#shakti singh

[bollywoodirect]

32 Years of Dharavi (09/04/1992).

This film was brought to life under the direction and writing of Sudhir Mishra. It stands out as a significant collaboration between NFDC and Doordarshan, and it was honoured with the 1992 National Film Award for Best Feature Film in Hindi.

The cast was led by #ShabanaAzmi and Om Puri, with Om Puri portraying the character Raj Karan Yadav. The ensemble also included notable talents such as Raghuvir Yadav, Madhuri Dixit, Anil Kapoor, Virendra Saxena, Akhilendra Mishra, and Shakti Singh.

Behind the camera, Rajesh Joshi handled cinematography, Renu Saluja took charge of editing, and Rajat Dholakia composed the music. The film was distributed by Doordarshan, bringing together a team of skilled individuals whose collective efforts made Dharavi a memorable cinematic experience.

[relmint-draws]

All I Have

[dhallblogs]

Durga Shakti Nagpal IAS Becomes DM of Banda.

Banda: In a major decision, 2010-batch UP Cadre IAS Officer Durga Shakti Nagpal has been appointed District Magistrate of Banda. Normally, an IAS officers gets charge of a district after four to five years in the civil services. However, it took Ms Nagpal almost 13 years to get the coveted posting. She was working as a Special Secretary in Medical Education Department in the Uttar Pradesh government. The state government on Saturday evening issued transfer orders of four other IAS officers.

ALSO READ MORE- https://apacnewsnetwork.com/2023/04/durga-shakti-nagpal-becomes-dm-of-banda/

[someoftheday]

You've heard of boy movies. Take that, but add a madman. I admittedly have daddy issues, but this was laughable for the entire 3:21 runtime. That runtime is concerning, even for a Bollywood movie. The director has these tropes: parents disapprove of the relationship, they rebel in front of their faces, etc but this one went over the top with lewdness and misogynistic quotes about body hair, lingerie, what turns you on... There is so much more that I can't even keep up. Is SRV okay? I wonder if he's an incel or just hates real women, so he creates these manic pixie dream girls. Rashmika was a good actress in the angry scenes, but the character had heart eyes every time sex was hinted it in the MOST unrealistic circumstances. And you take an indie actress like Triptii who is so underrated, take all possible lines from her, use her for a cheating trope, and why not end with a surprise pregnancy. WHAT.

Were there good parts? Sure. Every single song was amazing. Not good. AMAZING. I made it to the end after many days of pausing and resuming. Bobby Deol was SO GOOD for a non speaking role, but was the sign language real? If so, better... But I seriously don't think it was real. Anil crying redeemed him for me at the end. It was nice to see and recognize older actors like Shakti and Prem Chopra. Rashmika's slaps and fight scenes were so good. Ranbir's bare chest covered in blood at the very end did something for me. And alas like a marvel film with too many endings, I did not expect the Animal Park trailer, and I was deeply turned on by Ranbir's white shirt covered in blood. I'm so over his flop movies and there were plenty of scenes that confirmed he is medium ugly, so it might just be a blood thing. More of my personal issues to work on!

Overall I would never watch it again or recommend it to anyone ever :) Kabir Singh was a more believable love story with no real violence. Watch that instead.

That's the whole movie right here

[apacnewsnetwork0]

“Nari Shakti se Jal Shakti”: The 5th edition of Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain campaign kicks off with women at its helm

New Delhi: Union Minister for Jal Shakti, Gajendra Singh Shekhawat recently inaugurated the fifth edition of the “Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain” campaign, at the NDMC Convention Centre in New Delhi. Themed “Nari Shakti se Jal Shakti,” the campaign focuses on women’s pivotal role in water conservation and management. It operates under the National Water Mission, Department of Water Resources, River Development & Ganga Rejuvenation in collaboration with the Department of Drinking Water & Sanitation.

He also appreciated their potential to bring positive change in water resource management and viewed the “Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain” – 2024 as a “transformative movement towards a water-secure and sustainable future.”

Secretary, DoWR, RD & GR, Debashree Mukherjee, reminded attendees about the burden of water collection on women and stressed the importance of clean water sources for community transformation. She commended the central and state governments’ efforts in addressing water-related challenges.

Read More Here : https://apacnewsnetwork.com/2024/03/nari-shakti-se-jal-shakti-the-5th-edition-of-jal-shakti-abhiyan-catch-the-rain-campaign-kicks-off-with-women-at-its-helm/

[nepalenergyforum]

Parliamentary Committee Deliberates with Energy Minister Basnet on Nepal-India Power Trade Agreement

The Infrastructure Development Committee under the House of Representatives (HoR) has decided to take updates about Nepal-India Power Trade Agreement (PTA) and other relevant matters from the Minister for Energy, Water Resources and Irrigation. In a meeting of the Committee today, its members were of the view of inviting the Minister to the next meeting and take information on the matters, citing…

[microlyric]

माँ तेरे दरबार झुके सारा संसार Maa Tere Darbar Jhuke Sara Sansar Song Lyrics- Bhakti Main Shakti

Hello friends if you are Looking Maa Tere Darbar Jhuke Sara Sansar song lyrics then you landed right place so don’t worry relaxed and enjoyed the Bhakti Main Shakti movie all songs lyrics peacefully at one place. You can find and read this lyrics easily in any smartphone and Tablet such as Samsung, Motorola, Saregama, Xiaomi, Vivo, Oppo, LG, Huawei, Asus, Lava, Micromax, iTel, Nokia, Oneplus,…

[akultalkies]

Kiran Butle, Jess Deza, Ravi Dhakate, Prem Dhiraal, Shakti Veer Dhiraal, Prajes Ghadse, Shakshi Lakhorkar, Vickey Pawar, Sanjay Ram, Prajakta Shinde, Anjali Singh, Ankita Sontakke, Prakash Waghmare

[srbachchan]

DAY 5864

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 8/9, 2024 Fri/Sat 10:48 AM

🪔

March 09 .. birthday greetings to Ef Altaf Ali Kondkar from Riyadh - KSA 🇸🇦 .. and Ef Misti Das from Assam .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

