Wednesday, November 5, 2014
I got this book through Blogadda which was delivered pretty fast, though I am writing this review a bit late but its worth the read, no not just the review but also the book. ;) Ashwin Sanghi has teamed up with James Patterson to indigenize this series. Private India is a classic thriller. cut to the chase With the usual Mumbai bhais (Don) a Pakistan’s ISI makes an appearance. It is a mix of mysteries. Good enough to make the plot worth it. Private India is India’s best detective agency,run by Mr. Jack Morgan. Santosh Wagh heads Private India. When visiting Thai surgeon Kanya Jaiyen is killed in mysterious circumstances at the Marine Bay Plaza. The police let Private India get on with it. thoough unable to stop serial murders to happen the Private India pulls it off solving all the mysteries like straight from the books. The first murder is followed by many more. Reporter Bhavna Choksi becomes the second victim. Then Elima Xavier, Anjana Lal, Ragini Sharma, and others follow. Each murder victim is found strangled with a yellow scarf and surrounded by antique artifacts, guess found on Pawnstars @ history. Private India makes the plot long enough to cover the topic and to the point enough to keep the interest going. It is a 450+ pages book which is read with much ease given the smooth and grasping plot. The Indian mujahideen angle gives you the relation to reality and things dont seem odd afterall, unlike other thrillers where it is the pyschopath neighbor or ex girlfriend. that was good enough to keep this detective story easy to digest. Though i read a lot of mystery novels but this being plot in India gives you the feel of Desi, the feel of finally a good desi mystery novel. I wont be surprised if it transforms into a good movie soon. All in all this books keeps you hooked in and you dont regret going through those 450 pages.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
I read somewhere, “India is not a developing nation, but a highly developed one which is in its initial stage of decline” and when I read it again and strained my prudence I realized how apt this was. We Indians take utmost pride while saying that we are the sons and daughters of Mother India. A nation where the number of female gods worshipped is far greater than their male counterparts. We boast about unity in diversity, different cultures, varied rituals and different languages. But whom are we fooling? No doubt that once India was the Golden Bird, but today it’s a caged ailing fowl; caged in its own false prejudices, ridiculous hypocrisy, and baseless division in the name of caste, creed and sex. Its high time to do some serious introspection. Until and unless We change, nothing is gonna change. If we start tolerating crime against women just because it happened to someone not related to me... It wont be late that it actually happens to someone you know... Lets pledge to intervene and stop every injustice and degradation being done to women around us. and not be a mere spectator. We have to educate our younger generation to respect the fairer sex like they same way THEY want to be respected by them. And therefore I believe our education system has to be revamped to inculcate and environment which fosters equality, honor and respect.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Madras. Chennai. My Bitch. I curse it, I hate it, I blame it, but I can’t leave it. Coming here was my choice, living here was my decision, working here at the company's head office, was my dream. Yet, every day I spend in this city of paradoxes, I resent it almost in every breath I take. I remember the day when the campus interviewer asked this serious question, “Why do you wish to work in Chennai?” “Sir, it’s been 24 years I have spent in Dehradun, I want to live alone, on my own.” I said brimming with confidence and a charming smile. “He wants to run away from his parents…Hahaha!” said the interviewer, laughing out so loudly that it did scare me for a second. But he was right; I wish I never said that, I wish I had asked for some other place anywhere across the length and breadth of the nation. I wish... Since I have lived in this land of utterly baseless conservationism, I have tried my best to accept it, as it is. And I guess it were these efforts which I was putting in to be a part of this cultural, traditional and superior race, that hurt me the most. Maybe I was trying too hard to fit in a place where I didn’t belong. Maybe I should have realized this in the initial days of training that “Beta, mujhse na ho payega…” I have made fun of everything in Chennai, the dressing sense, the sense of humor, the banal monotonous food, the paramount simplicity, the outmoded, dull grey buildings, the ugly localities, the tongue twister language, the depressing lifestyle,the larger than life superstars, the stupid preference of outings or fun and the naïveté women. I have ridiculed everything that I came across. I have fought with nearly