Friday, 4 December 2015

No Bake Mango Cheesecake (Sugar free).

No bake cakes are the new cool when it comes to delicious desserts. Today, we'll prepare a no bake mango cheesecake. It's sweet, fruity and healthy. Because we're using sugar free natura, instead of sugar. So without much adieu lets get to it.

Here's the list of ingredients we'll use. 

For The Crust :
  •  1 cup of biscuit, crushed.
  •  4 tbsp of  melted butter.
  •  3 tbsp of sugar free natura powder.

For the Filling :
  • 1 pack of cream cheese at room temperature. 
  • 3/4 cup of sugar free natura powder. 
  • 3/4 tsp of vanilla extract.
  • 3 mangoes for the filling + 1 mango for the topping. 
  • 1 tbsp of gelatin. 
  • 2 tbsp of warm water. 
  • 200 ml of heavy whipping cream.

Procedure :

  1. Break the biscuits (any kind apart from salty ones) and crush them. Add the crushed biscuits in to a mixing bowl. Pour the butter and the sugar free natura powder in and mix until the mix feels like wet sand mixture.
  2. Pour the mixture in the base of a springform pan, and press down with the back of a spoon.
  3. Extract the pulp out of 3 mangoes, and blend them using a blender.
  4. In a bowl mix the gelatin and warm water, stir until the gelatin fully disolves.
  5. Add powdered sugar free natura to the mango mix and add the gelatin mixture to it too. Stir until everything incorporates well, and let it set aside.
  6. Mix cream cheese, sugar free natura powder and vanila extract to a separate bowl. Mix until the mixture is thick.
  7. Whip the whipping cream until it forms stiff peaks.
  8. Add the cream cheese mixture to the whipped cream, and fold  them together. The mixture should be smooth and aerated.
  9. Add this mixture on your biscuit mix and fill the springform pan upto 3/4th. 
  10. Spoon the mango purée over the top.
  11. Cut another mango, and make long strips with the flesh. Now decorate the cake with these strips.
  12. Put the whole cake in a fridge for atleast 4 hours.
  13. Take out the cake from the fridge, and with the help of a sharp knife cut the edges, so that it is easy to remove the sringform pan.
  14. Enjoy your no bake mango cheesecake. 
(Source : here.)

Disclaimer : This recipe is inspired by a recipe by David Hood.  And this post is a part of Sugar Free Dessert Challenge (

Friday, 10 July 2015

The truth of crash diets.

Do you have a party lined up just after a few days? Or do you want to look slimmer just for yourself? Well, most practiced and effective way of doing that, in a really short span of time, is to crash diet.
So what exactly is crash dieting and what doctors have to say about crash dieting?

According to experts, crash diet is a method to lose weight really fast in a short period of time, by reducing the daily calorie intake to as low as 700 calories a day. And if you don’t know how much that is, it can be said 700 calories per day for an adult is pretty low.

Some popular crash diet programs are - Juice Fast Crash Diet, Xtreme Fat Loss Diet, Cleansing, Cabbage Diet etc.

So does this crash diet thing really work? And if it does, does it have any negative impact over our body? You may ask. Well, there are two groups. One who claims it does, and the other one opposes.
Nutrition experts, however mostly are against Crash Dieting.

“When you limit calories so dramatically, your body goes into starvation mode and your metabolic rate plummets.” says Darcy Johannsen, Ph.D., R.D., assistant professor at Pennington Biomedical Research Centre. She also said, “: Crash diets might be a quick fix, but they can also be awful, dangerous, and come with lasting negative health effects.”

“Because they are nutritionally unbalanced, crash diets can lead to long-term poor health,” says dietitian Ursula Arens.

Says Anjanaa Damodharan, a health freak, "In my opinion, crash diets are generally not a good idea because they don't let you eat what you want. And that causes irritation and physical change as well,"

So what harm a crash diet can do to you?  Here’s a list:

1) Your Metabolism slows down to that point until your body starts to react. Your body tries to conserve energy. So that necessarily means you’ll just move less than normal because you have less energy.

2) So you are restricting your body not only to calories, but to food groups, and that means that your body will not just burn fat, but it can burn down some of the muscles too. And guess what? Well, they might not bounce right back after the crash. Because our body is programmed to rebuilt the fat storage first!

3) Having an empty stomach will have an effect on your mood too. You are bound to lose your charm, along with the weight.

4) Crash Dieting can affect your nervous system. This can make you feel colder all the time, slow down your heart rate, or produce a drop in blood pressure that could even cause you to pass out.

These were just 4 points, but Crash Diet can harm you in more ways possible.

So, losing weight in a gradual manner (hit the gym, swim, yoga etc.) is much more recommended than Crash Dieting.

So quit trying to lose weight by stressing your body and stick to more healthy food regime. Fruits, vegetables, and measured calories will make a healthy diet. Eating healthy will increase your longevity, it’ll boost your energy, help you fight off diseases, lift up your mood and last but not the least, and it’ll help you to lose weight, in a more healthy and prescribed way.

This summer Dabur Honey brings you the Honey Diet.  You can have honey instead of sugar, just to have your meals in a healthier way, without losing the taste, if not increasing it. Not only that, the most traditional way of keeping your immune system good, and to control your weight is to have a spoon of honey taken with warm water in the morning.  Connect to to find out more benefits of honey along with experts' advice.

So this summer, don't let the short timespan of crash diet lure you. Loose weight, but in a healthy way!

Thursday, 9 July 2015

UC browser

All hurdled up as my mother called us for dinner. The essence of family gathering is in the fun of all having dinner together. My Delhi-wali aunty,Patha wale cousin, Tito, Bublu, and who not. Our 3-BHK flat was filled with people. Everyone I loved and admired was present. But I couldn’t concentrate on the food and conversations, because my mind was somewhere far from our home, our building, and even the town. All I could think about was the vast stadium of Adelaide Oval. It was the game 4 match between India and Pakistan. And I badly wanted to switch on the TV. But because of the lack of space, we merely could all sit on the floor, let alone watch television. And these people seemed so ignorant. How can they be so calm when an India – Pakistan match was on?
After a lot of brainstorming, I reached to my pocket and take out my smartphone. I fired up the UC Web Browser. And voila! There it was, the little blue button that would save my life.No one even noticed, and I felt like I was present in two places, at the same time! So thanks to UC Cricket, I could keep record of the whole game, as well as could enjoy my mother’s delicious food.
So what actually is UC Cricket? Well it is the permanent solution of googling continuously for scores. And to say the least, UC browser provides the best cricket service in India, which includes live scores and latest news.
The key features of UC cricket includes,
A live score card with auto update, so you do not need to refresh it after each ball.
The match fixture as well as the result after a cricket match.
Latest news of the teams that you follow and the series you might be interested in.
And videos, starting from the highlights, to each wickets, individual shots and everything you want to see in a cricket match.
Excited much? Well it’s not the end. Download UC browser for even more intriguing features. And if you are still asking why, then the answer is:
1) Because it is faster than any mobile browser, anytime. And no need to worry if you are on a low network coverage. Switch to the speed mode and UC browser will load any website faster for you.
2) Are you more interested in downloading? Well UC browser offers 40% faster downloading.
3) It now has a PC version. So switch to mobile and then PC, your data will be saved and never lost.
4) A smart file manager is the last thing you expect a browser to provide, but then again UC exceeds any expectation. It’s that good.

