Monday, May 13, 2024

EVERYTHING IS POLITICS BLOG HOP

                                                                                                   Adobe Stock

I have always wondered if there is a strange corelation between the way children and politicians behave. When I delved further into the subject, there was so much more than met the eye that it was amusing. Since I am a writer and an educationist, it made it easier to tally the similarities.

“Every child is gifted – they just unwrap their packages at different times.”

Have you seen how some children react faster to situations, while others meander their way through life. There are the A-listers who are fiercely competitive and feel they know everything that is there to know. They need to clamber to the top of the class and their motto is, “I am the BEST! I just know it.” They need to answer every question till finally they are told to pipe down.

Doesn’t that sound familiar? Visualise that flamboyant politician who struts around announcing, “I rule and my Party rules! (Whether I follow the rules or not!) He goes about giving bombastic speeches about everything that his party has been doing for the public. (Things that sometimes do not even trickle down to the ‘grass root’ levels, another oft-bandied term.

There are those children who are street-smart. They know their IQ levels and that they will not be able to get further unless they use other methods. Hence, they resort to manipulation is tiny ways – telling tall tales and playing favourites.

 How well does that relate to those in the political arena (an extremely apt term!)? Warriors determined to sledge it out, bringing opponents down through innuendo and back-biting, using the limits of their imagination to discredit all those who do not belong to their party by creating controversies that may or may not be true. (Often the latter!)

The list goes on…

Freebies are synonymous with political promises, where combatants from various parties hand out enticing incentives to the general populace, hoping that every bit adds on to extra votes. The rabid followers get even more fervent, shouting slogans in support of their generous leaders. The ignorant settle for the gifts and vote for the donors without even exercising their political brain cells, if they have any. One cannot blame those below the poverty line when they excitedly vie to collect their freebies. The significance of giving away their votes is lost to them. 

Parker Johnson - Unsplash

Horse trading, in the good old days, meant the buying and selling of horses. Today, in politics, the term has burgeoned to mean “shrewd and hard bargaining” where the horses and mules are of the two-legged variety. Politicians see-saw around, hopping on the bandwagon of whichever party offers them more. It is sad when the sons and daughters of stalwarts from a certain party suddenly decide to abandon the age-old principles of their parents and springboard on to a new party that is only trying to add on to its numbers. Quantity over quality, certainly! Loyalty, which was something so vital in bygone days, has now become expendable.

COVID-19 brought in its wake numerous problems, the biggest one being the health issue, of course.  In schools, too, the problems were myriad. After two years of online classes, when children returned to school, they had regressed almost five years. Gone were their social skills, their willingness to sit in classrooms, their interaction with adults and peers, and most of all, their self-confidence. It has taken almost four years to bring them back to a semblance of what they would otherwise have been. The biggest issue is their addiction to devices, and their realization that there is a whole wide world (web) which can be accessed and used or misused.

Our children are more adept at using their devices, having been born using them. Certainly much more than the older generations who had to adapt to a world of social media much later in their lives. In schools, cyber bullying has reached a level where the sufferers end up being traumatised. Body shaming, jibes about IQ levels and using terms like ‘idiot’, ‘moron’ and the like, isolating or ignoring children who are different, sexual conversations, a dive into the dark web… these are only a few issues that have sprung up over the past few years, but it is vital that they are nipped in the bud. Children, today, have also become extremely sensitive, but they cannot be blamed because they face an entirely different kind of world as opposed to the rest of us who grew up in a kinder, less complicated one.

Cyber bullying has turned rampant in the world of politics as well. It is believed that platforms like Twitter have specially hired social media experts who send out politically motivated tweets, countering and insulting the doings of rival parties. Thousands of tweets go out at regular intervals, laced with invective, aimed at brainwashing thousands of gullible readers. As Vladimir Lenin said succinctly, 

“A lie told often enough becomes the truth.” 

It is almost impossible to find the source of these tweets, since there are so many of them, all saying the same thing in so forceful a manner that it sticks on in the minds of people.

                                                                               Brian Wertheim - Unsplash

Myron Fagan defined politics in a unique fashion – “Politics: ‘Poly’ a Latin word meaning ‘many’ and ‘tics’ meaning ‘blood-sucking creatures’.

