The last six months and the next six months

Picture courtesy: Google

It is time to start writing

the story of the

next six months.

It is 1 A.M when I start writing this. By the time I finish writing this, the time might have changed.

But does time really change? Or we use it as a metaphor to talk about the changes, which keep taking place in our life and in the lives of others. Just think about it.

By the time you start thinking, you will realize that there’s a change in the date and in the day.

It is June 30^th. The last day of this month, which also marks the completion of the last six months or the first six months of 2020.

You might now say, ‘Time flies’. Should I then ask, ‘Does time really fly?’

Please don’t mind my questions. I am not questioning you alone. I question myself too. In the last six months, I’ve questioned myself more than I’ve questioned anyone else ever. Did I find answers to my questions? I haven’t; at least not in the last six months. Now, if you ask me about the next six months. I may just remain quiet. Or I may speak plenty. You might then ask me to simply Shut up. I won’t mind being reprimanded.

Would you mind, if I tell you, January 1^st arrived in style. It was a good beginning, isn’t it? Yes, it was. At least I ushered in the New Year in style; hugging, singing, celebrating and of course with a glass of fine wine. The food was cooked with so much love; the memory of its delectable taste hasn’t faded. Going by my fondness for food, I am not going to let it fade either.

Then came February and that quick trip to Kolkata. Accompanied by most loved friends, the joy of being at the Book Fair grew manifold. We went sightseeing, shopping, tram hopping, bus hopping, train hopping. In March, the road trip to Aurangabad again turned out to be exceptional. So much happiness in the first three months; all of which, if transliterated would earn the status of being magnificent.

Unaware of a fast approaching crisis; still footloose and free; in a mood to explore, we were on one-of-its-kind of a joyride. By mid of March, everything changed. The change continues. Some of my friends, family members and loved ones said, ‘Times have changed’. I asked them that question again, ‘Does time really change?’

Of course, they said. They went on to say, ‘Time has changed for us. Time has changed for the world. Time will change for you.’ But, I as ask again, ‘Is time changing or is it us changing?’

This debate won’t end so soon. This debate has been going on for the last six months. In the next six months, this debate might grow fatter with a new layer of interpretation. But I am interested in knowing, if I will ever stop being in question!

So, it is June 30^th. The pandemic hasn’t shown any signs of retreat. The lockdown rules have been reinstated; the vaccines are still being tested in labs; nothing seems to be at as much risk as our level of patience.

We are done with the story of last six months. It is time to start writing the story of the next six months. Some words have already come flying our way - #NewNormal, #StayHomeStaySafe, #LockdownDiaries, #BeSelfReliant, #TameTheDragon, #BeThereForSomeone. There will be newer words. There will be newer thoughts. And there will be a new time? I will be there, asking a new question – Is there anything of that sort called New Time?

So, till you start engineering a reply or orchestrating an answer; let me go ahead and publish this post. Because June 30 will be with us and we will be with it, only for a day. It will take another 365 days to meet the next June 30 (provided 2020 ends on a good note and 2021 promises Good Life).

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 30 | June Blog-2 | What If | 2020

What is the next new thing?

A perception of the outer world on my soft board.
The theme for this whole month is ... WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?
Words: Michelle Obama, BECOMING documentary, Netflix
Art and Photography by: Purnesh Bhattacharya

2020 is a horror story

with surprises

beyond imagination.

-Camelia

When I posted this question on my Instagram update titled ‘NEXT NEW’ on my handle @instapuruinsta, my friend Camelia didn’t waste a second to reply somewhat this way:

The idea of what is in store for us this year is so terrible that I don’t want to know. 2020 is a horror story with surprises beyond imagination.

So true. There has been no dearth of surprises ever since we welcomed the New Year with the magical numbers of 2020. So does this year stand as the year we didn’t expect, imagine or foresee? Replies and interpretations will always stand mixed in their own sphere.

The question (WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?), I pose in here is not of my own. I discovered this question in the 2020 documentary ‘BECOMING’ aired on Netflix this year. The documentary is an intimate journey of Michelle Obama's life, hopes and connection with others during her tours to promote her book of the same name ‘BECOMING’. The question arises and fades out in a flash. During one of the many interviews featured in the documentary, Michelle Obama is seeing musing over a question, which she modulates and repeats in her own signature voice – What is the next new thing? Since then, the thought within the question has stayed with me.

