#mumbai drag

[dragkingsrule]

Mx. Stallion, Mumbai-based drag king

Image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

Artist links: Instagram

[romanceyourdemons]

fanfiction where a young actor gets a bullet through his calf as he flees zhenjiang, and even though the musketball passed cleanly through and even though he somehow managed to avoid infection, he has to walk the whole way to his family home in the country on his own two feet, and by the time he gets there the leg has healed wrong. he had had a promising career—he was called the best dan actor in the city—but it hardly matters that he will never be able to walk onstage again. who has time for opera with british soldiers crawling around everywhere like flies? this is what he tells himself as he endures his aching leg and calluses his hands working on his family’s tea farm: picking the leaves, bruising them, roasting them, packing them into cakes, stacking the cakes carefully in wagons to take to the merchant. but the merchant tells the family he cannot pay them for their harvest right now. with all this chaos, who’s buying? he’s acting with compassion to take these wares off their hands at all. all right, very well, for the sake of their poor sick grandfather he can spare ten strings of cash—but that’s coming straight out of the mouths of his children. and it is true that he has been operating in the red for years, but not because he cannot sell his tea. his mother has been addicted to opium for years, and he cannot bear seeing her in withdrawal pains, and he has a small addiction himself it’s not important, and in any case every copper coin he gets from the east india company is not quite enough to cover what the dapper opium smuggler demands. so he sends off the load of tea cakes in exchange for a box of opium, and the tea gets loaded onto a ship by an old man who speaks english well enough but has never yet dreamed in it, because all his dreams are of his vanished childhood in mumbai. it’s loaded off of the ship by a coughing teenager who does not even remember what galway looks like, and it’s stored in a warehouse that an eight-fingered sex worker likes to work near, because after ten years in the mill she can’t hear nothing but ringing and her eyesight grows worse by the day, and nice smells are the only beautiful thing she can have anymore. and hundreds of miles away more money than any of these people will ever know changes hands, and the tea cakes get loaded into another ship where they sit for years as generations of rats live out quiet lives and conscripts share what warmth they can amid the dusty fragrance, and then they’re dragged out into the polar sunlight and captain james fitzjames, who does not even know he ruined that young actor’s leg all those years ago, orders them abandoned on the ice

[srbachchan]

DAY 5888

Jalsa, Mumbai Apr 1/2, 2024 Mon/Tue 10:06 AM

.. late as usual .. but got in late from the game IPL .. MI v RR .. and disappointed at MI loss , so grieved and retired .. but now ready for another day and another living ..

the information machine of the modern times is a powerful tool in your hands ..

hands used to be the symbolic expression of expectation, work, labour, effort .. in my early days the expression often used was :

अब सब कुछ अपने हाथ में है, या अब सब कुछ तुम्हारे हाथ में है !

" now everything thing is in our hands, or in your hands .."

but how true in reality has it become ..

from symbolic to the reality of the present .. the MOBILE !

everything in our hands .. EVERYTHING .. connect , advice, meaning , reference ... ALL ..

what the World has become .. and the fortune of one that has lived for over 80 years to have had the experience of .. THEN and NOW !

THEN is now a metaphor .. NOW a practical reality .. achieved and functioning .. the hope of the yesteryear , now present in form and operational ..

Had dreamt THEN .. come true NOW ..

The World changeth .. the order changeth .. the thinking changeth ..

where to from here .. not in my time though, but shall be seen and experienced by the next generation .. the progeny of our next ..

What shall their thinking be .. their experience, compared to the past .. they may never compare .. as is often the refrain heard from this GEN ..

'that was then , now it's this' ..

they do not want to be dragged back - they look ahead to the NEXT ..

May the AHEAD be even more evolved and in beneficial in living thinking and prosperity ..

We can just pray for it now in our limited time ..

That is how it has been .. that is how it shall be ..

My love 🚩❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[allamericanfinalgirl]

(TW; Assault, Sexual Harassment)

(PART TWO)

“Good Morning.”

A dark-haired young man wrapped his hands with tape as he listened to the news anchor on the kaleidoscope of multicolored TV screens bearing the morning news.

“This is Ari Arya with Mumbai in the Morning, and it’s about time you fell in love with something that will love you back.”

In the dingy back rooms of an underground arena, the fighters prepared for their matches in various ways, shadowboxing in the corner and rubbing chalky powder on their biceps and hands.

A fighter who went by ‘The Kid’ preferred watching the news, even if it was a doom viewing of the state of the world as of late.

But Ari Arya somehow had a way of making the worst of life work out.

In a pink and white gingham skirt, long, curled hair, and a bright sheen of lip gloss, Ari was quickly becoming the city’s TV sweetheart.

“And that, my friends, is the news.” Kid liked Ari’s Bengal accent; it added a unique lilt to her pronunciation that he was obsessed with. “It doesn't judge you, and neither will I.” If the side of his face wasn’t throbbing, Kid would have smiled.

-

Blood sprayed the tarp-covered floor; Kid grunted and rolled with the impact when his back hit the exposed springs and splintered wood. The wind got knocked from his lungs. ‘Fuck!’ He hissed through his mask, popping to his feet, only to be knocked back down again with three times the force.

A plum hoodie caught Kid’s eye as he went down. Normally, it wouldn’t have mattered, but it was in a shade and style uncommon to his area of the city.

Ari had heard whispers of an illegal underground ring in Yatana: a fighter in a black monkey mask coined ‘The Beast.’ His arms, chest, and bandaged hands were smeared with chalk.

Men were fighting in the streets to earn their pay, women and their children treated like second class citizens, the elderly begging for food and sleeping on benches.

Ari didn’t think it was fair, how she was forced to zip around the news station with a stack of papers and coffees, forced to give every man that pinched her thighs and made lewd comments a bubbly smile as they tugged on the curled end of her ponytail.

Ari wanted to tear back the technicolor curtain and make a change for the better for her city. It was unfair how the elite got to recline back in their high rises under the guise of “spiritual leading” and other shady goings on.

The sound of the crowd chanting; “KILL The Beast, KILL The Beast!” Echoing the arena as The Beast went down, Ari had to cover her ears from the sound of his pained cries as he was beaten down into the floor.

After a countdown, The Beast rolled off the mat and landed hard on the ground, breaking a table underneath him as he fell.

Coughing up blood through his mask, Kid dragged himself through the dirt floor until he could crawl to his feet and limp away while the crowd booed and jeered at him, wincing at the rotten food and cigars thrown into his path.

So, there Ari was, following an illegal underground fighter as he limped down the basement tunnels of the arena. The Beast did not remove his mask once, even as he left the arena and embraced the humid Yatana air.

In Ari’s effort to remain unseen, she trailed too far behind The Beast and lost him in the maze of alleyways. It wasn’t the first time this had happened; on the bright side, she was getting closer to finding his place of residency.

Kid winced as he took a running start, jumping up, hooking his bruised and bloodied fingers around the rungs of the fire escape. He pulled himself up with a pained grunt, to the first platform, and began to climb the iron bars to the top of the building. Like always, he disappeared over the edge.

Ari sighed and tugged on the front of her hoodie in frustration, turning to go back the way she came when her blood ran cold; A man, blocking her from street view.

Kid was stretching on a rooftop when he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream muffled, followed by the shuffling of feet and a thump. Kid’s feet moved fast, dropping down from the building, back into the alley below.

The plum hoodie was on the ground next to a broken phone; Kid followed the trail to a man surrounding a young woman.

