Sunday, November 8, 2015

When Our Worlds Collide

About the Book:
Akriti has led a pretty much sheltered life. 
Zayn has been shuttled from city to city when he was growing up. 
She is comfortable watching her life from the sidelines. 
He wants to feel rooted to a place he can call ‘home’. 
They meet each other quite by chance. 
And both seize the chance to be someone they both need in their lives: 
For Zayn, it’s a 'Partner-In-Crime'. 
For Akriti, someone who just knows how to be there for her… 
When their worlds collide, 
It is not what either of them expected it to be. 
Zayn has a steady girlfriend. And Akriti has a crush on him. 
What happens when these two become friends? 
The biggest adventure of their lives? Or the road to heartbreak? 
What happens when two completely different people collide? 
Do they become friends? Or, is their friendship doomed from the start? 
'When Our Worlds Collide' is the story of two twenty-three-year olds, Who are finally growing up and finding their feet in the world. 
A tale of friendship and love, crushes and betrayals, messes and second chances, Marriage and divorce… and the elusive happily ever after! 

Book Links:
Goodreads I Amazon

What inspired When Our Worlds Collide? 
(Background of how I came up with the plot.)

I guess the thing that I intrigued me was the fact that it’s not always about the happy ending. Sometimes, it just the story that is more important. Because if every girl who fell in love with a guy, got her feelings reciprocated and rode off into the sunset, it wouldn’t be real life. It would be a fairy tale. I did not want to write a fairy tale. I wanted to write a story that seems real, that people could relate to.

So I thought about this girl called Akriti who develops a crazy crush on a guy she meets quite by accident. She realizes later on that she would never act on those feelings because he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that I did not put in the story as an obstacle, but as something that is very much a part of our lives. How often have you heard the joke, “everyone I like is either gay or taken?”

When I first began to paint Zayn with words, he was not called Zayn. He was called Piyush. In a short story called, “The Walk” (which is up on my blog), Akriti and Piyush take an evening stroll through Gariahat, talking nineteen-to-the-dozen. But once I concluded that short story, I felt as though there was more to their story. They could not just be friends who met up, walked and talked.
I began to piece together their histories, how their lives would intertwine with each other, how they would be drawn to each other’s lives like magnets against all odds. I wrote out the entire plot outline, added the secondary characters of Ayoub, Suzanna and Surbhi. (Each of them scheduled to appear for an interview of their own on my blog.)

Akriti and Zayn’s story basically tests the limits of their friendship. I am sure people can relate to it. They would be able to relate to the drama, the fun and the heartbreak that accompanies crushing on your friend.

After fleshing out the story a little, I decided to do something that I had never done in my earlier works. I decided to introduce characters from another work of fiction of mine in this story. The other novella would then act as a companion to this novella. So, that was a lot of fun. We will let you guess who those characters might be because we want readers to tell us who they want to read about next!
A question that I am sure will be asked of me is if this story was based on real life. Well, I am always inspired by real life. In fact, sometimes I put people I know into my stories. One such example for this particular tale is Suzanna was inspired by Diptee di, and she picked out the name herself. Although she named her character after the Suzanna from Ruskin Bond’s short story and novella, Susanna’s Seven Husbands. I just insisted on using a different spelling.

As for who Akriti, Zayn and Ayoub are based on: well, some elements for Akriti were borrowed from some pretty women I know. Ayoub was a figment of my imagination, and Zayn had been based in part on someone that I used to know. But my imagination made him into someone I wanted him to be. Not the person that he really was.

Coming back to When Our Worlds Collide, I was determined to tell the story of a mad crush and how it ends realistically in the story. Do they get their fairy tale happy ending or don’t they? You will just have to read the novella yourself to find out.

About the Author:
Aniesha Brahma knew she wanted to be a writer since she was six years old. She was schooled in Dolna Day School and went on to pursue B.A., M.A., and M.Phil in Comparative Literature from Jadavpur Univeristy. She currently lives in Kolkata, with her family and five pet cats. The Secret Proposal was her debut novel, followed by The Guitar Girl. She was a contributing author with her story The Difference, in the anthology: Voices, Old & New. When Our Worlds Collide is her third work of fiction, and first novella.

Stalk Links:

The Rhyme

My sister had penned this, and I loved it! Read on..

‘Ringa ringa roses..,’ the little girl sang fiddling with the rings, not bothered by the two men standing a little away.

One of them threw the white flower that he was holding at the older man. ‘Pocket full of poses…,’ the girl continued the rhyme playing with the rings. The younger man took out a gun and pointed it at the old man’s forehead.

