Book Review : The Secret Wish List by Preeti Shenoy

Book Summary

Does true love really exist or is it just a cliche? Can a single kiss really change your life?

At sixteen, Diksha like any girl her age, finds her life revolving around school, boys and endless hours of fun with her best friend. But one day, all that changes.

What starts as an innocent crush explodes into something far beyond her control. Eighteen years later, she finds herself at the crossroads of life. Urged by a twist of events, a wish list is born. But can a wish list help her piece back her life together? Will she succumb to the tangled mess of an extramarital relationship? Once again, Preeti Shenoy brings an extraordinary story that tugs at the heartstrings, with insight and wisdom, as she explores the delicate matters of the heart.

The Secret Wish List is a captivating, engrossing, racy tale about following your heart, chasing your dreams and the meaning of friendship.

About the Author

Preeti Shenoy is a bestselling author and artist. She has several academic qualifications, but believes life is the biggest teacher. She is an avid blogger, poet, nature lover and yoga buff. She loves playing basketball, travelling and spending time with her family and her dog. Preeti Shenoy is currently based in Bangalore, India. To know more about her go to preetishenoy.com 

Review

The Secret Wishlist by Preeti Shenoy is the story of Diksha – a daughter, a sister, a wife, a daughter-in-law, a mother – all this and much more but herself. She has gotten so used to this daily rut that she has forgotten to listen what her heart wants. This book is a story about her journey of finding her own self. An unexpected incident makes her realise the importance of living life the way she wants to and be happy. So is born a wishlist as she pushes her heart to tell her every wish .A chanced meeting with an old friend, makes her nostalgic. One thing leads to another and before she can realise she is striking out things on her wishlist at an eerie speed.

An engrossing tale of an Indian Women who as a young girl has ambitions and her own identity. Yet, she succumbs to parental pressures and ends up getting married to someone she doesn't look up. She has an independent house, a smart kid, high earning husband and supposedly everything that typical conservative Indian Parents would call for in a perfect Married life. But there's definitely more to life. An identity for oneself, a relationship with your better half that gives you space to breathe and be yourself, a friend in a husband. These are the traits Diksha never finds in her husband. A sequence of events that lead her to realizing what she wants our of life and that gives birth to her "Secret Wishlist".

There is a change in the writing style from what I have seen or read in Preeti's previous books. But nevertheless the story is good and I was turning pages to know what next what next and before I knew I had finished the book in just one day! Preeti sells dreams through her books....her stories....dreams that involve alot of love, life and above all hope. Through her stories there is one message I have always derived.....never lose hope! 

The book leaves you with a feel good factor and would definitely make a good story line for the silver screen. 

 

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Book Review : Because... Every Raindrop is a Hope

Caught in the turmoil of an Underrated Love and an Overrated Infatuation, Raj, a young boy with larger than life dreams, from a small town of Kanpur, is at the cross road of life, where every road ahead leads to nothing but a Dead-end.
Through the grueling course of circumstances, he is subjected to the bitter tests of life, where he fails to justify his one decision of parting ways with Mahek.
But, when Mahek flashes out of his life, leaving him all alone, the guilt of not been forgiven by her, ruins his soul; and that frustration leads him into seclusion, devoid of even his best buddies Rohan and Rahul.
Failed love, broken friendship, a hurt ego and lost soul Raj is doomed to darkness. With no ray of hope ahead, just when Raj is about to give up on life, he come across a note, written to him by his favorite professor, "Never give up Raj Because Every Raindrop is a Hope" which brings Raj face to face with his own self.
Why Love that makes Life beautiful, turns into Satan? Why friendship one fine day loses all its meaning? Why on the crowded roads of Mumbai city, Raj finds himself walking all alone? Will Raj challenge Life and fight back with the sword of Hope or will he take the easy way out by succumbing to the arduous tests of time.
 

About the Author

Mansi Sharma Having a zeal to sail the vessel, till the river runs dry in the chase of her dreams; Mansi is a person who takes the challenges and surprises that life and destiny throws at her, with courage.
Nesting big dreams from her childhood in the Beautiful City of Chandigarh, post her Graduation in Physics (Hons.) from PU, she moved to Pune for her Masters. An MBA Graduate from SCIT, Pune, Mansi is presently working in one of the top Indian Telcos.
With a slice of painter, dash of an avid reader, a writer and an unexplored poet, she is an emotional and sensitive person.

Sankalp Kohli Born and brought up in Kanpur, Sankalp is an MBA Graduate from NMIMS, Mumbai. An entrepreneurial soul with an imprint of a perfectionist, he is a workaholic, who believes in turning every single moment of life into something constructive and fruitful. Being an avid reader since the beginning, he eventually began giving his thoughts and ideas, the wings of words in the form of blogs.
He is a person who holds his parents above all, especially his mother. All his dreams and aspirations are driven by his wish to make his parents feel proud.
Other bestsellers from General Press: A Lot Like Love, Love Happens only Once, The Girl I Last Loved.

Entry

The book starts with an awesome college life narration. The characters are Raj and Mahek, a real and finite couple. But under certain circumstances they had to face so many problems in their life, related to family, career and so on. 

Did they manage to be one? It is really a suspense thriller and one which you can taste in one complete go.  

  

Review: 

The cover of the book not gives a fairly good idea about the theme of the book. But it is sure that the cover makes you it in hand. A guy standing near a corner of the hill, thinking about something, probably his love. But this shows  the book is about love and somehow the story is linked to his/her fate. It is simple and to the point, which is good. 

In some other words, we can treat this as a self help book too. Once you read it completely, the way you were looking on to your life completely changes. The title itself relieve the story, Every raindrop is a hope and we must not be depressed in what we have done and what we are gonna face. Its true Ego can destroy our relation whether love or friendship. That's what happened to Raj. because of his Ego he lost friends as well as Love. Each chapter will teach you an important lesson.

Final Verdict: 

You would not feel bored. Read it if you're looking for a short read and don't want to spend your time too much. A light read, perfect for reading if you have to travel for an hour or two. Nothing too complicated to understand in language and plotting. 