Kid clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his wounds reopening as he walked up from behind and yanked the man into the shadows.

Shouts in Hindi echoed in the dark, with the sound of sick, wet blows to the face and body.

Ari watched the silhouette of a masked man as he lifted her assailant off of his feet and slammed him head-first into the pavement.

The man scrambled to his feet and swung out at The Beast, only angering The Monkey Man further as he snapped his head back to avoid the strike to the throat.

His rage back with a vengeance; Before the assailant had a chance to recover, The Beast had managed his time window to send an elbow into his face, rocking his body just enough to use the momentum.

Unlike this man who relied on brute strength to incapacitate his weaker victims, Kid was used to fighting bigger opponents.

The Beast snarled at the assailant and pounded on his chest. Realizing that fighting The Beast or robbing the girl wasn’t worth it, he retreated down the alley, leaving Ari alone with The Beast.

“Please!” She held her scratched and bloodied arms up. “I-“ Ari realized she didn’t want to beg for her life.

Climbing to her feet, Ari felt a sudden wave of nausea when The Beast turned away. Even with the mask on, he shielded his eyes as she pulled her torn shirt to cover herself.

“Are you hurt?” The Beast’s voice was muffled through his mask, hands trembling and dripping with blood.

“I can point you to a nearby clinic.” He was shaking with rage at what the man had nearly done to the young woman; Blonde hair plastered to her face in a mix of rainwater and blood from a cut upon her forehead.

If he hadn’t saved her, what would have happened? Ari noticed The Beast clenching and unclenching his fists, a perfect picture of a tense young man.

“I understand if you want to go and find the authorities, but I want to clean you up.” She felt heat rise in her face, and she sensed he had realized his accidental implication. “Sorry-“

“Okay.” Ari sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as The Beast retreated in the shadows and returned with her plum hoodie folded up in his hands, her belongings placed gently atop it.

“Thank you.” She whispered, taken aback by his gentleness as The Beast took her back to the fire escape, grunting as he pulled the ladder to the pavement and gestured for Ari to climb.

Guiding Ari to the top of the building, Kid cast a cautionary glance around before driving his shoulder into the fire escape door, guiding Ari inside to a tiny room he had made up inside. A mattress with blankets strewn about, a tiny radio, and cans of discarded food.

Lifting the mattress, Kid swiped away a magazine cover of Ari he kept folded up and pulled out a first aid kit, wetting a piece of fabric with a water bottle before gently wiping the blood from Ari’s face, neck, arms, and legs.

“I���m sorry.” He murmured, running a bandaged thumb over a scar on her forearm. “God will see those men pay for their sins.”

‘A Religious?’ It wasn’t unheard of in India. Ari found herself thinking it was unfair to assume The Beast wasn’t a man of God because he let himself get the hell beaten out of him by men twice his size all hours of the evening.

“Thank you for saving my life.” Ari began to open her purse, searching for money to give him, when he gently placed a hand atop her own.

“I don’t need charity.” The Beast murmured, shaking his head as he applied anesthetic to her forehead, “I need your word.”

Ari swore she could see big brown eyes staring intensely through the eyes of The Monkey Man’s mask. “You never saw me. We never met. The arena does not exist.” Ari closed her eyes in disappointment; if she did, that meant no story.

“I can’t.” She shook her head resolutely, holding her chin up high. “India deserves to know what its people are resorting to to get by. Beating each other to bloody pulps for an earning, is that what we’ve come to? Behaving like-“

“Beasts?” The masked man finished, his voice low and even. “We could help each other.” Ari offered, throwing all her cards on the table and cautioning against the wind.

“Tell me your story.” The journalist side of her leapt out, despite her near-death experience.

Staring at each other, a silent but furious conversation between Ari and The Beast ensued through tense looks and clenched fists. ‘Fuck It.’

The Monkey Man acquiesced.

“What do you want to know?” Despite the traumatic experience, Ari felt a hopeful smile tug at the corner of her lips as she held up a small, hand-held recorder.

The Beast watched Ari click the device and a red light began to blink.

‘Recording.’

“Tell me everything.” Ari recorded hours of conversation, and when she finished it was daybreak. Despite his protests, Ari left behind money for The Beast.

As Ari began to gather her things, she didn’t notice Kid slyly nick her lip gloss and travel-size flute of perfume.

“I can’t thank you enough.” They stood together under a street lamp. “Anyway,” Ari bit her lip, wishing he would remove his mask.

Nodding to each other, Ari and The Beast were desperate not to tear their gaze away from one another.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

-

Ari stared dead-eyed ahead. Nothing on the planet was worse than the sound of her male colleagues' voices bouncing off one another, singing each other’s praises.

“Smile!” One of the older executives insisted, tugging at the corner of Ari’s lips with his sausage-like fingers.

It was a sick affair. Ari had gotten looped with an upper-level executive who set his sights on her from day one and would not let up. Now, it was either attending every menial event on the arm of the executive or losing her job.

‘Kings’ was the tower club that rose above the Mumbai skyline. Ari hated it there, how the other women were exploited like caged animals for the men to toy with, how much opulence overflowed from the tower in the form of drugs, sex, and money.

Ari had spent enough time at ‘King’s’ to notice the change in staff.

Raven hair that was curly in almost a prince-like way, large, unmistakably scarred hands; Wide brown eyes that held a lost look as if he were searching for his Mother in the market, but almost as if…He was letting the world see that.

Almost as if he were hiding something.

‘Bobby.’ Read his name tag; Ari scrunched her nose at that, if it was the right setting, she would have laughed.

“You don’t look like a ‘Bobby’.” It must’ve been the champagne the studio exec insisted Ari try, or otherwise she would not have said that comment aloud.

The waiter stared at her intently, as if he had seen her before.

Ari was perplexed before realizing he probably recognized her from the news, and then embarrassment snuck into her demeanor from being caught in such a place.

“She’s a pretty face!” Ari’s studio executive excused her comment with a laugh, painfully squishing her cheeks between his fingers.

It took everything in Kid not to break the man’s arm in two. “Excuse me.”

The waiter made himself scarce; Ari’s dark eyes surveilled him like a hawk as she watched him disappear through the kitchen’s double doors. “Excuse me.” She said as well, primly dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I need to powder my nose.”

Heels clicking echoed in the alley, The Kid’s head snapped up, dark brown eyes locking on an angel from on high. “Hello.”

Shooting to his feet, Bobby’s cheeks were red, hiding his hands behind his back.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Bobby tried to sidestep Ari and return to his job when she stopped him with a small hand against his broad chest. “Wait!” She dug into the tiny pink clutch that ‘The Beast’ had returned to her the evening before. “Can I ask your point of view, working here at the King’s?”

Bobby stared mutely at the recording device in the palm of her hand. “I know you could lose your job and I don’t want to jeopardize your position here.” She hated how hard it was to look professional in a pink mini-dress and high heels made by a man who hated women.

Ari felt her heart drop when Bobby mutely shook his head ‘No.’ She could see he was apologetic.

Bobby gestured for Ari to go back inside, but she only frowned dejectedly. “Don’t make me go back in there.”

It was like a shark tank and Ari was a tiny fish staring up at their grinning barbed teeth.

“Please.” She begged, tears filling her brown eyes.

Sighing, Kid disappeared through the kitchen doors, leaving her alone.

Surprised, Ari hugged herself as she looked around the alley, tear-filled eyes landing on a tiny yellow dog that had trotted into view.

