think of names that people have neither heard of nor can identify. These include names likeTsu’tey, Neytiri andNa’vi.
Avoid using celebrity names as it triggers a lot of bias in the reader’s mind. Example: Aamir, Amitabh, Katrina, Sridevi, Abdul Kalam, Pra-nab Mukherjee, Sehwag, etc. Also, avoid using names of legendary
characters like Gabbar, Raj, Simran, Vidya Bagchi, etc.
Think of the characters’full story, not just of their childhood. For exam-ple, Milli could be an excellent name of a sweet child, but as she grows up and becomes a strong advocate, it loses its resonance.
Some of the regional names could be gender neutral like Chandan, Har-preet, Lakshmi, Anindya, etc. Just ignore them to avoid confusion. Or, use them if you would really like to create one.
Last but not the least; do not name your characters after you or your spouse (or your ex). Consider you’ve written a love making scene and the character is named after you. Hope you got the point.
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Which author do you feel has influenced your style the most?
It’s difficult to say because I grew up reading both classics as well as potboilers. My spiritual sense is influenced by Paramahansa Yo-gananda, my love for fast pace and racy plots is influenced by Dan Brown and Frederick Forsythe, my fascination with historical retell-ing is inspired by Dominique Lapierre while my passion for research is fuelled by Arthur Hailey.
What has prompted you to write your book or books?
I have never gone out looking for stories. In fact, I do not consider myself as a writer. I am much more of a storyteller than a writer. I really care very little about my choice of words or the crafting of my sentences as long as they convey an in-credibly interesting tale. My first book happened because I was inspired by a tomb in Srinagar and the curious story that lay behind it.
What is the best feedback or comment you have received from an ordinary reader on your book?
Someone told me that she took a day off work in order to complete reading Chanakya’s Chant. She said that she had to call in sick given that it was near the company’s financial year ending and there was too much work pending.
What criticism has helped you grow as a writer?
When I wrote my first book, The Rozabal Line, some readers complained to me that I had allowed my research to overwhelm the story. Thereafter, I consciously chose to ensure that the story was given pride of place. I receive around a hun-dred comments each day from readers via various channels. I always mark im-portant views because they help me evolve as a writer. I am and will always be work in progress.
“ I would have loved to have writ-ten Midnight’s Children by Sal-
man Rushdie. It has always been one of my favourite books. What would I have done differently? “
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What would you like to do as a writ-er that you have never done before.
Find a new story and then find an en-tirely new way of narrating it.
What is the book that someone else has written, that you would have liked to write? How would you have done it differently?
I would have loved to have written Mid-night’s Children by Salman Rushdie. It has always been one of my favourite books. What would I have done differ-
ently? Probably nothing. It’s difficult to improve a masterpiece.
What is your advice to aspiring writ-er?
Speak in your own voice. Don’t attempt to be someone that you’re not. Research your story exhaustively. Get yourself a good editor. Read and re-read your work a hundred times, there are always improvements that can be made. Most importantly, believe in yourself and be thick-skinned. Rejection is part of the game, so don’t allow rejections or set-backs to deter you.
Ashwin is an enterpreneur by profession but writing historical fiction in the thriller genre is his passion and hobby. He’s author of three best sellers - The Rozabal Lane, Chankya’s Chant and The Krishna Key. He holds a master de-gree in business management from Yale University and is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Creative Writing from the University of Bangor at Wales.”
“I thought I was in hell already, what can be worst than this? Is it the right question to ask while being chased by a bunch of angry tribal warriors?” he asked himself as he pushed through the dense trees, “Stress on ‘angry’ and super stress on ‘tribal’. Their spears are laced with poison that can kill a fat rhino in a shot,” he reminded himself, “The fat rhino for lunch was tasty by the way.”He was called ‘The runner’ by anyone who was unfortunate to know him. Not because the runner was running from almost every police department in the world. Also not because he had spend most of his life running from the situa-tion. He was called the runner because he was actual runner. He was a messen-ger, very expensive and very exclusive. His clientele included people who had ‘few’ disagreement with the general law. He delivered goods, messages and items to any location possible with one quali-ty that the normal courier service never offered, no paper work. It was also one of the quality that made most of the police services come look-
ing for him.Todays job was different, there was no money involved. No really, no money involved. How much money do you ask Death from? Exactly, you heard it right, Death. Picture whatever you like, full on cloaked man with a grim or a teenage goth girl or even a flying spa-ghetti monster. He met death, it was on a thursday lunch hour. Lunch hour on thursday was a crazy business. It was crazy because it was not a Monday or a Tuesday or a Friday, it was that awk-ward Thursday.He was eating kheema pav at the local Irani cafe. The chicken kheema was having a disagreement with his diges-tive system. He looked around and burped quietly under his breath. “You are excused,” a small boy was watching him intently from across the table. “Excuse me?” “Yes. You are ex-cused,” the boy said, “I have a work for you.” “Excuse me, who are you?” “Who do you see me as?” the boy asked.“A fourth standard kid who should be in school at this moment,” he replied.
“Interesting, that is something you should work with your psychiatrist. But again as I said, I have a work for you.”“Who are you?” asked the runner, look-ing around, did the cops started using school going kids for sting operation.“Right.” the boy said, “That,” at that ex-act moment the scene changed, he was no longer at the cafe and the boy was a dark grim figure dressed in long over-all black cloak. The face was covered in a dark overalls and the boys voice had turned hoarse.“Is this biblical enough for you?” he asked, “Do I need to tell you who I am now?” The look of horror on The run-ners face indicated that he did not need to know. “So,” the cafe and the boy was back, “I have a work for you.”“Work?” The runner realized that he had to finally stop running death had caught up with him, “What kind of work can you have for me?”“Bournvita,” said the boy to the waiter who had come to wipe the table.The waiter eyed both of them and left.“Work,” the boy said, “Yes. Work. Noth-ing that is difficult for you. Need a per-son of your skill set.”“My skill set but you are d...” he avoided the word. “Yes, yes I know, I know,” the boy said, “Sure I am the most powerful of all that is and sure its my job but you know performance is a problem in this modern world.”It was exceedingly difficult to be afraid of a ten year old boy.“What is the job exactly...”“Running...” the boy said.Running, that was what death said.
Running, easy as a slicing a knife through butter. Run, Run, Run. What death had failed to told him was run-ning was not going to be easy as the tribe chasing him was the most ancient hunting tribe called ‘Sons of Ka’.The tribe was the direct line descendant of an ancient witch-doctor ‘Ka’. The witch doctor was known to be an expert on black arts and also rumored to be the first black magic performer in the world.Using his power of black magic, he man aged to defeat death in the game of rock, paper and scissors.“Wait, that can’t be right,” he said to the boy, “Seriously?” “Rock kills scissors, scissors kill pa-per and paper kills rock,” the boy said drinking his bournvita, “Its a giant spread of my favorite thing. Death.” “So he defeated you in the game of... err...”“Rock, paper and scissors, yes.” the boy continued. Defeated in the game, death asked him for what he seek.Ka was the most knowledgeable and wisest of black magician in the world, he smiled and said, “I seek the heart of death.” The heart of death, Runner thought, that was the thing that was pounding near the chest. All he had to do was sneak in the village and snatch the heart and then run. Legend says, death hates his heart so much that he does not seek it. The sons of Ka lived for more than a thousand years from
the aura of that heart.The account was overdue, Death was impatient. He wanted someone to pick up the heart and run, leaving the village exposed to him.Runner dashed as fast as he could. Just over the cliff, just over the cliff, he said to himself. It will be all over soon. One of the sprinters from the tribe was very closed to him. This made the runner very nervous. What if they catch him? what if they inject him with one of those poison arrows? His thoughts were cut by a loud wail by the sprinter. A thorn had pricked his leg and was now bleeding. Runner smiled at his luck and dashed on. He wondered if Death was protecting him from what-ever misery was going to fall on him. He knew death was...his leg slipped and he fell.He rolled over from the sides of the mountain and crashed full speed into the chasm below.Seventy feet into the chasm he crashed hard on the granite rock. He never stood a chance against death did he? Slowly he closed his eyes.“Ahem,” the boy disturbed him.“What?” the runner said opening his eyes, “Happy now, I being dead and
all?”“You are not dead,” the boy said.“I am not?” the runner looked at the cliff above, “Are you telling I survived a fall of seventy feet on the granite rock?”“Yep,” the boy said, “You still have my heart don’t you?”And then it dawned on him. Death cannot touch him till he has the heart, “Well that was handy.”“Yes, it was, now put that heart inside this box.”“What will happened to them, The sons of ka?” he looked up.“Thorn prick,” the boy said, “The run-ner behind you? A good runner, he was awarded four times last year for the fastest runner in Kalympics. He will soon find out he has a thorn pricked in his legs while he was chasing you.”Runner looked at the box in the boys hand, “And you won’t chase me once I place this heart in the box?”“I can’t run faster than you runner,” the boy said, “But we will meet... soon.”“Soon?” the runner screamed, “What do you mean by soon? I hope you mean soon like sixty, seventy years later? Is that soon enough for you? Hello?”He was standing in a chasm alone.
Siddhesh is creative enterpreneur, witty blogger and pas-sionate story teller. He’s got an awesome website. Go visit.
I am a rogue program.My job is to offend.There might be better waysTo make people think,But this is the easiest wayMy programmer discovered. Each time you slam,It becomes my plugin,That I manifest in my next version.I am a rogue program.I don’t die.My flaws keep me alive.
My flaws keep you alive too.I create flatteries,One of them is choice.That is an illusion.Because you are unaware.
You choose to save yourself from hurt.But you just save a hurt for yourself.You choose a weapon to kill.Or did u just un-choose the many weaponsThat will kill you?
Then each time you die,You slam,And that becomes a plugin.
Remember,I hurt you onlyTill I need to hurt,And not till you do.
Remember,That I will remember the slam.That’s a compliment.
Because my job is to offend.
I know the choice is a flattery.I fight between hurt and hurt.I don’t die.I am a rogue program.
“Debdatta is a gifted poet. She also works as a copywriter and sings, paints, dances and plays the guitar at times. When asked, what other field would she have chosen if not arts, she says, “Perhaps, I wouldn’t have been born!”
You choose to save yourself from hurt.But you just save a hurt for yourself.You choose a weapon to kill.Or did u just un-choose the many weaponsThat will kill you?
Then each time you die,You slam,And that becomes a plugin.
Remember,I hurt you onlyTill I need to hurt,And not till you do.
Remember,That I will remember the slam.That’s a compliment.
Because my job is to offend.
I know the choice is a flattery.I fight between hurt and hurt.I don’t die.I am a rogue program.
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I miss you in the vaccuum that was once you.In the stillness of a cemetry afternoon.
In the dinner table, with an empty seat.In family photographs, now incomplete. In my husband-to-be,In the grandchildren you did not see. In the deficits of love, half-filled.In success, made hollow in your absence. In mammas who aren’t papas.In fathers and daughters strolling hand-in-hand. Daddy dearest, my dirty old man,Always with me,and yet still not here...
“Christina Daniels is the author of the bestselling filmography I’ll Do It My Way: The Incredible Journey of Aamir Khan. Before this, she also authored Ginger Soda Lemon Pop, a novella that looks at growing up through the perspective of a five-year-old child.
College Street, name derived from the presence of many colleges) is a ~1.5 km long street in central Kol-katta in the Indian state of West Bengal. It stretches (approximate-ly) from Ganesh Chandra Ave-nue Crossing in Bowbazar area to Mahatma Gandhi Road crossing. It houses many centres of intellec-tual activity specially Indian Coffee House, a cafe that has attracted the city’s intelligentsia for decades.
College street has been the place for young kolkatans to unleash their intellectual desire and dreams. The very basic vibe of the youth can be well understood in the air of Boi-Para, the college street. The very famous coffee house of college street is been the heart of kolkatan intelligentsia for ages. Many great novelists, poets have spent hours there discussing in creative atmosphere to write many time breaking classics of bengali literature.
A doctor by profession, Satyaki Basu picked up cam-era in 2008, since then it is has become his hobby and passion. His photographs has been published in many magazines like Better Photography India, Spiceroute Magazine, Lonely Planet - BBC, Asian Geographic Passport, National Geographic Traveler India, Discover India.
Which author do you feel has influenced your style the most?
No author has influenced my style. I love reading romance novels, thrillers and non fiction. But I have my own style of expressing my ideas. So all my romance books will have a bit of philosophy that
readers can take back with them. I try to step away from the conven-tional romance and regular sensuous scenes. That’s why I will have a scene on a beach, in a hot air balloon or a museum! And I will have
men who are real and women who you can truly identify with.
What has prompted you to write your book or books?
I’ve been writing since I was 9 years old. I wrote a diary since then. A book at 12 years old. An anthology of poems at 15 and screenplays for the fun of it. My husband Sunaman Sood always encour-aged me to write a book and when I had my daughter, I finally took the plunge and wrote a manuscript called Losing My Virginity And Other Dumb Ideas.
What is the best feedback or com-ment you have received from an or-dinary reader on your book?
On my facebook page Losing My Vir-ginity And Other Dumb Ideas, many people send messages to me about the first book and Mistakes Like Love And Sex. A few people on Twitter have also commented as given below:Jan 15 Shweta@Localheroin@Madhuribanerjee - just finished read-ing losing my virginity. what a fab book. Was so hooked on to it that I was in it even while I was sleepingDec 21 Riti Mohanta@RitiMohanta@Madhuribanerjee ..u truly r the “Car-rie Bradshaw” mam...im enjoying this one even more....almost to the ending...and unputdownable...@Zyda16 - Madhuri I have read both your books and i simply luv them...Kaveri is so similar to me..i see myself in her..Dec 9 sana hussain@sana2127@Madhuribanerjee read both ur
books.n felt like a flow of ones own life.loved evry part of it..u shud write more n get to inspire more ppl!Apr 11, 2011 sushmita sen@thesushmi-tasen@Madhuribanerjee yes my darling!!! Received ur book!!! Super proud of u..thanku for making it special:) love u!Jan 7, 2011 sushmita sen@thesushmi-tasenThe book by Madhuri Banerjee is called’ Losing my virginity and other dumb ideas’ :))Jan 7, 2011 sushmita sen@thesushmi-tasenHey Madhuri!! Wish u all the best for ur book!! It is a pleasure to have my Quote be a part of it:) mmuuuaah n god bless!
