Ekta | wisdomekta

  Being an otrovert , there are times when my observations while talking to a person and the words spoken by them seem like contrasts; those talks are the hardest ones. I feel like completing the formality and running away.  And probably, that's the reason, that the title of this recent read attracted me. “Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know About the People We Don't Know” by Malcolm Gladwell – this isn’t the first book I have read by the author. Having already read “The Tipping Point” and “Outliers” by Gladwell, I was more than ready for his signature, journalism-style writing once again. Gladwell certainly attempts to cover a difficult and far-reaching topic – just why and how do conversations with strangers go so wrong? He gives examples reaching back into history – the 16th century first meeting of Cortés and Montezuma – through to the ill-fated meeting of Chamberlain and Hitler, with other famous incidents and accidents. He threw with two puzzles through his writing...

  Warning: Once you read this book, the existence of water will leave a lifelong impression, and there are chances that your perception of the mortality of water will begin to shift. At least for me, now, after humbly accepting the foreverness of books and the stories they embody, I am deeply honoured to know that water’s imprints are forever. This recent read, titled "There Are Rivers in the Sky" by Turkish-British novelist Elif Shafak, is unique and vibrant. The story begins in the ancient city of Nineveh, on the banks of the River Tigris, with the erudite but ruthless King Ashurbanipal of Mesopotamia.  We meet the first raindrop when it falls on this Mesopotamian king, and it resurfaces again in the lives of our three storytellers: Arthur, a slum boy born beside the stinking, sewage-filled River Thames in Victorian London; Narin, a Yazidi girl who travels to war-torn Iraq in 2014; and Zaleekah, a newly divorced hydrologist in 2018 London, a miserable woman who has moved ...

  “My mother had a thing for blue in tableware; she said it warded off any evil eyes intent on ruining the food.” A recent, sudden trip led me to search for a to-do list, which led me to this short read, literally just a 30-minute read, with an interesting title, “My Evil Mother” by Margaret Atwood . This is a witty and heartwarming short story about the complex, often misunderstood relationship between a mother and daughter. Life is already hard for a teenage girl in 1950s suburban Toronto . It is even harder when she suspects that her mother might—or might not—be a witch . A single mother , at that. On the surface, she blends in with her starched dresses, string of pearls, and floral aprons. But there are also the quiet, mystical meetings with troubled neighbourhood women. The odd, suspicious plants in the flower beds. The warning, supposedly divined, is to stay away from a boyfriend whose fate is doomed. This is a surprisingly tender story about growing up and about the gap bet...