“Hyālō praṇaẏī. (Hello Sweetheart).” Ari cooed, kneeling and holding out her palm for the dog’s tiny brown nose to sniff at.

The kitchen doors swung open and Bobby came down the steps with a tiny plate. “I told them a waiter spilled wine on you, you’re in the coat room getting cleaned up.” He said, handing her a slice of chocolate cake he had nicked from the dessert cooler.

“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

Ari snorted and gave Bobby a sidelong glance. “I’m afraid of everything.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, resisting the slice of cake for precisely two seconds before swiping her finger through the frosting. “I’m not allowed to be afraid if I want this career.”

“What are you afraid of?” The Kid smirked at that, rubbing his jawline, letting the mask slip.

“You ask a lot of questions.” He picked a chocolate chip off the cake and popped it in his mouth. There was something about the look on his face that said ‘You don’t want to know the things I’m afraid of.’

“Anyways. Someone has to do it. Because if I don’t; who will?” Bobby looked at Ari with hollow eyes.

‘Someone hurt you.’ Ari glanced at his hands, burn marks scarred his large palms, she wondered what they would feel like against her skin.

“Tell me one thing then,” Ari’s pink press on nail pushed on the little gold name tag pinned to his chest. “Bobby, why are you here?”

“I’m returning a favor.”

[homosexuhauls]

By Vidya Krishnan

GOA, India — My niece was just 4 years old when she turned to my sister-in-law in a packed movie theater in Mumbai and asked about gang rape for the first time.

We were watching the latest Bollywood blockbuster about vigilante justice, nationalistic fervor and, of course, gang rape. Four male characters seized the hero’s sister and dragged her away. “Where are they taking Didi?” my niece asked, using the Hindi word for “elder sister.” It was dark, but I could still make out her tiny forehead, furrowed with concern.

Didi’s gang rape took place offscreen, but it didn’t need to be shown. As instinctively as a newborn fawn senses the mortal danger posed by a fox, little girls in India sense what men are capable of.

You may wonder, “Why take a 4-year-old to such a movie?” But there is no escaping India’s rape culture; sexual terrorism is treated as the norm. Society and government institutions often excuse and protect men from the consequences of their sexual violence. Women are blamed for being assaulted and are expected to sacrifice freedom and opportunity in exchange for personal safety. This culture contaminates public life — in movies and television; in bedrooms, where female sexual consent is unknown; in the locker room talk from which young boys learn the language of rape. India’s favorite profanities are about having sex with women without their consent.

It is the specific horror of gang rape that weighs most heavily on Indian women that I know. You may have heard of the many gruesome cases of women being gang-raped, disemboweled and left for dead. When an incident rises to national attention, the kettle of outrage boils over, and women sometimes stage protests, but it passes quickly. All Indian women are victims, each one traumatized, angry, betrayed, exhausted. Many of us think about gang rape more than we care to admit.

In 2011 a woman was raped every 20 minutes in India, according to government data. The pace quickened to about every 16 minutes by 2021, when more than 31,000 rapes were reported, a 20 percent increase from the previous year. In 2021, 2,200 gang rapes were reported to authorities.

But those grotesque numbers tell only part of the story: 77 percent of Indian women who have experienced physical or sexual violence never tell anyone, according to one study. Prosecutions are rare.

Indian men may face persecution because they are Muslims, Dalits (untouchables) or ethnic minorities or for daring to challenge the corrupt powers that be. Indian women suffer because they are women. Soldiers need to believe that war won’t kill them, that only bad luck will; Indian women need to believe the same about rape, to trust that we will come back to the barracks safe each night, to be able to function at all.

Reports of violence against women in India have risen steadily over the decades, with some researchers citing a growing willingness by victims to come forward. Each rape desensitizes and prepares society to accept the next one, the evil becoming banal.

Gang rape is used as a weapon, particularly against lower castes and Muslims. The first instance that women my age remember was in 1980, when Phoolan Devi, a lower-caste teenager who had fallen in with a criminal gang, said she was abducted and repeatedly raped by a group of upper-caste attackers. She later came back with members of her gang and they killed 22 mostly upper-caste men. It was a rare instance of a brutalized woman extracting revenge. Her rape might never have made headlines without that bloody retribution.

Ms. Devi threw a spotlight on caste apartheid. The suffering of Bilkis Bano — the defining gang rape survivor of my generation — highlighted the boiling hatred that Indian institutions under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, a Hindu nationalist, have for Muslim women.

In 2002 brutal violence between Hindus and Muslims swept through Gujarat State. Ms. Bano, then 19 and pregnant, was gang raped by an angry Hindu mob, which also killed 14 of her relatives, including her 3-year-old daughter. Critics accuse Mr. Modi — Gujarat’s top official at the time — of turning a blind eye to the riots. He has not lost an election since.

Ms. Bano’s life took a different trajectory. She repeatedly moved houses after the assault, for her family’s safety. Last August, 11 men who were sentenced to life in prison for raping her were released — on the recommendation of a review committee stacked with members of Mr. Modi’s ruling party. After they were freed, they were greeted with flower garlands by Hindu right-wingers.

The timing was suspicious: Gujarat was to hold important elections a few months later, and Mr. Modi’s party needed votes. A member of his party explained that the accused, as upper-caste Brahmins, had “good” values and did not belong in prison. Men know these rules. They wrote the rule book. What’s most terrifying is that releasing rapists could very well be a vote-getter.

After Ms. Bano, there was the young physiotherapy student who in 2012 was beaten and raped on a moving bus and penetrated with a metal rod that perforated her colon before her naked body was dumped on a busy road in New Delhi. She died of her injuries. Women protested for days, and even men took part, facing water cannons and tear gas. New anti-rape laws were framed. This time was different, we naïvely believed.

It wasn’t. In 2018 an 8-year-old Muslim girl was drugged and gang raped in a Hindu temple for days and then murdered. In 2020 a 19-year-old Dalit girl was gang-raped and later died of her injuries, her spinal cord broken.

The fear, particularly of gang rape, never fully leaves us. We go out in groups, cover ourselves, carry pepper spray and GPS tracking devices, avoid public spaces after sunset and remind ourselves to yell “fire,” not “help” if attacked. But we know that no amount of precaution will guarantee our safety.

I don’t understand gang rape. Is it some medieval desire to dominate and humiliate? Do these men, with little power over others, feeling inadequate and ordinary, need a rush of power for a few minutes?

What I do know is that other men share the blame, the countless brothers, fathers, sons, friends, neighbors and colleagues who have collectively created and sustain a system that exploits women. If women are afraid, it is because of these men. It is a protection racket of epic proportions.

I’m not asking merely for equality. I want retribution. Recompense. I want young girls to be taught about Ms. Bano and Ms. Devi. I want monuments built for them. But men just want us to forget. The release of Ms. Bano’s rapists was about male refusal to commemorate our trauma.

So we build monuments with words and our memories. We talk to one another about gang rape, keeping it at the center of our lives. We try to explain to our youngest, to start protecting them.

This is how the history of the defeated is recorded. That’s what it all boils down to: a fight between forgetting and remembering.

[keep-calm-and-drink-caf]

Cuddles and Khakhra

A Pavitr oneshot

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar (Spider-Man India) x Indian!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: No use of (Y/N), reader gets their period, use of pads, reader’s mood is kind of all over the place, and the rest is fluffy stuff like kisses, cuddling etc!

