The Befrienders of St Paul’s Cathedral

Kolkata’s Cathedral: St Paul’s

The iconic buildings and grand edifices of Kolkata are intricately woven within Kolkata’s cultural fabric. Much Kolkata’s character and attitude is shaped by these edifices, as much as its distinctive beauty. One such is the magnificent Pre-Raphaelite structure of St Paul’s Cathedral, the Diocese of Calcutta. Designed to resemble the 12^th century Canterbury Cathedral of England, St Paul’s was commissioned to replace St John’s Church as the cathedral for the growing European community in 1800s. With its majestic tower, stained glass windows, the grand Parish Hall, beautifully manicured garden and a well-stocked library, St Paul’s is one of the important landmarks on the face of Kolkata.

The Cathedral Friendship Centre

Since its inception, St Paul’s has been playing a seminal role in Kolkata’s cultural progression. With its patient kindness and love, it has always kept its doors open to all—the locals and the tourists, the pilgrims and the laity, the happy and the troubled, the young and the old. People came back time and time again in search of a safe house to St Paul’s Cathedral. The quiet walls of the cathedral beckoned many, and many came seeking peace, mercy, relief and love. Mostly people came seeking a friend to talk to, to seek some advice, to unburden.

Last year, after the painstaking efforts of Rev. Nigel Pope, the Presbyter-in-charge of the cathedral, St Paul’s Cathedral, in partnership with the St Peter’s Church of Derbyshire, and with incredible help from the Westminster Abbey, The Bishop of Derby, The Diocese of Derby and Ruth and Adrian Whitehall, set up the Cathedral Friendship Centre on 21^st August 2016.

The Friendly ‘Befrienders’

In this one year the Cathedral Friendship Centre has extended its friendship to several. People of all faiths or no faith, troubled or lonely can come to the centre to read, listen to music or talk to one of the wonderful ‘Befrienders’ (the volunteer friends from the Cathedral). Over this one year the befrienders have helped many, and many have, thus, come back to the centre to share their experiences and help the troubled.

The Friendship Centre with its befrienders and coordinator-in-charge remains open to all from Tuesday to Saturday. Mondays are off days and Sundays are half days.

Call it slow or call it old-fashioned with want of opportunities, Kolkata is more than a city of glitz, glamour and urbanised industrilization. Its beauty lies in its compassion, its simplicity and its warmth. Its history is as rich as its present—a proof that the edifice of St Paul’s and its community bear by itself.

Sanjha Chulcha Opens Kolkata’s First Food ATM For The Underprivileged

Want to donate food for the underprivileged? Join hands with Sanjha Chulha and donate food to Kolkata’s first food ATM and help feed the impoverished.

Food ATM

Wondering what’s a food ATM? Well, it’s a refrigerator which acts as a food bank that restaurants or food joints keep by the street to store excess food or leftovers that they give away to the needy or the underprivileged.

Sanjha Chulha’s Food ATM

Sanjha Chulcha restaurant in association with the Rotary Club, JITO and Round Table India launched a food ATM on this Independence Day as an innovative answer to food wastage and hunger. Come and leave your leftovers and excess food in this fridge, installed in front of Sanjha Chulcha’s Ladies Park outlet, for the needy. This fridge with an inbuilt camera helps the restaurant keep a tab of the space available for storing drop offs.

Budget Meals For The Needy

Keeping up with the spirit of feeding the impoverished, Sanjha Chulha has also launched budget meal packs, which customers can buy and donate to the poor and the hungry.

Come let’s get together with Sanjha Chulha and make the ‘Hunger Free Kolkata’ project a success.

Botswana's No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

A few weeks back when a teacher of mine recommended me to read some of Alexander Mccall Smith’s writings, I set out to look for a book which will be best for me to step into his oeuvre with. So, I picked his 1998 released novel, The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Precious Ramotswe’s intelligence and affability combined with McCall Smith’s witty narrative got me hooked so much that by the end of this book I was itching to read the next instalment of the series.

