28 Jul 2011

Vanilla Scuds

"You must not blame me if I do talk to the clouds"  
~Henry David Thoreau

26 Jul 2011

The Evil Stories. And The Disorder. And The Bad Title.

Realization strikes.
All the stories that I have been coming up in recent times have been evil which have evil men and women plotting up evil, dark ways to inflict pain or people dying and breaking people's hearts. 

I was reading through a couple of them and I wondered where that happy person inside of me has gone away to. I'm not one of those chicks who revel in gore. O.k maybe I do enjoy minimal amounts of it, now and again, but as a rule, people around me think of me as an air-head in love, hardly the Revenge-Desertion type. So I have promised myself that the next story I write, whenever I do, will me complete mush - true to my image. Anybody wanting to get the hell out can do so right now, don't say I didn't warn you xD

Another thing. When I write or read, fiction especially, I feel every bit of the action inside of me - be it pain or happiness or desperation or love or... erm.. you get the point. And when I'm done, I feel drained. This makes dealing with the darker emotions difficult because the feelings get carried over, making me grumpy and snapping everyone's head off. 
I'm making this particular bit of weirdness public because I want to know if I'm the only weirdo with the hyper-intensive feel-ology or maybe there are other, more normal beings, who will confirm that my marbles are indeed intact. Anyone? 

One more. Does anybody else enjoy eating a paste made out of chocolate drink powder and a wee bit of water? 

P.S: I need a new playlist. English and Hindi. Show me some good music, peeples.

23 Jul 2011


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 22; the twenty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
I went through other wonderful posts and found none about classic revenge. I thought I’d do the honors.  

I looked at the face in the mirror.

A sensuous face with plump lips shimmering seductively from light gloss, almond-shaped kohl-lined eyes with lashes long enough to fell a man in a glance and high, well-defined cheek bones which seemed to lift the face from mere mortal to angel. The button nose was the only thing that kept the face from being perfect even while making it look cutely elfish. Thick hair, lustrous and luxurious, streaked in red and violet, skimmed the delicately shaped ears and fell just below the shoulder, the first indicator of a rebel child.

The rest is not too shabby either, I thought. A decade of being a druggie and I still had the perfect figure, still could turn all the heads in a bar the moment I walk in. I never have to try too hard, do I? I smirk to myself. No one has ever been able to resist the legs they describe to be ‘a mile long’.

I smoothed out the stockings, checked my garter fasteners and gave my hair one last brush. I knew I’d be quite a vision in the red Valentino and the fiery Jimmy Choo’s. They hugged my curves like second skin. I dabbed on Chanel No.6 and thought, everything has to be perfect.

It would be worth every bit of the mild shoe bite to see his mouth dropping open.

I went out to the foyer and asked the receptionist for the room keys; I said I was his wife. She threw a doubtful look at my hair but the reassuring smile that I gave her seemed to calm her down. I have always had a way with people. Maybe I would have done well at a job in the hospitality industry, I thought absently as I walked to the elevator.
He wouldn’t expect to see me. Not here, not now, not like this. I smiled.

I reached for the knob with a strange tightness in my chest. I refused to name the emotion as I pushed the door open. There he was, sitting at the table and writing, as handsome as I always remembered. The thick shock of black hair that curls at the nape, always making me yearn to run my fingers through them… The dimples that had progressed from being the TRP of a college kid for getting laid to making him look like the adorably approachable sales manager who had women happily catering to his every whim… The broad, powerful shoulders capable of taking your burden and replacing it with such intense pleasure that had your own shoulders arching with need… I sighed silently.

I quietly tiptoed behind him and put the chloroformed handkerchief to his nose.
When I came to I found myself tied to the chair with my tie. What the fuck was going on here?! If this was somebody’s idea of a joke, there would be hell to pay… I’d make certain of that….

I sensed someone behind me. Who’s there, I called out. No reply, only a tinkling laugh.
My blood froze.

Haritha? Is that you?
Ah, so you still remember me, Tafseer. I’m glad, she said. I heard heels clicking and she came into view.

Mashallah. That girl had always been special. There had been that quality about her. I couldn’t help gawking. It’d been difficult to let go of that one and seeing her now was bringing all that back.

