The Sting

I wish I was a good storyteller. Sometimes I believe people should converse only through written material, there is host of options to choose from: texts, emails, letters and what not. But this blog post does not discuss better means of communication in the modern world (so you can breathe easy now). It just opens with me lamenting about how I don’t have any cool stories that I can share with grandkids and even if I had, I would just end up stuttering them, getting them all wrong and killing the fun element anyway. Now that I have gotten over with the lament, I won’t deprive you from a story. It’s a thriller and had you heard it from the horse’s mouth, you would have been listening with your mouth agape and eyes wide, just like I had been. I can’t give due credit to the person I am borrowing this experience from because it is a thriller with action sequences and guns. Anonymity isn’t a choice, but a necessity. To it make it spicier, I have taken the liberty of modifying it a bit and writing it in first person. Without further ado:

Journalism was not my first career option. I wanted to be a cricketer. I was a decent right handed batsman and a nasty spinner. But media happened to me. And so did this assignment. Ever since Tehelka, sting operations had become a rage. I had done plenty of stings till now. Catching petty police officers, clerks red handed on tape. I felt like James Bond. But then I realized that nothing really comes out of the effort. After a couple of stings, the excitement wore off. But this was different. This was big.

It is good to have connections with the media. Especially if your connection is a media baron with a whole range of channels and their crews at his disposal. Let me clarify, I’m not the one with the connections; I’m the disposable crew. So what happens when a hot – shot takes his media baron friend’s help in taking revenge from a rival? You are about to find out.

Our brief was simple. An admission racket was ruining the business of our big boss’s friend. We were to carry out a sting operation to catch hold of the agents involved who would give indications about their big daddy’s involvement. And in today’s world, indications and rumours are enough to build and destroy reputations. Money was not a problem. The entire operation was funded by the vengeance hungry big boss’s friend. He had given us strict instructions to ask him directly for any requirement. He did not trust anyone enough to be a middle man.

The first leg of the sting was carried out successfully in Bangalore. An agent had been traced. A person from our crew had won his trust and convinced him that he could act as a middle man between the agent and a rich party who was desperate to get his brother admitted in a top notch engineering college. The second phase was to be shot in Delhi. And this is where my role starts.

I was the rich party, a businessman from Hyderabad with a dumb brother and a lot of money. Vastu, my colleague and friend, had done brilliantly in the first phase of the sting. He was playing the part of the middle man. We had booked two adjacent rooms in a south Indian hotel. The first room was where the drama was to unfold. Five cameras had been hidden strategically in the 12’ by 12’ ft room. One was hidden in an old dialer telephone, one strategically placed behind two vase, two cameras were placed on diagonal ends of the ceiling disguised with curtain holders. And one camera was hidden in a bag. There were microphones all over. The wires were hidden beneath the carpets and taped to the corners behind the curtains. The second room was where the entire set up was. All the big machines, audio faders, monitors, controllers. The technical set up was all complete. And now I was told that the agent always carried a gun with him, but there was nothing to worry about. A team of five was right in the adjacent room. Suddenly I was paranoid. There were too many cameras. It was too easy to get caught. The bag with the camera had a lot of wires in it. Though the rest of the team had ensured me that the agent won’t bother looking inside the bag, I had insisted on being safe. Thus we had asked the big business man getting the sting done to give us 2 lacs in cash to cover the camera in the bag. Vengeance is sweet. And expensive. I still hadn’t gotten over the filmy style in which he got the money delivered to us. But then, this entire operation wasn’t anything normal. Even from the media perspective.

