Mumbai Through My Eyes(Article)


This article was shared by Achyuth Sankar



The first thing you notice about this city is the dust. It hits you in the face and fills your nose with a tingling and sneeze-inducing sensation. You notice the garbage and spit littered streets, with an assortment of transportations on the roads. You notice people walking window to window at every red signal, some begging and some selling. You notice an occasional gesture of charity mixed with the predominant indifference. You see a horde of people thronging the sidewalk. You see buildings crammed into tight spots. You see haphazardly made ‘chawls’ and also posh flats and the occasional bungalow. You see big shopping malls, gaming cafes, tall and menacing buildings that reflect modern evolution. But amidst all this, you see the most unique city in the whole of India.


The train stations are the most unique parts of Mumbai, and perhaps one of the most important. The number of people travelling by trains every day, or just crossing from east to west or west to east, is too high. There are makeshift shops on the sides of the platform, where you get clothes, duplicate cosmetics, mobile phone accessories, mosquito bats, and some odd items here and there. Every station has a Jumbo King vada pav joint close by. Oh yes, vada pav is a staple in Mumbai, and so are Pani Puris and Golas. One thing you’ll surely notice is that rickshaw drivers are really honest.


Mumbai has many people, and you brush past them without stopping to see who they are, and you never know whether they’ll enter your life again or not. Maybe they’ll be very important to you later on, but you’ll never remember brushing past them during some busy day. This gives an air of eagerness to Mumbai, an air of mystery.


There is a barrier between the people here. As mentioned before, you see the occasional charity shown by people, but if by chance the eyes of the beggar and the eyes of the giver meet, I doubt there’d be any acknowledgement in either of their eyes. To the casual observer,the rolled up windowpane may be all that separates the beggar and giver, but truly, there’s a world of a difference. Everybody’s busy with their own lives. After all,everybody’s in a race against time, as if each day is reduced to half its time. Everybody’s in their own shell, and maybe they’ve lost the driving force.


There’s a dialogue from some film I remember now. If it rains, it pours. Here in Mumbai, it certainly pours. There are two sides to this story as well. You ask a guy like me, and I’d say “Deliver us from this heat,O lord”, as I whole-heartedly welcome the rains. There are many like me, who wouldn’t mind the traffic blocks. After all, heavy rains mean no school, or atleast, an excuse to get inside the class late. But there’s the other side of the story, the side told by those living in challs, with not even a proper roof. They put sheets for roofs,and often,the sheets are littered with holes, causing water to drip into their homes. They use mugs to collect the dripping water, and periodically dump the water outside. Many-a-times, it so happens that due to the low elevation, many such homes get flooded, and the inhabitants become temporarily homeless. Would they rejoice that the heat is gone, or would they weep for being kicked onto the street by nature itself?


This city is one of dreams. So many migrate here in search of a better life,a better dream. Often though, reality is much harsher, but there’s a special enduring feel here. People give themselves false inspirations and move on, living in harsh conditions but still never giving up. There’s a lot of poverty, but in a more selfish note, it has benefited me. I’ve become more humble, I’ve begun to appreciate the many things that I have that others haven’t. There’s always the rich and the poor. This is a mixed town, everybody’s a hair’s length away but there is still that small length separating all. You eventually ask yourself,who’s better off.


The true beauty of this city lies in the sea, and also in the south area to a certain extent. There’s Juhu Beach and Marine Drive. Truly, the air of the sea is different, always fresh, always welcome. In this city, where everybody’s life changes in an instant, the sea is the one place that always remains just the same.  Ironically, it never lets anything in its reach remain constant. Lines in the sand, footprints, scribblings,they’ll eventually get washed away, erased. Yet, everyday, hundreds throng the beaches, lovers and loners aside, and there are many who sell food or click photos for those looking to preserve memories.. Yup, if there’s an opportunity to make cash, nobody lets go of it, not in India’s NYC.


This city never sleeps. The days are crowded, and at night, there’s always someone outside, there’s always the lone street vendor, the barking dogs. You’re never alone. This isn’t a Utopia either, but I have no view regarding the darker side, and hopefully I never will. All coins have another side. However to walk the streets in the evening, with music filling your ears, and to observe the different people throng the streets, each with a different goal….there’s always a new observation. You always see the mothers waiting for their kids’ school buses. There are always hawkers and bargainers. There’s always a group of old men huddled together around a tea stall,exchanging stories of the past, and their views of the ineffective youth.