You never had a problem showing your admiration, Taff. She laughed again.
I knew this was it.
I’m sorry, I really am. Please….
I saw fear wreak havoc in his eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes.
He was the only one who’d ever understood me, understood what I was made of. He knew.

I trusted you. I fell in love with you. You were the only one I ever truly cared about.

And you raped me. You tied me up and raped me for fifteen days, Taff. You invited your friends and you feasted on my body like hungry dingos. You burned me with cigarette butts and made me do unimaginable things. And you laughed at me.

Lol… even that I got over. Just imagine; I got over having my life ruined, my dignity stripped. Why? Because God gave me a new chance at life. I, somehow, didn’t care that a rapist’s blood was going to run in her veins and I made the mistake of coming to you. God, I was a fool. I believed your promises, I trusted you after everything. I’d seen Ma go back to Pappa a countless times and some na. So, I came back to you.

And you killed my baby. My Aalia.

She lovingly dipped the rag in vitriol, careful not to ruin her manicure and placed it carefully on his writhing face. Then she dripped what was left in the bottle down his shirt and left the bottle upturned on his zipper.

And she settled down on a cushioned chair to watch the life ebb out of him, bit by painful bit. She reveled in the feeling of the tightness in her chest dissipating rapidly.

His last agonized scream was muffled by the rag.
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21 Jul 2011

The Yang and Yin

The bad things:

1) Get a room in the hostel, that's the worst possible.
2) Realize that your allotted roomie is your nemesis.
3) Unpacking. Hours of unpacking.
4) After ALL that unpacking, the warden comes and tells you that they are changing your room.
5) Power cuts every ten minutes ONLY in your wing.
6) Losing track of where your phone is. Trying to find where it is by calling from another phone only to realize that you, brilliantly, put it on silent.

7) Lose a lens. One that you spent a mini-fortune on three days back.
8) Accept the fact that college administrators are cruel: So much so that they will resort to making you wear uniforms EVEN in the final year. Yes. UNI-FRIKKIN-FORMS.
9) Realize that you never fall sick when it's convenient, when Mum's around to mollycoddle you. Nosiree, no you won't. You'll fall sick with a raging fever and the much detested and irritating cold ONLY when you have a 100 things to do and places to get to. 
10) The food still makes you cringe. You'd made the mistake of painting up a far too inaccurate picture of it during the long months of holidays.
11) Missing home and Mum desperately is STILL a reason to have just stfu and stayed at home.
12) The people who make class seem like a happy place aren't going to get here till next week.

One good thing:
Life with the minions is still as crazy and fun and downright mental as you remember it.

18 Jul 2011

Lucky 100!!

Never thought, never imagined
That they are 100 people in this world 
Who'd want to read 
The makings of my mind, 
The writings of my pen. 

Erm, sorry about the bad poetry, I know I should not try. Ever. But with the cup of joy overflowing and all that (:P just an expression, people), I had to. Please bear with me. It'll go away if you close your eyes. Promise.

Thank you all so very much, you rock my world. Really do. 

It's been quite a short but extremely fulfilling journey so far, made some wonderful friends.
Hoping the world and all that's right in it, remains this way forever.


P.S: Yes, in case you are wondering, I have recovered my sanity. Or at least a bit of it. Not murderous anymore and happily looking forward to the rest of the week:) In case you are wondering, that is.

17 Jul 2011


It's a cold, rainy night with the week looming ominously ahead and I have my first guest post ready.

Red Handed has kindly agreed to write for me and give my blog some credibility. You have, in all probability, already seen her around, for she is everywhere. If you haven't, SHAME on you, head right over and don't come back till you have read at least five of her posts. And if you aren't impressed, then you need to get your head checked.

Her work speaks for itself; she is a writer who'll have you in splits. She is out-spoken and calls a spade a spade, no fussy nonsense for Ms.Red, nosiree:) The mystery of her identity adds to the charm (biting my knuckles to keep from asking:P) and I respect that about her. Thanks, girl!!

So anyway, here goes, in the words of Red Handed.

So many movies are releasing this year, aren't they ? Delhi Belly, Buddha Hoga Tera Baap, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and this Diwali it is DON 2 with many other chasing. So much so that I am literally having problems sewing the hole it's making in my pocket. The weekend has been a rather dull one, so I started making categories and placing our stars under them. Below are the few kinds of heroes Bollywood feeds us with.