I had calmed myself down and gotten into character when the agent entered the room. After Vastu made the introductions, the agent began small talk. Vastu had the bag with the camera tucked under his right hand. Was I getting too paranoid or was the agent methodically scanning the entire room? And just when I had mentally reprimanded myself and reined in the horses of my imagination, the agent gestured towards the telephone and said, “They still have this make of telephones? Saar, this piece has taken my fancy. I’ll take it home with me saar. I’ll pay the hotel whatever compensation it needs”. My hands started sweating. I was struggling to keep the expression neutral on my face. The telephone had a camera fixed in it. If the agent went too close to the phone, our game would have been up in seconds. But I regained control and told him that trivial matters could wait as we had something more important to discuss. That silenced the agent but his expression seemed doubtful to me. Meanwhile, I and Vastu were getting rapid instructions on our discreet earpieces from the adjoining room. The angle of the camera hidden in the bag had to be adjusted to get a better shot and in attempt to do so, Vastu was fidgeting a bit too much for comfort. Suddenly the agent stood up, pointed at the bag and shouted, “What do you have in the bag? Why are you keeping it so close to you? Is there a camera hidden in the bag?”. I paled. Vastu paled. Suddenly I realized that it would take two seconds for the agent to pull out his gun and shoot us both. The entire crew in the next room won’t be much help. I could be dead in the next minute. I was frozen in my chair. I was only aware of the project incharge’s voice coming from the earpiece asking us to remain calm. He said the agent won’t shoot. I looked towards Vastu. He seemed to have recovered himself. He zipped open the bag and without moving the contents showed the layer of stacks of currency notes covering the camera. Vastu got up and shouted louder than the agent, “Are you mad, you jerk! This seems like a damned camera to you? We look like the media to you? Do you think any channel would pay a person enough to go to such lengths to catch hold of you? This was supposed to be advance money for you. And excuse me if I want to keep the money safe, close to me!”. I got the drift and shouted at Vastu in turn, “Who the hell have you brought to me? I can’t do business with these low minded cowards! I could have spent my money on any big college and you brought this dumb guy to me?”. I turned towards the agent. His face did not look very confident now. I pointed to the door and asked him to leave. Our cover could have blown off any moment. Our project incharge asked us to drop the operation here for now and continue tomorrow. We needed to win the agent’s trust. Hurrying through it would have been dangerous. A lot of money had been spent already and there was no scope for mistake. “Listen you jerk!” I shouted at the agent “If you don’t want to do business, don’t waste my time. You have ruined my entire day”. An authoritative tone was enough to make the agent wet his pants. It was obvious that he did not want to let a good party leave. In seconds his tone changed and he gave excuses for his behavior. Sting operations were too common these days and he had narrowly escaped a couple of them. Sadly, a journalist hadn’t. Thus, the revolver. I carried on my charade, “Look, I’m in no mood to work with you today. I would have to down extra pegs of whiskey to wash down your stupidity! Now get away from my sight. I’ll think about it tomorrow. And if you continue this moronic behavior of yours, rest assured that I won’t have the patience to give you another chance. Now scoot off”. Mumbling apologies and grateful words, the agent left. I could breathe normally again.

The next day. This time we were extra cautious. We were changing the setting of the cameras and the microphones again. The entire crew was in the first room, setting up. There were wires strewn everywhere. I was getting dressed. Vastu was the anchor for the entire programme and was recording a link right outside the room. Just then, the agent entered the corridor. It took him a minute to realize that the man standing with a gun mic in his hand wasn’t a middle man at all. That no deals were going to get finalized today. That it was a trap. It took us a minute to realize that our cover was blown. That the entire exercise, the money spent was wasted. That the agent could track us down and get us killed to keep his and his boss’s identity a secret.

The agent ran. We ran after him. This was no scene from a bollywood action movie. It was real. And it sucked! We drove after the agent as he dodged the traffic like a maniac. We finally overtook the agent’s Santro and skidded to a halt in front of him, blocking his way and forcing him to brake, right in the middle of the Teen Murti marg. Before the agent had the time to react and pull out his gun, we had pulled him out of the car and shoved him in our SUV’s backseat. He sat sandwiched between me and Vastu. I was panicking. What could we do now? We couldn’t have started afresh. His boss would have gotten careful. We could not have just let him go. He could have had us all killed. And had we come back without the sting, we might as well have said goodbye to our job. We were messed up. We parked the vehicle close to a police chowki at India Gate. It was very hot and I was sweating.

