I had a Collection of Songs

I had a collection of songs 

Oleander smelled rose then.
Songs from different lovers
Infinite illustrating illusions,
From people who taught how to be selfishly selfless,
To stay under the shade of eyelids
To whirl away from a glaring bulb.

I have different songs,
The first one was from him, the next one from that boy,
Each spoke of varying forms of love,
Yielding yearns for years.
Light the bulb, touch the filament
Break the bulb, light it now.
O love, can it be so different?

Songs I dreamt of, were present before I could even understand,
I cherish memories of this song list.
Unless the tides keep breaking
I will keep fostering the songs
Past and perfect perfectly blended
Chaste as hindrance

Then the last song was from him, I recollected it just now.

Ajay K. Pandey gets published by Srishti.

Blurb:

This is a true inspiring story of a man who struggled in almost every part of  his life, but when his life seemed to be falling in place, his beloved wife left him halfway and her last word, ‘You are the best husband' gave him the strength to live with. He decided to pull off all her unaccomplished duties and made it a target to thrive for the rest of  his life.

  ‘You Are the Best Wife' is the author’s story—a story of how he lost his wife, his nerve-wracking and unimaginably terrifying journey through denial, resentment, and depression to, finally, acceptance and forgiveness.

Author:

Ajay K Pandey grew up in the modest NTPC township of Rihand Nagar with big dreams. He studied Engineering in Electronics at the IERT (Allahabad) and MBA at IIMM (Pune) before taking up a job in corporate firm. He is currently working with Cognizant, Pune. He grew up with a dream of becoming a teacher, but destiny landed him in the IT field.

Travelling, trekking and reading novels are his hobbies. Travelling to different places has taught him about different cultures and people, and makes him wonder how despite all the differences, there is a bond that unites them. Trekking always inspires him to deal with challenges like a sport. Reading is perhaps what makes him feel alive.

You are the Best Wife is his debut book based on his life events and lessons.

Review:

When I looked at the book jacket it had a beautiful design. This will the first thing which will attract readers towards this book irrespective of the notion, 'we shouldn't judge books by it's cover.' Ajay Pandey's debut book cannot be a miss out. A beautiful story. This book is a simple yet capturing story of Ajay and his wife Bhaavna.None of the lavish or extravagant stuff.  It is just a simple story but while reading the book you will realise that author has put his heart and soul in the book. You will remember the book and specially Ajay for sure, for his simplicity, for story, for his love, for the emotions he felt for his wife, for responsibilities. 
If you are in love or are in waiting for your prince/princess you will connect to the story. 
A book by a person in love - summarises the book.
In simple words it's a 3.7 star out of 5 book. The narrative style was very good. It was not as informative as was expected but a pleasurable read during leisure. 
In my words, 'Ajay has a colourful style of playing with the narration.'

Shankar MM's debut mythology

Author: 

A fantasy enthusiast, Shankar chased his dream of writing a novel and made it a reality. A Mechanical Engineering graduate and a Power Engineer by profession, his passion towards his core field made him to give up his software job in a MNC. His fascination towards mythology and his childhood memories of fighting with a wooden sword and adventures with bow & arrows inspired him to write a novel of this genre. He is presently working on the second book of Raksha duology.

Book blurb: 

“You are neither a good warrior nor a good leader.” These words haunt him. Raksha, a young prince, decides to prove himself and seeks a path not knowing where it will lead him to. However, his destiny has other plans. On the journey, his life evolves into an epic quest filled with magic and intrigue, which he never dreamt of. Set in a fantasy land Riloriya, this water kingdom is not the same as it was five hundred years ago and its history is mystery now. What will be his part in unfolding an ancient mystery? What did he lose? What did he gain?