1)      The Arm Spreader - These heroes will always show off their signature-arm spreading and waist-tilting pose in all the movies they pop in. Be it the 'running around a tree' song or Naniji breathing her last or the heroine running at sloth pace across the barley field, our hero will do his thing.

2) The Puppy Face - Those falling in this category are perfect for chicklits. They make the girls drool and say ‘AWWW’ at every little expression they manage to make. Their face which screams ‘INNOCENT’ and their Asian-paint-white complexion help them survive in the industry. Producers are the reason behind their successes i.e if any.

3) The Once In A Blue Moon- They belong to the category which manage to define the term ‘ACTING’. They are the dark horses with some hit films in their pocket. They choose the script carefully, give an appearance and then vanish into thin air, only to be found a year or two later. They give us productive stuff rather than the watch-and-forget-it-was-ever-made type. We rarely get to thump our head on the desk after watching the film. 

4) The Acrobat - They are super humans a.k.a Rajnikant devotees. They need stunts in their film to make it a blockbuster hit. They jump from towers, save random aunties from burning homes, run faster than a horse and even kill twenty rowdies unarmed.

5) The Troublemaker - This one is always under the media microscope and always ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Killing a black buck, driving over sleeping souls, family feuds or clashes with co-stars, they always have the media looming over them and the courts too. But we still worship them.

6) The Clone - They might not have thought of it, or might not have even tried it out, but we have dumped them in this category. They might have tried to leave a mark or force their own individuality on screen, but it always makes us say ‘Abey! Ye to Hrithik ki nakal utaar raha hai!!’ or ‘Dekh, Sharukh ka bhai!’ Poor them! Tch, tch…

7) The Toddlers - The toddlers are holding on only because of their ex-superstar dads and uncles. They rarely make it in the lead role of the movies nor do they manage to leave even a trace of their existence. The dad guarantees that ‘beta humara naam roshan karega’. 

8) The Resurrected - They couldn't reach half their current success rate during their time, but after years and years of being hidden, they finally emerged as superstars. Now it's their time and almost every third movie casts them.

9) The Immortal - He will not let go! He will not accept that he is old! He and his family cover 75% of cine-gossip and still makes it as the actor in the leading role. If you ask him why he is still here, he will scan you down and say “Buddha hoga tera baap

10) The Greek Gods - Well, they make women blackout! Their body is literally carved out of marble! Perfect jaw line, sketched out abs and biceps, hawk eyes, together with melt-the-soul smile and charm, they have it all. If they are on screen, the audience is there. Women are there to salivate and men to get jealous and run as fast as coyotes to the gym.

And there ends Redhanded's categories on actors, hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did!

Thanks girl!!:)

To read more from Redhanded, click here.

16 Jul 2011

KA-BLOOEY! goes my mind

Warning: The following can only be classified as incoherent rambling. Do not go further if you even mildly suspect that you might not be interested. Do not look for sense, do not look for order and most certainly do not try to understand.

What do you do when that you have a jealousy attack

When that bloody green monster puts it's hand through your mouth, reaches for your intestines and twists them all up in a bundle so tight that you feel you might die from the pain. 
When you feel stupid knowing that, rationally speaking, there is no need for that particular emotion but the feeling is so irrational, so primal, that you have no control; you just fall, spiraling headlong into despair. You feel helpless and lost in addition to stupidity.
When you feel what is yours has another side which was, is and never will be yours?
When your insides feel cold and your choking up.

And to voice it out to even the one you consider the most understanding will be pushing them away and driving the cleaver further into the wood.
So basically, this is what is called a mind-fuck.
Thank you, Universe, for conspiring to make me feel EVERY emotion possible, you didn't have to be so kind.
And no, I'm not insecure.

Anyway, Harry Potter is over. As in over over. That makes me depressed to say the least. Not that the movies ever made me happy; I have issues with the makers cutting out my most favorite parts of the books in the movies (or having screwed it up so bad that I despise the scene now). 

But it's the end of an era.
The end of, what I feel, is my childhood.
And that makes me even more depressed.

J.K.Rowling, I know everybody has said everything there is to say, but I will still say one last time that - You. Are. Legend. And you'll have my eternal love and gratefulness for creating Harry.
I have always been jealous of everyone who makes money fast. Except her. She deserves every bit of everything that she gets and much, much more.