I kept asking myself the same question: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?

Consider the tough times we are surviving through and ask that question again: What is the next new thing?

Some words, some replies might automatically start floating in your mind.

•         A life, a little more mundane maybe
•         Lockdown after lockdown and some more days of lockdown
•         Louder debates and very less news
•         Bigger blames, shorter claims

I don’t think so anyone of us has a definitive reply to that question, which may also start sounding sickening at times: What is the next new thing?

The next new thing; we may have to think twice before hugging, embracing, kissing our beloved. The next new thing; smiles, expressions, emotions will continue staying hidden behind masks. The next new thing; travel will feature as the last item in the to-do lists of our things.

As restrictions are being eased, curfew hours are relaxed and the idea of freedom is renewed in twenty first century, we are found staring at a bleak portrait. Sometimes termed propaganda; sometimes hailed as achievement, this portrait is drenched in colors of discouragement. The sources of encouragement, inspiration and motivation also seems to have locked themselves behind doors, which have now started jamming.

Summers’ time is up. The new season of monsoon isn’t too far from knocking our doors. The umbrellas will be out and so will be new numbers of sufferers, new numbers of detected, new numbers of mortality and new numbers of recoveries.

As I conclude this blog post in here, I wish to ask myself this question again: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING? I hope till the next time, I write again, we will be having a definitive reply, an encouraging answer to this question. Till then we have to take our health a little more seriously and may have to continue chanting - #StayHomeStaySafe.

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 08 | June Blog-1 | What If | 2020

A summer so different

Courtesy: Google

This summer

is definitely different

by all means.

It is tough to love summers! No matter how long you stay locked indoors, it is still tough to love summers. And no two summers are comparable. No two summers can be hotter or less hot than the other. No two summers can be more pleasant or less unpleasant than the other. Summers or in that case, every weather is unique by nature. But what about the SUMMER OF 2020. Well, what about it? Simply a memory maybe! Of having stayed indoors throughout the summer of 2020.

Summers; all of us will unanimously agree; no summer sounds as poetic as Bryan Adams had made it sound in his all-time hot song - SUMMER OF 69. He had sung and I quote:

Oh, when I look back now

That summer seemed to last forever

And if I had the choice

Yeah, I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life

How memorable that summer could have been to inspire an entire song of such intoxicating nature!

Maybe one year down the line, we would look back to this SUMMER OF 2020. By the same time, next year, we should hope that things would be fine; life would be great; travel would be colorful. And we might sing… That summer seemed to last forever; but those days were not the best days of our lives.

This summer is definitely different by all means. No news channel is reporting deaths due to sun stroke. But there are deaths being reported due to a pandemic. A pandemic which shattered a part of our winter, a major part of our spring and now has almost spoiled our entire summer. Airports are lying empty, railway platforms look lifeless, roads wear an abandoned look. Who knew that in the year of 2020; there will be no summer vacations; there will be no summer picnics; there will be no summer escapade to the hill stations; there will be no quick summer breaks by the seaside!

We didn’t dread any of the summers. We braved the odds. Many a times, our skins have turned red, infections have taken over, sweat has turned sticky and throats have run thirsty. Yet, we never wished to miss out on those summers as well. But we are left with no choice; it seems like we have to give this summer a miss.

Mangoes have gone live. Watermelons are trending. Bananas are being shared and mentioned. Yet the fun of eating them during this summer seems to have gone missing. We can only expect the fun to return next year. Hope is our only umbrella. Let us seek some shelter beneath it. Let us enjoy whatever is remaining of this summer; if not being outdoors, at least being indoors!

Maybe ten years down the line, when we would be seated in some corner of the world, we would look back to this summer and take a long breath. We will shut our eyes, think of the tough times and then get back to life to narrate that one story of a summer… A SUMMER SO DIFFERENT.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 26 | May Blog-3 | What If | 2020

AIR CONDITIONER: PARALYZED

Picture Courtesy: Google

The air conditioner has been rendered paralyzed.