What criticism has helped you grow as a writer?
The best critique I got was from one of my favourite authors, David Davidar. He wrote “I have now finished read-ing Mistakes Like Love and Sex and the book held my interest all the way through. Kaveri is an excellent charac-ter, and of the other characters I liked Siddharth as well. I would urge you to challenge yourself and your ability as a writer by writing a much bigger book in which you explore a woman’s sexuality in-depth (especially as the sex scenes in this book are really well done).”
What would you like to do as a writ-er that you have never done before?
I would like to stand on stage and ac-cept a Nobel Prize in Literature for my writing!
What is the book that someone else has written, that you would have written.?
How would you have done it different-ly? I would have changed Amish’s Shiva
around quite a bit. But then he’s got his pulse on what makes a bestseller, so probably no one would have bought my version!
What is your advice to aspiring writ-er?
It pays very little money. Find an alter-native job or change your lifestyle!
Madhuri Banerjee’s debut book Losing My Virginity And Other Dumb Ideas sold over 40,000 copies in the first year of its release and was on the best sell-er list for over 10 weeks. Her second novel Mistakes Like Love And Sex was released in November 2012 and went straight to the bestseller list. She has written a commercial film screenplay called Hate Story 2 with Vikram Bhatt that is scheduled for release in 2013. She has also completed a non fiction book for Karisma Kapoor called Yummy Mummy and her third romance novel tentatively titled Love Zero that should be in the market by January 2014. She is currently working on her fifth book and another screenplay.
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We know our celebrities by their faces. And one of the most celebrated such is that of Raveena Tandon! In fact, it’s a face that has turned to display many facets onscreen – the damsel in distress in Khiladiyo ka Khiladi; a battered wife in Daman; and even a schizophrenic in Dobara (in which, she is indeed, multi-faceted!). Now the filmi veneer, has uncovered sponge of fiction’s printed word. Yes, Ravee-na is an avid reader, enthusiastically drawing from a pool of literary creativity. And here’s what she said about this thirst?
Who are some of your favourite au-thors - Indian or International?
My favourite authors include Ken Follet, Stephen Hawking, Michelle Moran, Slyvia Browne, Dan Brown and Amish Tripathi
Which book or books have influenced you the most? What are you current-ly reading or last read?
The Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yoganand and Sly-via Browne’s books. I last read The Oath of Vayuputras by Amish Trip-athi. Which of your movies do feel is the most literary – had the best story and diologue?
My upcoming film Shobhana’s 7 Nights coz it does also deal with the author and her book.
Do you have plans to write your au-
tobiography? Or if you had to pick one author to be your biographer, who would that be?
I would love to have a biography written. The author I choose as my biographer would be Michelle Mo-ran.
Apart from Chetan Bhagat, which Indian writer’s works would make good Bollywood?
Amish Tripathi
Which Indian book would you like to see adapted into a Bollywood film? And which character would you like to play?
Immortals of Mehula by Amish Tripathi. I would love to play Anandmayi, (the likely enemy of Shiva who informs him that her people had also been awaiting the Neelkanth).
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The how to get published question to-day is very much like the how to colour water question of yesteryears. Many solutions to one situation; but which one happens to be the optimal one?
I would say all. Getting your name out there on a book these days though isn’t yet a cakewalk but still, compared to, say half a decade back, the ways are many. It is no more a one-way highway. All of us aspiring, wannable word-smiths can take any way, like I took MyWay. I will just quickly bore you with that story. That is what I have been asked to talk about here.
So beginning at the beginning, my way to being published began with a T and a bird. Twitter (oh yes social media can be this too). I have always loved being on Twitter for it’s me-not-your-fraand yet approachable modus operandi. It has been a pleasure to interact with
authors, publishers, fellow bloggers and readers there. My thumb has been glued to my phone ever since I downloaded that app with a certain blue bird and guilt had also raked me many a times for the same reason. But today I say it is all justified, for it got me to my first published story. A tweet did that. Actu-ally a retweet!
Fablery, a literary online magazine based out of Bangalore was conducting a very unique creative writing contest in 2012. They were calling for short fiction in unconventional genres (a different one each month) and the winning story from each genre was to be published in an anthology in paperback. It was only in the contest’s seventh month, through a retweet by one of my favourite Indi-an writer’s – Ashwin Sanghi that I got to know of this contest. The genre was my favourite and Ashwin’s niche – His-torical fiction. The best thing about the contest was I did not have to dig into
the romantic reserves to write on an emotion that plagues our campuses and now our books too and the word limit was a mammoth 5000 to 7500. The word limit gave enough space to the writer to build characters, thrills and conflicts. I wanted to try this one. It was to be a self-ad-ministered test of all the tales floating around in the head. I sat down to pen my first short fiction and kept wondering how will I ever cross that 5000 mark. With the impending deadline I wrote the story all over – at 3.30 a.m. at night, 6.00 a.m. in the morning, even edited it on the word app on my BB (on the day of submission I was availing the services of Indian railways, travelling to Kerala). The submit button was clicked at 11.58 p.m. while on the train (and I was hoping Fablery’s clock matches my phone’s). Forget 5000, the words had flowed out up to a flooding 8237!!Less than a month later, silent tears flowed down my cheeks. They call them tears of joy! Now how else do you re-act if the first ever story you wrote gets
picked up for a paperback publication, especially after reading all those sto-ries of struggles to get published? I kept mumbling thank you Mahadeva, thank you M…. Yes ‘The Secret of Ahi-raah’ – my story of secrets and legends
of Rajputana of the16th centu-ry had won the contest and it was on its way into the world. For love and
criticism, whatever comes along. If fear and liberation can engulf you together, it was that moment. I am still thinking of coining a word for it, taking some creative liberties. So if you ask me how do you get pub-lished, I would say YourWay. That is the reality of the age we live in. The opportunities are immense but so is the competition. It is suddenly cool to be a writer and everyone wants to be cool. As a parting comment I would say just like the story that you will write and no body can write it better, your way is yours to take; nobody can take it better.
Every life story and so will be every way. Pave our own highway, YourWay.
Reshmy is one of the author of multi genre anthology featuring 10 different genres, 10 different stories by 10 writers called 'Ten Shades of Life'. She's pas-sionate book reviews and write them by dozen on her blog.
“So beginning at the beginning, my way to being published began with a T and a bird.
ACT I: So Long to the Long, We now Court Short
The English Literature Professor from New Jersey, USA, glanced over his classroom full of Indian college students. The location of this gathering was at a city in India. But the territory was that of an American college. Unfolding now was the course Literature & Mass Communication, and Rick Zim-merman was an army photo-journalist who had been assigned to teach it. In military precision, the greying man, clicked open his brief-case, pulled out a local newspaper, unfolded it on his desk, and commenced reading aloud:“Cops nab Large Cache of Arms, Arrest Four”: State government officials, on Tues-day, descended on a group that is suspected of pilfering and transporting arms belonging to the army, arresting the suspects at a ware-house in the outer-city limits, in an
incident that has unfolded only days after… “I need air! I need air!”, the professor croaked, mid-sentence, as he enacted extreme suffocation. Then, dramatically, he recovered to a poker face, “If you’re going to run out of breath reading it, your sentence is probably too long!” he summed up. A round of chuckles en-sued before a sole hand went up from the back of the classroom. “But sir, Shakespeare was not known to be con-cise”, emerged the student’s voice. “The words in his plays extend for miles. And they are pregnant with so much verbose profundity. You say a sentence is too long if it makes us run out of breath? Then would that explain why Shake-speare’s long sentences “take our breath away”?”Suddenly, the classroom door swung open and a most unexpected visitor stepped in. It was a balding gentleman, whose lower-person was compressed in
leotards, while his torso and arms were encased in a gold-braided jacket. Ap-parently, someone out of 16th Century Europe had just popped into the room. His stoic face displayed a well-groomed goatee and moustache. Slowly, a name formed in the classroom’s collective mind - William Shakespeare! Unfazed by this collection of bemused faces, the anachronistic intruder began speaking in a pristine British accent:What majesty should be, what duty is,What day is day, night night, and time is time,Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time;Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,I will be brief. “See!” exclaimed, Prof. Zimmerman, matter-of-factly, extending his arm to-ward the visitor, “I have the backing
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of the Bard. Brevity, is indeed the soul of wit, as the saying goes, from Hamlet.” But the studious voice from the far end of the classroom, further argued in a now thin voice,, “What about the “limbs and outer-flourishes”, sir?” Shake-speare’s average play was 3,000 lines long. And it extended to above three hours in perfor-mance-time. Would you say that he was being unnecessarily lengthy?But the Professor answered readily, “Don’t forget, that Shakespeare’s plays included a gamut of characters and cameos, plots and sub-plots, protracted situations, dilemmas, conflicts, crises and denouements, etc. He needed those many lines to encapsulate a composite story.”Suddenly, from somewhere in the mid-dle of the classroom, a male specimen of the Victorian era, rose from his seat. A subtle air of conceit blew through his twirled moustache, as he held up a parchment, visibly inscribed with -
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. Then in one vocal flourish, and in an English accent slightly more evolved to Shakespeare’s, he read the following:I found out within a few hours, and may mention at once, that Mrs. Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased Knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his deceased father would have been made a Baronet but for somebody’s de-termined opposition arising out of en-tirely personal motives - I forget whose, if I ever knew - the Sovereign’s, the Prime Minister’s, the Lord Chancellor’s,
the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, anybody’s - and had tacked him-self on to the no-bles of the earth in right of this quite suppositi-tious fact.
Prof. Zimmerman gestured to Mr. Dickens to retake his seat, and acknowl-edged, “Yes, imagine, one of the world’s most celebrated writers coming up with the most awkwardly long sentences!”, the professor continued with his obser-vation, “But that was in 1860. Written English underwent a paradigm shift since then. Over-burdened sentences are no more the norm. Yes, you can castigate us Americans for making this change, but we’ve got a century-worth
What majesty should be, what duty is,What day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time; Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.~William Shakespeare, Hamlet
of celebrated Yankee literature that es-tablished the standard.” Suddenly, the room’s projector screen came alive as the class was witness to a Podcast of the path-breaking American writer and Nobel Laureate in English Literature, Earnest Hemmingway.”The live image of a bearded gentleman appeared on the screen. Looking out-wards, he spoke in a curiously neutral accent. “Prose is architecture, not inte-rior decoration.” And immediately, the transmission cut out. “Yes,” the Professor, espoused. “Ameri-ca’s Ernest Hemmingway, was the writ-er of the early 20th century. Though he was based in Europe, Hemingway car-ried on the legacy of Mark Twain. The American Twain was in fact, Charles-Dickens’ contemporary. But unlike his English friend, Twain used clear, non-flow-ery, journalistic language and gave American dialects a voice and humour. Follow-ing his lead, Hemingway, would author his books in a minimalistic and direct style. Plus, his landmark novels were set against historical backdrops. For Whom the Bell Tolls brings alive the Spanish Civil War, while a Farewell to Arms is fiction placed in World War One.Just then, a modern-day, Indian gen-tleman stood up from his seat. He was clad in a cap, spectacles, t-shirt, jeans
and sneakers. There was a gasp of awe among some of the students in the class. “Chetan Bhagat!” followed, in a chorused whisper.“Yes, indeed”, proclaimed Bhagat. “Peo-ple say I don’t write well. But I am only the biggest-selling author in Indian history, to quote the New York Times. My books have inspired movies - just as Shakespeare, Dickens and Hemming-way, have. I must be doing something right.”Just then, the projector screen re-cali-brated to display Hemmingway again,
“It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way,” the long deceased
author said, reassuringly. The statement triggered voluble applause around the classroom.“I think I speak for the majority of my classmates here,” piped up the student from the rear of the room, “when I say, Chetan, you have nailed the essence of telling a good story. I mean, your latest work of fiction Three Mistakes of My Life, highlights the importance of Sports in nurturing team-work and the absurdity of religious-based politics.
“It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way,”~ Ernest Hemmingway, on writing
And the human story, just like Hem-mingway’s own, is based during histori-cal events - such as the2001 earthquake in Gujarat and the Godhra train fire. There’s literature and social commen-tary in a pop-corn epic flick. Yes, you write for the masses, just as Shakespeare did.”In a sweeping movement, tense eyes shifted from one side of the class to the other. The spotlight was upon the Bard to pull out one of his own quota-tions, and he did:“And as imagina-tion bodies forthThe forms of things unknown, the po-et’s penTurns them to shapes and gives to airy nothingA local habitation and a name.”“Ah, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream” interjected Prof. Zimmerman. “But we can’t all be poets now, can we? Poetry and writing in long verse was what you Elizabethan and pre-Elizabe-than Englishman were accustomed to. Your literature was overburdened with
analogy and symbolism. But then John Bunyan broke the mould, with The Pilgrims Progress - the first ever book in prose, which was published in 1678. That was a little after your time, Billy boy.”“You gave too much rein to your imag-ination,” sounded an agreeing English woman’s voice from the corridor out-side the classroom. “Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master. The simplest explanation is always the most likely,” the words trailed out of a smil-ing face that had by now, poked into the room.“Thanks for that, dear Ms. Agatha Christie!” exclaimed, Prof. Zimmer-man. “From your first published novel
The Mysterious Affair at Styles”, added the pro-fessor, glowingly and carried on the introduction, “Boys and girls, Ms. Christie is the world’s largest
best-selling authoress. Indeed, this is 20th Century icon and mistress of the Mystery genre, is second in sales only to the man she is criticizing – yes, you, Billy! I suppose, such close rivalry war-rants her taking Mr. Shakespeare apart! Then another face popped into the classroom. This one was under a dou-ble-shaded hat, and extending a deep-ly-curved smoking pipe. The loosely pleated and checkered English tweed coat completed the recognizable
“You gave too much rein to your imagination. Imagination is a good servant, and a bad master. The sim-plest explanation is always the most likely,”~Hercule Poirot, Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie
semblance. “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” said Sherlock Homes. Then, Agatha Christie and Detective Holmes both withdrew from the classroom, hand in hand. They left in their wake, a homogenous assortment of shaken faces and ballooned eyebrows.