While I do not subscribe to that definition, as we have had numerous effective statemen over the decades, along with a few well-meaning politicians even today who actually want to do their country proud by working for the good of its citizens, there is a breed that brings down the standard of the rest. Unfortunately, it is these that stand out like a black dot on white paper.

“Politics are about power: we cannot evade that truth or its consequences. We dream of a better world, but it is in Utopia – that is, nowhere.

D W Brogan

 "This post is a part of the Everything is Politics Blog Hop hosted by Sukaina Majeed and Manali Desai."

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

VISHU IN JOHANNESBURG

Saif Zaman - Unsplash

“Are you travelling just before Vishu (the Malayali New Year)?” The same question popped up several times just before we were leaving for Johannesburg on the 12th of April. I wish I could have recorded an audio message explaining how onerous it was to get a visa to South Africa and how we had lost money twice in the process. So, Vishu or no Vishu, there we were, five intrepid folks (my better half, our daughter, her two little ones and yours truly), all set to move to another continent.

Vishu had always been an event over the decades when our daughter was growing up with the whole rigmarole of setting up the Vishu ‘kani’ – the puja space where the most auspicious objects were displayed. The fun part was leading in the family, blindfolded towards the spot the moment they woke up in the morning so that when they did open their eyes, the first sight they would take in would be auspicious. One of the most anticipated moments was when the elders would give money to the younger generation. I remember receiving a pouchful of jingly coins from an uncle and being thrilled about it when I was young.

Of course, it was always easier in Kerala where the bell-shaped yellow ‘konna’ flowers would begin blooming well in time for the occasion. These would be placed along with articles like rice, coconuts, fruits and vegetables, silk, gold, money, ‘kum kum’ (vermillion), a mirror – all items of daily use. The lustre of the lit lamps and the fragrance of the ‘agarbatis’ (incense sticks) would waft around, adding charm to the whole display.


                                                       The 'konna' flower (Indian laburnum) - Unsplash (Coarse - Fine)

Once we were in Jo’burg, the celebration of Vishu took on a whole new meaning. There were two major impediments in the whole early morning blindfolding routine. One was that the two little ones were reluctant to go to bed, given that they had just come back after a vacation with absolutely no stringent timings. Waking them up early would not only leave them unhappy but unwilling to go back to sleep after, something that was unthinkable.

The other reason was more amusing and included a madcap of a dog, Bronn, whose mental age has not evolved with his age. He is in the habit of chewing up everything in sight. On our last trip, we had picked up an Ayurvedic oil supposedly a miracle remedy for burns, cuts, aches and sprains. Bronn got at it and drank up three quarters of it before he realised that it was not doggy food. Needless to say, he has never shown signs of any ache or pain thereafter!

                                                                                 Kerala Ayurveda Murivenna
 

 This time he attacked a tiny plastic box which had extremely sour ‘starter’ curd which had specially been brought all the way from Kerala for Varun’s mom, Shobha. It had been packed with special care and had survived the journey across two continents and the Indian ocean in between only to be devoured by a dopey canine!

Hence, once everyone was bright-eyed and bushy tailed, I shooed them out to the lounge so that the Vishu ‘kani’ could be set up inside. The lamp was lit, the whole family stood at the door, eyes closed, to be ushered in to take in the divine sight. As the two little ones prayed along with the rest, eyes aglow with wonder, my heart skipped a beat. These were the precious moments we would take back with us to India, the music we would hear long after it was heard no more.


                                                                                      Credits: Priyanka Menon Rao

Nana handed over the customary amount of money, for the first time in rands instead of rupees. The next moment, we found ourselves driving to the stores so that Zo and Sam could spend it immediately.

As my little Zo asked me, “Mooma, how many days are you and Nana here for?” When I replied that we had 48 days left, her eyes lit up. In my heart, I knew that these days would fly and hence, every moment needed to be tucked away deep within, to be taken out and savoured from time to time.

 

https://sixtyandme.com/grandchildren-quotes/


Saturday, March 9, 2024

THE FREEDOM TO FLY

 

                                                                                      DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

“The Award for Outstanding Entrepreneur goes to Ms. Rachna Singh!”

The beautiful lady walked to the stage, exquisite in a starched cotton sari, her short curls framing a face that exuded poise and confidence as she stood onstage, her palms folded together in an endearing namaste. The applause was thunderous as the audience gave her a standing ovation.

Rachna gazed at the sea of faces. Her husband, Samar and his mother were right in front, eyes aglow with pride as they clapped loudly. She could hardly take in the moment, dreamlike as it seemed.