So download UC browser now, and find out why Yuvraj Singh, along with numerous other users prefers UC browser.

To find out more, you can visit
And to find out about UC cricket, connect to

Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Al dente : Part 4

She burst into a chuckle. “Shivani… Shivani Dey.” She said, extending her hand towards the chef.
“It is very nice to meet you Shivani”, chef held her hand and shook it firmly.
“My name is Joe, and as you can see, I’m the chef here.” He said, flashing his teeth out.
“So, what were you saying, about helping me?” Shivani asked, this time.
“No offense intended, Chef Joe, but I find it hard to believe that you know about writing so much, that you can inspire me!” Shivani said. Now she was in the game. And she was, not at all, intimidated by Joe.

“Yes, Yes. Signora. Though I know a little about that stuff but I can help you with your writing. I know food, and you, believe it or not, good food and good stories, have more in common than you and me.” He said, in the same old, ridiculously charming way.

Shivani couldn’t resist but smile all along. If she listened carefully, all he was saying were gibberish. But to her that tiny decorous room, his contagious positive vibe, everything made sense. She knew, even if whatever he was saying was completely meaningless, it was meaningful to him, and hence, worth listening.

He continued. “You know I wasn’t a chef all along.  I was a banker. I had a really well-paying job in USA. I was staying in Silicon Valley. My life was perfect, in a materialistic way. But I wanted something more out of my job, rather than money. I wanted satisfaction. I wanted to feel the pride of creating something and bringing happiness on people’s face. And numbers couldn’t satisfy my needs. So I had to leave the job. And I had this knack for cooking since I was young. So I joined a restaurant, as a line chef. Then I was promoted to sous chef, and then finally I joined this one as an executive chef. And now, I enjoy what I do. I see people smiling when they have a bite of my food, and then I know that I’m happy with what I’m doing right now.” Joe said looking at Shivani, who was lost in his food, with a smile on her face.

She looked up, mesmerized. “Everyone dreams to do what you did. But not many can actually do it: to quit a job, and pursue your passion.”
“Why not? That’s my point? Why can’t they? What are they afraid of? Acceptance in the society? First you need to accept yourself, then the society will. Else you’ll be just a lost stone in the desert of a rat race.”  His face turned pinkish red.
Shivani already finished her egg, and now she devoured herself into the hot chocolate. She looked up from her plate to ask- “So what were you saying? Something stories and food…?”

“Ohh yeah. I’m sorry. I have this bad habit of drifting away from the topic.” He chuckled.

“See, good food and a good story is somehow similar. Let me give you an example. Let’s take pasta for an example. You like pasta right?” Joe asked.
“Of course, who, in Italy doesn’t like pasta?” Shavani said.

“Great. So, you see, there are different types of pasta: Tortellini, Penne, Farfalle, Spaghetti and many more. Each and every pasta has different taste and different preparations. In the same way, there are different types of stories. Mystery, Romantic, Science-fiction, and whatnot.” He said. Excitement was oozing out of his eyes.

“And for each story, there should be distinctive types of characters. Likewise, for every pasta dish, there are different ingredients.” He smiled.

“You see, but what brings together the pasta is the sauce. And what brings together a story is the emotions that are attached with the words.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke.

Shivani finished her drink and was now submerged into thoughts. What he was explaining was making her think of her story from a very unusual and ‘delicious’ point of view.

“I’ve been working as a chef for a long time now. And you see, the secret of making a pasta is in the making of the actual pasta. You let it boil first, and when you see the pasta floating in the bubbling water, you take them out.
We have a phrase in our profession. ‘Al dente’. It denotes the cook on the pasta. When a pasta is perfectly cooked, to the point of perfection, it is said to be al dente. Now, I can’t relate this to storytelling, but maybe you can” He flashed the same old charming smile.

That morning was like any other mornings in Rome. As divine as any other. The people were as jolly as ever. The unstoppable cold-war, between modernity and heritage, was as evident as any other day. And Shivani, well it was like any other morning until she met the chef of a nameless restaurant in the streets of Rome. But that morning, finally she met someone, with whom, she could talk for hours. For the first time since she stepped onto the soil of Italy, she wasn’t missing her home. Instead she was glad, that she could step out and see the world, all by herself. She met someone who knew the true meaning of passion. And maybe she’ll miss another deadline, but she knew, whatever she writes, she will write with all her heart. And as far as her ‘own’ story is concerned; well, thanks to a proficient chef, it will be ‘Al dente’.

Source : here.

P.S.You can read the previous parts of the story :

  • "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
  • "Al dente : Part 2" from here.
  • "Al dente : Part 3" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavor. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Thursday, 21 May 2015

Al dente : Part 3

“Yes.” she said.
“I ordered a plate of scrambled eggs. And you gave me a plate of eggs with tomatoes and some weird looking green things and…”
He cut her midways, before she could complete her sentence.
“They are called kale, dear, and they are healthy for you.” He flashed a grim expression.
“Okay! But why is my plate full of cheese?” she asked in an angry tone.

“Because that’s the way we Italians like to have our scrambled eggs. What’s the point of eating a plate of plain and boring eggs when you can have it in a delicious way! That’s up on the front board. We serve only delicious food here.” He stated.
“And this…” pointing towards the melting cheese he said, “This is happiness. Haven’t you heard what a photographer says when he clicks a portrait? He says, ‘cheese’. Cheese means happiness, cheese means laughter. Have you seen anyone eat, or even say, cheese with a sad face? No! ” He shrugged.

His imbecile explanation somehow made sense to Shivani. A smile lingered over her face as she heard him talking more about how much he loves his cheeses.

“You haven’t even tried it yet. Did you?” he asked.
Shivani realized, she has been so distracted by the tomatoes and kales that she didn’t even had a single bite. She picked up the spoon, which was lying idle on her table since the moment she walked in, and dig into the platter. She tried to heap on all the elements on one tea spoon, making it overflow with the melting cheese and shove it into her mind. That taste! That perfect combination of sweet, savoury, citric flavour from the lime juice and that cheese, it really brings the dish together. It would be an understatement if she didn’t say that this was the best scrambled eggs she'd ever had.

She looked up to the chef. He was eagerly tring to analyse her expression, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s delicious.” She said, with hesitation.
His face lit up with pride, as he looked at her with an ‘I-told-you-so’ expression, but kept mum.