Book details:

Title: Every Raindrop is a Hope

Author: Sankalp Kohli, Mansi Sharma

ISBN: 9789380914435

Genre: Romance/Love

Publishers: General Press

Price: Rs. 125

 

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Book Review : When The Signal Turns Red - Jayanand Ukey

 

About the Book: When the Signal Turns Red

Girish and Prajakta are in love. Very soon Girish will be joining the numero uno IT company of the country. He prepares himself by buying expensive clothes and other accessories he had always dreamed of. He and Prajakta have together planned to build on a good bank balance and then meet each others families to talk about marriage, probably after a year or two. Unexpectedly, the families get involved before Girish can join the IT company. Against all odds, the couple manages to convince their family and an engagement date is fixed. But destiny has other things in mind. A global catastrophe mars their plan which leads to the engagement getting annulled.

Will Girish find a way out of his predicament? Will he ultimately win Prajakta's hand or will he move on in life, learning to live without her?

 

About the Author: Jayanand Ukey

Jayanand Ukey works for an IT company and is also a freelance journalist and blogger. He has a computer engineering degree from VESIT, Mumbai University. In a career spanning a decade, he has kept his hobby alive by writing three books. This book is his first published work. Jayanand lives in Mumbai with his family.

Blurb:
 

A global ordeal
A couple in distress
The struggle to keep afloat
Prudent thinking in tumultuous times

 

Entry:

“A global ordeal, a couple in distress, a struggle to keep afloat, prudent thinking in tumultuous times”… well, that’s how the author begins the blurb at the back.

The plot revolves around Girish and Prajakta, who are in love and just out of college. Both of them have got placed in big IT companies and are looking to settle into their jobs before breaking the news to their parents. However, the parents come to know of their relationship somehow and both of them have to think on their feet to make the parents meet and convince them to agree to their marriage. When their life seems back on track, fate intervenes and they’re split. The story afterward looks at their struggle to make their love a success.

 
Review: 

The cover of the book gives a fairly good idea about the theme of the book. A couple along with an old man shows the book is about a couple in love and somehow the story is linked to his/her father. It is simple and to the point, which is good.

 

Girish, a 22 year old who has completed his graduation, is about to join a leading IT company, DCL. He is in love with his college mate, Prajakta, and they wish to get married after working for some years, but, the girl’s parents find out about Girish and the families fix their engagement. However, their plans are in turmoil as both have lost their jobs, owing to the recession and the Prajakta’s father breaks off the engagement.

It is quite a short story, with just 198 pages expressed in simple words, and thus, a person who is really fast at reading might finish reading the book in ninety minutes. However, speed being my inherent limitation, I took me two days to complete the book. I liked it how this was so unlike the other Indian love stories in Indian films, with both the lovers actually being qualified and their parents actually agreeing to their choice without much discussion. The plot was simple and straight forward, without many digressions or sub-plots and the characteristics of the two families were brought out well. Moreover, I liked how the author chose the financial crisis as the background and with the author himself being in the IT sector, he is someone who’d understand it best, the loss of jobs in the IT sector which started in 2008. My favourite part about the whole thing was that I was promised a light read, and it was delivered, with precision.

The book is about two freshly-out-of-the-college couples, Girish and Prajakta. Both are placed into the top IT companies and are now planning to take their college love to the next level. Now that they had their jobs in their hand, they plan to talk to their families about their love. But something unexpected happens, and their parents come to know about their hidden love. Against all odds, the parents agrees to get their children engaged, one week after their joining date of their job. However, just a week before, job offers of both, Girish and Prajakta are withdrawn due to the on-going economic recession. And subsequently, the engagement is called off.How the male protagonist leads the story to an happy ending by getting married to his love, is what this story is all about. 
Final Verdict: 
You would not feel bored, but you can't expect a mind-blowing time. Read it if you're looking for a short read and don't want to spend your time too much. A light read, perfect for reading if you have to travel for an hour or two. Nothing too complicated to understand in language and plotting.

Book details:

Title: When the Signal turns Red

Author: Jayanand Ukey

ISBN: 978-81-8046-085-2

Genre: Romance/Love

Publishers: Alchemy

Price: Rs. 175

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The Test of My Life: From Cricket to Cancer and Back - Yuvraj Singh

About the Book: The Test of My Life: From Cricket to Cancer and Back

A personal account of Yuvraj Singh's journey through cancer with the 2011 World Cup victory in the background

'That day I cried like a baby not because I feared what cancer would do but because I didn't want the disease. I wanted my life to be normal, which it could not be.'

For the first time Yuvraj Singh tells the real story behind the 2011 World Cup when on-the-field triumph hid his increasingly puzzling health problems and worrying illnesses. In his debut book The Test of My Life, he reveals how-plagued with insomnia, coughing fits that left him vomiting blood, and an inability to eat-he made a deal with God. On the night before the 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup final, Yuvraj prayed for the World Cup in return for anything God wanted.
In this book, he lays bare his fears, doubts, and the lows he experienced during chemotherapy-when he lost his energy, his appetite, and his hair-and his battle to find the will to survive. Poignant, personal, and moving-The Test of My Life is about cancer and cricket; but more
importantly, it is about the human will to fight adversity and triumph despite all odds.
 

About the Author: Yuvraj Singh

Yuvraj Singh is a popular Indian cricketer and youth icon. He has been a member of the Indian cricket team since the past twelve years. He was the vice captain of the ODI team from 2007 to 2008 and shot to fame when he hit six sixes in an over against England's Stuart Broad at the 2007 World Twenty20. He was named the Man of the Tournament in the 2011 Cricket World Cup.
In 2011, he was diagnosed with germ cell cancer in the cavity around the lungs and returned to India in April 2012 after undergoing treatment in the US. Following his recovery, Yuvraj launched his cancer charity YouWeCan to raise awareness and help people with the illness. The Test of My Life, his debut book, will be a candid and intimate account of his journey through cancer with the background of the 2011 World Cup triumph.
In 2012, Yuvraj was conferred with the Arjuna Award by President Pranab Mukherjee. He made his international comeback in a Twenty20 match in September that year against New Zealand shortly before the 2012 World Twenty20.
 

