All of us feel the need to be loved, to be cared for, be it a human or an animal. Humans express their feelings, not all pets do, but even they have their own ways of expression, maybe they just answer to your call when you call them or talk to them. I'm not referring to animal obedience here, but to the feeling of being wanted or needed.

In North India, crows are considered to be the bearer, or attender of Lord Shani .It is believed that you should feed crows to please the Lord and ward off harm. My mom being an ardent devotee of Shani Maharaj  took to feeding crows. She would place bits of bread on our kitchen window sill of our second floor apartment and call out to the wanderers of the sky with the sound of "khao,khao". It was weeks before one finally turned up to eat, snatched the food and flew away. But she kept calling out and it wasn't long before they knew that they are being called everyday. So, now they come and sit and eat their biscuits regularly (they are surprisingly choosy about their fooding habits and don't prefer roti in their diets). Sometimes they come and call out to her instead trying hard to imitate the word khao. They don't just come for food, you find them calling just for nothing, mom responds back and blabbers to them as she works, they just sit their watching her work and fly away after some time.

I stand and watch from afar, they fly away when I approach them. I stand and watch and wonder what they feel, what do they think, do they really understand our feelings or is it just basic animal instinct to come for food. Even when mom's away for work, they come to our kitchen calling out for her....

Ever seen the typical Bollywood movies? Where the hero is riding a cool sports bike, the rain whipping down and the heroine sitting pillion, lets her hair loose, allowing her chunni to fly in the wing (O! how sensuous) , she feels the water pouring down on her face, tasting it with her lips...and the scene ends with a hug. And it turns out to be the most romantic of the scenes in the movie and you sit there, chewing gum, imagining - I wish....

Welcome to the real world, where life is not a drama. It was a bright evening, I was on my way to the town on my trusty steed, my aviator, when it started raining cats and dogs ( make that, big cats and big dogs! ). I immediately parked my scooter, grabbed my raincoat and hopped around to get into it in the pouring rain, when these images crossed my mind. Ah! The irony of life. Now, I was back on my scooter trying to sing two lines (in imitation of our dear Hindi movies), but all that you would hear is a gargle :p , you see there was too much water entering my mouth. So, I concentrated on the road, just when I realised I seem to be smiling all the while. My lips curved upwards and eyes squinting hard in an effort to fight that rain and a desperate attempt to see the road which was now a pool of water. My face in imitation of a clown, permanently smiling. The rain no longer felt good, forget being romantic, whipping down hard, it felt like a thousand slaps on the face.

I would say, try that with your girlfriend, and all that she would shout is, "Get home fast, you fool! This is far from romantic!!".

You turn the pages of your album and they suck you into the vortex of memories. Memories sweet, memories sad, memories sweet and sour. Each picture has its own story to tell. You sit there grinning blissfully at the pictures, weaving thoughts of your own, looking at pictures of near and dear ones, and then you 're looking at a picture of your own "little-self". And you start wondering, how fast you've grown up, outliving your care-free days and growing into this young-adult and your past just lives on in your memories right now.

Not just pictures, your memories live in your heart and mind, of moments spent with someone dear, moments of love, of friends and family. And some of those memories are your favourite, sweet and sour, which you often relive in your heart, smiling, crying, its like you feed on them and would never want to let go of them and are eager to weave new dreams into them.

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. 

 ~From the television show The Wonder Years

India just celebrated its 64th year year of independence. But are we really independent? Is our country as democratic as it claims to be? Where people like Anna Hazare are locked up in jails only cause he raised his voice to protest against corruption. Where rape, murder, theft, corruption  is on the rise.Where society is a major threat to your freedom of expression, where people murder couples in the name of "honour killing" and the government looks on.

Delhi held the "slut walk" for the first time in India and yes, I feel it was necessary. Why blame women all the time? Why categorize them as "sluts"  for the clothes they wear? Is it reason enough to rape a woman just because she was candidly dressed? Or is it even justified to touch her inappropriately just because some man finds her seductive? Is it the fault of a woman to look good, to dress well, or dress seductively when the situation demands so? Blame it on those men too, who have no control over their sexual desires, who treat women as objects of lust, who marry only to mask their true nature. Our society is so male dominated that the act of a man standing and peeing by the side of the road is considered "utterly normal" whereas, people frown at a woman who has to breastfeed a hungry baby.

