STORY BI CLOUD PAAS ANALYTICS

GUITAR, GRASS & GIRLS - A MUSICAL THRILLER NOVEL

Mark Loffler looked at his watch and it was almost 1 pm. 

He had to start immediately else he would be missing the meeting. Mark quickly went to the last page of the diary. The decaying page looked yellowish-brown with a small hole burnt in it. It could be from an absent minded blazing cigarette tip, he pondered.  He brought the diary close to his eyes as the crumbling letters were tough to read. Gradually, the words entered his mind and soul sending a frosty mystic chill down his spine.

                                               ‘How long had I waited for this day. The flashing lights on the stage, the maddening noise of the crowd! Jerose on drums, Akhil on keypad, Gora on electric Guitar...and I, with my last song! Wish Jeniffer was here to see me for the last time. I know my fate and I am the reason for it. But never in my whole life had I thought it will happen! It’s so strange that two souls alive and breathing at totally different geographies can think, act and do alike....and I, I had to stop it! As the soft breeze coming from my broken old window tries to pacify my fervent soul at this hour of night, I remember Gurudev’s song of parting

Death, thy servant, is at my door. He

has crossed the unknown sea and brought

thy call to my home.

  The night is dark and my heart is

Fearful-yet I will take up the lamp, open

my gates and bow to him my welcome

Goodbye- Rabindranath ‘Jim’ Bose ’

He stopped at the slanted autograph of Mokhsa’s lead singer for a moment. A strange pain crept inside his although puzzled heart. He knew that the journey to know the unknown has begun. Suddenly, Mark looked at the date. 

It was written on 3^rd July, 1971 –the same day Jim Morrison died!

SYNOPSIS :

Paris. July 2, 1971, early evening. 

Jim Morrison and his girlfriend Pamela Courson went to the cinema to see Pursued, a western starring Robert Mitchum. At another theater, Jim Morrison sat alone, watching a documentary called Death Valley. Across town, at the Rock ’n’ Roll Circus nightclub, Jim Morrison scored some heroin and OD’d in the bathroom. At the same time, Jim Morrison walked the streets of Paris and shot up with some junkies on skid row. Meanwhile, at Orly Airport, Jim Morrison boarded a plane for an unknown destination.

No one knows for sure where…The very next day, Morrison’s lifeless body was found…was it accident, drug overdose..or was it Occult?       

        

                                    Mark Loffler, a German student studying literature at the University of Tübingen is highly influenced by Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore and his works. He takes up his post doctorate research on Tagore’s music .Luckily, he gets a sponsored fellowship Program from Rabindra Bharati University ,Kolkata  after submitting one of his research papers .Mark comes to Kolkata and takes up a room in a small hotel in Park Street.

                               As he starts investigating about Bengali music and Tagore’s influence in it, he comes to know about Mokhsa, the first English rock band set up in Kolkata in the 70’s but it died an unnatural death, having done only 1 major show. 

The founder of this band was called Jimmy by his band members; his actually name was Rabindranath Bose, a converted Christian. 

Kolkata is slowly gripped with the Naxal movement and the socio-economic conditions get very affected.Some of Moksha’s members gets highly influenced by naxalite philosophies and it also influences Jimmy’s songs.

Jimmy died a very suspicious death on the very stage while performing for the first and last time.

It was on 3^rd July, 1971 –the same day Jim Morrison died!

SYMBOLS & SYMBOLOGY - RUDRA TRILOGY- COMING SOON

HAND OF GOD

SOLOMON'S SEAL

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4.0 out of 5 stars 

Beautiful Book
By GUNVANT 

Amazon Verified Purchase

This review is from: RUDRA TRILOGY 1 - THE SECRET OF IMMORTAL CODE (Kindle Edition)

Great Mythological fantasy , expertly narrated by Author.I gave four star to this Book because on details mentioned it is easy to absorb the story as a factual one whereas it is fantastically narrated novel

IF YOU TOO WANT A FLAVOUR OF IT, READ THE FIRST 5 CHAPTERS HERE

RUDRA TRILOGY

******************************************************************

  

HARAPPAN SCRIPT

REVIEWS ON RUDRA TRILOGY

REVIEWS done truthfully and in a positive sense give a clear picture of the book.

