Let us introduce you to the dazzling world of All That Sizzles by Sakshama Puri Dhaliwal, where wedding planner Tanvi Bedi faces a spicy challenge – organizing a $100 million wedding for a media heiress. The twist? She needs chef Nik Shankar, a guy who avoids weddings like the plague. And well…Nik must find a life partner to secure that bag because…REASONS!
Join the fiery passion as Tanvi and Nik embark on a fake engagement that might just turn into the love story they never knew they needed.
Can you hear the sizzle?
All That Sizzles || Sakshama Puri Dhaliwal
‘And to my grandson, Nikhil, I transfer the following assets:
1. Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (first edition, hardcover, 1912) [Annexure II]
2. 1924 Rolls-Royce [Annexure III],
3. The apartment in Mayur Vihar, New Delhi [Annexure IV/A]
4. The property in Ambargarh (Alwar, Rajasthan) [Annexure IV/B]
5. Rs 8.62 crore in fixed deposits and bonds [Annexure V] conditional upon his marriage.’
Ruq frowned. ‘What happens if he never marries?’
‘As per a caveat in Clause 13.2, the condition expires in 2035,’ Rahul said.
‘So, I have until 2035 to get married?’ Nik asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Clause 13.4. The assets will transfer to the Ministry of Culture.’
‘Can I trade the other assets for Ambargarh?’
Rahul looked at him like he had taken leave of his senses. ‘That doesn’t make sense financially. The car alone is worth more than—’
‘Can I do it?’ Nik asked.
‘Unfortunately, not.’
‘Can I buy it back from the government?’
‘You can try,’ Rahul said drolly. ‘Good luck navigating the reams of red tape.’
For the first time in years, Nik felt a hot, blinding rage towards the sadistic bastard that was his grandfather. Over the last decade, he had carefully cultivated a feeling of indifference towards the man, deigning to give him mind space only when their last remaining connection came up: Ambargarh.
The property had been bequeathed to Nik’s mother, Suchitra Devi, by her great-uncle, the Prince of Alwar, but had been under dispute for several years. After the fateful night that had ripped their family apart, Suchitra had moved into an ashram in Kerala, leaving her father— Nik’s grandfather—Vijay Pratap Singh Chauhan, as the attorney-in-fact.
Last year, the courts had finally awarded the property to Suchitra, leaving Vijay Pratap to do with it as he deemed fit.
Nik wanted it more than anything in the world.
And that sonofabitch knows it, he thought bitterly.
‘Ghost pepper,’ Nik muttered.
‘Huh?’ Rahul asked.
‘He’s pissed off,’ Ruq explained.
‘He is?’ the lawyer asked sceptically. His client seemed extremely composed, almost zen like.
But Ruq knew better. For years, she had witnessed Nik’s involuntary reflex of naming foods that accurately captured his thoughts in the moment. The ghost pepper was one of the spiciest chilli peppers in the world and certainly the hottest one they used in their kitchen.
Nik might be known for his patience and even temper, but Ruq could bet that underneath his calm demeanour, the chef was simmering.
‘He is,’ Ruq confirmed.
‘I’m fine,’ Nik gritted, his tone belying his words.
Rahul casually brushed a piece of lint off the lapel of his charcoal grey suit. ‘You could just speak to your grandfather, you know? Ask him to reconsider the terms of—’
‘I would rather die,’ Nik said.
‘I suppose that limits your options,’ Rahul shrugged.
‘To what?’ Ruq asked.
‘Marriage,’ Rahul said bluntly.
‘What if he gets married, takes possession of the assets and divorces his wife?’ Ruq asked.
‘Now that definitely sounds like a bad movie,’ Rahul said dryly.
Ruq arched an eyebrow, waiting for a response.
Rahul resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘I suppose he could. With an ironclad prenup.’
‘Can they prove that he’s not married?’ Ruq asked.
‘What?’ Rahul asked, bemused.
‘What?’ Nik repeated.
Ruq’s eyes widened, and Nik could almost see the wheels in her head turning. ‘Can they prove he’s not married?’
‘Can you prove he is?’ Rahul countered.
‘What proof do we need?’ Ruq asked.
‘A marriage certificate. A wedding card. Photos. Not to mention . . .’ Rahul paused for effect. ‘. . . a wife.’
‘What if she’s not his wife yet, but—’
‘I can guess where this is going,’ Rahul held up a hand. ‘The less I know, the better. As Nik’s lawyer, I can only advise him to pursue a legal path.’
‘But isn’t the law open to interpretation?’ Ruq argued. Rahul looked at her like she was deranged.
‘Call Prabhakar inside,’ Ruq said.
Rahul ignored that. Ruqsana might be Nik’s partner,
but Rahul didn’t take orders from her. He turned to Nik.
‘What do you want me to do?’
Nik looked at Ruq, What the hell are you playing at?
She gave him a reassuring nod. Trust me.
A few minutes later, a stout bespectacled man walked into the room. In contrast to his thinning hair, his moustache was thick and bushy, covering most of his upper lip. He wore an old, cheap suit over a striped polyester shirt. The buttons barely held his shirt together
and his stomach threatened to break free from their shackles any minute.
