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Tearless stone

Image credit: Google

Endless wait,

ships approaching mooring.

captured traveller wearing wrinkle,

sighting for the savior,

false signals are like hope,

illusory over time,

growing beard,

grey hair,



chasing dreams,

unquenched at the whisper,

motor engine splashing through the water,

barren land for company,

abandoned by time and its purveyors,

friends lost to world’s myriad ways,

speckled dust blowing the eyes,

a mirage where promise lay bare,

many shades of love lost,

stone shorn of tears,

wearing heartless vein,

stripped of nerves watching the water,

the sea sucked its tears.

To be continued…



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The Passionate Princess laced with visual opulence, ode to bold woman in medieval times

Book Review

Author: Sundari Venkatraman

Rating: Three and a half


Genre: Historical Romance


A historical romance set into 14th century India is no child play and particularly when there is so much influence through our rich Indian literature such as Vedas, Upanishads, Ramayana, and Mahabharata or even Devdas, for that matter making it a daunting task. It begets a question: How was love in those days enshrined in a Kingdom, costumes and jewelry worn, conversations, place of men and women, mating, and for that matter intoxicating drinks.

As I read the latest offering by Sundari Venkatraman, the first thing that came to the fore is whether women suffered the same fate as they do in the current, modern times or distant past right from patriarchy, sexism, and freedom to and making love.  At one glance, The Passionate Princess is a sublime story to tell.


The chapters in the book enchant readers in this wondrous tale and are hauntingly beautiful. Delightful prose about love and jealousy coupled with the description of the royal ethos, garments sequined with gold, food and letters with the touch of medieval paint nuances while offering a wondrous image.

The wandering gypsies and tribes, music, the tharra-desi liquor and wedding of Princess Hemangini with Prince Devendra is what a tapestry of dreams is made of. The description adds magnificence to the tale and Sundari Venkatraman as a writer pours zing where celluloid beauty meets fiction. She simply captures readers in this historical fantasy tale.  

Penning a historical romance book is in itself a mammoth challenge for any writer and this is where Sundari Venkatraman’s book scores by capturing the 14th century and presenting her heroine as bold. Princess Hemangini is very much a modern woman, shining with courage and never shying in asking what is rightfully her whether love, respect and desire. The writer surely knows the pulse of her audience and The Passionate Princess has all the making of a blockbuster book, whether it’s the inner desire, tracing beauty hidden in intimacy and intense sex.

A writer who surely knows how to caress her characters and effortlessly making love to them in a honest and subtle manner. It’s pure beauty. The sensual and intimate sex set against the atmosphere and description, exploring the seamless and is never a dull moment. What I like with Sundari Venkatraman is that with every book, she brings something new, at times and escaping from the dull, drab and routine.

The Passionate Princess is not just a book but offers a historical experience of romance and jaw-dropping description where every word sentence and narration is laced with visual opulence serving as an aesthetic treat. For instance, antariya and uttariya seeped into the intimate romance narrative is education to aficionados of romance, wannabe writers on how the importance of research makes a compelling book.

The theme of conflict and jealousy is present on one hand between Rani Maa, Queen Kanchana Devi and the new bride Hemangini on one hand and the other between the latter and Devendra sets the pace in making it intriguing. The longing for love and insecurity is inimical to the plot and gnaws the characters as they veer to the untold past and palace secrets.

What’s Not!

Sundari Venkatraman is one hell of a writer who challenges herself every time and constantly experiment in her genre, romance. Arguably, a historical romance in itself is a herculean task and possible pitfalls that one cannot help to avoid. As much as I love the story, I feel that at some point the description set against those days gets lost in translation to a certain extent during the escapade of royal lovers post-wedding. Make no mistake the detailing during the escapade is an absolute delight with the disguising making it a high point. The aspect about seeing the Prince as vulnerable is missing and would prefer to see this personality part rather than the perfect and muscular. Yet, these are rare exceptions in an otherwise brilliant book.

Final Words:

Sundari Venkatraman in this compelling tale has shown what Passionate a Princess Hemangini is. It is an ode to a valiant woman demanding what’s rightfully her as a lover, warrior, and wife who could rule the Kingdom of Indrapuri for many years. I want to see a sequel with Princess Hemangini calling the shots. Are you listening Sundari Venkatraman? The allegories and metaphors make The Passionate Princess not just a fast-paced read but a novel worth your time breaking away from boredom that creeps into the vast jungle of love and Indian romance, we love to explore. A mesmerizing tale where Queen Kanchana Devi bears a slight shade of King Kaikeyi and romance a la Lord Rama and Goddess Sita.

The author contacted me for the book review in exchange for a copy. I am already late with the review and apologize to her for taking hell long time. Click on Amazon to buy the book. Read the blurb on Goodreads and connect with the author on FB and Twitter.