A/N: This is one of my first times properly writing from scratch in a little while since I’ve had so much homework and assignments and stuff, but enjoy ☺️

As always any constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! 🫶

The Hindi in this is probably quite flawed since it’s been a while since I properly spoke it and I was never that good at Hindi but I tried my best lol. I would have liked to do Marathi because Mumbattan (Mumbai) but I don’t know Marathi and I don’t really want to use a translator

I’m not very sure about the poojas (basically rituals, usually prayer-related) that some people do when they have their period, and whether it’s sometimes a monthly thing or not, but when I was a child I never had any done after the first time

Reader uses pads because tampons are scary

Huge thank you to @hobiebrownismygod for the tips for writing Pav’s character!! 💙

———

You knew something was off the moment you woke up with a metallic taste in your mouth and an ache all over your body that made it feel like a valley was being carved straight through your nerves. Upon seeing the damage done to your bedsheets, the blood seeping into the white fabric everywhere, you grumbled to yourself softly and reached over to your bedside drawer for a pad, dragging your sore limbs out of bed and to the bathroom.

Once you got out of the bathroom, sitting on the floor against your bed and battling a cramp that was just about beginning to throb painfully, you contemplated calling your mother. A glance at the clock ruled out that possibility, though. It was 7:00 am. Both your parents would definitely be asleep downstairs, and very, very grumpy should you wake them up for something that you could definitely handle yourself, despite how tired you were starting to feel. You stripped the stained sheets off the bed, replacing them with clean ones from the cupboard and putting the soiled ones in the bathroom to clean up just a little later once the initial fatigue wore off. You went back and lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

No sooner than you had gathered the strength to go get a painkiller than your phone rang, obnoxiously loud for the relatively early hour. You grabbed it, glancing at the name of the caller on the top of the screen, relaxing slightly with a soft sigh when you saw who it was.

“Good morning, mera pyaar!” God, how was he always so cheerful? It seemed even at 7am on a Sunday morning he was out of bed and fully awake.

“Yeah, hi, Pav.” You pressed the phone against your ear as you rummaged around in your drawer for an advil, silently cursing your reluctance to sort through the mess of pens, papers, and random knick-knacks that had begun to accumulate over time.

“You sound tired. What happened? Are you okay?” His tone immediately took on a note of worry, and through your haze of steady, throbbing pain you felt your heart warm at his concern.

���Check your calendar.”

You could hear rustling at the other end of the line as he moved towards his wall. You could picture the adorable little scrunch between his eyebrows he did whenever he was trying to figure something out, his eyes trailing the events marked on the pages in his scrawled but somehow neat handwriting. Finally he found what you were waiting for and you could hear him inhale sharply.

“Oh, meri jaan. It it… that time?” At the end of his sentence his voice became hushed, the caution in his tone making you chuckle softly. You finally found an advil, swallowing it and hoping that it would kick in sooner than later.

“Arrey, don’t sound so surprised. You were there last month as well, remember? And the month before that.”

“It happens every month for the whole year?“

Your tired sigh at your end quickly shut him up. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll swing by and I’ll even get you a snack, okay? Just sit tight.”

“Wait, Pav, I’m not so sure that’s—” You were interrupted by him hanging up on you, no doubt already on his way. You tiptoed to the door, resting your ear against the wood to see if your parents were up. A light, barely audible snore told you that that wasn’t the case. You were just about to head back to bed when you heard the window click open, someone landing on the ground in a crouch.

You panicked and threw the first thing you could reach, which turned out to be an empty laundry basket. It landed smack dab on the unknown person’s head, knocking them backwards a few inches with the force of the throw, eliciting a small groan of pain.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“Pav?”

“Of course it’s me, who else would jump through your window?” He took the laundry basket and set it down in the corner, giving you a small bow. He was dressed in his suit, which might have aroused some suspicion when he was on his way here, but you were just happy that he had come. He pulled off his Spider-Man mask, running a hand through that annoyingly perfect hair of his with a sunshiny grin at you.

“What were you thinking?” You chided him, taking the laundry basket and putting it back where it was supposed to be. “You scared me, Pav. You could’ve just come through the front door. I would’ve let you in.”

“I did say I would swing by,” Pavitr joked, holding out a paper bag almost like a peace offering. A frosty glare from you prompted him to give you a rather nervous smile. “Fine, you’re right, that joke was kind of terrible. But this is good, I promise. You’ve had khakhra before, haven’t you? I asked Maya Aunty, she said crunchy snacks are good for cravings.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true for everyone,” You pointed out, but you took the bag from him, gently squeezing his hand in gratitude. He sat down with his back against your wall under the window, patting the floor next to him as an invitation. You followed suit, allowing him to wrap an arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“Meri jaan? Can I ask you a question?” His voice interrupted the peaceful stillness of the moment as you struggled to tear open the plastic wrapper of the khakhra, your nails just not finding purchase on the slippery material.

“Of course, Pav, what’s up?” You gave up with your nails and instead slotted the packet between your teeth, succeeding in ripping only a tiny fraction. You were beginning to feel frustrated, not to mention hungry.

“Is this whole thing kind of like… you becoming a ketchup packet for a week?”

Your teeth finally ripped through the khakhra packet, the thin, crunchy discs spilling out and falling all over your lap as you looked at him in surprise.

“Aapne mujhe kya kaha tha?” (What did you call me) You had no idea whether to be shocked, amused or just plain outraged. You were leaning more toward the last option, though, and it clearly showed on your face. Pavitr quickly realized his mistake and held his hands up in surrender.

“Main bas to majaak kar raha hoon. I’m kidding, I promise.” (I’m just kidding)

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” You grumbled. He chuckled at your grumpiness, bringing you closer into his side again. Despite your wish to be at least a little bit annoyed at him, you ended up resting your head on his shoulder, vaguely wondering how someone could be so warm, both physically and emotionally. In all senses, he really was a ray of sunshine.

“Bhale hee aap ek ketchup packet the, aap ek sundar hojaega.” (Even if you were a ketchup packet, you’d be a beautiful one)

You whacked his arm lightly, trying your best to suppress a smile at that. “No more ketchup packet jokes. Or you’re not getting any khakhra.”

To emphasise your point, you gathered the flaky discs back into the ripped plastic wrapper, taking a bite out of it and relishing the crunch followed by the cracker-like salty taste.

“Mmm, it’s so amazing and so tasty. It would be a shame to not get any, but then again, more for me—” You cut yourself off with a laugh at Pavitr’s imploring puppy eyes looking down at you. “Fine, here you go.”

You plopped the packet on his lap, and for a while you both silently ate together, very nearly finishing the packet. Once you finished eating, no longer hungry, you gave a silent thanks that the advil was still working, warding off any cramps that were threatening to ruin your mood.

“Did it hurt?”

You turned your head to look at Pavitr, your eyes narrowing suspiciously, but he just gave you that same goofy grin. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, but with a sigh you decided to humour him. “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

The way he delivered that line in a deeper voice than his own, waggling his eyebrows at you made you giggle softly, and his grin grew even wider. “Really?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Of all the lines you know, you really went with that one?”

“Hey, at least it’s not a ketchup packet joke.”

“Stop talking or I’ll throw something at you,” You warned, the amused glimmer in your eye and the fact that you were nestled so close against him telling him that the threat definitely wasn’t serious. You glanced at the brightening sky, suddenly remembering something. “Hang on, did you drop everything for me? Don’t you have to go be Spider-Man? Aren’t you supposed to be busy?”

Pavitr shook his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I have time. Besides, my spider-senses will tell me if there’s anything urgent. I’m never too busy for my ke—”

“Don’t say it.”