‘So? We have reached agreement?’ Prabhakar asked in his broken English.
‘Apparently,’ Rahul said with a resigned sigh, gesturing to Ruqsana.
‘Do you think Mr Chauhan would consider relaxing the condition to “engaged” instead of “married”?’ Ruq asked.
Understanding flashed in Nik’s eyes.
‘You are engaged?’ Prabhakar frowned at Nik.
***
Want to know what happens next?
Get your copy of All That Sizzles by Sakshama Puri Dhaliwal wherever books are sold.
Get ready to embark on a passionate journey with our handpicked collection of romance and poetry books. From chance encounters to forbidden desires, love’s complexity to timeless verses, these stories have it all. Ready to fall in love with words? Keep scrolling!
World’s Best Girlfriend || Durjoy Datta
Daksh and Aanchal meet under improbable circumstances in the most unlikely of places-a posh resort in the Andamans. While Aanchal is fighting hard to escape the shackles of a lower middle-class existence, Daksh is aimless and unsure of what his future holds. Strangely, they are drawn to each other.
Four years later, when they meet again, Daksh’s world has crumbled around him. The burden of caring for his sick father and six-year-old sister has left him with little time for anything else. Yet, despite their diverging paths, Daksh and Aanchal find themselves reconnecting in unexpected ways. Their mutual attraction deepens.
Till now, fate has been pushing them together, but what will happen when they decide to take matters into their own hands? Will life be as they’ve imagined, or will destiny take even that away from them?
The Girl Who Kept Falling in Love || Rheea Mukherjee
When Kaya meets and falls deeply in love with a fellow activist from the very religious community the country is actively trying to erase, her twin purposes are miraculously aligned in an intoxicating combination that she becomes immediately fearful of losing. In the midst of spirited protests and rising violence, Kaya bears witness to vast human suffering while experiencing profound joy. It is time to make a choice. Kaya knows if she chooses love this time, she will betray everything she has claimed to believe in. If she is willing to do that, can Kaya truly be loved by the person she most desires?
Told through the lens of urban myths, accounts of past lovers, bared confessions and half-truths that make up Kaya’s world, The Girl Who Kept Falling in Love dives deep into the futilities of being attached to global aspiration and fighting institutionalized hate while chasing a universal need for love and acceptance.
A Touch of Eternity || Durjoy Datta
Born on the same day and at the same time, Druvan and Anvesha know they are soulmates in every sense of the word. Their parents, however, refuse to accept their ‘togetherness’ at first and try to tear them apart. Druvan and Anvesha hold on to each other against all odds.
In the same timeline, the world is on the brink of a major scientific breakthrough that could make reincarnation possible.
This is an opportunity for the two to prove their love and to tell the world that it is love that can make the impossible, possible.
Druvan and Anvesha participate in the experiment as if their life depends on it, because it does. Will the dream of a man to control love and life come true? And when the time comes, can one stay true to their soulmate?
If It’s Not Forever It’s Not Love || Durjoy Datta, Nikita Singh
To the everlasting power of love . . . When Deb, an author and publisher, survives the bomb blasts at Chandni Chowk, he knows his life is nothing short of a miracle. And though he escapes with minor injuries, he is haunted by the images and voices that he heard on that unfortunate day. Even as he recovers, his feet take him to where the blasts took place. From the burnt remains he discovers a diary. It seems to belong to a dead man who was deeply in love with a girl. As he reads the heartbreaking narrative, he knows that this story must never be left incomplete. Thus begins Deb’s journey with his girlfriend, Avantika, and his best friend, Shrey, to hand over the diary to the man’s beloved. Highly engrossing and powerfully told, If It’s Not Forever . . . tells an unforgettable tale of love and life.
Till the Last Breath || Durjoy Datta
When death is that close, will your heart skip a beat? Two patients are admitted to room no. 509. One is a brilliant nineteen-year-old medical student, suffering from an incurable, fatal disease. She counts every extra breath as a blessing. The other is a twenty-five-year-old drug addict whose organs are slowly giving up. He can’t wait to get rid of his body. To him, the sooner the better. Two reputed doctors, fighting their own demons from the past, are trying everything to keep these two patients alive, even putting their medical licences at risk. These last days in the hospital change the two patients, their doctors and all the other people around them in ways they had never imagined. Till the Last Breath is a deeply sensitive story that reminds us what it means to be alive.
Wish I Could Tell You || Durjoy Datta
A disillusioned and heartbroken Anusha finds herself in the small world of WeDonate.com. Struggling to cope with her feelings and the job of raising money for charity, she reluctantly searches for a worthwhile cause to support.
For Ananth, who has been on the opposite side, no life is less worthy, no cause too small to support.
Behind them are teams for whom going to extraordinary lengths to save lives is more than a full-time occupation. In front of them is the virtual world of social media-watching, interacting, judging, making choices, and sometimes, saving lives.