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Hot on Wheels: Chapter 10

“What is he doing here…noo…noo…noo…it cannot fucking happen?,” Geet turned red and was on the verge of a panic attack. She almost flung the CD lying on the table towards RJ G, “Why the fuck your name starts with G and if it does, why be so cool and peppy?! RJ G. My ass! Just plain call yourself Ginni. It’s not ugly or you getting laid with so many and you don’t wanna be exposed.”

“Relax babe. Just tell me how on earth it’s my fault. It’s him right,” Ginni asked. The guy caked his face on the glass panel, admiring the guitar, suddenly took a fancy to the musical instrument, microphone, cue speakers and audio process.

“No! I mean definitely no,” Geet almost fainted.

“But, who! I have many stalkers and the last thing I want is the new dude fancying me. Let me call the guards,” Ginni flipped open her mobile phone.

“No! No! No. He’s not the guy who called you by declaring love just now. I mean, he is yes, not the one I am screwing. But, this one is someone else,” Geet fidgeted with her hands. She looks dismayed.

Ginni held her friend’s shoulders and pushed her on the sofa. “Water?” she asked. Geet gulped the icy glass of water down the throat. “The guy who called is no stalker, except you have one. He is Hardik. I am having a scene with him. But, Babe I am not in love,” she flailed her hands in the air.

“Okies! Now that we know the guy standing outside the studio is different from the one declaring love for me on air is your toy boy or whatever, studying and fucking together, may I know who is this one staring at both of us?  Geet leaped on her feet, “He’s was my fiancée I ditched for fuckboi. Now, what is he doing here? Why is he in this as in this studio? How does he know that I am here? He is a fucking weirdo, do you know that! Just look at his monkey face,” she shoved her middle finger.

“OK,” Ginni reacted in a monosyllable, “We don’t have a choice, except open the door for him and let him in. Asking what he’s up to. The last thing you don’t want babe is screwing things for you, NOW,” She casually but firmly told.  As amused as she was, RJ walked to slide open the door and he popped inside by offering his firm handshake, “Jimmy.”

“OK! Jimmy how can I help you? I am RJ G.” He gaped at the radio equipment like a toddler at the sight of candies slunk at the supermarket. “I won the film contest and you promised to get me a Valentine date.” RJ G burst out laughing. “Oh! My! Sorry sorry, Jimmy. I forgot for one instant about your Valentine date. Have a seat.”

Geet was hiding in the room behind the studio. Ginni dashed inside and wore a wry smile, “Ok! Problem not yet solved. He’s a listener who won a contest. OK! Sorry! I goofed up.” Geet was incensed, “That’s why you called me to be his blind date and for all the men on earth, you got me this guy. That too, my ex fiancée I ran away from and breaking the engagement praying I to never ever see him in the world.” 

“Now, what do we do?” both of them spoke at the same time. The bell rang. Ginni forcefully tagged Geet along and she reluctantly walked to face Jimmy. Both stared at each other. “You,” Jimmy yelped. She maintained her composure, “You, dude. I can ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

He looked confused and was unsure what to tell her. Seeing Geet in the most unlikeliest of places felt bizarrely odd and how her parents called to tell the engagement is off. He muttered, “You never called to tell me we are no longer together. I didn’t expect that.” All she could tell was, “Dude! Do you expect me to call and tell that I run away from my own house! What do you expect me to do? Call you and say I am leaving my parents’ home for forcing this stupid engagement on me and let’s do live-in.”

The encounter was getting bizarre. She wanted to press the sanitizer lying on the table on his face. Oh! Somebody, please save me. The God that doesn’t exist. Hail! Hail! She wanted to cry. RJ G walked inside and a guy followed her. He stopped at the sight of Jimmy. The new entrant smiled, “Dude! Do we know each other? Cool studio, by the way. Do you work here?”

He went on a spree asking Jimmy so many questions. He looked flustered.  Geet wanted to bury her face and nearly collapsed, looking right, left, left and right. On one side, Hardik entered, and on the other, Jimmy. Both looked as if some bromance a la Dostana gonna happen. The lover boy’s eyes veered towards Geet as if she committed the perfect crime. “So! Finally! I catch you with a random guy. Are you into threesome and it feels like sandwich sprinkled with pakoda and gobi munchurian?” he broke the lamest joke.

“Dude! I am not nonveg,” Geet protested. “Me too,” Jim and Ginni repeated in unison. “Do you know each other?” Jimmy asked. “Do you?,” Hardik countered. “Of course, we do.” Both men laughed. Four faces went blank for this eccentric and strange introduction.

Jimmy felt uneasy and spoke in slurred motion, “She was my…” Ginni jumped in quick and acted as the savior, “He’s my guest. I mean both of you are.  Jimmy, you haven’t yet won and competition with Hardik.” Geet and Hardik turned to Ginni, “What!!!” It was Hardik’s turn, “I mean, who are you to host a competition between us? Some Pehelwan sitting in a radio studio.”  She winked, “Well! Guys! Battle of sexes. Who gets to take me out for a dinner date? Geet is the RJ. I am the girl to play around.” 