The head of the Awards Committee held out the spectacular Award to her which she accepted with both hands. He handed over an envelope to her as the Master of Ceremonies read out her impressive biodata which brought a gasp to people’s lips.

As the applause died away, Rachna looked at Samar, her heart in her eyes. He blew a kiss at her as he sat down.

“Where do I begin?” Her soft voice rippled across the packed auditorium. “I need to tell you the story of a young girl.”

********

“Rachna, are you ready? The boy and his family are already here. Hurry up, will you?”

Rachna winced at the tone of authority even though she was used to it. Her parents had been domineering all their lives. Her two older sisters had succumbed meekly, leaving her no choice. She could not remember one occasion when they had all sat down as a family, laughing or joking with one another. Life had been like a police camp – all orders and no banter.

The only person their father was afraid of was his wife. The woman who had sailed into his life like a battleship and continued to behave like one ever after. Hence, the girls had grown up, cowering in corners, trying not to rock the boat in any way. Academically, they were all good, but no teacher remembered them after they left school and college.

Rachna’s sisters had got married to boys well vetted by their parents – boys from affluent backgrounds. It was Rachna’s turn to tie the knot. Even though she was keen to study further, she dared not voice her opinion because she knew that her request would be turned down.

Samar and his mother gazed curiously at the pretty young girl who sat next to her imposing mother, her large eyes fearful as the conversation went on about her. Samar’s father had passed away some years ago and it was his uncle and aunt who had come along with them.

As Rachna sat, shrouded in silence, Samar was puzzled. Why was she so hesitant to speak, and why did she constantly look at her mother for approval? His heart went out to her, and he knew that he would accept her as his spouse, mainly because he wanted to see her beautiful but lack-lustre eyes light up. He sensed that there was much beneath her veneer, much that she was hiding from the world. Rachna’s mother made a remark and guffawed, and he saw the girl wince, eyes lowered.

The wedding was a grand one with friends and family members participating in full gusto. The ceremonies were conducted with precision. Each time Samar saw Rachna, his heart rejoiced for she seemed to grow more beautiful. There was a glow about her and when she looked at him, her eyes seemed to sparkle a tiny bit.

A week later, Rachna was cutting vegetables in the kitchen when Kokila, her mother-in-law who was a doctor, called out to her. She was at home because it was a public holiday. On other days, she would go to her clinic and come back only in time for lunch.

“Yes, Ma?” Rachna came rushing in as she was prone to do when her mother summoned her.

“Slow down, child! There is no tearing hurry, you know?” Kokila smiled at her.

“Sorry, Ma, I was cutting vegetables…!”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Cutting vegetables is very well. However, what are you going to do with yourself?”

The girl looked at her, startled. However, she had been trained not to speak unless required.

“Rachna, don’t you want to go into the world and prove your mettle? I know that you were a good student.” Rachna nodded, wondering where this was leading. The older lady continued, “I want to you study further and land your dream job. Samar told me that you were keen to do your MBA. So, that is what you will do.”

Rachna was tongue-tied, but her eyes shone. A whole new world seemed to be beckoning. The next moment, her face fell.

“Ma, how can I leave home and go out? What about the household chores and the cooking. My mother gave me strict instructions on everything before I left home.”

“Your mother may have given you strict instructions, but now your home is here, with us. Samar is our son. We know what is on his mind. He does not want you to be tied down at home. You need to soar, my girl. You are more educated than many others… let’s put that education to use.” She smiled at the younger girl.

The first day of her MBA was an eye-opener to Rachna. There were so many young people, especially girls, who had fire in their bellies. Some were married, others were on a scholarship, still others were working part time to pay for their education. As she slowly got into the demanding routine, she realized that it was like climbing a mountain. Once she got the hang of it, she enjoyed herself as she had never done before. Her inhibitions disappeared and she found herself conversing with her mentors and her peers with ease.

Her parents were not happy with the change they saw in their daughter. Gone was the meek little girl whom they had married off! Rachna’s sisters were extremely proud of their little sister who had had the courage to make something of herself.

Rachna’s mother came over one day. She was talking to Kokila when Rachna walked in after a long day.

“Ma, so good to see you!” she smiled, moving towards her to hug her.

