The same weird feeling churned her stomach. Absolutely annoying it had become; and since the past month, this had been an unwanted and unwarranted companion of Durga. She lay on that small ramshackle cot and looked at the shelves, hoping to find something to munch. There should be a chips packet no? Rudra da assured her something spicy and tangy would be kept. But no. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing, except for a few biscuits scraping the base of that glass jar. Rudra da’s grandma’s jar. He kept it as a sign of her legacy or love or whatever. Durga stared at that, rather glowered almost and mused if she could hold her hunger for some more time. Second day of Durga Puja, Paromita Aunty might cook some mutton. And probably, like the other day, she would heed Durga’s plight and send a bowl of mutton through Rinku, her ten year old daughter. A gush of air flew in through the window. And, along came the mellifluous drum beats. Durga got up and ran to the window. She glanced at the wall clock. Huh! It had also stopped last night at two. How come she didn’t realize? She was awake the whole night; gathering courage to ask Rudra da for a saree. And she could ask. After six months of marriage, she finally demanded something and even agreed to disown any hope for anything expensive. With tear soaked eyes, she was ready to reconcile even with a simple printed cotton saree if not a Tangail. Bright sunlight and that azure blue sky stretched unendingly with loose white cottony patches of clouds. It looked beautiful; much like a polka dot saree. Like how Priyanka Chopra wore for that award function! Her eyes glittered with that mere thought passing through. At least for that feeble second Durga could knit a fairy tale for herself. Much rewarding actually, than the brutal truth of her present life. Somewhere, it stockpiled a tale of unblemished love, a sketch of that perfect life which Durga had always imagined. She peeped out a little more. Did Maa Durga really live there in the sky? With her four kids and her husband? She pondered. The distant roads, however far her eyes could reach, were all bristling with life. Obviously. It was Kolkata. And it was Durga Puja. Nobody sat idle at home. However, Durga remained locked in her house. Not a single pandal she could visit yet. So what? Even the old man of the opposite house, spending most of his time sitting on that mottled, half broken balcony wouldn’t have been to a pandal. Not only this year, but for many years. Durga sighed at her pitiable consolation. She glanced at that house. She wondered, how two old people could remain alive and agile in that anytime-crumbling building. That house was some 200 years old and could collapse anytime soon. She sighed and doubted if that was the lone one in such a pathetic situation. Absolutely not. Most of the houses around were equally ruined. A string of chants reached Durga. Probably from that next lane pandal. Although faint, she could surmise the priest reciting the Pushpanjali Slokas. How couldn’t she? She was after all brought up amidst the grandeur of Roy Chaudhuri dynasty with a hundred year history of Durga Puja. Tears slid down her cheeks. Was she right in leaving her bloodline; rather everything behind for the sake of love? Durga never understood what Rudra thought of her decision. One fine morning, when she stood at his door carrying a small bag with few clothes, Rudra simply let her in. Neither he questioned nor did he advise. Neither was he angry nor looked happy. Not even a hint of disbelief he showed. He just let her in, closed the door and resumed with his painting. God! Durga could no longer distract her hunger. She opened the jar and chomped down all the biscuits. At least a momentary respite; before Rudra got something for lunch from that adjacent mess. Ugh! She puked. That’s not lunch. A bowl of heavily starched rice, watery dal and some vegetable. Occasionally, a small piece of fish Rudra got, drowned inside a brownish gravy. She scraped the crumbly bottom of the jar and licked her fingers. It was Saptami. Shikha kakima (aunt) and Asha didi (sister) might be busy making khichudi and laabda. Baba (father) might be instructing the cooks to take extra care while frying the fishes. Today he would have brought Rohu and Paabda. Pulav was always prepared for Ashtami bhog. Today, it would be plain rice, roasted moong dal and brinjal fried lengthwise. Durga felt the flush of saliva bickering inside her mouth. No holds barred, Durga was indeed missing her once-upon-a-time luxurious life. She lay down again. Belly cramped a couple of times. She looked at the calendar which Paromita Aunty lent her. It should be her time of the month. However, three months had passed since her last one came. Durga was just nineteen. She had often missed her periods but it had never cramped so badly. Moreover, she had never been into such wicked hunger. Her eyes stared the ceiling fan. Rotating out on a limb, it could stop or fall any day. She had asked Rudra da to replace it and as usual the request was put on hold. Even the slightest of the wind made the left window pane bang onto the grill rods. The stopper on the jamb had broken, what now felt like many eons ago. Many a night, that raucous noise had snatched sleep from her eyes. Strangely, it never disturbed Rudra da. He slept peacefully, lugging that immutable kind smile. Tear drenched, Durga sniffed as she strolled down her memory. One year ago, Rudra da was invited to Roy Chaudhury Nivas for drawing a portrait of Durga’s grandfather, along with the project of painting their years of heirloom. Durga’s eldest cousin, Dipankar had introduced Rudra da to the
