Book Review: Nargisa's Adventures by Manjul Bajaj

The sequel to Manjul Bajaj’s children’s book series, Elbie’s Quest, is a delightful book, called Nargisa’s Adventures.

Nargisa, the Golden Heart Giving Flower, with red and blue petals, which changed hues, graced since times immemorial, Rangeeli Duniya, showering it with honey and gifts, patron of good times.  When her petals changed hues, very slowly, the worker bees made honey and when they changed to red, it was time to give honey away as gifts. But of late, the colours changed so fast that the worker bees in the factory are exhausted and Queen Bee is very annoyed with Nargisa, for causing the worker bees to work too hard and almost die of exhaustion. This gave Nargisa, the mother of headaches at nights, crowded by Dream Boats and Night Mares. She confides her problem to Titli, her Chief Gusher, who very prudently advices her to take a break. And guess where they are both are headed to? None other than, Elbie’s Soul Café, where, Elbie, the Big Little Tree brews and serves, vials of “Pick Me Up”, “Slow Me Down, “A Dash of Hope”, “A Stirring of Sympathy” .

Nargisa is refreshed and confides her problem to Elbie’s companion, the very smart wolf, Aluf, who then becomes instrumental to finding out where the problem really lies – why is Nargisa’s Golden Isle threatened to near extinction.

Packed with riddles, wild flight of imagination, lots of adventure, sci-fi too, the book is a sheer delight for the reader, I would think between age 12 – 80 and above.

Evil connives against good and entice all who live in Rangeeli Duniya, to follow them.

But does he succeed?

Read it in the most fascinating story you will ever read in Children’s Literature from writers in English, in India.

With excellent illustrations by Shreya Sen, the story comes to life and would be a fun read for kids and all, who love and care for a Sunday afternoon, with a refreshing book to read.

The humour is side-splitting and lifts the spirit sky high.

Here are some parts I loved much .

Tongue twister: “How much Greek can a gaggle of geese speak after a gaggle of geese have been to a geek to learn to speak Greek?”

Riddle: “Tell me, what grows down as it grows up?”

Play of words, bring so much humour:

“Nice place you have here, “said Titli.

“No, no. No plays, my dear. I’m afraid, we don’t have any shows or performances for our guests.”

“Absolutely brilliant – the stuffy nose,” Elbie repeated with a fond smile washing over her face.

“Does your friend Aluf have a cold?” Asked Titli

“Aluf has a cold? Who told you that?” Asked Elbie……” I said, my friend Aluf is brilliant. He is very well-read and the stuff he knows is amazing.”

“Gosh!” said Titli, putting her palms on her ears daintily. “I don’t think we are going to find any peace here.”

“That’s right, my dear,” a tiny voice piped up from nowhere, “If you want peas, it is better you head for the vegetable market down the road….”

And many other laugh out loud stuff all over the book.

Go, savour and enjoy, the delight of “Nargisa’s Adventures.” No harm in getting Eblie's Quest too! It's FREE on Kindle Unlimited!

Publisher: Scholastic India
Author: Manjul Bajaj
Illustrator: Shreya Sen
Pages: 176
Price: Kindle Rs 125; Paperback: Rs 156

“You are as good as your last campaign!”

Download Free:
storycartel.com/books/265/laughing-stock-productions/ …

The first time I knew I could write was when I was a little girl, home for the Pooja holidays, with a assignment, to write a poem. The poem was chosen as best in my class. The second time was when I was in college and was asked by our English Literature professor, to write a short story. Mine, she said was the best, a story, which is now a part of a larger story, in my first published eBook, Until death do us part, which is available on Amazon.com.

My mother was a writer in Bengali, in the early, 1950, but lost her ability to compose stories and poems after her traumatic experience with her husband, who happened to be my father. I too, nearly, almost lost my ability to write, somewhere in the late 1980s, but was saved by the skin of my teeth, when existence placed in my hand, a book by Osho, called “The No Book”. All the pages in that book were blank pages! I filled the pages with my life.

And then, the writing started all over again. The No Book, became the biggest Voice, in my life – my instant therapy. Pages upon pages were filled with my life, my paintings, line drawings. Once the story was full and complete, I lost the book, as if to say, I had ‘shed my skin’, and moved on.

Yes, I had, in many ways. I wrote short stories with a flair of a person, who needed to tell a story, which was possible to read, quickly. Being an advertising professional, I preferred books that were racy and absorbing, but did not take up too much time. In this profession, in any case, we read lots, lots, lots! We are outdated, in a week if our knowledge bank is not updated all the time.