Review: 

The blurb speaks of innate vigorous mystery and fantasy which slowly gets unfolded in each and every single chapter. This 348 page novel is a very catchy read. Shankar had done a lot of hardwork and research behind this book. It's been a very pleasurable read for me. Raksha, the main protagonist was well described and characterised. In my opinion his character was somewhat similar to mythological characters in Mahabharata. However, there was a set of new ideas and concepts which evolved out of this novel. I liked the concept of a water kingdom which had some ecstatic description. In one word this book is "a fantastic debut of the Raksha duology..."

Best lines from the novel: 
"You need to bear the pain if you want to attain supremacy."

"Holy God! Legends are true!"

Dream house publishers have given us a very nice mythology which can't be missed at any cost.

Behind the wind, indulge

Behind the wind, indulge
Trying to get through the local trains?
Sirens singing?
Heart beating?
Don't worry, you have developed breasts.

Hormones rushing?
Eyes seeing?
Do you have that feeling to urinate?
Or are you amassing the vomit inside your body?

Book Review: The Man Behind the Lens

Author: Soumya Khamari is from Odisha, an MBA and passionate about writing. He held few failed jobs and co- founded an e-commerce company,valscart.com. An avid reader, speaker and entrepreneur. He's working on his second novel.

The Man Behind The Lens: When a twenty something guy failed to find happiness in job and entrepreneurship discovered a less travelled road to his passion. A yelling mother with high hopes and a rebuking father hold him responsible for his inability to distinguish between a mere fantasy and passion and force him to join the rat race. He tried to find happiness in the smiles of orphan and abandoned who have surviving parents and help them reunite. He unveils the dark side of orphanages and the sexual abuse. They say it is Karma and it plays pretty nasty games and unveils new stories everyday. If one day he is behind the bars, the other day he seems questioning himself about his passions and ambitions. Will he be able to survive in the politicized society? Will his psychologist girlfriend or his uncle rescue him? Will he be able to find his own way to happiness and passion?

The above is what the blurb of the book reads. Honestly, this book is different from all the books I read. To get to know more about the story you need to catch up this debutant author.

Review: In simple language the way Soumya Khamari wrote this book is commendable. It falls to a very different genre and readers would definitely love the change brought by the effect of this book. It's a humorous writing on the protagonist , Varun who tries to find his way to happiness and his passion. While I read this book I was mesmerized by the way different tricks of success lay hidden.
It was the best debut an Indian author could give in this genre. In simple words, 'This book will teach you lessons you never heard or read of."
It is an exceptional book which is very gripping with it's sense of humour. It is a worth reading book.

The best sentence from this book was, ' The things you do while procrastinating is the things who should do for lifetime.'

After a long time I came back with book reviews and I rate this book 4.2 out of 5.

Footprints

Within the boundaries of haze,

His voice becomes clearer.

Among the landfills of grey,

Colours of the footprints glow.

Singing souls look within the depth of innocence,

The numbing smell of chrysanthemum,

Turns into fragile dust of cigarettes.

Under my foot they swim for touch,

And on my hand sings an empty box.

Glasses

Blue pastel colours beside the palate stinks today,
Tomorrow the small days will grow old
The shards of glass is hiding my clothes,
Even today the memories remain...
Even today the telephone beside my diary rings
Again and again.

These threads of enchantment,
Have got entangled in my fingers
I have no clue,
How to solve open this knot.
Today very particle of my body seems to remain like the last raga of that night,
That passes through the clouds.

Every evening the lights from the lamps
Blinds me into frenzy
How is this regard?
These dreams make me shudder
I close my eyes to weave a road,
A road to intoxication...tolerance.

If this rains like a storm, there is a way out here
Into a glass of desire
So many times I broke your mirror
To look through the rays into your eyes
But the numb river flows like never before
And the telephone beside the diary rings again and again...

©Madhurima Halder

Dreamland

A little tune spreading soon
Far and near
The brush touches the canvas
From here to there.

Blushing like a bride...

As if the gardens of song grow roses in them
As if the little tune spreading soon
Far and near.
The hamlets open their doors without dismay.