It was performing well, in sync with the real world, real time and real people. The air conditioner installed inside didn’t allow the rough temperatures, which were ruining our outsides to ruin our insides. Somehow, the joy of being in the confines of an air-conditioned environment was pleasant.

None of us had the faintest of idea that the same air conditioner will be rendered paralyzed, so suddenly!

If recollected, from hey days, the air conditioner had a charm of its own. The disruption commenced with the illogical adjustments of temperatures that the air conditioner was subjected to. After a week’s time or so, the wings of the air conditioner wasn’t allowed to swing. Dodging all concerns of global warming, the temperatures were also set at 25^o C, sometimes 26^o C and sometimes, simply unmentionable temperatures!

Till the time, the winters hadn’t lost its grip on the atmosphere, a momentary break from the air conditioner was welcome. But winters are fast receding, summers are charging in. At such a crucial juncture, the air conditioner hangs there, lonely on that wall; seemingly defunct or more directly put – paralyzed. Had this condition being human, we would have tagged it as brain-dead.

Ironically even if the air conditioner is found switched off repeatedly, either the remote goes missing or is found aimlessly wandering in between spaces of our desks. The situation is tricky.

No human group has claimed official responsibility of the now dysfunctional air conditioner also known as the paralyzed air conditioner. Voices of resentment were last heard, out of some hoodies, which kept human faces hidden beneath. They are not directly responsible for the air conditioner being rendered paralytic but, they are indirectly somewhere responsible. This untimely paralytic attack has jeopardized some unsettled body temperatures.

At times, amusement sets in and a question repeatedly pops up – What is a centralized air conditioning system is put in place? If at all this system is put in place, will the souls beneath hoodies still torture it and puncture the inner temperatures? Presently there is no one replying and suddenly I can feel a cool wave of breeze flowing out of the air conditioner. So, has the air conditioner being rendered paralyzed for real?

- Virtuous Vociferous | February 18 | February Blog-2 | Never Settle | 2019

IN THAT PERSONAL SPACE OF ‘I BEING ME’

In times of uncertainty, we delve deeper. We develop a habit of interrogating every cause and their immediate effect. Being human, we are more inclined towards evidence, which can be documented, disbursed.

These are also the times, when we are caught in the radar of adversaries. They never reveal their real identity. They hide behind masks. They are ten steps ahead of us. They wait to strike with their flappy plans. They see their favorite prey in us.

Things grow murkier, when we, the uncertain us, join hands with our adversaries to follow what they claim to be the best; also certain about. This agreement is based on the pure insight of we supposedly seeking support to sustain our sinking belief, faith and trust in us. We are too late to realize; this is how we make ourselves available to be taken for granted. In short, we cross over to an unknown territory, a space where we don’t belong to, a space which only belongs to our adversaries. Forget it, shit happens, things stink; we need to move on.

Thus, I decided to differ and use this opportunity to create a personal space of mine. This is that personal space of ‘I being me’. I am at no one’s mercy. I am in no one’s favor. I am the one to decide, when I am faced with a single challenge or an army of unthinkable contingencies; as to whom I am answerable to; whom I am not answerable to.

When I am in that personal space of ‘I being me’, I am not sure of my actions going down well with everybody. I might sound very less demanding of others; I might seem very excessively demanding of me, myself. This space could make me grow nasty or turn me into a beast of worst things. Time suggests, I take complete advantage of this space. Trust me, I have started doing that.

Now the question arises of whether I stand to hurt the feelings of those, who are trying to help me through uncertainties. It is up to them to decide. I haven’t spoken a single word, which is bitter in taste; neither would I act against their instincts. Only my response would be ill-timed or probably out of context. If they trust me, they will continue to respect this space. If they don’t, they can each their own. On an honest note, favors are not forgotten; they are to be done justice with. Why would I be different then?

Right now, I am in a happy space. It did involve the much anticipated bit of struggle to find my way into this space. But I am left with no regrets. Neither do I repent over the wrong decisions, which only ended up making me more vocal to demand what is right with regards to my fundamental right.

‘I being me’ is a selfish little space of being content. I am not seeking solidarity in here, but I am aware about its existence. This space may make one grow intolerant. The levels of discomfort may hit an all-time high. But this move is a constructive activity; the steps already taken or to be taken are of statistical nature; the overall objective is to surrender to this space and rediscover the nature and the character, I am made of.