Some reviews, though are made intentionally just to hamper the sales.

But if a book is of true worth, nothing can stop it.

Some good and bad reviews on RUDRA TRILOGY-BOOK 1- THE SECRET OF IMMORTAL CODE

- Great Mythological fantasy , expertly narrated by Author.
I gave four star to this Book because on details mentioned it is easy to absorb the story as a factual one whereas it is fantastically narrated novel

- Good read! Language should be more polished and updated. The theme is excellent. 

- Some one who has not read ancient Indian scriptures can find this book a little bit interesting, but one can easily understand that author has made an failed and cheap attempt to sensationalize the story.Mr Author , Lord Shiva `s original story is much more interesting and thrilling.
One should not distort the great scriptures in order to make money. ( ONE OF THE FUNNIEST REVIEWS)

- Nice work, moving script, gripping , hope to read more , awaiting eagerly the arrival of the curse of nagas, complete edition.

ATTENTION TO ALL BLOGGERS & MEDIA PERSONS

ATTENTION TO ALL BLOGGERS & MEDIA PERSONS :

The story can motivate many new authors who are still struggling to publish their work.Will request you to take it up in your blogs, online papers, newspapers etc.

We all know how difficult it is to get a publisher in India, and that too a good Publisher who doesn't manipulate the authors and doesn't charge a hefty amount to get the book published.

My earlier novel,Autumn in my Heart was published by Times group ( times of India ) and I know how difficult it is for authors to get a good publisher in India.

I first self-published Rudra trilogy book 1-THE SECRET OF IMMORTAL CODE on Amazon as an e-book and it sold more than 5000 copies in 6 months....then big publishers themselves contacted me on facebook, Harper collins, Rupa etc....I finally signed with Leadstart publishing who had taken up the rights of RUDRA TRILOGY with an Advance royalty .



So, I think you can publish this story in your blog in an attractive way....this will help and encourage a lot of authors ,new and old ones.

Suryavanshis and the Chandravanshis- Pandavas against Lord Rama's Clan

The Suryavanshis and the Chandravanshis

The Ikshwaku Dynasty Vs Kuru Dynasty

Lord Rama belonged to Ikshwaku Dynasty ( Suryavanshis) whereas the Pandavas belonged to Kuru Dynasty ( Chandravanshis).

Takshak- the great Naga warrior king, who lead the Naga clan after Vasuki.

According to Shrimad-Bhagavatam, Takshak- the great Naga King belonged to the Ikshwaku Dynasty. He was a descendent of Shri Rama. The name of Takshaka's son was Brihadbala, who was killed in battle by Abhimanyu, the son of Arjuna.




Cursed by Lord Shiva, the Nagas, led by Vasuki move down to Khandava forest.

Arjuna and Sri Krishna burns down the Khandava forest where the Nagas are living. 
A lot of nagas are killed in the fire. 

Takshak’s wife dies.

Then starts the CURSE !

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A7DDI54

AMAZON BEST-SELLERS

THIS IS WONDERFUL....

# 4 in AMAZON BEST-SELLER in MYTHOLOGY....with the TOP INDIAN BEST-SELLERS... 

# 26 in KINDLE TOP 100....

http://www.amazon.in/RUDRA-TRILOGY-SECRET-IMMORTAL-ebook/dp/B00A7DDI54

RUDRA TRILOGY CONTEST 3

RUDRA TRILOGY CONTEST 3 - ANSWER

HERE IS THE ANSWER TO RUDRA TRILOGY CONTEST 3

‘Ah...Ahi....Ahi Upala...’ strange, he said in his mind. Bhadraka couldn’t make a single meaning out of it. The crumbled words assembled together read a strange message when translated –

Ahi Upala holds the key.

Bhadraka had never heard any such thing in his entire life. He tried to remember. But nothing reflected in his mind. No, it was something strange. Very strange. A blue mountain, Lord Shiva looking down, serpents entwined and lastly the word- Ahi Upala holds the key.