One of the biggest feelings you experience is that of the city itself. It feels as if Mumbai’s the silent observer, always watching the lives of every citizen, watching every struggle,satisfaction,joy,strife and rage. New buildings rise every day, more people set foot into this city, but Mumbai always watches, but never utters a word. It’s got eyes everywhere. It sees the little parts that make life what it is. Mumbai sees those chance meetings I talked about earlier, but never comments. Usually if we notice a coincidence, we show some emotion like surprise or angst. But never Mumbai. It shows no emotion, it helps not the weary. It’s just there.


You may wonder after reading all this that why do i love Mumbai. Truth is I don’t have an answer. You ask any Mumbaikar, you’ll never get a proper answer. They may say that they love the fast paced life of Mumbai, or that they love the malls and comforts.. Fact is, none of these answers are satisfactory. None of them is true. Truth is nobody knows why. They just love Mumbai. I know I love Mumbai. I feel the city’s presence on the inside. I feel its gaze, its non-judgemental face. I feel it look at all of us despite knowing everything and still be expressionless. I see the people go through each day without much purpose, but I see in them the desire to find one. This city has a lot of the poor, but they too, in most cases, live in contentment. People may be indifferent to each other, but there’s always those little things that connect us all, and I’ve never seen it anywhere else but here. There’s a place for everybody,everybody’s welcome, and everybody has a chance to reach their dreams. You’re never truly alone here, you always feel the city’s gaze. You can just go to the south part,walk the Marine Drive, hang out. If you have a bad day, just put on some music, enjoy the stomach numbing street food as you gaze at the multitude of people away from their homes, engulfed in their present tasks and lives., as you feel the never-ending gaze of the city. Mumbai’s bigger than the TAJ or The Gateway of India, and Mumbai has proven its integrity before. Aamchi Mumbai indeed.


                                                                                 - Achyuth Sankar

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City Lights of Mumbai, Delhi and Madras (Article)

                                                      City Lights





This article was shared by Srikant Rajan


Each city has its pulse, a feel, which is distinct from others. Staying in a place for small times like a tourist and moving around, that feel, that essence hits you hard each time. It is akin to the human sense of smell; sharp, pronounced and short lived. Many times you would have walked into a room only to be greeted by the smell of warm Sulphide (Ye Ignoramus ....somebody obviously shat!!), whilst others are blissfully unaware.

You walk into Delhi airport or even NDLS you see Mr. Ego. 


Like the golden halo on the heads of saints, Delhi has its ego, as an alternative identity, an aura around its people. “Mine is bigger than yours” sentiment is Delhi’s patent right (I am not talking about cell phones here; I am talking about just everything else other than that!). It is the place where people get cars to a gym barely two minutes walk away , because you know it isn’t about the gym or working out, it is about the fact that I have a car and I can afford an AC gym. I have it then I flaunt it, well, good and understandable but Delhi says I will flaunt it even if I don’t have it.


There is a permanent scowl on the face, and fuses are always near the burning point. At Delhi people gossip around, with intent to dissect the hurt, the sorrow. They are more interested in knowing the sadness that engulfs the others, with some kind of a weary hope that it may be more than what one has, that is it may be minuscule as compared to the giant demons he is accustomed to.


This contrast is very pronounced if you enter Delhi from Chennai or the land of the madrasis.


Politeness here is what sets people apart and I guess this word isn’t in any Delhites dictionary. Deference and simplicity, again opposites of ego are much visible in the Manhattan of India.



A hardcore Funjabi, who has been holed in Chennai for nearly two years calls me up  and all he wanted was to abuse to his heart’s content.” Rajan, I can’t use these words here man(abuses), it is just not possible. Somebody nicked my car yesterday and even before I could use any nice terms, the uncle steeped out and said a guileless sorry. I just couldn’t do anything after that, I tried a gruff expression but my heart was not in it, I also smiled and waved him away”.


Coming now to Mumbai.The pulse of Mumbai isn’t its resilience, or its ‘spirit’ as is often depicted. Nor is it the multitudes that throng the local trains governed by the subtle laws of human compression that allow for effective transportation.



It is the indifference that sets this place apart. At Delhi people are interested in your sorrow, Chennai people are guileless, but Mumbai people …….don’t give a damm.

The best example that I can see, is the one that is applicable in many settings, sexism.


Mumbai has good females, which when walk by automatically exercise your eyeballs even if it’s for a fraction of a second. Alas, this sentiment is not visible in people here. Maybe it’s the problem of plenty, or maybe it’s my inherent nymphomaniacism, but I suspect it is more to do with the running around which mumbaikers are accustomed to that has dulled their senses.


I was meeting a friend in for dinner, at some stop near Andheri. The first thing that you notice is the nature of the market place. All shops are adorned, bedecked and doing roaring business, the only hitch being that it was close to 11 in the night.