I called Pranay, another colleague. He was nearby and reached us in a little time. Pranay sat in the front passenger seat. Looked back and snarled at the agent, “Act smart if you don’t like to have two hands and legs.”. Now Pranay is a big guy, with bloodshot eyes. If he wanted, he could come across as a gangster. Seems like he wanted to. I felt the agent’s hands go cold in as Pranay coolly discussed what all we could do with him which broadly involved a lot of broken bones. The agent was shaking with fear. Pranay now directly threatened the agent, “I don’t have the patience for all this. Either you give us an on-camera confession of this admission racket with all the big names or I shoot you right here.” The funny thing was that amongst the five people in the car, the only person with a gun on him was the agent and he was the one being threatened. But the agent suddenly relaxed under my grip. He looked at Pranay with resolve and said, “Saar, shoot me please. If you won’t, he will do much worse than that. I am sorry. I can’t give you any byte or interview or confession. Please shoot me right now.”. He was sobbing uncontrollably. I shook him and said, “Look, we are not the bad guys here. We could hand you over to the police right now but I know your boss would fish you out and do much worse than what we or the police can do. So, co-operate with us. Just look into the camera, say whatever I ask you to and we can make sure you are safe. Surrender to the police and we’ll bail you out. We’ll send you to a new city, open up a new business for you, give you a new identity. No one would touch you. Your boss would probably be in jail after we broadcast your interview! You just have to cooperate.”. It took a lot of convincing and a few tight slaps from Pranay, but eventually the agent gave in. Not like he had a choice. He held the mic in his hand and delivered the lines we gave him perfectly. We drove him back to his car, which was still standing at Teen Murti marg, went back to work, edited the sting and put it on air. Well, the rest of the story can be rather controversial, even under the comforting blanket of anonymity.

Don’t feel sympathetic for the agent. Feel happy for me. I made it alive, and I still had my job. Of course I did not get promoted for it. But in this industry a “good job!” is as good as a medal. Maybe being a cricketer was a better option after all.

It's Different!

There are a few people in my Facebook friend list who never fail to amuse me. When my entire wall is buzzing with cricket fever, echoing the country's sentiment (Ind vs Pak match, to be more specific), they'll tweet about a hockey match between a couple of insignificant countries. When most status messages are applauding Sachin Tendulkar's 100th ton, they'll find something negative to say. If there is no current rage to denounce, they'll just get very critical about something or the other. The point is, they'd just be against the grain. They’d just be different.

But somehow, this ‘different’ is often a comment which is either negative or critical. Don't get me wrong, it is certainly not a bad thing. In fact, criticizing and cribbing is my forte. I used to get extremely pissed off with love birds littering my Facebook wall with hearts, 'aww's, 'love you', 'miss you' and 'mwah's. Public Display of Affection on a virtual social platform seems more perverse than PDA in real. As a knee jerk reaction I might have posted a sarcastic or rude message or two in a fit of irritation. But it always felt wrong, even though that realization hit later. One thing I admire about these social networking web portals is the 'options' they provide. Mr. Zuckerberg is a smart man and he understands that people can be unwittingly irritating at times. Hence, he gave us the option to hide notifications of such personalities while fulfilling social obligations as well (Refer to the earlier post: New 'Social' obligations http://slangguru.blogspot.in/2012/02/new-social-obligations.html). Such options have given me the freedom to choose the people I want to know about and how much access I grant them in my personal virtual life. Hence, it is now easy to avoid getting irked up at every other thing.