Could you define independence for me? I guess it would mean something different for every person. For me, freedom is the liberation of women. The day when we wont be looked down upon, the day when I can travel in a public bus without being groped for or stared at. The day when if I raise my voice  to protest, people won't frown on me and doubt my voice.

For me, freedom also means the freedom to express love. Look at the couple walking down the road hand in hand, look there, he's put his arm around her waist, look there, he just stole a kiss, look she's sitting with her head resting on his shoulders. Now, look around those couples and count. Count the number of people frowning, count the people taunting, count the number of people ogling, count the people ready to protest against such "inappropriate behaviour". Why? Is love a crime? Ironically we're born in the land of Kamasutra, a land which extensively boasts of love in its purest form even in the Vedas.

This is what freedom means to me. What are your views?

We are connected. Today as you read this post, you are nothing but connected to my thoughts, my ideas, my writing. All because maybe you like to read and so you connect your world with various authors, bloggers, writers and find solace in their writings. Everyone in this world is trying to find the best ways to stay connected, be it phones, televisions, social networking, emailing, we are all reaching forward to grab at the most alluring technologies of interaction. We have come a long way from being cave-men-utilising-smoke-signals to wirelessly-connected-city-dwellers. It’s “the flintstones” turning into “the jetsons”.

As life moves on there are so many things I miss, moments of life my heart craves for, moments  which are waiting to be re-lived and moments which may never come back in my life again. Life's a journey and so, I miss...

I received this sms yesterday night and started reflecting:

The best place where you can actually be urself is on the terrace...on a dark night...in loose pyjamas, calm silence of midnight...having view of the neighbours empty roof...under the dark velvet sky embroidered with stars..cool breeze, listening to the song which defines you..It's all exotic..!

This is the time when you talk to urself..think about all the good & bad & weep or laugh silently..! Who knew nights could be so illuminating, Just you & darkness all around, where you are just you..no false mask over the face..no double standards..it's the only time when you are actually yourself.

And I felt that it's so true. The night is when I'm "me". For me the night is the time when I bond with God. When all the lights are turned off, and everything is so silent that you can hear yourself breathe, and I'm lying on my bed, that is when I pray. At that moment it's not a ritual anymore, it's bonding with a friend who you haven't met for a long long time. I talk to Him then, discussing my worries, my problems, sharing my thoughts and happiness. I do not know since when I got into the habit of praying at night but I just realised through that message that during those moments at night I was just being Me knowingly or unknowingly. For me, when I pray at night, it is just me and the Almighty, no double standards, no rituals,no joining of hands, no bending of knees, it's an earnest prayer from my soul each night. The night breaks down all the barriers around me, it projects into the world the true, real, vulnerable, human, me. When there are good days ahead, my nights are happy, well slept-in. When I'm worried, the nights are scary for it gives me no protection, it is at night that I truly face my fears, all alone, all by myself. It is a time of the day that I feel God truly tests you, for you're left all alone at the time, face to face with your darkest fears in this world, analyzing, strategizing, hoping, and sometimes helplessly praying,it makes you so restless for the morning, for the happy hours. Did He plan to make us emotionally stronger this way?......But the night also brings with it so much of calm. Every night when I'm in bed, it's like I wait eagerly for that silence to engulf me, to pacify me, it's like your favourite blanket and you just can't wait to cuddle in it.

Honestly who knew that nights could be so illuminating. Every night has so much to teach us. It is almost like the moral of a story at the end of each day, a lesson learnt on time.

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I just came across this unique book a few days back and it's awesome:). It's also been released as a movie.

summary:A language kept a secret for a thousand years forms the backdrop for an unforgettable novel of two Chinese women whose friendship and love sustains them through their lives.