From the virtual to the real, their lives and that of their families, entangle in a way that moving together is the only solution. They can’t escape each other.
In this world of complicated relationships, should love be such a difficult ride?
Your Dreams are Mine Now || Ravinder Singh
‘It can’t be love . . .’ he thinks and immediately his heart protests
They are complete opposites! She’s a small-town girl who takes admission in Delhi University (DU). An idealist, studies are her first priority.He’s a Delhi guy, seriously into youth politics in DU. He fights to make his way. Student union elections are his first priority.
But then opposites attract as well!
A scandal on campus brings them together, they begin to walk the same path and somewhere along,
fall in love . . . But their fight against evil comes at a heavy price, which becomes the ultimate test of their lives. Against the backdrop of dominant campus politics, Your Dreams Are Mine Now is an innocent love story that will tug at your heartstrings.
It was Always You ||
Karan and Shruti are a happily married couple. Until Karan’s ex resurfaces into his life one day. Soon Karan finds himself getting nostalgic over matters of the heart and thinking fondly of his first romance. Will he put his steady and seemingly perfect marriage at stake for his ex-girlfriend?
Meanwhile his best friend Aditya finds his own relationship with his wife Jasmine going through an emotional turmoil. Will both friends work towards keeping their marriage afloat, or make a decision they would later regret?
You only live once || Stuti Changle
What if you ran away from your life today?
Twenty years later, three people are looking for you.
One is dying to meet you again.
The other wishes you had never met them.
The third wishes they could have met you at least once.
You are one person. Aren’t you? But you are not the same person to each of them.
Find the answers about your own life in this story about searching for love and discovering yourself. Join a broken but rising YouTube star Alara, a struggling but hopeful stand-up comedian Aarav, and a zany but zen beach shack owner Ricky. Together, take the journey to seek the truth behind the famous singer Elisha’s disappearance somewhere by the deep sea in Goa.
Will you be able to find Elisha? Or will you end up finding yourself?
Soft Animal || Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan
March 2020: Thirty-six-year-old Mallika Rao is largely insulated from the struggles of the millions fighting for their existence all over India. Instead, her Delhi flat and her husband threaten to imprison her as she searches for the confidence that has always eluded her. A rescue dog in her care provides more fulfilment than her husband, who is consumed by work and self-obsession, and she must also confront the universal challenges of having a woman’s body.
Soft Animal unfolds in urgent present tense with illuminating flashbacks, whip-smart dialogue and conspiratorial footnotes. Bringing the deftness of deadpan humour and the precision of meticulous social observation to the self-delusions of India’s privileged urban middle class, Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan’s latest channels an uncomfortably-and sometimes heartbreakingly-intimate experience of millennial marriage that is seldom portrayed but all too real.
Tiger Season || Gargi Rawat
Sunaina Joshi is a reporter with a leading news channel.
Her day-to-day work involves reporting on urban-centric, health-related issues; myriad subjects that bore her, leaving her jaded. Her real passion is a life in the great outdoors, and reporting on wildlife and the environment, something she is unable to do as often as she would like. Unexpectedly, a fabulous opportunity falls into her lap when her channel is commissioned to run a campaign on tiger conservation, featuring a Bollywood star who is trying to resurrect his image and career following a drug scandal.
Yusuf’s Fragrance || Mufti Mudasir, Mahmud Gami
It can be said of the 19th century Kashmiri poet, Mahmud Ga¯mi that he was a pioneer in introducing the Persian genres of the ghazal, nazm, masnavi and na¯t into Kashmiri. Mahmud Gami’s contribution to Kashmiri poetry is unique in both scope and depth. Not only is he the first truly prolific poet who has written entirely in the Kashmiri language, but much of his poetry also stands out for its beauty of expression and depth of thought, such as in the lyrical romance of Shireen Khusrau, Yusuf Zulaikha, and Layla Majnun. Yusuf’s Fragrance is both a celebration as well as an homage to Gami’s oeuvre. Through these beautiful verses, we explore themes of love, both physical and metaphysical, philosophy, folklore, and tradition through different narrative devices, such as nazms, masnavis, and vatsuns.
Kural || Tiruvalluvar
A celebrated work by the greatest poet of classical Tamil literature Tiruvalluvar probably lived and wrote between the second century BC and the eighth century AD though his dates have not been conclusively established. The work by which he is known, the Kural, comprises 1,330 couplets and is divided into three sections-Virtue, Wealth and Love-and is based on the first three of the four supreme aims prescribed by Hindu tradition: dharma (virtue), artha (wealth), kama (love) and moksha (salvation). Taken together, the three books of the Kural inform, criticize and teach the reader, in brilliantly styled and pithy verse, about life, love and the ways of the world. Translated and edited with an introduction by P.S. Sundaram
Appeasement of Radhika || Muddupalani, Muddupalani (Tr Sandhya Mulchandani)
An erotic narrative poem that explores desire and jealousy, love experienced and love lost, Radhika Santawanam is the most recognized work of nineteenth-century poet and courtesan Muddupalani.