(EXCERPT FROM BOOK1- THE SECRET OF IMMORTAL CODE)


QUESTION : What is ' AHI-UPALA'

CLUE : This is a real thing/object which can be seen even now in India. THINK NAGAS


ANSWER : 

AHI in sanskrit symbolises serpent and UPALA means precious stone in sanksrit. AHI-UPALA stands for serpent stone . This are called NAGALKALS. Nagalkals are stone tablets with an entwined serpent pair,the below picture belongs to one such found in Mysore

You can read the first 4 chapters free here :

http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/2012/12/rudra-trilogy-1-read-first-4-chapters.html

RUDRA TRILOGY TRAILER

THIS HOLI....WATCH THE RUDRA TRILOGY TRAILER

http://youtu.be/aBcFkPESU9c

NOW AT A SPECIAL DISCOUNTED PRICE IN AMAZON...ONLY FOR TODAY

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A7DDI54

RUDRA TRILOGY 1 - ANSWER TO SYMBOL CONTEST

ANSWER TO RUDRA TRILOGY SYMBOL CONTEST 

QUESTION :  What significance does the below symbol holds in Hindu Mythology

CLUE : This was there in  the novel DA VINCI CODE ,used in a different way.

ANSWER : 

            The downward-pointing triangle is a female symbol called ‘ Shakti’

        The upward-pointing triangle is the male symbol called ‘ Vahni ’

        The vahni-triangle denote the male essence of the God and the shakti-triangle   

        the female essence of his consort.

      The symbol signifies the continuous process of creation

This is the Hieros Gamos ( which was depicted in DA VINCI CODE)  Or  "Mystical Marriage " Represented  by this abstract symbol.

Religions, although different, carries the same essence of God.

                       READ THE FIRST 4 CHAPTERS OF RUDRA TRILOGY FREE BELOW

http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/2012/12/rudra-trilogy-1-read-first-4-chapters.html

RUDRA TRILOGY 1- AMAR KATHA

READ THE FIRST 4 CHAPTERS FREE HERE- click the link below to read

http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/2012/12/rudra-trilogy-1-read-first-4-chapters.html

THE BOOK IS NOW AVAILABLE IN AMAZON KINDLE-Click the link below  :

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A7DDI54

MY NAME IS UNKNOWN

MY NAME IS UNKNOWN

-        Saptarshi Basu

My name is unknown,

My City lives within me.

My colour changes with time,

At times it’s red, at times it’s green.

My name is unknown,

My City lives within me.

The Sunday’s last Metro is melancholic,

Like going away from someone,

The drone, the humming, the automatic voice

Unclear in the noise,

Like mother calling at a distance,

Like lover saying goodbye.

My name is unknown,

My city lives within me.

I smell of fish in the morning,

I smell of sweat at night.

My name is unknown,

My City lives within me.

My hands get raised to forehead,

Distractedly sitting in a bus,

To an unknown God.

The man sleeping on my shoulder,

Reminds me of my grandfather,

Or a long lost friend.

My name is unknown,

My city lives within me.

I am not someone,

I am unknown,

Like other unknowns in my city,

We smile at each other,

We had hardly known.

I hear Tagore’s songs,

Mixed with dust and mist.

My name is unknown,

My City lives within me.

About the Poet:

His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group (Times of India) launched in november'11 has already created a lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.

 Saptarshi Basu does motivational speaking and was invited from Jaipur Engineering College and Research Centre (JECRC) to address their Annual National Tech-Fest Renaissance -March, 2012.He was also invited as a guest poet to international Poetry festival at Guntur, India.

 He had subsequently travelled and lived in London, Toronto, San Francisco, Dubai till he came back to Kolkata, his hometown.

Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and writes columns for some online magazines like Asiacha- an international journal, museindia and others .

His children’s fiction ‘ The Zoo-break Adventures’ has been taken up by a renowned international animation company to be made into an animated series.

SOLVE THE SYMBOL CONTEST- RUDRA TRILOGY

Maha Shivaratri. The great night of Shiva. 

Here comes the 1st CONTEST of RUDRA TRILOGY

SOLVE THE SYMBOL CONTEST- Decipher the symbol given in the below picture

Attractive prizes to be won.