‘Haisha .. Huisha..’

His eyes looked merciless and firm while he got ready to shoot.

‘All fall..’

A gunshot.

She let all the rings fall as the old man fell.

‘Down,’she finished.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

The Faith Of The Nine

~ Book Blast ~

About the Book:

The Third Yuga is slowly drawing to a close. Nam – the greatest Empire on Janani – is going to face some fierce winds of change. Seers foresee omens of death and destruction in the return of the Banished One – A God who will claim the ashes of this world as revenge. While out in the streets, rumours abound - of older forgotten powers stirring.

Caught in this maelstrom of a power struggle between Gods are three ordinary lives: General Fateh, the most celebrated soldier in Nam who starts to question his faith, Ishan – a gifted orphan who struggles to comprehend his destiny and Abhaya – a young monk in search of truths about this world. Their choices and actions will shape the destiny of this scarred world that becomes the playground for vindictive Gods.

In a world where Rakshasas arise out of left-over traces of Maaya and twilight forms the portal to countless worlds around us for Daityas and Yakshis to dance through, a God is only as powerful as those who believe.And when Gods rise, faith of men will be tested…And broken.

faith of the nine

Read an Excerpt:

The only good Andhaka is a dead Andhaka.
Fateh kept chanting this, his teeth chattering like crazy, the shivers racking his young body, the cold leaking through to his very bones. It seemed like an eternity, waiting knee deep in the river waters. This far South, the river was calm enough, but Fateh knew better. He knew that the ice up on the Hindu-Kush ranges could melt and turn these calm eddies into raging, frothing death traps that swept one away into oblivion within a moment’s notice. It wasn’t just the cold. It was also the fear—a nameless presence hovering just over his shoulders. After all, this was his first battle ever.
Not the best of the conditions when you‘re fighting your first major battle. Fateh looked over his shoulders; all around him, soldiers were moving forward, dragging leaden feet through muddy slush and a fast undercurrent that sucked at your boots and swirled all around you. Fateh thought that the man next to him could hear his own heart, hammering away in his chest. The cold only made it worse; it seemed to squeeze the heart to pump blood through his white frozen limbs. ‘How in the name of all the djinns of jahannum am I going to hold that sword properly when the time comes,’ he wondered, fingering the scabbard cinched to his belt.
First visit to the Void! The edge of the known world. Where the fluctuating boundaries of the Nam Empire vanished into nothingness. Excitement pulsed through him, tinged with fear and anxiety as all the rumours he heard about this place rushed through his mind. The Void! The end of the living world. Where traces of Maaya was still alive.
One man brushed past him, a great-axe slung casually over his shoulders, his scarred face split in a wide grin. The grin, if anything, made the man look worse, accentuating that brownish-red welt across his face.
“First battle, huh boy?”
“Y-y-y-y-yes!” The bloody cold made him sound like a sissy about to wet his pants. Graaki’s pox!
“You need to warm up, boy. Get that blood flowing … when those conches sound out and the Andhakas charge over the hill, you need it roaring hot. Like a forge. What happens when you dip that burning, flaming steel into cold water? It becomes stronger! You hear me, stronger! That’s what you need to become, boy—the flaming steel.”
“The f-f-f-flaming steel, yes, Captain. Got it!” Fateh stammered, a vision of red hot steel dipping, hissing and steaming into a channel of cold icy water stamping onto his brains.
He didn’t see the blow coming.
His teeth clattered, his cheeks exploded in a miasma of hot lancing pain and he fell. Gasping and spluttering, his head dunked under the water, limbs floundering in a bid to grasp onto something, anything. He came up, his boots slipping off moss-laden smooth round stones and he went down again.
“Did that warm you up enough, son? Come on, get back up here!”
From beneath the waters, the shout sounded muffled. His ears were ringing, the water rushing all around him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering and roused himself up, straining against the weight of wet clothes and all that armour, his hands coming free. Dappled sunlight glinted from between the clouds, suddenly blinding him. “Arrrghhh!!” He gasped, taking in deep ragged breaths, heaving and coughing. Fateh felt his cheeks sting with the pain; the bastard had slugged him hard!
The anger set in slowly. Fateh had never been a hot-headed boy while growing up and he wasn’t about to start now. But this time he could feel the anger, a beast swelling through his mind, red and hot. A blinding red mist was starting to sway over his eyes. He growled and swung his sword—when did that clear the scabbard, he had no memory of that ever happening—a wild lunge, not a practiced smooth killer’s thrust. It clanged onto a wooden shield reinforced with steel and harmlessly clattered off. Fateh moved forward, a double-handed overhead cut, a strike of wrath aimed for the head, which the soldier neatly sidestepped. Before Fateh knew it, he was sandbagged and lifted clear off his feet, even with the water weighing down his boots and he fell back again, floundering into the river.
This time, when he got up, he stayed put. The water had cleared his head and doused that anger. Save your blood-thirst for the Andhakas. He shook his head, his helmet was off and water had dripped down into his underclothes. It was still cold enough to freeze his balls off, but he felt the suffusing warmth of blood rushing to his head. He felt alright.
“Good! Keep your head screwed on, son. Don’t strike out in anger. Keep it cold once you got that fire inside of you. Fire and ice. That’s what you need to be. Tempered steel and not a hot brittle blade, son. You with me?”
“Yes, Captain Humayun. And thank you, Captain.”
Humayun nodded once, the ghastly smile flickering once again. “Try and stay alive. Get that helmet back on, aim for the heart and thrust good. Andhakas are tough bastards, seeds of the demon. Abominations born of Maaya left over in this world, such that they eat the flesh of you and me. So don’t get yo’self killed, okay? The Agha has deemed it an honour that his son joins the fourteenth battalion. And that means my company. And I don’t want to be the one giving him the news of his son’s death. You follow, boy?”
“Yes, Captain Humayun.” Fateh wondered where his father was.
Commander Veer, ‘Agha’ to the famous fighting unit called the First of the Cohort. His inspiration and idol. His father. He must be just beyond that bank, huddled within the grey pine forest, waiting for the Andhakas. Fateh had always dreamed of this day, when he could fight alongside his father. The Nam Empire would be proud of them, the father-son duo, winning wars for the Empire and becoming war heroes. Songs of glory would be sung in all the taverns. Legends of the Empire, History would –
Water exploded somewhere behind him, jerking him back into the grim reality of their situation, shattering his dreams of grandeur. Roars broke out from all around. Men scrambling with their weapons drawn, snarls of rage, cries of pain. Meaningless howls stabbing the world around him. Another whoosh as a second missile fired overhead, a black shadow against the grey ripping clouds in the sky. Some of it landed right next to the group that Fateh was waiting with. Men hastened to get out of the way, as Fateh watched something sizzle and smoke. Chemicals!
Bombs stuffed with Ferro-chemicals that exploded when in contact with water, mostly studded with shreds of broken glass and metal.
His mind recalled lessons of warfare, even as he scrambled out of the water following others, arms floundering wildly, breath hissing in the cold air screaming meaningless words of rage as the world around him disintegrated into deafening explosions of white foaming water, the red of body parts blown beyond recognition against the brown earth. Jagged shrapnel cut into the two men right next to him on the bank, their faces contorted in surprise and pain, as metallic shards bit into their upper body, cutting them to bloody ribbons. Fateh threw himself down, as did many others who were lucky enough to have got out of the water. But for the rest, the water formed a churning foaming white coffin of death, washing over and taking their inert bodies down river.