Reviews

'This is a story of a strong fightback in life. It is pure inspiration for all its readers.'— Sachin Tendulkar

'My friend Pie Chucker is the stuff of legend on and off the field. His book The test of my life is about incomparable self belief against real-life odds. I am sure it will touch many hearts and motivate many people across the world to fight cancer and other battles in life with intent and honour.'— Kevin Pietersen

'Even when he was facing some of the toughest days of his life, he kept his chin up and never allowed us to feel sad about him. He lived as a normal person, talked as a normal person and more importantly always sounded normal. This is a very rare quality.'— Virat Kohli

'Yuvraj has shown immense courage and self belief while fighting the biggest battle of his life. He is a shining example of grit and positive attitude. And with his movement against cancer I think he will achieve much more outside the field of cricket than on the field. And when I say this I know he has achieved a lot on the field as well.'— Rahul Dravid

'Hats off to him. He came out strong. His will to survive was way above any one of ours. He is a real-life Lion. He has won the battle of life.'— Harbhajan Singh

'Yuvraj is an inspiration for each one of us. His zeal and determination to fight and overcome cancer and share his experiences through this book is highly commendable. I salute Yuvraj and his fighting spirit.'— Saina Nehwal

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Book Review: Dozakhnama - Conversations in hell between Manto and Ghalib

“Manto Bhai, don’t you agree that you cannot try to write poetry? Poetry must come to you on its own. But we don’t know why it comes, or how. Do you know what I think? I think you cannot call someone a poet even if he has written a thousand ghazals, but if he can write even a single sher like a howl of pain, smeared with all the blood in his heart, then and only then can we call him a poet. Poetry isn’t a sermon delivered from a mosque after all; it is one’s final words from the edge of the ravine, face to face with death.” 
Given that it’s a time when there are more and more books that qualify as ‘quick weekend reads’, ‘breezy, one-time reads’, it is an indescribable feeling when one comes across a book like Dozakhnama: Conversations in Hell. Words cannot express the comfort this book provides - I wished that the book would never end. Meant for posterity, this is a book best consumed like a box of sweets you can nibble at everyday, and take joy from the fact that there’s still so much left to devour. 
The bonus: You’d want to take the journey all over again, just to experience those literary orgasms that came in paragraphs of sheer brilliance.
A translation of a Bengali novel by Rabisankar Bal, Dozakhnama is a story of the conversations a young writer unearths as he… sets out to translate Sadat Hasan Manto’s unpublished novel that one day, suddenly surfaces in Lucknow. 
But these are not ordinary conversations. 
They’re between… wait for it… Manto and Mirza Ghalib, two of the most enigmatic figures in literature, both of whom found fame posthumously and who continue to live on in public memory thanks to the power of their words.
Each chapter is like a monologue and all put together, the book is a conversation happening between their graves, through shared dreams. Pal (translated here flawlessly by the very talented Arunava Sinha) makes an ambitious attempt to pen the most imaginatively written biography of Manto and Ghalib, and lets it simmer in the frothy history of Indian culture. Does he succeed? Hell yeah! (no pun intended).
While Ghalib’s story captures a more ancient period in Indian history, Manto goes about sharing his life’s journey in a more modern era. The former’s frustrations and agony compound and give shape to his terrific ability for verse, while the latter’s account is those of his adventures as a struggler in the early days of India’s film industry, socializing with commercial sex workers in Bombay’s red light district. 
While neither of them try to outdo the other in the ‘my-story-is-sadder-than-yours’ routine, they incidentally show a shared passion for consuming liquor, gambling and women. There also appears to be a shared worldview about marriage being a tumultuous bed to sleep on, whereas the brothels provide opportunities aplenty for experiencing love and heart-break. (I personally had more sympathies with Ghalib’s condition than Manto’s.)
What also becomes clear, upon reading of this book, is a similar trajectory of their experience facing rejection constantly during their lifetime, and sweet redemption years after their death. 

Those who’ve read Manto and Ghalib’s works in depth may find the conversations in Dozakhnama a bit of a repetition of stories they already know, but for the others, this book is an incredibly kind and sorrowful jugalbandi of sorts, that catches two icons in a memorable conversation you’d like to listen to, again and again. Buy the book, and don’t lend it to anybody.

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Book Review: The Moslems Are Coming

It’s a book that might attract curious stares if you’re found reading it in public.

But don’t get excited as yet. The subtitle ‘Encounters with a desktop terrorist’ might give you the impression that you’re in for a thriller about a jihadi who takes on the world from the comfort of his desktop. But the book isn’t any of that. I was mildly disappointed when I learnt this.

However, that was soon overcome by Essa’s remarkable prose, wicked humour and a mature opinion on issues which seemed isolated in the 90s, but are extremely relevant in a world which is far more connected than earlier.

Based on the author’s popular blog, this book is a collection of essays on a variety of topics, ranging from international politics, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racial discrimination and offers a unique point of view on the Israel Palestine conflict, the India-Pakistan issues, how the soccer world cup held inSouth Africadidn’t do anything for the economy, amongst other things.

The book is a fresh insight from a writer who belongs to the Twitter generation and is one of the resurgent voices of independent thought in a world that’s come to cherish and celebrate the Arab spring.

The author writes with a flair that’s unmatched. Witty, wicked and satirical, the book is a sharp insight from a writer looking for self-identity in a world where despite blurred borders, remains an environment of hostility, suspicion and unwelcome sentiments.

Essa has a provocative pen, one that’s skilled at satire and tall enough to get a bird’s eye-view of global happenings.

Recommended reading for the evolved reader, who is politically aware of international politics and global issues.