BOOK LINK IN AMAZON : http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A7DDI54

THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE

THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE

-         Saptarshi Basu

                                                      (a piece of fiction)

My father once said - for people like us, it’s not the food what makes you strong but your hope. The day it dies, you are gone.

Walking back on that crimson evening with neon lights passing by, I suddenly remembered him. A man of few words he was, and plentiful beatings. His acute bony structure swayed back and forth like a bamboo tree in that alcoholic trance as he kept on beating me. Till both the stick and the man would succumb. To pressures of unknown dimensions.The last time I saw him, his silent legs swayed like a pendulum from our ceiling fan. Perhaps, his hopes died that day. As for me, it was now on all time high. Arjun Sir has accepted to look at my manuscript contradicting Mallick Da’s prophecy. Also, my faith on the present government exceeded my faith on myself. Million dollar investments, new factories, special packages for the poor – the banners coloured the wind with good news. I dreamt of extinction of my dreadful days. Then I looked at my watch and birds flying home, and panicked. I might miss the appointment with Dr. Shetty at Amherst clinic, I thought. I walked rapidly to the bus stand. I took the shortest path while meandering through narrow streets. I saw a young couple kiss in that broken light of the evening, and I cursed the whole generation. A generation without shame. A generation too bold. They fear nothing, and they respect nothing.I ran like a leopard at the glimpse of the bus and hung myself at the foot-stand. Sweaty bodies cling to each other in home returning rush. Like a swarm of mosquitoes over an oil-stricken head. Flat buttocks and bulged bottoms sharply pointed towards the pavement. I elbowed a few fat men and grumbling women, squeezing myself inside. Somewhere, I was deeply happy. Even after a gloomy sale something fruitful happened today. The bus moved in halts while remaining tilted to one side. Like an absent minded professor on his evening walk. I dreamt of uninterrupted happiness. The prospect of having the prosperity of three square meals a day .Of perfumed smell of freshly bought school books for Binu. Of a life less ordinary. ‘Dada, please stand properly’ the petite girl with small conical breasts and long eyelashes scolded me. I was standing on one leg next to her. Her face grimaced as she measured me carefully. With such abundant happiness in my heart, I was in no mood for a skirmish. I turned back to the right side where hungry smell of freshly baked samosa wafted inside the bus.

                               The hunger was growling inside as I came down from the bus .But with just six rupees left with me, I had little option left. I went to a nearby tea stall and drank vigorously from the jug. Water soothed my empty stomach a bit. I lighted a bidi and walked briskly towards the clinic. Dusk slowly engulfed the shallowing brightness. Street lights reflected on speeding car windows. Like your past haunting and taunting you and speeding away in the present .The milky white appearance of Amherst clinic looked grey in that gloomy darkness as I entered. Rich cars were parked on the alley beside petite fashioned bushes. The bushes looked like little children hiding in the dark .Rich people with rich cars. I walked into the general ward and waited just outside Dr. Shetty’s chamber. Tired ailing faces roamed on the corridors. Some howling and screeching ones lay on the floor. Poor people with rich diseases. Fat nurses with uncovered legs roamed and ran up and down .With serious expressions and jumping heart. A child kept playing with the IN and OUT outside the doctor’s chamber. His mother concentrating on her makeup while periodically threatening her son. Rich people with rich diseases. Their names formed strangely inside the mouth of the matron and spitted out at the top of her voice. Mr.C  Aslaaam , Mr C  Aslaaam, Mr K  Mooonshi ,Mrs. S  Bannorjeee... . I was thinking how to manage without the doctor’s fee when the attendant called me in. A gorgeously clad bulky lady was coming out and I squeezed myself by her side. The doctor was in all smiles looking at me. ‘Hey, how are you PannaLal, sit...sit...and how is Binu’ while scrubbing something deep inside his mouth with a toothpick. ‘Well, Sir...very good Sir...With all your blessings, Sir’ suddenly I was at a loss of words. ‘See PannaLal, I must say Binu’s case is a promising one. We shouldn’t lose hope.’ Dr Shetty stood up from his chair and called for the attendant. ‘Tea?’ he asked and I humbly refused. Drinking tea without the doctor fees didn’t seem like a good idea. ‘See...all we need is the money’ he again started. ‘So when are you thinking of getting all the money for the operation’ .I was always weak in maths, weak in most of the subjects I must say. That complex calculation was too tough for me. I dropped out at class ten after my father’s suicide. I feebly smiled at the doctor and said that I was trying hard. ‘You must’ he increased a few decibels and then suddenly looked immersed in his thoughts. I was thinking how to break the word of the missing fees to him. I already knew the futility of this visit but happened to succumb to the doctor’s fixed check-up dates. Only that the patient was not with me today. I was watching those smiling faces of children in the posters hung all across the room, when suddenly he spoke again. ‘I think, you shouldn’t do any further delay. If the operation is done immediately, Binu can walk, go to school, and enjoy his life. Think this way’ he said, pressed his lower lip with the upper and stopped. His gaze was now fixed on me. I was feeling guilty you know, of being a father. Of being a helpless father. I felt weak in my head. Baba, will I ever go to school?  - Those words of Binu again started pestering me .Vibrating on the hollow walls of my head. ‘PannaLal, are you listening?’ the doctor raised his voice. ‘Yes Sir, yes Sir...very well Sir...I, Sir...try, Sir...’. And then in that final moment of truth, I had to say about the missing fees. I begged, pleaded almost went to his legs. ‘Ok, ok...bring it next time’ he made an angry face and called the attendant. ‘Call the next patient in’ he ordered. I rubbed the dust off my glazed trousers and left.