Wedding anniversary greetings to the most dedicated Ef Prashant Kawadia and his respected wife Rekha .. for completing 16 years of togetherness .. on March 9 .. keep going stronger 💪🏻 .. 💐🙏🏻❤️

Wedding anniversary greetings to our Mili from Bangalore .. Ef Mukherji Ratna .. 44 years .. on March 8 .. may Shivji keep you blessed .. 💐🙏🏻❤️

Wedding anniversary greetings to Ef Manoj Lahoti and Ef Amit Lahoti .. both celebrating on same day same year .. March 08 .. 17 years of togetherness .. and our wishes multiplied .. 💐💐🙏🏻🙏🏻❤️❤️

Wedding anniversary greetings to Ef Sanjay Patodiya and his respected wife Soniya Patodiya .. 24 years .. on March 07 .. love and joy .. 💐🙏🏻❤️

..

Greetings 🙏🏻

अर्धनारीश्वर !!

अर्धनारीश्वर स्वरुप का अर्थ है आधी स्त्री और आधा पुरुष. भगवान शिव के इस अर्धनारीश्वर स्वरुप के आधे हिस्से में पुरुष रुपी शिव का वास है तो आधे हिस्से में स्त्री रुपी शिवा यानि शक्ति का वास है. भगवान का यह रुप संकेत दिया जाता है की स्त्री और पुरुष एक ही सिक्के के दो पहलु हैं और दोनों एक दूसरे के बिना अधूरे हैं.

A half female and male form .. Lord Shiv is ever depicted thus .. Shiv in its half , and the female form is the representation of 'Shakti' - power, strength of women .. the male and the female are two sides of the same coin, and both are incomplete without each other ..

.. and with that acceptance we live and exist in peace and calm .. and in its coincidence comes the opportunity to release a book " Swallowing the Sun", written by Laxshmi Murdeshwar Puri, ex Foreign Service , ex Ambassador of Hungary when I was shooting for my film 'AKS' there ..

Married to Hardeep Singh Puri , ex diplomat and now Minister

A delight to spend time in her company .. and be made aware of her contribution in the UN Womens where she served as Deputy ..

The opening of her book is inspired by ..

.. a story of the book which addresses pan India sentiments, and enumerates the several hidden stories, that become the source of inspiration for women in particular ..

But a delayed day .. primarily because of the miserable defeat of our team last night ..

It's not that we lost , we did not try to win .. complacent , over confident and slack ..

I do not mind losing .. but without a fight, is not acceptable ..

A 'plucky loser' to me is more valuable, than the winner ..

My love

Amitabh Bachchan

[xbadgerbearx]

chapter seven: cutting ties

word count: 2.4k

Redlight: ... [6]

note: this was a lot of fun to make, and the love/support makes me so happy! I hope everyone enjoyed this series as much as I did <3

Now it was time for phase two of his plan: kill Rana Singh

Queenie had called your cell phone late last night. While you were laying next to Devu, talking about his fight with Sher Khan and holding hands, your phone buzzed. 

“I don’t know where the hell you’ve been these past few days but you better have your ass here tomorrow,” Queenie growled into the phone. Putting the phone on speaker, you set the phone to where Devu could hear as well.

“Baba Shakti is celebrating at the King’s Club, which means that Chief Rana will be there to guard him. I need tomorrow to go perfectly, which means I need your ass in a red dress on his lap before dinner, you hear me?” Her voice was increasing in volume by the second. “Not the club dress, that one’s too distasteful. I need you in that one evening gown,” she explained calmly, her tone doing a 180. 

“Okay,” you assured, looking at Devu and forming a plan in your mind. “I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you then.” You could practically hear the smile through the phone. Devu went to speak but you hushed him, your mind racing as you thought of your plan.

It was relatively simple. When you went to the club, you would stash a knife in the kitchen so you could retrieve it before meeting with Rana. It would be hidden under your dress, along with a small firework explosive. Devu would break into the kitchen and make his way into the elevator. You tried to persuade him to take a quieter, more discreet route, but he wanted to make as much noise and destruction as possible. Once he made it into the lounge, you would set off your explosive at Rana while Devu fired his explosives into the air, causing as much chaos as possible. 

Rana Singh would die, and then you would be free. Both of you would be free. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Making it into the kitchen, you grabbed the knife and took the elevator to the dressing rooms. Changing into an elegant red dress, with the knife and explosive hidden on your thigh, you did your makeup. Hands shaking, you had to take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You didn’t speak to anyone–not even Sita.

Soon the guests arrived and were escorted into the lounge. Rana saw you waiting patiently by the wall near across the elevator doors and joined you. 

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, voice deep and rich.

“Hey there yourself, handsome,” you purred, leaning closer to him. Making small talk, the guests sat themselves and a man took to the stage. “Is that…?” you asked quietly in fake astonishment. 

“Baba Shakti?” Rana finished. “Yeah, I’m guarding him tonight,” he smirked, eyes scanning over the entire room. He smiled handsomely. “So you can’t distract me too much tonight, hmm? Even though you’re simply to die for.” He made a point by grabbing a handful of your ass.

Gasping in surprise, you giggled. “Oh, baby, you have no idea.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man on the stage started. “What an honor it is to be here with the Sovereign Party on the cusp of our historic victory.” 

Rana immediately went to work and diligently scanned the crowd. 

“One day, the maharajas on these walls will be replaced with portraits of each and every one of you,” the speaker smiled, making the audience quietly laugh. “We will rid Mother India of her scars and make her beautiful once more. I would like to acknowledge the great contribution of a mighty chief of police, Rana Singh!” The crowd applauded him, and you did as well, along with giving him a small kiss on the cheek. “His courage and integrity has led to Yatana’s lowest crime rate.”

‘Devu should be making his way through the kitchen,’ you thought, still standing by Rana. 

“There is still one other person, without whose blessing, we would not be here. My guru. My mentor. His Holiness…Indian’s lion…Baba Shak-!”