He laughed softly, squeezing your shoulder with the arm that was wrapped around you.

“My girl. I’m never too busy for my girl.”

———

Translations:

Meri jaan - My light / My life

Mera pyaar - My love

Arrey / Arre - Hey!

Khakhra is a large, thin cracker made from wheat flour and moth bean that is a Gujarati breakfast or tea-time snack. I know it’s Gujarati, but I’m quite sure it’s found everywhere else as well :)

Taglist:

@hobiebrownismygod

[celestesinsight]

My thoughts on Mumbai Police!

First of all, Prithviraj looked so hot as a cop. The uniform, moustache and smile, I am so in love with his look in the film.

Secondly, Prithviraj is so daring. He played a gay cop back in 2013. Some actors are not comfortable playing gay characters even today. This was not just a subtle hint and suggestion, here and there. There was actually a scene showing their relationship. I am so proud of being obsessed with this guy right now.

Though I felt the movie was dragging at places, but the final twist made up for everything. And what a twist it was? The film started with Antony searching for himself after memory loss. But he was literally searching for himself, the culprit.

The whole motive behind the murder was quite logical. The movie was made in 2013 and homosexuality got decriminalised only in 2018. So, he wasn't just facing a loss of reputation or employment, but possible arrest and prison time. He already was a hated cop with many enemies who wanted to destroy him. So, his intentions and desperate actions did make sense, even if they were morally wrong.

I have very mixed feelings about Antony Moses A or Rascal Moses. His actions really put me off but I can't deny he was hot. The swag, the mischievous smile, contemptible behavior for almost everyone except his friends, sister, and partner made him a complex character.

But Antony Moses B, has my heart. He was so vulnerable, especially when he found out about his closeted homosexuality. His anxiousness to get back his memory and life, his trying to manage the investigation without his memory, his occasional fumbles, everything was so heartrending.

Prithviraj played these two parts so differently. Their expressions, emotions and body language are all different. As the doctor said, they were not the same person, but two different personalities with similar skill sets. Prithvi really made me believe I was watching two separate personalities and not just a single character.

Other actors were also very convincing in their roles, especially Rahman. As Antony said Farhan was really smart. He knew Antony was the culprit and he was protecting himself. Hence, he made him bring back the investigation to proper track and finally got his 'who, how and why'.

Jayasurya was also good as Aaryan the idiotic, but endearing friend. Even though I find his behaviour of sitting in darkness while his friend was with his partner, quite creepy. His saying those mean words for his friend was so not done. Even if we excuse the behaviour as him being shocked and angry, he could have apologized instantly, instead of thinking of a grand gesture of dedicating the Gallantry Award. It could have saved his life. Sooner the apology, sooner the situation could be remedied. That's the basic rule.

Overall, I enjoyed the movie and loved the twist, the concept and the acting. I would definitely re-watch it.

[blueiight]

re: choose violence meme Utena answer, I don't want to drag you into the wretched discourse lol, so no pressure to answer, but... okay so I haven't watched IWTV but from what little I see. you seem SO TAPPED IN to what's going on w interplay of the book VS the tv show's handling of race, gender, etc. so I am wondering... penny for your thoughts on Ikuhara's handling / not handling of race (and / or sexuality)... and / or the fandom's takes... orz

oh yeah im down& i appreciate the compliment!<3 im hesitant to over-speak, but i know ikuni & saito have explicitly said anthy is based off lalah sune from mobile suit gundam.. lalah is from bombay (mumbai) & was trafficked into the flannigan institute (2d space military experimentation) as a means to experiment n find the answer on newtypes, which r basically an esoteric arbitrarily defined concept from gundam to gundam thats exploited in the space age military apparatus. lalah sune in the uc gundam series is used as a plot device: its one of char’s greatest mistake/s in his culpability in lalah’s situation, therefore once again violating his father zeon’s revolutionary precepts on what the newtypes were for, and one of amuro’s greatest mistake/s in that he made a brief but rather profound bond w/ such a ~kindred spirit~ n ended up being the one who killed her. she ends up haunting both of them in char’s counterratack & while i thought that was enjoyable to watch.. its laughably easy to read lalah as a pretext for amuro + char’s later fixation on eachother (& tomino even encourages it). ultimately, lalah’s own characterization, much less any story arc on how she was the means to introduce newtypes in the gundam series is tertiary to what she represented to amuro and char. now why am i talking about lalah here? bc ikuni+ saito r explicitly inspired by her in making anthy n ima try to say my piece in how ikuni, and the rgu narrative in both animanga treat anthy (& akio, as a result of being her brother)’s racialization. a lot of shoujo animanga period always has the trope of the character or two at the most who r noticeably darker than the pale-skinned cast, yet theyre never really clearly defined as who or what they are much less is this used to supplement their characterization. with rgu, as u have discussed before, ikuni nem use eternity as a motif. like what does it mean to be eternal? n all. u have anthy and akio, these two darker skinned (indian) characters like lalah, being seen as the vanguard , the introduction to and the disseminator of this esoteric concept that ever eludes the rest of the cast. u have these indian characters who play into these new-age stereotypes , namely how the new age has coopted a lot of the indian faiths & refuse to see yalls cultures as something that actually evolves, but is stagnant + ‘eternal’. the modern world is outside, ohtori headed by akio is the cycle of life repeating over& over n over again. when it comes to the vitriolic protracted abuse + projection anthy faces thru the series, its implicit that this is bc shes a darker skinned girl in a sea of lighter skinned people & abused by her older brother. i cant say if it was ikuni nems intention in doing this but the canon is ample for this argument n how i read this idea of being the rose bride , the ultimate target for humanity’s hate to be a commentary in part on what it means to be a girl/woman of color. dios having the burden to save all of humanity is the archetypical prince, and the expectation on boys of color to prematurely ‘rise up’ n ‘be the man’ so & anthy pulling her brother away from this burden made her a target to all of Humanity, metaphorically for refusing to play the martyr. n ive faced shit in the past for articulating such& bc im a bw, ppl have seemed to misinterpret me saying this as saying ‘anthy is black’ LOL. the fandom is woefully reluctant to tackle this, bc there is no immediate white (european) involved. they want to say utena tenjou n em are ‘white’ bc theyre so eurocentric that this is the only way they can think. when these are japanese creators , creating characters n r relying on stereotypes of indian spirituality + people to define them in relation to the japanese characters. like its a reason they made anthy , the rose bride, the witch, based off lalah sune & not like. utena or shiori yk? the question of sexuality tied to this is rly weighted too, esp bc anthy (+ akio?) sport the marriage colored bindi, but i feel like that was the most intentional they went there

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Flash Fiction Fridays Winner - The Write Right Society

The Forgotten Locket by @darkeneddiary

Here is the submission from:

@darkeneddiary

🥇 First Place Winner

Memories are vicious things; the more you run from them, the more they chase you. They become even more heartwrenchingly crucial when they are the memories of your family. One day or another, we all stumble back into the darkness we tried to escape. So will she.

Standing in front of her family mansion, Tina's thoughts raced, burning her soul with all the memories she wished to forget. It was both tormenting and oddly nostalgic to be back. She never imagined returning to the heart of her most hated memories, but fate has its cruel ways.

Until last month, she was living her best life in Paris. Now, back in Mumbai, she had received a parcel declaring she was the sole heir to her grandparents' wealth.