The canvas standing on the easel shuddered
While I drew
The Sun with a brighter 
Form of new

Achinpur...
I created Achinpur
All afternoon
I made Achinpur...

©Madhurima Halder

Shadows of Time...

Thousand seconds to figure out what happened
Twelve seasons of monsoons passed by,
And still they remain in drought
Trying to figure out through the windows of glass.
O desires of heart, what have you created?

Fifty one memories did make me bleed,
Seventy three more to rip my wounds
What is it that I am trying to figure out through the panes of mist,
The monsoon or the drought?
The famine or the loneliness of the days?

When impossibility turns it's head down
Translating the unscripted words
What is it that remains?
O the garden of time
Why are you pacing so hard?

Smoke is starting to set fire on ice
Through the bliss of paradise, Pigeons walk
When unbearable lightning of the sky touches, I start to realise, what did I lose,
Was it the time or just a single moment of love?

Destiny designing it's way out of my heart
The waves of sea turns still
Why are you being so stubborn?
Flow over the last part of drought
The desires will start realizing the arrivals of monsoon.

Eighty seven touches on the toughest part
Feathers seem like stones.
The excitement of the months keep arousing
The timely tales of rain that casts the clock today.

Why aren't you mad O heart?
Why don't you find your own door...
Pavements of diamonds near the fountains, sparkle
While the sailing smoke speak on its way.

©Madhurima Halder

Calcutta Diaries: Part 5

My earliest memories of the world are filled with the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of Calcutta. My parents tell me I was born in the Turret suite of the Eden Hospital. And then due to father's business we first moved to Park Street, then Saltlake and ultimately Barasat.

The city of Calcutta formed the backdrop to most of my childhood memories– the sight of yellow ambassador taxis; traffic jams on Howrah bridge and policemen in white; the trundle of hand-pulled rickshaws through busy lanes; the clatter of trams winding their way through congested streets; Rabindra sangeet wafting through our neighbour’s windows , Maa clearing her voice in the early morning hours and all the cacophony and celebration of Durga Puja. The slogans of ‘cholbe na, cholbe na’ and 'Hok kolorob' became part of my early Bangla vocabulary in the heydays of strikes watching street processions from our balcony.

My first initiation towards becoming an inveterate foodie was being fed hilsa and rice by Bose Dida, who would patiently handpick all the fine bones of the delicious fish and make balls of fish and rice to feed me fondly... her children all grown up and living abroad; visits to New Market to buy imported cheese so precious in an era before India’s economic liberalization and, of course the cakes at Flury’s. 

I remember the excitement and exhilaration of my first visit to the Victoria Memorial as a five year old. With its cavernous interior capped with a bulbous dome and its gleaming white marble, I mistook it for a queen’s palace and it became the benchmark to my childhood idea of monumentality, forming the setting in my mind’s eye for all the fairy tales of princes and queens. To me, all of Calcutta was like Victoria Memorial – grand, white and gleaming – and I treasured this mental image of the city like a keepsake flower pressed between the pages of a beloved book.

The yellow ambassador taxis are still here, as if the automobile revolution that had hit the rest of India had somehow escaped the city and so were the policemen dressed in white.

And yet these grand buildings, a bit tottering with age, with rickety balconies and peepul trees growing out of masonry cracks still stood with dignity and pride, silent sentinels to an age of elegance. Their silence was like that of a dowager empress, wrinkled and unsteady on her feet but every inch as regal. That is when I fell in love with Calcutta all over again.

With its Hellenic pediments supported on lofty classical columns, louvred windows, wrought iron balconies and brick covered in lime stucco, Calcutta’s architecture is regal and timeless. Its grand edifices are a study in classical proportions, a carefully articulated composition of mass and void. Unlike the fantastical Victorian Gothic of Bombay with its visual language of gargoyles and spires, a busy medley of pointed arches, cinquefoils, trefoils, quatrefoils, floral and animal imagery composed of sturdy basalt juxtaposed with delicate limestone, Calcutta’s architecture is elegant and understated.

