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EnticedByEnglish

Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid fat rat, yellow.

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May 2016

Behind Closed Doors

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“Red. Millie’s room was red.”

The horror I felt when I read about the red room of torture. It was 9:30 PM in the night yesterday and I was, as usual, reading.  At 10:00 PM I switch the lights off and then read on getting in to bed. At 10:30 PM I switch the lights back on, and sit on my bed imagining the horrors to be unleashed on Millie in her red bedroom. Millie hated George Clooney. But George Clooney was Jack. But that was a secret between Millie and her sister! Not to be told to anyone! She’d promised if nothing.

For the first 50% of the book, I was like, “What the hell is so big a deal about this book that the review said the book everyone in the blogosphere is raving about?
But then there came the next 50% of the book which made my heart was pound the shit out of me. The places a book can take you to. It’s just amazing isn’t it?

I was there. Yes I was. In the red room with Grace and Jack.
And oh, the irony of his death. You can’t help but feel – Ha! Serves the bastard right!

#BehindClosedDoors #Thriller

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She was no older that five. She wore a pretty white frock and carried a basket of white rose petals. She stuffed a few petals in her chubby little first and threw them on to the aisle as she walked ahead of the boney woman in the flowing white wedding dress. Arm in arm, her dad walked her and at the end of the aisle, he gave her hand in marriage to a pink man who was wider than he was tall.
The groom’s collar button wasn’t donned as he hardly had any neck. He looked at his boney bride with his watery little piggy eyes and she responded in kind as she seemed to see in his face, a flood of all the world’s love.
Dudley Dursley was getting married. And by him, stood his best man.
He was frantically trying to flatten his jet black hair that stubbornly stuck up at the back of his head. He had brilliant green eyes and wore round glasses but what stood out about this guy was the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

The Weasleys!

“Arthur! You are the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office! It gives me great pleasure Arthur, in reminding you of that at least tens of thousands of times in a day!”, fumed Mrs. Weasley, her arms on her hips as he sat in front of Hugo’s computer.

“But Molly dear, look, it’s the copmuter! Hugo told me all about it.”, he replied pointing at his grandson who looked petrified with bulging eyes.

“I can’t believe you just did that grandpa! Now she is going to send me a howler!”, said Hugo as Ron and  Hermione howled with laughter and to Mr. Weasley’s delight, as did Mrs. Weasley.

#weasleys #jkrowling #shortstory

Kudzu For Hangover?

Is Kudzu what I need?

So there is this witch, disguised herself a man. Brewing the most exotic of concoctions is what she does for a living. She, (or in this case to go along with her disguise should I say) he, has that ability to keep the customer enticed for as long as the concoction lasts and leave him/her to the mercy of hangover when he/she is done with it. I call myself the victim here. And as a victim, I ask Google what i would need to get out of this hangover and Google tells me that I need Kudzu.

But I’m talking about a book hangover, Google! Kudzu is an antidote for hangovers caused by alcohol!

JK Rowling AKA Robert Galbraith – Strike Series!

God!

I create drawings for a living.
Some one I met recently, spoke in a meeting about my team at work being “Creators” for creating drawings.
Did he by any chance, mean that I’m a Creator? Oh. My. God (Janice style), am I God?

Holy shit, I’m Bruce Almighty!

Oh and P.S: Did you just say, “Woah, drawings for a living? That must be fun.”? Get a grip y’all. Don’t you get all excited. It’s just on a 3D software which is later hauled off for manufacturing something out of steel. Trust me it’s boring and monotonous and I just hope my employer doesn’t read this post.

