A long time ago.

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Light sabers

In a galaxy far, far away.

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DO or DO NOT. There is no TRY.

Darth Vader

No, I'm your father.


You don't know the power of the dark side.

The Force Awakens


X-Wing Fighter

Long live the Rebel Alliance.

December 21, 2012

Get kicking soon, ok?

Bad stuff happening to people you care deeply about inevitably has a very depressing effect on you. One of my friends has recently met with an accident and is in a lot of pain. :-( I wish I could do something to help, but hell, there is nothing much anybody can do. I wonder how much all the 'get well quick' messages really help in a speedy recovery.

All I can do is try....just a hopeless cheer her up! So here utterly despicable and third-grade efforts!!

Just...try not to Murder me once you get well, okay??!! :-)

My buddy- she is quite fruity!
Quite fond of her trusted scooty! 

But the ride spun out of control! :-((

And the crash took its dire toll!

The doc did a lot of baloney!! :-(

Tetanus,injections,antiseptic-the pain wasn't phony!

Her smashed toes screamed in agony!

She can't walk even to her balcony!
Earlier she was always...smiling

Pure harmony!
But now fate dealt her its irony!! :-(

Thankfully, she has a dear friend near! :-)

All that I can hope for sitting miles away...HERE!! :-(

Get kicking soon, okay??? 
Take care!!

December 12, 2012

"Fiddling with fidelity" : My entry for the Get Published contest

The Idea

The story is about two brothers and their cousin, each of whose love lives has taken a very different trajectory. The cousin, the wealthiest and eldest among the three is a two-time divorcee. Raised with middle-class values, he still wishes desperately to settle down and is about to hesitatingly tie the knot for a third time. Among the brothers, the elder’s marriage is passing through a rough phase, teetering on the edge of a divorce. The younger brother is struggling with an online relationship with a girl studying abroad.
The lives of these three individuals become intertwined as the words and actions of one unwittingly alter the lives of the others. Bonds strain and bonds snap as the story progresses.

What Makes This Story ‘Real’

It’s a story that derives inspiration from the lives of people I am acquainted with on a very deep and personal level. It talks about the very real problems which the institution of marriage today faces-most of all, the rapidly eroding faith in its validity in today’s confused times.


A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a thunder loud enough to split his eardrums. Jayanta breathed deeper, staring at her lips. Panting softly, she licked her dry lips, making the blood rush through his body.

He remained still. A low rumble vibrated in his chest and he found himself leaning towards her.

He shouldn't do it. This had to stop!

But he did it anyway. He reached over and his hand instinctively went to her hair, damp and inviting. His mind spun, reeling over whether he should pull back while there was still a chance. But at the next flash of lightning, she flung herself into his arms. And her lips into his.

Her lips were soft and sweet. Like several layers of chocolate, with whipped cream and cherries between them. She leaned closer to him, just a little at first, then farther, and Jayanta could feel the raging beat of her heart against his chest.

The illicit and amoral nature of the passion throbbing in her heart tugged at the back of her mind. But it was hard to concentrate on that when Jayanta’s lips felt so soft, yet firm. They wrapped around hers like a perfect fit.  Biting a chunk off the forbidden fruit, the excitement sent goose bumps racing across her skin.

She let out the softest of sighs as his lips flowed down her neck, inch by inch, like a rush of hot water. They then grazed over her earlobe.

Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins-IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

December 8, 2012

Indifiction workshop dear followers...(which,btw is a rapidly dwindling community), there is a cool new initiative launched by some folks for fiction lovers at Indifiction workshop. If you love fiction (maybe even harbor pet dreams of getting published one day yourself), I urge you to check the link out.

I just posted a story of mine there. My story's nothing great. You'll probably get bored to death reading my entry. So I would suggest you to read the other entries in stead. Some of them are literally mind-blowing.

And yes, this link hosts fiction writing exercises. So there is a topic for this time as well. To know more, you can have a look here.

Happy reading folks!!! :-)

December 5, 2012

Did you know that?

The ambient white light bounced gently off the soft contours of Disha’s shoulders as she walked across the room. The dark hair of the long-legged vision in a blue sari meandered behind her as she quickened her pace to reach where Vikram was standing.

“Hi Vikram, how are you?” She asked in a mellowed tone.

He swallowed hard, mesmerized by her voice. It was rich and soft, yet strangely compelling, as were her eyes. Fathomless amber. Eyes that seemed able to look into him and through him at the same time. Five years ago they had cut through all pretence and put the cuffs on him in the space of a breath. They were just as striking now. Maybe even more.

 “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, I’m afraid.” His larynx rang with deep ardour.

A slow pallor spread beneath her warmly glowing skin. Now there was a refinement to him, a purpose in his stance, and the teasing spark in his eyes had been replaced by a determined gleam.

“Missed me?” His voice jolted her from her thoughts.

Disha felt the colour rush back to her face. His eyes were bright, but she knew they held pain. He couldn't hide that, no matter how much he tried.

"Did you?" he asked, his tone insistent.

She felt a well of emotion, emotion that had lain in slumber for years. Her heart started pounding like that of a pup writhing in the jaws of a wolf.

"Yes,” she replied as she avoided his searching gaze. “More than you can imagine."

“I thought you wouldn’t show up for the reunion.” He moved his fingers back to her ear, pushing them through the long strands of her hair as a painter’s brush would stroke his canvas.

“And miss meeting with you?” She wore a hurt expression. “Highly unlikely.”

He had helped her tide over her darkest times. He had sensitivity without an inclination to judge. He was someone who had stayed up nights to wipe away her tears. Her gratefulness to him was instinctive.

Her hair was now falling in expressive waves down her back; she was quite the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He took a step forward, his hand reaching to touch a smooth, peach-coloured cheek.As his palms cupped her face, he felt a special warmth steal through him, awakening senses from dormancy like the dawning of a new sun. He saw her cheeks flushed with the heat. He saw her lips parting. He watched a blush stain her cheeks.

He inched closer and she closed her eyes. She wanted to savour the feather touch of his fingers on her face. It was one light touch after another, each kind but enchanting, but none lasting long enough to provide any deep satisfaction.

His fingers smoothed her lips, seeking the contours, the edges. Her face was so close she could see each individual, dark, curling lash around her marvellous big eyes. He could stand here like this all night, and never tire of her tenderness.

She opened her eyes to find that his breath had become unsteady. Even then, he waited. She sensed he was giving her a chance to turn and run, but that was the last thing she wanted to do.

His mind raced back. To a time when her arms used to find his neck and coil beyond, drawing her slender body firmly against his heavier, harder one. Her hands used to play over the back of his head, caressing every inch from crown to nape with the devastating touch of those long nailed fingers.

And he used to be snagged in the web they spun, neither able nor willing to move away.

But that was then.

He straightened. “We’re setting a bad example.”

 “Last thing on my mind,” she whispered and her eyelids fluttered closed again. Beneath his fingertips, the pulse at her throat throbbed, her heart racing to beat with his.

 “Your husband is watching,” he said, starting to pull himself away.

“What?” A tinge of panic flashed in her honey filled eyes.

“Kidding,” he chuckled. “But he’s in the room, looking for you.”

Her blood thrummed in her veins. Her breath caught and staggered. With a violent effort which seemed to yank her heart from its hinges, she slowly moved away.

“Time to pretend we’re just friends, isn’t it?” A tight-lipped smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “By the way, your eyes look different today. Very different.”

“They’re just the same.” She looked down at the floor.

“No, tonight they’re thick and sweet. Like a warming ginger ale mixed with smooth honey. Golden brown, big and a million miles away. You have the most stirring eyes, did you know that?”

The End