- Sanjay V

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Book Excerpt: Farhad Dadyburjor’s ‘How I Got Lucky’

If only you thought about it.Railway stations were matrimonial ads in disguise—waiting to happen; a love paradise abandoned of its reaping. Faces criss-crossed in a hurry, everyone rushing somewhere, with their pliant guises of variable emotions firmly set in their outer masks. It wasn’t a large stretch: hope, fear, anxiety were the regulars. The rest were just deadened in anger, creased by non-love. And yet, with a sliver of eye contact…perhaps it could all change. 
But nobody had the time to think about that, and Raman Malhotra knew. Toss a smile and they violently stared, or incredulously glared, with their eyebrows raised: ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Move a few bogies up to the alleged cleanliness of the First, and their eyebrows seemed to say, ‘Who the fuck are you to smile at me?’ 
Raman scratched his outer thigh. It was the state of the city; it was what it demanded. Lock your doors and sleep light. And if you get a spare moment—pray. Pray that someone loves you. Your servants love you. Your watchman. The early morning unrecognisable newspaper boy. This was important. It could be life-enhancing. As for money—oh yes, money—there was plenty of that. It was half-regarded. Not reason enough. 
Your life is just another commodity in abundant supply. 
Ask anyone who lives in a city.
**************
Raman wiped his oily fingers on the outer wrapper of Lay’s Magic Masala and threw it away. Why couldn’t they make wrappers more absorbent, more tissue-like, so you didn’t have to spot the sides of your pants instead? As always, he felt that pull. That urgent knocking in the bottom of his bountiful bones. Advertising or marketing or some such wasteland of commercial creativity—that’s where he was meant to be. Group head. Marketing president. Creative director. He could see the toshed gold emblazoned name plate already. Soon. Very soon. But they’d have to pursue him. The truly talented never chased.
The platform was slushy with the polished slipperiness of fish basket sweat, that dirty bilious water that leaked from the edges. Raman squeaked as he entered the compartment—or rather, his shoes did as they heaved forward onto the high-stepper. Expensive sneakers came with an attitude: they sniggered at bad treatment. They too demanded equal rights like their leather contemporaries and aspired to walk on lush carpeted floors. And then it hit him full in the face. Raman raised his arms to shield himself, as if cowering from attack, but it was too late. He felt the full force of it, the intense vindication, the boisterous tang of heated armpits. His nostrils flared; he coughed, wheezed, as he tried to find a place under the fan. His eyes began watering, mist-filled, as the blades above him droned on. The air was too thick, too potent even for electricity. Raman moved to the door. It wasn’t much better. It seemed to be what everyone else had done.
‘What do you do?’
Raman looked up to see who was talking to him. He turned around. Still coughing, he looked down to be faced with a bobbing head.
‘What?’ asked Raman with a hint of alarm.
‘I mean, what do you do professionally?’
‘Why?’ Raman stared hard at the man. He remembered something, uncreased his brow and smiled gently. ‘Why?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘I’ve seen you somewhere,’ said the man plainly.
Raman had a theory: if you smiled, people were more inclined to be nice to you. Even if you had robbed, maimed, killed, or were about to. Smiling and lying went hand in hand. Scams, bust-ups, indiscretions, financial takeovers, political warfares, marriages had all succumbed to it. Well, as long as you didn’t grin shiftily, attracting suspicion. Lying was an art, really.
‘…Where?’ Raman stopped smiling. The man was still grinning gormlessly. ‘Where have you seen me?’
‘Aren’t you from TV?’
Raman’s eyes darted over the bristles of the little man’s moustache: unevenly patchy, hastily snipped, with bits of orange on one end. TV. Yes! He’d been on it. But how the hell did this twit remember? Five months on a game show. Prime time. 9 pm. In the audience. Well…what’d you know!
He used his best camera angle and pursed his lips. ‘Yes,’ said Raman, matter-of-factly. Life was suddenly everything he wanted it to be. He could bottle this moment and make it last forever. ‘And you?’ he asked.
‘Rahul Bhangari. BCom, CA, having business of hardware.’ The pudgy hand was outstretched. ‘Mobile, com-poo-ter, diary—electronic, latest models, CP209 mobile. With conference facility and micro-small earplug, water resistant, wireless. What you use?’ 
Marketing is a hard job in the world outside of trains. Working the phone, secretarial suck-ups, perspirational delays—almost as tough as dating. But here, if luck struck out, you just moved on to the next guy: on the right, left, back, or front, in the passageway. It was a breeze. Forget about call centers and rigging up your bio: No prior experience was required. Success rates were high. The lines used were the same, naturally. Everyone wanted to be from TV. No one ever was. But in a roomful of strangers, would you admit it? Other conversation hookers were Page 3, fashion shows, and nightclubs—altars of mass worship for everyone. 
Raman gave an incomprehensible look. Far too many CPUs, OEMs, RAMs, hard and soft drives to take in at one time. He was confounded. It was all too overwhelming: the disabling motion of the train, the dancing pamphlets, and his controlled urge to fart. His eyes welled up. 
‘Thanks,’ Raman murmured.
‘What com-poo-ter you use at home? The 568E Konkita with parallel folding speakers?’ The thick stubby fingers brushed open an extensive white folder. 
There was only one other way to tackle this. 
‘…Listen.’ Raman drew a deep breath and looked back to address the man. His body twitched. He peered at the man more closely.
‘You have place, my friend? Somewhere I can show you demonstration?’ The man’s thick upper lip was twitching, the nubby thumb subtly rubbing the outer flap of his crotch. 
Oh, that’s another thing about the city. Everyone has a second job on the side. Everyone. But we’ll get to that later.
——
‘If I didn’t know you so well.’ You obviously couldn’t, or shouldn’t, or needn’t, Raman felt like barking back into the phone. It was one of those that came from the family of ‘I love you but…’ Yeah. Trust words to dampen things, to abuse your dependence on them. Just when you needed not to hear, they always came through. They softened as you got hard. Words ought to be banned.
There was a pause on the other end. Lola breathed in hard. Her concern was audible. She said, ‘You really need to think about this shopping trip because the more you don’t…’ It sounded as if she were biting the phone. Digging her front teeth in for an absolving answer.
‘Sure,’ said Raman. ‘I’ll think about it. Seriously.’
Another pause. Another asthmatic gulp of breath. 
‘Yup. Okay,’ said Lola, hanging up.
And that was it. For today. But there’d be another later, Raman knew. Everyday conversations. That’s what they really were. Nobody should waste time trying to figure them out, solving their apparent ineptitude. There would always be another one to follow soon. And another. Every single day of your life. Things never looked up in this department. 
Raman sighed. He hated his life. His miserable, inconsequential existence. It loomed before him and he knew someday, at the end of it all, there would be nothing to write about. At 35, his life had come to a standstill. A full stop. But something inside kept banging on, raging on, trying hard to get out. He would keep letting loose occasionally. 
A thought flashed. 
He pulled out his pad. Grabbed his pen. And sat, pen poised in mid-air as he conjured up an inspiration. What was that again? He tried delaying the thought abortion. ‘After a point you stop fighting life—and accept what it gives you. But where do you go from there?’ Deep hmm, he thought, penning it down and then putting down the pen in satisfaction. For several more minutes he lovingly stared at the pad hoping to add any discarded remnants. And then looked at that other magical source of inspiration—at that very moment in time before his eyes there appeared two sad, middle-aged women in pantyhose and black eye-masks with red stilettos. One longingly sucking a lolly, another brushing back her hair with a knife. A rubber dog, a bowl of fish, and a naked man in a tub. Yes, MTV made reality look preposterously dull. 
Oh hell, it was Sunday. Lazily, Raman slouched into the curve of the sofa. When in doubt: scout. He bummed the remote hard for another music channel. Munni badnaam hui, darrlling… The song screeched. It drew out. It seemed to be coming out loud, from somewhere down below. Somewhere between the crack of his ass. Damn! The cell phone.
‘Hello?’ said Raman.
‘Darling, where are you?’ a sharp tone boomed back.
Shit! What interview had he missed? His boss never just called. On a Sunday. ‘On the couch. At home,’ Raman said, panic creeping into his voice.
‘No darling!’ The words buzzed among strange zing-like sounds. Raman pressed the receiver hard to his ear to check if she’d hung up. ‘Where are you!’
His mind whirred for an answer. It was a game show moment. His time was running out. 
‘Have you seen today’s issue of India NOW!? So tacky!’ said Shaailaa.
‘Oh, of course,’ said Raman, with the delayed acknowledgement of a half nod. ‘I read their lead on that Sonali from Vijayawada. She’s becoming really hot in modelling. Shaailaa, we should do a piece with her on ‘What Makes Sonali So Hot’ before India NOW! even think about roping in her twin Monali and doing something like a ‘Haute Sisters’ piece where they both…’ Raman stopped to envision the contents of his scoop only to see the shiny black of his screen staring back at him. He was talking to himself. Shaailaa had hung up after making her literary statement. She rarely cared for addendums.
Moments of nothingness, hours spent daydreaming of who’s popular. The life of a journo was tough. He hated the word: Journo. What the hell? He wasn’t a hack claiming to be a reporter who did celebrity interviews, but pretended to be a writer waiting to be a novelist. He was a dignified wordsmith. His terms, his words. No puff pieces, no ego massages. On occasion, Raman needed this self-justification like an internal mantra that he kept repeating to himself for sanity. Or else crashing to earth from fourteen floors above was his destiny. 
He had flirted with suicide once. With a bottle of Benadryl. He slept leisurely and woke up 18 hours later. It was another day, just like any other. Nobody noticed. No one ever asks ‘How’re you doing?’ and really expects an answer. A nod or a groan was indication enough. You were still breathing. No one had time for anything more. 
As if imitating a scene in his head, Raman suddenly rammed his crotch into the cushion. First slowly, then forcefully. When he was alone, aggression descended. He loved the grazing playfulness of it, the plump softness massaging the protruding hardness, the edges of the mirror work inlay that felt like teeth. He used the tassels to gently massage his balls. He felt the tingle, that vibrating sting that readies you up. But something was missing; something was not quite still there. The ambience—it had to be as per the latest clip going on in his head: Raw Military Action II. With his raging hard-on in hand, Raman got up and flung open the bedroom windows. The outside greyness loomed dramatically. The dark clouds dominated. It was time. He pitched back on bended knees, and sprayed into the air with violence as a few pigeons fluttered past.

