Priyanka Lal's Blog: PL and Word Play , page 3

Impression- Forbidden by Mike Wells & Devika Fernando

This is the kind I grew up reading.

The points of shock have changed with the times, but a well known genre, language, pace. Feels familiar, feels like meeting an old friend.

Definitely intrigued, ticks the right boxes with pace, expressions, the lies, and the play on emotions of a young girl, the manipulation, blatant.

Wouldn't wait too long to grab this one! Since a trilogy, you get more and more to read.

Mine is testimony to penchant for length and intrigue.

Looking forward.

Happy times indeed...as its time to read!!!

Impression- He Fixed the Match she fixed him-Shikha Kumar

The title and the chapter is your hint to what lies ahead.

Like the title, the novel is, simply worded, story of two characters. Obviously with a typical Indian family, to support the character's movements.

You find an inkling, the correct cords tauten with curiosity, to know what lies ahead, in this emotional, romance drama. What happens between these two, strong and stubborn characters, HE and SHE.

They have a history, where one has hurt the other, intentionally or unintentionally will be known only if one gets their hands on the book.

As the characters, Shreya and Kunal are 'strong', neither is ready to take it lying low. One revenge prompts the other, and the saga continues.

To find out the offence and the defense, grab the novel. Easy expressions, detailed description that helps you imagine the characters move in front of your eyes.
Or, if you prefer to literally see the movements, you could catch the upcoming movie!

My romance drama, would take a couple of sequels, ya the length!!!

Want to feel the romance and sparks between two people, who are hell bent on hating each other? Read the book, it will make you happy!

Happy times ahead, because...its time to read!!

Impression-A minute to death by Ganga Bharani

The book description says it all.

Real characters, get together to create an anticipation.

Simply worded, involving and tempting read. Extremely fast paced, no dilly dallying, only ponder as the clues are put in front of us.

I could picture what the words expressed.

Already, recommended the novel to people hard pressed for time, but for whom reading is not just time-pass but a way of living.

They were looking for something different from mine kinda romance! Detailed and leisurely.

A minute to death, though would be welcomed by readers and non readers, for the mystery, pace, and being succinct.

Have a happy time...because its the time to read!!

They gave me endless horizons…

I was never an attentive student, nor the brightest.

I don’t remember every person I ever met. I don’t remember, what they told me, how they treated me.

But there are some I can never forget.

My debut novel, The Rose Bush, is my life’s dearest endeavour and it bears testimony. If you go through the novel’s acknowledgement, you will find, some extraordinary people are responsible for ‘making’ me.

For shaping my thoughts, the way I see things, the way I present them. It has been ingrained in me by my teachers, in particular the ones at Sacred Heart, Ranchi. They are the people who prepared me, and made me capable of realising all my dreams.

I was never a favourite pupil for long. My affinity to fiction, invariably brought me into bad books of academics, but my teachers never lost hope. Each year, with progress into each chapter they thought maybe I could be salvaged along with my marks, but it never materialised.

For sake of good marks and their good reviews, I did try, but fictions and characters beckoned me and I always lost my way, to novels.

Yet today, when I get down to my work, read: passion, writing; my teacher’s guidelines still ring in my ears.

I can vividly picture them, as if it was just yesterday, when they stood at the head of the class, explaining various theories using every possible resource at hand. Be it the sense of speaking, seeing, sense of touch, several notebooks and other articles, perched at various angles on the blackboard, or the table. Their bodies, twisted and turned, so that they could handle these objects, achieving a posture and model that could successfully help us imagine and see what the words in the text books couldn’t convey.

My dear teachers, though my academic marks will not be a proof, but your efforts were not in vain. All your lessons are, embedded in my memory, like you all are. I remember them every day, as I remember you all.

All of us have told you innumerable times, and I say it again, We miss you!

It’s been more than a decade since I left my alma mater, Sacred Heart, Hulhundu, Ranchi.

I hold a post graduate degree, so obviously up to this juncture of my life, I have had the good fortune to be guided by several excellent masters.

All of them, I believe, have helped me evolve, not just grow.

When I discovered, I could be confident to the point of being arrogant, they reprimanded, yet praised me more for my confidence. When I had to appear for a crucial exam, after a gap of a year, my teacher knew it could only be because I had been stuck with something urgent, the previous year. There was no lurking doubt, that I may have been negligent with my studies.

As a newlywed, with brand new responsibilities, making to class was always a race, a race that I never won. But my teachers were my champions with their understanding.

My teachers have guided, nurtured, encouraged and helped me to where I am today.

Teachers are a lot, I believe, that never stunt ones growth. They care, they coax, they guide, they lead. They are the ones, who show you the endless horizons life has to offer. They provide you the road map to the journey, which will take you to the destination.

My dear teachers, you all, did the same.