Being different or having a different opinion from the general trend is perfectly acceptable to me. In fact I respect and admire it. But I also strongly believe that to avoid the ire of most people one needs to know the art of presenting your distinct opinion in a diplomatic and polite manner, so as not to hurt someone else’s sentiments. I’m not the master of articulation and etiquette, but I get by fine just by knowing when to put a lid on my mouth. No one likes being boo-ed for having something different to say. I certainly don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be a sheephead and follow the herd. Thankfully, there is a middle path: Shut up! Just because I like to think I am smarter than most people going ga – ga over Farmville, I won’t advertise it cheaply (excuse my language) by saying nasty stuff about people who play it. It definitely is the era of free speech, what with blogging and facebook-ing and twittering and what not becoming all the rage. But free comments are much like free advice. It is almost always worthless and invites flak.

Also, I’m sure having something different to say ensures lot of comments on your Facebook update but you don’t have to be something you are not, just to be popular online. Fake orgasms might sound like fun, make your partner feel macho, get the neighbors jealous but in actual it would just be extra effort on your part and not much fun.

So the next time you get irritated by a flock of girls giggling over Virat Kohli because he almost hit a double century or teenage boys updating status messages praising Tendulkar longer than their English exam answer sheets or a new couple getting mushy all over your wall control that urge to tick them off and update a status which would demean a lot of people. Because unless you are a pretty and single girl, you’d just be boo-ed down. And if you are a pretty and single girl, then ignore the entire blog. Do as you please. :P

Being different is a gift. Share it with people who will appreciate it. And don’t fake it. It might increase the number of hits of your virtual profile, but it will definitely hit your self respect as well. 

Rain forest in my eyes

From the serrated edge
Of words rude and curt,
The pieces are sharp
Rough edges hurt
Of the broken dreams
In my closed eyes,
Shut to the sun
And the clear skies.
Broken dreams are shed
And in turn
Room is made
For new ones


For now, my eyes are a rain forest...

New 'SOCIAL' obligations

No, not my family, not my partner, hardly a friend, then how does it matter what she/ he thinks of my actions? His opinion doesn't matter to me, and as far as I know, my stance hardly waiver her decisions, then why do I worry about their reaction before putting up a status on Facebook or BBM? I have never been very social. In fact, I often get reprimanded for not wanting to attend social events like weddings and other such parties with a lot of known people where I am supposed to smile and pay my respects to everyone. Now everyone I know is connected with me on FB. It is a like a big party where everyone is scrutinizing everyone else's actions.

It is great to connect again with old friends whom I had lost touch with. But things get weird when people I haven't ever shared a word with in person send me requests on Facebook which I am obliged to accept because we went to the same school (batches apart! Some had kids in diaper by the time I passed out or some were still learning the alphabet when I graduated to college.) Accepted because I  do not want to come across as a rude person. I get pinged on chat by people I don't remember and I end up asking them the same question every time they send a Hi! on my G-talk:

Hey, so what are you doing now? Really? You had answered this question 3 months ago when you first pinged me? (And still you expected me to remember it when I can't even recall where I know you from! Bleh!)

Things are different when strangers claim your attention with 'wanna make fraaandship with meh' proposals. Then it is easy to give them a piece of your mind in polite, funny or heavily sarcastic manner (depending on my mood, stranger's grammar and looks :P). But how do you say no to a person who can seemingly write a biography on you:

"Oh hey, how are you? Remember me? I am your friend ABC's cousin's friend. We met at ABC's birthday party 5 years back. How have you been? Do you still have boy- cut hair? And how is your mom? Still teaching in that school? And what is up with your sister? She was enrolled in that beauty - culture course, right? And your dad? Does he still walk to his school everyday? And how about you? I heard you are working with Zee News! And are you still seeing XYZ?"

I wonder if he/she maintained a diary dedicated to me to be able recall my boring life's details with such precision. Although answers of most of the questions are a negative but I still don't want to hurt that person's feeling with a response which sounds like: "My hair has grown much longer. Thank god for that! And I don't work with Zee anymore (Thank god for that as well :P). And I have no clue who you are and why you are disturbing my mailbox's peace!"