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Book Review: The Oath Of The Vayuputras

Shiva is gathering his forces. He reaches the Naga capital, Panchavati, and Evil is finally revealed. The Neelkanth prepares for a holy war against his true enemy, a man whose name instils dread in the fiercest of warriors.

India convulses under the onslaught of a series of brutal battles. It's a war for the very soul of the nation. Many will die. But Shiva must not fail, no matter what the cost. In his desperation, he reaches out to the ones who have never offered any help to him: the Vayuputras.

Will he succeed? And what will be the real cost of battling Evil? To India? And to Shiva's soul?

Discover the answer to these mysteries in this concluding part of the bestselling Shiva Trilogy

What is evil? Why does it exist? How does one deal with it? These are questions that keep coming up in the first two books of The Shiva Trilogy. The third and final instalment of the series, The Oath Of The Vayuputras, offers some answers.
In The Immortals Of Meluha, Shiva, a tribal from Tibet, was invited to the kingdom of Meluha, ruled by the Suryavanshis who are at war with the ‘evil’ Chandravanshis and facing attacks by Naga terrorists. Meluhan citizens live long thanks to the Somras, a drink manufactured by Meluhan scientists. Shiva’s throat turns blue when he first drinks the Somras, giving rise to the belief that he is the Neelkanth, an incarnation of Lord Rudra. The book ends with Shiva helping the Meluhan king, Daksha, defeat the Chandravanshi king.
The Secret Of The Nagas suggested the notion of evil is more complicated than the Meluhans would have Shiva believe. The Chandravanshis, it turned out, also believe in the legend of the Neelkanth and while their way of life is not as orderly as the Meluhan’s, it isn’t evil. Something far more sinister is afoot — this is causing the river Saraswati to dry up, creating deformed babies and causing cancerous diseases.
While the first book was a runaway success, the second book received criticism for bad editing and sloppy writing. Philosophical discourses interfered with the arc of the story. Those chinks have been ironed out in The Oath... and while characters do slip into monologues about topics like life and the significance of human action, there’s enough richly detailed action to engage those reading the book purely for ploy. One scene where Sati, Shiva’s wife, fights a group of assassins is particularly well-told.
New characters are introduced in this book, including the Vayuputras, Lord Rudra’s tribe and those whose divinely assigned task is to help the next incarnation of Lord Rudra —Shiva — with his mission. It’s unclear why author Amish Tripathi imagined the Vayuputras to be from present-day Iran but as a result, the description of Zoroastrian mythological elements seems ornamental. Tripathi also mentions Hariyuappa in the book, (an obvious reference to Harappa) melding ancient history with mythology. Again, there doesn’t seem to be a good reason to do this.
Ultimately, different characters turn out to be weak, greedy, foolish, brave or principled. But Tripathi doesn’t tag them with value judgements like ‘evil’. Which leads to an end that is fitting, for ultimately, everyone has lost something.

