Neha Gupta's Blog, page 2

The Book Circles

I  can say I have been privileged, destined or simply manifested it by wanting it. Reality is, I have made conscious attempts to be part of book clubs from time to time in every place I have lived in the past 10 years. It’s something that I instinctively incline to and has built my sacred group of friends and fellow readers. 

I once asked my husband to join a club with me, and his answer was - I like to read books not talk about them. And I seemed to like both so book clubs have been a need naturally. 

It started with - 

Bandra book club

Named after a posh Mumbai locality this one seemed impressive enough to attract Bombay elite readers to come vine and dine, while having eclectic conversations about books. Hosted by a semi socialite she carried certain standards. I lived in the suburbs and going there once a month was a big trip but anything for some good book conversations.  People were warm and welcoming, but I didn’t have the literary backgrounds or artist professions like them. Soon I let the outsider syndrome take over disguised as an excuse of too far a distance and stopped going. Or did I self sabotage myself into not being welcomed again. Either way, it wouldn’t last. Read more here: 

Kalpataru book club 

But the search for the book club continued. I put an advertisement on the notice board of my society for fellow book lovers. Soon we built a nice one with mostly women. There were two men initially who loved reading  enough to join us. Eventually it become an all woman club and we chose to call ourselves Book Divas. We talked about books, politics , psychology, motherhood, mother in laws, maids, feminism and society. It ticked all the check boxes of what a woman wants, forming a great comraderie of women of all ages and personalities bonding over books. We have moved around since and don’t talk about books but sometimes the WhatsApp group comes alive on what’s our current read or mood. 

Prestige book club 

Now I live in Bengaluru and this city is truly a city of readers. We have a group of about 20 women that comes together every month. One member gives options and a book is chosen by popular votes, then we all read and gather to discuss. I love our bookish conversations underlined with experiences and opinions by, for and of women and society. Although non fiction comes up as book of the month sometimes, which is when I read my other books and attend the session only for the lovely conversations. 

Wherever life takes me, a book club is a place to find fellow group of women readers who love stories. Now thats what I call,  my vibe, and my tribe.  

Welcome to Paradise: A quintessentially Twinkle

Title: Welcome to paradise Author: Twinkle Khanna 

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The much awaited book of Twinkle Khanna, now a graduate of Goldsmith university. She returns to her trusted genre of short stories, Indian, contemporary, fiction, nostalgia, feminism. Her formula clicks every time is as she has her own unique and quirky way of looking at the world, serving nostalgia in a comical way. 

As an aspiring author, I have a tendency to reflect on the writing process of the author. Imagining and interpreting how the stories have been inspired from their own life. I believe that each story by an author is like a horocrux where the author leaves a part of his or her life. After some research I find strong female figures, drugged relatives, and 

The first story plunged me into the back story of the author. It’s probably me trying to find the characters and their motivations. Khanna has a complex backstory by the tabloids coming from a filmy family, drama is inevitable. Apparently her uncle was a drug addict, so her story felt real and authentic. I am sure most us imagination but a big part is inspiration and the authors interpretation. 

The second story of catfishing is a cute one. I have never done it but what sense of freedom, imagination and morality. 

The third story, was the aeging tale of a woman and the city of Bombay. The hanging gardens, revolving restaurant, vada pav, Sea Rock, the race course, and others. Only someone who has lived and left Bombay can understand the romance. It’s your past and it belongs to you. There were imprints of Khanna’s own love for Bombay the city she calls home and Panchgani school where she studied. Euthanisea is a complex subject but being old is not easy. I do not fear so much unless u can keep writing and thinking. But like everyone, I would like to go in my sleep. 

Girl in white cotton: The cotton threads of a mother daughter relationship

Title: Girl in white cotton

Author: Avni Doshi

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️✨

Nostalgia, Indian, female author, mother daughter relationship, the coming of age and Pune city. All my favorite themes. 

For long I had been wanting to read a good Indian fiction and this book was timed well. The journey of Antara with her mother and motherhood is the symbolic unfolding of a circular life. Many times the things that happen to you, set certain patterns for you, which play on repeat. You believe to do a better job than your parents but unknowingly you become their version. I loved how she shifts between reverie of nostalgia and the dilemmas of present. As you try to reject your past you also loose hope in future, both tied tightly, leaving one means losing both. 