Instead I frame an acceptably polite response which doesn't sound like 'me' at all and spend a good part of the day enquiring about the person from every possible source. You see I hate being curious.

Till this time it is very manageable. Let's go back to that stranger's last question: Are you still seeing XYZ? Usually I ignore these questions but the internet has made people virtually courageous. Much more than they can be in the real life. Hence, I give in to their shameless persistence. Regardless of the answer, the men I have encountered often end up declaring that they had a crush on me (too *rolling eyes*) and still harbour a fondness for me. This never ceases to marvel me because I always considered myself plain looking, bordering on cute. And none of them had had enough interactions for me to thaw and show my 'real' self (which is witty and funny and smart :P Stop smirking! Its an honest self estimation!). After all this time on networking portals I can guess a guy's next message almost verbatim. Its the women who stump me! My answers to their seemingly innocent enquiries about my love life become the gossip of the month which keeps coming back to me in all sorts of unwelcome forms from unexpected sides.

These, along with losing interest, were the major reasons why my frequency on Facebook spiralled downwards. And now,  my status on Facebook and Blackberry Messenger sound dull and uninteresting which again bothers me because I get worried about my social image being labelled as boring. Social networking complicates life. You hate it. But you can't live without it. Its a party you won't miss but will attend grudgingly. Sucks!

V- Day? Big Deal...

What really is the big deal about Valentine’s Day anyway? Oh, don’t pitch me into the anti – V-Day lobby, yet. I do welcome it. After all it is the only day when the metro smells like a bouquet of fresh (and exorbitantly expensive) roses. This is one of the few days when I see people smiling a lot for no evident reason. But that is about it. Now follows a list of things about the day which irk me up! (And no, I am not even going to talk about how none of the people neck deep in Valentine’s Day celebrations know the origin, meaning or importance of Valentine’s Day or the Christian martyrs Valentines)

• ·         Red Alert! I like red. It’s a bright and energetic colour. But like everything else in life, it should be moderate. And I have a throbbing headache since I boarded the metro today evening. The combination of yellow light and all shades of red is very disturbing after a long day at work. Red shoes, red clothes (I counted 7 girls wearing red pants!), red scarves, red accessories, red phones and (worst of all) red make-up. To top it up, bouquets and stuffed teddies and big cards (Archies gallery definitely made a huge profit this year!). Red! Ugh!! (Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned pink, hot pink, baby pink, fuschia etc. here!)
• ·         Gush Giggle Gush! I couldn’t help overhearing some conversations on my way to work today. While a couple of girls were showing off their boyfriends’ romantic feats to their friends, some were cooing yucky sweet nothings over the phone. Oh, there was one girl who was planning to give her boyfriend the most coveted gift, her virginity. Need I explain more? It was a bad day to leave my earphones home. Ugh!
• 
  
• ·         So what’s your plan? Even I asked a lot of people the same question today. 4 out of 5 times, it was either in a funny or sarcastic manner. In return, I was asked this question close to 20 times today. I lost count after that. It wouldn’t have bothered me to reply “Oh, nothing special, just a regular Tuesday”. But what irked me was that the question putter was least bothered about my response! It was just a clever way to brag about their own plans when I asked about their plans in return. And the polite kid that I am, I fell for it every time. After a while it just got boring listening about lunches, dinners, coffees, walks, movies, drives and shopping trips. Ugh!
• ·         Message memory full! I had planned to count the total number of BBMs, texts, whatsaaps, emails, facebook tags, notifications, promotional emails and messages today. But sometime during the day I just gave up. Poor Bobby just wouldn’t stop buzzing! (Bobby being my BlackBerry, in case you still don’t know!). It is weird how people you haven’t spoken to in ages send you romantic messages (which would have been no doubt forwarded to their entire list!). I wish I got the same response on my birthdays too *rolling eyes*.
• ·         Show me the love, or maybe not! Both subtle and inconspicuous declarations and re-iterations of love could be seen on all social networking portals. Names, hints to names, love quotes, hearts and hugs and kisses… I won’t be surprised if I get diabetes soon. But I’m certainly impressed that this year my count of “I have/ had a crush on you” went down to just two! Or maybe I am getting old now! Ugh!