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Because Shit Happened - Harsh Snehanshu

 

Book Summary:

A fun novel about love, starting a company, and leaving it all to follow your heart

On a fateful winter day, Amol Sabharwal, co-founder of one of the most ambitious start- up ventures in the country, yourquote.in, decides to quit. What makes Amol quit his own business venture just when it is on the brink of raising its first round of funding?

Harsh Snehanshu, bestselling author of Oops! I Fell in Love! gives us an insiders peek into the big, bad entrepreneurial world of fame, betrayal, lust for power, greed, and unethical business practices. Based on the real-life story of the start-up that the author co-founded in 2010, Because Shit Happened will tell you what NOT to do in a start-up. 

 

Book Review:

Amol, an IIT student who has a knack of writing witty one liners comes up with an idea for his entrepreneurial venture, YourQuote.In . A popular guy in college, who is also an author, Amol relied on wrong people who he thought would add value to his venture and will make reap the maximum benefits out of the entire thing. Dealing with the ups and downs of being an entrepreneur, Amol suddenly decides to quite his own venture. What made him do that? A person who is so passionate towards his venture has to leave everything in the midway. This book definitely throws a light on the dark side of entrepreneurship and what one must NOT to do if he is running his own business.

Too many sub-plots and a lot of events, as do happen in a college student's life, Harsh has spun the tale with quite a finesse. It does become a drab in between, solely because somewhere as a reader I knew the startup is not going to work and wanted to read the climax soon. That's not a totally bad thing, in a way.

Overall, a pretty good read. Especially for someone like me who is reading a fiction after a year or so. In fact, the book is a must read for student entrepreneurs who often go through similar stage of indecision, new found relationships, the ever increasing parental pressure and rejections.

****/5

 

An Excerpt:

Patna, Bihar

When I was twelve, I had a very serious conversation with my mother. I wanted to know the answer to a question that had been bothering me for the past few days. 
‘Mom, will you and Daddy ever leave me?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, if we find a more obedient boy than you, then we definitely would,’ she said, her serious face increasing my worries with each passing minute. Then she suddenly broke into a huge smile and I knew there was nothing to worry about. She was only kidding!
‘Mom, seriously, please answer me,’ I persisted.
‘No, Amol. We will never leave you,’ she assured me. 
But my curiosity was still not satiated and my question was not going to be bogged down by a simple yes or no.
‘Never ever?’ I asked once again.
‘No parent will ever leave his or her child, no matter what happens. Never ever,’ she said. Her eyes twinkled this time.
I smiled, took my cricket bat, and went outside to play gully cricket, imbibing her statement as the universal truth that was never going to change. The question never haunted me again. Well, not for ten years. 
A decade later, when I became a parent to my baby—my start-up—the question resurfaced and drilled an irreparable hole in my heart. After raising my start-up from birth for two whole years, I left it. Yes, I left my child. And I never bothered to look back. Never ever.


The Spark
May 25, 2009
Glasgow, UK
Shades of blue painted my laptop screen. Like always, my eyes were glued to the screen. I re-read the address bar for the umpteenth time that day. It said www.facebook.com.
Sign up, connect and share with the people in your life.
It’s free and always will be.
I read the above lines twice. It was my first encounter with a mission statement of a company. And I was touched by its simplicity. I logged in, completely awestruck.
There was a dark blue bar on top which contained the logo of Facebook written in lowercase. No flashy fonts, no flashy colors. There was a notification box at the bottom right (yes, it used to be there in 2009!), something known as a News Feed in the centre, a few sponsored ads on the right, and my profile on the left. After assimilating whatever I saw, I came to a realization. That I frigging hated the damn website! Everyone could read my updates, which was so unlike the social network with the funny name that I was addicted to—Orkut. Whatever I wrote on my wall was visible to everybody. And whatever I was writing on my friend’s wall was visible to all our mutual friends. It seemed so sickening! All the privacy was suddenly turned into news for people who had absolutely no connection with it in the first place, thus the name ‘News Feed’. 
I cursed the friends who spammed me with numerous mails asking me to join the damn site. Harassed, I wrote my first status. 
I hate Facebook. It’s boring, disorganized, and does not respect privacy at all. 
And I closed the tab. 
*****