To conclude, if I am a being, I have the right to claim, to create, to construct and to constitutionalize what I truly believe in. Since I am not just a being, but a human being, who is endeavoring to be different, I don’t need your permission. I just wish to continue being in that personal space of I BEING ME.

PS: Dedicated to the seventh month of all months – July… and to the one born in this month of July.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 29 | July Blog-5 | Making of the beast | 2018

THROUGH THE DAY

She is relentless.

Over the years, she has been wielding power.

I remember the slogan, she had introduced us to – Mother, Earth, Human.

We were waking up to brightness from an era of darkness.

Her arrival on the political canvas had meant independence from hooliganism.

Sorry to make a note and blow a bugle of caution; she has reversed the course of hooliganism and remolded it into something worse than that.

Her political demands have never followed a pattern.

In the past, she was a rebel, I had personally looked up to.

Today, she is someone, I don’t wish to even catch a glimpse of.

Her speeches are punctuated with hatred.

The least, I had expected of her was to witness an unnecessary change – West Bengal to Bangla.

What next?

She is talented.

Today she turned the stage into a space of well-choreographed miracle.

I read through the reviews, she had curated to be shared across.

It didn’t take me much time to realize; I had missed out on a real talent, performing live on stage.

Till the eventuality of ‘next time’ resurfaces and she decides to dance on stage, I shall wait.

She is unpredictable.

I know it was not on purpose.

The language is to be blamed. The time is to be held responsible.

During late hours, none of us are at liberty to weigh the impact of words.

I might have overreacted; it seemed so unnecessary the next moment.

Just a word, to think about. In the end, everything remains the same.

She is happiness.

I am sure, she might have repeated the shade of yellow.

Her fondness for that particular color isn’t hidden.

It was her birthday yesterday. She made sure to wear the shade, which always makes her happy.

Our conversations were too thin throughout the day.

But somehow, I left her craving for a cup of tea, just through a menial conversation of mine.

She is trying.

I know, it is not too easy to tolerate someone who has grown unpredictable.

But life needs to be balanced between possibilities and probabilities.

I think someday, she will definitely get the picture right in her mind.

Maybe that day, her anger and her irritation will also settle down.

She is daredevil.

In the toughest of moments, she will end up sending a message, which will guarantee a hefty laugh.

Her approach towards life is so positively driven, I am timelessly greedy to continue seeking inspiration from her.

She is calm.

Storms don’t move her a bit; emotional storms to be precise.

She never reacts. She neither overreacts.

She prays. She prays through days. She prays through nights.

All she has is the one, she gave birth too.

She makes sure, he continues to live his dreams and makes their dreams comes true.

She is clueless.

Guided by wrong people, her mistakes are not to be counted or discussed about.

After a period of time, she is to be forgiven and forgotten.

She is she.

Spending time amidst children with special needs isn’t easy.

But she does it with envious ease.

Through the day all I sensed…  

She is some kind of a mystic medley that surrounds me.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 27 | July Blog-4 | Making of the beast | 2018

PURNESH@PANCHGANI

Purnesh@Panchgani

The memories will never fade.

The photographs will find their way to the soft board.

The fireflies will continue flying between trees.

The temperatures will keep dropping.

I will untiringly travel back to Panchgani.

I will excitingly travel back to Panchgani.

I will repeatedly travel back to Panchgani.

Destinations, which echo in the mind, body and soul are where we should keep going back to rediscover ourselves. This is what, I, as Purnesh, a normal human being, minus all the pseudonyms thinks. This is what, I, as a writer, minus the titles of a creative director, a copywriter, an artist thinks. This is what, I, as an observant, minus the tags of a blogger, a hobbyist photographer, a fan of Instagram feeds thinks. The experience being so magical; I associate my name with the place, which moves something extremely deep within me. Just three days of stay, the third proper vacation, the second awesome accommodation at the hill station, leaves me with so much to ponder about, write for and continue imagining with.