A huge explosion from below you shook the walls and flickered the lights. The crowd gasped and murmured amongst themselves. Rana, now at full attention, began looking around the room for possible answers. 

Your hand slowly shifted down your thigh and through a hidden slit. Grabbing the explosive, you shifted behind Rana so he couldn’t see. There was a candle a few feet away from you. If only you could just…

The elevator doors opened with a ding! Devu’s explosive fireworks flew into the room and straight for Rana. Taking this as an opportunity, you lept towards the candle to light your own explosive while Rana shielded himself with his arm. Everyone rushed to the nearest exit, screaming, which left you a nice and clear target. 

With no warning, you lit the firework and watched as it exploded against Rana Singh. It caused his skin to open and welt, but if it hurt him he didn’t let it show. Devu was lighting his own fireworks and making impressive work out of Rana’s men. 

“You bitch!” Rana yelled, voice growling dangerously. He stalked towards you. Turning to run, he grabbed the hem of your dress, pulling you to the ground. Rolling out of the way of a punch, your hand quickly found the hidden knife in your dress, but unfortunately, Rana was able to pick you up and throw you back onto the floor. 

Groaning, you stumbled back and onto your feet in time to meet Rana’s fist, but you ducked just in time. Using the momentum, you sank your blade into his shoulder with a grunt of effort. 

Rana yelled in pain and pushed you away, back onto the floor. Grabbing the handle of the knife, he yanked out the blade and stalked towards you. Just as you stood up, his hand wrapped around your throat and constricted. Your scream attracted the attention of Devu, which Rana took note of. 

Instinctively, your own hands flew to paw and claw at Rana’s, but it was useless. Rana started to walk forwards, which made you instinctively want to walk backwards as to lessen the pressure on your neck. Your back hit the wall of the elevator room and the hand on your throat increased in pressure. 

Devu heard the elevator ding. Looking over, his eyes widened in dread as Rana Singh met his stare, his hand still choking you. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Devu rushed after you as quickly as possible. Alpha and her warriors arrived, which let him focus his attention on you. However, Queenie arrived with a gun and almost shot him. Sita managed to strike a devastating blow against Queenie's head, killing her and allowing Devu to sever her thumb for later use. 

Devu tried to catch his breath during the elevator ride to the VIP lounge, but the thought of you in danger through that out the window. Hands clenching with blood, he readied himself to save you. 

When the doors to the VIP lounge slid open, he heard a wet gasping and several body blows. Throwing all caution to the wind, he sprinted inside to find you. Laying in a small puddle of blood, you gasped for air, crying. The knife you struck Rana with was now in your own shoulder, blood oozing out of the wound.

He’s seen this before, hasn’t he? Devu, paralyzed by the memory of his mother, looked at you in horror as the realization of the similarities set in. Immobilized by fear, Rana took advantage of his trap and struck Devu across the face, sending him to the ground next to you. Your bloody face with eyes peering into him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Finally out of your tree, huh?” Rana mused. “Get up.” 

Devu groaned as he got up, giving you one more heartbroken glance before steadying himself for a fight. 

“Did your mother send you back for more?”

Devu dodged Rana’s heavy punches with incredible speed. They exchanged several blows, but Devu was fully prepared for this fight. He was able to knock Rana down briefly, but the chief of police shoved him through a glass display, temporarily halting Devu’s progress. 

“Get up, motherfucker!” Rana let Devu rise to his feet. “You son of a whore. What are you looking at?” Following his gaze, he saw that Devu was watching you slowly climb off the floor and rest your back against a tipped over table. The knife was out of your shoulder and rested loosely in your palm. 

Rana hummed and chuckled. “The son of a whore is in love with a whore. How romantic.”

Devu went feral. Yelling, he dodged another blow and kicked Rana in the thigh, stunning him slightly. Sizing each other up briefly, Devu glared at Rana with fire in his eyes before they each threw a punch, which landed on the other’s punch. Rana shook his hand to ease the pain as Devu just watched. 

It was over for Rana. Devu, now wild and reckless, attacked the man with full abandon. Rana got sent to the floor. Devu, panting, strolled to you and grabbed your shoe that had slipped off. He winked at you before striking Rana across the face with the heel. 

It was…terrifying to see Devu like this. He striked Rana again a few more times with the heel of your shoe before dropping it to the ground. Grabbing Rana by his hair, eyes crazed, he punched him again, sending him to the floor. 

“Get up,” Devu ordered. “Get up!” Rana groaned; he rolled onto his back as he wheezed for breath. 

You watched–eyes wide in horror–as Devu delivered blow after blow onto the man’s face, killing him with nothing but his fists. A large puddle of blood flowed out and away from his head, life slipping away with it.

As if suddenly remembering, he turned on his foot and dashed to you, yelling your name. He extended his hand rather quickly to help you up, but you flinched. Devu’s eyes widen and his brows knit together, realizing that you just watched him kill a man with his bare hands. His bloody hands shook as he displayed them, trying to relay that he was no harm.

“No, no-no-no-no!” he mumbled quickly. “It-it’s okay! It’s over. It’s done.” 

Breathing raggedly, you shifted against the wall but moaned in pain. Devu instantly came to your side, helping you stand and lean against him. The blood on his hands transferred to your skin. 

Devu helped you get into the elevator. His finger hovered over the lobby button, but you smacked his hand away with effort. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Penthouse,” you gasped. “Shakti’s there.”

“But you need-”

You shook your head. “I’m f-fine. I can wait.” Devu watched you, unsure. “Baba Shakti will get away if we don’t go now.” 

Devu, eyes still on you, slowly retrieved Queenie’s severed thumb from his pocket and used it to get into the penthouse. The blood on your hands made it difficult to keep the blade in your grasp.

“Welcome, Queenie.”

Devu maneuvered your arm to wrap around his shoulder for better stabilization. The elevator display screen image turned into a crown, signaling that you had made it to the penthouse. The doors opened to reveal Baba Shakti sitting across the wall, foot lazily splashing in the water below his seat. Devu and you slowly walked towards him, stopping beside the painting of Hanuman.  