Set in Botswana, The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency is one of its kind in the entire country. Following her father’s death, Mma Ramotswe used her inheritance to set up a detective agency because she unwaveringly believes that ‘women understand what’s happening. They are the ones with the eyes.’ Ramotswe along with her assistant Mma Makutsi and a small white van set out to solve cases and help people ‘solve the mysteries in their lives’. Though business starts off slow with small cases involving con men, embezzlers and rebellious kids, it does not take too long to pick up momentum as the perceptive and quick-witted Mma Ramotswe bags important and high-profile cases in her kitty. Through the tribulations of the ingenious cases, cups of bush tea and Mr JLB Matekoni remain as constant friends to Mma Ramotswe.

Precious Ramotswe with her easy and patient demeanour and a keen understanding of the human psyche comes across as a detective, au naturel. Her progressive and feminist ideals does not come in conflict with her traditional African values, compassion and grace. She is a patient feminist who puts an arrogant man in his place with her intelligence and sharp wit and her amicable disposition. Mma Ramotswe is a confident woman who is not only sure of her looks and her colour, but also of her self and her identity as a feminist. She is unlike the stereotyped sleuths who are endowed with atypical qualities, for her judgement is tempered with compassion and human understanding—the Moretsi case for instance.

If Mma Ramotswe’s character is instrumental in keeping the readers glued to the book, McCall Smith's
narrative is no less in making the novel such a success. The narrative’s inspection of human character, foibles and pressing issues of the society is deceptively covert by Smith’s lucid language and easy humour. McCall Smith let’s his protagonist use sly humour to cut through chauvinism, patriarchy and superstition. The narrative is interspersed with actions from Mma Ramotswe’s curiously interesting present and thoughtful ruminations from flashes of her painful past, thus, striking a delicate balance of wit and philosophy, of humour and pathos.

While some may dismiss McCall Smith’s handling of the pressing social issues as trivial, it is undeniable that his protagonist, nonetheless, comes across as a nosy realist who hesitates for no two seconds before plunging headlong to address such issues in her own capacity. The plot doesn’t follow the whoddunnit genre, nor does it involve sensational crimes, indomitable criminals or the maddening chases. McCall Smith’s novel relishes the slow-paced life of Gabarone, the challenges that form the kernel of the mundane, and studies the foibles of human character in a different light, unlike most detective novels. The novel, at best, stands out as a optimistic and humorous commentary on human life, character and society. 

7 Things That Happen When You Go On A Social Media Cleanse

To go on a social media cleanse for a week is not everybody’s cuppa tea! It needs strength of will and character, and a really messed up mind for one to dare take up such a purifying task. 

So a week back, someone (read, someone special) I have taken a liking to did a brutal turnaround, and my peace of mind fell victim to a game of Russian 'Love' Roulette! I yearned for a comfortable place to wallow in and some dusting of ‘inner peace’! So I took to a week-long cleanse—a social media cleanse! 

But then starts the side effects. Here’s a few to be warned of.

1. Your fingers start twitching desperately. 

     

    Your fingers be like a druggie without your smartphone. You start missing the smooth touch of your 'smart ass' phone!

2. Notifications desert you.

You want to dismiss Bae! So you look forward to your bros and chickas to pump you up, between bouts of 'leave-me-alone-for-heaven's-sake' mode. But dammit! there's no scope for notifications. You are just left to syncing your email a dozen times in a minute. Self-esteem plummets at it's lowest low. 'I-am-not-important-enough' mode is on.

3. You become a sad, but creepy stalker.

You hope for crush to miss you, but there are no messages or calls! You are clueless. You roundly end up stalking your crush online (incognito mode). All social accounts stalked at least five times a day.

4. Dangers of drunk texting!

When you can't get enough of stalking your crush, you drunk text your crush! Well because all the other modes of stalking are just plain useless.

5. On the plus side, you get to eat warm food!

Social media absence accounts for zero fancy food photographs and the no risk of drool dripping out of your mouth. You enjoy lots of scrumptious satisfying meals that are eaten while still warm.