Celebrated as a literary masterpiece in Muddupalani’s lifetime, Radhika Santawanam was banned by the British in 1910 when it was published again, a century and a half later, with critics panning its graphic descriptions of lovemaking. And, after another hundred years, this epic is now available in its entirety for the first time in English translation
Get ready to swoon, chuckle, and ponder with these heartwarming tales of love and romance. From chance encounters in paradise to relationships that make you go, “Hmm,” these stories will tickle your heart and leave you hungry for more.
World’s Best Girlfriend || Durjoy Datta
Daksh and Aanchal meet under improbable circumstances in the most unlikely of places-a posh resort in the Andamans. While Aanchal is fighting hard to escape the shackles of a lower middle-class existence, Daksh is aimless and unsure of what his future holds. Strangely, they are drawn to each other.
Four years later, when they meet again, Daksh’s world has crumbled around him. The burden of caring for his sick father and six-year-old sister has left him with little time for anything else. Yet, despite their diverging paths, Daksh and Aanchal find themselves reconnecting in unexpected ways. Their mutual attraction deepens.
Till now, fate has been pushing them together, but what will happen when they decide to take matters into their own hands? Will life be as they’ve imagined, or will destiny take even that away from them?
The Girl Who Kept Falling in Love || Rheea Mukherjee
When Kaya meets and falls deeply in love with a fellow activist from the very religious community the country is actively trying to erase, her twin purposes are miraculously aligned in an intoxicating combination that she becomes immediately fearful of losing. In the midst of spirited protests and rising violence, Kaya bears witness to vast human suffering while experiencing profound joy. It is time to make a choice. Kaya knows if she chooses love this time, she will betray everything she has claimed to believe in. If she is willing to do that, can Kaya truly be loved by the person she most desires?
Told through the lens of urban myths, accounts of past lovers, bared confessions and half-truths that make up Kaya’s world, The Girl Who Kept Falling in Love dives deep into the futilities of being attached to global aspiration and fighting institutionalized hate while chasing a universal need for love and acceptance.
A Touch of Eternity || Durjoy Datta
Born on the same day and at the same time, Druvan and Anvesha know they are soulmates in every sense of the word. Their parents, however, refuse to accept their ‘togetherness’ at first and try to tear them apart. Druvan and Anvesha hold on to each other against all odds.
In the same timeline, the world is on the brink of a major scientific breakthrough that could make reincarnation possible.
This is an opportunity for the two to prove their love and to tell the world that it is love that can make the impossible, possible.
Druvan and Anvesha participate in the experiment as if their life depends on it, because it does. Will the dream of a man to control love and life come true? And when the time comes, can one stay true to their soulmate?
If It’s Not Forever It’s Not Love || Durjoy Datta, Nikita Singh
To the everlasting power of love . . . When Deb, an author and publisher, survives the bomb blasts at Chandni Chowk, he knows his life is nothing short of a miracle. And though he escapes with minor injuries, he is haunted by the images and voices that he heard on that unfortunate day. Even as he recovers, his feet take him to where the blasts took place. From the burnt remains he discovers a diary. It seems to belong to a dead man who was deeply in love with a girl. As he reads the heartbreaking narrative, he knows that this story must never be left incomplete. Thus begins Deb’s journey with his girlfriend, Avantika, and his best friend, Shrey, to hand over the diary to the man’s beloved. Highly engrossing and powerfully told, If It’s Not Forever . . . tells an unforgettable tale of love and life.
Till the Last Breath || Durjoy Datta
When death is that close, will your heart skip a beat? Two patients are admitted to room no. 509. One is a brilliant nineteen-year-old medical student, suffering from an incurable, fatal disease. She counts every extra breath as a blessing. The other is a twenty-five-year-old drug addict whose organs are slowly giving up. He can’t wait to get rid of his body. To him, the sooner the better. Two reputed doctors, fighting their own demons from the past, are trying everything to keep these two patients alive, even putting their medical licences at risk. These last days in the hospital change the two patients, their doctors and all the other people around them in ways they had never imagined. Till the Last Breath is a deeply sensitive story that reminds us what it means to be alive.
Wish I Could Tell You || Durjoy Datta
A disillusioned and heartbroken Anusha finds herself in the small world of WeDonate.com. Struggling to cope with her feelings and the job of raising money for charity, she reluctantly searches for a worthwhile cause to support.
For Ananth, who has been on the opposite side, no life is less worthy, no cause too small to support.
Behind them are teams for whom going to extraordinary lengths to save lives is more than a full-time occupation. In front of them is the virtual world of social media-watching, interacting, judging, making choices, and sometimes, saving lives.
From the virtual to the real, their lives and that of their families, entangle in a way that moving together is the only solution. They can’t escape each other.
In this world of complicated relationships, should love be such a difficult ride?
Your Dreams are Mine Now || Ravinder Singh
‘It can’t be love . . .’ he thinks and immediately his heart protests
They are complete opposites! She’s a small-town girl who takes admission in Delhi University (DU). An idealist, studies are her first priority.He’s a Delhi guy, seriously into youth politics in DU. He fights to make his way. Student union elections are his first priority.