The whole scene was getting too confusing for the three of them, except Ginni leading the game. “So, whom did I speak to for this filmi contest?” Jim innocently asked, “I thought it was you!” “It was her, baby. I know you guys are confused. Wohi toh game hai. It’s called the musical chair of love,” Ginny brewed a storm.

Hardik confidently brushed the confusion aside, “Arre! I am not confused. I know! Spoke to Geet on radio. Geet is not Ginni and Ginni is not Geet.” Both girls pressed their lips and the last thing they wanted to do is murder this spoilsport. He is resembling right now the guy who burst the surprise birthday party balloon.”  

Jimmy doubted this whole saga unfurling right now. He is feeling like a tennis ball flung in different directions on the court. It was beyond his wildest imagination to meet the girl who broke heart and engagement, seeing her inside a radio studio and the cherry on cake is she was acting like an innocent chick kinda abla naari turning into an invisible RJ. He has just been ghosted. He let off, “Where did all that came from? I thought we spoke on radio,” pointing his fingers at Ginni.

Something was wrong. He felt like the unwanted Prince, pretty much like Lord Ram in an alienated Ayodha and the trio playing Kaikeyis without the banwas. Geet stared at Hardik. He has become immune to her growling of tooth, eyes and fiery look. “Shut up! Fucking shut up everyone,” Hardik yelped.

Everyone went blank silent in the studio. Geet wore an astounded look and shocked at the guy she loves dominating both on bed and everywhere on the planet. He miraculously toned down, “Ladies and odd gentleman, yes you Jimmy, what do you think you are Jim Beam whisky. We will get drunk on your charming and innocent look. The girls will start singing Jimmy…Jimmy…aaja aaja. I just fucking want to know what you are up to here! I am going mad with everyone so fucking confusing everybody. Why are you here? Who the fuck are you?”

“And, who the fuck are you?” Jimmy countered back.

“What are you doing here I may ask,” he continued.

Hardik gave him I don’t give a fuck attitude, “India is a free country, except you are lust love kinda bhakt, dude. I am following this girl. Any problem,”

Jimmy laughed sardonically, “I mean, why on earth would I give a fuck? I won the radio contest and one among those two promised to give me a hamper plus a date with any one of them. You can go fuck yourself.”

RJ G popped in and after all, those two guys have left her with no choice. “Ok guys. We have a serious problem. I am the date. Geet is not. Let’s sort it out or else both of you guys get out of my office.”

“Your office,” both guys sauntered. “Ok sorry, sorry! Her office, not mine. But, right now, we are here and both of you are the outsiders.



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Book Review: Teens book live out fantasy and adventure

Book Review: A San Franciscan Dream

Author: Saad Amaan

Genre: Teens and adventure

Rating: Three stars


A book about teenagers by teenagers, exploring San Francisco during a maiden trip, and getting stuck in the US make it replete with eyes twinkling with dreams and adventurous excitement. When Saad Amaan, the 11-year-old writer contacted me on Linkedin to review the book, I didn’t say No and the end products surprised me for it speaks the language and lingo of teens, in a freshly innocent manner and at the same time passionately for a generation never shy to explore and conquer their dreams.

Six friends, Aman Utraviolet, Tina Gates Ultraviolet, Zee Edward D’Souza, AFN Siddharth Dikshit, John Kim Lufthaver and Heather Kim Lufthaver belonging to slightly different ages and thrilled with excitement in exploring an alien world makes the novel uber cool. A fun read at a time when travel has eluded us in more than one way with the pandemic and it wouldn’t be wrong calling it, futuristic writing. I was impressed with the scientific language, humor and weirdness making it a fresh read. From preteens ordering hamburger and eleven plus babysitting a six-year-old girl, the dialogue veers towards candy and stuff, surviving on allowance we call pocket money, it makes for a joyride of sort.

Read the book blurb on Goodreads


A tale about Alice in Wonderland vs Agathe Christie meeting Christopher Pike with the young guns playing detectives and lending a ubiquitous charm with the usage of French language. Don’t they say pardon my French? There is a certain charm and alluring in the way French seeps into the narrative of this cool tale, the bonjour means good morning or Hi adding to the yin and yang of this exhilarating adventure.

There is no dearth of creative imagination laden into the aspirational when the teens meet Sundar Pichai, yeah right, who wants the autograph of Aman Ultra Violet. It makes for quite a lively imagery interaction between Aman and the Google CEO, termed as the ‘super-megaferociously-never-beforespecial’. It makes for fun interaction and getting ‘zanier’ what with the fourth dimension.

An interesting aspect about Saad’s book is the effortless blend of the lingos, from pretty dorky to thimblefuls and troubles jocks adding to the fun element.  The robotic as a metaphor central to teens if I can call it is intriguing for this teenage book but worth the effort with a dint of Tolkienism in the modern world.