Without the abundance of stone seen in Bombay Presidency, the Bengal landscape offered only terracotta and brick which forms much of its construction material. The classical proportions of its buildings, however, relieved the monotony of brick masonry. Corinthian, Ionic and Doric – the classical orders ruled. Lime stucco gave the buildings a gleaming whiteness and a purity of colour while the quintessential green wooden louvred window shutters filtered light into the handsome buildings and added colour to the facades.

Calcutta was the imperial city, an 18th and 19th century ode to the European Classicism of the colonial rulers. As the capital of British India, it became the site for most of the principal institutions of British India. The Asiatic Society was established in 1784 by Sir William Jones and by 1814, the Indian Museum had been established – the earliest and largest multipurpose museum in the entire Asia Pacific region and second in the world. With its gleaming white chunam plaster and colonnades of Tuscan columns, the magnificent building inspired awe and curiosity. The Government House, with its monumentality built to match that of Kedleston in Derbyshire, became the seat of all Governor Generals and then Viceroys until the shifting of capital to New Delhi in 1912.

Raja Binaya Krishna Deb wrote in The Early History and Growth of Calcutta, published in 1905: ‘With the exception of London, no city in the great British Empire can be compared to Calcutta in point of size, beauty and commercial and political importance. It is not only the recognized capital of British India, and hence the seat of the Supreme Government, as well as the headquarters of the Provincial Governor of Bengal, but it may be regarded as the second capital of the Empire.’ 

This confidence in its superior status endowed Calcutta’s architecture with a supreme confidence and pride. The City of Palaces, its handsome edifices retained an understated elegance, a self-assured confidence that did not bother to blindly copy and replicate other presidencies or colonial towns. Calcutta set the tone for others to follow.

The shifting of the capital to Delhi, however, dealt a blow to Calcutta’s ambitions. For a few decades after independence, it remained among the nation’s most cosmopolitan cities and economic centre. With its Bengali intelligentsia, Anglo-Indian community, Chinese entrepreneurs and Marwari businessmen, the city lived through the 1960s living life and tapping its feet to Usha Iyer (now Uthup’s) songs at Trinca’s and cabarets at Moulin Rouge and Firpos. However, the Naxalite movement led to an exodus of the businesses in the early ’70s, many of the Marwari families shifting base to Hyderabad, Delhi and Bombay.

The grand buildings of Dalhousie Square positioned between St. John’s Church and St. Andrew’s Church (Scottish Kirk) once created a spectacular urban design statement. The Writers’ Building, the General Post Office with its rotunda and the HSBC Bank were part of an unparalleled urban scheme, a dynamic civic centre of political and business institutions. Over the decades, much of the historic fabric was lost. The Mackinnon Mackenzie building was gutted in a fire, the Currency Building suffered a fate of dilapidation and neglect and the harmonious skyline was jarringly punctured by the concrete addition of the Telephone Bhawan.

I urge myself that in however difficult situation I would be in future, my presence in Calcutta should be my first priority.

Calcutta Diaries: Part 4

Nothing can come between food and Bengalis!

The way to a Bengali’s heart is truly through the stomach. Bengalis are pretty famous for eating literally with their hands. And why not! True Bengali food cannot be relished with spoons and forks. With a variety of dishes from rice to lentils to fish (with the bones), it becomes quite difficult to eat only with the help of spoons and forks. If a Bong does not lick each of his fingers after a meal it is to be understood that he has not truly enjoyed the food.

A ‘Bong’ foodie, born and brought up in the city of joy, in a traditional Bengali family, who can know better than me the joys of a delectable Bengali dish? From childhood my taste buds have been titillated by various Bengali dishes prepared by the best cook, my mother.