everyone, the Autowalas, Policewalas, taxiwalas, hotelwalas, Conductors, bike parking managers, colleagues, boss and super boss. I have abused them all. I have been to the beaches in the mornings and abused the fishermen for answering the natures call on the shore, spoiling the heavenly morning beauty, I have cursed the temple pundits for looting money for no reasons, and I have called names to the actors whom our late Mukesh Harane could put to shame. Yes I have done it all. I have done it for six months, One year, Two year, Three years and now it is my fourth, and I still do it. I did it then and I do it now. But the difference is, initially I used to do it all the times, at office, at home, in bus, in train, in boat, in plane, in Delhi, in Dehradun. I cursed Chennai for not being my dream city, a city to spend the crazy youth, a place to experiment with everything possible. But today I do it very rarely, i.e. as long as I am not with my friends. There is a huge difference between then and now. But you might say I still curse it, what’s the deal? The deal is, when I am late at night in Delhi, I take an auto and the autowala speaks words as sweet as honey and promises to take the minimum charge for getting me the last bus to Dehradun, but actually dumps me 5 minutes further with a bus ticket which is 5 times the actual cost and demands commission from me as well as the bus owner, apart from the regular fare, then I don’t curse Chennai. When the last bus to Dehradun turns out to be a private bus which has charged me the most expensive ticket amongst the passengers and the quality is nowhere close to the one I travel in during my Chennai- Bangalore trips, then I miss Chennai. When the bus stops at the restaurant midway and the only thing that can be consumed while travelling is masala daal, paneer masala, bhindi masala, an oily bread pakoda, which will definitely kill me of acidity during the other half of the journey, then I think of Idly dosa sambhar cocnut chutneys. After changing the bus at Roorkee early in the morning when I finally reached Dehradun… [To be continued…]
Monday, April 1, 2013
It was pleasant day. Holi had just marked the beginning of spring, after a long chilly winter season, the birds were singing in the verandah again, the sun was bright and warm; the clear blue sky with patches of white cotton like clouds made every heart sing and every face smile. Though things were not as good for the poor chap, he had to take his old man to the Pathology lab were the ultrasound had to be conducted, to check what was troubling the old fellow. On the doctors recommendations he took the patient to one of the most renowned pathology center. The long queue in the lobby at this early hour confirmed the popularity of the physician. Both father and son sat in the corner, both disturbed with the ongoing health issues of the silver locked fellow. They didn’t speak much; they hardly did before and were comfortable sitting quietly. There were three families in the waiting room. A Tibetan family, with an old man and his middle aged daughter, a woman with her teen son and a young couple. The receptionist was calling out names and the patients moved inside the lab where the ultrasounds were being done. Everyone seemed dull and worried, and why they shouldn't be, being at a doctor is not a reason to be happy about. The Tibetans were gloomy and were the first one to be called in. The old man had trouble walking and his daughter helped him in and onto the inspection bed. The middle aged woman went in next and came out more vexed. Though everyone seemed distressed at the lab, the young couple was an exception. They were Garhwali couple, chirpy, happy and beautiful. The man was average on his looks while the lady was incredibly beautiful. Like all newlyweds she wore bright red bangles, bright red sindoor, bright red lip color, bright red silk suit, and being fair herself she had pink face. She was the life at the doctor’s lobby. The lad couldn’t take his eyes off her, so did everyone else present there. They were called in next. Holding her husband’s hand she went inside. Now the lobby was dull and painful, it was exactly how a doctor’s waiting room should be like. The boy looked at the old man, his heart sank, how weak and feeble he had become. But they didn’t exchange a word. They sat next to each other. After 10 minutes the husband came out with the doctor. “There’s no heart beat.” The doctor said. The husband looked down, went inside and came out with his wife. Her big eyes filled with tears as big as pearls, her face turned red, unable to control her tears, she looked at her feet and hid her face in the dupatta. It was painful even to look at her. The husband sat next to her and while waiting for the reports. The receptionist handed over the report and the doctor said, “It will happen again, she has a condition…” as the doctor said this, she ran outside the premises and only thing we could hear was heart breaking loud cries.