The Night ,book review

The Night
Genre – Adult fiction
Author – Namita Srivastava
Pages – 89
eISBN – 979-8-88555-901-0
Filled with emotions that range of a spectrum from adolescent insecurities, love, betrayal, friendship, to a grown woman, and the strength to fight strong, this book is a collection of everything. Less than a hundred paged story, the plot does not fail to hold readers attention and makes it unputdownable. The readership enjoys the huge palate of emotions offered by the author.
The story picks up on a note where an eighteen-year-old is beginning to enter the world full of academic responsibilities while she is functioning in an environment that is ever changing. As her insecure self-readies herself for the after-college life, she finds friendship, love, distance, and later betrayal. As she is posed with heartbreak and betrayal and she fights for herself amidst a not so fair world, she turns into a strong woman. Her womanhood is threatened though she never gives in.
The protagonist, Neh will find you at your comfort as she enters college and steps into a different world. She makes friends and you live that friendship with her. She has assignments, assessments, classes, more classes to take care of, despite that she finds time and gets lonely as her only pair of friends are love birds. This loneliness is filled by a romance element who is not the centre of her life. Soon college ends and they are set to different paths of their lives. Promising to stay in touch and still love each other is difficult and one of them scums to the vulnerable life. As betrayal slaps Neh’s face, and her womanhood is threatened, she is all determined to fight the world for justice. Will she make it or will this break her?
Talking about the language, it is highly comprehensible and can be easily understood by majority. The genre is adult fiction and starts as a teenage romance story. The pace of story telling is smooth and just the right one to make you turn page after page.
The story entails the phases of a woman’s life as a daughter, as a lover, as a woman, and as a strong being. Read this book compiled with all human emotions and experience the roller coaster of emotions.

“IT’s a story ” book review

Writer-Satish Badgi

Genre-Fiction. 

 ISBN-10: 93-92830-05-X , 

  13: 978-93-92830-05-1

Publisher -APK Publishers.

First edition- December 2021

Reviewed by – Sarthak Chamoli 

A thousand finger-tips hitting keys, eyes struck on-screens glimmering white light, artificial minds mingling with a billion nerves. An array of pocket cubicles, sticky notes, pen scribbling, indistinct chatters, phone calls and what not!

Isn’t this something we all NON-IT people, think of the IT?/ Corporate world? 

The glassy castles of the IT world may be transparent but some stories are hidden from the world wanting to be heard. Satish Badgi with his book “IT’s a story ” has shattered the glasses of stereotypes and drawn away from all the curtains that hide the forbidden stories of people working in this sector. 

The story kick-starts with a coincidence where two gentlemen, Vinod and Venkat meet on a flight. Venkat urges Vinod to share his experience in the field of IT, as Vinod working in the environment would have a lot to tell as he was someone who has seen the Industry grow in India.

The story further is a web of memories forming anecdotes and further constructing the novel. 

Talking about IT, one would usually visualize an appealing technology from the future. But, the author instead of creating a futuristic vision takes the readers to the grassroots of this sector. Apart from being a fictional book, The book also subtly hits the structure of work, ethics and politics happening in the world of IT. 

The third perspective narration compliments author’s use of vivid imagery. 

The overall pace of the book is moderate, which makes the reader experience a sense of calmness and placidity.  

Technically, the protagonists are Vinod and Venkat, but the beauty of the book lies in the fact that there is no actual protagonist, as the author has highlighted the common people of India like a commutator, a little boy who polishes shoes etc. The reflection of these characters’ lives is seen as a reflection in the eyes of the central characters(Vinod and Vanket). 

For this characterization, instead of describing the characters, the author has used anecdotes. This strategy helps in creating a bond with the character and also leaves the reader in a sense of curious mood, making the book more engaging. The use of simple language has avoided the hindrance in the flow of reading, making the book suitable for all types of readers.

For plotting the events, the author has used a peculiar writing style where the plots are shifted and events are displayed parallelly. The stories have multiple dimensions but there’s a thread that keeps the story bound together and gets an overall integrated experience of the book. 

There is a world that runs inside the array of cabins, stories are screaming to be heard. Satish bagdi in his book has done a fantastic job in presenting this world to us. “IT’s a story” like a ‘compiler’ used in a programing language, has constructed a bridge that has connected the stories of the unsung minds of IT to the world. 

A prepossessing tale, a must-read for all, a Bible for IT people!