ACT II: Sex and Truth: Complex and Uncouth? “Yes, class,” the Professor continued, nonchalantly, “Seeing that Agatha Christie came after Sherlock’s creator Arthur Conan Doyle, you can see just whose love-child Hercule Poirot is. Anyway”, the professor said, straightening his tone, “to pick up on Sherlock’s state-ment, let’s explore truth a little more.” He pulled out a laptop from his briefcase and began set-ting it up on his desk. “I would say that when one shrugs off the limbs and out-er-flourishes, one is left with the truth. Hemingway would describe things with expedient honesty. Now, I am Skyping a writer who wrote about a bleak, dys-topian future, set ironically, in 1984.” The professor turned the monitor to-ward the class and the image of Cau-casian gentleman in a 1940s’-style col-lared shirt and lapelled coat appeared on the screen. “Mr. Orwell. Mr. George
Orwell, will you expound on how lan-guage in prose should be used.”Mr. Orwell responded immediately and in immaculate King’s English, “The great enemy of clear language is insin-cerity. When there is a gap between one’s real and one’s declared aims, one turns as it were, instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cut-tlefish spurting out ink.”
“So, you see class!” summarised Prof. Zimmerman. “Be sincere in your writing. Stay true to your time, speak of eternal truths. Illustrate them ac-
curately. Reflect on life in a measured, balanced manner. But the student at the back of the class couldn’t be silenced, “Professor Zimmerman, would you say then that Shakespeare was not allowed to be honest, because he in some way, he lived in a dystopia. London of the 15 Hundreds was under the thumb of the monarch, Queen Elizabeth. The elite were all-powerful and the poor were truly downtrodden. Conservatism and political correctness held sway. So to get around these strictures, did
“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then what-ever remains, however im-probable, must be the truth,”~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Hound of the Baskervilles
Shakespeare have to employ a veiled language?”“Yes, I suppose so” conceded the profes-sor, a little reluctantly. “There were ta-boos about what and how people could talk publicly. Therefore, you had to be careful how you opined on institutions like – Royalty, Marriage and Religion. Incidentally, “Prof. Zimmerman, said, changing his tone slightly, “It’s on this topic of Religion, that I believe you said something in your best-sell-ing novel. Wasn’t it, Aravind?” At that point, Chetan Bhagat’s desk-mate, Aravind Adiga stood up from his seat, held up his magnum opus White Tiger, which is about a young Indian boy writing letters to former Chinese Premier Web Jiabao, and read from it: “It is an an-cient and venerated custom of people in my country to start a story by praying to a Higher Power. I guess, Your Excel-lency, that I too should start off by kiss-ing some god’s arse. Which god’s arse, though? There are so many choices. See, the Muslims have one god. The Chris-tians have three gods. And we Hindus have 36,000,004 divine arses to choose
from.”“Well, done, Aravind!” praised, Prof. Zimmerman. “It must have taken some balls to talk about the posteriors of gods in India. And that too, as some-thing arrogant that you pucker-up to! Another major taboo has been Sex. Would anyone care to comment on Sex in Literature?” The Bard, who had been feeling neglected after his initial flour-ish, returned with a vengeance, to recite his own words: “Hamlet: It is a fair thought, to lie be-tween a maid’s legs. Middle Summer Night’s Dream: But I might see Cu-pid’s fiery shaft quenched in the chaste beams of a watery moon. Romeo and Juliet: O that she were an open-arse and
you were a popp rin pair.”“Hey, there Bil-ly!”, replied, the Professor, stim-ulated. “That’s good going. I
mean, what else could we expect from a old-world guy who knocked up an older woman, before marrying her. Indeed, you and Mrs. Anne Hathaway Shakespeare were ahead of your time. “Hah!” grunted, an irate D H Law-rence, emerging from the shadows of the classroom’s far corner. “Mr. Shake-speare! You could get away with such infantile innuendos, in some godforsak-en era, but my sexually liberating book - Lady Chatterley’s Lover, published in 1928 - was banned for over 30 years! Let me regale all of you with the reason this masterpiece, was taken off the
“Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the mag-ic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size,”~Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
shelves:“He drew down the thin silk sheath, slowly, carefully, right down and over her feet. Then with a quiver of exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body, and touched her navel for a mo-ment in a kiss. And he had to come in to her at once, to enter the peace on earth of her soft, quiescent body. It was the moment of pure peace for him, the entry into the body of the woman.”Professor Zimmerman and the class remained silent, where D H Lawrence was hoping for audible praises. “Yes,” he continued, frustrated, “Don’t give me any kudos. But my American fel-low-writer Harold Robbins’ equally explicit debut novel - Never Love a Stranger in 1948 - set him on the path to becoming the U.S.’s highest-selling writer. 75 million book-sales! The world’s third-high-est selling author. Bloody hell!”Suddenly, from behind the latest edition of the raunchy magazine Under 18, a head emerged. It was that of Vladimir Narbakov - the Russian writer who had achieved fame and notoriety for his 1959 book Loli-ta. “You have my sympathy, Mr. Law-rence,” he said, in gruff, but soft, Cyrillic discharge. “My own book was about de-viant sexuality – a pedophile trying to get with a nymphet. But critics say that I was able to turn something perverse into something
beautiful, through the sheer power of my writing. “I was able to do that too, I think,” an Indian woman’s voice, emanated from a front-row desk. “In my only novel, which happened to make it big, thanks largely to… the God… of small things.” Her fingers twirled the curls in her hair as she continued, “People were turned
on by my graphic depiction of an in-cestuous encounter. But it was a sequence that aimed to illustrate
dehuminisation. And it was not from personal experience, although some twisted minds may have been tempted to conjecture thus.”
ACT III: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall; Do Men or Women have more Gaul?
Suddenly, a regal-looking woman en-tered the room, pulling a wheeled-
“What really knocks me out (about a book) is that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, tough.~ D Salinger, Catcher in the Rye
tray with what appeared to be a hot beverage-decanter. Alongside the can, stood a pyramid of inverted tea-cups. She began tapping tea and handing filled cups to individuals in the class. On passing on the last cup, she whis-pered audibly. “The truth,” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.” The she left, wheel-ing out the much-light-ened convey-or.Singular ap-plause erupt-ed at another corner of the classroom. A dour looking woman in a plain English house-gown was now the latest to join the discussion. “Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses pos-sessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size,” came her self-quote from Virginia Woolf ’s Feminist master-piece A Room of One’s Own.
Another woman, this one in an aristo-cratic get-up, arose abruptly from an adjacent seat. Then, she yelled aloud from her own magnum opus Sense and Sensibility. “The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!”Sensing the situation slipping out of his hand, Professor Zimmerman interrupt-ed firmly, “Now, now ladies. We don’t want a cat fight. Ms. Jane Austen, we understand your point of view. But you lived in the early 1800s when women in most of the Western world, didn’t have opportunity or desire to make some-thing of themselves. And so, by default, they were overly-dependent on men of
power and in-fluence”. Turning his head towards, the First Fem-inist Writer, the professor continued, “Ms. Woolf was spearheading a movement in the early 1900s where women
attempted to strike out on their own. He, turned once more, in a new direc-tion, and said, “And Ms. Danielle Steele here, one of America’s widely-embraced writers, is a culmination of the Feminist movement.” “No responsibilities, no attachments, no encumbrances,” enunciated Ms. Steel, having pushed back a concealing cape
“He drew down the thin silk sheath, slow-ly, carefully, right down and over her feet. Then with a quiver of exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body, and touched her navel for a moment in a kiss. And he had to come in to her at once, to enter the peace on earth of her soft, quiescent body. It was the moment of pure peace for him, the entry into the body of the woman.”~D H Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover
and citing a line from one of her many bestsellers Second Chance. “I don’t want to own anything, love anyone, or get too attached to people, places or things. It’s a rule that seems to work well for me.” “And you speak for all modern women, no doubt,” stated, Prof. Zimmerman, with a sarcastic smirk. While looking at truthful extremes, we must not let an extremist way of thinking, make us twist the truth. Direct, coherent, honest language constitutes Orwell’s mantra of sincerity.”Then the pro-fessor, looked at his cell phone and said, “Ok, it looks like we’re close to the bell. So, I’m going to wrap up here, by calling to my desk, a man who has been waiting in the wings this whole session - J D Salinger, the author of the controver-sial but acclaimed, Catcher in the Rye. Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer is narrated by the author about a youth, and so are J K Rowling’s Harry Potter and Richmal Cromptom’s William. But Salinger has been ground-breaking by making his narrator itself that of a disaffected teen named Holden Caulfied. How much more truthful can prose get?The invited American gentleman, dressed in 1950s’ slacks and in a col-lared, button-down shirt, read from the middle of his book: “What really knocks me out (about a book) is that,
when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a ter-rific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much,
tough.“So!” summer-ised Prof. Zim-merman. Stay on the phone and keep trying to tell me some-thing personal I’d like to hear. If you can engage,
and tickle, and move, and nudge, and open the mind of the reader into see-ing things that he or she never did, but wanted to - while articulating a univer-sal sentiment, in a personal tone - then you have captured the bandwidth of a writer.” The professor smiled and then continued, “English is well on its jour-ney. Enjoy the new things that come its way. English is a mongrel language, ever-changing. It’s even more inclusive than the shores of the erstwhile Brit-ish Empire. Indeed, English is just the paint. The brushstrokes are your own.“Pardon me,” cut in, a pubescent, draped in black with a graduate’s cap aloft his head. Now, apparently,
“The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap be-tween one’s real and one’s declared aims, one turns as it were, instinctive-ly to long words and exhausted idi-oms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink.”~George Orwell, Politics and Literature
Harry Potter was entering the room. “Ladies and Gentleman, I have a con-fession to make. I have induced you all into believing that you are various world-famous writers. I had spiked the canteen coffee with a magic portion, to do the trick. The tea that my Maker –
Mrs. Rowling – fed you with, will slow-ly draw you out of the trance,” The class was aghast at Master Potter’s admission. But he slowly continued, “I needed your ideas to help Mrs. Rowling figure out something. She wanted to know where she’s supposed to go, after having fin-ished with… me.”
Which author do you feel has influenced your style the most?
There are so many. I don’t think I can choose just one. I of-ten find British writing to be the most intense. I recently read Juliane Barnes, The Sense of an Ending and was mesmerized by his style. Rosamund Lupton’s Afterwards absolutely shook me. I love the witty humor of Marianne Keyes who writes about very serious subjects. I have fallen in love with dog lit. My favorite is Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain.
What has prompted you to write your book or books?
I was bored and unhappy in my corpo-rate career. I was living in Los Angeles and saw first hand a number of the themes of professional and emotional angst within my age group. These were the seeds that grew into my books Delhi Stopover and soon to release, Crash-ing B-Town. Additionally, I felt like no one had written on what was
happening in modern India. The image of In-dia from literature and films was dated or one dimensional. I felt it was time to really pull back the curtain and show what is happening in the cosmopolitan cities that are leading the cultural change in the country.
What is the best feed-back or comment you have received from an ordinary reader on your book?
The editor of a major magazine said that she would like her teenage daughter to read my book. I can’t think of a bigger compliment than a parent giving my book to their child. My hope was to not only show the reality of the fashion
industry but to also gently comment on issues of body image, racism, drug abuse, and relationships. There’s noth-ing more exquisite than knowing that my words resonated with the most dis-criminating readers: parents!
What criticism has helped you grow as a writer?
The best criticism that I ever received was from my agent in New York who
told me to stop “flirting with the story and just get totally naked.” He was tell-ing me to write with more honesty in-stead of skirting the major uncomfort-able issues. I realized I had to go deeper if I wanted to write anything worth reading. Otherwise, there really isn’t any point for the writer or the reader if the author isn’t taking any risks.
What would you like to do as a writ-er that you have never done before?
I’m eager to explore historical fiction in my writing. I’d also love to see the first two books make the transition to the big screen.
What is the book that someone else has written, that you would have write.?How would you have done it differently?
I would LIKE TO have written The Alchemist but there is no way I could have at this point in my life. The writing is exquisite and beautifully nuanced. If I had tried to write it, I’m certain it would have turned out to be bad come-dy.
What is your advice to aspiring writ-
er? READ!!! Read everything in sight. I love fiction. I read copious amounts of fiction. When you read, you learn the art of story telling. There is a joy in the escape of reading that unconsciously teaches you how to be a better writer as well.a) What would you like to do as a writer that you have never done before? (the question was in literary context. like exploring different genres or editing or opening a publishing house, etc.,)A: I’m eager to explore historical fiction in my writing. I’d also love to see the first two books make the transition to the big screen.b) What advice would you give to peo-ple who are planning to take up model-ling as a career?A: Modeling is an industry that requires a certain unique body type or image. The physical demands to achieve this very slim or muscular physique are not for everyone and usually not sustain-able in the long term. I think anyone in-terested in modeling should remember that the industry judges solely on looks and while it may appear glamorous on the outside, it’s a very serious business with intense competition. Any candi-date must have very thick skin when it comes to criticism on their appearance.