Her mother gave her a cursory hug, and then remarked, “Is this any time to come home, Rachna? Don’t you have any housework to do?”

Rachna froze for a moment and looked at Kokila. She had forgotten how caustic her mother could be. Kokila smiled at her and held her hand out. Holding Rachna’s hand, she turned to the other lady.

“Meenakshi, you have given us a gem. Rachna is so talented and hard working. She has a few months to go before she gets her MBA degree. After that, the sky is the limit. We are extremely proud of her.”

Rachna’s eyes filled with tears at the understanding words. She stood up and faced her mother.

“Ma, I am happy in myself, in what I am doing. It is all thanks to Ma here and to Samar, who gave me the right impetus to blossom.” Her mother’s face darkened, as she retorted, “All very well! A girl’s first duty is to her home after marriage, and not to go traipsing around after degrees. I don’t know what your father will say to all this.”

Kokila was about to jump to Rachna’s defence, when the girl put a gentle hand on her arm. Her eyes had turned stormy and she knew that the time to speak had come.

“Ma, I have never disobeyed you or Baba in any way. All my life, I meekly followed all that you said, even getting married at a time when I would have preferred to study further.” She looked at Kokila with a smile, her eyes aglow with love.

“I think that was the best decision that you and Baba made for me in life. Today, I am no longer the timid girl that I was when I left home. Samar and Ma took me in and treated me like their own. I owe them so much and I thank you for having got me Samar in my life.”

Her mother was thunderstruck. Never had she heard Rachna speak in such forthright manner. Her eyes snapped in anger as she looked at this new avatar of her daughter.

“I am not sure I like the way you’re speaking to me, Rachna! How dare you…?”

Kokila cut in gently. “Meenakshi, there is a time when our children grow beyond us. They have their own decisions, and we need to respect them, don’t we?” She turned to Rachna. “Go and freshen up, child. I have made your favorite samosas for you.” Rachna smiled at her as she made her way to her room.

**********

Rachna stopped speaking. Arms outstretched, she gazed at Samar and Kokila, as she said softly, “Thank you for giving me the freedom to fly!”

1500 words

 "This post is a part of Her Journey Blog Hop hosted by Sukaina Majeed and Manali Desai."

Thursday, February 29, 2024

WRITE A PAGE A DAY! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Freepik

Here I am at the end of a month of writing on February 29th, a taxing yet enjoyable exercise which I managed to hang on to by the skin of my teeth.

#WriteAPageADay by #Blogchatter challenges writers to write across the month and complete ten thousand words. So, there I was, all set to take the bit between my teeth and canter on, despite dire threats from my better half.

“Don’t you already have enough to do in a day without this added complication?”

I nodded, mulling over how to work it out. Being in school from 9AM to 4.30PM is a major chunk out of a day, no doubt. I could always do away with my evening walk! Wait a minute… what evening walk? That had already been done away with in my previous challenges.

My better half and I both believe in the adage, “Eat well today for tomorrow you diet!” Hence, there are days we gorge, mostly on weekends, and then come back to our senses and our diets the rest of the week. Makes cooking a whole lot easier!

Dinner? What could be easier than making hot and crisp dosas to be eaten right off the stove, while watching our favourite series and movies?

Anyway, sandwiched in between all these activities, my brain cells were on a permanent overdrive, wondering what exactly I could write on each day. Often, I would start writing without an idea of where I was going, running blind, if I may say so. Somehow, the words would magically form themselves in a kind of woozy pattern, swirling in the air around me like so many little jigsaw pieces, till finally they rearranged themselves into coherent little wholes that dovetailed into my daily posts.

29 days of relentless writing – I would like to brag a bit here. I had completed my 10,000 words by my 13th post. Then a kind Blogchatter soul, Geethica, gave me a gentle nudge suggesting that I could continue writing till the end of the month.

Exactly what I did! I wrote short stories, a poem or two, a couple of book reviews, sharing apt images from Unsplash and Freepik, a process I truly enjoy. Everything was going well till two days before the end of the month.

Crash! Wham! My Facebook and my Instagram accounts got hacked and there I was, supposedly doling out free financial advice to all and sundry on how to make money grow on trees and make clothing lines sell. As I lost control of my precious accounts, I had frantic messages and calls from people along with screenshots about the mayhem the fraudster was wreaking on them.