Taking a deep breath, she walked towards the main door, her hands filled with bags. "I just want to get this over with so I can leave. Ugh, I hate it here," she muttered.

The guard came running towards her. "I—I’m sorry. I wa—was here. I promise. I just wanted to use the washroom tha—" he stammered, but she cut him off.

"Save it," she said loudly. "I don't care."

She motioned for him to open the gate, which he did. As she stepped inside, the mansion’s oppressive presence was as she remembered, like it was breathing and calling her in. She took a ragged breath and continued walking, the guard following.

Inside, her chest tightened. Dust hung heavy in the air, tickling her nose and throat. The mansion was dark, with only a sliver of light from an open window. The guard flicked on the light, blinding her momentarily. When she could see again, she told him, "I'll handle it from here," and headed for the staircase.

Alone, Tina climbed the creaking staircase, each step echoing through the silent halls. She was headed to her grandmother’s room, a place she hadn't seen since childhood. The door stood ajar, revealing darkness within.

Pushing it open, the door groaned. The room was frozen in time: old furniture draped in sheets, a four-poster bed, and a tarnished vanity. The air was thick with the musty smell of dust and a faint lavender scent from her grandmother’s old perfume.

As Tina walked through the room, her footsteps muffled by the carpet, she spotted a small box partially hidden behind a stack of old books on the vanity. Her fingers trembling, she reached for it. The box opened with a creak, revealing a delicate locket wrapped in faded tissue paper. Tina’s breath caught. It was the same locket she had lost at seven, on that dreadful day by the lake with her friend Mia.

The memory came rushing back with horrifying clarity. Mia had slipped on the algae-slick rocks and plunged into the murky water. Tina had scrambled to help, but the lake had swallowed Mia, dragging her under. In the chaos, Tina had lost the locket. The memory of Mia’s panicked screams haunted her dreams.

Finding the locket now seemed both unreal and sinister. Its familiar design brought a wave of grief and guilt. Tears brimmed in Tina’s eyes as she clutched the locket, a bitter reminder of a past she could never escape.

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[your-fav-russian-assassin]

Chapter 3

Everything was going as planned.

I was stationed with Pierce with other agents. He had just been revealed to everyone as the leader of HYDRA and I stood bodyguard out of sight from the others. Captain America had come over the loudspeaker and was trying to convince people to rebel against Director Pierce.

"The price of freedom is high, it has always been. But it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not." The captains voice said.

"You smug son of a b*tch." Said one of the people who was to be watched.

This was my cue to step forward and stand protectively by Pierces side.

"Let me ask you a question. What if Pakistan marched into Mumbai tomorrow? And you knew they were going to drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution. And you could just stop it, with a flick of the switch, would you?" Pierce asked a man similar to the other. "Would you all?"

"Not if it's your switch." The man said and threw his glass away so that it shattered on the floor.

That was a mistake.

Suddenly, just as Pierce was about to shoot the man, the woman jumped up and started to fight him. I joined in their fight and flipped her onto the ground, looking at my handler for directions.

"Let her go, Asset." Pierce commanded.

I slowly go off but stayed in my protective stance.

The woman reached for her head and my hand went to my belt which is where I keep my gun. Instead, she pushes some sort of button and takes off a mask.

"I'm sorry. Did I step on your moment?" It was the redhead from the highway.

"Asset, help out your partner on the Helicarriers. I will be fine here. That's an order." My handler directed. Not taking his eyes off the redhead.

I nodded and started to walk off to find a way up to the Helicarriers. The bird man! If the redhead and captain were here, the bird must be too!

Just as the bird man was about to fly under me, I jumped on his back and held on for dear life.

"What the!! Ah sh*t!" The bird yelled, trying to shake me off his back.

"Sam! What's happening? Are you okay?" A noise from his coms sounded.

"It's the kid! She jumped on my back and isn't getting off!" Sam yelled back, clearly panicking. Not wanting to hurt her but also trying to get her off.

Down below us I could see explosions and I tiny hint of shiny silver, meaning it was my partners doing.

"Sam, I'm gonna need I ride!" A voice yelled through his coms.

"I already have someone on me but I'll try. Roger that."

The Captain fell and the Bird just barely caught him. He dropped off the Captain on the Helicarrier and touched down as well. I finally let go of his back and charged at them, buying time for my partner to arrive.

He suddenly came charging out as well and knocked the Captain off the Helicarrier.

"Steve!" The bird yelled and tried to fly after him but the Soldier caught him by his wing and yanked him back.

The bird started to fire his guns at us and the Soldier did a backflip while I rolled out of the way. I nodded at my partner in acknowledgment, he doesn't nod back, which I expected.

The bird flies away before my partner shoots a grappling hook at him and pulls him back down. I jump on top of him and start to punch his face over and over.

The Soldier ripped one of his wings off and then grabbed me before he kicked the bird man off the Helicarrier.

As Sam was falling he decided to warn Steve about the supposed protectiveness the Winter Soldier had over the kid.

"Steve! The Winter Soldier has the kid with him! He seems to be protective over her so don't hurt her too bad. She's young, Steve."

"Copy that Sam!" The captain replied back.

Me and the Soldier had both looked over the side to see Captain America still on the Helicarrier.

"Sh*t!" I cursed. Just pretend that was in Russian

Captain America had gotten to the walkway that leads to the chips. It was our job to prevent him from making it there. We stood in front of the case, staring at each other.

"People are gonna die, Buck. I can't let that happen." He said, seeming like he wanted us to go against our orders and give up.

"Please don't make me do this." He pleaded with my partner. His eyes seemed to harden as he realized we weren't going to stand down.

He threw his shield at us and Winter deflected it with his metal arm. We were both shooting at him and I somehow made it behind him.

I scored a shot on his side. He barely seemed to notice and kept on fighting, he had pushed my partner back with his shield.

I realized this was probably a good time to make my presence known again.

I drew my knife and stalked towards him.

"Look, kid, I don't want to hurt you. But I will if I need to." The captain tries to reason with me. I just growl and swipe at him with my knife, making a slash where blood was starting to dribble out of.

By this time, Winter was up as well so Captain America was fighting off two super soldier hydra assassins at the same time.

Just as the. Captain was about to place in the chip, I tackled him to the ground and was in the process of choking him when he kicked me off and started to breathe heavily, trying to catch his breath.

He had pushed my partner back with his shield when I came up and started to fight hand to hand, trying to distract him from his mission.

The Soldier had just punched the Captains shield when they also started to fight hand to hand.

My partner ran up and tackled him over the railing of the walkway and they fell on a metal platform of some kind.

I stayed on the walkway defending the chips as the two down below started to punch each other.

The chip fell and the Captain jumped down to get it, but not before kicking my partner off.

The Captain raced for the chip but his shield was thrown at him by the Winter Soldier. Oh how the turns have tabled.

He started to shoot at the Captain as I did as well.  Winter plunged his knife into the Captains shoulder painfully but the Captain just head butted him.

He got Winter unconscious and all i really wanted to do was go down there and see if he was alright, but I had a mission.

Captain America once again started his journey to the chips.

Winter had gotten another shot at the Captain and I was now shooting at him too. He was getting too close to the chips for my liking. This time, I scored the shot, but now, the captain was on the platform I was on.

He rolled up and I shot at him again, he was slowly starting to slow down meaning his adrenaline was wearing off. He took out the chip and was just about to put it in when I found I couldn't move.

This wasn't right. I had to complete my mission or else Pierce would be angry with us. He would put us in the Chair.

