• Waiting at a traffic light this afternoon I found myself behind this number plate. This is not the first time I’ve seen a number plate that so blatantly flouts RTO rules that apply to mere mortals. Needless to say the other perp was also a political party who obviously thought that politicians are above the law.


  • Dr. Kanya Jaiyen, a reconstructive plastic surgeon from Bangkok is found dead in the bathroom of a five star hotel in South Bombay. Less than 24 hours later, Bhavna Choksi, a young journalist of little consequence is found dead in her own Thane apartment. Are these just random occurrences or is there a common thread connecting them?

    Santosh Wagh heading the India operations of Private India, an independent,private investigative  agency set up by Jack Morgan, ex-Marine and head of the world’s largest and most renowned investigative agency, is called in by the hotel manager to investigate the murder of the doctor, wanting to keep it private. But a murder is a murder and couldn’t be kept quiet which is why Santosh suggested ACP Rupesh Desai to represent the police.( Rupesh and Santosh were in fact colleagues at one time and went back a long way. ) Similarly, when Rupesh was called in to investigate the murder of Bhavna Choksi, he called in Santosh to help especially when he felt that the two were committed by the same perpetrator.

    But there was more to come and it wasn’t long before three more women were murdered each one of them unrelated to the other. The one common factor in all the murders still leave the investigators stumped. What was the rationale behind these gruesome murders? It was only after the fifth murder while Santosh and Jack are at a Navratri celebration that Santosh picks up on the clues left behind at the murder sites. Till this point I was beginning to think that “Private India” was just another murder mystery but this is where the genius of Ashwin Sanghi kicks in and the book takes on a different turn. It is Sanghi’s reference to Indian myths and legends that transforms a mere murder mystery into something more cerebral. James Patterson and Ashwin Sanghi have collaborated to create a page turning thriller in our very own city of Mumbai.

    Nisha Gandhe, Hari Pardhi and Mubeen, colleagues of Santosh Wagh help in cracking the mystery behind the murders but in a tightly woven tale, we realise that there is something even more sinister afoot. There is also a plan by the Indian Mujahedeen to terrorise the city once more. Who or what is the target this time? And how does this tie in with the tale?

    With a multitude of characters, all hailing from varied walks of life,  Patterson and Sanghi masterfully weave all the stories together, bringing to an unexpected climax the end of this story. The action is fast paced  taking the reader from South Bombay to the suburbs, to five star hotels and seedy bylanes of Mumbai’s underworld. In yet another un-putdownable book, two masters of the craft  once again prove why they are the best in the game

    This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

  • Goodbye Yoga Guru

    I have never met or attended a class of the great yoga guru Mr. BKS Iyengar but I’ve had the good fortune to have attended his classes conducted in my neighbourhood at Home Villa. When I first set my eyes on the class room, I thought I’d entered a torture chamber with its hanging ropes, wooden props and four kilo bolsters. I was equally miffed when my Yoga instructor refused to help saying that we had not checked into a five star hotel but a Yoga class. It didn’t help that he even grabbed my arms and pointing them out to the class as a fine example of pure ghee from Porbunder ( Porbunder nu asli ghee). 


    Despite these jibes I enjoyed the Yoga classes and benefitted greatly from them. Compared to the other yoga classes I’d attended over the years, the Iyengar classes were by far the most exacting. The teachers were thorough and the props helped in achieving the perfect pose. And unlike other classes which had mantras and chanting, Iyengar’s classes were just pure and simple exercise.

    When any of us grumbled or grimaced while doing an asan, the teacher would point out to a photograph of the guru in a perfect pose and tell us that if he could do it at his age, there was no reason for us who were half his age not to do so. Alas! He was the guru while we were not.

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