To Err Is Human

We think we’ve read a bunch of books and hey, what’s so damn big a deal about writing one ourselves? Us bookworms, we have all been there haven’t we? I went through my fair share of that typical phase that eventually phased out.
Did I have a subject? Check.
Did I have a title? Check.
Did I have the stationery? Check. (Brand new from the store, say about 500 bucks?)
Did I have the drive? Check.
I’d started writing my first draft of the first two chapters at the speed of light.
Named the chapters? Check.
Proof reading (first time)? Check.
Proof reading (second time)? Check. (What if I’d missed something, after all I’m human.)
Proof reading (third time)? Check. (Basically running out of plots and consoling self)
Proof reading (fourth time)? Check.
Finally, busted!!
What’s more? I named that time “Writers block”.
Now that’s the most hilarious way of making a fool out of oneself, huh?

Career Of Evil – Review.

Robert Galbraith’s un-put-down-able #3 Cormoran Strike thriller, Career Of Evil.

Spoiler alert. I am freely shamelessly giving out the plot because I’m super pissed.

So, the detective goes on a wild goose chase along with Robin, his partner/secretary following his hunch. He comes down to three people who might actually hold a grudge against him, so great as to send his partner/secretary, a dead woman’s right leg. Not to mention, the exact leg Cormoran’d lost as an army personnel. So that’s about 50% of the book.
The person who the protagonist is desperate to hunt down, is not totally hidden as in the case of The Cuckoo’s Calling or The Silkworm. The author gives us a taste of the culprit’s thoughts and activities. Which leads to the best part which creates this unadulterated pent up pressure of when Robin is going to be kidnapped or killed. As in, literally every second. I find the pressure going up every time she takes leave of Cormoran, be it to board the train home after work or vice versa or when she goes on to investigate or tail another live case in the plot, alone.
The way it’s written, of course, I don’t have so much as a letter to criticize JKR. She was and remains to the day, the best story teller I have known.

But I must say I’m disappointed with the plot. I was expecting something like Robin being taken hostage and Cormoran with his deduction and all that rescuing her and taking her safely to the church in Masham on her wedding to her waiting groom. I would have liked that better. The story was entirely being built up on that sort of an ending and causes pure irritation when it isn’t that.

Of Her, By Her and For Her.

Of Her, By Her and For Her.

Smoothing out her father’s starched white cotton shirt, handing him a packet of sugar as she always did, stood by the door waving goodbye as he left for work, was the beautiful lady in her early twenties. A father’s youngest of six – a result of which, utterly pampered. A simple life, she led. She was just done with her final exams in B.A Politics, awaiting her results. She wasn’t scared at all about her grades, why would she? She was the best in her class. She was beautiful. She was smart. She read a lot of books. She painted. She sang. An all-rounder, that’s what she was.

Eventually, it so happened that her father found her a groom! He got her married and she had moved to another place with her husband. 3 years later, she had a daughter. Her one and only daughter – the daughter who is now putting her in to words.

From even before I could take my first steps to now, every time I faltered, I knew she had my back. And what of all the stuff the woman was used to all her life that had changed, just because there was a small 3kg bundle in her hands? Willingly, at that. She chose me over all her talents. Over all the things she could have done that no doubt would have gotten her name in history, she chose to nurture me. All her priorities took one step back.

Books didn’t mean to her as much as giving me a nudge forward when I was in need did. Painting didn’t mean as much as comforting me when I was low did. Singing didn’t mean as much as my graduation did. Not anymore.

Yes, my mom, my inspiration.

A silhouette in the night.

I switch the lights off and increase the brightness of the backlight on my Kindle, I don’t realize what time it is but the surroundings suggest, it’s the dead of the night and I’m lost in this thriller I have been reading. While the protagonist is delivered an anonymous package and she opens it to find the severed right leg of a human being, I see a silhouette of a woman with tousled hair at the door frame and I freeze. My heart is racing and beads of sweat break out on my forehead on a rainy night in Bangalore. My mind racing to remember if I’d locked the main doors. I’m scared to death and can’t seem to move a limb. The sound of a switch being turned on echoes through the room as I cover my eyes in reflex to the sudden brightness of the lights with my heart in my mouth!

Only to listen to my Mom screaming at me to shut the kindle off and get some firkin sleep!

 

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