Tulika Mehrotra is a Chicago-based author and journalist. Her debut novel, Delhi Stopover was published by Penguin in 2012. She follows up with her sec-ond, Crashing B-Town, releasing fall 2013. She is also a regular contributor to Elle, Vogue, Men’s Health, India Today and other magazines.
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Life is what happens while you’re busy updating Facebook statuses. Milan Vohra, India’s first M&B author of ‘The Love Asana’ and author of ‘Tick-tock we’re 30’ - a hilarious, reflective rom-com about 12 friends reuniting shares her publishing story with stori-zen.com
My fiction writing journey started in a totally unplanned way. I used to write the occasional short story, put it away to re-read and re-examine if I managed to find what I wrote. Getting published was never part of the plan. I’d been writing advertising for years; been at a senior level at some of the country’s top agencies, taken career breaks after having each of my kids and shifting cities a few times because of my hus-band’s work. About 3 years ago I was
at a pretty low point in my life. I’d lost my father who I was very close to, while my parents were travelling in Europe. I was struggling without any support systems in Bangalore, working an 18 hours a day job at an ad agency that came with a fancy designation but was hugely stressful. I was so keen to prove the naysayers wrong - who told me too much had changed while I’d been rais-ing my kids. Yes I found the technology was all new, but soon it didn’t matter. The ideas did. I was winning lots of new businesses for the agency in creative pitches, but it came at a ludicrous cost. I had been surviving on some four-five hours of sleep, popping anti-biotics, barely seeing my kids. I quit one day when I realised this was ridiculous. I started writing travel and food reviews because it combined three things that I enjoy – travel, food and writing. Yet I was still missing something!
In a Milan-boon state of mind
Writing fiction happened as a happy accident around then – a kind of tip-ping moment. I’d just read a book by Randy Pausch called ‘The Last Lecture’ in which he spoke of going out and doing the simple, fun things you want-ed to do as a child. In his case it was to be an ‘Imagineer’ at Disney. Around that time, some friends had mailed me about a short story writing contest by Harlequin Mills & Boon. I remember thinking how much fun it would be to do it; I even changed my status on Face-book to ‘In a Milan Boon state of mind’. Somehow the idea caught my fancy, in an uncomplicated way. M&B’s were far from my staple read; but if you’ve studied at an all-girls convent, and had board exams looming in your life –an M&B had to be slipped into your big Chem textbook and read. It was a giv-en! I still had no plan of actually getting down to writing that story. Then one night before the contest due date, which also happened to be my wedding anni-versary, we had some demanding house guests over. We’d taken them out to dinner; it turned out to be a singularly bad evening. The fish was thought sus-pect, the lemon butter sauce too sour, the ice-cream too sweet. As I dished out instant noodles back home (eaten in silence thank god) I thought there had to be more romance to an anniversary! And wrote off a nice long handwritten story I called ‘The Love Asana.’Destiny comes calling with a late night call from Dee
So I’m staring at these pages when my friend Dee (she’s actually known as that) calls late night and gives me an update on her day and her rabbit. I give her my update. Dee insists I read out the story while she keys it in. We gig-gle, dissect the TDH hero details and I send it off on a lark. Next thing I’m being told my story is in the top 5, I’m headed off to Mumbai figuring I’ll just go enjoy the view of Marine Drive. The story goes on to win nationally, makes me India’s first Mills & Boon author and brings me a huge lot of media attention. Predominant thoughts running through my head that evening: 1. Now I know what it must be like for those reali-ty show contestants 2. Good heavens. Surely that can’t be a BBC mike in my face and 3. Damn, I should’ve sprung for a new flattering outfit instead of these borrowed feathers! While winning the contest came with some cool prizes, an exciting one being a year’s supply of M&B’s ( which meant I didn’t need to think about the next 5 birthday gifts for my girlfriends) it didn’t come with a book contract in the bag. It just meant the door was open. Then the discipline and persistence and conviction kicked in. I developed ‘The Love Asana’ into a book and it wasn’t exactly easy-peasy! Writing a genre book is quite a learning experience and trying to keep your individuality and make it ring true to Indian sensibilities another challenge. What made it totally worth it was the very warm response to my book. It was overwhelming.
‘Tick-tock we’re 30’: The whacky side of me
I took the time to think through things, figure out what I’d really like to write next. I wrote some more short stories which were published with Penguin and Unisun and loved by readers! My latest book ‘Tick-tock we’re 30’ with West-
land is in a voice that’s totally me. It has allowed me the freedom to write with a large cast of characters, all of whom are quirky, unique and very real. I’ve been able to explore relationships that I feel are believable. I’m having fun again! Talk of one impulsive decision getting you the buzz back in your life!
Milan Vohra, India’s first M&B author of ‘The Love Asana’ and author of ‘Tick-tock we’re 30’ - a hilarious, reflective rom-com about 12 friends reunit-ing.
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Shreya looked around and all she could see was emptiness in a room full of clothes, jewellery and decorations. The bed which sat at the centre of the room was full of expensive sarees that her parents had lovingly picked up for her. The dresser on the side was full of red and blue boxes of jewels. The wind chimes hanging from the windows made cooing sounds while the mini lights twinkled around. Everything around her spoke of hope and of new beginnings; everything around her spoke of joy but all she felt was unbear-able pain.She would be married off in a day but she looked nothing like a bride-to-be. There was no glimmer of hope in her eyes except for grief. Those beautiful eyes seemed to be searching for some-one. She walked towards the wardrobe and took out a wooden box which was tucked away in a corner. Caressing it she moved towards the chair in her bal-cony and sat there; all the while staring towards the horizon in the distance. The sun seemed to be setting, its job over for the day, to rise again at dawn but the sight seemed to bring out a flur-
ry of emotions from within her. Tears rolled down her khol lined eyes carving dark lines on her cheeks. Carefully she opened the tiny latch on the box while rubbing away tears in between. There it was infront of her everything that was precious to her. There it was in her lap everything that she held so dear. There it was the picture of Ashish, the man she so loved. She picked it up so soft-ly and held it in her hands as though her entire life was in it. Longingly she looked at his picture; heart full of ques-tions and eyes full of tears. Ashish! To-morrow is the day I had been dreading all along. I will be dressed up in the fin-est of clothes and married off to another man. No he is not a bad man at all! But then he is not the man I hoped to take the vows with, holding hands around the holy fire. Remember that afternoon in the rain? We were so happy, weren’t we? You were wearing the blue shirt that I had given you with my first salary and I the green cotton saree that you so loved. Remember the ring that you had given me that day saying that you would replace it with a bigger solitaire on the day we got married?
I still have it you know, I still wear it and I am hoping against hopes for you to replace it. But where are you? I look for you even today in the bus stand where we spent nonchalant hours to-gether; in the cafe where we spent our evenings faking work at office; in the movies that we watched just to spend some time together and in my life where everything reminds me of you. It has been over six years that you are gone but it seems just like yesterday. Why, why did you leave me alone? It was as if there was caught in a tem-pest of emotions. She tucked away the photo in the box and took out the paper that looked like a newspaper cutting from beneath it. It was old with a hint of foxing towards the edges and a faint smell. On it was the picture of a man next to the article headlined ‘Young techie found dead: A case of mugging gone wrong’. She looked at the paper, running her hands pensively over the picture; sobbing loudly as though her entire world had come crashing down. But who was the man? Ashish, it had to be him, the man she had lost her heart to. He had been the victim of an un-fortunate mishap; a bolt from the blue which changed Shreya’s life forever. Exhausted and stressed she slowly drift-ed away to sleep with just one thought reigning her heart and soul ‘I’ll marry because my parents want me to. But I’ll never stop loving you Ashish and one day I’ll be with you again smiling in the rain; living again!’The night passed away in silent melan-choly. Shreya, still in deep slumber,
looked like an apparition of her old self. Her eyes sunken with the burden that her heart carried while her forehead bore lines, all of which were reminis-cent of the paths she trod in search of Ashish. As the nascent sun rays entered her room, creeping through the white curtains that flirted with the morning breeze, her face lit up with a golden hue. Yes, the morning had finally arrived. Shreya opened her eyes slowly and for a moment seemed lost. The pain seemed to evaporate for a second but that was just momentary for everything came rushing back to her in the blink of an eye. She got up and walked bare feet towards her balcony, closed her eyes trying to soak in the warmth of the rising sun. As she stood lost in the maze of her thoughts, there was a soft knock at her door. She turned back looking at that door as though her whole life would change the moment it would from mummy, daddy and you. I’ll not grieve over our relationship too! Till it is the right time for me to find you, to see you, I’ll smile and keep waiting yet keep living! I’ll do right by the people who gave me life Ashish and hence I shall marry too. But I’ll be eternally yours till we meet again on the other side. Yes, Ashish for eternity I’ll be in love with you without crying over you! I’ll not give up on this beautiful gift of life; infact I’ll live for the both of us. I’ll be positive with the strength that I
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derive open. It was as if she wished for it to forever remain closed. She walked towards the door, turned the knob and opened the latch.Her parents stood at the door, anxious for they knew what had been clouding their daughter’s mind. However they still hoped for a better life, a happy life for her. They entered without saying a word held her hand walked towards her bed. They made her sit first and sat on either side of her, not saying a word all through. They had with them their family al-bum. They had with them Shreya’s life in the form of pictures and they laid it open infront of her. With hopeful eyes, full of love, they turned one pho-to after the other and in each Shreya had them standing by her. In triumphs and losses; in happiness and sickness; at every step of her life they were there standing by her. They would have giv-en her a life with Ashish too if not for cruel fate. As she went through these pictures she realised how important her crossing the threshold of marriage was
for her parents. They looked frail and fatigued with worry too. She had been so engrossed in her woes that she hadn’t noticed how much they had aged and how weak they were now. Their lives were spent in keeping Shreya happy. When it was her turn to do something for them she had become too selfish to even try. But this was her chance to right the wrong. She looked away from the photographs towards her parents and hugged them tight; it was as if she had an epiphany. With eyes closed she seemed to smile from the bottom of her heart for the first time in a long time.I’ll try to be happy mummy and daddy! I’ll try.. I promise I’ll try. I’ll make an attempt to lead a happy life. Ashish I’ll not mourn you any longer for I know you’ll always be with me, helping me all the way. Ofcourse, I’ll miss you. Ofcourse, nobody will ever take your place but I’ll live a life, stay contented and happy too. And once I complete this voyage, I’ll be again with you. I’ll live loving you and loving life too. I’ll live for my parents and for myself too.
“Nabanita in her own words ‘I love to write. It is a passion; a compulsion; something that gives me an avenue to express myself. I write when I am hap-py; when I am sad or when an issue touches my heart. I find inspiration to write in every aspect of life.
The Present…
After what felt like an eternity, Adi-ti asked Sneha in a tone that betrayed nothing but the pain that she felt in-side her – “What did you get after doing this???” Of course, Sneha knew how Aditi was feeling exactly but sud-denly Sneha was not happy anymore. The sense of satisfaction, elation that Sneha thought she would find was not there. She felt betrayed – by her own self, her own emotions, and her own deeds. Because deep down somewhere, where the sense of right & wrong still existed, a voice screamed out at Sneha saying what she had done was wrong. Sneha asked herself the same question – “What did I get after doing this??” Sneha had destroyed two relations that day – a marriage & the other between herself & her soul. She knew she would never be able to look at herself in the mirror with her eyes. The guilt was too much, much more than the pain that had existed all these years. It was un-bearable & Sneha just hoped that she would find some way to redeem it…..
9 Years Back…
Sneha first met Rohan in junior college, back when she still used to believe in fairy tales & Prince Charming. He was the quintessential hero of the college – football team captain, class topper & blessed with good looks but an infa-mous philanderer. A chance encounter at the library & excellent flirting had left Sneha besotted & charmed with Rohan. But everyone had warned Sneha against him – He is a devil in disguise. He will break your Heart!! But love is a strange emotion & despite all the warnings & forebodings from her own heart, Sne-ha went ahead & played with fire. They had a whirlwind affair for a year. But just when hope had blossomed in Sne-ha, he broke her heart!! He cheated on her. He had been doing that for past six months!! And the worst part was that the “other woman” knew about Sneha & yet had carried along with Rohan. No wonder Sneha’s heart broke into million pieces & with it broke her trust in men & relationships.