6. You undergo Selfie-withdrawal Complex.

A rather difficult problem, but you slowly start realising how much your skulking personality, racoon eyes and mopey looks are bad recipes for selfies. What do you do when your membership of the selfie nursery (social media platforms) have been taken away. You go to a shrink to get over 'selfie-withdrawal complex'.

7. The Epiphanic moment — Life is okay without Memes 

You suddenly realize the lame ass memes on social media are half as funny as the amazeball funny friends you have. You wonder how did you miss this for so long!

Those Summer Morning Walks

                 

The quaint little town of Andul was inhabited by a few hundred people who knew each other all too well. They were friends or neighbours, acquaintances or relatives. There were the old men who trudged along for morning walks, young chaps who flocked around at the market place or the ladies troop who gathered around the puchkawala.

One such simpleton was old Mr Manna. He was one among the old residents of this town. Every morning at the crack of dawn he and his friends would take the mile-long walk to the railway station. This summer the old men had the company of a little sprightly girl and her tiny white furball, Jimmy. Five-year-old Dona was Mr Manna’s granddaughter and Jimmy was her pet spitz. This year she was spending her summer vacation with her grandparents. 

‘Come now little one, don’t wander away’ Mr Manna would often call out to Dona and her pup. 

The old men were thrilled to have this little girl for company. Her abundant energy kept them rattling tale after tale to her. Dona was an eager listener and couldn’t get enough of stories.

‘Grandpa Mitter, would you tell me the story of the mango tree Giant again? I won’t be scared today, I promise’, Dona said pleadingly.  

Mr Mitter rubbed his chin and said, ‘hmm…so you see little one, there was once a giant who lived in the mango tree that stood behind my house…’

As the story followed Dona and Jimmy trotted along the path collecting wildflowers and greeting the townsfolk.

‘You’re late today, Kanai uncle’, Dona chirped as Kanai smirked and cycled past her with his cart full of bread.

Then as they neared the field, there was no stopping Jimmy and Dona from running amuck among the dewy wet grasses.

‘Look at those munchkins!’ the women piped as they queued around the squeaky tubewell to fill their pitchers.

When they reached the railway station, the old men ordered tea from Bishu’s tea stall at the platform. Dona and Jimmy carefully sneaked away and climbed the foot-over bridge to visit the town on the other side. But hardly had the reached the middle of the bridge than the train came rumbling and shot its loud whistle. Dona and Jimmy trembled and crouched low in fear. The burst of laughter made Dona look up with wide eyes.

‘Want to sneak away alone anymore?’ Pintu dada asked as Dona shook her head vigorously.

When Pintu took Dona and Jimmy to the old men, they all chuckled and asked, ‘How was the trip Dona?’ 

‘I-I’m sorry’, Dona mumbled tearfully before her grandpa wrapped her in his arms and soothingly said, ‘It’s okay. Next time we will take the trip to the other side together.’

Today, Dona is a grown woman and lives in a lifeless city. Her Grandpa and Jimmy had died. But the memories of these early mornings and the simpletons of Andul have brought her closer to life and have taught her to cherish the simple joys of life.

Of Mother and Daughter

Of Mother and Daughter
I stood in the corridor, just outside the class;
Transfixed to the spot, as I held the sight before.
There, he came strolling towards me,
My best friend since we were three.
Hopefully to certify a relationship that was yet to be.

Last night he had called to declare his love,
But surprise and awe had tangled my nerves.
Sputtering and stammering words incoherent,
I couldn’t fully convey my feelings intent.
Couldn't confess my feelings of love that our friendship has long augment.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips,
His mussed hair and the familiar cowlick.
Last night’s frenzy now fogged my mind,
Hitched my breath and pounded my ears.
And I stood staring at my friend as he morphed into my lover.

Memory’s river flooded my mind,
Our years of togetherness came floating by.
Locking our eyes, we silently hoped,
That our time-stained Joy, Anger and Sorrow,
Would plough the field of our Love’s tomorrow.


Now he stood proudly before me,
His palpable love setting my soul alight.
He twined his fingers softly with mine,
Like he did that day we buried father,
When we were no more than just nine.

With his head bent forward, his forehead on mine,
A sudden peace washed over him.
Happiness and Fear danced in his eyes;
His face a canvas of myriad emotions.
A perfect reflection of my own impressions.

