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Category Archives: romance

Opposite lines

Opposite lines

A poem with alternate lines being romantic and the reverse

For you my darling I’d go anywhere

As long as you pay my business class fare

For you my sweet I will do anything
As long as I am paid for it in cash kind or Bling

For you my beloved I’d write a whole song

But only if you agree to go away for long

For you my dear lover I’d give up my life

As long as you don’t ever get near my wife

 

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Phenomenal Girl

Phenomenal Girl

The beaming smile that dazzles all
And hides the hurt deep in her eyes
The eyes that tell a unique tale
Of one so young and yet so wise
She runs she sells she works she laughs
The strays find comfort in her arms
Her two wheeled steed will come at once
Whenever there’s a call for arms
All and sundry bank on her
But who will hold her when she cries

 

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Naquab

Naquab

In the flesh we have never met
She’s in a veil but yet
She’s always in my mind and heart
Which distance veil age society can not part
A vision of her in the morn
Quite makes my day. I am lovelorn

 

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The morning walk

The morning walk

A walk in the Park
The gentle musical notes of the cell phone sound jarring. This is followed by a poke in the ribs, a minute later, which is even more so. I reluctantly open my bleary eyes. It is still dark in Mumbai, at six am. The lady of the house is insistent, I cannot turn over and go back to sleep. The ritual of the dawn torture is to begin, the morning walk.
Although my heart continues to be a juvenile delinquent, time has broadened not only my vision but my waistline as well, and my corporal body is no longer in tune with my spirit, but is showing annoying signs of aging. These morning exertions were my way of trying to keep the doctor at bay.
Once we enter the park however, the lush green surroundings, the venerable old gnarled trees, the refreshing sea breeze, the soothing sounds of bird-call and invigorating sight of pretty ladies in jogging gear flitting around uplifts the mood and energises the soul.
Suddenly an explosive sound sends the birds flapping in the air. It is the laughing club, violating the copyrights of Ravan and Bollywood villains of yore; they go Ha Ha Ha, belly laughing their way to health, and frightening children, dogs and the weak of heart.
We next pass the yoga freaks, trying to attain three improbable postures before breakfast, the Ta-i-chi nuts fighting in slow motion with invisible opponents, the meditation gang catching up on their morning nap pretending to elevate the soul and perhaps body too, the fitness addicts sweating and grunting superciliously at us podgy huffers and puffers, the bird watchers ogling our poor feathered friends, intruding on their privacy, the dog walking domestic help flirting with each other and the ominous chanters, who are joined by a musically inclined man’s best friend, who joins in the resonant Oms with a tuneful howl.
In short, the usual flora and fauna in any open space in any city in our country, at this time of the day. All of you who participate in this morning ritual are familiar with it.
Another interesting feature I observe is the expression of my fellow walkers. There are those overburdened by the cares of the world early in the morning, and mope as they walk. The angry old men scowl at everyone. The jolly good bhakts yell Jai Sri Ram at everyone they pass. The Casanova leers good morning only at the ladies. Those in love go around with that rapt attention to their neighbours’ spouses while their bitter halves glare at the world, the garrulous pontificate loudly to all within earshot, oblivious of the bored looks of their captive audience, and the serene few walk along with their blissful expressions, living in their own world of inner peace. I am sure you all know and recognise these species.
The unique feature in our bit of green is an old gentleman, who all by himself sings morning ragas, playing the tabla, accompanied by a recorded tanpura for scale, eyes shut, trained voice, and walkers stop by for a while to listen, before moving on. The laughers, talkers, grunters, chanters, nothing disturbs our serene singer. This is the background music to our walk I really look forward to.
But one day a new sound pleasantly intruded. Someone was playing a harmonica with great skill. The tune was a classical devotional. Then a mellifluous voice joined in.
We found a group of senior citizens sitting in a circle where a gentleman was playing the harmonica, while a lady was lending her voice occasionally. They had eyes only for each other. The rest watched in silence.
They had a wide repertoire. The tunes moved to filmy bhajans, classic hits, and then romantic numbers from the fifties. I realised that these would be the songs of their youth.
My imagination whirred. Was this an unrequited love from a bygone era? Neighbours of old, who couldn’t speak of their hearts then, are meeting in their twilight years reliving old memories? Or just fellow walkers who yearn for each other, but age, decorum and societal norms keeping them apart, expressing untold thoughts through music?
Whatever their story, I wished them every happiness. They made this morning even sweeter than the rest.

 

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Video promo of Memories a Novella

 

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Image from soumyamukherjee8

image

This is the probable jacket of my hopefully soon to be published book 🙂

 

My Dream Man, by Aditi Bose, A Review

My Dream Man, by Aditi Bose, A Review

My Dream Man, by Aditi Bose, a review
The stewardess scrutinised the book in my hand and gave me an amused look, or so I thought. My co passengers too seemed to share her views. Maybe I was oversensitive, having been ribbed earlier by my harshest life critics, my two daughters, who also suggested that I would enjoy Desperate Housewives and Sex and the City. Gender stereotyping of the worst kind maybe, but a middle aged man cannot be seen reading a book with shocking pink cover, called My Dream Man, with a modernist rendition of some Kama sutra illustration on the cover. Fifty Shades of Gray may have been more indulgently accepted, but a Mills and Boones would have crucified me similarly.
Having read an earlier book by the Author, Aditi Bose, called Hamaguri goes to School, which had impressed me, I bravely plunged on.
A word here, Hamaguri was purported to be a children’s book, but was really a parenting guide. I was meant to review. But I dared not, as going by the reviews of my offspring on my parenting style; parenting is one job I am least qualified to comment on. This is by way of an explanation and apology to the author.
Dream Man soon had me chuckling and nodding in agreement. Disguised as mush, probably as per the dictates of the agent or publisher, this is a sort of autobiography of a young intelligent girl who wants to be a writer. She talks to her readers, meanders around, comments on diverse subjects that occupy the mind of someone like her, from food cravings to boring lectures; from drooling over men to writers block; from intrusive parents to interfering relatives. This builds a rapport with the reader.
The language is free flowing, easy, chatty and witty. This is a bright young writer, and even in an m&b kind romance, the brightness and wit shine through, often tongue in cheek.
This also works as a guide to wannabe writers like yours truly, and the pitfalls that come in the way, like copying styles we think may sell, and pressures from the agent to write in a certain way. Maybe that’s where the pink came from.
The plot is in standard romance format, which, judging by the other titles by the publisher, Authors Ink Publications seem to specialise in. This is about the romance between a gorgeous teacher and a bright young PYT; A bit of wishful thinking by the author perhaps? I will not disclose any more of the plot so that the little twists in the tale come as a surprise to the reader.
I wish the pink cover gets the desired readers, and others are not scared off by it, so that the book is a hit, and we see more coming from this talented youngster, whether erotica as hinted in the book, or more sensitive stories.
I for one am looking forward for more titles in all colours of the rainbow.

 

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