And not to forget the lovely lines and quotes from the book:  

A low dose of something can be a panacea. A high dose can be fatal. I wish moderation were a comfortable state. 

Baba said, do not record history. They decide history. If there are no pictures of you, you never existed. 

The past seems to have a vigor that the present does not.  

The sun is still high in the sky and blazing thought the windows, turning the backs of by eyelids into kaleidoscopes. 

Expats: Netflix series review

Name: Expats 

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️✨

The title sounds like entitled people coming from rich countries to poorer countries and making big bucks at the expense of hardship. But how wrong was I. 

An accident is what it is. And then there is a victim story. But what happens to the accused. It’s not like they committed murder. They live to tell the tale but how does one tell a story where they are the villain. With this premise the show starts. 

A mother grieving under the guilt of losing her child, an Indian middle aged woman and her desire to be a mother, and a young lonely woman fighting her demons. The Asian, Indian and American cultures colliding together only emphasizing that humans and their joys and sorrows are all the same. Then comes the climax wheee they are in small claustrophobic places with their fellow tormented souls, and there is no escape from their demons. A daughter with her mother, a mother with the father, and a couple facing an unwanted pregnancy.  Then it rains like redemption! 

I particularly liked the captures of Hong streets, people and noises thru their differ t eyes and overheating stranger conversations. I always thought HKG was a busy business district but the sadness of the characters showed a human and chaotic side of it which made it so real despite never being there.

My girl: Film review

Name: My girl

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️

I recently took a staycation and felt like watching a classic movie and tada! My girl just popped on my Netflix, they are truly listening to our thoughts. 

It’s a short soulful movie with a strong theme about life and death. A young girl has seen so much death and change in life does she get to move on. The movie despite its tribulations has a happy ending like all stories should, it’s just how you look at them. 

The parts I loved especially were the ones with her writing teacher Prof Delerix. His way of teaching, the inspired quotes and the love for writing, it took this movie a notch higher. 

This movie is like the warm embrace of cupping a hot tea mug and a cosy quilt on a winter evening. 

Remnants of a Separation - A graceful poetic tribute

Title: Remnants of a separation 

Author: Aanchal Malhotra

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A fistful of soil, mutthi bhar mitti. 

Till today how many people, on both sides have been pining just for that!

These are the last lines of the book and with this I crossover the border of time and memories and come to the present moment having lived all the stories. 

Aanchal Malhotra is a brilliant historian and author creating visual tales of nostalgia thru archiving the material remnants of the past. Those whose grandparents crossed over have grown up with tales of the land they lived once. My grand parents would sometimes narrate their lives as a beautiful memory, probably hiding the gory past, as if by not talking about it, it will be forgotten and left only beautiful memories of a lost world where everyone lived happily. As if the curse of partition was the worst thing that could happen and everything else is a toast story. Imagine the wrath. 

Aanchal deals with the trauma in a graceful, respectful, poise and poetic manner. It’s past and dwelling in it is toxic. People who went thru it have forgiven it so why can’t we. I too regret not talking about it more with my grandparents or not having to worry about getting a visa to Lahore, my grandmothers hometown. Why it’s so far. Why it’s seems so near. Slowly the generation who lived thru it is dieting but the scars stay, like remnants of old wounds showing as birth marks.

Every time the violence was described - people killing, jumping in the wells, cutting children, raping women, lost families, hunger, and poverty - my eyes would tear up and something swelled inside me, ready to burst from my throat. It’s true the pain never goes, it seeps into your soul, your bones and passes on to the next generation with stories and blood running thru us. The facts and events enter the books but the feelings of anger, helplessness and loss pierce the elements of earth, passing stories to the next generations thru the food we eat, the songs we sing, the wind that blows and the river that flows. Like remnants of a lost love! The love of motherland. 

Ps I can’t tell you the amount of poetic quotes this book has. My prompt booklet is half over but they are to be cherished. Like a beautiful past, which must be visited a few words remembered and then closed to be loved from far.