About the Author:
Sachin discovered Tolkien in his teens, alternative rock as a new adult and digital marketing in pretty much his late twenties. These still form a large wedge in his circle of life. Travel, radio and theatre have also figured in that ever-expanding and diminishing circle.

On perhaps a more prosaic note, he is an engineer from BITS Pilani and holds an MBA from Indian School of Business. Attribute the love for numbers and pie-charts to this. He is currently based in Bangalore and happily married to Harini. He spends an inordinately large amount of time chasing after his two dogs (who love the free life a bit too much) when he is not busy dreaming up fantasy worlds full of monsters. And beautiful Yakshis, of course.

He can usually be found ranting on twitter under the handle @xenosach, devouring books and talking about them on his blog. You can always stalk him online at his official website

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Soul Warrior

About the Book:
Twisted myths. Discretion advised. 

Fight fate, or succumb to destiny?

In the dark Age of Kali, the Soul Warrior alone stands guard over the Human Realm, protecting its denizens from evil-willed asuras or demons. When a trick of fate appoints him guru to a motley crew of godlings, he agrees to train them as demon hunters against his better judgment. Suddenly, Lord Karna is not only battling the usual asuras with sinister agendas, but also rebellious students and a fault-ridden past.

Spanning the cosmic realms of mythic India, here is a tale of a band of supernatural warriors who come together over a singular purpose: the salvation of Karna’s secret child.