“So you are the one?” Baba Shakti looked out the window and at the fireworks dancing across the sky. “Look at them all…Diwali. The triumph of light over darkness. The defeat of Ravana. But Ravana was no demon. He was a scholar. A visionary. He built an empire out of nothing.”

The man shook the water from his foot and grabbed his shoes before coming to a stop in front of you two. “Why not end this cycle of violence? Or we will be trapped in it for generations.”

“Do you even know my mother’s name?” Devu asked quietly. “Do you know any of their names?”

Baba Shakti rolled his eyes. “Anger will not quiet your soul, my son.”

“Don’t call me ‘son.’”

The man scoffed softly and tapped his wooden shoes together. “These were carved by a devout follower, who wore them to protect his feet from harming any small creature. On the side here, there’s an old prayer: ‘Forgive me, Mother Earth, for the sin of injury which I inflict with each step.’”

A helicopter slowly whirred outside, its beacon blinding you with its light.

“My chariot is here.”

Baba Shakti revealed a hidden blade from his shoe and stabbed Devu in the stomach. He gasped and gripped the hand that was twisting the blade further into his abdomen.

Quickly, you brought your blade over your head to stab the guru, but he was too quick. His second blade from his other shoe lodged itself into your chest. Screaming, you dropped the knife, landing it right onto his arm, the one that was still holding the blade. Baba Shakti shrieked and let go of both blades as fell backwards onto the ground, his good arm holding the wounded one.

Eyes suddenly becoming hazy, you slipped off of Devu’s shoulder and onto the ground. With your hand feeling the hole in your chest, you gasped raggedly as you kneeled on the floor. Blood seeped past your fingertips and onto the marble. 

Devu became overrun with anger and allowed his adrenaline to kick into overdrive. Yelling, he took the blade that was in his stomach and lunged for Baba Shakti. Sinking the weapon into his chest multiple times–the same place he stabbed you–he readied himself for the final blow.

Shakti gurgled, blood flowing past his lips. “You can’t,” he said weakly. “These people need me. Please, I’ll give you what you want.” He started to plead. “I’ll do anything. Forgive me! Ha-ha-have mercy, please!”

“Only God can forgive you now.”

Devu heaved the small blade above his head and stabbed it in the middle of Baba Shakti’s forehead, killing him instantly. Panting quietly, Devu stumbled to his feet and clutched his stomach. His eyes slowly panned over to you, and he screamed in agony. 

There you were–lying on the floor, hand to your chest, eyes staring into nothing. 

He didn’t bother to stifle the sob that escaped him. Crashing onto his knees, he gently picked up your head and let it rest in his lap. Bending down to kiss your forehead, tears raining onto your face, he placed a small kiss on your temple.

He did not get back up.

His body slumped over yours.

Three bodies entered the room that night. Not one made it back out.

taglist: @larascorneroftheworld @chaithetics

[talonabraxas]

The Cosmic fountain - shiva-shakti Abhishek Singh Shiva-Shakti

When the energy is not misused by arrogance, conflict, violence, vanity, then it will start to apprehend the true source of its being, it will rise up to illuminate the sun itself. Celebrating the union of pure Energy with pure Love.

[santoschristos]

“Within each of us is a spark of the Divine. Breathtaking regions of beauty, unimaginable vistas of sights and sounds, infinite wisdom, and all-embracing love invite us within. The Light of the Divine glows continually.”

“The suns and stars of the physical worlds are but pale reflections of the inner lights of the higher realms and of our own soul.”

~ Rajinder Singh, Spark of the Divine

When we allow the light to shine within us, every part of our soul is blessed.

Prana Shakti Img art by Mahaboka

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 10

Weddings and Vendettas

He's a wolf in disguise

But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes

- ( The song of the chapter is 'Monster' by Lady Gaga)

Khushi sits silently at her desk, gently caressing the bandage on her wrist. With every blink, her eyelashes stir, each moment bringing a new flash of the same memory, vivid and unrelenting.

Rain.

Raindrops.

Raindrops clinging to long lashes.

Lashes framing beautiful brown eyes.

Fingers clutching a coat lapel,

Fingers circling a delicate wrist.

Teeth clenched around a glass piece.

Lips curled into a barely-there smirk.

Buaji's voice cuts through the trance. "Haire Nand Kishore, you're drenched! You'll catch a cold!" she fusses, rubbing a towel through Khushi's hair. Her eyes dart to Khushi's wrist, and a gasp escapes her lips. "What happened to your wrist?"

"It's just a tiny cut, Buaji. Don't worry."

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

"Why would I feel dizzy?"

"Because the sight of blood makes you dizzy, bitiya. Are you alright?"

"Oh," Khushi says, a trace of bitter amusement in her voice as she remembers the younger version of herself, the one who would faint and vomit at the mere sight of her own blood. Buaji doesn't know, that Khushi died a long time ago. The girl who once crumbled at the sight of red vanished the day she ended a man's life. Blood doesn't bother her much anymore. She's learned how to control it. Like she's learned to control the feelings coursing through her blood.... rage, fear, desire....

Except when 'he' is near.

One particular Armani-clad individual still makes her blood boil, agitating her to the point that she forgets all of her old phobias.

She can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad one.

It can't be anything but disastrous.

He is poisoning her blood.

.

.

.

When Khushi steps out of the shower, wearing her favourite pajamas with towel wrapped loosely around her hair, she sees Buaji rummaging through her cupboard, pulling out every designer outfit she owns.

"What are you doing, Buaji?"

"Didn't Mr.Jha tell you, bitiya? We are going to Gurgaon."

"For what?"

"The Oberoi's eldest son is getting married!...what you guys tell it these days..oh huh..'destination' or something. Obviously, all of Delhi's elites will be there. So, Mr.Jha is taking us with him."

"When?"

"As far as I know, we're supposed to prepare for a two-day stay there, this Saturday and Sunday."

Oh, Sucks.