Last Night…
Sneha bumped into Rohan at the col-lege reunion. He was now married & happily settled. What surprised Sneha was the fact that Rohan had went ahead & married the same girl with whom he had cheated on her. The moment she saw them, something dark & sinister raised its head in her heart. The feeling was so powerful that she felt the breath knocked out of her. They looked so happy together & here she was alone in her world. She was never able to trust any guy after Rohan. Self-doubt & envy started crawling its way into Sneha’s mind. Three margaritas later, Sneha found the courage to venture towards Rohan. His wife had left by then & Ro-han had stayed back with his football team for drinks. The moment their eyes met, Sneha knew she was walking into a death trap but nonetheless she decided to take her chances. Rohan & Sneha had great chemistry so no one was surprised when both stayed back and kept flirting with each other over drinks even when most of them had left. Suddenly Sneha moved closer to Rohan & whispered in his ear – “Gosh! I have missed you” and bit his lobe. She saw fire in Rohan’s eyes & hoped it was all worth it. Next moment they both were falling from the bar stool, into each other’s arms, their lips locked. The last thing Sneha remembered was telling Rohan this – “You were a bastard then & you are a bastard even now”.Next morning Sneha woke up with a throbbing headache but that was not
the worst part of her morning. Rohan was lying next to her & she suddenly felt scared of her plan. Rohan’s trou-sers were lying on the floor & his wallet had fallen out of it. It was open & in it there was a small photo of Rohan & his wife, probably taken on a holiday. Both were smiling at the photographer like it was their happiest moment. Sneha felt like an intruder & suddenly the dark feeling returned. Why couldn’t she be happy like them?? What had she done wrong?? She had just fallen in love albe-it with the wrong guy but it had scarred her for life. She had found no closure & she decided that revenge would be her closure. A vibrating sound jerked her out of her reverie, Rohan’s phone was ringing. Sneha looked at the call-er ID – “Aditi Calling”. Sneha pressed the green answer button & carefully kept the phone beside Rohan. She then proceeded to wake up Rohan & kept talking to him giving away their hotel name & room number. Sooner than she had anticipated, there was a knock on the door & Sneha gleefully rushed to open it. All the sense of victory that she thought she would find was gone when Sneha encountered Aditi’s tear streaked face. Aditi was in a mess, bloodshot eyes & dark circles gave away the fact that she had been awake for the entire night. Even through the tears, there was a look of desperate hope on Aditi’s face – a hope that what she had heard was
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wrong, that Rohan had played a joke on her. But all the hope had vanished when Aditi saw Sneha. Rohan came from behind with a bewildered look, wondering how Aditi had dropped there. By the time Sneha had finished explaining what she had done & why, Rohan was livid. He cursed her with the choicest of words & stormed out of the
place. Aditi stayed behind – she seemed stunned. Sneha wanted her to shout at her too, spew out the venom.But Aditi kept quiet & after what felt like an eternity, Aditi asked Sneha in a tone that betrayed nothing but the pain that she felt inside her – “What did you get after doing this???”
Pooja is a specialized blogger. She reviews books in the genre – chick literature. She also designs some heavy duty stuff. Do drop by her blog.
We all are story tellers. Some of us realize this and some of us take it to the next level and become writers. Story is the core ingredient of any novel, play as well as a movie. But the question re-mains, “What is a story?” According to Google, A story is an account of imaginary or real people and events told for enter-tainment: “an adventure story”.According to Ursula K. Le Guin, “The story is one of the basic tools invented by the mind of man, for the purpose of gaining understanding.”Fair definitions, but in more concrete terms a story can be described in one word, “Conflict”. Yes, if you don’t have a conflict, there’s no story. In the absence of a conflict, what you have is just an emotion or a narration of events. It was first described by Aristotle. He said that “in order to hold the interest, the hero must have a single conflict.”So, let’s see what are the different types of Conflicts?1) Person vs. Person – Classic style of Hero vs. Villain or the Hero con-vincing the Heroine. Example: Sholay – Thakur vs. Gabbar. DDLJ – In the first half, Raj vs. Simran and in the second half, Raj vs. Thakur Baldev Singh. The conflict in the first half was whether Raj
will get Simran or not? The conflict in the second half was whether he’ll be able to convince Baldev Singh or not.2) Person vs. System (or Society) – Example: Rang de Basanti and 3 Idiots. The number of persons here could be one or many.3) Person vs. Self – Example: Swadesh. Here the character Mohan Bhargava is in conflict with his in-ner-self as to whether he should contin-ue working for NASA or should come, stay and struggle in India.4) Person vs. Machine – Example: Matrix and Terminator I, II and III5) Person vs. Nature – Example: Av-atar and Jurassic Park6) Person vs. Alien – Example: Men in black7) Person vs. Supernatural – Exam-ple: Twilight series; TV show – Exam-ple: Vampire Diaries. These are just a few types of conflicts. In reality, however, there are many more. Essentially, a well written story has an encompassing conflict and various oth-er smaller conflicts. Once you identify the conflict in your story, you’ll start sailing in no time. So, go ahead create a conflict and if it happens to be a short story, send it to us, we’ll feature it in our next issue.
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You were at the main entrance of the university, Standing in front of me into the crowd, Chemistry books in your hand! You tweet a well-known look at me, I asked “Are you new?” With a smile, you answered ‘yes!’ Surprisingly we met again! Waiting at the same row, She was your friend or sister? You talk very little in an outlandish tone! Wearing pasty shirt and stretched blue jeans, Calm, fair, beautiful, white at noon! I wanted to talk to you more, suddenlyA clerk came and announced, “students of science separate into different row!”Giving no chance to ask your name!
Vikram Roy is graduated in English literature from the University of Calcutta in 2008 and he is a free thinker.
While rushing to the office I squawked at Nikku to finish her break-fast quickly as she was getting late to her kindergarten and I, for my office.Nurturing a child is not easy. Especially for a single mother who is struggling to establish in the capital. Five years back, I relinquished my family, my married life, my parents – everything and moved to Delhi. I still feel the twinge when I think about it. Many times, I used to regret my deci-sion. Betimes I felt guilty to make Niki-ta’s life suffer.She is just four, unable to understand the social tantrums but sometimes, she does ask about her father and I say that he is in heaven with white fairies, watching her while she is asleep and sends her gifts, every birthday.Honestly, I don’t know where Nakul was for past five years. Although I stalked him on Facebook, added him from a fake profile and spoke to him sarcas-tically on chat but for past one year, I stopped doing it, it hurts; yet, I never called him or went back to my previous life. Nobody knew my whereabouts, till date. Yes, they tried. My parents did. My family, friends, near and dear
ones. I know they were trying to find me, but I never wanted to go back for obvious reasons. I would have never left my family at first place if I knew, I con-ceived Nikki.I was married to Nakul for seven years. Love marriage it was, against family decisions. We belong to different castes and financial categories. No matter how open minded we portray the mind-sets and ideologies that we hide in our pockets, still blind our decisions. We all are hypocrites of different levels and these mindsets are not into the charac-ters but into the DNA- hard to change, thankfully not impossible. We fought for our love, won and got married. It took us almost an year to establish harmony between the families. Nakul had always been supportive in all dimensions. Nakul and I met on Face-book. The immortal statement “love is in the air” has changed by the time to “love is on the Facebook”- From the likes to comments to Inbox messages to relationship status, how rapidly we moved, even the Road Runner would wonder. I was a student of Masters, University of Punjab and he was an IT professional - Earning, Well educated,
Himadri
well mannered and handsome. Nakul is a tall man with beautiful pink lips and a fair complexion. I am comparatively shorter, dusk in complexion and long hair crossing my hips. My big doe-eyes and fleshy curves were compliments to my personality. He was an eye candy among his female colleagues, but we fell for each other and made a hot couple. As he was well established, I was un-troubled about our future. The only problem we were concerned during our love courtship was the matter of caste but we were firm to face it.Nakul had a dominating personality. He used to take charge and always ful-filled his responsibilities. He had earned the authority by being the Alpha of his family. This trait of his made me care-less and I took a full swing of insouci-ant lifestyle. I was pampered, cared and adored to the core by Nakul.We were loyal to each other; therefore, never thought of stepping out of the relationship. I had a hobby of blogging, sometimes. I used to update my blog on social and historical issues every now and then but hardly read by anyone. I had plans for my life, Masters-M. Phil-PhD in History. I wanted to take civil service examinations and proud my parents. My brother Tapas, completed his Chartered Accountancy and had a bright future too. Everything seemed to be perfectly beautiful and satisfying. After an year we decided to get married because of our extreme passion for each other. We made promises to each other. Built castle of dreams and future planning of having babies, a
big home, he promised me a beautiful life and I promised him to stand by his side, always and forever.I was sure Nakul would support me in continuing the studies and fulfil my dreams so I gave priority to a beautiful life ahead in the arms of Nakul and de-cided to give a break to my studies and dropped my masters at first year. After marriage I was sure to obtain my degree and pursue higher studies and to take examinations of civil services.Somehow after gathering much courage he visited us. But all was in vain...Our parents got to know about our re-lationship and it was a mess. Although our parents had no big issues yet the el-ders were against this inter-caste amal-gamation.We decided not to marry. So damn in love, took another passionate de-cision and gave words to each other that we will not marry anyone else and wait. Life is life, unpredictable and un-planned. Parents got tired of the daily disturbance in family and melancholic lifestyle. So, to get rid of the love birds, eventually they married us.Occasional dispute and cold celebration of festivals had been a part of our lives for an year. Nakul and I were marinated in our sexual lives. We had our world in our bedroom. At times I could feel his frustration owing to disagreements and taunts in fashion.I kept myself a bit disassociated with my family and friends and tried
concentrating upon Nakul’s family and their happiness. Eventually I felt our acceptance of grandparents and fruits of my constant dedication.But meanwhile many things have changed between Nakul and me in an year. We were not the same deuce. I ig-nored the changes at the primary stages considering the struggle of the estab-lishment of our newlywed lives. And I was sure of his manage-it-all trait. I was aware of his commanding and to-talitarian nature but, it was not him. He has become rabid. Started yelling at ev-ery small thing and eventually the feud moved from bedroom to dining room to hall and one day, at family lunch, he yelled upon me in the marriage anni-versary of his Parents. I was surround-ed by all the relatives and members of the family. I was mortified by his raised voice and continuous charges of wrong-doings and carelessness, in public. I felt insulted. Everyone in the hall looked at me. I could read each of the flummoxed labyrinths of the widened pupil, ques-tioning and blasphemous.Mother in law broke the muteness and controlled the situation. I didn’t say anything and walked out of the festivity.I did not cry. I couldn’t. I was blanched. I felt the emptiness inside me. It was a deep silence. I took an auto rickshaw and rushed to my home. I was panting, heart was beating at its best speed and my mind was busy in calculating the liquidity I had. After reaching home I went to our bedroom. I loathed the place. Every single thing was laughing at me. The bed ogled at me and those
precious moments of love and together-ness turned into hatred. I felt nauseated to his touches, how we made love. It was a queasy feeling as if I was sexually and emotionally abused.I picked up the framed moment of our lives- our wedding photograph and I dashed the frame on the floor. It anni-hilated as my feelings. I could find my trust, my self-respect and my dignity into those pieces of a brittle marriage picture frame. I remorse how many times tried asking him during our private moments if he liked someone else, if he had mutilated this beautiful relation, if I was at fault or he didn’t like my behaviour. I tried digging out my mistake by self auditing my deeds.I did best possible things to make him happy. I tried giving him a break. I vis-ited my parents for a few weeks. It was not like he was with me for the sake of social responsibilities but because I could feel him and his soul while mak-ing love. I tried on daily basis but he never shared the thing troubling him. He started disliking the things he used to love before marriage. Things, those were said to be the most adorable part of my nature.I was emotionally an insecure female like most of our species, because I was completely dependent upon him. Emo-tionally, physically, socially, financially as well as mentally. For a long time his rude and cold behaviour bothered meHe had completely changed. I stopped feeling like I was married to the same person and the reason was still
clandestine. After throwing our photo frame I recollected myself and decided to leave everyone. I chose my love over my family and had no face to go back to them. Brother was a grown up work-ing man and it was all a matter of social responsibility. I was deeply hurt not only it was the matter of one day and this open insult but also the layers over layers of the long rudeness made me shallow.I took all my major documents and certificates; some saved cash and jew-ellery; some clothes and things of basic needs. Meanwhile I received no calls. It hurt me more that my absence was not felt there and nobody bothered to ask my whereabouts as I left the celebration in-between. I made my mind to leave the home, I made with all my efforts and love. I designed it with my dreams. Leaving the place was painful. Every wall of that house was looking at me helplessly. And I had to go...Anything and everything but nothing
at the cost of my dignity. My female ego covered my decision and I took the major step of my life. All my logic and conscience supported my decision and for the moment I felt like some femi-nist leader protesting for my freedom and rights. But freedom from whom? I had no time to think about it as I con-centrated on collecting all the things I could need, and I found everything im-portant. Deodorants, Soap, Bangles, Sa-rees- everything seemed to be the basic necessity of daily life. Somehow I man-aged to decide the things and packed them. At every noise on the door I ex-pected Nakul or any other member of my family came after me but it was all the wind or kids playing outside.I stepped out of the threshold and my heart sunk. Just for the sake of second thought I looked back and after a pause stuck to my decision of starting a new life. I left my home.What happened next wait for the next issue.....
“Born and nurtured in at a scholastic family in Delhi, Himadri studied English Literature from Lady Shri Ram College, University of Delhi. Under her penname “Him-milicious” she has published several EBooks on Contem-porary Erotic Romance and currently working on her debut erotic romance in print version”
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The door had opened as I had turned to move away from the doorway. I stood there, still unconvinced of my decision to visit the house again. The question was repeated, and I looked around to see who spoke to me, but I could not see anyone. Then I saw a little boy staring at me, his eyes scrutinizing me from top to bottom. I did not know what to tell him and his brows curved into suspicion as his cheeks grew crimson and he ran inside the house screaming, “Ma! Ma! Maa …”
The scent of incense stung my nose as I peered into the room. Nothing of the house he once knew, remained. The dinner table had been shifted to the ex-treme right and in its place now stood a cupboard gallery stuffed with memen-tos, souvenirs, crystal pieces and photo
frames. I entered the door without ask-ing permission, as if I owned the house. Perhaps, at that moment, the house owned me and tugged at my insides to make it feel like I was home. The couch-es remained the only unchanged piece of furniture in the house I once called mine, like the foundation brick of a ruined temple that remained unshaken, an artifact of the past.