I am sure had you gone through this ordeal, you would have been irked up as well. I mean, it is just insensitive pushing your how-so-ever much blooming love life in some-one else’s face and… hold on! It’s the door-bell.

.

.

.

Whoa! Would you believe it?! Someone couriered me a huge poster of my pictures and chocolates! Oh these are all my favourite pictures and Toblerone and 5 Stars and Twix! And oh my goodness! This certificate here says someone named a star after me! Wow! Isn’t it great?! And there is this huge bouquet of beautiful roses along with it! And…oops!... errr… maybe Valentine’s isn’t so bad after all.

 :P

(Did anyone else have a case of sour grapes?)

    

Why all boys MUST have girlfriends

The scientist who pitched men and women under the same species homosapiens certainly had a lot more to learn. Even biology wouldn't have imagined how messed up this world was going to be when it decided to grant the different sexes with different hormones. And hence, different feelings and different thought processes. Feelings and thought processes is what this particular blog post is all about.

From keen observations I can derive a theory which all girls are most likely to agree with and most boys, silly as they are, would scoff at.

Theory# Girlfriends are the catalysts that help boys graduate to being men.

All those who are smirking/ laughing/ giggling and wondering if I have lost my mind need to stop thinking dirty to be able to understand the profound nature of this theory.

Boys by nature don't have to act cool because they mostly are. I used to find the effortless cool and nonchalance of men charming before I bore witness to the foolishness which camouflaged itself as the chilled out behaviour. I used to believe that all boys are programmed to act at least a bit chivalrous when they are out with girls. Forget chivalry, that's too strong a word. You can say they act superior by nature when they become all protective of the fairer sex in their company by leading the way, walking on the side facing the traffic, bossing around the waiter, insisting to pay, waiting outside the powder room and so many other cliché gestures. The reasons for this behaviour can be ego - boost, show-off, 'setting an impression' (I love this phrase! :P) or genuine chivalry (the chances of which are minimum as this quality became endangered, if not extinct with the princes of the past). I have had the pleasure of being treated like a princess many times and though it can get slightly irritating at times (when I'm in a feminist mood), it is mostly charming. 

Therefore it was a rude shock for me when I recently discovered in an appalling manner that this sudden burst of superiority (or whatever you might want to call it) is peculiar to boys who have had the presence of females in their lives as more than mother or sisters. Boys, who for whatever reason stuck to singledom missed out on some basic manners to be practiced around girls. Like giving more attention to them than to food and by attention I mean talking to them, and not their..err.. other body parts. Remembering that humour is good only till it doesn't convert into snide, rude and embarrassing comments. And similar things.

This epiphany struck me when I went to a temple with a group of friends. The girls and boys got separated during the security check and while the girls were going berserk looking for the boys (mobile phone were not allowed in the premises. How stupid!), the boys were busy filling their tummies in the food court. What is more, as the evening was winding down, the girls wanted to reach home in time (parents, I tell you! Well, they deserve another blog post), the boys wanted to go bowling (after a very late and heavy lunch, imagine!). So we girls who were still offended by the ruthless behaviour shown by the boys decided to play the non - chalant card, acted as if we could manage to go back home alone, wished the boys fun for the rest of the evening and stalked off, not sparing them a backward glance. Well, of course we were sure that they would come running behind us offering to drop us home as it was late and dark and none of us were very sure of the way back home and the city is no longer a safe place for young girls to venture alone in (Excuse the dramatics, at that moment, it did pose a BIG problem, I mean the newspapers are full of gory stories, but that again is worth another blog post). But it did not happen! The boys surprised us again. Hence, 7 girls fit themselves into one car and drove around speculating about the correct way back home, cursing the boys for their insensitivity. That is when it hit home. That had we even a single couple amongst us, the day would have had a happy ending. Granted that the boys apologized later (much later!) and girls, as is in their nature, did not make much of an effort to understand the boys' side of the story. But what's use of hitting the iron when it has cooled down already?