What’s Not:

As unaware as I am about the lingo and style of the younger teens and preteen generation, the lack of spacing in many sentences and expressions makes it a tad difficult to read. At some places or the other, it does looks fun but when repeated in several instances in the book, it gets a tad repetitive, breaking the flow and not to say reader unfriendly to a certain extent. I love the creative interaction with Pichai but at times, I feel that the author has overdone it right from the ‘accent’ to the ‘hasty explanation’.

Final Remarks:

A San Franciscan Dream by Saad Amaan is a commendable attempt to tap into a world that the teenage crowd will identify with and making it a fun read.  The book surely has glitches but it’s something that the young and promising Saad will learn with time but surely is a lively adventure with a rich and appealing texture. The language and teen conversation are fun, making it a madcap journey with numerous twists. Read the book if you are a teen or a millennial like me stuck in childhood and wanna re-explore teenage days in the present times. I promise to be fun. Will you?



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Numb and other feelings

Numb is pain,

happiness is let go of every thing,

binaries of past and present,

unquenched emotions,

entrenched in wounds left behind,

beyond frailty of time,

cake of happiness,

smeared on soul,

craving for this morsel,

tell me the ingredient,

i want but a slice,

quenching seamless hunger,

loosening the flesh,

accepting love and pain,

shedding tears,

creating the joyous,

celebrating the dance of faith,

the toxic shall leave the soul,

entering the new,

intoxicating a mind,

an entire lifetime to make peace with,

who needs reincarnate?

for heaven and hell,

is me and you.



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Hot on Wheels: Chapter 9

The campus was brimming with the college crowd swarming to the main circle with books in hands. Hardik held stack of Xerox copies in hand, walking restlessly and trying to remember concepts and equations. He straddled aimlessly unaware of the crowd watching him learning by rote and tension wearing thin on his face.

Boys and girls, squatted on the stairs and cement slab discussing the paper, some were chilled about the exams with the rest running amok checking roll numbers on their hall tickets.  Geet was non-plussed and walked at leisure. She slapped him gently and yelped with excitement, “Hey! All ready. A-7.” She casually said.

He felt jittery and almost shrieked. “Chill dude,” she winked. “It’s just the semester exams. Have a chill pill,” she snatched his Xerox. “Wow, padhaku (book worm) you prepared so many notes for the Psychology exams. Freud Mama would be so proud of you.”

He let off, “You are back so soon,” she completed, “And in time for the exams. I reached by train this morning and gulped three cups of strong coffee. Hardly had time to sleep ya and this stupid exam had to happen today.” Talking to her and seeing her super chilled soothed him. He found himself saying, “Ya forget the notes and let’s see how much I remember the concepts. “That’s my boy,” she quipped. “You like me na and will do whatever I say.”

He stammered, “I mean no, yes, no kinda,” unsure what to tell. One thing he hates admitting of being in love for she never declared her flame, wondering how an average guy like him can get a hot chick like Geet. The guys drooled over her. She was unfazed about the eyes bobbing and heads turning at her sight.

The clock struck thrice and students hopped on their feet, clambering on the wooden stairs and making a beeline to enter the hall. Geet hugged him and stole a peck on his cheek. He hugged her tight. “Now, move. All the best dude,” she shouted. He walked towards the bench. She smiled watching him inching towards the desk. It was a miracle, scribbling on the answer sheets, filling the margins and asking for extra papers.

Geet’s effect has been playing like musical notes and the forgotten concepts waltzed in his brain. Looking around, he couldn’t find her at the desk. Where the fuck she disappeared, he wondered. Is she done writing? There were 30 minutes left and he gave back the answer sheet, running for his life, past the canteen, library and the Kimaya ground to find her.

She disappeared from the campus. He sensed frantic heartbeats. Why is he longing for her and getting restless? Nah, he brushed it aside. It cannot be love. This cannot be happening to me. How much I am pushing away my feeling for her and her face haunts me like crazy. I am going mad. He is shaking, walking past the gate at Fergusson College and crossed the crazy traffic and horns, to walk inside CCD.

The English song blared through the ears and laughs of the crowd, couple cuddling and stealing kisses. He felt odd sitting alone in the smoking bar, ordered a cappuccino with black forest cake. Lit a cigarette, he took a sip of coffee, meandered in thoughts and didn’t realize that the English song was shifted to the Hindi chartbuster, Dil Chori Chori Ho Gaye from Sonu Ki Titu Ki Sweety. He swayed to the tune and forgot Geet and his pursuit, drowned in the music when a chirpy voice crooned, “Radio Mirchi pe mein aap ke host, dost aur hamsafar. I have a question for you: What is love? What is lust? Can love and lust be the sides of the same coin? Love can be lust buried in relics and lust is love hidden. Listen to the heartbeats and drum beating. Are you? This is love. Trust your heart. Whatsapp me your favorite song and connect with me on Facebook and Instagram. Listen to this beautiful romantic song for love is and can never be incomplete without me. Aha! Guess my name for my work is to love you. I shall take my first caller of the day.”