Coming from the heart of a true Bengali, these are some of the dishes that are all time favourites…

Chingri macher malaikari

You can't miss this out. It's my favorite! No special occasion in a Bengali household is complete without ‘Chingri Maacher Malaikari’. This is one dish that is a bit tricky to cook and the real flavour comes only when prepared with the perfect ratio of spices. Cooked in coconut milk with very mild spices, this is best served with rice. The velvety gravy is the highlight of this dish, which makes it ‘finger lickin’ good’. This preparation fills the entire house with its enticing aroma that waters our mouths.

Ilish bhapa

In West Bengal, there is no substitute for ‘Ilish Maach’. Any preparation with Ilish becomes Bengal delicacy. This dish is a gravy prepared with mustard seeds paste and usually served with rice. This dish is a little tangy in flavour. A preparation of Ilish usually doesn’t require much of spices as the aroma of the fish itself is enough to make the dish exquisite.

Aloo posto

‘Posto’ is an all time Bengali favourite, whether it is cooked with cauliflower or potato or ‘jhinge’ and the list can be quite long. Jhinge aloo posto is a traditional Bengali vegetable preparation where in the ridge gourd(torai or jhinge) and aloo (potatoes) are cooked with poppy seeds and green chillies, generally served with rice. Jhinge (Ridge gourd) has got immense nutrition values and the high water content in it. Poppy seeds help to keep your brains calm. Whenever you go to a Bengali restaurant, a thali will always have jhinge aloo posto as a must item.

Doi mach

A masterpiece of Bengali cuisine, this is a simple, but typical Bengali dish with very little spices– the flavour of the fish is the star of the dish. “Doi” is Yogurt or Curd and “Maach” is Fish and when the mix of the two is perfectly blent, there are very few dishes that can beat this simple preparation. Rohu fish is the perfect for cooking Doi Maach. Doi maach is a very authentic Bengali preparation served typically at lunch with rice not only on festive occasions but also at home as a change from the daily routine.

Sukto

This is my brother’s favourite dish and whenever he is home, nothing can stop him from asking my mother to prepare it as a welcome gift. Shukto is a mix of vegetables with an emphasis to the bitterness, a preparation where instead of hiding the bitterness, it is the taste around which the dish evolves. The bitter taste is said to be good for cleansing the palate and also for letting the digestive juices flow and so no doubt it is a good start off to the meal to follow. This typical recipe is a wake-up call to the piqued taste buds, so that what follows is more enjoyable.

Luchi Aloor Dom

This combination is a classic Bengali breakfast. Luchi is a deep-fried flatbread made of bleached wheat flour and aloor dum is nothing but dum aloo. With guests at home, traditional Bengali families love to serve this combo for breakfast, though they are also prepared for lunch and dinner. This dish revives fond memories of my maternal uncle’s place as my grandmother never failed to prepare it for breakfast during our stay.

Moving on to a few Bengali sweet dishes without which Bengali cuisine is incomplete…

Potoler dolma

This quintessential Bengali delicacy has borrowed its name from Mediterranean cuisine. Dolma generally refers to Turkish food where stuffed vegetables (mostly with spicy rice) and little pouches of stuffed grape leaves enjoy a special place. Although conventionally, the vegetable is stuffed with fish keema (minced fish), people often experiment with chicken, paneer (cheese) and even nutrela (soya bean) stuffing.

Mishti doi

Mitha Dahi is a popular dessert in the states of West Bengal and Odisha. It is prepared by boiling milk until it is slightly thickened, sweetening it with sugar, either guda/gura (brown sugar) or khajuri guda/gura (date molasses), and allowing the milk to ferment overnight. Earthenware is always used as the container for making Mitha Dahi because the gradual evaporation of water through its porous walls not only further thickens the yoghurt, but also produces the right temperature for the growth of the culture.

And yeah never to foget about the epic Rosogolla!

Calcutta Diaries: Part 3

A walk past the streets...