At the self-same moment I recognized the look,
The one I had seen in my mother’s eyes.
Trust and Love sewn together with Peace,
Would shine in her eyes as she talked of Jim.
Or when she would look at my father, before him.

Understanding plundered my thoughts,
How I wronged my mother’s heart.
Hurt and angry on my father’s behalf, I had lashed out at her;
Deaf to what she had been telling so far:
‘Love is boundless, unconditional and free; and it has given a second chance to me!’

Seven lonely years sucked at her life,
Seven lonely years withered her soul,
Until mother met Jim who brought back Love.
With utmost care Love had bloomed,
And then she gave birth to Hope!

This inexplicable strength, power and courage,
Born of Love’s depth and faith,
Has touched the core of my soul’s being;
And has schooled me in understanding my mother’s feelings.
That Love is born not to die, but to breed in one the love of Life.

The House

He remodelled the house for a lacsome money,
The house that stands at the end of the dirty alley.
The cow shed overlooks the ornate main door shy,
Urchins play amidst cow dung and flies.
The house shines garishly with its white-tiled exterior,
It adds to his pride and makes him feel superior.
Tall and scrawny like a narrow piece of cake,
The house awaits to tumble at a legal inspection's wake.
Three years of savings he spent to rise above
The tacky poor neighbours with no taste or class.
The red-oxide flooring was ripped away with marble,
Friends and relatives sighed and appreciated his bauble.

Seven months and ten days it took to remodel the house;
The house that stands like his ego profuse.
Orphaned and poor, his childhood had lured
Him to own land and be secured.
Money cured his unassuring lack,
He didn't care for any law's smack.
Orange and purple filled the walls of his imagination,
Though unkempt articles didn't add to the reformation.
Hailing from the suburbs in far off East,
The  proud house had his identity fixed.
Teenager from a village, alone and abandoned;
He survived the city; a man ripened and hardened.

But fickle Fate with an unscrupulous smile,
Trapped him in a cancerous vice.
Metabolic dysfunction and a malignant liver,
Rocked his world, his forehead burnt with fever.
Anxious and agitated, and distraught with fear,
His wife strived to fetch him every possible elixir.
Money escaped like a mirage in desert;
Her aching tears bought no relief from Fate pervert.
Addled and hapless, his wife begged for help
From friends and relatives who sighed and sidestepped.

That Ego and Pride—trifles to life;
That money humbles the archest brows;
That perfect luxury equals no love;
Dawned on him, and she thought thereof
To sell the house; the one that stood
In the dingiest and shabbiest neighbourhood.
The house now snuggles a tacky poor family,
Who saved another with their classless money.

If money be the grave, and ego be the dirt,
Let Life be the wind that blows over us.

Tibet in North India!

Tired of Chole Bhature and Chole Kulcha, I took to the Internet to look around for places in Delhi where I can find some nice Chinese and Tibetan delights. Now we all know of the magical potency of the Internet. Google churned out names such a Majnu ka Tila and Tee-Dee from its belly. And my friends and I were left with little but to explore the incredulous place called Majnu ka Tila.

The New Aruna Nagar Colony, aka Majnu Ka Tila, with its huge monastic gate welcomed us to a make-shift ‘little Tibet’. Refugee Tibetans settled here and flagged the place as their own town, Chungtown. Every inch of this place smells and resembles Tibet as we have seen in photographs and the few lucky ones who have been to Tibet. We walked through its lanes and by lanes to explore a shopper’s haven of clothes and curios and a foodie’s happy hunting ground of authentic Tibetan cuisine.

At the heart of the colony lies a Tibetan monastery, or gumpha as they call it, from which the lanes and the by lanes radiate. We walked further inside through the by lanes for another 7 minutes and TA-DA! we reached TEE-DEE, the holiest place in Majnu Ka Tila to taste Tibetan food that is authentic to a T. As history has it, TEE-DEE is one of the first restaurants that had opened its doors to guests to taste Tibetan food. Back then old Karchung, the proprietor, served cheley (Tongue fry), lowa (stuffed lung fry), shapta (stir fried meat), thenthuk (noodle soup) and tingmo (steamed bread) to his guests. Named after Karchung’s younger son, Tenzing Drukda, TEE-DEE has emerged as the favourite spot of foodies over these 24 years.