“I’m sorry. I’m just having a rough week. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” She said, making a sad face.
“Ahh! Don’t worry about me. My shift is over anyway.” He said, stripping away his apron.
“And moreover I’ve been working here for the past three years and you are the first customer who summoned me to criticise my food. Usually, people do that to say how delicious it is. You intrigue me!” He chuckled, making gestures in the air.

She loved this about Italian people. They talk with their body. As if their body is in sync with their mouth. And that makes them more convincing. They speak their minds, and it shows.
Same goes with the chef, when he was angry, it showed. And now he was pleasantly surprised, and it was showing.

“So what’s your story?” He asked, neatly folding his apron and placing it on the table.
“My story?” Shivani asked, confused.
“Yes! Signora. Your story. I mean on a beautiful sunny morning like this, you are sitting alone with a notebook and a pencil box. What are you, an artist?” He asked, pulling the chair next to her and making himself comfortable.

His eyes sparkled as he spoke. And that spark was telling Shivani that there was something very engaging about him, something very alluring. And that mystery was attracting her to have this conversation even if she didn’t want to.

“No. I’m an author. I’m just trying to write a story. But nothing inspires me enough to write about.” Shivani explained her misery.
“Maybe I can help with that. But only if you tell me your name.” The chef grinned charmingly. Flashing a smile so enchanting that no one can ever say no to.

To be continued...

Source: here.

P.S.You can read the previous parts of the story :

  • "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
  • "Al dente : Part 2" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Wednesday, 20 May 2015

Al dente : Part 2

One fine morning, she decided to take a break from the job. She took out a month just to embrace the city and to write. She knew that her this decision will hamper her career as a fashion designer, but she was ready to make that sacrifice, to write.

Ever since she came there, Shivani didn’t have the chance to roam around Rome. In the first week, all she did was to explore the city. She went to  the Colosseum, St Peter’s Basilica, Santa Maria and all the places she wanted to see but couldn’t because of her tight schedule.

She wandered through the narrow, winding streets to the vast lonely roads, just in search of muse. She went to the countryside, tasted some wine; she even went to the busiest corners of the city in search of inspiration. Stories, which were crippling around her head, were nowhere to be found. That is one thing about art; it comes naturally. If you don’t execute an idea when it is blooming, you’ll lose it for sure. And you can’t force an idea into execution. To be able to execute an art, is an art itself.

And with the first week gone, she was nowhere near around starting to pen down a story. Panic found its way through her ambition. She had only three weeks left of her deadline, and she was yet to write a single word.

No matter how beautiful Roman mornings are, when you’re stuck in a condition such as Shivani, instead of embracing the beauty, you’d start hating it. How can a city filled with multicultural people, with their own sets of problems, be so calm? It feels like Yoga when you wake up in the early morning and have a look around. People are in rush, but they are not chaotic. Everything seems so serene, so romantic!

‘Urg!’ frustration was getting the better of her. ‘I need to start writing. And I need to start writing today.’ she thought. After a quick fresh up, she grabbed her notebook, her box full of pens, and the keys to her bicycle, and left for an unknown destination. She crossed some roads, riding past some parks, and finally reached to a weary but opulent white building. There was something sumptuous about the simplicity of that place. Something was scribbled in Italian, which, if roughly translated be said as ‘Delicious food’.

Shivani parked her bike, and went inside the building. She had heard of this place. People say the ambience is so calm here, that you can almost hear the chirping noises of the birds outside. And the food here, is literally ‘Delicious’.

A waiter, dressed in vibrant white welcomed her with a typical "Ciao" and escorted her to a table of two. The place was almost full. Though morning was getting over and sun was scorching high above, but inside, she felt a decent morning breeze. Two minutes inside, and she could feel the place charming its charisma. “One plate of scrambled eggs. And one cup of Cioccolata Calda” she ordered, trying hard to pronounce ‘cioccolata’ as the Italians do. ‘Why can’t they just call it hot chocolate? After all that is what cioccolata calda is!' she chuckled.

As soon as the waiter left, she took out her notebook and started gazing outside. All she could think about was her home in Kolkata. Life there is so different. There was this closeness to earth that she used to feel when she was in India. Everything was not for a reason. She could do anything she wanted, anytime she wanted. But here in Rome, when she’s finally facing the world, she always feels like she is chained. Unknown shackles of responsibility and pressure were somehow extracting the closeness from her. She felt detached.

“Your scrambled eggs and Cicolata calda, signora.” the waiter said.

She withdrew her graze from nowhere, and looked at the plate.

“Why are there tomatoes in my scramble?”  She asked softly, still lost in thoughts of home.

“Pardon me signora, I can’t understand you.” The waiter replied.

“I ordered scrambled eggs! And this is something with tomatoes and some green things. What is this thing?” Shivani said, flustered.

“I apologise, madam. Do you want me to call the chef for you?” the waiter said. He didn’t have a clue.

“Yes. Please call him.” She ordered.

The waiter went inside the kitchen, and Shivani heard as he and the chef yelled something in Italian. And a gentleman emerged through the gate and approached towards Shivani. He was dressed in a black full sleeved tee-shirt and denim blue jeans. And a white apron was kissing his body like a wrapper wrapped neatly onto a gift.He had long hair that was tied into a not-so-long ponytail. By the looks of him, she figured he was about her age: somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. He folded his sleeves up to his elbow as he came forward. He rested his arms on her table, and leaned towards her. "So you have a problem with my food?" he asked in a typical Italian accent.

To be continued... 

Source: here.

P.S.- You can read the previous part of the story : "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
         You can read the next part of the story : "Al dente : Part 3" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Tuesday, 19 May 2015

Al Dente : Part 1

The mornings in Rome are just divine. It is said that Rome is the eternal city, and a sunny morning like that is just another evidence. It has withstood over 2700 years and like an old, wise grandparent. Despite of its wrinkly frontispiece, Rome still blooms with pride. But with every passing day, new buildings and skyscrapers that withheld themselves, maybe out of intimidation of the history and culture of Rome, is making their way through. Like sun-rays creep through holes on the wooden wall and brightens any dark room, these multiplexes lift the heritage of Rome and with care and love, sand was slowly incorporating modernity.

Shivani was elated when she got to know that she had to shift to Rome for her new job in fashion designing. Though she had never been away from her parents, but this was an offer that she just could not turn down. She admired everything about Italy, and more precisely, Rome. Renaissance, Michelangelo and Italian cuisine. What’s there to not love? And being an author of three romantic novels, Rome was highlighted on her wish-list.

But things look prettier in the head, than they are in reality. A vacation in Rome was she always dreamt of. But to work, to dwell in the daily life of a foreign country that is thousands of miles away from her home, was not as serene as she thought it would be. And to add to her misery, her publisher was pushing her constantly to write another chick-lit, for her fan-base was dying to read from her again. It has been two years since she had penned down a book. And if she doesn’t write now, she may lose her fan following. She’ll be just another author who was lost in the crowd. But her dreams were to stand aside from the crowd. Not just aside, but above. She wants to touch the sky. Feel the furious breeze and to see water droplets evaporating and then making love on the cloud. She wanted to see the whole world drenching in rain from up above her cloud. And she was succeeding. She had already written a trilogy before finishing graduate school, and was nominated for various awards. She loved writing so much that writing loved her back.