But then opposites attract as well!
A scandal on campus brings them together, they begin to walk the same path and somewhere along,
fall in love . . . But their fight against evil comes at a heavy price, which becomes the ultimate test of their lives. Against the backdrop of dominant campus politics, Your Dreams Are Mine Now is an innocent love story that will tug at your heartstrings.
It was Always You ||
Karan and Shruti are a happily married couple. Until Karan’s ex resurfaces into his life one day. Soon Karan finds himself getting nostalgic over matters of the heart and thinking fondly of his first romance. Will he put his steady and seemingly perfect marriage at stake for his ex-girlfriend?
Meanwhile his best friend Aditya finds his own relationship with his wife Jasmine going through an emotional turmoil. Will both friends work towards keeping their marriage afloat, or make a decision they would later regret?
You only live once || Stuti Changle
What if you ran away from your life today?
Twenty years later, three people are looking for you.
One is dying to meet you again.
The other wishes you had never met them.
The third wishes they could have met you at least once.
You are one person. Aren’t you? But you are not the same person to each of them.
Find the answers about your own life in this story about searching for love and discovering yourself. Join a broken but rising YouTube star Alara, a struggling but hopeful stand-up comedian Aarav, and a zany but zen beach shack owner Ricky. Together, take the journey to seek the truth behind the famous singer Elisha’s disappearance somewhere by the deep sea in Goa.
Will you be able to find Elisha? Or will you end up finding yourself?
Step into the colorful streets of Kodai, where a bright red cotton sari sets the scene for an intimate journey in Sakina’s Kiss by Vivek Shanbhag and translated by Srinath Perur. A casual conversation over tea unveils stories, secrets, and a budding connection between two souls.
Read this exclusive excerpt that beautifully captures the essence of human connection and the power of shared moments in an ever-changing world.
Sakina’s Kiss || Vivek Shanbhag
***
That evening we aimlessly roamed the streets of Kodai. Viji was wearing a bright red cotton sari with a green border. As we went up and down the inclines, I told her how, the year I joined work, I went to Mumbai for a week-long management course. A man named Tiwari was one of the speakers, and some of us had gathered around him in the tea-break after his lecture. When I learnt his talk had been based on a book called Another World, I asked him, stupidly, where the book was available. I don’t know what he thought, but he drew a copy of the book from his bag, placed it in my hands, said ‘good luck’ and left.
I started reading it that very evening. The other world of the book was the office, and it felt like every workplace problem described in it was taken from my own office. For someone like me, who came from a village, the office had become a place of silent dread. There were foreign clients to deal with, MBAs who held everything from the west as sacred. I felt suffocated without being able to say why. This book, and then others like it, helped me. With their pages as my wings, it felt like I could fly over everything that troubled me at work. As I immersed myself in book after book, I found that the things I read in them came back to me when I found myself in those situations. Not just that, I actually heard these parts in Tiwari’s voice. ‘You know,’ I said to Viji. ‘His voice is deep and serious, perfect for a guru.’
I explained to Viji that Tiwari had entered my life at a time when I was struggling even to talk to my colleagues. On the few occasions I worked up the courage to tell them I was feeling out of place, they looked at me kindly and brushed it off saying, ‘Don’t take these things so seriously.’ There was nothing in common between me and those who had grown up in the city. If they brought up the music of their youth and mentioned Metallica or Judas Priest, I would simply go quiet. ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ Viji said. ‘You didn’t know those bands They’re not bad. But then, why should you have heard of them…’
I felt a little uneasy that she knew about that kind of music. But I also noticed that Viji paid attention to the smallest details when I told her about my life and ended up taking my side. I was overcome with affection. I yearned to unburden all my secrets to her. When I sensed Viji was willing to let me into her world, I asked, ‘Which was your first book?’
‘It was called Talk to Me. It’s about having conversations with oneself. But it will take me a long time to tell my story. It begins in childhood.’
‘What’s the rush? You can go on all day and all night if you want. I am here to listen.’
When Viji started, we were standing below a tree at a roadside teashop, her face dappled by the evening sun. Her hair was in a loose bun, held in place by a large clip. Her brown lips and the marks left by long-ago acne stood out in this light. Her nose was enticingly rounded at its tip. And how sexy a slight overbite is! She only had to part her lips a fraction to look desirable. I watched mesmerized every time she took a sip of tea and her lips moved to meet the rim of the cup. The ardour of a new marriage magnifies everything. I saw her upper lip rest on the cup’s rim, test the tea’s temperature, and then advance with a gentle quiver to take a sip. Unable to help myself, I said, ‘Hand me your cup for a second.’
‘Why?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘I’ll tell you, give it to me.’
I placed my half-empty cup on the shop’s counter, took her cup in my right hand, turned it round to where her lips had touched the cup’s rim, took a lingering sip and said, ‘Ah! So good!’
She had caught on by now. She said, teasingly, ‘What are you doing?’
I rolled my eyes coyly, said, ‘Nothing at all,’ and handed her back the cup.