From Carmel Convent, Giridih; Sacred Heart, Ranchi; DAV, Hehal, Ranchi; RKW College, Giridih to Mount Carmel, Bangalore. All the teachers I ever came across, thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

When my novel was launched, my teachers were the proudest, happiest and extremely encouraging.

Teachers are mostly not our blood relations. But, beside the A, B, O type blood groups, I think, there is another system of blood classification (besides the known biological ones).

The TEACHER-STUDENT blood type.

Characteristics:

Love, indulgence, critique, wellbeing of students on teacher’s part

and

Critique, fear, respect, everlasting fondness and nostalgia on the student’s part.

And the blood type gets transferred from one generation to next.

No matter who or where you are, once you come into the student-teacher realm, you get infused with this blood type, in your system.

Same happened to me, during my stint as a teacher. I changed, from being a lost student to a dedicated guide. Who might not know all the answers, but took trouble to find out, for my students.

My thinking process changed. I became a different, me. I tried my best to emulate my teachers, because besides academics, I wanted my students to learn what my teachers had taught me.

My students, in turn, accepted me and my ways, whole heartedly.

That is the beauty of this relationship.

I will always miss my students as I miss my teachers.

‘My teachers who gave me endless horizons.’

P.S.: Belated Happy Teachers’ day, to all the generations of students and teachers.

The featured picture, is the card cum wall hanging my daughter presented to her teachers this Teachers’ day! The tradition continues, methods change, but the feelings remain the same.

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The Mystery, that isn’t…

Sheena Bora ‘alleged’ murder mystery!

Enough is being said, yet this is only the beginning. Just an introduction to a tale, that has caught every writer’s imagination, and made their mouths water. Innumerable authors’ pens and laptops would be beckoning them, to make all the characters their own. Well, it is an inspiring mystery!

Like everyone else, my cords of intrigue are also playing, but more than the high society drama, I am mystified by the people’s especially, journalists’ shock.

Journalists, who know it all; the general public, who as members of the society are privy to the knowledge.

I was puzzled by the utter shock I saw in, all of them, when they discovered that most if not all “characters’ ” documents were shady, forged, false! Pun intended with ‘character’.

Identity proofs are the documents, which carry a person’s information. The information, that’s make them sitting ducks, if disclosed.

Isn’t that true, illegitimate law in India, that, these documents of proofs, be it the birth certificate, the driving licence, PAN card, the latest, Aadhar card (that is issued to any person who happens to carry some 11 digit number, the number could have been assigned to you, but you need not be the person who receives the proof document. Someone else, can easily possess all your personal details!) In India, all the above mentioned proofs can be got, and in as many different original versions as you want.

Each and every Indian; educated, uneducated and getting educated, knows, is aware, that it’s absolute norm that Birth certificates, Driving licence any and every other proof of identification can be got, with minimal hassle and minimum amount of money.

When India weeps over Onions, the ones who can afford it and the ones who cannot; Indians know, if there is anything they can get unquestionably are, forged / doctored documents.

So, why the shock?

Shock at Indrani’s age on record; years of marriages and divorces; name of Sheena’s parents!

I curiously await name of one person, who doesn’t know, that we live in a society which has generations with documents to prove they are younger than their actual age.

Entire population has younger Birth certificate! All in hope, that they will have opportunity of longer run in Government jobs. Or, these younger certificates enables them to attempt competitive exams at an advanced age, than what is stipulated.

Then why was anyone, shocked at Indrani’s papers and employed so many news hours to break it to us! We know it, don’t we? It happens!

I consider arguments, that those documents are lies about parentage that should have been respected; relationships that should have been nurtured; taken for granted facts, when furnished anywhere; so they should have been true, for greater good.

Hence, it’s absence classifies the person dishonest at par with criminals.

Again;

Isn’t it norm again in India, to hide facts about illegitimate kids, out of wedlock children. Being divorced is a stigma, having been molested is taboo.

Whoever in our society admits to having kids out of wedlock? If a marriage has been short lived isn’t it practice to erase it from history.

In Arranged as well as Love marriages, it is a practice to hide being acquainted to opposite gender, non-platonically. If disclosed, husbands and wives forever live in suspense whether or not their spouse still have feelings for their ‘past’.

To have feeling is equivalent to cheating, one can hardly expect to be in touch, or meet over coffee as acquaintances with fond memories of each other.

We live in a society where to sustain marital harmony husbands keep from their wives, the information, that they have failed to give up smoking!

Each one has an ideal image to live up to, and the slightest ding in the image is not tolerated.

It is absolutely necessary for survival, one burns their past.

So, why the shock, when Indrani was found to have done the same?

Her past; a girl in her early twenties when she became a mother. No family or education to support her. If she tried to pave way for herself by practicing Indian norms, why was it a blow to the reporters’ and news channels’ sensibilities, when they ‘discovered’ it?

P.S.: Indrani guilty of murder or not, is not my discussion. Nor if Sheena and many others were wronged.