Book Links:
Kobo * iBooks * Amazon US * Amazon UK * Amazon Canada

Read an Excerpt:


The Himalayan Mountains.
Five thousand years ago.

Absolute darkness shrouded the Human Realm, and had for three days and three nights. Some believed the occurrence was prophetic, like the prolonged amavasya or new moon night that had heralded the Great Kuru War two thousand years ago. The war had given birth to the dark Age of Kali, the age of asura. In contrast, hope was ripe that this event would trigger the Age of Light. But the Bard wasn’t here to succumb to superstition. 
The first day without the sun’s light had spread confusion and chaos across the realm. The second day had brought desperation in the breasts of humans and fear in the belly of Celestials. The third day—today—was a feast for the asuras. Death lay everywhere. 
The human world burned without its sun. How soon before the Heavens went up in flames?
The Bard’s troubled eyes reread the last line. Then he deliberately scratched it off, lifting his long, pointed talon from the parchment made of dry palm leaf. With a sigh, he rested his aching hand on his trembling thigh. He would spare a moment to ease his body, and his mind from the strain of observation and due recordkeeping. If he didn’t, he’d forget his duty as Witness of the Cosmos, and begin to question fate. 
Despite the fire that crackled close to his right knee, and the feathered form of his upper body, he was cold. An icy wind had settled around the Pinnacle of Pinnacles, where he sat cross-legged on a seat made of rock and snow. He’d chosen this perch because it gave him an impartial view of the events happening in the world. He was the Bard, entrusted with keeping the Canons of the Age of Kali, just as the Soul Warrior was entrusted with keeping the Human Realm safe from asuras. Would they both fail in their duty today?
The Bard shook off the heavy despair the darkness had brought into the world. He mustn’t judge. He shouldn’t question. He would sharpen the talon on his forefinger, dip it into the vessel of ink kept warm by the fire, and write this tale. That was all he could do. Be the witness to history.
So he raised his feathered hand and began to write again while his eyes, sparked with power, knowledge and magic, saw clearly events unfolding from great distances. A thousand kilometers to his right, Indra, the God of War and Thunder, fought the Dragon. Indra did not fare well. But that didn’t concern the Bard as much as the clash between the Soul Warrior and the Stone Demon. Over and over, his eagle eyes were drawn to the duel taking place in the heart of the world, not only because it was a magnificent battle to behold, for it was, but because its outcome would decide mankind’s destiny.
The Soul Warrior was more than a great warrior. Karna was a great soul. Fair, honorable, brave and resilient, he was the perfect protector of the Human Realm. Of course, there were other reasons he’d been chosen to fill the office of Soul Warrior—there always were when Gods and demons were involved. But Karna’s existence was a testament to righteous action and if anyone could bring back the day, it would be him. 
But how did one vanquish stone, the Bard wondered?
Avarice and cruelty, two nefarious desires, had made Vrtra and Vala attack the Human Realm. Three days ago the Dragon had swallowed the Seven Rivers in the north, and the Stone Demon had imprisoned the Sun God, his daughter, and all the cattle of the region in his cave.
The Bard paused his writing as a thin vein of lightning winked across the skies, but without the accompanying roar. Indra’s strength waned. His thunderbolt hadn’t left Vrtra screaming in pain this time. The Bard spared a moment’s attention on the duel, just enough to note that the Maruts, the Celestial Storm-gods, waited in the clouds to rescue their god-king in case of a calamity. Indra would survive even in defeat. Of that, the Bard was sure.
But Karna had no one at his back. His might and god-powers had depleted without the sun’s healing warmth and light. His divine astras, weapons, had not slowed the Stone Demon down, at all. Only the conviction that he could not fail his godsire, his sister, and the innocents under his protection drove him now. His birth family had once abandoned him to his fate, but he would not abandon them to theirs—such was the greatness of Karna.
The Bard crossed out the last observation. No questions. No judgment. No praise, either. The canons would be free of all emotion. He wasn’t here to embellish history or glorify the history-makers, as some bards were wont to do. 
It wasn’t embellishment to write that the foothills of Cedi were drenched in the Soul Warrior’s blood. Or observe the gushing wounds on his body, despite his armor, that would make the hardiest of warriors bellow in agony, but not him. It wasn’t embellishment to write that the Heavens were empty for the Celestials had come to Earth to watch the battle, firelight cupped in their palms to light the warrior’s way. 
The Naga, the Serpent People, also looked on, hissing from the mouth of the portal that led to their underground realm beneath the hills. The Serpent King will not choose a side. Vrtra and Vala were half Naga, after all. All across the Human Realm, demons roamed free, taking advantage of the darkness and preying on human flesh and human souls. It was a terrible moment in history. The asuras had the upper hand in the eponymous age of Demon Kali.
Vala did not have arms and half a leg, but still he came at Karna. He had an ace up his sleeve. There were plenty of creatures about, an entire mountain close at hand. He began to chant the spell of soul transference. It was the darkest of all magic, the possession of another’s soul. Soon, he would be whole again and stronger than before.
Battered and bleeding, the Soul Warrior veered away from the Stone Demon. He leapt over boulders and charred vegetation. The onlookers called him a coward. Had he forfeit the duel? Has he forsaken mankind? 
Karna dove for Manav-astra, the spear of mankind, he’d thrown aside yesterday after his bow, Vijaya, had shattered under repeated use. In one smooth motion, he rolled, picked up the astra, coming up in the spear-thrower’s stretch. His tattered lower garment billowed about him as a gust of wind shot through the air. His muscled torso glistened with blood and sweat, tightened as he pulled the arm holding the spear back. 
He meant to throw Manav-astra at Vala. A futile attempt, to be sure? As long as Vala was made of stone, broken or not, his body was impregnable. Karna should have waited for Vala to transfer his soul to an onlooker. Then Karna should have vanquished the possessed creature. 
Taunting laughter reverberated through the foothills of Cedi. Vala had reached the same conclusion. The Celestials looked at each other in angry silence, unable to interfere. A dwanda-yuddha duel was fought between two opponents of equal size and strength alone. The humans hadn’t stopped screaming in three days, the din simply background noise now. 
The Bard scribbled the observations onto the parchment in no particular order. He wished he was a painter, for surely this was a picture worth a thousand words.
The demon hobbled toward the warrior, who stood still as stone with his arm drawn taught behind him. Then finally, with a roaring chant the Soul Warrior shifted his weight from his back leg to his front and let fly Manav-astra at the Stone Demon with all his remaining might. 
Karna didn’t wait to see the ramifications of his action. And there were plenty to come. He ran into the mountain cave to free Vala’s hostages. Within moments the rock face rent in half, and bright streams of light speared through the terrible darkness. A new day had dawned on the Human Realm after three days of perpetual night.
The sun’s power was too bright, too full of hope. Yet, the Bard looked on pensively, wondering if the Soul Warrior knew this wasn’t a victory. It was merely a reprieve.