No one would call crowded Calcutta a peaceful city, but it could teach the world a lot about tolerant coexistence.  My Calcutta is rich and ethnically mixed. A walk past Bowbazaar made me realize that it was the Kolkata of Kolkata.

We began by turning off Chittaranjan Avenue into a labyrinth of narrow lanes. First up was Buddhist temple Street, with a guesthouse for travelling Buddhists from all over the world. Round the corner on Weston Street, children in smart brown uniforms were clattering in to Sacred Heart School. It was a pleasure watching them enter when a girl smiled at me and greeted, ' Good morning Didi.' That smile was probably priceless.

Christian areas have the best bakeries, my friend had said pointing out Ajmeri bakery, piled with fruitcake and sweet-salty bakarkhani naan. It was early morning and milk was being delivered. We followed the “milkman” and his flock to the British-built military housing that gave the area its name: Bow Barracks. After independence, the three-storey apartment blocks, green balconies and shutters contrasting with red brick, were taken over by Anglo-Indians, who love to keep their Christmas traditions alive.

Next year Maa had visited Bowbazaar during Christmas when she had mentioned, 'I saw a santa greeting everyone and he was pulled by a rickshaw!'
I had told her that she had been extremely mean since she didn't take me there. Of course, she justified it by saying that I was busy.

Round the corner on Metcalfe Street, we had stopped for a clay cup of chai. It was 8am and the streets were thronged: a man at a tiny desk had been offering use of a mobile phone to migrant workers; in an ironing parlour, irons that looked like museum pieces were being heating on a wood fire. This is a Parsee territory, my friend had said: a large red and grey building is the Zoroastrian fire temple, where a sacred flame had been burning since 1912. The main temple was out of bounds, but in the outer arcade we admired carvings and stained glass depicting the flame and the Faravahar winged disc symbol, and nodded to a priest in snowy white robes. The Parsees originally fled persecution in Iran but now contentedly shared a street with a subsect of Shia Islam: the Aga Khan Jamatkhana – place of worship for the Ismaili community – stood rights opposite.

The main artery of Bowbazar is BB Ganguly Street. Plied by ancient creaking trams, it had several personalities: a loud and noisy wholesale vegetable market in the east, then a carpentry quarter, then the optical district, with glinting spectacles. But we were off to China – a short step away around Sun Yat Sen Street. Here, red flags hung over doorways bearing Chinese names, hawkers sold prawn crackers and water chestnuts and people were slurping Chinese breakfasts of fishball soup. We could be in Shanghai or Soho. There were noodles, incense sticks, dried mushrooms, and every other shop seemed to be a butcher’s, all pig carcasses and strings of Chinese sausage.

After traveling so much, my friend stopped halfway and I too had to stop. I asked him, 'Tell me how did you feel?'
The only answer which he gave was, 'Can we go around the streets again after a while?'
'Sure...' I smiled telling him that such was the marvel of my Calcutta.

Calcutta Diaries: Part 2

The Tagores reside in the blood and veins of every Bengali on earth. 

Jorasanko Thakur Bari is the house of the Thakurs. It is the ancestral residence of the Tagore family. The mansion was built during the 18th century by Prince Dwarkanath Tagore, the grandfather of Rabindranath Tagore. The place now houses a museum that contains the various articles and articles that depict and describe the life and times of the Tagores. The house is though now located inside Rabindra Bharati University campus.

Last year in December our whole family visited Thakur Bari. It is located off Rabindra Sarani. We went by metro and the nearest metro was Girish Park.

Then as we walked, the bustling lane led our way to a huge red building. The gate has written in Bengali, Rabindra Bharati University.

For a few minutes I kept looking at the vastness, and then moved in. Mind you, a walk past this place is a sort of pilgrimage. I was taken aback by the rustling leaves which covered the ground, and a man with a sweeper started to clean it immediately.
I picked up a brown leaf from the ground when my brother took it away asking me to follow them inside. O, if I could only feel some more leaves!

