KhepiAri

Book Review: A Home for Gori by Habib Rehman (Spoilers) Quote : Of course there was no accounting for the trouble that Gori might get into. She was a pup still, inquisitive, alert, her ears cocked to any new adventure or mischief she could get up to. She was also discovering a world in which other strange creature lived, and she was keen to make an acquaintance. Because I keep playing with my Editor-in-chief's lovely Labrador, she lent me her a book from her 'Doggy Book Collection' to read. Habib Rehman's memoir of his beloved Spitz Gori and his life through Army and establishing ITC as India's leading hospitality business around the country. From the beginning, actually from the blurb, we know the ending of the tale. We know Gori is going to heaven after a fatal illness, and it's Habib's way of paying her tribute and building a house that would overlook her resting place. From the loyal stray bhutya dog in Army named Bullet, to another bhu...

Book Review: The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden Quote: 'Will you tell her? asked the mare. "Everything?" The demon said. "Of bears and sorcerers, spells made of sapphire and a witch that lost her daughter? No, of course not. I shall tell her as little as possible. And hope that it is enough." One of my early twenty-fifth birthday gifts! Marina dies giving birth to a girl who grows up to have magical powers like her grandmother. Dunya the nurse of both Marina and her children, is a teller of fairytales. Vasilisa knows these stories and creatures are real. The novel is old wine in a new bottle, a community/religion against a strong spirited a girl who refuses conformity. Set in northern Rus' of 13-14th century, placed in a village protected by spirits and creatures of folklore. The novel begins with the Dunya narrating the story of the Frost Demon. And this story is at the center of the entire narrative. For a debut the novel i...

After, four cups of green tea, multiple replays of imagined scenario and one Peaky Blinder Episode and three One Piece episodes later, the blogger has decided to halt this blog. My reasons have been thoroughly examined and discussed with my friends and my mind. My elder sister has been complaining the that my blogs have become repetitive and one cant tell the difference one from other.   I too have realised, it's time to say goodbye before I go down the path of neglecting this blog further which would be insulting to the thought with which I began this blog. I no longer have my Pink College to hate, I no longer have mini adventures to write about, I longer am sad and hopeless like I was when the blog began. When I began the blog, I loved the only writer I knew, Paulo Coelho, now almost six years later, I know many more writers and Love a few more. I cant let my own lack of words ruin something that was born out of love for words. So instead of ...

  Once upon a time, there lived a reader, oblivious to the world of love and dating, ignorant of the ways of technology. The reader lived in a tiny room in a forgotten part of the forgotten city and survived on stale bread and fresh milk. Reading, writing, editing and sleeping, and walking around the city was her life. Oh yes, this reader was a she, a happy go lucky she who didn't need much to live by and was easy to satisfy. One day, the reader girl realised, the soles of her shoes had surpassed their lifespan and split apart into quarters of black oranges. Walking was a hobby, but shopping was not, the only money this girl would spend was on books. The thought of buying a new pair of shoes was troublesome, but a necessity. A necessity that could wait, like every other thing that has been on her wait list, as there was always someone kind enough to give away a pair of shoe that was small by a millimeter or ten or a pair that was big by a centimeter or three. In th...

Life is full of dichotomies, I love chick-lits but I can’t tolerate people when they are all mushy in love, I love motivating people with positivity but when people ask me if I need them to listen to my problems, I push them away. I can play counselor to my sad friends, but I won’t offer my shoulder to cry, never. With these or similar dichotomies, we all live and churn out our time to engage on social media exhibition of the life, where we support and frown upon fellow humans. As I scroll up and down I see certain schoolmate’s beautiful display picture in Italy, luckily for me envy is something I rarely feel, I just feel proud, because I knew that schoolmate had ingrained brilliance and she would shine! Shine she did. This is followed by my idiotic biker friends, who take more picture of the bike then the actual destination of road trip, next pop up my friends who have leaped into the burning pan of marriage or are going to get poached soon in coming months, finally I have those...

Every year the goddess with ten hands comes to visit the tribe called Bongalies. A tribe spread all over the world, loves eating sweets, fish, rice, and words. The goddess comes as daughter leaves as the mother brings a lot of emotions and excitement in the B genes. With her comes the headache of shopping and pandal hopping. None of which yours truly enjoys. Not only the goddess visits her family, she brings her children, her pet, and her children’s pet. My house is quite the human representation of that divine family. Our mother is as ferocious as the goddess, willing to kill and bite and rip for her children, flowers and pets’ sake. She has two daughters one who loves, let’s say anything related to material possession. Another who believes in burying herself in fiction to avoid public interaction. Again, my mom’s elder daughter has a handsome and short-tempered son-in-law who fills the vacancy of goddess’ war faring son. My mother doesn’t have a lion, but a Persian ...

‘Confidence’ is a word that has been distributed in different proportions and flavours in my family. My mother suffers from positive confidence in future, no matter how bad the day it will be a better tomorrow. My grandmother suffers from confidence in misfortune, no matter what the day tragedy can strike any moment. My grandfather suffers from confidence in extreme realism, today might be a decent day but be prepared for rainy days predicted by weatherman from a week now. My father suffers from the negative confidence of self, only he and absolutely he can provide continuous discouragement to others and then suddenly take a U-turn to show his support. My brother-in-law suffers from confidence in efficiency, none but only he is the chosen one to do a task. Last but not the least, I have an elder sister who suffers from a combination of all the confidences mentioned above with the prefix OVER! Like Sansa Stark (My Least favourite Character on Game of Thrones). “I am a...