BOOK REVIEW

"WHO KILLED THE MURDERER?"

   __________________________________By MOITRAYEE BHADURI

I love the books wherein every line enunciates what an ardent observer the author is. 'Who Killed the Murderer?' is just that kind of book.

A dark and spine-chilling story, 'Who Killed the Murderer?' will force the readers to ruminate how vulnerable and fragile life is. An untoward night, an irresponsibly hatched out mischief, unchecked immaturity and a moment of rage can bring us lifelong suffering. A selfish lie by a young girl against three boys (one out of the three is her twin brother) instigates two of them for revenge. And, when they have their revenge, her life changes forever. For the rest of her life, she lives with two daggers- one, pierced in her heart and another in her hand to harm others. She despises every pre-teen boy, even her son. So heart-wrenching! She turns selfish, self-centered, and wicked. No, don’t hate her. She is just sick and not responsible for her trauma. Faulty parenting and unruly schoolmates are accountable for her criminal psyche. 

An act of ghastly and cruel revenge can kill a person or turn him or her into a fearless, ruthless and deadlier survivor. No sane person would choose either even for his worst enemy.

 Though a thrilling murder mystery, this book is enlightening for the parents. The story is a testimonial of how the parents' ignorance and a casual approach can ruin the life of a child and the people associate with him or her. The unreasonable unwillingness of Shagun's mother to engage a psychologist and her excessive obsession for only one of her children (Shagun) only aggravated the ordeal she suffered with.

On page 141, one of the characters talks about “Rage disorder”. Psychologists also call it “Intermittent Explosive Disorder or IED. The sufferers show hostility, impulsivity, and burst into anger despite a lack of adequate reason. In the cases when family members are aware that the person is ill and needs to visit a psychologist but the ‘patient’ doesn’t admit that he or she is sick. They too, keep on suffering along with the person ill of IED. It is a dilemma for the people who want to help the patient but are helpless. I wish the psychologists could suggest a way to make the suffering person understand that it is a curable disorder and treatment and counselling can make life so much pleasurable and enjoyable for him or her and the other family members.

‘Once his cigarette is over, he will feel guilty and come back with an apology.’ Page 41

This is so true!

The author seems to know about everything- smokers, TV actresses, the casting couch, the police, the detectives, the beauty parlours, child psychology et al- everything is so well researched that you never feel inadequacy. Except for two moments when the private detective, Milli Ray lights smokes at wrong places- once in the living room of her super-rich clients, the Seths, and another in a hospital never did my over-analysing brain object.

I loved the way Moitrayee has pen-sketched her characters. They all are blessed-lesser-mortals- talented but have humanly vices.

Milli Ray fails to impress me. I will hail her only as a hard-working detective and expected her to be sharper and smarter than she appears. I would suggest the author to polish her character and give her a little more guile as she is likely to repeat her in another thriller. Milli Ray, the ex-cop and detective, deserves it and I am already yearning to read another adventure by her.

The portrayal of Shagun's character is the immaculate and sheer brilliance of Moitrayee’s writing. She has really worked hard on presenting her protagonist as a ruthless but suffering psycho. At times, one can feel the author's empathy for her leading lady. She is parti pris to her protagonist in her narration. I justify it.

ACP Trehan, smitten by Milli’s dynamism appears, like a Sub-Inspector and lacks the flamboyance and authority his rank and occupation warrant. May we see him  act like an ACP in future adventures. I wish!

Rik Sharma alias Rishabh Gupta and Neel Khatan appear as good as their character-traits are. The rest of the characters are mere props.

The writing style and the mature handling of such a sensitive story need a special mention. When you are an author yourself, you tend to read a book more with a writer’s frame of mind and less as a reader. Moitrayee’s writing forced me to read it more as a reader. Not many writers have done that to me. 

Yes, Shelley said, “Sometimes, the devil is a gentleman. I say, all devils are gentlemen with some behavioural dysfunctions.

And, at last, I wish to ask Moitrayee if she aspired to be a detective at some point of time in her life.