TEE-DEE is literally a step above other restaurants in Mjanu Ka Tila, as we climbed up to the first floor to enter the paradisaical world of great food and good ambiance. Smiling Dalai Lama and a meditating Buddha welcomed us to a warm and cosy informal setting and to a new world of shabhaleys, ghenthuk and thenthuk. The service boy gave us a yellow pad to scribe our orders, but we found ourselves lost in the Tibetan names. 

Tashi, the beautiful Tibetan woman who has been at the helm of affairs at TEE-DEE since her father-in-law passed away, came to our rescue and placed the orders on our behalf. She says cheley, lowa, pork ribs, shapta and tingmo are the specialties of TEE-DEE. 

Though service was tardy, food did appear hot on our tables. We gregariously dined on pork ribs, tingmo, beef shapta and sliced pork with mushrooms. The piping entree, pork ribs, took us to a height of foodgasm. Pork ribs were deliciously juicy and zesty, with a good blend of spicy and sweet. The steamy hot tingmo with its yeasty freshness is wholesomely filling. The soft doughiness of the tingmo is best complemented by the hot and tangy beef shapta. Loaded with shredded meat, the beef shapta is indeed a must try at TEE-DEE. Sliced pork with mushroom is another dish that shouldn’t be given a miss. Shredded pork and a variety of mushrooms are packed together in a mild and glistening buttery gravy that washes your palette just enough from the tanginess of the beef shapta. 

By the end of our food journey we were full to our brim. What appealed to us most is the economical price at which TEE-DEE offered us a whole course meal. We would, however, recommend a slightly more familiar approach and a little more customer-friendly attitude.

24 years and still going guns, TEE-DEE has a simple recipe behind it. While the Tibetan colony is mushroomed with restaurants and food joints, there is hardly any that offers purely authentic Tibetan dishes. As Tashi stresses, authenticity has been their motto since TEE-DEE’s inception. It stands up to its popularity with its informal charm, authentic flavours and quality food. Though the shy and introvert Tibetan service boys refused to talk much, Tashi endeared us with her smile and welcoming hospitality.

Intriguing as the name may be, Majnu ka Tila offers a special gastronomic relish as it leads one through the narrow lanes of its mini Tibet!

A Foodie's Paradise - Kolkata!

I am a rat! I sniff my way into a city to know if it can satisfy my hunger pangs. Not that I claim to have travelled extensively across numerous cities, but I have modestly managed to touch base of several Indian cities. And from the little sniffing I did, I know well where I can quell my cravings.

                                

Calcutta/Kolkata is the city every foodie must pin down on her/his map, in case she/he is looking for a haven!

 If Delhi is our national capital, and Mumbai our cultural capital, Kolkata is definitely our food capital. Don’t judge me because it’s my hometown, but when I say that Calcutta’s gastronomic affair is by far the most democratically pluralistic one, I mean every word of it. The city is like an egalitarian wok that offers an array of global cuisines to its people. From the elites to the proletariat, Kolkata has afforded all sections of its society to enjoy a foodie’s appetite and cravings. It is one of the metros, and one of the oldest ones, which still affords its public the cheapest and the most economical living in India. Momos, noodles, thukpas, chop suey, dosas, dahi-vadas, chats, puchkas, kebabs, rolls, biriyani, burgers, pasta, fish cutlets, sizzlers, pastries, puddings, custard et al, are available not just in the plush interiors of lavish restaurants, but also with the local street vendors and within a range of INR 40 –80. What better way to keep your folks happy than through her/his stomach!

All Kolkattans are foodies, irrespective of their class, creed, sex, colour and religion. And I am serious!