Everything was going as planned, until she moved to Rome. Now she was regretting her decision to some extent. Her routine was exploited during the process, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t take out time to write. Stories were crawling inside her mind like worms, but she couldn’t get them out on a piece of paper. Not because she lacked the expertise, but because time was becoming her worst enemy.

To be continued... 

Source: here.

Author's NoteI am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

P.S.- You can read the next part of the story : "Al dente : Part 2" from here.

Tuesday, 12 May 2015

Treat or fiasco.

I remember that day precisely. It was a Sunday evening. And it was our anniversary. Our relationship had just completed one year. It was a bitter-sweet experience, though slightly inclined to the sweet part. The journey was a roller-coaster, each peak was enjoyable.
I had promised her a beautiful evening. I had it all planned out. We'd watch a movie together, and then a romantic dinner, and then a long walk back to home. That evening was supposed to be a perfect one. I knew how happy she would be. And I could do anything to see that smile one her face to linger just a little longer.
It would have been a perfect date, but I forgot something. I forgot that some political party called for a strike that very day. And everything including movie theatres to restaurants was closed that day. I tried to find just a single diner which was open. But couldn't find one.
So I called my mother, telling her everything. And the question she asked after hearing the whole story was - "What's in your fridge?"
"What?" I stuttered.
"Tell me what do you have in your fridge. Hurry!" She ordered.
So like an obedient son, that I was, I went to the fridge and opened it up.
"There's some Chicken, some yogurt, and some vegetables." I replied.
"Great" she sounded ecstatic.
"Now you'll cook a perfect dinner for your girlfriend." She said.
"Have you lost your mind, ma? You know I can't cook." I said, helplessly.
"Don't worry. I'll be cooking." She said giggling.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"See, I will not disconnect the call until you finish cooking. You just do whatever I ask you to do, and you'll have the best dinner." She replied.
"But ma, I don't know that I can pull this off or not. It could end up being a treat or a fiasco" I said with a shaky voice.
"Don't worry! Just listen to your mother and you'll have such delicious food that she'll remember forver." She said in a calm and composed tone.
"Okay." I gave up. And besides, I did not have much choice, I could try and make her a meal myself, or I can send her home with an empty stomach.
"What do you want me to do first?" I asked my mother over the phone.
"Wash the chiken and marrinate it in..." she contineued.
That day, within two hours I had prepare a stunning tandoori chiken, a side of veg salad, a mint chutney, and perfect paratha to eat.
I would rember that day for the rest of my life. I, who had never made a cup of copy himself, made a beautiful and dinner. I lid candels all over my place, and we watched a movie on the DVD player, and then this charming dinner. She was wooed. And there was just one person to thank for, my first expert, my mother.

"I am writiing this post for Godrej #MyFirstExpert contest ( hosted by Indiblogger.

That Tandoori Chiken with Salad, and Mint chutney.

Sunday, 10 May 2015

A letter to maa.

Dear maa,

Like any other adult, I don't remember much of my childhood. Just bits and pieces. Scratches of memories, both bitter and sweet. But among all those experiences, I can't remember a time when you weren't around. You were always there with me. You pushed me when I needed that extra motivation. You were my anchor at times when I couldn't control myself. Teenage is a very crucial and critical time for any individual, but with you by my side, it seemed like a cakewalk. You were a friend to me, a supporter and a guide, when needed. And with these little moments of happiness, and tiny tokens of love, I grew up with a lot of morals and values. And to be very frank, you are one of the most honest human being, I  have ever come across.
There were several moments and incidents when you proved your impeccable honesty. And especially, I remember that one time. I was little, studying in class four or five. I had just come back from school. It was a holiday season, and our distant aunt, from Delhi, had come to visit us with her family, unannounced. The house was a mess. You were running around from one corner of the kitchen to the other. Though the maid was helping you, but preparing a sudden meal, for an entire family at such an ungodly hour is not an easy task. But you still manage to hang a smile on your face. You fixed me a quick meal, and I was busy with the TV.
Just then, I heard a beeping sound. It was the fire alarm! The kitchen was on fire. And you were stuck. I came running, only to find out that flames had devoured the entrance of the kitchen. I was frightened, and helpless.
Though you were saved, but you had suffered second-degree burns. And upon asking, you could have easily put the blame on the maid. But what did you do?
You accepted and took all the responsibility. The embarrassment and the defamation came with it was uncalled for. You could have easily avoided the condemnation, but no, you faced everything with an apologetic face.
That day, I learnt a very important lesson of life. You taught me the value of honesty. Without honestly a human cannot live with dignity and pride. You inspire me maa. You always have been, and you always will be.

                                                                                                          With love,
                                                                                                                 Your son.

I am writing a letter about how a mother teaches honesty to her child with the Max Life Insurance i-genius #YoursHonestly activity in association with BlogAdda.”

Image Source: here.

A Poem For Maa

Whenever I was lost,
You gave me light.
Whenever I felt defeated,
You gave me the strength to fight.
You are the reason of my existence,
You are the reason of my love,
You are my guide, my friend,
An angel sent from above.

Though our bodies are miles far,
Our souls will remain near.
You are the reason of my happiness,
And the comfort when I am in fear.

I can't even say 'Thank You',
It would be so lame,
Thanking a mother for her love,
Will always be a shame.
And all I want to pray is,
May you live long
May all the happiness be yours..
May you always be as strong.
And always remember,
You have a son who cares for you,
No matter what happens next,
He will always love you.

Image source: here.

Saturday, 9 May 2015

Rabindranath and our generation.

Yesterday, my roommate asked me, "Do you know what day is tomorrow?"
"Saturday", I replied, without even looking at him.
"And why is it special?" He asked, with a grin on his face.
I looked up at him, and tried to remember. No, I didn't remember anything as such. What could it be? Mother's day? But isn't that supposed to be the second Sunday of May?
"Mother's day. But that's not tomorrow. That's the day after that." I said.
"No. Tommorow is a special day. You should know. Try to remember" He stated.
"I can't think of anything." I replied.
He went to the next room, and through the thin wall, I heard him asking the same question to others. At first, no one could answer, but then, someone replied, "Isn't tomorrow 25 se baishak?"
As soon as that penetrated through my ears, I was left with an utter disappointment with myself. How can I forget? I claim to have a knack for writing, and the man who won the first Nobel prize for literature in India, the legend who wrote our national anthem I forgot his birthday! I forgot Rabindra Jayanti?
So the natural question arises, is it only my ignorance, or the impact of Rabindranath is fading away day by day? Will the coming generations ever know of his great works, or will he just be a legend just present in textbooks, but not in their hearts?

source: here.

Source: here.