Few Things worth mentioning…

1.      A few chapters end with a one-word-sentence. They build up curiosity.

2.      There is not even one steamy scene despite so many entangled and complicated relationships. I admire.

3.      The mention of Bradley Cooper. He doesn’t have a prominent upper lip like me… You know, what I mean.

4.      This is a must-read book for the parents like Mr. and Mrs. Chopra. And, if anyone feels he or she has the slightest of characteristics as Shagun, the protagonist has, they must seek the help of a psychologist immediately. Please don’t let one bad night or an unpleasant incident deprive you of the happiness and love you deserve.

Nobody is a villain. We just need to wring our hearts to squeeze out the poison. We deserve it. We deserve a life. We deserve happiness. We deserve love.

MATHEMATICS, EGO & ME

आओ बचपन सींचें - 5

चाहे कितने भी बड़े हो जाएँ, फिर भी हम सब हमेशा थोड़े-थोड़े बच्चे ही रहते हैं l नए कपड़े पहन कर बड़े भी इतराते हैं l जन्मदिन पर गिफ्ट पाकर बड़े भी खुश हो जाते हैं l 
जरूरी है बच्चा बने रहना और बच्चों से जुड़े रहना l  


Dear friends,

Hope you are happy and enjoying your life.

Today, I am posting an anecdote for you all. This incident changed my life. I hope you will like it. 

        MATHEMATICS, EGO & ME

It was 2006, six years after I gave up my job and was contended teaching in my institute.

I was aware that people thought that I was haughty and had an intolerably irritating superiority complex. I, however, considered it their covetousness.

A good friend of mine, who lives in Pune, telephoned me one fine day and apprised that some Mr. Apte, also from Pune, was conducting a Personality Development workshop at Faridabad. 

"Mr. Apte is a celebrated motivational speaker and trainer," he told me and insisted that I should attend the workshop. I gave all sorts of excuses- my busy schedule, my parent’s health, and other lame and inadequate pretexts. 

Although it was May, which is comparatively relaxing for teachers, I didn’t want to go as I thought that my personality needed no rectification. Finally, he said that he was coming to Delhi for attending it and I would have to accompany him.

I had to agree to oblige him.

It was a three-day workshop in some Motel in Faridabad. The fee was Three-thousand-eight-hundred rupees which I painfully parted with, just for the sake of my friend.

During the introduction at the start, elucidation came that among the eighty men present, I had the most humble social status. There were Chief Medical Officers from renowned hospitals, ACP’s of Haryana and Delhi Police, CEOs, highly placed Government Officers and many more.

The rumbling ghost of superiority took a backseat and consented to wait and watch why those refined gentlemen had gathered there.

The post-lunch session on day one itself was the most significant period for me that changed my life.

Mr. Apte drew a square on the board with four vertical and four horizontal lines inside it that divided it into smaller squares. He asked the trainees to count the number of squares it had. Some found 16, some 17, few others found 20 while few could see 24 squares in all.

My answer was 30 which was the highest number (of the squares) anybody had quoted.

Mr. Apte came to me and asked if I was sure. My ego replied to him on my behalf, 'Yes sir, pretty sure. I’m a Mathematics Teacher. It's a routine thing for me.'

‘Oh, I see," said Mr. Apte, 'However, I advise you to recount.’ 

‘No, Sir. I can't be wrong with this. I dedicate ten hours a day to this subject,’ I said, smugly.

Mr. Apte smirked and asked me to follow him to the podium.

‘Mr. Sharma, we will talk about the squares later. Let’s have fun exercise before that. And, gentlemen,’ he addressed the others, ‘I’ve chosen him for this exercise because he is a Mathematics teacher.’

He took an A-4 size sheet of paper, held it from two opposite corners and asked me to tear it off with a punch.

As I punched, he withdrew his lower hand foiling my attempt. He asked me to give another try and did the same, letting it loose just before my punch landed on it.

The third attempt failed too. I stood exasperated and exhausted because of repeated failure.

‘No sir, it will not tear off if you keep doing so,’ I said when he asked me to try again.

Hearing my reply, he smiled smugly and looked at me, ‘And you realized that after three blows?’ I sheepishly gazed into his eyes feigning the shame.

