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

We talk a lot about heartbreak. This book is about the decisions that come before it—the calculated exits, the postponed conversations, the confidence that silence is harmless. It explores how leaving doesn’t always require walking away. Sometimes it just requires not staying. Debasish Talukdar’s The Silence I Left Her In does not announce itself as a love story, nor does it pretend to be a redemption arc. It arrives more like a folded letter you find years later in an old dr

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

I didn’t open this book looking for courage. I opened it expecting information.   What I found instead was a quiet lineage of bravery—lives lived when there were no safety nets, no hashtags, no reassuring headlines saying things will get better. Over The Rainbow: India’s Queer Heroes doesn’t rush at you with noise. It walks beside you, calmly, carrying stories that were never meant to be erased, only ignored.   Edited by Aditya Tiwari, this anthology brings together nineteen

There are books you read, and there are books that read you. I didn’t expect that a quiet-looking hardcover with a nostalgic photograph of Mussoorie nestled on the cover would do that to me—but the moment I cracked open Mussoorie Montage: Tales from the Hills by Divyaroop Bhatnagar, I felt something shift. It was like stepping into a fog-thick morning on Camel’s Back Road where everything feels familiar yet charged with the thrill of what might be waiting around the next bend

I still remember the first time I heard Piyush Mishra live—his words flowing like a river that refuses to be dammed, each syllable carrying the weight of years, pain, joy, and unrestrained passion. The air itself seemed to hum with his energy, each note and gesture leaving invisible ripples that lingered long after the applause. Holding Tumhari Auqat Kya Hai now, I realize reading this book is like stepping into that same river—letting yourself be carried along, immersed comp

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