This puts such a damper on her 'find-the-evidence-and-get-the-hell-out- of-here' project. Two days of mundane chatter, ridiculous cosplays and forced pleasantries. Fake smiles and empty wishes will be used left, right and centre. Weddings bore her to death. Why does she even need to attend? She doesn't know the bride or groom.

Uff..

But of course, Mr.Jha is busy trying to establish every connection he can before his election. Shakti Singh Oberoi isn't just one of the richest men in the city, Mr.Jha's real interest probably lies in the fact that the Oberoi family has a long list of people in Parliament right now. It's always about power and politics.

Buaji holds up two lehengas in front of her, waiting for Khushi to choose.

"Pick whichever you like, Buaji. I don't care."

"What will I do with her? Fine, I'm picking the red one," Buaji huffs.

Khushi rolls her eyes. Buaji can't be more predictable. "Not the red one."

"Why? Red looks good on you, bitiya."

"I'm kind of hating the red colour nowadays. What about pick the purple one."

Khushi connects her phone to the charger as buaji keeps sorting her clothes. She wraps herself in her blanket and drifts off to sleep.

But brown eyes invade her dreams.

Vivid, relentless, and inescapable.

.

.

.

It's insufferable. He is insufferable. That egoistic man is not letting her sleep at night. Khushi throws off her covers and sits up in her bed, dragging her laptop toward her. She will teach him a lesson. What leverage does he have against her again? A CCTV footage. She will hack his phone and erase that footage.

She fiddles with her phone. She has his number, right? He's sent her a text with that video. With a few taps, she searches for his contact.

What the fuck...

Of course, it's encrypted. But it's an encryption she can break.

"Game on, Mr.Raizada. Since the day we met, all you've done is threaten me and pin me against the wall. Now you've crossed your limits. You're pinning me in my dreams as well. I will show you what messing with me will cost you."

Her eyes gleam as her fingers fly across the keyboard, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. A smile stretches across her face as she cracks the code and is almost one tap away from erasing all the information from his phone when her laptop hangs. The screen scrambles with a warning about virus detection, and she curses under her breath as the laptop goes into self-preservation mode.

Frustrated, she rubs her eyes. Her phone beeps with an incoming message. An unknown number.

'Nice try, little bird.'

.

.

.

For the next few days, Khushi looks like a zombie. Not only is she plagued by the same dreams--or nightmares, as she prefers to call them--but nothing interesting is happening in her father's study either. Apparently, the wolves haven't yet discovered who killed their beloved daughter, so the serpents are safe, at least for now.

All of these make Khushi ponder a certain offer. It doesn't feel so bad sitting in her own bedroom, frustrated with empty search results and the impending mind-numbing conversations with a bunch of unknown wedding guests. An IT expert at a tech company-her classmates would salivate over a job like that straight out of college. She knows it's not her qualifications that are getting her this opportunity; it's because of something she can do for him.

Then there's what he said about providing evidence against her father. Ugh... why does she become such a fireball in his presence? He was right. She asked all the wrong questions. Instead of inquiring about the evidence he mentioned, how he got it, and how she could use it, she let his threats get to her and lost her shit entirely.

"I expected more from you, Khushi," she chides herself, banging her head against her laptop. It's a new task for her now, a new skill to learn: how to keep her cool in the presence of Mr.Arnav Singh Raizada.

But she doesn't have his number. How will she contact him? The encrypted number is a one-way street; she can't text him back.

There goes the offer. Now she has to wait for another chance meeting with him to tell him she'll work for him, but only if she can lay down some conditions of her own.

And the worst part? She has no idea when or if she'll meet him again in the near future.

The uncertainty gnaws at her, leaving her more frustrated than ever as she packs her bag for the wedding she is going to attend. The wedding is set in a luxury resort just on the outskirts of the city, no more than a two-hour drive away.

As she tosses clothes into her trolley, her mind races with scenarios, each more outrageous than the last, where she meets him again and tells him about her accepting his offer. She can already imagine the smug look on his face, that infuriating smirk that makes her want to scream, punch and wipe that smile from his face all at once.

But beneath the annoyance, there's a spark of determination. If she can just see him again, she'll find a way to turn the tables. She won't let him intimidate her or pin her down anymore.

Then her thoughts shatter as ice water of realization washes over her. What's the point of thinking about the offer or accepting it? Her father would never allow her to work, and neither would Mr.Jha. She can never do it anyway. She grits her teeth and snaps her trolley shut.

Khushi sits stiffly at the long banquet table, flanked by her father and Mr.Jha, her hands resting on her lap beneath the lavishly decorated tablecloth. The glittering wedding hall around her feels suffocating, the loud hum of chatter and laughter grating against her nerves. Her father, seated to her right, exchanges polite conversation with the other guests, his tone authoritative, as always. To her left, Mr.Jha, the epitome of perfection, flashes his charming smile to those who pass by, looking every bit the polished, well-bred man her father adores.

But Khushi feels disconnected. She is drowning in a world of pretension and formality, a world where every word is calculated, every action rehearsed. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and freshly cut flowers, but it only reminds her how out of place she feels here.

The fabric of her lehenga digs into her skin. She wishes she could tie her hair up, but the makeup artist had styled it in loose waves cascading around her shoulders. The heavy jewellery weighs her down, making her body ache.

She should feel honoured to be seated between these two powerful men, her father's pride and her fiancé's polished charm surrounding her. But all she feels is trapped. Her thoughts swirl with a mixture of resentment and exhaustion. The glittering lights, the perfect smiles, the endless small talk, it all feels hollow.

Her gaze flickers across the room, trying to avoid the eyes of those who expect her to smile, to play the role of the dutiful daughter and future wife. But beneath the calm exterior, her heart races. Her body is present, but her mind is far away.

She softly drums against the linen, as Her eyes drift up, almost instinctively, and there he is.

So the Eagles are here as well, huh?

He is indeed an Eagle through and through, his presence alone exudes power. He’s draped in a deep brown suit-type sherwani, she isn’t quite sure what they are called. The tailored fabric clings perfectly to his imposing frame, every seam accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the straight line of his posture. The deep, almost regal brown not only adds a richness to his look, but also brings out his eyes even more. She huffs closing her eyes.

