I didn’t plan to read Never Say Die slowly. It just happened that way. A few pages at a time. Then a pause. Then a longer pause. Not because the book drags, but because it keeps nudging something personal. The kind of nudge that makes you put the book face down, stare into nothing for a moment, and think, Alright… I need to sit with this.   Most business memoirs arrive dressed for applause. They sparkle with certainty. They reassure you that every fall was strategic and every

I remember closing this book one evening and realising the room around me felt louder than before. The fan hummed. A dog barked somewhere far away. And yet, after Desiccated Land, silence carried weight. This is not the silence of peace. It is the kind that lingers after you’ve heard too much truth at once and don’t know where to place it.   David Lepeska comes to Kashmir not as a saviour, not as an expert parachuted in with opinions ready-made, but as a young American journa

I began Kalpvriksha: The God’s Code on a quiet evening when the house had finally exhaled—lights dim, phone face down, the kind of silence that feels earned. I expected a thoughtful mythological read. I didn’t expect the book to look back at me the way it did, calmly, almost knowingly, as if it had been waiting for this exact moment in human history to speak.   We live in a time obsessed with acceleration. Faster processors. Smarter machines. Shorter attention spans. And into

There are some books that arrive quietly into your life, like an evening breeze you didn’t know you needed. Banaras: An Eternal Love Story felt like that to me—a slow, steady presence rather than a dramatic interruption. I didn’t rush through its pages. I read it the way one walks through an unfamiliar city at dawn, pausing often, absorbing more than just what is visible, letting the mood do most of the talking.   Saurabh Singh places his story in Banaras not as a decorative

There’s a particular kind of silence that settles in after you close a soft romance—the kind that doesn’t rush you back into the world, but asks you to sit still for a moment. Finding Our Forever left me in that silence. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quietly present, like a cup of tea gone lukewarm because you forgot to drink it while lost in thought.   I went into this book the way I often do: with my expectations tucked neatly away. No hype, no pressure, no assumptions about

I didn’t ease into When I Hit You — it felt more like stumbling into a scene already in motion. The kind where the camera is trembling, the soundtrack has gone silent, and you realise you’ve entered a story that isn’t waiting for you to settle in. Friends had mentioned how intense it was, but nothing prepares you for the way this book grips your collar and says, “Stay. Watch.” A few pages in, I knew I wasn’t reading for leisure; I was witnessing a life being peeled open.   Me

You’re curled up in your favourite nook, the world buzzing outside, when someone leans across the table and whispers, “Hey…what if all...