‘Hello sugar.’ 
Priya loved it when I called her sugar. She was the woman I was madly in love with. Back in India, she was counting the days left for my return to the country. 
‘Hi boyfriend’, she said in her typically excited tone. 
It had been almost one month since I last saw her face. I had come to Glasgow, Scotland, on a three-month summer internship program, and I still had two months to go. Almost everybody at IIT, just by virtue of being an IITian, aspired to get a sponsored internship in the second year, where one hoped of working less and travelling more. I was one of those lucky ones who got a fully sponsored, ‘academically stimulating’ research internship at the Optics group of the University of Glasgow.
‘Have you heard of this thing called Facebook?’ I asked her.
‘Huh, so my boyfriend gets the time from his busy schedule to call his oh-so-awesome girlfriend from the other end of the globe and the first thing he wants to know is whether I know about a frikkin social networking site! Aren’t you already too addicted to that Orkut thing of yours?’ she retaliated. Being one of those rare species who preferred the real world more than its virtual counterpart, she completely despised the concept of an online social network. Orkut had been her mortal enemy for getting more attention from me lately.
‘Wow, so you have heard of it! I thought you were technically imbecile,’ I remarked.
‘I always keep myself updated with the arrival of my competitors, especially when I have loyal friends like you who send me an invite to join it,’ she replied sharply, which, as I thought in my head, would have definitely been followed by a wink.
‘Smart. You would be glad to know that I don’t like her,’ I said.
‘Her? Who is she?’
‘Your rival, Facebook. I just posted my first update a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Yes, I saw that. I even ‘liked’ it along with three other people.’
‘Really? Which three?’
‘Pratik, Ravi, and another girl—Mary. Who is she?’ Priya asked curiously.
‘Well, she’s just a woman I have had the pleasure of spending a few nights with,’ I joked, hoping to fuel her anger even further. In the meanwhile, I unconsciously logged into the website that had sent me to hate trips an hour ago. 
‘Is she blind?’ 
‘No, she is dumb like you. I’m going now; have to check my notifications,’ I said, my mouse pointer inadvertently moving towards the bottom right corner where number 3 popped up in a red voice-box. The hatred at first sight was immediately vaporized. 
‘Hello, come again? You just told me you hated it,’ she said. 
I was too engrossed in what was displaying on my computer screen to pay any heed to her, and so disconnected the call. 
A moment later, number 3 changed to 4, with a wall post from Priya complimenting me: ‘You are the biggest jerk on this planet.’ 
I liked the post. And unknowingly, I started to like Facebook as well. 
*****
Two days later, Orkut was history and Facebook became the next grand love affair of my life. Already an avid blogger, I could not find a better place to showcase my opinions, get friends and readers to read them, involve them in a discussion, and more than anything else, get appreciated for it in the form of ‘likes’. Such was my obsession with likes that I started coming up with something outrageously witty, or at times, profound or philosophical, just in hope of getting likes. Facebook became a mini-blog for me. 
To Priya, I became a bigger jerk with each passing day since she would come to know about my well-being more via Facebook than through my awaited international calls—although the website did provide her with a medium to keep a constant tab on me. 
It allowed her check my pictures in picturesque Scotland, including snaps of my fair-skinned female friends, three of whom seemed quite hot to her, as I could tell from her comments on the pictures.
On one of my only pictures with Mary, Priya made sure I would not be saved from embarrassment, commenting: ‘Why is that gadhi keeping her hand on your shoulders?’ which prompted Mary to follow-up with a question for me: ‘Hey Amol, what does gadhi mean?’ After two minutes of thinking for an apt answer, I replied: ‘It’s a Hindi word meaning “beautiful girl”.’ Mary instantly replied saying, ‘@Priya—Even you are a gadhi honey!’ If Facebook had an option to like comments back then, I would have definitely clicked it.
In the next seven days, I had posted over 25 status updates. More than 3 statuses a day. All of them were original, witty, or profound one-liners and could easily be classified as popular judging by the number of likes they managed to get, helping me outshine every other friend in my list. I wouldn’t be wrong in calling myself a Facebook addict. And the only fuel to ignite this addiction was likes, their number, and the happiness that followed.
However there was one problem. Though now Facebook works on the concept of a ‘timeline’, back then it sucked at archiving data. The chronological organization of the posts meant that my favorite one-liners, if they got too old, couldn’t be traced back immediately. I needed to click on older posts and go on and on to collect data. Even with the new timeline, I need to remember the exact date when I posted a particular quote to check it.
 
This posed a grave problem for me. And, this was the moment that gave me a sense of a great opportunity. I thought how Facebook was making people exercise their creativity but was unable to archive it properly. Moreover, there was no way that creativity could be monetized. Being a prolific blogger, I valued my creativity and didn’t like seeing it go to waste. I searched for websites where my one-liners could mint money for me; and if not the money, then at least the recognition that I was the creator. 
I came across Twitter which was a fledgling website back then but was focussed more on updates and interactions than just quotes. Then there were micro-blogging websites, but none that concentrated on monetization or even giving some recognition to the inventor of the one-liner. I came across quotes websites, all of which archived famous peoples’ quotes. There was no room for the common man. Oddly enough, a lot of them listed many anonymous quotes. This infuriated me further as I realized that some common man who would have come up with that quote hadn’t been credited for it and was now forgotten. His name was probably buried along with an epitaph stating: ‘Here lived the man who would be remembered by nobody in future’. 
Can’t common people get a chance to get famous? Can’t they be quoted? Can’t their words become immortal? Why is fame a prerequisite immortalize creativity? Thoughts like these clouded my mind. 
Suddenly, I smelled a very viable business opportunity. I was going to do what no one had attempted so far. You see, I had to. The seed was implanted in my brain and I had to make a tree sprout out of it—come what may.
As I explored further, I realized that the time was apt. Thanks to Facebook (and later on, Twitter), common people had started writing one-liners, but there was no avenue where they could be archived or monetized or even recognized. Why would you need to quote Shakespeare, when you yourselves could come up with something apt to suit an occasion? What you say matters. You deserve to be quoted. Your quote matters. YourQuote. I checked the domain. The address was available. yourquote.in. It didn’t even take me a minute to confirm the booking. However, there was a little problem. I didn’t know how to ‘code’, that is, how to develop a website.
I thought that until I figured out a way to get the damn website made, I would run it as a blog. I was already an avid blogger, and knew it inside out. Within minutes, I started a blog and put down all my quotes in it. 
I logged in my Facebook account to share the link of the blog with friends. On top of my News Feed was my friend Pratik’s update which struck me with its witty humour.
The root of all sins is…less than 1.
I googled the quote to check whether it was original or copied. It was an original one. I liked his post and immediately, I called him asking him to become the co-author of the blog. I didn’t share with him the bigger picture. He complied, published a bunch of his quotes on the blog. We had two authors now, including me, as I began hunting for more. 
An hour later, I pinged my friend Vikram—one of my closest school friends—on Google Talk. He was on the other side of the globe, pursuing Computer Science in Punjab. He could tell from how thrilled I seemed that I was onto something new. Five minutes into the chat, I inducted him on board as the web developer for the website. He liked the idea but asked for some more time, around four to five months, to prepare himself for the task at hand. Having just passed his second year, he still wasn’t adept in programming to undertake the project of developing a social network. I gladly gave him the time he asked for, assuring him that I needed time to ideate as well. 
I couldn’t sleep that night. I was dreaming with eyes wide open. 
Late at night, Shardul, my co-intern from IIT whom I was sharing the room with, returned piss drunk state and dropped off to sleep. I didn’t need alcohol to remain intoxicated for the rest of my college life.