The mind is a funny part of our system, and once we let it control us, it plays tricks on us. I heard Ma’s humming from the kitchen area. Her voice res-onated, the kind that pierces within, igniting an energy that compels you to listen to her and obey. I knew all this was a figment of my imagination. But the reverberation of her voice- I could feel it in the air, in the soft movement of the curtains against the bickering sun-light… As I recalled her calling me as I was about to leave … “Khuku,
take your Tiffin. I have packed some rotis and alu bhaja for you, nothing exquisite but I know you’ll love eating it.”I was getting late and irritated both at the same time, Ma had been advised to take rest but she was always up to something or the other. “Ma, stop both-ering about such things. I would have managed. Anyways, aami jaachchi . (I’m going.)” I said hurrying out. “Jeyo na Shona, esho!” (Don’t say I’m going Sho-na, Say I’ll come soon.)That was my last conversation with Ma, she developed a cardiac arrest during her afternoon nap and passed away peacefully. I had taken no time to leave the house after her, her
memories almost haunting me at every corner. But I was wrong in thinking that escaping the house, would help me deal with her absence. The walls screamed atmy betrayal; I had left -alone and empty. I stood with tears, asking for forgive-ness silently when a lady came out ask-ing, “Ke Tumi?” I replied, “I am the owner of this house Aunty, and I need my home back at any cost. It is my Ma’s.”
Priyanka Dey is passionate singer, story teller and book reviewer.
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Which author do you feel has influenced your style the most?
There are many authors who I admire and respect. However, I have tried to maintain my own style in writing. For perspective and dif-ferent thinking, I admire the ancient Sanskrit Dramatist, Bhasa who first wrote about Duryodhana and Karna. For writing style, I love R K Narayanan and Ruskin bond for their simplicity, Rushdie for his language and the ease and confidence with which he writes, to name a few
What has prompted you to write your book or books?
Writing is like meditation for me. I lose myself when I write. Maybe this is what ancient saints called as Nirvana. When I write, I as a person cease to exist. I become the words I write, I become the thoughts I think and I live the life of my characters. That makes writing an act without an ego. On the other hand, every author is a narcissist at his or her heart. There is an element of self pity in writing, self loathing in writing, self love in writing and an arrogance in writing and all these makes writing an act of ego. While writing, the ego dis-appears, but once the book is finished, the narcissism comes back and the ego returns. Maybe this interplay of con-trasting experience and my love for this cycle is what prompts me to write What is the best feedback or com-ment you have received from an or-dinary reader on your book?
There were many good feedback like they felt Ravana was sitting beside them and narrating the story or the book changed the way they see things in life. But the best feedback that I cherish was written by a lady who said that she could hear the voice of her deceased father talking to her through the char-acters I created.
What criticism has helped you grow as a writer?
One of the major criticism was that I try to over narrate things and as a debutant author, I can see the merit in that criticism. I hope in my next book, which will hit stands in October this year, I have corrected the same. I got the opportunity to write a few news-paper colums in Indian Express, Asian age, Speaking Tree etc and writing those columns has helped me in putting my thoughts more precisely. However, the next book is on Duryodhana and there is so much to write about him. I hope I do justice to my hero and his friends.
What would you like to do as a writ-er that you have never done before?
Usually when an author becomes suc-cessful, he will get trapped in one genre. For example, after the success of Asura, the offers I am getting from all publish-ers are for mythological based subjects. It is like the actor’s trap- once a come-dian or a villain, always a comedian or a villain- we have seen that happening to many talented actors. I want to break the trap. I want to write humour, satire, horror, romance, fantasy, non fiction and all genres possible as an author. I used to be an amateur cartoonist and used to write parody songs and short humorous stores in Malayalam mag-azines before I had turned to writing Novels in English. I also want to write script for animation films and a novel for children.
What is the book that someone else
has written, that you would have write.? How would you have done it differently?
I am a voracious reader. One exercise I do in my mind whenever I read a book is to think how differently the book could have written. I imagine the characters talking differently, the plot moving in a diametrically opposite di-rection and try to compare it with what the author has written. As you know, I have written the Ramayana differ-ently in Asura, from the point of view of Ravana. I am doing the same with Mahabharata. I have been doing things differently so far.
What is your advice to aspiring writ-er?
Patience- Writing is a career that re-quires that virtue by tons. There will be many rejections and disappointments in this journey. I had six rejections with some very discouraging comments be-fore the book was accepted by Leadstart publishing. There was no big fuss, not even a book launch or media glitz, no video trailers or big advertisements. It took sometime for the book to get ac-cepted in the market and Asura got sold purely through word of mouth and is still continuing to be in top 10 after 11 months of publishing. Believe in what you have written as no one can write it like you and have lots of patience. One day the same people who rejected your work as not worthy of publishing will come back to you and that, I would say, is a very good feeling. It is worth all the wait and hard work.
“Anand is author by passion, loves cartooning, caricaturing, oil painting and reading. Likes cricket, music and films, sells petroleum products for a living and lives in a calm home in a quiet place called Belgaum. The serenity of this home often gets disturbed by the antics of a naughty girl, a sweet boy and the family head Jackie the blackie doggy a and where a lovely wife and an affectionate old mother is driven crazy by the crankiness of an author, his kids and a pet.”
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Which author do you feel has influenced your style the most?
I think my style has been greatly influenced by Gerald Durrell, especially his ‘My Family and Other Animals’ series. He wrote with great humor, rather on the wry side, and I think my own slightly sarcastic voice has developed reading and thoroughly enjoying some of his books. Apart from Durrell, it would probably be James Herriot, for simplicity, warmth and descriptions of every-day life and Bill Bryson for the exaggerated, side-splitting humor in his accounts of travelling across the world.
I think the common theme amongst these authors is that they write with humor about their own lives, making for enjoyable, easy reads. That’s what I’ve tried to do with ‘Just Married Please Excuse’.
What has prompted you to write your book or books?
I’d always wanted to write, but put it on hold for almost ten years while I was in the corporate world. Starting my blog www.yashodharalal.com in 2006 was one thing that really helped to open up my writing again and build a great deal of confidence. But the real ‘prompt’ came in 2010, after a difficult and complicated pregnancy where I discovered only halfway that I was having twins and a lot of chaos followed. In short, it was a wake-up call that life is short so if you really want to do something, you better do it quick. So I wrote the first draft of my first book while on my maternity leave after delivering two baby boys! Once I got that first book published in 2012, I just realized writing is some-thing I want to always be a part of my life. I’m trying something different this year, a fictionalized story about a man going through a divorce– it’s called ‘Sorting out Sid’ and it’s out lat-er this year, around September. And hopefully, a sequel to Just Married Please Excuse will be out next year.
What is the best feedback or com-ment
you have received from an ordinary reader on your book?
There have been a lot of comments about how the book is really funny and helps brighten up an ordinary day. I’ve got some very nice feedback from someone on twitter recently that it had her 89-year old grandmother in splits, and I really loved that. Apart from the humor, some people have said it’s given them insight into their own relationships and that is something I wasn’t expect-ing – so the fact that it’s go-ing deeper into people’s lives apart from just giving them a good laugh is really some-thing that makes me happy.
What criticism has helped you grow as a writer?
Every bit of criticism, even though it’s hard to digest in the beginning, has something to learn from. There are a couple of less-than-glowingreviews about the book amongst the many positive ones, but I’ve actually picked up a lot from these. I think the use of some Hindi phrases in the book was a double-edged sword be cause while it helped a lot of people relate more with
the characters, some others just had trouble interpreting those lines. So I intend to be more careful with the use of language. Also, there have been other nuggets in terms of editing, and the use of hyperbole. The challenge is to distil criticism unemotionally and resolve to incorporate what you agree with, but I’ve found that once I’m able to do that, I feel more confident about my writing than before.
What would you like to do as a writer that you have never done before?
Well, I’m still swaying between pure fiction and a series that is unabashedly au-tobiographical.
Given that I’m still getting started, there are plenty of things that I’ve never done before! But one thing that I am serious-ly considering is writing a book for kids – and that’s a real need given the dearth of good stories for children. I mean, seriously – Fairy Tales are just terrible, and you realize this as a parent – help-less damsels in distress who rarely do anything to get themselves out of trou-ble until handsome princes and fairy godmothers come in to fix everything? I’m evaluating trying my hand at some-thing that my 5-year old daughter can read, enjoy and learn from in a couple of years. But who knows?
I’d always wanted to write, but put it on hold for almost ten years while I was in the corporate world. Starting my blog www.yashodharalal.com in 2006 was one thing that really helped to open up my writing again and build a great deal of confidence.
What is the book that someone else has written, that you would have liked to write? How would you have done it differently?
I’ve recently really enjoyed Anuja Chau-han’s ‘Those Pricey Thakur Girls’, and found myself wishing on more than one occasion while reading it ‘Damn, I’d like to have written something like this!’And frankly, I wouldn’t want to have done it differently.
What is your advice to aspiring writ-ers?
Focus on your story. Get your first draft out without self-consciousness and self-editing. And write what you know, so that you can write from the heart. That’s the most important thing. And of course, read Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’, where he advises, amongst other things – Read a lot. Write a Lot.
“Yashodhara Lal is the author of the best-selling Just Married, Please Excuse (www.justmarriedpleaseexcuse.com ), the hilarious story of the marriage between a hot tempered Delhi girl and a laid-back boy from Jaipur. She has done her MBA from IIM-Bangalore and has over a decade of experience in the corporate world, and has worked across large FMCG and media organi-zations in the field of Marketing. Her second novel, ‘Sorting out Sid’ is being published by HarperCollins in September 2013. “
Every bit of criticism, even though it’s hard to digest in the
beginning, has something to learn from..
IsmitaTandon Dhankher is ‘A Lesser Known Poet’. Her poem, ‘The Beasts Run Wild’, is currently up on MSN, as part of an ongoing exclusive feature “Her Courage” in tribute to Indian women. Her second mystery novel Jacob Hills is just released by HarperCollins India.
I go out in the world, I forget you,
Trudging through fields and unknown roads,
Brown as the unwanted chaff from the wheat, blown away by the blazing
wind,
Lost like a calf on a crowded street, running left, right, afraid, wide-eyed,
I return, I return thirsty, parched like the mud caked around bare feet,
I return to rest in you, to wet my lips with a prayer of your name,
To drink till the light from your eyes blots the harshness of days and
darkness of nights,
I return, for, there is no balm more soothing than your hand,
I return, for, you alone are my haven, dear God.
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Running down all the ten floors, and the by lanes of my street, pot holes every where, jumping over it, panting, if i don’t run faster, I’ll never be able to meet I run like a sprinter. Ah! I can finally see you. Wearing a shade of love and dressed in bliss As i pant, I smile I drink the tea from a nearby stall and wait, for a while. No more do i gasp for breath I walk back slowly to my small little room to finish my story
Nivedita is a story teller, poet, book reviewer and a blogger. She has an awe-some website.
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The physical laws of the universe can get boring.So, here’s your chance to escape them – write ascience fiction short story! Considering, none ofour celebrated Indian writers have explored thegenre, here’s your opportunity to producesomething “novel” and unique. 500 to a 1000 words ought to do it! So, how would you go about conceiving and penning a Sci-Fi tale? You might already be bombarded with story ideas andimages from movies like Alien, the Terminator, Avatar, Back tothe Future, etc. Well, you could start your story - by creating anambience set in the modern day, in the future, an alternate past,or in a parallel universe. The story could unfold in outer space,on another planet, or even on plain old Earth. Then, establish a protagonist and create a conflict that he, or she, is up against. Set them a challenge they have to overcome. Bring in an ene-my or a rival, if you’d like. Or introduce an associ-ate, or a friend to the protagonist, who is involved in common predicament.
The science fiction elements in your story can be centred around, or include - Time Travel, Space Exploration, Extra-Terrestrial Life, Artificial Intelligence, Futuristic Technology, Supernatural Phenomena, etc. Derive in-spiration from the past-masters: H G Wells for one. This turn of the 20th Century Englishman, was hailed as the Father of Science Fiction. He set the template for Time Travel in his novel, the Time Machine, and encountering aliens in War of the Worlds, among many other ideas. Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke also elaborated onfictional trysts with outer space and extra-terrestrials, while the more contemporary Philip K Dick, explored warped memory and exported personal identity - as adapted in landmark movies like Blade Runner, TotalRecall and Minority Report. Following is an example of an original Science Fiction story. Read, enjoy and come up with something of your own. In the words of BarrackObama, “Yes, you can!”
The best story wins the book - “The Everything Guide to Writing Your First Novel” by Hallie Ephron
“8:12 AM, April 3, 2201”, read the monitor lens, implanted into Othello Lewis’ left eye. “Rise and shine!”, his automated ear-piece sounded off. The surface of Lewis’ bed adjusted from a horizontal 180 degrees to a 120-de-gree angle, bringing its occupant to a comfortable sitting position. A thir-ty-something woman leaned down-ward to the cheek of the middle-aged gentleman and planted a soft kiss on it. “Mmm”, the sound of contentedness, emerged from Lewis’ throat, “Warm and pleasant with a hint of moisture!” He observed.Giggling, the demure lady handed him a cup of mango tea (the boiled essence of dry mango skin blended into a stimulator chemical). “The last of the Earth’s pollution has been sucked out, Lolo!,” she informed him, while happi-ly adjusting herself within her organic body suit, “The vacuum satellite is on a centrifugal tangent for Mars – that garbage dump.”“Good to know, Maya dear!” exclaimed
Othello, as a news feed came up on his eye-monitor. The 30-second capsule began with images of a vibrantly blue outer-visage of Earth, and then dis-solved into visuals of billowing indus-trial exhaust, a large flying object, as well as, respiratory patients undergoing treatment. Simultaneously, Lewis’ ear-piece relayed the accompanying news voice-over : “Until fifty years ago, gaseous pollu-tion had remained at hazardous levels on Earth, causing oceans to rise and land to sink. The worst hit from this phenomenon, was Bangladesh – which lost 3/4th of its geographic surface. In the year 2100, oil-fuel which had been a major cause of this ever-mounting catastrophe, was finally replaced by bio-fizz – a biogas-propelled-nucle-ar-fission-based battery. But while this source of energy was environmental-ly-compatible, it couldn’t reverse the ill-effects of pollution – one: disappear-ing land mass, and two: human, animal and plant mortalities of respiratory
disease. In 2151, SkyPlunger Industries launched this blurb – a suction device, one-square-kilometre in volume. The prototype was set in motion around the Earth to systematically suck up all of the world’s poisonous diffuse. And so today with the last of the ill-wind mak-ing its way into the can, we have finally cleared the air and can breathe easy.”As the news-capsule concluded, a pho-to of Maya appeared on the monitor. The words “In Remembrance” faded in and out. Then, Lewis’s neuron impulses switched off his eye-monitor. He was already running on his treadmill – a floored, conveyor-belt leading to his bathroom. Having set the contraption in fast mode, Lewis, spent the next ten minutes countering its momentum, while in the process, slowly covering the 20 actual metres to the bathroom’s entrance. “Incentive handicap”, he thought to himself. Next, his sweaty person was in a cubi-cle. He raised his arms as powerful jet showers from every direction smoth-ered his body. Decontamination was almost immediately complete. The water-jets automatically morphed to blowers, and within seconds Lewis was drip-dry. The door of the enclosure shot upwards and Lewis stepped out onto an absorbent carpet. A hanger with fresh clothes swung out from a tract in the wall.“Shall, I help you put your clothes on, darling”, chuckled Maya from the next room.