Pouring in Panchgani

Little am I aware about the restaurant, which sounds like a pure vegetarian restaurant; they serve me the best chicken thali for lunch. My eyes try to stretch as far as the abyss of the valley is. The roof vibrates, the temperature drops, the blowing breeze turns extremely cold, the aroma of wet mud diffuses. The rains are here. The camera, lies unpacked in the hotel room; the mobile rings to rescue. The first glimpse of raindrops, in their full glory, make a straight entry into the memory card. The white car, parked just outside the restaurant now wears a shiny look; the heavy downpour has left it look like a new one, a renewed version of its old freshness. Once again, a confirmation, Purnesh@Panchgani; happy, thankful to self.

Excuse the limited but happy space

Only two cars are parked in the limited space that the hotel offers. Other guests join in; families, lovers, kids. None of them loud. Everyone aware about maintaining the serenity, sanity of this sleepy hill station, which is now busy soaking the rains. The texture of the water run, wet mud is worth a thousand more glances. The noon has turned cloudy again. The rains return to calm the valleys, which are losing out their patience to the scorching sun. The absence of an air condition doesn’t bother. Unfolding the blanket, I celebrate the short but satisfying afternoon siesta. Once again, an assurance, Purnesh@Panchgani; at ease, at peace with self.

Auto-focus to manual focus

For the first time in last five years, the camera shifts gears from auto-focus to manual focus. I as the hobbyist photographer chooses to go rapidly footloose; shoots curtains, windows, flowers, people, greens, doors, guests, kids, empty bottles of wine, a newly gifted coffee mug, lobbies, guests, birds, smoke, homes, hotels, dish antenna, raw mango, black cat. Every time, I release the shutter, a new story is revealed. Once again, an imagination, Purnesh@Panchgani; capturing, creating freely.

In company of the two varieties of wine 

Those two bottles of wine, Satori Tempranillo and Wonder Wyne (Apple Wine), add up to the splendid experience that Panchgani already is. I pour myself from both, raise a solo toast to myself; both are successful in giving me a high. I switch off the lights and the night takes over. Two stories keep me busy throughout the night, by appearing as dreams (sounds strange but true); the third one crawls in from a lost conversation in space. Once again, an inspiration, Purnesh@Panchgani; sleeping, dreaming.

The dinners are served; purely non vegetarian on the first night, purely vegetarian on the second night. Before the hunger pangs set in, stories make sure to engage. Stories about crabs, germs, ghosts, betrayal, deceit, backstabbing, conning, revenge, hatred, spirituality, reincarnation, realities. Once again, a delight, Purnesh@Panchgani; eating, relishing.

Fireflies fill the skies. The caretaker of the hotel mentions that they are common when it rains. He says, he is sure of seeing more in the coming nights. I smile at him. The smile makes him converse more about the owners of the hotel, his modest family, the kind of guests who keep checking in. I am staring up there between trees, up in the skies, into the open garden area and beyond; the fireflies are putting up a stunning show for me. Once again, a visual treat, Purnesh@Panchgani; spotting fireflies, expecting more fireflies.

Before I gear up to drive out of the hill station; sometime around 6 AM, the mind is racing back to the night before. A couple of candles after being lit, release an aroma, which fill the senses with innumerable desires. Someday I shall live them. Once again, a surety, Purnesh@Panchgani; seeking, telling.

Releasing the shutter

I take another turn. I am home. The day goes by. The evening disappears. The night takes over. I switch on the laptop to insert the memory card. A little window leads me to the folder of PANCHGANI JUNE 1 AND 2. I find myself. Standing solo, in front of a mirror, in the hotel room, releasing the shutter and a thought jumping out of my mind – Purnesh@Panchgani; ready to return again. Where else? But to Panchgani, for writing many sequels hereafter of Purnesh@Panchgani.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 04 | June Blog-1 | 2018

NEWTON’S THIRD LAW OF MOTION

Right now I’ve constrained myself to remain unaffected by the sight of the well-made bed. I simply wish to avoid the temptation of sleep, the reward of leisure and the bonus of pleasure. The Sunday is bound to die soon. Monday will follow like a rude beast of sorts. Therefore sleep should be the first thing on mind. Somehow I think, today I will succeed in postponing it; provided Newton doesn’t interfere.