The answers for all these questions are as complicated as the questions themselves.  The only answerable part is what are the views of our generation on Rabindranthith. Is he only trending on twitter and facebook on this very day? Or is he a trending topic on our everyday life?
And to answer that we have to dig deeper into his works, and find out exactly what is left of it. Are people interested to read his poems, and stories even now? Are they listening to his songs till now? Are they enjoying his dramas?

Source: here.

Source: here.

And ironically, the answer is noticeably short. Yes! People are still reading Rabindranath. His books are still ruling the market. And not only in a commercial sense, Sanchayita and Geetanjali are the absolute favorites for many till present. People are reading and rediscovering Rabindranath each and every day. He is someone who is still alive even after seventy-four years of his death, through his works. But Reinterpretation and rediscovery! How? One can ask.
Let's talk about Rabindra Sangeet, the songs written and composed by Tagore. The beauty of the verses are incomparable. Even today, they are as popular as contemporary songs, if not more. And alterations, and arrangements are made to rediscover the beauty of these. The use of technology and more precise electronic and acoustic instruments helps to built an arrangement with is loved by the youth. And in this way the Rabindra Sangeets are being rediscovered,
Let's talk about Tagore's proses, novels, and dramas. They are a major influence for many regional and  national skits, soaps, and movies. As for example, Chokher Bali was influenced by a story of the same name by Tagore,  And apart for Chokher bali, there is Kabuliwala, Elar char Adhyay, The last poem, Dekha na-dekha, and many more for that example. And it is heard that a bengali movies based on the personal life of him is to be released this year. That is how our generation is rediscovering Tagore.

source: here.

source: here.

So yes! Rabindranath is still as influencing as he was years ago. And as the poet said himself -
"Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come."
So, no matter how advanced we get, we will always be indebt to him, for offering us better understanding of life and ourselves. And he might be dead for nearly a century, but he will always be alive in our hearts, and in our thoughts.

source: here

Friday, 8 May 2015


I usually avoid travelling in local trains. The overcrowded compartment scares me. I would spend double the money and book a cab than boarding a local train. So, naturally where other people take the train from garia to jadavpur, I try my best to avoid it. 
It was such a day, I had to visit my cousin, who lives in jadavpur, so I chose to take an auto-rickshaw. But if you use public transport, overcrowding is inescapable in kolkata. In a seat of four, they will squeeze in six people promptly. And then the altercation about the 'khuchro' (change) is inevitable. 
When I reached the auto-station, I had thirteen rupees ready, which was the fare. Surprisingly there was no line, and I sat in an empty auto. Minutes later, two other gentlemen came and sat beside me. The back-seat, which was capable of accommodating three people, was now full. And we were waiting for two more passengers to board the auto-rickshaw, then only the driver will ignite the engine. Another gentleman came, and sat beside the driver. 
I was already getting late, my cousin was constantly nagging me by calling repeatedly in every second minute. I was getting restless too.
Just then, a woman came near the rickshaw. Folding her umbrella, she leaned forward. "Jadavpur?" asked the girl. The auto-driver nodded. Dressed a black tee-shirt and a denim blue jeans, she looked liked that she was in her late twenties.   
I couldn't help but notice how little space was there in the vacant seat. With the driver and one passenger seating beside him, the space left was scarce. 
"Excuse me, ma'am, you can sit in the back I will manage to hang in the front seat.” I said, flashing a gentle smile. I did what any man with dignity would do.
She looked at me with a blank expression. Just when I expected to hear a token of appreciation and gratitude what I heard was unforeseen. Squeezing her eyebrows, she stared me back and said -
"What did you just say?"
"I offered you my seat." I replied, stuttering 
"Did I ask for your seat?" She stroke again.
"No! But I saw how little space was there in the front seat. And I thought I can't let you sit uncomfortably while I enjoy my cozy seat.  So I thought the polite thing to do is to offer you my seat." I replied, being as courteous as I could, 
"I know guys like you, you just can't stand the fact that women are equally capable as men." she said, waving her hands ragingly in the air.
I was baffled. "What are you saying?" I asked.
"Yes. I'm right. You belong to the category of men, who think men are superior to women. You think you can boss us around, tell us what to do. You discriminate people by their gender. You think the place of a woman is under the feet of a man!" she said, reflecting rage in her voice.
"What are you talking about? I just offered you my seat, and you are saying that I think men are superior to women? You must have lost it." I was irritated. 
"Yes, you are an anti-feminist, I know, you don't believe in woman empowerment, you believe the only place a woman can excel is in the kitchen, and you are the type of man who doesn't want girls to go to schools." She said. Her face was turned red in anguish. 
"Yes. You are right, I'm an anti-feminist. I am sorry to offer you my seat. You sit in the front, and I am going back to the rear-seat, I apologise." I stated.
She looked at me with the same disgust and squeezed herself in the front seat, only to find that it could only fit half of her body. But she sat there nevertheless.  
I didn't say a word after that. The whole auto-ride, I kept mum. Because I knew, that a woman, who misinterprets chivalry as anti-feminism, isn't worth wasting my breath on. And she, who understands feminism as to act repulsive to any courtesy, can bring nothing but disgrace to the world 'feminist', and I don't mind being an anti-feminist in her judgement.

Author's note: This post was selected as one of the Tangy Tuesday Picks, by BlogAdda


                                                         Image source : here.

Sunday, 3 May 2015

She will strike again

Mother nature is tolerant,
She waits, and watches
As you draw scars on her well-nourished chest.
She condones us,
As we try and manipulate with her body,
Rip her soul apart, 
Rearrange her carcass.
As we spill concrete and steel,
As we fill the ocean with poison.
As we pollute the air we breathe in.
She forgives, but never forgets.


She witnesses us taking her tolerance as her weakness.
But a day will come,
When her blood will boil.
Volcanoes that has been dormant for years, 
Will start oozing magma.
Icebergs, that has been just a muse for poets,
Will start to melt,
And like a snake rise in rage, 
Flaunting its ferocious chest,
Mother earth will rise in a tsunami.
She will punish us. 
One day or the other.
She will test our limits.
She will inspect the worth of our existence.
And when she'll find no reason to bear our effrontery,
She will shake us off, like tiny insects.
And her chest will start beating again,
She will shiver in pain, in agony.
That day, our lives will be endangered,
Millions will die,
Thousands will get injured.
Everywhere you see, 
There will be blood and suffering.


So stop! While you can.
Stop the audacity of hurting her,
Stop testing her limits.
And start respecting.
Start appreciating what you have,
What she's willing to give you.
Be thankful.
Because if she can erase up-to the last trace
Of the most powerful species,
We are mere humans, 
There will be nothing we can do,
But to pray for an easy death.
Because, she will strike again.

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Stay-at-home dads and gender equity in household.