He might be an asshole, but he's the kind you can't help but stare at. The traditional attire only adds to his appeal, making him infuriatingly hard to ignore, despite the attitude that comes with it. His presence demands attention, and no matter how arrogant he seems, there's no denying he's dangerously attractive.

His dark gaze fixed on her from across the room. His expression is unreadable, but the intensity behind his eyes is unmistakable. A shiver runs down her spine. A spark ignites in the air between them that no one else seems to notice. She quickly looks away, her pulse racing.

But the pull is undeniable. She glances back at him, catching his gaze once more. She was looking forward to this moment, the chance to meet him face-to-face once more. Her lips curve into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one she tries to suppress but can not. It doesn't escape him. One of his eyebrows lifts up.

And her breath catches. And in that split second, Khushi feels like they are the only two people in the room, locked in a battle of unspoken words and unreadable expressions. But that slight lift of his brow, that glint in his eyes-it tells her he knows. He always knows.

From the corner of her eye, she sees the wedding planner she was introduced to earlier, guiding the Eagles toward the table where she sits. Her heart skips a beat as she watches the group approach slowly. As soon as the first one arrives, the atmosphere shifts. One by one, the members of the Eagles come into view, their faces hardening the instant they spot who is already seated. It takes only a split second. A cold realization ripples through the group. This was a mistake. The wrong families had been seated together.

The wedding planner, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, smiles brightly at all of them. She tenses, her eyes flicking toward Mr.Jha, who sits rigidly beside her. A conversation runs through her mind.

"He said he was sure about who killed his father. But how could that be? The person he's talking about was just a boy back then...what, 14 or 15?"

Her eyes snaps back to the brown one.

Oh no!

The tension becomes palpable, thick enough to choke on. Guests at the table shift uncomfortably in their seats, casting uneasy glances at one another.

Mr.Rathore exchanges a sharp glance with Mr.Raizada before his gaze slid to her father, then to Mr.Jha, his lips pressed into a thin line, the displeasure clear despite his outward calm. "Well, this is.....unexpected," Mr.Rathore muttered, his voice cold, eyes darting between the Serpents already seated at the table.

Tension spikes when one of the men beside Mr.Raizada, makes a move to grab the collar of the wedding planner, his temper threatening to erupt. But Mr.Raizada raises a hand, a silent command, and the man freezes. Without breaking his composure, Mr.Raizada pulls a chair out in a smooth motion and gestures Mr.Rathore to sit. Then, with deliberate calm, he pulls out the chair beside Mr.Rathore and sits down himself. He leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Forgive the wedding planner for the misunderstanding, Rakesh," he says, with his unsettlingly neutral voice with no malice, no hatred, no rage, no irritation, nothing. "After all, we are all friends here, aren't we?"

Her pulse quickens. She doesn't need to glance at her father to know his jaw is clenched, his fingers likely curled into tight fists beneath the table. And yet, mr.Raizada remains disturbingly calm, too calm. His eyes scan the faces of the serpents, not a single emotion flickering across his features. If anything, he seems amused, as if he's daring them to react, to make the first move.

Mr.Jha gives a curt nod,"Of course," he bites out, faking a smile. There aren't only the members of the Serpents and the Eagles, there are also Mr.Jha's political allies. He has to save face.

Across from her, the brown eyes briefly meet hers before he addresses everyone, "I trust we can make it through a few hours without incident," his voice low but carrying enough weight to silence the murmurs around the table.

The Eagles exchange wary glances as they hesitate for a beat before taking their seats. She watches across from her Junior Rathore quietly takes his place beside Mr.Raizada and then the two girls she saw at the restaurant earlier slide into the seats beside him. One of them, petite, with big dark eyes flashes her a small, secretive smile. The other, with glossy dark hair and a bit more confidence, sneaks a wave as though they're old friends sharing a private joke.

Strange. She frowns. Yet her lips twitch at the surrealness of the situation.

“Oh, darling, you’re here! Sorry, I’m late,” a singsong voice says as a freshly manicured finger trails across Mr.Rathore’s shoulder. A gorgeous woman in a black saree slides into the seat beside him. Ah yes, Mr.Rathore’s girlfriend, Sheetal Kapoor. The envy of all the men in the society.

Slowly, they begin to converse among themselves, and the atmosphere around the table settles back into a semblance of normalcy. Conversations ebb and flow as laughter punctuates the air. Khushi takes a sip of her cold drink, letting the chill pass through her, while her gaze drifts across the table.

There he is, blatantly staring at her, swirling his drink in the glass with a casual nonchalance that betrays his boredom. The corner of his lips quirks up.

She can't help but feel the heat rising in her cheeks under his unwavering gaze. It's as if he's dissecting her every move, and for a moment, she wonders if he can read her thoughts. With a quick glance, she meets his eyes, holding his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary before looking away, trying to regain her composure.

She rolls her eyes internally, refusing to let him see how flustered he makes her. "So charming," she mutters under her breath, hoping the sarcasm will help ease the tension brewing between them. But inside, she feels that familiar spark igniting again, making her pulse race.

She steals another glance, catching him smirking now, that infuriatingly confident smirk that tells her he knows exactly what effect he has on her. The table buzzes around them as the two of them are locked in a silent battle of wills.

The conversation around them shifts into the importance of female education, equality and how Mr.Jha is doing excellent job in this regards, but she has tuned it out.

She places her glass almost defiantly and crosses her arms, looking at him fully, refusing to look away. His smirk stretches further. It's smooth and teasing. He's savouring every second of their little game.

But the game is cut short when a woman, one of the wives of a business associate seated with the Serpents, turns her attention to Khushi with a warm, curious smile

"What about you, bitiya? Are you attending college?"

She blinks, breaking her staring contest, and smooths the napkin over her lap. Her composure slips back into place. She clears her throat, quickly scrambling to switch gears from their wordless duel to the polite conversation at hand.

"Oh, um..." she starts, offering the woman a polite smile. "I've graduated recently from IIT Delhi. Computer Science"

"She’s graduated with honours. We are very proud of her." Mr.Jha adds to their conversation.