Infact, it is rather easy to tell which guy has had a girlfriend at some point of his life. Girls bring out the best in men which stays with them even if the girl doesn't. Hence, to help boys grow into men (I hope NOW you understand the deeper meaning behind this statement, dirty minds!), and not hesitant, insensitive, crude jokers, a girlfriend is a necessity. So girls, be smug; guys, think about it and give some credit to the fairer sex and forever single guys, do yourself a favour. Find a girlfriend.  

A Hard - Bound world

(Or paperback if you prefer it that way)

 I am not easily influenced as a general rule. I maybe silent, but that doesn't mean that you have managed to convince me. But there is something to whose influence I involuntarily succumb. It has the power to alter my mood. I don't even realize when it starts working its magic and its astonishing power creeps up on me and has a blanket effect which is hard to fight. That something is books. 

My last book (Room by Emma Donaghue) was a simulating read. I was forcing myself to read it slowly to savour it for a long time as I did not have any other book to devour after I was through with it. But when I realised that it was clouding my head with depressing thoughts I quickly finished it (partially also because the plot caught up with me. It was hard to put it down after that). That is why I prefer to alternate genres after each book I read. But because I am facing a dearth of good books these days (I miss days when people suggested books by authors other than Chetan Bhagat), I am re-reading my little collection for the umpteenth time. But I often end up avoiding my favourite one, Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns. It is a beautiful composition because for me it flows like a perfect melody making the reader feel a rainbow of emotions. But people complain that it brings out the feminist in me. But apart from that I get too sentimental and the vulnerability bothers me. 

So I generally find myself re- reading the Twilight series. It brings a smile to my face, a spring to my step and I can smell the romance in the air. It is not because of the author's expertise. Far from it. It is just because I have a crush on a character (which girl won't actually. Edward is every woman's prince charming despite him being a vampire). I rarely get into a bad mood when I'm reading that series and I guess that's the reason why I have read twilight over 20 times and conveniently skip the second book in the series where Edward is absent for the most part. 

But let me clarify that romance is not my genre. Thank goodness my mother brought me Enid Blyton books to read rather than Nancy Drew. I have a theory about those. Girls who read Nancy Drew advance to Mills & Boons later. From Enid Blyton’s kiddy novels I progressed to Famous Five mysteries. But somehow, I never read too many thrillers (enough, but not too many) or mysteries and even now I'll choose a nice emotional story over a pacy thriller. I suppose my Ma is the reason behind this sub conscience preference. I was very young and an avid reader. Being a teacher, my Ma got me books from the school library so I read books of her choice. That is why most of the books I have read are emotional and have a complex story line which is hard to describe in one line.

 

Many books have had me sobbing uncontrollably (like Cecilia Ahern's P.S. I Love You, an exceptional romance in my favourite books list),  made me live in a world of fantasy (like J. K. Rowling's brainchild), altered my attitude towards the world around me (Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, Gregory David Robert's Shantaram), made me more sensitive to others (Sorayya Khan's Noor, Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha) and had me in splits (Jerome K. Jerome's Three men in a boat). Books have changed the way I see the world. 

They have given me sweet dreams and nightmare. They have made me the person I am today. I might have read hundreds of thousands of books. Thanks to my rather poor memory, I forget stories and then re – read and re – re – read books again and again! For those who might raise an eyebrow at my choosing books over partying, or are bored of the monotony in their life, try losing yourself in someone else’s world…