Viji plunged into her story with enthusiasm. ‘You won’t believe it,’ she said. ‘But I used to talk to my self all the time as a child.’ She told me how she used to come home from school at four in the afternoon and have the house to herself until her mother returned from work at five. During this hour she stood in front of her mother’s dressing table mirror and talked to herself, complete with gestures and expressions. She would make faces, roar with laughter, abuse classmates she did not get along with. ‘You know, one day I tried to imitate the dances I had seen in films. I even took my clothes off and tossed them here and there,’ she said, laughing.
***
Get your copy of Sakina’s Kiss by Vivek Shanbhag wherever books are sold.
Unlucky Aanchal turns the tables in Durjoy Datta‘s latest novel World’s Best Girlfriend. Winning a Mahindra Holidays trip to the Andamans could finally break her streak of bad luck and misfortune, but what happens when a charismatic stranger enters the scene? Get ready for a ride of fate, love, and unexpected twists!
Read this exclusive excerpt to know more about the meet-cute (or is it meet-not-so-cute?) You decide!
World’s Best Girlfriend || Durjoy Datta
***
Three months ago, a Mahindra Holidays employee had hounded me at Big Bazaar to fill up a contest form: One Lucky Winner Gets a Fully Paid Vacation to the Andamans!
We, the Madans, never fill out contest forms because we are the exact opposite of lucky. Everything we touch turns to ashes. It’s as if God didn’t shuffle the card deck before dealing them to us. All we got were cards of humiliation, frustration, despair and hunger.
A year after I was born, Papa’s new shop—Aanchal Stationery—closed down. A few months later, a tree fell on his scooter.
When I was three, Maa fell down while bathing me and has three crooked toes and a slightly unbalanced walk to remind her of that.
My younger brother’s birth was supposed to change the tide. He, too, failed. When I was four, I stepped on my brother’s hand and broke two of his fingers. He made it worse in the following months by getting sick too often and draining money on antibiotics, injections and visits to the emergency ward.
When I was eight, Papa’s second store—now named Ankit Stationery—shut shop.
Our family turned to religion. The pandits said, Griha bhari hain, once the stars align, we will bathe in cold and sleep in silk. Poojas and havans, rings on our fingers, lockets on our necks didn’t change our fortunes.
When religion didn’t work, we turned to academics. It was our last bastion: luck could be broken by the surety of mathematics, science, geography. For six years, I stood second in class and missed out on the school scholarship.
Maa’s stitching business lost money.
Papa got beaten up after his tuition students failed.
We lost our savings in the bank scam.
Mobiles were snatched from our hands.
We never once won anything in a contest or on a scratch card.
Until this Mahindra Holidays vacation.
Only because I filled up that form. I saw the resort on the pamphlet. I saw the people in the images. It was everything I wanted.
Our conversation is cut short by a boy’s compelling, booming voice.
‘Amit, Daksh here, it’s my first time with Mahindra Holidays. I’m so glad you’re trying to get the rooms ready for us. We really appreciate that,’ he says in his gravelly, husky voice. ‘But we have some old people in the group with low blood sugar, and my sister is too young to be waiting this long.’
His voice is deep, like it’s coming from inside a cave. It reverberates inside my rib cage even though he’s ten yards away from me. I stand on my toes to get a good look at him, but all I can see is his floppy hair.
‘I understand—’
‘You absolutely don’t, Amit, or you would have given us a correct time estimate earlier. Now, one of two things is going to happen. Either all of us are going to the restaurant and we’ll have a long, leisurely breakfast for free till you get things sorted here, or all of us are going to post reviews on Tripadvisor and Google with heartbreaking images to go with it. I promise you, Amit, I will make the old people lie down here and photograph them as if they are dying.’
The confused crowd mumbles in agreement.
Amit’s smile slowly disappears and a frown settles in.
He tells the group that he will talk to the management and get back to us in fifteen minutes. It doesn’t take him that long.
‘The restaurant is straight ahead and then right,’ Amit informs us dryly, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm. ‘Mahindra Holidays is always working to deliver your best vacation.’
Free breakfast.
Maa squeezes my arm excitedly.
‘That boy’s clever,’ whispers Maa.
‘Not clever,’ I respond. ‘Just rich. Had I paid for this vacation, I would have fought too.’
‘You just said we deserve to be here, Didi,’ taunts Ankit. ‘You could have fought. Instead, you were very happily having welcome drinks.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Maybe our luck’s changing,’ says Papa, brightly.
I shake my head to warn him. Papa is the only optimist among the four of us, even though he has suffered from the legendary bad luck of the Madans the most. He should know better than anyone that whenever things seem to go our way, something goes wrong. Over the years, we have learned to not laugh a lot, or allow ourselves to be very happy. The law of averages works against us.