I have my first caller of the day. “Hello,” RJ G greeted in a seductive voice and tongue curled on top of her palette and stroking. “Heylo…”

“Hi RJ,” a shy, male voice hesitated and cracked.

“Hey! Loverboy! Don’t be shy. Take a deep breath and say I love you to me.”

 “Heylo sexy baby, there,” the RJ was flirting with him. I love you. What’s your name?”

“Well, RJ G it’s me. We know each other and pretend to be far away from each other. You may pretend that I am invisible and a stranger but your heart knows deep inside”, he regained his confidence and encouraged by G. “Yes, You love me, I know that. You are Geet. Why did you run away from exams? I searched for you on the entire campus. Are you pranking me?”

She fell silent for an instant. “Hello, Are you a stalker? I am no Geet. Yes, I play Geet (song) on radio,” the usual seductiveness was missing on faces in the studio. “I know it’s you, babe,” he persisted. He didn’t what went into his head. “I love you my G. You love me too.”

RJ G didn’t have any choice, “I love you, too sexy boy.” She plays another song, “Mein hoon aapke dost aur humdard aap ke favourite RJ. All you singletons listen to this cool Hook Up song. The music blazed loud on radio.

They looked at each other inside the recording studio. “Do you know him,” RJ G asked? “He actually declared his love for you. Geet’s face became red and didn’t know what fell on her head. “Yes! And you had to play this fucking Hook Up song. Screwed!”

“As in babe,” G was puzzled.

“We screwed each other not once but several things. He’s in my class. Didn’t know it will lead to so much intensity,” Geet.

RJ G burst out laughing at Geet. Somebody stared at both the girls from the glass panel, watching one girl laughing madly and the other looking shell shocked in the colorful decked studio with mic, monitor and equipment. He was fascinated.

“Aha,” G made a mocking smile, “Your man. Go invite him,” moving her eyebrow to nudge at Geet’s direction. The latter didn’t know what to do and was planning to murder him.



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Hot on Wheels: Chapter 8

The cab screeched in front of the gate at Hari Om apartments in South Bombay. It was unusually dark everywhere. The lights went off and the building wore a haunted look. They slid past the metal gate. The bored guard was slouching and slumbering on the plastic chair didn’t give a damn who entered and exit the building. He plainly told them it was a complete black out.

Geet and Hardik silently trudged the stairs towards the 12th floor as they gasped for breath. The light flashing on the mobile phone guided them towards the apartment as they stopped in front of the door, spotting the ceramic flower pot. Both lifted the flower pot with force, sieving through, moving it angularly left and right, before the key smothered in mud landed on the floor. The door opened after twisting like a coke cap.

Geet trotted quickly inside to close the door on Hardik’s face. He banged the door. There was silence inside the house and she didn’t reply to his plea for seconds and minutes. “What are you up and would you open the door.” His phone beeped, “You gatecrashed. It’s your punishment. Sit in the dark for some time.”

The light miraculously came after one hour. Hardik felt weak and depleted of energy, spreading his long legs plonked on the stairs. A noise distracted him. The tired man dashed and pushed his shoulder, flinging inside just in time as the door flapped and shut behind him. The speck clean ceramic floor in the hall shone with a pair of earring lying on the floor. 

He picked it and traipsed inside, “Geet, what game are you playing?” A pink envelope was splayed on the floor. He slid it open with the lip gloss scribbled in red, “Somebody…somebody waiting for U with the night’s secret!” and walked to the kitchen, greeted by shiny red socks on the floor. The eyes squinted at the scented envelope, “Pick it up.”

There was no movement. He waded inside the room and wall graffiti stared at him, “The end is near. Enter the labyrinth.” A chill flew like an electric wave down his spine and Hardik almost tripped on a white skirt and blouse, picking them up one by one, wading inside another room with fluorescent black bra scattered on the floor. He walked past the sliding door jutted across the balcony, giving an aerial view of South Bombay.

Red handkerchief fluttered on the metal rail. He inched close towards the balcony and pressed his body to the wall, head bent towards the ground, wondering whether she jumped. He felt dizzy when a dim, red light shone brightly on his face. Red handkerchief wrapped on his palm and holding bra, earring, female underwear and socks in all colors adorned on the neck as if he was wearing a tie, unaware of a huge room hidden from the inside and spotted from the balcony.

He felt a windy storm stroking his back and quivered, sending a chill running with spasm down his spine. He trotted inside and frantic heartbeat led him into the spacious room, fading light flashed on the spacious bed, curled hair cut and splayed on the white mattress. A thin and toned bare back turned with hands on the wall as if posing for the paparazzi. 

Hardik was frantic, admiring the curled hair falling slightly on the neck. She simpered naked in a seductive movement and slowly turned her face towards him. He couldn’t muster the courage to look into the famished eyes. She flicked her leg on the male chest and pushing him on the bed. She leaned on him and stroking his hair and face smeared on his cheek and moving her lip gently on his mouth. “Don’t say anything. The night is glittering with bridled sensuality, not just me and you.” He couldn’t speak and voice choked at this hidden side of Geet. She laughed, “It’s not just you who needs everything. I desire everything about the male body.”