About the Author:

Falguni Kothari is a New York-based South Asian author and an amateur Latin and Ballroom dance silver medalist with a semi-professional background in Indian Classical dance. She’s published in India in contemporary romance with global e-book availability; Bootie and the Beast (Harlequin Mills and Boon) and It’s Your Move, Wordfreak! (Rupa & Co.), and launches a mythic fantasy series with Soul Warrior (The Age of Kali, #1)

I’m embarrassed to admit how many social media accounts I own :

Website * BlogTwitter * Facebook * Goodreads * Pinterest

Wednesday, May 20, 2015


She can be bold and brave on the outside, while inside she’s a vulnerable mess. She’s arrogant at times, but I know it’s just a mask to hide her fears and feelings of insecurity. She’s too protective of us, and sometimes gets sick worrying. We sisters dread her scoldings, but we know her love and unconditional care is unmatched anywhere in this world. She is very sentimental, yet finds it difficult to put her concern into the right words. She’s my first expert, and one of the most graceful persons I have ever come across. She is my mother, dearest Mumma.

I was very quiet and subdued as a child. I still am. I can imagine how difficult it was for her to deal with an introverted kid, and explain my over excited relatives why I was ever so silent. In my teenage years getting ready for a party or a ceremony where my immediate close cousins wouldn’t be present always made me apprehensive. And she had to appease me in all ways possible to make me attend it. She understood how lonely I felt in these get-togethers. She has played the biggest part in developing my social confidence and helped me to be sure and proud of who I am.

She’s the multitasking mother who proudly raised her two daughters- both poles apart in personality. My sister is outgoing, outspoken and an extrovert. Catering to our myriad needs while growing up, must have been tough. Nobody could have done such a demanding, never ending job. Her expert advices and tips for every problem, starting from pimples and stomach aches to difficult friendship and life issues, all do work so well for us. She tends to have a solution for everything.