This absorbing novel – with a storyline unlike anything Lisa See has written before – takes place in 19th century China when girls had their feet bound, then spent the rest of their lives in seclusion with only a single window from which to see.  Illiterate and isolated, they were not expected to think, be creative, or have emotions. But in one remote county, women developed their own secret code, nu shu – "women's writing" – the only gender-based written language to have been found in the world.  Some girls were paired as "old-sames" in emotional matches that lasted throughout their lives.  They painted letters on fans, embroidered messages on handkerchiefs, and composed stories, thereby reaching out of their windows to share their hopes, dreams, and accomplishments.

An old woman tells of her relationship with her "old-same," their arranged marriages, and the joys and tragedies of motherhood—until a terrible misunderstanding written on their secret fan threatens to tear them apart. With the detail and emotional resonance of Memoirs of a Geisha , Snow Flower and the Secret Fan delves into one of the most mysterious and treasured relationships of all time—female friendship.

I live in a place infested with insects, not because the place is dirty but it’s just like a characteristic feature of our area, loads and loads of insects. You are relieved only during the winters; all of them kind of vanish. Right now, during the summers and through the rainy season, you’ll always find them decorating the walls of your room. And sometimes these nasty little creatures do bite while at other times you’ll see a pretty little moth under your tube light and just hope that the lizards don’t have it for dinner. The insects come and go with every season just like the seasons of our life, people come, people go and there are people who stay with you. But no one stays forever, there’s often a season when they just leave you and you’re left searching for reasons.

Life gives you no respite. It’s constantly breathing down on you, sometimes with worries, sometimes with challenges, sometimes with hope, sometimes with love, sometimes with sweet surprises, sometimes with joy. Living is a challenge, living is a pleasure and life has its own flavours, its own seasons.

The day you were born, your first day in kindergarten, your first friend, your so-many firsts and your parents were always there to see you through all those moments. But never did you expect that someday one of them would be gone all too early in your life and they wouldn’t even give you a reason why. No matter how much you pray, He’ll never give you back the one you’ve lost.

I’ve seen friends grow apart in various stages of my life, I miss them all but I know we’ll never gel as well as we used to when we were kids and so I’ll choose the distance between us over a renewed friendship. The sad part is I still do not know why we grew apart.

Sometimes such distances are needed while at other times they hurt, especially when you’re physically miles apart from someone you love and crave to be with. When you know that that someone is waiting for you too and you just wait for the seasons to pass until you finally meet.

It’s funny how I wait for the winters so my room’s rid of all these tiny insects and lizards, I can’t wish the same the same for my life, I can’t let people vanish.

The moth under the light

  













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A spine-tingling ghost story illustrated with an unprecedented mix of staged photography and genuine Victorian-era photography, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is an unprecedented new kind of reading experience-perfect for adults, teens, and anyone who enjoys a good creepfest.

A mysterious island shrouded in fog. An abandoned orphanage crawling with spiders and rats. A locked trunk filled with crumbling 19th-century photographs and files. And one very curious teenager with a digital camera and plenty of free time on his hands.

These are the elements of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, a ground¬breaking crossover novel that mixes fiction and photography in a thrilling, chilling reading experience.

As our story opens, a teenage boy known only as "J" finds himself stuck on a remote island off the coast of Wales while his architect-father works with local construction crews to develop a giant seaside resort. Bored, lonely, and armed with a digital camera, J sets off to explore the island, and he reports his findings in a series of letters to his long-distance girlfriend, M. (This island is so remote, it doesn't even have Internet or phone service.)

One of the few existing buildings on the island is Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. As J explores its abandoned bedrooms and hallways, it becomes clear that Miss Peregrine's children were more than just peculiar.

They may have been dangerous. They may have been quarantined on a deserted island for good reason. And somehow-even though it seems impossible-they just might still be living there.

As J unravels the secrets of Miss Peregrine's Home, he learns that some secrets are not meant to be shared.

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Two families, one holiday villa – who’s sleeping with whom?

Chloe needs a holiday. She’s sick of making wedding dresses, her partner Philip has troubles at work, the whole family wants a break. Her wealthy friend Gerard has offered the loan of his luxury villa in Spain – perfect.

Hugh is not a happy man. His immaculate wife Amanda seems more interested in her new kitchen than in him, and he works so hard to pay for it, he barely has time for his children. Maybe he’ll have a chance to bond with them on holiday. His old friend Gerard has lent them a luxury villa in Spain – perfect.