Let's start off with a rather shocking piece of information :
Researchers from the Juan March Institute in Madrid studied data based on relationships of 4,561 middle-aged US couples
They found men who do more traditionally 'feminine' chores have less sex
It suggests that gender stereotypes linger in the home and that women may see men doing ‘feminine’ jobs as less sexually attractive
But a study looking at younger couples found the opposite is true  And according to a more recent study, men who embrace their 'feminine side' around the house have more satisfaction in the bedroom than those who stick to ‘manly’ chores like cutting the hedge and mowing the lawn.

Another one-time Nielsen India study on Indian households supported by Ariel, has found that while over two-thirds of Indian women feel, there exists inequality at home, between men and women, Indian men believe laundry is a woman's job. Two-thirds of women feel men do not help with household chores, a sentiment also echoed by men as per the 5-city (1000 person) survey conducted in Mumbai, Delhi, Chennai, Hyderabad and Bangalore in November 2014.
The survey says 70% of married Indian women feel they spend more time on household work than with their husbands. What displays a clear case of women undergoing greater stress as compared to men is the statistic that 85% of working Indian women feel they have two jobs, one at work and another at home.

But the numbers are progressing. A study conducted by different NGOs stated that in 1989, 32% of men and 26% of women thought that it was a man's job to earn the money and a woman’s’ job to look after the home and family - but in 2006 only 17% of men and 15% of women agreed with this.

So what can an individual make out from these statistics? Yes! Even though, we have our own thorns on the rose, but we are evolving as a society. There was a time when Hindu widows (sati) were burned with the deceased body of their husbands, and girl children were killed after birth. But we are moving forward in the direction of a better future. Those filthy rituals are long gone. We now talk about gender equality and feminism. We are headed for a better tomorrow. But then again, you can't clap with one hand. If women are matching their shoulders with men in each and every felid, what are men doing towards gender equality?

Meet the Agnihotri family. Like most of the middle-class families in India, there is just one breadwinner in this Pune based family too. Arundhati, 46, works with the Life Insurance Corporation of India, is the family’s sole breadwinner, while the husband runs the house. Atul Agnihotri is the most famous stay-at-home dad of India. After they were called in the famous TV show  Satyamev Jayate, hosted by the perfectionist of Bollywood, Aamir Khan.
 "Yes, I am dependent on her for money. Till date, I haven’t been able to buy her a gift in   the materialistic sense of the word, though our biggest gift to each other is our      contented life together. She manages the finances of our home, and she saves for the  family." - said Atul.

The Agnihotri family with Aamir khan.

And not only Atul, but there are several other examples of stay-at-home dads in India, such as Gautam John, Mohit Satyanand and Samar Halarnkar. And all of them are absolutely okay to depend upon their wives for the money and take care of the child, as well as all the household chores by themselves. And the number of them are increasing day by day.

So we can say, that yes, we are moving forward. And with every passing day, household chores are coming up onto the to-do list of men too. A happy wife, a happy life, as they say. So guys, man up, pick the broom, and start sweeping your wives off their feet once again.

“I am writing for the #ShareTheLoad activity at in association with Ariel.”

Tuesday, 28 April 2015


She loved mountains,
He loved her.
So he travelled to the mountains with her,
Forgetting what he loved: seashores.

He loved poetry,
She loved him.
So she recited him his favourites.
Forgetting what she loved: prose.

She loved to sing,
He loved to play the guitar.
And they performed together.
That’s where their love found its lost meaning.

Mighty Thoughts : My inception in the literary world.

It was just a regular day, I was getting ready for college. Just then, my phone beeped, it was a call from an unknown number.
"Am I talking to Sayantan Chatterjee?" The voice from the other end asked.
"Yes, it's him." I replied.
"I have a shipment from you. Please collect it, I'm waiting near the college" He said.
I rushed to the college, and collected the shipment. 'Sent from Mumbai' it was labelled. I tore open the wrap, jut to find out four copies of the book, that  I was waiting for from the last year, Ever since the day I received the mail, declaring me, alongside other twenty five talented authors, as selected for this anthology, I was anxious to lay my hand on the paperback. 
And when I did, the feeling was magical. I can't describe the chills that you get upon seeing your words imprinted on the pages of a book, that is widely available throughout the nation. 

About the book :

The anthology “Mighty Thoughts” comprises of 26 short stories written by different authors from all around the nation. The basic idea about the compilation of Mighty Thoughts is inspiration. As its name suggests, all the stories chosen for this anthology are solely chosen for one objective and that is to motivate our target readers with mighty thoughts. The blurb of each stories are as follows:

It’s All About You

Akash Shrivastav and Shruti Pareikh

“It’s All About You” is an inspiring story of a doctor. The doctor, Shashank Grover, is highly acclaimed for he had saved the life of a Bollywood actor suffering from ‘Lymphoma’ or skin cancer. The doctor is invited to a television show where emotions overcome him and he starts narrating about his dark childhood.

School Without Walls

Arpit Agarwal

“School Without Walls” is a humourously inspiring tale of two school children who dare to dream” and open a school without walls; a school for those couldn’t afford education.

Pomegrenate Nirvana

Dr. Roshan Radhakrishnan

The story “Pomegrenate Nirvana” is elucidated as a conversation between Sid (a Welsh person) and Renjith (an Indian fruit juice owner). Sid expresses about each of his problems to Renjith and Renjith calmly answers each of his questions over a glass of pomegrenate juice.

It’s the Thought That Counts

Elora Rath

The story starts with Avni, a news reporter who hurried up for her meeting with Manasi Goyal, an owner of ‘Spandan Foundation’, an orphanage which housed 1,300 children. Avni let out her frustration and rebuked her mother, Kavita as she tried to feed her with extra breakfast. She hurried down the stairs and got inside the taxi without looking back at her. Kavita, on the other hand, was deeply affected by the loss of her husband and raised Avni with much care. On her duty, Avni came to know about Manasi’s struggles, personal loss and the value of relationships.


J Alchem

In this story, Sameer receives the Public Welfare Award for Education sector and steps on the dias to receive his award and speak a few words. He is overladen with emotions and his memories flashed back to the days when he used to sell water pouches in railway stations. On a lucky day, he came across Massarrat, who offers to teach him for water pouches.

Finding Myself

Jonali Karmakar

“Finding Myself” is the story of a differently abled girl, Nisha who seeks the alliance of Rakesh, her younger sister’s private tutor. The story lays emphasis on individual dreams and responsibilities.

Slavish Sin

Kshitiz Sudhakar

Riya’s father had committed adultery, which finally led to the double murder of her parents. This was something which she never imagined in the worst of her nightmares. Now, Riya was left with no option other than to take up the cudgels for saving the reputation of her parents. She touched the weapons by which her parents killed each other and took the blame on herself. 

The Beggar

Mohan V Raghavan

The Beggar is a surprising story of a common man, Arun who was travelled across a train to buy medicines from another station for his ailing son. When he boarded the train, a beggar came across and asked him for some money. The story describes the human instinct which lies deep inside everyone’s heart.