" Boy, the festive season sure is catching up " , I remarked.


" What festive season, this place is always like this, till about 12 in the night " ,  came the weary reply of my friend.

You are open till 12 in the night and you start by morning again there is  no time at all, no time to gossip, no time to loiter and certainly none to stare. Senses are not heightened, nor are they extinct they are just dulled. You nicked my car I don’t have time to sit and fight with you (Delhi), nor apologize to you (Chennai), I just run, and I run fast, mentally booking a slot the weekend to do the repairs.


It’s funny how you think about this gyaan.It stuck me during the return trip from Dadar, when I was squashed in a corner, and staring at the stained, sign on the carriage which said “To seat ; -84”.Thankfully our Indian engineers while designing the carriage had incorporated a decent Factor of Safety !


To wrap up...these are all just nuances, nothing is good or bad. It is the differences that make travel enjoyable and it is the differences that characterize us...unite us.


PS – As I was typing this away my sister glanced by and said” If you use the filters of regionalism to divide, then Mr Genius, what are you ........a Delhi brat............ a Madrasi champu or.......... a Mumbai dude…??? “.It got me thinking and before I could respond then she remarked rather thoughtfully” You are nothing, not even a hybrid………..you are just weird but ……..nicely weird” 
However, sometimes this is suffocating; you need some invectives in daily life, to make it more interesting more let’s say alive.

                                                                                            - Srikant Rajan

Other Articles by Srikant Rajan can be read on Mind Trends


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The Statue (Story)

                                The Statue



 This story was shared by Achyuth Sankar

"What comes easily is never respected".......




The sculptor walked onto the sand with just a bag containing a chisel and a hammer. There was a magnificent rock,the size of a young lad. The sculptor could smell the beach,but he had no time to experience the soothing smell. He was going to give life to that piece of stone, and nothing was going to disturb him. He couldn't hear the faint knock-knock sound coming from a little far away. To him, the stone was everything.



The sculptor began his task. He began slowly, starting with the eyes. He made them big and expressive, almost life-like. The eyebrows were shaped like the thatched roofs of mansions, an almost perfectly inverted V. The nose was sharp and long, with big nostrils. It took the sculptor four hours to get this much done, but he was as patient as a loving mother would be to her baby. Nothing disturbed him, not the birds, not the crashing of the waves, not the knocking noise from afar. The sun began it's descent, and a small shadow began forming at the base of the stone. Like all else, the sculptor took no heed of this. He went back home right after he finished the nose.



He came back early next morning. He was determined to finish the statue. He worked on the hair,long and thick hair. He then went on to finish the legs with great detail. He worked on the toes, then the ankle, and then the knees. By the time he had reached the waist, it was afternoon, the sun was right at the top. Strangely though, the shadow which was once at the statue's base had now reached up to its thighs. The sculptor hadn't seen it though. He sat down for a small lunch of fruits. As he sat on the sand to peel off the skin of the orange, a child came by selling balloons. The sculptor took pity on the frail waif. He called the child over. The child, seeing a potential customer, eagerly rushed forward. The sculptor peeled his first orange and gave it to the child. To her hungry stomach, food was as good as a sold balloon. The child and the sculptor sat and ate the fruits together in savoured silence, as the sun began its descent once again, and the shadow, its ascent. They finished the food, and the sculptor began picking up the peels and putting them in his bag, as the child got up with her balloon bag.  Before leaving, the child gave a grateful smile and began walking away. Before disappearing into the horizon the child yelled, "That's a beautiful boy". The sculptor could hear the faint sound of the child. He smiled, but he still couldn't hear the knock-knock sound in the distance. The shadow, by then, had touched the statue's chest.



The sculptor finished the hands. He gave immense detail to the palm and the fingers. He worked on the shoulders, reasonably broad, then the chest. He etched a shirt and a pair of shorts, and the statue was given the finishing touch of thick lips that curved into a slight smile. The statue was finished, but fate had plans of its own.