When my friends who have published with well known publishers in India and abroad, egged me to publish, I picked up the collection, Until death do us part, which had been sitting in my computer, for six long years, to start with. Last year around October, the book was published in eBook format by my publisher Xynobooks LLC in the United States.

So when it came to the next one – Laughing Stock Productions, I was faced with many questions. Should I publish with the same publishers, or should I publish with known publishers in India, if they approved my manuscript? I talked to many people. And everyone said  I must go with the Printed Books. Nobody reads eBooks!

I chose to publish in eBook format, once again. Loads of emails from my Editor, in Xynobooks confirmed what I believed right – as you grow in numbers, so will the readership grow. My author sense was not as strong as my business sense. My gut sense and my Editor’s persuasive emails, made me decide to go with the same publishing house.

An unknown writer, from somewhere in India, can become an instant success, if s/he has a real good story to tell, but I, for whom, writing is a passion, outside my work and my need to see women in the forefront, must tell a story(s) as many as there are to build mass. I believe that, a book (any book for that matter) has its own destiny. I, who am, the vehicle of its birth must be like a bird, once, having given birth, must help the book to fly and then, let it go. And I must move on to the next creation, for like a true advertising person will say, “You are as good as your last campaign!”

And so it has been with the first and so it will be with the second. Let my babies find their own home in your heart, whichever heart, has the space and willingness to give it a home.

In the meantime, excuse me please! While you are downloading Free, Laughing Stock Productions, I must carry on with the third story I am writing.

#Sharewhatsgood @juliadutta's Laughing Stock Productions read it, review it, win $$$ @storycartel http://storycartel.com/books/265/laughing-stock-productions/ … …

First review of Laughing Stock Productions on Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/Laughing-Stock-Productions-ebook/product-reviews/B00EXSR9G8/ref=dp_top_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1

Dil, really jalta hai!

I have never been fond of the renowned singer, Saigal, with his nasal voice which reminded me of a man struggling with his ablutions! More so, after I was told and then heard with my own ears, my dear father’s voice which was just like him.

The man sat with his harmonium in the company of his friends, all playing different musical instruments. The saga started with the musicians first, tuning up and then setting forth with a medley mix of sounds that blended into each other, to make some musical sounds, until my father let out a sound emanating from somewhere deep, which probably was his large intestine and allowed it to find relief in the vocal exhalations, punctuated by a few ups and downs, like the choir singers at the Vatican.

This practice made me ponder on the meaning of deep itself, as to the physiological origin of the word, in a man’s biology. Arising out of this contemplation, came the realization that in so far as anything is concerned, which has to do with my father, my efforts would match his voice, to produce what I termed as the ‘Saigal Effect’. This meant that I would have to let out a similar pained sound out of my gut, or wherever, every time, I dealt with anything to do with him.

Now, I am not exaggerating I can assure you. Most of the people who know me, are aware of the strained relationship between my late father and mother and how there was no taalmil, compatibility between the two which resulted in one writing her own story and the other singing his own song! I stood on the periphery watching the tamasha, circus, as most children do in such cases and decided to take to my mother’s passion, which was words of poetry and story, precisely why I am here now to tell you the story of the latest version of the ‘Saigal Effect’ which  took over my life, only recently.

On my way to visit his place to sell a plot of land, which he so kindly left behind for me, only in his death, I was told at the eleventh hour, that the sale was not going to happen after all, because, the buyer, a man of the soil, who had been working on many other acres of my father’s land, when he was alive, did not have the money ready. But had he not told me, only in the morning and many times over in the last two months that the money was ready? Yes, of course, he had, but who can ever escape the long term adverse results of the ‘Saigal Effect’? Plans must be foiled; the family must do its bit to protect the land from going out to people who were merely labourers on my father’s land; how could they become owners; I who grew up with other pursuits of life must learn the hard way, that the zamindari system, the private ownership of land, is here to stay, as much as the caste system is, and that all efforts to sell the land, will meet with negation. And I must pay with time and money for being challenged enough not to understand that even my inheritance from my father, is necessarily, not mine, but belongs to my paternal house and all or a few male members of the family.

Yes, at these times, the ‘Saigal Effect’ does hit me hard and I know, where the frustrated, constipated sound came from – not from the gut, nor the intestine, nor what one might have held sacred as to cause anal retention, but way, way beyond that. The ‘Saigal Effect’ has its origin in a lost battle with sense and sensibility, fought by me and my mother, our whole life, with our counterpart, that being my father and his family.

Dil, really jalta hai! The heart really burns!