Is something bothering me? Well, of course something is! Or else I wouldn’t have been spending this time, patiently thinking and writing these words. I am wondering and trying to choose between two sides of my life as a professional, a creative writer and a creative director. What are these two sides all about?

Side #1 – Should I turn a blind eye towards non-performers and embrace ignorance?

Side #2 – Is it OK to act like a coward and secretly keep praying to save the job?

If given a choice, I wish to abolish both. Seventeen years of my tough career in advertising have taught me certain principles; one of which is – Seeking Clarity. Even though I stuck to it like a dictum; in the last five years, I haven’t stressed on it firmly. As a result, a not so rare breed of unthinking client servicing executives seems to have taken undue advantage of the same. Rather than blaming them or holding them responsible, I wish to plead guilty. A certain guy called Sanjay Mukherjee spoilt me to the core. His was a personality of a hardcore client servicing executive who easily brewed an infectious blend of passion, persuasion, precision and presentation. How could that idiot never walk out without impressing or winning the client’s approval? Some say, he was blessed. But I don’t believe them. I cursed him every time because he drove me crazy with his ambition to achieve. Bloody hell, I succumbed so easily that I am yet to recover from that process of winning. Circa 2017, I am struggling to make the nonbelievers in good advertising to still seek the bigger purpose of creative communication. Shame on me!

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

To conclude, the fearless mind that I have been born with and the restless soul that I will continue being, I believe my action will definitely lead to reactions. Will that stop me from causing ruckus? Will I stop demanding answers? Will I decide to act like a coward? Or simply raise my voice and allow Newton’s third law of motion to take over! I think only when the apple falls; the issues concerning me will gain some gravity. Till then, I shall rebel.

-Virtuous Vociferous

ABRUPT LOVE STORIES

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

The time has come to bid adieu to sugarcoated love stories. In my opinion, all the visible sweetness is mere illusion. Or somewhere we are still trying to convince ourselves to stay believed in pretentiously sweet love stories! But they aren’t sweet. The line between love and lust hasn’t blurred but it has vanished forever. It is this cusp that makes me realize that love stories aren’t tender any more. Thankfully I have accepted the fact and I am not convincing myself to try narrating a sweet love story ever again.

My abrupt love stories take place between a Certain He and a Certain She. They don’t have a name. They are invisible to your naked eyes but omnipresent. Do they believe in religion? Are they victims of communal tension or soft targets of fluctuating faiths. Do they pray? Or they are happy being atheists! Are they rich or poor? Do they indulge in sex? Are they bisexual, homosexual, heterosexual, metrosexual? Are they sound, sane and in control? Or simply rebellious, wild hippies! Do they smoke and drink? Do they sleep with different people on different occasions? Have they been living under the same roof or they have been renting apartments in numerous cities, and disappearing without clearing dues for months! Frankly speaking they are an interesting twosome of a Certain He and a Certain She.

Both characters are a sum of their vices. Before He knows it, She is already done plotting something against him. By the time She comes to know of a certain action, He outsmarts her by being constantly, lethally active against her. I haven’t met these two characters in person. But I have met their exact opposites in the many journeys I have smoothly or abruptly embarked upon. Be it the certain He or the certain She that I am talking about, I know them of being emotionally unattached to each other.

The Certain He and the Certain She I have been talking about hide nothing from themselves or the society. They live within the stories and breathe within the stories. At the end of the day, their stories, which are so abrupt by nature, continue to matter the most.

Abrupt Love Stories are my hottest obsession, passionate possession and unmistakably my most favorite creation. Will these abrupt love stories culminate into a book? I am not even thinking of it right now. What if someone tries to copy them or copy the style? Did I say the stories are not getting copied, shared or reproduced? And I would never say that the style is yet a virgin. Thankfully, if searched by the hash tag #AbruptLoveStories; most of the results and almost all the results bring into fore my series of Abrupt Love Stories.

When I started writing the couplets with the hash tag attached to them, a few eyebrows were raised. But these are my #AbruptLoveStories and why should I reveal the source of my inspiration? If you wish to know more about these stories, follow the simple path – READ THEM, FEEL THEM, LIVE THEM.