I sent equally frantic mails to the support staff of Facebook and Instagram about the hacking, hoping against hope that a miracle would take place. When it did not, I went ahead and created a new Facebook account. I am yet to create an Instagram account.

After much heartbreak, there looms a lesson learnt the hard way!

Never trust anyone on social media. If a person messages you, always be on your guard, especially when the language spoken appears fake or the demands unnatural. As I have said earlier, there is a special place reserved for fraudsters who manage to hoodwink people online, invading their personal space, that place being the hottest part of hell.

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

565 words

 


Wednesday, February 28, 2024

LOST WORDS! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

                                                                                                       Unsplash

Over the decades, words fill our lives, words spoken, words penned and words that stay unspoken within the soul. There is so much of our hearts that go into these words, and stay there in the world, in the form of books, articles, poetry and the like. That is what we writers live for. Spaces form between words, and there are times when words dry up as well. But we need to battle on, even on days when we have nothing to say.

When one fine day, those words are taken away, it can be heartbreaking. Even when there are back up files because there are specific moments when these words make all the difference, and when the moments are taken away, the words cease to have the same effect.

There are thieves who steal away words for nefarious reasons… to hoodwink the innocent and to make a quick buck. These are the people who hide hearts as back as the night within pristine exteriors. One day, when something precious is removed from their hands, they will realise how dastardly it is to steal words and moments so significant. I wonder if hell fire is too good for these sinners.

It is time to start afresh on a new page, on a clean slate and with a new profusion of words. There is no past here, only the living present and the unborn future. As H.W. Longfellow put it so eloquently,

 “Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act – act in the living Present,

Heart within, and God o’erhead.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

277 words


Tuesday, February 27, 2024

SIMI’S MA - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 

Pinterest

“Ma, why the long face?”

Simi swooped down on her pensive mother, swinging her around as she used to when she was a teenager. Her mother’s face lit up at the sight of her beloved daughter.

“Simoo, when did you get here? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming.” She gave her a bear hug, pausing only to ask, “Where is Akshat? I hope he has come as well.”

“Oh, Akshat had a boring conference to attend. He will be here tomorrow,” replied Simi irreverently, grinning at the shocked expression on her mother’s face.

“Don’t say such things, you silly girl!” Ma remonstrated, pulling her ear in fun. “Your husband needs to be respected.”

“Of course, I respect him, Ma. However, that does not mean I need to revere him. He is, after all, a human being.”

Ma said nothing, but Simi knew she had struck a chord within her heart. She knew how much her mother had had to adjust, being married to a man, not only much older than her, but also a bit on the dour side. If Simi had developed a funny bone, it was definitely from her mother’s side of the family. The other side found it difficult to crack their muscles into a smile. The most they unbent was on their wedding days at the behest of the photographer who begged them to not look as if they were at a funeral.

Simi had hardly seen her father in an affable mood, even when she was growing up. Her irrepressible personality evoked frowns from him, especially when there were visitors at home. Mealtimes at home were gloomy occasions when they would have to eat in silence. Often, Simi would look at her friends’ fathers longingly as they laughed and joked with their children. That world seemed so far away and unattainable to her.

Luckily, Ma was different when she was away from her husband. She would take Simi for little treats to the stores, sometimes buying her ice cream when she felt that the atmosphere at home was particularly trying. Ma and she would run along the lake that flowed alongside their home, waving at people in the boats that slipped by.

Ma at home was a different person when her husband was around. Simi called him Baba but she hardly knew him. His gruff voice, his disapproving glances and his strict regimen would curb her wild spirit for the moment, but those moments did not last long. For the moment Baba stepped out, Ma and she would turn into comrades in arms, laughing and joking as they spent precious time together.

When Simi got married to Akshat, Ma was the one most affected. Baba’s life went on like a placid stream, unruffled by anything joyful. Ma missed her child desperately. For years they had been companions.

Simi pulled at Ma’s hand. “What are you thinking off? Where is my Ma’s beautiful smile?”

“I feel it went along with you when you left home!”

The rejoinder was instant, and Simi was taken aback. Never had Ma said anything so poignant, so laced with bitterness and her heart broke.

“Ma, isn’t it time you tackled Baba and spoke to him about how you feel? You have repressed your feeling for too long.”

Ma smiled sadly. “You know your Baba. Do you think he will even listen?”