That all Kolkattans are foodies bear proof in the fact that every nook and corner of city has a food joint that sells its own deconstructed variety of a principal dish. The variety available for your taste buds to relish on is just mind boggling — from Mughlai to Middle Eastern, from Asian to American. What, however, makes Kolkata the heavenly abode of Foodies is the easy availability of these delicacies, both in the street joints and the luxurious restaurants. 

My stay in Delhi, over the last two years, is deeply marked with much disappointment at the limited offers that are available for everyday snacking.  North Indian Cuisine is so heavily vetted there that to satiate a sudden Thukpa craving you might have to go all the way to Majnu ka Tila! And also let’s not forget the taboo of non-vegetarianism. Mumbai has been way better, though when it comes to choices and variety, you need to remember that in an elitist society ‘beggars can’t be choosers’! Chennai is however too full of itself to bother about other cuisines. It regales in its own magnificent cuisine.

The Bengali cuisine looms large over Kolkata too, but it’s definitely not an all consuming shadow. While delicacies like Alu-Posto, the Awadhi-styled Biriyani and Rasogolla are indeed quintessential of Kolkata, it also boasts itself of the rare Anglo-Indian dishes like the Mulligatawny soup and Kedgree, with Kolkata being the home to a large number of Anglo-Indians.  If it’s Puchka today, its’s Kabiraji tomorrow and Nachos the next day. If it’s Biriyani from Arsalan today, then it’s sweets from Balaram tomorrow and Chinese from Tirettti Bazar the next day.  If it’s Pasta from the university campus food joint today, it’s Chicken ala Kiev from The Steak Factory tomorrow and Japchae from Asia In Box the next day.

 When in Kolkata you are a Foodie and variety is the word that will dominate you plate.

Women and We

The issue of women’s liberation and empowerment has become a seminal topic in almost all discourses. The 20^th century has germinated the seeds of women’s cause that were sown a century or two back to full growth. Women gained suffrage, equal pay rights, reproductive rights, education and a lot more, and still a lot remains to be achieved.

                       
 We’ve come off our stereotyped roles, and we have been relentlessly trying to push the social margins further and further. For independent women like you and me, women’s empowerment and liberation is our cornerstone. So, every once in a while my girlfriends and I deliberate over such movements like ‘no-shave armpits’ and ‘free the nipple’, and join a few others to show our solidarity.

                        
 But then one day I met three middle-aged women on a trip to Agra. They were homemakers who enjoyed their dependence and loved to dominate the measured world of 2BHK. But now that their husbands have withered and children have moved out and need their care little, they decided to enjoy their lives travelling. This was their first trip alone and that they were nervous would be the least to say. I felt piteously sorry for them who have been now become useless to their children and husbands. I felt terribly sorry for them who had clipped their wings early on in their lives and had never ventured outside the protective male gaze. And so, while I pitied them, one of them caught my tone and remarked, ‘It is by choice that I am a homemaker. I chose to lead this life.’  Soon, I realized how horribly ignorant I was! I wondered how vainly liberated did I feel against my mother who chose a life for herself – to have a family and not to live alone in an unknown city for employment? How much powerful do the sons and husbands feel when they queue up a pre-paid taxi booth and ask the women to stand under shade with the luggage? These same women travelling alone does all of that and may be much more!

I realize how vain I was. My myopic vision prevented me from realizing that feminism is not in pitying women in a situation which you don’t find favourable. It is in realizing and acknowledging her choice, her will and above all her ability to lead her own life in her own terms. My mother is a homemaker and she chooses to spend her life travelling because it is what she wants to, not what she is left to do!

Rainbow's Landline!

One of the recent books I read is Rainbow Rowell’s best selling novel of 2014, Landline. Adjudged as the Goodreads Best Book of 2014 in the fiction category, Landline marks Rowell’s return to adult fiction after her two best selling young adult novels, Eleanor and Park (2013) and Fangirl (2013). Landline is Rowell’s take on marriage, love and mature relationships.