Learning is the Daughter of Repitition

Vivek Jha

The narrator’s team had won the basketball tournament and was celebrating their victory feast at a restaurant. At that point, a shy eleven-year-old boy came at the restaurant along with a basketball to have an autograph. The narrator gave an autograph and went back to enjoy with his friends. Ever since that day onwards, a shy boy continued to look at the narrator play from his hiding. What happens when the narrator comes face to face with him?


Rahul Ramesh

“Inspired” is a story about a powerful business-magnate who owned more than a hundred paid slaves. Once, he came across a lucrative opportunity to build a mall in the place of a slum and therefore, decided to act upon it. The people begged for their lives but the narrator just laughed at their helplessness, avoided their plight and moved on. It was then, the narrator undergoes a sudden change of heart. How does it happen? And how does he inspire?

A Break Up Story

Leepi Agrawal

This is a youth-based story which sends the motto “Time is the biggest healer”. The story is about Nikita and Siddharth. Siddharth was a struggling musician and Nikita never cared about him, though he loved her.

When The Sun Sets

Swathi Shenoy

“When The Sun Sets” is a story of a girl who dreamt of having an Olympic Gold for India in Figure Skating but in a tragic accident, she lost one leg. She did not stop dreaming and as she looked at the sun setting in the horizon, she thought of giving a last chance. She had to lift one leg and skate either way. It was difficult but she dared to dream once again.


Sayantan Chatterjee

The story “Kisalaya” shows the truth of all old age homes. The inmates of “Kisalaya”, an old age home were made to wear uniforms like boarding or a jail, dirty rooms with dark green fungus and there was a field where the old men never played. Instead, they levelled the grasses with the lawn-mowers. The narrator, amidst all these revelations, happened to meet a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Banerjee. He learnt about the dismaying story of theirs but was thrilled to see how they lived in the oldage with enthusiasm.

The Monkey and The Moon

Pritesh Chakraborty

The story begins as a lecturer enters the class quite late and begins a tale as there was not much time for the bell to ring. Between his stories, the student narrator either dozes off or gets diverted and begins listening to the tale which simply puts the desperate attempts to reach the incredibly high white orb. The lecturer leaves the tale in the middle and leaves it upto the students to derive the conclusion. The story teaches that we all have weaknesses, in the form of monkeys, and what we desire to achieve is the moon or glory.

My Pain, My Success


My Pain, My Success is the story of life and struggles of a girl called Kavya who had managed to overcome the obstacles of the step motherly and barbaric attitude of her uncle and aunt, an unsuccessful marriage and a life in lows to a life she dreamt, with her lover Yuvraj.

Desire to Live and You Can

Nainika Gautam

A lot of inquisitive, half hearted students were sitting in the hall, waiting for a guest speaker to come on stage and deliver an inspirational speech. As the students joked amongst themselves, the guest speaker came up. The guest speaker started off telling the tale of Muskan, a child who was brought up by her parents like a princess. One day, when Muskan was eight and had gone to the park, her mother was called by a person who said that his husband had suffered from an accident. When the mother returned, she found that Muskan was lying on the ground and had become a victim of child abuse. What happens next? How did she become an inspiration? Who was Muskan?

The Journey of Realisation

Sreelekha Chatterjee

Kunal had boarded the train back to Kolkata and he desperately wanted to escape from his worthless life. While travelling in the train, he came across Vimla, a cheerful old woman with a distressed past. She offered sweets, tried to strike a conversation many-a-times, but failed. What was Kunal’s reaction? What happened when they reached the destination?

If There is Love, Here it is, Here it is…

Shalini Roy

The story “If There is Love” is based on a true story. It speaks about the belongigness of a differently abled couple who were victims of the Gyaneshwari Express blast which was caused by the naxalites. The couple elucidates how they met each other when they were in agony, supported each other even though they knew that their limbs were missing, and still found a perfect soulmate.

What is Success?

Sunayna Pal

Pachu, a little kid, locked himself in a room inside and sulked because it was for the first time, someone defeated him in a race. He did not want to eat nor did he want to see his grandmother. The grandmother arrived and entered into his room, respecting his privacy. She also managed to make him giggle. Meanwhile, the mother decided to eavesdrop on them. The grandmother continues to explain him about success and persuade him to come out of the room to have some food.

Rule of the Wicked

Vinay Chitturi

Evil hearted and notorious, Sekhar was the ruler of the village and his words were followed without a single objection from anyone. Rather, no one dared to object. He was in a pensive mood as his wife Kamala was about to give birth to a baby. He wished for a male child, and that was what he got. Later, he came to know that his son, Amar, was a cripple. He was infuriated and wished to slay his son but time healed and later, Kamala gave birth to Prathap and Shakun. Will Prathap and Shakun follow the footsteps of Sekhar or will they betray him? What will be the role of Amar in all these?

The Heroes

Prity S

“The Heroes” is a story which potrays the real life inspiration around us. An accident takes place and Macy, the lady doctor had to bring in two bodies in which the chances of survival for one of them wasn’t enough. Unfortunately the one who could not be saved was a soldier. What happens when the life of the soldier is lost? What are the reaction of his parents?

Blind Dreams

Sandeep Sharma

Blind Dreams is a half-extract of a girl suffering from cancer. The story speaks about a novel which she reads and gathers courage.

It’s My Life

Prachi Priyanka

The story “It’s My Life” describes about the pains of old age faced by a person when he moves abroad. In a new land, he yearns for the warmth of relationships and the necessity for freedom.

The Burnt Letter

Subhasis Das

The Burnt Letter is a satirical romantic tale of the son of a Zamindar and the daughter of a Sajori (one who dresses up the bride on the wedding). The story throws a light on to the limitations of human thoughts.

Born @ 35

Meghna Gupta Jogani

Born at 35 is a story of a woman who found that her identity was lost somewhere and began her journey to become a bestselling authoress.

Miss You, Rival

Shreyan Laha

Miss You, Rival is a story about Aniket, a boy who was frequently compared with his neightbour, Trisha for his bad grades. The board results were out and Aniket scored half marks of his rival, Trisha, had scored. He retrospected upon the lost time which he idled while playing the guitar and thought of attempting a suicide. As he was about to take the step of ending his life, Trisha called him and ordered that they had more plans. The two chattered and spent some merry time in an empty space and suddenly, Aniket was shocked to find that she was not around. How Aniket gains inspiration is purely petrifying…

You can support us on our Facebook page, And you can buy the book from here. 

Sunday, 26 April 2015

The Missed Calls

Riya was surfing through the channels aimlessly. When you have a big house like theirs, and your husband is always busy on business, all you are left with is the remote of the TV. And no one better than her knows how boring it may turn out to be. Sometimes she regrets marrying Sameer. But at that time it seemed like the right thing to do.  She was lured by the materialistic properties that Sameer had. Big house, big car, and lots of money. The arrange marriage sounded like a great deal to Riya. Little did she know that all of these comes with a price.