The sculptor took a look at his statue. It was marvellous, resonating innocence and nobility. But something was off. There was no knock-knock sound, only the waves disturbed the eerie tranquillity. The statue looked really dark. The sculptor's gaze reached its base, and he caught sight of the shadow trailing away into the distance. The shadow had completely darkened the statue. The sculptor sat down, waiting for the sun to move so that the shadow's cloak would be lifted, and the true beauty of his work could be marvelled at. The shadow didn't move, and neither did the sun. They both stayed their ground. The sculptor got up and decided the trace the origin of the shadow. He walked a long way, determined to find the Colossus that overshadowed an innocent child's image. He finally reached his destination, and the sight that beheld him took his breath away. There was a statue, slightly bigger than his own. It depicted a boy and a girl facing the horizon, holding hands. There was genuine love on their faces, and the skill of its creator was so great that even the tenderness with which they held each other's hands was visible. The sculptor stood in front of this work of art. He saw the joy radiate from their faces, as the innocence of youthful love danced in their eyes. The girl was stunning, the boy was average looking, but both were perfect for each other. The sculptor noticed a hammer and a chisel kept at the base of this statue. The sculptor picked them up to examine them. They looked brand new, no wear and tear. It seemed impossible, miraculous. He waited there for a whole hour, hoping to see the great man who performed this impossible feat. No one came. The sculptor took this special hammer and chisel, with the hope that he could also imbibe life into his statue, and give it the same royalty that this statue had. He could see no way of making his statue any better. He then realized, it was what the statue lacked- a companion. The sculptor set out to find a stone of considerable size and quality. But every stone he came across was either too small or large, or too weak to handle the strain of the chisel. He gave up. He made one final change to the boy's face. He gave it an expression of sorrowful expectation, the one of a man lost in this world, without a companion\, and he made the boy look like he has fallen on his knees, begging escape. The sculptor left the miraculous hammer and chisel at the base of his own statue. He packed his things, and set off at a slow pace. If only he could somehow make the world see his love for that statue, it would outshine the love between any boy and girl. Before leaving the beach behind, he turned around and gave one last look. The sun still stayed where it was, the shadow ever imposing, his statue all alone. The sculptor walked away with resignation.



Every day, the sculptor would look at his statue from the distance. Nobody stopped by to see it. Who would want to see an over-shadowed statue that doesn't have everything? After all, joy was just round the corner. The sculptor secretly hoped that someone would find the appropriate stone and use the miraculous hammer and chisel to give light to his darkened statue, a companion. Every time he gazed from the distance, he could hear the waves crashing, and he felt they were weeping in agony, seeing such neglect. The one person who had once appreciated the beauty of his statue, the balloon selling child, would walk past it every day, but even she forgot about it. Despite himself, he looked at it from far away every single morning. Despite himself, he gave himself the idea that nature would show mercy and erase the down-casting shadow. Despite himself, he hoped.



                                                                                - Achyuth Sankar

Read more such gripping stories and literature by the same author on The Story-Teller's Lost Pages 

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My Girl... (Poetry)


                                         MY GIRL...


This poem was shared by Aman Tibrewal...




I've lost what all I knew,
You've lost what all you knew,
The only thing we both know,
Is that I Love you...

I don't know what happens to me,
When I look into your eyes,
I  don't know what happens,
When I look at your Smile...

In your eyes resides a world unknown,
Which I would love to explore,
A world where there's no fright,
But only happiness and delight...

You are one among the few,
For whom I'm ready to cry,
You are one among the few,
For whom I'm ready to die...

You are very important for me,
Because your existence is my life,
You are very important for me,
Because I Love you with my life...

                                                                                 - Aman Tibrewal

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Soul Curry 2 (Diary of an Indian Girl in France)


This article was shared by Hetvi Vora...


This article belongs to a series called "Soul Curry"...
This being the second one... The first part can be read here - Soul Curry 1



Into my fourth month now, I can safely say that preconceived notions and “the history” of a country play a huge role in its present! Getting straight to the point, I am going to write all about how I, a 16 year old (confused, complicated and crazy) girl sees one of the world’s most stylish and snobbish people (there are other adjectives which we shall get into later!)  “The French”! There are three things the French love: clothes, food and the third is something you should understand!


For a Bombay girl (like me) to end up in a small European town is a bit too much of a change… I love people even in a Bombay local train or on the street! I am kind of a people person … (at least that’s what I think). Moving on, below are my conclusion on young French girls and boys (not that I am too old but that’s how you write I guess!)


         Clothes (dressing): School here is super long. About 9-10 hours a day! The French are always à la mode (in style). The girls always are well dressed from their hair to their toe nail…it’s all well done! Guessing how lazy I am I basically don’t bother doing all of it! At least not at 6.30 in the morning… I just skip it... although I have had my days but let’s not get in to that… I am in no doubt that France is home to most of the world’s best couturiers, the women here have money and are not afraid to experiment! (As far as I am concerned, these things are just for you to flip through magazines and dream about). Although when in Paris (yes, yes I saw the Eiffel tower) there were only Japanese in the big stores. (Still wondering why?). But the French do love to look their best and I think there is nothing wrong in it! Can’t say if they are too materialistic or it’s just their culture!  (I am obsessed with Chanel, just thought I should mention I LOVE CHANEL!!!)