Then there was a big courtyard, and the white pillars surrounded the entire place. Being an art lover and motivator I wanted to carry a person who could draw or capture this entire beauty in his canvas.

As if still if you walk past the corridors of this palace, thousands of poems written in pages still fly about the house.

My visit to Jorasanko was like a date with the timeline of History. The bricks might have still captured the breaths of the Thakurs. I could visualize Urmila falling down the stairs. I could visualize Kadambari crying, I could visualize Tagore writing...

And then it echoes,

Your laughter, my shadow, 
Combine in one image.
The poet in me celebrates in frenzy.

Calcutta Diaries: Part 1

The more I go away from this place the more illusionist I become and hence I can't risk moving away from my City.

The last time I went across Howrah Bridge (Rabindra Setu) was on 12th July, the previous month. As I heard from my father this bridge replaced an older pontoon bridge on the Hooghly river. It is the fourth busiest cantilever bridge of the world.

The nooks and corners of this bridge has become so much needed that I can't afford but open the windows of my car and look at it with awe. The wind of the Hooghly and the smell of the water creates an unknown sensation in my nose. I sometimes look above to see the length to which it extended. It every time seemed totally endless.

Maa says, 'Hooghly should be called The Thames of Calcutta.'
I wonder how weird it would have been. My Howrah Bridge has its own originality.

I was proceeding home from Howrah Station that day when we took the bridge. It was almost six and sun was about to set. The yellow waters reflecting a chrome shade was making me ask for more. 
Hundreds of people walked...some being mechanical whereas some admiring. 
I had noticed something different in North and South Calcutta people that very moment for the first time though it would be too rude to mention now. 
I won't simply make you lose the essence with which I am writing this.
Howrah Bridge is Calcutta's pride, it's glory. We have survived within it's soul.

I remember myself answering why I come back here again and again, is it only to admire the British architecture, or the majesty with which we have cultured it?

When I move across this bridge there is only one sentence which strikes me, 'O my love, you have paved way for thousand hearts to move at the same pace.'

Arjun Pawar's Debut Novel

About the Author:

Arjun Pawar has done Civil Engineering from Pune University and is pursuing PGDBA course in Marketing from Symbiosis Centre for Distance Learning. He works as a technical Engineer in a reputed construction company in Pune. He likes reading novels, listening to music, travelling, sketching and trekking. He also has an interest in writing social, political and environmental issues relating to India and a keen interest in mythology. ‘Masters of Lygrenn’ is his debut novel.

Storyline: Masters of Lygrenn revolves around an era which is dominated by the saints where rises a kingdom where sins are committed regularly. A kingdom ruled by a noble king but misled by his cruel masters. Hamish, the cruelest Master with a dream of conquering the world, faces a challenge from an ordinary boy, who in search of his answers finds the reason for his existence. Fire God, the most powerful and loyal master of the King, is stuck in a dilemma of whether to support the good or the bad.
It is a story of brutal vengeance where there is no space for the good. Will the good rise to power?

Review: I received this book from the author in exchange of an honest review. The story dates back to 1500 B.C of the Himalayas with an exotic description. Pawar is commendable for this work of presenting before us such a rich description. The history of the Droka Dynasty could have been elaborated more but still that doesn’t need a vital attention. Fire God has been well described and he could be imagined well. Hamish is such a character which will keep you still in front of the book unless you finish it. And moreover the hit of the story is when the witch of Oshah enters the novel. With proper wisdom and glory present in the nook and corner of this novel, this can’t be a better debut.

I would love to ask the readers to get this book and you too should share your reviews. I am sure you are going to like it. 

Banished to the Sky

Dusty lanes of a windy street,
Encouraged the flourish of a girl,
She walked past the alleys,
With a willow in her hand.

Come back...Come back is what she says
Her voice too fragile to come out,
Her tears too heavy to fall
She groans with her spirit steadily and slowly.

If only she could hold the tail of the balloon
She could have flew high above
From everyone, from her own chase.
She was banished by her own self.