“Perhaps, you should!” Lewis ex-claimed. “There seems to be noth-ing else left for either me, or you, to do.” Then under his breath, he added, “Could you ever be more real, Maya?”
Lewis emerged in a latex one-piece suit, designed to modulate his body temperature and preserve his skin. The formally-clothed man stepped into his office. It was one door away from his bedroom. His associates were already awaiting him, within – Stephen Cam-pos, Om Chandra and Lingwong Hui. The seated gentlemen were apparently right in front of him. But actually, that was not the case. In reality, they were at their respective home offices, and a hologram relay-camera was merely pro-jecting their four-dimensional images, into Lewis’ office.“Good morning, Othello!”, said Cam-pos, beaming. “We have checked out your perfected robot and approve of the prototype. Well done! Your fine-tuning was immaculate. We will wind-up all operations and set a launch date.” The gentlemen exchanged pleasantries and were about to close the holo-confer-ence, when Othello turned to Chan-dra and said, “Hey Chandie, can you stop by my place this afternoon? I have something old to show you.”Othello departed to another room of his house. Descending into a smoking chair, he pulled out a self-lighting cigar. As he puffed on the item,
his eye-monitor scanned for an old let-ter, locating and opening it within sec-onds. Dated 15 years ago, it read:“Othello, The Light of my Life has been extinguished. I have no guidance or direction or motivation to carry on. The reparatory capsules they sent into her system, succumbed to the cancer. Her throat and lungs had been encased in charcoal. She was suffocating right to the moment that she died in my arms. As of today, I am a dead-man walking. Chandra”While Othello was reflecting on this note for the umpteenth time, Maya walked into the room with a tray of a lentil biscuits, “Time for lunch, Lolo,”
she said. “Did the meeting go well? Were they impressed with your perfec-tion of the android prototype? It just seems like magic to me – you revitalis-ing DNA, regenerating skin and grow-ing enough of it, to cover a whole per-sonalized robot. ..”Just then the doorbell rang. “Get that, will you dear’, said Othello, with a poi-gnant smile slowly pervading his face. Maya left the lunch tray on a side-table and walked to the house’s entrance. She pressed a button and the door vanished upward into an overhead groove. Her expression mirrored that of Chandra’s own, as he found himself staring into the living eyes, of his deceased wife.”
Cover: All three covers have been beautifully designed with vibrant co-lours and textures.Paper and font: The font was fine but I felt the paper and print quality kept varying through the books. I may have got a bad bind but my copy of the first book was a pain to hold up and read with one hand.Readability, language: : Not a lot of big words that I didn’t already know, the books are quick reads even though the are big.Why did I choose this book: I’ve been hearing a lot about the series and with my interest in mythology, there’s no way I’d have missed this series.I have waited a long time to read this series. Yeah yeah I know book 1 and 2 were available but after seeing Che’s reaction to book 1, I decided to wait until 3 came out. I didn’t want to wait between books. That of course meant I heard a lot of opinions on the books and that did leave me a bit worried. Most people said the first book was good but two was a drag and three was quite a drag. With all that I heard I
wondered if I would get to book three or would I give up midway.Amish makes the premise that Shiva is a man and that there are no magical gods when writing his trilogy. The sto-ry starts off with Shiva coming to the plains from the banks of the Mansaro-var to fulfil his destiny of ridding the world of evil. On drinking somras, the elixir of those times, his throat turns blue and people bow to the Neelkanth who has come to save them. Only the Neelkanth is reluctant to believe he is the saviour of the people and there starts the story of Shiva, who from a mere man becomes the Mahadev.Evil is not a person, it is an idea or be-lief. This is something Shiva has to learn on his journey through the three books. In “The Immortals of Meluha” Shiva meets the Meluhans who have found immortality. They are Suryavanshis who follow the path set out by Ram. They have order and discipline in their lives and believe in the betterment of the community rather than that of the individual. He fights the Chandravan-shis who are the descendants of Ram too and have different beliefs and life-styles to the Suryavanshis only to realise they aren’t evil. This realisation leads him to the Nagas in “The Secret of the Nagas”. It’s in meeting them that he learns of Kali, the other half of his wife Sati and has to make peace with
Ganesh, the other son of Sati. It is in this book that Karthik makes his ap-pearance growing up faster than a nor-mal boy. The Nagas take him to their city – Panchvati where Shiva again has to confront and revise his idea and un-derstanding of evil. “The Oath of the Vayuputras” is about Shiva’s confrontation with evil and his fighting the righteous fight. He teams up with the Vasudevs who are the guides of the Rudra avatar to take on evil and meets and understands the pre-vious Mahadev Rudra through his tribe the Vayuputras who are sworn to sup-port the Neelkanth in his war against evil. The book isn’t about whether Shiva will win, that’s a given but rather about how a man becomes so loveable that we still love, fear and worship him to this day. The characters of the books are the ones we all grew up hearing about in our grandma’s stories – Shiva, Sati, Kali, Ganesh, Karthik…, they are all there in human believable form. Not gods but human beings like you and me who are flawed and yet loved. And there were some I’d never heard of before like Badhra, Shiva’s best friend, Krittika, Sati best friend, Parvateshwar the amy gen-eral after whom Sati is also called Par-
vati, among others. The characters are well sketched and memorable; each one of them. I could imagine the cities, the rivers and the wars so vividly through the book.I enjoyed the trilogy and was hooked until the end. Didn’t like the last couple of line though On one count I agree with all other reviews that the first book had pace but two and three are a drag. There is a lot of description rather than action. But I quite enjoyed that. One of the best parts of the book for me was the scientific reasoning behind all that magical technology of those times. It was interesting to read about the magic behind the divya astras, the bhramastra, and such (Amish has definitely done his research). I had seen too much magic in the Ramayan and Mahabharata on TV growing up.I love stories and mythology is noth-ing but that, add to this the number of Gods we have in Hinduism and the two Epics and you have never ending stories. How can I not love Indian my-thology. This trilogy is great if you like Indian mythology; well written it is an enjoyable read but be warned it does get draggy as you progress through the books.
Freya started reading before she could speak and hasn’t stopped yet. She’ll read just about anything in print but has a bias towards romance, medicine, courtroom drama and history. Oh! and also the classics.
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‘But we had no choice….These thiev-ing bastards are above reproach….. no one can ever touch them… not legally. India will never get her rightful place in the sun till these corrupt politicians are forced to be accountable.’‘And the country. India needs to be rid of this menace. Once rid of these thiev-ing politicians she would find her right-ful place in the sun. A day would come when every Indian would have a roof over his head, two square meals a day and the right to live with dignity and security. Soon….’The First Look: The man holding the gun, bullet replacing the I in the title and the syringe on the cover page do complete justice to this power-packed thriller. Moving on to the blurb, it promises a whole lot of action and adrenaline rush. The appreciations make it worthy further.
One Sentence: This entertaining book is written intelligently and with emo-tions on a high.USP: The patriotic fervor of the book captures the impulse of Indian readers perfectly. It has been penned down at the right time when the Indian pop-ulace is totally in angst and in disap-proval state with the rising number of scams, scandals and multi-crores mess up.Story: The story revolves around three teams and three key members. The protagonist is Mr. Krishna Athawale. He is the leader of the K team which comprises of strong-willed, energetic, self-reliant and smart people. All these ex-army men are bent upon to accom-plish a mission to free the country from the vicious grip of the greedy politi-cians. Second the team led by Raghav Bhagat, another ex-army person who is hired to drill down the action players and let them not live. Another set of parallel investigations are done by a third per-son Mr. Vinod Bedi and his team, Spe-cial Director, CBI as per instructions by the home minister. The Special action force K- team would come prepared, take their positions and act smart-ly. They believed in going with the flow, they executed and implemented their plan with accuracy taking us all through a thrilling ride.
The similarity to the political conditions present in the country and to the bu-reaucratic names were very evident. I enjoyed reading the book thoroughly and quite many times wished the fiction to come true some day.The piece of romance and hatred be-tween Mrs Bhagat and two army guys hits off well and the love- triangle added to the flavor. I liked the friendship be-tween Sachin and Azaan.Writing Style: It is easy going, neat and engaging. A good pace has been main-tained throughout the story. Without going into much detailing, the author keeps the story moving, thus maintain-ing the tempo of the genre. Entertaining and engaging, written in Indian style with desi tadka.Thumps Up: The action and adventure click right from the beginning of the story and it becomes enjoyable as one moves along. The Author has used his experiences of Army well and we get its taste all along the narration. Advanced
technology has its in-between mentions all along.Thumps Down: A few typos here and there. The action plans were too ac-curate and rightly implemented, could have been made more complex and rocking. The climax was a little dramat-ic and unbelievable, how come no ones finds the truth behind the K-team. Its too neat to digest.Last but not the Least : A must-have book for all those who have the angst and hate for the corrupt political struc-ture in our country. Here K team was a great team of honest and worthy people. They executed a plan which I guess each one of us in India wants it to happen the soonest possible. On the other hand it has a dark side to it because law should never be played with, for if it falls in the wrong hands, it may cost thousand lives. Also, sometimes the most noble of causes can get ruined by evil minds. For a change, all goes well in here and Good wins over the Bad finally!
Manjulika loves to review books, blogging, painting and travelling. She calls herself ABC by passion, Artist, Blog-ger and a Creative one.
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Of late, Indian writing has come to epitomize a different kind of genre rather than what it used to. I remem-ber I had an ‘Indian writing’ phase in reading. I would read Indian authors because I could connect to their sto-ries better and felt at home. Shashi Deshpande and Jhumpa Lahiri were favorites; they still are! But of late I had stopped enjoying the popular fiction genre in Indian writing. It did not add any value to my reading. But it seems things are changing for better. Interest-ing books are flowing out of different publishing houses.
Well, to cut the long story short, this book offered an interesting premise, unlike anything we have seen recently in Indian writing. ‘The Shadow Throne’ is a fast-paced thriller built around a
very topical issue - nuclear attack and are we ready to deal with it. The lan-guage was pretty good yet easy to read. The book is actually of small size and it reminds me of the Pocket Books my Dad used to read (a la Surendra Mohan Pathak).
‘The Shadow Throne’ offers enough teasers to pull you into the story – a mysterious murder at Qutub Minar; a victim straight out of antiquity; the uncertain and murky world of Paki-stan’s ISI and India’s RAW; a journalist (Chandrashekhar), an inspector (Has-san) and a history professor (Meenak-shi Pirzada) find themselves in a con-spiracy of a potential nuclear attack on India; and a race against time to save the nation while not knowing whom to trust in the run.
The book begins on an interesting note where Chandrashekhar is reminiscing about his dead wife Yamini.
But in no time we find ourselves en-tranced in a gripping tale of murder, conspiracy, deceit and questionable loyalties. A body is found at the foot of Qutub Minar. The Inspector-in-charge Syed-Ali-Hassan calls in Chandrashek-har, a journalist with whom Hassan has worked in several cases. Chandrashek
har pulls in Meenakshi Pirzada, a his-tory professor and Chandrashekhar’s deceased wife’s best friend, to help him find out more about the victim. This in-cident spirals into a conspiracy involv-ing RAW and ISI and stretches beyond Indian borders, to Afghanistan.
On the other hand, there is a small group of aborigines in Afghanistan, assumed to be extinct, who are working towards ascertaining their place in the world, at Bamiyan Valley. OK, I admit getting tiny-winy bored in the details of this part. But, overall, the author has
been successful in constructing an in-teresting plot together and creating an exciting spy-thriller that would keep you guessing till the end. A few things were surreal but could be overlooked in favour of an enjoyable read. It sounded so much like a film that I wouldn’t be surprised if it got made into one.
I also got a feeling that this could turn into a series. Towards the end, there is a hint that Chandrasekhar could be called anytime if need be. I would certainly look out for the author’s second book.
“Reema Sahay is a Stay-At-Home-Mom, Freelance Writ-er, Voracious Reader, Passionate Blogger, Social Media Enthusiast, Internet Junkie and Ex-Marketing Com-munication Professional. She buys way too many books than she can possibly ever read.
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I usually don’t do book reviews, which is a shame because as an author, I re-ally value each and every review for my own book. I think I’ve written only about books like the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, bypassing even writing about the wonderful Room and several others that I’ve really liked. I thought I should try and correct this, especially for a book that I picked up at the World Book Fair in February - Anuja Chau-han’s Those Pricey Thakur Girls.