·         Food: Everything you cannot imagine eating is a delicacy here! Right from rabbits to snails is devoured with a lot of élan here! I am a vegan and life becomes difficult just right about here! French food is simple and It is full of natural flavors and ingredients! France is a land of more than 300 different types of cheese, imagine the number of cows! I have lost count of the different types I ate but must admit I relished all of them. French are very well mannered and I struggle every day with my knife and fork. Although I must admit that I am a filthy and messy person but I am slowly getting the whole knife and fork procedures. Many knifes and many forks for different courses (sometimes I can’t help but feel pity for the poor dishwasher)


·         People: French people are nice to you only once they know you, not like us Indians who welcome and love everybody! French people are complicated and have opinions on each and everything (which I think is a good thing SOMETIMES). They judge you externally like how you dress, talk and walk and also being polite is super important. You just cannot forget your merci’s and s’il vous plait’s! They do not hesitate to express themselves! Example, my classmates missed 2 days at school because they were on the streets protesting for pension reforms which basically has nothing to do with them(last time I checked pensions and retirement was for older people) nonetheless, they were out on the streets! The teenagers are similar but expressive and a bit ahead about basically everything (note: bit here means way way ahead.) The French love their wines and are proud of it! I am proud of them too! Super invention. The French are nice people just a bit too perfect!


I have to mention Marie Churin, who is insisting that I should tell the world that the French men are hot and super classy! (Note: She has a mind blowing English accent!)



                                                                                    - Hetvi Vora


Part 1 of the article can be read here - Soul Curry 1


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The Crazy World Of Relationships... (Article)


Often we fall or rather it seems like we have fallen in love and we enter into a relationship. They are so interesting and when we think about some of its aspects, certain questions pop in our mind to which we have strange answers but never the true one… Let’s have a look at some of them…

(I have written it in first person form but it holds true for everyone, be it a guy or a girl) 



Before it all begun, I used to sit and wonder…
1. Do I know her?
Answer: NO!

2. Is She attractive?
Answer: NO!

3. Is She worth loving?
Answer: NO!

4. Is She different or special in some way?
Answer: CERTAINLY NO!



5. Well so many No’s yet, YET I FELL FOR HER? HOW?
Answer:  Maybe I had become mentally unstable for a while and that’s why I fell for her.
Seems like a stupid answer but that’s the only answer I have for it.


6. Let’s leave that for a while… How did it all begun?
I don’t really remember… nor does she so doesn’t matter. Let’s say it all started off with an infatuation.


7. When did I really start loving her?
Answer: Neither do I know nor does she but both of us will always point at some incident and claim that it all begun then whenever this topic came up. Doesn’t matter because at end of the day what’s special is that we love each other and not when we actually started…


8. So how has it been so far?
Answer: Depends on the mood!
Didn’t really get me? Well I shall explain.
a) Scenario is - She is next to me and we are alone!
            So the answer to the question goes like - So far everything seems so special and great. It’s just so special having her next to me. I wish it can go on forever. I just love her so much and she loves me back too though I love her more than she loves me. But yes we both love each other “so so so much”.

b) Scenario is – Nice conversation on phone or through text messages is on.
            So the answer to the question goes like – So far everything looks good. I wish we can be together for long. We both love each other.

The above two scenarios are the happy ones yet notice the difference. The same relationship was great and special in scenario (a) but just good in scenario (b).
Being together “forever” becomes being together for “long”. We both love each other “so so so much” becomes just We both love each other. Mind you, the relationship is still the same!

c) Scenario is - There haven’t been much conversations and a fight just took place.
            So the answer to the question goes - why am I stuck with her? God! Because of her I missed that girl and even that girl. Now they all are gone and its all because of her. I love her but she does not love me back. Now I will do tit for tat. I too will stop loving her!

Same relationship but three different scenarios and answers change so much! How funny these relationships are!

So what is the final answer overall?
Well I guess it goes this way – So far it has been just heavenly. It’s filled with love, fights, laughter, crying and every essence of human emotion. We have had our ups and downs but on the whole despite everything, the relationship still survives.


9. So how do these relationships survive despite some huge fights and issues?
Answer: simple, the one who commits the mistake is forgiven by the partner. But why does the partner forgives the other despite he/she felt hurt and betrayed by his/her actions?
I will tell the main reason later but let’s have a look at what the guy or the girl thinks after forgiving the other.

a) the boy thinks – she’s lucky that she has me. Had it been any other guy, he would have made her pay back for her deeds and completely ruined her. But I am so caring and loving that I prefer to show some pity. She should consider herself absolutely lucky that she has me.

b) the girl thinks – only I could have forgiven him. Had it been any other girl, she would have slapped him and left him forever. Its only me whose still sticking with this relationship. He should consider himself lucky that he has ME!