And thank you, Radcliffe, for making Harry come to life. For looking like a dork when you needed to and never being too perfect.
And I know that Pottermore is going to suck. 
So bye Harry Potter, you will always be a precious, much-cherished memory.

Have you seen cherry blossoms, they are beautiful. 

They are more than beautiful, they are exquisite.

College is about to start. I'm actually happy going back; hostel IS fun, notwithstanding the wardens. Hopefully, this time around, things will be less complicated, with less bitchiness (my class is full of bitches, myself included), less holier-than-thou's (full of them too), less ego-clashes (the egos are PUNY but they still insist on clashing and making life difficult for the rest of us), less jealousy (and related problems) and more pure, clean fun.
Because this is the last year I'm going to be sitting in a classroom for a long time to come.

P.S: This is me venting. So ignore. And I told you not to try and make sense.
P.P.S: What DO you do when jealousy strikes, help me out here.
P.P.S.S: I promise to come up with a post that doesn't scream *the author is frikkin' looney* as soon as I shake off this murderous mood. 
P.P.P.S.S: Red Handed has agreed to guest post for me. YAY. 
*dramatically* COMING SOON!

13 Jul 2011

Blast them..

Will they never leave Mumbai alone? Will innocent people die by the millions to serve terrorist purposes till the end of time? Is there no justice, no order, no law in this country, world?

My blood boils.

To see the carelessness in the onlookers faces, attitudes. To see the media making it a circus, as usual. To hear high-up officials make 'statements'. To watch passively and not be of any use. 

Tears well up when I think of all those who lost their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends, lovers. Of the ones who fought before they parted ways, never to get the chance to make up again, to say that they loved and cared.
They could have been any one of ours. Easily.

Is that all the value there is for human life?
The worst part? Next time this week, life will go on as usual, leaving the bereaved behind in their sorrow, after all the bytes have been squeezed from them.

R.I.P to all those souls.
I will pray that you are avenged.
In my helplessness, that is all I can do.

Note: Three blasts ripped through Bombay at around 6.30 in the evening in Dadar, Opera House and Zaveri Bazaar of what has been confirmed as terrorist attacks. 

12 Jul 2011

I woke up in the dark, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin on my neck. It was six already. I turned around and looked at his face, one that I’d come to know so well in the last three weeks. He looked so sweet, so innocent. I had learnt that he was anything but; memories of last night came clouding into my mind as an involuntary blush colored my cheeks. I was suddenly glad that it was dark.

I got up carefully, so as to not wake him and pulled on his shirt. It still smells of him, I thought tugging the collar to my nose and inhaling deeply. We’d looked at each other a second time through the book shelves. I think I’d known from that moment that that we would end up where we were today.

As the enormity of the situation dawned on me, I lit a cigarette. A few puffs were usually enough to blank any emotion out. It didn’t seem to be working.

He’d wake up in a few hours, shower, shave and meet his brother at The Seasons for lunch. He was bringing his fiancĂ©, the girl who’d managed to get him down on a knee within a mere month of meeting. He’d heard a lot about her, mum was practically raving, and I knew that he was very much looking forward to meeting her.

How would he react when he finds out that the girl who walked out of his apartment at six today morning, the one who was threatening to break his state of carefree singledom, was his bhabhi, the love of his brother’s life?

I stubbed the butt out and turned to leave.

8 Jul 2011

Open Letter To God

Dear God saar,

I hope this finds you in hale & hearty and as merry as can be (under the circumstances, considering how complicated it must be to run the world and all that, you know). How’s Mrs. God doing? I admire that you guys have been together for so long, kudos. Any tips on how to keep the boat from rocking?

I have been feeling guilty, actually, it’s been quite some time since I came to see you; what with dressing up in a ton of gold (Mallu that I am) and a floor-cleaner skirt, enduring all the guys (who seem to come there with the sole intention of calling me ‘kutty’) and the pujari going all chattar-pattar and spewing mantras faster than the Hogwarts Express, I find my inclination to drop in receding. Hence, the letter. Direct communication is always the most effective – or so my teacher says (you know you have seen me listening, no need to smirk).

Either way, I’m one of those few who believed that you actually did tear open the thoon (beam) to prove Prahlad right and instill in us that you have security cameras everywhere – we get it, we can’t get away with anything. So even if I don’t pay you a visit, doesn’t mean you don’t know how funky my life is na.