                                         I reached our bustee, our slum somewhat around nine. Eyes heavy with sleep, head reeling, my legs painfully darted in the muddy dust. Endless darkness wrapped our pigeonholes where even your shadow leaves you alone. The thick air smelled of fart, daylong sweat and cries of domestic violence. Tired, drunken husbands assaulting the modesty of their wives. Trying to eliminate their day long shame by shaming their wives. Erasing inflicted insults with inflicted pain .A few scuffles, catfights here and there. Some hand rickshaws called it a day and waited silently for the next morning. A thick stagnant cloud emerged from its footstand. Madan and Mukul were sitting there, sporadically emitting balls of dense smoke. The clogged municipal drain carried bits of everything and remained undulated. Like a dead green snake.The smell coming out of it was mixed and confusing. As I crossed the cowshed which stood at the junction, I stopped .Painful cries of Mangala, the Bihari Doodhwala’s wife pierced the silence of the night. It goes on night after night. Somewhere in my heart, I have a fondness for her. I don’t know how it grew, but looking at her deep kajal -filled bovine eyes my heart occasionally skips a beat. Her enormous asset inside her crisp silk blouse is also an attraction. Her gait very much resembles Budhia- their cow. Sluggish, dreamy, peaceful. Months later, when hell broke loose on my life’s boundary, I felt her softness on one sudden winged evening. When tenderness burst into flower and the worm waited to return in my doomed life.

                          A few children along with their mothers responded to the call of nature behind the bushes and shrubs. I could hear their grunts, groan and moaning. I thought of Binu and mother .They would be eagerly waiting for me. And for their dinner. I neglected a few friendly calls coming from behind and briskly walked to Nimai Da’s shop. Six rotis, a shady looking curry and a bottle of Fifty Up- our economical country liquor. Mostly, this was my night’s ration. I cajoled Nimai Da to add the amount to my already humongous pending credit and ran home.  

  