Akhila Saroha Reviews The Gifted Words | Author Manish Kumar | The Literature Times
Human lives seem to be a bed of roses when projected in the utopian world. Only on closer reality checks, one understands the little intricacies they embody and the delicate fragments that form emotions. A product of a thorough understanding of these intricacies and observations of life is Manish Kumar’s novel, “The Gifted Words.” After his debut novel, “When Love Happens,” “The Gifted Words” explores life from a different perspective, which also introduces the readers to the multi-dimensional world that Kumar explores through his artistic personality. Kumar’s book begins with a baffling situation where the readers’ curiosity shoots up in wonder as to what events would have conspired in the past. As a narrator, Prince makes sure to reveal details that are enough for the readers to know at that moment. He assumes his roles in the first and third-person whenever required, which detaches the author from the narrative and frees the book from his hold. Sneha’s side is also presented once in a while which also ensures that the readers get to know the stories of multiple families that Kumar tries to traverse. In the midst of this, he talks about various themes and issues that form a fragment of any household. These themes include family, relationships, the fragility of life, living in the moment, happiness in little things, the importance of connectivity to roots, nostalgia, and the beauty of love in any bond. Such themes and ideas given Kumar’s work a Nicholas Sparks’ flavor; however, he maintains his ingenuity by infusing it with lesser pathos. The readers feel close to the characters from the initial stages of “The Gifted Words” and remain connected till the very last words. Mature readers would find their interest in being in the instant hold of the book as it presents life’s realities in the face of it without any tampering or sugar-coating. Structurally, the novel is finely paced and does not let the readers lose track of any event anywhere. They remain in tune with the narrative throughout. It features a variety of characters, but the central characters do not leave the stage even in their absence. Minor characters give their contribution as per needs. All readers who want to read a work that is infused with emotion, thoughtfulness, and maturity to understand life as it happens should take Kumar’s book for reading. It presents life’s realities, subtly and gracefully, making the book easily acceptable to the readers in an effortless style. Although his works feature youngsters, these youngsters represent the first impressions of the experiences life gives and how a young mind would respond when put in such situations. Hence, perceiving any work in the bracket of literary writing meant for young folks would not suggest doing complete justice to the kind of audience the work appeals to.
Anjali Mishra Reviews ‘The Perfect 5’ Authored by Abhay N Singh
Abhay has used his experiences and knowledge to give a perfect shape to this book. This book is designed and developed to enhance the skills and personality. It is a complete professional guide that will help you to achieve your goals. This book covers the most important topics like interviews, group discussion, effective communication, presentation, etiquette, and manners. Thus, the name ‘The Perfect 5’. It is for all professional and competitive students. The motive is to shape the career of many aspiring students and job seekers. The book has been published by Evincepub Publishing (www.evincepub.com) and now available worldwide. Anjali Mishra at The Literature Times, reviews the book ‘The Perfect 5’. Author Abhay N Singh Abhay N Singh is an MBA. By profession, he is a trainer, motivator and writer. He is the founder of ACEL (Ambient Centre for English Language), an institute for language and personality development. He trains professional students and also, he has been connected with TV Media. He has been a part of Live TV debate shows like “Dial C for Cricket” in NEO SPORTS CHANNEL at MUMBAI. He also writes columns and journals in leading newspapers. Abhay is planning to launch some more books on topics like ‘Defuse the Depression’, ‘Crack the Interview Trap’, ‘How to Be a Self-made’ to name a few.