Well, all this is said to satisfy our egos. The main reason is – Both needed each other’s companionship. Perhaps it is the faith in each other. Faith in every “I love you” we say to each other. And above all the hope that no matter what happens, we both shall always be together…

And so the time passes by and I am just so lost in her and I again sit and wonder…

1. Do I know her?
Answer: YES!

2. Is She attractive?
Answer: YES!

3. Is She worth loving?
Answer: YES!

4. Is She different or special in some way?
Answer: CERTAINLY YES!



 -   theyouthworld.com

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Area 7 by Matthew Reilley (Book Review)


This article was shared by Aman Deshmukh

“Super fast and thrilling enough to chill your spine and shock your wits to the very core.”
Believe me, nothing can make you put down this book once you’ve started it and crossed the 100 page-mark. And for a book thats a heavy 572 pages long, coupled with small black font – to make the reader go on and on is a great achievement.


The idea behind the book is simple. A section of the American Military (the Air Force primarily), spearheaded by Caesar Russel, has secretly revolted against the US Presidency. And with help of a few traitor doctors of the White House, Russel manages to get a transmitter implanted onto the wall of the heart of the President in a general health operation. Fourteen mega destruction bombs have been placed in metropolitan areas – bombs of such capacity that they may entirely scar 1/3rd of the U.S.A. These bombs transmit a signal to a satellite in the sky, which sends it to the transmitter in the President’s heart. As long as the heart of the President beats, the transmitter responds to the signal from the satellite. Bottom Line – the bombs can only be stopped from detonating as long as the President’s heart works – as long as he is alive. So where does Area 7 come into the picture? Area 7 is a secret military base of the U.S.A, in the Utah Desert controlled by the American Air Force. The drama begins when the President arrives at Area7 on a routine visit. Soon after his entry into the base, Russel shuts down the base – seals it off completely, and makes a declaration – a warning to the President about what is in store for him – that the President can no longer go out and escape, that he is trapped in an air base with military forces wanting to kill him, and that he must save his heart, keep himself alive, if he wants U.S.A to exist and not perish under the detonation of 14 mega power bombs. Of course, there’s the President’s secret service detail that goes around with him and a group of faithful marines – the only hope for the President to keep himself alive. Amongst these marines, is our hero – Schofield (codenamed SCARECROW). Following that, is an epic story all about a race against time, a race for survival, and a race to save America from perishing.


But this is just the basic idea. There’s more to the story than you think (don’t worry I won’t leak out the whole plot now!). There’s a highly advanced vaccine, an international conspiracy, a racist setup, a 10 year old boy, high speed boat chases, a space ship invasion in the middle of the fight and a lot of high octane drama – packed with shooting, shocking, spiraling twists and turns that make you sit on the edge of your seat and shock you to your bloody wits. The writing is simple, crisp and ‘unbelievably pacy’, as the Daily Mirror calls it, and there’s a new thrilling shocker to chill your bone at the turn of every single page.
Must read, I say. Pick up a copy today (I don’t know how much it costs, since I picked up one randomly from a second hand book shop!)


                                                                                                                          -Aman Deshmukh

The author of the above article is a talented photographer as well. His photography work can be viewed on Aman Deshmukh Photography

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Nature – The Greatest Source of Calm…(Article)



This article was shared by Aman Deshmukh


I am lying on my building’s terrace, my eyes closed, my lungs breathing in the cool breeze and my body, in a state of total relaxation. Sometimes, however much pressure you have- of problems that you are facing and might face, relaxation and peace still presides in your body. And this only happens when you, and most importantly, your soul, is close to the divine power – Nature.
The Sky, I see, seems limitless. A black blanket speckled with white glittering lights…the most accessible and amazing view of Nature at its best…
However this vast Sky does remind me of how much happier life is when you are close to Nature.
Humans are a vital part of Nature, Nature is special to them and so are they, to Nature.
Standing on the edge of a cliff and breathing the fresh wind blowing on your face, standing in rain, with your eyes closed and mind blank…all these are ways which bring man and Nature close. And it is because of Nature that man introspects, thinks where he has gone wrong, where he could have and where he might, where he must stop and where he must initiate. Nature is probably the only power in the world that cannot be seen, touched or tasted, yet has the most everlasting effect of all.
Nature itself speaks of its selfless nature.
The fresh air, the pouring rain, the swaying trees, the bright Sun, the soothing Moon, the firm rock and the soft mud…these are sensations that bring about a unimaginable sense of calm and rejuvenate our bodies, and recharge our minds.
Life is a celebration and Nature is the way to enjoy it…
So lets celebrate Nature, and breathe in joy…!

