Posts from the literature category.
There was a moment, somewhere around midnight, when I looked up from the page and instinctively glanced toward the dark corner of my room. Nothing was there. Of course nothing was there. Yet Saga of The Djinn’s Daughter — Book 1: The Night of Fire had quietly altered the atmosphere around me in the way only certain stories can. The ceiling fan continued its familiar hum. A distant vehicle passed o...
There is a particular kind of silence that arrives after reading about someone standing at the edge of everything they once were.I experienced that silence while reading Unshakable Confidence: The Anand Modi Story. Not because the book tries to shock the reader, but because it quietly forces you to confront a difficult question: Who are you when the life you built with your own hands suddenly disa...
There was a moment while reading Where the Highway Ends when I found myself staring at the ceiling instead of the page. Not because the book had become difficult, but because it had quietly opened a door to a memory I had not visited in years. I remembered sitting beside my father on a humid Maharashtra afternoon, listening to him explain something with complete certainty while I pretended not to ...
A few pages into Taking Charge: Living Beyond Diabetes, I found myself thinking about a small crack that once appeared on a wall in my office. At first, it seemed insignificant, easy to ignore. Months later, it had spread across the surface, impossible to overlook. Reading Abhishek Gaggneja’s story evoked that same feeling. Not because our circumstances were identical, but because life’s biggest t...
Some books arrive loudly, demanding attention from the very first page. I Am, I Can, I Will by Ruby Kapoor arrived differently. It felt like walking into a railway station long after midnight and noticing a lone tea vendor still awake under a flickering tube light — tired perhaps, but steady, warm, and quietly present for whoever needed comfort before the next journey.That is the emotional frequen...
Some books arrive with noise. Big drama. Big tragedy. Big declarations about life. One Year by Sweta does something riskier. It quietly walks beside you like that exhausted colleague who waits near the office lift at 9:47 p.m., smiling weakly while pretending everything is manageable. And somewhere between those ordinary moments, the book slips under your skin.I started reading it late at night af...
Somewhere between two pages, I lowered the book onto my lap and looked up. I was sitting on a park bench, watching children chase each other across the grass while a gentle evening breeze rustled through the trees. A few walkers moved along the pathway with quiet determination, each headed somewhere, each following a direction known only to them. And a strange thought crossed my mind: most people ...
The page had barely settled after a chapter when I looked up from my office desk and noticed the silence. Not the dramatic kind. Just the familiar stillness that arrives when you work alone for long enough. The soft hum of the air conditioner. A half-empty water bottle beside the keyboard. A notebook lying open with a few unfinished thoughts waiting to be revisited. I found myself staring at those...
A bookmark was already waiting a few pages ahead because I was certain I would stop after the first case. It turned out to be one of those optimistic decisions readers make when they underestimate a good mystery.The problem with Bro, We’ve Got A Case! is that it quietly slips into the part of your mind that still remembers what it felt like to believe every locked door hid a secret and every unusu...
Some books arrive like conversations. This one arrived like a late-night voice note you replay twice before sleeping.I happened to interview Umang Agarwal a while ago, and I remember noticing how carefully he chose his pauses while answering questions. Not polished pauses. Protective ones. The kind people use when they are deciding how much of themselves can safely enter a room. While reading Raaz...