Red lacquered fingers scratching his chest with force, tearing his shirt button. Faces and lips cupped, smearing his cheek and nose, she twirled her leg on his stomach. The shocked man couldn’t budge. Her voice growled and bewitching into his ears, “You are jailed now. Look around.” Pierced voice and witch-like sensation sent chill, she moved her naked body slowly. He tossed his head around, seeing colourful display of sex toys in white, pink, red and yellow displayed on the wooden table.

He felt a pair of hands opening his belt and unbuttoning his denim. “Not feeling anything,” she teased. “Count one, two and three, breathe. You are in for surgery. Just lie. Relax. Breathe in and out. Her hand slowly massaged into his thing, fingers ran deep inside and smeared ointment, a, pressing hard on the top. He squelched with pain and passion, muttering with difficulty, “I never knew this side of you.”

She moved up and rolled her tongue licking on his chest with speed, slipping beneath. It felt ecstatic. She moaned and caressing him inside. Hardik wanted it to end and biting his lip, suppressing pain. Geet was a wounded tigress. Both were lying naked. She was bold, exploring zone where no woman not even herself has ever gone with a man, breaking away from shame and shackles.

“Love sucks,” she moved her lip. What’s sex without fun and off-limits on our date? Cheerz to our time and my time.” Her boob brushed his chest, accompanying the trembling fingers exploring and holding, pressing into her nipples. She was in the driver’s seat. He was the servant. They changed position. He bit and sucked into her nipples.

“I could have sex with anyone and you everyone,” she laughed. She pulled him off the bed and placed his hands on her bosom, turning into circle and jettisoning towards the wall. She pulled herself, with gravitational force. He went ahead and pressed on her, moving lips sucking into her ears and hands holding her waist, caressing her boobs with intensity. She moaned with pleasure. He bent down, licked her back, slow caress and massage running deep from top to toe. I want more. 

Geet repeated one, two, and thrice. She pulled him to the bed and caressing the edge of the zones, running her fingers deep inside him. She lay strewn like flowers on the bed, opening her legs, spoke in a calm demeanor and voice stirred, losing her breath, “Finger me. Don’t stop.”

“What,?” he asked. He couldn’t wait to get inside her. “Baby, you have competition. Who is better your fingers or the sex toys?” He bent and licked her vagina, running his tongue inside gently and reaching intensity. Fingers traced a circled line around, repeating the movement with palm pressing around the flesh. Geet moved and tossed her head in a circle. She was already in love with him and knew he was the one. She breathed and moaned. 

 He licked her and pressed his fingers inside. “Don’t stop…please I beg of you.” She moved her flawless skin, hugging him and winked thinking, “The last time to trouble him today.” The corner of her eyes saw something shining and she felt something was under the mattress. It was the duplicate key.
She moved away from him. “I challenge you for the last time.” Plain and period. Geet’s face was blank and expressionless. “Prove what do you have in you.” He was flabbergasted and bemused, slowing returning to his normal state, losing the mojo of arousal and feeling his inside melting cold. The moment was lost.

Her eyes pointed at the window, “Jump. Take the lift when you come back,” flinging the house key on his face. He felt weak in his knee, “Are you fucking mad or what? Is this a prank! Are you fucking asking me to jump from the window? Babe, it’s on the 12th floor. You will be jailed for murder. Tu cheez hai kya.”

“I want to test whether you can fuck and hold me inside. What if I tell that we’re in love? Should I repeat, JUMP. Remember no jumping, no mad sex. I promise it will be not just desert but honeyed heaven. Baba! Kuch nahin hoga. Just see.” He could see the sun radiating in the water inside the swimming pool.

“Still it’s a big risk baba. Not one but running 12 floors jettisoned in the air. It’s no child’s play,” he protested.

“Jump gandu,” she sat naked and rolled a joint.
Hardik pulled his jeans. She snatched it away from him. “You are Hard Dick, live to your name and let it hang in the air. He was trembling, standing on the edge of the window’s sill. She thought he looked like superman in his blue underwear. “Ready! One two three,” she nudged him. The entire male body was shaking with legs and body engulfed by fear. She moved both palms with force.

 He jumped. The body oscillated into somersault movement, traversing windows and blocks with the speed of light, splashing into the huge swimming pool.
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Cupid’s mirror

Love is nameless,

fallacy of heart beat,

waltzing to the tune of gentle whisper,

fragrance of red rose,

escorted by love ballads,

romantic tunes,

i sit alone,

surrounded by lovers cuddling,


rose stroking lips,

longing for the One,

heart says she is waiting,

brain tells too old,

make love to the mind,

alluring tales,

hearts swept to the tide,

feelings washed ashore,

an old encounter,

haunting whisper,

last Valentine hope,

i make love everday,

to the imaginary,

seeing myself in cupid’s mirror.

