Indian writers v/s foreign writers

The title itself sounds so foolish that i can hardly expect anything from the post. There is no two thoughts about it. Keeping away the only writer Amish, no indian writer can even compete with the prologue or epilogue of a foreign writer.

Hell Indian writers only know to write in utmost amateur language and give insane love scenes*. It has it own way in describing love scenes but Indian authors knew only to make it vulgar. I mean you could pick up a scene from let's say Fifty Shades of Grey and Two States : one love. Even when the scene is a lot more mature in Grey it's yet a lot more sincere than the description of Chetan Bhagat.

And moreover foreign writers are more promising. Like after reading a Bhagat book you definitely feel like banging your head on wall. Not only that i have a personal grudge against Bhagat even Shenoy and Nagarkar aren't any different. Though their stories have a lot better line up than Chetans any book. And yeah though I didn't include Nikita Singh as I find her stories the most mature amongst the Indian writers.

Even though it's a complete treat to read Nagarkar, Durjoy and Shenoy but isn't even close to the satisfaction you get after reading a book by Nicolas sparks and Julie James . After completing either of their books it feels that the time you spent reading the book was well utilised and invested doing something constructive.

Moreover reading Indian writers you can neither improve your expression nor your vocabulary. Definitely not your imagination. Because they heck don't imagine. It's like they keep writing what happens in their life around. And foreign writers heck they do research for every small role. So different from their own profession they try to describe it wholeheartedly.  They go out of the box to give their best shot to their readers. The last time I felt an indian writer describe something wholeheartedly was only love making.

So there is no two thoughts. Foreign writers win with clear margin. I could go on forever with this post but i think it's enough for now.

* lthis post deals with only romantic novels in the discussion. No offence!!

Family and career

Standing in the balcony, hands widespread on the grill. Face dry as the desert of Sahara and tears won't come as a relief is my present situation.

Sometimes it all feels worthless. The grades i score the marks i get the position i build every single thing of it. Like they don't buy these things anymore.

What's the use of marks that can't even let you choose the stream of our own choice? When you parents want you to take science anyway why strive for a 10? Why can't they be satisfied with a 9 or 8 CGPA? Why is that they want the best from you but not the best for you?

Everyone dreams eyes closed but I dreamt of my future with open eyes. What do they think that i have no plans for my future. That I am choosing commerce to escape studies? That after that i'll marry someone and be a house wife? Darn which century are they living in?

But you can't make your parents understand that there is a big world out there. A world more than IIT and engineering. My dream world of Delhi university. What do they think DU halwa hai? Do they even know the cut offs? Of course its not easy to score 98-99%. But if you can't dream it how are you going to achieve it?

But then when my dreams were shattered on the floor and head bowed down, all I could do was hope. Hope is a strong bad word. Especially when you are hoping something you know would never happen.  But then if it's my destiny I'll surely achieve it. That's it.

- Aditi Tiwari

Nightmare!

I sat immediately waking up from my dream. No it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare. I would never wish it even on my worst enemy. I woke and my eyes were bloodshot and tears pealing down my cheeks. A nightmare so closely linked to real life scared the hell out of me.

Flashback.

It was a long day at school. Though it was only Wednesday I couldn't wait for Thursday to come. I was leaving for Indore, my hometown next morning at seven and I was hell excited. But then I had to attend the guest lecture at my tuition delivered by a great business tycoon. I didn't knew the name as Nitin sir wont divulge. But going straight to tuition after school was a rough work and I didn't intend to do so regularly. We arrived at the tuition ten minutes later and to my surprise I found our family friend , Mr. Ashok Malhotra there. I greeted him and he began teaching us. It was fun to learn with Mr. Malhotra. He had all the knowledge you could acquire in a lifetime.

The class came to an abrupt end as Mr. Malhotra received a call from his officials but Nitin sir told us that he would be back by 6 and by then we could loiter around. Mr. Malhotra asked me give her daughter some paperwork which she had mailed to him. I jubilantly agreed.

I knew his daughter personally. She was in my school till last year in 12th and then joined the best college of interior designing in India with scholarship. She was a brilliant student and I looked up at her. I went to her house on my brand new Honda Dio that I had got recently. I reached there in less than ten minutes. She asked me to come inside but I declined the offer as I glanced at my watch and it was already  5.55 and needed to be there by 6. I promised to stay back after class today itself. And then I bid adieu.