                                                                                               -Aman Deshmukh

The author of the above article is a talented photographer as well. His photography work can be viewed on -
Aman Deshmukh Photography

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Custom Chucks... (Designs on Canvas Shoes)

                       Custom Chucks

The following designs on Canvas Shoes were shared by
Mazhar Bagasrawala








                                                                          -Mazhar Bagasrawala

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DBZ...(Paintings)

Dragon Ball Z

The paintings were shared by Mazhar Bagasrawala...

                                  
CHI-CHI

VEGETA

TRUNK

GOKU
                                                      
                                                          -Mazhar Bagasrawala

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Dawn Of Craziness (Article)

                   Dawn Of Craziness

 

 

 

This article was shared by Namit Nadkarni.


 

The belltower rang twice in the smeary night. I was home alone. Contemplating on what the cause of my unrest was, I sat awake on my bed, not being able to come up with a suitable answer for over the past couple of hours. The arms of sleep pulled me back into the sea of blankets, but my mind resisted the surge of slumber. Looking out the window I could see a tree, about seven yards away from my sill, rustling in the pleasant cold wind of the night. The moon was partly hidden by clouds and the world beyond my window was like a blurry memory of my past, getting darker every second. I know not why i was awake nor why I wasn't asleep, but just the fact that i was conscious was binding on me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see a gray cat creep ever so gracefully across the street, twitching as it moved in the cold. As my weary eyes followed the cat, it gently crept over a wall and was hidden out of view. Beside the wall however, I could see a silhouette of a man who was standing there. He was a tall ragged person standing there with a walking stick in his hand. I hadn't noticed him before. My vision, though blurred by sleepiness, could clearly see that the man was watching me intently. He stood there as though motionless looking in my direction. I was petrified and could not help but stare back. After a while, I could faintly see him toothing a ghastly smile. I moved away from the window and hid behind the curtains, peeking every now and then to see if he was still there. He hadn't budged an inch. He kept looking at me as though he longed for something. Scared by the haunting presence of the creepy man, I slithered into my blankets and lay there....

                                                                                      - Namit Nadkarni

                          

His other articles and his blog can be viewed at I choose not to name this blog... 

 


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Soul Curry(The Diary of an Indian Girl in France)


This article was shared by Hetvi Vora


I am an exchange student from India. Je suis un échange étudiant de l’inde! a line i do not know how many times have i repeated! Kind of lost count ...


One fine Wednesday and a realisation dawns upon me! I realise the fact that i haven’t written back home since a long time ...so here i begin.....
 "I am an ex CHANGE student”! Emphasis being on the fact that everything had changed.....right from the food i eat to the bed i sleep on to the language i speak ...clothes i wear ...the view outside my window ...things which were obviously going to change but sometimes the change is so natural that you don’t feel it at all and sometimes it’s so different that it takes days to get used to....
i guess that’s what the best part is " i am a new me “!


The older me didn’t have coffee after meals, the older me banged in to people every now and then , the older me was impulsive and hyperactive , the older me slept late , read newspapers for hours... was glued to the TV !
I guess like all 16 years old in a new country (not English speaking) i have had my crazy, embarrassing, silly, happy, nervous moments!
I guess i have experienced all the human emotions in these 2 months and 15 days!


My first day at school seemed like my first day at school back in 1st grade ...though i think we can cut out on the crying part!
It’s so much fun when i am finding similarities between the two countries and suddenly how amazed i am when i realised that they are so different! The first month passes in a jiffy! It’s all going fast ...you meet new people every day ...you have to be yourself and be a perfect ambassador breaking myths and clearing misconceptions!
You meet exchange students from all over the world! Some countries that i only studied way back in my geography lessons! Surprising how similar all of us are! We have the same moments of joy and similar difficulties!
I now can proudly boast of the fact that i can greet people in 7 international languages!
 
My city is called mayenne .it is located in the west of France! It is small, ancient and you can kind of walk around it...really tiny! Everybody knows everybody and i am officially "the little Indian mayennais”!


I realise that being an exchange student is a big responsibility ....the person i will be in this city is the person the people here are always going to relate Indians with! The beauty of this is that i am much more Indian here then i was back in home! You value things better when away from home i think...


i have been lucky to have extremely wonderful host parents ,both active Rotarians and both striving to make the world a better place!
My host mother runs the "banque alimentaire “and" épicerie sociale”, an organisation which provides food at minimal rates to poor people... the transparency and efficiency is remarkable in non-profit organisations here. Both these organisations are government aided!