He continued, ‘Each blow was deadlier than the previous one; enough to knock me down if I had been in the way,’ he paused and smiled and looked at the amused audience, ‘Actually Mr. Sharma, you had realized that right after the first hit. However, your ego forbade you to accept failure so early. It stopped you to concede defeat even though you knew it was impossible. You thought that I might not do it the second time.’

I wanted to run away from the hall. He had not finished, ‘And, coming back to the count of the squares, I can prove that there are more than thirty squares in it even though it’s not my routine job.’

My arrogant mind was still not ready to accede to his challenging my knowledge of mathematics. Nevertheless, I decided to hear him patiently. I didn’t want more embarrassment.

He said, ‘Count all the squares including the black outline and then count them leaving the outline. That would double the number of squares that you counted.’

Mr. Apte placed his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Mr. Sharma, there will always be something more to learn. Remember, improvement has no finishing line.’

Years after the incident, I always try to keep my ego in check and always try and still trying to be a better teacher and a better human being,

Thank you, Mr. Apte, for the valuable lesson you taught me.


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Keep watching this space for the announcement of the winner of 'LET'S TWIST A STORY' - the contest held last Sunday.


Here are the results of the contest 'LET'S TWIST A STORY'.
We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Mr. Om Tiwari, Mr. Ratnadip Acharya, and Mr. Nuranis Ravi for keenly evaluating the entries.

THE ASSESSMENT OF OUR ESTEEMED JUDGES

S.NO	NAME	JUDGE 1	JUDGE 2	JUDGE 3	TOTAL
1	HARSH NATH TRIPATHI	7	8	9	24
2	ANSH  GUPTA	7.5	6	8	21.5
3	VAISHNAVI KULKARNI	8.5	8	8	24.5
4	SHRUSHTI DANI	7.5	7.5	3	18
5	DIVYAM AGARWAL	7	7.5	3	17.5
6	SHRISHTI SUMAN	7.5	7.5	3	18
7	KESAR  BAJAJ	6	6	1	13
8	TANISHQ SHARMA	7.25	7	1	15.25
9	PIYUSH TIWARI	7.25	7.5	8	22.75

Congratulations,  Vaishnavi Kulkarni. You are the Winner.
Well done,  Harsh.
Kudos to all participants. Keep writing.

LET'S TWIST A STORY

आओ बचपन सींचें - 4

चाहे कितने भी बड़े हो जाएँ, फिर भी हम सब हमेशा थोड़े-थोड़े बच्चे ही रहते हैं l नए कपड़े पहन कर बड़े भी इतराते हैं l जन्मदिन पर गिफ्ट पाकर बड़े भी खुश हो जाते हैं l 
जरूरी है बच्चा बने रहना और बच्चों से जुड़े रहना l  


तो चलो आज कुछ अलग करते हैं 
 पहले एक बच्चे की कहानी सुनते हैं 
 और फिर उसे अपनी-अपनी 
कल्पना की उंगली थमा कर 
 एक अलग मोड़ पर ले जाते हैं 
 उस ही कहानी को आगे बढ़ाते हैं ... 

 कहानी English में है 
लेकिन आप चाहें तो 
आगे की कहानी 
 हिंदी में भी लिख सकते हैं 
 न Grammar की जकड़न
न language का बंधन 
 बस ये कहानी और 
 आपकी कल्पना की उड़ान ...
तो फिर हो जाओ शुरू 
 करवा दो रोशन से कुछ ऐसा 
 कि पढ़कर, सुनकर लगे
 हाँ, ऐसा भी तो हो सकता है ... 

 हम सब उत्सुक हैं ....  

LET'S TWIST A STORY

This week we have a story for you- Roshan's story. Read this story and add a hundred words to take it further. A jury will select the best addition and it will win a prize.
So, let the kites of your imagination fly high and bring some twists and turns to tell us what Roshan does next. We are anxiously waiting to read your versions. You can submit your entries by commenting here or by sending an e-mail at aaobachpanseenchein@gmail.com before the sun sets on Thursday, 29th of August.

Please do mention your name and age with your submissions.





Here's Roshan's story for you...


        ADVERTISEMENT ENACTING COMPETITION

Roshan is keenly watching all the advertisements today because he has to participate in an advertisement enactment competition tomorrow.