©Madhurima Halder

The Wire of the Barn

The rising dust of the grasslands 
The thunder of the sky 
The excitement of the roads
Causes the turbulence of the oceans.

From within the garden of fantasy
Antelopes run...
Can you tell what causes the devils
To ruin our heart?

The unending limit above
The rising of a Phoenix from the remains
Causes the earth below to temper it's feelings
Transient feet gets washed without dismay.

The Wire of The Barn turns down 
Its sharpness...
The momentum of rage now too stops hampering
The much awaited lives of others.

©Madhurima Halder

Review of 3 @ a time

About the author: Deeptendu Sekhar Chakraborty is an engineering graduate and holds a post graduate degree in Management from Pune. He currently works at an automobile company in Oman. Three At A Time is his debut novel.

Storyline:

Falling in love is one of the most exquisite feelings that one can experience in their lifespan. But what if while searching for your true soul mate, you end up having that "exquisite feeling" for three people at the same time.
3 @ a time is the story of Deepankar and his tryst with trust, love, relationship, betrayal and humiliation with 3 girls at the same time along with maintaining his reputation as the wonder boy of his college.
Deepankar- Strong, laborious; with a never-say-die attitude while searching for true love ends up in a relation with three girls from his college...
Notorious yet dedicated for his deeds at college, Deepankar seeks love from his dream girl who turns out to be Homosexual!
And then destiny plays its game...
And the reason - GIRLFRIENDS...
But one should never back down and nor did Deepankar; Pooja stood by him in full support.
And In the End...
It does matter...
Will the search for his soul mate be completed after his rendezvous with all the 3 girls?
Will Deepankar restore his faith in others or will life throw curve balls at him?
Will he be able to maintain his reputation or will be hailed as a onetime wonder?


Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/pbzmln9

Buy Links:
http://tinyurl.com/nbsvu7s (Flipkart) http://tinyurl.com/p7e5fl7 (Amazon) http://tinyurl.com/q7djqzh (Infibeam)

Best quotes:

Quotes from “3 @ a Time”



1. Finally she arrived and 99% of the boys turned their heads towards the stage, two minutes of her speech were the best time I ever loved someone on stage. I felt the urge to run to the stage and express my love for her. - Page 16 "3 @ a time"


2. I wondered girls were the best multitaskers and that is the prime reason for companies to hire them at managerial position. - page 22 "3 @ a time".


3. Her sweet innocent face and lush green eyes were influential enough to capture the imagination of everyone even if he was a hermit. - Page 47 "3 @ a time".


4. I realized if a girl loves a boy it's impossible for the boy to ignore her for a long time while the table turn in the exact opposite direction when a boy is in love with the girl. - Page 65 " 3 @ a time"


5. The communal violence which aggravates people is the result of dirty politics and not because of hatred between religions. - Page 69 " 3 @ a time"


6. I could see the pain in her eyes while she was confessing. That moment I felt like hugging her and saying this is the best moment of my life. - Page 79 " 3 @ a time".


7. I sometimes wonder how students of the same age think alike. - Page 106 " 3 @ a time".


8. Deepankar to Pooja - "I know we have been through extremely  turbulent times in the past and in the future too being with me is not going to give you a smooth ride, but I can promise you one thing, I would forever love you the way I do in sickness and in good health." - Page 150 " 3 @ a time"



My review: Nearly about 3 days later I downloaded the pdf and completed it within another 2 days. In one word I must say it is a very interesting read. The start is so interesting that you can't move without reaching a proper position. The characterization of Deepankar and Pooja was extremely smooth and their love, friendship and trust paves an unknown essence to this book. The climax hits to when he discovers his dream girl to be a homosexual. I was myself left into surprise when I read this part. Love is a part and parcel of this book. Any engineering guy can easily relate this story. So guys, what are you thinking of? It's your story, so pick this book up and share your reviews!