Happy Valentine Day



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Tale from the coffee shop

What if we were having a webinar! Whatsapp call or met for coffee by accident? I would perhaps ask how life is treating you in this pandemic or post-pandemic world depending on the part of the world you are living in. It wouldn’t matter whether you are living in a city, state, or country infested with COVID cases flaring up and/or in a place with very few cases. Fact is that the pandemic is taking a toll on our mental health and awareness.

This post is not about mental health but it may be indirectly or remotely connected to how this new world has impacted us. Last week, I visited the coffee shop where I’ve been a regular customer and ordered an iced coffee, sat to read a bit but didn’t stay for long. I again visited on Monday and this time remained for two hours. It felt strange in 360 degrees altering the globe. Sitting with the laptop and coffee, I typed an entire chapter for the romance novella on blog. I didn’t keep track of time and enjoyed writing.

It made me happy deep inside. The rare perks of going out, enjoying coffee, croissant, and writing. The coffee was good but something was missing. I love the frothy on top but was watery. I didn’t complain because it’s a luxury which is the rarest and thinking about friends who cannot go out for coffee. The girl at the cafe ran to me and asking about seeing me after a very long time Truth is that I am still into self-isolation mode much after the lockdown and my reasoning is irrespective of few cases and declared COVID safe doesn’t in any way imply a COVID free world. Till we haven’t battled the virus, the risks remain present.

Back to the coffee shop trip, I felt the world has changed. Something was missing in the happiness sipping coffee, writing, taking pictures and selfie staring at the laptop. It feels good to step up in a world afflicted by the pandemic yet it’s odd sitting at this familiar place, and to think the last time, the virus scare erupted. It felt different. Yet, at the same time, we need to venture out and learn to live with this frenemy. How long can we stay cooped inside remain the biggest question?

I’ve self-isolated myself for more than six months and refused invitations but there comes a time when you need to venture in a place lending serenity. Coffee shops are such places for me. Reading at peace and being with the self. Did I told there is an old British gentleman we Indians would refer to uncle saw me the last time and told you are the guy who reads at the cafe? That’s how he remembers me. Fucking true!

Life has changed for us and perhaps our individual perception to a certain extent on how we respond to fears. It’s a natural thing to do since we live in a new world and the virus phenomenon is something new to us. I know many won’t pay heed to it but over the years, a certain degree of awareness has seeped into my life.

A sense of happiness about visiting the place and picture it one year back when I was a regular and then, the dock of life, be it coffee shops, movies or travel has stopped. A feeling of being grateful to the universe for stepping out and the only difference is perhaps the mask, sanitizer and social distancing. I intend to make the most ay sitting to work once a week at the coffee shop and far away from the maddening crowd or even senseless conversation. It works well for the mental health and why not embrace the routine change.

How often do you go out in the uncertain times? Do share.

With Love


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Hot on Wheels: Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Geet flipped a cigarette from the fresh pack and lit with curled smoke blowing into ringlets disappearing with the wind billowed past the half arc surrounding the seas. She took a drag and intensely admired the sea breeze at Marine Drive, standing alone on the parapet, wondering on the last couple of days. She gave Hardik cold stares for almost a week and secretly wished that he would leave dejectedly for Pune. Both of them were missing college. The strategy backfired and compelled Hardik to stay back in Mumbai. He was hell-bent on wooing her.

The phone beeped. It was Hardik Whatsapping, “Reaching in another 30 minutes. I am inside the train.” He cajoled her back into speaking to him. She was confused about him, one moment drew to him and the next, there were no emotions left in her heart. Geet could be cold as the ice cube difficult to break. He is a good guy and ready to leave all everything, doing the run around for me, she took another drag.

Hardik walked at a fast pace and suddenly dashed in her direction. He was panting for breath and hugged her forcefully. “Water,” she asked. “Hmm,” his voice broke. “I want water to drink and sitting in this heat, waiting for you. She snatched his bag and pulled open the water bottle. She gulped the liquid down the throat. He wondered, “Here I am breathless and running all the way to catch the bus and train at Andheri to Churchgate. She didn’t see that I am craving to be in her company and instead, of offering me, she quenched her thirst.”

Geet asked unfazed, “Have some. You must be thirsty.” He slowly twisted the bottle open and spilled the drop inside the throat. He could breathe and enjoyed the cold liquid flowing down the throat. Hardik was oblivious that she was doing everything on purpose and to appear ruthless but deep down she cared for him.

“Are we going back to Pune,” she asked.

It felt something hitting him on the head. “What? Weren’t you supposed to be in Mumbai for a long time?

“Hello! It was meant to be two days trip and you followed me all the way, complicating matters. We ended up staying for two weeks. I think it’s now time to go back and because of you, I missed all the important lectures. Dude, we are screwed.”

“Taxi,” she shouted. The black-and-yellow cab slowed down and she dragged him inside the car. The vehicle slowly moved away from Marine Drive and ambled towards Chowpatty, taking a left turn near Wilson College. In no time, they reached Kemps corner.