I reached the class and then also left after the lecture was finished. I went straight home but remembered almost 1/2 km away from my home  that I needed to be somewhere else or else Smriti would kill me.

I  was about to reach her place while my phone rang. It was her with change of plans. She said she now wanted to meet at Panvel. Now that was a heck of a change but I agreed anyways. I drove to Panvel and after almost 25 minutes I was on the flyover. I saw Nisaar and Harshit waiting at the end of the flyover. I slowed my scooty. I waved to them and went past them. I felt one of my scooty's tire to have been flat. I went thereat side and a bike at speed hit Nisaar and he fell down. I was too shocked to react. I called the ambulance. Smriti and her sisters came after a while. I was too shocked to react. I couldn't bring myself to tell them what had happened. I said.

"Everything has two ways to be said; right way and easy way. Nisaar met with an accident is the easy way. He was hit by a bike with great speed is injured and taken to hospital is the right way."

I saw tears brimming in Smriti's eyes. I knew she liked Nisaar a lot. I went over and hugged her. She too hugged me and broke down into tears. The next moment I saw a truck approaching us with great speed and hit us both.

And I woke up.

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© Aditi Tiwari.2015. All right reserved. DBA.

7 Types of songs you must have in your playlist

1. A romantic song

A romantic song is a must. You never know when you are traveling with that someone special.
#jeenejeena #harkisiko

2. A party song

Party song energizes your mood and enhances your driving skill. :P
#abhitohpartyshuruhuihai #sharabi

3. An old song

An old song revives those good old days.
#churaliya #ekladkibheegibhaagisi

4. A sad song

Not necessarily but then you can put on your glasses and look out if driving and pretend to be in a movie.
#judaai #humariadhoorikahani

5. A favorite song

When its your playlist it should have your favorite song.
#meripehlimohabbat #tujhsedoorjohotahoon

6. An easy going song

Something that soothes your ears and put your complete self at ease.
#daarudesi #jaisemeratu

7. An item number

Just if you feel to turn up the volume and dance as India won the world cup.
#meranaammaryhai #afhganjalebi

Nikita singh

I stir in half sleep and tossed around the bed. I glance at the clock perfectly wristed in my hand. It was 3.34 in the morning and here I was wide awake. I went out to drink some water and by that time I found no trace of sleep over. I thought what to do and remembered to have downloaded a pdf file yesterday night. I scanned through my phone and found it. The promise by Nikita singh. I began reading it. It's pretty strange that some writers even after describing a whole lot of BDSM cannot even stir a feeling while some by just a simple kiss on the cheeks manage to turn your stomach to liquid. Nikita belongs to the second genre. The promise is a brilliant book. Really. It sets your heart racing. I loved every single word inscribed beautifully in the exquisite book. After a long time a book made me cry. Last time I cried reading a book was after I had read I too had a love story by ravinder singh. Singhs have a way to do it. But actually the few parts are penned so well that I could not help but let tears flow silently. With a happy ending, the promise is a brilliant romantic novel

Betrayal and memories

Have you ever felt angry like hell to break the fuck out of your yonex racket? Like pounding it in the floor? Felt the same today. Actually it helped lower my temper. Then I continued to walk on the empty road. With no one around. It felt so good to be so close to my own soul. Then after eternity I went back home. But I couldn't contain myself in under s roof so I went out again. Roaming around and singing the songs i loved. I loved roaming around under the utter beautiful night sky with thousands of twinkling stars and one prime moon. Spreading its moonlight ask over the dark blue sky. I thought what had got my wand in such a knot that I broke my coveted yonex racket out of fury. My friend refused to join me today and i was agitated. How in the world does it always happen that after being so busy I never turned her down but she did it with much ease like I was a tissue paper she could toss away without thinking twice. Speaking of betrayals I had many. Because I trusted the wrong people at the utmost wrong time. Last time I did it I lost my boyfriend. But that was okay it is better to not be in a relationship than to be in a forced one. But what about the great memories we shared. What about the coveted late night conversations we had. What about that turning of stomach to liquid when out of nowhere he would say i love you. All those things that mattered were lost now. All these moments those memories buried deep inside myself. Plunging my heart like a broken piece of glass but the pain couldn't be expressed but only felt. Looking back at those time it seemed so surreal but now i have only memories left to ponder over.