I am only mystified by the shock of journalists and reporters, who are aware, as well as you and me, that having documents with wrong information, half-truths is not a mystery to be delved on!

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Independence Day, that weekend…

Bangaloreans, welcome their weekends. And how!

Having lived in Bangalore for the past seven years, I would say, they give more than they have in them during the week, for the weekends.

Weekend. When everything you do is justified. Be it lying on couch the entire 48 hours, party with friends, go out, not take bath!

Everything is correct and their ‘right’ on weekends because they toil without complaints, work ungodly hours, do not meet their family, kids, friends for the five days during the week.

By the time most of us reach home our dear ones are fast asleep or unapproachable.

But Bangaloreans never grumble because they know, weekend will be here and all will be right. As they wished. Being part of an IT professional’s life, even I follow this ‘mantra’.

We will be the lords come weekend and I know, each one deserves it.

But last two weekends specifically Saturdays got me thinking.

People are enjoying weekends because they work hard, sacrifice everything during the week or because they are selfish, inconsiderate, self-obsessed?

The Saturdays in question are 15th August, Independence Day and 22nd August, Bangalore Municipal Corporation elections.

I noticed a dissonance!

On 15th kids and adults dressed in whites, paid respect to the flag, homage to the Freedom Fighters and their struggle.

Various schools in the city highly impressed the adult citizens. The citizens couldn’t help but appreciate the efforts on the school’s part to make children recognise the tyranny faced by the Freedom fighters. What the 90 years of struggle were all about. Provided knowledge about their nation, the ‘rights’ bestowed on us courtesy the Freedom Movement. Glorious history of India, its downfall and rise again. The schools did it extremely well.

I could see it, the zeal, the approval, in the eyes of the people, hastily dropping off their kids at bus stops before they themselves went to the nearest flag hoisting.

After that, as is the mood on Saturday, party!

Even I made my special weekend extra special by visiting an old friend. The high point of my day was, when I found that my car received more petrol for Rupees Five hundred than it did around a fortnight ago. Petrol prices had gone down! Obviously courtesy a government that served our democracy.

A democracy, where people had and exercised, the freedom of choice, right to speak as wished, whatever they wished; right to dress as they fancied and they never take kindly to being questioned about it.

I am an observer, and I observed, people were aware of their rights and they never shied away from exercising each one of them.

Being aware is natural. I am sure, these rights are now parts of our DNA, duh, obviously! It’s been 69 years since we got Independence. Democratic rights are definitely ingrained in us by now. Symbolic of educated, informed civilians, responsible citizens who knew they are free, independent and enjoyed it.

Then what happened? What we saw on 22nd August, was not norm.

There was a low voter turnout for the BBMP elections. We heard most of them decided, not to make a choice.

In India where no one gives up anything voluntarily, people let go of their right to vote!

Short memory? They forgot the freedom struggle, the freedom fighters who gave away their lives, to get them those rights. In spite of being reminded just previous Saturday!

Gandhi ji had forgone innumerable meals, to get that right to vote, for us. That right to choose our representatives, who will be the mode of communication between our needs and the Central Government.

A Bangalorean knows of the dismal roads, the agony it is to travel on these roads ten times a week. Each and every one of us have shook our heads, in dismay, at the dug up roads, the intermittent constructions and many perpetual ones. Many professionals, suffer chronic back problems due to travelling on these ‘unpredictable’ roads. I classify them as unpredictable, because there have been incidents, on rainy evenings, when suddenly cars have disappeared, from right in front of our eyes, into potholes and ditches that were not present there six hours ago!

Every Bangalorean has borne, the stench of dying, frothing lakes that require immediate correctional measures. All of us have seen the piles of rotting, swarming, untreated waste that makes the roads of the city insufferable.

I speak as a house wife who painstakingly segregates wet wastes, dry wastes and refuse in hope it will be treated according to guidelines, but then finds piles of mixed wastes on major parts of the city pavements.

I, still segregate, in hope of warding off the health hazard these piles promise, not only for myself and my kids but for everyone.

Now my big question is;

Who is going to take care?

Who is going to supervise, that my efforts are respected and those processes of treating waste stringently followed?

Who gave my non-voting fellow Bangaloreans the right to jeopardize my endeavour?

I can’t not listen to ‘authorities’, read BBMP guidelines; and yet I might not have the right authorities.

Who gave anyone the ‘right’ to put me at risk? Render me helpless.

My reasoning is, since Bangaloreans fight through the week to justify their weekend frolics, why did they do injustice to the Freedom Movement and the Freedom Fighters?

Why on this occasion, my fellow citizens, the educated, responsible adults not choose to exercise their dear rights?

Am I not their responsibility for being part of the society or are they not responsible enough to be part of the society?

P.S. : By the way, the party that I voted for, won. So at least my vote did not go to waste. But what if I made the wrong choice?

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