“I don’t have any clothes and not even a bag with me. Just a wallet for the cab and train ticket! Are you always like that, Geet,” he protested?

“Stop whining. It’s not that you are a beggar and you live in an apartment with all your stuff in Pune. Who told you to follow me all the way to Mumbai and inside the taxi,” she was nonchalant.

“But,” he wailed.

She asked the cab driver, “Bhaiya aur kitna time lagega Dadar paunchne ke liye (How long it will take in reaching Dadar)?” The driver said, “Aagey bohot traffic hoga madam and ek ghanta lagega. (There is lots of traffic ahead and we will reach in another hour).” Geet turned towards him and faces cupped to each other, “See, we still have time and one hour. That’s a lot, dude.”

“What do you want to do?” he playfully says.

“Stop your bull crap. I just want to know how on earth you got the keys into Maasi’s flat. You would be in jail by now. Don’t raise your hands. I want an answer.” He averted her gaze and there was no way he would let her in the loop.

“I am waiting Hardik,” she sounded like a school teacher.

He innocently says, “Where are you stretching this whole thing? Ok! I am sorry and shouldn’t have taken you to someone’s house who turned out to be your Maasi. We ran away from the cops. I escaped pandu like mad aimlessly to land inside the housing society. Found the key under the flower pots.” Hardik realized that he spilled more than he wanted to her.

She concatenated into laughter, “What, you were chased by the cops. Sorry, sorry?” she apologized for the laugh. He felt silly. “Go on,” she simpered. “Tell the story. And, I thought you were banging some Tinder chick and took her there.”

“I’ve been telling you that you are jealous, thinking am scoring some chicks on Tinder,” he told.

“I knew that bastard,” she smiled.

“Hello! How I wish to be that lucky,” he told.

“Stop nurturing hopes. At least be thankful that I am the only one without being your girl. You just carry a condom pack with hopes. And, I didn’t mean you are scoring,” she laughed.

He protested. “OK! Sorry dude. Are you a thief?”, she was apologetic.

“No,” he was incensed.

“A closet gay doubling as a pimp. Wait you must be into the mafia and Dawood man in India,” she pulled him uninterruptedly.

He almost fainted, “Oh! No.”

Geet cajoled him, “Ok sorry. You better tell me who chased whom and I hope not a skirt but khaki after you. I am dying to know if the danda (stick) entered your ass. I will check later if you don’t tell me the story.”

“Shut up bitch and listen,” Hardik punched.

“Yes, bastard, go on,” she egged on him.

“Arre that night, I met a couple of friends. It was raining and almost midnight when we were boozing at Gokul, ordering Old Monk. We were in the mood but they decided to close earlier, fearing a raid.”

She asked, “So, they caught you guys?”

“Nopes. We bought two extra bottles. We took the cab to Central and got down to spot a row of apartments on the main road. We decided to hide near the huge trees sprawling near the gates of apartments and were boozing when a police jeep stopped. Dude, you cannot imagine how much I ran that day and leaving my friends who went in different directions. I ran aimlessly past a gate and plodded the stairs. I felt that I would die. The cops were on our heels. The corridor was empty and felt ghostly when my leg accidentally kicked the flower pot. I saw a shining metal. It was the key to the apartment.”

She listened to him in the car as if reading a novel or watching a Netflix movie. “And, you entered inside?” she was keen to know

“Obviously. It was do or die. A miracle escape. I overheard the cops heels outside with a torch and was relieved when they said to each other, “Saala, gandu log. Let’s go and they went off.”

“This was the only apartment you ever found to hide your ass from the cops. Look at your dare and guts man. You took me there. We ended up having the most heated sex and not for once, did I realize it was Maasi’s apartment? So shameless. What if Mom had a duplicate key and saw us naked,” Geet felt a chill.

“I don’t know, babe. What would we do? And, you are no less,” he reproached.

“Oh! Mr is so innocent and took his girlfriend…not girlfriend but a chick out there,” she corrected herself. Geet repeated, “No girlfriend. It was a slip of tongue and you better get that. What were you saying that I am no less?”

“You crazy woman. When aunty was at the door, you dragged me inside the room and pushed me out of the window. I was hanging out there, wearing jeans without underwear. It hurt like hell. You made me hang in the air and my hands held on to the cement pole for my life. Are you obsessed with vertigo or what? Is this your idea of BDSM.

Geet was laughing so much and her stomach hurt. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Where are the keys? The papers?” He was confused, “Which papers?”

“Arre screw that. The affidavit and we must have left it there. Also, we had a duplicate key! I think Mom misplaced it. Wait, she must have left it inside the apartment. Let’s go back,” Geet was shouting.

“What is wrong with you,” he was at a loss of words.

“Fuck you,” Geeta shut him. “Bhaiya, gaadi ko ghumao (Turn the car), Mumbai Central. Double paisa doongi ( I will pay double).”