Both families arrive at the villa and realize the awful truth – Gerard has double-booked. What no-one else realizes is that Chloe and Hugh have a history, and as tensions rise within the two families, old passions resurface. It seems that Gerard’s ‘accidental’ double booking may not be an accident after all.

Yeah, that's pretty much the concept of a beautiful body nowadays. Ever heard anyone say " I wish you were healthier"-no, until n unless you're anorexic, no one would ask you so. O I agree that thin is usually healthy, but someone like me with puppy fat here and there wouldn't be considered so. And who knows you may jus land up being several sizes larger after marriage or maybe after you become a mom. So, when your bf jus says "shakira's hot", it does make you feel bad, coz ah, I'm not expecting my body to be like her's in the next 100 years. And then if you ask me to exercise, I literally don't have the time. Don't you dare call me lazy, I really don't have time.

I really wish I were born in the 70's or 60's  where the concept of a beautiful body ( at least in India) was curvy, healthy. At least I could peacefully have some bread toast every morning without worrying about the fact that "there's butter in it!!", yeah, so i go without the butter nowadays and stick to plain, good old bread. Okay, I'm perfect alright in "medical terms" but if you ask me to strip down to my undies even in front of girls, I'd run (you know, there's the puppy fat problem). O and how I wish to strut around proudly in a bikini someday, I was actually considering a tummy tuck later, but my bf said "no",he prefers me all natural. It's puzzling you know. Ah, jus don't call shakira hot (I already know that for a fact).

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Liz and Jonathan Chambers were in trouble. Mortgage trouble. They'd stretched themselves to busting with their new exciting project - well, Liz thought it exciting - buying and managing the Silchester Tutorial College, and now couldn't sell their old house. Here they were, stuck with two mortgages, mounting debts and a miserable adolescent daughter who hadn't wanted to move anyway.Then Marcus Witherstone came into their lives - and at first it seemed he would solve all their problems. Marcus, senior partner in Silchester's leading estate agency, was large, assured, and wore an expensive overcoat. He knew the perfect tenants from London who would rent their old house - glamorous PR girl Ginny and almost-famous Piers. Everything was going to be OK.But soon Marcus found himself involved with Liz in a way he'd never intended. Keeping his adulterous trysts secret from Anthea was uncomfortably easy - most of the time her head was firmly buried in Improve your Child's IQ. Meanwhile, as Liz was lost in blissful dreams of Marcus, Jonathan was left to run the tutorial college. Neither of them had time to notice that teenage Alice was developing a desperate passion for the tenants, Piers and Ginny. Everyone seemed to be entangled with everyone else, in the most awkward possible way. And as events closed in on him, Marcus began to realise that some deceptions are just a bit too close to home.

Back from our industrial visit. It was certainly a great experience and highly surprising to see all the theories we study in our commerce books being put to practical use. We went for a visit to a plywood factory and a cement factory. Both were highly educational but the cement factory was the most exciting. I mean I could never imagine so many processes are involved in the production of a block of strong concrete, wow! I wont go into details cause you need to really SEE this to feel what i feel at the moment.

But there's a thing which struck me as really odd in the cement factory. We entered the factory at about 4 p.m and left it at 5 p.m , I was expecting the factory would soon shut down for the day but was very surprised at the director's words,"its hard work. The factory is on 24/7. A lot of effort goes into the working of this factory. The labourers are our assets, they work for almost the entire day". ENTIRE DAY! This is totally inhuman. India is a poor country and so most of these labourers are highly poverty-stricken. As far as my knowledge of wage rate in India is concerned, it's a bare minimum, it's jus enough to have three meals a day and a shelter in some remote area. Moreover, its HEAVY work in a cement factory, it's totally unacceptable that a man work for more than 8 hours a day in such tough conditions. The companies try to keep labour cost at the minimum, and labourers already being poor, agree to work for often less than sufficient wages. Even if the wages are sufficient, it's physically very demanding to work 365 days a year in such heavy-duty areas. The government should certainly look into the matter. It's inhuman! Moreover its high time the companies stopped starving such labourers only to increase their profit.