Shylocked

“Stop” cried, shylock.
And the room which was filled with indistinct noises turned silent.
Antonio took a deep breath and the two guards pulled themselves a little with a jerk. Antonio’s eyes dilated, not with relief but with curiosity. The jury asked the guards to stop.
Shylock looked Antonio in his eyes, his moist eyes closed for a moment and shylock was lost in a memory.
(Memory )
His, fists clenched, his body shivering with grief, anger and all the emotions he had gathered during his life. But he stood still and wiped his face, Antonio was smirking, there was no regret on his face spitting on shylocks face.
Shylock is walking back, towards his home. He opens his fist and talks to himself. With tears in his eyes
“Am I different from them”
“Have I not the same blood as the other people, the Christians? “
“All I did was asked my own money from him!”
He kicked the grass on the ground and sighed, as if not feeling the pain as this was nothing new. This was true, it was never new for him. All his life he faced such things since his childhood. Despite being a bright student he isolated himself in a corner. With heavy soldiers he would walk alone, hiding from the slurs. He could be seen in ripped clothes, nose bled walking alone.
He has seen Antonio grow as well, but despite this, he would choose to walk barefoot on burning coal than face Antonia. Antonio when alone was friendly but when near his friends, Antonio would turn into a wild animal, he would spit on him beat him and make him face all the horrible things he would never imagine facing, not even in hell.
Shylock’s adversity would not end now too. Not even in his home. At his home awaited a father, who was a demon when not drunk, but after being drunk he metamorphosed into the deadliest of the monster shylock had read in his book. This was the reason shylock’s mother eloped with what they say a Christian soldier. This was a taboo for Christians too, so they decided to leave Venice and start a new life in Italy.
This made shylock’s start drinking and since then Shylock was the puppet on which he would release his anger.
But as shylock entered his adolescence he had a miracle ( the only good thing in his life)
His father died, with sudden chest pain. Shylock who was a free bird now started selling fish in the street of Venice. And later he entered the merchant market and became the second richest man of Venice.
The first was Antonio, who got his father’s wealth after his death. and this was the reason Bassanio his friend asked the money from him
Not having the amount at the moment, they went to Shylock for the money. The deal was made, on the bond that if failed shylock would have one pound of flesh from Antonio’s body.
But he never returned the amount , when demanded by Shylock he awarded him ,by spitting on his face.

Asking help from the jury was the only option left for Shylock , a trial was made and the jury suggested the exact thing written on the bond.
“Shylock “? A voice brought shylock back in the trial room it was the judge ‘s voice.

“Yes”
“the bond says ,one pound of flesh ,anything more than that would be against the bond ,even a drop of blood ! So ,I request the jury to bring a weighing balance “
Antonio looked at shylock and smiled

Rivulet

                  
As it fades ,the waning moon ,
the rivulet hid herself in the approaching darkness
her fatigued body slowly passed under the rocks brimming the hollowness that surround her depth
The big old mountains mocked her , but she didn’t look up and walked slowly  where the stars witnessed her.

And when the sun came, she passed swiftly again
Breaking the barriers of ice that came near her  , she splashed again and rose of the mountain with her great alacrity
Following her own path marked on the mountain her pace cutting the mountain soil she ran and ran
and coalesced  in the mother river.

Lost flower

Dried leaves covered his tiny body .  But he wanted to peek out, he wanted to be seen like the giant trees . Waited and waited for a tranquil breeze ,dulcet sound of his sepals lost in the Psithurism ,his scent trapped inside the petrichor .  Dew drops were too heavy for him ,but he showered . Showered and waited for the sunlight to fall on him.
Something rustled on the leaves . His petals smiled he peeked from the rotten leaves . And saw a big black boot  hovering over him
He was happy , finally he was seen ! But he realised he wasn’t visible  afraid and he tried to hide himself under the leaves ,  the the rotten leaves could not save him from getting crushed by the big boot . And was lost ,his petals and sepals all gone. His yellowness lost in the blackness of the big boot .

परछाई

छोड़ने आया था वो खुद की परछाईं को कहीं दूर अंधेरे में ,
रास्ते पर रोक लिया रोशनी ने उसे
सोचा उसने, ठहर जाऊं, कुछ देर संभल जाऊं ,
देख लूं उसे जिसने साथ कभी ना ‌‌छोड़ा था उसका
धूप में जैसे हस रही थी वह , काली  धुंधली परछाईं कितनी साफ ,कितनी स्पष्ट!
बहुत मुस्कराया वो , जोर जोर से ठहाके मार कर खिल- खिलाया वो,
कुछ देर बाद जब अलविदा कहा रोशनी ने
और ओढ़ लिया सांझ ने  अपने आगोश में
उसका हस्ता चेहरा फिर मुरझा गया ,और उसे उससे घृणा होने लगी,
  खूब चीखा उस पर वो ।
और फिर रात आ गई ,बिना कुछ कहे वह रात में समा गई
वह भी चला गया ,
लेकिन चंद्रमा ने उसे देख लिया उसे  और वह फिर उसके करीब आने लगी
वो फिर मुस्कुराया ।
@सार्थक चमोली

My Weary soul wanders and finds shelter under the iridescent sky
Snuggles in seraphic sleet she tries to fly
Entangled in basking sunlight ,drenched in tempentous drizzle
Brimming over the hills she jiggles
@sarthak chamoli

THREE GREEN CHILLIES

Under the shadows of the big brown house, a mud-house kitchen lay hidden,
Nobody dares to enter it but the old lady and her young little friend,
The midget rests peacefully on the bed of mint leaves and the green chillies,
And when the old lady wants she would ask her for some green chillies daily,
Little girl’s eyes never fail, as she picks and serves the old lady, the chilies and mint that prevail,
Enter they through the door, with legs crossed they sit on the earthen floor.