We follow the hotel staff to the restaurant. That’s when I see the boy for the first time. He’s in a loose black T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. His hair is glorious, falling over his ears. He is the colour of wet sand, his jawline is jagged, and he has a high forehead. He’s handsome in a way boys are when they are just turning into men. I first think he’s carrying a bag in his hand. When I look closely, I see it’s a little girl. He’s carrying her like a sack, and she’s bobbing, giggling and squealing happily in his grip. He’s carrying her as though she weighs nothing. When he turns, I see his eyes. There’s a sense of surety in them, a sense of danger, a sense of entitlement and definitely, arrogance.
***
Get your copy of World’s Best Girlfriend by Durjoy Datta wherever books are sold.
Anurag Garg studied to be an engineer but was destined to be a writer. He found his forte in writing by putting random thoughts in the form of a heartfelt story. The bestselling author of A Half-Baked Love Story and Love . . . Not for Sale, he is back with another enigmatic tale of friendship and redeeming power of love called Love Will Find A Way. Here are 9 things you probably didn’t know about the bestselling author: Mountains calling! Aren’t we all? The Storyteller Wow! Next time the Indian cricket team qualifies for a final, you know where to be. Aww! Woah! Heart-melting!
Adorable!
How many of these facts did you know about the Anurag Garg?
Anurag Garg is the bestselling author of A Half-Baked Love Story and Love Not for Sale. Here is an excerpt from his latest novel Love Will Find A Way. 10 July 2016 New Delhi Railway Station As soon as the delayed train reached the platform, passengers rushed to board. We quickened our pace as clouds began to gather in the sky. Looking up, I saw insidious grey encroaching on the blue expanse. The city was ready to welcome its first rain. As the first few drops fell, we entered the carriage along with the other disgruntled passengers. When we found our berth, Gitanjali grabbed the window seat, as always, and asked me to buy a bottle of water from one of the stalls in the platform after placing our luggage in the overhead bin. I gave her an exasperated look. She looked outside as raindrops began to trickle down the window pane. She was wearing a pair of skinny black jeans and a turquoise T-shirt. Her warm chestnut hair rested on her neck and her long eyelashes swept alluringly against her rouged cheeks, from time to time. ‘Get me a packet of chips, too.’ She thoroughly enjoyed it when I catered to her every need, especially when we were on vacation. Three years into our relationship and we still bickered like teenagers! I handed her the requested goods while she plugged in her headphones. I rummaged through my bag to find my neck pillow and settled down with my Saadat Hasan Manto book as the train pulled out of the station. There was a couple with two children in the seats next to us. We exchanged smiles as a man selling tea came our way. They attempted to engage me in small talk even though I tried to keep to myself and buried my head in my book. Gitanjali, however, adores making conversation. With her legs folded under her and her hands gesturing wildly, her face glows when she narrates one of her tales. She began talking to the couple and playing with the kids. It made me immeasurably happy seeing her bright eyes and animated smile. The TTE came to check our tickets. ‘They’re on your phone,’ I said to her, as she continued playing with the little boy. ‘No, they’re not with me, Anurag,’ she said, her attention focused on playfully tickling the boy, oblivious to the TTE who was breathing down our necks. She turned to me when the little boy suddenly started crying. ‘Were you asking for the tickets?’ she asked as she showed the TTE the IRCTC message on her phone. I heaved a sigh and said, ‘Thank you, madam!’ Gitanjali just smiled and began consoling the wailing kid. She had this uncanny ability to comfort those around her. Just as the train left the Anand Vihar station, I went to the toilet to change into comfortable clothes for the long journey ahead since mine were slightly wet from the rain. On returning to our compartment, I saw a beautiful middle-aged woman sitting there, dressed in a floral knee-length kurta and smart trousers. I presumed she had boarded at Anand Vihar. The woman wore spectacles and had green eyes, just like Gitanjali. As she smiled at me, I was struck by an eerie feeling, as though I somehow knew her. Most of the passengers were going to their hometowns for the summer vacations, whereas some of them, like us, were going to Nainital on holiday. We had to get off the train at Haldwani, which was the closest town to Nainital, from where we had to take a taxi or bus to reach the hill station. I gazed at the scenic vistas as the train trundled through the countryside. In Amroha, we saw farmers harvesting crops and cows grazing in the paddy fields. Little huts made of bamboo and mud dotted the scenes that rushed by. Gitanjali nudged me as I wrote down the plot points for my next book. ‘Have you decided on the theme of the story?’ she inquired loudly. ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about something . . . but I’m not sure. I want my character’s motives and emotions to be driven by some sort of psychological disorder.’ My words drew the attention of the beautiful woman and she looked up curiously from her book.
Professor, author, screenwriter, Erich Segal’s words were known for winning hearts. While he taught us about the beauty and magic of true love, he also articulated the pain of heartbreak and loss like no one else could. His books are time travelling machines, taking you on journeys into strangers’ lives, helping you figuring out your own.
On his birthday, here are six times he taught us about love, life and everything in between: When he reminded us that true love cannot be lost. When he defined the complications of life so easily. The time we learnt that no one is perfect. When he taught us the simple trick of true love. When he perfectly captured the world around us in one simple sentence. When he dared to show us the sad reality.