All the love stories, which are abrupt in nature derive inspiration from the hidden side of the lives, we live without sharing a thing about them. My interest stays anchored deep in there. Where else but that little seed of abruptness, I observe in the love stories that most of us are faking like fake orgasms on a bad night of abrupt sex. Therefore if you come across a love story that’s sweet; chuck it and suck up one abrupt love story at a time.

-Virtuous Vociferous

IN THE SORRY STATE OF AMAZON.COM

Book lovers aren’t fools!

I being a book lover am not a fool for sure.

For years that I’ve been addicted to reading and writing as well, books have been a way of life.

So far so good, life was dreamlike in the company of good books, great authors and gigantic publishers until the Amazon.Com mishap occurred. I was indeed left feeling like a fool!

Since I was ordering Rishi Kapoor’s Autobiography, an option showed up mentioning that customers were also interested in buying Karan Johar’s Autobiography. To me, this seemed like a great combination. Even though Karan Johar’s book was announced to be a paperback, I had very little to grow concerned about. I sealed the deal and eagerly awaited the arrival of both books.

Both books arrived as per the conveyed schedule. But the big surprise was yet to be opened. On unsealing the package, which held Karan Johar’s Autobiography, I was left miffed. Even though it was a paperback, it wasn’t an original copy. The book looked as bad as one of those counterfeits, which are sold across innumerable traffic signals.

The compressed photograph on the top

The elements, which accompanied the book, were not trustworthy.

A handwritten note - Have a Good Read!! J , stamped by the dealer who had sent me across the book. His massive signature provided the much unrequited tease.

The handwritten note by the sender

Talking about the book, the cover looked dull. The author or the subject matter’s photographs were stretched, compressed and badly edited. The colors looked dull. The edges revealed the fact that the book might have been used by someone, badly manhandled and exchanged or sold thereafter. One of the inner pages carried the dealer’s stamp again. They were arranged in the wrong manner. The cut marks were visible (seems like someone Xeroxed the book before it went for final publishing). Pages were missing. Most of the pages repeated or disorganized. The photographs printed within were of poor quality. Print on some pages already looked faded.

The bad quality of photographs inside

The missing pages

The stamp on one of the inner pages

The tattered cover

Bad quality

The visible cut marks 

In short, Amazon.Com took me on a joyride (which was unexpected). On being displeased by the delivery, I had initiated a chat on Amazon.Com and demanded a replacement. But I was told, the book itself is out of stock. I still decided to go against my wish and retain the copy to continue reading. But when I discovered that many pages were missing, I couldn’t resist requesting them to help me return it. Right now, I am waiting for the refund to take place (of which, I am very less hopeful about).

Having said that, I also wish to know, is this a negative propaganda against Amazon.Com? Are some sellers queuing up to tarnish the image of Amazon.Com? It would be interesting to know the inner story or a discreet scandal in making.

I haven’t heard about a name like Nani-Intaya Consultant and Associates. But they being located in Delhi made my head turn otherwise. After the fiasco, these guys also had the audacity to send across an email to me:

Dear Buyer

This is to inform you that yours valuable money have been initiated back to yours account as a refund.

"We're sorry to hear about your experience with the purchase. We aim to offer quality satisfaction for all of our customer and will do whatever it takes to take care of you. Please feel free to contact us on +91-9910365748. Replacement of the purchase is always there for you. Thank for the opportunity to make this right. We've made changes to the way we operate to ensure this doesn't happen again. Your are our top priority."

It will be very kind of you if you receive yours refund back kindly notify us also and Hope you will not mind to give us some good feedback for our generous customer service via Amazon.in

Hoping to see You again :)

Thanking you.

Regards,

Nani-Intaya Consultant And Associates

New Delhi

PS: The language of this letter is questionable too.

I am disturbed that Amazon.Com is yet to drop this seller from its list of dealers on marketplace. I am equally disturbed to see how these guys are communicating with me.

If Amazon.Com can do something so hideous, I have no trust left in placing online orders for books. At the same time, it concerns me about the state of the author, the publisher. Do the author, the publisher, the printer, the editor know that counterfeit copies of an original book are sold on Amazon.Com?

If this is the state of what online shopping of books is all about then I regret to say, “We are in the sorry state of Amazon.Com”.

-Virtuous Vociferous