But still, I found I couldn't move a muscle I was frozen in place as the Captain finally fell down, with several bullet wounds.

"Asset!! What are you doing! Move!" Winter shouted at me.

"I can't move Soldier!" I screamed back, panicking.

He then turns to the Captain with a growl. "What did you do to her!"

Just as the Helicarriers were about to fire, Captain America slid the last chip into place. The Helicarriers started to fire at each other.

The platform I was standing on started to shake. I still couldn't move.

Winter! Help me! I shouted into his mind.

He started to run towards me but got trapped under a piece of railing. The Captain had lifted up the railing that was holding down Winter and he crawled out from underneath.

"You know me." The Captain said. That was a mistake.

"No I don't!" Winter yelled back and punched him in the face.

They were both breathing heavily. "Bucky, you've known me your whole life." Steve says and Winter punched him again.

By this time I was screaming for help, still being trapped under some sort of spell or something.

"Your name, is James Buchanan Barnes."

"SHUT UP!!!" Winter punched the Captain again and this time he fell.

They got back up slowly and I found I could finally move again.

"I'm not gonna fight you, Buck. You're my friend." Captain America said to my papa.

Winter ran and tackled him and I moved forward to help but he ordered me to stay back.

"You're my mission." Winter started to punch the captains face repeatedly.

"Then finish it. Cause-cause I'm with you till the end of the line." Captain Roger's said, making Winter hesitate in his next punch.

Just then, the glass underneath them broke and Captain America fell.

"Winter!!!" I yelled, scared that he had fallen as well.

"It's okay doll. I'm fine!" He yelled back. He was hanging on to a piece of railing.

He then let go and I jumped after him, which ended up being a bad idea. When I hit the water below it felt like something just hit me at a 250 miles per hour. As soon as I hit the water, I fell unconscious.

Subconsciously, I felt a cold metal hand drag me out of the water. I was laid down in leaves and some roots, presumably in the woods somewhere.

Then, by the time I woke up, my papa was nowhere in sight. Instead of my father, there was a bunch of HYDRA agents surrounding around me. Sh*t! Of course I had to go back. They wouldn't let me be free, how could I have been so dumb to trust Winter, when, in the end, he left me to return to them.

I don't know what I expected. After all,

There is no escape.

[doorhine]

"Driving through the Mira Road neighbourhood of Mumbai was a usual affair for 21-year-old Mohammad Tariq, who ran errands on his father’s white loading auto carrier.

But on Tuesday, participants in a Hindu nationalist rally stopped the vehicle in the middle of the road. Young boys – mostly teenagers – dragged him out. They punched and kicked him and thrashed him with batons, flag staffs and iron chains, his 54-year-old father, Abdul Haque told Al Jazeera. Since then, Haque said, “[Tariq] has been terrified.”

The rally, which was shared over multiple live streams, turned into a mob, targeting several Muslims in the locality, rampaging through their shops and damaging vehicles while chanting “Jai Shri Ram” (Victory to Lord Ram). Similar rallies, often to the beat of booming far-right pop music, took place outside mosques and Muslim neighbourhoods across several states in India.

The trigger was the consecration of a Ram temple in the ancient city of Ayodhya in northern India by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on Monday. The temple is being built on the site where the 16th century Babri Masjid stood until 1992, when Hindu far-right mobs tore down the mosque, triggering nationwide riots that killed more than 2,000 people, mostly Muslims."

[dragkingsrule]

Emperor Naaz B, Mumbai-based drag king

Image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

Artist links: Instagram

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Match Me if You Can by Swati Hegde

3.5/5. Releases 6/4/24.

Vibes: Emma, heroines who gotta learn, slow burn, friends to lovers

Heat Level: 2/10

Mumbai-based Jia spends her days writing silly listicles for women's magazine Mimosa. On her off time, however, she works on her anonymous blog, giving what she thinks is very real talk... even if she's in denial about her own true feelings. She wants to get upgraded to a new column--but the only way she can is by helping her coworker find love. Thing is, Jia herself doesn't even realize that her longtime family friend Jaiman has a thing for her. Maybe... more than a thing.

Alright--if you're at all familiar with Jane Austen's Emma, I'm sure you can tell that this is an Emma retelling. I've actually been seeing a lot of Emma retellings lately; but that's not a bad thing for me, as Emma is by far my favorite Austen.

The skinny on this one is that, at least from my perspective it's very cute and well-written. It's a romcom with wit, and there's certainly a lot of chemistry between Jia and Jaiman. I love the setting (it's shockingly rare to find an English-language romcom novel that isn't set in America, and even harder to find one set in India). I enjoy the tone. It's not reinventing the wheel; it goes in the directions that a lot of Emma retellings do. For me, too... I don't mind that it was closed door, per se. However, there were moments cut off in a way that left me thinking "but why?"

The answer is that it was the author's prerogative, and that's valid. I just feel like we were kind of left in a place where there was teasing--and if there wasn't going to be anything, why tease, I suppose?

But nonetheless--if you want a light, fluffy romcom that happens to be closed door, and if you love Emma, I would recommend this.

Quick Takes:

--One way in which this book differs from Emma and that Jia and Jaiman have what I'll call a near-miss about a year prior to the novel's beginning. To me, this was really clever. First off, it swerves away from the typical Emma setup, adding a little tension that I really appreciated. Second, it makes Jia a more interestingly human character, to me. She knows there's this tension, she knows there's something between herself and Jaiman, she just doesn't want to confront it.

--Personally, I think modern Emma retellings arguably work better in a setting wherein matchmaking is still a thing. Jia is nothing if not a consummate matchmaker, and I feel like this plays so well in a book set in Mumbai, where matchmaking is a feasible career (not that it can't be in the west--but it's less common, obviously).

--Like I said: this is a slow burn. Jia and Jaiman have known each other since childhood. Feelings have been there for a long time. So while I understood, and to an extent I mean, it's there in the material... I just wanted them to kiss. I wanted something to happen. Although the book is closed door, that doesn't mean they can't get together earlier in the novel (I'm thinking of a closed door romance by Alexis Hall that I enjoyed not so long ago). It did drag a bit for me.

And ultimately, for all the theoretical tension, that lack of interaction in a romantic sense did keep it from going as far as it could have. I don't mean sexually--I mean as a love story.

That being said--if you're not sure about sex scenes, if you like a slow burn, and you want an Austen update that makes sense... This could be great for you!

Thanks to NetGalley and Dell for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5856

Jalsa, Mumbai Feb-Mar/29/1 2024 Thu/Fri 10:10AM

🪔 ,

March 01 .. birthday greetings to Ef Asesh Majumdar from Kolkata .. all joys and prayers from the Ef Family .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

There is a method in the tolerance of the mind and body .. when it decides it decides .. IT DECIDES .. yes .. and that is ever the final ..

कहने की सीमा होती है; सहने की सीमा होती है ; कुछ मेरे भी वश में, कुछ सोच समझ अपमान करो मेरा; अब मत मेरा निर्माण करो ..

And Babuji 's words ring through by the early morn and keep me awake in thought .. to rise and write .. to be aware and write .. to just be brave enough to say what the feel says within .. may not have been in such thought before .. but say it now .. if not now then when .. care less for the effect it shall have on the other ..

Abhishek last night and I , we talk and send time for hours on end .. it is what should have been done much before .. NO , it is not the factor of being busy so could not find the time .. it is that

' is it possible , or it can be possible , that what I proclaim or advise, he may have a better more sensible advice or solution fo it ..'