His words never fail to make us feel alive and fall in love, over and over again. If you haven’t yet read any of his books, just pick your favourite quote and start with that book! So, which magical world are you going to travel to today?
1 January 1999 Hey Raghu Ganguly (that’s me), I am finally putting pen to paper. The scrunch of the sheets against the fanged nib, the slow absorption of the ink, seeing these unusually curved letters, is definitely satisfying; I’m not sure if writing journal entries to myself like a schizophrenic is the answer I’m looking for. But I have got to try. My head’s dizzy from riding on the sinusoidal wave that has been my life for the last two years. On most days I look for ways to die—the highest building around my house, the sharpest knife in the kitchen, the nearest railway station, a chemist shop that would unquestioningly sell twenty or more sleeping pills to a sixteen-year-old, a packet of rat poison—and on some days I just want to be scolded by Maa–Baba for not acing the mathematics exam, tell Dada how I will beat his IIT score by a mile, or be laughed at for forgetting to take the change from the bania’s shop. I’m Raghu and I have been lying to myself and everyone around me for precisely two years now. Two years since my best friend of four years died, one whose friendship I thought would outlive the two of us, engraved forever in the space– time continuum. But, as I have realized, nothing lasts forever. Now lying to others is fine, everyone does that and it’s healthy and advisable—how else are you going to survive the suffering in this cruel, cruel world? But lying to yourself? That shit’s hard, that will change you, and that’s why I made the resolution to start writing a journal on the first of this month, what with the start of a new year and all, the last of this century. I must admit I have been dilly-dallying for a while now and not without reason. It’s hard to hide things in this house with Maa’s sensitive nose never failing to sniff out anything Dada, Baba or I have tried to keep from her. If I were one of those kids who live in palatial houses with staircases and driveways I would have plenty of places to hide this journal, but since I am not, it will have to rest in the loft behind the broken toaster, the defunct Singer sewing machine and the empty suitcases. So Raghu, let’s not lie to ourselves any longer, shall we? Let’s say the truth, the cold, hard truth and nothing else, and see if that helps us to survive the darkness. If this doesn’t work and I lose, checking out of this life is not hard. It’s just a seven-storey drop from the roof top, a quick slice of the wrist, a slip on the railway track, a playful ingestion of pills or the accidental consumption of rat poison away. But let’s try and focus on the good. Durga. Durga. 12 January 1999 Today was my first day at the new school, just two months before the start of the tenth-standard board exams. Why Maa– Baba chose to change my school in what’s said to be one of the most crucial year in anyone’s academic life is amusing to say the least—my friendlessness. ‘If you don’t make friends now, then when will you?’ Maa said. They thought the lack of friends in my life was my school’s problem and had nothing to do with the fact that my friend had been mysteriously found dead, his body floating in the still waters of the school swimming pool. He was last seen with me. At least that’s what my classmates believe and say. Only I know the truth. When Dada woke me up this morning, hair parted and sculpted to perfection with Brylcreem, teeth sparkling, talcum splotches on his neck, he was grinning from ear to ear. Unlike me he doesn’t have to pretend to be happy. Isn’t smiling too much a sign of madness? He had shown the first symptoms when he picked a private-sector software job over a government position in a Public Sector. Undertaking which would have guaranteed a lifetime of unaccountability. Dada may be an IITian but he’s not the smarter one of us. ‘Are you excited about the new school, Raghu? New uniform, new people, new everything? Of course you’re excited! I never quite liked your old school. You will make new friends here,’ said Dada with a sense of happiness I didn’t feel. ‘Sure. If they don’t smell the stench of death on me.’ ‘Oh, stop it. It’s been what? Over two years? You know how upset Maa–Baba get,’ said Dada. ‘Trust me, you will love your new school! And don’t talk about Sami at the breakfast table.’ ‘I was joking, Dada. Of course I am excited!’ I said, mimicking his happiness. Dada falls for these lies easily because he wants to believe them. Like I believed Maa–Baba when they once told me, ‘We really liked Sami. He’s a nice boy.’ Sami, the dead boy, was never liked by Maa–Baba. For Baba it was enough that his parents had chosen to give the boy a Muslim name. Maa had more valid concerns like his poor academic performance, him getting caught with cigarettes in his bag, and Sami’s brother being a school dropout. Despite all the love they showered on me in the first few months after Sami’s death, I thought I saw what could only be described as relief that Sami, the bad influence, was no longer around. Now they use his name to their advantage. ‘Sami would want you to make new friends,’ they would say. I let Maa feed me in the morning. It started a few days after Sami’s death and has stuck ever since. Maa’s love for me on any given day is easily discernible from the size of the morsels she shoves into my mouth. Today the rice balls and mashed potatoes were humungous. She watched me chew like I was living art. And I ate because I believe the easiest way to fool anyone into not looking inside and finding that throbbing mass of sadness is to ingest food. A person who eats well is not truly sad. While we ate, Baba lamented the pathetic fielding placement of the Indian team and India’s questionable foreign policy simultaneously.
‘These bloody Musalmans, these filthy Pakistanis! They shoot our soldiers…