No demands for myself this time. You have been lavish with The Stuff the last couple of years. Nothing else explains good grades without much effort and a sudden manifestation of writing powers. Not to forget a marked decrease in the number of times I have tripped over buckets and fallen flat on my face in front of hot guys. And you decided that I’d had enough punishment and brought Mum back as well. Muchas gracias, truly. (STOP SMIRKING; don’t make me take it back!)

Just a few, erm, pointers. Make arrangements for the final year to contain the least amount of drama possible, please. You have given me amazing levels of tolerance but I have a feeling that I’m running out of stock. Also, give me the patience that I lack severely (I specify, for the good of others).

Another thing, please make Mum a little less hyper so that I don’t have to be sneaky when I need to go somewhere long-distance; you have given me the coolest Mum in every other way, so why not this as well, should be cheese-cake for you na? While you are at it, is there any way you could do a little memory-erasing there? You know, just a quick doo-hickey on the bad ones? She’ll be happier for it and you know more than me that she deserves it. And I know it’s too soon but do make sure the kids (note: my siblings) get all the opportunities I had in school and a great many more.  

Show Nandu the right way, please? The one where he can work with his feet on the table, ‘Ask VG’ open in one window and ‘God of War’ on the other and still come home early to me. I also wouldn’t mind a nice plum job at the end of this year; I want so much more for these four than I can give them now, so very, very much more. You are the one who put me in their lives, you should know.

I do believe that you have deprived of me of some stuff only because you have much better in store, don’t let me down on that one. And prevent me from doing anything stupid (you think I don’t know about the little devil-angel trick you play when I make a decision? Shame on you, trying to muddle me up).  

One thing – You have my support on the Armageddon/ Pralay/2012 issue. We humans are becoming too big a pain in the wrong place – what with all the bombings, rapes, corruptions and attention-seekings. It’d do us some good to go extinct, and then maybe we’ll gain some perspective.

I had a somewhat impertinent query - doesn’t St.Peter get bored sitting around all day at the pearly gates? Just asking. Anyway, have you seen Delhi Belly? It’s supposed to be a riot. Do go watch if you get any time off from all the lok srishti, sthithi, samhara routine.

I know you don’t like mush-routines but just wanted to tell you that you are doing a great job (don’t say we don’t appreciate you, now). Convey my regards to Madame. Or rather, have her look me up on Facebook and I’ll tell her myself.

Love and hugs,

6 Jul 2011


I sit by the window and watch the rain drops drip down the pane making long, straggly lines.

My head full of memories, roiling around like waves at high tide. My hand tightened on the mug unconsciously, his face kept popping up in spite of my best efforts to keep it out.

That dimpled smile. The brown eyes that searched my soul. The way he made fun of the way I eat carrots obsessively. The way he put his strong arm around me possessively. Orphan that I was, he taught me the meaning of ‘home’.

I had resisted his gentlemanly overtures. I just wasn’t interested in a relationship, least of all that. But he’d persisted. One long stemmed red rose a day till I had caved. And that wasn't the only thing either. I always made fun of him saying that he should write a book titled ‘Million Ways To Woo Your Woman.’

People say the magic lasts only till marriage. That was for pretentious people. We? We were blissfully happy, taking life on together. Or so I thought.

He was the only one who had gotten close enough to hurt me.

How could he do this to me? Ah, the million dollar question. I think wryly. Five years of togetherness, precious memories and full of hope for the future. But, apparently, that hadn’t been enough to keep him here.

Three days. It seems like eternity to me.

I had managed fine for 23 years without him, hadn’t I? How is it that suddenly he becomes indispensable? Nonsense. Shit happens and then we move on, don’t we? I reason.
But all my reasoning fails to hold my fragile world together. I know instinctively that I’ll never recover from this. And I’ll never forgive him for doing this to me. I wonder how long it will be before I can breathe properly again.

I choke up.

He’d promised me the moon and the stars and all that is in between. He’d promised me forever. The liar.

I should have known it wouldn’t last. Known that it was too good to be true.
I should have done things differently.
I should never have attended that call.

The call.
It haunts me. It was the stuff that nightmares are made of.