                    Shadows of hunger smeared my walls as I entered. The damp smell of half-dried vests and underpants welcomed me home .Binu lovingly took my bag away and searched for an invisible candy. Binu shaped autumn cloud searching for a candy. My mother cried, shouted and complained for the water problem moving into its sixth day. I emptied her bed pan in the drain. Then Binu and I sat for dinner, and mother took it in the bed. Silence proceeded. There was a lot of ambition packed into my hot little room. Binu with his elephant shaped autumn cloud ambition, me with my erotic novel ambition and mother with her early death ambition. The dinner was finished off quickly and then Binu silently went to bed. ‘How was your day, Baba’ he asked. As I went to kiss him goodnight. A soft tired smile laced his face reminding me of her mother.  I smiled and said it was good. Same question, same answer. Night after night. Father and son. Asking him to close his eyes, I stroked his hair for a few minutes. Thinking about Bakul and her fairy tales. Her sleepy voice. Binu wouldn’t sleep without them. That rich prince who came on a large white horse with wide wings, that princess who was kidnapped. All such stories. With happy ending always. Where at the end, evil loses and good wins. Within minutes, Binu was deeply breathing, his eyes closed, his mind roaming on a dreamy land .Binu shaped autumn cloud watering soft yellow flowers at heaven’s door. Giant sized insect shadows hovered on my walls. Busy burning themselves on the flickering flame .I put out the kerosene lamp and made two large pegs in the moonlight. While silently watching the moon playing hide and seek behind the Gulmohar tree. In that moonlight all trees glistened naked and dark as if they had unclothed themselves, and the green things on earth seemed to hum with greenness. Just after finishing off the first one, a loud bang occurred on my door. I opened and saw Babu standing irritated. He has come to take me to Bula Di,our local Counciller for complaining about the troublesome water supply. He quickly came inside and finished my second peg as I searched a decent dress. My underwear kept for drying from the very morning was still wet. I cursed my luck .For not finding a proper dress for such an important visit. A woman is very much needed at home to do all such stuffs. Like drying your underwear and cooking for you. I got hold of a torn pyjama and a pale looking shirt and changed into it. I thought of applying perfume on my sweaty body but the bottle was empty. Perhaps, it was empty for endless times. And then we went straight to Councillor Bula Di’s decorated office.

About Myself:

Saptarshi Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for last 8 years and has worked for the top 3 IT companies of India (INFOSYS,TCS & WIPRO). However, writing has always been first love, his passion. His Debut novel- LOVE {LOGIC} AND THE GOD'S ALGORITHM is now a national best-seller in Infibeam, a premier online store.

His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group (Times of India) launched in november'11 has already created a lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.

                                              Saptarshi Basu does motivational speaking and was invited from Jaipur Engineering College and Research Centre (JECRC) to address their Annual National Tech-Fest Renaissance -March, 2012.He was also invited as a guest poet to international Poetry festival at Guntur, India.

                              Blogging and travelling are the biggest pursuit of him.He had subsequently travelled and lived in London, Toronto, San Francisco, Dubai till he came back to Kolkata, his hometown.

                Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and writes columns for some online magazines like Asiacha- an international journal, museindia and others .

His children’s fiction ‘ The Zoo-break Adventures’ has been taken up by a renowned international animation company to be made into an animated series.

SOME OF THE PUBLISHED COLUMNS OF SAPTARSHI:

http://www.asiancha.com/content/view/1327/386/

http://www.asiancha.com/content/view/1409/391/

http://unboxedwriters.com/2012/06/the-bearded-man-in-my-head/

http://unboxedwriters.com/2012/07/naughty-feet/

MEDIA COVERAGE OF SAPTARSHI BASU AND HIS NOVELS:

The novels have been widely reviewed by media in leading newspapers like The Hindu, Times of India, The Telegraph, Mumbai Mirror, Political and business Daily and others.

A comprehensive list with pics is given here:

http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/2012/03/media-coverage-autumn-in-my-heart.html

THE HINDU :

http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-metroplus/article2929936.ece

PTI (PRESS TRUST OF INDIA) :

http://news.in.msn.com/national/article.aspx?cp-documentid=5854785

http://itvnewsindia.com/new-fiction-takes-fresh-look-homosexuality

TIMES OF INDIA  :

http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-02-23/books/30670196_1_love-story-love-blooms-erich-segal

THE TELEGRAPH :

http://epaper.telegraphindia.com/PUBLICATIONS/TT/TT/2012/03/23/index.shtml 

MUMBAI MIRROR :

http://www.mumbaimirror.com/article/136/20120312201203121431153436bbe6f25/Autumn-winds-add-colour-to-every-love-story.html

"DOGS BARK, BIRDS FLY, I WRITE"