My host father on the other hand, recently visited Madagascar for two weeks with grammar books and mobile phones since Madagascar speaks French! every year" the rotary club of mayenne" and "the rotary club of Nosy be" work towards helping the villagers in Madagascar and developing a school in a village close to nosy be
 the rotary club of mayenne has about 25 odd members and is a small family of people who believe in the idea of service above self !


I think i have been fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to be a" Rotary Youth EXCHANGE Student” and fortunate enough to be living a change!




This article is a part of a series called "Soul Curry"


Its second part can be read on Soul Curry 2
                                                                            
                                                                                                    -Hetvi Vora


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They Fought Against All (Story)

                     They Fought Against All



She stood by the window, for hours and hours now, looking back at the war, her family and her childhood…
She was always rebellious, the one of a kind who always challenged the norms of nature and one who ended up being rewarded unfortunately and sometimes not willingly. Anya Christina Blanc was 11 months old when the NAZI’s invaded Bordeaux. Her parents moved out of Bordeaux as quickly as they could and went back to their ancestral village of St. Emillion. The war was here and there was no way out of it. Anya’s mother was all of 18 when she fell in love and married Jean Paul Blanc, the son of the local butcher. Jean Paul was pampered and loved by all as a result he never grew up. The Blanc’s were a famous family in Bordeaux and their meat was known to be famous throughout the city. Catherine fell in love with Jean Paul when they met in high school and the rest was history!

The onset of the war led to famine, destruction and poverty. Jean Paul Blanc was never used to toiling hard and living in a tiny village. He was so habituated to his luxurious lifestyle that he ended up selling all his and Catherine’s belonging in order to buy some wine and caviar. The inflation during the war and her husband’s frivolous pleasures were way too much for the still young Catherine and her daughter .Catherine ended up working at the local dairy where as her husband was en route to establishing himself as a jobless and useless alcoholic. Jean Paul’s mother soon realized her son’s situation and asked him to come and see her. Back in his old mansion and again loved and pampered, Jean Paul had an affair with Marie Anne Martin who later became his mistress .While Jean Paul enjoyed his comforts and luxuries, Catherine worked 2 shifts to provide for her daughter and herself. She knew jean Paul too well and knew he wouldn’t come back to them. After a few years she received official documents demanding her to divorce her husband Jean Paul Blanc. In those days, divorces weren’t common. This destroyed Catherine completely, she had no one to help her and her family had migrated to the north. Anya was 15 when her mother decided to send her to a school in the west of France. All of 15 and all alone, Anya loved it in there. She was free..!! The first few months Anya did all the things she wasn’t supposed to. She got her self-drunk more often and was active in college politics. She only got herself under control after her first semester results were out and she was asked to go back home. After a lot of coaxing and cajoling by Catherine, the principal let her stay. Catherine was furious and asked her to concentrate. Catherine was suffering from lymphoma and didn’t have the courage to tell anyone. As days passed by, her condition grew worst and she grew weaker. Anya came home from Christmas and realized that it was better if she did not go back. She understood that there was something wrong and that her mother would never tell her. On Catherine’s requests she attended the midnight mass and prayed to Christ for her mother’s health. Catherine pushed the daisies on the morning of the New Year and Anya didn’t cry at all. She left St. Emillion at once and went back to university. There was nothing in Anya’s life that was right at this point of time and being the kind she was, it made things even worse. She protested against everything from food in college to the teaching methods of her professors. She got herself in to trouble and somehow managed to get out of it. Years passed by and she considered herself to be god's most unloved child... The only thing which was in Anya’s favor was the fact that she never did anything which she didn’t believe in. Not loved by the Catholic Church, neither by her family, she was a girl who was not well received nor thought of in the society but that didn’t stop her from doing what she wanted to.
                                                                    
She stood by the window, for hours and hours now, looking back at the war, her family and her childhood…
When she heard “mommy, i think it’s time”, she looked back and replied "hold on Catherine, mommy will be there in 5". (She names her daughter after her mother)
Though not loved by all in the community, ANYA CHRISTINA BLANC turned out to be a successful entrepreneur and an amazing mother who lived life by her own rules and proved to be a successful single mother...

p.s: this is for all who follow and believe in the notions and norms of the society. Judging people is a mistake which we make very easily not even thinking about their history or even without knowing what kind of person they are!
                                                
                                                                                                                -Hetvi Vora

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