‘Is this Mrs. Nita Varma I’m talking to?’
‘Yes, may I know who this is please?’
‘Ma’am, this is Inspector Shinde from the Baroda police station. I am very sorry to inform you that your husband, Deepak Varma, has been involved in an accident. No survivors. I know this is insensitive but will you be able to come and identify his body?’

5 Jul 2011

Tags will be tags

Spaceman Spiff had given me my first tag:) Thank you for that!
So here goes..

1. Without sharing your name, who are you?
I’m that girl you pass by on the streets but never give a second thought to until one day you read my amazingly wonderful books and go ‘Wow, she’s awesome.. And I have a feeling I have seen her somewhere’
:P Yes, I am a dreamer. So bite me.

2. Describe yourself in less than five words.
Weird. Clumsy. Loyal. Obsessive. Sensitive.
That's Priyanka:)

3. Do you have any special talents? What?
So many..
- I can eat so much, you’ll wonder how I don’t burst.
- I can talk about chocolate so much, you’ll never go near anything remotely related to chocolate again.
- I can read for so long, you’ll wonder if I’m reading or dead.
- I can do a pretty good imitation of a hen clucking.
- I can convince an apple that it’s an orange.
- I can talk the hind leg off a donkey (literally).
- I am the uncrowned Queen of the foot-in-the-mouth syndrome.
- I can write, or so people tell me (which is the only slightly productive talent of mine).
I discover anymore, I'll let you know.

4. Are there any talents you wish you had? What?
I wish I could dance like the people you see on Dance India Dance or So You Think You Can Dance. Like Prince or Siddharth  or even my Indu. 
It’s been a lifelong, unrequited dream. Dance is something I’m wildly passionate about, so much so that a good performance will move me to tears.

5. What are your most important interests? What do you like about them?
Reading -no books? pissed off with life. Chocolate research - pointless but great fun. Swimming - being a fire sign does not deter me from being in love with water. Writing - my secret fix.

6. What is your opinion of Lady Gaga?
It’s takes talent to get banned by a frikking country:D

7. If you could go anywhere right this second, where would you go?
To Bengaluru. To the creative department of Lowe Linta’s office on M.G Road.

8. What are your favorite foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?
Breakfast: Muesli or Honey Loops, Ma’s awesomely crispy dosas or toast
Lunch: Chappatis, a mayo salad and rajma. I’m not too particular about currys though.
Dinner: Pizza. ALL the way. ALL the time. Or maybe pasta.

9. Do you have siblings? Talk about them; if not, talk about being an only child.
Unfortunately, I do. A brother, Rohit (12) and a sister, Sonali (11). They are irritating, annoying, mean, make me share my precious Ma and are BIG sneakerpots – typical siblings. And I don’t know, for the life of me, why I love both of them to bits and am inanely & insanely proud of both.

10. Do you like sports? What teams do you support?
Cricket. I bled blue till I died, hoarse-throated and on the verge of a possible suspension, during the WC. Not surprising, considering I have a mother can hit a six that would surprise Dhoni himself and my whole family is cricket-obsessed. 
And DUH! Indian Cricket Team. Why? Because they gave me the best present on my birthday – The World Cup itself:) And I despise Indians who don't support their own national team.

11. Do you have any tattoos? If not, would you ever get one?
I don’t *said in a voice of deep regret*
Contrary to the image I have, I love funky piercings and tattoos and I’m definitely getting one in the very near future, once I can get Ma to see my perspective :P And one more piercing if I can manage it…

12. Have you ever donated blood? Why or why not?
I haven’t. Shame on me, I don’t know how to go about it. I really want to. Make myself useful, that is.

13. How do you like your coffee and/or tea?
Coffee – very light with lots of milk and sugar (making it another form of paysam, I suppose)
Tea – black with lemon and again loads of sugar.

At the rate I’m going, I might just be the first person who died of sugar poisoning. On the bright side, I might make a hallmark medical case and be posthumously famous:D

14. Are you left- or right-handed?
Right-handed but I have always wanted to be a leftie. Some weird fascination, I suppose.

15. If you’re in college, what are you studying? If not, what did/what are you planning to study?
I’m in my final year doing Mass Communication which is NOT half as much fun as it sounds because my college is absolutely ‘lovely’. And I’m not planning on studying anymore, at least for another five years, so somebody please give me a job :D

16. What are some of your short-term goals?
To not kill out of sheer frustration. To survive the last year in college without too much drama and get handsomely placed.