Simi pressed Ma’s hand gently. She could feel the rough calluses on it, a trait of a hand that had never stopped working. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. She could not recall one word of appreciation that came out of her father’s mouth, not one compliment for her mother. She began to weep as feelings of desperation assailed her. How could she leave her Ma and go away? She who was the only source of joy in her Ma’s life?

Ma sensed what was going through her daughter’s chaotic mind. She smiled at her, wiping her tears away.

“Don’t cry, child. This is the life I have chosen for myself. Your Baba is not an expressive man, as you know. However, he has taken care of me in his own way.”

Simi gazed at Ma’s face that seemed calm, almost resigned. There was no rancour or discontent on it. She realised that Ma was trying to tell her something in that moment.

“Simi, there are so many women in the world who have borne physical and emotional abuse from their husbands. So many who have turned into mental wrecks due to sadistic behaviour and domestic violence! Have you ever, even once, witnessed any such behaviour at home? Has your Baba lifted a finger against me or you?”

“Then why did you say that your beautiful smile left along with me?”

“That was just a momentary pang when I saw you after so many days, my child. That does not mean that I am living a miserable life here.”

People were made differently. Some were cheerful, others stayed serious. Some smiled and joked, others were like wallflowers.

Ma was like a hardy flower that could thrive anywhere. She had adjusted to her marriage and learnt to live with a man who smiled little, yet took care of her in the way he knew best.

That day Simi learnt a life lesson that she would never forget.

Ma had learnt to stay happy by making a bouquet of those flowers within reach.


I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

907 words


Monday, February 26, 2024

ANARKALI BY HARSHALI SINGH – BOOK REVIEW - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

                                                                                                       Amazon.in 

The name ‘Anarkali’ evokes memories of the beauteous Madhubala in ‘Mughal-E-Azam’ twirling around in a hall of mirrors, her reflection being multiplied to the lilting tune of an unforgettable song. Harshali Singh’s latest offering ‘Anarkali’, from the Readomania publishing house, offers us an insight into the background of this magnetic woman who, as the tagline claims, was ‘The Courtesan, the Pawn and the Queen’.

The narrative begins with the story of Nadira and her indomitable mother who takes her daughters on a perilous journey through the Khyber Pass to Kabul, “a mother who went through hell to keep her daughters safe.” On one special occasion, Nadira is paraded before the emperor himself, the mighty Akbar, in the hope that he finds her promising enough to be taken under his wing. Once she passes muster, she is determined to prove worthy, absorbing all the attributes that she needs to sparkle in the harem of Shahenshah Akbar, a man with three demanding queens and several favourite concubines.

Entranced with Nadira’s maiden performance before him, Akbar names her ‘Anar ki Kali’ which he calls “a fitting epithet to her blushing beauty”. She is ensconced in the peacock rooms, one of the most beautiful spaces in the palace.

Many characters people this absorbing narrative, bringing it to life. Anarkali soon realises that she needs to use all her wiles and intelligence to survive in this web of intrigue riddled with critics and naysayers – Queen Ruqaiya and Salima Begum, in particular.

Harshali Singh once again proves why she is a writer par excellence. She impels her Anarkali to play the mahal (palace) as she would play Shatranj (chess), moving step by step to turn from mere pawn to the queen of the emperor’s heart. Every chapter begins with the description of a chess move that mirrors the action in the words that follow.

The appearance of Prince Salim, the crown prince, and his shadow, Durjan Singh, Commander Mansingh’s son, change the even tempo of Anarkali’s life, as she grapples with emotions that threaten to overwhelm her. From the controller and the knight of her own life, she treads into forbidden areas, meeting powerful men head on.

The intrigues, the challenges, the passion and the perils in the ephemeral life of a courtesan are beautifully described as Anarkali falls from grace.

Was Anarkali a pawn in the hands of a tyrant or did she have a say in her own destiny?

As the blurb of the book suggests, “Was she purposely erased from the annals of history for questioning free will?”

This gem of a book with its eye-catching cover will stay with the reader for its lifelike portrayal of its exquisite protagonist and the travails she went through in the Mughal court. Harshali Singh proves her prowess over the English language and apt Urdu embellishments, both of which she uses to enhance her writing.

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

481 words 

 

 


LOVE AT FIRST BYTE - DIVYA RAMASWAMY - BOOK REVIEW

  Amazon.in One closes the last page of Divya Ramaswamy's Love at First Byte with a smile at a tale well told. The book revolves around ...