Disclosure - Anuja was nice enough to launch ‘Just Married Please Excuse’ last year and therefore I may have a rather positive predisposition towards her. Of-ten as I was reading the book, I found myself smiling and thinking ‘Hey, I KNOW this person.’
But the fact is Those Pricey Thakur
Girls really stood out for me because I could so relate to the characters. The lead character, Debjani Thakur isn’t one of those princessy-perfect types - the ‘’most beautiful of the five sisters’’ - in fact, she’s often compared unfavorably to the far more beautiful, Anjini. But there’s something very endearing and human about Dabbu - and the fact that the book is set in the 1980s really took me back to the good old days. I could so relate to things like ‘He wants to know what Shampoo I’m using? We only have one in this country - Halo!’ Yeah, baby. That was the 80s all right!
Apart from relatability and an inter-esting storyline, I liked the amount of detail and research that Anuja’s clearly put into creating this rather convincing world. It looks like it took a lot of work to figure out what being with Doordar-shan was really like back in the day.
The hero Dylan is also the kind of stuff every one of us enjoys reading about - it’s nice that unlike other picture perfect heroes, he has his human moments too, particularly when a dog attacks him and then a cat pees on him in quick succession.
What I enjoyed most is the humour in the book. I was truly surprised at the dry, matter of fact way it was
woven into various parts of the sto-ry. My favourite character was Gulgul Bhaisahib, whose ‘bouffant goes a little phuss’ when his uncle asks him about his law exam preparations. I would have liked to see more of him in the second half of the book, although the fact is that he was a side character, so I sup-pose it couldn’t be helped. I found the chapters rather long, especially to read at one go - but given that I read it ev-ery night for a few days before bedtime until I finished ( despite various other things to do) so overall, it worked very well for me - it’s easy to read, relaxing, simple and of course, very well-written to say the least.
It’s not as if the story is totally unpre-dictable, but there’re enough twists and turns to prevent you from figuring it all out. In any case, it’s well put together and more importantly an enjoyable read even if you do think you know what’s coming next.
In short - this is one book I really would recommend. And this is me, recom-mending it.
Anuja - hats off! And so looking for-ward to the sequel to this one - was very happy to read about the upcoming ‘The House that BJ Built’
“Yashodhara Lal is the author of the best-selling Just Married, Please Excuse (www.justmarriedpleaseex-cuse.com ), the hilarious story of the marriage between a hot tempered Delhi girl and a laid-back boy from Jaipur. She has done her MBA from IIM-Banga-lore and has over a decade of experience in the cor-porate world, and has worked across large FMCG and media organizations in the field of Marketing. Her second novel, ‘Sorting out Sid’ is being published by HarperCollins in September 2013. “
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The power that Ghosh wields through his pen of transporting the reader to another world is something I absolutely enjoy.
The Hungry Tide was the first novel that I read by the author and it has remained my favorite. I visited Sundarbans after reading the novel and it seemed as if I had visited these aqua expanses so many times before.
The unlikely love story, set in the politics of a land where life is as uncer-tain as the archipelago, travels easily through space and time and is one of the best examples of post-modern fiction.
Amrita MukherjeeContent Writer, Bangalore
The Hungry Tide:By Amitava Ghosh
Bipasha GangulyHomemaker, Kolkata
That Kiss in the RainBy Novoneel Chakraborty
Is love the weather of life? Do we have any chances of beating destiny? Are half the headaches in a man’s life because of a woman and half the heartaches in a woman’s life because of a man? Who knows..‘That kiss in the rain’ being a hope-less romantic what drew me to the book was its name. As I read through, I realized that it had al-most nothing to do with the name. What came across was a nice inter woven tale of people living their lives...a Swadha .. a Pallavi.. a Haasil, a Nitin.. all there with-in us ..around us...unanswered ques-tions.. that’s the beauty of the book by Novoneel Chakraborty.
Mohan PhaniBusinessman, Bagalore
WordkeeperBy Jash Sen
Wordkeeper is the Jash Sen’s first book and comes as a breath of fresh air. Fast, innovative and full of adventure. The story is set with characters from the Hindu mythology, Mahabharata in the
Dwapar yuga where it starts with the terrible incidence of Aswathama but is set in the modern times, namely the kaliyuga. The main protagonist is Anya in Bangalore who has to find her mother and needs to find Bilal, a muslim boy who is the key to a proph-ecy to destroy the evil. “Kali” the lord of the “kali yuga” is the evil force and then there is Kalki, the tenth avatar of Vishnu who has to be saved. Oth-er mythology characters Parashuram plays a prominent part and Vibhishon writes his “notes from the Immortal” before chapters. Jash takes us through a surre-alistic journey. Wordkeeper is an unputdown-able adventure. The book is targeted at the young adults but should be enjoyed by adults as well. Well, I loved it.
Serene Kasim Software professional, Bangalore
Kamala Das:
If I were to pick one favourite Indian author, I’d go with Kamala Das. I re-alize that everything that needs to be written about this fascinating wom-an has already been written by many before me but I’d like to add my two cents worth. I love Das’s work, espe-cially her poetry, for their sheer
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simplicity that reveals a deep pain that is at once shattering and up-lifting. Her short stories and poems are in the end about the quest for love (in every possible sense of the word), survival and the desire to live in the deepest possible way. Das’s clear-eyed examination of what it means to be a woman and above all human, a theme that she examines often, is certain-ly not for the faint-hearted. This extraordi-nary author has influenced me in ways that I’m only beginning to understand.
Shatadip Som Software professional, Bangalore
Ruskin Bond: They say, “Every life is an amazing story waiting to told.” A lucid story flow, real lives, part melancholy, part nostalgia and mundane incidents narrated craftily, leading to reading bliss are the facets that underline Bond’s stories. This is especially true for “The Room On the Roof ”, his award winning debut novel, among my favourites.This semi autobiographical work is the story of Rusty, orphaned, and be-ing raised by foster parents in India. His struggles, anger, love, pain, even-tual rebellion and finally a
maverick take on life, form the crux of the story. No real drama, prob-ably very less plot points and non sequiturs; howev-er these make the story honest and unadulterated, one that almost everyone can associate with at some level or the other. A must read, if you like In-dia and Indian authors. Sonali GuptaContent Lead, Kolkata
The Hungry Tide:By Amitava Ghosh
When I read the first line of The Hungry Tide, I felt so familiar. I thought, ‘I know this place – Dhak-uria Station, and the situation that is be-ing described’. Then there was Piya, Piyali Roy, who takes the Canning Local to the Sundarbans.In this book, Ami-tav Ghosh explores life in this mangrove community and how two people, beyond class, language and any other barrier, can relate with each other. As the novel unfurls the bonding between Fokir and Piya, I am drawn to the undercurrents of the novel, the complex world of life in the sandbars and the ecological element
that is brought in. By the end of the book, what remains with me is the in-nate purity of the human heart and the epic nature of the novel which tran-scends dialects, peoples and social norms. The Hungry Tide is indeed a triumph of Ghosh’s imagination, very different from any of his other works.
Vikram Bose Software professional, Bangalore
Makers of Modern India: by Ramachandra Guha
This book is a controversial and debatable selec-tion of 21 indi-viduals whom the author believes to have contributed positively and sig-nificantly towards shaping the India of today. While one can question the exclusion of many well known individuals the author has dis-closed the parameters of selection. Generally the author has relied on doc-uments and historical evidence to paint each of the individuals and abstained to a large extent from giving his own opinion. This lends great credence to the work. Notable exclusions include Swami Vivekananda, Subhas Bose, Sardar Patel, Maulana Azad and the most interesting inclusion is perhaps that of Jinnah. For the critics it would be best come out with more books on their respective
selections. The answer to a book is always a book. Overall a must read for all Indians and all those who would want to understand our complex nation and its genesis.
Anu IyerDentist, Mumbai
Malgudi Days:By R K Narayanan
There is something about R.K.Narayan that resonates with the common man. I recall leaving my homework as a child, to watch Malgudi days on TV or reading his short stories during my summer holidays. The use of simple imagination to weave a magical tale that blends compassion, subtle humor with tragedy in equal measures, is his forte. The characters in his tantalizing stories were all “ordinary human be-ings”. The heroes and villains were extraordinary in their experiences and didn’t have to rely on cos-tumes, sophisti-cated gadgets or appendages to set them apart. He represented the traditional Indian art-fully in his work and highlighted how they were adapting to changing times. Literature must miss a writer of his cali-ber, whose work is devoid of complex plots rife with devious intentions and outcomes. Wish we could have more
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writers of his genre who celebrate life in all its simplicity!
NishantJournalist, Delhi Salman Rushdi
My favourite Indian novelist is Salman Rushdie, if you call him Indian. Other-wise, Kiran Nagarkar for Cuckold. Since Rushdie has changed countries and half of his family is in post-Indepen-dence Pakistan, you decide whether you call him an Indian or not. But, given our love for NRIs, most people would think that he is an Indian. Also, his oeuvre is so obvi-ously Indian. I like Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children the best. I also feel that this is one of the most matured works of fiction that has come out of India. It scores both in terms of fictionality, as well as thematically. Both his narrative tools and historical invocations are plausible and entertain-ing. It’s also a work of great craftsman-ship. Each chapter has a building-up period, then itsdramatic quotient peaks and towards the end it leads into the next strand in the story.Second, if you decide that he is not India enough, my second favourite is Kiran Nagarkar, whose work Cuckold is again a carefully crafted novel. Its subject matter is slightly unusual, but given that
our culture is so deeply rooted in my-thology and popular religion, the me-dieval setting of this works is so Indi-an. His treatment of Meerabai’s psyche turns her love for the imaginary Krishna into a delightful amorous tale. But, the novel is about her husband, a small-time warrior who is fascinat-ed by exploits of Babur, among other things. This is a tale of a few historical characters and one mythological char-acter, which digs into a lot of historical material, like Baburnama, and goes on to create a successful work of fiction.
Rajith Surendran Reading, England, Student Chetan Bhagat
Five point someone from Chetan Bhagat is a subject close to my heart - the Indian Education Sys-tem. The author has very clev-erly conveyed, through ev-eryday narra-tives, especially through hostel life, the impor-tance to pursue things that interest you and excel in it rather than giving-in to popular choice and failing miserably. This was a view that I always held and the novel just re-inforced it for me so aptly. to pursue things that interest you and excel in it rather than giving-in to popular choice and failing
miserably. This was a view that I always held and the novel just re-inforced it for me so aptly. I like Malgudi days from RK Narayan for the simplicity in which he brings out the various facets of being hu-man through myriad characters we Indi-ans can easily relate to - snake charmer, astrologer, road-side sweet vendor, street performer et al. My motivation to read was the serial on TV. Very Indian!I am a migrant to the UK now and can fully relate to works like Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri and Anurag Mathur’s Inscrutable Americans. They have very vividly explored the Indian immigrant milieu peppered with emotions and hu-mour - a good read for the global audi-ence.
Saolee DuttaBanking Professional, Bangalore Shiva Trilogy
Books, pages filled with words that can be your best friend. A friend who is fun at times, generous in sharing knowl-edge, makes you cry, laugh, goes every-where you need them and always there. The fact that good books are appealing because it’s like one’s own set of virtu-al scenes going on in mind with sets of background and characters and environ-ment initiated by the authors description through words. Let me tell about a very recent series, The Shiva trilogy. In the series you will find myths, mysteries, legends, cultures that we have known since ages simplified beautifully and the author made it easy for us to imagine
the plot through his words. His expla-nations have been marvelous. Shiva, a cool, brave, emotional, lover, hesitant, wise etc. The feelings are so beautifully written that one can feel it throughout the story, so creatively set in words that one can imagine them in front of head. One can find the nor-mal emotion of heart and thoughts in the characters mind. Authors of different era have their own precious thoughts in words. I am in love with most of them so not worth mentioning a few. Of course I haven’t read too much so will keep on reading till I can because good books make me happy and feel that I am alive.
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Examine the “Slanguage” of erstwhile and contemporary India, as its culture weaves into the fabric of the country’s Official and Commercial language.Shame, Shame, Puppy Shame!As the three recurring words in the phrase imply, this is a derogatory calling which is discharged mainly in the corridors of ele-mentary school in India. Toddlers sound off this unsavoury exclamation when they detect a certain wrong-doing by one of their fellows, which warrants that the subject in question, become the focal point of undesired attention. Instances that invite this dubious distinction in-clude – accidentally urinating in one’s shorts, subconsciously digging one’s nose (or other bodily orifices ), absent-mind-edly leaving a zip-fly undone, or earning punishment for saying something inap-propriate akin to “I have a girlfriend”. While the term “puppy” remains a mys-tery, it might connote a small, helpless animal, unaware of codes of decency, with little inhibition against committing a perceivably immoral action. “Puppy” or
“puppi” also translates to the Hindi collo-quialism for “kiss” - another widely-con-sidered shameful-ism!Rest RoomAmericanisms are so invasive, that they have even seeped into the sanctimonious, private domain that most Indians used to refer to as the “toilet”. This once-respect-able British English word was abbreviat-ed from the French “toilette”. But, over the course of the 20th century, ever-tran-sient American lingo ensured “toilets” became “bathrooms” and “toilet- paper” turned to “bathroom-tissue”. Then, since the “bath” in “bathroom” didn’t appear to encapsulate the whole spectrum of ablutions, “restroom” was adopted as the all-inclusive new term. But the varia-tions between the West and East and Old and New, still obfuscate. Thus, I was not entirely surprised when a door at a colo-nial-era clubhouse in a big Indian city, led into a room which was furnished not with a commode, but with a bed! And I hadn’t relieved myself in a cot since I used to be a bed-wetting toddler!