Author: Harsh Snehanshu

Publisher: Ebury Press/ Random House India (2013)  

Read the reviews from flipkart.com or buy it your own from flipkart.com


-Akhil Ramesh

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A Maverick Heart: Between Love and Life

When people of similar frequencies come together, output is not a simple sum of individual work, but exponential. In science we term this phenomenon as resonance. Output at this stage is beyond any logical limit. Three young kids, with different family backgrounds and outlook meet during their graduation days at IIT-Bombay campus and become close friends. Although, individually they are in sync, but the same is not true for their interaction with the world. How will their relation withstand the conflict of family and society pressure? How do their characters shape out, as they traverse from an educational environment through the corporate world to the realm of the social-political world? Inspired by the real events across the globe from the last decade, Ravindra Shukla brings you the characters based story – struggle and triumphs of young generation and their relevance in the current socio-eco-political era.

Plot/Context -

Book is inspired by some of the most prominent IITian’s personality and their journey from academic world to the social-political world. It is based on the actual events from the last decade across the globe (IIT-B campus, Silicon Valley – California, Wall Street – NYC). It covers the journey of three youth - their peak vibrant period between 18 years and 26 years and three critical phases of life – Academic, Corporate and Social-political world.

The story revolves around the lives of three friends in IIT, one girl and two guys. The book goes through the ups and downs in their lives (college life, personal life, professional life). Depiction of love relation and friendship during academic life is very meaningful and realistic. In corporate and professional section – plot covers the glamour and up/down of Wall Street. Difference in Silicon Valley entrepreneur’s passionate interest vs glamour and manipulation of Wall Street has been described beautifully.  Finally journey takes you to the current social struggles people facing in country and their transition to political level.

We can relate to protagonist a lot who in one line is "a brilliant mind who chooses to follow his heart". The best part of the book is the discussion between characters which stimulate your mind and heart at the same time, a great mix of philosophy and logic in these discussions. Language is very simple, which makes it a very easy read as well.

Character based story inspired by international events – 1996 thru 2006

- Campus academic life (Relation between three close friends, Richita-Rahul love relation, students-faculty elation, Craze for credit race in academic world)

- Middle class family conflicts – Decision based on security/insecurity, generation conflicts

- Silicon Valley VS Wall Street in US – Entrepreneurship (Creator) VS Wall Street (Deal Maker)

- Glamour of making millions/successful life, The Rat race and Quality time concept

- Corporate world: USA Wall street life, Multi Billionaire IPO, Internet/wireless/emerging technology Boom/Burst

- India social-political reform movement (RTI) – Entry of young and rich self-made persons in politics

- Integrating educational institute and channelizing youth energy to single platform to address issues country facing today

Main Characters

Richita – She is combination of beauty and brains. She comes from an upper middle class. Her father, Dr. Deen Dayal, is a professor in Lucknow University and is in very powerful position in state politics. He is very protective of Richita. Mother plays a key role in shaping Richita character. Richita – a smart and beautiful girl – tries to follow family and society norms till the end when she cannot ignore her own consent.

Rahul – Son of an Air-force fighter pilot officer, who lost his life in Kashmir in 1990 when Rahul was still in school. Very sharp but highly emotional character, he goes with his heart and believes in instant action (Genius in mind, socialist by heart, rebel against anything wrong in society). Although miles away from glamour and charm of any girl, he could not resist Richita beauty and attitude. Their relation attaches new meaning to eternal love.

Neerav – Comes from a wealthy businessman family. He knows what is right/wrong but flows with current flow in life. He follows predefined path, focuses on career and success. He is capitalist in belief. Rahul is his best friend. Neerav enjoys life to full extent, is not an emotional character but knows where real talent lies in society and corporate world.

About Author –  Ravindra Shukla

Ravindra Shukla is based out of San Diego, California (US citizen/Indian OCI). He shuttles between California-New York and Bombay. He is subject matter expert in emerging technology and service oriented architecture. He is married to Stuti Misra and living with his wife and two kids (Anchita and Richita).

Educational background –

• Graduate from IIT Bombay
• Published white papers in technical journal
• Conducted webinar on latest technology and Architecture

Profession –

• Subject Matter Expert/Lead in the Emerging Technology Div (SAP HANA – Real-time Business/Data Analytic) of IBM ISA South Asia Pacific
• 19 Year of IT Experience
• 16 Years of USA experience with top consulting firms (PriceWaterhouseCoopers and IBM)
• Managed Business Accounts in Wall Street – New York and Silicon Valley California
• Owner of Business Analytic firm in USA

Creative Interest –

• Author of the book – A Maverick Heart: Between Love and Life
• Author movie script - Richita
• Trained script writer and Director from New York, USA
• Guest speaker in many social events
• Members of Film writer association
• Other interest – Sports, Literature and Movie direction/writing

MISC –

• Native Place – Allahabad UP
• College – Ruia College, Matunga, Bombay
• Graduation – IIT-Bombay
• Father – Retired – Faculty (English, Parel, Bombay), now settled in Allahabad
• Brother – CEO/Head for Solar Power Energy – Asia, Europe, Middle East. ABENGOA, Spain)

 

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