He has been outstanding in Quiz, Essay writing, and Poem-Recitation. His brain never lets him down. However, enacting an advertisement for selling a product is a different ballgame for him. Here, his appearance would matter. Synchronization, content, and performance would be the key. 

Unlike every other day, he isn't fighting with his sister for the TV remote. Neither does he urge her to switch to his favourite cartoon channel. And, even stranger is that he looks at the TV screen only when the ad break comes and scribbles in his notebook as he watches the advertisements. He reads the notes when the program resumes. 

He looks nervous.Tomorrow is Saturday. He has to put on the white uniform with white canvas shoes. His uniform should not be shabby. He runs out of the room and returns with his rundown canvas shoes and the bottle of liquid polish.

                    One thick coat and his carefulness change the look of the shoes.

The morning dawns. He is shaky as if it is the biggest test of his life. His competitors in the class always say, 'You can beat everyone in academics but we will settle the account in dramatics and sports.' He knows that they are better in these fields but he wants to give them stiff competition.  

The school auditorium is full of cheer and anticipation. The non-participants, sitting on the carpeted floor, are eagerly waiting for the participants to enact the same advertisements which they watch on TV with some innovation. They expect a great show from their talented peers. The stage is about four feet high. Eight participants, two from each house are sitting in the right corner. The sweat of nervousness has appeared on their red faces. The hall is beaming with life. Its lonely and hungry walls cherish the whispers, giggles and childish nimbleness. The announcer reaches the lectern. Her greeting words mingle with the elated utterances of the chaotically busy audience. She repeats louder. Silence and stillness follow.

 "Every participant will pick up two chits. Every chit has the names of the products. He or she can choose one product and will have to enact an advertisement for it," she reads out the rules. The four judges are ready with their pencils and heedful eyes. 

 Roshan is the first to go up. He draws out the chits from the bowl with trembling hands. He unfolds them one by one and mumbles, "Shoes and Ketchup." He thinks for a while and hands over the 'Shoes' chit to the announcer. Her lips read the word to the mic for the audience to hear. 

          He nods to the announcer's signal to start the act.

Roshan parades forward from the back of the stage saying, "Bata is the best quality," he jumps, "My sports-shoes, school-shoes, and party-shoes." He runs back and repeats.

 "There is a hole in your Bata shoe-sole," someone in the audience shouts and guffaws. More taunts and laughter follow. Rohan freezes in the middle of the wooden platform. His toe feels the cold polished surface as he walks away.................

                                                                                                     ( Story by Gaurav Sharma )



Now, it's your turn to add to this story. What does Roshan do next? How does he respond to this insult?

Come on, we are eager to know where you end this story.


*********************************************************************************




Let us introduce the honourable judges who will select the winner.

 Mr. Nuranis Ravi

A Delhite and alumni of the University of Delhi, Mr. N.S. Ravi has authored five books- ‘Those were the days’, 'Khan Vs Kahn Vs Kanh', ‘Marriage Made in Mumbai Local’, ‘Different Shades of Women’ and ‘The Leader’. Mr. Ravi has lived and worked in Europe, Africa, and India for a large number of his professional years.


     

 Mr. Ratnadip Acharya

 
 Mr. Acharya is an author and a columnist. His pen has produced two successful novels- 'Life is Always Aimless...Unless you love it' and 'Paradise Lost & Regained'. He lives in Mumbai and a columnist for 'The Speaking Tree' in The Times of India.

Mr. Om Tiwari

Mr. Tiwari is a journalist with a reputed news channel in Delhi. He chose journalism for a career because of his love for writing. He puts across his views on the issues related to politics, society, movies, books, and personalities through his blog.




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PHYSICAL LETTERS- FRAGRANCE OF WARMTH AND LOVE

 आओ बचपन सींचें - 3
चाहे कितने भी बड़े हो जाएँ, फिर भी हम सब हमेशा थोड़े-थोड़े बच्चे ही रहते हैं l नए कपड़े पहन कर बड़े भी इतराते हैं l जन्मदिन पर गिफ्ट पाकर बड़े भी खुश हो जाते हैं l 
जरूरी है बच्चा बने रहना और बच्चों से जुड़े रहना l  




PHYSICAL LETTERS- FRAGRANCE OF WARMTH AND LOVE

Friends, have you ever written a letter to someone in your handwriting? No, I am not talking about the formal, friendly and official letters in your school curriculum but the real informal letters that we write or rather used to write to our friends and relatives.