The lady smiles radianty at her , "Oh, that's excellent. A girl in Computer Science. I'm so intrigued. Are you doing anything right now? Are you applying for higher education? Masters or PhD or anything else?"

"Umm.... I guess I'm now on a creative hiatus...exploring few..... personal interests."

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches his raised eyebrow across the table, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Then a sinfully deep voice joins the conversation as well. "In other words, you're neither studying nor working," he comments flatly.

"There are other things I do, of course." she feels her ear pinking as she sips her drink to control the verbal lashing that begs to come tumbling toward Mr.Raizada.

"Do share," he taunts in mock fascination. "What do you do, Miss Gupta? Besides collecting degrees just to keep them gathering dust, I mean." The table falls silent, not a good kind of silence.

"I'm sure, Miss Gupta will have a bright future. She is a brilliant girl and will do wonders to the society alongside her fiancé, Mr.Jha. They will be such an extraordinary couple," Mrs.Rastogi intervenes.

"Yeah, I'm sure, they will. So, tell us, Miss Gupta, what are you planning to do with that degree you get...with the money of the honourable tax payers of this country....besides indulging in hobbies and attending galas..." her eyes narrow as her fingers tightens around her glass, ".....or is it keeping the fashion industry afloat by purchasing enough clothes to dress half the country? If so, thank you in advance by the way, for investing in our business."

"I'm going to kill you, Mr.Raizada," she mutters silently clenching her teeth.

The poor lady, Mrs.Rastogi comes to damage control as she nervously adds, "The IT field has flourished in the last few years. I'm sure she'll find something to contribute to that. Bitiya, what are you planning to do next? Work, perhaps?"

Khushi hesitates, not sure how to respond to that question in front of everyone. Before she can find the right words, the infuriating man cuts through the conversation."Well, that depends, doesn't it?" His gaze flickering to her father and then Mr.Jha, before finally landing back on her. "I suppose certain permissions are required before any plans can move forward."

The words are casual, but the barb is clear. Her polite smile wavers just a fraction.

A particular clinking sound of curtilary draws her attention to Mr.Jha. His expression is calm, but his knuckles whiten around his fork. "Actually, that's not true. I'll let her to do anything she wants." Mr.Jha replies smoothly, his tone polite but edged with barely concealed irritation.

"You'll let her...." He quotes him and smirks leaning slightly forward , "...like I said, she needs your permission to do a job if she wants. Where's the equality in this again?"

"Khushi's future is important to all of us. We only want what's best for her. She has full autonomy to do whatever she wants to do." Mr.Jha says through gritted teeth.

Her eyes meeting the brown ones. His gaze is sharp, as though he's daring her to respond. But she remains silent.

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear, Mr.Jha. How reassuring it is to know that our future leaders practice what they preach! Supporting your fiancée in her career sets such an extraordinary example for the young generation of this country," the lady gushes on and on and on.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs.Rastogi," Mr.Jha responds politely, meanwhile shooting daggers across the table. "Empowering women is a central theme of my campaign. After all, charity does begin at......"

"Actually, Dad," Khushi cuts in with a slightly higher tone, turning fully toward her father, "I have been thinking of sharing this with you for a couple of days. I have an offer from a tech company. Paragon Tech.....I think, I'll consider that offer. What do you think? It's a good company, right?" She asks faking a bright, enthusiastic smile. It's an opening. She had to take this chance.

"Yes, it's a good company. You can work there if you wants, sweetheart." His father says before pursing his lips. "We'll always support her." her father continues, nodding at Mrs.Rastogi while brown-eyes looks like he’s just won the argument.

Everyone returns to their starters as the conversation dies down, but an urge lingers in the air. An urge to strike back.

"You know, Mr.Raizada," Mr.Jha starts with a casual tone. "I heard a very amusing story a few days ago... one of my bodyguards just mysteriously found himself unconscious in your presence."

And that infuriating smirk is back on his face as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "My condolences. You need better security, Mr.Jha, with better skill to remain on their feet.....and better manners."

Mr.Jha’s jaw tightens, but before he can retort, Her father addresses the brown-eyed man across the table with a hard look. "Mr.Raizada, have you forgotten your manners at home?"

Something darker flickers in the caramel-brown orbs, "On the contrary, Mr.Gupta, I remember them quite well, much to your future disappointment."

She can feel both Mr.Jha and his father's rage toward the brown-eyes radiating off them in waves. And she’s sitting in the centre of these three men.

The servers gathering around the table help bring the tension down a few notches. Mr. and Mrs.Rastogi attempt to extinguish the brewing disaster by shifting the conversation to lighter topics, asking Mr.Jha about his political campaign and other matters.

And all this time, his eyes have been on her. Discreet this time, not very obvious.

She feels like burning from the inside out, and all he does is watch, his expression unreadable. It drives her mad, to the point she wants to scream, but instead, her voice comes out quieter as she responds to Mrs.Rastogi's other questions.

After a while, he leans in, his lips moving silently as he whispers something to Mr.Rathore. And then he leaves the table, leaving behind a empty chair in front of her.

The chair remains vacant when their main course is served, even through dessert.

Without his brown eyes all over her, she feels strangely empty too, just like the chair does.

And it’s a dangerous feeling.

A feeling that could ruin her.

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading! I’d love your feedback. Leave a comment!

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @msbhagirathi @titaliya @shiyaravi

[mariacallous]

On a stifling April afternoon in Ajmer, in the Indian state of Rajasthan, local politician Shakti Singh Rathore sat down in front of a greenscreen to shoot a short video. He looked nervous. It was his first time being cloned.

Wearing a crisp white shirt and a ceremonial saffron scarf bearing a lotus flower—the logo of the BJP, the country’s ruling party—Rathore pressed his palms together and greeted his audience in Hindi. “Namashkar,” he began. “To all my brothers—”

Before he could continue, the director of the shoot walked into the frame. Divyendra Singh Jadoun, a 31-year-old with a bald head and a thick black beard, told Rathore he was moving around too much on camera. Jadoun was trying to capture enough audio and video data to build an AI deepfake of Rathore that would convince 300,000 potential voters around Ajmer that they’d had a personalized conversation with him—but excess movement would break the algorithm. Jadoun told his subject to look straight into the camera and move only his lips. “Start again,” he said.