An eagle swarmed into a large snake as it hissed away, turning good 360 degrees, and jumps on to the bird and bit it on the neck. After a lot of hustle, the bird died out of poison. A ridiculously interesting show was up in the Discovery channel. Riya leaned forward to watch the same scene, but this time in a slow motion. Oh! How she wished she could turn  360 from this marriage, go back into the past and stop it from happening but alas, she doesn't have the furious instinct or the courage to do so.

'Ring Ring'......'Ring Ring'. Their land-phone buzzed. 'Ring Ring'...'Ring Ring' , it buzzed again. Riya lazily walked upto the table and just when she was about to pick the call, it disconnected. A missed call on the land-phone! How strange, she thought. Sometimes the extra sophistication around this house irritates her. In 2015, who has a gold plated antique land-phone apart from Sameer? This piece of crap doesn't even has a Caller-ID! Now she won't be able to call back whoever was calling.

She came back near the sofa, where she was sitting before and turned on the TV. Some bollywood hero with his shirt open, flaunting his eight packs, was advertising for some deodorant.

'Ring Ring'...'Ring Ring' the phone buzzed again. Riya jumped off the sofa and hurried to the table, but as before, before she could pick the call up, it got disconnected.

After ten minutes the same thing happened. And this kept happening for the next two hours. 'Ring Ring' ... 'Ring Ring' , a call comes to their telephone, and before she could pick it up, it disconnects. For the first few calls, Riya thought it was just a coincident. But it can be coincident if it happens for two or three times in a row, but eleven times straight can't be a co-incident! She was freaked out.

"Ring Ring"...."Ring Ring" the phone buzzed again, for the twelfth time that night. Riya was so frightened that even if the AC was on, she was sweating like an ice-cream out of refrigerator. At a point she thought she'll call Sameer at let him know about this. But she refrained from that, and went straight to  her bedroom and locked herself inside, but she could still hear the phone buzzing all night. She fell asleep later in the dawn.

The sound of the doorbell waked her up. Knotting the belt of his night gown, she walked up to the door with sleepy eyes. She opened the door to find out two gentlemen, wearing a blue uniform. "We are from the telephone company" said one of them. Wait! She didn't even tell anyone about last night. How did they know?
"Your husband called us a week ago, we're sorry, the cable you had was very old. It tore off the pole, we detected. We are here to change the wire." said the second man.
But that didn't make any sense! How can the phone be dead for days, when  it was the phone that kept her up  all night? A cluster of chills flew down her spine. Her face turned red, for the sudden gush of blood, and in the next second it tuned pale yellow. She was having a panic attack. All she could hear was the echo of the land-phone ringing. 'Ring Ring'... 'Ring Ring', it buzzed.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

This week’s WOW prompt is
– ‘Hero, Missed Call and Discovery

My first WOW badge, Thanks BlogAdda

Friday, 24 April 2015

Carpe Diem!

The other day, I was just browsing through the internet. Site to site, wandering aimlessly. To sum up, wasting my time. Just then I stumbled upon this video in Youtube. Some guy named Harlem Elvis was saying something about 84,600 $ per day. I was intrigued, naturally. So I played the clip. And one minute and four seconds later I was awestruck. Never in my life have I been more inspired in just 64 seconds. And what he said was so simple, so easy to understand, but yet so powerful. I was moved to the core.

"Take every day and take every moment and make something of it. Make something positive.” Harlem says. This got me into thinking. What am I doing with my share of 84,600 seconds per day? Am I spending it wisely? Or am I wasting it? And the answer that I found lying secretly deep into my heart was frightening. I was wasting the most of it. But then again, when you're in your early 20s, you don't think about wasting time or things like that. All you care about is the fun you're getting out of it. Right? And believe me I was having a lot of fun wasting my time. May be I was not doing something productive every moment, but I was doing something positive.
Everyday I steal time from my routing to have some self-time. To thank the universe for bearing my burden, to thank my family for always being there for me, to thank my friends for being the hush of wind of the sail of my life and for being the anchor of my boat, when needed.
And I try to do my part. To be always there for my friends and family, in joy and sadness.
I like to live my life with no regrets whatsoever. Do whatever I like, whenever I feel like. Never hurt anyone knowingly. Make my own choices and live up to them. Set goals for myself and work hard to achieve them. Love and to be loved.
These little things, no matter how small or tiny they sound makes me a better man. And the happiness that comes out of these is incomparable.
And to know, that whatever life throws at me, I will always have these beliefs. I will always have my morals, my values, and the teeny tiny moments in my life that will cheer me right up. This feeling is what makes big occasions unnecessary, making me want to enjoy the moment I'm living in, to seize the day.

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Crash the Pepsi IPL

IPL : Cricket doesn't get any better than this, does it?  And what more exciting than the thrill of your favourite player hitting an over-boundary, is enjoying it over a bottle of Pepsi.
And to add to this overwhelming experience, this season, Pepsi brings you "Crash the Pepsi IPL" contest. You can make it own advertisement and submit it to Pepsi. And if your ad got selected, it will be shown on TV as official Pepsi ads during this IPL. And to judge your ads, a heavyweight jury is created consisting of Ranbir Kapoor, Gautham Menon, Anuja Chauhan, Pritam and Ruchira Jaitly, Senior Director Marketing, PEPSICO INDIA. So bring out your cameras and start shooting.
Meanwhile, let's go through my picks of the videos that are already submitted and creating a ripple of joy in viewers' hearts. 

Lets start with a rather cute one. I found this ad much loveable. I really am happy for they just found someone with 'similar interests', if you know what I mean.
Speaking of cute, This ad features a cute girl with a cute dress, but a really straight forward approach. Did she wanted me to 'drink it' ? I don't know. Maybe I will think upon it over a glass of Pepsi. Just saying.
When I saw this ad, I was kind of expecting a cheesy boolywood line such as "Ekeli larki khuli hui PEPSI ki tarah hoti hai" , but rather than such a uncanny line, what did guys delivered was purely unexpected. They brought out the other side of the game. 'Gentlemen's game' it is called for a reason.
Look at this guy. The only reason he is up in my list is because of the bizarre resemblance of his script and the Honey Singh song 'Breakup party'. This add would have been far up on the chart if and only if he could record Honey Singh singing 
"Aaj maine breakup ki party rakhli hai 
 Subah se ek botal PEPSI bhi peeli hai".
No pun here. This one is flawless. Let's drink to our national drink, Cheers!

So with no more 'Verbose' let's admit that with just a computer and a brilliant mind, a simple ad can be created which can win millions of hearts. This deserves to be aired.
Just when you think you've seen it all, you'll come across this ad and you'll fall in love with it. Well this has to be the best one for me. It is apt, technically correct and witty. And after all these ads if you're still in a jeopardy of whether to participate in  #CrashThePepsiIPL or not, I would tell you to do it. And do it 'abhi'.

Check out the #CrashThePepsiIPL videos & participate in the activity at BlogAdda.