It is a generational change .. the speed of change and thought, with the ease of immediate information with the 5-6 yr old, gives them the capacity and at times the audacity to take on the older, elder thought .. and they may be right .. THEY MAY BE RIGHT ..

So who are we to interrupt them and their thoughts ..

Just a feel of what is the element that is with this GENz or X or whatever ..

So he says , Abhishek says .. is the talk of the generation today ..

'not' my circus , not my monkey ..'

Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys There's a Polish proverb which millennials often use today: “Not my circus, not my monkeys.” It's a way of saying, “Don't drag me into your drama and your issues—I'm not getting involved.”

And now dear Ef , just watch how the interpretation finds its way on memes and news and interpretations for the world of the socialitatickamedilaticum ..

🤣

🤣

🤣

Life and AI have made life so simple and so complicated .. complicated forus the ones that are the ol'timers .. the NEW does never drag itself into its involvement ..

So .. we started with the strength of the self and its capacity to FIGHT by itself and succeed or WIN .. and the not to be dragged into the issue is the 'monkey' ..

🥹

Live and love and be well ..

Amitabh Bachchan

किसी ने मेरे FB post पे कहा,

"सीधे सीधे बोलिए ना ..... " ,,

मेरा उत्तर ये है -

'सीधे सीधे बोलने की क्षमता आज किसके पास है । और यदि क्षमता है भी, तो क्या वो सही है ?

क्योंकि आजकल, सही को भी सही साबित करने की आवश्यकता पड़ गई है !!!

बोल सिया पति रामचंद्र की जय

🚩

[triviareads]

ARC Review of Match Me If You Can by Swati Hegde

Rating: 3.75/5 Heat Level: 2/5 Publication Date: June 4th

Premise:

A modernized Emma set in India; Jia Deshpande is a rich Mumbaikar who writes for a women's magazine. She wants to start her own matchmaking column, something she can achieve if she successfully sets two coworkers up. Jia goes ahead with the plan despite warnings from her best friend Jaiman Patil, who has long harbored feelings for her. 

My review:

This is a charming, effervescent take on Emma set among the upper classes of Mumbai. Jia aspires to be a matchmaker and secretly gives romantic advice on her blog in direct contrast to the content she puts out through the Cosmo-esque magazine she writes for. She's pragmatic about love while still being fairly naive, thus her mostly-unfounded confidence in her matchmaking abilities. Reading her deluded attempts at match-making office lothario Eeshan and village-transplant Charu was painfully entertaining in the best way. But like any well-written character inspired by Emma, Jia is so upbeat and (mostly) well-meaning, you can't help but root for her. 

The interesting thing about this book's Mr. Knightley, Jaiman, is that he has plenty of problems of his own. He's not just Emma's paternal, perpetually-chastising friend (though to be clear, I'm not saying this is a bad thing at all); he's the owner of a struggling bar who has never quite lived up to family expectations. There's also this culinary/career rivalry he has going on with the Frank Churchill of the story (a South Indian guy named Harish who comes up with a quite frankly FABULOUS restaurant concept: Vodka & Vada). Jaiman is also Jia’s childhood friend and hopelessly in love with her. The result is a (very) slow-burn friends-to-lovers romance. 

I actually really liked that Jaiman attempted an ill-fated kiss with Jia a year prior to the story beginning, and it ended with Jia crying about not wanting their relationship to change and she refuses to talk about it afterwards lolol. I thought it was a great place to start the story because Jia isn't entirely oblivious to Jaiman's feelings, and she privately admits she’s only ever felt attracted to him, so the tension is there. That being said, the author never really developed this tension or dragged it out as much as she could have. There are multiple instances where there's great set-up, like the time Jia puts on her dead mom's wedding lehenga and Jaiman walks in on her, and she asks him to unzip her. He does, but there's minimal touching or talking, and Jaiman just walks out within the next paragraph. I felt similarly about the time they dance together, as well as the entire mystery blog correspondent subplot. 

The sex:

There are a couple kisses, mostly near the end, and there is one closed-door sex scene.

Overall:

Overall, this book was humorous and light and I enjoyed it, though I wished the romance had developed more. I'd recommend it to anyone looking for a frothy, diverse romcom!

Thank you to Random House Publishing Group and NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

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Why Power BI Takes the Lead Against SSRS

In an era where data steers the course of businesses and fuels informed decisions, the choice of a data visualization and reporting tool becomes paramount. Amidst the myriad of options, two stalwarts stand out: Power BI and SSRS (SQL Server Reporting Services). As organizations, including those seeking Power BI training in Gurgaon, strive to extract meaningful insights from their data, the debate about which tool to embrace gains prominence. In this digital age, where data is often referred to as the "new oil," selecting the right tool can make or break a business's competitive edge.

Understanding the Landscape

What is Power BI?

Microsoft Power BI is a powerful business analytics application that enables organizations to visualize data and communicate insights across the organization. With its intuitive interface and user-friendly features, Power BI transforms raw data into interactive visuals, making it easier to interpret and draw actionable conclusions.

What is SSRS?

On the other hand, SSRS, also developed by Microsoft, focuses on traditional reporting. It enables the creation, management, and delivery of traditional paginated reports. SSRS has been a reliable choice for years, but the advent of Power BI has brought new dimensions to data analysis.

The Advantages of Power BI Over SSRS

In the realm of data analysis and reporting tools, Power BI shines as a modern marvel, surpassing SSRS in various crucial aspects. Let's explore the advantages that set Power BI apart:

1. Interactive Visualizations

Power BI's forte lies in its ability to transform raw data into interactive and captivating visual representations. Unlike SSRS, which predominantly deals with static reports, Power BI empowers users to explore data dynamically, enabling them to drill down into specifics and gain deeper insights. This interactive approach enhances data comprehension and decision-making processes.

2. Real-time Insights

While SSRS offers a snapshot of data at a particular moment, Power BI steps ahead with real-time data analysis capabilities. Modern businesses, including those enrolling in a Power BI training institute in Bangalore, require up-to-the-minute insights to stay competitive, and Power BI caters precisely to this need. It connects seamlessly to various data sources, ensuring that decisions are based on the latest information.

3. User-Friendly Interface

Power BI's intuitive interface stands in stark contrast to SSRS's somewhat technical setup. With its drag-and-drop functionality, Power BI eliminates the need for extensive coding knowledge. This accessibility allows a wider range of users, from business analysts to executives, to create and customize reports without depending heavily on IT departments.

4. Scalability

As a company grows, so does the amount of data it handles. Power BI's cloud-based architecture ensures scalability without compromising performance. Whether you're dealing with a small dataset or handling enterprise-level data, Power BI can handle the load, guaranteeing smooth operations and robust analysis.

5. Natural Language Queries

One of Power BI's standout features is its ability to understand natural language queries. Users can interact with the tool using everyday language and receive relevant visualizations in response. This bridge between human language and data analytics simplifies the process for non-technical users, making insights accessible to all.

The SEO Advantage

In the digital age, search engine optimization (SEO) plays a vital role in ensuring your content, including information about Power BI training in Mumbai, reaches the right audience. When it comes to comparing Power BI and SSRS in terms of SEO, Power BI once again takes the lead.

With their interactive visual content, Power BI-enhanced articles attract more engagement. This higher engagement leads to longer on-page time, lower bounce rates, and improved SEO rankings. Search engines recognize user behavior as a marker of content quality and relevance, boosting the visibility of Power BI-related articles.

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