Right now, the world’s largest democracy is going to the polls. Close to a billion Indians are eligible to vote as part of the country’s general election, and deepfakes could play a decisive, and potentially divisive, role. India’s political parties have exploited AI to warp reality through cheap audio fakes, propaganda images, and AI parodies. But while the global discourse on deepfakes often focuses on misinformation, disinformation, and other societal harms, many Indian politicians are using the technology for a different purpose: voter outreach.

Across the ideological spectrum, they’re relying on AI to help them navigate the nation’s 22 official languages and thousands of regional dialects, and to deliver personalized messages in farther-flung communities. While the US recently made it illegal to use AI-generated voices for unsolicited calls, in India sanctioned deepfakes have become a $60 million business opportunity. More than 50 million AI-generated voice clone calls were made in the two months leading up to the start of the elections in April—and millions more will be made during voting, one of the country’s largest business messaging operators told WIRED.

Jadoun is the poster boy of this burgeoning industry. His firm, Polymath Synthetic Media Solutions, is one of many deepfake service providers from across India that have emerged to cater to the political class. This election season, Jadoun has delivered five AI campaigns so far, for which his company has been paid a total of $55,000. (He charges significantly less than the big political consultants—125,000 rupees [$1,500] to make a digital avatar, and 60,000 rupees [$720] for an audio clone.) He’s made deepfakes for Prem Singh Tamang, the chief minister of the Himalayan state of Sikkim, and resurrected Y. S. Rajasekhara Reddy, an iconic politician who died in a helicopter crash in 2009, to endorse his son Y. S. Jagan Mohan Reddy, currently chief minister of the state of Andhra Pradesh. Jadoun has also created AI-generated propaganda songs for several politicians, including Tamang, a local candidate for parliament, and the chief minister of the western state of Maharashtra. “He is our pride,” ran one song in Hindi about a local politician in Ajmer, with male and female voices set to a peppy tune. “He’s always been impartial.”

While Rathore isn’t up for election this year, he’s one of more than 18 million BJP volunteers tasked with ensuring that the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi maintains its hold on power. In the past, that would have meant spending months crisscrossing Rajasthan, a desert state roughly the size of Italy, to speak with voters individually, reminding them of how they have benefited from various BJP social programs—pensions, free tanks for cooking gas, cash payments for pregnant women. But with the help of Jadoun’s deepfakes, Rathore’s job has gotten a lot easier.

He’ll spend 15 minutes here talking to the camera about some of the key election issues, while Jadoun prompts him with questions. But it doesn’t really matter what he says. All Jadoun needs is Rathore’s voice. Once that’s done, Jadoun will use the data to generate videos and calls that will go directly to voters’ phones. In lieu of a knock at their door or a quick handshake at a rally, they’ll see or hear Rathore address them by name and talk with eerie specificity about the issues that matter most to them and ask them to vote for the BJP. If they ask questions, the AI should respond—in a clear and calm voice that’s almost better than the real Rathore’s rapid drawl. Less tech-savvy voters may not even realize they’ve been talking to a machine. Even Rathore admits he doesn’t know much about AI. But he understands psychology. “Such calls can help with swing voters.”

[ek-ranjhaan]

SINGHAM AGAIN REVIEW

What in the multiverse of insanity was that.

I screamed shitless when I saw the trailer, and every time someone entered, I lost my shit. Because, it was crazy.

Oh maan. Like I don't understand why people are hating on it so freaking much.

Singham Again was decent, honestly. Agreed the star cast was overwhelming, but it actually had my interests satiated mainly. All their entries were cool, the puns hit well, certain scenes like the port burning scene had their fair share of adrenaline rush, acting was decent (I dare say even Arjun Kapoor was kinda okay). Overall, it was a cutesy retelling of Ramayana. I actually quite liked the way they presented the scenes and at different locations with the actual evidence of the real Ramayana.

Also, I have this weird habit of counting actors, at least the ones I know, so here we are:

Ajay Devgn as DCP Bajirao Singham

Jackie Shroff as Omar Hafeez

Ravi Kishan as Home Minister Raj Jaishankar

Kareena Kapoor Khan as Avni Kamat Singham

Shweta Tiwari as Devika Singh

Dayanand Shetty as Senior Inspector Daya Shetty

Ankit Mohan as Sarath

Deepika Padukone as DCP Shakti Shetty

Arjun Kapoor as Danger Lanka / Zubair Hafeez

Tiger Shroff as ACP Satya Bali

Akshay Kumar as DCP Veer Sooryavanshi

and holy shit.

Salman Khan as Inspector Chulbul Pandey

[apacnewsnetwork0]

Energy can be generated, but water cannot be produced: Gajendra Singh Shekhawat, Minister of Jal Shakti, GoI, at the All India Secretaries’ Conference on Water Vision

Mahabalipuram: The All India Secretaries’ Conference on Water Vision 2047 – Way Ahead in Mahabalipuram was held on January 23-24. Minister of Jal Shakti, Government of India, Gajendra Singh Shekhawat, addressed the event. “Energy can be generated, but water cannot be produced,” he said.

Shekhawat encouraged the exchange of best practices on water management and learning from failures. He further reported that at least 10% of the blocks (geographical units) have successfully reversed the trend of groundwater depletion in the last year.

Secretary of the Ministry of Jal Shakti Debashree Mukherjee, emphasised the core themes of water use efficiency and water governance, among other actions, as crucial factors for ensuring Jan Bhagidari (public participation).

Read More Here : https://apacnewsnetwork.com/2024/01/energy-can-be-generated-but-water-cannot-be-produced-gajendra-singh-shekhawat-minister-of-jal-shakti-goi-at-the-all-india-secretaries-conference-on-water-vision/