17. What kind of music do you like?
Oh, you don’t want to ask me that. My playlists are a mess. I listen to a lot, like some, adore few. Like these.

18. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
Anywhere with Ma and N. And I mean it. No place would be complete without them.

19. Have you ever been overseas? Where and when?
I’m told I have. When I was like, two or something. Singapore and Dubai. But I don’t remember, so it doesn’t count.

20. Have you ever been to the circus? What did you think at the time?
I have. And I hated them for the animal cruelty (yes, I’m big on that) and the unnecessarily skimpily-clad women.

21. Are you wearing shoes right now? If so, describe them. If not, describe your socks/feet.
Nope. So feet? How do I describe feet?
Absurdly small feet with a shoe-bite scar. Nails painted with a nice Mocha from Elle 18. This was a supremely nonsensical question in an otherwise decent set.

22. List some things you’d like to do before you die.
Write a best-seller. And the rest are here.

23. What do you prefer to write with; pencil, pen, crayon, Sharpie, lipstick, chalk, etc?
Among these – lipstick. Oooh, there something indescribably sexy about a message on a steamed mirror written with lipstick. Yes, I watch too many chick flicks:P

24. Do you like movies? What are your favorites?
Ha, ha. I’m Indian. I grew up on a diet of Bollywood. And too many favourites to list them all out, check my FB page. 
One I saw last and loved? Guzaarish. I went to sleep crying my heart out for Ethan Masqueranes yesterday night.

25. Do you like chocolate? What’s your favorite kind? If not, WHY.
I'll let you decide that :D
And my current favourite is Twix bars.

Others, feel free to be tagged..
Edit: Srinidhi, as well:)

P.S: Should I complete the challenge questions? Seems pointless now but I'm not happy about leaving it incomplete :|

2 Jul 2011

Ms. Dhankher's Rocky Love

In my aakrantham (greed, impatience), I forgot to savor the suspense. 
I’m done with ‘Love On The Rocks’ by Ismita Tandon Dhanker and I have to say that I’m quite surprised.

Open-mindedness may not be one of my strengths. I had my prejudices - about the language, the plot and whatnot. Indian writer and thriller fiction? (I sound like a pompous ass, forgive me I do not mean to be) I did not think I would be impressed by it.

And my prejudices just came up from behind to bite me in the wrong place.

The story is about a murder on a ship at the high seas and its consequences. The protagonist, Sancha Andrews, the new bride of the ship’s first officer and the only female in the midst of twenty-three males, is full of high hopes for her marriage. She goes aboard, befriends most and rubs some the wrong way with her sleuthing tendencies and strong beliefs. She almost enjoys her time of isolation from the world. But it irks her that nobody seemed to care about the ‘accidental’ death of the chief cook that stinks worse than stale fish. A theft happens which, somehow, relates itself to the murder. Everybody kicks into high gear and sets about solving the case; arguments, fights, back-stabbing, tears - all add to the intrigue.

The characterization of Harsh Castillo had me crushing on him instantly. All characters develop shades of grey at some point or the other, they have been clearly etched (they made me wonder if she had real life inspiration). The tantalizing morsels about their past contribute to their depth. The story is told in bits by each character (The author says it’s because each character has a different view of life). It can get confusing as to who is saying what if you are not paying attention, but she has pulled it off well; it takes effort to mesh the plot into the characters seamlessly. What I also liked were their names, unconventional, like Harsh Castillo and ‘Baldy’ Kirk. Sancha’s attempts at being sultry seemed forced and unnecessary though.

The plot is a little loose in the middle; the elaborate and repetitive fights and the tiresome investigation by the Inspector sapped my patience. And the final fate of the killer went against my need for justice. Otherwise, the guessing game starts right from the first page (which is crucial to the story but you don’t know why till the very end, so pay attention) and the suspense is maintained. If you are like me and try to second guess the story, you are in for a surprise.

The illustrations are simple and depict each character’s defining quirk. The cover is one of my favorite parts – simple and fun. But the paper quality leaves a little to be desired.

Overall, LOTR is a packed 211 pages that has a little sugar and a lot of spice, guaranteed to keep you occupied for the rest of the day.
I would give it a 6.5 to 7 on 10.

Now, back to reading it without the aakrantham.

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