The little girl wonders how the old lady bent as a bow lifts the heavy grinding stone?
She grinds and grinds the leaves with all the strength her body knows, forgetting all the pain she keeps in her skin and bones,
Stops and ponders, she wonders then dips a finger in the paste,
Nods and nods and nods and disgraces the taste,
Looking at her little friend she pleaded
“Three green chillies is all that is needed”
The little girl’s little feet in fleet in the fuss, hair flying in the muss she rush and hush,
Bent on knees she plucks the leaves in the same routine,
On her back she clings and swings and flings the chillies on her lap,
Old lady looks at her and claps,
She grinds and grinds, and grinds again,
Until the paste she attains,
Dips her finger and smiles now with no distrain.

They did the same for days and weeks
Till one heavy morning when the sky was bleak.
The old lady was in her room,
Her hand was holding a big broom,
Her deaf ears could hear all queer and saw a group of men standing near
And her eyes didn’t cheer.
In worst of all her fears,
They filled the mud house with the cement grouts,
And in the loud sound , she shouts
But all was in vain, they did not see the pain,
She went to bed, not turning her head,
Lied there she all alone,
Watching die her golden throne.

When the little girl comes to meet,
Her eyes still in glee
She couldn’t see the old woman’s flee
How her old cold body leaves the soul
And wanders around but the mud house it couldn’t explore
Lies her body dead on the ground
Her dried lips could no more make a sound

But the little girl stands confused and throws the chillies on her lap to implore,
“Granny! Here are some chilies, or you want three more?”

Sapling.

His scars rested on his wooden palms like butterfly on a rock. I traced them with my tiny naïve fingers,he held them softly and asked me if I was ready,I nodded,and holding his hand we went to our favorite place. Place where trees danced on the enticing melody of the songbirds. Where the blue blanket smothers the ground with affection .
Sun peeks from the grey white balls of clouds and petrichor fills the voids of the air.

We walked on the mire ,I placed my little foot on his boot prints and sniggered at my clumsiness . He lifted me in his arms and took me to the giant mango tree.Our shadows coalesced in the enormous shadow of it . He handed me the sapling and started digging the soft mud . I cupped it in my palms,he cupped my palms with his palms and we both planted it in the soil.We quenched his thirst with the little water bottle, his tiny leaf hands waved thank you .We left him alone and went strolling .

Our fatigued legs overlapped each other as we sat on the grass mat . We covered ourselves with the blanket of breeze and the scent of blossoms kissed our sweaty skin. Our eyes swimming in the blue,drowning in the green .
I filled my lungs with one last sip of the place and we went to the sapling .
Something in us knew it was our last meet we all looked at each other, the sapling bent itself as if begging us to stay but I could not, he could not. And we left. Left him alone with his peace

My soul echoes back to the place after years,and I see a slurry of greyness dripping over everything . The piercing pines are eaten up by the big hollow structures .My walking feet detest the rigidity they face on the path .I search for him in the murky darkness
Something soothens my eyes,a slender silhouette lit by the moonlight standing near a dead rotten mango tree .
I see his back bent on the ground where we planted the sapling, but I see no grown tree nor a plant . I approach him and without saying anything gives him the little plastic bottle,he takes it without facing me , and in no time he empties the bottle on the ground . My face is muzzled , my eyes searching for answers . “Is he angry with me?Or, his old eyes cannot recognise me “. The cloud of my mind gets cleared as I take a look on the ground
and see a tiny sapling wearing a necklace of water pearls shining bright in the moonlight
He looks at me and smiles .
I smile back.

Mirror and the smile

A fusty mirror has been glimmering on my wall for quite a long time now.
I gawk at him and ask, what do you see?
Faces  or  faces staring at faces?  And he gives me a strange smirk.

The first time I saw him smiling was when I was a  boy and was  trying to get rid of the loathsome mustache from my face. With trembling hands I tonsured it, but the razor blade was too sharp for the paper thin skin. A cold stream of blood started to  brim over my warm cheeks. I looked at him, he smiled and made my eyes moist.  My strong skinny legs took no time to run.

When my finger tips were holding the extra flesh clinging on my waist ,  I heard his glass teeth clattering.  I clenched my wrist, punched the wall near him- my knuckles turned red, I kissed them and applied ice cubes on them , but he did not quit smiling.

I used to smoke near him, but the smoke could not fog his smile.
I talked to him, if he could listen or at least read my lips. He laughed again when I stroked my beard .  I could see my lassitude reflection, but he did not stop smiling.
My heart was tired now.
I walked away without turning my back.

But today, I saw  no smile. I could  see droplets of water on his glassy skin. He is fustier than before, something in me misses his smile. I kept a glance on him but he did not smile. A gentle breeze hit my pale skin. I looked again, my wrinkles unwrinkled when I saw my reflection smiling at me.
I left him alone and  went to my bed .