                                                                                                                                                                                                   

               

                  Georgie McCool is a successful scriptwriter who is very much aware that her marriage is in the rocks. Her husband, Neal, is a stay-at home dad who looks after the kids and patiently waits for Georgie to commit her time for them. He has increasingly grown distant from her and is discontent with a sterile conjugal life due to her endless work. She drives the last nail in the coffin when she chooses to soar high in her career and ditches her husband and kids on celebrating Christmas together with Neal’s family at Nebraska. However, just after Neal and the kids depart for Nebraska, Georgie begins to crumble. She worries if her marriage is over, having realised that perhaps this time she has pushed Neal a little too far away from herself. She begins a journey to rediscover herself, her feelings for Neal and to achieve a full understanding of the conjugal relationship she shares with Neal.

                        Rowell explores the themes of travails of marriage, midlife crisis, work and parenthood adroitly through a psychological study of her characters and the deft use of the instrument of magic realism. Georgie attempts to fix her marriage by starting afresh her conjugal relationship with Neal. She attempts to talk to Neal, but the Neal she keeps talking to from her teenage bedroom using the old yellow landline is the young Neal, one that she had fallen in love with. As Christmas draws near, Georgie travels between past and present to understand her own feelings and her relationships. She is left to consider if they should stay together, if they are enough as a couple to make each other happy.

                          Beneath the sparkling narrative lies a subcutaneous tension that Rowell has adroitly captured. Once again Rowell proves herself as a master storyteller in her ability to narrate a heart-warming story that dissects a modern marriage to talk of the problems of modern life and relationships. At the heart of her story lie the imperfect characters - Georgie and Neal.  Georgie is a far cry from a perfect lover, mother or wife. Neal is a quite brooding man whose stolid passivity and resigned acceptance constantly conveys Georgie her inability to make him happy. It is also interesting to note how consummately Rowell has reversed the gender roles in her story. The man patiently waits for his wife’s attention and time as he looks after the house and kids. But Rowell falls back to her young adult strain and gives into that idealist and escapist nerve. What rubs off against me is the forced reconciliation of the story. Somewhere in the end the characters seem to give up their free will to resolve Rowell’s plot. The author manipulates her characters to script a happy ending that is at once affected and fake. However, Rowell’s lucid language and swift narrative, evenly distributed with humour, make Landline a page turner. It is indeed a good read that combines the pleasures of a young adult novel and the plot of an adult fiction. 

10 Situations that People with Small Feet Know Best!

Who do you blame when you grow up to see that your body and mind had developed and grown both in size and matter, but your feet haven't? None, but your genes and indispensable fate! Here's a few curated situations  that only people with short feet will familiar with. 

1. Your feet are so awkwardly small that finding shoes of your size is a rare thing in your life!

 Most shoe brands don't make shoes of your size. You are one of those who believe in couture items!

2. Buying shoes online is a serious joke to you!

Nothing can be more sad than to see your friends buy shoes online. Your is size is just unavailable. You comfort yourself with kids' shoes.

3. You have to live with the shame of buying shoes from the kids' section throughout your life, may be even after you become a mother!

You walk into the kids' section and pretend to nonchalantly look for shoes for your nephew or niece. Be careful to avoid the salesmen before sneaking your feet in the little shoes to check the fit.

4. You follow the latest trends in kids' shoes.

Nothing can be more disappointing than to know that latest trends and styles in foot ware can add no colour to your life. You've got to follow the kids' trends!

5. You have to give every shoe sale a miss!

You can't help! There's hardly anything you will find that will fit you. You can't express your fetish for shoes even if you want to!

6. Insoles are your real friends.

Can't find a size smaller or bigger? Insoles are there to rescue you. You know them best - brands, types, sizes, uses. Just everything about them!

7. As much as you like weddings, you dread the day you will get married. Where will you find stilettos to fit your size?

It's a nightmare every time you think of the day you have to go shopping with your in-laws for your wedding.

8. When normal socks don't fit you, you have to wear baby socks.

When kids' shoes are near at hand, how can baby socks be far away?

9. You have to unquestionably bear forever in your life the wondrous look of people when they say 'You have such small feet!'

You just learn to take it in your stride with a pinch of salt.

10. However, you ace it all when you say,'None of my shoes go missing because none ever fit others!'

Who would dare answer to this? Everyone's had their share of the 'lost shoe' experience.