I know you haven't. Who writes a letter nowadays? 

The communication is restricted to rotating messages on Whatsapp and other various apps. Technology is such a menace.

It is okay to adapt to the changing times but these new ways are certainly depriving us of the great fun, rich experience, memorable pleasure and sound learning that letter-writing imparts.

Digital communication is undoubtedly cheaper, saves time and saves us from the hiccups of the long wait. However, they are ingenuine, unfelt, crudely formal and often, borrowed. People rotate them in their circle. Such forwards are a mere formality usually lacking genuine feelings and reverence. Sending such messages may keep your terms with the recipients intact but not the bond. These messages are impersonal and sloppy. They, at times, might convey your exact feelings but still, they are somebody else's words. If you type a one-sentence-message in your own words, people would count it more valuable. 

As a writer, I know how putting a pen to paper feels. No doubt, technology saves times but it cuts the bonds and takes away the warmth relations must have. The introduction of emoticons was like the final nail in the coffin. These emotion-expressing-images replaced the words and saved us the labour of typing. They do convey the intended message but with the hollowness of formality. The other person readily deciphers it and does the same since the world survives on reciprocation- reciprocation in equal measures and equal degree of genuineness.


I wrote my first letter to my grandpa when I was seven. My father wrote to him regularly on sky-blue-coloured-Inland-Letters. We always had a bunch of them at home. It cost just thirty-five paisa and needed no postage stamp.

It had three leaves to write on and space for the names and addresses of both the recipient and the sender.

An Inland letter can be sent anywhere in India- that's what inland means here.

Once, after writing on the two pages, my father asked my sister and me to divide the third leaf into two halves and write short letters to our grandpa. He guided us about the beginning and told us what we should write. We did that gleefully and waited anxiously for grandpa's response.

The reply, when finally came, was overwhelming. 

He had written, "Reading the first letter from my grandchildren gave me an unforgettable moment of joy and pride. I read their innocent words umpteen times and had tears in my eyes."

His reply encouraged us. Our writing to him on the third page of the inland-letter after our father filled the first two became a ritual. Gradually, our letters were becoming longer and innovative.

After a few months, I wrote to him my first independent letter on an 'unshared' Inland-letter. After some years, we started writing letters to pen-friends and exchanged books and souvenirs.

When my father got a transfer from Pune to Gwalior, I used to miss my friends and teachers. We exchanged letters. I was fond of my Hindi teacher Mr. Ved Prakash Mishra. Every time I wrote to him, I used to ask questions about life and poetry. He replied with elaborate explanation and zeal. We communicated through letters for many years. His letters were like a treasure for they were the testimonials of his knowledge and prowess in literature. I proudly concede that writing letters is a privilege and I largely owe my writing skills to this lost practice.

Physical letters have a charm of their own. Your heart starts beating faster as you receive a letter and doesn't retrieve until you open it and read. My experience says every person reads a letter he receives from his family or friends many times before keeping it in a safe.Along with the sizzling smell of paper and ink, a physical letter contains the unadulterated fragrance of emotions and bondage. Through the hand-written words, you can peep into the heart of that person and might see him speaking those words to you.

The only thing where the modern messaging apps score over the physical letters is the instantaneity. But, we tend to be short and barren as regards to emotions. There is nothing to savour, unlike physical letters that we preserved for years and read them time and again, feeling the same fragrance every time.

Interaction is a destination and communication is the path to reach it. The promptness of digital communication is certainly a boon but isn't it making us emotionless, dry and less likable. Please ponder.

Today, I urge you all to write a postal letter to someone- a letter long enough with words coming from your heart. For a change, let your handwritten words speak for you. I swear you will not regret. 

Please give yourself the pleasure of the privilege of writing a letter. A letter comes up when the heart dictates what it feels, hand writes, and eyes wear the expression that those emotions translate into. You will smell the real warmth and love.

And, please do convey how you felt and how the other person responded to your 'unusual' gesture.