Wherever my life takes me, in search of my calling and my dream, wherever I shall ever be, I’ll make sure to come back home. How many ever persons I meet, friends I make and cherish, and the one I may fall in love with, she’ll always remain my first priority. I’ll miss her delicious dishes and her nagging when I’m away from home. Will miss her a lot. My best, favorite expert. 


As I look back, down the memory lane, the last four years of engineering in ITER, I realize how much we have grown up, how much we have evolved- especially mentally, emotionally and psychologically. Life happened, and fate conspired beautifully to make us meet. It gave us lots of fun; innumerable laughters; stressed times with dwindling will and faith- times we supported one another to regain the lost hopes; enough emotional moments to remember; so many pranks, bunks, leg pullings, embarrassing moments and memories to last a lifetime.

Words will fall short if I start to tell you what a support system you have been for me. Every little word of encouragement has motivated me, every word of advice and appreciation has meant a lot, and has made my day. Now where do I start. You have cheered me up at times you needed cheering the most. Every sweet scolding helped my self esteem and confidence. You have no idea how many emotional blocks you have helped me through. My present self has learned so much from you, things my past self couldn’t even imagine. I draw my inspiration from you. I feel lucky and infinitely blessed to have you in my life. Thank you for tolerating me.

Lipsa: Have I ever told you how much it touched me when your eyes became teary on seeing me depressed and cry. Your words always strengthened me in ways only an elder sister can, dear Mama. May all your dreams come true.

Rajat: I don’t remember if I’ve said this, but I take this opportunity to. You are one of those few persons I draw inspiration from. Stay the way you are. Stay blessed. May every step in your life be rewarding.

Sagar: I will miss your tasty dishes especially veg-paneer and egg-paneer. Make sure to invite me when you and Saswati open your restaurant-‘The Stone Soup’. And your signature dialogues shall be remembered! Live on. Be happy. May you taste every cuisine on earth!

Saswati: It’s from you that I learnt to love myself. You are the one person who sees through all my layers- understands what is fake what is real and what is superficial and what is deep rooted. You love me inspite of all that I am and make me feel I deserve lots of love, and care. You are my emotional anchor; you have helped me through those emotional upheavals which could destroy me. I feel blessed to have you in my life. May you get what you seek.

PP: I will miss our talks during the bus journey. Psst! It’s secret. Someone somewhere gets motivated by you. Never forget that. Remember our shopping spree deal, a year from now. J Have a happy future in Mumbai. May you be surrounded by loved ones wherever you go. Meet you soon.

Arpita: Your practicality has helped, yes, and has ticked a daring streak in me. I enjoy our time together. Hope we can be actually together as we are now, not just be there, and hope time won’t affect it. May you reach the heights which you now think is next to impossible. May you strike off every single thing in your wishlist.

Sonam: Perhaps God forgot to make us sisters. The first two and half years of college, I confess I took guilty pleasure in scolding you: you always allowed me to and listened. It felt I had a right in your life. And I liked our role reversal after that- every time you made me realize how much I underestimate myself. Hope we stay this way forever! May life shower upon you that which you thought you’d lost, once again!

We meet to create memories and we part to preserve them, someone has rightly said. And hence do we part, some of us already in their path and some at crossroads, and life will go on. Hope you all shall be those special people who came into my life and stayed. Best wishes and all the best for future. Lots of love. Stay in touch. And don’t you dare to forget me!! Hope we’ll make time to meet even if our priorities change.

Monday, May 11, 2015

So, what now?

Famous Introverts
Yes, I'm Quiet.. :D

Semesters over, four years of engineering over, successfully completed. Time to bade farewells, say our goodbyes, start a new life leaving friends and all the memories. It's Mysore for me- @Infosys
Hope future holds something good, and wish to stay in touch with all my friends. Hope time won't separate us.

April A to Z challenge is over. Feels like everything is ending. But yes it's opportunity for the new beginning. I'm reading these two books, drawing constant inspiration from them these days. And watching Angel Eyes, a korean sitcom. Loving the theme song in it, slow yet unforgettable background score. It's a twisted love story about a 20 year old girl who has lost her sight in an accident, and a free spirited unassuming boy who's two years her junior. The first two episodes would take your breath away with it's beautiful depiction of heart warming characters and would compel you to dream of true love or miss your teenage years.

Angel Eyes
I'm preparing documents, and shopping a bit for the journey. It's 20th May. I'd be leaving Bhubaneswar for about 4 to 5 months till the completion of training. Awaiting new experiences and life ahead. :) Wish me luck!! Meanwhile, would love to get some feedback on my blog. Hope you'd take up this survey. Thanks. Love you all.